Under Age Reading...

There are those moments that come along from time to time that scream, "Blog about me!"

Tonight was one of those moments occurred.

A little background first.

Aislynn is four years old. At three years old she started reading. Gasp! I know, this is obscene and not particularly the norm. Believe me, I know. I taught kindergarten once upon a time. Don't worry, my two year old thinks the letter "I" is a "2." Perhaps I will write about this early reading thing another day, but for now it is important to understand that I have a little reader. Don't worry, this is not a "brag hag" post that will make you puke. Stay with me here. Aislynn reads everything she sees, including some "expressive" thoughts on public bathroom walls, and inside park playhouses. I think you get the picture. As you can imagine, this poses a problem at times.

Which brings us to tonight. And this was a first.

It all started with this.

That's right folks. The Berenstain Bears.

Not long after I put Aislynn to bed did I hear a bedroom door slowly open and my four year old's little face peek into my room. She usually looks at a few books in her bed before falling asleep.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Mom, I have a problem," she announced with deep concern in her voice. She then handed me The Berenstain Bears Clean House. Should I be taking a hint here? Aislynn opened the book to this page and said, "Look."

Yep, the "I Can Read Books" index page. No one usually cares about this page, except my child.

I was not at all sure where this was going, drawing a blank, uh...I asked, "What's the problem with this page?"

"This book is haunted mom. See!" she pointed to the title that read, This Book Is Haunted, under author Joanne Rocklin.

I looked at her little face full of concern. This was no joke to my daughter. While trying to take this situation as serious as she made it out to be, I also tried to hold back some laughter at my early reader's interesting discovery.

"Ok," I started, "This book you are reading here is named The Clean House. This page in the back of your The Clean House book tells us a whole bunch of names of other books, see?" I pointed to the list of names including the unmentionable.

Crickets. Blank stare.

"But Mom, this book is haunted, oh no!" she persisted.

At that point I said a brief thanks to my excellent parenting combined with Nick Jr combined with the month of October which apparently had instilled in this four year old a definition to the word "haunted." Through some harmless Halloween-ish themed episodes of Wow, wow, Wubbzy-oh-and honorable mention to Mickey Mouse Club House on Disney. Thanks. (Sarcasm)

"Aislynn. This book is NOT haunted. And the word "haunted" is just a silly word that people use sometimes at Halloween (close enough to the real definition)," I added as a sub point to my original explanation.

"But Mom, see right here, THIS BOOK IS HAUNTED. We have a problem," she persisted with sincere urgency this time. I could see we were not going to get anywhere down my path of reasoning. Time to call an audible.

"I have an idea!" I said very excitedly. As a mom and former kindergarten teacher, I learned a long time ago, that if you say anything in an enthusiastic voice to children under the age of 6, they grow very excited and thrown off track.

Aislynn perked up, "What Mom?"

Eyeing a black pen on my dresser, I took matters into my own hands.

"See, is that better?" I asked

"This book is HAPPY!" she shouted. "Yes, Mom, this is so good."

Big Sigh.

"See, now we don't have a problem," I said. Aislynn was clearly happy with my edit.

"Thanks Mom," she said as she headed back off to bed.

I didn't realize I had to sensor the Berenstain Bears books...But then again, Sister Bear does play "spin the bottle" at her six year old birthday party in Too Much Birthday...

a special morning greeting

My alarm clock

I have not set an alarm clock for a few years now. Who needs to hear that annoying, startling, obnoxious beep or a strange song on the radio that somehow creeps into that dream you are having, when you can wake up to a little voice saying "OK mom, lets do snuggles and cuddles!" While it is super cute to have this face wake me up each morning with a cheery little greeting, I admit that many mornings I am wishing the greeting came at least an hour later.

This morning my 3 year old morning greeter chose a different approach. I started to wake up when I heard the familiar sound of a small set of feet creeping into my room. Instead of her usual proclamation of "snuggles and cuddles," I was met with, "Mommy, I have a surprise for you!" I slowly opened my eyes, curious and concerned at what "a surprise" might entail. There was that smiling, cheery little face with no pajama pants on and a naked butt, standing right next to my bed holding up a single square of toilette paper very proudly. She continued, "Its a little square! For you to wipe my bottom." Lucky me. I could see how proud my little morning person was of herself for taking off her pants, going to the bathroom, and delivering that amazing single square of toilette paper to my bedside. Even though wiping some one's butt is not my idea of the ideal "wake up call," I'll take it today.

Piles

I like this. Press play.

Piles. LOTS of piles. A full weeks-plus of throw-up, diarrhea, fevers and sickness has put us a little behind schedule in the "keeping up on things" part of life. Before that it was strep (Happy Easter) and before that ear infections and fevers. So basically April was a blur. It actually sort of blurred together into one giant "sick day." And so the piles I began back in the beginning of April, the "we just moved" and the "unpacking" piles are still in their temporary homes, a month later. Only to be joined by piles of you name it-papers, laundry, items to distribute into other locations, items that need a home and have not yet been given one...etc. Why does it feel like the"we just moved and are still trying to get settled and unpacked" excuse seems to have an unofficial expiration date of 30 days? I feel like it should have a full year until expiration, so I have gone ahead and taken the liberty to renew it for 11 more months.

I have always been a piler. As a child, teen, young adult, college student, full adult-I have always had to pile everything on my bed to clean my room. Its just what I do. I pile everything on the bed, which becomes the mass distribution center. From there I usually form smaller piles on the floor until I am left with a few totally random and annoying items-you know the ones.

I always end up with a pile of papers and mail. I have a perfectly wonderful filing cabinet that is the eventual home of most of my "paper pile," but most of the organized items originate in the pile. I am not ashamed of this piling mentality. Its who I am. I am a piler. In college my roommate/bff and I regularly had a room filled with interesting and not so interesting piles. Random passerbyers often liked to comment on the "situation" especially around the dorm check time of the semester. They often shared blaringly obvious insights-"Wow, you have a lot to pick up..." You think? I will admit that many times the piles became a bit large, but we passed every single one of our dorm checks, unlike some of the neigh-sayers. Eat it dorm check trash talkers! Why? Because we knew how to clean...most of the time! I will admit we at times, had to take drastic measures and form piles in hidden locations to be dealt with later when time was of the essence. But for the most part, we are both excellent cleaners. We may not be the tidiest or most consistent cleaners, but we can clean circles around anyone...when we chose to, of course!

The thing about piles, is that you have to deal with them eventually. Sometimes things pile up, and I think that's ok. Piles happen. Its dealing with those heaps, and how you deal with them that's the important thing. There are certain piles you don't mind taking on. They are quick and easy, you know you can break them down fast...and then there are others that you are constantly putting at the bottom of the list because they feel huge, overwhelming, you get a headache just thinking about going through them. It doesn't matter how nicely you hide them or temporarily store them, because you know they are there. Until the pile is un-piled, it remains a pile.

I was thinking about what that means in my heart and mind. What do I have stored away, piled up that needs to dealt with? I can think of a few things. Sometimes its hard. Because sometimes when you start to go through a pile to sort things out, things get messier before they get better. The great thing is that we have access to the best professional organizer ever! He's even better than that guy on Oprah, Peter Walsh. I am always forgetting that He's (God, not Peter Walsh) pretty good at prioritizing, organizing, and dealing. Why is it so hard to really ask God to help us clean house, to sort through the piles, to deal with the mess?

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I was listening to this Beth Moore videocast the other day, and the speaker was talking about hearing God's voice, and knowing His voice. She was comparing it to how it feels when that person in your life calls you and you just KNOW its them. By the ring, by the way they answer the phone. You just know. But you only know that, because you know them. You have spent time getting to know them, getting familiar with them and their voice.

I think I put God in this little box and then expected Him to do huge things on demand, and when its convenient for me. I don't even know what to say but that, but that.

"Jesus never reacted in anger to sinners who knew they were sinners. He confined his anger for sinners who thought they were somehow exempted from judgment because their particular vices were hidden in their religiosity. It's just not the case; neither is it for us. May we vigilantly guard our hearts! May we constantly come back to the Lord and ask him to wash us clean, make us pure, and make us wise. And may we never lose the simplicity of one heart pouring itself out in love onto its Beloved..." -excerpt from interview with worship leader/song writer Aaron Keyes

PER·SPEC·TIVE

"Its all in the eye of the perspective." The wise words of a high school ex-boyfriend. Actually, they are not wise words at all. In fact, they make no sense. I just can't seem to forget Thomas declaring these profound words. I don't even remember what it was in regards to, but I do remember saying, "That makes no sense!" And him replying, "You just don't understand." Now I can't help but laugh whenever I hear the two phrases "It's a matter of perspective" or, "It's all in the eye of the beholder." I came to the conclusion a very long time ago, that I was much smarter than Thomas Yates.

PER·SPEC·TIVE
Pronunciation:\pər-ˈspek-tiv\
Function:noun
Etymology: From Latin perspectus, past participle of perspicere to look through, see clearly, from per- through + specere to look

I was realizing how quickly my perspective had changed when I was feeling extremely irritated the other morning that Aislynn was whining SO much and not handling well, Isla's attempts to interact. Granted, Isla's attempts to interact are more those of a demolition baby than a playmate. But a mom can only take so much whining and hearing the word "no."

I decided it was time for a change of scenery after it became clear that Isla had a one track mind-climb on top of Aislynn and anything she is playing with. Aislynn had a one track mind as well-whine and yell "no!" over and over any time Isla looked in her direction. I decided to move Aislynn up to an elevated level that would be out of the reach of my little climber. I set Aislynn up to paint at the table, "just like in Miss Mouse's Day," she excitedly pointed out. She was very excited, and began painting away. I sighed a sigh of relieve to have a whine free moment. Which was quickly brought to an end by Aislynn whining about Isla grabbing at her (Aislynn's) feet from under the table. Did I say one track mind! Sure enough, Isla had strategically found a way to still get a hold of her big sister from under the table, she was more than happy to at least have a hold of her big sister's foot.

It was at this moment I realized how much my perspective had changed and how I needed to "see more clearly" or "look through" this situation just a little harder. Months ago, I remember waking up and going to bed thinking of activities I could do with Aislynn to help her with expression, and interaction. Instead of looking at the annoyances, I needed to see the lining around this picture. I have a little girl who whines. A little girl who is aware of her surroundings, her sister, and a whole lot more. 7 months ago we thought this little girl might be autistic. And my biggest fear was that she would not be able to express herself to me. Well these days she makes her feeling very clearly known, both good and bad! Including the feeling "Mom no sing." which was declared today in the car as I was forbidden to sing along to any and every song. I still think whining and complaining is unpleasant, but it is an encouraging reminder at how far we have come. Yes, whining can be an encouragement at times. And my littlest peanut Isla, that wants to be into anything and everything as well as on top of everyone-I am so thankful she is healthy, and mobile, and curious. She is full of life and enthusiasm and I can only imagine what she has in store for us.

I am realizing that a different perspective can breath fresh air into a situation. Even situations that are little and you think are easily perceived, and especially situations that are difficult to perceive. And so today I will try to "look through" all the areas of my life and things I am facing both big and small and see what I can see more clearly if I just shift my perspective.

"Take a try!"

Aislynn trying some brownie batter

She realized that chocolate wasn't so bad after all.

Friday was Aislynn’s 6 month re-evaluation since being enrolled in the Child and Family Connections program back in January. And again, I am I was reminded of how far we have come.

Our therapists had all completed up to date evaluations of Aislynn and they met along with our service coordinator at our house to discuss Aislynn’s progress and continuation in the program.

Six months ago, Aislynn’s enrollment in her various therapies felt extremely overwhelming. We went from rather unscheduled weeks to feeding group once a week, speech once a week, nutrition twice a month, developmental therapy once a month, not to mention numerous evaluations and the push to get her interacting with other kids her age. Isla was only 2 months old and one high maintenance little baby which made things feel all the more intense.

I remember feeling this sense of urgency. I have never been known for my ability to be patient, and waiting to see Aislynn’s progress in the CFC program seemed unimaginable. I would wake up in the morning thinking of activities and games I could make to help Aislynn with her social skills, taking turns, and language. Any free moment I had to be on the internet, I was hunting for information that I thought might help. Then I would go to bed at night brainstorming more ideas for things to try with Aislynn. I was obsessed! All this, while waking up every few hours to feed a new baby. It really was an exhausting time.

Reflection is important. I was getting frustrated the other day that Aislynn still wouldn't eat fruit. But then I remembered how far we have come. These were Aislynn’s initial “feeding group goals”

1. 1. Aislynn will engage with food not currently in her repertoire

2. 2. Aislynn will bring a non preferred food within close proximity to her face/head/neck.

3. 3. Aislynn will interact with puree with fingers or another food.

4. 4. Aislynn will separate from her parents to tolerate being seated for snack.

Reflection. I remember feeling like there was no way Aislynn was ever going to sit through “snack time” and engage happily with the food and other children. When we first started feeding group, I had to sit in the room so that she would not have a meltdown. And Aislynn was one of the kids that had to be seated next to a therapist in case she had major issues. We have come a long way. Now Aislynn loves snack time. She says “Snack is fun! Friends are fun!” She is the kid that sits at the opposite side of the table from the therapists because they know she’ll do fine. She is usually the happiest, most energetic one there, and most willing to interact with the new foods. She doesn’t even think twice about me not being in the room with her and she now eats things like chicken, eggs, and cheese, which she never would have touched 6 months ago.

6 months ago this was our Social Summary goal: “We want Aislynn to increase her social skills so that she can communicate her wants and needs.” This is a goal she has met over and over again and continues to meet.

“Take a try.” This is one of Aislynn’s favorite phrases. We are always encouraging her to try new things, but we never quite phrased it like that. This phrase is all her. When she wants you to try what she is eating its “Mommy, take a try!” When she wants you to toss the ball to her, “Daddy, take a try!” Every time she says this phrase it makes me smile. One, because she sounds so cute when she says it, and two because she thought it all on her own. “Take a try” from the same little girl who adamantly was against trying all new things.

There are still new things, books, foods, toys, and experiences that Aislynn insists “No try it!” But she usually comes around. Reading is one of those things where Aislynn has her opinions. Many times she has her mind made up before I even open a new book that she does not like it, and of course it becomes the story she wants to read over and over again. Just the other night I tried to read The Runaway Bunny to her before bed. “No run away bunny!” she exclaimed. The next night the same thing happened. She was not about to give these bunnies a chance. Finally, the third night she sat on my lap to read a book before bed, and I quickly whipped out The Runaway Bunny. As she began to protest I hurriedly started reading the book excitedly and I had her hooked. We read the whole thing and when it was finished she said, “Runaway Bunny again?” So we read it again. I put the book on her shelf and tucked her in to bed. In the back of my mind I had a sneaking suspicion that come morning, The Runaway Bunny would find its way into her bed. Lately Aislynn has been waking up in the morning, and bringing books into her bed while she waits for someone to get her up.

Later that night, I checked on Aislynn before I went to bed. And there it was, tucked under her arm at 10:30 PM, The Runaway Bunny-who had clearly run away from the bookshelf a little earlier than I had expected! It made me smile.

I love that Aislynn loves books. I love that she is trying new things. I love that she is growing and developing and expanding her vocabulary. I love that when someone asked her at Starbucks the other day, “What are you eating?” referring to the piece of coffee cake she had, she responded, “I’m eating spaghetti!” and then laughed because she made a joke. These are all experiences that make me smile and encourage and excite me to see what new things she will “take a try” with tomorrow.

By the way, take a wild guess what book has been number one on the bedtime request list for 5 days and counting?

The Runaway Bunny.

Grateful

Today I am grateful that I have a little girl that likes to run around barefoot, roll around in the grass, run up and down a small hill like it is an amusement park ride, fling the bubble wand around with so much enthusiasm that bubbles truly go in all directions, and sing songs indoors and out with great passion.

We'll give thanks to You
With gratitude
For lessons learned in how to trust in You
That we are blessed beyond what we could ever dream
In abundance or in need
And if You never grant us peace

But Jesus, would You please . . .

Last lyrics in the song "Gratitude" by Nichole Nordeman

birther of babies

1. I am not the average woman.

I have seen many episodes of "Baby Story" that are very similar. However, I have never seen a woman on the show like me. As I entered heavy labor for Isla, I remember shouting, "I don't want to be like one of those women on Baby Story!" And I got my wish, I was not like one of those women, I was weirder.

I was replaying in my mind today some of my "discussion topics" aka things I was shouting while in labor with Isla, and I realized they really did not make any sense. While shouting, "I feel like an alien! I'm an alien! I can't control my body!" is already very strange, it really doesn't make any sense. What do aliens and intense pain have in common? Do aliens feel intense pain? I think what I meant was that I did not feel like myself, therefore, I was an alien. I think for a brief moment in time I experienced what it might feel like to be insane. I will keep that in mind when I think I am losing my mind some days. I'll just remind myself of the whole "alien thing" and then I'll think, "now that's crazy!"

2. I'm pretty cool.

After I delivered Isla without any medical assistance (drugs), I felt like I was the bomb. It was not necessarily my intention to go o-natural, but that is how things played out and I really felt like I deserved an award after pushing a baby out the "old fashioned way". However, I was not biting on a piece of wood at the time like they did in the olden days (I think I saw that on an episode of "little house on the prarie").

3. I really love talking about birth stories!

Today I heard the best story. To sum up what was by far one of my most favorite and amazing birth stories ever, this mom had a doctor delivering her twins (vaginally) that kept falling asleep while she was pushing, she had the narcoleptic doctor and another doctor coming in and out tag teaming, it took two hours for the second twin to be born after she pushed out the first, and the idiot doctor left 1 LB of placenta inside of her, from which she almost died when she returned to the hospital a week later with a serious infection. Now that is a birth story. That makes pushing hard for 11 minutes look like a cake walk. I don't think I will ever look at this woman the same again. She is a true rock star.

4. I think more women need to share their birth stories. It is one thing we as moms all have in common. Maybe I'll start a club...or make a t-shirt.

"Mommy Brain" ???

Today I left my husband at the grocery store. To make a long story short, his car was in the shop and a coworker dropped him at the grocery store, where I happened to be (since we did not have his house key). As I loaded the groceries into the car, I urged him to go back in to the store for multigrain cheerios (very important item). As he hurried into the store, I drove away. It was not until I was bringing the last bag of groceries into the house and heard the phone ringing that I thought "I bet that is Andy! Who I left at the grocery store!" In a matter of minutes I had totally forgotten that Andy did not have a car, which is why he had met me at the store in the first place. Please keep in mind we live right across the street from the grocery store which should lessen the severity of this story.

This left me wondering...where DID the other half of my brain go? If I figure correctly, I lost 1/4 of it when Aislynn was born, and another 1/4 when Isla was born. SO, now I am left with half a brain. The term "mommy brain" is often used to describe this foggy headed mommy syndrome. However, I did read an article recently (based on a book) where the author suggested that this whole "mommy brain" thing is totally off, and that women actually get smarter after having kids. Well, I am looking forward to the day when that happens! To bad that day was not today.

I would like to say though, that I have come up with a small list of ways I have gotten wiser from baby number one to baby number two. Currently, I have not thought of that many ways as I am working with half a brain here.

I love Mondays

I love Mondays. This is a phrase you will never probably see on a t-shirt in any language, in any country, on any continent. However, if you are looking for a conversation starter, I recommend you get yourself one of these shirts made. Most people dread the weekend to be over as they must return to work bright and early, Monday morning. The reason I love Mondays is actually rather stupid and in no way deep and insightful. It is simply because my favorite show is on from 8-9 which I find to be inspiration for the week ahead. Currently, I am in love with the show, "John and Kate Plus 8." The show follows the life of a real family living in Penn as they raise their three year old sextuplets (that's 6) and twin, seven year old girls. Hence the John (dad) and Kate (mom) plus 8 (children). It should be fairly obvious why I find this show inspirational. When I feel overwhelmed sometimes raising and taking care of my 2 little girls I just think, what if I multiplied them by 4, or what if I had 6 Aislynn's. Whoa. Those thoughts help me shake off the stress and be thankful I have only birthed 2 babies and am not driving a commercial van. While things could always be calmer, cleaner, and quieter, they could also always be crazier, messier, and louder. At the end of one episode of the show, Kate said, "Every day is painfully the same, yet drastically different." I completely agree. Sometimes I feel like I am doing the same thing over and over each day, yet each day is unique and different than the day before. I am learning to embrace the newness of each day, view the monotonousness as consistency, and be thankful I do not have 6 two year olds all at once!

a young old woman

I recently went to the doctor's office to see if my 78 day old baby ( I heard them refer to her as 78 days old when they were checking something with my insurance) had conjunctivitis-aka-pink eye. As I proceeded to the reception counter to check in, the nurse (who looked like she was in her early thirties) gasped, "You look so young!" I did not hear what she said at first as I was bending down to shove back in the pacifier that had popped out. I was sure she must have said something like, "You look so tired!" or, "You look so bad!" Both of which were very true at the moment. I stood back up and said, "I'm sorry, what did you say?" She repeated, "You look SO young!" I didn't quite know how to respond, one, because I do not think I look that young, two, I did not know if she was happy about this declaration or mad, and three, I have never been greeted that way at the doctor's office or anywhere for that matter before. My immediate response was a somewhat defensive, "I'm 27!" I did have to think for a split second to make sure I was in fact 27. The nurse half smiled as she proceeded to pull up my daughter's file. After a couple more typical doctor's office check in questions she laughed, shook her head, and declared once again, "You just look so young!" I wanted to shout back, "WHAT the heck are you talking about! Do you not see the lines starting to form under my eyes and the patch of gray hair sprouting out of my hairline!" Instead I again, somewhat defensively replied, "I also have a two year old (like that some how makes me look older) and a husband, and I had the husband before the babies." I hoped that reciting my stats might age me in her eyes. She just smiled. I went to sit down in the waiting area and thought to myself, "That was weird."
Here are a few reasons I am not That Young:
1. My body has been producing gray hair for 8 years. I now officially have more gray hair than I can remove with tweezers. I try not to look at my face too close in the mirror for fear of discovering even more gray hair.
2. When I hear current rap music as I am flipping through the radio stations I think to myself, "What IS this crap! This is the most pointless song ever."
3. I look at my sister who is currently turning 20 and a college student and think that she and all her friends don't look old enough to drive!
4. I have suffered a serious decrease in brain power. Recently at the store I was asked how old I was and I replied, "28." I did not even realize until I relayed the story to someone later that I am in fact, not 28.

I guess I am a young old woman.

a nanny day

This morning as I slowly opened my eyes and rolled over towards my stirring baby girl I was met by projectile spit up right across my chest (ironic that it should land where it originated from). Immediately it soaked through my shirt and through my favorite nursing bra. I was particularly sad about this part, since I would now need to do a load of laundry to wash this bra. That was how this morning started.
On this particular morning, more so than other mornings, I felt like I had been hit by a 5 ton truck. Not a good way to start the day. Before I even had a chance to think about a cup of coffee my 2 year old was complaining and whining about something the little einsteins were doing. Apparently, she did not want them to help the little blue car and this was very upsetting to her. Well, what started out as a simple protest of the the little einsteins, turned into a 3 hour tantrum which brings us to this point in time where I am hurriedly writing down this experience before Isla grows tired of looking at her tiny love animals on her activity mat. Finally, Aislynn appears to have stopped crying and fallen into the sleep which she so desperately needed this morning. And so I have learned four important lessons all before noon.
1. Aislynn should not go to bed at 10pm. She will wake up early the next day and she will be in a bad mood about it.
2. Aislynn should not watch the little einsteins when she is in a bad mood. She will have no patience for their adventure.
3. Owning 20 bras but having one you currently like in the rotation is not a wise idea when you are lactating and have a baby that spits up as a part time job. Buy a new bra.
4. Having a nanny is a wonderful idea. Never judge anyone for having one. Instead congratulate them for being so smart and rich.

stop it

Aislynn just started saying, "stop it!" to me in a very snotty voice. Now there are certain phrases that I use that she repeats or models, but "stop it" is not one of them. This one is all her. She has been using this phrase quite frequently-when she doesn't want her diaper changed, she doesn't want me to touch the toy she is playing with, she doesn't want my help with something, she does want my help with something, I am not giving her something she wants. So we have begun the dialogue on how to talk to mommy and how not to talk to mommy. This is a conversation that I have a feeling, we will be having about 13 years down the road when my two year old with attitude becomes a teenager with attitude. I really hope that day does not come, but if it does I will do one of two things: Take her bedroom door away or send her to mountain camp. Or I could come up with a less harsh solution. Its a good thing I have thirteen years to think about that one.