Our 4th of July.

Morning of the fourth, I put on my red, white and blue dress and proclaimed it my American outfit.

My children chose orange, green and tie-dye and proclaimed it their American outfit.

Apparently, we have not instilled much patriotism.

They had no clue.

The morning was spent playing in the baby pool.

Dinner was an indoor picnic of bratwurst, garden picked butter beans, lemonade and a chocolate cake per Henry's request.

Then we went for a walk in the cemetery.

You guessed it.

Liza quickly face planted and needed her daddy's hand.

You guessed it again.

She peed on her dress.

Naked.

In the cemetery.

This one turns four next month.

And, yes. his hair is long.

A year's worth of growth will do that.

He wants to grow his out to his toes.

And, he doesn't even know about Rapunzel.

The walk in the cemetery ended when the need for baby wipes arose and they were still at home.

Yep.

You guessed it.

On Budgets and Booties:

Two things are consuming my mind this weekend:

1.  Our budget.  We are back to budgeting because when you are poor, you can't buy everything you want and you can't do everything you want to do.  Even when all you really want to buy is enough fruit to keep your kids happy for an entire week and buy cheap (cheap) cheap stuff from the thrift store.  Especially when the saddest thing that has ever happened in your life costs almost $300 in medical bills and you pay your bills in full without dipping into savings.  I promise I don't dwell on that sad event constantly in real life, it just keeps coming up on OMML.  This month is tight and even though our kids still have plenty of fresh, locally grown fruit from the farmer's market, I wish we could have more.  And, even though I cheated and charged $6 to the debit card at the thrift store because I didn't have any cash and I desperately wanted a pair of brand spanking new jeans that fit perfectly and a book I've been itching to read, I wish I could have dug through the clothes racks until I found brand new Ann Taylor Loft sweaters like I always do.

But, I can't. 

And, I won't.

Because I finally have the insight to know that this budget is more than paying bills and saving our pennies.  It is about delayed gratification -- something I hope my kids have at an early age after learning about the "Marshmallow Test for Success" -- and knowing that I don't need stuff to make me happy.  

And truth by told, maybe less stuff will make me happy.  After all, I am paying for yoga with the monies from selling unsused stuff around the house.  My biggest complaint about our house has always been the horrible kitchen storage space and these days I have more than enough room since selling off everything I don't use. 

 That's nice.  

I can complain about the budget but at least I don't have to complain about the lack of storage space anymore.  

2.  Liza has been out of diapers for 3 days.  She has only peed in the potty 3 times.  Like her much beloved pup-pups, she prefers the grass.  Can't blame her since she watches big brother pee outside all day, every day.  But, she's not a boy so it's not quite as convenient for her.  Good thing we love little girl dresses and I am laid back about things like this.

I keep telling myself that she will find the potty in due time.  And, then I tell myself again.  And, again.  And, then I tell myself that it will happen when she is ready and this is an amazing first step at 22.5 months old.  And, then I remind myself to breathe.  

Just breathe.  

And clean up the pee.  

YuYu Makes Her Debut

Lulu or 'YuYu' as she calls her self is 21 months old.

Her favorite things are:
kissing
saying "no, Heidi!"
nursing, nursing, nursing, nursing!
brushing her teeth
making sure you do whatever she wants you to do
telling me that the chickens need all "dirty" food that falls on the ground
making art
taking walks in the stroller
pitching fits in the grocery store because she wants to walk instead of ride
playing in the parked car
carrying a purse or whatever bag is on hand that she can call a "purse"
counting 1-2-3 and 8-9-10
crying because the only words she knows to 'Ring Around the Rosie' is "ashes ashes"

I still get comments about how beautiful she is everywhere we go.
And, like my mom always said, being beautiful isn't everything but is sure does help.

Have I mentioned

this sister

named this brother

Heidi?

Friends. Finally.

Nothing like

an empty park

to force my children

to be each other's

best friend.

1.2.3x3

1.  Henry's hair is long.  If he would cooperate, I could just about pull it up into a ponytail.  Mr. Messy and I think his long hair is pretty cute and after all, you are only little once but I still make sure he knows that he only has to say the word and Mr. Pete will cut his hair.  Yesterday's reminder ended with Henry telling me that he wants his hair "long long long long long.....long....long.....down to the ground."  Okay, little buddy.

2. Current shoe sizes:  Henry, 7 and Liza, 6.  And, why am I always so surprised when people ask if they are twins?

3.  Liza is a mini-me.  My whole life I've heard my parents talk about my need to "do it myself".  Well, Liza gives a firm "me" with a thumb in her chest and insists on doing everything herself -- getting dressed, changing diapers, buckling herself in the car, cutting up her apple, peeling her orange, putting her shoes on.  Do you have the mental image of all these things a 19 month old can't do no matter her level of determination?  There has been a lot of screaming with this new found level of independence.

1.  I am sick of the mud.  I want my children to play outside with getting covered head to toe in mud within 3 minutes.  Actually, it isn't so bothersome with Henry but Liza doesn't like dirty hands or feet.  A difficult feat when you are playing in a huge mud pit.

2.  I am completely caught up on laundry.  My hampers are empty.  Can I get an amen from the choir?

3.  We strongly suspect Henry is allergic to shellfish due to an ug-lee reaction to a mysterious something in Mexico at 20 months old.  The plan is to keep him away from all shellfish until he is old enough to tell us his throat is closing up.  I'm a bit concerned about summertime and crawfish boils so we have been talking to Henry about his allergy to shellfish.
Mr. Messy:  Henry, what are you allergic to?
Henry:  *long pause*  Hmmmm,  I don't like soup.
Me:  Ha ha!  'I don't like soup.'
Henry:  Me neither, Mama!

1. I love unloading all sorts of random vegetables into spaghetti for no one but me to know about.  It was a highlight of my day today.

2.  I'm feeling the need to confess that my 'tv show hating' skills are currently up to no good.  Henry watches one of our 3 dvd's everyday during Liza's naptime.  And, I understand why people let their kids watch tv.  I officially get it.

3.  Liza needs me to completely surrender to sleep and fully relax my body in order for her to fall asleep at night.  Let's just say I've had a spate of early bedtimes.  Early.

We are a night wean failure.

And, I'm okay with it.

But, let's keep it real.  I'm only okay with it because I have no choice.  The child simply wasn't ready.

I thought she was ready.
I still feel like she should be ready.
But, she has made it loud and clear she still needs her "mitt" at night.

A boob in the mouth of a sleeping babe is better than a boob in a shirt with a screaming babe.

Trust me.

The plan eventually evolved into me nursing Liza to sleep in my bed with Mr. Messy transferring a sleeping Liza to Henry's bed for the remainder of the night.  The first week went well.  Not great but it went well.  Then we hit a bump in the road.  A very bad night.  Liza came back in the bed with me for some mama cuddles and mama milk to soothe a very upset baby girl and the next night she remembered the previous.  And, she was mad.  She knew I was in my bed.  She knew the milk was in my bed.  And, she was pissed she wasn't there.  Then the drama moved into daylight hours when she became hysterical every time Mr. Messy tried to hold her so I could do something our of her immediate sight or if I left the room without first consulting her.  The child who has never been neglected for a moment in her life was obviously traumatized by our attempt to night wean her.  To me, it felt like she no longer trusted I was always there for her.  And, that makes me sad beyond belief.

So.

I gave in.

She is back to nursing all night with a few nights of solid sleep as a respite for me.

And, I really am okay with it.

It is what it is and it won't last forever.

Right?

Oh, Natty Dreadlock.

It really is so fitting that Bob Marley and his reggae friends are a constant feature in our house.

Um, yeah.

Maybe that is why my children always have dreadlocks.

It couldn't possibly be because I never brush their hair.

Nope.

It's definitely all the Bob Marley, Peter Tosh and their revolutionary ideas.

Revolutions don't need hairbrushes, don't you know?

Trust me.

My kids know all about it.

As evidenced by their natty dreadlocks.

My homebirth transfer story.

To be honest, I've only recently realized that I did indeed transfer to the hospital after Liza's birth.  It seemed like such a non-issue to me because I got the intervention free peaceful birth I so desperately wanted and then Mr. Messy and I only spent about 2 hours at the hospital as our newborn was left with my mom and my strict instructions not to put her down for a second.

Yet, my sweet and short transfer story has been on my mind lately as I write letters, make phone calls and visit our state capitol to discuss why midwifery in Mississippi must be legislatively regulated.  Non-emergency and emergency transfers happen and women who opt for out-of-hospital birth need physicians who understand and respect their decision to give birth at home and it is imperative hospitals allow midwives to provide continuity of care for these women.

My homebirth transfer story:

Elizabeth Ophelia was born at exactly 8:05 am on August 7, 2010.  Just as I had envisioned giving birth in the hospital on my knees with my arms draped over the back of the bed, Liza was born as I kneeled on our bed and held on tight to Mr. Messy's shoulders.  My water didn't break until the final push that delivered her body and I will never ever forget that feeling of release.

She was born.  I survived and I was no longer pregnant.  She was even still a girl like the 20 week anatomy scan promised.  Not only was she still a girl like I hoped, she was the most beautiful baby in the world.  I might have been full to the brim with oxytocin but I knew this baby was extra beautiful.  Of course, I was right.  She really was a beautiful newborn.

Over the next 2 hours, I had a "bleed" quickly controlled with an intramuscular injection of Pitocin, Liza finally decided to start nursing about 30 minutes after her birth, I delivered a beautiful healthy placenta, big brother met baby sister and my midwife determined I had 2nd degree lateral tears extending onto both of my labias.  This was not a surprise to me because I could feel the tear as I chose to push through the resting period between contractions as Liza crowned.  I was impatient, ready to be done and did not listen to my body as it screamed for me breathe and not push.

So yeah, I tore.

I knew from previous discussions my midwife only preferred to repair first degree tears.  This hadn't worried me during my pregnancy.  After all, I was going to have a water birth and I wouldn't tear because I would breathe my baby out.  Um, yeah.  Neither of those grand plans worked out so well.

Mr. Messy called our local hospital's L&D several times and spoke to the same nurse as we decided on a game plan.  I knew without a doubt I did not want our newborn daughter at the hospital so I wanted everybody at the hospital to be ready for my arrival to expedite the process and get me home as soon as possible.  I was beyond thrilled to hear my ob was on-call.  He had shown wonderful and considerate support regarding my switch to midwifery care.  At that, we decided there was no need to have my midwife accompany us to the hospital.  We knew we would be in good hands.

We arrived at the ER and was quickly ushered to L&D by a nurse who asked me how many months pregnant I was.  I laughed and laughed and told her I had given birth that morning.  A nurse had us fill out some paperwork and took my vitals as we chatted about Liza's birth.  She kept asking me about being afraid of the pain and being afraid of something going wrong.  I proudly told her I didn't worry because I trusted my body and my midwife was there to spot issues before they turned into emergencies. At that, she let out a big sigh and told me everybody thought I had an unassisted birth.  I distinctly remember thinking how nice everyone was even though they didn't agree with the birth choice they wrongly believed I had chosen.

At this point, my ob came in and began the task of stitching my tears.  I told him about Liza's birth and he talked about delivering his own babies.  After that, we decided to go ahead and order my RhoGam shot rather than have to type Liza's blood within the next 48 hours so Mr. Messy and I turned off the lights and napped for an hour or so while the prescription was processed and a nurse brought the injection.

I was wheeled out to our car and I went home to nurse my baby girl and ooh and aah about her radiant newborn beauty.

And that was that.

But,  I was lucky.

I have heard too many horror stories about homebirth transfers from hell in my very own state to ever take my positive transfer for granted.

I was respected and my decision to birth at home was respected.

And, she really was a beautiful newborn.

Nothing was easy.

Yesterday was one of those days.

One of those days you just want to forget about.

And, forget, I did.

I would have bet $1000 that today was Monday rather than Tuesday.

Seriously.

One of those days when nothing is easy.

Zilch.  Nada.  Doodly Squat.

Personally, I think sitting in your carseat about to depart for the park to play with friends should be easy.

Not yesterday.

Nope.  Nothing was easy yesterday.

Oh, the nights of the endless latch.

Breastfeeding is a relationship between mother and child.  A relationship cultivated from the first moment of life earthside.  A relationship nurtured around the clock during the early months.  A relationship constantly evolving as your newborn becomes your baby and your baby becomes your toddler.

And like all relationships, balance is necessary.  If baby is hungry, nurse.  If mama is engorged, nurse.  If baby needs soothing after a fall, nurse.  If mama desperately needs to veg out on the internet, nurse.  Give and take.  Take and give.  

Mutual satisfaction is also necessary to maintain balance.  As baby grows, her needs change from the days of nursing for survival to the days of the casual sips, constant nursing because everything else is too boring and the nights of the endless latch.  

Oh, the nights of the endless latch.  

And, it's not impossible to imagine how a laid back mama with a love of breastfeeding to keep that baby quiet and happy finds herself at a crossroads when she can no longer tolerate nights of the endless latch.

Oh, the nights of the endless latch.  

Several months ago, I told myself I was ready to night wean Liza.  I was ready to sleep uninterrupted and I was ready for her to magically sleep in her crib all night.  Yet, something was holding me back.  I talked and thought a lot about night weaning but I didn't make much movement in that direction.  Then, we took out my bed and put the mattress on the ground and all of a sudden we had a safe co-sleeping bed.  After selling the crib I had a weirdly freeing emotion surrounding our sleep environment -- partially the realization that my babies had outgrown the crib and partially the realization that any future babies would be co-sleepers from day one -- I had a new sense of peace about our sleep arrangements:

There is no need for us to have strict boundaries of who sleeps where.  Mr. Messy with Henry.  Liza with me.  It's obviously not our permanent arrangement but that doesn't mean it isn't right today.  

Oh wait.  That isn't right for today.  As of 5 nights ago, Liza in my bed was no longer beneficial to our breastfeeding relationship.  My aching shoulder from laying on the same side all night, the clogged ducts from learning how to properly night nurse while laying on my other side, an increasing feeling of being touched out after days of mothering my children and full-contact baby all night.  The list goes on.

It had to change.  I knew it had to change.  I knew it had to change soon but I was still at a loss.

Then, I freaked out.  As in, total hysteria on the verge of shutting down because I simply could not handle another night of Liza waking up and nursing her back to sleep.  Mr. Messy took over and decided  it was officially time to move her to Henry's bed to break the habit of night nursing.  The first night was rough and while there was definitely crying involved, there was no crying it out as her daddy soothed her and she had the sleeping presence of her big brother next to her.  Each night was better and it seemed she was well on her way to sleeping through the night.

That is, of course, until she got in bed with me last night and nursed to her little heart's content.  She wasn't having a good night and she needed some mama love.  And, it didn't feel like a fail at all to give in to that pitiful sleepy baby girl and do what was needed to keep her asleep.  

It's a delicate balance for sure and one I find much easier to handle after several nights of uninterrupted sleep.  Of course, everything is easier without nights of the endless latch.  

Everything.  

She barely even cried.

For the past week, Liza hasn't slept.  At all.  As in, she wakes up starting at 9:30, nurses just long enough to get really really mad at something, screams hysterically until she decides she likes my milk again and then refuses to delatch.  Wash.  Rinse.  Repeat.  All night long.

It's not hard to imagine that I'm not a fan of this version of nighttime parenting.  I would even say I hate this little routine as much as the hysterical 18 month old hates it.  And, trust me.  She really hates something during these bouts of hysterical screaming.

And no.  Her teeth are fine.  Her ears are fine.  Her eczema is fine.  

Her attitude and her sleep habits?  Not so fine.

Tonight we decided to do something different because apparently what we are doing isn't working out so great.  I got her to sleep and then moved her to over to Henry's bed.  Of course, this fully woke her up because she was pretty excited to be in big brother's bed but whatever.  I pushed through and got her to sleep again.

2 hours later.  Awake.  I would call it mass hysteria except she was the only one crying.  Until I started crying later.  

So yeah.  Mass hysteria.

I finally got her back to sleep in my bed.  She was asleep and I was still crying.  

Something has to change. 

Mr. Messy and I decided he would take over next time she wakes up.  I was seriously prepared for her to scream until I could no longer handle it and then I would rescue her as always.  

The child cried for 3 minutes as her daddy rocked her.  3 minutes.  Let me say it again.  3 minutes.  I was so prepared for the worst that it didn't occur to me she might not even put up a fight.  

Right now she has been asleep in the bed with her daddy and her brother for, oh, 30 minutes.  Without nursing.  Oh, the things I rejoice in as a mama to these children.

I'm not sure how this night is going to work out but I finally see light at the end of this dark tunnel.  

Amen and The End.

Cute kids doing funny things.

As promised:

Henry in one of his many variations of "so tight" and when he puts his head in all the way he goes "so dark". 

She can spin much faster too.  

Cuh-razy girl

My son is a photog.

Henry likes taking pictures with my camera.

Most look like this color scape.

But, this afternoon he snapped these pictures of Liza nursing after her nap.

A sweet moment captured by my sweet boy.

She is fine.

Know how your kids love when you throw a blanket over two chairs to make a tent?

My kids love it too.

Except tonight's tent featured a featherbed for under your fitted sheet.

It's heavy.

I'm finally sitting down to eat my sweet potato frittata.

Screaming.

Simply said, Liza's head absorbed the impact of one of the yellow chairs.

A spasm and a flickering of her eyes sent me tearing through the house saying she had to go to the ER.

We went.

She perked up after a bit and she seemed fine an hour and a half later when we left.

The CT scan was perfectly normal and we left with the diagnosis of "mild concussion".

Thank god.

What does a breastfeeding 17-month-old look like?

Belly.

Thighs.

Back dimples.

And, a little more belly.

Spank this cute girl?

I've been mentally composing a post about my thoughts on spanking for days.

It's coming together nicely in my brain but now that I've announced it, I'll probably never write it.

I've noticed that trend here on OMML.

So, if the promised post never appears,

I'll leave you with my thoughts on spanking in a nutshell.

NEVER GONNA HAPPEN.

And, yes, absolutes in parenting are possible.

Liza at 16 months {video}

Liza is 16 months old and I'm pretty sure she thinks she is 16 years old.  

One word best describes her:  

Sassafrass....through and through.

She has more words than I could possibly list but her favorites are:

hot - she loves to blow on "hot" food

cat - her first word at 7 months old is still one of her very favorites

jump - as she is about to jump off a chair into your (hopefully) waiting arms

chick chick - our chickens

ba ba - bread, learned straight from Henry

bath - mention a bath and she is tearing at her clothes ready to get in the tub

wawa - this girl finds pictures of water in every book we read; she also refers to her milk as "wawa" which is a bit insulting in my book...

choo choo and di - trains and dinosaurs are her favorite toys; can you tell she has a 3-year-old brother?

mine - an often used word with that pesky big brother always around

dirt - she doesn't like dirty hands but she is just fine covered in dirt from head to toe

Mama and Dada - she is a fan; trust me

Liza signs some but she now prefers to use her words.   

Her current favorite signs are:  more, monkey, elephant, fish

Please excuse my obnoxious high-pitched voice. 

I don't sound like that normally.

Surely.

Painting of the Christmas Pumpkins

AKA

"Mama is tired of these damn Halloween pumpkins taking up space in the kitchen so let's paint them in Christmas colors."

See that tucked in chin?

That means he is concentrating.

See that paint on his nose?

We thought it was cute and it's still there 24 hours later.

Liza was excited to participate in a painting activity but not so excited about the paint on her hands.

Liza's pumpkin with my pumpkin peeking out the side.

And, as usual, Mr. Piggy Henry claimed most of the pumpkins as his own and refused to share.

And, that is the story behind the famous 'Painting of the Christmas Pumpkins'.

A morning in dirt.

Can you tell they spotted the same toy?

I was a bit worried we were going to have a replay of The Bite

but I decided to keep snapping pictures and see how they work it out.

I was pleasantly surprised.

See Henry offer a trade?

Random hand-me-down Star Wars toy accepted.

Without any drama.

Hallelujah.

Now to continue with the important matters at hand.

Playing in the dirt.

Getting dirty.

And looking cute.