Sick Again

You may remember from my post earlier in the week that Will recently got over a week long gatrointestinal virus resulting in very messy diarrhea. Well, I guess we just have really bad luck because he's got it again. The only difference this time is that he has a low grade fever. I couldn't feel worse for him. Last night he was perfectly fine, and then he had the largest diarrhea diaper and maybe an hour later he threw up. He was clearly not feeling well because he was ready for bed at 7:30. Then (as was the case frequently with the last bout) we were awakened by his cries at 1 am to find him soaked in diarrhea. Poor little guy. We had to change his diaper, clothes and sheets but instead of a new sleeper and new sheet I could only dress him in a onsie and sweat pants and lay down a blanket in his crib because our washer is not draining properly and I can't keep up with the laundry. I guess I should be more prepared this time to deal with these troubles since I just went through this. These are the moments when you truly earn your "badge of honor" as a parent. I suppose you get several when you have multiple children, all sick at the same time. Lord, prepare me now!

Here's a miserable little boy ready for a nap at 9 (2 hours earlier than normal).


Within minutes he was out.


He's now sleeping again. I know how he feels. When I'm not feeling well all I wanna do is sleep. I truly hope this doesn't last as long as before.

On a lighter note, my 30th birthday went really well. I got so many well wishes and was surrounded by several people I love. Who could ask for more? Rodney got us tickets to Madame Butterfly at Opera Theater Saint Louis in June and coordinated a little surprise cake gathering while Sarah took me out to dinner at Bar Louie. It was a great day. Thanks to all who sent me cards and birthday well-wishes. I'll close with a picture of a lovely pot of flowers that gave Anna me.

March 4th into my 30th (never to turn back)

I've been thinking about this post all week. What in tarnation am I gonna write? Here are some thoughts I've had about this day:

From today forward I will be obliged to mark the 30-35 age box on all forms. I feel that this officially categorizes me as 1. lady 2. ma'am and 3. mom. Gone are the days of "that girl," "can I help you miss?" and the like. Perhaps no one recognizes the change but me (and everyone else who knows that I officially parted with my 20s as of today). Maybe those anonymous people in public have been thinking of me this way long before, who knows? Nevertheless, here it is. Today I turn 30 and I must come to terms with this.

Many of you have either just recently experienced this yourself or have atleast turned 30 at some point, so no doubt you can relate. However, despite these gloomy thoughts I do have a "silver lining" as is a habit of my personality. How 'bout some cliches to start with:

-"30 is the new 20!"
-Think about how richer and fuller my life is at 30 compared to 20
-Looking back on the past 10 years of my life, I've experienced so much and am thankful for it all
-Most all of the women I admire and look up to are atleast 30 or older
-I still have a lifetime to good living ahead of me

O.K. so that last one made it sound as if I feel like I'm facing a death sentence, but these are honestly things that I've thought about.

So, here's to turing thirty on the only date that's a command. Happy birthday to me...

Jiminy Christmas

Yesterday Will and I met up with Preston and Marisa at Ted Drewes. While we were standing in line a guy looked down at Will in his stoller and said "What, 22 months?" My initial response was to laugh at the crazy man. Then I said, "9 months" and his response was (little kids: earmuffs) "Jesus Christ!" O.K., growing up this phrase used in such a context was definately a swear word. Please crazy guy, not in front of the kiddo! Try my favorite cheesy spinoff next time: "Jiminy Christmas."

Will is getting rather large these days. My favorite comment is: "Wow, he's gonna be bigger than you soon!" I just weighed him on our non-accurate scale and it said 22 pounds. We will unfortunately have to wait until March 13th to get the official 9 month weigh-in from the doctor. The interesting thing is that he just got over a week long gastro virus (with the main symptom being really messy diarrhea about 4 times a day) and he did not care much for solid foods while it lasted, but he still manages to look as beefy as ever. I especially notice it first thing in the morning when I'm coming out of my fog and my body hasn't quite "roused the troops" yet. Picking him up out of the crib and holding him in my jello-y arms is a difficult task before coffee. Thank God for Gerber Biter Biscuits. He mows on one of those in his high chair while I have my breakfast. Oh so messy and oh so helpful. They're like dog bones for babies. Genius.

Biter Biscuit Aftermath

We are also big fans of Gerber Puffs in this house. I usually can't leave home without a heavy supply of these bad boys. Toys only keep his attention for so long, but there's something transfixing about stuffing your face that allows for extended periods of concentration and contentedness. I think we can all attest to this phenomenon. Perhaps this is why Will seems so huge to me lately? Ha.

Singing With Dad: A Video Post

Recently I've noticed that whenever I'm practicing/vocalizing Will makes this strange sustained sound that I've come to interpret as singing along. Here's a video of Rodney singing and playing the guitar to Will and towards the middle he decides to "sing" along.

What Dreams Mean

The other night I had the weirdest dream. I dreamt that Will and I were hanging out with some ladies who were cooking up a storm in a kitchen (perhaps it was a special dinner or something) when all of the sudden they started joking about cooking Will (remember I said it was weird). I laughed, because, hey it was a joke and I like jokes. But then they put my naked baby in a big pot and started BASTING him! I said "What the h!@$ are you doing?" and as I grabbed my son from their pot they proceeded to laugh at me, not in a scary Hanzel and Gretel sort of way, but more like a teasing mother-hen sort of way. Then they said, "Mothers these days! How times have changed." Marisa and I had a good laugh when I told her about this weird dream. It got us thinking and talking about dreams and their mysterious nature. Isn't it interesting how we can have the strangest dreams and somehow not want to tell others about them? As I recounted the dream to Marisa there was this feeling inside of me almost like embarrassment. What is it about this sub/unconscious state that makes feel this way? We clearly have no control over the substance of our dreams and yet, we feel like others will judge them as if these are really thoughts we have. I'm sure there is a wealth of information out there on the "science" of dreams and it would be really interesting to sit down with someone who has systematically researched all of the this, but I would be more interested in picking up one of those non-scientific books at Borders to "translate" the meaning of my dreams for me. Am I afraid that well-meaning ladies want to eat my baby? Was it a super dramatic representation of "issues" of modern parenting that parents of a generation ago see as overreacting (ex. giving your baby ONLY pureed Gerber baby food, constantly keeping your baby strapped into their carseats even if your feet from home, overfeeding/underfeeding, overbathing/underbathing- you get the picture). Laura once told me that Geoffrey never dreams and it made me think about how Rodney rarely tells me about his dreams either. Marisa offered that Kyle is the same and said she heard or read somewhere that men are less likely to remember their dreams. I wondered if they are less likely to recount their dreams because of the vulnerable state that comes with telling others our crazy dreams (and the judgement thing I mentioned above). Maybe women can handle this vulnerable feeling more than men? Hmm. I'd love to hear about your wackiest dreams- judgement free. Sometimes we just need a good laugh.

Owl or Lark?

I have a love affair with coffee that spans several years. Ever since I can remember, my dad had to have a cup of coffee every morning. It was also a treat when he would pick up a gallon of coffee flavored Breyers ice cream (Mom, ever the health nut, often forbade ice cream in the house). So, the taste and smell of coffee has been something that has captured my senses for some time. But it wasn't until I was in college that it became a morning necessity for me.

Never more than a cupful, I began to need it's rousing effects within 15 minutes of waking. I sometimes worried about this morning routine because I knew about the dehydrating effects of coffee/caffeine on the vocal folds (not good for singers). But, I figured it was alright if I just drank loads of water, which I have always done as a singer anyway.

Not only does the taste of coffee rank high on my list of all time wonderful flavors, but it has also made mornings something I can handle. You see, for the longest time getting out of bed has been difficult and (before coffee) I would need a good hour before I felt like a normal person. When I married Rodney, I began to see this as a moral dillema because he would pop out of bed every morning well before 8 am (on a weekend) and I began to feel that my desire to sleep in (past 8 am) was seen as lazy (even though he would never say this). It wasn't until I began reading Ferber to help Will's sleep that I understood our differnces and exactly why I "needed" coffee in the morning.

Dr. Ferber separates us into two groups: owls and larks. Here's what he says about owls: "[these] are people who get energized at night. Their second wind is strong, and the late night is often the most pleasant time of their whole day. Owls feel most alert at that time; they can think clearly, study effectively, and play well. Staying up late is easy for them. But owls have a problem in the morning: waking up and starting the day, even after a full night's sleep, is painful and difficult, like climbing out of a deep hole (YES!!!). Owls don't like to get up, and they avoid early-morning activities whevever they can." This is definately me.

And here's Rodney: "For larks, the second wind is less forceful. As night falls, larks feel as if they are sliding into the same deep hole that owls wake up from each morning. Finding it unpleasant to stay up late, larks may pass up evening activities or leave them early. But they wake up without any trouble early in the morning, usually feeling great. They want to get right up and start doing things. For larks, morning is the best time of day and evening is the worst."

I can't tell you how many times Rodney has put on a pot of coffee at night just to remain awake for evening activities.

Dr. Ferber goes on to explain that not everyone necessarily falls into either of these categories. I often marvel at my mother-in-law's ability to stay up late AND get up early without (seemingly) difficulties.

So, there you have it. I am an owl and Rodney is a lark. This explains so much. Our families even fit nicely into these two categories, with little variation. So, is one better than the other? What do you think? Are you an owl or a lark by nature?

Here's a picture that I took of Rodney this past week. The exact time I took it was 8:30 pm. He went on to sleep just like this until 11:30 pm, when I came in to bed and I woke him and told him to get ready for bed. If I hadn't done that he would have slept this way all night. I can't tell you how many times this has happened since we've been married.

Cardboard's Not the Same as a Sled

I am woefully behind in getting these pictures (and video) posted. When last week's snow storm gave Rodney a snow day he decided that he wanted to do what he's done the past 2 or 3 snow days: go sledding at Art Hill in Forest Park. I've done this with him on one of the occassions, and it is a blast. With Will I knew it would be a modified sledding experience, and I was really excited about "frolicking" with him in the new fallen snow. On our way to Forest Park we stopped by Target to by a sled and they were all sold out. Then, we tried Walmart and when Rodney sadly found none there either, he decided to purchase a folded up cardboard box he saw (for $3.50) on his way out of the store. Here's a video followed by photos showing you how much fun we had (sadly, the cardboard box did not deliver but we had fun anyway).

Mommy and Me

Daddy and Me

Cardboard's Not the Same

Successful Sledders

Trying

Snow Bunny

Art Hill