Every night Sam gets a proper supper before his bedtime breastfeeding. We have some type of fruit and rice cereal. For those of you who aren't familiar, rice cereal comes in dry flakes, kind of like instant mashed potatoes, and you add the liquid of your choice to make the cereal your desired consistency. Commonly, the liquid is either water, formula, or breast milk. Since I never leave home without my handy dandy breast pump, I use my own milk to mix with the cereal.
At home, Sam sits in his high chair while I spoon feed him and Dr. SOB watches Star Trek. Dr. cannot tolerate the inherent messiness of feeding time and I cannot tolerate William Shatner, so this works out well for the both of us. My parents do not have a high chair, so instead Sam would sit on my lap and my mother would spoon tiny mouthfuls of goo into his chew hole. Occasionally the lad would get rambunctious and start flapping his little arms. During one of these instances, he knocked into the spoon, delivering a small dollop of cereal onto my mother's leg. Without a moment of hesitation, she wiped the cereal with her finger tip and stuck it into her mouth. She then informed me that it tasted sweeter than she would have expected. I was practically busting at the seams. I wasn't sure how she would react, so I tried to be as gentle as possible when I informed her that the sweetness was probably due to fact that breast milk is sweeter than cow's milk. She blanched. I waited, breath held, to see what she would do. She looked around in a wild panic and spotted a 2 liter bottle of soda on the counter. She leapt up, ripped the cap off and began chugging generic caffeine-free diet soda right from the plastic bottle. After a few good pulls on the soda, she set the bottle down, burped quietly and came back to finish feeding Sam as though nothing had happened.
I don't know if we'll ever talk about it, but the memory of my mother eating my breast milk will always hold a special place in my heart.
If you were expecting Binky, then April Fools! She is the guest of honor today over at the Cheese Party, where Amy Jo is the host-est with the most-est. You are all invited to come on by and read the best that she has to offer! Click on over to the Blog Exchange to read the cream of the crop from the whole blog blog exchange crew.
[Note from the proprietress of this site to all the Blog Exchange naysayers (you know who you are) in which I make it very, very easy for you to access my best post, ever: CLICK HERE! ]
Showing posts with label Blog Exchange. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Blog Exchange. Show all posts
Sunday, April 01, 2007
Wednesday, February 07, 2007
July Fifth at the Family Fold Redux
For the past several months, I've been participating in what's become a happy tradition--the Blog Exchange. It's that time of the month when my regular readers (all four of them) invariably start to wonder what kind of schizophrenic spell has overtaken me and my writing style. The BE is the brainchild of Kristen at Motherhood Uncensored, who describes it as a place "where blog authors can stretch their writing muscles, discuss and debate timely topics, and gain new readers by placing their post on someone else's blog."
However, after speaking with a few of my friends-turned-readers, I've discovered that not everyone follows the whole "exchange" concept through to the end. They'll read the entry on my blog, but won't click on the link that brings them to the site where they can find my own guest post. To that end, I have decided to repost my latest BE entry right here on home cyber turf. If you've already read it, please excuse the redundancy--but feel free to comment on what you think about the whole BE concept.
And now, reprinted with my own permission:
The readers challenge:
To guess the identity of the famous person
June’s smile was a gaping halo of summertime. She lit me up. I remember that night at the Grand Ole Opry when I told her I’d always wanted to meet her. She said, “I feel like I know you already.” I took her by the hand and she was warm, not hot like the Hell we went through after that.
My sky is June-blue. It’s wide open beyond the hewn beams of the Fold. The clouds take the shape of signs that I’m not alone, not unlovable. Once she said she was ashamed to tell me that she felt it from the very beginning, when I wasn’t hers to love. Then, I was afraid to say it, too. But the fire was there. She wrote about it in a song and the shame turned to pride.
I sang it today. I was hoarse beforehand. I’ve been surprised lately by how old and tired I feel. I swigged some water and apologized. I heard “it’s okay,” and other murmurings. One lady called out to me. She said, “You don’t have to even sing.”
“I don’t?” I looked up and smiled. “Okay.”
They laughed, all of them. And my fingers found the strings. I sang June’s song.
I thank God for June. I love her with all my heart.
It’s July now, and she’s gone.
However, after speaking with a few of my friends-turned-readers, I've discovered that not everyone follows the whole "exchange" concept through to the end. They'll read the entry on my blog, but won't click on the link that brings them to the site where they can find my own guest post. To that end, I have decided to repost my latest BE entry right here on home cyber turf. If you've already read it, please excuse the redundancy--but feel free to comment on what you think about the whole BE concept.
And now, reprinted with my own permission:
July Fifth at the Family Fold
The writers challenge:
Write a post in the voice/style of a famous person (actor, singer, author, whatever). It can be a hot topic, current issue, or just a regular old post.
Write a post in the voice/style of a famous person (actor, singer, author, whatever). It can be a hot topic, current issue, or just a regular old post.
The readers challenge:
To guess the identity of the famous person
My sky is June-blue. It’s wide open beyond the hewn beams of the Fold. The clouds take the shape of signs that I’m not alone, not unlovable. Once she said she was ashamed to tell me that she felt it from the very beginning, when I wasn’t hers to love. Then, I was afraid to say it, too. But the fire was there. She wrote about it in a song and the shame turned to pride.
I sang it today. I was hoarse beforehand. I’ve been surprised lately by how old and tired I feel. I swigged some water and apologized. I heard “it’s okay,” and other murmurings. One lady called out to me. She said, “You don’t have to even sing.”
“I don’t?” I looked up and smiled. “Okay.”
They laughed, all of them. And my fingers found the strings. I sang June’s song.
I thank God for June. I love her with all my heart.
It’s July now, and she’s gone.
Sources:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nYFmQK2nOoU
www.johnnycash.com
http://www.carterfamilyfold.org/carterfold.htm
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nYFmQK2nOoU
www.johnnycash.com
http://www.carterfamilyfold.org/carterfold.htm
Thursday, February 01, 2007
Llamas and Limos
The writers challenge: Write a post in the voice/style of a famous person (actor, singer, author, whatever). It can be a hot topic, current issue, or just a regular old post.
The readers challenge: To guess the identity of the famous person, plus an extra gold star on your sticky chart if you can correctly identify all 12 words and/or phrases that are directly linked to this star.
_______________________________________
We passed the 6 month mark a few weeks ago and I feel like I am getting into the groove of this parenting malarkey now, and actually feel like a proper mum not just someone pretending to be one. I spent the first few months convinced that someone would out me as an impostor or child abductor as they stood outside the baby changing room in the supermarket listening to the string of expletives coming from under the door as I fumbled with nappy fastenings and knocked the contents of the diaper bag flying everywhere.
Don’t get me wrong, this is still a fairly common occurrence, I just know now that these things happen to everyone not just me and I’m fairly confident that we will get through the next 6 months and live to tell the story.
Looking back over the last 6 months is really heart warming as the mind plays its old trick and edits out the horrible bits just leaving you with the memories to cherish. I do vaguely remember being curled up in the corner sobbing silently, not daring to move a muscle in case the god damn infernal thing started crying again, wishing for someone to come along and rescue me; but those memories are very hazy and have a not-quite-believable quality to them now.
Looking forwards over the next 6 months is still quite frightening when thoughts turn to the bumps and bruises and running around after her that learning to crawl properly and then walk is going to entail and travelling to England with her alone to visit my family is a terrify prospect. Although the frightening parts about the holiday centre more around the fact that I am taking actual time out of my life in this beautiful place to go to grotty old England – not quite the beach holiday on La Isla Bonita I have been dreaming about but you can’t have everything I guess, and she would only eat the bleeding sand and then spend the rest of the day crying with a tummy bug, so England is probably a better option.
Also coming up in about 5.5 months will be the first birthday party! Like a virgin children’s party planner that I am, I have been day dreaming (yes even at this early stage) pleasant things about who will be there and what we will do and have had my mind blown by the idea that Little Moo will be big enough to eat a piece of her own birthday cake, however, after reading a bit about children’s parties, I thank my lucky star that we don’t live in America, Hawaii in particular, as it has been flagged by www.birthdayswithoutpressure.com as the highest ranking community of extreme pressure when it comes to planning and throwing birthday parties for your children.
The website tell of horror stories of a $250,000 birthday party in Florida for a 7-year old girl, with limos, an adult party with alcohol, the grand ballroom for the kids, helicopter rides, horses, and wild animals; a one year olds party in a Minnesota community with 60 guests where the gift opening took two hours and the party infant slept through most of it and a mother who worked hard to plan a nice at-home party for her eight year old daughter, who announced at the end, “It just wasn’t magic enough.”
No way is Little Moo going to become such a material girl; I’d have spanked her little ass from here to the end of the road and back again for a comment like that. When I was a kid (how to make yourself feel old with just 4 little words) we didn’t have much money and a birthday party meant inviting a handful of your friends over to play games like musical bumps and pass the parcel, the goody bag had a slice of home made cake and a couple of penny sweets in it and the only animal entertainment we had was watching the cat chase the dog around the garden not cougars, llamas and such. Christ, my father would turn in his grave (if he was actually dead that is, which he isn’t) at the thought of so much money going to waste on a bunch of spoilt kids that wouldn’t remember it in a few weeks. Well its OK papa, don’t preach, I have no intention of joining the people that throw these in-vogue parties, I might be borderline crazy, but even I’m not that insane.
Although I do like the idea of the separate adult party with alcohol…and a few llamas couldn’t hurt I suppose.
Yes, I am joking.
About the llamas that is.
If you think I’m going to spend a couple of hours in the company of 6 or 7 small people and a bucket full of E numbers and stay sober, you’ve got another thing coming.
The readers challenge: To guess the identity of the famous person, plus an extra gold star on your sticky chart if you can correctly identify all 12 words and/or phrases that are directly linked to this star.
_______________________________________
We passed the 6 month mark a few weeks ago and I feel like I am getting into the groove of this parenting malarkey now, and actually feel like a proper mum not just someone pretending to be one. I spent the first few months convinced that someone would out me as an impostor or child abductor as they stood outside the baby changing room in the supermarket listening to the string of expletives coming from under the door as I fumbled with nappy fastenings and knocked the contents of the diaper bag flying everywhere.
Don’t get me wrong, this is still a fairly common occurrence, I just know now that these things happen to everyone not just me and I’m fairly confident that we will get through the next 6 months and live to tell the story.
Looking back over the last 6 months is really heart warming as the mind plays its old trick and edits out the horrible bits just leaving you with the memories to cherish. I do vaguely remember being curled up in the corner sobbing silently, not daring to move a muscle in case the god damn infernal thing started crying again, wishing for someone to come along and rescue me; but those memories are very hazy and have a not-quite-believable quality to them now.
Looking forwards over the next 6 months is still quite frightening when thoughts turn to the bumps and bruises and running around after her that learning to crawl properly and then walk is going to entail and travelling to England with her alone to visit my family is a terrify prospect. Although the frightening parts about the holiday centre more around the fact that I am taking actual time out of my life in this beautiful place to go to grotty old England – not quite the beach holiday on La Isla Bonita I have been dreaming about but you can’t have everything I guess, and she would only eat the bleeding sand and then spend the rest of the day crying with a tummy bug, so England is probably a better option.
Also coming up in about 5.5 months will be the first birthday party! Like a virgin children’s party planner that I am, I have been day dreaming (yes even at this early stage) pleasant things about who will be there and what we will do and have had my mind blown by the idea that Little Moo will be big enough to eat a piece of her own birthday cake, however, after reading a bit about children’s parties, I thank my lucky star that we don’t live in America, Hawaii in particular, as it has been flagged by www.birthdayswithoutpressure.com as the highest ranking community of extreme pressure when it comes to planning and throwing birthday parties for your children.
The website tell of horror stories of a $250,000 birthday party in Florida for a 7-year old girl, with limos, an adult party with alcohol, the grand ballroom for the kids, helicopter rides, horses, and wild animals; a one year olds party in a Minnesota community with 60 guests where the gift opening took two hours and the party infant slept through most of it and a mother who worked hard to plan a nice at-home party for her eight year old daughter, who announced at the end, “It just wasn’t magic enough.”
No way is Little Moo going to become such a material girl; I’d have spanked her little ass from here to the end of the road and back again for a comment like that. When I was a kid (how to make yourself feel old with just 4 little words) we didn’t have much money and a birthday party meant inviting a handful of your friends over to play games like musical bumps and pass the parcel, the goody bag had a slice of home made cake and a couple of penny sweets in it and the only animal entertainment we had was watching the cat chase the dog around the garden not cougars, llamas and such. Christ, my father would turn in his grave (if he was actually dead that is, which he isn’t) at the thought of so much money going to waste on a bunch of spoilt kids that wouldn’t remember it in a few weeks. Well its OK papa, don’t preach, I have no intention of joining the people that throw these in-vogue parties, I might be borderline crazy, but even I’m not that insane.
Although I do like the idea of the separate adult party with alcohol…and a few llamas couldn’t hurt I suppose.
Yes, I am joking.
About the llamas that is.
If you think I’m going to spend a couple of hours in the company of 6 or 7 small people and a bucket full of E numbers and stay sober, you’ve got another thing coming.
- Guest posted for the Blog Exchange by Heather
_______________________________________
When not chasing reindeer out of my garden, being chased over our farm by cows or servicing the needs of our 6 month old tyrant, Little Moo, I can usually be found at my blog, Surviving Motherhood, which is where you will find Binky, your usual hostess with the most-ess, today as we partake in this months Blog Exchange.
For more info on The Blog Exchange and to read this month's other blog exchange posts, click here.
For more info on The Blog Exchange and to read this month's other blog exchange posts, click here.
Monday, January 01, 2007
Ch-ch-ch-changes
During my freshman year of college, I fancied myself a Philosophy major. My heart would flutter, my mouth would water and my eyes would glaze over at the sound of such names as Socrates, Descartes, Hume, Kant and Nietzsche. Even though my career in Philosophy did not pan out, I still consider myself a novice philosopher. I take every opportunity to ponder the nature of the Universe and to theorize about my existence in it.
This philosopher part of me has remained much the same these past 20 years...
As I was driving into my office this morning, I heard the words of one of my favorite modern philosophers. He is an American philosopher who hails from Jersey. You may recognize his words…
Shot through the heart,
And you’re to blame.
You give love…
A bad name.
The haunting lyrics of the venerated Bon Jovi gave me pause. I would hate to have the reputation of giving anything a “bad name,” let alone tainting the sanctity of the meaning of love. Upon hearing these words, I was compelled to reflect upon myself and my actions in the role of Mother.
Last night, my 3 year old daughter was up all night long with the stomach flu. For most of the night, I held her in my arms while she rocked back and forth in agony from the pain in her stomach. At the appropriate moment I leaned her body over the toilet, pulled back her long hair while she wretched uncontrollably and then gave her water to rinse out her mouth. After each of these rounds, I snuggled beside her on the couch while she watched Noggin and waited until the next episode of sickness overtook her.
At around 3am, as the waves of nausea finally subsided, we both stumbled to bed and crawled under the covers to get some much needed rest. She curled her slight frame into me, looked at me with startling intensity and whispered, “Mommy, thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for helping me to throw up and for snuggling me on the couch. I love you, Mommy.”
My daughter adores me. She loves me with absolute abandon. The magnitude of her unabated love for me is, to say the very least, staggering. As such, I am at once honored and frightened.
She will not always look at me with those adoring eyes. Someday, all too soon, she will be a teenager. Her all-consuming love for me will...
So, when Jon’s words cascaded over me in the car this morning, I was desperate to think of a way that I might live up to my daughter’s adoration. How do I make sure that when she turns 13 years old she won’t slam her bedroom door and then scream at me from her guarded position, “You suck as a mother! You give love a bad name!”
After much thought I decided that I can not do anything to ensure her constant, steady love for me…especially when she enters the dreaded teen years. But, even though her love for me may change, I must make certain that my love for her…
This philosopher part of me has remained much the same these past 20 years...
Unchanged.
As I was driving into my office this morning, I heard the words of one of my favorite modern philosophers. He is an American philosopher who hails from Jersey. You may recognize his words…
...No one can save me
The damage is done
The damage is done
Shot through the heart,
And you’re to blame.
You give love…
A bad name.
The haunting lyrics of the venerated Bon Jovi gave me pause. I would hate to have the reputation of giving anything a “bad name,” let alone tainting the sanctity of the meaning of love. Upon hearing these words, I was compelled to reflect upon myself and my actions in the role of Mother.
Last night, my 3 year old daughter was up all night long with the stomach flu. For most of the night, I held her in my arms while she rocked back and forth in agony from the pain in her stomach. At the appropriate moment I leaned her body over the toilet, pulled back her long hair while she wretched uncontrollably and then gave her water to rinse out her mouth. After each of these rounds, I snuggled beside her on the couch while she watched Noggin and waited until the next episode of sickness overtook her.
At around 3am, as the waves of nausea finally subsided, we both stumbled to bed and crawled under the covers to get some much needed rest. She curled her slight frame into me, looked at me with startling intensity and whispered, “Mommy, thank you for taking care of me. Thank you for helping me to throw up and for snuggling me on the couch. I love you, Mommy.”
My daughter adores me. She loves me with absolute abandon. The magnitude of her unabated love for me is, to say the very least, staggering. As such, I am at once honored and frightened.
She will not always look at me with those adoring eyes. Someday, all too soon, she will be a teenager. Her all-consuming love for me will...
Change.
So, when Jon’s words cascaded over me in the car this morning, I was desperate to think of a way that I might live up to my daughter’s adoration. How do I make sure that when she turns 13 years old she won’t slam her bedroom door and then scream at me from her guarded position, “You suck as a mother! You give love a bad name!”
After much thought I decided that I can not do anything to ensure her constant, steady love for me…especially when she enters the dreaded teen years. But, even though her love for me may change, I must make certain that my love for her…
Remains the same.
Hi! My name is Bobita. I am visiting today from Blooming Yaya for January's Blog Exchange. Usually you can find me there detailing various moments of my life...which may or may not include one or more of my three children, an irreverent husband, the perpetual piles of laundry cluttering my house and occasional ponderings of the Universe.
Please visit ECR at my place today...and make certain to visit the other members of this month's Blog Exchange. If you would like to join the Blog Exchange, you can find out how at the new and improved BE Web site. Come on...you know you want to!
Friday, December 01, 2006
The Almighty Green
As the holiday season approaches, the world is filled with many colors that help get us into the Christmas spirit. There’s the red and white striped candy canes, the multi-colored twinkling lights on trees and in yards, gaily wrapped gifts and fancy new holiday clothing for special occasions. All of which we are told that we need so we can celebrate.
But, in order to have all of these festive “must haves” there is one color you must have more of than anything else.
Green. As in cash. *Cue strains of “Money, money, money, money….MONEY!” from The Apprentice.
Yes, green seems to be the most popular color around this time of year, much to the delight of the store owners and the disdain of the consumers. We are trained to open our wallets and spend, spend, spend. And we do, sometimes begrudgingly, sometimes willingly, but all in the name of The Holiday Spirit.
Now don’t get me wrong. I loves me some shopping as much as the next girl, albeit not in the throes of The Last Minute Holiday Dash. But I got to thinking. Over the years, where has all my cashola come from? When I was younger, I loved the wads of bills that I collected for my holiday stash. Although nowadays I carry my debit card more often than the actual green stuff, what kinds of jobs have I had to make it appear in my bank account?
Over the years I have done many things for money. Many boring things. I’ve waited tables in many different establishments. I’ve delivered newspapers and flowers. I’ve done babysitting for kids, run a camp for kids, tutored kids and taught kids. I’ve dished yogurt at TCBY and sold books in a bookstore. I’ve washed cars and mowed lawns.
Yawn.
Unless you count the time I stapled my tongue for money at the request of a childhood friend (which, by the way, was so not worth the dollar I made doing it), or the time I posed semi-nude for a college art class, I played it safe.
People will do some wild things for money. All you have to do is watch reality TV to find some of them. They will eat all kinds of funky things that are not supposed to be eaten, swap wives, lose weight, perform dangerous stunts, persuade a bachelor into a proposal, or race around the world.
Would I do wild things for money? I took this test to see. I would like to say that I did something exciting in my lifetime for money, but I can’t. There were no Indecent Proposals for me. No earth shattering choices I had to make about what I would do or how badly I wanted or needed the money.
I earned no awards for being Miss I’ll Try Anything Once. I did, however, earn a lot of cash doing a lot of honest hard work. And I guess that’s something to be proud of, but not very exciting.
So I’ll take my wallet and my little safe self and head to the mall.
Right after I stop at the ATM.
***
Hi! I’m Kim. I am visiting today from In Full Bloom for December’s Blog Exchange. I spend my time there detailing some of the moments of my life, including my two kids and a wonderful husband. I also have a pet peeve or two!
Please visit ECR today at my place and be sure to visit the other members of this month’s Blog Exchange. If you would like to participate in next month's Blog Exchange, let Kristen know. We’d love to have you!
But, in order to have all of these festive “must haves” there is one color you must have more of than anything else.
Green. As in cash. *Cue strains of “Money, money, money, money….MONEY!” from The Apprentice.
Yes, green seems to be the most popular color around this time of year, much to the delight of the store owners and the disdain of the consumers. We are trained to open our wallets and spend, spend, spend. And we do, sometimes begrudgingly, sometimes willingly, but all in the name of The Holiday Spirit.
Now don’t get me wrong. I loves me some shopping as much as the next girl, albeit not in the throes of The Last Minute Holiday Dash. But I got to thinking. Over the years, where has all my cashola come from? When I was younger, I loved the wads of bills that I collected for my holiday stash. Although nowadays I carry my debit card more often than the actual green stuff, what kinds of jobs have I had to make it appear in my bank account?
Over the years I have done many things for money. Many boring things. I’ve waited tables in many different establishments. I’ve delivered newspapers and flowers. I’ve done babysitting for kids, run a camp for kids, tutored kids and taught kids. I’ve dished yogurt at TCBY and sold books in a bookstore. I’ve washed cars and mowed lawns.
Yawn.
Unless you count the time I stapled my tongue for money at the request of a childhood friend (which, by the way, was so not worth the dollar I made doing it), or the time I posed semi-nude for a college art class, I played it safe.
People will do some wild things for money. All you have to do is watch reality TV to find some of them. They will eat all kinds of funky things that are not supposed to be eaten, swap wives, lose weight, perform dangerous stunts, persuade a bachelor into a proposal, or race around the world.
Would I do wild things for money? I took this test to see. I would like to say that I did something exciting in my lifetime for money, but I can’t. There were no Indecent Proposals for me. No earth shattering choices I had to make about what I would do or how badly I wanted or needed the money.
I earned no awards for being Miss I’ll Try Anything Once. I did, however, earn a lot of cash doing a lot of honest hard work. And I guess that’s something to be proud of, but not very exciting.
So I’ll take my wallet and my little safe self and head to the mall.
Right after I stop at the ATM.
***
Hi! I’m Kim. I am visiting today from In Full Bloom for December’s Blog Exchange. I spend my time there detailing some of the moments of my life, including my two kids and a wonderful husband. I also have a pet peeve or two!
Please visit ECR today at my place and be sure to visit the other members of this month’s Blog Exchange. If you would like to participate in next month's Blog Exchange, let Kristen know. We’d love to have you!
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