Dear Pinterest and all the people that make it what it is,
Thank you for inspiring me. I always get great reactions from the hubby when he sees glitter and Mod Podge on the table.
Love, Tafra

Today, it was glitter keys:

This great idea was courtesy of Jessica at www.oceansidedaydreams.com, who was also "pinspired" to decorate her keys. Tutorial here. Although I liked her colors better (especially the teal) I used what I have. What makes it even better for me is now I'll know which look-alike key goes to which lock at the right house. Perfect!
I do recommend being patient with this project and letting each coat dry completely, because I got a little anxious and a few have missing spots of glitter. I also recommend not putting your keys on a metal key ring after doing this unless you don't mind the glitter coming off from getting them on the key ring.

Also exciting is the little tomato growing on one of my plants. Notice the little guy on the right?

I used to catch oodles of grasshoppers (and rolly pollys) as a kid and now I can hardly stand the thought of touching one. <Shiver!> I also suppose that grasshoppers are not good for tomatoes so I guess tomorrow I'll be on the hunt for something to protect them with.
And finally, the best 18 bucks I ever spent was on this little plastic pool:

Because, as you can see, this is my 10-month-old leaning over to blow bubbles on her own without any coaching or encouragement from me. M loves water and it makes me so happy I can't see straight. I tell everyone that I only hope she grows a few inches taller than me because she'll be a better swimmer than me (and I was pretty decent back in the day).
We spent the entire afternoon in our backyard going in and out of the pool, playing with the pug and just enjoying the sun (despite sunburning my back... Guess I'll slap sunscreen on tomorrow.) And although I put gobs of sunscreen on M, it appears she's starting to tan a bit. Hope no one calls child protective services! But when your child is only happy when she's outside, I guess a little tan is inevitable. But really. I slather that kid down with sunscreen!

I wish I had been able to move fast enough to get their faces when M was using Roxy for standing support, and then when she and the pup started to look at the pool. If Roxy could speak, she'd be telling M, "Don't get in there! Don't you know it's wet?" I did try putting Roxy in the pool today and she hopped out faster than you could say "stop!"

Being a helpmate

First day in the mission of reading all the glossary references to "wife" or "wives," etc., and I was successful! Here's my thoughts.

Genesis 2:24-25: For this reason a man will leave his father and mother and be united to his wife, and they will become one flesh. The man and his wife were both naked, and they felt no shame.

Context: God had just finished creating the world, and had Adam name all of the animals. He had also decided man needed a helper, so he created woman from Adam's rib. God's original plan was for families to be created by a son (or daughter) leaving his family unit to create a new one with his wife, thus becoming one flesh. Also more carnal implications but that's implicit.

Thoughts: Everyone thinks of Eve as the first sinner, they don't seem to think past that. But I don't like to think of her just as the one who was tricked by the serpent—when God created Eve, He was creating a helpmate or companion for Adam. There was so much purpose behind her!
God knew humans would sin. He couldn't be an all-knowing God without knowing we would fall short of His glory (or we wouldn't be humans, right?), and yet He still created us. And He still created Eve for Adam, so that he wouldn't be lonely.
So it's not really important at all that Eve was tricked by Satan, because she still served her purpose as a wife and the mother of Adam's children, not to mention populating the world. (I'd like to have seen Adam do that by himself ;)
God gave women an important role in this world. This reminds me of the things my husband and I had discussed with our pastor once we were married (traditionally many couples do pre-marital counseling, ours was more post-marital due to our unique situation), and it is that in marriage there are three "people": the husband, the wife, and God. Both husband and wife should have God before their spouse, and as He shows us love, love for each other comes naturally.
Another analogy is God as the cornerstone of the relationship, the strongest part of any building, and if you build that relationship on Him, it will flourish. If Adam had been by himself, he might have been 100% devoted to God but I imagine he'd still have experienced loneliness. I can imagine how that path might've gone: Loneliness would lead to distraction which would lead to sin. Either way, Adam needed Eve. 
Funny, the very definition of "helpmate" is "a helpful companion or partner, especially one's husband or wife." Can't get any simpler than that!


Prayer: God, make me into a better helpmate for my husband, as you truly intended me to be. Thank you for putting him in my life, and for knowing exactly the kind of man I would need. Thank you for his humor, his heart, his sincerity, his kindness, and his patience. Thank you for making him such a great dad! Amen.

 M spent quite a bit of time in the pool today, making her mummy just absolutely tickled that she was trying to blow bubbles completely unaided and unprompted. I love my little fishy!

The impatient wife

Lately, I pity my husband. The poor guy knew I was crazy (I think) when he married me, but I don't know if he realized that I could be so crazy impatient.
It seems I spend all of my patience on M, and it goes more quickly now that she is 10 months old and really, ahem, expressing herself. Especially while teething.
I either had more patience (unlikely) or M was less trying a few months ago (likely). The point is, my husband is bearing the brunt of a day where M has used up every. last. drop. of patience I have and gets snapped at for any little thing. I guess what I'm saying is that I am far from the "wife of noble character" that God calls me to be.
On one hand, at least I can admit it right? On the other, I've had this little problem identified for a while now and haven't found a way to overcome it. I'm betting my hubster likes days such as today, where the moment he gets home I'm off to work, and when I get home he's off to bed, because he avoids any monsterous wife behavior.
This cathartic post is hopefully not going to serve only to express my desire to be a better, calmer wife, but hopefully a way to 1. Hold myself accountable for better behavior and 2. Develop ideas and/or take suggestions to extending the benefit of a slow fuse to not only my daughter but to the hubby.
I know that the steps in becoming a better wife involve first becoming a better lover of Christ, because a lack of the fruits of the Spirit in me is clearly a lack of Jesus in my life.
See how all this clarity happens when I write?
My challenge to myself, and to my fellow moms/wives who may or may not experience this same problem, is to stop letting "me" rule behavior and let God take over. I'd love to say I could commit to reading so much of the Bible every day, but I already know I'll fail at that, so instead of just flipping it open to read, I'm going to use my handy-dandy glossary and read all the verses that contain the word "wife", at least one a day until I run out. I'm going to write down my thoughts about the verse, the context, and how/if it could apply to me and Matt, as well as any other extraneous thoughts. I know there are examples of bad wives in the Bible, so this hopefully will be a way to not be one of them.
By the way, if you choose to try this with me, I read the NIV version, so it might differ in other versions.
Pray for me, friends, because this change in me can only come from Him. :)

Now, speaking of difficult days... Today was definitely one of them.  M woke up at 5:30 a.m., napped from 8 to 9 a.m., a 1/2 hour nap at 11:30, and was grumpy the whole time. Little booger is teething, so I understand. But I don't know what to do for her when nothing makes her happy.
I couldn't hold her. I couldn't set her down. I could hardly change her diaper without something upsetting her. These days tend to lead to Mommy and Little M sitting on the couch crying together...
This is the face I got most the day: (And just fyi, I played a lot with this photo in Lightroom )

 That was even after we dashed to True Value to buy her a wader pool. Which she could hardly wait to get into, despite the chilly water. I had a brief reprieve (and can you believe the red in her hair?!):

 And, five minutes later, it was back to crankiness. Same photo as the first, just in black and white:

Now, vote—which do you like better, cranky face in color or black and white? :)
She went back down for another nap at 2:30ish, and Daddy got to have a mostly happy little bear for the evening, so that's a blessing.

Listening to: You Decide, Fireflight

One thing I will never do again

Earlier, I posted a recipe for "Tropical Avocado Salsa" and it was a huge hit with my family, so I made it for today's barbeque and I learned a very, very important lesson:
Don't cut an onion and jalapeno and then rub your eyes!!!
I don't honestly know what I was thinking. Today was the first time in my memory that I've had an onion make me cry during the dicing of it, and that was before the eye-rubbing. It actually made me wonder—is a red onion "hotter" or spicier or something more than your normal yellow onion? (If you know, please tell me in the comments!)
After I was finished dicing the jalapeno, I believe I rinsed my hands off and succumbed to the itch in my eyes. Hello, blonde. My hubby laughed at me while I paced the kitchen, tears streaming from between my squished eyes, because if I opened them at all it burned worse.
I'm getting teary just writing about the situation.
Matt then suggested I rinse them with water and I don't know if it helped or made it worse but I did it. It was a good five minutes before my eyes could tolerate staying open longer than a second.
Luckily, the salsa was a hit with my extended family (all the in-laws) so of course, it was worth it. Blink-blink-blink. Yep, worth it.

Little booger is teething, as you might guess from the drool on her chin in this photo. What a tough time for her!

Happy Memorial Day, all, and thank you to all past, present and future veterans. America would not be the same without our vets.

Note to self

Dear Tafra,
If you think that leaving yourself a treat in your car is a good idea, yes, it is. But it is not a good idea for that treat to be a Hershey's Cookies 'n' Creme bar, because warm weather + hot car = melted chocolate. Next time, make it hard candy or gum or something, so that you save yourself the aggravation of 1. Having to clean up melted chocolate in your console and 2. You will still have a "surprise" treat when you want it.
Love, yourself

Yep, I leave myself treats in my car, for no other reason then I forget about them and then, when I find it again, it's awesome! Except it isn't awesome when it's melted chocolate. I kind of thought that the console in "Stella," my car, was deep enough that it wouldn't be too affected by the heat.
Wrong!
Heat is heat is HOT in a parked car, and my melted chocolate bar is proof. It really does make sense, I know, but honestly it didn't cross my mind when I put it there. That's one of my "Mommy, thou art blonde!" moments.
Other thoughts on today:
My baby girl is teething, and she's handled it like a champ until tonight. Currently, she is laying in her crib crying, her eyes closed and for all intents ready to sleep, but she continues screaming. She's laying there because I've come to the realization that no matter what I do, rock, walk, sing, sit still, etc., it does not make M happy.
She has what she would swallow of ibuprofen, downed a bottle, and I spent a good 45 minutes rocking her and singing. I put her in her crib, and she was okay for about 15 minutes and then the screaming started. Normally I know she'll scream it out, but since she's teething I'm a little more malleable and I went back in to rock some more. It was to no avail—precious princess is screaming in her crib without me, because I can only do so much.
I hate, hate, hate these situations, because I don't like to leave her crying. A few minutes is fine... But an hour? I hate that she's in pain and I wish that my love would actually comfort her in these situations, but she's an independent sort of baby.
On the other hand, if I don't leave her in her crib, her screams eventually wear away all of the patience and tolerance I possess and I know that if I don't walk away, I'll get angry, and I am not going to get angry at a teething almost-10-month-old.
So there she lays, screaming.
Been there, done that, moms? I've had a lot of parents tell me that's what they did, so I don't feel too bad. But it still sucks sitting in the next room, typing, while little M screams her lungs out.
Oh, deep breath. She's finally quit crying. Thank you God! Ever wonder if teething is more stressful for parents then babies? Me too.
Ta ta for now!

Grace and peace be to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ, who gave himself for our sins to rescue us from the present evil age, according to the will of our God and Father, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.
Galations 1:3-5

Look mom, I'm standing!

That's right world, M is standing on her own! She's pushed about 10 seconds with no support and gets better each time she does it. The greatest part is, she giggles and throws her head backward because the first time Mommy watched Baby stand, Mommy's excitement made Baby so excited that the head throw became a game.

Roxy was not quite prepared for M to land on her, as you can see from her startled position. But she has continued to be so good with M! I am so thankful for a dog who is baby friendly; it excuses her from all those times when the word "come" apparently means "Sit there and stare at me while I call your name louder and louder and louder and get more and more agitated."

We had lovely weather today, so we spent a lot of time in our backyard playing, fully slathered in SPF 50 of course. Well, M was at least. Mommy was tanning, until she broke her lounge chair while sitting down. It apparently couldn't handle the pressure anymore—the thing has been around since the early '90s, so Mommy is blaming it on age (and not any extra baby weight that might still be lingering...).

M is teething but all those lovely teething toys hold about as much interest as diaper changes. She likes ice, the numbing gel, and toothbrushes (thank you Ashleigh for that one, if you read this). The cute little pretend cell phone in the photo is only interesting because it makes noise, and that's only for about 2 minutes and then she moves on. I completely understand why kids end up with so many toys now. Before M, I always wondered, "How can a kid need so much?"
Answer: Because of short attention spans!! I never guessed I'd end up rotating a baby's toys just so the old ones stimulated new interest, even if it lasts a few minutes.

A follow-up to breastfeeding

My baby girl is almost 10 months old, and had things gone to my plan, I would've likely still been breastfeeding her. But if you read my little saga, you know that things didn't work out and she is formula fed.
What's funny is that just yesterday someone stated that I must breastfeed. I'm guessing she thought this because M is such a healthy (read: chunky) baby. I smiled to myself, thinking, "I am so glad I no longer have guilt over this." I told her no, M was formula fed, without feeling the need to offer any further explanation.
She did inquire why, however, so I told her it simply didn't work for me, that I didn't lactate. I did have a little twinge along the lines of I-wish-I-could've-done-it, but the guilt, disappointment and shame I've felt previously is not there anymore.
It helps to put your feelings into sentences—it's why there are so many bloggers and why Facebook causes so many problems for people (haha)—but blogging about my experience has definitely helped me to heal a little bit more. So if anything I write resonates with you, a reader, please tell me about it! I'd love to hear your experiences or feedback.

The Lord is my rock, my fortress, and my savior; my God is my rock, in whom I find protection. He is my shield, the power that saves me, and my place of safety. Psalms 18:2 (NIV)

Breastfeeding: My experience, part 3

{Haven't read parts 1 or 2? Scroll down!}
Mental exhaustion notwithstanding, I continued to do everything I could to breastfeed.
The lactation diet list I received contained a lot of things that are generally great nutrition, but unfortunately things that were not part of my regular grocery list. In between actually feeding M, pumping and trying to rest, I was grocery shopping for things like coconut milk, fish that I would eat (hard to find when you don't like fish), fennel, avocado, then trying to figure out how to cook it.
I went to Vitamin Cottage to buy the supplement Fenugreek, which is thought to help increase lactation. I was willing to try it all, except for drugs, because I am not a pill-popper. I rarely take ibuprofen or aspirin, I had no interest in trying to trick my body using chemicals into lactating.
Those first two weeks of M's life were a repeated ritual. Remember the definition of insanity? Doing the same thing, over and over, expecting different results?
That was how I felt as I drip/breast fed M, followed by pumping, and got literally only a few drops of milk from the left breast and maybe 10 mL, sometimes 15, from the right.
My mother tried to help, suggesting I eat high-fat foods and encouraged me to pump less, thinking that I was straining my body. And I did for a few days, because I was getting so tired of the process.
I was coming to the conclusion that this might not work, and I hated the very idea. It made me feel like a failure, that I couldn't give my baby what she needed.
This idea that I was failing, as I am able to see rationally now, was developed by a society that I feel is putting extreme pressure on mothers to breastfeed. I had spent nine months building up to breastfeeding, agreeing and reading all of the literature and bloggers that sings the praises of breast milk.
Historically, mothers who couldn't (or wouldn't) breastfeed employed wet nurses, or gave their babies goat's milk or some other animal milk. Formula was developed in the 19th century, and it's suggested that nearly half of all babies in the U.S. were fed formula during the middle part of the 20th century. In the '70s, the scale began to tip back in favor of breastfeeding.
I don't have statistics on how many babies are breastfed versus formula fed now, but I do know that the "peer pressure" I felt to breastfeed my baby was causing me more mental anguish then was justified.
I had all of the help, literature, foods, supplements, pumps and advice I could possibly have, and it DID NOT WORK.
I'm capitalizing that to emphasize the fact that I was at the hospital numerous times, consulting the very people who specialize in breastfeeding; I had all of the support and help any mother could possibly need. My husband supported me—something I was extremely thankful for.
When M was one month old, I couldn't do it anymore. She became a purely formula fed baby, and I felt defeated.
When people would ask if she was breastfed, I felt ashamed. I felt obligated to explain my situation, to justify the fact that I was giving her formula. To tell them that statistics suggest that fewer than five percent of women don't lactate, and that I was one of them.
It was painful. I did not have any type of post-partum depression, but I did experience something akin to depression every time the topic came up.
The thing is, M is a happy, extremely healthy baby. If she were given stickers at her doctor appointments, she would be given gold stars every time. She didn't get diaper rashes, as breastfeeding proponents claim formula babies suffer from. She didn't fail to bond with me or the people around her, because we held her and loved her and smothered her with affection while feeding and while not feeding.
Once she hit her six month mark in January, I began to feel angry. Angry that I had ever felt like a failure, just because the world says breastfeeding is best. Don't misunderstand me—I support every mother who makes the decision to breastfeed. However, I support every mother who chooses to formula feed as well, because sometimes, it does not work out.
Today's formula is sanitary and is as close to breast milk as scientifically possible. Yes, it very well might be missing things that are contained in breast milk, but it has a lot of added things that are beneficial to infants (think DHA).
And I am here to tell you that formula is not a bad choice. It was the best one I could've made for my daughter and our circumstance. Fifteen milliliters of breast milk pumped from one breast was not enough to grow an infant. M would've starved. I thank God that I had something safe and available to give her.
So, fellow mothers, if you have a baby or are waiting on a baby, please know that you are not wrong to use formula. It is not something to be looked down on, or something to judge another woman on.
Only a mother can make the right decision for her baby. Don't let the world tell you which to choose! And most importantly, don't let the world influence your self worth—God loves you, and I'm pretty sure He doesn't care if you breastfeed or formula feed, as long as you love and care for that little gift with your whole heart.

Breastfeeding: My experience, part 2

{Haven't read Part 1? Scroll down!}
Normally, I'm a suck-it-up-and-deal-with-it type of person. Post partum, I was a gushy I-will-cry-about-everything mess. Add in the stress of trying to figure out how to get my body lactating more, and you have a super teary combo.
I consulted the lactation specialist at Parker Adventist after the doctor advised me to give M formula. She told me to get a hospital-grade breast pump so that my body would have enough stimulation to produce breast milk, since M would not be suckling as much. She gave me two places where you could rent a pump, one being a Walgreens. If I had thought I was stressed out already, it gets worse.
I called the Walgreens and spoke to someone about renting a pump. I asked if I could have one put on hold for me, and was informed that was not necessary and to come in, they had them available.
Matt and I made the trip from the hospital to the Walgreens, and when I asked for a pump, I was informed that they no longer had any available and why didn't I have one put on hold?
The devil himself could've stood before me and said that and I would have ripped him to shreds.
To keep from having a complete breakdown immediately, I walked away from the pharmacy counter to try breathing exercises. The tears were already coming, I couldn't control that at all. But I was choking on a vicious urge to strangle the pharmacy tech and Matt had disappeared to the restroom while I went to the pharmacy, so I was momentarily on my own.
The poor girl who stopped and asked if she could help me didn't deserve what she got. I won't lie—I was a wretched, hormonal you-know-what and she got to hear about it all. I started out yelling and was a breathless, sobbing wreck by the time I stopped. Bless her heart, she offered to call other Walgreens to perhaps locate another one that rented pumps and really took my horrid behavior quite in stride. Because my lactation specialist had already informed me that this particular store was the only one to rent pumps, I knew her search would be fruitless, but she tried.
During that time, Matt had returned, found out what happened and was trying to calm me down. Not an easy task, when you consider the mess I was at that point. And the worst thing was, stress itself is a major factor in let-down while breastfeeding—I was only making my situation worse.
{I should also mention that another Walgreens employee noticed my train wreck and came over to offer help while the first girl was making calls. It did not play in her favor to ask why I hadn't had a pump put on hold. Cue another emotional breakdown.}
We left Walgreens with a promise that a manager would call, and we went back to the hospital. My lactation specialist was an angel during this time, a calm, caring woman who managed to get the hospital's one pump to me despite unfavorable circumstances. Now I had a breast pump, a lactation diet, aids to encourage M to suckle, and the words "don't stress out" in my head.
Did you know that babies will stop trying to suckle as hard once they've experienced the ease of bottle feeding? "Don't stress out" was like telling a bird not to fly.
I had all of these things (finally) and now, my baby was beginning to develop a dislike for trying to suckle at the breast! One of the aids was what is best described as an IV drip so that M would receive enough milk to encourage her to suck harder at the nipple. You put the premixed (read: more expensive) formula in a special bottle that feeds a tube, hang it on your bra or whatever is available, then manipulate the baby into taking in your nipple and the tube into her mouth just right.
Now, take your 3 a.m. feeding, add in additional aids to encourage baby (which means formula) and getting the little tube in her mouth, then finishing with pumping (in the middle of the night!) and I was not only stressed, I was mentally and emotionally exhausted.

Breastfeeding: My experience, part 1

{Warning: I talk about breastfeeding in plain terms.}
Throughout my pregnancy, I was absorbing a lot of new information. I read books like "What to Expect When You're Expecting" and countless others on how to take care of a newborn, because as any of my close friends might tell you, I was clueless about babies.
I had never been interested in kids, hadn't planned on having them, and the most education I had on them came in my college family psychology course (which was really interesting, by the way). I guess you could say my "kid knowledge" was purely book smarts, with some reluctant field experience teaching swimming lessons while I was a lifeguard.
As I amassed more books and read through them time and time again, there was definitely one thing I knew—breastfeeding would be the best way to go for my infant. Every possible benefit, from the nutrients to the bonding, sounded great to me. I didn't even consider that "other" option. Why should I? God gave mothers the best resource for feeding their babies, right?
My little "M" arrived about 10 days early, although I know she was right on time in God's plan. She was born at 3:56 a.m. and within the first hour of her life, I was breastfeeding. At least, I was pretty sure she was getting something at that point, hopefully the colostrum that is soooo important, as every doctor, nurse and pediatrician will tell you.
We were in the hospital about two and a half days, which was comforting because I had a lot of concerns, questions and general anxiety about having a baby to care for. There was a lactation specialist, "Patty," who saw me twice to ensure that my hold and M's latching on was correct. But by the time we left that hospital, despite my best efforts, I had one cracked, bloody and painful nipple and the other was only faring slightly better.
That was not the expectation I had for the start of what I thought would be an easy procedure. Sure, I could expect some discomfort and maybe a little pain, but cracked and bloody?!
M had her newborn appointment on a Monday, so my husband and I had our baby girl all to ourselves that first weekend. M was hungry and crying a lot, and I breastfed her despite that burning pain. I followed all the advice I had ever read—some of our sessions I was in tears—but I was determined. I could deal with pain, I wanted what was best for my baby!
Hindsight is 20/20, of course, and when we took M in to the pediatrician and she freaked out about M's lingering jaundice, we realized she had indeed been that way all weekend. She had also dropped in weight. The doctor asked me if I would consider supplementing with formula until my milk came in.
Parents want what's best for their baby—"Of course!" I said. Anything to help my baby! And thus began the start of a very stressful and crazy four weeks.
Like I mentioned, I hadn't considered formula for M while pregnant. All of a sudden, I was plunged into this crazy world of bottles, nipples, formula and trying to continue breastfeeding. The pediatrician had given us trial bottles of pre-made Similac, and I fed it to M with those cheap plastic nipples that have only one flow: fast!
She choked a little, but she was so content after that first bottle. With her contentment came the painful realization that she had been fussy that weekend because she was hungry. I felt like I had been smacked in the face—or maybe like I had smacked her. I had fed her as often as she wanted... Why wasn't I getting milk?!
It was a scramble for my hubby and I to get bottles (Avent, Nuk, Playtex?), nipples (slow, medium, fast, ergonomic or regular?) and formula (Similac, Enfamil, generic?) all while trying to maintain the breastfeeding.
And this was all within the first day after M's newborn checkup.

You can see in this photo how orange she was. She was still the cutest thing ever!! :)
To be continued...

Happy belated Mother's Day

Happy belated Mother's Day, fellow moms. You're all wonderful, and doing a great job!!
I wish I could write that I experienced the most perfect Mother's Day ever. In fact, my Zephyr cat woke me up frequently during the night doing his tomcat meow, inciting murderous, cat-hating thoughts in my already muddled brain. Then, M woke up before 6 a.m., and as I went downstairs to make a bottle, there were tears in my eyes and a not-so-nice kick in the side for any cat that dared to get near my feet.
M went back to sleep but I couldn't. I had the Zora cat "loving" on me, purring and trying to cuddle, so I spent that time keeping her off the baby and knowing the only reason she was being attentive is that she wanted more food. But since M was sleeping next to me, I couldn't really fling her off the bed like I wanted. Again, more cat-hating thoughts.
When M woke up again for the day, I was already mentally exhausted and wishing I could go back to sleep. The hubby brightened my day with breakfast, however, and we all enjoyed bacon, biscuits, eggs, strawberries and watermelon. He also let me open my second present, which was three Elmer and Ellie figurines (my first present I got to open Friday night, a really cool horse statue). He and M had decorated the tissue wrapping paper with scribbles and "I love you." It was adorable!
Fast forward to church, where I sat downstairs in the nursery because I was pretty sure M was on the verge of a tantrum because she hadn't napped all morning. By the time I got upstairs to the sanctuary, I missed the Mother's Day flowers and I had to sit second row from the front. I know—it's not that I mind being up front, I'd just rather be up front with Matt and he's running sound for our church's band, so yesterday I was by myself.
Hold the cheese, I'm not done with my whine...
We had a nice lunch with the in-laws, and I made the "Monster Cookie Dough Dip" that I had found here via Pinterest which, amazingly enough, my sweet tooth didn't find appealing. I think it has to do with the amount of cream cheese, so if you like the idea, try adding a bit more peanut butter and probably more oats to take out the sharp taste of cream cheese. I also used half white chocolate chips and the spring M&M's—gotta use what you have! :)

Then, I got to dishes! Yep, I did the dishes on Mother's Day. You know what? Hubster might've done them if I was patient enough to wait for him, but I'm not. So that is entirely my own OCD fault.
I did get to buy flowers to plant, along with jalapeno and bell pepper and tomatoes, so I got to play in the dirt a little before we went to dinner with the in-laws. When we got home, we were stuffed, the baby was a happy little mess and we both wanted to go to sleep (by 6:45 p.m.).
I whined a bit in this post, I won't deny it. But looking at my first Mother's Day in retrospect, it was still a great day. I get to hold the most adorable little girl every morning, even if the morning starts too soon. I still might kill the cat, but I think I did sleep a little better last night for lack of sleep the night before. So it's all about a little perspective!

Tropical Avocado Salsa

Friends, I wanted to share this recipe with you because I just made it, it's delicious, and my lips are still experiencing a light jalapeno burn that is quite nice.

The recipe is off the bag of avocados I bought at Costco. (I'm just not creative to come up with this stuff by myself. This was also my first purchase of avocados, because I'm not a guacamole fan and I'm generally not one to buy foods that I don't know how to cook with or use. However, I learned they are full of "good for babies" things and make a good snack because they're soft, so I branched out! Yay for new things!)

Tropical Avocado Salsa

Ingredients:

 2 cups finely diced tropical fruit, such as kiwi, pineapple, mango and pineapple

2 avocados, pitted, peeled and cut into 1/4-inch dice

1/4 cup fresh cilantro, chopped

1/4 cup finely chopped red onion

1 fresh serrano or jalapeno chile, seeded and finely chopped

2 tbsp. fresh lime juice

1 fresh, diced tomato

Directions:

Gently toss together all ingredients with salt and pepper to taste.

Pretty easy, eh? I used kiwi and mango, a white onion, and cherry tomatoes, but in any case, it tastes great!

Ew, did I just eat that?

I did it. I caught myself sticking my finger into my mouth after M half swallowed-half spit out something she was eating yesterday. Yep, without thinking, I found myself ingesting that which M did not want to digest.
Ewwwww.
Although the food in question was at least raspberries, and not some blended concoction of turkey with rice, it still made me gag a bit, once I realized what I'd done. I'll also step up and admit that I've inadvertently stuck my finger in my mouth after wiping food off M's face and after checking it for temperature.
I remember playing the "guess what baby food this is" at my baby shower last year, and shuddering when I realized that pureed ham with vegetables (or any meat pureed and mixed with some other food) was an option. I didn't do very well at that game; most of my guesses revolved around bananas, carrots and apples.
Oh, how unlearned I was! And how much I have changed! From refusing to try even the fruit baby food to just having at it when M spits it out, I have grown into my role as a mom. I also remember being grossed out by the thought of poopy diapers, to being so happy and relieved (for medical reasons) when M finally did poop for the first time that week at home. Now I'm even considering making the switch from disposable to cloth! Ah, how far I have come.

I guess there's something about that perfect face that erased the part of me that ever shuddered to consider wiping a dirty bottom. Before M, I wouldn't have considered trying to eat a banana (I have a strong aversion to the smell and texture of the things), but just the other day while feeding my little darling the fruit, I popped a piece in mouth just to give it a whirl. I mean, if she's eating it, I should be a good example and join her right? (I still can't do the smell and texture, but I tried.)
M has made me such a better person in so many ways, and she's even turned the knob down on my "gross" dial! Of course, my internal temperature dial is cranked way too high (I never thought 80 would be as hot as I would want it to be) and my tear ducts are constantly on spill alert (I sniffed watching Thoroughbreds run before, now I just plain cry...in happiness?) and my nails will never be the same, but I have grown so much!
Thank you, M, for making me a better person; thank you, hubby, for sharing in this wonderful gift, and thank you, Jesus, for blessing us with this little miracle. My finger-in-the-mouth reflex might need some reining in, but there's no stopping how much I love and need this little person.

Jesus said, "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these." Matthew 19:14 (NIV)

Mommy, what's a postcard?

"Mommy, what's a postcard?"
M isn't big enough to say that, she's still on the "da da da da da" and other repetitive strings of baby jabber that will one day form into English. But if she ever does, I vow to remember this day, the 8th of May, 2012, when I had a woman inform me (unasked) that a postcard is "a card without an envelope."
 {Postcards}
I was offended at first. I stared at this woman with my jaw working, smothering the smart comment I wanted to give back to her (I smothered because I was at work and this was a customer). Once I had somewhat recovered, I helped her, but it left me so flabbergasted I proceeded to tell everyone I was working with about this absurdity.
I told my boss and that became his running joke, which at least helped me look on the whole situation with humor—because it is, in fact, quite amusing. Once I got over being offended.
I am 28 years old! I am a mother! I'm married! I'm a college graduate! I have a whole photo album of postcards from all the places I've traveled! I'm blonde but I'm not stupid! How dare you explain to me the fundamental makeup of a postcard!
And..."a card without an envelope."
Perhaps my pause while considering her question ("Do you have postcards?") was interpreted to mean that I didn't understand what a postcard is. The gracious side of me will give her the benefit of doubt.
I might've said, "No, I'm sorry, could you be a bit more descriptive? I'm not really sure I get what you mean?" but that would've only given me some small bit of pleasure for the disdain I felt, and it probably would've made her think I was really, really blonde. Like, "What's the difference between a blonde and a computer? You only have to punch the information into a computer once" blonde.
Instead, I pointed her in the direction of where postcards would've been if we carried them and ungraciously left her to find them herself because a blonde girl might not be able to get herself out of a cardboard box, you know, and I didn't want to get lost going back to the front doors.
Ah, friends, raise a glass to the pretentious strangers who will enter your life. If anything, at least they'll provide a few moments of laughter.
You can bet if anyone ever asks, "What's in the envelope?" in my presence, you might hear, "Well it's for sure not a postcard."

In other news, have you LOLCat'd lately? It might be good for you.

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An anti-slaughter moment

For the first time last week, I met someone face-to-face who is anti-horse-slaughter. I've spoken to many of this type over the phone for articles, but had yet to actually meet a horse-owning proponent of the slaughter house closures.
I didn't actually just meet this lady, I work with her. I was discussing a rather poor piece of horseflesh (bad conformation, etc.) when she pointed out that currently if this horse were to be sold, he would probably end up in a slaughter house. I promptly replied, "So what?"
This response made "Laura" (name changed for privacy and diplomacy) aghast. "Don't you know what they do to the horses there?" she asked me.
I know exactly what happens "there", as in the slaughter houses in Mexico where horses are brutally stabbed. No, that is not a death I wish on any animal.
I said, "In the States, slaughter was humane and efficient. Don't you know those videos you watch come from Mexico?" I'm referring to horrific scenes of painful torture caught on hidden camera that are broadcast on YouTube by the crazies that run PETA (and probably don't own horses.)
Laura informed me she was part of the group that lobbied to have the U.S. slaughter houses closed. She then stated the horse we were speaking of could end up on someone's table.
"So what? It doesn't bother me if someone else eats horse meat."
Cue second aghast response and the statement, "Are you sure you don't have balls in those jeans?"
I laughed so hard.
My stance on people consuming horse meat is thus: As long as it's not my horse, have at it. In fact, horse meat is very much a staple for some third world populations, and I have no problem with that. It's kind of the same with dog: Don't touch my dog, and I don't care what you eat.
Laura said, "Horses in America are pets, not food!"
Ah ha. That special word, "pet".
Pet: {noun} A domestic or tamed animal or bird kept for companionship or pleasure and treated with care and affection.

As I write and research this post, I find it becoming more difficult to argue that horses are not pets, because as agriculture uses shrink in favor of ATVs or simply abandoned, more and more equines end up as pets.
Thus, the "pet" becomes the problem. That emotional attachment Americans develop to their pets is one that is strong and is unfortunately becoming unreasonable. And I'm not talking Gucci pet products and other outlandish eccentricities.
To keep this post from becoming an entire essay on letting your emotions guide your laws, I'll wrap it up with these thoughts.
The American Veterinary Medical Association has an extensive page discussing the unwanted horse issue. In it, it describes the penetrating captive bolt method (used at the U.S. slaughter houses when open) as an acceptable form of euthanasia (meaning "good death") and it's "greener" than chemicals. Specifically, they say: "When applied correctly, unconsciousness is instantaneous and they induce death more rapidly than chemical euthanasia."
We need to stop the thousands of horses from dying a horrible death in Mexico when here in America, slaughter houses can be regulated by the USDA and made to be the safest, most humane option for America's unwanted horses.

I love my Lena. She's beautiful, wouldn't you agree?

"So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them. God blessed them and said to them, 'Be fruitful and increase in number; fill the earth and subdue it. Rule over the fish of the sea and the birds of the air and over every living creature that moves on the ground." Genesis 1:27–28 (NIV)

Kentucky Derby fever!

Have you checked out the Kentucky Derby field yet? Go and do it already!
I'm going to put my bet on Daddy Long Legs, Union Rags to place and Gemologist to show. It seems for the past few years I've had to work during the running of the race, but at least this year I can watch it on television at work. Hopefully sometime in the future I can have it off so that I can throw a rockin' Derby party, minus the mint juleps {because they are nasty!}.
Comment here and if you guess the win, place and show horses in the exact order they finish tomorrow, I'll make you my mint chocolate chip cookies as a prize!

My May Day cookie welcome

This is how I welcomed May 2012:

Yep, those are oatmeal cookies. Of which I had at least 4. For lunch. Okay, I may have also had a cheese stick and a chunk of French bread, but that sure isn't making me look or sound any better. Remember the studies that show you're more likely to make impulse purchases on an empty stomach? Someone give me an "amen!"
That's what happened to me yesterday. I went to Wal-Mart solely for ingredients to make mini cupcakes for my MOPS meeting. I came out with several extraneous items, namely, the oatmeal cookies and French bread. And the gluttonous devil in me broke into the cookies while we were still gathering ingredients. Yes, I mean while we were still in the store.
Hello, calorie heaven! The diet that began last week when a stomach virus absolutely wiped me out has taken a temporary setback. While my friends are posting Facebook statuses about saying no to donuts and living healthy, eating your veggies (and virtually nothing else, might I add?), and running half marathons, I'm writing about eating oatmeal cookies for lunch.
Paula Dean's got nothing on me!
I definitely don't need her calorie-laden dishes to get my carbohydrate fill. Just send me to Wally World on an empty stomach and maybe some money-related stress. Who needs a psychologist when you have soft cookies to unload with?
Still, next time I head to that store, I am going to do it either in the unjust hours of the early morning when M has woken me up or directly after a meal, because if I this becomes a habit I might start getting the chubby comments my 9 month old gets. They might be cute for her but I don't want to be responsible for someone getting hurt.
Just in case you wondered, the cupcakes I made turned out fabulously but are still in my refrigerator because I made them the normal size instead of miniature for lack of liners. Yes, I'm that picky. I guess the hubby will have to help me with that calorific "win" because those oatmeal cookies took up my next week's worth of sweets. At least they look good!