Lopsided

I was making dinner amidst our nightly family madness when I heard Claire say,
"Mom. I am sorry for saying your leg is fat."

Um... I was confused. I am semi-deaf when I'm trying to accomplish a task (I get that from my dad). So I responded, "What? Did you just say that I'm fat?" (Wouldn't blame her honestly. Baby weight is sure stubborn.)

"Noooo! Loook!" she yelled. And she pointed at her drawing on the fridge, "I didn't mean to be MEAN--I'm sorry, Mom."

She seemed pretty concerned, so I laughed and said, "Oh, Claire, it's no big deal! I make mistakes drawing all the time. I mean, you didn't draw it that way on purpose." I pointed to my left leg and said, "I know this leg isn't bigger than the other one."

She cocked her head, smirked, pointed to my other leg and said, "No, that one is."

Huh.

Maybe next she'll apologize for decapitating her dad.

Wooden boxes

We're building a house. I told you that a while ago. It's been kind of slow because we're trying to do a lot ourselves. And because the person in charge of getting bids is kind of lazy (me).

But today my cabinets arrived. I am excited. What do you think?

Help me out.

Perhaps you will remember that with my third child, I tried to have a natural delivery. You can read a little about that here.

Turns out, with Rose, I had no choice. I made it to the hospital less than an hour before delivery. (Story later for you strong-stomached peeps.) Good news is, this time I actually prepared. I read a book. And practiced natural birthing techniques.

I wanted three things from a natural childbirth.

1. Pain-free recovery
2. "Runner's high"
3. Bragging rights

And here's the thing, friends. Didn't happen. Here's what happened instead:

I had just birthed beautiful Rose, and I held her on my tummy while adrenaline gifted me with the shakes (which had lasted all through labor and for about an hour after), and all I could think was: "I'm gonna drop her" (I didn't), and "Why the devil do women choose to do this without drugs?"

So, dear readers, what's the secret? What did I miss?

Perfectly Presumptuous

My parents have spent the last few months cleaning out their storage locker.

In this process, I found all of my old high school yearbooks.

One of them includes this:

We barely knew each other. And at the time, he claimed it was a joke.

I would argue that time and circumstances have definitively. proven. otherwise.

I love this guy. I'm so glad he was gutsy.

Birds and Bees

Yes. This post is going to be about exactly what you think.

Click away if you blush easily.

I warned you.

I was driving the kids to school on Wednesday when we heard the word "sex" on the radio. (I was listening to Morning Edition on NPR. Don't get crazy, people.) Grace looked at me for a reaction and I realized that she was aware enough to be embarrassed about it somehow.

"Do you know what that word means, Grace?" I asked.

"No," she replied. "Do you?"

"Yes, I do. Do you want me to tell you about it?" She nodded shyly and I told her we'd discuss it after school. We got to school, I hugged the kids goodbye.

I texted Brad to tell him what I had gotten us into, and he casually responded, "Okay. Let's talk with her tonight."

I was totally surprised by his willingness to participate and by his calm attitude. I think I'd kind of hoped he would talk me out of it.

So I started to panic.

I am an adult. I have taken parenting and child development classes. I know that talking to my kids about sex is important. I know that it's an opportunity to open a channel of communication early so they can confide in us later. I know (from experience with my parents) that if I set the stage for safe discussions, my children will come to me later with their questions and concerns.

But have you ever tried explaining sex out loud?

Let's play a game. Try describing sex in terms an elementary student will understand. Say. the. words. out. loud. Then let me know if you get through it without giggling like a five-year-old or throwing up.

Good luck.

I couldn't do it either. So I wrote myself a script. And then I emailed it to Brad and asked him what he thought. I don't recommend sending an email like that. Your side bar ads might start responding in all sorts of salacious ways. Just sayin'.

Brad responded by telling me to chill out.

That night, Brad put the other children to bed, and I picked up some ice cream. Grace, Brad and I sat in our living room and started our conversation by asking Grace what she knew about sex. I let Brad lead the discussion since he was cool as a cucumber.

Until, friends, until. Until he had to describe the mechanics of the subject. And then he hemmed and hawed and choked back a laugh... so it was a really good thing I had memorized my script. I'm telling you, people. Practice this. You'll thank me later.

Grace responded with an expected nervous giggle and a "Gross!" And then we answered her questions and told her about the importance of waiting until she was married and how a baby comes to be and all that business.

And then we ate ice cream and sent her to bed.

And Brad and I actually did a high-five. First major parental test passed. We are awesome.

If "having the talk" is something you may actually consider doing sometime, I highly recommend these people. They're fantastic.

Hello again, world.

We have a new munchkin in our house. She is small and cute and her name is Rose. Her skin is still bright red, and when she nestles into my arms she smiles and snorts contendedly and she reminds me of a little piglet.

A new baby makes life a little crazy. It's hard to get as much done. It's hard to get anything done.

The other morning I came out of my bedroom and greeted Claire who was already awake doing something or other. She took a look at me and asked, "Is it church-day?" It was a Tuesday. The kids didn't have to go to school because a windstorm had somehow caused their school to flood. I don't know. Anyway. I told her definitively that it was not a Sunday. She responded, "Then how come you took a shower?"

...Annnnnd that's about how things are going over here.

I will say it's worth it. (Well, for me.) I love this little runt.

Love these guys

Last week, Brad's dad and Uncle Brian came all the way to Carlsbad to do our foundation. I called them concrete artists before. And that is what they are. They are amazing. No one else in town has a foundation like ours.

They're the best. We couldn't have done it without them.

Besides. They came back to our house every evening and ate and talked with us and helped me stave off pregnancy insanity for a while. I bawled when they left.