So Kiddo and I are both sick. We got hit at the same time with some kind of creeping crud that turned into croup for him, and a mild case of bronchitis for me. Like, literally, at the exact same time. Monday morning his nose started running like a river, and I woke up with a slightly sore throat. Throughout the week, his nose kept running but he was acting fine otherwise, and my throat stayed just sore enough to be annoying but not enough to do anything about it.

Then, last night, Husband and I were jolted awake from a nice, deep sleep to the sound of The Dreaded Croupy Cough coming from Kiddo’s room. We both sat up slightly as we awoke, then flopped back down on our pillows with a simultaneous sigh of “Oh crap.” We know this sound. We know it well. Even though it sounded pretty heinous, it apparently wasn’t enough to wake Kiddo up all the way because he never cried, just coughed for a bit and went back to sleep.

This morning, I had gone from a mildly annoying sore throat to having no voice and the beginnings of a chest cough. Today being Friday, I didn’t have time to “give it a day or so”. Going to the regular doctor is way cheaper than Urgent Care or, God forbid, the ER. So I arranged visits to the pediatrician and the OB’s office. God bless both of them – even though they’re both busy, they always manage to squeeze us in when it’s urgent.

Husband is still well, and gosh darn it, he’d better stay that way. Someone has to keep this place running!

I had my turn taking care of him yesterday – he had his bi-annual colonoscopy, which involves being knocked out, so I had the fun of sitting with him as he woke up from the anesthesia and messing with his head. Then I drove him home, where I made him a grilled cheese sandwich and got him a bowl of cereal (I almost typed “bowel” instead of “bowl” – LOL!). Poor guy had fasted for about 36 hours before the procedure and had to endure being under the same roof as a very hungry 2 year old and a pregnant wife who eats everything in sight. He was a saint.

I gotta say, Kiddo was a champ taking his Prednisone tonight. He’s responding extremely well to having things explained to him before the event. Instead of sneaking the meds up on him, I explained as we waited at the pharmacy drive-through (after Husband took us over to Garbanzo’s to get dinner for me – oh happy day!) “We’re getting medicine for you and Mommy so we feel better soon. I know you don’t like taking medicine – Mommy doesn’t like it either – and that’s okay, but if you hold still and cooperate when we give it to you, it’ll be all done really fast! Okay?” Kiddo popped his thumb out of his mouth long enough to say “O-Kay!”, which is his new favorite word these days. He was settled in Daddy’s lap watching How to Train Your Dragon when I brought the syringe dropper of Prednisone and his juice cup to him. “Say Aaaaaaaahhhh!” I said, he opened his mouth wide, let me squirt the meds in, made a face, and then took his cup and gulped down some juice. Yikes! Wow! Can every time we have to give him medicine go that easily??? Please??? I sure hope so. It’ll make the next few days more bearable as we’re housebound.

We’re watching Finding Nemo now. Dory is one of my favorite animated characters of all time. “P. Sherman 42 Wallaby Way Sydney!” Hee hee hee… “Just keep swimming…just keep swim-ing…just keep swimming…”

Or the seagulls.

“Mine?”

“Mine?”

Pre-Pregnancy:

I’d beg Husband to run to the store for ice cream or some other treat after kiddo goes to bed.

Pregnant:

I beg Husband to run to the store for antacids after kiddo goes to bed.

I know, I’m the stereotype. Just go with it.

I’m so glad I can use that title correctly today. It’s the little things in life, y’know?

So do you remember this?

The mass of disorganization that way my spice cabinet? We had outgrown it. Every time I took one jar out, three fell along with it. Horrible. We needed to come up with a solution. I couldn’t live like this any more.

So now, that cabinet looks like THIS:

And the cabinet where the glasses and mugs and cups formerly resided now looks like THIS:

Ahhh…I feel so much better! Husband attached the rack to the inside of this cabinet door. The wire shelves do decrease the amount of space available inside the cabinet, but it’s still more than enough space for our collection of oils, vinegar, vitamins, and various other little things. Things are less cluttered and crowded, and I couldn’t be happier about it.

So what’s my next pre-baby-arrival project going to be? Well, we do have to get the kids’ bedroom ready. But that scares me. A lot. So we’ll just not talk about it yet. Okay? Okay. I’m so glad you understand me.

On to other business!

It has come to my attention that some folks are demanding awful haircut pictures. So I took this one:

You’re probably thinking it’s not that bad. And maybe it’s not. It’s just not what I wanted. Which, in my book, is reason enough to despise it. The ends are really blunt along the sides of my head, which leads to a “helmet hair” kind of look if it’s not styled juuuuust right. Now that it’s had a couple weeks to grow in, it’s a little more manageable. I’m going to let it grow for a while, then go get it softened up.

But on the plus side, I am not wearing a single stitch of makeup in this picture and I don’t look terrible!!! My skin has been behaving so well lately. It’s nice.

My Pinterest addiction is growing. I’m having a phone tutoring session with my mom this afternoon to show her the glories of Pinterest. Why aren’t we doing this in person?

Because the weather is doing this:

And ain’t nobody goin’ nowhere they don’t have to!

Have a fantastic day. Stay warm, stay cool, whatever this lovely February day necessitates!

Okay so…what’s going on around here these days…

…my husband is working on his Master’s degree. I’m so proud of him! He’s taking classes online from a great university and totally kicking butt. With his work schedule and having a family he’s just doing part-time, which means it will take a little longer, but that’s okay. Whenever he has an assignment that necessitates spending lots of extra time holed up in his office doing school, I picture him walking across a stage in a cap and gown (the university is nearby, and he will be walking at that graduation!) and getting that Master’s degree and what an accomplishment that will be. Going to that moment always gives me the extra “oomph!” to make it through that week.

…the Kiddo has been awesome and healthy ever since the hospital stay.  So healthy, in fact, that I keep forgetting to reschedule his 2-year-old checkup. Oops.

…I’ve been feeling pretty puny. I don’t remember feeling this run-down during my first pregnancy, so when I went to the OB this week I brought it up. My doc thinks I might have a vitamin deficiency of some kind, so they’re going to look for that on my blood screen. That would be a nice easy fix!

…my kitchen currently is a disaster area. We’re trying to do the spice cabinet project but little obstacles keep popping up. Not the least of which being my complete utter and total lack of energy recently.

…I’m almost 26 weeks pregnant and can’t believe it. That’s 14 weeks to get everything ready to bring Baby Numero Dos into the house! Eek!

…and right now I’m sleepy. So I’m going to go to bed. Goodnight!

I finally did what I’ve been threatening to do since last Christmas. I sent cinnamon rolls to work with my husband.

Don’t those just look EXACTLY how cinnamon rolls are supposed to look? I was so relieved they came out so pretty, because I had a Dork Moment while making the dough and left out the salt, baking powder, and baking soda. Totally spaced it.

The icing, however, was flawless. I managed to get my hands on some maple extract this time and made it exactly to Pioneer Woman’s specifications. It really does add a little somethin’ to the rolls.

Pans 2 and 3 came out just as pretty. Well, almost as pretty. Pan 3 got some of the deformed rolls that were sliced off the very end of the cinnamon roll log.

But icing covers a multitude of sins.

Not a single one of these babies came home. Which is how I wanted it. Because if they had, I may not have been able to resist them. As it was, I scraped more than one fingerful of icing out of the mixing bowl after all the rolls were done.

Next time, though, I’m going to remember all the dough ingredients!

I babysit twice a week at the Jazzercise studio I go to. It’s great social time for Kiddo, gets me out of the house, and it helps out other moms. I enjoy it a lot. Sure, there are nutso days when I am counting the minutes until class is over because I’m on the verge of pulling out my hair, but most of the time things go pretty smoothly and the chaos isn’t terrible.

There’s one “regular” who is giving me quite an education. She’s five, quite willful, but also quite sweet at times too. Likes to be in charge and is not happy when she’s not, but can also play extremely well with the younger girls. Needs emotional validation, but also needs tough love. Something I’m learning is that the tough love often doesn’t work without the validation. Like, I need to establish that I am the authority in the room, but in order for that to work best I also need her to feel like she can trust me. It’s a tricky dynamic to establish, and when it works, it works great. When it doesn’t…well, then we just get through the hour as best we can and we’ll try again next time.

Today was a good day. It started out rough. Five minutes into class she was following the boys around crying big crocodile tears and wailing “I have a question for youuuuuu! Why won’t you talk to meeeeee! You’re being meeeeean to meeeeeee!” Of course it was making me insane too, and I just wanted it to stop. It’s not a huge room, so one kid crying makes it feel like a dozen kids are crying.

Tough love wasn’t working. I’d tried telling her to leave the boys alone and find something else to do. All that did was a whole lot of nothing. So with a deep breath, I went for Plan B. If I was five and feeling left out and frustrated and didn’t know what to do with myself, what would I want an adult to do?

I beckoned her over to me with a kind voice. At first she didn’t want to come. “He won’t listen to meeeee!” she wailed, standing in the middle of the room.

“But I want to listen to you,” I said gently. “So come on over.”

Reluctantly, she did. I offered to fix her scarf that had come untied, and we talked while I arranged it around her neck. “I can see that you’re upset and having a tough time,” I said. “I understand. Look, there are a lot of other little girls here today. What’s something you could do with one of them?”

As I mentioned before, this one is willful. Everything has to be her idea. And she was having none of that. Okay, fine, I can’t force her. On to the next option.

“Okay, how about you come sit by me until you feel better then?”

Silently, she went and got her blanket and stuffed toy she always brings, came back, and laid down on the floor next to me. I let her be for a bit, and after a short while she was up and playing an imaginary fairy game with one of the younger girls, and proceeded to do so with almost no conflict for the remainder of class.

People. This was a miracle day. This does not happen every time. I do my best, but kids are kids. A lot of the time, I spend the hour merely refereeing the older kids while making sure the toddlers aren’t trying to climb up onto the table and eat the crayons. But once in a while, we strike gold. And those days? Are very, very good days.

Here’s why I love babysitting, and always have loved babysitting: It is excellent practice for parenting. I’m the one who learns. I’m learning how to remain in control, how to establish my authority while establishing friendships with kids, how to get to know different kids so I can figure out what works with each of them…there are endless lessons there. I’m going to spend my parenting years doing all of those things. And sometimes it’s going to get tiring. Sometimes it’s going to be tough. Sometimes I’m going to be on the verge of pulling out my hair and counting down the minutes until naptime. Sometimes I’m going to exhaust every method and idea I have and be at the end of my rope.

But I can do it. I can try one more thing. I can offer one more hug. I can dole out one more time-out. One situation at a time, one day at a time, one year at a time, I can do it.

My hair.

I like my  hair. It’s really dark – I’ve been told by more than one stylist that people pay a lot of money to have hair the color mine is naturally. My hair has some frizz to it and can be either curly/wavy or straight with the right products and styling techniques. So it’s versatile.

At least in some climates. Humidity? No way. The only surefire way for me to get a good hair day in humidity is to put a ton of anti-frizz serum in it, give it a really good blow-out, and then take a flat iron to it, strand by tiny strand.

But I’ve never been blessed with the kind of hair that looks good on camping trips. You know how some girls, when they go camping, can roll out of their sleeping bag, put their hair up in a ponytail, and look cute as a cheerleader? Yeah. That’s never been me. Somehow camping gives me the gnarliest cases of bedhead ever. Bedhead that can only be fixed by squashing it down under a bandanna. I have a few weird cowlicks that I can normally tame, but when I’m camping, they all stick straight up in the air and cannot be coaxed down.

I mention my hair because for the first time I can remember, I have gotten a haircut that I really truly hate. Despise. Abhor. I’ve had just-okay haircuts in the past, but never something I dislike as much as this.

What’s wrong, you ask?

It’s a Mom Haircut.

You know the type. When it looks like someone made a little hair helmet and set it on your head. Those of you who have seen me in person since the haircut will probably say it’s not that bad, but that’s because I’ve figured out how to finagle my hair into something a little more dimensional, and if I flat-iron the very bottom layers really well it loses some of the helmet look. Well, actually, the back of my hair is really cute. It’s the sides that look like a little helmet.

Serves me right for going to a stylist I’ve never met in desperation because my schedule and my regular stylist’s schedule just haven’t matched up.

Fortunately one of the benefits of being pregnant is my hair grows really fast, so it won’t be long before I can go crawling back to my regular stylist and beg her to fix it.

What about you? Any “hair raising” stories you’d like to share?

Pretty much my entire family loves Lemon Meringue Pie. My parents, my grandparents, my in-laws, my husband, my brothers, my sisters-in-law…actually, that’s everyone. I decided to get adventurous last Memorial Day and attempt one of these beauties. The attempt went well. The pie was devoured.

I made one for Christmas Eve this year, since it’s my Grandpa’s absolute favorite pie EVER, and a general hit.

So how do I make it?

First, get this book.

This book has saved my bacon on more than one occasion. I think every young bride needs one. It has a huge variety of recipes and is great for basics. It even teaches techniques.

Open it to this page.

Commence pie making!

This is a good, classic, pretty much foolproof Lemon Meringue recipe. When in doubt, I go with the classics.

A couple of things I’ve learned:

Frozen crust is a pain in the paskooniac. Just when you think it’s thawed enough to unroll into the pie dish, it’s still frozen in the middle, and it cracks. Then it cracks as the pie bakes and leaks filling under the crust. And that is not nice. So next time, homemade pie crust.

Alton Brown was right – dried beans make excellent pie weights.

The crust may have cracked on me, but not a single bubble formed when I blind-baked it before adding the filling. And I did not prick it with a fork. See, when you prick the crust, even if it doesn’t crack it still might leak. And that’s not a happy thing. So. Pie weights. Beans. Good thing.

There is no – absolutely no! – substitute for fresh lemon juice.

Or fresh lemon zest. But I don’t know how you would go about getting non-fresh lemon zest. Anyway. I’m at the point now where I will buy lemons as I need them for recipes instead of the little lemon-shaped bottles of juice, because it just tastes better. Except I need some kind of little lemon juicing device. Because hand-juicing enough lemons for what I need for that pie makes my hands cramp. Oh, and I always add just a touch more lemon zest than the recipe calls for. Folks I know like their Lemon Meringue on the tart side.

If all goes according to plan, THIS is what you will end up with:

This is right after I took the pie out of the oven. I always set my pies on a rack to cool, so they cool evenly.

Alas, the gorgeousness did not last! I think I needed to leave this pie in the oven for a few more minutes to set the meringue more, because as it cooled, that beautiful mound of white fluffiness deflated. Sad face.

Until next time, Lemon Meringue Pie!

Why yes, that title is on purpose.

I am having insane nesting urges right now. This did not really happen with my first pregnancy. I can remember maybe two times in the 3rd trimester? But with this baby, oh man, I want to turn the house upside down and completely reorganize the entire place! Husband and I have been talking about a couple of projects and are finally starting to make them into a reality.

And I am finally starting to use my Pinterest account. Amen.

The first was under the bathroom sink. The reason this post is not titled “Before and After” is because I do not have a “before” picture of this space. It was too embarrassing. Know what I mean?

Therefore, I give you The After:

That’s about all the storage space we have in our bathroom. The two small drawers on either side up top used to exist – the rails are there – but for reasons unknown the previous owners took the drawers out and nailed the fronts down. Don’t ask me why. But it’s a pain.

Anyway. I did that all by my little ol’ lonesome yesterday while Kiddo napped. Took all of about 30 minutes. I threw away a huge bag of empty bottles and ancient, now-gross things we’ll never use. The rest fit neatly into the plastic drawers or the two cute bins, with boxes of *ahem* my stuff lined up in the space between. Ahhhh. So much better!

Now, I give you The Before of the next project on my list:

This is our spices/oils/vinegar/various stuff cabinet. As you can see, it’s not terribly well organized. And it’s not the best use of space. We have a hard time knowing exactly what we have in there, and finding it. We’ve purchase duplicates before because we didn’t know we already had an item we needed for a recipe.

This is going to get fixed. Soon.

Little Tripp went to be with Jesus yesterday.

They call kids born with EB “butterfly kids” because their skin is as delicate as the wing of a butterfly. The butterfly is their symbol. And whenever one of these precious ones passes from this life, they say he or she “earned their wings”.

Butterflies mean a lot to my family, too. They were a favorite of my Aunt Nean, who passed away right before kiddo was born, and her daughter Erin, who passed away due to Cystic Fibrosis almost nine years ago. I try to wear either a butterfly or another piece of Aunt Nean’s jewelry for important family events.

As I sat on the sofa and cried for Tripp and his mom Courtney, I felt inspired to wear one of my butterfly necklaces today. Nobody around me in church probably thought twice about the little winged pendant hanging from my neck, but I knew what it was for. It was my own little tribute to Tripp. I never personally knew him or his mom, but their story reached out and grabbed me the first time I laid eyes on their blog. I’ll be lifting Courtney up in prayer for sure as she begins this next chapter of her life.

During worship today we sang a song with a line that says “I’m running to your arms…” and it was as if I could see little Tripp – he was running through the gates of Heaven, laughing, straight into the arms of Jesus. That is what Tripp is doing right now.

He is running. He is laughing. He is speaking. He is seeing.

And yes, as his mother does, I believe he is drumming.

I also believe with all my heart that when it comes Courtney’s time to pass through those gates herself, a chubby little figure will come running to her, arms outstretched, calling out “Mommy!” at the top of his lungs.

God bless you, Courtney. May you feel the prayers from everyone around the world who loves you.

Oh, and I asked God today if He would introduce Tripp to my Aunt Nean. She has the nicest soft, warm, motherly bosom for giving hugs to little ones, and the best laugh. Tripp will like her.