Becky's Bloggy

mission to Marty--week five

2011-03-08T13:13:00.000-08:00

I've been hearing from Marty's teachers and therapists that he's been doing an amazing job lately--showing a lot of amazing progress.

So why is it so hard for me to see that progress? Probably because I'm with him day after day and get to experience all the autism-related setbacks he faces along with the successes.

This past week, I decided to look for a little bit of progress each day. Instead of choosing something to work on every day, I chose to find one new accomplishment and just spend the day celebrating it.

Of course, I began to worry about whole days possibly going by without seeing any improvement--what would I celebrate? God has called me to dream bigger for Marty, and so I did last week. Each morning, I prayed for at least one clear success for Marty, and those prayers were answered abundantly. Read on:

Monday, February 28th--One thing Marty has a hard time with is answering questions. I'll ask him how school was and he'll say, "How was school. Fun." Always fun. Even on days I KNOW it wasn't fun. But I've been continuing to ask in the hopes of him one day actually answering a question correctly and unprompted. Today was that day, and YES, I cried like a ban-shee. I don't even know what a ban-shee is, but I cried like one. I had a doctor's appointment today, so my mother-in-law was home during Marty's developmental therapy. After his therapist left, I asked Marty what he and Colleen did during his session with her. And he told me that they played with play-doh. I think his exact words were, "I-a play-a play-doh." I'll take it. The next day I confirmed with Colleen that yes, they did bust out the play-doh. This type of processing for Marty is a HUGE step in a GREAT direction, in that he's learning how to process a question and come up with an appropriate and accurate response. All the while thinking in terms of past activities, which is difficult for a concrete thinker like Marty. Today is a day I'll remember forever. Ban-shee tears and all.

Tuesday, March 1st--Anyone who knows Marty knows he's pretty obsessed with Thomas the train and his little train pals. And I've mentioned before that part of that obsession is due to Marty's tendency to stim on the trains--to roll them back and forth along a track and watch their wheels move for hours at a time in order to stimulate his senses and bring calm. Anyway, lately he's been asking every day where Edward is. Edward is a blue train, and Marty has more blue trains than I can count. I figured he was just overlooking Edward when he dug through his bucket of train-y goodness. I kept just telling him that Edward was probably there--that he had to keep looking for Edward and he'd find him. But I was cleaning out the car today and what/who did I find? Edward! I felt bad that he'd been missing for so long, but loved knowing that Marty was able to recognize that Edward was gone. Again, a pretty cool feat for a kid who's typically of the "out of sight, out of mind" thought process. Of course he was elated when I put Edward in his tiny little hands. Marty gasped and said, "Mama! You found Edward!" Yes, honey, I did. And found another little piece of YOU along the way.

Wednesday, March 2nd--It can be hard for Marty to be really in-tune with his environment. Yeah, he can recognize certain places that we visit often. As we drive up to his preschool he'll usually talk about seeing Teacher Becky (yes, his preschool teacher and I share the same name--it gets confusing). As we drive up to our friend Georgia's house, he'll excitedly exclaim that we're going to "Auntie Orange's" house. It's stinkin' cutie. But places that we don't see regularly, especially those that he doesn't enjoy visiting, are typically not acknowledged until we're right there in the thick of it. Not true today! I had to stop by Marty's pediatrician's office to pick up a prescription and without prompting of any kind, Marty said, "Mama? Are we-a go to the doctor?" All smiles. From all of us.

Thursday, March 3rd--As is true for most kids, it takes a while to recognize the whole cause and effect concept. For Marty, it's taken even longer, and we've been anxious to see breakthrough in that. And while we weren't there to actually witness that breakthrough, we heard all about it from the babysitter. Which is (almost) just as good. Marty and I (husband Marty, that is) go to a life group every Thursday night, so the kids get to stay home with a sitter. Usually it's Miss Shannon, but Miss Shannon was sick this week so we had someone different watch the boys. I didn't think it would be an issue for Marty, but he threw a huge tantrum when it came time to get his jammies on before bed. The sitter just let him scream and ignored his antics (which was PERFECT), and was slowly trying to get him dressed in the moments Marty would calm down for a couple seconds. At one point, Marty was screaming bloody murder with his pajama top around his neck because he refused to put his arms in the sleeves. Well after freaking out for a while, Marty started shivering, so the babysitter asked if he was cold. He said he was. And promptly put his arms in the sleeves, knowing it would help warm him up. Amazing. It warmed my heart.

Friday, March 4th--I've talked a lot about how Marty is a concrete thinker. Which comes into play in a lot of different ways--one being that he's very literal when it comes to names. Nicknames are a hard concept for Marty, and he'll often correct people if they get a name "wrong". Like people calling Lucas "Buddy"--he'll quickly say, "His name is LUCAS." Well today, our little concrete thinker called his brother Squishy all day. Yes, I know I know, it's from Finding Nemo. But I was thrilled that he assigned a name other than Lucas to his brother. So instead of finding Nemo, we found a Squishy, and by golly, I'm running with it.

Saturday, March 5th--I usually let Marty (and myself) have the weekends off, since all this mommy therapy is exhausting for both of us. But this week, with the focus being on the progress Marty's been making, I didn't want to stop looking for little breakthroughs. And he didn't let me down. Today I was studying some medical terminology for my new part-time job doing medical billing, and was sitting at the dining room table reading while the kids played in the living room. At one point the sun faded for a couple minutes and I found myself squinting, needing some extra light. Marty was over by the lightswitch, so I thought I'd see if he could figure out which switch needed to be turned on in order to light up just the area I was working in. I pointed to the light fixture above my head and said, "Marty, can you turn this light on for Mommy?" And just like that, he flipped the right switch and illuminated the table. First try. My kid is smarter than I give him credit for, and I love the moments that that shines through. Pun intended.

Sunday, March 6th--Marty survived a trip to Costco with ZERO meltdowns or whining. Can't that be progress in itself? He's beginning to realize that his behavior is a choice, and that we're ALL a lot happier when he chooses the right thing. On our way to a birthday party last weekend, Marty declared from the backseat, "I-a be a good boy to Malea's birthday." And you know what? HE WAS. I'm slowly crossing things off my list of "places I'm terrified to take my kid". Birthday party with ten or so other screaming kids? Done. Costco? Big fat check. Bring it on, world. My baby boy has GOT this.

How will YOU challenge your kids today? What accomplishments will you choose to celebrate?

mission to Marty--weeks three and four

2011-02-27T18:06:00.000-08:00

Sigh. I'm just so behind on my Marty updates. Dang it.
But I consider it a good thing that I've been too busy playing with my son to write about playing with my son. So during his daily "quiet time" in his room (since that stinker won't take his afternoon naps as regularly as he used to), I thought I'd have some "quiet time" of my own and reflect on the past few weeks.

The week of Valentine's Day, I decided to work on some pretty basic concepts, instead of always shooting for the stars with Marty's therapy. So while I usually focus on behavioral things, that week I focused more on concrete concepts. You'll get the idea:

Monday, February 14th--Today was our "counting" day. We talked a lot about numbers, from playing with the number magnets on the fridge to counting our fingers to see how many we each have. I can hereby report that Mom, Marty, and Lucas all have ten, though a couple times Marty had eleven. Hmmm. The highlight of the day was laying in bed with Marty during his "quiet time" and just counting together. Counting forwards, counting backwards. He loved it, and Mama loved the cuddles that went along with it.

Tuesday, February 15th--Today I had a friend over to help with the kids while I tackled a huge clothing-related project. Our boys grow out of their clothes so fast it's hard to keep on top of all the too-small cast-offs. So I spent most of the day sorting by size and type of clothing and blah blah blah. Shannon played with Marty most of the day, but once she left, I had Marty help me with the sorting process. We talked about shirts and pants and what we put our socks on. And he could identify which clothes were his and which were Lukey's based on the sizes and the big versus small concept. Awesome.

Wednesday, February 16th--Today we talked about mail. And what mail is--"mail is when we get letters from our friends". I hadn't gone through all of Marty's valentines from his classmates yet, so we busted those out and talked about the "mail" Marty got and who it was from. I held up each valentine and said, "Marty, is this mail?" Until he started to recognize what is and what isn't. We walked out to the mailbox and I showed him where the mailman puts our mail. Marty even got a letter or two! Little did I know that junk mail would start being so precious in out house--one of the things we got was an ad for different check designs, and Marty loved pointing out the different animals and Disney characters he saw. I think he really thought someone sent that just for him.

Thursday, February 17th--Today it snowed in Redding, so I ran with the theme and talked about snow all day. We played outside in it for hours and talked about how it's c-c-c-c-old in the snow (and that "cold" starts with "c"), talked about how it falls from the sky, etc. We threw snowballs at the fence and talked about what gloves are, as Marty wore them for the first time and responded, "That feels good. Is everybody okay in there? (looking at his fingers)". We built a snowman and had to discuss why he couldn't come back in the house with us. So fun. I wish it snowed more often.

Friday, February 18th--My parents came today to visit for the weekend, so today's discussions revolved around Oma and Opa. We talked about relationships and the concept of grandparents. A couple times my mom and I took Marty out to run an errand, and we talked about the fact that Opa (my dad) was at our house with Lucas and Oma was with us in the car. He's been loving tickling all of us lately, and was wanting us to tickle each other, saying, "Oma, tickle Mommy. Mommy tickle Opa." What a goofy kid.

This week I'd been feeling pretty sick, so I hadn't had much energy to plan something for each day. But I didn't want to give up on my little "mission", so we've been working on a couple key areas. Our main theme was what's called "joint attention". For kids on the autism spectrum, it can be difficult to consider other people's perceptions and viewpoints and even feelings. It's hard for them to step outside of themselves and try to understand a different take on the situation. Joint attention is merely the ability to consider more than just your own point of view. We've practiced having Marty read us books and have to show us each page, so that he understands that we can't see the pictures in his book if he has it turned toward himself.

Since my Crohn's disease has been acting up this week, we've talked a lot about how to act when other people don't feel good--that we need to be quiet and gentle even if we want to play rough. Marty caught on quickly. Monday afternoon I was doubled over in pain, and just laying on the living room floor while the kids played around me. Marty decided we were going to play "night night", and went upstairs to get me a pillow and his blankets from his bed so I'd be more comfortable. He even turned out the lights and told Lucas, "Shhh. Mama's sleeping." Awesome.

Another example of joint attention that we've worked on this past week is having Marty wait to talk to us until it's his turn to talk. Usually he'll just interject whenever he has something to say, and yes, we've let him because we've been so thrilled that he's actually talking. But this week we've been quick to say, "Marty, Mommy's talking to Dad. Please wait until it's Marty's turn to talk to Dad. First Mommy talk, then Marty." It's still a work in progress. That one's harder for him. But it's teaching him that other people are affected by his actions, and that he needs to be considerate of those around him.

So that's all for now, folks. I hope these updates have been encouraging you to pour into your kids more often. I know it's been a fun journey for us as a family to be more intentional about the time we spend together.

Happy playing! Here's to enough energy and new ideas to get us through next week!

mission to Marty--week two

2011-02-24T16:16:00.000-08:00

So here's week two of my "mission to Marty".
Yes, week two was a couple weeks ago. My nincompoop-self posted it on facebook but forgot to bloggy blog it as well for the non-facebook people in my life that still want to stay updated on our journey. Yes, Aunt Debbie, I'm talking about you (wink).

Anyway, our journey continues:

Monday, February 7th--Today we worked on the hand-over-hand technique, meaning that when I ask Marty to do something and he refuses to do it, I literally put my hand on top of his and make him follow through. It's important to show Marty what's expected of him, as kids with autism struggle with the unknown. But Mommy means it when she tells him to do something, no matter how much he freaks out about it. So, when it was time to clean up his toys in the living room and he just sat there crying about it, I walked over and without saying a word, I grabbed his hand and used it to pick up the toys one by one and put them away. I didn't get mad, I didn't discipline. I just showed him that I was serious and that he'd be picking up his toys regardless of how he felt about it. In our house, that's become his "warning". Because we don't want him thinking that if he freaks out enough, he'll get put on a time out and get out of cleaning up for those three minutes. And sure enough, after a couple seconds, he started cleaning up on his own, all smiles.

Tuesday, February 8th--Today's focus was on abstract thinking. For kids like Marty, it's difficult to think outside the realm of what's right in front of them. What's concrete. So today we talked a lot about people and things that were somewhere else, so that Marty had to picture those people and things in order to answer questions about them. For example, I asked what color Daddy's hair was, even though Daddy was at work all day. Marty's first answer was "blue". Oops. So I challenged him to really think about Daddy and what color his hair is. I had to prompt him to say brown, but he started to get the idea, and answered some of the questions right--mainly the ones about his favorite characters from his favorite movies. It's hard to think that he's more in tune with Thomas the train and Mr. Incredible than with the family members I asked him about, but I'll take whatever abstract thought I can get. We'll keep working on it. (Side note: Thinking back, I should have showed Marty a picture of his dad and prompted him to come up with Daddy's hair color on his own, to show him that he can actually picture Dad in his head. Oh well--guess this is just as much a learning process for me, too.)

Wednesday, February 9th--Today our challenge was working on facial recognition. Marty's pretty good at recognizing people, but a lot of autistic kids struggle in this area--recognizing not just specific faces, but the expressions those people are making as well. I figure if we work on these things now, we might avoid difficulties later. And since Marty just got his preschool class picture and needed to write Valentines to all his classmates, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to talk through his little buddies. I'd say a name, and Marty had to point to that person and decide which color Valentine to give them. So fun!

Thursday, February 10th--Today we worked on the yes/no concept. As in, "Marty, did you poop in your pants?" And making sure he understood that it's not okay to say "no" when the answer is "yes". Marty has what's called echolalia, which means that part of the way he processes things is by repeating words and phrases. But in doing so, he can tend to just memorize the appropriate answer without understanding what it means. So talking through how to use the words yes and no in the right way is important. Sometimes a little stinky.

Friday, February 11th--We talked through a couple social phrases today, and how to respond appropriately. So all day I've been asking Marty "how are you today", and talking about how to share how you're feeling. I did that by asking if he was happy. He said that yes, he was happy. I asked if he was mad, and he replied, "I not mad, I happy!" It's a small success, but progress none-the-less. I'll take it!

So that was our week--it's no wonder I'm exhausted! But every moment is so worth the progress we're already seeing.

getting Marty back

2011-02-04T20:58:00.000-08:00

I posted a facebook status a couple days ago saying that I was a mommy on a mission. That I can see my little Marty retreating further and further into his world of autism, and that I'm not going to let ourselves lose him.

So how am I supposed to do that? By engaging his attention at every moment. Keeping him interested in the outside world. I can't let him "stim" for too long--a stim is a self-stimulatory behavior that many autistic children do in order to center themselves in a confusing and overwhelming environment. For Marty, it's running his trains back and forth on his train track. And though it looks cute, and he talks the whole time about which train is doing what, it's just not a great idea to let him fall into that too often. Which means keeping him busy. Which means Mama being busy trying to occupy every moment of the day with an activity that'll help Marty grow and learn.

Mind you, I've been working with him in little ways here and there since his autism diagnosis almost a year ago, but I'm on a mission to be more purposeful. To think through what he needs to work on, and what areas he's been struggling with, and try to come up with a teaching tool that addresses those deficits. It's kind of a full-time job. But one that will be SO rewarding in the years to come. A child's brain is most flexible and pliable before the age of five, so we're trying to cram in as much as we can in the next year and a half.

Will you join me in that journey? I thought that by documenting our activities, and sharing them with our friends and family, I'd be held accountable in a way. And be able to look back on Marty's progress and rejoice in how far he's come.

So here goes... Our first couple days of Mission to Marty:

Wednesday, February 2nd--I'm trying to work through balancing Marty's needs with the needs of our household, so today's activity was a game I like to call "laundry". Marty has a hard time adhering to other people's agendas, so I wanted him to practice participating in a non-preferred activity and understand that he couldn't bow out until I said he was done. That is HARD to do--he is a three-year-old after all, with the attention span of a small insect. I told him we were going to play a new game in the garage. He freaked out--he wanted to play with his trains instead. So I said he could bring ONE train to play the game with us. He chose four trains. I walked him back over to where his track was, and talked him through choosing only one. He had a meltdown, but I stuck to my guns, and we ended up bring Henry into the garage to help with the laundry. I stood behind Marty so that he couldn't run away, and asked him to put the wet clothes from the washer into the dryer. He freaked out. I had Henry help Mommy, and Marty didn't like that I was using his toy, so I said, "Well, then why don't YOU help Mom?" Again, meltdown. So, despite his crying and screaming (our neighbors must think horribly of me), we shook out each piece of wet laundry and threw it into the dryer, saying, "Go in, red shirt! Your turn, blue socks! Bye bye, jeans!" Finally, once Marty began to realize that I meant business, he calmed down. I told him there were only five clothes left, giving him an end to look forward to. And sure enough, he started participating! He loved it! Success.

Thursday, February 3rd--Today we pretended to be animals everywhere we went, to work on Marty's ability to think outside of what's concrete and tangible. So when I took Marty to the big-boy potty, we were kangaroos hopping to the bathroom. I'd say things like, "Okay, baby kangaroo! Let's wash our kangaroo hands!" When we went up to bed, we climbed the stairs like lions, roaring all the way. Daddy even participated--we were a little family of monkeys as we prepared and ate dinner. It was SO FUN! Marty did a good job coming up with different animals for us to be, though I had a hard time figuring out how to be an elephant with four legs AND a trunk...

Friday, February 4th--We worked on sequencing today. "First, second, etc." One tool that helps Marty with his difficulty transitioning into new activities is to outline what we'll be doing. I say things like, "First, clean up, then have a snack." It gives him structure, and that structure is really comforting to him. But today I wanted to help him truly understand that concept, so I busted out some flashcards that his speech therapist gave us, that have pictures on them of kids doing different activities in sequence. So Marty has to figure out which comes first--the shoes that are untied or the picture of the girl tying the shoes. It was hard work, but he got most of them, and thought the word "second" was really funny. We'll work up to adding a third component to each sequence as he really starts to nail down the concept.

So that's it for now. I know, I know, it's a lot. And I know there are few people that will care to read through all the nitty-gritty details of our life with autism. But if I don't share my testimony in all this, and show the world that you really can rise above your circumstances and mold them into what you want them to look like, then Marty's autism will have no purpose.

I want to give my son a voice in this crazy chaotic world. And help him speak in the moments that he can't speak up for himself.

where I should have been this morning...

2011-02-02T15:48:00.001-08:00

Last night I checked my calendar to see what today held for me. And my stomach dropped. Not because of what was on my calendar, but because of what was crossed off of it.

This morning was supposed to be my first prenatal appointment for baby number three. But after our miscarriage about a month ago, that appointment was no longer necessary--so instead of spending my morning talking to my doctor about due dates and ultrasounds, I've spent today thinking about our loss.

We weren't even supposed to be able to get pregnant again after my surgery last January. My surgeon declared us infertile, so we just assumed we'd adopt our next baby. But a couple days after Christmas, we found out that the impossible had happened--our positive pregnancy test couldn't have been more...well...positive. Of course we were shocked and a little scared, but mostly shocked.

But who was I to question God's plan and timing? We know full-well that our family has always been in the palm of His capable hand, and knew this wasn't a "mistake" or "accident". So despite my nervousness, I decided to be excited. I started looking forward to all the pregnancy-related things I thought I'd never get to experience again. Yes, even excessive heartburn and outdated maternity clothes sounded fun after spending a year believing we'd never have another baby of our own.

We told our families and a few friends, and were anticipating a big announcement after we got the chance to share the news with our life group the following week. But when I woke up the morning of January 5th, I knew something wasn't right. I knew the baby was gone.

After my doctor confirmed that we had indeed miscarried, we began our grieving process. It was hard--I kept finding little reminders around the house, like the coupons I had clipped for prenatal vitamins, the pregnancy journal I had bought and now had to return.

But there were friends and family that blessed us along the way. We had food brought over so we didn't have to cook. We had friends spend the following day with us so we could take a break from thinking about it--and have loving support in the moments that we did. We shared tearful hugs with people who were genuinely crying with us. We were prayed over and had our arms literally lifted as a representation of our friends' hope and strength for us during a time when we couldn't hope or be strong ourselves. I spent time with women who'd also miscarried, just to be near friends who knew that same pain--one of them just held me and said, "I'm not even going to say anything, because I know there's nothing to say."

I know that sense of loss will always be with me. I know that this is a wound that will eventually heal, but isn't something I can or should just "get over". But I've already come such a long way over the last couple weeks. I know now that God hasnt' forgotten about me--that He feels my pain and is so sorry. I know that this, too, wasn't a "mistake" or "accident"--that it's all part of a divine plan for our lives and our family. And that I need to be okay with not knowing what that plan is or why our miscarriage had to be a part of it.

So I'm choosing to move forward with love and joy. Love for all three of my babies, and the joy of seeing them for the little blessings that they are.

my life with autism

2011-01-26T15:49:00.001-08:00

People ask me all the time what it's like to have an autistic child. How it affects our daily life, and how I manage to juggle all of Marty's therapies and programs on top of the usual demands motherhood imposes.

Well, I could talk about it for hours. But in the interest of utilizing the few precious moments I have available while BOTH my babies are napping (I swear, that rarely happens), I thought I'd share a couple excerpts from Jodi Picoult's latest book, "House Rules", which revolves around an autistic teenager and the people his autism affects. Naturally, I related most to the chapters written from the mom's perspective, and marked the pages that meant enough to me to leave tear-stains on. I cried tears of joy in feeling like someone finally was able to put words to a lot of my emotions regarding my son's diagnosis, but also tears of sorrow when I realized that this journey is only going to get harder for him.

So read on, friends, knowing that by sharing these words written by someone else, I'm also sharing a piece of my heart for my precious baby boy:

"This is what you can't explain to a mother who doesn't have an autistic child: Of course I love my son. Of course I would never want a life without him. But that doesn't mean that I am not exhausted every minute of the day. That I don't worry about his future, and my lack of one. That sometimes, before I can catch myself, I imagine what my life would be like if he did not have autism. That--like Atlas--I think for just once it would be nice to have someone else bear the weight of my family's world on his shoulders, instead of mine."

"I have carved a life out of doing what needs to be done, because you can rail to the heavens, but in the end, when you're through, you will still be ankle-deep in the same situation. I am the one who's strong, so that my son doesn't have to be."

"Nobody looks into the face of a newborn son and imagines all the things that will go wrong in his life. Instead, you see nothing but possibility: his first smile, his first steps, his graduation, his wedding dance, his face when he is holding his own baby. With my son, I was constantly revising the milestones: when he willingly looks me in the eye, when he can accept a change in plans without falling apart, when he wears a shirt without meticulously cutting out the tag in the back. You don't love a child for what he does or doesn't do; you love him for who he is."

Sigh. That's all for now. I have days that are good and days that are not-so-good. But all in all, I love my son. He's perfect--maybe not according to the world's standards, but he is according to mine.

What it means to be a good mom...

2011-01-25T16:48:00.000-08:00

"When did they stop putting toys in cereal boxes?

When I was little, I remember wandering the cereal aisle and picking my breakfast food based on what the reward was: a Frisbee with the Trix rabbit's face emblazoned on the front. Holographic stickers with the Luck Charms leprechaun. A mystery decoder wheel. I could suffer through raisin bran for a month if it meant I got a magic ring at the end.

I cannot admit this out loud. In the first place, we are expected to be supermoms these days, instead of admitting that we have flaws. It is tempting to believe that all mothers wake up feeling fresh every morning, never raise their voices, only cook with organic food, and are equally at ease with the CEO and PTA.

Here's a secret: Those mothers don't exist. Most of us--even if we'd never confess--are suffering through the raisin bran in the hopes of a glimpse of that magic ring.

I look very good on paper. In real life, I have to pick superglue out of the carpet, rarely remember to defrost dinner, and plan to have "because I said so" engraved on my tombstone.

Real mothers wonder why experts who write for "Parents" and "Good Housekeeping" seem to have their acts together all the time when they themselves can barely keep their heads above the stormy seas of parenthood.

Real mothers don't just listen with humble embarrassment to the elderly lady who offers unsolicited advice in the checkout line when a child is throwing a tantrum. We take the child, dump him in the lady's cart, and say, "Great. Maybe you can do a better job."

Real mothers know that it's okay to eat cold pizza for breakfast.

Real mothers admit it is easier to fail at this job than to succeed.

If parenting is the box of raisin bran, then real mothers know the ratio of flakes to fun is severly imbalanced. For every moment that your child confides in you, or tells you he loves you, or does something unprompted to protect his brother that you happen to witness, there are many more moments of chaos, error, and self-doubt.

Real mothers may not speak the heresy, but they sometimes secretly wish they'd chosen something for breakfast other than this endless cereal.

Real mothers worry that other mothers will find that magic ring, whereas they'll be looking and looking for ages.

Rest easy, real mothers. The very fact that you worry about being a good mom means that you already are one."

--Jodi Picoult, "House Rules"
(written from the perspective of the mother of an autistic son)

How in the HECK?!

2011-01-14T22:05:00.000-08:00

I know, I know. I'm fired.

I promised new and exciting and interesting blogs, and haven't posted a blame thing. Sigh. It's just that every time I think about writing something, I get stuck trying to figure out what to write about. There are so many thoughts and feelings jumbled up in my giant noggin that it's hard to sort through them. To translate them into something the general public will be able to follow. Not because I'm smarter than the general public--but because I'm CRAZIER.

I guess it's just hard to know where to start. The last year of our lives has been the worst year of our lives. So much has happened that it seems really shallow to just start blogging one day about my kid's adorable new haircut and his brother's giant up-the-back poop explosion. REALLY shallow. But at the same time I don't want to feel like everything I post has to be profoundly amazing and eye-opening and life-changing either. Happy medium, anyone? It's more difficult to find than you'd think.

But here I go again overthinking something that's supposed to be fun and light and a form of release in the midst of my crazy hectic and chaotic existence.

So for now, here's my start. My three-year-old, Marty, is sporting a great new haircut compliments of yours truly. And yeah, it's choppy and not perfect, but he didn't freak out about the pieces of hair falling onto his skin. Success. I'll take it. And Lucas? He's had some gnarly poops lately. We're talking clear-the-room stenches and more loads of laundry in a day than I dare count. But he's happy and he's eating well and handling this whole teething nonsense like a champ. Success. I'll take it.

As I continue to ponder how to sum up these last twelve months without sounding like a totally depressed pessimist (which I only am when woken up prior to 7am), I'm going to try to focus on the little things each day that are making me smile in the midst of all the other crap.

Success. I'll take it.

Gosh, it's been FOREVER.

2011-01-09T14:51:00.001-08:00

That OBVIOUSLY goes without saying, seeing as how my most "recent" post was a year and a half ago. Why on earth did we all fall off the blogging train? It's fun and theraputic and a lot less cryptic than the one-line facebook statuses that are supposed to sum up every given moment. So now that some of my peeps are starting to blog again, I thought I'd join in. I've been toying with the idea for--let's see--about a year and a half. I just have so much to SAY.

So visit often, friends, as my blog and I become buddies again. May this be the start of something really really awesomely spectacular.

"I need, I need..."

2009-06-10T13:57:00.000-07:00

My poor baby is stuck in that stage when he's old enough to know how to ask for something specific to eat, but not old enough to understand when Mommy says that we don't have any.

Guess I'll just have to grow a banana tree in the backyard, so we always have them available...

kiss kiss

2009-04-13T13:10:00.001-07:00

Is it weird that I just got one of the best kisses of my life from a little blonde boy wearing an Elmo t-shirt and no pants, holding a stack of Legos, and saying "hand" over and over?

Madness #22--ancient history

2009-03-07T23:17:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, my little mommy self misses the days before my son...

...found out that crayons were edible, fun to brush his teeth with, and could break in half.
...thought that throwing every single one of his Legos down the stairs, one at a time, for Mommy to trip on, was a good idea.
...decided to be afraid of water, making bath time a nightmare for all of us.
...discovered the joy of glaring at Mama from underneath his blonde bangs.
...learned how to take his socks and shoes off when we're running late and trying to get out the door.
...would rather hang out with Elmo than his own mother.
...realized that screaming the word "TAT-tooooooo" while pointing at someone with a visible tattoo really embarrasses Mommy.
...started misbehaving badly enough to warrant spankings before breakfast.
...knew that he was capable of asking for something, then of refusing it when it's offered.
...understood that he was cute and how to use it to his advantage.
...felt it was just hilarious to blow his nose into my clothing or hand.

But you know what? I wouldn't trade that kid for any other kid in the world. Because with all these new things he's learning come other new things--like how to yell "lah-loo" to tell Mama that he loves her, and how to give Mommy sweet kisses through the bars of his crib at bedtime.

If that's my reward for wiping boogers off my pants every day, I'll take all the half-chewed crayons and missing socks I can get.

Madness #21--"Wake up, sleepy-head!"

2009-03-05T12:34:00.000-08:00

My three all-time favorite ways to be woken up?

1. Having Legos thrown at me.
2. Getting my face slapped by a tiny little hand, while "MA!!" is yelled right in my ear.
3. Hearing the word "poop" being whispered in the other room, steadily getting louder and louder until I go in and find someone standing in his crib desperately trying to un-Velcro his very messy diaper.

Whoever said being a mom wasn't absolutely crazy is absolutely crazy.

sigh

2009-03-02T17:10:00.000-08:00

You know you're a mother when a dishwasher full of clean dishes, a sleeping child taking his second nap of the day, two corn dogs, friends coming over tonight to watch the final "Bachelor" episode, a Dutch Bros blended annihilator, and a Tyra Show rerun make you blissfully happy.

slip of the tongue...

2009-02-08T09:19:00.000-08:00

So, my dear dear friend Rachael said something at Moms Group last week that STILL has me cracking up at the thought.

When referring to Bobby and Candace, she accidentally said Bobbace and Candy. Instant, unintentional humor. We've been quoting her all week, trying to decide which Pecaut gets to be "Candy". Hard to say when they're both so sweet (ha ha--cheese, I know).

But all this Bobbace talk got me thinking. I started using Rachael's name formula, plugging in different friends and family members to see which couples sound extra silly in Rachael-ese.

I'll let you decide for yourself:

Marcky and Bety
Rychael and Rayan
Marah and Satt
Mess and Jike
Yadriana and Aori
Beather and Hilly
Manna and Att
Marty and Mimi (ha ha)
Baura and Len
Grannah and Hace
Rary Ann and Mick
Katasha and NC

I don't know. I think Bobbace and Candy still take the cake. Er, the candy.

Here it is, girls...

2009-02-07T22:33:00.001-08:00

So, at almost every Stirring function, when a bunch of us women are sitting around, sipping coffee and gabbing about the latest vampire novel, somehow my huge pregnant belly always seems to come up in conversation. I don't know how it creeps in there, but it does, and I find myself smiling and nodding as these girls tell me how huge I was. And no one means any harm by it, it's just that apparently I was an anomoly to the entire church body--I was the new girl that was skinny as a rail with a belly the size of China tacked onto the front of me. I was the new girl that nobody knew but everybody knew.

And of course, at a baby shower this past week, my big ol' belly stuck it's big ol' belly into a convo some of the girls were having about pregnancy. I was chatting with someone else when I overheard someone mention my name and say the usual, "But you couldn't even tell she was pregnant from the back!" It's probably because I gained all my pregnancy weight in my face. All forty pounds, sitting in my cherub-y chipmunk cheeks.

Anyway, a couple of the girls at the baby shower met me after I had had Marty and was at least trying to squeeze into normal-people clothing. They know me as my much smaller, much less whoa-look-at-that-belly-there-must-be-like-five-babies-in-there self. So, friends, since you asked to see a picture of this pregnancy anomoly, I thought I'd oblige. Even though pulling this photo out again makes me feel like I have to pee--I swear, my bladder was flat as a pancake by this point:

So yes, I really was this big. Goo. I had to literally cradle my belly and support its weight with my arms if I walked for more than ten minutes, just to spare my poor aching back. And I was pregnant for another three weeks AFTER this picture was taken. So tack on another ten-or-so pounds, and you've got a great mental picture of me waddling into the maternity ward when Marty was finally ready to arrive, yelling at some poor nurse to "get this thing out of me"!

Fun times, gals. FUN times.

just hilarious...

2009-01-27T21:07:00.000-08:00

Excerpts from a dog's diary:

8:00 a.m. - Dog food! My favorite thing!
9:30 a.m. - A car ride! My favorite thing!
9:40 a.m. - A walk in the park! My favorite thing!
10:30 a.m. - Got rubbed and petted! My favorite thing!
12:00 p.m. - Lunch! My favorite thing!
1:00 p.m. - Played in the yard! My favorite thing!
3:00 p.m. - Wagged my tail! My favorite thing!
5:00 p.m. - Oh boy, Milk Bones! My favorite thing!
7:00 p.m. - Got to play ball! My favorite thing!
8:00 p.m. - Wow! Watched TV with people! My favorite thing!
11:00 p.m. - Sleeping on the bed! My favorite thing.

Excerpts from a cat's diary:

Day 983 of my captivity.

My captors continue to taunt me with bizarre little dangling objects. They dine lavishly on fresh meat while the other inmates and I are fed hash or some sort of dry nuggets. Although I make my contempt for the rations perfectly clear, I nevertheless must eat something in order to keep up my strength. The only thing that keeps me going is my dream of escape.

In an attempt to disgust them, I once again vomited on the carpet.

Today I also decapitated a mouse and dropped its headless body at their feet. I had hoped this would strike fear into their hearts since it clearly demonstrates what I am capable of. However, they merely made condescending comments about what a "good little hunter" I am. Bastards!

There was some sort of assembly of their accomplices tonight and I was placed in solitary confinement for the duration of the event. However, I could hear the noises and smell the food. In fact, I overheard that my confinement was due to the power of "allergies." I must learn what this means and how to use it to my advantage.

Today I was almost successful in my attempt to assassinate one of my tormentors by weaving around his feet as he was walking. I must try this again tomorrow - but at the top of the stairs.

I am convinced that the other prisoners here are Flunkies and Snitches.

The dog here receives special privileges. He is regularly released, and seems to be more than willing to return. He is obviously retarded.

The bird has got to be an informant. I observe him communicating with the guards regularly, and I am certain that he reports my every move. Unfortunately, my captors have arranged protective custody for him in an elevated cell, so he is safe.

For now...

We're famous!

2009-01-05T08:38:00.000-08:00

Or rather, my husband and his best friend Bobby are...

Today they've graced the FRONT PAGE of the Record Searchlight, our local newspaper, talking about the climbing gym they hope to open. There's even an adorable picture of Marty's smiling face as he rock climbs and Bobby belays him.

See, about a month or so ago, Bobby got a call from the Young Entrepreneur Program, which he had been involved with through the Small Business Development Center at Shasta College. They seek to help young people trying to open their own businesses. Well, they called Bobby to see if he'd let the Searchlight do a story about Jericho, highlighting the Entrepreneur Program. Well, of course he said yes.

So, a rock-climbing photo shoot and a couple interviews later, the boys are on the freakin' front page. We thought they'd end up in the back of the paper somewhere--in the business section. But instead they're the highlight today, the in-your-face-read-about-our-gym-while-you-drink-your-morning-cup-of-coffee highlight.

If you live in Redding, go grab a paper to support the guys. If you don't, check out redding.com, as it's the main story today! Marty's little smile, or HUGE GRIN rather, awaits the moment you type that address in.

And of course, it's only fitting that he's wearing his Wisconsin shirt. You know, the red one that says to "smell our dairy air"? The shirt that he wears just about every single day? I could be embarrassed that that shirt will forever be on display in this year's scrapbook, or I could just laugh it off and say, "That's my husband!"

Cow poop shirt or not, I really couldn't be prouder!

the surprises continue...

2008-12-16T23:28:00.000-08:00

So, just when I thought my birthday couldn't get any better, it hecka did.

I had a great breakfast with Sarah this morning, complete with the most delicious apricot-peach-pear smoothie I've ever had. Nevermind it's the only one I've ever had, but it was still amazing. Amazing enough to blog about, so you KNOW it was good.

Then I went to Moms Group and enjoyed a chance to chat with my gal pals. And I think I walked away with the silliest holiday socks from our sock exchange. Maybe they'll have to make a repeat appearance next year...

So after leaving Rebecca's, I came home to a smiling husband and smiling son. Always a good thing. Marty was all geared up to watch "The Today Show", since Candace had mentioned that she was standing in the audience behind where they were shooting in New York this morning. Sure enough, there was my best bud, wearing my scarf and gloves and holding a sign that said "Happy 24th Birthday, Becky!" So I was actually wished a happy birthday on national television. Not a lot of people can say that! I felt so special.

Spent the afternoon being lazy around the house with my boys, complete with family nap-time and a mailbox full of really fun birthday cards and Christmas pictures.

Then after enjoying dinner with my hubby at Red Robin (thanks, Emily, for watching little Marty), we stopped by Target so I could spend the gift card my mother-in-law sent. I picked out a gorgeous new winter coat that I've been needing. It's one that will actually keep me warm and look stylish all at the same time!

So new coat in hand, we drove to Brent VanAuken's house for what I thought was just a Christmas party with friends. When I walked in, there were balloons and cupcakes and presents and friends yelling, "SURPRISE!" Seriously, I nearly cried. I feel so blessed to be so loved. Thank you Rachel, Brent and Kristena for throwing together a great party, and thanks Meghan and Jeremy, Pearcia and Eric, Patrick and Bethany, Billy and Heather, Jamie and Matt, and Amy for being there to support and celebrate me.

And we ended the night with a precious card and gift from each of my boys. My Martys.

I really do think this ended up being the best birthday ever.

Happy Birthday to me...

2008-12-16T01:12:00.000-08:00

Yes, today is my birthday. Good ol' December the 16th.

And like most of you, I've had my share of good birthday memories and bad. Poor Marty felt the pressure to make this year's day extra special, as it's been a rough past couple of months.

Well, it's only been my birthday for an hour, and I've already cried tears of joy at least three times. I feel loved and blessed and so appreciated for who I am--plain ol' me! Can you believe it?

See (story about to unfold, here), my best friend Candace is in New York City with hubby Bobby today, celebrating her own birthday. Since she knew she'd be gone on my big day, she gave me my present ahead of time and told me not to open it until my actual birthday. Curiosity nearly got the best of me several different times, but something told me to wait. To avoid trying to peek underneath the wrapper and just let myself open it when I was supposed to open it.

I'm glad I did. Marty and I stayed up past midnight watching "SNL", so we could be up to ring in the special day. Well not a couple minutes after twelve, Marty asked if I wanted to open my present from Candace. Duh!

In it was a DVD that simply said, "Watch me." It opened with one of my favorite songs, a worship song by Watermark, and the title, "Happy Birthday, Becky!" Then one by one, my close friends appeared on the screen, telling me what they loved about me. I cried through the whole thing. I guess I just never knew that I mattered so much to people, or that I was as special as they made me sound.

So thank you Candace, Sarah, Rachael, Pearcia, Bethany, Kristena, Heather, Billy, Bobby, Annette, and Marty. Your words spoke volumes, and my heart is so full right now. You've all made me feel worth something, and I haven't felt that in such a long time.

Man, oh man.

Later this morning Sarah is taking me to breakfast, then I have Moms Group with all my favorite gal pals, then Marty and I get to hang out all day and go somewhere fun for dinner. Then I still have a birthday celebration with my family to look forward to whenever we're all together next, and Bobby and Candace and Matt and Sarah and Marty and I are going to barbeque a couple steaks in the snow to celebrate even more, then Candace and I still have to throw ourselves the joint birthday party that we've been planning all year.

I think it's safe to say that this year's birthday is going to be one of the good birthdays.

whew...

2008-12-15T01:40:00.000-08:00

I did it.

I've had this to-do task on my endless to-do list for ages. And I finally finished it. Mostly. The bulk of the work is done, and I'm happy as a clam, no matter how late I had to stay up to be able to put a big check-mark next to that one.

So, I designed another website. For a friend of Mimi's friend's mom. She's a part of this group that speaks at women's retreats and other events, and wanted me to design a website for their team. I think it turned out pretty well, if I do say so myself. And I DO say so myself.

Check it out: friendsoftheheart.us.

And to answer your question, YES, I am a total nerd and do enjoy sitting in front of my computer for hours on end. It's my one connection to the outside world--my one way to feel productive outside my home.

Doesn't hurt that I'm getting paid for it, either. Can't wait to wash the mountains of laundry I have piling up in my living room with the new washer and dryer I'm going to buy with my nerdy website money.

Typity type + nerdity nerd = no longer wearing the same outfit five days in a row. Marty's nostrils will thank me.

D'OH!!

2008-11-30T04:26:00.000-08:00

Happiness is NOT...

...grabbing a quick latte from Dutch Bros, specifically asking for decaf, and winding up awake at 4:30am because for some odd reason you just can't sleep.

The rest of my family, cat included, is sleeping peacefully, thereby ensuring their contentedness in the morning. I, on the other hand, promise to be a pill when my alarm goes off in just a few short hours. I'll likely hit the snooze button nine times and have to show up at church with oily, pony-tailed hair again.

At least I made my insomniac-ish self useful. Our Christmas newsletter is written, pictures printed, witty quips giggled over. One project I can partially cross off my extensive to-do list.

Perhaps I should add "never go to Dutch Bros after 7pm, whether or not you order decaf" to that list.

one thing I'm thankful for...

2008-11-29T16:04:00.000-08:00

My son now knows the word "tattoo".

I swear, it's the cutest thing. He got a little rub-on tattoo in his Happy Meal that Pops (his grandpa) bought for him during their outing together this week. So Daddy helped him put it on his fat little arm, and taught him to say "tattoo". Except he says "TAT-toooooooooo!!"

Funny--it's the first word that he's ever pronounced correctly. Everything else is "guck" or "pawk" or "la-bobt". I'm beginning to wonder if this whole tattoo fascination is a sign of things to come.

I can just picture him eighteen years from now, coming home, pointing to his arm and saying, "Look, Mom. I got a TAT-toooooooooo!!"

I think I'll curl into a ball and cry.

my little booger

2008-11-24T14:12:00.000-08:00

My son just blew his nose into his hand.

Gross? Yeah.

Icky? Sure.

Absolutely freakin' hilarious? You betcha.

so almost a month later...

2008-10-31T00:39:00.000-07:00

Blogging silence noted.

It's not that I haven't thought of a zillion things to blog about between October 3rd and now. It's not that I haven't had the time to sit down and post a little somethin'-somethin' for you bloggy-hungry fans. It's not that I haven't taken enough pictures of our last month of Moseley life. I swear, I have plenty of digital-camera-ish proof that we do still exist.

My excuse? Not really sure. And not really sure an excuse is important anyway.

Let's just say that I haven't been myself lately. And when you're not yourself, it's hard to try to pretend to be yourself so that no one will notice that you're not really yourself. Follow me?

My little funk this past month is hard to describe, so I won't bother going there. I'll just say that my life has changed in a thousand little ways over the last couple weeks, and I'm working on figuring out how to live with these adjustments. And I'm not quite back to myself yet, so it may take a while for me to start blogging again with as much regularity and hilarity as I have in the past.

I reached my breaking point this past Tuesday and it kind of woke me up to what's been going on. It scared me to realize that I didn't recognize even a small part of the girl I was that morning. She was a stranger to me, and I started to actually miss myself.

To be honest though, now that I've hit my lowest low, I feel comforted knowing I can only go up from here. I'm working through it all and trying really hard to rediscover the Becky in me that thinks burping is something to be proud of and that any white girl can dance like Beyonce if she tries hard enough. The Becky that doesn't have to be perfect, or have everything figured out.

So though this process may take a while, know that in the meantime, I'm probably in my living room shaking my little boo-tay and thinking I can at least be a pop star in my own head.

we have the worst luck...

2008-10-03T21:26:00.000-07:00

So I got rear-ended on Tuesday.

I was on my way home from Moms Group, waiting for traffic to clear so I could merge onto one of the busy streets in town (yes, traffic DOES exist in our little po-dunk town). Out of nowhere, my truck lurched forward, and I realized I'd been hit.

Right away I felt sick to my stomach, and couldn't help but let the tears flow. I tried to keep my anger and raw emotion quiet, though, so I wouldn't upset the two babies in my back seat. I was sobbing but saying "it's okay, we're okay" over and over for the sake of keeping the kids as calm as possible.

The girl who hit me looked like she was starting to just drive off, but was actually pulling into a parking lot so we could chat and exchange information. I had to pray through what I was going to say to her, even though my blubbering still came out pretty harsh. I was reprimanding her and asking what happened and letting her know that I had kids in the car--it all came out so fast. But I guess she had thought that traffic was clear and assumed I had already merged, while looking over her shoulder and pressing on the gas pedal.

I was at a dead stop. And she came at me pretty fast. I mean, there's significant damage to my truck. My beast of a car--I swear that thing is a monster. So for her to cause the huge gash that she did means she hit me hard.

Four days later I'm still dealing with severe whiplash. My neck and upper back hurt no matter what way I try to move them, so going about my usual mom business has been more than difficult. Thanks to Miss Bram, I met with a chiropractor today who is going to adjust all three of my misaligned vertebrae tomorrow afternoon. Even my little Goob got a little adjustment this morning, since his neck was slightly off as well.

So I'm in the midst of insurance policy allowances and claims representatives and personal injury settlements and auto body shops and even new carseats. As if we needed one more thing on our already heaping plate.

But here's where we shake our heads and wonder why, oh why, we're being put through the ringer right now...

Marty was driving home tonight from seeing a movie with some buddies when the truck's back tire blew out. In the pouring rain. Without a spare, since we'd already used it last year. Mind you, the truck is our only method of transportation right now. Marty's bike is out of commission and we just sold our Durango to my dad.

So we're car-less and broke. No money to pay for a replacement tire, no money to rent a car to get Marty to and from work for the next couple days while they replace the tire, fix any damage to the rim, and do all the body work needed to patch up the area where I got rear-ended. So THIS is why people have savings to dip into. And THIS is why I'm hating that we have no savings to dip into because we're living paycheck to paycheck as it is.

The funny thing is, even though I should be stressed beyond belief, all I can do is just shake my head and wonder how on earth God is going to get us through this one. Our entire marriage has been one crazy adventure after another, and we've seen God step in on our behalf time and again, so we know we'll be okay. We just don't know what that's going to look like at this point.

Maybe we should just be thankful that our precious son is too young to understand all of this. He wasn't phased by the car accident at all, and doesn't know how tight things are for Mommy and Daddy right now.

He might miss the truck, though, while it's being worked on, since every morning he walks up to our front door, points outside, and says "GUCK!" It means he wants to take a ride in the car and go somewhere fun.

So, Baby, until our "guck" comes home, you and I will have to make our living room as fun as possible. Legos and squeaky books and pillow forts, oh my!

"What the..."

2008-09-19T21:13:00.000-07:00

According to my calendar, today was International Talk Like a Pirate Day.

Arrrr. Shiver me timbers.

Madness #20--Mr. Personality

2008-09-19T14:14:00.000-07:00

Pretty much since the day Marty and I first had our "we should make babies together someday" conversation, we've dreamt about what our children would be like.

Not just what they would look like, but what different personality traits of ours they might exhibit. Dramatic like Mommy? Funny like Dad? Smart and nerdy like Mommy? Able to grow some pretty cool facial hair like Dad? Unable to freakin' parallel park a huge truck even though she's been driving it for three years now like Mommy?

We seemed to think that the moment we first held child number one in our arms, we'd have our answer. Forgot to factor in the time it takes for a baby's real colors to show through. I mean, for the first couple months, all infants really do is eat, sleep, and poop. With the occasional smile thrown in to keep its parents entertained.

Well our little Mo has finally begun to take on some characteristics of his own. Little quirks that deem him weird enough to be our child, but just awesome enough to be our child, too. And since I'm fortunate enough to get to stay home with him, and spend all day learning new things about my special guy, I thought I'd share some of my favorites.

Quirk #1: Keeping all his ducks in a row.

The other day, I was doing some work on the computer while Marty played with a handful of pens. My back was to him, so I'd turn around occasionally to see what he was up to. One such turn-around revealed a very precise row of pens on the bed, nearly parallel and equidistant to one another. And when I complimented his fine work, he smiled at me, then removed each pen, one by one, placing them back in the drawer they came from. Someone seems to have inherited his mother's irrational need to have things "just-so" around the house. I may not be clean, but you can bet that the candle-holder in our guest bathroom will always be at the exact same angle every time you come over. I'm so proud to have someone else share in my lunacy.

Quirk #2: Fridge fascination.

Now that Marty can point at the things he wants, we've enjoyed a new level of communication between us. The amount of tension and frustration in our house has certainly lessened since he just shows us why he's upset instead of crying about it and letting us scramble to do the guess-work. One thing he's always pointing at is the fridge, and he's not happy until you've opened it and let him peek inside. At first we thought it was his way of telling us he was hungry, but we've come to realize he just likes to look at whatever happens to be growing on the shelves. His father does the same thing. Open fridge, survey contents, shut fridge door. A harmless, but quite frequent ritual at our house.

Quirk #3: Feeds off of a good reaction.

He's already got a flare for the dramatic. Whether he's dancing around the living room, elbows high in the air, or trying on Daddy's clothes, Marty loves to get a reaction out of you. Preferably a laugh or squeal, even more preferably in an octave only dogs can hear. And if something makes you smile, he'll repeat it until your smiles are so fake your teeth hurt. We like to humor the little guy. Who knows, maybe he'll be a theater buff like Mama. Or a comedian like Daddy. This one could go either way, but in the meantime, we're just enjoying watching him make a goober out of himself in an effort to keep us entertained.

Quirk #4: Not so big on the rides.

Unlike most kids, who beg their parents for a quarter so they can enjoy a 30-second horsie ride in front of the dollar store before heading home, our munchy munchkin hates the thought. We've tried horses, fire trucks, monster trucks, little seats that just move in a circle--he screams bloody murder. He's the most boring kid to take to Chuck E. Cheese. He'd rather just carry one of the red ski balls around than do anything else. Not sure where this trait came from, since both Mommy and Daddy love rides--loopy loops, upside-downers, and everything. We'll just have to work him into it. Man him up a bit before his friends make fun of him for chickening out.

Quirk #5: Already obsessed with Sesame Street.

What mom hasn't ever put her child in front of the television so she can have just a few moments to herself? Guilty. But my "clever plan" to keep him occupied so I can actually shower on a more regular basis has backfired. He's addicted to Sesame Street. When it's on, his eyes almost glass over, and no amount of distraction can keep him from his favorite show. Guess I'm just glad I get to control how often he watches it. Our tv system is pretty difficult to operate, so at least for now, Mommy decides when it's time for some dancing monsters and alphabet songs. Hmmm. Who else in our house gets obsessed with certain tv shows? And has their own version of the glass-eyes look? And will have the occasional drool stain on their shirt to show off just how tuned in they are?

Quirk #5: Our creature of habit.

When my mother-in-law watched Marty for a week, I was so worried that I'd forget to tell her about all the little rituals we do on a regular basis. We hit the wind chimes every time we walk up to the front door. We stroll down to the mailbox every afternoon, hand-in-hand. We sing songs during diaper changes, and call his cups "sippys". And my goodness, if I forget to carry out even one of these tiny habits we've formed, a certain little guy lets me know. He'll fuss until we go back out to the front porch and hit the chimes. He'll start singing and chatting when he's getting his diaper changed if I'm silent. What a good little reminder-er I have! But if we're still calling cups "sippys" in high school, our creature of habit might have to start breaking a few of them.

Quirk #6: Bookworm-status.

Marty and I have always loved to read. This year, we're even having a reading contest to see who can conquer more pages by December. So it's only fitting that our littlest family member be hooked on books too. He'll carry his pile of cardboard goodies around the house, then sit down and open them up. He'll move his eyes as though actually reading, and turn the pages when he feels he's given that spread a good pause or two. And the books that are more interactive, like the ones that have little squeakers in them or that have flaps you can lift to reveal things underneath are prized possessions to our reader. We're already arguing about whether to buy him the Harry Potter or Hardy Boys series first.

Quirk #7: A very manly shoe fetish.

Someone just loves to wear shoes. Maybe that's why he somehow managed to collect at least six pairs that fit him at the moment. Not counting his Elmo slippers. But he'll bring me his shoes, and hold them out to me until I put them on for him. I think he assumes it means I'll take him outside, but usually by the time his shoes are on, he's just so excited to be wearing them that he forgets about playing in the yard and happily toddles off. Where did this little fetish come from? I won't even tell you how many pairs of shoes his father has.

So that's our son in his own little nutty nutshell. Thanks for taking the time to get to know him better, as we continue to learn just how funny and quirky he's turning out to be.

We'll keep you posted if he starts belting out Broadway showtunes or eats Top Ramen breakfast-lunch-and-dinner. Monkey see, monkey do! Or is that Moseley see, Moseley do?

Either way, we're just fascinated. Is it wrong to just sit and stare at your child for hours on end? With the same ferver usually spent staring at the fridge contents or reading about Clifford the Big Red Dog?

coffee speak

2008-09-13T21:00:00.000-07:00

I worked at Starbucks for about three years.

Three years of waking up at 4am and thinking it was normal. Three years of washing the same white polo and black pants almost daily. Three years of arranging and rearranging pastries in the pastry case, only to have someone come along and rearrange it to their own liking. Three years of green aprons and MUG awards and counting tips and grumpy morning people. Three years of correcting people when they tried to order a no-foam cappuchino. Such a thing doesn't exist.

I grew to be a bit of a Starbucks snob. You know, the baristas that give you a bit of attitude when you order something silly or ask for the wrong thing.

But I have to admit, before I got hired there, my coffee knowledge was limited to only knowing how to order the trendy caramel "frap", which I hated and thought had too much coffee in it. My friend and I used to ask for triple the syrup in our white mochas because they just weren't sweet enough. Our own "candy bar in a cup".

Now that I know how much sugar already goes into a white mocha, the idea of tripling that disgusts me. And I know better than to refer to anything as a "frap". And I can impress just about anyone when I go up to the counter and order my iced decaf single grande five-pump toffee nut breve light ice latte without skipping a beat.

But we all start somewhere, right? We all start out knowing just about nothing when it comes to the correct term for half whole, half non-fat milk. And that creme frappichinos don't have any coffee in them. And that decaf espresso shots still have just a smidgen of caffeine in them.

I've become that coffee illiterate customer once again. Now that I frequent Dutch Bros to visit Bobby and get myself a medium annihilator on the not-so-medium-heat days, I'm starting from scratch on my coffee speak. Breve now refers to a drink instead of just a type of milk. And blended drinks are actually blended. Different coffee company, entirely different coffee language.

I kind of like the challenge. I like asking questions and trying to figure things out and making connections in my head. Rather stimulating for someone whose usual daily conversations consist of more "ba"s and "dooka-dooka"s than anything else.

My dad always used to send us off to school saying, "Learn something new today!" Well, Dad, I'm doing you proud in my own little coffee way.

pimpin' it up...

2008-09-12T08:00:00.000-07:00

My goodness. Tiny Marty and his girlfriends. Little do they realize that he's trying to date about fifteen women at the same time.

"The Day My Son Peed in My Mouth"

2008-09-09T21:22:00.000-07:00

Eh-HEM.

So a certain friend of mine has been encouraging me to enter a certain writing contest. I finally gave in, figuring that I spend enough time writing blogs anyway. Why not name one an "essay" and see if I might win something for it?

I was instructed to write about the most important day of my life. And somewhere between my stressful day and lack of sleep, this is what I came up with:

The Day My Son Peed in My Mouth

In thinking about the most important day of my life, the day that most stands out in my memory as a key turning point, why is it that a little sprinkle of urine is what comes to mind? Shouldn't I be thinking of something more significant, like being diagnosed with my chronic illness, graduating from high school, getting married, giving birth to my son? Those moments are the moments we recount time and again, the moments we scrapbook about, minus the colonoscopy pictures taken to determine that I do indeed have Crohn's disease. But even those photos come out to play on the rare occasion--when a party's conversation lulls and I've gotten enough margaritas in me to feel comfortable passing around evidence of my inflamed inner-workings.

Clearly, I have never been one to adhere to any type of norm, so my most significant, life-altering moment isn't one you'll find documented, framed, and hung in my hallway next to the pictures of my husband and I trying to look cool doing our superhero poses. No, my moment took place on a day like any other. Without any big announcement or fanfare, or even the tiniest sprinkle of confetti. Really, the moment came and went in an instant. My son, during a routine diaper change, peed in my mouth.

Back up several years. Think the 80's in all its side-ponytail-glory. I was quite the dramatic child. The one that would beg for my dad's attention anytime he had the video camera out. I would prance and dance and wear crazy pants just so people would notice me. My life was a constant, never-ending performance. And that theatrical theme carried on into junior high. Then high school. I was honored with the leading lady roles in just about every single one of the plays our drama class put on. I would memorize my lines to perfection, and embrace my transformation into Anne of Green Gables, or Esther, Judy Garland's gal in "Meet Me in St. Louis". I was filling some big shoes, whether tap or jazz or stilettos, and loved every waking moment. The cheers of a crowd applauding just for you. A standing ovation on the night you were brave enough to attempt the highest high note without switching into your falsetto. Really, most audience members overlook any voice crack if you smile wide enough.

But the result of my Broadway-an aspirations was a life that almost seemed fake to me. I knew how to switch from role to role--daughter to sister to best friend to girlfriend to wife and now to mom. How many times did I walk into a room, crazy pants and all, and enter as merely a version of myself? Did anyone, does anyone, know the real me? I never lied about anything. I never pretended to be someone that I wasn't. I just kind of floated through the years playing all of my roles, but secretly and desperately wishing that I knew how to make that life my own. I knew it would require some kind of drastic change, a wake-up-call of sorts.

Why not wake up to a steady stream of warm urine trickling down my face? Amidst the whirlwind of dating then engagement then marriage then pregnancy then actually delivering a baby, I became a mother. A role I had sought my whole life, but couldn't really enjoy without feeling like I was actually the one playing it. Talk about your out-of-body experience. Try an out-of-body lifetime.

Until I failed to cover a flailing penis that chose to unload its pee-pee on me-me. The moment that salty sweetness hit my lips, I found myself rudely awakened to the fact that my life was different from the one it was when I fell asleep. I'm not sure what happened to the little side-pony-tailed, gap-toothed blonde whose entire existence was spent writing song lyrics in the shower, on the toilet, or wherever creativity chose to strike. In her place, I found a desperately tired mother whose stomach was still the size of a bowling ball, and had seemed to lose all sense of fashion the moment she took a certain little earthling home from the hospital. I can remember that moment as clearly as if it happened this morning, never mind that I got peed on during today's sunrise diaper change, too.

But at that particular moment, I knew I had a choice. I could choose to grab for the perfect performance version of myself, ever seeking to impress those around me no matter how tiring. Or I could embrace this older, foreign woman with breast milk stains and vomit on her wrinkly maternity shirt and let myself really laugh for once. I chose to laugh.

Over a year later, I'm laughing still, enjoying every waking moment of my hum-drum, but perfectly abnormal life. At least now I know it's my life to live. Poopy colonoscopy pictures and all.

our cruisey-cruise

2008-09-08T21:15:00.000-07:00

Yes, it was fabulous. Just as we expected.

We came back tanner, awake-er, and in-love-er. Meaning we enjoyed the occasional afternoon nap stretched out in the sun by the pool. Meaning we took advantage of the baby-free opportunity to "just be us". Amazing the talks you can have without a child there distracting you with a runny nose or demand for more apple juice.

The highlights of our trip? I thought I'd list them for your easy-reading and not-as-boring-as-writing-out-every-detail pleasure. Pictures included where appropriate so those of you who don't particularly care to hear about our trip at least have something to look at.

--Day 1: Getting onboard. Probably our number one highlight because we weren't as lucky on the last cruise we tried to take. I seriously wasn't comfortable until we sailed away from the dock, thinking they would still somehow cancel it. But once we'd left the harbor, I felt okay. Loved exploring the ship in all its non-cancelled-cruise-glory.

--Day 1: Stuffing our faces at the open buffet. Pizza, hamburgers, diet Coke a-plenty. I swear, that first all-you-can-eat meal was ridiculous. I think we really did eat all we could eat. Then waddled to our room afterwards for a nap. As if sleeping off all that food would help. It didn't.

--Day 1: Our muster drill, during which we got to dress up as floating traffic cones and try to squeeze onto the outer ship deck with hundreds of other cone-ish sweaty people. A joy, really.

--Day 1: Winning a free back and neck massage. A true highlight. When we first walked onboard, this cute little Philippino woman took my face in her hands and told me I was beautiful. How's that for a welcome, huh? Then she gave me a couple raffle tickets for the drawing that would be held at the spa later that evening. I freakin' won. I never win anything, so it felt hecka good. The massage was pretty cool, too. I really did start relaxing almost the minute our trip began.

--Day 1: Getting all dressed up for dinner. Ordering our first margarita. Watching the little "Welcome Aboard" show with several sub-par but super-smiley singers and dancers. But the theater was just amazing. So many little lounge areas and waiters asking what you wanted to drink and different levels of red-velvet-covered seats, I nearly cried at the sight.

--Day 1: Watching the after-dinner magic and comedy show. Crazy what that guy did with a handful of little yellow balls.

--Day 2: Waking up an hour late. Why was this fun? Because it means we slept so well, we didn't hear our alarm ringing every five minutes for an entire hour. I swear that boat just rocks you to sleep.

--Day 2: The San Diego Zoo. Yeah, it's a ton of walking up and down extensive trails that make you wonder where the animals actually are, but it was super fun. For a giraffe junkie like myself, it was well-worth our splintered shins and burnt shoulders. Seriously, though, I'm an addict. A fellow long-neck. I was actually nicknamed "GG" (for Giraffe Girl) in highschool because I'd wear the giraffe shirt I made pretty regularly. The front said, "Tall blondes need help." The back? "Save the giraffes!" Oh my gosh. There was a giraffe song and everything.

--Day 2: Working on our tans. Watching people walk around wearing bathing suits they really shouldn't have been wearing. Wearing our OWN bathing suits that we shouldn't have been wearing. Actually, mine is kind of cute.

--Day 2: Our formal dinner, and getting to recycle one of Candace's old bridesmaid dresses. Yeah, I was going to wear an old prom dress, but the dress Candace lent me actually allowed me to breathe. So I went with that one. Naturally. Beautiful, ain't we?

--Day 3: Catalina Island's Lovers' Cove Snorkel Tour. I could see our ship from where we snorkeled. I could also see this really awkward guy who kept talking to me and calling me an angel but saying I made him nervous then asking me to zip up his wetsuit for him the minute Marty went over to the lockers. Guess the fish weren't the only things that freaked me out that afternoon.

--Day 3: Shopping along Catalina's little beachfront walkway. I bought a three-dollar magazine that one could find in just about any grocery store. I didn't buy a forty-dollar shirt that looked better on the hanger.

--Day 3: Attending an art auction based on the promise that we'd be served free champagne for warming a seat cushion. Didn't get the bubbly. We did, however, nearly warm our seats with pee, etc., when the auctioneer told Marty that because he scratched his nose at the wrong time, he was put down for a $48,000 bid on a Peter Max. Right. Because if we had $48,ooo, we'd totally be spending it on an ugly painting. Good thing he was joking. We should have gotten free champagne for getting picked on and laughed at.

--Day 3: Buying cheap crap just because we felt like it. We each picked out a new watch at the ten-dollar sale. Mine cost $20 because I had to get it re-sized. Poopy pants. Though it is nice to now realize how stupid I look when I ask for the time and someone points out that I'm wearing it on my wrist.

--Day 3: Our waiter dressing up like Batman to serenade us. Everyone else just balanced plates on their heads. We got the superhero! We probably needed the super-human help after the three appetizers, three entrees, and two desserts Marty ordered. Hey--free food, right?

--Day 3: A midnight chocolate buffet. Some serious desserty goodness. Some serious weight gain. But we had fun taking our treats back to our room and enjoying them while watching "Enchanted". Though according to Marty, we watched "Die Hard". He'd never see a movie with singing cartoon chipmunks and Patrick Dempsey in it.

--Day 4: Ensenada. A big Mexican flag. And a sun so bright, we were barely able to snap a picture before our eyes melted.

--Day 4: Rock-climbing on the ship's rock wall. Being the newer climber myself, I liked the idea of easy-to-grip holds and wearing a harness. Imagine my surprise when one of the guys running the ropes told me I should enter the Adult Speed-Climbing Competition. What the heck, right? So a couple people laugh at me. I was promised a free key-chain for participating. Marty signed up with me, and we both walked away with silver medals! I guess I was the second-fastest female climber on the ship, and Marty the second-fastest of the guys. We even got free t-shirts along with our key-chains. What what! Not that we're proud about it or anything.

--Day 4: Marty tripping while walking down the stairs to which I yelled, "What an IDIOT." It was hilarious. But what was funnier was Marty trying to return the favor when I did something embarrassing, and there being two little kids standing right there who looked horrified at him speaking to me so rudely. We laughed until we cried and had to pee.

--Day 4: Trying to share our own little "Titanic" moment, by watching the sun set at the front of the ship. Not quite as romantic as we planned, with sticky salty hair and flapping earrings. But the idea was just perfect, and the couple minutes we lasted were gems.

--Day 4: Comedy night with Troy Thirdgill. My favorite joke of his? "I've never understood why people refer to me as 'colored'. Who came up with that? Probably some white guy. How does he know he wasn't 'erased'?"

--Day 4: Hitting up the club for a couple drinks and the idea of dancing. But since there were only about three people on the dance floor, and a certain husband refused to groove with a certain wife, we sat there awkwardly, didn't finish our white russian and vodka shot, and left to go get what little sleep we still could before waking up at six the next morning.

--Day 5: So sleepy. Big breakfast. Goodbye ship. Goodbye thirty-three different foreign accents. Goodbye little towel animals and tiny stateroom. Goodbye best sleep we've ever gotten. Goodbye stingy-water shower. Goodbye adventure. Goodbye favorite vacation ever.

--Day 5: Seeing our little Goobs for the first time in about a week, and watching his face light up when he realized it was really his Mama and Daddy. That we hadn't forgotten about him, and came home after all. Poor thing would carry our picture around the house while we were gone, pointing to us and whining. It felt good to be missed. Felt good to come home to the runny nose and apple juice demands, knowing our son was ready to pick up where we left off.

Whew! So we're home and recooped and regrouped and rebooped. Meaning we feel good and the trip served its purpose. A great time was had by all.

Except maybe for the elephants in San Diego that didn't appreciate us capturing them at so rude an angle. What can I say? We're just our own little couple of elephant butts ourselves, so I thought it was appropriate. Maybe not.

Well from one rear end to another, hope you find yourself an equally wonderful vacation someday, awkward bathing suits, superhero waiters, burning eyeballs, and all.

third year's a charm...

2008-09-03T09:00:00.000-07:00

Happy 3rd anniversary to us!

In typical Pecaut and Bram and Read fashion, I thought I'd take you on a little photo journey of the relationship that got Marty and I to where we are now, three moves, two new cars, and a baby later.

So let's take it back. Way back. Marty and I actually grew up together at church, so we've known each other for twenty-some years. Our families may have been in different social circles, but I always thought Marty was pretty smokin' fine. Even though he was my older brother's friend and I was six and a half years younger. A girl can dream, can't she? Regardless of how awkward it would be to end up with someone who your parents almost hired to babysit you for an evening?

Anyway, fast forward several lifetimes to my senior year of high school. Marty had just moved back to San Jose after attending the fire academy here in Redding. Our church's new worship pastor at the time was holding auditions for a vocal ensemble that would sing up front every week. My best friend Amanda encouraged me to try out, and boy was I glad I did. When Marty walked in, I nearly fainted. In the best way possible.

So began our friendship that quickly became more serious. Marty still claims that when he walked into the sanctuary that morning, he saw me and just knew that he was going to marry me. He didn't remember my name, and it took him a while to realize it was little ol' me, but he just knew I was his wifey-to-be. Took me a bit longer to come to that realization, but I made it.

We dated for two years, then Marty surprised me the morning after my twentieth birthday with a sunrise proposal in his parents' living room, complete with a pathway down the stairs covered in rose petals, candy canes (I'm a December baby), pictures of us, and little tea candles. I guess he had this elaborate speech planned but was too excited to deliver it. He just asked if I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him and I replied with a hearty, "Okay!" We spent the rest of the day in San Fran, where I was terrified someone was going to try to steal my gorgeous solitaire princess-cut single-carat engagement ring. I still don't have anything as valuable.

Anyway, we married nine months later on September 3rd, 2005 at the church we grew up in together. Pretty sentimental. We were joined by hundreds, and felt so so loved. We honeymooned in Texas after our Carribean cruise was canceled thanks to Hurricane Katrina, but despite the sudden change in plans, we were just thrilled to finally be married.

We moved to Fresno right away to chase a job opportunity for Marty, and I enjoyed picking up where I left off in my schooling, studying psychology at Fresno State, and working full time as a shift supervisor at Starbucks. We were busy little bees.

But thanks to Marty's job, we were still able to get out and about. We've been to Disneyland six times together as a couple. It's kind of our own little "Happiest Place on Earth".

We also enjoyed putting together a "Party Weekend" for our San Jose friends while we were down in Fresno. We had everyone stay with us for a weekend, watching movies, renting jet skiis and riding around on a local lake. A three hundred dollar grocery bill and thirteen dishwasher loads and fifteen sleeping bags spread out in our living room made for a great time. We loved being able to bless others with our little home.

Marty also surprised me with a trip to New York for my birthday to go see "Wicked" on Broadway. It was the trip of a lifetime for me, a musical theater buff, who had never seen the stage actor's "holy land". I was so excited about the show that I cried through most of it, mouthing the words to each song, and wishing I was onstage too. Central Park, the Rockefeller Center, shopping along 5th Avenue, dining at the prestigious "21 Club", Times Square, Ground Zero. My my my.

When our first anniversary rolled around, we decided to take off again and stayed at the same hotel we were in on our wedding night. Honeymoon suite and everything. We did some wine tasting at a local winery and just enjoyed being us.

Well, that night I "proposed" to Marty with a pacifier and asked if he would start a family with me. We got pregnant that night. Guess God was ready to have baby make three! What a miracle that was, since our health issues were supposed to keep us from being able to conceive very quickly. We really do think of little Mo as our precious surprise.

But despite our baby joy, we never really "clicked" in Fresno. It isn't exactly a family-friendly community, seeing as how people get shot in local mall parking lots pretty regularly. So when Marty got laid off in January of 2007 due to the falling mortgage industry, we were excited about exploring other options. Nevermind that we were five months pregnant at the time.

We took a little break from everything and went to visit my brother and his wife in Seattle--to clear our heads and pray over where God wanted us to go from there.

Enter Redding. A job offer came through and we practically jumped at the chance. I was into my eighth month by then and was the size of a cow, so it was pretty hard to get everything packed up and moved, but we made it somehow and settled into our little apartment.

About a month later, Marty number four joined our little family. That's another story in itself, but just know it really strengthened our marriage and drew us closer together, since neither of us had any idea what to do with the little booger. When we brought him home from the hospital, we literally set him down and said, "Okay, that was fun. Now what?"

That "now what" eventually blossomed into the life we just love to pieces. We have an adorable son that we thank God for even in the midst of the poopiest diapers, we're in a beautiful house whose constant need for upkeep just adds to its charm, we have the best friends a couple of nerds could ever ask for, and a church community that constantly reminds us of how good God really is.

Sure, in our time together, we've dealt with more than most people will in a lifetime, but we've managed to smile even through our tears. In the midst of our chronic illnesses flaring up, emergency hospital visits, being so broke we only ate rice for a week or two, both losing a grandmother, getting laid off twice, and completely uprooting our lives to chase a job more than once, we've embraced the opportunities to grow closer together and fight as one.

As a result, three years into our marriage we are happier than we have ever been. Which is hard to believe, since we've said the same thing almost every day since we first "met".

We look forward to seeing where the next however-many years will take our marriage. What a joy to know we have a lifetime of lessons to learn and love to give.

Bring it on! We'll be dancing and laughing our way in to year number three...

a typical Moseley car ride

2008-08-29T13:00:00.000-07:00

A whiny baby, singing Daddy, and some kind of threat...

Madness #19--our little ballerina

2008-08-27T08:00:00.000-07:00

Who knew that a couple shakes of the elbow or wiggles of the butt could make us laugh this hard?

a-camping we will go

2008-08-26T17:39:00.000-07:00

Or actually, a-camping we have gone.

Fun times this past weekend with the Browns and Pecauts, Bobby's sister Meghan included. Everyone graciously put up with my screaming child who appeared to be terrified of our tent, and who liked to wander off into the woods or nearest campsite on his own, requiring constant chasing after. But whiney attitudes aside, on all the Moseleys' parts, it was a great trip.

Think bouldering on the beach and rock-climbing wifeys and children eating sand and banana slugs in sleeping bags and big blue balls and over-priced graham crackers and spider horror stories and a huge metal duck and more redneck hicks than anyone would know what to do with. Other than round them up for a salmon and flower-salad dinner and watch them dance to harmonica music, wine coolers in hand.

My highlight this weekend, though? Actually rock-climbing for the very first time. I don't have climbing shoes so I haven't even tried scaling the wall in our backyard. But Candace had an extra pair and since we both have equally large feet, I no longer had an excuse to stay grounded. I climbed probably the easiest boulder ever, but that feeling of reaching the top and knowing that your own strength and endurance got you there is quite the high. I get it, Billy.

What say we do this again next year? Anyone else care to join in? Really, the prancing country-folk and sandy diapers are something you just have to see for yourself.

back to senior prom

2008-08-25T09:00:00.000-07:00

Happy one week count-down to our "cruise-a-birth-a-versary". (Bobby's word to describe the "cruise" we're taking to celebrate Marty's 30th "birth"-day, but that happens to fall on our anni-"versary").

Explanation of our weirdness aside, that's right folks, a week from now, Marty and I will be sailing the high seas, sans baby. And I can't freakin' wait. Who cares if we're only going to San Diego, Catalina Island, and Ensenada? Who cares if it was the cheapest cruise we could find and apparently the oldest ship that Royal Carribean will still put in water? We've never cruised before, so it'll all be magical to us, cheesey 80's cruise ship decor included.

And being the outfit planner that I am--whether or not this is the only area in my life that I bother thinking ahead about--I've been wrestling for weeks over what to wear for our one formal dinner. I have to look fabulous. Without spending a dime.

Last week I decided to get creative and pull my old prom dresses out of the guestroom closet. I dusted them off and thought I'd see if I could squeeze into one. My "senior in high school" body is long gone, so I prepared myself for the worst. Shock and awe, after a couple minutes of fighting with a zipper or two, I did it! Expanded post-pregnancy rib cage and all! Maybe I HAVE been losing weight recently. Wouldn't know. I hid our bathroom scale a long time ago.

Now how to update the "senior in high school" beaded halter-top look to something a little more current? Here's where my Project Runway-ish-ness came into play. I folded down the halter straps to make it a strapless evening gown. And it doesn't look too stupid! I'm my own little Vera Wang in the making. Proof of my designer intellect:

So I get to recycle a great dress, save money in the process, but still sport a totally new look! That's heaven to a penniless shopoholic like myself.

I should start a little fashion disaster hotline, for those women like myself whose budgets don't allow for a shopping spree every time another formal event comes up, but who still like to feel pretty in something new. Maybe fashion.crisis.aversion.com? Or 1-800-SENIOR-PROM?

Thanks to my prowess during this particular tale, I'll be rockin' the boat.

sisterly love

2008-08-23T09:00:00.000-07:00

My baby sister is all grown up.

Today, she's moving to Denmark.

Hannah has always been the smartest of us Palm kids. We're all nerds, but her nerdiness outshines even my brother's newest Ti-89 graphing calculator. And the fact that I know what a Ti-89 graphing calculator is.

Anyway, that smartness has propelled her into intellectual areas I'd never be brave enough to touch. How about four AP classes her senior year? How about getting a perfect score on each one of those AP tests? How about attending a prestigious college and taking organic chemistry? Getting grades that make o-chem look as easy as bowling-101?

Need I even mention that I'm pretty proud of her? For a college-dropout like myself, she more than makes up for my lack of academic achievements. She's our family's own shining star.

So she's moving to Copenhagen. To study abroad for a couple months and see the world in the process. The difference between Hannah and the rest of us? She actually does the things she's always dreamed of doing. She's going to be a pediatrician, which means my siblings and I will be fighting over which of our home-towns she'll be moving to someday. Wanting her to take care of our kids in all her loving-ness and that smart-ness I've been bragging about.

But in the meantime, Europe gets to house our Hannie for a spell. And while I can't stand the thought of not seeing her for four months--my boo, my lovey love--I'm so excited for her and for this adventure she's brave enough to embark on by herself.

I just wish Denmark and Redding were a LITTLE bit closer to each other.

old at heart

2008-08-21T18:27:00.000-07:00

I know I don't quite look my age. I don't have to be reminded.

My whole life I've dealt with people thinking I'm younger than I actually am. I can remember being offered a kiddie menu as a teenager. I can remember people confusing me with my younger sister because they just couldn't believe that I was the older sibling. I cried at my bachelorette party because a loud-mouthed onlooker accused me of being too young to get married, claiming I looked twelve, and that she hoped it ended in a divorce. And you better believe that any time I try to buy alcohol or order a drink, I get the weirdest looks. I'm carded every time, and have even had my license checked to see if I was toting a fake ID. I look THAT young.

And just today, in the Dutch Bros drive-thru, I was asked if I was on my way home from school. As in high school. Maybe the baby talking in my truck's backseat wasn't clue enough, so I said, "I don't go to school. I'm a mom." Of course, I got that "too bad you got knocked up before your senior year" look.

I've mentioned this frustration before. But I never really explained why a trait that others would envy has always bothered me so much.

See, I was diagnosed with my Crohns disease at the end of my sixth grade year. So while all my friends were going through their crazy growth spurts, my body had stopped growing altogether. It kind of took a couple years off, as it worked on fighting the inflammation in my intestines and adapting to all the medication I was taking.

It kind of made me bitter watching my buddies buy their training bras and shaving their legs, while I was stuck in "little girl" mode. Sure, I caught up later, but know that even that one year affected me for a lifetime. I would have been taller. I probably would look my age. And it makes me mad that my illness took that from me.

I know I'll be thankful for my youthful appearance someday, but for now I find myself fighting it. I wrestle over what outits make me look too juvenile. I've tried several different haircuts over the years to see what added that little bit of maturity to my look. I've mastered the art of flashing my wedding ring to prove that I'm married. That I'm legit. My best friend is three years older than me and somehow, when we're out together, she makes me feel like I look more "mom-ish".

But hey, years down the road, I'll get to be that "hot mama" that I've always wanted to be. I just better look older than the little girlfriends my son brings home!

why I smile...

2008-08-20T22:11:00.000-07:00

Happiness is...

...finding a diaper rash cream that actually DOES reduce redness in one diaper change.
...a loving husband who's willing to get up in the middle of the night to grab an extra blanket for you.
...saving money on shampoo by cutting eight inches off your hair.
...watching your son try to rock climb for the first time.
...a nice, long, hot shower.
...knowing that letting your child watch "Sesame Street" once a week doesn't make you a bad mom.
...finding time to nap in the middle of the day.
...a new polka-dotted shirt from Macy's that only cost you eight bucks.
...having someone tell you that you look thinner even though you're not trying to lose weight.
...being told that you're going to be a first-time auntie.
...a bowl of cold applesauce.
...knowing that it's okay to cry over the phone when you're talking to your mom.
...sleeping in.
...seeing your best friend's face light up with joy over her precious little family.
...your son playing so hard during the day that when it's time for bed he practically hugs his crib.
...watching "Smallville" episodes back-to-back-to-back-to-back-to-back.
...having sisters.
...a piece of confetti cake with cow-print icing.
...sitting down with your husband after a long day and getting to just talk.
...getting out that piece of corn that's been stuck in your teeth all night.
...a sippy cup full of cold milk.
...a sippy cup full of cold milk with one ice cube in it.
...acknowledging that you actually have something to be happy about.

long overdue...

2008-08-19T02:50:00.000-07:00

BEFORE

AFTER

Madness #19--that first word

2008-08-18T14:42:00.000-07:00

So, we finally figured out what Marty's first word was.

See, for so long, he's been babbling like a brook, saying all sorts of things in his own special language. Several times we'd hear words that sounded familiar, and wonder if they counted as his first step into a recognizable vocabulary. He's said "gek-um" and "ba", as his proud and curious parents looked on, thinking he was saying "you're welcome" or describing his favorite rubber ball.

Nope. Funny that he usually only said those things right after we did.

Another mom, probably mine, explained that a baby's first word is the first word that they not only recognize, but understand how to use. Like they have to say it in the right context.

So even though Marty knows what it means to be "all done" and obediently brings me things when I ask for them, he has to actually say something to make it count as word number one.

That word finally graced his lips. Drumroll, please.

My son's very first official utterance? "Whoa". Seriously, why am I not surprised that my kid would be the one with such a weird first word? Write THAT one in a baby book. Add THAT one to his first-year scrapbook. Goo. Whoa.

It started when we were in Pennsylvania last month, and my crazy family tried to do a water balloon toss with all however-many-like-sixty-ish of us. Apparently every time the balloons were tossed, he'd respond at the appropriate time with a little "whoa". Shocked face and bug eyes and all.

Enter Marty's 30th birthday party at the Pecauts last weekend. We played cornhole, and every time a beanbag was thrown across the yard his little "whoas" would come out to play too.

Enter watching the olympics with my brother and his wife Sunday morning. Marty and I love all the water sports--swimming, diving, polo. Synchronized, though Marty would never admit that. Anyway, we were checking out the divers, and every time an athlete would hit the water, every time there was even the smallest splash, he'd yell a huge "whoa" from his high chair. And he had the best seat in the house, so he didn't miss a single dive. He'd even "whoa" the slo-mo replays.

Adorable. I'd say it got old after a while, but I'd be lying if I did. Still hilarious every time. You just have to see his little "whoa" face to appreciate the full effect.

So sometime, when he's around, you've got to either toss something or do a double-flip-twisty-bendy-somersault into a pool. And you'll get the cutest little "whoa" you've ever heard.

Starbucks gear for sale...

2008-08-14T09:00:00.000-07:00

Sigh. I can't believe I'm stooping to this level. Read on.

Friends and fellow Starbucks fanatics, I'm trying to unload my stash. Of Starbucks gear, that is.

Check out the goods at starbucksstuff.blogspot.com.

I worked for the company for three years, two as a shift supervisor. During my time there, when waking up at 4am seemed normal to me, I managed to build up quite the collection. I have rare Starbucks cards and other collectibles worth checking out. I've listed all the prices, but would be willing to negotiate.

I guess I'm ready for that chapter of my life to be over, huh?

Anyway, email me at mamamoseley@hotmail.com if anything interests you! Or just leave a comment on the blog with your email address.

Thanks for looking, and keep on drinking!

P.S. Is it painfully obvious that Marty and I are trying to score some extra cash? Poopy pants.

"Why Parents Drink"

2008-08-12T22:26:00.000-07:00

A father passing by his son's bedroom was astonished to see that his son's bed was nicely made and everything usually adorning his messy floor was picked up. Then he noticed an envelope, propped up prominently on the pillow and addressed to 'Dad.' With a horrible feeling in his gut, he opened the envelope with trembling hands and read the letter.

"Dear Dad,

It is with great regret and sorrow that I'm writing you. But I had to elope with my new girlfriend because I wanted to avoid a scene with you and Mom. Stacy is so nice, and we've developed a passionate relationship in the week we've been dating. I never brought her home, since I knew you would not approve of her piercings, tattoos, tight motorcycle clothes and the fact that she is much older than I am. But it's not only the passion, Dad. She's pregnant.

Stacy promises that we will be very happy. She owns a trailer in the woods and a stack of firewood that'll last us the whole winter. We share a dream of having many more children. And Stacy has opened my eyes to the fact that marijuana doesn't really hurt anyone. We'll be growing it for ourselves and trading it with the other people that live nearby for their cocaine and ecstasy. So really, it's a great business investment. In the meantime, we will pray that science finds a cure for AIDS so Stacy can get better. She deserves it.

But don't worry Dad. I'm 15 and I know how to take care of myself. Someday I'm sure that we will be back to visit so that you can get to know your grandchildren and new daughter-in-law, even if she's Mom's age. Maybe they could be friends.

Love,
your son John

PS. Dad, none of the above is true. I'm over at Tommy's house. I just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than the report card that's in my top desk drawer. I love you. Call me when it's safe to come home."

Madness #18--magic sippys

2008-08-11T00:46:00.000-07:00

My son is growing up too fast. And I seem to be getting dumber all the while.

So Marty graduated to a "big boy" sippy cup a couple months ago. I'm even contemplating packing up his bottles and storing them in the garage until Moseley #4 comes along. Gasp. Those bottles have gotten us through some sleepless nights, so it would be a rough goodbye for me.

But it's time to move on. We started little Goobie off with your basic, 6-ounce sippy, with a rubbery top so he could suck on it pretty easily. But six measly ounces just doesn't cut it anymore. I knew I had to invest in some 10-ouncers, so he wouldn't keep coming to me for refills a hundred times a day.

Went to Target. Picked out Gerber's finest--really, the ones that were on sale, and even cheaper with my coupon. And of course, we had to get the boy colors, since I knew my husband would not appreciate seeing his son drink out of a pink cup, no matter how often he takes a sip here and there when Alyssum's is lying around. But blue and green it was.

That night, I eagerly filled Goob's blue sippy with water and stuck it in the fridge so it would be nice and cold the next morning. Kind of a "good morning, breakfast wake-me-up". But when I went to retrieve it the following AM, the sippy was gone! In its place was a purple one of the same make and model. Purple?! But that's a girl color!

My mom happened to be standing there, and I showed her what happened, asking how the purple one got into the fridge. I must have been tired, because I could have sworn that someone broke into my house and pulled a sippy switch on me. But nothing else in the house was different. I was so confused. Until my mom calmly answered, "Becky, it probably just changes color when it gets cold."

D'oh! Can I blame this one on being blonde as a child? I swear, I think I have the smarts, and then pull a stunt like this one. I'm sure it'll go down in my family history next to the time I thought that Canadians said "ya" instead of "eh". My Swedish roots were surely shuddering in the one-eighth of me they occupy.

Maybe I'll blame all this on the fact that I converse with a fourteen-month-old most of the day, whose latest intellectual acheivement was to immitate his Mommy saying, "Don't touch." And to toss a beanbag at his little baby buddies. So in the grand scheme of things, thinking a sippy-snatcher broke into my fridge is really not that bad.

Right? Guys? Right?!

two weddings and a baby

2008-08-06T17:11:00.000-07:00

Seems like we're always out-of-town these days.

Some of our trips have been obligation trips. But most have been "because we really really want to be there" trips. Last weekend was one of those.

We drove down to San Jose Thursday night and got to hang out with my brother and sister-in-law at the old Bux for a couple hours. Enjoying a few laughs over lattes. Then we headed to my in-laws where we were met with some pretty freakin' cool news--I'm going to be an aunt thanks to Matt and Anna's mad baby-making skills. I started crying right away, as did all the other women there, one of which can at least blame it on pregnancy hormones. But really, our little Moseley fam couldn't be more thrilled to be welcoming another tiny member.

Friday we attended one of the ritziest (is that a word?) weddings I've probably ever been to. And thankfully I didn't have to chase a little munchy munchkin around the whole time, since we dropped precious Goobie off with my parents that morning. But really, the wedding was gorgeous and made my own nuptual affair seem more WalMart-status next to this wedding's Martha Stewart-ness. There were even pearls hanging from trees.

I loved being a part--the bride is a Moseley family friend who Marty grew up with and I knew from church. The highlight, though? A fellow guest admitting to me that she wasn't wearing underwear, another admitting that her thong was riding up her butt, and Matt, my brother-in-law, chasing down the appetizer trays on behalf of his adorably pregnant wife.

Later, on the dance floor, I tried to shake it and failed miserably. I should really stop trying--I STILL look like a duck trying to whistle when I dance.

Saturday held wedding number two in honor of one of my dearest friends from high school, Mrs. Mary Christine Virginia Baynhem Pitts Wilcox. No joke. But my sweet Christie looked fabulous.

The festivities were held in Monterey, so my best friend from high school, Amanda, and her husband Ryan, tagged along with Marty and I in our beastly truck. On the way there, we had to stop and pee, a detour during which one of our Amanda and Becky Adventures readily ensued. Seriously, weird things happen to us. Let's just say we laughed so hard we almost had to pee all over again. Icky icky.

Funny how when I hang out with my high school buds, it's easy to revert back to my goofy, slightly annoying and loud-mouthed high school self. My pal Nathan was there, and we enjoyed laughing over watery margaritas and salted rims on plastic cups. Laughing AT the people who were drunk within five minutes of us being there, the people who cheered at every little thing and tried to dance while holding their beer. Beats us trying to entertain ourselves in ninth grade by dressing up like Christian punks and walking the local mall.

So walking back to our car in Monterey, even if we weren't walking in a straight line, we passed California's very first theater. And being the drama buff that I am, I had to stop and pose. See, I played the leading lady in all of my high school's musicals, and most of the plays we performed. If ever you want some quality blackmail on me, my mom still has a video tape of me belting out a song or two as Little Orphan Annie, curly red wig and all. Broadway, I'd kiss your hand if you had one to kiss.

So, fun weddings and fun times. Marty and I looked fabulous in our get-up. We bought Marty a suit for his birthday, so technically a "birthday suit". Gray and a paisley black silk tie and a good-smelling-ness. I wore an adorable pink silky vintage dress, and at least tried to get my hair to cooperate and be twisted and pulled off to the side to complete my vintage look. Blood, sweat, and bobby pins notwithstanding, I think we really can dress up when we bother putting in the effort.

So, Sunday. Lunch at my parents' house. Yellow shirts. All my sisters lovingly patting each other's legs.

After a long but very fun weekend, we headed home to celebrate a little alone time. Yes, we were sad to leave.

But considering our track record so far this summer, another getaway is on the horizon. Four are coming up within the next month to be exact. So if you come a-knockin' and we don't come a-answerin', we're probably off enjoying another rendevous.

Let's hope they're all as good as this one was. With just as many puke-flavored smoothies and shoe-matchy emergencies. Sigh.

The Stirring's dinner ministry

2008-08-02T00:13:00.001-07:00

So, friends, in Leah's absence, I've taken over organizing dinners for The Stirring attendees that need a little culinary relief. Whether someone's just had a baby and dinner needs to be the last thing on their mind, or someone's just undergone surgery and can't really get up and make dinner for themselves, our little ministry seeks to bless via frozen lasagnas and Ceasar salad in a bag.

Usually I send out emails letting people know about our current family member in need, and I've already sent the usual "Hello, it's me again" to those of you in my address book regarding our latest "dinner mission". But if, for some reason, I don't have your contact info, and you'd like to be a part of what we do, just leave a little comment with your email address and I'll punch you in.

And even if making dinner isn't your thing, driving In-N-Out over to someone's house counts, too. Trust me, when you're desperate for help, nothing tastes better than food you didn't have to prepare! Let's keep those blessings flowing...

Madness #17--mid-afternoon post-lunch baths

2008-07-29T17:50:00.000-07:00

So, apparently ravioli just isn't as good unless you've tasted it with your eyebrows.

barbeque Friday

2008-07-23T17:30:00.001-07:00

Surprise, surprise.

I guess we're throwing another one of those last-minute-come-if-you're-available Moseley barbeques.

Friday, July 25th, 6pm. Our place.

Bring your own meat and a side to share.

We always told ourselves that once we got into a house we'd just party with friends all the time. So even though we've been keeping to ourselves lately thanks to seasons one through five of "Smallville" on dvd, we're excited to have a houseful this weekend.

Hope you can make it!

a debtor's thankful heart

2008-07-22T23:48:00.000-07:00

$21,105.06.

That's a lot of money. I could do so much with twenty-thousand dollars. Pay off a car loan or two. Put a down payment on a house. Just think of how many shopping carts I would need to haul twenty-thousand dollars-worth of Huggies size four diapers. Shocking, really.

The big reveal? That's how much just three Remicade infusion treatments cost. Maybe that's why the nurses feel so obliged to bring you all the free cranberry grape juice your little heart desires.

See, earlier this year, I suffered the most severe Crohns disease flare-up I've had in the eleven years I've lived with my chronic illness. Worse than the time my mouth was covered with cold-sores and I lost so much weight that I cried in the shower when I noticed how severely my hip bones jutted out. Worse than the time I passed out in my mom's arms and had to call an ambulance, though all I could think about once I came to was how embarrassed I was that those good-looking EMTs saw my room at one of its messiest moments.

Anyway, I digress. Back to the present. Or at least to a couple months ago. My gastroenterologist (or tummy doctor) had me undergo several Remicade infusions. Basically it's a drug that gets pumped right into your bloodstream, since Crohns patients like myself can have a hard time absorbing oral medications. I got hooked up to an IV each time I went in, and got to sit still for three glorious hours without a single responsibility to keep me busy. I could read, nap, watch "The Office" on Marty's video iPod, or snack on Cheezits to my heart's content. Oh. And enjoy a nice cold plastic cup of cranberry grape juice. Heaven, I tell you.

But not for $21,105.06. For that much I could just pay someone to be sick for me.

The good news is that my insurance company covered the entire cost. Not a cent comes out of my pocket, other than whatever I may have paid buying McDonalds to sneak into Mercy's outpatient chemo room. I actually had a gentleman in the next chair over ask when the hospital started serving fast food, and comment that it was a step up from the usual cafeteria munchies.

Really, though, that bill is one I'll never pay.

And even though biblical analogies can be rather cheesey at times, this one really sunk in for me. I had a debt I could never even fathom repaying. A debt so huge, it would cost a lifetime of hardship (in this case, financial). But someone came in and covered it all. Took that debt upon themselves and gave me freedom from it in return. My body is cleansed and healed as a result.

Thank you, Lord, for covering my spiritual debt. For taking my burden upon yourself so that I could be free. Free to bask in Your grace and mercy. Free to revel in a God who loves me just that much. Free to enjoy all the cranberry grape juice I could ever want.

P.S. Because the best blogs have pictures in them, and are more likely to be read, I'll include a snapshot of my favorite visitor while I was in for one of my treatments:

our trip back east...

2008-07-18T20:36:00.000-07:00

Let's just say it'll be a while before we fly with our little munchkin again. But our trip to Pennsylvania and the fun we had visiting with family was worth a fussy baby, diaper explosion mid-air, and a couple tears shed by a very tired Mommy.

Anyway, instead of boring you with every tiny detail of our trip, I thought I'd just post a couple (okay, a lot) of my favorite pictures from our journey, with a little explanation underneath to clarify what's going on. And yes, I'm related to every single one of the people you'll see. Kind of crazy when your family can't all fit in the hotel swimming pool at the same time. We had to cool off in shifts.

So scroll on down to meet my crazy family. Could I love them any more than I already do?

little Marty covered with strawberry Pop-Tart goo after Mommy thought it would be a good idea to hand him one on the drive down to San Jose

hanging out with Unkie at the airport, despite a bit of a height difference

Auntie Ruthie taught him how to pull the airplane window shade up and down--kept him occupied for at least half an hour

holding on tight during our bus ride to the car rental place

we thought he could use a little boost the morning after we arrived at the hotel

with sister Grace, cousin Clara, sister Hannah, sister Laura, cousin Sara Beth, cousin Candace, and cousin Kathleen--just a few of the lovely ladies

loving my cousin Neal

my aunts made these bracelets in honor of my cousin Gordie who passed away in February--they even had a little one made for the baby

playing bocci ball with cousins Billy, Eddie, Rusty, Christopher ("Wrong ball, Becky!"), and my brother Ben

pairing up for the water balloon toss

even the baby wanted to throw a water balloon

posing with cousin Veronika, his babysitter for the weekend
(we popped a water balloon over the baby's head to cool him off in the horrible humidity--he started to cry at first, but once everyone cheered for him he yelled, "Yay!")

lovey-dovey at my Grandy's 80th birthday party

someone really enjoyed the birthday cake

with my cousin Alli, who I just adore and wanted to take home

Grandy and Papa Bill with all the cousins

holding my cousin Hudson and little Marty, both big Elmo fans--they're a year apart but there's a whole generation between them

with my Aunt Susie, a fellow new mom--we had fun chatting about sleeping habits, discipline, and the joy of raising boys

wearing his fireman pajamas with his great-grandpa's old fire helmet from when Papa Bill served at Ohio's Euclid firehouse

posing with Grandy, the birthday girl

playing the slots during our layover in Vegas--my brother actually won a couple bucks

so tired and sleepy after a fun weekend

Da-Benchers Da-Bodessy

2008-07-09T15:16:00.000-07:00

God bless the Josephs.

I had to drive down to San Jose this morning. Long drive. And when running on just four hours of sleep, one can tend to be pretty incoherent. Needless to say, I was nervous about manning such a huge vehicle. My dad always says, "A car in tired hands is a dangerous weapon."

And I'm a driver-talker. I like to interact while I drive so that my mind stays sharp instead of drifting off into a daydream. That's when the car starts to veer off the highway. And since the only person I had to talk to on the way down was a thirteen-month-old who latest vocabular acheivment was saying "geck-um" for "your welcome", I knew I was in for a long four hours.

But God bless the Josephs.

Growing up, my siblings and I used to listen to "Adventures in Odyssey". It's this radio show put on by Focus on the Family, a Christian organization that appeals to young families. It follows a group of characters living in a town called Odyssey (go figure), and chronicles their adventures and the Biblical lessons learned along the way. Cheesey? You bet.

But I recently learned that our family wasn't the only one following the happenings at Whit's End, and what Connie and Eugene were up to day after day. The Josephs, Candace's family, grew up listening to the same cassette tapes, and actually still own every single episode on CD.

So I decided to borrow a couple series and see if it would make my time in the car go by any faster. My freakin' goodness. I got so wrapped up in each episode that I was actually kind of bummed when I pulled up to my parents' house. I wanted to sit in the car for a couple extra minutes to find out what the Indian Prime Minister thought of the Edulink that John Avery and little Marvin created to bring both education and the Gospel message to millions in Asia.

Mission accomplished. Thanks to a certain little radio show, I actually enjoyed my long drive, and look forward to the ride home.

Of course, I feel a little silly admitting that I got so much out of a children's program that originated sometime in the 80s or early 90s. But if I can rock an Amy Grant "Heart in Motion" CD without shame, I must be more confident in my love of the Christian oldies than I realized.

I mean, who doesn't love a good Sandi Patti or Twila Paris tune anyway?

oh happy day (oh happy daaaaay)

2008-07-07T19:12:00.001-07:00

Ever have those days that couldn't have gone any better even if you planned it?

Friday was Marty's last day working at American Eagle. Hooray! Long story, but we are so thankful to have gotten him out of there. We surprised him with brownies in the food court after he finished his very last shift. The bright blue icing on them read, "Suck it, AE!" Complete with a picture of an eagle crossed out. I swear, Candace has a gift for all things cake-y.

How fun for Marty to be surrounded by good friends as we closed that rather sucky chapter. Bobby and Candace were there of course, the Brams stopped by, we happened to run into the Browns and Shirleys, and my brother Ben and his wife Laura drove up from San Jose for the big moment. Four hours in the car just so they could surprise Marty on his last day. If that's not love, I don't know what is.

That night, Marty, Ben, Laura, and I enjoyed a feast fit for a king. Or fit for a guy moving on to a bigger and better job. We had meatloaf, garlic mashed potatoes, Ceasar salad, stuffed mushrooms, Smirnoff galore, and angel food cake with strawberries for dessert. I enjoyed feeling like a little culinary wifey for once. Our time that evening was spent riding Marty's scooter around the neighborhood and laughing our butts off at the stupid people eating dirt, or mud rather, on "Wipeout". And since we all bought something new at American Eagle in order to take advantage of Marty's discount, we felt purty. We were having so much fun, we even forgot it was the 4th of July!

It really was a perfect day. Really. I think I said that about a hundred times as we enjoyed hour after hour of fun and laughter. Thanks, Ben and Laura, for being so precious to us, and for making Marty feel loved and valued during this time of transition.

Now we just need to make some brownies that say "Suck it, four-hour drive seperating the Palms and Moseleys".

"Lord, beer me strength."

2008-07-07T18:27:00.001-07:00

Little "Office" quote for ya.

But boy, does this little prayer ring true for me today. Why is it that whenever I have a huge trip coming up, I think about packing at least a week in advance, but never actually pack until the night before? And with a baby in tow, I'm responsible for twice as much crap.

This Wednesday, little Marty man and I are driving down to San Jose. Actually, I'll be doing the driving. He'll just sit in his carseat like a good little boy (fingers crossed). We'll spend the night with my parents, then fly out to Pennsylvania at 7:30am the next morning. Goo. Husband Marty will join us a day later.

So what awaits back east? A huge family reunion with all the relatives on my mom's side. That's 2 grandparents, 10 aunts, 11 uncles, 31 cousins, and 1 second cousin. And a couple significant others who are brave enough to "meet the fam". Of course those numbers don't include the 11 of us that are heading out there from sunny California--my mom, dad, brother and his wife, three sisters, one boyfriend, and us three Moseleys. It's crazy, but I love the chaos.

We typically rent out a whole floor at a local hotel, and hang out in one of their conference rooms while we're there. We do talent shows, so all my cousins, ranging in age from 27 to 2, can show off their latest mad skills. Maybe I'll demonstrate how to change a poopy diaper using only one scented baby wipe. A feat worthy of a little attention if I do say so myself. We'll also hang out by the pool, and get dressed up one evening for a fancy dinner at a nearby restaurant. My Grandy is turning 80 this year, so we get to celebrate her life and the legacy she's created with her many descendants.

Which brings me to the packing I should be doing right now. This will mark our baby's very first trip on an airplane, so packing for a plane ride is a whole different story than our usual San Jose excursions. I don't really know where to start, but thankfully have recieved some great plane advice from a pro (thanks, Beckie). With ziplocs full of snacks in one hand and a brand new Mr. Potato Head toy in the other, I feel armed and ready. Gulp. I'm freaking out in my head.

But today's silver lining is one that will surely carry me through the stress I'll face over the next couple days in trying to get everything ready. This afternoon I was feeling pretty overwhelmed, and little Goobie marched right up to me, put his tiny fat hand on my leg, and said, "Mama?" Wait. It gets better. I looked down at his precious, mac-n'-cheese-covered face, and said, "Kiss kiss?" He leaned in and gave me a big ol' wet one. And I loved every noodle-y, drool-y minute of it.

So in the middle of deciding whether to bring my gray tweed high heels or classic black, and sorting through the toys that will drive me insane on a six-hour flight and those that won't, all I have to do to calm down is ask for a little kiss kiss.

Funny how that seems to make everything all better. Whether the Lord margaritas me strength or not.

Madness #17--nakey baby

2008-07-02T09:31:00.000-07:00

Little did I know when I got up this morning that I was in for a real treat.

So, my precious son woke up at a reasonable hour. He started laughing and talking over the baby monitor, so I jumped out of bed to go get him, excited to start our day together. I have this little voice that I use whenever I open the door and see him standing there smiling at me through the bars of his crib. So I said my "Good morning, Baby" in an octave only dogs can hear and reached to pick him up.

He was soaked. And smelled like pee-pee. Upon closer inspection, I noticed a diaper sitting next to the sock monkey in his crib. Upon even closer inspection, I noticed a little pale butt sticking out from underneath his pajama top where a diaper is supposed to be.

So my theory is that he wanted to surprise me by going commando. That his diaper got uncomfortable and he played with it until he figured out how to take it off. And from the looks of it, he made that decision pretty early on last night. His diaper had less in it than his crib sheet had soaked up. Needless to say, I laughed pretty hard as he looked at me with that little mischievous grin of his. Complete with half-grown teeth and a dimple or two.

But despite the extra laundry I'll be doing today, and the morning bath before breakfast, I'm thanking my lucky stars. He could have smelled like poo-poo.

Madness #16--my own dairy farm

2008-06-30T11:51:00.000-07:00

So, making yogurt is easier than I realized.

Just follow these simple directions for your own tasty deliciousness:

Step 1: Fill your child's favorite sippy cup with whole milk.
Step 2: Watch as he inevitably drops it.
Step 3: Watch as it inevitably rolls under your furniture and ends up in a hard-to-reach place.
Step 4: Think to yourself, "I'll get it later".
Step 5: Wait a couple days.
Step 6: Do the dishes and wonder where that missing sippy cup ran off to.
Step 7: Invite friends over and watch their noses scrunch up in response to a sickening smell that you haven't realized is taking over your house.
Step 8: Put two and two together.
Step 9: Get on your hands and knees to retrieve the science experiment growing under your couch.
Step 10: Unscrew the sippy cup lid and try not to vomit.
Step 11: Voila! Your very own, home-grown yogurt.

Lucerne would be so proud.

Madness #15--a sour attitude

2008-06-28T17:12:00.000-07:00

Lesson learned.

Don't ever give a teething child lemonade to drink.

It's like pouring lemon juice on an open wound. No really. You're literally pouring lemon juice on an open wound.

Goo.

"I am Woman. Hear me roar!"

2008-06-26T18:41:00.000-07:00

Just call me Becky, Warrior Princess.

A couple girlfriends and I are reading through the book "Captivating", and seeking to unveil the mystery that is a woman's soul. Can you believe that as big a phenomenon "Captivating" is, I've never actually read it? Maybe I thought I understood myself just fine, thank you. Maybe I was too stubborn to admit that I had things to learn. Maybe I just didn't want to fork over the $22.99 needed to get myself a copy.

But here I am, a wife of almost three years and a mother of over one, and I'm discovering so much about myself that I had no clue was buried deep inside.

Chapter one talks about the basic desires of every woman's heart. One of those things is to play an "irreplaceable role in a great adventure". Now, I'm not a huge adventure junkie. I'd just as soon stay inside and mend my husband's favorite brown courderoy shorts. But a certain line in this section of the book hit me. It says, "There is something fierce in the heart of a woman. [...] A woman is a warrior too."

Now, I've always been fierce. Tyra Banks and Christian Siriano "fee-yees". But I don't think the book is talking about your ability to walk a runway or rock that funky pair of shoes that you bought at Rite Aid and swear are the next big thing.

No, I'm a warrior. But all this time I haven't been able to see my own armor. I guess growing up I always dreamed of being the damsel in distress. I dreamed of the day my knight in shining armor would sweep my off my feet and be my protector. My defender. I thought my role was to be vulnerable and helpless so that I'm in constant need of rescuing. Isn't that what guys need? To be the rescuer? And doesn't it follow that they need someone to rescue?

My eyes were opened by this simple concept that we, as woman, feel the need to be warriors at times, too. To be irreplaceable ("To the left, to the left"--I love me some Beyonce). To be so important, that a certain task could not be completed without your specific input. I kind of like that idea. I may not be the woman that's out there living in the woods for weeks at a time, brave enough to squat and pee without wondering if any little forest animals are watching. But I can be adventurous in my own way. I can be fierce--a warrior ready to face any battle thrown at me.

With this mindset puffing out my chest and raising my shoulders, I was able to conquer my first tiny battle this past weekend. Instead of catering to what someone else expected of me, I chose to go my own route and make a decision for myself, without apologizing for it. Without trying to back-peddle or make excuses for why I did what I did. It felt kind of good.

But today, when walking in for an eye exam, I heard a nasty customer use some nasty words in front of my precious son. The warrior in me became a coward, and I was too timid to ask that he not talk that way in the presence of my child. Guess this whole Xena mindset takes some getting used to.

You know what though? I'm also learning that sometimes being a warrior means fighting your own emotions and tendency to lash out when injustice is observed. Sometimes being a warrior means standing back and letting things slide in order to protect someone else. Sometimes it means guarding someone else's heart no matter how broken your own is.

I'm in the midst of a serious battle right now that's been going on for several years. I'm not sure how it started, and I certainly don't know how or when it'll end, but it's there. It's a constant issue, constant thought, constant fight. And I'm finding that right now, it's my calling. It's my lesson to learn. And the best thing to do is to keep myself from jumping to the front lines and making that ugly war face you always see in movies. Seriously. I won't be roaring in the midst of this one.

But I know that the fierce warrior inside of me is still fighting. I'm fighting the Enemy's lies. I'm fighting my own tongue. I'm fighting for something that I think is worth fighting for, no matter how hard it gets. Warriors don't give up when they break a nail or smear their mascara. They keep on keeping on, looking only towards the prize at the end. Dang. It better be a good one.

At least when the going gets tough, I'll know that I look fabulous in my warrior princess gear. Who doesn't love some quality leather and a brass shin guard?

Madness #14--playdates

2008-06-26T13:39:00.001-07:00

Little did I realize that sleepovers aren't just for kids. I guess I kind of assumed that once Mommy-hood hit, I'd wave goodbye to the occasional fun ME time.

But no. Last night some friends spent the night because all the fire smoke prevented them from turning on their swamp cooler or opening windows. And their house had become it's own Easy-Bake Oven.

So we thought we'd share our central air. Let the fun begin. We made our own vanilla cokes by pouring vanilla extract into our sodas, we watched Marty sing his heart out in an old home video, we laughed at my husband saying "I'm always the balls", we named our new business venture Dee-Dods, we prayed healing over my son's fever and watched the Lord remove it completely, we ate three boxes of mac n' cheese, we made a paper bag hand puppet and had it watch Marty do the dishes, and all this with a couple strawberry margaritas in our bellys.

Who says adults can't be teenagers all over again? I feel like I need to go put in my retainer and french braid someone's hair.

brainiac-ness

2008-06-18T17:12:00.000-07:00

So, I'm kind of proud of myself.

I managed to put together a website for my mother-in-law, who's a public speaker and soon-to-be author. She was hoping to get her name out there, so I offered to give the whole cyber space design thing a whirl.

Hence, www.mimimoseley.com.

I know, I know, it's not super professional-looking. I'm no Patrick Hardy. But I figured the whole thing out on my own, so pat me on the back next time you see me. At least I can say that things turned out exactly the way Mimi wanted them to. Happy client equals a check in Becky's pocket and the satisfaction of meaning something to the outside world.

After all, I really am a computer geek at heart.

Echo Court--what what

2008-06-18T17:01:00.000-07:00

I love living on Echo Court.

And not just because of the drummer kid that can't keep a beat. Not just because of the neighbor's children that have a thousand questions waiting for you when you leave the house, including "Can I have some of whatever you're holding?"

Monday night I was making a homemade pizza for dinner, and wanted to surprise Marty with it when he got home. But my weak woman arms wouldn't let me open the jar of spaghetti sauce. Hence, my love for Echo Court. I simply walked down the street, knocked on a door, and some muscles were standing there, ready to help. Way to go, Billy. My pizza would have been sauceless without you.

I guess location, location, location really can make a difference.

Monday doldrums...

2008-06-16T16:21:00.000-07:00

Funny how one minute everything can be going your way, and the next you just want to cry and suck your thumb.

Stupid $300 cell phone bill. Stupid guilt trip about our dying front lawn.

Maybe tomorrow will be better.

Moms Gone Wild

2008-06-09T17:56:00.001-07:00

Long week? Check.

Time away from your child a necessity? Check.

Two friends with a night free? Check.

Three glamorous pairs of heels? Check.

Getting hit on before even leaving Candace's driveway? Check.

Singing some old school DC Talk on the way to Chevy's? Check.

Chips and salsa? Check.

One watermelon margarita, two sour apple margaritas, and three prickly pear margaritas? Check.

Salt around the rim? Check.

Laughing so hard we nearly peed our pants? Check.

Wondering if our kids are "special"? Check.

"Finding Nemo" playing on the tvs in the bar? Check.

Waiter offering to finish our drinks for us? Check.

Discussing things we'd never admit to discussing? Check.
Lifting each other up with our encouragement and advice for one another? Check.

Needing Marty to come pick us up because Sarah had something illegal in her trunk? Check.

Climbing over the center console and trying not to fart? Check.

Agreeing we need "girl time" more often? Check.

One of the best nights of my life? Double check.

"Liar, liar, house on fire!"

2008-06-08T16:24:00.000-07:00

So, last Saturday we had a bit of a scare. Okay, more than a bit. A lot of a scare.

Marty and I were just hanging out, watching a show on the food network ("Ace of Cakes", baby!), when Marty looked out our sliding glass door and saw huge amounts of smoke coming from somewhere freakishly close to our backyard. He called 911, but they said the fire department was already on their way. So we walked outside, and saw flames billowing up from the running trail right behind our neighbor Rana's back fence.

The firefighters showed up a couple minutes later and started hosing everything down, including our own back fence. As they tried to contain the flames, a bunch of us neighbors, my husband included, were using our measly little garden hoses to wet down the very flammable weeds and growth in Rana's back yard.

I felt helpless for one of the first times in my life. I had my sister take the baby over to Bobby and Candace's house so he would be safe and out of the way, since I was worried about him inhaling too much smoke for his tiny lungs. I called my mom and my mother-in-law to ask that they start praying.

But even after I got those things checked off my "what to do in an emergency" list, I still had no clue what to do to help the situation. I just wandered aimlessly through my precious home muttering, "God, build a wall of protection around my house. God, build a wall of protection around my house." What more could I do?

Funny how in a situation like that, when you begin to realize that you could quite possibly lose everything, every single item that catches your eye becomes unbearably sentimental. As I paced, I began to cry over the things I would miss should the fire spread. And I'm not a materialistic person--you can tell by the fact that almost all of our home furnishings are hand-me-downs. But I attach my emotions to "things" more than I should. That dirty white couch in our living room has been with us since we first got married, and I can remember all three times we've moved it to a new place, grunting and cursing it as we tried to shove it through three very small doors. And the two bamboo tables in our living room were the first couple things I bought for our home, in my pathetic attempt to decorate by scouring the local Ross for a great deal. Every little thing has a story behind it, and if I were to lose everything, I'd lose the stories along with them.

My mom had mentioned that it might be a good idea to start packing a couple precious items into our car, like photo albums, favorite toys or blankets of Marty's, and anything I just couldn't live without. My mother-in-law mentioned that it might be a good idea to start packing a couple important items into our car, like birth certificates and an outfit for each of us should we get evacuated. All great advice, but what do you grab first?

Here's where my lameness came into play. And why I managed to laugh despite the threat of everything we own reducing to ashes. I was frantic as I started gathering things to put in the car because I couldn't find my new wide-led pants. And I just wouldn't let myself leave the house without them. I mean, they look great on me, and they're super comfortable, and you just can't find that every day. What if Macy's no longer carried them? Or what if they were out of my size? I was not willing to risk that, so with smoke filling my lungs, and the sound of fire truck sirens echoing in my ear, I ripped through all the piles of clothes on our bedroom floor until I found them.

So with my favorite pants in tow, I went outside and found out what had happened. The fire was started by a couple troubled teens who dared each other to light one, then got caught when they called the cops on themselves. Let's just say I wanted to walk over to that cop car sitting at the end of the street with the guilty girls in it and give them what-for. Righteous anger, in my opinion, when someone deliberately, and for no good reason, puts your whole life--your home and family--at risk. Anyone seen "What Happens in Vegas"? I had half a mind to knock on the squad car window, punch them in the face, and yell, "You KNOW what you did!"

Now though, looking back, the fire wasn't as serious as we made it out to be. I think Billy said it best, "At least the air smells like hickory." Dee-lish, if I do say so myself.

dishpan hands...

2008-06-07T12:19:00.000-07:00

I can picture it now.

I'm on my deathbed, saying my goodbyes, and all I can think about is how much of my life was spent doing the dishes.

For some reason, dishes are the one household chore I have the hardest time keeping up with. Which I don't understand, because it's also my favorite household chore. I find it really therapeutic to start with a kitchen full of grossness, and end with a running dishwasher and a shining, sparkly sink. I've done a lot of my best thinking while standing over the soap suds with my blue rubber gloves on.

I guess it's finding the time to devote to them that I struggle with. Because I have to wait until my son is either napping or in his high chair and immobile--both of which are few and far between. And who wants to spend their only free time during the day cleaning? I know I don't. The second my son is sleeping, I'm sitting my butt down on the couch for some quality time with a huge bowl of mac n' cheese and The Tyra Show.

Anyway, I've tried doing the dishes while little Marty is playing in the other room. I've even tried the "stick your kid in front of the TV to distract him and buy yourself some time" trick.

But the second I open the dishwasher, he's crawling into the kitchen to check things out. Then he's climbing onto the dishwasher door or pulling the bottom rack completely out. I've had myself a few minor heart attacks over it.

So why don't I just do the dishes as they're dirtied? Clean them off and put them right in the dishwasher to save myself the trouble of trying to find a couple hours-worth of non-baby time? Well, in our house, it's my job to load the dishwasher, and Marty's job to unload it. I'm not a big fan of putting the dishes away, but I can wash and rinse with the best of them. So if there's a batch of clean dishes ready to be reloaded into our cabinets, I'll leave them there for Marty to take care of. Until he does, dishes pile up in the sink because, oh bummer, there's no room in the dishwasher. And I'm usually too stubborn to do his job and mine.

Because when I do, when I unload and reload and unload and reload, I find myself resenting the concept of dishes in general. Take yesterday for example. I managed to find myself some dish time, and ended up spending hours and hours getting things tidied up. And while I enjoyed the process, the fact that it took up most of my day was not so fun. "What did you do today, Becky?" And I'd reply, "The dishes." It doesn't bode well for my claim that being a stay-at-home mom is just as exciting as any other job.

I guess I'm trying to say that if you come over and find a mountain of nasty in my kitchen sink, kindly ignore it. Look the other way. Or hey, strap on those blue rubber gloves and have a go. You'll be the one I think of on my deathbed, thankful that a few minutes of my life of dish washing was spent watching someone else tackle my mess.

Madness #13--crying over spilt milk

2008-06-07T12:18:00.000-07:00

I never knew that seeing my son drink lowfat milk out of a sippy cup would bring tears to my eyes.

question (or a few)

2008-06-03T01:12:00.000-07:00

Does anyone own a paper cutter that I can borrow? Or know someone who does?

Maybe someone out there has the uncanny ability to bite paper into a perfectly straight line. Lend me your skills, friend.

I have a big ol' project to complete in a small ol' amount of time. And I'd like to avoid getting scissor calluses if you know what I mean.

Help? Please?

one year ago...

2008-06-01T22:48:00.001-07:00

Happy first birthday, little buddy! Your daddy and I love you more than we can say.

SYTYCD

2008-05-31T01:46:00.000-07:00

Friends, it's back.

My favorite show ever has just started its fourth season, and I'm one lucky gal to get to enjoy it all summer long. Say it with me--"So You Think You Can Dance"!

Last May, June, and July's Wednesday and Thursday nights found our tiny apartment packed with fellow "Dance" fans, from North and Shannon, my Judy Garland buffs, to Patrick and Bethany, who were really just there to hang out, to Billy and Heather, who loved chipping in on how lame certain costumes were. Okay, I cherished every moment of it. Even when I had to pause and rewind about a thousand times because the boys were talking so loudly over Nigel's criticisms and Mary Murphy's hot tamale train. Pure networking genius, I tell you.

And not just because I used to dance. But mostly because I used to dance. My Crohn's disease limited my athletic ability since my joints were so weak, so (go figure) I took dance classes instead of PE in high school. Pretty lame, since we only danced to praise music and did the same lyrical half-hearted moves in every number. But I loved dancing, so I pulled up my black spandex dance pants and tied my jazz shoes and clapped my hands and stomped my feet to the best of my ability.

Many years later, I suck at dancing but wish I could be amazing again. Although some might say that I was never amazing to begin with. Whatever. I was cool in my own head and that's what counts, right? Even if when I shake it I purse my lips like a duck trying to whistle.

Enter "So You Think You Can Dance". Pretty much the coolest couple of hours during my week. And even though I haven't had a houseful of buddies over yet, I'm enjoying every moment of this new season and it's fresh dancing meat. I may not be fun to watch it with (sorry Sarah), because I can't help but talk through the whole thing, but my giddiness and excitement is infectious. I promise. Enough to make my husband watch two two-hour episodes back-to-back with me until the wee hours of the morning. Someone loves me very much.

But my absolute favorite part? Marty and I have come up with our own dance moves that we get up and perform during the commercial breaks. His is that "junk in the trunk" dance that we always talk about but no one ever sees since he's kind of embarrassed of himself for coming up with it. And I call mine "screet dancing" in honor of one of last year's performers. And we are hilarious.

So head on over to the Moseley pad when it's on next, and you just might catch us prancing around like the idiots that we love to be. But come on, don't fault us. We just "Think We Can Dance".

the cookie curse is back...

2008-05-28T00:28:00.000-07:00

I have officially taken on the "cookie curse".

My oatmeal cookies usually turn out perfectly, and taste like the heaven that they are. I'm even a little bit famous for them.

But the other night, while my family was in town and I thought it would be fun to make a batch, I was shocked and horrified at the cookie nightmare that ensued. Round, plump, chewy morsels were replaced by flat, crumbly discs. My excuse was that it was the first time I had tried making them in a gas oven. Our landlord blessed us with a beautiful new oven after the old one caught on fire, but it just doesn't make my cookies the same way. Though my husband was more than delighted when I told him he could have just "one" cookie before bed and I pulled this out of the oven:

Guess I'll just have to experiment with different temps and timing to get my cookies back to their beautiful selves. Beautiful and individual selves. That is, cookies that are actually cookies and not one giant glob of cinnamony oatmealy goo. I'll make batch after batch until they come out just right, and I can regain my "heavenly-oatmeal-cookies-maker" title.

Anyone want to do some taste testing?

movin' on up

2008-05-26T11:16:00.000-07:00

So, our Pecauts moved last Friday. From their tiny apartment into an adorable house, complete with a huge backyard, their own garage, and a kitchen any chef would be jealous of.

The day started off on a rather small note--just Candace, Bobby and I were trying to load the moving truck ourselves. And I am NOT strong. So the tiny boxes were left for me to carry, while the Pecauts reached gladiator status by lifting some pretty crazy stuff. I did try to help with the couch, though, so I wasn't entirely un-helpful. Although as we were approaching the moving truck ramp, Candace and I, who were carrying the back end, realized that we wouldn't both fit on the ramp. We tried, but ended up getting pretty close and personal before Candace dropped her side of the upholstered beast. Trying to pick it back up was pretty rough, and I ended up carrying my side in crouched over like a Notre Dame hunchback. Poor Bobby was not real enthused.

But amidst our pained efforts, we were able to take some time to just goof off and be silly like us Pecauts and Moseleys love to do. Enter curly wig and tricycle.

After a while, my sister Grace was able to join us, so having another person made a huge difference. Little Marty and Mr. Caeden got to play in a nearly empty living room, crawling around and picking up anything they could find from off the carpet. Pine Sol fumes aren't dangerous to infants, right? The swing out front got some use, too, and it was fun to load things into the truck and get to pass the babies on our way in and out. We were trying to see if we could get them to laugh just by making super-weird faces. I think Bobby's impression of my son takes the cake. It's borderline creepy. But the kids love it.

Eventually the moving truck and the Moseley F150 were brimming, so we headed over to the new pad to start unloading. Marty was able to join us after he got off of work, so his huge muscles were certainly appreciated. After Grace left, Candace and I stayed inside, unpacking boxes and stocking the plethora of kitchen cabinets while our hubbies brought things in.

Dinner was then bought and served--some delish taquitos and cheese-less nachos--and we enjoyed some time to sit and relax in front of some classic "Office" episodes. I think we just might have to have our own Duwali party this year. With awkward proposals and s'mores and everything. "Marshmallows, chocolate, and a little graham cracker. How hard can it be?"

For dessert, Bobby's famous margaritas were downed. We couldn't find the blender, so we went on-the-rocks status, but they were fantastic. The boys got tipsy while the girls looked on and laughed our pants off. No, literally, I nearly peed all over myself. Olive oil.

I really never knew that moving could be so much fun. Maybe it was the tricycle, maybe the porch swing. Though I'd imagine the margaritas made all the difference. O-ley!

Madness #12--dictionary needed

2008-05-23T01:45:00.000-07:00

I never knew I'd start saying "baba" and "goob-a-loob" in everyday conversation.

And think I was perfectly normal.

my spidey sense

2008-05-23T01:21:00.000-07:00

Confession. I hate spiders.

Now, I know most people dislike them, and do the occasional squirmy spider dance when they see one crawling across their ceiling.

But I'm pretty much terrified of the little hairy guys. To the point where I used to believe the movie "Arachniphobia" was based on my own life.

Which means that I'll spend all summer freaking out because it's hot outside and cold inside, and spiders somehow feel entitled to mooch off of our air-conditioning. But I have yet to receive any rent checks, or help with utilities. So when I see them, I squash them. Or in reality, when I see them, I scream and call Marty and say "bring a tissue" and he doesn't so he uses his shoe to kill it and flushes it down the toilet after shaking it off of his shoe but he leaves the spider guts remnants on the wall for me to see every time I walk by. Shudder.

In fact, yesterday I was grabbing a shirt out of the baby's "clean shirts pile" when I saw the biggest spider ever. It was seriously the size of my hand. Okay, my son's hand. But it was really big! I almost started crying, which started the baby crying, and our little spider dance ensued. My face probably looked like this:

I eventually recovered after Marty reassured me that the monster was long gone, flushed to oblivion. But the worst part of my spider fear is the thought that they could be anywhere. After the king-size spider debaucle, I'm imagining spiders everywhere. I picture one in the bag of animal crackers as I reach in to grab a handful for my son. I picture one in the finger of my dish-washing gloves, just waiting for my hand to discover it as I put them on. And I constantly feel like they're crawling all over me.

When I was little, I used to imagine that if I got one wish, if I could rid the world of any one thing, I'd choose stray hairs. Maybe it's time to grow up and choose something far more emotionally and mentally damaging--spiders. That or grow up and realize no one really grants wishes like that these days. But a girl can hope, right?

back to Junior High

2008-05-21T21:42:00.001-07:00

I learned something about myself.

I am still super shy, despite feeling as though I've broken out of that shell years ago. But recently, that awkward, timid little girl in me has been rearing her ugliness when I'm in certain social settings. In big groups, it's often hard for me to know what to say. I always feel bad butting into people's conversations, so I end up just sitting there listening.

Which, mind you, can be very entertaining. By being the silent listener, I've learned a lot about people, and can probably surprise you with what I know and remember.

But I'd rather be the one talking if I had my choice. Those of you who know me well know that when I have something to say, I'll usually just come right out and say it, even if it means talking your ear off for twenty minutes. I do great with close friends, or one-on-one with people. And now that I'm getting to know most of the moms in Moms Group, I feel really comfortable there, too.

So why is it that if you're someone I don't know very well, or if I'm part of a larger social gathering, I just stop sharing all of those millions of thoughts running through my head as I look on awkwardly? Why can't I seem to gain the confidence to just speak up and be a part of the group? If I do think of something funny to say, I usually spend so much time gaining the courage to actually say it that by the time I do, that conversation topic is over and done with. So my little quip stays in my head and makes me kick myself for not participating.

I really am a fun person. I really do enjoy getting to know people and making new friends. So if ever there's a crowd of people, and I'm off to the side just sitting and staring, come say hello to me. I promise it'll be worth your effort--I'm freakin' hilarious once you get me going.

Why Redding saved my life...

2008-05-20T17:26:00.000-07:00

Yes, Redding has changed me.

Many of you know our story, and many of you probably don't. So for those who have not yet enjoyed the privelege of me blabbering on about my life and how we were brought to Redding, read on. The great thing about having it typed out for you is that you can skim at your leisure. You don't have to worry about me watching your eyes glass over with boredom.

Anyway, Marty and I got married in September of 2005, and promptly moved to Fresno for Marty's job. He got transferred down there by the mortgage company he was working for, as they were opening a new branch and needed a talented staff to fill all the empty desk chairs.

It was a stressful transition for us. I had never lived on my own before and was trying to figure out how to be a wife and roommate all at the same time. And we didn't know anyone in Fresno--no friends or family to rely on for our social entertainment. Needless to say, it got really hard. Our evenings were spent cooped up in our little apartment, watching tv and lamenting the distance between us and the life we shared during our dating years in San Jose. We knew that plugging into a church would help us connect, but the several churches we tried had pretty huge doctrinal issues that prevented us from really feeling comfortable attending regularly.

We managed to make friends with one couple, though, that we met through a Bible study. They happened to live right around the corner from us, so we enjoyed getting to know them during American Idol marathons and margarita nights. I swear, they are the reason we survived those two long years. Without their friendship and support, I think we would've gone a little crazy. I know that God provided Breanne and Brent at the perfect time. They even got pregnant just a month before we did, so we got to watch our bellys grow together and share in the joy of awaiting our firstborn sons.

But just as we began getting comfortable with the Hulstroms, hoping we'd get to experience parenthood together, we learned that our dear friends were moving to a little town several hours away from our little Fresno bungalo. It shook us up as we began to realize that the only good thing in Fresno would be leaving us.

Enter Marty getting laid off. We decided it was the perfect chance to start somewhere new, and leave dusty Fresno in the...dust. Enter Matt (Marty's brother) calling Marty and telling him that he should consider Redding. That he'd love to have us live closer. Enter a job offer from Pete and Benji. Enter my eight-months-pregnant belly agreeing to pack up all our things and make the seven-hour drive to our brand new life.

Since we already knew a couple couples here, it was a pretty easy transition. We enjoyed being able to call up some Shirleys or Browns and share a dinner party on a moment's notice. And once the baby was born, or cut out of me I guess, Matt and Anna, proud Uncle and Aunt, stopped by pretty frequently to play with the little guy. We felt kind of popular.

And that feeling of being HOME hasn't faltered one bit since the day we settled in. We love it here, and finally feel as though we've found our niche. I always joke that we love it so much we'll probably end up dying here in Redding, and being buried in the graveyard on Cypress. You know, the one that has fake flowers at every grave site, and always looks beautiful? I want mine to have tulips, please.

Sure, Redding isn't perfect. It's been hard to be farther away from our parents in San Jose, but we've managed to build ourselves our own little family here, with "aunts" and "uncles" and "cousins" for little Marty, and "brothers" and "sisters" and best friends for us. Who says you have to actually be related to people to feel related to people?

But really, thank you to all of you who have welcomed us with open arms. I never dreamed that we'd manage to feel part of a community. That we'd have friends we could hang out with every night of the week and never get sick of. That we'd feel needed and sought after. That we'd be included without having to invite ourselves places.

Redding pulled us out of the depression we were in. Out of the funk and loneliness that Fresno gave us, and into a life that's so full it overflows on a daily basis. It really did save our pathetic little existence, and remind us that we have so much to look forward to in the years to come.

You, friends, are the reason we're smiling.

Madness #11--new baby syndrome

2008-05-15T23:35:00.000-07:00

Why is is that one minute I can be super frustrated with my son and swear off having any more children, and the next I'm pleading with Marty to help me make another baby?

I think it has to do with how cute babies are when they're really little. Their skin is so soft, and they fit so perfectly in your arms. They coo and smile at you like little angels.

And let's face it--I've never really had a small child. From the day he entered the world, Marty has been a big boy, and proud of it. He weighed in at ten pounds, four ounces, and hasn't stopped growing since. He never really fit in my arms. I always had to kind of prop him on one hip in order to carry him around the house without hurting my back. Funny, since I had a c-section, the doctors sent me home with the warning that I was not to lift anything over ten pounds. Just carrying my son to the car for his first ride home was breaking the rules.

And all the cooing is long gone. My son is not a huge fan of just sitting and cuddling anymore. He has to see everything, hear everything, touch everything, put everything into his mouth, no matter how long it's been growing stale on the carpet. His shirts are always covered with crumbs or boogers or formula or apple juice, and I find myself just stripping him down to his diaper most days because he won't lay down long enough for me to put on a clean outfit without rolling over. I never knew I was so horrible at wrestling, or that an infant could ever manage to overpower me. And those diaper changes! For some reason, now that he's discovered a certain manly part of himself, he HAS to touch it every time I take his diaper off, no matter how much poop has been smeared on it. So we are constantly washing hands, saying "no", slapping his wrist, taking unidentified objects out of his mouth. Where did that little baby go? The one who'd sleep for hours on end and never cry longer than a moment?

It gets me thinking about how fun it would be to kind of start over with another baby. To remember all those precious moments, like the pre-walking stages when he'd be entertained for hours just sitting in one spot with a fun toy. And it doesn't help to have friends (thanks, Sarah) who have adorable, mini-sized children that are so well-behaved and don't require constant chasing after.

But I'm counting my blessings. A walking almost-one-year-old certainly helps to shed any leftover baby weight I've been hanging on to! Maybe I can continue hoping that I'll someday get back to my normal size and normal self. Knowing my luck, though, that'll be right when I find out baby number two is on the way.

Then again, if I keep this up, I'll never be content with where we are NOW. So, crusty hair and poop smears and penis pulls aside, I think I'll just love the kid I've got.

Madness #10--daytime television

2008-05-14T20:40:00.000-07:00

I caught my husband watching Oprah yesterday.

Madness. Guess she really does appeal to all sorts of audiences. That, or he was too tired to change the channel.

Madness #9--immaculate conception?

2008-05-13T11:07:00.000-07:00

In high school I used to dream that I was pregnant.

I'd be freaking out in my dream, wondering how I was going to explain my pregnancy to my parents. Especially because I had never even kissed a boy, let alone "done the deed". I remember feeling embarrassed that I had become just another teen mom. Another statistic. And then I'd wake up and remember that my little virgin self had nothing to worry about.

But I think these dreams planted a sort of self-consiousness in my head about legitimizing my pregnancies to people. And okay, I know I look a lot younger than I am. But why do I feel the need to make sure people know that my son was born inside of wedlock?

When I first got pregnant, I was super excited, and would gush to all my customers at Starbucks (I was a shift supervisor for three years), feeding off of their excitement for me. Really, I was just high pretty much all the time. But one morning, when I mentioned it to this guy who used to come in regularly and order his grande two-pump nonfat no whip mocha or whatever, he just said he was sorry. Was my huge smile not evidence enough that I was happy about those two pink lines showing up on the stick I peed on? He thought I was just a teenage girl who got knocked up by her boyfriend.

Ever since that moment, I found myself flashing my wedding ring whenever I told people my news. And once that baby bump started showing, I'd say, "Yeah, my HUSBAND and I can't wait to be parents." As if it was my responsibility to make sure everyone knows my kid is legit. That we did things the right way.

The stupid thing is, I still do it. I still make sure to mention that I'm married. Guess this is a part of motherhood I never knew I'd deal with, since I'm such a young mom to begin with but look even younger. But do people really care to know that I saved myself for Marty? Do people really need to know that I'm justified in my motherhood? In my mind, I guess they do.

So if you see me around town talking about how much my son looks like his father, my HUSBAND, or trying to get the light to hit my wedding ring so it sparkles and becomes blatantly obvious, just smile at my insecurity. I'm probably simultaneously making fun of myself in my head.

a child of the 70's

2008-05-13T10:54:00.000-07:00

So, you know how everyone has those adorable new wide-leg pants?

I've been wanting to get myself a pair. Sarah approved the look on me, so from that first moment she said, "Yeah, you could pull that off", I've been convinced I need some. Candace looks fantastic in them, and she's tall like me, so I figured they'd work on my super long legs. And Anna wore a "real" designer pair on Sunday that flattered her smaller frame, so I decided they'd look alright on my skinny twig legs, too.

So when my son gave me a shirt on Mothers Day that didn't really work, I set out to exchange it for the wide-leg pants I've been wanting. You should have seen me wandering aimlessly through Macy's, pushing the baby in his bright green umbrella stroller with a dozen pairs of jeans hanging off the back, dragging on the floor. I was determined to find the right pair even if it took me all day. But after about an hour, Marty started getting anxious, so I took him into the dressing room to try everything on. Funny how some of the super-flared jeans look wide-leg-ish. Ew.

A couple whines and several tears later (not to mention my fussy son), I found the perfect pair. They're comfortable, and a size smaller than I thought I'd need, and plenty long. And I only spent twenty bucks! Yeah, they're a cheap knock-off brand, but they're MY cheap knock-off pants. I'm so proud.

But when I got home and modeled them for my husband, after gushing about how good my butt looks in them, he said, "Wow. Who knew that bell bottoms would come back in style?" Okay. Not really what I was looking for in the line of compliments.

So disco diva or not, at least I'll be smokin' hot. Groovy.

goodbye, Durango

2008-05-10T12:48:00.001-07:00

So, anyone interested in a 2003 Dodge Durango? We're trying to sell ours, and kind of counted on getting rid of it in order to make ends meet. Marty tried shopping it around to some local car dealerships, but they were only offering about half of what we'd like to get for it.

See, we still owe quite a bit on it, so we're looking for about $12,500, but are willing to negotiate. I know it's a lot, but that's less than Blue Book, so it's a good deal on a great car. It's been good to us, and hasn't had any problems with it since we bought it a couple years ago. It seats five comfortably, and has plenty of storage space in the back--great for groceries or other Mommy duties. It's still in almost perfect condition, with air conditioning and a CD player, airbags, a locking system for carseats. Good car.

If you know anyone who's looking to get something that will last a LONG time, let us know. You can call me at 559-908-7044 or email at mamamoseley@hotmail.com.

Madness #8--the squirts

2008-05-06T23:54:00.000-07:00

Fact: little baby diarrhea, or "diaperrhea" as we call it in our house, smells worse than anything I've ever smelled in my life, including, but not limited to, cat poop, husband poop, or any poop for that matter.

Madness #7--Mr. Clean?

2008-05-06T23:47:00.000-07:00

Fact: little baby vomit will stain just about anything, like a neighbor's carpet, favorite shirt, or hand-made quilt from Grandma.

Madness #6--WinCo shminco...

2008-05-05T22:27:00.000-07:00

Can I just say that I abhore going to WinCo?

But you just can't beat those prices. Yeah, Safeway is a lot nicer--they actually bag your groceries for you and offer to help you to the car, which is great for moms like me--but can I really justify spending twice or three times as much? Now that Marty and I are on a pretty strict budget, I have to keep our grocery bill under $250 a month. And I can spend that much on "just a couple things" at Safeway.

So I guess it's the really low grocery bill at the end of my WinCo visit that makes it worth my time. I mean, now that I'm a mom, it's a pretty big deal to restock our fridge and usually naked pantry. I have to work around my son's sleeping and eating schedules, so he's not whining the whole time and causing other moms to stare at me with that look of disapproval like I have no idea what I'm doing. So once he's rested and well fed, I have to load him into the car along with a bottle, toys, diapers, wipes, a bib for that unexpected throw-up, snacks--you name it, I've probably got it. I then get to drive across town to go to a store that makes me uncomfortable. I get to deal with people touching my son's hands and feet without asking permission, then watch as little Marty puts that same hand or foot into his mouth. Yuck. You just never know when people have showered last, or washed their hands. And the cart is always so full that my tiny little self has trouble dragging it around the store. I have to almost throw my body against it to get it where I want it to go. And believe me, steering around the people that just stand in the middle of the aisle is pretty dang hard. So I wait in a fifteen minute line, then spend another fifteen minutes bagging all my groceries while people glare at me for taking so long. But when I have to attend to my fussy son who's tired of sitting on the hard metal seat for so long, I will take all the time I need to make sure he's okay. So sue me for caring about my son more than about being "bagger of the year". Then I drag the heavy cart out to the car, take forever loading it myself, and try desperately to avoid putting the gallon of orange juice on top of the potato bread. When I get home, I take the baby into the house first and try to distract him with a fun toy or piece of cheese to munch on so he doesn't try to get out every time I open the front door with a new load of grocery bags from the car. It usually takes me about ten trips back and forth to get everything in the house. And I'm not strong. So when I overdo it and try to carry in more than I'm able, I get angry and get determined to prove something to myself and carry it in anyway, no matter how much my arms are burning, and how many times I scrape myself. And the cats always try to escape, so I have to close the door behind me every time I go in and out. It makes for a long unloading process. Tonight I had half a mind to call Billy (our neighbor) and ask him to help me. But even if I had an extra set of hands, I still have to actually put everything away. In the fridge, freezer, or pantry. Of course my anal self has to sort things by category and go through everything we already have, throwing out the bad stuff to make room for the new. Really, I hate when food gets shoved into the back of the fridge or pantry and we don't know it exists until it's rotten. So I try to rotate things in and out. Really, it takes forever. The whole ordeal just takes freakin' forever.

Anyway, needless to say I don't enjoy grocery shopping as much as I used to when I had the luxury of just hopping out of the car and walking in to the store. I didn't have to worry about finding a cart whose little seat belt actually works, or about avoiding aisles with suspicious-looking people in them so my child stays germ-free.

But hey. I'm trying to look on the bright side. It's a great workout, with all the packing and lifting and loading and unloading and pushing and sorting and such. So to those who think moms just sit around and do nothing all day, eat your shorts. "Sitting around and doing nothing" is not as easy as we make it look.

Take THAT, WinCo. You may be my Everest, but no matter how grueling the journey, and how many times I curse grocery shopping along the way, I always win in the end.

scooter smiles

2008-05-02T22:08:00.000-07:00

So, you've heard about our disappointment regarding scooters not being delivered the day they were promised. Well, after endless hours of waiting and nervous anticipation, a big ol' truck drove up to our little house yesterday afternoon with early Christmas presents for Bobby and Marty. Friday was officially "scooter day".

It took a while for the boys to help the delivery guy unload the huge packages (okay, have to say it--"that's what she said"), but it was fun to watch them prance around a bit like little boys on the first day of summer vacation. Seriously, I don't think I've ever seen two grown men giggle like they did. They couldn't get those scooters assembled fast enough.

Despite a couple hiccups along the way, both scooters were put together in no time. The proud wifey-s looked on with cameras in hand and babies on hips, as Candace so accurately put it. It was a monumental moment as we counted down to the actual turning of the engine keys. But nothing happened. A discussion about throttles and chokes and kick starts ensued, as Candace and I just sat and stared, lovingly listening to our precious boys talk like men. An hour, a trip to the gas station in a "girl car" as the neighbor boy put it, and some sore legs later, engines were purring and we tearfully waved goodbye as our husbands rode off into the sunset. Nevermind that they were back two minutes later to complain that the bikes just were fast enough and needed more air pressure in the tires.

It may have taken a while, but last night Bobby and Marty slept peacefully knowing their little matching scooters and new matching "big boy" helmets (voted on by the wives for improved safety) were finally home.

Madness #5--where the sun don't shine

2008-04-30T23:17:00.000-07:00

Marty graduated from his baby tub to the grown-up tub for bathtime. It's been a lot more convenient now that we can just sit him in the tub with a couple inches of warm water and scrub all that drool and those boogers and that spit-up and those cracker crumbs and that little bit of pureed lasanga off of his tiny body.

Bathtime is a fun time for Mama and baby. It's a chance for both of us to relax and just enjoy playing with the plastic cups and rubber duckies that float in the water--though Marty enjoys that part a bit more than I do. Really though, it's a great chance to wind down after a long day. Not to mention how great that little boy smells with his hair all washed and his body all clean and lotioned!

But no one told me about the hair issue I'd encounter with this "big boy tub" graduation. See, when adults shower, especially girl adults, long hairs disconnect themselves from our heads and wind up on the shower floor. So when a certain baby takes a bath and spends a good half hour sitting on that shower floor, those hairs end up finding their way into a certain tiny butt crack. It's inevitable. When it's time to put a clean diaper on after he gets all dried off, I almost always pull a hair or two out from "where the sun don't shine".

I know what you're thinking. Just clean the tub before every bath and get rid of any stray hairs ahead of time. It's not that simple. I've tried. Even when I don't see a single hair in that tub, one still manages to find it's way in. Or up. Ew.

Poor little guy. Someday when he finds out about this, he's going to freak out. Maybe it's in his best interest to pull out that baby tub again after all. At least then the hair would be his own. And that's better, right? Madness, I tell you.

scooter blues

2008-04-30T22:15:00.000-07:00

So, we're pretty broke. That's not really anything new for those of you who know us well.

But we're finally taking our lives into our own hands and trying to cut back on some things. The most significant change? We're selling our Durango. It's been a great car, and I'll certainly miss it. But I won't miss the $400 car payment each month and the $100 in gas and the $50 or so in insurance.

I told Marty that I needed some kind of transportation, though, since staying at home all day while he took our only car to and from work would drive me crazy. I get restless and need to go out and do things, even if it's just a trip to Barnes to read through some of my favorite Bernstein Bears books from when I was a kid, or an American Eagle visit to see how Marty's holding up.

The solution? We bought Marty a scooter with our tax return money. It was kind of a splurge, but we got more back on our return than we expected, and the silly little thing will pay for itself in no time since we'll be saving $550 per month by selling the Durango.

It's just funny because Marty's best bud Bobby got one too. So they'll be able to scoot around town together on their little matching scooters in their little matching helmets. I swear they have a man crush on each other.

Anyway, the bikes were supposed to arrive today, so at around 2pm, the Pecauts came over and we anxiously awaited their delivery together. We sat through "Bee Movie"--had to make sure it was a movie our kids would like someday, you know? No bikes. We ordered pizza. No bikes. We talked about spiritual gifts over dinner--great conversation. No bikes. We rented "Cloverfield" and nearly pooped our pants freaking out. No bikes. We made brownies. No bikes. Candace and I had to just laugh at our poor husbands, who were sitting around waiting with their helmets on, ready to hop on and cruise around town the second those scooters were dropped off.

Guess their dream will have to come true tomorrow.

spiritual gifts

2008-04-28T18:34:00.000-07:00

So we're talking about spiritual gifts at The Stirring right now.

And for me, having grown up in a pretty conservative church, this topic is a little foreign. I mean, in Sunday School they used to mention that God had given each of us a special talent that we'd get to use to better serve Him. But if it had to do with anything remotely supernatural, like speaking in tongues or healing or prophesying over someone, we just didn't talk about it.

Needless to say, it brought about a curiosity regarding those "different" gifts. I mean, it says right there in the Bible, in First Corinthians, that tongues and healing and prophecy are from the Lord, and considered just as much a spiritual blessing as the gifts of encouragement or mercy (my particular specialties). They must be legitimate then, right?

So why are they so "hush-hush" in certain communities? Why are they considered so weird? I've been thinking about it a lot, as God's been bringing people with these gifts into my life in really random ways over the last week. One of my sister's co-workers goes to Bethel and was sharing stories about the healing God has done through her. And a friend of a friend, who joined us for a little park playdate yesterday can speak in tongues on demand. (The little kid in me wanted to hear what it sounded like and was tempted to ask her to say my name in her heavenly language, but I restrained myself). And a couple days ago, I found that two people I know personally, one of which I've known for years, have both spoken in tongues at one point in their lives. All four of these people are normal people--they blend in with the rest of us who strive to serve the Lord in the best way we know how. Through their lives God has been opening my eyes and my mind to the different ways He works. I'm learning that it's okay for someone to exhibit these "hush-hush" gifts, as long as they are using them for the right reasons. As long as God is getting the glory, not the person He's gifted in this special way.

But to be honest? It's still hard for me to hear people talk about healing powers. I've lived for almost eleven years now with a chronic illness that has crippling effects on my everyday life. We spend thousands of dollars a year paying for the tests and procedures and treatments I receive to keep my Crohn's at bay, not to mention all the money we spend on my husband's insulin and syringes, as he's a Type-1 diabetic. So why hasn't God chosen to heal me? Or my husband? I have never, in those eleven long years of pain, had someone pray over me and ask God to take my Crohn's away. If there are healers out there, why haven't any come my way?

I know, I know. Maybe I don't have enough faith. Or maybe God is using my experience for His glory, and to be healed would be against His will for my life and my role in His kingdom. It's true that I have been able to encourage others with a chronic illness, as I can relate in a way that most others can't. But when is it my turn to feel okay? When do I get to be healed?

Maybe that's why the church often has a hard time accepting these more supernatural gifts. Because we don't all get to be a part of the miracles God performs. And in our humanness and selfishness, we can't seem to understand why God would choose to let us live in our illness, or let us go a lifetime without receiving a special message from someone prophesying over us.

And in my head, I can think back to all my Sunday School lessons about our love relationship with God being about surrendering ourselves to Him, not about what we can get out of it. But during the nights I spend tossing and turning because my joints ache and it's impossible to get comfortable, and the days after those nights that I spend feeling weak and exhausted, it's hard for me to tranfer that head knowledge to my heart.

Clearly faith is NOT my gift.

But as Nate said at church last night, it would be tragic if all of us believers were identical, and gifted in the same ways. We need spiritual diversity to keep our church body headed in the right direction. Because if everyone were like me, we'd all feel encouraged and empathized with, but have little faith that God can do the impossible.

That's why being part of a church body is so important. We each bring something unique to the table, and work together to achieve God's purposes here on earth. And though I have things to work on and things yet to learn, I still have something to offer. I'm not just a "bump on a log" as they say, or in this case, a church-goer in a chair.

And I have to say it's pretty exciting.

"Okey, dokey, artichokey!"

2008-04-27T22:07:00.000-07:00

So I was eating an artichoke and apparently it was really funny.

P.S. Now you'll have two videos to watch obsessively, Candace! What are psuedo-aunties for anyway?

Madness #4--"Poop much?"

2008-04-26T16:49:00.000-07:00

So, when we found out we were having a boy and told the world, the responses we got often revolved around the fact that we were going to get peed on.

We were told to invest in "Pee-pee Tee-pees", little covers that you put over a boy's pee-pee (for lack of a more appropriate word) while you're changing his diaper so you don't get sprayed. We even got a couple blue onesies that said "automatic sprinkler" on them. Pretty funny. And when it actually happened for the first time, we laughed our heads off.

But no one told me that he just might poop during a diaper change too! My goodness. That caught me off-guard. And he usually does it right as I'm about to wipe that adorable little butt of his. It's like a fun surprise--but not the kind of surprise you want to get.

I guess this is a warning to all new moms or moms-to-be:
If you're doing a routine diaper change and your child starts grunting and turning red, strap that diaper back on and wait it out. You'll be glad you did, no matter how deadly that stink gets. Count your blessings. At least the stink won't be on YOU.

Madness #3--the Target trap

2008-04-25T13:23:00.000-07:00

Since becoming a mom, I've learned that it is impossible to leave Target without spending more money than you intended.

With their cute little displays and relatively low prices, how can you not toss a couple extra things in your red cart? And when you're being selfless enough to buy things for other people, like your adorable son who's sitting facing you in the cart with his gorgeous big blue eyes and precious "buy me everything" smile, how can you not justify each purchase?

Just the other day I went to Target looking for something small to send to my friend's son who's turning one. I was hoping to just spend a couple bucks--nothing extravagent. I ended up with forty dollars-worth of stuff! I managed to convince myself that I needed to buy a handful of greeting cards for birthdays and events coming up over the next few months, and that I just HAD to purchase the adorable Sesame Street-themed birthday party invitations for our son's upcoming bash instead of making my own invites. And was I forced to buy the little nightlight for the baby's room since it perfectly matched his decor? Of course!

I swear, every time I tell my husband that I'm headed to Target, I think he freaks out in his head. Knowing that I'm going to bring home a bag full of stuff we probably don't need.

My theory? You can always take things back. And while you're there returning stuff, may as well just look around for a little while...

splish, splash

2008-04-23T13:52:00.001-07:00

So, this is the super cute video we took of my son in his grandparents' pool. We think he was trying to "feel" the water with his little hand.

P.S. Yes, my husband looks very pastey white. But he has some time to work on that tan before our cruise in September, so have mercy, people.

Madness #2--snap, crackle, POP

2008-04-23T12:57:00.000-07:00

Kids are reaching puberty earlier and earlier these days. To my horror and embarrassment, my son broke out when he was just a couple months old.

I never knew that babies could get what's lovingly referred to as "baby acne". As if adding the word "baby" in front makes the little pimples just adorable. I have to be honest. I was pretty grossed out.

It's not like he had tiny "baby" zits all over his face. He just had a couple "baby" blemishes that kept appearing no matter how often I scrubbed those chubby cheeks. And as a new mom, I was lost as to how I should treat the little buggers. Do I apply some Clearasil? Hold an ice pack on them? Rub in some toothpaste? Pop them?

My baby books told me this form of acne was perfectly normal--that his little sweat glands were just working overtime trying to figure out how to function outside of Mommy's womb. All I could do was leave the pimples alone and they'd disappear over time. But I couldn't help feeling like everyone who saw them was staring at me, judging me. I almost wanted to hand-craft a onesie that said, "Yes, my mom DOES wash me from time to time. These zits aren't her fault."

Madness, I tell you. Not only that my tiny little baby appeared to be hitting puberty WAY sooner than I expected, but that I was so worried people would think I never cleaned the little guy. I started to realize that I had to just get over what other people perceived of me and parent my child the best way I knew how.

So sue me if I popped a "baby" zit just once. His relatives were coming over and I didn't want a tiny whitehead in every single picture...

Madness #1--the "wow" factor

2008-04-22T14:44:00.000-07:00

Everyone thinks their kid is the cutest baby to ever be born. Which means that no one but YOU thinks YOUR kid is the cutest baby to ever be born.

This caused me a lot of grief and concern during my last few months of pregnancy. I was so worried that my child would inherit my worst qualities and features, and that I would be the only person in the world that thought he was perfect.

I can remember a conversation I had with my tenth grade English teacher, who found out she was expecting her first child during our fall semester in her class. She had become a good friend of mine, and took me out to lunch to tell me that she was pregnant before I heard it from someone else. At one point, between bites of her Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger at Wendy's, she looked at me with a worried expression and said, "Becky, I'm so scared that my baby will be ugly and I'll think she's beautiful and no one will have the heart to tell me that I've given birth to an ogre!" So funny. Right then and there I promised to give her the bad news should her child be horrifyingly repulsive. Thank goodness I didn't have to do that. Her daughter was angelic.

But ever since she mentioned the idea, it stuck with me. I had never thought of motherhood in that way before. I mean, I've seen some pretty ugly babies in my time, but to their mothers, they are flawless. So Marty and I would stay up at night, rubbing my pregnant belly, and talk about our son, hoping he'd turn out alright.

Which leads me to my moment of madness. I had to have an emergency c-section (another story for another time), so my heart was pounding as I laid there in the OR waiting to hear that first little scream. Marty was there with me holding my hand, talking about rainbows and butterflies to get my mind off the fact that my abdomen was open and exposed and that my doctor was pushing my guts to the side trying to pull our baby out, when the anesthesiologist tapped my husband on the shoulder and said, "You might want to see this." Marty stood up and peered over the partition that seperated my torso from my bloody belly and watched as our baby emerged. Kind of gross but kind of cool. As soon as I heard our son's little whimper, my first words were, "Is he cute?"

I know, I know. I'm a bad mom. My concern was not whether he was healthy but whether he was adorable enough to elicit attention from other people. Adorable enough to convert a couple people into the belief that OUR son was the cutest baby to ever be born.

But you know what? I blame that moment of madness on the drugs. Because let's face it. My child really is the cutest ever and if you say otherwise, I'll just nod politely and pray for you to someday see the truth.

prelude to some "Mommy Madness"

2008-04-22T14:20:00.000-07:00

So, a bunch of my fellow bloggers have these themes that they blog about. Erica has her "Things That Make Nathan Do His Viking Growl", Anna has her "Confessions of a Neat Freak". I've been wondering what I could possibly lend to the blogging world when it hit me like a splash of pee while changing my son's diaper.

I'm a mom. And every day I discover things that I never knew to expect about motherhood. Things that most moms don't talk about, or even really address. Not that there's an ugly side to being a mom--there's just a surprising side that's changed me in so many ways. But for moms like me that have a pretty good sense of humor, these surprises lend countless hours of entertainment more than anything else. So I thought I'd try to elicit a giggle or two and share my little discoveries as I...um...discover them.

So journey with me as I share each "Mommy Madness". I promise I'll make you laugh and will provide plenty of embarrassing stories about my son. And about myself, I guess.

After all, when you become a mom, all sense of what is polite and proper and decent pretty much goes out the window. You kind of have to get over yourself and buckle in for the ride of your life.

"You free on Saturday?"

2008-04-20T00:25:00.000-07:00

So, Marty and I are total last-minute people.

And at times we're kind of forced to be (though this is me making excuses for ourselves). See, Marty's work schedule is crazy, and he often doesn't know what nights he'll have off during the week until a couple days ahead.

This week he happened to have Saturday evening open. So we decided to throw an impromptu barbeque at the old homestead, and were shocked that so many of our friends ended up being last-minute people too! With only two days' notice, we had twenty-two adults and six kids.

Now THAT is a barbeque! My living room was overflowing with friends, family, and loved ones. People were sitting on every possible surface in my tiny home. To some, it may have been stressful, but to me, it was perfect. And somehow we had more food than we could possibly eat--I think Marty and I are going to be having watermelon and grilled meat for dinner until the day we die.

But the best part was how loved Marty and I felt. Sure, we joked about being the cool kids since so many people showed up, but in all reality, we were more humbled than anything. And it couldn't have come at a better time, as this week has been a pretty rough one. What a great reminder that God has placed us in this community here in Redding for a reason, and that we matter to more people than we realize.

And as if my smile wasn't already big enough, a friend came up to me in the midst of our houseful of people and told me the best news that I've heard in a long time. News that in all reality affects the rest of my life. For the better. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, but I think the tears glistening in my eyes was enough to show how elated I am. I just can't wait for that "rest of my life" to begin.

All that to say I am one lucky gal. A big hug and thank you to those who reminded me of that just by showing up to our last-minute barbeque. Who knows--maybe we'll have another one in a couple days just so we can get those warm fuzzies all over again.

Anyone free?

my elf shoes

2008-04-18T13:24:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I'm kind of proud of myself. I've actually started a little bit of a fashion trend. And for the girl who used to wear hot pink stirrup pants with yellow wool socks and Payless's cheap knock-off Converse, this is a big deal.

So, a couple years ago my mother-in-law when to London and came home raving about the shoes that all the fashionable girls were wearing. She described them as black flats with a pointed toe. We went shopping and tried to find her a pair, but to no avail. Which was weird because everyone seems to have those shoes.

Well, for her birthday this past October, I was determined to find them. It took about five minutes of google searching to discover that Target carried black flats with a pointed toe. Not sure why we didn't just look online in the first place. Anyway, I buckled little Marty into his carseat and set out for our local Target to pick up a pair. Save on shipping costs, right? When I got there I discovered that they carried a bronze version as well. And my mother-in-law wears a lot of bronze, so I surprised her with some fun, pointy shoes. Happy Birthday, Mimi. Nevermind that she had to trade them for the silver ones since I bought the wrong size.

So my birthday rolled around in December, and my sister called to find out what I'd like. I directed her to the Target website and hinted that there were some pretty cute bronze pointy shoes for a reasonable price. Sure enough, she bought them for me and I started wearing them almost every day.

Then for Christmas, my younger sisters bought each other the same shoes in black. So I found myself trying to be careful that we all didn't wear our shoes at the same time. It would be pretty lame.

At a baby shower in January, a friend of mine (okay, Kathy) was admiring my bronze pointedness and asked where I got my adorable shoes. A couple months later I noticed her wearing a pair of her own at church one Sunday.

And now, my sister-in-law has the exact same ones. My mother-in-law went to lunch with her yesterday and came home to tell me that Anna had on the same shoes I wore yesterday, too. I can only imagine that she got the tip from Kathy, who's a good friend of hers.

So I guess I kind of started a fashion trend. I mean, people have been wearing elf shoes for a while now, so it wasn't really my idea, but I'm responsible for six gorgeous pairs finding their way to some happy owners, including myself. They really are comfortable despite looking like they would bend your toes in several weird directions.

The next time you see someone wearing them, think of me. Plain old Becky, whose version of high fashion is splurging on a thirty-dollar faux leather purse on sale at Macy's, discovered something cool and passed it on. Like I said, I'm pretty proud of myself.

first date jitters

2008-04-18T12:54:00.000-07:00

So, my son went on his first date the other night. At ten months old.

I have to say that Marty is already quite the romantic fellow. Little Alyssum was just hanging out in her rocker when Marty crawled over and started escorting her all around the Brams' living room. He pushed her from one side of the room to the other, and back again, all the while gazing lovingly into her eyes.

But don't worry--I was there to chaperone along with his date's mother, so we made sure nothing fishy was going on. Though this picture seems to find them looking awfully suspicious:

But whether he behaved himself or not, I'd say my son is pretty much in love. And he picked the right girl--we've been talking about setting him up with Alyssum since the day they first met, even calling her parents, Matt and Sarah, his future in-laws. Arranged marriages are still legal in the US, right?

Now we just have to work on teaching him how to hold her little hand.

some verbal tears...

2008-04-15T13:52:00.001-07:00

I can't stop crying.

God is certainly testing my faith right now.

I feel so helpless, so depressed, so needy--but also feel like I don't have anywhere to turn. Marty's busting his butt working his two jobs so I don't want to just unload on him during the little time we have together. We talked a little bit this afternoon on his break between shifts and I think it just made matters worse.

As he drove away, I was crying and he was equally upset. His last words to me were, "Are we ever going to be able to genuinely smile?" It broke my heart.

And yeah, it's a little extreme to be thinking that way. But sometimes it feels like we've been forgotten. Like we're meant to spend our lives feeling lonely and desperate. Seems as though right when we begin to feel content, God rips something out of our hands and we're left figuring out how to start over. It makes me want to harden my heart and no longer put myself out there at the risk of being hurt.

Guess I just have to remind myself that the Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

"Red nines, accordians, and Satan--oh my!"

2008-04-11T16:19:00.000-07:00

I love my family. We are all super weird and nerdy and loud, but I just love my family.

I'm here in San Jose, staying at my parents' house as we enjoy a long weekend of time together, with my aunt and two cousins visiting from Michigan. And so far it's been a blast. We've played cards and screamed over who put the red nine on the yellow eight, we've given each other crazy gifts that evoked laughter and accordian-playing, we've had a birthday party complete with hot pink cheetah-print goodie bags, and we've all piled in the van to go check out the Satan puppet at the local Christian book store. And tonight my in-laws are coming over for tacos.

Now for those that weren't born into this madness, our quirks certainly raise eyebrows. My husband has had a few freak-out moments of his own, as I know we can all be overwhelming at times.

But to me, this is normal. I just shrug and say, "That's so us!"

Hooray for the Palms.

seeing double

2008-04-09T00:09:00.000-07:00

I just had to share this precious moment between father and son.

Aren't my Martys adorable?