Morning Sickness...it is whats for breakfast

I had heard of morning sickness prior to my first pregnancy, although the facts about it were often carefully tripped over in delicate conversation by most of the women present. It seemed to me that it was something that was either A.) a passing sensation or B.) Such a horrible experience that selective amnesia was put into play. I soon found out with my first pregnancy that the answer was most definitely B.  Morning sickness is like the anvil that continually drops (like in looney toons) on the very unaware head of the preggo - it happens without warning and often in the most awkward of circumstances. Another little beautiful factoid is that morning sickness likes to hang around for weeks, months, or sometimes an entire pregnancy. Marvelous!  Also, I have a bone to pick with the IDIOT who decided to deceive all of us by laughably naming it "Morning Sickness." Contrary to it's name "the plague of unwanted heaving and retching" most assuredly happens all day...and doesn't just look at it's watch and say "Oh NOON time, I will now cease and see you in the morning." No, no pull up a piece of tile honey, cause the toilet is now your newest frienemy.



I find myself in the season of life where I once again have been gifted the joy of a second child. I also have found myself hugging the cold, unfeeling side of the toilet for several weeks, and I have drug myself out long enough to say - To all the women out there suffering with "morning sickness" you are not alone! I stand with you, holding my emergency bucket, and proclaim loudly that there is no shame in dry heaving at a stoplight! Who cares that the people in the vehicle next to you think you are possessed.  I humbly admit to praying for someone to knock me out as I sit on the floor, hair pulled back, listening to my toddler echo my guttural sounds, braced for the next wave of fun. The hope that a belch is just a belch often consumes my very being! Unashamed I announce that I talk to the toilet water, pleading for mercy, only to find that water is not a good listener. I admit that I have imagined bopping on the head, like a whack a mole, the woman who says "my pregnancies were WONDERFUL, I was never sick..EVER." I have contemplated the thought that food will never be a pleasant experience again. And let the record show that I have at one time retched so violently that my bladder decided to get in on the action...there is no shame ladies...No MORE...Unite and proudly showcase that green glow! You are NOT ALONE!

Many may find this post to be frivolous or just downright unappealing...well this is what I have to say to you...tough cookies girl scout! Too many of us suffer in silence because, well, morning sickness is scary, and let's be honest not too many people want to hang around the girl who is re-examining her latest meal. I want us all to remember that thankfully it doesn't last forever, and at the end of the journey something beautiful happens! Hold on to that thought, wipe your eyes, and brush those teeth...nobody said becoming a mother was easy...but I can say that it is definitely worth it!




Side Note: I have found that cutting back on my dairy, and large amounts of iron ( like in beef and pork) help some of the symptoms. Also cut that vitamin in half...take one piece at breakfast and another at lunch...way easier on the tummy!

What took you so long?

I was at a get together recently and was asked a question that I think should NEVER be asked...ever. It stands on the same wobbly pedistal as the Marriage question which is often blasted to a single woman or man - Why haven't you gotten married yet? You are ___years old, what's taking so long! This is THE QUESTION of all questions that seems to be on the tip of many women's tongues. Now I know you all are wondering what THE QUESTION is...well it is a question that seems to be pervasive in the female christian community, it's a question that really shouldn't be dwelled on but unfortunately it is. It is the Fertility question. The fertility question often comes discreetly inserted into a barrage of other questions - which at best are nosey. I have never understood why others think that the amount of children I choose to have somehow is connected to my faith or to my status as a mother. I don't recall God ever saying that women should have a cerain Number of children! He said be fruitful and multiply...but maybe my fruitful is different than someone else's fruitful. God gives me what I can handle and when I can handle it. My path is not anothers path - Praise GOD! I also think that many people who ask this question think that all bodies are made the same, that becoming pregnant is simple or that childbirth is easy for all women. The fertility question fails to take into account that some women would love to conceive, but have yet to be able to. It is a callous, insensitive, and thoughtless question.

At this party there were many people there with large families. Many of the mothers in attendance were expecting their third, fourth, or fifth child. To say that I already felt out of place would be a gross understatement. I was sitting watching my son play, when a lady, who I had never met before, decided to come over and ask me THE QUESTION. This older woman looked at me and said "Is he your only child?" My reply was, "yes." Then she asked me how long I had been married, to which I replied 6 years. I could already sense where she was about to head, and was praying that I wouldn't have to answer this time. Alas, it blurted out..."You have been married 6 years and you only have ONE child? What took you so long? My daughter has been married for 5 years and she is about to have her 3rd baby!"As the question stabbed to my core, my husband thankfully overheard and came to my rescue. He politely responded that for 4 of those 6 years we were struggling financially, that he was finishing his degree, and that I had been working. He also added, "we wanted to make sure that my wife could stay at home with our son. That's what is important to her, and that's what was important to me. He is our blessing, he wasn't easy to come by, and we are proud to call him our son." The lady got the message and walked away, but the rudeness of her question still rang in my ears.

As I drove home that night I pondered her question and why I have heard it so many times.The sheer nosiness made me irritated. I wondered why she felt the need to shout about her own daughter's fertility to make another feel less than? Why do many women feel the need to hold a number over other women's heads?  Her question didn't take into account God's plan, all she seemed concerned about was man's finite plan. Many of these "ladies" who ask this question forget that the road paved to being a mother is not always smooth. I began to wonder how many other women she has asked this question, who have experienced great grief in trying to have a child - maybe they have problems with infertility, maybe they have had miscarriages along the way - and yet this woman railroads them with a question that is none of her business. I am in no way saying that women shouldn't talk about childbirth, how many kids they wish to have, the struggles of being a mom, or the joys of parenthood; what I am saying is don't push God's plan for YOU onto another believer. Never make a sister in Christ feel ashamed of following God's whispers and leadings. To do so is selfish, arrogant, and un-edifying to a brethren. His plan is NOT our plans!

In God's eyes I am right where he wants me to be. I have peace in knowing that the wait for a child was worth it. I know that my son is a gift, as all children are. I waited patiently for my gift and I am enjoying it - every minute. I want us all to remember that children are not a way to elevate our spiritual status, personally nothing can elevate spiritual status - we have all fallen short and it is only God's grace that elevates us to be called His Children. Your worth is not wrapped up in a number. I believe that my worth is wrapped up in pursuing the dream that God gave my heart years ago - the desire to be a mom. God answers prayers...sometimes not in our time frame or exactly how we "wanted" it...but He does answer. So if you ever feel inclined to ask this question, step back a minute, ponder what God's plans and pathways may be for your sister in Christ...and remember not all paths are paved.

"For I know the plans I have for you...plans not to hurt or to harm you, but to give you hope and a future...." Jeremiah 29:11

The Life and Times of a Christmas Angel...

I have always enjoyed watching and being apart of Christmas pageants. I love all the drama, the glitz, the overacting, and the beautiful choir melodies. I grew up being apart of a Christmas pageant every year, and these pageants went on for about 2 weeks. As a kid is was a fun way to spend time with family, because we ALL took part; but I do remember one Christmas when I didn't feel so ecstatic about being in the holiday pageant. It was the year that I was cast, in the most coveted part of every nativity scene, as the Christmas Angel. Now I do not recall ever being asked if I wanted to be the Christmas Angel, but apparently the length of my hair, the color, and the ability to rat it out to enormous widths and heights was what earned me the part. The director told me that I would be soaring above Mary, Joseph, and the Baby. That I would be holding a golden star, and that around my feet would be clouds. I would also be the first child to walk out towards the stage, holding my star...I would be the leader and the crowning point of the nativity. Sounds heavenly, right? Little did I know what all this actually meant.



At first, I was excited. It was fun practicing with my fellow "Nativiters," but then the dress rehearsals came and that is where the excitement faded. I began to loathe being the Christmas Angel. I remember trying on my costume for the first time, and my six year old self knew immediately that somehow some sadistic human being crafted it. The airy clouds that I imagined were instead a cage of chicken wire ( about 20lbs) that hung from white suspenders; cotton batting surrounded the cage which added to the weight. Then came the wings...enormous, heavy, with frilly itchy white garland sewn to them...and they were also attached to the suspenders. Then came the lovely star! The star was attached to a thick wooden rod - much like a jousting stick. The star itself was dangling at the end- heavily sturdy. The actual white linen dress I had been wearing for the "mock" rehearsals, which I naively thought was my costume, was the only comfortable thing about my whole get up. I was hot, itchy, and felt like I was carrying a 50lb sack of potatoes around my midsection. My mother was not happy about the weight, but there was nothing to do about it, we were a week away from the performance. Added to all of this was my hair...pin curled and then ratted out ( which is not a comfortable process). I looked like I had been electrocuted. I was one miffed angel. Why oh why could I not have been cast as Mary? I mean all she had to wear was a smock and a scarf! Oh Mary...Mary did you know how I coveted your costume?



After donning this white contraption I was made privy to my angelic route to the manger. I was to walk down the auditorium aisle (roughly a block), up to the stage, climb on top of a wooden box, and hold my angelic self and star for a 20 minute choir song. The director soon realized that I was incapable of climbing atop my box...my cloud wouldn't let me. So I was lifted onto the box and gripped the jousting star for the life of me. At one point the weight of the star began to get the best of me, slowly it began to dip... I remember the director saying, "Tiffany...don't let it jiggle or drop cause you will hurt Mary and Joseph. Can you hold it a little higher sweetie?" Hurt MARY AND JOSEPH? Hold it a little higher? Lady, if I could get down off of this box I would hurt you...grumble.

The two weeks of pageant dawned on us all. Each night I was uncurled, ratted, spritzed, painted, and donned with the cloud of doom. I was not very jolly after all this had taken place. To my credit though, I smiled every night and every night I heard Oooo's and Ahh's when we appeared. The sweet nativity was a hit and I was glorious...

I am sure that many people came to know the true meaning of Christmas that year. I am sure that our simple nativity reminded all that many years ago our Savior was born, but this angel was so happy when the performance was over. Taking my costume off for the final time, I looked my Mother square in the eyes and said, "Mama, I don't EVER want to be the angel again. Next time I want to be Mary."

The next year I wasn't Mary...I was, however, a dancing bear, which suited me just fine.

Parents: The Human Kleenex

I love being a Mama. It is a decision I will never regret. I live for the smiles, laughter, sweet kisses, warm hugs, and every other special moment that comes in between. Yet, there are a few things that no book on parenting or any well meaning advice can prepare you for. This week I have encountered one of those "things," I have discovered that when a child is sick that one or both of the parents take on the visage of a human Kleenex. I had my suspicions early on about this when I was a teacher, but these suspicions have become confirmed fact now that I have my own child.

This week I have been sneezed on, coughed on, snotted on, drooled on, and cried on.  Countless shirts and pants have been besieged upon by the Mucous Army. I feel like a walking Tide commercial. My hair has not even escaped the onslaught of snot. Nothing screams louder, "I have a sick child", than finding a glob of snot in your hair. I feel like slimer has come to live in my house, and unfortunately this small slimer needs some TLC, so I can't use my proton blaster. My only line of defense is saline dipped wipes, a dish towel, a snot sucker, and copious amounts of hand sanitizer. I am amazed at the amount of mucous that a 24 pound toddler can make! I mean where is it coming from?! Is he made out of it? Does he have a super duper snot bug?!

My starring role as the human Kleenex will either make me fall prey to this wonderful virus, or I will come out with pumped up, COSMIC antibodies. The thing is, if I get sick, who takes care of Mama?  I cannot get sick...so come on phenomenal cosmic antibodies!

Although, I have to admit that even during this incredibly real parenting moment, there is always a silver lining. It is the moment when my son wraps his arms around my neck and says "Lub, Lub Mah ma". It is at this very moment that I forget I have been slimed once again, all I feel is loved. I guess that's what loving a child is all about, you forget all the bad stuff, and revel in the sweet fleeting moments. And at the end of the day, all of that snotty slime washes away; but what doesn't wash away is the knowledge that my son loves and needs me.

Not the brightest crayon...

The Cozy Coupe...a child's first car wreck waiting to happen. I have long wondered why we strap our kids into highchairs, car seats, and other devices to keep them safe, and yet we buy them a toy car with no braking mechanism and let them go. I have seen my son run over himself countless times in that crazy car, and he was sitting in it! I mean I understand that he is operating it like Fred Flintstone, but how in the world does he slip in between the seat and the steering wheel? Thankfully, our car is parked inside our house...why you ask? Well, if my son is anything like me, he should never be allowed outside in a cozy coupe - ever.

I was about 6 at the time when I had my first joy ride in the cozy coupe. I was at my neighbors house and we unfortunately were not being supervised - which is where it all started. Now, my neighbor lived on a steep hill and the garage was at the top of this wonderful incline; it was steep and we had been warned of it's perils. Most of the day we avoided the tempting hill.  My little friend and I had been enjoying our time of patty cake, tea party, and dollies when we decided we had had enough of the prim and proper. So we rolled out the red car of death.

It began innocently enough. My friend's cat had just had kittens, so we put them in the "trunk" of the car, and scooted  them around in the safety of the garage. After about 5 minutes of this, our inner evil Knievel's rared their heads, the hill was calling to me. I told my friend I wanted to take the kitties for a ride down the hill, and she facilitated the event by giving me a push. In seconds I was peering down the slope, kittens meowing in the back, and saying ,"1...2...3...Push!"

I don't recall when I realized that this was not my brightest idea, but it was somewhere between me watching kittens fly out of the back and seeing the ditch at the end of the drive. "Brake! BRAKE!" screamed through my brain. Kittens meowing loudly, and then nothing but dirt and grass. The ride was all of 30 seconds, but in that 30 seconds I saw all my six years flash before my eyes. "Am I dead?" I wondered. Slowly I opened my tightly clenched eyes to see that I was upside down in the coupe, in a ditch, with a small ticked off kitten peering into my face. Nervous laughter mixed with tears erupted.

Prior to the crash, as I zipped down the hill, my friend's mother happened to walk out and see the unfolding tragedy. Hollering loudly she sprinted after me. She told my mother later, that if she hadn't been so scared she would have laughed at the sight. There I was, hair whipping out the side of the car, kittens scattering like confetti, roaring down the hill, across the street, and crashing into a ditch. "It was like something out of a movie," she said.

So here I am today, with a son, and a cozy coupe. I think it is best for all (human and feline) that it stay indoors...cause I have heard that the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

Radio Interview on "Living Large Radio"

I had the pleasure yesterday of being interviewed about my book "Red is the Color of..." and the message it contains - re-building self worth after being bullied.

I was a little nervous, but for my virgin interview I think I did just fine.
Some of the topics we covered were:

1. My past experiences with bullying.
2. How adults can have a immediate impact of a child's sense of worth after being bullied.
3. How we often become the bully - either to ourselves ( repeating the lies in our mind) or bullying others out of fear.
4. The communication gap between adults and children
5.  How being honest is always the way to open the doors of communication with a child

These are just a few of the topics we discussed.

If my words make the difference in one person's life then that is enough for me!

Please listen in at
http://www.blogtalkradio.com/livinglarge2013/2013/10/20/red-is-the-color-ofwchildrens-author-tiffany-haisten

Also go and like Living Large on Facebook...

The Scars don't have to last a lifetime...

I can still feel their arms pulling my half clothed 11 year old body up on the locker bench. I can still hear the taunting voices of the two girls who began to describe the apparent ugliness of my body for all to hear and see. I can still hear the giggles as I ripped myself away to hide in the bathroom. I can still feel the deep anger and pain that trickled down my face as I heard the echo of their words in my head. A moment forever ingrained on my memory, one moment that could have destroyed me, but here I stand unbroken.

I was in the 6th grade when I first encountered cruel bullying. I had always dealt with the grade school taunting, but that day was the first time I was faced with sadistically and intentionally mean bullying. The days that followed were not much better, it seemed that I now had a target on my back, and I began to wonder if this is what Hell felt like. My reaction was to crumple inwardly at ever snicker in the hall and take every whispered word to heart - I began to believe the lies. My mother and father saw a once vibrant, cheerful girl wane. Thankfully my parents didn't leave me alone in my thoughts; through the darkness of untruth came loving hands to embrace my broken heart. Healing came from their loving intervention.

Bullying is becoming an epidemic in our schools, in our homes, and in our daily lives. Why?

 I believe that bullying has continued to grow because we have forgotten to teach children the value or worth of another person and themselves. They have lost their moral compass and it is frighteningly apparent. Bullying attempts to tear down the essence of person; it is an attempt to shred the soul. Bullying is often a direct response to negative experiences or environments. Many children grow up in environments that would be the stuff of nightmares - they are left scared, angry, feeling worthless, and unloved. So they act out the only way they know how. Bullying can also be learned behavior; the result of mirroring what they see or hear their parents say, off hand, at home. Ultimately, we all at one time or another have been bullied or been the bully. How can this be? Well it is all in how we react to being bullied.

We become the bully.

After bullying has occurred two things or natural instincts happen - 1) We carry on the assault of the bully inwardly which inflicts tremendous damage to our self esteem;  or 2) We begin to fight back in fear of being bullied. Either way we become the bully, either to ourselves or to others. Someone has to step up and stop the cycle. It cannot be ignored because it is ruining our children. It is an adults time to be the hero.

How can an adult stop the inner bullying? How can we halt the self inflicted wounds of believing that the untrue is true?

 Simply by talking. Talk to your children…not at them, but talk with them. As a society we have lost the art of loving and friendly communication. Too many times we let the distractions of radio, TV, phone, or Internet interrupt opportunities to just talk - to get to know our children's thoughts and let them in on ours. I had a very open, loving, and communicative relationship with my parents. This was instrumental in my overcoming the bullying I had experienced, and any future encounters. Talking with them gave me the avenue to vent my fears and frustrations in a safe way. In a way that I didn't take it out on others - so that I didn't become the very thing that I feared. As adults and parents we cannot ignore bullying, we cannot expect our children to get over it, or to stand up to it. We cannot shift that burden onto their young shoulders because they are not equipped to handle it. Think back - were you mature enough to handle bullying at their age?

Undeniable Truths

My parents began to break down the lies flying through my head by giving me tangible truths - Undeniable truths. They took the words or actions of the bullies and began to chip away by telling me simple things. "Look at your eyes, have you ever seen anybody with similar color or shape. Look at your hands and legs, they allow you to draw and run. Look at your sister and brother, look at Dad and I - have you ever seen anyone who looks just like us?" This may seem so elementary, but it made me realize that the things that made me look different were not alien, I was just like everybody else, because EVERYBODY is different. They filled me up with the positive and changed my perspective, so that the next time my response to a negative situation would be different. They taught me that bullying stems from fear, jealousy, anger, and hate. I learned that bullying had absolutely nothing to do with me, instead it had everything to do with what was in the heart of the person doing the bullying. We need to cultivate kindness, respect, hope, integrity, and love in the hearts of our children, because the absence of these emotions allows cruelty to invade and run rampant.

We are our children's first responders.

Does this mean that our children will never be bullied? No. Will it prevent emotional wounds inflicted by the bully? No. But just like a doctor treats his patients with medicine, we ,as parents, must be willing to prescribe the treatment that our children need to begin to heal. We have to be the first responders, or we will lose them. Investing in a child will be the greatest return we will ever get, and teaching them how to navigate the murky waters of life are paramount for them to become well adjusted and confident. Being bullied is a prime teachable moment. A moment that will help them define who they are and what they are worth. I am living proof of that.

Time does heal many things, hearts can be mended, and the tarnished can be made new again. I let go of the fear and anger I felt after being cruelly mocked that day so many years ago. What is left is the knowledge that I am bigger than the bully. I am stronger than the bully. My scars are vanishing, but theirs are still gaping. I am unbroken, and I weep for the broken hearts that tried to crush my soul.  I was treated immediately by my first responders, and engraved upon my heart is the truth that God loves me and I am wonderfully made.

**Check out my book "Red is the Color of..." and use it as a tool to start talking with your children about their worth.

Why God gave me a son...

My son, born early at 34 weeks. Love at first sight.

I believe that our children are hand picked for us. Each child has a specific purpose in our lives, just as we have a purpose in theirs. My son was given to me, I believe, to teach me things about myself and the world around me that I desperately needed to understand. These are just a few of the reasons that God gave me a son...




 

• I needed to find beauty in a bug.
• I needed to take time to splash in puddles.
• I needed to appreciate the sounds that vehicles make.
• I needed to understand the heart of a boy as it matures into a mans.
• I needed to take part in a grand adventure.
• I needed more exuberance.
• I needed to behold the little boy in my husband.


• I needed to know that even superheros need a hug.
• I needed to be in awe of life.
• I needed to see a masterpiece in a mess.
• I needed to hear the melody in boyish noise.
• I needed to be taught courage.
• I needed to see innocence of spirit.
• I needed to learn to love with abandon.
• I needed to define my own strength.
• I needed to be reminded of how much God loves me.

Everyday I am grateful for attack kisses and hugs. The bedtime snuggles and morning wake ups. I have been given the job of being a guide to this adventure called life, and I cannot wait to explore it with my son. "Oh the places we will go!"

In one moment he stole my heart.

Now hiring BABES...all others need not apply

I saw this restaurant sign the other day while driving down the interstate. "Now hiring Babes, all others need not apply." Needless to say my jaw fell to the floor. The sign had irritated me. I knew that due to the fact that I was clutching the steering wheel a bit tighter and my nostrils started to flair. I was about to become unhinged - ready to fly over there on my broom and unleash the monkeys. That's when I heard laughter from the backseat. It was my son, smiling, waving, and giggling at my upturned eyes in the rear view mirror. For the moment, I am reminded by the small child in the back seat that my worth is more than skin deep.

I wonder, "what is a babe anyway"?

To me, a babe is defined by society. A babe changes her shape, looks, hair, clothes, etc. to fit what is currently beautiful to the eye. Much like a mirage to a thirsty man - she shimmers, shines, and appears to be the remedy for his present affliction. But isn't a mirage just empty trickery that leaves the observer with nothing but a mouthful of dry sand. A babe is the capstone of unrealistic beauty. Imperfections have to be nipped, tucked, pulled, sucked, lifted, sprayed, dyed, covered, and erased - they simply aren't allowed. Uniqueness isn't always prized in a babe, uniqueness just might have too many flaws. You could say that society says to women and men that if "one of these things is not like the other, then it doesn't belong".

I believe that each one of us has been gifted a God given beauty that is all our own. We aren't perfect, but we are uniquely beautiful. I look at my own face in the mirror and I know that there is no one on Earth that looks exactly like me. No one. I  have come to realize, and God teaches me daily, that I am beautifully flawed. Sounds strange right? My flaws make me who I am and they make me lovely. Just like a piece of pottery is unique from all of its sister pieces - so am I. Imperfect beauty. The type of beauty that endures and never makes an excuse for those little differences. It's the type of beauty that begins in the soul and radiates outward.

I want my son to understand this and dwell in it. I want him to break the mould and love a woman because of what makes her unique; not love because she is the carbon copy of societal whims. I want him to adore the imperfections because he isn't perfect either. I want him to know that the perfect woman doesn't exist, but a beautifully imperfect woman does. A real woman, a godly woman, a unique woman.

In order for my son to learn the value of imperfect beauty I have to set the example. I have to decide everyday to accept myself just as I am. I have to teach him how to love himself, by first loving the person God made me to be. Because, if I wait until I am "babely" perfect to accept and love myself, then I still won't be happy. What a babe is now, isn't what a babe will be 5, 10, 20 years down the road; but there will never be another like me. There will never be another boy like my son. We are unique. God knew what he was doing when he crafted us and He doesn't make mistakes.

 I am imperfectly perfect and that's what makes me beautiful.

Man Kryptonite

In life there are many ironies, but some men and their skiddishness about baby poop is one of my favorites. Men from an early age seek out and find humor in the grossest of things. Whether is be smelly gas, a loud burp, stinky feet, or any other strange odorous bodily function - you name it and its funny. If you have brothers or are married, you know that the male species derives tremendous pride in their ability to clear out a room with a single solitary fart. Yet, some of these very same men who were previously "fart dusting" the room, are left paralyzed by a small child's poopy diaper. Infant poop is man kryptonite. The sight and smell of it causes gags, groans, shivers, and the oddest of expressions from these conisseurs of nastiness.

This discovery amuses me to no end.

Women, on the other hand, have for years run away from the smelly and vile. We have often been the recipients of countless dutch ovens, smelly car rides, and anything else that might curl up our noses. Not that these pranks have been ill natured, mind you, often the "ewww gross" is met with a giggling apology. Ironically, you throw a small cooing infant in the mix and amny women become the Mike Rowe of diapers. I blame child birth, it messes with our sense. Suddenly, we pop a kid out and there is no job to gross to clean up. Diarrehea all over the crib, no problem. Poop slips out of the diaper into their shoe, hand me the wipes.

True irony.

I have laughed to tears watching men change a poopy diaper on AFV, haven't you? I have rolled my eyes and giggled numerous times watching my husband's face as he changes our son.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen...

I know I have to go easy on my hubs though, as we all should; they simply can't help it. Infant poop brings these Supermen to their knees. Although, this knowledge is powerful, because I know at anytime I can clear a room with one small solitary diaper. Paybacks a stinker....

Customer with Child Parking...

I have come to truly appreciate the genius that came up with the "customer with child parking". Not only did this person make the spaces slightly larger, they also located them close to the doors of the store. A true genius. In my opinion these spots are sacred - a gift from the grocery store gods to frazzeled parents everywhere. These places have been named and claimed my friend...for people with young children. I'm sorry but if all your children are above the age of 9, much like the height requirement for a roller coaster, you are not allowed. Also, if the kiddies are NOT with you, you aren't grandfathered in...sorry.

The audacity of people never ceases to amaze me, everyday I am floored by the sheer ignorance, stupidity, or rudeness of my fellow man. Several days ago I had the opportunity to park in my sacred spot at the local grocer. Ah, the sheer elation of being a skip away from the entrance, and knowing that I would have enough space to pull my cart next to my car, without dinging another vehicle, and put my son in his carseat. Such joy! Upon leaving the grocery store, my jubilance deflated, when I saw that someone had parked so close to my car that there was barely enough room for me to squeeze by. Grumbling I put my car keys in my mouth, lifted my son out of the basket, propped my foot on the cart, wrangled my sliding car door open, and managed to get my son unscathed into his carseat. The same could not be said for my pants, which were currently waxing the car parked next to me.

Suddenly I hear a loud, somewhat harsh, "EXCUSE ME!" I craned my head out to see what was wrong. There was a woman, who was attempting to squeeze past my conga line of items to her car door. To my amazement she makes it, rudely popping my in the rear with her car door as she opens it. I am stunned. My head slowly turns to the front of the parking space - that's when I notice it. The large sign in front of her car "Customer with Child parking". I peer into her window and notice there is not a child with her. Not a solitary one. She roars out of her spot, shaking her head at me. Rubbing my behind, I quietly envision myself dinging her car with my son's retractable sippy cup. BWAP, BWAP...it only soothed my feelings a bit.
This isn't the first time that I have witnessed people using these parking spots who are sans child. I have seen young and old trampling over the nice gesture of this spot to parents, with their self centeredness. Unfortunately, unlike the handicap spot, they cannot be issued a ticket for their crime. So, I think I will begin issuing my own tickets. I believe that a bright pink sticky note that reminds them of their rude crime should do the trick. Maybe 20 or so littering the windsheild would make them rethink parking in the customer with child parking.
 So remember to think the next time you park - and if you choose to be rude you may find yourself the recipient of a mommy ticket...that is if I am feeling more passive than aggressive that day. Happy parking.

These Times Are Precious

Being a greenhorn parent that is trying to find my way without giving my child a one way ticket to the therapy chair can be daunting at times.  I know that God has given me the sense and intuition that I need to raise my child right, but I often get lost in feelings of frustration, fear, or failure. The endless ticker tape of questions run through my mind.... "Why won't he stop crying? What am I doing wrong? Is he breathing? Why doesn't he like squash? Did I really leave the house with only one diaper? Why is her child so calm? Am I a horrible parent? Dear God please help me survive this day!"

My journey as a parent has just begun, and I am already spending too much time worrying. I have forgotten to be present in the moment. Survival mode has kicked in; yet, I have come to realise that I need an attitude shift, or else I will miss out on the joy that comes from being a parent.

A friend once told me that she reminds herself daily "that these times are precious and they will never come again" when parenting becomes rough. I like this thought process. It takes the focus off of the negative and pushes it into the positive. Sure my son's diaper has just exploded all over him and me, but when I say to myself "these times are precious" it suddenly lightens my heart. I can see the humor in the situation and I can laugh at the moment. I have suddenly shifted from a negative feeling of frustration at huggies to laughter - I am truly living in the moment.

Life is so short, why should I waste those precious moments on worry, doubt, or frustration? I can't afford to! My son will never be this small, this innocent, this snuggly, or this completely dependent on me. All to soon he will be too big for my arms, too old for lullabies, and too grown for bedtime kisses. I could get lost in the sadness of these thoughts, but instead I choose to enjoy every minute that I have with him at the age he is right now. To stop myself from looking ahead, and rest in the joy of this second. Doing this helps me (and my son) find happiness. God wants me to enjoy the blessings that have been given to me...and my child is one of my greatest blessings! Whether I be covered in burp up or kisses, I have to embrace the moment and realise that I am blessed! So I have begun to choose to sink my toes into the sands of time, lay out my beach towel, and relax; because these times truly are precious.