Madness #5--where the sun don't shine

Marty graduated from his baby tub to the grown-up tub for bathtime. It's been a lot more convenient now that we can just sit him in the tub with a couple inches of warm water and scrub all that drool and those boogers and that spit-up and those cracker crumbs and that little bit of pureed lasanga off of his tiny body.

Bathtime is a fun time for Mama and baby. It's a chance for both of us to relax and just enjoy playing with the plastic cups and rubber duckies that float in the water--though Marty enjoys that part a bit more than I do. Really though, it's a great chance to wind down after a long day. Not to mention how great that little boy smells with his hair all washed and his body all clean and lotioned!

But no one told me about the hair issue I'd encounter with this "big boy tub" graduation. See, when adults shower, especially girl adults, long hairs disconnect themselves from our heads and wind up on the shower floor. So when a certain baby takes a bath and spends a good half hour sitting on that shower floor, those hairs end up finding their way into a certain tiny butt crack. It's inevitable. When it's time to put a clean diaper on after he gets all dried off, I almost always pull a hair or two out from "where the sun don't shine".

I know what you're thinking. Just clean the tub before every bath and get rid of any stray hairs ahead of time. It's not that simple. I've tried. Even when I don't see a single hair in that tub, one still manages to find it's way in. Or up. Ew.

Poor little guy. Someday when he finds out about this, he's going to freak out. Maybe it's in his best interest to pull out that baby tub again after all. At least then the hair would be his own. And that's better, right? Madness, I tell you.

scooter blues

So, we're pretty broke. That's not really anything new for those of you who know us well.

But we're finally taking our lives into our own hands and trying to cut back on some things. The most significant change? We're selling our Durango. It's been a great car, and I'll certainly miss it. But I won't miss the $400 car payment each month and the $100 in gas and the $50 or so in insurance.

I told Marty that I needed some kind of transportation, though, since staying at home all day while he took our only car to and from work would drive me crazy. I get restless and need to go out and do things, even if it's just a trip to Barnes to read through some of my favorite Bernstein Bears books from when I was a kid, or an American Eagle visit to see how Marty's holding up.

The solution? We bought Marty a scooter with our tax return money. It was kind of a splurge, but we got more back on our return than we expected, and the silly little thing will pay for itself in no time since we'll be saving $550 per month by selling the Durango.

It's just funny because Marty's best bud Bobby got one too. So they'll be able to scoot around town together on their little matching scooters in their little matching helmets. I swear they have a man crush on each other.

Anyway, the bikes were supposed to arrive today, so at around 2pm, the Pecauts came over and we anxiously awaited their delivery together. We sat through "Bee Movie"--had to make sure it was a movie our kids would like someday, you know? No bikes. We ordered pizza. No bikes. We talked about spiritual gifts over dinner--great conversation. No bikes. We rented "Cloverfield" and nearly pooped our pants freaking out. No bikes. We made brownies. No bikes. Candace and I had to just laugh at our poor husbands, who were sitting around waiting with their helmets on, ready to hop on and cruise around town the second those scooters were dropped off.

Guess their dream will have to come true tomorrow.

spiritual gifts

So we're talking about spiritual gifts at The Stirring right now.

And for me, having grown up in a pretty conservative church, this topic is a little foreign. I mean, in Sunday School they used to mention that God had given each of us a special talent that we'd get to use to better serve Him. But if it had to do with anything remotely supernatural, like speaking in tongues or healing or prophesying over someone, we just didn't talk about it.

Needless to say, it brought about a curiosity regarding those "different" gifts. I mean, it says right there in the Bible, in First Corinthians, that tongues and healing and prophecy are from the Lord, and considered just as much a spiritual blessing as the gifts of encouragement or mercy (my particular specialties). They must be legitimate then, right?

So why are they so "hush-hush" in certain communities? Why are they considered so weird? I've been thinking about it a lot, as God's been bringing people with these gifts into my life in really random ways over the last week. One of my sister's co-workers goes to Bethel and was sharing stories about the healing God has done through her. And a friend of a friend, who joined us for a little park playdate yesterday can speak in tongues on demand. (The little kid in me wanted to hear what it sounded like and was tempted to ask her to say my name in her heavenly language, but I restrained myself). And a couple days ago, I found that two people I know personally, one of which I've known for years, have both spoken in tongues at one point in their lives. All four of these people are normal people--they blend in with the rest of us who strive to serve the Lord in the best way we know how. Through their lives God has been opening my eyes and my mind to the different ways He works. I'm learning that it's okay for someone to exhibit these "hush-hush" gifts, as long as they are using them for the right reasons. As long as God is getting the glory, not the person He's gifted in this special way.

But to be honest? It's still hard for me to hear people talk about healing powers. I've lived for almost eleven years now with a chronic illness that has crippling effects on my everyday life. We spend thousands of dollars a year paying for the tests and procedures and treatments I receive to keep my Crohn's at bay, not to mention all the money we spend on my husband's insulin and syringes, as he's a Type-1 diabetic. So why hasn't God chosen to heal me? Or my husband? I have never, in those eleven long years of pain, had someone pray over me and ask God to take my Crohn's away. If there are healers out there, why haven't any come my way?

I know, I know. Maybe I don't have enough faith. Or maybe God is using my experience for His glory, and to be healed would be against His will for my life and my role in His kingdom. It's true that I have been able to encourage others with a chronic illness, as I can relate in a way that most others can't. But when is it my turn to feel okay? When do I get to be healed?

Maybe that's why the church often has a hard time accepting these more supernatural gifts. Because we don't all get to be a part of the miracles God performs. And in our humanness and selfishness, we can't seem to understand why God would choose to let us live in our illness, or let us go a lifetime without receiving a special message from someone prophesying over us.

And in my head, I can think back to all my Sunday School lessons about our love relationship with God being about surrendering ourselves to Him, not about what we can get out of it. But during the nights I spend tossing and turning because my joints ache and it's impossible to get comfortable, and the days after those nights that I spend feeling weak and exhausted, it's hard for me to tranfer that head knowledge to my heart.

Clearly faith is NOT my gift.

But as Nate said at church last night, it would be tragic if all of us believers were identical, and gifted in the same ways. We need spiritual diversity to keep our church body headed in the right direction. Because if everyone were like me, we'd all feel encouraged and empathized with, but have little faith that God can do the impossible.

That's why being part of a church body is so important. We each bring something unique to the table, and work together to achieve God's purposes here on earth. And though I have things to work on and things yet to learn, I still have something to offer. I'm not just a "bump on a log" as they say, or in this case, a church-goer in a chair.

And I have to say it's pretty exciting.

"Okey, dokey, artichokey!"

So I was eating an artichoke and apparently it was really funny.

P.S. Now you'll have two videos to watch obsessively, Candace! What are psuedo-aunties for anyway?

Madness #4--"Poop much?"

So, when we found out we were having a boy and told the world, the responses we got often revolved around the fact that we were going to get peed on.

We were told to invest in "Pee-pee Tee-pees", little covers that you put over a boy's pee-pee (for lack of a more appropriate word) while you're changing his diaper so you don't get sprayed. We even got a couple blue onesies that said "automatic sprinkler" on them. Pretty funny. And when it actually happened for the first time, we laughed our heads off.

But no one told me that he just might poop during a diaper change too! My goodness. That caught me off-guard. And he usually does it right as I'm about to wipe that adorable little butt of his. It's like a fun surprise--but not the kind of surprise you want to get.

I guess this is a warning to all new moms or moms-to-be:
If you're doing a routine diaper change and your child starts grunting and turning red, strap that diaper back on and wait it out. You'll be glad you did, no matter how deadly that stink gets. Count your blessings. At least the stink won't be on YOU.

Madness #3--the Target trap

Since becoming a mom, I've learned that it is impossible to leave Target without spending more money than you intended.

With their cute little displays and relatively low prices, how can you not toss a couple extra things in your red cart? And when you're being selfless enough to buy things for other people, like your adorable son who's sitting facing you in the cart with his gorgeous big blue eyes and precious "buy me everything" smile, how can you not justify each purchase?

Just the other day I went to Target looking for something small to send to my friend's son who's turning one. I was hoping to just spend a couple bucks--nothing extravagent. I ended up with forty dollars-worth of stuff! I managed to convince myself that I needed to buy a handful of greeting cards for birthdays and events coming up over the next few months, and that I just HAD to purchase the adorable Sesame Street-themed birthday party invitations for our son's upcoming bash instead of making my own invites. And was I forced to buy the little nightlight for the baby's room since it perfectly matched his decor? Of course!

I swear, every time I tell my husband that I'm headed to Target, I think he freaks out in his head. Knowing that I'm going to bring home a bag full of stuff we probably don't need.

My theory? You can always take things back. And while you're there returning stuff, may as well just look around for a little while...

splish, splash

So, this is the super cute video we took of my son in his grandparents' pool. We think he was trying to "feel" the water with his little hand.

P.S. Yes, my husband looks very pastey white. But he has some time to work on that tan before our cruise in September, so have mercy, people.

Madness #2--snap, crackle, POP

Kids are reaching puberty earlier and earlier these days. To my horror and embarrassment, my son broke out when he was just a couple months old.

I never knew that babies could get what's lovingly referred to as "baby acne". As if adding the word "baby" in front makes the little pimples just adorable. I have to be honest. I was pretty grossed out.

It's not like he had tiny "baby" zits all over his face. He just had a couple "baby" blemishes that kept appearing no matter how often I scrubbed those chubby cheeks. And as a new mom, I was lost as to how I should treat the little buggers. Do I apply some Clearasil? Hold an ice pack on them? Rub in some toothpaste? Pop them?

My baby books told me this form of acne was perfectly normal--that his little sweat glands were just working overtime trying to figure out how to function outside of Mommy's womb. All I could do was leave the pimples alone and they'd disappear over time. But I couldn't help feeling like everyone who saw them was staring at me, judging me. I almost wanted to hand-craft a onesie that said, "Yes, my mom DOES wash me from time to time. These zits aren't her fault."

Madness, I tell you. Not only that my tiny little baby appeared to be hitting puberty WAY sooner than I expected, but that I was so worried people would think I never cleaned the little guy. I started to realize that I had to just get over what other people perceived of me and parent my child the best way I knew how.

So sue me if I popped a "baby" zit just once. His relatives were coming over and I didn't want a tiny whitehead in every single picture...

Madness #1--the "wow" factor

Everyone thinks their kid is the cutest baby to ever be born. Which means that no one but YOU thinks YOUR kid is the cutest baby to ever be born.

This caused me a lot of grief and concern during my last few months of pregnancy. I was so worried that my child would inherit my worst qualities and features, and that I would be the only person in the world that thought he was perfect.

I can remember a conversation I had with my tenth grade English teacher, who found out she was expecting her first child during our fall semester in her class. She had become a good friend of mine, and took me out to lunch to tell me that she was pregnant before I heard it from someone else. At one point, between bites of her Jr. Bacon Cheeseburger at Wendy's, she looked at me with a worried expression and said, "Becky, I'm so scared that my baby will be ugly and I'll think she's beautiful and no one will have the heart to tell me that I've given birth to an ogre!" So funny. Right then and there I promised to give her the bad news should her child be horrifyingly repulsive. Thank goodness I didn't have to do that. Her daughter was angelic.

But ever since she mentioned the idea, it stuck with me. I had never thought of motherhood in that way before. I mean, I've seen some pretty ugly babies in my time, but to their mothers, they are flawless. So Marty and I would stay up at night, rubbing my pregnant belly, and talk about our son, hoping he'd turn out alright.

Which leads me to my moment of madness. I had to have an emergency c-section (another story for another time), so my heart was pounding as I laid there in the OR waiting to hear that first little scream. Marty was there with me holding my hand, talking about rainbows and butterflies to get my mind off the fact that my abdomen was open and exposed and that my doctor was pushing my guts to the side trying to pull our baby out, when the anesthesiologist tapped my husband on the shoulder and said, "You might want to see this." Marty stood up and peered over the partition that seperated my torso from my bloody belly and watched as our baby emerged. Kind of gross but kind of cool. As soon as I heard our son's little whimper, my first words were, "Is he cute?"

I know, I know. I'm a bad mom. My concern was not whether he was healthy but whether he was adorable enough to elicit attention from other people. Adorable enough to convert a couple people into the belief that OUR son was the cutest baby to ever be born.

But you know what? I blame that moment of madness on the drugs. Because let's face it. My child really is the cutest ever and if you say otherwise, I'll just nod politely and pray for you to someday see the truth.

prelude to some "Mommy Madness"

So, a bunch of my fellow bloggers have these themes that they blog about. Erica has her "Things That Make Nathan Do His Viking Growl", Anna has her "Confessions of a Neat Freak". I've been wondering what I could possibly lend to the blogging world when it hit me like a splash of pee while changing my son's diaper.

I'm a mom. And every day I discover things that I never knew to expect about motherhood. Things that most moms don't talk about, or even really address. Not that there's an ugly side to being a mom--there's just a surprising side that's changed me in so many ways. But for moms like me that have a pretty good sense of humor, these surprises lend countless hours of entertainment more than anything else. So I thought I'd try to elicit a giggle or two and share my little discoveries as I...um...discover them.

So journey with me as I share each "Mommy Madness". I promise I'll make you laugh and will provide plenty of embarrassing stories about my son. And about myself, I guess.

After all, when you become a mom, all sense of what is polite and proper and decent pretty much goes out the window. You kind of have to get over yourself and buckle in for the ride of your life.

"You free on Saturday?"

So, Marty and I are total last-minute people.

And at times we're kind of forced to be (though this is me making excuses for ourselves). See, Marty's work schedule is crazy, and he often doesn't know what nights he'll have off during the week until a couple days ahead.

This week he happened to have Saturday evening open. So we decided to throw an impromptu barbeque at the old homestead, and were shocked that so many of our friends ended up being last-minute people too! With only two days' notice, we had twenty-two adults and six kids.

Now THAT is a barbeque! My living room was overflowing with friends, family, and loved ones. People were sitting on every possible surface in my tiny home. To some, it may have been stressful, but to me, it was perfect. And somehow we had more food than we could possibly eat--I think Marty and I are going to be having watermelon and grilled meat for dinner until the day we die.

But the best part was how loved Marty and I felt. Sure, we joked about being the cool kids since so many people showed up, but in all reality, we were more humbled than anything. And it couldn't have come at a better time, as this week has been a pretty rough one. What a great reminder that God has placed us in this community here in Redding for a reason, and that we matter to more people than we realize.

And as if my smile wasn't already big enough, a friend came up to me in the midst of our houseful of people and told me the best news that I've heard in a long time. News that in all reality affects the rest of my life. For the better. I wanted to shout it from the rooftops, but I think the tears glistening in my eyes was enough to show how elated I am. I just can't wait for that "rest of my life" to begin.

All that to say I am one lucky gal. A big hug and thank you to those who reminded me of that just by showing up to our last-minute barbeque. Who knows--maybe we'll have another one in a couple days just so we can get those warm fuzzies all over again.

Anyone free?

my elf shoes

Okay, so I'm kind of proud of myself. I've actually started a little bit of a fashion trend. And for the girl who used to wear hot pink stirrup pants with yellow wool socks and Payless's cheap knock-off Converse, this is a big deal.

So, a couple years ago my mother-in-law when to London and came home raving about the shoes that all the fashionable girls were wearing. She described them as black flats with a pointed toe. We went shopping and tried to find her a pair, but to no avail. Which was weird because everyone seems to have those shoes.

Well, for her birthday this past October, I was determined to find them. It took about five minutes of google searching to discover that Target carried black flats with a pointed toe. Not sure why we didn't just look online in the first place. Anyway, I buckled little Marty into his carseat and set out for our local Target to pick up a pair. Save on shipping costs, right? When I got there I discovered that they carried a bronze version as well. And my mother-in-law wears a lot of bronze, so I surprised her with some fun, pointy shoes. Happy Birthday, Mimi. Nevermind that she had to trade them for the silver ones since I bought the wrong size.

So my birthday rolled around in December, and my sister called to find out what I'd like. I directed her to the Target website and hinted that there were some pretty cute bronze pointy shoes for a reasonable price. Sure enough, she bought them for me and I started wearing them almost every day.

Then for Christmas, my younger sisters bought each other the same shoes in black. So I found myself trying to be careful that we all didn't wear our shoes at the same time. It would be pretty lame.

At a baby shower in January, a friend of mine (okay, Kathy) was admiring my bronze pointedness and asked where I got my adorable shoes. A couple months later I noticed her wearing a pair of her own at church one Sunday.

And now, my sister-in-law has the exact same ones. My mother-in-law went to lunch with her yesterday and came home to tell me that Anna had on the same shoes I wore yesterday, too. I can only imagine that she got the tip from Kathy, who's a good friend of hers.

So I guess I kind of started a fashion trend. I mean, people have been wearing elf shoes for a while now, so it wasn't really my idea, but I'm responsible for six gorgeous pairs finding their way to some happy owners, including myself. They really are comfortable despite looking like they would bend your toes in several weird directions.

The next time you see someone wearing them, think of me. Plain old Becky, whose version of high fashion is splurging on a thirty-dollar faux leather purse on sale at Macy's, discovered something cool and passed it on. Like I said, I'm pretty proud of myself.

first date jitters

So, my son went on his first date the other night. At ten months old.

I have to say that Marty is already quite the romantic fellow. Little Alyssum was just hanging out in her rocker when Marty crawled over and started escorting her all around the Brams' living room. He pushed her from one side of the room to the other, and back again, all the while gazing lovingly into her eyes.

But don't worry--I was there to chaperone along with his date's mother, so we made sure nothing fishy was going on. Though this picture seems to find them looking awfully suspicious:

But whether he behaved himself or not, I'd say my son is pretty much in love. And he picked the right girl--we've been talking about setting him up with Alyssum since the day they first met, even calling her parents, Matt and Sarah, his future in-laws. Arranged marriages are still legal in the US, right?

Now we just have to work on teaching him how to hold her little hand.

some verbal tears...

I can't stop crying.

God is certainly testing my faith right now.

I feel so helpless, so depressed, so needy--but also feel like I don't have anywhere to turn. Marty's busting his butt working his two jobs so I don't want to just unload on him during the little time we have together. We talked a little bit this afternoon on his break between shifts and I think it just made matters worse.

As he drove away, I was crying and he was equally upset. His last words to me were, "Are we ever going to be able to genuinely smile?" It broke my heart.

And yeah, it's a little extreme to be thinking that way. But sometimes it feels like we've been forgotten. Like we're meant to spend our lives feeling lonely and desperate. Seems as though right when we begin to feel content, God rips something out of our hands and we're left figuring out how to start over. It makes me want to harden my heart and no longer put myself out there at the risk of being hurt.

Guess I just have to remind myself that the Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

"Red nines, accordians, and Satan--oh my!"

I love my family. We are all super weird and nerdy and loud, but I just love my family.

I'm here in San Jose, staying at my parents' house as we enjoy a long weekend of time together, with my aunt and two cousins visiting from Michigan. And so far it's been a blast. We've played cards and screamed over who put the red nine on the yellow eight, we've given each other crazy gifts that evoked laughter and accordian-playing, we've had a birthday party complete with hot pink cheetah-print goodie bags, and we've all piled in the van to go check out the Satan puppet at the local Christian book store. And tonight my in-laws are coming over for tacos.

Now for those that weren't born into this madness, our quirks certainly raise eyebrows. My husband has had a few freak-out moments of his own, as I know we can all be overwhelming at times.

But to me, this is normal. I just shrug and say, "That's so us!"

Hooray for the Palms.

seeing double

I just had to share this precious moment between father and son.

Aren't my Martys adorable?

15% off...

You know what I love?

Going to the mailbox and getting a coupon for 15% off of something that I've been meaning to buy anyway. It's like a little extra goodie in my goodie bag.

I wish every day was a 15% off coupon.

Barnes and Noble, here I come.

my miniature knight

Sometimes life comes at you like a ton of bricks.

Last night, I had some verbal diarrhea barfed in my direction. And it came from a really unlikely source. A girlfriend that I've known for years. Kind of turned my world upside-down. I found myself feeling like a certain level of trust that had been built up came crashing down, and I began to close off a little part of me. Retreat back into my shell a bit.

But in the midst of some pretty salty tears and those gut-wrenching sobs that make you wish you cried as nicely as all those Hollywood stars do, I couldn't help but smile--my son gave me a hug.

Somehow he knew that what I needed most at that moment was to feel valuable to someone. Worth something to someone. And as his little fat arms wrapped around me, I knew in that moment that no matter where life takes me, and no matter how many hills and valleys my relationships go through, I'll always have a certain little man on my side.

Gosh, I love being a mom. That tiny ray of sunshine is enough to push away even the darkest rain cloud.

What's that smell?

You know those moments when you're trying really hard to say something and it just isn't coming out right?

I had an issue with that tonight as we were watching a funny show with some friends. But instead of saying I had a brain fart, I said that my brain was farting. Like currently.

I don't know why, but it was really funny.

minesweeper blues

Today was not a great day.

I woke up feeling sick--sore throat, runny nose. And my cute little bundle of joy was having problems today too. Let's just say I'm pretty sure there's snot covering about 90% of my home.

But when I had the chance to lay down and take a nap, I ended up playing minesweeper on our new computer instead. I can't believe it! I mean, it's a fun game, and I'm stinkin' good at it, but come on. Minesweeper?! I'm an idiot.

So when Marty came home from his long day at work, he was sweet enough to take the baby and give me a little break from everything. I enjoyed the chance to lay down and just relax without any responsibilities, and no computer games to distract me.

I feel loads better already, and am so thankful for a husband who is sensitive to my needs and quirks. And I do mean quirks.

the big three-oh in Cab-oh

So we're going on a freakin' cruise.

For those of you who know our history with cruises, you'll understand why this is such a big deal to us. See, we were supposed to go on a cruise of the western Carribean for our honeymoon. Marty had planned it all out for us, and was so thrilled to be able to take his new wife on such a tropical, romantic getaway. Well, Hurricane Katrina hit a couple days before our wedding. And our cruise ship was supposed to dock in and out of New Orleans. Oops. So they re-routed us a bit and told us our new port would be in beautiful Galveston, Texas. We rearranged our flights and hotels and all that. No harm done, right? So the morning of our wedding Marty got a call from the cruise line saying that FEMA was confiscating our ship to use as housing for the Katrina refugees. Our cruise was cancelled and we honeymooned in "beautiful" Galveston, Texas.

Needless to say, we were a little bitter when we saw our cruise ship docked there with no refugees in sight. Just an empty boat representing our empty honeymoon dreams. Although honeymoons are all about having crazy monkey sex anyway, so I guess in the long run it doesn't really matter where you do it. Ha ha.

Anyway, we're finally going on a freakin' cruise. Marty turns thirty this year (gasp), so in thinking about how to celebrate his milestone birthday, I decided it had to be something big. How about a five-night cruise down to Cabo? We leave Monday, September 15th, and will be baby-less for a whole week as we hang out and enjoy some time to ourselves. So so fun. I can hardly wait.

I was going to keep it a surprise, but really could hardly wait to tell Marty about the pending va-cay. And with the tough time he's been having at work, I knew it would do him some good to have something fun to look forward to. So two weeks ago, I set up a little scavenger hunt for him that led him through our house as he found clues that hinted towards the big gift--the cruise.


It started with a little note on the door explaining that his August birthday would be celebrated earlier than usual this year...

And ended with a very happy husband and proud wife for being able to pull off such a fun surprise!

So if you see us in late August and we look more tan than usual, and our smiles are a bit bigger than usual, you'll know why.