The Public Potty Tour

Lyla's *award for saying good-bye to diapers a couple months ago was as much for me as it was for her. I had been putting off the whole potty-training ordeal for months. 

First I thought, "I'll wait until this summer when the kids are out of school. I won't be so busy running around and then it will be easier." 

Then, as summer started looking a little more like fall I thought, "I'll wait until the kids go back to school. I won't be so busy running around and then it will be easier." 

You see my problem.

But when I finally looked reality in the busy face, potty-training took all of about five minutes. Seriously, she's had three accidents in two months.

Lyla's newly potty-trained self and I have agreed upon the perfect route for errands.

We can usually hit three stores before it's time to head back and pick up Beau from middle school.

First, we might hit Target, Fred Meyer, or Michael's.

We end up at Costco just in time for the sample ladies to roll out their carts and heat up their toaster ovens. 

But the most important stop comes right before Costco--the second-hand kids clothing store.

The toys galore to entertain my little shopping buddy combined with my running in-store credit are still no match for the biggest draw--the clean, kid-friendly bathroom. Goldmine.

As each of my older children have gone through the newly potty-trained phase, they've clearly come up with some sort of toddler bucket list to include every nasty public restroom around. That pink checklist posted above the hand dryer does little to impress me. I don't care if "Janelle" certified the restroom as "clean" at 8 pm last night. Right now there are drops of pee on the floor and other nastiness curled up on the toilet seat.

I don't know. Maybe my kids just get a kick out of seeing their mom's bathroom stall gymnastics. You know--the clever move of keeping my curious toddler at bay with my left hand as I kick my right foot up to flush to toilet.

"But, Mom, I just want to see my poop go down!"

So, thank you, little consignment shop. You have some loyal customers in the two of us. Sure, Lyla loves your toy section. And I think the cute clothes I pick up on the cheap are awesome. But your worry-free stop along the inevitable public potty tour beats all.

* If you missed my original post on family awards, you can find it here.

The Zoo

First of all, whether you commented on my blog, Facebook, or messaged me privately, thank you for all of the encouraging comments following yesterday's post. I don't blog for comments but I treasure those heart-felt ones I do receive. 

Now on to some fun photos--

Whether it was the Woodland Park Zoo when we lived in Seattle or the Toledo Zoo when we lived in Michigan, my older children (then younger) were often asking me to hold them up so they could better see the orangutans and lemurs. Come to think of it, this may explain some of their table manners!

But last month I realized that somehow in Lyla's three years of life, she has not yet made it to the zoo. What?!

I immediately shuffled around the puzzle I call my calendar and last week Lyla and I headed to the Cougar Mountain Zoo.

Below is just 30 seconds of the excitement that went on for over an hour as she ran up, down, and everywhere in between.

She kept this pace going to cover the zoo three times over--it's really small.

She loved the cranes.

And the wallabies.

And the McCaws. 

But most of all, she loved feeding the alpacas.

Clearly, the whole experience was a total drag for her.

Celebrating Lyla

The contractions were coming right on top of each other and my epidural was only slightly successful at mediating their intensity. Lyla's heartbeat was dropping fast and she wasn't making any progress toward the outside world.

Childbirth had always been the easy part of pregnancy for me. As I carried each of my babies, I became far too familiar with the smell of my toilet bowl, dehydration, and hardened veins from all the IVs. This last pregnancy was the worst of all of them, perhaps because of my age, or the fact that my body had gone through such extreme sickness so many times already. Probably it had something to do with both.

But that last nine months had also been sweetened by an outpouring of compassionate service from friends and neighbors. As I lay on the couch, half-aware from all the medications, the women from church made sure my family continued to eat. They brought meals 3-4 times a week, making sure there were enough leftovers to get us through. My children had play dates and rides to and from school. I had rides to and from the hospital twice a week. And more than a few times, someone showed up on my doorstep with rubber gloves and scrub brushes. Yes, I even had clean toilets to throw up in.

We will ever be grateful for the sacrifice and loving watch-care of so many good, good people.

We were taken care of.

And then there was no heartbeat. Another contraction. Still no heartbeat. No stranger to delivery room dynamics, I immediately recognized the change of atmosphere. My doctor's smile faded into pure concentration. The NICU team arrived. And the cheerleading efforts of one or two encouraging nurses expanded into an entire squad of scrubs and white coats, focused only on the very clear instructions given when something is wrong.

The thought that I might not get to meet this one gripped me, became tangible. I felt desperately powerless. 

So I prayed. I mean EVERYTHING in me prayed. Because at that point it was the ONLY thing I could do.

I heard the doctor call for forceps, then felt my baby being yanked out of my body. 

The unwinding began. Her umbilical cord was wrapped twice around her neck, then around her waist, and her feet, and then her neck again. With each contraction as Lyla had descended out of my pelvis, the cord that had once sustained her was pulling tighter and tighter around her tiny six-pound body.

Up, Over, Around. Up, Over, Around. The doctor and nurses worked quickly to free my baby from her full-body noose.

Tears streamed down my face as Lyla took her first breaths.

Adoring smiles returned to the faces around me. Everything was right again. Peaceful.

Once again able to turn his attention to me, my doctor confessed, "In all my years of delivering babies, I've never seen an umbilical cord nearly that long."

But I was only half-listening. Now looking deeply into those precious little black eyes, I thanked my Heavenly Father for the chance to feel Lyla's chest rise and fall against my own. 

And as we celebrated her third birthday today, I thanked him again.

The Garden in Early July- Roots and All

To say I was sad this week when I discovered my sweet little cinderella pumpkin uprooted and sprawled limply on the ground beside its once-happy home is a bit of an understatement. Its unfortunate demise is one of Lyla's many signatures found throughout our northwest garden. 

She is two- nearly three- and apparently overwhelmingly curious about herbaceous root structure.

Remember the peas? Fortunately, I ran fast enough to save most of them from her plucking grasp. And her little experiment didn't turn out half-bad.

But can you blame her fascination with what lies beneath? I mean, sometimes when you rip out a plant you do find something totally awesome.

And while I'm really, REALLY sad about my poor cinderella pumpkin, there's plenty more garden produce to smile about.

 Yay for broccoli!

And check out this cabbage head. I GREW THAT?!

 Prolific peas. Let me tell you 16 feet of snow peas is PLENTY for a family of seven.

On Sunday, we paired chicken-apple sausages with enough summer squash from the garden to feed the ten people around our table.

The June-bearing strawberries are sending out runners.

The blueberries are delicious.

Mmmmmmm... Green beans. Well, purple green beans. Are they just called purple beans? I've never grown them before, but I'm excited to taste them.

And I guess it's time to finish up the last remaining jar of 2012's red huckleberry jam. There will be plenty of huckleberries this year, too- they are too high for Lyla to reach!

Two Snow Pea Experiments

Towering Douglas-firs and Western Redcedars filtered the early morning light.  I finished picking lettuce and took a quick peek around the rest of the garden.

I wondered how my little snow pea experiment would turn out.  Would they actually cascade down the face of my apple crates?

I checked the strawberry beds next and noticed something unusual in the cinder block wall.  Something green was reaching for the sun from deep within one of the pockets.   It was another pea plant!  

It was then I remembered dashing across my garden to save as many pea plants as I could from my two-year-old's plucking fingers.  Not quick enough to rescue all of them, I succumbed that afternoon to a brief, bad mommy moment that sounded something like

  "LYLA!!!!!!!"

Catching myself, I bent down to her level, and showed her the lawn growing in the strawberry patch.  This time with a much gentler voice, I asked if she would pluck out the grass while I quickly finished up a few remaining garden chores.  Somehow in that process she must have replanted this little pea plant.  

Hmmmmmm.....I wonder how HER little experiment will turn out.

Pinkalicious

If you've ever read this popular book,

you may have considered creating your OWN Pinkalicious day.  Okay, probably not.  BUT, if someday you ever WANTED to create your own Pinkalicious day, here's a how-to:

 1.  Leave the pink stamp pad out where your two-year-old can easily find it.

 2.  After she finds it, allow her to proudly show you just how pink she really is.  Everywhere.

3.  Clean up.  The sink won't cut it.  Just head straight for the bathtub.

And finally, be SO thankful that you took the time to record this little moment.  Because someday your little girl will be too grown up to cuddle in your lap with Pinkalicious.

Mud Soup

Lyla spent most of Tuesday whining and yelling at me.
She was sick.
So was I.

It was hard to remain on the effective side of parenting.  I admit, most of the day I failed, employing such strategies as reasoning with my two-year-old, bargaining with my five-year-old, and lecturing my twelve-year-old.
Ug.

It was 5:30pm when the kids started playing The Hungry Games.  I looked at the kitchen.  Then, the couch. Then, I looked at the kitchen again.  And chose the couch.
I then resorted to even more effectiveness by waving my non-magical fingers in the air and asking the kitchen to make dinner.

Somewhere in Lyla's two-year-old mind, she must have rolled her eyes at my pathetic take on reality and took her resourcefulness outside to make mud soup.

The organic variety.

That was the low point of my day.  I knew I could find renewal in the scriptures so with one eye on the backyard soup kitchen, I opened up to where I last read in the Book of Mormon.
And, no kidding, THIS was where I left off the night before-

For can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not have compassion on the (child) of her womb?  Yea, they may forget, yet will I not forget thee...  

1 Nephi 21:15

I laughed to myself.  Really?  

My attention turned to the apparently forgotten child in the backyard.  She was stirring dandelions around in the mud with a big stick.

I smiled.  Really.

I had gone to the scriptures seeking comfort and strength.  I found humor.  Which was exactly what I needed.

A refreshing ten minutes later, I was finally standing in the kitchen preparing dinner.

The backdoor opened and in walked Lyla.  Muddy boots.  Muddy hands.  And a face smudged with dirt.  Instead of the exasperated look I may have given her earlier, I smiled, grabbed a wet wipe, and began tenderly wiping away the dirt.

It's good to smile.

Close

For the last three hours Lyla has been kneading my back with her feet.  Each time I wake up with a little fist in my face, I glance out the window at a slightly brighter sky.

I lift my head off the pillow and stare at her security.   Her breathing is heavy-she's out. It's not often that I need to bring her back to my bed in the middle of the night, but she's working on some new molars.  

She will wake up soon, feeling safe.  How nice it must feel to have her mother so close!  She can roll over (unknowingly slap me in the face) and know that if any scary monsters venture out from under the bed, I'm here.

I can't help but compare how she must be feeling with how I feel when I really turn to my Heavenly Father through scripture study and prayer.  Those times when morning and evening prayers are not simply checked off my to-do list.  When my need for sleep succombs to my need for spiritual nourishment and I search the scriptures late into the night.  It is those times when I feel my Heavenly Father so near to me.  I feel empowered to know that as I seek to remain close to him, whatever monsters may creep out of dark corners, he is there.  

So when you wake, my little Lyla, take in the closeness of your mother.  Remember this feeling.  Then, as you grow and begin to face those monsters, seek out that warmth and protection through real prayer and scripture study.  And let your relationship with your Heavenly Father breath confidence into all your righteous endeavors.  

He is close.