Hymns from Prison

I've been doing a bible study with some friends of mine, and we've been reading Beth Moore's To Live is Christ, which follows the life of Paul. One of the chapters this week really struck a chord with me and some of the ponderings that have been weighing on my heart lately.

We read about Paul and Silas being stripped, beaten, and imprisoned. About how they spent that night in prison praising God and singing hymns while the other prisoners listened on. And about how God caused an earthquake that freed them from their shackles and broke open the prison doors. What happened next has always struck me as so peculiar:

"And the keeper of the prison, awaking from sleep and seeing the prison doors open, supposing the prisoners had fled, drew his sword and was about to kill himself. But Paul called with a loud voice, saying, 'Do yourself no harm, for we are all here.' Then he called for a light, ran in, and fell down trembling before Paul and Silas. And he brought them out and said, 'Sirs, what must I do to be saved?'"

-Acts 16:27-29

I've heard this story before, and always wondered why in the world Paul and the other prisoners didn't flee at the first opportunity. I've tried imagining myself in that position, and I've got to admit that I would probably view the earthquake as God's "go ahead" on the whole fleeing option. I'm not sure what convinced them to stay in the dark depths of that prison rather than seizing the opportunity to flee, but I'm glad they did. They remained in their prison, in their place of suffering, and they won a soul. They were free of their shackles, but by dwelling in the place of their darkest hour, they freed the guard from his.

I've been following a blog lately called Teaching Tuck and Ty. I do not know this incredible woman personally, but I have become so invested in her journey over the past few months as she has openly and honestly shared about the sudden and tragic loss of her husband. I love reading her posts, but I almost love reading the comments on her posts even more. She is dwelling in a place of deep suffering right now, but she's dwelling there as a free and saved woman. And the way that she is praising God in the midst of her darkest hour is winning souls. I couldn't help but think of her as I read this week's study on Paul and Silas.

I have been blessed lately with a season of joy and happiness and good living. Things are going well with my family, and we are enjoying the abundant joy of having each other. I'm thankful for this, but I know that this is only a season. Life has it's ups and it's downs, and I will one day find myself in a darker place, I know. I hope and pray that God would continue to teach me through the faith stories of others, in His Word as well as in the world around me. I hope and pray that I will have the strength to sing His praises in my darkest hours, and to suffer victoriously as His freed child.

I pray that I would have the strength to embrace the dark places, knowing full well that there are souls to be won those prisons.

Just a Little Fickle Pickle

This is a misleading picture.

Levi is not a great eater. He's always nursed very well, but he's never taken a bottle without a fight. He just never seemed to understand the concept. He would chew on the bottle, shake the bottle, smile at the bottle, take in a mouthful of milk just to spray it back out, then giggle... I didn't think much of it, but I was looking forward to the day that we could start some solids just so I would have some other options when nursing wasn't convenient.

How I wish his biggest hindrance with solids was simply the urge to giggle every once in a while. No, giggling is no longer our stumbling block. Gagging is. And vomiting. Forcefully. Out the nose. Yep, sure miss that giggling.

He did ok with the first few things we tried, like rice cereal and pureed fruits and veggies. He seemed adventurous and willing to try new tastes. So one day I decided to chop up bananas real small and let him try some finger food. After he picked up each individual piece to examine it, showing absolutely no indication or interest in eating any of them, I decided to pop one into his mouth. Almost as if I'd hit some magic button, he proceeded to spew everything he's ever eaten. Ever. It was everywhere. With no warning whatsoever.

So we waited a couple weeks before we tried a second go at finger foods with some Gerber Puffs. Again, he thoroughly examined each little one with painstaking attention. Again, I decided to pop one into his mouth. He immediately spat it out and picked it off his chin with his left hand. The now wet puff stuck to his hand. This utterly terrified him. He frantically swatted at his tray and waved his hand in chaotic motions while working into a hysterical scream. I rushed in and rescued him from the half dissolved puff (how's that for superhero skill, Martha?). After that, he whimpered every time I walked by the puff canister, his new nemesis.

About two weeks later, after he overcame his fear of dissolving baby snacks, I managed to pop one in his mouth. And he vomited. Everywhere. With no warning.

I've tried introducing some slightly less pureed varieties of baby food. And he vomits every time. Everywhere. With no warning.

I've tried gradually making his rice cereal a little thicker. But he vomits. Everywhere. With no warning.

Oh yeah, and when he's not vomiting, he usually looks like this:

This boy puts nothing in his mouth. Ever.

SO, imagine my surprise when he made his first self-initiated attempt at solid foods today. We took Jacob on a bike ride down the street to NoNo's Cafe for lunch. Levi was sitting in a high chair down at the end of the table when out of nowhere he reached over, grabbed a pickle off of Jacob's plate, and popped it in his mouth! And guess what? No vomit! Sure, he recoiled at the taste and promptly spat it back out... but no vomit!

Such a strange little boy he is.

My Prayer For You

I love your grins and giggles. I love that you are so generous with them. I love that you always offer a smile, even through teary eyes. I pray that you will always find it easier to smile than to frown. I pray that you will always spread your joy so generously to those around you. I pray that you will always find your joy, even in the midst of tears or a broken heart.

I love how you reach out to be held by anyone around you. I love how you offer kisses and high fives and hugs so freely. I love how you lay your head down on my shoulder when you're tired. I pray that you will always have such a welcoming heart. I pray that you will never forget how to offer a hug or encouragement to brighten someone's day. I pray that you will always find rest in the arms of your Father at the end of the day.

I love that you can't sit still. I love your curiosity in every little thing around you. I love your determination to get a hold of whatever it is your heart desires (though it boggles my mind that your heart desires electrical cords and other household hazards infinitely more than the mountain of toys picked out just for you). I pray that you will always be full of energy and zeal and enthusiasm. I pray that you will always ask questions and seek answers and remain forever curious. I pray that you will knock down all obstacles to grab hold of that which your heart desires (and I pray that those desires are all your own, never chosen for you by another).

I love that your heart is strong and healthy. I love that your joy is contagious and unending. I love that you are mine.

I pray that your heart will continually grow to look more like His. I pray that it will beat stronger and stronger for Him. I pray that it will remain spiritually healthy, even when flesh fails you.

I pray that you will always delight in Him, and that your contagious joy might lead others to His feet.

I pray you always know that you are mine, and never doubt my love for you. But more importantly, I pray that your life is filled with glimpses of His love for you, and that you never doubt that you are His.

What's Behind Door Number Three?

A thought occurred to me early on in my pregnancy, and has continued into a growing concern ever since: Jacob and Caleb are 9- and 11-years-old. They like to play with toys that your average 9- and 11-year-old boy would. The toy companies of today appeal to 9- and 11-year-old children with millions upon millions of tiny, esophagus-shaped parts and pieces (hello, Legos?) Don't get me wrong, I LOVE Legos and think that they are the coolest toys on the market right now. But I can't think of anything more appealing to an 8-month-old's little curious hands. Between the Legos, action figures, puzzles, board games, etc... our house is just not baby-safe.

The boys have been great about keeping their toys mostly in their room, and diligent in keeping Levi away if they decide to play in the living room. However, Levi is now crawling (well, I use the word "crawling" loosely... it's really more of an army crawl, or how you might picture a legless person getting from point A to point B.) I generally try to keep the boys' bedroom door shut when they are not home for this very reason. Today, I was not diligent enough.

It took him 8 months, but Levi has finally discovered the endless wonders that lie behind that mystery door. And there is no turning back now, I can't seem to distract him with anything else in the whole apartment. He's drawn like a magnet to that room, even reaching his little fingers under the door when I close it. It's much like I imagine I'd be if I lived my whole life in a certain place, only to discover there had been an entire room full of endless, fresh Chipotle burritos just a doorway away the entire time. You can bet I'd be reaching my fingers under the door and whimpering until someone let me in, too.

Anyone have any tips for baby-proofing a home without taking the totally age-appropriate toys away from older kids?

Riddle Me This

And for today's pop quiz, can you see what the following three phrases all have in common with one another?

Note: All three phrases are to be read in a high-pitched, baby-talk voice.

#1.

"Did you go poopies?!? Yes you did!!!"

#2.

"Who's got a cute tushy? Do you have a cute tushy?! You sure do!"

#3.

"Peek-a-boo...I see you!!!"

Enter Jeopardy music here.

Have you figured it out yet? Found the correlation? Time is ticking...

5

4

3

2

1

AND THE ANSWER IS:

All three of these phrases are wildly inappropriate when uttered in the private stall of a public restroom, especially if no one is aware that you are in there with your baby simply to use the changing table. Another one of those tidbits that just never made it into any of the parenting books intended to prepare us.

On a side note, I'm sorry Abby; it's true, bathroom etiquette just flies out the window once you've got little ones in tow. I had been warned it would happen, I just didn't realize it would be so soon.

Helmet Girl, aka: Martha Kent

My family has a good time together. We joke and we laugh. Nine times out of ten, I am the butt of that joke, and the good time is almost always at my expense.

A few nights ago we were out to eat with the boys. As is so often the case, our topic of conversation steered toward comic books. Caleb asked the very thought provoking question of which superhero each of us was most like and who we would be.

We determined that Jacob would be Bart Allen, Kid Flash, because of his mischievous ways and quick wit.

We determined that Caleb would be Spider-man, because of his smarts and his pure heart.

We determined that Jason would be Batman, because, well, he really likes Batman.

We determined that Levi would be Jack Jack from the Incredibles, because that would be cool.

Then it was my turn. There was a lengthy silence while everyone sifted through the countless possibilities. The conversation went something like this:

Jason: Maybe Wonder Woman?

Caleb: No, she couldn't be Wonder Woman. She can't fly. At least not without crying or throwing up.

In case you missed this post, I have a slight fear of heights. Ok, a crippling fear of heights.

Me: I like Flash, and he doesn't fly! I could be Flash!

Jacob: No, that would be even worse than flying. You would crash into things and trip over things and knock people over if you had to move that fast.

In case you're unaware, I'm slightly clumsy. Ok, it's a wonder I've survived this long.

Caleb: That's true. Maybe someone with lots of protective gear. You could maybe be someone that wears a helmet and a lot of armor.

Jason: Or someone that can walk through things. Like Invisible Woman.

Caleb: No, she'd never remember whether or not she was in transparent mode, and then just run into walls.

That whole "pregnancy brain" thing is the biggest misnomer I've ever heard. It does NOT go away after pregnancy.

Jacob: Yeah, plus it probably wouldn't be safe for her to be around Johnny Storm (The Human Torch, Invisible Woman's brother). She'd probably trip and then catch her hair on fire.

They really wanted to drive that clumsy thing home, I guess.

Caleb: Maybe you should stick to someone like Martha Kent. She's safe.

Thanks guys.

In case this isn't proof enough of my endless teasing, please see below picture. This is on the ferris wheel at Elitch's two years ago. The only reason I set foot on that death trap was because I lost a bet to Caleb. It's hard to tell in the picture, but I was crying. That's Jacob pointing and laughing at me. Can you feel the love?

Levi's Heroes

Levi is absolutely enamored with Caleb and Jacob. And who wouldn't be?! I don't think he could find better brothers than these two. Nothing warms my heart quite like watching the three of them together.

Like Wrestling an Over-sized Meerkat

Why didn't I find these steps in any of the parenting books I read?

1. Place baby on changing table.
2. Place one hand firmly on chest while mastering the one-handed art of un-buttoning, un-snapping, un-tying, un-insert verb of your choice here with the other hand.
3. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
4. Re-place one hand firmly on chest while mastering the art of un-diapering said baby.
5. Grow a third or fourth hand with which to Try desperately, but fail to restrain little grabby baby hands from dirty diaper or dirty diaper region.
6. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
7. Place entire forearm across baby's chest in what must resemble some sort of rehearsed WWF move to onlookers.
8. Use free hand to bat away little grabby baby hands, while simultaneously using a wet wipe on diaper region.
9. Wrestle wet wipe away from baby.
10. Wrestle wet wipe container away from baby.
11. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
12. Wrestle wet wipe container away from baby.
13. Curse myself for making the decision 10 months ago to not get the changing table with that which I then considered "excessive" shelving/drawers.
14. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
15. Summon superpower speed in my right hand with which to slip new diaper on and fasten tabs before baby realizes he's on his back again.
16. Move baby to big bed for more space to dress him.
17. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
18. Slip shirt over baby's head in one fell swoop.
19. Remove shirt collar from baby's mouth, who slyly intercepted my fell swoop to victoriously claim shirt as his new teether.
20. Place baby once again in above mentioned WWF sleeper hold
21. Thread fingers of my free hand through shirt sleeve, which is now located between baby's shoulder blades as he has somehow thwarted my sleeper hold grip and is on his dang belly again.
22. Try to flip baby with one hand, but lose progress of the other hand through shirt sleeve in the process.
23. Repeat steps 20-22 approximately 8 times.
24. Successfully assume stance with one hand posed and ready with fingers through shirt sleeve, and the other hand firmly gripped on baby's arm prepared for insertion.
25. Plead with baby to please bend his elbow.
26. Gently force baby to bend elbow, all the while fearing that this may constitute child abuse.
27. Insert arm number one
28. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
29. Repeat steps 20-27 as many times as necessary until arm number two is in position.
30. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
31. Thread my hand through one pant leg.
32. Assume WWF sleeper hold stance while snatching corresponding baby leg through said pant leg.
33. Avoid thinking cuss words after realizing the wrong leg is now in the wrong pant leg.
34. Redo steps 30-32 with all the concentration I can muster.
35. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
36. Redo steps 30-32 with remaining leg.
37. Redo steps 30-32 with first leg, which baby has pulled back out of the pants sometime during step 36.
38. Flip baby back over to face-up position.
39. Repeat step 37 as many times as necessary until maximum frustration level is reached, or until baby lands a solid kick in the gut requiring that I stop to catch my breath.
40. Convince myself that 10-degree weather is perfectly warm enough to go pantsless for the day.

Anyone out there in Blogland have advice/tips/WWF moves that I am unaware of to assist in the changing and dressing of a very mobile and very energetic little boy?

Grandmaster Conversationalist

Jacob: What's your favorite food?

Me: Hmmm... that's a good question. I like so many different kinds of food!

Jacob: Yeah, but what's your very very favorite? You have to pick one.

Check

Me: Ugh. I don't know. I guess Mexican food.

Jacob: What kind of Mexican food?

Me: Anything in a tortilla...?

Jacob: Lots of stuff comes in tortillas.

Check

Me: Enchiladas. I like enchiladas. They're my very favorite.

Ha, un-check.

A couple minutes later:

Jacob: What's your least favorite food?

Me: I don't know. I like most everything.

Jacob: Yeah, but what's your least favorite?

Check

Me: Hmmm...mustard? Chocolate? No. Licorice. Definitely black licorice. I can't even stand the smell of it.

Un-check. Safe again.

Jacob: Would you eat black licorice if it meant that you got to eat endless enchiladas after that?

Me: Yes, yes I would. (Hey, so what if I have no principles. Endless enchiladas? I'm in.)

Jacob: Would you eat enchiladas if they had black licorice in them?

Check

Me: Aw man... that's tougher. Those sound pretty gross. But yes I would. Because I could pick the black licorice out. And then I would just be left with tasty, tasty enchiladas.

Un-check. He'll never beat me.

About ten minutes later:

Jacob: What if there was a pile of poop next to them? Would you eat them then?

Checkmate.

Thankful

Tonight I'm feeling a bit inspired (and a bit intimidated) by this over-achiever's recent boost of motivation in getting her blog all caught up. Ok, so maybe "over-achiever" is a small overstatement given the fact that she just posted her Christmas pictures this week. From 2009. Slacker...

I was originally going to steal her idea and outline a few of the events that I've missed from this past year. But once I started looking through my pictures, I was overwhelmed with a feeling of thankfulness for all those faces smiling out from those pictures at me. With Thanksgiving just around the corner, I think it's as good a time as any to remind myself of all the things I have to be thankful for.

I'm thankful for my husband, who pours all that he is into taking care of us and providing for us and protecting us and being present and available to all of us. Who treats me with respect and makes it his goal to make me feel beautiful and appreciated.

I'm thankful for Caleb, who is the most caring, compassionate, respectful, and intelligent kid I've ever met. I'm thankful that he knows and loves the Lord, and is getting baptized this Sunday. I'm thankful for the way he has always made me feel welcome in his world.

I'm thankful for Jacob, who really and truly "walks to the beat of his own drum". I'm thankful for his seemingly endless creativity, his hysterical sense of humor, and his constant desire to be set apart, different and unique. I'm thankful for the smile that he has on his face at any given time, and his talent for bringing the same thing to my face.

I'm thankful for Levi, who has turned my world upside-down, and convinced me that it's infinitely better that way. I'm thankful that he is healthy, happy, and truly joyful. I'm thankful for his smiles and giggles and deep belly laughs that he shares with me so generously.

I'm thankful for my ever-growing family of nieces and nephews and cousins-a-plenty. I'm thankful for my mom, who always answers her phone and always has time for me. I'm thankful for the opportunity to work with Pa this last year, and all the extra time I got to spend with him. I'm thankful for Jason's mom, and her willingness to always make herself available to us. I'm thankful for each one of my siblings, and for the amazing blessing of getting to raise our children together.


I'm thankful for my loving Father who lets me live my life among all these incredible people. I'm thankful for the days they teach me and the days they challenge me. I'm thankful for the ways they've each helped to shape me into who I am.

I'm thankful for the unique glimpses I get to see of my Father in each one of them.

I'm thankful for pictures, and for the reminder to slow down and reflect on all that I have in my family.

The Birth Story Part II: Time Flies By

Is 4 months too ridiculous a time frame to post a birth story? Oh well, I'm gonna break the rules cuz I'm a big slacker and I'm not afraid to say so. Or maybe I'll just alter the post date on this one so that when I look back on it years from now, I'll be impressed with my prompt documentation skills.

Thus, I now bring you the thrilling conclusion to The Birth Story Part I: Waiting.

After checking onto the hospital and getting all settled in, the nurse came in and gave us a brief overview of their expected timeline:

9:00pm - Arrive and check-in at the hospital (CHECK, got that)

10:00pm - Settle into the room that will be the staging area for our baby boy's grand debut (CHECK)

11:00pm - Administer the miso pill to prepare the way for pitocin in the morning (is it wrong to refer to the miso pill as the John the Baptist of labor induction?)

11:30pm - Fall into a deep and restful sleep in order to be at my best 8 hours later for true labor

6:00am-8:00am - Begin pitocin and get this show on the road

??? - HAVE A BABY!


Here is a brief overview of Levi's self-authored timeline:

8:00pm - Jason and I snapped one last belly shot before heading to the hospital



9:05pm - Arrive and check-in at the hospital (yes, we were late to our own baby's birth... but hey, he was 11 days late himself, so in my book 5 minutes is hardly worth mentioning)

10:00pm - Settle into the room that will be the staging area for our baby boy's grand debut. Currently 3 cm dilated.

10:05pm - The nurse tells us that my contractions are coming steady and regular according to the monitors they've just hooked up, so the doctor would like to keep monitoring me and hold off on the miso pill for a while, just in case I'm already in natural labor. I inform the nurse that these are the same contractions I've been having for several weeks, but we agree to wait and monitor.

11:00pm - Still monitoring. Still 3 cm.

12:00am - Still monitoring. Still 3 cm.



1:00am - Still 3 cm. The doctor decides to go ahead and start the miso pill.

3:00am - Contractions become WAY more intense almost instantly.

3:30am - We buzz the nurse to ask if it's too early for an epidural.

4:00am - Epidural is administered and I am happy. Now 5 1/2 cm dilated.



5:00am - The contractions suddenly feel different, and I really really want to push. Buzz the nurse.

5:15am - The nurse looks up from her exam with a slightly surprised look and announces that I am 9 1/2 cm and it may be wise to buzz the doctor.

6:00am - All necessary parties are finally present and I am 10 cm. Woohoo!

6:00-8:10am - Push, push, push. (We had to skip about every other contraction due to the baby's heart beat dropping a bit too low for comfort while pushing)

July 9th, 2010; 8:10am - HAVE A BABY!

Levi Daniel Fosdick arrived all on his own before we even had the chance to start pitocin. I have no idea if the miso pill played into it, or if he was just ready to come on out. He was 6 lbs. 9 oz. and 20 inches long. He was pink and healthy and alert, and SO STINKIN' CUTE (in my opinion).

My Son, Ricky Bobby

Ok, so I know I said that the next post to come was going to be Part II of this post, but I just came across these pictures on my camera and felt inspired to get them posted...

Everytime I watch Levi poke himself in his eye, flail about uncontrollably, or pull his treasured pacifier out of his mouth while glaring at his hands as if he's ticked that they're working against him, I can't help but think how frustrating it may be to have no control over one's own limbs. I also can't help but think of this scene from Talladega Nights...

The Birth Story Part I: Waiting

It's fairly obviously that I've let my blog fall to the wayside these past few months, but it certainly hasn't been for a lack of exciting news. While there are many different happenings and stories and whims that I could and should have been writing about, the bulk of it all can really be summed up in one picture:

I can hardly believe a whole month has passed since Levi came into this world and changed everything that I knew. I've spent the past month falling more and more in love with him every day, and learning bit by bit how to fill this new role of mine. Time as flown by, leaving me frantically grasping at each little moment in hopes of hanging on and savoring it all just a little bit longer. In the midst of it all, I realize I haven't even stopped to write down the details of Levi's birth, or the days leading up to it.

Given that it's been a whole month, I realize that most of the people that read this blog have already heard all the details. However, I still see a need in writing it down here so that when I do get around to scrapbooking the thousands of pictures I have filling up my memory card, I might actually remember a bit or two.

SO, with that said, let's venture back to June 29, 2010. I woke up to my due date with high hopes of having a little baby boy. I had been contracting for several weeks, I had nested until I could nest no more, I had begun my maternity leave, and I was ready. I showed up at my 40-week appointment, certain that the doctor would take one look at my contractions and insist that I rush to the hospital to have this baby. Much to my dismay, the doctor instead told me that I was only 2 cm dilated and showed no indications of imminent labor. He performed that awful procedure so delicately named "stripping the membranes" (the 3rd time I had had this done that month), and sent me on my merry way.

I was a bit disappointed at the lack of news, but optimistic that this baby would make his appearance any day.

Then the next day came and went.

And the next.

And the next.

Seven contraction-filled days passed with no baby, and before I knew it I found myself at my 41-week appointment. The doctor took a look around and declared enthusiastically that I was now 2 1/2 cm dialated.

Are you kidding me!?!? Another full week of constant contractions and all I could muster was 1/2 cm!?!?! I tried to feign that glowing, pregnant lady demeanor of joy while the doctor performed that fantastic little procedure for a 4th time. Just to make sure all was good and well, they then hooked me up to the monitors for a while before sending me home. The monitors revealed what I had known for several weeks: I was having very regular contractions, some of them significant in strength. The doctor assured us that he had high hopes I would go into labor naturally within a day or so, but also scheduled an induction for that following Friday just in case.

My contractions continued to get stronger throughout that day, and were a steady 6 minutes apart by evening. After a few hours of that, we called our afterhours nurse to check-in. She encouraged us to go ahead and head to the hospital with our bags packed. Excited beyond belief, we happily took her advice and rushed out the door.

Once at the hospital, we checked into the triage area and got all hooked up to the monitors again. And waited. And waited. And waited some more. Things were not progessing. At all. Just the same old boring contractions. Finally, our nurse came in and told us that they would need to send me home. She gave me a prescription of pain medicine and Ambien to help me sleep through the contractions and sent us on our way. To say we were disappointed would be an understatement. The drive home felt much longer than the drive there had.

So another day passed and still no baby, which brought us to Thursday, July 8th. This was my 10th day overdue, and the day we were scheduled to check-in for our induction. The original plan was to check-in on Thursday night, get settled and get some rest, and start the induction Friday morning. However, Levi had a plan of his own that didn't quite follow suit...

Next post to come- The Birth Story Part II: Time Flies By

The End is Near

With each passing day, I get closer and closer to the beginning of my maternity leave from my work. Due to some recent changes at my work, there's a small chance that I won't even have to return at the end of my maternity leave, or if I do, it will most likely only be for a few short weeks or months.

What does this mean for me?

Oh, more than I could possibly put into words. After 4 straight years in call center customer service (for a credit card company, nonetheless), I'm feeling slightly beat up. I think it's safe to say that there is no insult imaginable that I have not been on the receiving end of. I have mastered the art of deciphering drunken, dyslexic 16-digit card numbers through heavy accents of virtually every nationality. I have been called incompetent, useless, dim-witted, and a myriad of other such names that I don't care to put into writing.

I've been mistaken for an automated voice recording at least once a day for four years...

Me: Thank you for calling unidentified credit card company, my name is Molly, may I please have your card number?

Caller: beep-beep-beep-beep-beeeeeep-beep-beep-beeeeeep

Me: Thank you for calling unidentified credit card company, my name is Molly and I am a human being, may I please verbally have your card number?

I have been threatened with litigation more times than I can count (not just against my company, oftentimes the callers specify that they intend to sue me and only me). I have been threatened with physical harm. I have been threatened with completely unknown consequences. Just a couple nights ago I had a woman hang up on me after the following closing:

Me: Thank you for calling unidentified credit card company, is there anything else I can do for you tonight?
Caller: Yes, I want my new card overnighted to me and with the same number as my old card. You have 24 hours. Goodbye. --click--

....

(She didn't give me a chance to explain that we don't overnight cards, nor would her new card share the same number. However, 48 hours have now passed and no ill fate has befallen me. That I know of.)

Many people keep telling me that I shouldn't get too excited about leaving the working world behind. I've been warned that after a few nights being up at 2am with a screaming baby, I may actually miss the simple life of the call center.

I gotta say, I'm not buying it. As it is now, I'm up at 2am most nights with screaming adults. As long as my screaming baby isn't screaming obscenities at me through a well-worn headset at 2am, I think I'll be pretty content.

-----------------------------

On a side note, this is not to say that all people who call into our center are complete jerks. I talk to my fair share of very polite and considerate people every day. Most days they are all that keeps me going through the bad ones. So to anyone out there reading this, I urge you to be nice to your customer service representatives. They appreciate a kind word here and there more than you know.

Eggstravaganza

There's a long standing tradition among Jason's family to turn Easter egg dying into an all day extravaganza. I am in no way exaggerating here. They get about five times as many eggs as the normal family would (a dozen a person might suffice...), spend about an hour making up every possible shade and hue of dye imaginable, and then proceed to spend hour upon hour dying each individual egg with the utmost care and creativity. I had the honor of experiencing this with Jason's dad (known as The King among Easter egg enthusiasts everywhere) for the first time last Easter. I have to admit, the title was well deserved. This was Jason's first Easter since his dad passed away late last year, so we of course wanted to honor him by carrying on the tradition. Here's some of our favorites...

SpongeBob

Made just for Baby

Ogre

Dinosaur Egg

Fire Egg

Iron Man

Plain Old Easter Egg

The Hulk (by Jacob)

When asked why Hulk had a big white circle on his chest, Jacob very matter-of-factly replied "Because, everyone knows Hulk's nipples don't turn green."

Duh...

If you weren't aware of that, perhaps you need to read up on your gamma radiation-induced mutation side effects.

Hormonal Dreaming

I've heard all about how your dreams can get a little more vivid, a little more frequent, and a little more weird when pregnant. I've definitely noticed this over the past several months, at least to some degree.

In some instances, the dreams that I have make perfect sense for a pregnant woman. For example, take the dream I had a few months ago... I dreamt that I went into labor and ended up having the baby before Jason could make it to the hospital. When he did finally get there, for some reason there were suddenly 4 babies in my room and I was panicking over the fact that I couldn't remember which one was ours and didn't know what to tell him.

Or there was the time I dreamt that I gave birth in a half-hospital, half-zoo facility. And after delivery, the nurse brought me a koala bear to snuggle with rather than a baby. The weirdest part about that one was that I didn't find it weird at all at the time. I loved my koala bear just as he was. How's that for good mothering?

Then there was the dream where I was meeting my baby for the first time when he was a year old. The reason being, I had asked my sister to Meghan to "watch him for a bit while a ran some errands" after the hospital. Must have been some extreme errands. When I came to get him, Meghan tried to tell me that I had named him Macon (rhymes with "bacon"), even though I was convinced she had secretly done this herself as a twisted way of naming him after herself.

Just a few nights ago, I dreamt that I was at a baby shower. First of all, this baby shower included a few people from my current work, but other than that it was all people that I haven't seen or even thought of in years (you know, why wouldn't I invite my elementary school, male, band instructor to my baby shower??). The really stressful part though was when one of my co-workers gave me a hockey stick as a gift, and I couldn't think of a tactful way to tell her that I had no need for a hockey stick at a time like this.

All of these dreams I completely understand. Weird though they may be, it makes sense why such things would be weighing on my mind and finding their way into my sub-conscious whilst I slumber. The dream I had last night, however, I'm still struggling to understand.

I dreamt Tom Hanks died. In a boating accident. Now, I should mention that I generally don't have very strong feelings for Tom Hanks one way or the other. Sure, he's an excellent actor and I enjoy most his movies, but his and my relationship pretty much ends there. In this dream, I was terribly distraught over the loss. Stranger still, I had taken it upon myself to plan a memorial service for him, complete with sappy slideshow and all. And this wasn't one of those dreams that just goes away when you way up. Upon waking, I still felt like I was in mourning. It took me the better part of an hour to convince myself that Tom Hanks is not in fact dead. And even if he were, the chances of me being in charge of his funeral arrangements are pretty slim. Possible, yes...but slim.

Just to ease my feelings of stress a little bit, I figured I better take all preparations and throw this little ditty together. Just in case they come calling for me when that fateful day comes...

(Ok, so the real reason is that I'm feeling particularly drained today, and the thought of sitting on my couch with my laptop doing this is way more appealing than vacuuming.)

Outnumbered, But At Least My Shoes Are Clean

Every now and then something happens to remind me of the fact that I stand alone amidst a bunch of boys. This past weekend, for example, served as a very muddy reminder.

We decided to venture out for a bike ride, despite the fact that we were still surrounded by melting snow and soggy conditions. For us, bike rides are never just bike rides. They're more like many brief little bike spurts divided by long stops on the side of the trail to explore.

I'm going to let these few pictures tell the story of our latest outing:

Boy #1: Hey! Can we stop and see that lake?

Me: It looks really muddy...















Boy #2: Hey! Let's stop and see that lake!

Me: I don't know guys, it really is muddy.

Boy #3: We're men, we can handle a little bit of mud!



















Me: (Suddenly painfully aware of the fact that we just had our carpet shampooed last week) Ok, but let's stop and see it from over here in the nice dry grass.

Boy #1: (It feels suspiciously like no one is hearing me) Hey that looks like quicksand! I bet I can go further than you!

Boy #2: Sweet! Quicksand!















The rest of the story doesn't really require any dialog...

Since I wouldn't let Caleb put his muddy socks in my Camel Pak, he came up with this idea. I was impressed with his resourcefulness. I'll give him that...