My Moment

It's Saturday morning, and I am exhausted. I feel like I've been run over by a truck. My eyes are bleary, and my muscles ache (I am definitely getting a massage next weekend!). Worst of all, I'm thinking, I have to go back and do this again next week? And the week after that, too??

I haven't had my moment yet. The moment where I think, So, this is why I became a teacher. Instead, I've had a million moments where I've thought, Why do I do this? WHY WHY WHY?! Inexplicably, we have a large number of girls who started out the year with chips on their shoulders. I've received so many eye rolls this week and had so many arguments over why, yes, a pair of shorts IS too short for school, and no, I don't care if you can't find shorts that are any longer, because yes, you are lying. I feel as if I'm in some short of bizarro world, where it's actually April, because there are the attitudes I expect then. These are not the attitudes I expect in August! We've (when I say we, I'm referring to my team, not the voices in my head) also had to break some bad habits, such as constant leaning back in chairs and talking. Oh, the talking. They can't pass up papers without beginning to talk loudly, which drives me crazy. Even when I'm not recovering from strep throat, I don't enjoy constantly raising my voice.

I know it will get better. I hope it will get better soon. It's hard because last year, we had an amazing relationship with so many of our students. They meshed really well with all of us, and sure, we had a few discipline issues, but they were few and far between. This year? I'm just not feeling the love.

Words From My Husband

I am not one of those women who makes fun of her husband or calls him stupid/lazy, because he's not. Far from it! But sometimes, he says things that just make me shake my head and say, What? Are we on the same planet?

For example, he just popped his head in the room and said, "I taught all day with a Sam Adams bottle cap in my pocket!" When I asked why it was in his pocket, he said, "Because it's a #2 bottle cap." O...kay? Is this some sort of secret beer lingo? I still don't understand why it was in his pocket, and I suppose I never will!

Last week, he called his mom to tell her that I had strep throat, and I was privy to his end of the conversation. This is how he decides to tell his mom I have strep:

"So, Erin has been feeling really sick in the mornings. But then she feels better in the evenings, but still not 100%. She went to the doctor and-- what? No, she's not pregnant, she has strep throat!"
He then got off the phone and proceeded to be shocked that his mom would think I was pregnant. First of all, as soon as he said sick in the mornings, I started frantically gesturing for him to STOP, because it sounded so wrong. Second of all, *I* started to think I was pregnant for a second, hearing his description. But no, according to him, it was an apt description because I did feel worse in the mornings than in the evenings. His poor mom had brief flickering hopes of another grandchild, before she had to learn that, sadly, my tonsils were just swollen to the size of oranges. All because my husband, the English teacher, has a tendency to say the most bizarre things.

Does your spouse have this habit? Or even better, are YOU someone who spouts of random sentences, then wonders why no one can follow you?

Wordless Wednesday: Flashback!

Hard to believe that one year ago, my now walking, talking toddler had only just begun to crawl.

Strepped Out

If you ever ask yourself, "Who gets strep throat in August?" just picture me, jumping up and down, waving my arms. Actually, right now, I'd just be feebly waving at you from the couch.

Oh, what a week. I started feeling under the weather last weekend, actually, but I chalked it up to allergies. As the week progressed, I'd wake up feeling a little off in the mornings, take a cold and sinus pill, then feel better in an hour or two. I was also running a low-grade fever, but that went away easily, too. Until Thursday morning, when I woke up with very swollen glands and a pretty sore throat. I had Open House Thursday evening (and what fun that was. "Hi Parents! I'm super sick and feverish, don't stand too close!"), so there was no way I could go to the doctor after work that night. Friday morning, I woke up with glands so swollen that they were visible from the outside. Nice! I was also soaked in sweat and felt like I had a higher fever (I didn't take my temperature, because my stomach felt loopy, and I knew this would be a surefire way to gag myself). If it had been any other Friday, I would've called off work, but it was the third day of school! I didn't even have seating charts made. I somehow made it through the day, beginning essays with the kids, and then went to the doctor. When I got there, the nurse took my temperature and said, "Wow. 102.2!" My normal body temp hovers around 97.2, so 102 is about two steps away from BURSTING INTO FLAMES for me. The doctor came in, took a 2 second look at my tonsils, and said, Strep! She also said WHOA when she touched my back and felt how hot I was.

So here I am, sicky sick and missing out on a lot of fun. I'm missing Shane's cousin's wedding, and I'm missing out on our plans to see Jim Gaffigan tonight. I told Shane to still go and have a good time, of course, but I've been looking forward to this for months! Luckily, we found someone to take my ticket, but still. Strep throat is no fun! I'm also going to take Monday off, because my poor little body is hurting, and I don't feel a bit better this afternoon. I'm still running a fever, and it's the sort of fever where sweat just rolls off your body. So, yes, I feel like the world's biggest slacker for missing the FOURTH day of school, but what can you do?

Teaching-wise, I like my kids, but let's be honest, I felt like I was teaching drunk this week (rather, I felt like I was drunk. I obviously have no idea what teaching drunk would be like, lest you think THAT), so they could have lit the room on fire, and I wouldn't have noticed. I'm not a huge fan of our schedule this year. It is very different from last year, but we'll get used to it. I love my team, though! We're having a lot of fun.

Let's hope that by next week, I am all healed, and I can dust the cobwebs off of my poor, neglected blog. I've missed you, bloggers!

Wordless Wednesday: Beach Feet

This mama wishes her tired toesies spent the day in the sand (like last week) instead of shoved in four inch heels (like today). I promise to cough out a real update soon, if I survive this week (surely death by 8th graders is not that unheard of!).

Precious Moments III

As you're reading this, I'm likely sitting in a meeting, contemplating faking a broken leg just to get out of said meeting. Let's hope that unlike last year, I'm not sobbing in the parking lot. Because I don't want to be THAT girl.

Erin @ A Peach Livin' in the Everglades suggested that those of us who are teachers need to make a point to post our "precious moments" as the year goes on, and I think this is a great idea. After all, when you start to hit that mid-October slump, and then the mid-January slump, it's nice to have a little encouragement and humor.

When I was pregnant, I had a very rough group of 8th graders. This was good because I was done teaching mid-February, but it was bad because they were very nasty. If I disciplined them, it was not because they were acting badly, it was because I was pregnant and hormonal. (They were awful to all their teachers, but they found a way to make themselves blameless through my pregnancy.) Seriously, I had a student tell his mom that he failed SILENT Reading because I was pregnant and hormonal. Yes, I'm sorry my pregnancy hormones are like gamma rays preventing you from opening a book. They also thought it was okay to daily ask me how I would deal if my baby was born with no legs, blind, or (their favorite) with two sex organs. There was a day in January, when I was 8 months pregnant, that I just lost it with two girls, and read them the riot act about how some day, about ten years from now, they'd look back and realize how utterly cruel their jokes were. This ceased the baby comments, thankfully.
Basically, when I left on maternity leave, I was like, HAHA LATER KIDS DON'T COME BACK AND VISIT EVER!

Anyway, one day, the Science teacher on my team brought me a Science textbook, and showed me a page that said, "Draw a * if you think Mrs. C is a bitch!" While their general meanness about my pregnancy bothered me, things like that only made me laugh. You have to be relatively thick-skinned to teach 8th graders! I was a little disappointed because there were only five stars, so I drew a 6th star, then wrote: "From Mrs. C!:)"

Next hour, we were talking about stories, and I said something along the lines of, "Okay, draw a STAR on your paper if you liked this story. Ha, stars. Isn't that a funny way to rank something? Like if you didn't like someone, you could be all, Draw a star by this person's name. Isn't that funny, guys??"

The PRECIOUS MOMENT came from watching a few kids squirm and sneak sideways glances at each other. The even more precious moment came when they were huddled around the textbook in the science teacher's room, whispering about how they couldn't believe I gave myself a star. Sadly, a few days later, someone erased the star system, so I never got to see if I made it past six stars. What I've learned about 8th graders is that they often do/say things without thinking of the ramifications, so it's a good lesson to let them know that their actions are not without consequence.

Precious Moments II

In case you haven't guessed, I'm really not thrilled about returning to work tomorrow. However, in an effort to make the best of it, I thought I'd share with you another classroom story. This one does not involve me putting anything down my pants, but it does involve me being awesome.

I rarely have cell phones ring in my classroom. My students learn early on that if a phone rings, I answer it. I've talked to parents who have said, "He/she is supposed to have the phone OFF during school," and I've had phone calls where the other party just hangs up, leading me to believe it's another kid who should not be calling.

But my favorite phone call was this one:

This kid's phone kept ringing (he had it on vibrate), but he brought it to my attention because he said it happened all the time, and it was from a New Jersey number. He said he didn't know anyone in New Jersey, so I told him the next time the phone rang, I'd answer it. It rang a few minutes later, and the conversation went like this:

Me: Hello?
Josh: Yes, hi, my name is Josh and I'm calling from--
Me: What is this call in regards to?
Josh: Um, I um, I'm sorry, what's your name?
Me: I'm sorry, I don't normally give out my name over the phone. I'm just wondering why you feel it necessary to call my student in the middle of English class.
Josh: Your student? I'm just calling to speak to him about consolidating his student loans.
Me: [tries hard to choke back laughter and fails] He's in 8th grade. I really don't think he HAS any student loans.
Josh: He's in...he's in 8th grade!? Isn't this [says some name]?
Me: Uh, no, this isn't, and seeing as how this is a public school, I can assure that he has to take out no loans to attend our fine institution.
Josh: Well, clearly it's a wrong number, then. I'm sorry.
Me: Clearly. Take him off your list so we can get through English class. Thanks, bye!

And for funsies, let me share one more little tidbit with you that has nothing to do with cell phones, but everything to do with 8th graders being ridiculous.
One day, my students kept writing, "I LOVE COOKIES!" on their papers. I finally said, "Listen, I love cookies just as much as the next person, but STOP. That is ANNOYING!"
Naturally, 8th graders don't know when to stop, so a boy asked if he could write it on the board. I said, "Fine, but then we're done with cookies."

So, he gets up and writes, "Mrs. C. loves cockies!"

I nearly choked and said, "ALEX!!" He said, "What?" and as the class started to laugh, he turned back to the board, realized what he wrote and nearly killed himself trying to erase it. I suppose some people would've been mad about it, but it was an honest mistake. One that I found so hilarious that I had to immediately share it in the teacher's lounge, to (of course) be met with a round of "I bet you do!"

Precious Moments

In honor of my soon-to-be triumphant return to the world of pencils, books, and giving dirty looks, I thought I'd share with you one of my all-time favorite teaching moments.

Was it one of those moments where a struggling learner suddenly understood what I was saying? Or was it a day that I helped a student solve a serious personal problem? Or was it the day a student gave me a heartfelt card saying that I was like a mentor to her?

OR was it the day that I first adopted what would become my motto for teaching 8th graders: "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em." Oh yes, it was this glorious day, my first year of teaching.

It was the end of the year, spring-time, when 8th graders get just a wee bit hormonal. My students were a little stir crazy, to say the least. This is understandable, and although I generally have good classroom management, they would not stop coming up to my desk, where they would then manhandle my stapler. You wouldn't think 8th graders would act so shocked and amazed over staples shooting out of a stapler, but you'd be surprised. At the time, I was trying to walk around the classroom and assist with essays, so sitting behind my desk, guarding the stapler with a taster was not an option.

So what did I do? I wandered back over to my desk, grabbed it out of a student's hand, and... I stuck it down my pants.*
Then I was all, What now, who wants to touch my stapler NOW?

And they all stared at me in a slack-jawed expression that very clearly said, I can't believe she just put the stapler down her pants.

But guess what? They ALL left my stapler alone.

*In case you're wondering, it was inside my pants, but outside my underwear. I'm not that gross.

My Archnemesis

For reasons unbeknown to me, there is a cashier at our local Target who either hates me or is just really awkward socially. OR she has learned that I'm a superhero by night and is out to thwart me during the day, when I am but a mere school teacher.

I'm thinking our answer lies somewhere between option one and option two, probably closer to option two, because people don't usually hate me for little reason (unless they are 8th graders). There was my old gynecologist, who seemed to super duper hate me, but I'm fairly certain that she was Satan.

ANYWAY, this Target cashier always makes bizarrely awkward conversation with me that almost always ends with her smirking at something I say. It's not overt enough that I'd ever complain to Target, but it is certainly interesting. Try as I might to avoid her, she always seems to be the only cashier available. And I really love Target, so not going is not an option.

When I first met Target Cashier of Doom (COD for short) two months ago, she kept insisting that I take the formula coupon that printed from the register. This happens often when I'm buying baby items, and I always smile and say, Thanks, we don't need it, but please give it to someone who does! That usually ends the conversation, but not with COD. Yesterday, we had a conversation that almost mirrored the conversation we had when fate first thrust us together.

Me: Wearing black tank top, blue yoga pants. Totally awesome.
COD: Older woman, wearing red top, khakis. Totally not awesome.
Luke: Wearing a button up shirt, overalls. Also awesome, but doesn't participate in this exchange.
Everything italicized represents thoughts, so don't think I said any of that out loud.

COD: "What kind of formula do you use?"
Me: Not again. SERIOUSLY NOT AGAIN!
"We don't use any. But if that's a coupon, give it to someone who does!"
COD: "Oh, he does look a little too old to still be on formula. Still, $5 off is a very good deal. You know how expensive formula is!"
Me: WHY WHY WHY??
"We breastfeed, actually, but I've heard it can be very expensive."
COD: "$5 off is a VERY good deal. It's too bad you can't use it."
Me: Here we go, what can I say to get her to stop, oh, I KNOW "Well, breastmilk is free. That's a pretty good deal, too!"
COD: [smirks, ceases eye contact, and thankfully, ceases talking]

The worst part is that we have HAD CONVERSATIONS LIKE THIS BEFORE. I feel like I'm stuck in some awful rendition of Groundhog Day. So tell me, can they not give your coupons to someone else? It's printed separately from the receipt, so that's not the issue. She is older, so I do not think she wants the coupon herself. If they can't, then next time, I will take the coupon and mail it someone who can use it! OR better yet, is this woman bizarre to everyone? If you've visited the Valpo Target and encountered my archnemesis and had her be all nemesis-y to you, too, let me know, so I can reassure myself that only 8th graders hate me for no good reason.

The Gift of You

There are times in my life when I feel compelled to thank people just for being them. Sometimes it is after they do something nice for me, but often, it is on their birthday. And I know that sounds weird, but what better day to take a look at someone and marvel at how lucky you are to have them in your life.

Today is one of those days. Today is Kristin's birthday, and to put a face to the name, this photo was taken the weekend that I first met Kristin.
Now, you're either thinking one of two things: 1) Why would she invite someone whom she JUST MET to her wedding? or 2) Does Erin always dress in a strapless gown and tiara?
Sadly, I have not worn a tiara since my wedding day (but I feel I should rectify this, somehow), and although the night before my wedding was the first time I was able to hug Kristin, we'd known each other for years prior.

Yes, I met Kristin on the internet, back when all people on the internet were believed to be pedophiles or really large old men pretending to be teenage girls (see also: pedophiles). Still, it's not as if Kristin was simply a fake person before I was able to actually see her in person, so I am lucky enough to say that I have known Kristin for 11 years. This means that she has been there for some of the best and some of the worst times of my life. She was there when I first started crushing on my husband, and she was one of the people I called as soon as I had a positive pregnancy test in my hand. Kristin has always been there, and I know that Kristin will always BE there. Since our first meeting the night before my wedding, Kristin and I have done this in-person thing as often as life, distance, and money will allow. Despite a disaster of some sort occuring whenever she comes to visit, Kristin keeps coming back, and I look forward to each visit as intensly as I did the first one (because yes, when I got to the church for our wedding rehearsal, I shoved past Shane and his waiting family to hug Kristin FINALLY).

So thank you, Kristin, for being you. For giving me the gift of you in my life, for always being such a perfect fit, and most of all, for being the beautiful person that is you.
If you have a moment, please comment and wish Kristin the happiest of birthdays. She deserves it!

Wordless Wednesday: I See You

Hey You!

Southern Domestic Goddess recently shared a letter she had written to her 18-year-old self, and she wrote such a great letter that I just had to yank the idea.

Dear Erin,

I know that at 18, you think you have the world figured out, but trust me, you'll learn more in the next eight years than you ever thought possible. Most of it will be good, and remember, you can always handle the ones that are bad.

Go find a mirror and repeat after me: "I am NOT FAT." Seriously, you are not fat, and the very fact that you think you are is absolutely absurd. Look at the tag on the inside of your jeans. Size 1? Yeah, definitely not fat. So put down the salad and go drink a Steak n Shake milkshake. Or 12, even, you could stand to gain a few pounds. Enjoy your body. Flaunt that flat tummy and don't doubt yourself. And if you still think you're fat, head to the nearest karate studio and pay someone to karate chop you in the side of the head until you stop thinking that. In a few years, your narrow hips and flat tummy are going to soften into curves, but trust me when I say it'll be absolutely worth it.

Don't be afraid to love. Shane will be so good to you, I promise. You'll have your ups and downs, but he's not going ANYWHERE. Don't listen to people who tell you that you're too young to fall in love, that you need to play the field. You don't. He's the one.

Think about double majoring, or at least minoring in something outside of education. You'll love teaching, but although the thought of being a stay-at-home mom seems rather like the kiss of death to you now, you'll change your mind in six years, and you'll wish you had a degree that made you marketable in working from home. Just think about it.

I don't want to say too much more, because I feel like even the bad parts of life happen for a reason, but I will say this: be careful who you trust. Remember that the darkest hour of night is always followed by the dawn.

Love,
Yourself

p.s. The winning Powerball numbers for August 9, 2008 are 32 40 43 49 53 and 21


And just for the sheer humiliation of it, here's a photo of 18-year-old me adopting a ridiculous pose in the middle of a state forest in Brown County.

Tag--I'm It!

I was tagged by Christi over at Blah Blah Blog to share six things about myself, because I am oh so fascinating!

But of course, there are rules...
1. Link the person who tagged you
2. Mention the rules on your blog
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours
4. Tag 6 following bloggers by linking them
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged blogger’s blogs letting them know they’ve been tagged.


1. When I talk, I gesture. A LOT. I'm often conscious of the fact that I'm using my hands way too much, but I can't help myself! I try to keep it in check while I'm teaching, lest I give my darling 8th graders one more way to make fun of me.
2. I really love to play video games, but unfortunately, none of my close friends do. And super unfortunately, my husband is an atypical male in that he hates video games. To the point where he shudders if he hears a song that's featured in Guitar Hero, because he so hates watching me play Guitar Hero.
3. I am a speed reader. My husband used to accuse me of skimming, until I made him give me a quiz on the pages I'd just read, and I passed with flying colors. If given ample time, I can finish a several hundred page book in one day.
4. Sometimes I'm like a little kid, because I get so excited when the mail comes. Even though I'm rarely expecting anything other than bills, I still love to run out and check the mailbox. I also get excited about checking my mailbox at work, even though there is definitely never anything good in there!
5. Although I make jokes about how I must be insane to teach 8th grade, I really do love them (except for when they write notes about how I am fat, or how I am meaner than Satan himself). I love that age because they have one foot in adulthood and one foot in childhood. They are ready to grow up and move on, but they also aren't beyond making a card for you with crayons and construction paper if they think you're having a bad day.
6. I hate excercise. I so hate it. I want to be one of those people who is like, WOO I LOVE WORKING OUT, IT MAKES ME FEEL SO GOOD, but if I'm to be honest, I feel much better sitting on the couch, eating a cupcake.

Tag--you're it!
1. Mel @ A Box of Chocolates
2. Jenni @ Jiggety Jigg
3. Guinevere @ Raindrops and Whiskers
4. Candi @ It's My Life
5. Cassie @ Southern Domestic Goddess
6. Chris @ That's one small step for man...one giant...I have a dream!

Better Than Any Pill

Last night, Shane and I went out to dinner to attempt to celebrate the end of summer (read: make ourselves feel better about returning to work). We went to Lucrezia, which, aside from being our favorite restaurant, has fabulous outdoor dining. Although Luke is really good at restaurants because he likes people watching and food, we try to do outdoor dining because it's really compatible with a toddler. Or should I say, Luke was really good at restaurants.

Last night was the first (of many, I'm sure) night where I looked at Luke and thought, Who are you, and what have you done with my child? He was a monster from the moment we got there, first throwing his book at the hostess. I was mortified. Once he threw his book, he then threw EVERYTHING, whether it was food or silverware. He calmed down for a bit when the busboy brought him a special cup of water with a coffee stirrer straw (this after he threw his sippy cup), but then started screaming. Normally, when we eat early and outside at Lucrezia, there is at least one other family with a baby. Naturally this time, we were surrounded by well-dressed, childless couples. Some older, some younger. I'm fairly certain the younger ones did NOT go home and have sex last night, thanks to Luke being such fabulous birth control.

Shane and I had Luke out of his highchair, passing him back and forth, but he continued to scream at regular two-minute intervals. Finally, the food arrived. Luke calmed for another two minutes when the busboy put cheese on his ravioli, but the screaming started again. I was hurriedly trying to shove my stuffed eggplant in my mouth when he started madly grabbing everything within reach. As quick as he was grabbing, I was shoving across the table at Shane, until he grabbed a plate, and my fingers were a second behind his. This second was all it took for him to grab the plate, fling it at the ground, where it loudly SHATTERED. Everyone fell silent, except for one older woman who loudly went, OHHHHHHHHHHHH. At that moment, I honestly put my head in my hands and prayed to disappear. There are really no words for when your child acts like a complete disaster. And I know you always feel worse about it as the parent, but I am fairly certain that everyone in that restaurant was thinking, "Do they have ANY CONTROL over that kid AT ALL?" I slunk out of the restaurant, while Shane got our food wrapped up and paid the bill. He ended up tipping the waiter $20 and handed a $20 to the busboy, too. He said the busboy pulled him aside and said, "Hey, how old is he? He's being a kid. You did nothing wrong."

Thank you, busboy, I think I love you, but I still felt like the world's worst mom. Anyway, as soon as I got Luke out of the restaurant, he was SO happy. I put him in a stroller, and we walked up and down the sidewalk, waiting for Shane to come join us. While I was walking him, a carload of kids drove past and loudly called me a ho, but I was so happy to be outside that I didn't even stop to look and see if they were former students, or if they just seemed to think that a baby in a stroller was a proper ho-accessory (hocessory?). I just smiled and thought, "Ho, that's good. That's probably better than what the people in the restaurant were thinking. Yeah, I'll accept ho."

We got home, Luke played outside, and then I caught a whiff of a very foul diaper. Once accompanied by a very red bottom. So of course, now I feel like bad mommy x 2, because why didn't I stop to think that maybe his tummy was bothering him, and that's why he was acting out and didn't want to sit? I wanted to return to Lucrezia and say, "Hey, look, it's not ME, I can't control his intestines!" Instead, Shane and I just played and played with Luke, while quietly discussing how it would be a long, LONG time before we took him out to eat again. Unless, of course, you need someone to function as human birth control. Then by all means, give us a call!

My Bed is a Touch-Free Zone

I'm going to hand in my girl card right now because although I like shoes, sparkly lip gloss, and chick flicks, I hate to cuddle.

I should clarify this slightly. I don't mind cuddling when I'm awake. When I'm awake, I like hugs a lot. But when it's time for me to sleep, I cannot STAND to be touched. Not even a hand hold. No, instead, I flatten myself against the wall and snuggle into my blankets, enjoying my personal space. Even weirder? I have a little stuffed dog that I hold onto when I sleep, and I really do sleep better with something in my arms. Something inanimate, because if my husband tried to snake his arm in there, I'd bite it off before I'd sleep with it.

Hollywood has led me to believe that I'm very bizarre, because I should be waking blissfully snuggled in my husband's arms, with a full face of makeup. And then we should totally make out right away, with no thoughts paid to morning breath. Instead, I thank him for not getting too close to me, then I snuggle up to him. When Luke slept with us, I made a brief change to my rule and could sleep with him touching me, but whenever I got the chance, I'd scoot him over by Shane, then enjoy my tiny bit of space.

Shane says that I'm a complete nut for not wanting to cuddle at night, but I'm going to say he's nuts for even thinking about wanting to give up his sleep space. But I'm not entirely sure, and unfortunately, you can't exactly walk up to strangers on the street and say, "Hi, DO YOU LIKE TO CUDDLE?!?!" without chancing a restraining order, so tell me, Blog World, do you like to cuddle?

Got Mama Milk?

This week is World Breastfeeding Week, and "Mother Support: Going for the Gold" is this year's theme. I so firmly believe that woman-to-woman support is the best recipe for a successful breastfeeding relationship.

Breastfeeding has never been a choice for me, rather it's just something I knew I would do, without a doubt. My mom nursed me until I self-weaned at a little under two, and I grew up thinking that breastfeeding was a normal, healthy way to feed one's baby. However, I'll admit that, despite all the reading I did, I never imagined that it might not be easy. I had a fairly easy birth. I was in labor for 20 hours, but it was all-natural, and those drug-free babies are supposed to nurse easily, right? RIGHT?
From the beginning, nursing was a struggle. Luke did not want to eat. I was able to have skin to skin contact pretty quickly after he was born, and Louise [our doula] helped me try to nurse him, but he just refused. We gave up after awhile and I let them take him to the nursery to get cleaned. When they brought him back, Louise and I tried again to get him to eat, but he wouldn't. It continued like this through most of Tuesday [the day he was born]. Because he was a big baby, they were testing his blood sugar every four hours, and his blood sugar was always fine. However, on Wednesday, he continued to refuse to eat. By this point, I was getting really frustrated and feeling like a huge failure. When Louise stopped by to check on me, she told me not to worry, that even if he never, ever latched on, I could still breastfeed with bottles. Still, the nurses were stressing me out a LOT. I know it's their job and they want babies to eat, but I feel like it was somewhat detrimental to me getting him to eat, simply because I was so tense. Every two hours, someone would come in and ask if he had eaten, and every two hours, I'd have to tell them that no, he still really wasn't eating much. He would maybe latch on a little bit, but then he'd stop. One of the nurses said, If he doesn't eat more soon, we'll have to start testing his blood sugar again. The way she said it came across as accusatory to me, and it just made me sob because I was TRYING SO HARD. I wanted nothing more than to feed my child successfully, and it wasn't working. Unfortunately, the lactation consultant was off on Wednesday, so I just had various nursery nurses helping, some of whom were a little forceful and made me feel like a monster when he'd scream his head off at me. I finally broke down and let them put glucose water and formula on my nipple to attempt to get him to latch. I really didn't want to do that, but I just felt so hopeless at this point. However, he wasn't interested in either.
At about 9 that night, I had a nurse who was a little more gentler with Luke and me. We were able to get him to latch for about 10 minutes and eat a little. I was thrilled! She actually stayed past the end of her shift at 11 to get him to eat again, and he ate much better. At this point, I was utterly exhausted. I didn't sleep much at all on Tuesday night because of endorphins and because Shane was snoring so freaking loud, and I obviously didn't sleep at all Monday night while in labor. I trusted the nurses enough to know that they weren't going to give him formula, so I let them take him to the nursery, and I took a pain pill. A new, but very calm and gentle nurse brought him in to me at 3. I had three hours of sleep, plus I was really relaxed from the pill. I was able to get him latched on to both breasts, and he ate for an hour! She came back in at 4 and took him back to the nursery. A new nurse brought him in at 7, and I was again able to feed him for an hour.

In hindsight, I know that I let the nurses on Wed. stress me out way too much. They made me tense, which I am sure Luke sensed. Neither my midwife nor Luke's pediatrician were overly concerned on Wednesday, so I should have taken that as a sign. Sheryl's comment was that he was stubborn coming in to this world, so she wasn't surprised that he was stubborn about eating. His pediatrician just said, he's not jaundiced, he's a good sized baby, blood sugar's fine, you could probably leave him on a rock for two days, and when you returned, he'd be fine. I can understand some amount of stress about a baby who is not eating well, but they knew I was staying until Thursday. They also knew that he'd barely lost any of his birth weight. I just feel like treating me like I was inept or making accusatory statements about having to start checking his blood sugar again was the worst thing they could've done to help us establish a feeding relationship. Also, one of the nurses tried to get my parents to leave the room before we tried to feed him, which rubbed me the wrong way. She acted as if it was something that I'd need privacy for, when I would think a pro-breastfeeding hospital would want to support how natural it is. When she did that, I just said, They were here when he was born, I would like them to stay. It helped to have my mom there to calm me down a little, honestly. She just said, Oh. Fine. The dichotomy between nurses was incredible. We either had fabulous nurses or ones who seemed to not care at all.

When we left the hospital, Luke continued to nurse well. The first night home, co-sleeping made all the difference. I got into bed with him in my underwear and just held him against my body, letting him nurse when he needed, letting us both sleep when he wasn't. It was all new to us, but it felt so right. For the next two days, he continued to nurse well, and then my milk came in. Rather, it came flooding in with the force of fire hose. Suddenly, we were back where we started. I was engorged, and he couldn't latch. I would hand express milk before every feeding, but still, he'd choke and splutter and refuse to nurse. I have a clear memory of sitting on the floor of the guest bedroom with my husband using the manual breastpump on my painfully engorged breasts (totally not how I ever pictured us using my breasts!;p). At this point, Luke hadn't nursed in so long, and while I knew that pumping would only cause my breasts to fill back up, I needed the relief. We pumped and fingerfed some to Luke, allowing us to get a few hours sleep. The next day, my husband returned to work, and my mom came over. With her help, I was able to get Luke to eat a little bit better, though he was still choking on my letdown. After this, my right nipple became cracked and bloody. My right breast was always fuller, so he had a harder time latching. I ended up biting into my cheek pretty hard to keep from screaming when he'd latch, but every day, it got a little better. We mastered sidelying nursing, which made all the difference. Things went swimmingly until Luke was three months and got his first tooth. Three months is fairly early in terms of teething, so when he began biting, I was unsure of what to do. Most of the tips I read seemed as though they'd work for older babies, yet it was hard to make a three month old understand not to bite. Still, I wasn't about to give up, so I kept at it. Unfortunately, his biting did give me a milk blister, which led to a plugged duct, which then led to mastitis. I was able to make it through mastitis without antibiotics, though I did run a fever for two days and was more sore than I ever thought possible. As he grew (and gained more teeth), I was able to better tackle the biting issue.

When Luke was six months, I returned to work full-time. It wasn't easy. I'm a teacher, so I have very scheduled breaks, and unfortunately, my first break was not until noon (I leave for work at 6:20). My first break is lunch, so I mastered pumping and eating at the same time. By the time noon rolls around, I'm usually very engorged, but my supply did take a bit of a hit due to going all night without nursing, then another 6 hours without nursing. However, I took enough Fenugreek that I smelled like I was drowning in maple syrup, but I was able to pump just enough to meet his needs. My second break was only two hours after the first, so I never got very much from that session. It definitely was not ideal, and I would've loved to take three evenly spaced breaks a day, but it wasn't possible.

When Luke turned a year old, I took the day off of work. He tried, and loved, a sippy cup of organic cow's milk. With a great deal of relief, I packed away the pump. My supply, by this point, was nothing like it was when I first returned to work, so I was able to go through the day without pumping pretty easily. But the first thing I did when I got home was nurse Luke. At 17 months, he's still going strong, and it's hard to remember that my "num num" (his words, not mine) monster EVER had trouble with this whole breastfeeding thing. But looking back, I am so thankful for all the support I had, knowing that it made all the difference in our relationship.

Breastfeeding a toddler is dangerous business. Helmets recommended!

Wordless Wednesday: Love and Hate

Luke was fascinated by this monkey, until I stood next to it for a photo. Then he FLIPPED and was apparently terrified the giant monkey would eat him.
Oh, and where else could you get your photo taken with a man in a monkey suit, but the fair?

Lightning Striking Again

And again and again and a--okay, you get the point. Did anyone in the Chicagoland area get much sleep last night? Because we sure didn't! The storm(s) started durng Luke's bedtime. I caught flashes of lightning through the window as I was nursing him, but I had no idea that the storm would continue ALL NIGHT LONG.

Thankfully, we did not have any tornado activity and extra thankfully, we did not lose power, but it was still nasty. I slept periodically, constantly awakened by loud claps of thunder. Our bed is against an outside wall of the house, so every now and then, the thunder would be so much that the bed would shake. I am not kidding. At one point, the thunder clap was so much that the smoke alarm went off twice. To say it's unsettling to attempt to sleep while all of this is going on is an understatement. We kept waiting for Luke to wake up screaming, but somehow, he did not. However, when he woke up at an unprecedented 8 o'clock (we're lucky to make it until 6:30), I asked him if he heard the thunder last night, and he looked at my wide-eyed, grabbed my arm, then put his head on my shoulder. Yeah, I know how you feel, kiddo! So, apparently he did hear it and slept just as poorly as we did, but is somehow braver than I and was able to stay in his crib alone.

I had a hair appointment this morning, and I expected to see tree branches everywhere, judging from the sound of the wind. I did not realize quite how much rain we received, until I had to make three separate detours due to flooding. The worst of it was just down the street from our house, where a large wetland/swamp area is located. Now, the name wetland would lead you to believe that obviously it floods easily, and you would be correct in this belief. I have not, however, seen it flooded this badly. Usually, I'll have to detour in the morning, then I'll be just fine to drive through in the afternoon. This morning, though, there was a car stuck in the middle of it, with a very confused looking man standing next to said car. Seriously, I have two rules about driving through water on the road: If you can't see the road and/or if it's moving quickly, it's not worth chancing it! As it was very clearly both today, I've no idea why this man thought it a fun idea to take his small Pontiac through the water, but he did not make it very far.

When I came home with my story of uber-flooding, Shane dismissed me, reminding me that that area always floods and that it'd be receeded by this afternoon. Unfortuntaly, I missed my opportunity to make a WINNING BET, instead just telling him that we should take our bikes down there after Luke woke up from his nap.

I told Shane to pretend like he was diving in, and as you can see, I would've easily won the bet.

There's a road here, somewhere...

See? Fast moving. Not for cars!


Suffice to say, I think we definitely don't have to worry about a drought.

Kisses Sweeter Than Wine

I still remember my first kiss with Shane, as if it was yesterday, even though it was almost eight years ago (August 22, 2000, to be exact!). It was my last night before I was set to leave for IU, and I spent it with Shane, and my two best friends, neither of whom were going away. It was a bittersweet night, to say the least. We were at my friend John's house, and Shane left at about 11 that night. I walked him out to the car, heart racing, palms sweating. It was a beautiful night, one of those rare cool summer nights, where you can see all of the stars.

We talked, hugged, and then we kissed. It wasn't my first kiss, but it was the kiss. You know, the kiss where time stands still, where nothing else seems to matter but this exact moment in time. I'd never had one of those kisses before. I'd never come close to having one of those kisses before, and to be honest, I'd started to wonder if they even existed or if they were merely a literary invention. I learned that night that those kisses do exist, you just have to find the right person.

Shane left, and I floated back inside. Yes, floated. My friends knew, just from the unwavering grin on my face. And since then, every kiss we've shared has managed to bring about the same silly grin. Whether it's a goodnight kiss, or a romantic kiss, or an "I'm sorry" kiss, he still makes my heart race. Sure, some kisses may be more special than others, like our first kiss as husband and wife. Shane doesn't like public kissing, so leading up to our wedding, he swore it'd just be a quick peck and that was it. Imagine my surprise (and delight) when the time came, and I finally had to gently push him away because he would not stop kissing me, followed by joyous laughter from all those at our wedding. Or the kiss he gave me after Luke was born, when I said, "Can you believe we did this?" Or the kiss he gave me the night before our wedding, effectively calming me down and helping me focus on the events of the next day.

I'm blessed that I get to spend the rest of my life kissing him.


Entry submitted to Scribbit's August Write-Away Contest

Free For You Friday!

**Edit** Congratulations to Wehaf, lucky #13, as chosen by random.org! Thanks to all who entered.

In honor of the last day of the bloggy giveaways, I'm giving away a treat for all you cloth diapering moms and dads. My giveaway is an Out and About Wetbag, by the fabulous Kiddie Winkles designs. Her website is brand new, but as someone who has been privy to quite a few of her creations, trust me, they are made of awesome.

One of the most difficult things about cloth diapering, for me, is diapering on the go. It becomes so appealing to just use disposables for those days, because who wants to lug around all the extra equipment? Keely of Kiddie Winkles has solved that problem by creating the Out and About wetbag. This wetbag holds at least six dirty diapers and easily zips open and closed (important point if you end up with a stinky diaper while out and about!). What makes it better than other wetbags? She's fashioned a convenient pouch on the front sized perfectly for cloth wipes (or disposable), plus a spot for a small spray bottle of water or hand sanitizer. How great is that? Everything you need for cloth diapering on the go, all in one easy to reach spot!

How can you be entered to win? Easy! Just leave me a comment telling me which Kiddie Winkles item(s) OTHER than the Out and About wetbags strike your fancy. My personal favorites? The leather diaper cover for the toughest baby on the block (seriously, leather!) and the woven wraps (be sure to check out the embroidery!).
Want an additional chance to win? Place a link to my giveaway in your blog (just leave me a link in my comments), and I'll give you an extra entry. Please make sure to leave me a way to contact you, so I can get your super new wetbag to you as soon as possible!
Bonus! See something you can't live without? Enter "TADA!" at checkout, and you will receive 10% off your first Kiddie Winkles order.

You have until midnight Central Time to get your entry in, so don't delay!