Strike a pose

Gianna has been doing this [insanely, freaking] adorable thing lately where she’ll throw her arms up over her head and cock her head to the side. Did I mention it’s adorable? I seriously wish I knew why she keeps striking this pose, and what’s going through her mind. (Possibly something like, I wonder how many of these chumps I can get to mimic me?)

In my efforts to get a photo of Gianna in the act of ultimate cuteness, I’ve had quite a few “misses.”

Eating broccoli

Crazy hands

But THIS is by far my favorite!

Even though it’s blurry, that last picture is my favorite, hands-down. It just totally cracks me up. Yes, that is my girl, waving her arms and yelling at the camera. I can just picture her about 5 years down the road, in that same crazy pose.

 

Processing about the process

I’ve been thinking lately about how much time everything takes. Take, for instance, a dip in the kiddie pool. You have to change a dirty diaper, wrangle your baby into a Little Swimmers, pull on a bathing suit, rub on the sunscreen (SPF 60 for her, SPF 30 for you), put on your suit, shorts and shades, find her hat, grab the outdoor toys and beach towels, step into some flip-flops and, finally, walk out the door. You spend maybe five minutes helping her acclimate to the water, then sit down. Fifteen minutes later, she’s fussing and bored, or you’re worried about the sun (despite that SPF 60), and you go back inside. It’s all over, and now you have to pull off two wet bathing suits and the Little Swimmers, get redressed and figure out how to spend the remaining three hours of the afternoon.

What I’ve noticed is that the preparation for an event is often longer than the event itself – especially when you have the attention span of, say, an eight-month-old.

Bedtime, too, is a process. You have to establish a routine that includes a snack, bathtime, stories, snuggles and prayers. But within that routine, that process, valuable lessons are being imparted. We take a bath and brush our teeth because it’s important to take care of our bodies. We make time for particular stories, songs, prayers, or other rituals, not just because they signal bedtime to little ones, but because they quietly speak volumes: “You matter to me. These things matter to me because they matter to you.”

We don’t eat meals on the run anymore. Now we sit at the table for about 40 minutes. We laugh, “talk,” smile and focus on mastering the hand-eye coordination required to move a pea from tray to mouth. Oh, and we make a mess. The books say making a mess is part of becoming an independent eater.

And really, isn’t independence what so much of the process is about? We’re entrusted with these wee ones for eighteen years, give or take, to help them become independent, mature adults.

Raising a child is not so much about the big moments that I imagined, like trips to the zoo and beach vacations, although those create special memories. Really, about 95% of life is lived in between the big moments – in stroller rides to the park and PB&J for the third time this week and a trip down the sidewalk to check the mailbox.

I think our values will be taught in those in-between times, more than in lectures or sitting in the front pew at church. Praying before bed shows that we serve a God who listens, and he likes to hear us ask for help and thank him for the good gifts of the day. Taking time for dinner teaches that healthy food and family conversation are high values in our home. Spending 25 minutes pushing a swing means that play is important, and what you enjoy matters to me.

I want to be mindful of what I’m communicating – perhaps without saying a word – in the in-between moments. Whay values am I instilling? What lessons am I teaching?

What values did you learn from the traditions and routines of your family? What lessons do you try to emphasize in your own family?

The end of Mother’s Day Week

It’s official: I was spoiled rotten on this, my first Mother’s Day. First there was our weekend getaway, and then this beautiful framed photo. Then, at the end of last week, Joe really surprised me with a Sony tablet.

At first, I was confused by the touch screen and overwhelmed by all the apps. I told Joe, “I feel like an eighty-year-old who just saw a PC for the first time!”

But, I’ve slowly gotten the hang of it. You smart phone and tablet users out there may recognize Words with friends on the screen above. Joe and I play while he travels, which is a fun way to stay connected. He keeps guessing at crazy words that actually exist, and then he gets 78 points and I get really mad and yell in the chat screen: “ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE NOT GOOGLING WORDS?!”

(If anyone plays Words with friends, let me know – I’d take a new opponent!)

I’m starting to get the hang of using the different apps. I can do almost anything on the tablet that I would do on our laptop, with the exceptions of writing long e-mails or blog posts.

I’ve been trying to find apps that simplify my life (rather than harnessing me unhelpfully to technology). There’s a shopping app called Out of Milk that I like so far, as well as a note-taking app, uNote. I have also found some great 5- to 10-minute workout apps that I’m enjoying.

My final Mother’s Day gift was a delicious breakfast of eggs and bacon on Sunday morning. Yum!

I also received some cards from my family and from Joe’s. So sweet.

Thanks to Joe for creating a Mother’s Day Week that was fun, special, meaningful and surprising. Love you, babe.

A letter for my girl…on Mother’s Day

Gianna Rose,

It’s my first Mother’s Day with you (outside of the womb, that is). We are over eight months into this journey together. It has been nothing I ever could have imagined. It’s been so amazing. You bring me so much joy. And laughter. Little girl, you are funny!

I remember when you finally landed in the doctor’s hands, and he placed you on my chest. Well, apparently I don’t remember that well, because Daddy says I started screaming. But it wasn’t from pain (that was over), but from shock and joy and relief. There you were, my tiny girl with a head full of black hair.

I do remember saying, “Joe, Joe, just pray for her, pray over her, bless her.”

You looked just like your Daddy. You could’ve been twins born thirty years apart.

Daddy as a baby

You ~6 weeks

We had to search a little more to see how you and I were similar. You have my long fingers and toes. Your second toe is longer than your big toe, just like me. So, clearly, you’re mine.

But now, you’ve got my hair. It’s all curls and you love when I comb it and tell you how pretty you look. I promise when you get bigger, I’ll teach you how to take care of curly hair.

I’m really glad you got my curls.

Before you were born, Daddy and I prayed for you all the time. I prayed most of all that you would know that the meaning of your name is true: God is gracious. I also prayed often that you would be someone who people are attracted to, and that you would use that for God’s glory, to point people to him.

I’m already amazed at how you draw people to yourself. You stare at people in the grocery store until they look at you, and then you give them that award-winning smile. How could they not want to be your friend?!

I believe you are an extrovert; you are already so chatty and bubbly. I love your happy spirit.

You made me a mama on September 3, 2011. I’m so grateful. I love you.

Love,
Mama

Mother’s Day Week continues

As our weekend in Cleveland was wrapping up, Joe said something to the effect of, “This is the beginning of Mother’s Day Week.”

“Mother’s Day Week?! Most moms just get one day,” I said, curious about what the rest of the week would entail.

Well, yesterday Joe ran a little errand, and when he came back, he gave me this sweet, gorgeous gift:

Joe commissioned my dad to build the frame, and it matches others that he’s made for us. I love it!

About a month ago, Joe nonchalantly asked me if the picture of G sleeping on my chest as a newborn was my favorite. We have a similar photo of her on Joe’s chest, and we talked about how much we love them both.

When that picture went missing from its frame a couple of weeks later, I was suspicious, but Joe convinced me that he’d been messing with the glass on the frame and the photo had scratched, so he’d had to throw it away.

“You’ll just have to print another copy of it,” he told me apologetically.

The little hand prints are so cute, and the story behind them made me crack up. Joe said he bought paint (I saw it in storage recently and wondered where it came from…) and took Gianna over to our friends’ house to get the prints made. According to him, it was pretty traumatic, and G ended up crying louder than she’d ever cried before. She kept balling up her [painted] hands and reaching for her hair.

“I just had to take the two best hand prints I got!” he told me.

An early Mother’s Day celebration

I got an e-mail from Joe last week with the subject line: “Plans for May 5.” In perusing Positively Cleveland he’d found a World Culture Festival at the Cleveland Museum of Natural History. Knowing something like that would be right up my alley, Joe made a hotel reservation downtown and planned the overnight getaway as my early Mother’s Day gift. We had so much fun on our little family vacation!

We ate dinner at an authentic Chinese restaurant on Friday night. (My husband used to love Chinese buffets, but he is now trading them for sit-down-and-order-off-the-menu Chinese restaurants. I am so grateful.) I ate beef with snow peas. YUM!

G continued with her finger food addiction with some broccoli florets

and sticky rice!

G loves drinking water – especially my water. Especially from a straw.

Back at the hotel, G took a ride on Daddy’s shoulders.

We had an awesome suite, which definitely makes traveling (and sleeping) with a baby a little easier than a traditional room. But check out this crazy jacuzzi:

Yeah, that’s the view from our “living room” into the tub…and on into the bathroom. Let’s just say, you wouldn’t want to share this suite with anyone you weren’t already very close to.

After breakfast Saturday morning, we gave G a little sink bath (banana and Cheerio dust smeared into those curly locks!). She tried to eat the faucet, the soap, and everything else in reach.

At the museum, we got our “passport” photos made in a photo booth.

 

The Museum of Natural History has a neat little outdoor animal exhibit. The animals are not exotic, but Gianna still found them interesting. Here she is observing the deer.

We watched some cultural performances. G was pretty chill because she was overdue for a nap, but she did get into the Japanese drummers. (Joe took some cute video of her excited arm-waving.)

Poor kid finally crashed!

Now for a little flashback. Last summer, Joe and I spent a “babymoon” weekend in Cleveland. Here we are about 9 months ago:

After our visit to the museum today, we realized we were outside the same park where we’d wandered on our babymoon. I insisted on a family picture in the same spot.

We ate another DE-LI-CIOUS meal at lunch, this time in Little Italy (another of our favorite spots from our babymoon).

After some gelato (it wouldn’t have been [Little] Italy without it!), we waved goodbye to Cleveland.

All-in-all, I’d say it was the perfect first Mother’s Day! (Thanks, babe!)

Have you taken any weekend road trips lately?

A day in the menu of a finger foodie

After posting Wednesday about Gianna’s sudden switch to only eating finger foods, I thought I’d share what a typical daily menu looks like for her at eight months old. (Keep in mind that I’m not a dietitian, pediatrician, or magician. I’m just a mom, trying to figure out how to get her kid to eat healthy, balanced meals. Also, G is still nursing at least 5 times a day, and at least once between each of these meals.)

Breakfast (usually around 7 a.m.)
1 fruit & 1 grain
Fruits: blueberries, bananas, mango, steamed apples
Grains: Cheerios, rice cake, whole wheat bread or toast, whole wheat pancakes, French toast
Next on the menu: grapes (quartered and dusted with Cheerios)
Gianna also had egg yolk earlier this week (scrambled and in pancakes), so that opens up a whole new world of possibilities for us!

Lunch (usually around 11 a.m.)
1 fruit or vegetable & 1 grain (which includes whole wheat macaroni at lunch & dinner)
Vegetables: carrots, green beans, peas, zucchini, baked sweet potato fries
I steam most vegetables because they retain more nutrients steaming than boiling.
Next on the menu: chunks of baked (white) potato; asparagus (in-season during spring); kernels of corn

Dinner (usually between 5-6 p.m.)
1 vegetable & 1 grain
I try to keep frozen green beans and peas on hand at all times. The same goes for carrot sticks or baby carrots, which can be quickly peeled, chopped and steamed while I’m preparing dinner. Extra veggies can be saved and reheated the next day.
Next on the menu: ground beef & shredded chicken
Earlier this week, Gianna tried black beans for the first time, so that’s something I’ll be incorporating into more meals as well.

Still to come: Dairy! I look forward to being able to offer yogurt (if I can convince her to take it from a spoon!) and shredded cheese.

Any suggestions from moms out there for additional foods I should offer G?

Finger foodie

Ever since she started solids, Gianna’s been a great eater. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t eat, and she developed quite a repertoire of fruits, veggies and cereals that she enjoyed.

But then, a couple of weeks ago, Gianna started refusing the food I offered her. She might take a couple of bites, but then she would turn her head away and fuss. After a while, I would give up and offer her Cheerios, which she would eat without complaint. At least she’s eating something, I comforted myself.

Since I’m still nursing, I wasn’t too concerned, but I was confused. Is she getting sick? I wondered. Maybe she doesn’t like peas (or sweet potatoes or applesauce or…) anymore. Is she becoming a picky eater? Am I raising a foodie?!

“Maybe she’s teething,” several people suggested. But after a couple of days without the appearance of teeth, I had an epiphany.

I realized that Gianna was very vocal [read: LOUD] during mealtimes when I was trying to spoon feed her, but she instantly quieted when I gave up and let her have some Cheerios. Since she didn’t have any teeth (and still doesn’t), Cheerios and Puffs were the only finger foods I’d really given her. But I thought, Maybe she’s not a foodie – she’s just independent!

I gave up on trying to convince G to eat all the purées I’d lovingly blended, and started racking my brain for finger foods she’d be able to manage. At first, I came up with a pretty short list, but the more I thought about it and talked to other moms, the easier it became.

Green beans, peas, cooked carrots, bananas and zucchini were all foods she’d already been eating puréed, so they quickly made the list. I knew I could steam apples to make them softer, and I thought I’d offer blueberries as well. I gave Gianna some whole wheat toast one day, and she loved it. One friend suggested rice cakes and whole wheat pasta, which have both been a hit. (“Of course she loves pasta!” Joe said. “She’s Italian!”)

One problem I encountered was that Gianna struggled to pick up chunks of anything “slimy,” like banana. When I was scouring the internet one night for finger food ideas, I stumbled across the idea to coat those hard-to-grab items like bananas and steamed zucchini with Cheerio dust to make them easier to grab. Genius! I used Joe’s coffee grinder to grind up those Cheerios and, ¡voila! – easy-to-pick-up zucchini for dinner tonight! (Yes, Cheerio dust is now all over Gianna’s tray, in her hair, covering my floor and probably up my nose.)

Chunks of zucchini coated in Cheerio dust

I worried a little that I wouldn’t know whether or not Gianna was getting enough to eat. With purées, it was pretty easy to tell how much she was getting. However, I’ve discovered a simple way to tell when she’s gotten enough to eat. When the number of Cheerios on the floor ≥ Cheerios in the mouth, dinner is over. (And I used to wonder how I would use math in real life!)

Ah, motherhood. Its demands go beyond time, energy and love. As a mom, you’ll also be called upon to tap into your stores of creativity and comedy. And those ever-important math skills, which have now come in handy more than once.

Identifying with the psalms

Sometimes when I read a psalm, I struggle with being able to claim or pray it as my own, because it’ll say something like, “because I am righteous, LORD, do this,” and I feel that I’m not righteous or obedient or whatever.

Take Psalm 18:20-24 for example:

The Lord has dealt with me according to my righteousness;
according to the cleanness of my hands he has rewarded me.
For I have kept the ways of the Lord;
I am not guilty of turning from my God.
All his laws are before me;
I have not turned away from his decrees.
I have been blameless before him
and have kept myself from sin.
The Lord has rewarded me according to my righteousness,
according to the cleanness of my hands in his sight.

Sometimes when I read something like that, I think, Well, bully for you, David [the author of this particular psalm]. Can you honestly say that? This must’ve been pre-Bathsheba.

I mean, seriously, I wish I could say that I have kept God’s ways, not turned from his decrees, and been blameless before him…but I can’t. Far from it. I always wonder how the psalmists can be so confident. [As a side note, I'm not saying that my way of thinking is theologically correct, but it is something I feel when I'm reading the Bible, particularly the psalms.]

But the other day, I was reading Psalm 91, and when I hit verse 14, I felt as if God was speaking to me, saying, “My promises are for you, Katie.”

“Because he holds fast to me in love, I will deliver him;

I will protect him, because he knows my name.”

Really, God? Is that it? You’ll protect and deliver me simply because I know your Name and love you? Now that sounds like something I can do. Reading that verse put my heart at rest, not only because of the truth it contains, but because I felt God directed me to that verse and used it to speak directly to my heart (and my heart issues).

The Baby Story Time saga (Part IV)

The fun started here.
You can read Part II here.
Part III is here.

The funny thing about story time was that the faces there changed from week to week. It seemed the semi-circle grew ever larger and more crowded by the week. I only recognized a handful of faces, but there were new ones each time we came. Whatever happened to the strict registration policy? I wondered.

As the weeks went by, Gianna and I got into a pretty decent groove with story time. I also started getting to know some of the personalities in the group. And believe me, personality is definitely the right word.

There was Daniel, the little boy whose mom was worried about keeping him in the room. Daniel had a bit of a problem keeping his hands to himself. He didn’t hit other kids, but each week he was caught red-handed with his little fingers in someone else’s diaper bag. He wanted their pacifiers, their Puffs and their toys.

“Daniel, ha ha ha! Give that back!” his mom would call from across the room, even as the mom whose bag he was filching from would say, “Oh, it’s okay.”

He’d better keep his sticky fingers out of my diaper bag, I thought darkly.

One week, Daniel swiped a bow from a little girl’s pigtail as she crawled across the semi-circle.

“HEY! GIVE THAT BACK!” another little boy bellowed, coming after him to force the return of the hair bow. I became momentarily fearful that a fist fight was about to break out at Baby Story Time. Thankfully, Daniel returned the bow and the crisis was averted.

Then there was Aidan. Aidan was a little spit fire who never, ever, ever sat down beside his mom for story time. In fact, I secretly wondered if he was above the two-year cutoff for story time. He seemed so big, like he was practically four. Aidan’s mother would sit in the circle and participate in all the songs and rhymes alone while Aidan worked the room. She would occasionally cast a furtive glance at him. I got the feeling she was afraid of what he might do next. The week he started running into walls, I understood why. I looked at Aidan’s mom. She looked petrified, but didn’t say a thing.

Then there was Ali, the sweet little red-headed girl with the little pigtail sticking straight up on top of her head. (The same pigtail that Daniel had previously robbed of its bow, in fact.) One week, Ali crawled across the semi-circle, planting herself directly in front of me and Gianna. Gianna stared at her, then laughed. And giggled. And laughed a little more. I felt bad, but I couldn’t figure out what was so funny.

Was it the red hair? The pigtail on top of her head? And how could I explain to a six-month-old that making fun of someone just because they were different from you wasn’t okay, that it could hurt their feelings? Was my kid about to damage another kid’s psyche?!  Poor Ali seemed like such a sweet little girl. Gianna and I might have been able to get her mom’s number and arrange a playdate. But not if Gianna was going to laugh at her!

Baby Story Time was fun. It was an experience. Perhaps not the enriching bonding experience I anticipated, but it was an experience nonetheless.