You read that right. Traveling. And I don't mean on vacation. (We haven't been able to afford one of those in years!) I mean moving. Again.
We are headed to Dallas! Yippee ki-yay, my friends. (I bet you thought I'd be writing another phrase beginning with "m" and "f". Sheesh! Keep it clean, folks; this is a family blog!)
Wait a minute...Didn't we just move back "home" [to Louisville] a few short years ago? To be closer to family and to reconnect with old friends? Don't we love our new friends, church, kids' school, etc.? Soooo, why are we moving again?
Believe me, I've been praying and asking myself that same question.
This is all I can come up with: We were made this way. By God's grace, two kids from a great hometown found each other and fell in love. Over they years they discovered they both liked to travel. A lot. They even liked to relocate. Frequently. While they loved their families and hometown very much, their wanderlust remained unchanged. They even daydreamed about the mission work they might be a part of when the kids were grown and gone. Then, when God opened a new door for them in Dallas, it fanned the flames of an old desire (living abroad), and they jumped at the chance.
See, Dallas is hopefully just the beginning. It's the international headquarters for Aaron's work. After his assignment there, we might have the chance to live overseas. Can you imagine? We could be doing mission work right now...with the kids! I know that sounds nuts to some folks. Especially folks with little kids. But to us, it sounds like one heck of an adventure! What an amazing way to introduce our kids to this great big awesome world!
So buckle up, because it's time for this circus to hit the road!
3/26/13
Must-Haves
I smiled to myself as I descended the stairs. I was watching Aaron head down the hallway toward the kids' rooms with some beloved items in tow.
Teddy, Strawberry, and Bink. They are our family's must-haves right now.
Teddy is a raggedy old bear I won for Parker in a Red Robin claw machine years ago. Since that time, he has moved cross-country with us, always safely tucked under Parker's arm (or sometimes hidden away in his school backpack). Teddy is his faithful sleeping companion and playmate.
Then, of course, there's Strawberry. I believe I've posted about this particular blanket before. She used to be a beautiful, fluffy pink thing, embroidered with strawberries. Maddie has had her since birth. Any attempts at buying a back-up Strawberry would surely be met with disaster, as she is now gray and holey. Strawberry is the secret-keeper. She is the fort-maker, the make-shift doll, the best friend, all in one. A night without Strawberry is incomprehensible.
Finally, Bink. What a love-hate relationship this pacifier and I have! I tried to get rid of it too early, I'm afraid. Then the thumb-sucking began. So, I brought it back from the dead (or rather, the baby bin in the basement). Now, when it falls out of Jack's drooling little mouth in the middle of the night, oh the wailing that ensues! If I were to take it away now, Jack's frantic cries of "Bink! Bink!" might just send me over the edge. So Bink is here to stay...for now.
My heart is filled with pure joy at the thought of the importance of these simple, little items in our world right now. I know that one day they'll be replaced with other things, cell phones, Ipads, who knows what else. So, for the moment, I'll enjoy the simplicity of our treasured creature comforts and pray they don't change too soon.
Teddy, Strawberry, and Bink. They are our family's must-haves right now.
Teddy is a raggedy old bear I won for Parker in a Red Robin claw machine years ago. Since that time, he has moved cross-country with us, always safely tucked under Parker's arm (or sometimes hidden away in his school backpack). Teddy is his faithful sleeping companion and playmate.
Then, of course, there's Strawberry. I believe I've posted about this particular blanket before. She used to be a beautiful, fluffy pink thing, embroidered with strawberries. Maddie has had her since birth. Any attempts at buying a back-up Strawberry would surely be met with disaster, as she is now gray and holey. Strawberry is the secret-keeper. She is the fort-maker, the make-shift doll, the best friend, all in one. A night without Strawberry is incomprehensible.
Finally, Bink. What a love-hate relationship this pacifier and I have! I tried to get rid of it too early, I'm afraid. Then the thumb-sucking began. So, I brought it back from the dead (or rather, the baby bin in the basement). Now, when it falls out of Jack's drooling little mouth in the middle of the night, oh the wailing that ensues! If I were to take it away now, Jack's frantic cries of "Bink! Bink!" might just send me over the edge. So Bink is here to stay...for now.
My heart is filled with pure joy at the thought of the importance of these simple, little items in our world right now. I know that one day they'll be replaced with other things, cell phones, Ipads, who knows what else. So, for the moment, I'll enjoy the simplicity of our treasured creature comforts and pray they don't change too soon.
3/3/13
Slice of Life
It's one of those evenings...Nothing out of the ordinary, yet everything miraculous. I just want to document a small slice of life. Because I'm sure I'll forget. I'm sure as the days blend into months and years, I won't remember these precious little moments that make up my existence right now.
I just came downstairs from giving Maddie a breathing treatment. She has Reactive Airway Disorder (kind of like Asthma for little kids) which flares up with a bad cold or during allergy season. Right now she's on an Albuterol treatment every 4-5 hours, even through the night. One might assume this is a burden, and to be honest, it kind of felt that way the first few evenings. Then there was tonight...
She didn't even stir as I lifted her into my lap. My enormous 4 year old girl, all arms and legs and long, stringy hair. I placed the mask over her face and kicked the On button with my toe. She leaned into my chest, and I just reveled in her. In us. Cuddling as if she were still my newborn baby girl.
This weekend we learned she would be our only girl. We had a gender reveal party with our friends and family to learn the sex of the new baby. It was so exciting to cut into that cake and see the blue crumbs on the tip of the knife. While I was absolutely elated, my heart went out to Maddie, who so wanted a baby girl. I hope one day she will recognize the blessing in being our only daughter. She will forever be my favorite girl in the world, our one and only princess.
As I headed downstairs, I stopped by Parker's room. I tiptoed up to his newly constructed castle bunk bed [more on that fiasco later] and peered over the turrets. Out like a light. I kicked myself for not making the top bunk more accessible. How I miss kissing his angelic face as he sleeps! "Goodnight Parker. I love you," I whispered.
(I skipped Jack's room. Sorry, son. You're still a pretty light sleeper.)
Even as I type, our sweet baby boy is rolling around inside of me. It is the most wondrous feeling in the world. Nothing compares. I can't wait to meet this little guy and see how he fits in with the rest of the circus.
We know he's our last baby, as my husband stated, "As long as he's healthy and happy, we are shutting this operation down!" It's truly the end of an era and so bittersweet. Knowing this is my last pregnancy, I am treasuring every single moment and sensation. (I won't even let the varicose veins get me down!)
So here I sit...dishwasher running, fetus rolling, blessed beyond belief. God is so good! Thank you, dear Father, for these quiet, lovely, love-filled evenings.
I just came downstairs from giving Maddie a breathing treatment. She has Reactive Airway Disorder (kind of like Asthma for little kids) which flares up with a bad cold or during allergy season. Right now she's on an Albuterol treatment every 4-5 hours, even through the night. One might assume this is a burden, and to be honest, it kind of felt that way the first few evenings. Then there was tonight...
She didn't even stir as I lifted her into my lap. My enormous 4 year old girl, all arms and legs and long, stringy hair. I placed the mask over her face and kicked the On button with my toe. She leaned into my chest, and I just reveled in her. In us. Cuddling as if she were still my newborn baby girl.
This weekend we learned she would be our only girl. We had a gender reveal party with our friends and family to learn the sex of the new baby. It was so exciting to cut into that cake and see the blue crumbs on the tip of the knife. While I was absolutely elated, my heart went out to Maddie, who so wanted a baby girl. I hope one day she will recognize the blessing in being our only daughter. She will forever be my favorite girl in the world, our one and only princess.
As I headed downstairs, I stopped by Parker's room. I tiptoed up to his newly constructed castle bunk bed [more on that fiasco later] and peered over the turrets. Out like a light. I kicked myself for not making the top bunk more accessible. How I miss kissing his angelic face as he sleeps! "Goodnight Parker. I love you," I whispered.
(I skipped Jack's room. Sorry, son. You're still a pretty light sleeper.)
Even as I type, our sweet baby boy is rolling around inside of me. It is the most wondrous feeling in the world. Nothing compares. I can't wait to meet this little guy and see how he fits in with the rest of the circus.
We know he's our last baby, as my husband stated, "As long as he's healthy and happy, we are shutting this operation down!" It's truly the end of an era and so bittersweet. Knowing this is my last pregnancy, I am treasuring every single moment and sensation. (I won't even let the varicose veins get me down!)
So here I sit...dishwasher running, fetus rolling, blessed beyond belief. God is so good! Thank you, dear Father, for these quiet, lovely, love-filled evenings.
1/31/13
Treasure
"Guess what we found? Guess what we found?" Parker and Maddie shouted as they burst through the bathroom door. Who needs privacy?
"What?" I asked with mock excitement. No need to burst their bubble.
Parker held in his palm four long, shiny, golden bolts. The bolts to Parker and Jack's new [new to us] bunk bed. The same bolts that had been missing since the day we brought the thing home. Two weeks ago.
"Yay!!!!" I shrieked and danced around with them. "Where were they?"
"In my puzzle box, in my room," Maddie beamed.
"How did they get there?"
"I saw them on the counter, and I reached up and took them. Then I put them in my room. 'Cause they were gold and shiny!"
I see.
And I really do see. My kids are obsessed with treasure. We love to play pirates and search for buried treasure. We read books about knights slaying dragons and taking their hoards of gold. I admit I shamelessly encourage this obsession. In fact, we are transforming the bunk beds to look like a castle and painting a picture of a treasure map on Parker's old table. I even bought an old steamer trunk on Craigslist (at $20 - what a steal!) to serve as his toy storage/treasure chest.
So can I be mad at Maddie for stealing my treasure? After I've searched for it in every nook and cranny for over two whole weeks? After I berated myself for always losing things? After I'd finally located the manufacturer in Canada to inquire about extra bolts?
Well, no. I can't. Because she was just doing what any good pirate would do - stowing away her booty. That's my girl!
"What?" I asked with mock excitement. No need to burst their bubble.
Parker held in his palm four long, shiny, golden bolts. The bolts to Parker and Jack's new [new to us] bunk bed. The same bolts that had been missing since the day we brought the thing home. Two weeks ago.
"Yay!!!!" I shrieked and danced around with them. "Where were they?"
"In my puzzle box, in my room," Maddie beamed.
"How did they get there?"
"I saw them on the counter, and I reached up and took them. Then I put them in my room. 'Cause they were gold and shiny!"
I see.
And I really do see. My kids are obsessed with treasure. We love to play pirates and search for buried treasure. We read books about knights slaying dragons and taking their hoards of gold. I admit I shamelessly encourage this obsession. In fact, we are transforming the bunk beds to look like a castle and painting a picture of a treasure map on Parker's old table. I even bought an old steamer trunk on Craigslist (at $20 - what a steal!) to serve as his toy storage/treasure chest.
So can I be mad at Maddie for stealing my treasure? After I've searched for it in every nook and cranny for over two whole weeks? After I berated myself for always losing things? After I'd finally located the manufacturer in Canada to inquire about extra bolts?
Well, no. I can't. Because she was just doing what any good pirate would do - stowing away her booty. That's my girl!
10/30/12
Maddie-girl turns 4!
Dear sweet Maddie-girl,
Today was your 4th birthday. I almost didn't write this post because I didn't want to admit to myself you were really 4. Four just sounds so old!
Sometimes I read back over old blog posts and shake my head in wonder at the girl you have become. From the chubby little baby I brought home from the hospital,
You are tall, spunky, sweet as pie one minute and raging mad the next. You are a perfectionist, lining up all your plastic dolls and animals just so. You are an artist, constantly creating new masterpieces to decorate our bedrooms. You are enamored with the Power Rangers. You are in love with ponies and horses. You are apparently a perfect angel at school.
God made you with sugar and lots of spice, my dear. I used to be concerned that being the middle child, your voice might not be heard at times. Silly me! You have very strong opinions and have no trouble making them known.
This year I have had the privilege of watching you blossom in so many ways. You have learned to share. You have allowed Jack into your room (this is a biggie). You have shown tremendous empathy for others and exhibit a servant's heart at times. It warms my heart to watch you grow.
I love you so much, little big girl. Happy birthday my Maddie-girl!
Today was your 4th birthday. I almost didn't write this post because I didn't want to admit to myself you were really 4. Four just sounds so old!
Sometimes I read back over old blog posts and shake my head in wonder at the girl you have become. From the chubby little baby I brought home from the hospital,
to the crazy-haired toddler stumbling around in your pink, zippered blanket,
to the babbling child,
and now, here you are...
You are tall, spunky, sweet as pie one minute and raging mad the next. You are a perfectionist, lining up all your plastic dolls and animals just so. You are an artist, constantly creating new masterpieces to decorate our bedrooms. You are enamored with the Power Rangers. You are in love with ponies and horses. You are apparently a perfect angel at school.
God made you with sugar and lots of spice, my dear. I used to be concerned that being the middle child, your voice might not be heard at times. Silly me! You have very strong opinions and have no trouble making them known.
This year I have had the privilege of watching you blossom in so many ways. You have learned to share. You have allowed Jack into your room (this is a biggie). You have shown tremendous empathy for others and exhibit a servant's heart at times. It warms my heart to watch you grow.
I love you so much, little big girl. Happy birthday my Maddie-girl!
10/16/12
Walk of Shame
No, I'm not referring to the Urban Dictionary definition of the morning-after-a-one-night-stand-wearing-the-same-clothes-as-the-day-before walk of shame. I'm writing about something far worse...
The preschool mom walk of shame.
I can write about it now. There was a time when I didn't dare. A time when I so narrowly escaped this dreaded walk that I feared writing about it might somehow make it become a reality.
Last year when Jack was still a nursing newborn and Maddie was not yet in school, the mornings were extremely difficult.
Waking up to find a newborn in my bed (how did that get there?) and realizing we had exactly 15 minutes to get Parker to preschool...not a fun feeling. Shouting at the kids to "Get a move on! We're gonna be late!" Shoving Parker into the least offensive looking/smelling dirty jeans I can find because it's been days since I've done laundry. Pouring Cheerios directly onto the table (because who has time for bowls on mornings like these?). Sighing because I know the battle to get Maddie out of her favorite, flimsy, summer pajamas into real, warm clothes just isn't worth it. Enduring Jack's ear-piercing cries because I know he's ready to nurse, but I just can't do it yet. Whew! We're finally in the van.
I'm pretty sure I catch some air as I sail over the speed humps in our neighborhood. White knuckles as I grip the steering wheel and try to tune out the whines of my children and cries of my baby. School is a mere .6 miles from our house. We can make it, we can make it, I know we can make it!
Why was I so frantic, you might wonder?
Simple. I wanted to avoid the preschool mom walk of shame.
If I arrived in time, I could still pull up in the carpool line and have a teacher escort Parker inside. However, if I missed this window of opportunity...I shuddered to think.
Picture this. Disheveled hair. Teeth unbrushed. Not a speck of make-up (to hide the enormous bags under my eyes from sleep-deprivation). Braless, because, hey, I've been nursing. Wardrobe? Mismatched pajamas and pink crocs. My only possible saving grace was Aaron's oversized raincoat (which might camouflage the lack of bust support and cover the hair). However, should I have to enter the school, my frightful face and dragon breath would likely traumatize the small children inside.
Even worse, I would be pushing a wailing baby in a stroller, carrying a shoeless, shivering 3 year old, while barking at my preschooler to "Hurry up!" for all the world to see. And by "all the world," of course, I mean all the moms. The moms sitting in the warmth of their shiny minivans, in their color-coordinated tracksuits, with their perfectly coiffed hair and flawless makeup. I'm not making this up, people! I've seen these moms. I know they exist! I don't pretend to understand them or their ability to complete morning workouts, coordinate and press their children's clothes, whip up a tasty, organic, balanced breakfast, and get everyone to school ahead of time. (Okay, I'm guessing about those last details, but I bet I'm right.)
So now you know why I was speeding like a maniac to school. Thus far, I have managed to avoid this walk of shame. Jack is older. We have an actual schedule and routine. Thank goodness! However, just the other day, I saw a mom making the walk. I so wanted to roll down my window and say, "It's okay! Don't worry! Your day will get better!"
I wanted to, but then something occurred to me. Maybe this mom didn't care. Maybe she and her daughter were jogging inside because her little one couldn't wait to greet her friends. Maybe, just maybe, not everyone was as hung up on appearances and what others think as I am. Ouch.
1 Samuel 16:7"For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart."
Oh that I would internalize this truth and instill it in my kiddos. Slow me down, Lord. Purify my heart. Help me to focus on hearts (others and my own) as You do. Amen!
The preschool mom walk of shame.
I can write about it now. There was a time when I didn't dare. A time when I so narrowly escaped this dreaded walk that I feared writing about it might somehow make it become a reality.
Last year when Jack was still a nursing newborn and Maddie was not yet in school, the mornings were extremely difficult.
Waking up to find a newborn in my bed (how did that get there?) and realizing we had exactly 15 minutes to get Parker to preschool...not a fun feeling. Shouting at the kids to "Get a move on! We're gonna be late!" Shoving Parker into the least offensive looking/smelling dirty jeans I can find because it's been days since I've done laundry. Pouring Cheerios directly onto the table (because who has time for bowls on mornings like these?). Sighing because I know the battle to get Maddie out of her favorite, flimsy, summer pajamas into real, warm clothes just isn't worth it. Enduring Jack's ear-piercing cries because I know he's ready to nurse, but I just can't do it yet. Whew! We're finally in the van.
I'm pretty sure I catch some air as I sail over the speed humps in our neighborhood. White knuckles as I grip the steering wheel and try to tune out the whines of my children and cries of my baby. School is a mere .6 miles from our house. We can make it, we can make it, I know we can make it!
Why was I so frantic, you might wonder?
Simple. I wanted to avoid the preschool mom walk of shame.
If I arrived in time, I could still pull up in the carpool line and have a teacher escort Parker inside. However, if I missed this window of opportunity...I shuddered to think.
Picture this. Disheveled hair. Teeth unbrushed. Not a speck of make-up (to hide the enormous bags under my eyes from sleep-deprivation). Braless, because, hey, I've been nursing. Wardrobe? Mismatched pajamas and pink crocs. My only possible saving grace was Aaron's oversized raincoat (which might camouflage the lack of bust support and cover the hair). However, should I have to enter the school, my frightful face and dragon breath would likely traumatize the small children inside.
Even worse, I would be pushing a wailing baby in a stroller, carrying a shoeless, shivering 3 year old, while barking at my preschooler to "Hurry up!" for all the world to see. And by "all the world," of course, I mean all the moms. The moms sitting in the warmth of their shiny minivans, in their color-coordinated tracksuits, with their perfectly coiffed hair and flawless makeup. I'm not making this up, people! I've seen these moms. I know they exist! I don't pretend to understand them or their ability to complete morning workouts, coordinate and press their children's clothes, whip up a tasty, organic, balanced breakfast, and get everyone to school ahead of time. (Okay, I'm guessing about those last details, but I bet I'm right.)
So now you know why I was speeding like a maniac to school. Thus far, I have managed to avoid this walk of shame. Jack is older. We have an actual schedule and routine. Thank goodness! However, just the other day, I saw a mom making the walk. I so wanted to roll down my window and say, "It's okay! Don't worry! Your day will get better!"
I wanted to, but then something occurred to me. Maybe this mom didn't care. Maybe she and her daughter were jogging inside because her little one couldn't wait to greet her friends. Maybe, just maybe, not everyone was as hung up on appearances and what others think as I am. Ouch.
1 Samuel 16:7"For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart."
Oh that I would internalize this truth and instill it in my kiddos. Slow me down, Lord. Purify my heart. Help me to focus on hearts (others and my own) as You do. Amen!
10/12/12
Pinterest Fail
Parker and Maddie are both in school on Fridays. While Jack does get his designated alone-with-mommy-play-time, the rest of our morning is typically jam-packed with all the things I can't seem to get done with three kids in tow.
On this particular Friday I was feeling a bit cocky as I glanced over my planner. Oh yeah, this organized, uber productive mommy was going to spend the morning at school putting together the Pre-K Fall Festival silent auction basket. I even tucked a note in Maddie's backpack informing her teacher of the exact time I'd be picking up the donations the other parents dropped off.
9:15 AM cue the frantic phone call from the room-mom (you know, the one who actually possesses organizational skills), "Um...Mrs. Rausch? Ms. Nancy said she got a note that you were coming in today? The supplies aren't available yet. I believe the email that went out said they'd be available Monday..." (emphasis added to capture the are-you-a-complete moron tone she used, or at least, I imagined she used).
Yeah. I felt a little deflated as I began to drive back to the house with Jack. Here I had all this creative energy and time. When does that ever happen? I didn't want to waste or squander these few, precious hours...
A plan quickly began to take shape. Didn't I see some sort of contest email from our kids' dentist? Wasn't it about pumpkin carving? And what about that adorable picture I saw of a baby sitting in a giant pumpkin with her legs sticking out of carved holes? Was it on Pinterest or Facebook? Who cared? I swerved into Walmart and whisked Jack out of the van.
$3.88 later we were on our way with a fairly large pumpkin. It wasn't as big as I'd hoped, but hey, I'm cheap. It's what you get for $3.88. Besides, I was pretty sure I could fit Jack inside...
Have you ever felt the inside of a pumpkin? Even with all the muck scraped out, it feels pretty gross, not to mention cold. I put a towel inside and hoped for the best.
The first attempt to fit his little legs through the holes was a complete failure. He squirmed and cried and arched his back. I rocked him and apologized, assuring him it would be okay. Little did he know, I would shortly subject him to the same torture a few minutes later after enlarging the holes. Poor kid.
Once inside, he was not a happy camper. I just needed one good picture. If not for the stupid contest, for me - the proud mommy of a super-cute little pumpkin. That's what I told myself, anyway (to alleviate some of the guilt).
Suddenly Jack spotted his pacifier sticking out of my pocket. He bounced frantically, he cried, he began to topple. I caved.
It may not seem like a big deal to some, but I have been trying to get rid of that stupid thing for weeks. He didn't even start taking a pacifier until a few months ago. He happened upon one mixed in with some old baby toys in his closet, and he looked so darn cute with it in his mouth, I couldn't resist letting him use it. Just for awhile, I told myself. Yeah, right. Pretty soon, he was screaming in the middle of the night because it had fallen out of his mouth, and he couldn't locate it in his crib. Enough! We weaned him off and proudly reported this to the dentist at his check-up. We got the double thumbs-up approval, and there was no looking back.
Until Hand, Foot, and Mouth disease came along. My poor baby was sooo miserable. How could I deny him that creature comfort when he was suffering so?
Anyway, here we are. Jack is stuck in a cold, wet, too-small-for-a-truly-cute-picture pumpkin, sucking on a pacifier (the same one we told the dentist we'd gotten rid of), miserable. I'm trying to snap pictures and bribing him with cookies if he'll just give me the stupid pacifier, because I'm sure the dentist would much rather him nosh on some sugar-laden cookie in the picture than suck on a pacifier, right? Ugh. Forget it.
I take the pacifier. All hell breaks loose. I snap some photos for posterity. (Now this is the part where you are expecting me to write, "I release him from his pumpkin prison.")
Well, he's stuck. I mean really, truly stuck. I don't know how I got those pudgy thighs in the holes, but they are not coming out. For some reason, his legs just won't bend the right way when I attempt to lift him. Fabulous. So I use the round-tipped pumpkin-carving knife and literally saw him out. I'm pretty sure he is completely traumatized and will hate Halloween (or at least pumpkins) for the rest of his life.
On this particular Friday I was feeling a bit cocky as I glanced over my planner. Oh yeah, this organized, uber productive mommy was going to spend the morning at school putting together the Pre-K Fall Festival silent auction basket. I even tucked a note in Maddie's backpack informing her teacher of the exact time I'd be picking up the donations the other parents dropped off.
9:15 AM cue the frantic phone call from the room-mom (you know, the one who actually possesses organizational skills), "Um...Mrs. Rausch? Ms. Nancy said she got a note that you were coming in today? The supplies aren't available yet. I believe the email that went out said they'd be available Monday..." (emphasis added to capture the are-you-a-complete moron tone she used, or at least, I imagined she used).
Yeah. I felt a little deflated as I began to drive back to the house with Jack. Here I had all this creative energy and time. When does that ever happen? I didn't want to waste or squander these few, precious hours...
A plan quickly began to take shape. Didn't I see some sort of contest email from our kids' dentist? Wasn't it about pumpkin carving? And what about that adorable picture I saw of a baby sitting in a giant pumpkin with her legs sticking out of carved holes? Was it on Pinterest or Facebook? Who cared? I swerved into Walmart and whisked Jack out of the van.
$3.88 later we were on our way with a fairly large pumpkin. It wasn't as big as I'd hoped, but hey, I'm cheap. It's what you get for $3.88. Besides, I was pretty sure I could fit Jack inside...
Have you ever felt the inside of a pumpkin? Even with all the muck scraped out, it feels pretty gross, not to mention cold. I put a towel inside and hoped for the best.
The first attempt to fit his little legs through the holes was a complete failure. He squirmed and cried and arched his back. I rocked him and apologized, assuring him it would be okay. Little did he know, I would shortly subject him to the same torture a few minutes later after enlarging the holes. Poor kid.
Once inside, he was not a happy camper. I just needed one good picture. If not for the stupid contest, for me - the proud mommy of a super-cute little pumpkin. That's what I told myself, anyway (to alleviate some of the guilt).
Suddenly Jack spotted his pacifier sticking out of my pocket. He bounced frantically, he cried, he began to topple. I caved.
It may not seem like a big deal to some, but I have been trying to get rid of that stupid thing for weeks. He didn't even start taking a pacifier until a few months ago. He happened upon one mixed in with some old baby toys in his closet, and he looked so darn cute with it in his mouth, I couldn't resist letting him use it. Just for awhile, I told myself. Yeah, right. Pretty soon, he was screaming in the middle of the night because it had fallen out of his mouth, and he couldn't locate it in his crib. Enough! We weaned him off and proudly reported this to the dentist at his check-up. We got the double thumbs-up approval, and there was no looking back.
Until Hand, Foot, and Mouth disease came along. My poor baby was sooo miserable. How could I deny him that creature comfort when he was suffering so?
Anyway, here we are. Jack is stuck in a cold, wet, too-small-for-a-truly-cute-picture pumpkin, sucking on a pacifier (the same one we told the dentist we'd gotten rid of), miserable. I'm trying to snap pictures and bribing him with cookies if he'll just give me the stupid pacifier, because I'm sure the dentist would much rather him nosh on some sugar-laden cookie in the picture than suck on a pacifier, right? Ugh. Forget it.
I take the pacifier. All hell breaks loose. I snap some photos for posterity. (Now this is the part where you are expecting me to write, "I release him from his pumpkin prison.")
Well, he's stuck. I mean really, truly stuck. I don't know how I got those pudgy thighs in the holes, but they are not coming out. For some reason, his legs just won't bend the right way when I attempt to lift him. Fabulous. So I use the round-tipped pumpkin-carving knife and literally saw him out. I'm pretty sure he is completely traumatized and will hate Halloween (or at least pumpkins) for the rest of his life.
(See pictures below for progression of disaster.)
Beloved pacifier in hand (cropped from the only photo that is remotely contest-worthy)
Still relatively subdued (thanks to stupid pacifier).
Using sign language to say "finished" a.k.a. get me outta here!
Pacifier removed. And that's a wrap.
Pinterest fail.
Pinterest fail.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)