Creature Bug

Baby's Not Stressed

Monday I went in for my 38 week check-up, and generally speaking all was well. Except for the tiny little fact that I'm measuring small. At my last two appointments my midwife has tried to convince me to get an ultrasound to check Baby's size, but I've politely declined. I have to pay 20% of those ultrasound fees, which comes in just under $400. So. No, thank you. No extra ultrasounds for me.

But then Monday my midwife was extra concerned because at my 36 week check-up I was measuring at 35 weeks, yet at my 38 week check-up I measured at 34 weeks. And I hadn't gained any weight. I wasn't worried. I'm small. Big deal. Or small deal. However you want to look at it.

I still look pregnant. Proof.

Friend Laura took this picture a few weeks ago, and you cannot deny the belly or the bust. They are present and accounted for. 

My smallness, however, was disconcerting for my midwife. She talked about fluid levels and deteriorating placentas (which is more of a concern for women over 35, but I'm missing that mark by 5 months), and would I pretty please come back in that afternoon just to get my fluid levels checked and do a nonstress test.

I envisioned the really nice diaper bag that I could get for the money I'd be spending on the test, but ultimately decided to come back. "I'd feel terrible if something was wrong," said my midwife. And, well, I'd feel terrible too.

I went back that afternoon and got to spend 30 minutes in a quiet, dim room, lying comfortably on my side. If only I could have requested aromatherapy and some quiet music, I could have easily imagined myself at a spa. A very fancy, expensive spa.

The news: my fluid levels were fine. I measured at 16, which is nothing to worry about. And Baby passed the nonstress test with flying colors. The only excitement was that I had contractions during the test, which the technician thought was a good sign. Baby is very low, and the word is she could come early. She might not, but she could. How's that for definitive?

*

So, yes. Here I am at 38 1/2 weeks, a mere 10 days away from my due date. I have no idea when Miss Baby might arrive, only that both Syd and Jules arrived the day before their due date. If we followed tradition then Baby would arrive on the 11th. However, a little known fact: my official due date was going to be September 11th, but because my midwife didn't want to burden me with a 9/11 due date then she moved it forward a day. I wouldn't have cared if I did have a 9/11 due date because the day will mean as much to Baby as Pearl Harbor Day means to me. Which is to say, not that much. Anyway, maybe that means Baby might arrive on the 10th. It's impossible to say since I doubt very much I'll be induced, and so Baby can pick her own dang birthday and I should stop worrying about it.

Because I do. Worry about it. Because Jason starts school next Wednesday, and I'd hate to have him miss the first days of school for Baby stuff. Of course, whatever happens happens, but I'll be laying low next week hoping that the contractions hold off until the weekend!

*

Yep, that's how things are moving in pregnancy-land. I'm feeling tired (a lot), and I can certainly tell that Baby has made herself (un)comfortably low in my belly. I've been trying to get everything in order before the big day: the nursery is done (I'll get around to posting pictures eventually), and today I treated myself to a pedicure and various waxing options (not necessarily for aesthetic reasons, but mostly because it makes post-baby life easier and more pleasant, just like coming home to a clean house after going on vacation). Tuesday I get a haircut.

All fascinating stuff isn't it?

*

If I could one wish it would be that Baby is born this Saturday. Sydney is a Memorial Day weekend baby, Julianne is a Christmas vacation baby, and a Labor Day weekend baby would be just perfect.

We'll see. I'm not holding my breath.

(And I'll be thankful for whatever day she chooses to come!)

And Summer Ended

Big day here on the farm.

First of all, Sydney started first grade.

First grade.

Full days, every day, with a new teacher, at a new school that has lots of kids, compared to the itty bitty pre-school/Kindergarten Syd attended last year where Grandma Sharon was her teacher. We were both a little nervous about today.

Here she's showing off her knee-high socks--her first pair and quite photo worthy evidently--along with her Ariel backpack. Our morning routine has been made significantly easier by the school's use of uniforms. They certainly didn't save me any money (she wouldn't have needed any back-to-school clothes), but no major complaints on my part.

I didn't cry when I took her to school, didn't cry when I walked her into her classroom, didn't cry when I walked out of the classroom. I did tear up a little bit talking to the Starbucks barista (who also happens to be our neighbor) as she handed me my decaf pumpkin spice latte that I got right after dropping Sydney off at school, but nothing major. I have, however, cried buckets over the past couple days fretting that she wouldn't have anyone to eat lunch with.

Can you imagine it? My little cutie pie, sitting by herself, new girl at school, and no one sitting next to her at lunch? The idea of it seriously traumatized me. (Partially because I have my own story to tell of sitting all by myself at lunch on the first day of school.)

Fortunately...

Sydney's desk is next to another little girl who is also new to the school--a little girl who is just a cute as a button and friendly as all get out--and they ate lunch together. Thank you, Jesus, for new friends.

The second big thing on the farm: my sister got on a plane this afternoon and is on her way to Glasgow, Scotland, and--aside from Skype--I won't see her again for two years.

I've been bawling my eyes out about it all week.

She'll be missed.

Dreadfully.

She'll be dreadfully missed.

I'm happy for her that she's finally fulfilling her dream of pursuing her masters degree in creative writing (at the University of Glasgow), but I'm really really really sad she's gone.

Really.

And I think Miss Baby is also really sad that Aunt Andrea isn't going to be around to see her. I know babies don't always express their emotions very clearly--particularly unborn babies--but I'm pretty sure she was majorly bummed today when we left Andrea at the airport. Definitely no happy kicking around in my belly.

To help dig us out of our misery and to celebrate the first day of school, we threw a little after-school party for all the Family Farm kids.

Today was Clover's first day of 1st grade, and Amanda had her first day of 2nd grade. They weren't quite as nervous about school as Syd because Clover is being cleverly homeschooled by my uber-talented sis-in-law Sarah, and Amanda is returning to the school she's been attending.

Nervousness or not, cupcakes are always a good thing.

I let the kiddos frost and decorate the cupcakes themselves, a trick that made Jules declare this "the best party ever." That girl never fails to make me feel good about my decisions that involve sugar, sprinkles, or more sugar. The pinata was also roundly cheered. Probably because I said they could eat as much candy as they wanted. (For the record, Jules at THREE cupcakes.)

Even Jarred, the big kid of the Family Farm, enjoyed some cupcakes. Surviving your first day of 8th grade is no small task. I appreciated that he isn't too cool to turn down cupcakes even if most of the party goers are girls in elementary school.

And, of course, cupcakes for the Mama Teacher.

It was a good day, a big day, a day to remember. But it definitely marked the end of summer with its first day of school/pumpkin spice latte/rain falling from the sky-ness.

And for all the celebration and hoorays for school, tonight the Family Farm is missing someone who helped make our summer so super duper fabulous.

September has arrived, and even though it brings and will continue to bring great things, it's still a little hard to let go of summer. At least, that's what these big ole' tears in my eyes are telling me.

When She Jumps

Even from across the parking lot, Sydney knew she wanted to go on the giant freefall-swing ride.

"I want to do that!" she said.

"You do? Are you sure?" It wasn't that I was afraid of letting her go; I just wasn't sure she really knew what the ride was.

"YES!" She knew what she wanted to do.

I admit, sometimes this child amazes me. I would not characterize her as an adventurous child by any stretch of the imagination. All her life, she has been the one to stick with us, never wandering off, never talking to strangers, never trying food that looked even the least bit suspicious.

And yet.

She loves rollercoasters.

Loves motorcycle rides.

Learned to ride her bike and then proceeded to ride down steep hills that same day.

When she jumps, she jumps high.

After watching Jason go on the Ultimate Rush with our friend Robbie, Sydney said she wanted to do it too. Since there's no age limit--only a height restriction which she passed--then I had no real reason to not let her go. We waited until Jason got off the ride, and then he made sure she knew what she was getting into.

"You can't change your mind when you're up there," he said. "It goes very high in the air," he reminded her. (I reminded him that without her glasses she probably wouldn't have any idea how high up the ride went.)

"I know," she said. "I want to go."

So we paid the $25 (the operators very graciously allowed Jason to go again at a very reduced rate), and I watched her get strapped up into the harness.

She seemed very small and very brave all at the same time. This little girl who refuses to eat hamburgers and pizza, who still clutches my hand in the parking lot and if she walks into a dark place, was getting ready to fall 180 feet from the sky.

Up she went, a smile on her face. She didn't hold Jason's hand at first, but then just before they dropped, she grabbed his arm and held on tight.

Down she came, soundlessly, whizzing through the sky on the giant swing. After a few passes over my head, eventually she smiled, waved, and yelled, "Hi Mom!"

Hi, Sydney!

Guess what, kiddo? You're amazing.

(And was she scared? I'll let her tell you.)

Video: 2 minutes.

Our Vacation in Reno: Sydney's Favorite Part

Yes, I agreed to it. And maybe even talked her daddy into letting her go.

Full story (and video) coming.

PS: She's still smiling.

PPS: Good thing I'm not due for another five weeks, or watching my first born fall 180 feet might have induced labor.

I See You

We went from weeks of leisurely days at the creek, to busy busy days with house projects, out of town guests, and now a long weekend trip to Reno. Sometimes it gets a little crazy, but we're spending all the craziness together.

I love summer.

Week 318: Love is a burrito, a cartoon, and frozen custard

 
(photo from June 2002)

Thirteen years ago I married my best friend. We had dated long enough to know what we were getting into. He knew I was a little bit on the roller-coaster-emotional side; I knew he was a bit on the always-on-time side. There were no surprises, except that he didn't like mac-n-cheese (oddly coincidental that my dad also hates mac-n-cheese) and I could never put my shoes where they belonged.

He still doesn't like mac-n-cheese.

I still don't put my shoes where they belong. Or my sunglasses. Or the car keys.

*

Since the girls were both staying overnight with grandparents on Friday, we celebrated our anniversary a few days early. We had dinner at Baja Fresh, saw "Despicable Me" (funny and kid-friendly, btw), and had frozen custard for dessert. It was fabulous because we were together. Memorable? Probably not so much. Maybe more memorable? The anniversary gift we're giving to each other in the form of having all the bedrooms professionally painted.

Certainly, we've had the fancy anniversary celebrations: the year we went back to Maine; the years we've gone to the beach; the gourmet dinners out. And we've had the non-fancy celebrations: the years we spent writing papers due for our grad classes the next day; the year we saw "Harry Potter" (which I rank as the lamest anniversary ever for reasons beyond just the movie); the year we spent at home staring at our 2-month old daughter.

It's just like our marriage. Sometimes the moments are amazing and memorable and sometimes they aren't. And sometimes you purposefully forget them because maybe they were moments where you didn't shine. It's okay.

*

I asked Jason if this was the hardest year we've had, what with my severe prenatal depression and his being unemployed. He said no. In fact, he said there haven't been any hard years.

"They've all been good years because things have always been good between us."

When you marry your best friend that's what you get: good years. Lots of them.

All of them.

Making a bee line for the zip line

It was a hot day here at the Family Farm, so we do what we do when it's hot: head down to the creek.

While the creek has long been a favorite for the kiddos (and also for the parents and grandparents who love to see happy kiddos), it doesn't exactly have any big thrills for the adults. Shallow water in most places make it tricky to do much in the way of swimming if you happen to be over 5' tall.

But then my mom got an idea.

My mom gets lots of ideas. Ideas and projects spring from her mind like unicorns and fairy dust spring from Sydney's.

My mom thought the creek needed a zip line.

I should tell you that we already have one zip line that flies across the frog ponds. Having been on it multiple times, I can tell you it's quite entertaining if you enjoy that sort of thing. But one zip line wasn't enough. So now thanks to the hard work efforts of my parents and my sister (as well as a few helpful zipping volunteers like my husband, my little cousin, and the neighboring college kid) we have two.

Because of a few logistics--like falling into shallow water--it's not safe for small kids. I don't think it's particularly safe for anyone, but no one listens to me when it comes to danger and excitement. I'm just one of those fuddy duddy sorts who fears people will break their necks if they go on a dangerous contraption. Fortunately, no one is encouraging my children or anyone else's small children to go on the zip line. Common sense prevails.

My husband, on the other hand, is exactly the kind of person who the zip line was designed for.

There it is. Very zippy looking.

And with a 1-2-3...

My camera really doesn't do the moment justice, but hopefully you can use your imagination to see that this is a rather fun Big Kid toy. One that just so happens to be perfect for hot sunny days.

And maybe someday when I'm grown up and less pregnant I'll think about going on the zip line too.

Or maybe I'll just watch this guy.

That actually seems like a lot more fun to me.

Fun Times with Curly Hair

The #1 rule with curly hair is no brushing. Absolutely no brushing. Curly hair gets washed/wet in the morning, a good dose of conditioner (shampoo only once a week), and then picked out with a wide-toothed comb.

The girls are quite familiar with this rule, and will freak.out. if someone tries to fuzz up their hair.

Except every once in awhile, Julianne lets me do this:

Hi there, Miss Crazy Hair! I think a bird might be living atop your head.

No, I'm just kidding. No birds in your hair. But maybe a monkey?

Okay, okay. No monkeys. You got some fuzzy hair going on tonight, don't you?

Yes, it's my fault. But hey! I have a camera, so let's make the best of it.

Strike a pose, Jules.

Ooh, very Vogue.

Very post-modern.

Very toddler-chic.

Very I'm too cool for this princess nightgown.

Or something.

Well, Jules, you've been a perfect model for tonight's entertainment.

Let's give her a round of applause for being a good sport!

And maybe a good bottle of conditioner too.

An Attempt at Making Butterbeer

A few weeks ago, our local newspaper did a feature on The Wizarding World of Harry Potter theme park at Universal Studios in Orlando. You may recall that last year, on our trip to Universal, we got a peak at what the new park was going to look like.

Certainly there was lots of construction to be completed, but it was still cool to see what they did have completed. One of the amazing rollercoaster rides that we went on has now been incorporated into the TWWOHP and renamed the "Dragon Challenge." So, in a way, we've been on one of the Harry Potter rides. Small comfort knowing that we won't be able to visit the park for a few years yet.

Evidently, according the newspaper article, one of the hot items at TWWOHP is butterbeer. Naturally, Universal isn't giving away the official recipe--and if you Google the recipe there are MANY different versions, all of which seem to be quite a bit easier to make than this one--but the Huffington Post created a recipe they think is a close match to the drink everyone is slurping up in Orlando.

Just for kicks and because I can't drink any real beer, Andrea and I thought that it would be fun to try it.

Ingredients:

• 1 cup light or dark brown sugar
• 2 T water
• 6 T butter
• 1/2 t salt
• 1/2 t cider vinegar
• 3/4 cup heavy cream, divided (btw, "divided" means that this is the total amount you'll need but at various measurements throughout the recipe)
• 1/2 t rum extract (imitation)
• Four 12-ounce bottles cream soda (or a 2 liter works fine too)
• (optional) Reducio charm to counter the effects of all those calories on your waistline

In a small saucepan over medium heat, combine the brown sugar and water. Bring to a gentle boil and cook, stirring often, until the mixture reads 240 F on a candy thermometer.

Stir in the butter, salt, vinegar and 1/4 cup heavy cream. Set aside to cool to room temperature. (Unless you want to drink it hot, then don't wait for it to cool at all.)

It helps to have a really cute helper.

Once the mixture has cooled, stir in the rum extract. (We put the mixture in the fridge in order to help the cooling process along; we're impatient like that.)

While you're waiting for the mixture to cool, you can snack on some chocolate if you want. As if all that brown sugar and butter aren't enough calories (to Julianne's credit, she didn't drink any butterbeer so a little treat wasn't too out of line).

In a medium bowl, combine 2 T of the brown sugar mixture and the remaining 1/2 cup of heavy cream. Use an electric mixer to beat until just thickened, but not completely whipped, about 2-3 minutes. (As always when whipping cream, it helps if the bowl and the beaters are chilled.) (Also, we beat it longer than 2-3 minutes; maybe 4-5.)

To serve, divide the brown sugar mixture between 4 tall glasses (about 1/4 cup for each glass). Add 1/4 cup of cream soda to each glass, then stir to combine.

Fill each glass nearly to the top with additional cream soda, then spoon the whipped topping over each.

Stir the topping in so that it gets a little fizzy, and then drink up. Do it proper and get the mustache.

Verdict: This is a seriously rich drink with strong butterscotch overtones. It was so sweet, I actually couldn't finish mine, leaving me to suspect that you could easily divide the syrup into six glasses rather than four (and that's coming from someone who regularly drinks soda). Also, using club soda instead of cream soda would probably help cut the sweet-factor down. That being said, Jason finished his and then finished mine, so evidently some people can handle their butterbeer just fine, thankyouverymuch.

It would be an easy drink to prep before a party--having the cooled syrup and whipped cream ready in the fridge--and then just pour the cream soda in before serving. It is quite tasty, and even though it takes a little longer to make than the dozens of other easier recipes, I'm sure this one has a more complex and delicious flavor. Also, you rarely have to worry about drinks being too sweet if you're serving them to the younger set. They'd drink this up and then chase it down with a sugar pixie stick.

It was definitely fun to try out, and now we are experimenting to see if we can do a frozen butterbeer, ala Frappuccino style. I'll let you know if we can find a suitable method!

Week 317: Her Stories

When we were eating breakfast yesterday morning, Sydney asked me, "Do we need to get ready to go somewhere?" Nope, I said. Nothing to do today.

"Good! I just want to sit here and eat my oatmeal."

I agreed that not having to be somewhere by 9 am was a fabulous thing, indeed. Of course, by 9:30 both the girls were asking to go visit Grandma at school (daycare), and so a half hour later we were driving down the road. But only because we wanted to not because we had to. And nothing was starting without us. And they could leave whenever they wanted to.

We work pretty hard at not over-scheduling ourselves, but this summer we decided that Sydney could be involved in swim lessons and three different day camps. It happened to be that all three camps were in consecutive weeks that followed the end of swim lessons. First, Vacation Bible Camp at our church. Second, day camp at Royal Ridges Ranch. Third, Vacation Bible Camp at cousin Clover's church.

Whew. We were tired.

The VBCs are only for a few hours, and we don't have to pack a lunch, so the time commitment is actually pretty small. The horse camp was a little more involved what with packing a lunch, and making sure she caught the bus, and lamenting over every piece of clothing that came home stained (with tar? oil? grease? special staining sauce? I grimaced in my laundry room).

Horse camp was also a little more involved for me emotionally. This was the first real adventure for Sydney that I felt quite out of the loop on. I know the organization well enough to feel comfortable with it, but I didn't personally know the adults she had for leaders, didn't know the other kids who were on her team (aside from her two cousins Amanda and Clover), didn't know if she was eating her sandwich or just throwing it away.

She was, for the first time ever, doing something that was rather out of my reach.

With church activities, I'm either involved or I'm related to someone who is involved. With kindergarten, her grandma was her teacher, her sister was a pre-school classmate, and her cousins were also classmates. With ballet, I sit and watch her. I don't own her activities, but I've seen the script and watch the action and know how the story unfolds.

But this? This heading out into the woods to learn about horses and complete obstacle courses and swim in a pool without me watching? It was all hers.

The most I knew was what I learned from attending the Open House the day before camp started, where I learned that Sydney was on the orange team, and that the obstacle course had a big tire campers had to get through.

I'm blaming the tire for some of the stains on her clothes.

Of course, when she got home every afternoon, dirty and exhausted, I nonchalantly tried to pry information out of her. "What did you do today? Who did you meet? What songs did you sing?" Sometimes I'd get the answers I was expecting. She'd serenade us with the songs she'd learn. She'd tell us that she wasn't sure if she liked lunch because no one was there to make sure she ate her sandwich, "so I didn't. And I was sad about that." She'd tell us which water activity they did that day, and what clothing items she'd forgotten to bring home.

Most of the time, though, she kept the stories to herself. Maybe there weren't really any stories to tell. She actually never seemed all that excited about whatever it was she was doing. We'd give her little tasks to do--learn someone's name today ("I learned TWO names today!"), try not to cry during the obstacle course ("I only cried once today!"), remember to bring home your lunch box ("Tada! My lunch box!")--but all in all it was her camp and only a few bits and pieces floated back to us.

I realize now that it's happened: Sydney is going to have stories that will be hers, and I'll only be allowed to be a part of whatever she chooses to share with me. Even when she does tell me stories, some still won't be ones I'd share here because...well, because they aren't mine to tell.

It's a little scary for both of us, I think, but also exciting. I love seeing her grow up, and I love hearing how something she's learned at home has transferred to a decision she makes out in the big world. Like how eating carrots for lunch is a good healthy decision, even if she "didn't really want to, but I did, because it's important."

I know Jason and I still have huge roles in the story of Sydney's life, but little by little she's writing her own lines, discovering her own role, and finding a space on the stage that's all hers.

I'm so proud.