Broccoli Cheese Soup Recipe

This is literally the best broccoli cheese soup I have ever had in my life.  It's amazingly simple and free from any of the "cream of" soups and pre-packaged crud people seem to be so desperately avoiding these days.  It started as a recipe from a co-worker.  I have no idea where she got the recipe, but I've modified it to perfection.  It is by no means light, but it's a perfect dinner for a chilly night with some rolls or (drumroll, please) a BREAD BOWL.  Oh heavens, the bread bowl.

Broccoli Cheese Soup

1/2 cup butter, softened
1/2 cup all purpose flour
8 cups chicken broth
2 (14 oz) bags frozen broccoli florets
1 onion, diced
1 tsp black pepper
1 cup heavy cream
4 cups shredded sharp cheddar cheese

Combine butter and flour with fork.

In large soup pot, combine broth, broccoli, onion, and pepper.  Bring to a boil over high heat.  Reduce heat and simmer for 20-25 minutes or until broccoli and onions are tender.

Add butter mixture, stirring until soup has thickened.  Slowly stir in heavy cream.  Add cheese 1 cup at a time, mixing well after each addition until cheese is melted.

I hope you enjoy it!

All You Need Is Love

Last night when I was bathing Dane, he decided to "swim" in the tub.  It was pretty darn cute, but I'm certainly biased.  Here was our conversation:

Dane:  "I'm swimming, Mommy!"
Me:  "Wow!  Where did you learn to swim like that?!"
Dane:  "Because I just am.  Because you love me, Mommy."

Woah.  Talk about a feel good moment.  Now, this isn't supposed to be a look-what-an-awesome-mom-I-am story.  I do the best I can, but there are moments when I feel like packing him up and sending him to Gramma's house.  Like tonight, when we were eating broccoli cheese soup (recipe here) and he tells me "I don't like broccoli.  I love broccoli.  Mommy, you made yummy soup.  Mommy, I don't like soup.  I only want bread."  It's just that I had this realization that if our kids know that we love them because we tell them a million times a day in words and gestures, then they can do anything.  And that makes you remember that yes, there are ten times minimum in day when you're frustrated to the point of tears, but your job is so worthwhile.  Your job is so important, the most important. And if your kids know you love them, you're doing it right regardless of the hundreds of things you've done wrong since the day of their birth.

The Short Version....

This was my day.  In light of recent circumstances that put everything into perspective, I was able to laugh at the day (and myself) and realize that it was just a bad day.  And not even a bad day, just an unorganized, poorly executed, nutty mess of a day.  I'll try to give you the short version story.

It started just after 5:30 this morning.  My car wouldn't crank.  This is completely my fault, like everything else today.  I knew that my key was wearing out about a year ago, but it hasn't been giving me any issues, and I didn't want to drive to the dealership in the next town to have a new key cut.  Well, we can call that poor choice #1 of the day.  This meant I had to wake up my family, get them dressed, take Dane to daycare and Jonathan to work, and get myself to work.... two hours late.

Once I get to work, I call the pediatrician's office to make an appointment.  Dane had been acting strangely on Thursday afternoon and Friday morning, but by the time I picked him up on Friday afternoon, he seemed back to his sweet self, so I figured I had nothing to worry about.  He's 2.  Two-year olds are moody.  Everyone knows this.  Plus, he never ran a fever and he's been eating and sleeping normally.  (You see what I'm doing here?  I'm already trying to explain away bad decision #2 -- not taking him to the pediatrician last week.)  Anyway, on Saturday afternoon I noticed some drainage in his ear.  He's had a ruptured eardrum before (on Christmas Day 2011) and it looked exactly like that.  I figured it was that again, and having been there before, I know there's not really much to be done but check to make sure the hole doesn't need to be patched.  Always preferring to take Dane to our pediatrician rather than sit in a waiting room with staph and flu and goodness knows what else, and the fact that he was back to his old self helped me make the decision to just make him an appointment today.

The pediatrician's appointment is scheduled for 3pm.  Perfect.  That leaves me enough time deposit my paycheck, drive to get my new key cut, go to the Sprint store to have them fix my phone (another thing I've put off for far too long), pick-up Dane from daycare and take him to the doctor.  Except I drive ten miles past the bank before I remember I need to go to the bank (dumb ass move #3). Turn around.  Make deposit.  Drive to dealership.  Get key cut.  Drive to Sprint.  The computer at Sprint was down so they couldn't process the insurance claim on my phone.  I tell them I need to leave to pick up my son for an appointment and they tell me to stop back by after his appointment.

At Dane's appointment, I'm asked which ear I spotted the drainage in.  I cannot for the life of me remember. I suddenly feel like one of those celebrity moms who leaves their child with a nanny all day.  Except I'm not skinny, stylish, or rich.  Erg.  I'm told he has a raging ear infection, complete with puss, and will need antibiotics.  I feel like a complete terd.  I've taken my child to the pediatrician for stupid nothings in the past and I miss when he actually needs to go.  Phooey on me.

I stop back my Sprint to process the claim on the phone, hit the pharmacy, and head home.  I get home at 4:30pm and decide to see if the new key fixes the car issue.  But the new key isn't anywhere.  I call the dealership.  They've been trying to reach me to tell me I left the key on the cashier counter (again, it's the next town over).  There's #4.

I think, "no problem". I'll run to the dealership with Dane and call to ask Jonathan to pick up something for dinner on his way home.  Dammit.  I have his car.  So at 4:30pm, I call Jonathan to tell him that I have to run to the dealership before they close to get my key (in the opposite direction of his work) and then I'll be there to pick him up.  The entire trip, Dane is hysterical, crying that he wants to go to Owen's house.  No changing the subject or lying about Owen not being home (again, phooey on me) will console him.

An hour later, family piled into the car, we head to Moe's to have an enjoyable meal.  When we get home, I fully expect to end this day on a high note by cranking up my car with the new key.  Except it doesn't crank.  Well, poop.

Love = Friendship + Fire

Today, I wore a 12 year old (what?!) Pan Dance (sorority formal) t-shirt for my walk.  As I was thinking about how long ago that was, I happened to remember that's the night I met Jonathan.  The shirt has the formal date on it (Oct 20, 2000) so I now know the exact date I met my husband.  Crazy.  I've known him over a third of my life.

By the way, in case you were wondering, he was playing video games in the ATO house.  We were introduced, he said "hey" and that was it.  No butterflies, no love at first sight.  I honestly only remembered his name because everyone called him by his last name, which is now our last name, and that's not an easy name to forget.

"Love is a friendship set on fire."  Jeremy Taylor (1613-1667)
We used this quote on our wedding favors.  It's hard to imagine life without him, and beyond strange to think that we almost never were.  Thank God for broken hearts.  :)

What's Up My Sleeve? (2)

Back in April, I wrote a post entitled "What's Up My Sleeve".  I had intentions to do another post of that nature much sooner-- not a full six months later.  Let's just say I'm not the most creative gal in the world and these brilliant ideas don't come to me too often.  But I do have a few I've been excited to share with you all!

Dog beds  I love my dogs.  However, they rarely (if ever) sleep in the bed with us.  So of course they have to have their own beds.  We've had a series of ugly, annoying, and/or bulky dog beds in our seven years of dog ownership.  My mom made us some really fantastic "dog sofas" a few years ago.  They were attractive and easy to vacuum but couldn't be deep cleaned easily and were quite large.  We couldn't take them with us anywhere and once Dane was born we just didn't have the room to keep them.  Not to mention the smell that just wouldn't go away after a while.  We replaced them with some fluffy, tufted little numbers that our dogs loved.  Unfortunately, they proved not to be very durable, could be washed but not dried, and impossible to vacuum all the little aggravating crevices.  I started researching all the options to replace our dogs' beds.  Being 7 and 9 years old, they needed something other than a pile of blankets, especially on our tile floors.  The best option for us looked to be a cot-style bed for dogs that ran about $70.  Jonathan and I talked about it and decided we would purchase some when the old ones gave out.  While in the baby/toddler section of Wal-Mart, I noticed that toddler cots are $25.  I looked at the weight limit -- 75 pounds.  It was perfect!  The dogs LOVE them.  They were cheap, come with a fitted sheet that can be machine washed and dried, and they fold up for travel!  Perfection.  (Cleveland agrees!)



Equate brand Proactiv  When I was pregnant my skin was perfect.  I am not even kidding.  I didn't have to wear foundation.  After pregnancy?  Holy hormones!  My skin was looking rough.  I have used Proactiv in the past and had good results, but it's expensive and you can't just buy it in any ol' store.  While looking for something to combat my "welcome to motherhood" gift from mother nature herself, I stumbled across Wal-Mart's version of Proactiv.  (What is UP with me and Wal-Mart lately?  I swear I only go once every other month, but I guess there are just some things you can only find there!)  Anyway, it's insanely cheap and my skin is looking much healthier.  My wallet is happy and so are my pores.




Moroccan oil knockoff  My hairdresser (back before I became too cheap and began cutting my own hair) uses Moroccan Oil treatments on my hair.  It smells like heaven and it does wonders for my hair.  It ought to at around $40 a bottle.  Although I love the results, I was unable to convince myself to spend that kind of money on hair oil.  Thankfully, I like the results of Garnier's Moroccan Sleek just as much.  You can find it at Target for $5.  It smells great and has made growing out my very dry hair more pleasant.  I use it before drying my hair and after styling.  My only complaint is that the packaging is poorly designed and it's easy to get way more than you wanted.  "Hello.  My name is Melissa and I did brush my hair with a pork chop this morning.  Thanks for noticing!"  Anyhow, just keep this in mind and you'll love it as much as I do.



Dry erase marker  Ok, you're right.  I didn't discover the dry erase marker.  But my husband did come up with a brilliant new way to use it, especially if you're a parent.  Our son has asthma.  When it flares up, we have trouble remembering what time we gave him allergy medicine and breathing treatments.  So we write it on the mirror in his bathroom where we already keep all his medications.  Everyone who has ever had a sick child knows how difficult it can be to remember when you last gave him ibuprofen.  Sleep deprivation from aforementioned sick child being up all.night.long doesn't help matters.  Thanks, brilliant hubby!  Parents everywhere (especially me) will thank you!

I hope you can find at least one thing that would be useful to you in this post.  If not, maybe What's Up My Sleeve 3.0 won't take six more months! :)

White Bean Kale Soup

There are a lot of recipes on Pinterest lately that are some variation of white bean and kale soup.  I've tried a couple and they weren't inedible, they just weren't something I'd make again.  So I went with my gut (which never works out for me in the kitchen) and made up my own.  It turned out surprisingly well.  This recipe for Tuscan Bean Soup from Saveur was my starting point.

1/4 cup canola oil
3-4 ribs celery, chopped
2 medium carrots, chopped (I'd go with 4 next time)
1 onion, diced
4 cloves garlic, minced
2 cans cannellini beans, rinsed and drained
8 cups vegetable or chicken broth (I mixed mine b/c it's what I had)
1-2 tsp granulated garlic
2 medium red potatoes, cubed
seasoning salt to taste
3-4 handfuls chopped Kale leaves (I used about 1/3 to 1/2 of the bag I bought)

Heat oil in large stock pot over medium-high.  Saute celery, onions, and carrots until onions are translucent.  Add garlic and saute for another 1-2 minutes.  (Be careful not to scorch the garlic.)  Add beans, broth, granulated garlic, and potatoes.  Boil gently until potatoes are done (about 20 minutes).  Turn soup down to a simmer.  Add a few handfuls of Kale and cook for five more minutes.  I took an immersion blender and partially blended the soup to thicken it up and it gave it a perfect consistency.  (You all know how I love my immersion blender!)

The original recipe calls for squash, but I worried that it would add too much sweetness to the perfect savory flavor that it already had.  It also calls for fennel seeds, which I don't love.  And dry beans, which not only could I not find the right variety in the store, but they're a pain in the butt.  It also calls for water instead of broth.  I think my improvement in this particular ingredient is a no-brainer.  I can't compare the two recipes because I never actually Tuscan Bean Soup, but I can say this:  Thanks for the inspiration, Saveur!

I think next time I'll get some crusty bread to serve with it.  Mmmm, bread.

Hope you enjoy.

The Things We Say

We've all heard the line "kids say the darndest things."  It's true.  My sweet nephew once told his Gramma he couldn't possibly go to sleep because his eyes were too big.  Smart, huh?  My friend Mary's children really say hilarious things.  She blogs here to document all the fun.  (**side note: You must check this out.  Even if you don't have kids, it's funny.  And if you know Mary, well, it just makes it that much more fun!)

As funny as little people can be, I am most amazed at the change in myself.  It's true, parenting makes you sound like, well, your parents.  *Shudder*  Once in a while, I catch myself saying something absolutely and truly ridiculous and I feel the need to share.  Here are a couple of my awesome mom moments:

"Dane, give the booger to Daddy."  This one is self-explanatory.  I mean, what the heck do I want with Dane's booger?

"Dane, eat your marshmallow."  Stupid, stupid, stupid.  Honestly, I was just trying to have an adult conversation with my BFF after dinner one night.  She had served s'mores for dessert so we gave the boys marshmallows.  Dane said "want down, go play" about 80 times before I could get him out of his high chair, and "eat your marshmallow" was my response.  Mom of the Year.  Right here.

"Oh, wow.  I put his poop-stain undies on him for his 2-year well check."  I said this right in front of our pediatrician.  I guess I wanted her to know that I noticed and he doesn't always wear poop-stain undies, but the minute it came out, I felt even more embarrassed.  

"Please get your hand out of your butt crack."  Ever since we potty trained Dane, he has an obsession with his crack.  I have no idea why.  There is no rash.  As far as I can tell, it doesn't itch.  He just has better access to it now I guess.  I don't expect I'll stop saying this one anytime soon.

What are some goofy things you've noticed yourself saying to your kid(s)?

What I Learned at CPST Training

Last week, I spent three days taking a course to become a Child Passenger Safety Technician (CPST).  I know, I know.  How could it possibly take three days to learn how to install and check a car seat?  I thought that too.

I had all my dress clothes packed and ready to go.  (My company paid for this training because one of my "hats" at work is Health and Safety Officer.)  I'm expected to represent the company in a professional manner, and had packed clothing appropriate for a business function.  A day or so before I left for the training, I got an email from the instructor advising attendees to dress in "workout type clothing."  Um, what? Well, thank goodness I listened!  For three days, we went back and forth from the classroom to the field, taking three written tests and three skills tests.  Other than lunch, we really didn't have a break, and sometimes class ran late.

I couldn't believe how much information there was!  I guess when you look at the fact that every vehicle is different, every child restraint is different, every child is different, and then throw family dynamics into the mix, there are endless possibilities.  My brain is still buzzing with all the things I *thought* I already knew.  I even found two things that we were doing wrong in our own car seat installations.

Since I cannot possibly check each and every one of my friends and family members' car seats, and I'm sure many of you don't want me to, I thought I'd just hit a couple of high points.

1.  After-market products:  I never ever realized how dangerous these could be.  I mean, I know not to put my child in a snow suit and then strap him into the car seat, but items like this are essentially doing the same thing!

Anyway, if it did not come with your car seat, or didn't say specifically that it could be used with your model of car seat, do NOT use it.  There are other, safer ways to support a newborn.  (And they're free!)

One big culprit that Jonathan and I are actually guilty of is this little contraption.

I won't lie.  It's amazing.  It lets you get the seat belt super duper tight in seconds.  But you can actually get your seat belt too tight.  Sounds crazy, right?  But it's true.  These belt tighteners have been known to put too much pre-crash tension on the retractors of the seat belt and cause the retractor to fail in a crash.

2.  Switchable retractors that aren't locked:  Most newer cars have seat belts that are on a switchable retractor.  This means you have to pull it all the way out to lock it before strapping the car seat in.  We came across several car seats at our inspection station that weren't actually locked in the car.

3.  Not rear-facing long enough:  I knew that rear-facing as long as possible was the safest option, but I wasn't sure exactly why.  Well, the "why" in this equation happens to be a horrible thing called "internal decapitation."  It's where the skin and muscle is still connected, but the spinal cord is not.  Keep your children rear facing as long as they still fit the height and weight requirements of the seat.  This video does a great job of showing why it's important to keep children rear facing as long as possible without being graphic.  If you'd like more information on why it's important, there is a ton of information that can by found by searching Google and/or YouTube.

Lastly, I encourage you to find a CPST or seat check event near you.  You can search by county, zip code, or city on this link.

I Love Two-Year Olds

In all seriousness, I really LOVE two-year olds.

A couple of things seem to happening very quickly since Dane's second birthday a few weeks ago.  The first is that he has suddenly become very verbal.  He's always been chatty, but he's stringing together thoughts into sentences that *almost* make sense.  For instance, this weekend, I overheard him tell Jonathan (over and OVER again), "Read that one book, Daddy.  Read that one book, Daddy.  Read that one book, Daddy."  It's becoming very clear exactly what he wants from us.  The other night, he was crying in his crib and I couldn't quite make out what he was saying over the monitor.  When I walked into his bedroom, he was pointing at a corner of his blanket that was hung on a crib rail saying "Need help, Mama!"  Wow, this parenting thing sure is getting a lot easier when I don't have a guess what the heck is wrong with you, Dane!

He's also begun to have an understanding outside of what is immediately happening to him.  A week and a half ago, he was whining to go outside and get in the car before we were ready to leave.  He had seen us take his DVD player (which only goes with us on long trips) out to the car and wanted to watch "animal movie" right away.  He kept whining every time we passed by him as we rushed to get the car packed for an overnight stay at my parents' house.  I finally told him to go to his room until he was finished whining.  Not only did this keep him out of harm's way as we packed up, it removed the offending whiny child from our paths and reinforced for him that whining was not going to speed up the process.  This is my new favorite parenting technique.

When he's whining, I tell him he can either stop whining or take it to his room.  Everyone needs their own space.  Two-year olds are no different.  A little space can change a bad attitude in a hurry.  Monday night, I told him that it was time to clean up some toys.  He said no.  I said "Dane, you can either help me clean up your toys or you can go to your room while I clean up toys."  "Clean toys, Mama," he said and quickly began helping tote the mess back into the playroom.  He's such a sociable little guy that the threat of spending a couple of minutes alone, away from all the fun, are enough to get him to reconsider his actions.

This I can handle!  Now when he hits the teenage years, I probably won't be able to smoke him out of there.

Crock-Pot Meatloaf

My BFF made this delicious, simple, perfect meatloaf recipe for Dane's birthday dinner a few weeks ago.  She was sweet enough to email it to me and I made it this past Saturday for dinner.  It's easy and makes the house smell like you've been slaving away all day.  Best news of all?  It's cooked in the Crock-Pot.  Here it is below:

Meatloaf
2 beaten eggs
3/4 cup milk
2/3 cup bread crumbs (I used Italian seasoned)
2 tsp onion powder
1 tsp salt
1.5 lbs ground beef

Sauce
1/4 cup ketchup
2 tbsp brown sugar
1 tsp mustard

Combine eggs, milk, bread crumbs, onion powder, salt, beef.  Mix well and shape to fit bottom of crock pot. Cook on low 5 or 6 hrs.  Combine sauce ingredients in small bowl.  Pour over meat.  Cover and cook on high 15 min.

The only thing I'd do differently next time would be to cut about a third (maybe even half) of the added salt out of the recipe.  It was great, but I just don't think Dane needs that much salt.  I might also double the sauce next time because it is just.that.good.  Mmmm.  And I don't even love meatloaf.

Thanks, Jamie!

If The Shoe Fits

At first glance, Dane looks exactly like his father.  His deep brown eyes, tan skin, short stocky legs, and long torso are Jonathan reincarnate.  Although if you look at my baby pictures, there is certainly some similarity.

It was difficult to find a photo where we were about the same age, but if you've ever actually met Dane, there is certainly a resemblance.  This was my first Christmas.  I was 9 months old.

Sorry, Dane.  It looks like you might have inherited my nose!

Even though there is no denying who my baby daddy is, there's plenty about him to remind me he has half of my genetic material.  He has a temper.  He likes things exactly his way.  He's easily annoyed.  He loves a routine.  He hates to be hot like Cleveland hates LeBron.  He's me.  I realize that a lot of this is typical 2-year old stuff.  What toddler doesn't throw a fit when lunch is late, right?  But my parents, who raised three kids, agree.  Something is just different about the way Dane does things.  And every time they watch him play (lining up trucks, sorting things by color and size, insisting the trash be put in the trash can immediately), they are in amazed at just how much he is exactly like I was.  

My parents always laugh when they tell me I knew how to tie my shoes before I was potty trained.  (Granted, I wasn't potty trained until 2 1/2.)  Apparently, no one did it "right."  So, my parents gave up and told me to do it myself.  And I did.  Well, this weekend, I told Dane to put his shoes on so we could go outside.  I figured he could start the process and I would finish it up.  He plopped down on the floor with his shoes, stated "Dane do it" and put them on.  The right feet.  The right way.  No adjusting needed.  Ok, little dude.  Do your thing.

The Frosty Toss

Every family has those stories that will always be told, the ones that become funnier the more you tell them.  Even people that weren't present know them by heart-- when you join a family by marriage, learning them is a rite of passage.  And it's certainly hilarious watching your sister-in-law hear a little bit about her husband as a child.  There's the time I managed to kick myself in the back of the head when my dad was "teaching" me how to dive.  There's also the time my youngest brother lit a fire because he got scared.  In a tree stand.  That he was IN!

But this story is about my middle brother, Sean.  Middle children are funny creatures.  I've never heard one deny this.  Sean is no exception.

Every week after Wednesday evening church service, my dad would take my brothers and I out for ice cream and we'd eat it on the way home.  Usually it was Chick-fil-A.  This Wednesday it was a delicious Wendy's Frosty.  Sean was sitting in the front passenger seat while my dad drove us home, trying to drink his out of a straw.  "Dad, my hands are cold from holding the Frosty."  Dad hands him a napkin to wrap around the cup.  "Dad, I can't get any Frosty.  It won't come up the straw."  Dad hands him a spoon.  "Dad, my spoon broke!"  My dad, without really saying anything, rolls down his window, and chucks the frosty.  Tears ensue (of course).  Sean is so upset that I'm pretty sure Dad went and got him another frosty.

Now, to be fair, Sean was still a little kid, probably elementary school age.  And stories do get embellished along the way, just like any oral history.  But now, in my family, when someone is annoying you in a car, you may threaten to do a "droid toss," "ipod toss," "chapstick toss," or in the case of say, yesterday, a "Mickey toss."  To the best of my knowledge, no one has ever actually done it again.  That doesn't make it any less tempting.

I was driving Dane around town to run some errands.  He's got this not-so-new, perfected ability to take his shoes off and hurl them on the floorboard, along with his water cup and whatever toy is essential to his and my sanity at the moment.  He did it every single time we got in the car yesterday.  I'd hear a shoe.  Clunk.  Then the other shoe.  Clunk.  Then hard plastic Mickey Mouse hits the window and I grit my teeth and tell myself over and over "he's two, Melissa, he's two."

And here's Dane, sobbing:  "Mickey, mickey, mickey."
Me:  "Mama can't get Mickey right now, she's driving."
Dane:  "Shoes, shoes, waaaahhhhhhhhh!"

At this point, I want to pull the car over and throw Mickey and his shoes out forever.  But I'm keenly aware of two things:  kids' shoes are not cheap and unlike a frosty, I can't just run through the drive-thru window to replace Mickey.  So all I can do is laugh as I remember the original Frosty Toss, thinking my dad had lost his mind, and for the first time understanding that yes, he had lost his mind, and it was all our fault.

So happy birthday, Dane!  I'll try my best not to chuck your Frosty.

Dane is (almost) two!

Two years ago today, at 11:05pm, my water broke.  Nothing about becoming a family had come easily for Jonathan and me, so why should Dane's birth go as planned?  Just like us to create a little drama in a drama-free scheduled c-section.  :)

It was a Thursday.  My c-section was supposed to be Monday morning at 7am.  I honestly think he just ran out of room.  I gained 27 pounds during my pregnancy, and he was a whopping 8 lbs, 13 oz, and 22.5 inches of that.  He was 99th percentile for weight and off the charts for length.  Which is funny considering he's a scrawny guy now.

I had a (nearly) uncomplicated pregnancy.  A little placenta previa, along with an easily treatable thyroid issue were my only "problems".  I felt fantastic for pretty much every second of the 38 weeks and 6 days I was fortunate enough to carry Dane.

And I was 100% certain that I was going to make it to my c-section.  I'd had some uncomfortable (but unproductive) contractions starting earlier that week, but no pressure, no dilation, and nothing consistent.  In fact, I hadn't even packed my bag.  I had all weekend to do that, right?  (If you know me, it is absolute insanity that I did not have my bag ready to go from the day I found out I was pregnant.)    Earlier in the afternoon, I even thought my water broke, took a trip to the local hospital to find out that it had not, and got home in time for dinner after spending a couple hours being monitored.  Jonathan had been on edge all week long, practically begging me to pack my bag.  The pseudo-water-break was enough to convince me that I should indeed pack a bag, even if it was just to get him off my back.  So we ate dinner in front of the TV for pretty much the last time ever and I packed my bag and showered.  I only had one more day of work before welcoming our new baby into the world!  Little did I know, I had already worked my last day for many weeks.

I had been in bed for five minutes.  I was in that not-quite-asleep-but-definitely-not-completely-conscious state when I felt a pop.  I gasped.  Jonathan didn't even ask.  He just called his parents and told them to get in the car, hopeful that they would be at the hospital by the time Dane was born.  (They had an 8 hour trek.)  It took us 45 minutes to pack the car and contractions were becoming a little more irritating during the frenzy.  We hopped in the car.  Just as we got on the highway, I thought, "well, this isn't very fun."  It was no longer very funny that we weren't at the hospital yet, which was still two hours away.  And when you're measuring time in 2-minute increments, 2 hours is a hell of a long time.

We stopped at a gas station about midway because apparently, even being in labor, pregnant women still have to pee every five minutes.  I prayed that my child wouldn't be born in a Quik Trip bathroom stall (even though they are really nice gas stations) as I tried not to attract too much attention from the attendants.  This is not easy when you're nine months pregnant, have a HUGE wet spot on the front of your pants and shirt, and your husband is asking for plastic bags in hopes that the car's interior will not be ruined.

Pregnant folks:  people who tell you that contractions feel like really strong period cramps are straight full of shit.  There is nothing to compare this pain to.  Not.one.thing.  I do know this: nothing less than every muscle in your entire body is involved.  I don't know how women scream.  I couldn't speak, hardly even breathe.  And there was so much paperwork!  Hadn't I pre-registered??  After five hours and 41 minutes of this, I hadn't even dilated one bit and no one in L&D could feel Dane's head.  Several nurses remarked "good thing you're planning a c-section, because you'd be having one anyway."  I received my epidural a few blessed minutes before Dane was born.

My dad calls a c-section "the airlift."  Dane was "airlifted" out at 4:46am on Friday morning, July 16.

I cannot believe he'll be two tomorrow.  We've been calling him a two-year old for a couple of months now, but I can't help but wonder where the last year went.  In some ways, when he turned one, it felt like one.  We had earned that first year, all of us, and I was not sorry to say goodbye to his infancy.  But two?  Really?  I've actually enjoyed the last year and it's gone.  I ask him to snuggle now and he shakes his head "no," laughs and says "Mama silly."  It's going to seem like no time at all before I ask him to snuggle and he laughs and says "Mom, I'm late for basketball practice."

How is it that someone can make you feel so old and so young all at the same time?

Just Rip It Off

Jonathan and I are firm believers in "rip the band-aid off" parenting.  I first heard this phrase from my friend Tera.  She was referring to having kids close in age rather than spacing them out (you know, to just "get it over with" as far as the difficult baby stage), but it also describes our parenting style quite well. 

The last day I made bottles for Dane, he was 364 days old.  His first birthday present to me was not having to make bottles anymore.  No, he was not a fan of this.  The first day he cried for about two hours in the afternoon.  We didn't even realize that's what he was crying about at first since he had taken the first sippy cup of milk without even a strange look.  The next day, he fussed for about 45 minutes and it was very obvious that the reason he wasn't happy had everything to do with the offending sippy cup.  But I didn't give in.  On day three, it was as if he'd never remembered how awesome bottles were.  Sippy cups were now officially "in" in Dane's book.

We did the same thing with the pacifier.  I had heard some pretty awesome ideas about cutting the pacifier so that the suction would be lost and the child would no longer be interested in it.  I was worried that he'd choke on a piece of it since half the time it was used as a chew toy.  I had also heard variations of "giving the pacifiers away" (to baby angels, baby ducks, the paci fairy, etc) but I wanted the thing gone shortly after his first birthday and he didn't have the reasoning skills to understand something like that at a year old.  We did not make our goal of losing the pacifier before he was 13 months old, but one Saturday, when Dane was 15 months old, we decided it was time.  We had stalled for long enough.  We had a rare gap in teething, he wasn't sick or having any asthma episodes, and we didn't have anything pressing that particular weekend.  So we raided the house and packed them all up.  That night, he fell asleep without even noticing that anything was missing.  It was almost too good to be true.  And it was. Two hours later, he woke up in a rage because there weren't the typical 4 to 6 pacifiers in his crib.  He eventually fell asleep again, but not before I almost threw in the towel.  Thankfully, Jonathan convinced me it really was time and the three of us made it through the next two weeks of poor sleep with nothing more than dark circles under our eyes. 

Car trips without the pacifier were a little different.  It took him three full months to learn not to freak out in the car without his pacifier.  A few weeks into pacifier-free living, we were on the way to the zoo with family.  Dane screamed like he was being subjected to some rare form of torture; I laughed because crying wasn't working; and Jonathan chanted this mantra:  "I will not feed my baby to a lion.  I will not feed my baby to a bear.  I will not feed my baby to an alligator."  This only served to make Dane more angry and my laugh more sinister.  In typical Dane style, he fell asleep just as we found a parking spot.

Last month, over Memorial Day Weekend, Jonathan and I decided it was time to lose the diapers.  Dane has had one diaper rash after another since he was four days old and we decided that even if it meant chasing after Dane and cleaning up a constant stream of pee until he was 5, we were ready to make this work.  And for three days, we holed up in our 1200 square foot home and cleaned up puddle after puddle after puddle.  And it really wasn't that awful.  Amazingly enough, we had fun together.  By no means is he 100% potty trained.  He has the occasional day without an accident, but that usually means we're in for quite the mess the following morning.  We're no experts at potty training, but I know this:  Dane hasn't had the first problem with diaper rash and we sure are spending less at Target these days... well, on diapers at least :)

35 before 35

So yeah.  I kinda missed the boat on the 30 before 30 craze.  I caught wind of it right before I turned 30.  And I had an infant at home.  Getting through year one was the only thing I had on my mind.

Now that things have calmed down (just a little!), I'm making my 35 before 35.  I've got a little less than 4 years to achieve this stuff.  So in the spirit of bucket lists, here goes....

1.  Buy (and look good in) a pair of skinny jeans
2.  Own these gorgeous boots
3.  Run a 5k
4.  Donate my hair
5.  Be a surrogate for an infertile couple
6.  Take Dane to Disney World
7.  Camp with my family
8.  Put hardwood floors in master bedroom
9.  Start nursing school
10. Visit Jamaica (second honeymoon)
11.  Learn how to make my sister-in-law's eggplant pasta dish (Pasta alla Norma)
12.  Decide what to do with our 13 embryos on storage
13.  Get back into yoga
14.  Turn my random collection of recipes into a photobook
15.  Create a will
16.  Go to a food truck festival
17.  Make homemade butter
18.  See a Cirque du Soleil show
19.  Try Dim Sum
20.  Take Dane to a rodeo
21.  Order room service
22.  Learn to parallel park
23.  Learn to drive a manual transmission
24.  "Pay it forward"  (pay for someone's food behind me in a drive thru)
25.  Take a self-defense class
26.  Take Dane to Cleveland to meet Jonathan's extended family
27.  Eat at Salt on Amelia Island Plantation
28.  Renew my passport
29.  Do a giveaway on the blog
30.  Get rid of my migraines
31.  Have boudoir photos taken
32.  Learn to make my mom's peanut butter rice crispy treats
33.  Find a church and attend weekly
34.  Have my grandmother's ring reset
35.  Make all the Christmas presents I give one year

Perspective

I was washing a load of laundry this evening while Dane and Jonathan played on the bed.  Dane was playing with Jonathan's wedding ring, taking it on and off of Jonathan's hand, and I overheard Jonathan say "the ring goes on this finger because I love Mama very much."  Melt.my.heart.  What a fantastic lesson for our son to learn.  And I'm not talking about marriage.  Two people that love one another and are committed to one another sharing the joys and sorrows of raising a child together -- that's what I am talking about.  I am so very blessed to have someone to share this parenthood journey with.  Heck, it's tough with two parents; I don't envy those who have to go it alone.

It got me thinking about all those who I don't think are doing a very good job of parenting.  Do I judge you when you breast feed your 4 year old?  Yes.  Do I think you're being irresponsible for turning your 1 year old around in his car seat?  Yes.  Do I think you're being a lazy parent when your four year old is sucking on a pacifier and still in diapers.  Absolutely.

But really, none of it matters.  I know that I make decisions that others don't agree with.  Despite our best efforts, Dane began watching TV before 2 years old.  It was the only thing we found that could get him to sit still for his breathing treatments at 8 months old.  At that point, breathing treatments were more important than his not watching TV.  Am I proud of it?  Nope.  Dane also had to be formula fed.  I hated that and still feel a lot of guilt (22 months after the fact) that I was unable to fulfill this need for him.  I'm sure I got some glares from well-meaning breast feeders everywhere.  What they didn't know is that I have a physical reason that I could not produce enough milk for my son, due to reconstructive surgery I had at 16 years old.

I'm sure the mother of the four year old still in diapers has a good reason as well.  I'm still going to think she's nuts for changing the diaper of a kid who can probably read and write.  I'm still going to give my husband the "wtf?!" eye when I see a parent giving their kid Mountain Dew or sweet tea in a sippy cup.  I will always believe that there is a right and a wrong way to do things and that there isn't a whole lot of gray area, especially when it comes to parenting.  But if you've got two loving parents who treat their child(ren) with kindness and respect, you're 95% of the way there anyway.

Family Photos (finally!)

Sorry it's been a while!  We just got back from a much needed short vacation.  (I'll be posting about that later.)

Yesterday we had our long-awaited photo shoot with Jessica of {two chics} photography.  If you aren't familiar with their work, you really should check them out.  Jessica brought along her sweet husband to make crazy noises and faces for Dane so that she could capture his precious smile.  Dane took a bit to warm up, but once we broke out the animal cookies, he was all in!

I was pretty nervous about the shoot.  To say I am not photogenic would be an understatement.  I tend to look like I smelled a fart in every photo, especially when it's hot.  And it was, even at 8am.  Fortunately, Jonathan is one of the most photogenic people I know.  I knew Jessica would make us look fantastic, and I was certain that Dane would be adorable no matter what.  I did make a minor boo-boo a week ago with Dane's haircut.  I decided to to use the taper guard on the clippers instead of just blending with different size guards like I normally do.  Oops.  It looked like an animal had gnawed off a couple chunks of hair above his ears for a few days.  I don't think it's noticeable in any of the photos I've seen so far.

Speaking of.... here are our "sneak peeks" from the shoot!  I love them.  I think they capture the way we feel about one another and how love finally did come to us in so many ways.  (Also, notice the new header photo is also from {two chics}!

Advice for National Infertility Awareness Week

Hi, folks!  It's National Infertility Awareness Week and y'all had to know I was going to blog about infertility, right?  Well, of course!

I know a lot of infertile men and women.  I met a few of my infertile friends because of infertility, either through an online forum, my fertility clinic, or a support group.  However, I met most of my infertile friends long before any of us ever tried to have children.  (I promise that you know at least a handful of infertile people, even if they haven't told you so.)  We tend to open up to other infertile people because we are pretty damn sure that person would not make us feel worse about being infertile, as sometimes others can.  But if you're not infertile, and you're lucky enough that your friend or family member has trusted you with information of their infertility, here are a few pieces of advice to make sure you're a help and not a hindrance to their struggle.  I've adapted my list from RESOLVE's Infertility Etiquette piece and added a few thoughts of my own.  You can find the link here, along with plenty of other great information.

Do not tell your friend to relax.  Of course it would be fantastic if we could, but quite literally, life is on the line and it just isn't so easy.  Would you tell anyone else who came to you with bad news to "relax"?  Maybe a friend whose mother is in the hospital, someone who is going through a divorce, or is dealing with addiction?  Of course not.  And it's not appropriate in this situation either.  You're just making them feel like you don't think their problem is really a problem.  (By the way, even if you do feel that way, don't say it.)

So what can you say?  How about this.  "Is there anything I can do to make this less stressful for you?"  Perhaps you could offer to feed their pets if they're going to be late coming back from a doctor appointment or cook dinner during a particularly stressful week.  I happen to have the world's coolest BFF who actually took me to get a message at a fantastic spa in our hometown right before we started IVF.  She even picked me up and fed me!  I realize that's not within everyone's budget, and she certainly went way over the call of duty, even for a best bud.  Feeding someone's dog is free.  It will show that while you may not understand, you're there for the person and willing to help them through a tough time.

Do not say that it's all in God's hands.  If your friend is religious, he or she will realize this already.  If not, well, this is certainly not the way to win them over to God.  I found this on one of my a fertility forums about four years ago and I can't even begin to describe how much it spoke to me:

What do I think God meant when he gave me infertility?

I think he meant for my husband and I to grow closer, become stronger, love deeper. I think God meant for us to find the fortitude within ourselves to get up every time infertility knocks us down. I think God meant for our medical community to discover medicines, invent medical equipment, create procedures and protocols. I think God meant for us to find a cure for infertility.

No, God never meant for me not to have children. That's not my destiny; that's just a fork in the road I'm on. I've been placed on the road less traveled, and, like it or not, I'm a better person for it. Clearly, God meant for me to develop more compassion, deeper courage, and greater inner strength on this journey to resolution, and I haven't let Him down.

Frankly, if the truth be known, I think God has singled me out for a special treatment. I think God meant for me to build a thirst for a child so strong and so deep that when that baby is finally placed in my arms, it will be the longest, coolest, most refreshing drink I've ever known. 

While I would never choose infertility, I can not deny that a fertile woman could never know the joy that awaits me. Yes, one way or another, I will have a baby of my own. And the next time someone wants to offer me unsolicited advice I'll say, "Don't tell me what God meant when he handed me infertility. I already know."

 So, if you find it necessary to offer up some piece of wisdom along the religious line, try this instead:  "I'll be praying for you guys."  And do so.

Don't complain about your pregnancy.  This should be obvious.  You might be the world's most uncomfortable pregnant woman alive, but find someone else to complain to.  An infertile person would gladly take your place, even if it meant puking her guts out every.single.day.  That doesn't mean you have to be Mary Poppins, just pay attention to what you are saying.  I had mild morning sickness from weeks five to ten of my pregnancy.  One morning I just woke up and it was gone.  I wanted it back!  It meant I was pregnant and had a healthy, growing little person!  I was terrified.  I felt uneasy regularly, wondering if everything was going ok inside my body until two months later, when I could feel him moving around.

You can and should talk about your pregnancy.  It would seem more awkward if you didn't, because it would be obvious as to the reason you were avoiding the topic.  Just please think before you speak.  Which is a good piece of advice for us all, really.

Invite them to the baby shower/kids party/etc.  I've been in this position before, and it feels awful.  The friend had honest intentions of not hurting me, but it only made me feel more alienated.  You wouldn't not invite a single person to a wedding, would you?  Let her decide if she wants to come.  If you're worried it'll be viewed as insensitive by the recipient, include a special note in the invitation, stating that you understand if she doesn't feel up to attending.  Or not.  Whatever you feel led to do.  Just don't let their infertility struggles be the reason you don't invite them.

Don't say you'll get pregnant now.  When an infertile person is excited about their next step, whether that be living childless and traveling the world, adopting a baby, or moving on to IVF, do not tell them that this decision was the only thing standing between them and pregnancy.  Not only is it insane, but it's complete crap.  Of course it happens sometimes.  I personally know a sweet friend who it did happen to.  If only it could happen to us all.  My friend Maria writes a blog about their adoption and goes more in depth about why this is not a cool thing to say in her FAQ tab.  These decisions take years to come to, so be excited for the couple!  Even if you think they should have made a different decision, it's not yours to make.

Don't give unsolicited fertility advice.  Do not tell your infertile friend that your friends did [fill in the blank] and they have a 2 year old!  Seriously.  This person has potentially spent tens of thousands of dollars to doctors, labs, and pharmacies and somehow still needs fertility advice from an engineer, writer, or counselor?  Once Jonathan and I "came out" with our news about pursuing IVF, I had a friend email me once asking if we had tried charting my ovulation.  Um, what?  That's like someone taking their car to the shop because it won't stop and the technician asking the customer if they applied the brake!  Seriously, once you get to the point of visiting with a reproductive endocrinologist, charting is almost a joke.  If you feel the need to share another friend's story (who you know wouldn't mind), offer to give him/her the email address.  And then leave it at that.  It truly is helpful to talk to someone who has been through it, but your friend may not be ready.

The best piece of advice I can give?  Be happy with them, be sad with them.  You don't have to say anything.  Just listen.

If you have questions about someone's infertility experiences, just ask.  We'd rather you be educated about it.  You can help spread the word so the world doesn't ignore infertility.  If you have questions, and you are genuinely close to the person, ask them.  You might learn something.

I hope you all find this helpful.  Please share this information, the world could use it!  And be sure to visit www.resolve.org  for more information about infertility.

What's Up My Sleeve?

Last night when I was getting ready for bed, I started thinking about all the things that make my life easier.  The little things.  There are plenty of big things, like my sweet husband, my BFF, and the great schedule at my job.  I'm talking about the things that money can buy.

I think anyone can appreciate most of the items below, but because I am a mom and wife in the South, if you're also a mom and wife in the South, I think you'll find them as amazing as I do.  That is if you haven't already discovered some of them for yourself!

Dry Shampoo  That's right.  Shampoo that requires no water and takes two seconds to use.  If you haven't tried it, give it a shot.  It won't work miracles.  (My son threw an oatmeal-laden spoon at me this morning.  Dry shampoo would not cut it here.  I wouldn't even try.)  But it does save me at least three hours a week on washing, drying, and styling my hair.  I first fell in love with this product almost three years ago.  I used to have to go to a specialty store and pay $10 a bottle for this stuff.  Thankfully, it's gained popularity and can be found in any grocery store for around $3-5.  I've tried about a dozen brands and I can honestly say they all get the job done.  Some smell better than others.  Me?  I buy whatever is on sale.  

Immersion Blender  It's basically a blender on a stick.  You can get one for as little as $15 if you catch a good sale.  It's great for making textured foods that toddlers are not so fond of (read: vegetables) more pleasing to their picky palates.  For instance, when I made broccoli cheddar soup this winter, my son was eating around the broccoli.  Thirty seconds and an immersion blender cured him of that.  He ate every bite.  It's easy to use and can be chucked in the dishwasher (a must for me).  It's also great for emulsifying salad dressings.  We've made a couple of really fantastic vinaigrettes that didn't even separate!  I'm pretty sure it would make perfect baby food for those of you cool enough to make your own (not me).  I do kind of wish I had this one since it would match my stand mixer, but I can't justify replacing a something that already works perfectly.

Waterproof Crib Mattress Pads  I've shared this tip with just about all my new mom friends, but in case you missed out, we "double bag" Dane's crib mattress.  This means that when there's a pooplosion in the middle of the night, I don't have to wrestle with crib sheets, bumper pads, and a screaming toddler at 3am.  I just peel off the offending sheet and the mattress pad beneath it and voila - a new, fresh sheet!  Thanks to Laurie L. for sharing this with me!  It's been a lifesaver many times over.  We have these plain ol' Babies R Us mattress pads and they've been great.  I probably should have shared this in my Top Mommy Tools post but it didn't even cross my mind.

Baby Powder  We're going to the beach in a few weeks and I've considered purchasing this nifty little doo-dad, the Powder Pouch.  It's filled with corn starch and claims to make sand "disappear."  Sandy bottoms and diaper changes don't exactly mix, so this is a genius idea.  But when we had a sandy situation from the playground last weekend, and no Powder Pouch yet, Jonathan wisely suggested we try to dust baby powder on Dane to see if it worked.  It did!  And I don't have to spend $10 plus shipping!  Granted, the Powder Pouch does come in a super adorable case.  My baby powder just comes in a white plastic bottle.  However, I will feel no shame carrying my wholesale-size baby powder in my beach bag come May!  And as much as I hate feeling gritty, I will be dusting myself with a generous post-beach helping every day while on vacation.

Pizza Cutter  Great for cutting pizza... oh yeah, and it's lesser known use, toddler-size bites.  It makes quick work of a tedious task.  It also fantastic for cutting anything that's rather annoying to attempt with a regular kitchen knife.

I hope you all can get something useful out of this.  I'm thinking of making "What's Up My Sleeve?" a regular appearance, adding new tips and tricks as I stumble upon them.  Feel free to share your brilliant ideas as well!

Babies or By-Products?

Ok, I admit it.  I can hold a grudge.  For a really long time.  The particular grudge I'm talking about today is against two people I haven't even met.  But when I read this article, my skin felt like fire.

If you don't have time to read it, I'll give you the short version.  A couple (Mary Beth and Michael Brummond), in suburban Chicago are protesting a fertility clinic's proposed opening.  Fair enough.  But they go a little too far when they start name-calling children.  Had the Brummonds said this in my presence, it would have been difficult to keep from pushing them into oncoming traffic.  I thought I'd get over it.  I still haven't; so I decided to write about it.

In all seriousness, I understand and respect the right to freedom of speech.  I'm glad that the Brummonds can say how they feel.  I'm also glad that I can tell them (or write about how) they are absolute, complete and total morons.  I can also respect that Mr. and Mrs. Brummond don't feel it is right to pursue IVF.  However, they have zero right to tell me I can't.  And to call the tens of thousands of children born in the US every year via IVF "a manufactured commodity....an object, a product" shows me that the Brummonds and I do not know the same God.  Just ask all the men and women who are not lucky enough to "manufacture" a baby.  If only it was as easy as manufacturing.

This is life we are talking about.  My son would not be here if it wasn't for IVF.  My precious child.  How on earth could you possibly deny fit parents the opportunity to pursue one of life's greatest joys?  How dare you imply that he should not exist.

I promise you this, Mr. and Mrs. Brummond:  If you are ever lucky enough to meet Dane, "product" is the last word you'd use to describe him.  He's happy, healthy, beautiful, vibrant, wonderful, and perfect in every way.

Broken Hearts Healed

Sunday is Easter.  It also happens to be our sixth wedding anniversary.  (Happy Anniversary to the best husband ever!)  As happy an occasion as an anniversary should be, when April 8th rolls around, I am always a little sad when I remember our second anniversary.

We were in Florida at my grandmother's funeral.  I was positive that our second IUI attempt had failed but was having trouble reaching our fertility clinic for confirmation.  I had just learned less than a week ago that my sweet sister-in-law was pregnant.  As excited as I was to be an aunt (to the world's funniest, most handsome nephew), I was completely heart-broken.  When the preacher mentioned my sister-in-law's pregnancy during the funeral, I didn't just feel a "lump" in my throat.  I felt like my throat had just been ripped out -- Patrick Swayze - Roadhouse style.

I was trying to be there for my dad, but I was coming apart at the seams.  I managed not to cry during her funeral.  I didn't want someone to think that I was crying for myself and not my grandmother, even though very few people in attendance knew about our fertility struggles.  I temporarily pulled myself back together for the car ride to the cemetery.  Just as we parked our car, I received that phone call I'd been waiting on.  Yep, not pregnant.  I felt like I could handle it though.  I had been taking home pregnancy tests this whole time and I was well-practiced at seeing ONE line.  I knew I wasn't pregnant anyway.  I could deal with this.

As I stepped out of the car and walked toward the burial plot, I saw my dad.  The weight of it all hit me.  The best dad in the world was burying his mother.  On our anniversary.  And I may never know what it's like to be a mother; I may never give him a grandchild.  My spirit was crushed.  The tears came.

My dad and grandmother her last Christmas (2007)

This year's anniversary plans:  Easter egg hunting and celebrating springtime and being alive with my sweet son. I hope one day he understands how much he did for us just by coming into our lives.  He reminds us how joyful life can be.  When Dane was one day old, I updated my FB status to read "My heart is healed.  Three years of disappointment and broken dreams were worth it.  This is the child we were supposed to have all along."  I still feel this way.  I can't believe our blessings when I look at him.

Isn't this face just the definition of "joy"?!

I wish you and your family the kind of joy that Dane brings us every day.  Happy Easter!

Car Seat Nazi

Those of you who know me are well aware that I am a car seat nazi.  It takes every part of my being not to tell strangers I come across that their child is not even close to being buckled into his or her car seat appropriately.  Up to this point, I have been able to restrain myself.  However, once I achieve my goal of becoming a "Certified Car Seat Nazi," better known as Child Passenger Safety (CPS) Technician, I might feel more inclined to speak up.

For about a year now, I have really wanted to take the CPS Tech certification course.  Everything finally lined up and I'm actually registered to take a class in September!  I am beyond excited.  I know that it's super nerdy and more than slightly psychotic that I am obsessed with car seat safety.  I do hope that you'll feel free to ask me to inspect your car seat once I'm "official!"  Shout out to my friend Beth, who encouraged me to do this; also to my boss, Stacey, who is kindly giving me the days off to take this course and believes (as I do) that it will be very valuable in our field!

Mexican Roast Chowder

For those of you who tried (or are going to try) the Mexican Roast recipe, this is a great way to "repurpose" the roast once you get sick of it.  If you're feeding a small family, this might happen.  Roast goes a long way. This is an easy way to change it up a bit after a couple of nights.

Combine the leftover roast (chopped or shredded w/fat discarded of course), peppers/rotel/onions and broth/juices from the roast with a can of Mexicorn and some heavy cream.  Heat thoroughly and serve.  You may need to add some broth (any kind will do) or water to thin out to your desired consistency.  This recipe is soooo not a recipe because it's completely dependent upon how much meat you have left and what your personal tastes are.  Just play with it until it tastes right.

Shout out to my college roomie, Courtney, for creating this masterpiece!

Family Favorite: Mexican Roast

My mother taught me this recipe.  I'm not sure if it's her own or some version she came up with when inspired by a recipe.  We love it and I hope you will too!  

Mexican Roast

3 bell peppers (any assortment of colors, I like to use at least 2 different varieties)

1 large onion

2 cans Rotel tomatoes

1 2 lb (approx) beef roast

Chop bell peppers and onion into large chunks.  Place in crock pot.  Seer the roast over high heat, ensuring that you get all sides (even the funky little edge pieces).  Place on top of the onion and peppers.  Pour the cans of Rotel (undrained) over the roast.  Cook on low for 6-8 hours.

We serve ours in tortillas with lettuce, tomato, salsa, guacamole, sour cream, beans... THE WORKS!

If you try this recipe, let me know how it goes!

This Mother's Choice

Ok, folks.  This might ruffle some feathers.

Dane was born via elective Cesarean Section.  I know, I know; how very uncool of me.

Jonathan and I decided before we were ever pregnant that if we were blessed with a child, he or she (or they!) would be delivered by c-section.  I wanted, for once, to feel like we had some control over what happened in my uterus.  And after 3+ years of waiting for our child, we felt uncomfortable leaving anything up to chance.  I understand that there are increased risks for the mother and infant that are associated with a c-section delivery, but I kept thinking of all the horror stories about cords wrapped around necks, fetal distress, etc.  Not to mention all the women I know who went through horrible, intense labors only to end up with a c-section anyway.  Not only did those women end up with all the issues that vaginal birth creates (I am not even going to go there) but also a big ol' scar and all the issues that go along with c-sections (again, not gonna go there).

Some of the arguments against c-sections:

Women have been doing this naturally for thousands of years.  This little nugget is usually spoken by someone who had an epidural.  and delivered in a hospital.  with her ipod playing in the background.  (Nothing wrong with any of those things, by the way.)  Seriously, this is the stupidest piece of "knowledge" I have ever heard.  Women have also been dying during childbirth for millions of years.  "Nature" had failed me for three years already, and if it wasn't for medical intervention, Dane would never have been born.

Your body was born to do this.  Oh yeah?  My body was also born to get pregnant.  Oops.  I think "nature" missed that one too.

The recovery time is longer.  Um, nope.  Not for everyone.  I had less pain, took less narcotics, and had many less long-term issues than any of my friends who delivered around the same time as me.  In fact, when my mom called me the day after Dane was born to see if I needed her to bring anything to the hospital, I asked for a disposable razor.  I shaved my legs 36 hours after Dane was born (and did a damn good job of it too).  Also, I was going places with him by myself when he was three weeks old.

Due dates aren't always right.  This is completely true.  I know that estimated due dates are just that: estimated.  But not in our case.  Because Dane is an IVF baby, we knew the exact moment he was conceived (Halloween 2009!).  There was no mistaking it for us.

Even though a c-section was planned from the beginning, I had placenta previa.  It resolved itself at about 32 weeks, but a low-lying placenta does not usually allow for a vaginal birth because the mothers don't typically progress.  Also, Dane was measuring 5 1/2 weeks ahead from the start.  One of the doctors in the practice even told me "nothing good comes from delivering a child this large vaginally."  Well, except the child of course :)  They were worried about how large he was and would have continued to monitor me and request that I consider early induction if his growth continued along that path.  But because I was already scheduled for a section, they felt comfortable without the extra ultrasounds.

My doctor's office only scheduled c-sections after 39 weeks (very responsibly), so Dane's birthday was to be the Monday after I turned 39 weeks.

Dane had other plans.  My water broke the Thursday before my scheduled c-section at 11:05pm.  Labor hit me like a truck.  I was fully unprepared to deal with contractions.  Dane was born Friday at 4:46am.  In the almost six hours I had been laboring, I did not dilate.  Dane would have been born via c-section anyway.  And at 8 pounds, 13 ounces, 22.5 inches long, boy am I glad he was!

The truth is, if you want to deliver your baby in a river wearing only beads while a doula tells you how perfect and beautiful you are as a child rips out of your body, do it!  That's your choice.  If you want to allow your doctor to induce you because you will lose your mind if you spend another second pregnant and are approaching or past your due date, that's your choice.  And because it's your choice, it's also the perfect choice for your baby in the same way that my choice was the perfect choice for Dane.  As mothers, some of the first decisions we are responsible for making are about the birth of our children.  And we have to make those decisions based on what doctors tell us and what we feel in our hearts.  I'm not advocating for elective cesarean sections, I'm advocating for people to respect a mother's choice about how her child comes into this crazy world. 

He's the Only One for Me

We worked hard for Dane, no question about it.  From the day we found out we were officially classified as infertile, it was exactly 3 years, 6 months, and 8 days until we got to meet the cute little guy.  Then there was the three surgeries (between Jonathan and I), hundreds of medications, insane stress, and... oh yeah... $55,000.  One day when Dane asks why we won't buy him a car, I'll bring this up.

So naturally, people are shocked when they learn that we are doing everything in our power to prevent another pregnancy.  I mean, what are the odds?  Well, even with IVF, it was only 50/50 -- which works out about right, since we got pregnant on our second IVF attempt.

People ask me all the time if finding out I was pregnant was one of the happiest days of my life, wouldn't I love to be pregnant again?  The answer to that is yes, I would love to be pregnant again - with someone else's child.  I would be a gestational surrogate in a heartbeat, even for a stranger.  But I don't want to be anyone else's mother.  Dane is enough.  He's been enough since the moment we found out we were pregnant.  You see, Jonathan and I had always dreamed that if we ever did get lucky enough to get pregnant, wouldn't it be amazing if we had twins?  However, the very day we learned we were pregnant, and remembered those two embryos that had been transferred just 9 days earlier, the reality of all of that hit us.  I am positive that if we had twins, we would have been overjoyed and as absolutely in love with our life as we are now.  But I would be lying if I said we didn't breathe a small sigh of relief when we saw one precious heartbeat.  I have plenty of friends who have twins from fertility treatments and I can honestly say that they handle everything so very well.  I think it was certainly meant to be that those couples had twins and we got one perfect Dane.

There's also the absolute raging postpartum depression I experienced.  I kept thinking that I wasn't supposed to be feeling this way.  I had literally begged God for this child and poured every part of my self into him.  What I didn't realize then is that women who undergo fertility treatments are actually more likely to develop PPD than other mothers.  We have years to fantasize about motherhood and babies and pregnancy and how perfect it will all be.  This doesn't mean we're stupid or irrational about parenthood.  I fully expected to be up all night, peed on, pooped on, all of the stuff that comes with newborns.  What I did not expect was an infant that could not be soothed.  By anyone.  He was like the perfect storm of babies.  He liked being swaddled, but hated being hot.  He was born in July, so this was not easy.  One time, I put him swaddled, in a swing, on top of an ice pack.  He also liked to breastfeed and was a great latcher, but I had nada to give him.  I would rock and sing to him for hours.  He was miserable.  So I made myself miserable.  I felt like I needed punishment for not being able to be a good enough mother to make him feel better.  After 6 weeks at home with him on maternity leave, I couldn't wait to go back to work.  I was terrified of him and how inadequate I felt.  Once I did go back to work, he got kicked out of home daycare  after a week because he cried too much.  We had to find a new daycare in just a few days.  Months later, after I got better and forgave myself, a daycare worker from the room he was in from 7 weeks old - 11 months old told me, "you know, I've worked here for several years and taken care of hundreds of babies.  Your's is the first I have ever seen that truly has colic.  I had no idea how to deal with him.  I just thought other babies were difficult."  This sounds awful, but I felt validated.  All those months of feeling clueless, and a woman who takes care of babies for a living couldn't calm my child.  On a side note, I highly recommend the book The Ghost in the House by Tracy Thompson.  I cannot begin to tell you how much it impacted my recovery.  It was like looking in a mirror.  (Note to readers:  I have debated "publicly" sharing the fact that I had PPD for many months.  I finally decided to for the same reason I decided to share our infertility struggles: so that someone else would know they are not alone.  Please respect this.)

The final reason we're 99.99% sure we're done with one?  Pretty simple, really.  We like our family dynamic.  Mom and Dad will be there for each and every performance, graduation, and baseball game - no splitting up and "you take Jill to soccer practice and I'll take Jim to the band concert."  We like the "tag team" style of parenting.  It works for us.

I jokingly told two of my sweetest friends a couple weekends ago that "if I could birth a 15-month old, I'd consider having another child."  But since I don't see medical advancements catching up to that point before I'm well past my child-bearing years, I think we'll just stick with Dane.

To all you non-believers who tell me "you'll change your mind" - well maybe.  But I'm pretty confident that when you and I run into one another at Target in ten years and you ask me how many kids I have, the answer will still be "one!"

Waste List (for baby registries)

This is a follow-up to yesterday's must haves.  I'm going to let you all in on the things that were not worth the moo-la for our family as far as baby needs go.

My friend Lorin, who has a 2 month old, had a special request for this and I am always happy to oblige a new mom.  When Dane was still little enough that late-night feedings were a part of our lives, I remember thinking that I wished people would update their facebook statuses more frequently or that there was more news I was interested in to keep me entertained during those long hours.  So, here's to you, Lorin & Sammy!

1.  Diaper Pail/Diaper Disposal Systems - This was never a good idea for us.  Even though the products claim not to let any stench loose, I could and can always smell if someone has one of these in the nursery.  And since I was not fortunate enough to breastfeed and my milk-protein-allergic kid had to be on the $30/can formula, I am super happy that we never bought one.  (FYI - for those that don't know, the stinky stuff in the purple can makes your kid's poo smell like old dirty fishtank.)  We take the poo diapers outside immediately. This has never been an issue for us.  The pee diapers used to go out immediately too, but now they make the shorter trip to the trashcan in the pantry.

2.  Changing Table - My husband would probably disagree somewhat on this one.  He's a tall guy and I'm sure that the height of our "changing table" probably bothers his back sometimes.  Honestly, I think they're great if you have the room and the money to spend, but we wanted to save space and money.  We had my mom recover an old hope chest to coordinate with the nursery colors, bought a curved changing pad, and voila - changing table!  There was a short couple of weeks when I rethought this decision and considered buying a clearance changing table, but I'm so glad we didn't.

3.  High Chair - Again, this is one of those things that you might find very useful but we chose to save money and space by doing without.  For less than $30, we got this wonderful booster seat that is easy to clean and portable.  It straps on to one of our kitchen chairs, so we don't have a bulky highchair to lug around.  The tray comes off, so once Dane was old enough to eat from a plate, we began just pushing him up to the table.  The tray now lives in a closet.  We like that it feels so much more like a family dinner with your kid actually at the table with you.  Jamie has a seat similar to this one.  It has the advantage of a recline feature, which is nice for when your child learns to bottle feed his/herself.  It does have the disadvantage of having a cloth cover, but since it's machine washable I don't think that's a deal breaker.  It straps to the chair the same way our booster seat does.  I think either purchase would be a winner.

4.  Activity Mat - Dane hated this.  We had the most adorable version that played the sweetest music and even had little relaxing light shows, but all Baby Einstein's efforts were lost on Dane.

5.  4 oz. Bottles - Seriously, what was I thinking??  In no time, your child will be eating more than these bottles can hold, and really, what's so hard about putting 3 ounces of formula in an 8 ounce bottle?  It's not like it saves any significant amount of fridge or diaper bag realty.  I still can't believe I fell for that one.  Well played, Playtex.

Again, I hope this helps anyone prepping for a sweet delivery in the near future.

Top Mommy Tools

I've been trying to convince Jamie (well, Jamie's been on board, so I guess it's really her husband Jake that I've been trying to convince) that they need a video monitor.  This got me thinking about all the stuff we registered for when I was pregnant with Dane and what we found truly useful.  So here it is, my "top mommy tools" list for mothers of newborns/young infants.  I've tried to put things in order of usefulness.

1.  Sound Machine - Dane still sleeps with his on full blast each night.  It drowns out everything from annoying dog noises to annoying neighbor noises.  We each even have a white noise app on our cell phones for car trips and travel.  For home use, do yourself a favor and buy one that doesn't time out and that can plug in and run on batteries.  That way you can run it all night long.  It's always the gift Jonathan and I buy for baby showers if one hasn't already been purchased for the expectant couple.


2.  Video Monitor - Dane slept in a travel crib/play yard in our bedroom for the first 8 months of his life.  Part of this was because he had infant reflux from hell and I was terrified he'd choke in his sleep and I wouldn't hear/be able to get to him in time.  The other part was pure laziness.  I liked being able to stumble the few steps to his "crib" in the middle of the night, stick his pacifier back in his mouth, and fall back into bed.  When we did finally move him to a real crib in his own room, the video monitor gave us peace of mind.  Now, it more or less lets us know if we really need to go in his room or not.  Is he just crying out in his sleep or does he need help finding Elmo?  And of course, it's nice to be able to use the zoom feature to watch him breathe for those moments when the crazy worrier in me rears its ugly head.

3.  Movement Monitor - We used this until Dane was 18 months old and the cords became more of a hazard than it was worth.  Whether this device would have really protected us in the awful event that Dane did stop breathing in the middle of the night I really don't know.  What I do know is that white baby boys born in the middle of winter have the highest incidence of SIDS than any other group.  While my child was not born in winter, he is white and he is a boy.  Even if my child had been a little Ethiopian girl born in August, I would have made this purchase just for the peaceful rest it allowed me and my husband.

4.  Breathable Bumpers - The usefulness of this invention is rather short lived.  But at around $25-30 a pop, it's a great investment.  It does what bumpers were intended to do (keep limbs out of crib rails and pacifiers/lovies inside the confines of the crib) without the bulkiness and thus the SIDS risk.  Once Dane was about 15 months old, we switched back to the pretty bumpers that came with his bedding set.

5.  Cool Mist Humidifier  - Dane has asthma.  This took quite a while to figure out but we knew from 3 months old that something wasn't quite right with his breathing.  We still run our cheapy cool mist humidifier every single night at the advice of Dane's ENT and pulmonologist.  Even if your kid doesn't have asthma, little tots get snotty and this helps.  No doubt about it.

6.  Microwave Sterlizer - This is so much easier than dealing with a plug-in version or boiling bottle parts.  Plus, we stored ours in the microwave so it was out of site.

7.  Velcro Swaddlers - It really doesn't matter what brand.  They're all great in my opinion.  And if you have a kid that likes to be swaddled, you don't want to be fumbling around trying to remember what they taught you at the hospital the day your kid was born.  Because chances are you were pretty dang tired and overwhelmed that day.  My son insisted on being swaddled to sleep for seven long months.  The swaddlers were definitely worth the investment for us.

8.  Petroleum Jelly - Only a parent could know how versatile this stuff is:  best diaper cream on earth, good for boo-boos, dry cheeks, and thermometer lube.  Plus, it's ridiculously cheap.  Do yourself a favor though and splurge on the squeeze tubes.  Who wants to deal with trying to put a lid back on a tub with a slippery hand and squalling infant?  Not this girl.

I hope this helps all the expectant mothers out there!  Let me know if you'd like my list of things that were definitely a waste for us.