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Of Hummingbirds and my Dickensian Parenting

I’m always at a loss as to how to begin a blog post. I can never come up with something snappy like, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times . . .” or “Marley was dead: to begin with.” I wonder if these things come to one in a flash of brilliance or one spends years agonizing over it.

Well, my French lavender is dead: to begin with. It smelled so good and looked so hardy when my mom gave it to me for our wedding anniversary, but as soon as we put it in the ground it shriveled up and died. I’m still mourning its loss.

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In Honor of Our Anniversary: How We Met

Today marks seven years since I was joined in holy matrimony with my beloved. Predictably, I will commemorate this with a blog post.

You know how when you ask a couple how they met, they will either launch into an epic tale that takes at least three hours to recount, or they will merely tell you in one sentence? Well, hopefully, I will reach a happy medium between those two extremes.

Scott and I met in the hot Georgia August of 2003. It was the second week of our freshman year at UGA, and the air was rife with excitement of: “College! Parties! No parents! Freedom!!” I met a girl named Chelsi earlier in the summer during freshman orientation and we had become fast friends. We really bonded over how much we loved dancing. Together, we could tear up a dance floor, y’all. This fateful day, Chelsi and I were primping in her dorm room getting ready for a fun night out when her roommate burst in and declared that there was a dorm room downstairs that was Full. Of. Boys. As in, boys. Chelsi and I rolled our eyes because we were independent women who didn’t go chasing after boys. Obviously. But her roommate was insistent (twist our arms) so we went downstairs to check this boy situation out.

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A definitive guide to marriage and other stuff I have enjoyed while being a pregnant hermit

I’m always thirsty for pearls of knowledge regarding married life, because dedicating your entire life in union with another person is, you know, a hefty undertaking and I feel like I need all the help I can get. I was excited when Mama Nell and company were offering a Scripture study/workshop on marriage (I had Scott on board with doing the worksheets and activities and everything), but the study ran in June during the worst of my pregnancy nausea, so I missed the whole thing. I was so disappointed.

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(Not So) Cheerfully Suffering through the Morning Sickness

Legend has it that St. Lawrence was slowly burned to death on a hot gridiron for his faith. He was so holy that while he burned on one side he cheerfully quipped to his tormentors, “You can turn me over now. I’m done on this side.”

I have come to the conclusion that I am not that holy yet. This “morning sickness” has me wanting to crawl into a dark recess and wait for the end. But Scott gently reminded me that the morning sickness excuse can only go so far, and the blog must go on!

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The Great Announcement That Surprised No One

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After seeing negatives for a year, but jaw hit the floor. I really shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was. Ruth was in the bathroom with me (because privacy isn’t a thing when you have young children) and I asked her how many lines she saw. “Two!” she said without hesitation.

“Do you know what that means?” I asked her, my eyes as wide as saucers.

She looked at me quizzically, as if to say, “Should I, Mom?”

“That means there is another baby in mommy’s belly!” I pronounced, and waited for dramatic effect.

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Weaning is Hard

I think my problem always comes from having preconceived notions about how my breastfeeding journey is going to play out with any particular child. I was fully committed to breastfeeding each child. Not because I subscribe to the “breast is best and formula is like feeding your child rocket fuel!” way of thinking, but because I am cheap. Formula is expensive, man! Like, we’re going to have to cut out some non-essentials and budget for this, expensive. I guess the rocket fuel manufacturers jealously hoard the stuff or something. I kid, I kid.

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ONE

Like the Beatles album, but chubbier and more giggly.

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Today, my baby is one. If you are wondering how that nursing thing went, I am still fighting for one nurse a day. Girl is weaning herself hardcore. But that struggle deserves its own post.

Milestones: She is pulling up to stand, cruising around while holding onto things, walking with push toys, and standing unassisted for a few seconds. She can also climb the stairs and open the door to the baby gate I put in front of the stairs in my futile attempt to keep her from going up the stairs. She knows that I am “Mama” and takes full advantage of it by shouting it at the top of her lungs if I am out of sight until I reappear and give her what she wants. So, she pretty much shouts, “Mama!” at me all day. If I ask her who Dada is, she will point to Scott. She just started pointing, and it is pretty cute.

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Pentecost Sunday!

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Happy Pentecost Sunday! I tried to make sure the girls and I were all wearing dresses with something red(ish) on it. I was excited about Pentecost Sunday Mass. Happily, the girls behaved themselves and we had no mishaps. Rose decided the nice breeze outside was too much for her.

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Now Rosie is fine and Ruth is too chilly. I can’t win. Anyhow, I shall satisfy your burning curiosity as to what the girls are wearing.

Ruth: 

Dress was a gift from my mother-in-law, shoes were a gift from my Mom. I guess that isn’t very much information. Sorry about that. I have no idea where they got them!

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Happy Mother’s Day! And What We Wore to Mass

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Happy Mother’s Day to all you mamas out there! I’m sitting here blogging while Scott is vanquishing the endless mountain of dirty dishes, so it is safe to say I’m having a pretty good one.  Linking up with Rosie from a Blog for my Mom.

Mass today was a bit of a shock after Scott and I went by ourselves two weeks ago in Chicago and then we were all hit with a horrible fevers/colds/coughs plague last week, so we didn’t make it to Mass. We scrambled in right on time today, but of course the second we crossed the threshold all of a sudden both Ruth and Rose had to use the bathroom. So we ended up sauntering into the sanctuary not until the Gospel reading. Mom and Dad had kindly held some seats (read: an entire pew) for us, so we shuffled in. Wren had put the hymnal in my lap and was perched on my knees, but wanted to move the hymnal and lean back against me, so I had to push her forward a bit (while supporting her, of course) so that I could move the hymnal from my lap. Well, she got startled by me leaning her forward and thought she was going to fall, and started wailing loudly. I got her calmed down pretty quickly by just pulling her in and holding her, but the couple in the pew directly in front of us left the pew in a huff once Wren started wailing. Then, they pointedly made their way to a pew a sufficient distance away from us and sat back down. It was pretty embarrassing and hurtful. That was the only time Wren cried, and it was simply because I startled her and she thought she was going to fall. Oh well, something to offer up.

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A Hard Hittin’ Interview with My Mother for Mother’s Day

This idea was inspired by my girl Nell, who is struggling with some debilitating hyperemesis gravidarum (is there any other kind?) right now and could use your prayers if you have a moment to spare.

For this post, I interviewed my intrepid mother. She is the eldest daughter of Cuban refugees and also an attorney turned SAHM. My grandmother dropped her off at her first day of kindergarten neglecting to mention to her teachers that she didn’t speak any English.  My grandmother took it for granted that my mother would learn English in no time. And that she did.

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