"Momma! There's Lightning In The Kitchen!"

My oldest, Luke, ran into the nursery with that announcement around 5:00 last Tuesday evening. He wasn't lying. That sentence began, what would turn out to be, the longest feeling 3 minute panic attack of my life. 

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It all started with a preplanned play date, a few good intentions, a house filled with my rowdy hooligans, a lot of butter and some sugar. It all ended with a malfunctioned fire extinguisher, a few melted kitchen appliances, a house filled with firemen, a lot of soot and some tears. 

We had plans to play Wednesday morning at my dear friend Amy's house. She's got two kiddos that my three hooligans love and adore, a Keurig that just won't quit and a toy selection that is to die for. In short, it's basically heaven for all parties involved. My best friend Sara had made and recommended some homemade caramel corn recently so I thought it might be the perfect snack to bring and take along. "Make it!" she said. "It is SO EASY!" So, I happily stalked her Pinterest page, found the aforementioned recipe, and set to work. 

I opened the recipe, pre-read the instructions, and started cooking. Sara wasn't lying. The recipe did seem delicious. And, in her defense, it seemed pretty straight forward: Pop your popcorn, make your caramel, coat everything together, bake, cool and eat by the fist full. The big kids were in and out of the kitchen while I was cooking, (which was totally fine and completely normal) and Nathan was happily chew/teething on some rubber toys in his Pack n' Play in the living room. We had an episode of Curious George to keep us company, our supper was in the oven, (My cousin-in-love Mary's Chicken Enchiladas. YUMMM. It still pains me that my entire 9x13 pan of cheesy deliciousness was sacrificed in the fire. Bummer.) and Matt was battling the Pensacola Beach traffic as he was heading home from work. It was a fairly normal, but somewhat rowdy kinda evening.

 I got the popcorn made, and worked on getting my caramel started. I plopped my stick of butter down intp my biggest gumbo pot, added in my brown sugar and just as it was getting melted and yummy looking, Nathan started wailing. He's cutting teeth and fighting some MAJOR congestion, so I figured the best bet would be to put the caramel corn on pause, freshen his diaper and see if that might help improve his sour disposition. I switched the stove off and went to tend to my fussy fella. 

And it all went downhill from there. 

Not three minutes after I left the kitchen, Luke came streaking back into the nursery proclaiming that there was "lightning in the kitchen"! I peered down the hall, but didn't notice much, so I finished fastening Nathan's fresh diaper and set out to investigate. I rounded the hallway corner into our living room and noticed the smoke. The billowing, black, you've-just-scorched-some-butter-and-sugar-and-that-is-gonna-be-a-nightmare-to-clean-outta-your-pot, kinda smoke. I quickly deposited Nathan back into his Pack n' Play and dashed into the doorway of the kitchen where I discovered that there were camp fire sized flames coming from my gumbo pot. About that time is when time slowed down to a crawl. 

It felt like I stood there for hours, just staring. I had this unreal and bizarre scene coming from my stovetop. It felt surreal, standing there, seeing those bright, orange flames in my kitchen. I'd seen fire, sure. And I'd seen my kitchen, of course. But seeing both of those scenes meshed together made me feel like I was in the Twilight Zone or something. 

I shooed the kids into the living room, far away from the kitchen stove and grabbed my fire extinguisher off of the top of my ice box. "Man, this extinguisher is gonna make an even bigger MESS.", I thought to myself as I pulled the pin out of the handle and got ready to squeeze the lever. I found the tab on the top of the extinguisher, pushed down... AND NOTHING HAPPENED. I quickly looked at the canister, feeling like I'd somehow suddenly become deaf, blind and mute. I really thought I knew how to operate a fire extinguisher, but I couldn't get this one to work. So I shook and squeezed and after two or three more tries, I realized it wasn't going happen. 

Meanwhile, the fire was getting bigger and the smoke was starting to get thick as I walked closer to the stove. That's when I saw what I had done: In my hurry to go get Nathan, I'd switched the knob on the stove past "OFF" and onto "HIGH". So I reached around the pot, turned the heat off and nothing happened. My stove is a flat top, so the eyes hold heat like crazy, even after they've been switched off. So I picked up a kitchen towel, grabbed the handle of the pot and jerked it to the other side of the stove where the eyes were off and cold. Still, though, nothing happened. Even on the cold side of the stove, the flames were just as high as before, reaching all the way past our microwave hood and starting to hit the upper cabinets. I briefly thought about trying to smother the flames with my kitchen towel, but thought better of it as the corner had already smoldered after using it to drag the pot off the heat. Carrying the flaming pot of caramel to the sink also briefly crossed my mind, but remembering a similar incident my Mom had in our kitchen growing up, I quickly ruled that out, too. She jerked a flaming pot off her stove and put it in her sink only to burn her arms, neck and face as well as her kitchen windowsill and sink. So I found the pot lid, quickly put it on the top of the pot and IT STILL DIDN'T PUT THE FIRE OUT. The flames kept leaping out from around the edge of the lid and that's when I knew there was no way I was going to be able to get this fire out by myself. 

I grabbed my cell phone and dialed 911. I gathered up my three precious priorities (and the dog, of course) and got us out of the house. I didn't know what my kitchen would look like by the time this was all said and done, but I knew that I wasn't going to stick around to find out. I kept myself together long enough to relay the situation to the emergency dispatcher, hung up with them and called my husband, Matt. I hung up with him just as the Sheriff's deputy arrived to see my front door standing open with thick, black smoke billowing out. The fire department showed up seconds later, and by the time they all made it inside, the fire had finally gone out. Midway Fire Department was amazing. They pulled some fans off of their truck to help suck the smoke out of my house, came over with some stickers for the kids and spent the next 45 minutes in my driveway while the house aired out. 

About 20 minutes after they arrived, Matt got home and we were able to go in and survey the damage. It was pretty awful to look at, but it was so, so, SO much better than it could have been. And I felt awful. After I gave my statement to the Battalion Chief for the fire report, I asked him if there was anything else I could have done or should have done to better react to the situation. And bless that man's heart, because he looked me straight in the eye and said "Ma'am, your response to this very real, very serious fire in your house was textbook perfect. It's fires like this that can burn houses to the ground. Homeowners panic, run without thinking, and that's what takes something from being just a burned out kitchen and turns it into a pile of rubble. You had an extinguisher, you had smoke detectors, you killed the heat source, you attempted to cut off the oxygen supply. There is literally NOTHING ELSE that you could have done to stop this fire." Well, as frazzled and embarassed and guilty and scared as I was feeling: That made me feel just the *tiniest* bit better. 

If you gain nothing else from this post, I want you to remember what I am about to tell you. Forget everything else, but please, please, PLEASE don't forget this. Tell your family, share it with your friends, holler it across the fence to your neighbor as she's watering her petunias: The reason my fire extinguisher didn't work was because the powdered fire dispersent (basically baking soda) had settled down to the bottom of my canister like a brick. Over time, gravity can cause the contents to settle into the bottom of the can, and if that happens, when you pull the pin and squeeze the trigger, NOTHING WILL COME OUT. To keep this from happening, twice a year when you change the batteries in your smoke detectors, you need to shake your fire extinguishers. If you shake yours and it feels like there's a brick is at the bottom- it's already settled and it isn't going to work. Go get a new one. Or twelve. If you turn yours upside down and it feels like there is sand falling, you are good to go. Keep it close and check it regularly. My can's gauge read 'FULL' and it was not expired, but even so, it still.didn't.work. Before last Tuesday, I had never heard anyone, anywhere mention that you needed to shake your extinguishers. But from now on, I will. And I hope you will, too. 

We've got a lot of clean up and construction in our future. We will be due for a new microwave hood and possibly probably stove. There are some cabinets to be replaced and some doors to be refinished. Ceilings have been scraped and lights have been removed. For the next few weeks, my front door is going to be a revolving door of adjusters and contractors and inspectors. I am frazzled and fried and overwhelmed. I'm on a pre-kitchen-repair-Pinterest-inspiration overload. But more than anything else, I am grateful. I'm thankful. I am blessed. Because even though there were parts of my home that were ruined, nothing of any real value was harmed. 

God spared us that evening. His hand protected us and His peace gave me the clear head I needed in order to keep my family safe and out of harm's way. I managed to keep myself (mostly) together that day while the firemen were here. I didn't cry when Matt drove up and surveyed the damage with me. I was pretty calm while we got Chinese take out and went to my sister-in-love's to feed the kids and get them ready for bed. But later that night, when everything was quiet and everyone was sleeping, I cried. I sobbed. I ran every possible 'worst case scenario' through my mind as I fought sleep. I didn't sleep much that night. (Or for the next few, if I'm being honest.) I prayed and thanked God for keeping us safe. For safeguarding us. For keeping us under His sheltering wing. Because as long as we're there, the fires can rage. The walls can crumble and the roof can turn to ash. As long as we remain faithful, we will always be found safe. My material possessions may be ruined, but my true treasure will forever be safe as long as I store it with Him. 

"Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves do not break in or steal; for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also."

Jesus, speaking to a crowd on a hillside near Capernamum, during the Sermon on the Mount. {Matthew 6: 19-21}

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The Day I Proved Sure-Jell WRONG

A few weekends ago, my Mom and Dad came to see us for a few days. The kids, of course, loved seeing them- especially because they've become conditioned to expect MawMaw to arrive with cupcakes and for PawPaw to buy them donuts for breakfast in the mornings. How these traditions started, I'm not quite sure. But I get to reap the sugar coated benefits, so I'm not complaining. 

A while back I'd mentioned to Mom that I'd like to have her show me how to make homemade jelly. I'd seen my Grandmaw Elaine (her Mom) make homemade jelly a ton growing up. However, when you're seven years old, you pay more attention to licking the jelly froth off the spoon than you do to the actual jelly making part of the process.  

So, Mom arrived with some plum juice from plums she'd just picked that week. SCORE. She brought a 25 pound bag of sugar, boxes of Sure-Jell (yeah right), some new wax lids, rings and a crate of Mason jars. To the untrained eye, we had all the necessary equipment needed to make up half a dozen batches of some really good, really delicious, really authentic homemade jelly. "What could go wrong?", I thought. 

{Famous last words, y'all.}

We got the first batch cooked and finished under Mom's watchful tutelage and I was pleasantly surprised to see how smoothly it was going. The kids were begging her to sit down and watch a movie with them, so I felt confident in my ability to man the next batch solo. And that's where I made my first HUGE mistake. If you're a novice like me, don't try to make homemade jelly by yourself. It's not going to end well. I promise. If you get too big for your britches, you'll end up with a dozen jars of Plum Syrup like I did. (King Solomon knew what he was talking about when he wrote Proverbs 16:18... because I'm pretty sure he probably tried to make jelly once before, too.) 

So Mom sat down, happily watching Brave with the kids while I briskly stirred my soon-to-be-boiling plum juice, feeling quite industrious and rather proud of myself. As I stirred, I thought back to the times growing up when I saw my Grandmaw Elaine making jelly in her kitchen. I remembered this same exact "hot-steamy-boiling-fruit-juice" smell. Except now, instead of that scent coming from her kitchen, that smell was coming now from mine. My little sentimental heart was so full. 

I got a little misty eyed as I remembered her. I can still see her, standing at her stove with her apron on and a long handled spoon in her hand. She was stirring and talking and teaching me how to tell if the jelly was done by holding up the spoon horizontally and waiting to watch if the drops would hold to the back or not. So I took a brief, 7.5 minute walk down memory lane while I waited for my juice to boil. The big kids were settled in with Mom to watch Merida choose her own fate and Nathan was napping. "I really think I'm gonna do an alright job at this." I thought. If I only knew... When the juice came to a boil I added my sugar to the pot and stirred some more while I waited for it to come to another, rolling boil. 

After I got the sugar stirred into the boiling juice, I found my way back onto memory lane for a while. It felt good to me, as an adult, to be doing an activity in my kitchen that I'd seen done in my Grandmaw's kitchen so many years earlier as a little girl. I think that food, that cooking, really, can do that for us. I think that recipes, that those traditions can help bind us tightly together as a family. I thing that handed down pots and pans and spoons can help connect us to our past generations in ways that can only be found in front of a stove.

 When you're standing in front of a range, stirring a pot that used to sit on your Grandmaw's stove, with a spoon that your Mom used in your childhood kitchen, it's as if, that for just a moment, those objects can connect you all together. It doesn't matter where you are- if you're just separated geographically or even farther away than just a physical address: for that brief moment you feel like you are all together. I know that happened to me that day. Because, for a few minutes, my kitchen smelled just like my Grandmaw's did all those years ago.  

My kitchen looks vastly different than my Mom's and even more unlike the one my Grandmaw cooked in. Yet, despite these generational differences, despite the technological changes that have taken place in the last 30 years, given a few of the same tools, some fruit juice, a couple cups of sugar, a box of Mason jars and a pouch of pectin, and they are still the same. Cooking, unlike so many other things that change with time, is a constant. It is a method that can be handed down from generation to generation without fail. The scent of boiling jelly will always smell like my Grandmaw's kitchen to me. And, in 30 years, that same scent might remind Josie of what my kitchen smelled like when she was growing up.  

So... back to reality. My jelly is now boiling. IN A BIG WAY. It's time for me to take the pot off the heat and skim off the foam before I need to ladle the now cooked jelly into jars. I'm not feeling quite as confident in my ability to fly solo for this part, so I call Mom in from the living room for a little moral support. 

She comes back into the kitchen to watch me try not to burn myself and to offer me necessary words of encouragement/advice/caution as she sees fit. As she walks up to the stove, she asks me an immediately terrifying question in response to her quick visual scan of the items on my countertop. "Did you add in the pectin, Katie?" I stood there, blankly, staring at her like she'd just spoken to me in Mandarin. "Umm... PECTIN???" 

::And that is when it all went South, y'all.:: 

Gone are the wistful memories of generations connected by cooking. Vanished are all the warm, fuzzy feelings I had about connecting three generations of women in my kitchen because, I realized with horror that I didn't add the pectin to my jelly. (If you've never made jelly before, pectin is what MAKES YOUR JELLY JELL. Without pectin, you're basically just boiling a big pot of fruit/sugar. You'll get fruit syrup. Which is delicious, don't get me wrong, but it ain't jelly.) 

I scrambled and searched and located the Sure-Jell insert and read hastily until I got to the section where there was a section titled "What To Do If Your Jelly Doesn't Set". BINGO. This is what I need. The insert said to add in extra sugar and return to a second boil, and to pray that your jelly will jell. (That last part wasn't on the insert. I just added that on my own accord. Because that's what I felt like I needed to do.) 

So, that's just exactly what I did. I added in the forgotten pectin, about 17.4 extra cups of sugar, and prayed. And stirred. And prayed. And stirred. And prayed some more. And stirred even more. I brought it up to a THIRD boil, and boiled it for what felt like 36 agonizing minutes, took it off the heat, skimmed off the foam, (Which is the BEST part of jelly making, if you ask me. Tasting that bowl full of lagniappe sugar/fruit foam is DELICIOUS.) ladled it into jars, wiped the tops and threads, covered it with the hot wax lid, screwed on the ring.... And waited. Anxiously. Like a woman who's a week past her due date in the middle of summer in Florida. (Because I've done that. Twice.) 

I washed the pots and bowls and spoons and got ready to cook the next batch while I waited to see if the jelly would jell. I finished up these little chores and I tilted a jar to the side- It was still runny. I wiped the stray drips off my stove top and checked it again- It was still runny. I gathered up the trash, straightened up the countertop and checked it again- IT WAS STILL RUNNY. At that point, I waved the white flag on that batch, transferred it to cool on my dining room table and got ready to start the next batch. Life went on, and so did the jelly making.

We made three other batches of jelly that day, and I'm proud to say that they all set up PERFECTLY. So, in my mind, to mess up one batch out of five on my first time ever making jelly as an adult- I can't be mad at that. Mom and I had a great day. We laughed and talked and tasted so much jelly that we were both sugar sick by the end of it all. And now I've got two boxes underneath my bed full of (mostly jelled) homemade jelly waiting to be eaten. And, considering that I make at minimum 20 PB&J's a week, I'd say that they will all be put to good use. {Thanks for sharing Grammy's tradition with me, Mom. I can't wait to cook our next batch!} 

Canning jelly isn't easy. Especially when you've got three small kids in the house. It's not something that I think I'll be able to do every month, but it is something that I'm glad I can do. And, as the kids get a little older, it's something that I know I'll be able to do more of. And it will help to connect me to the women in my family. I'll be able to cook a batch of jelly and remember my Mom. My Grandmaw Elaine. And so many other women in my family that have helped shape me into the woman I am today.

So, if you've got a handed-down recipe in your box that you've been anxious but maybe a little intimidated to try- let me give you some advice: TRY IT! Are you intimidated because of the number of steps it has or the amount of work it will require? Are you worried that you'll fail? Don't! You won't always cook every recipe perfectly the first time you try, but here's a secret: NEITHER DID YOUR GRANDMAW. AND NEITHER DID YOUR AUNT. AND NEITHER DID YOUR MOM. They practiced and cooked and tasted and tried their recipes loads of times before they got it right. So you can, too! 

I've got several heirloom recipes that I want to fix, namely a recipe for Cream Pie that my Nanny gave to me back at Christmas time last year. Her's were always the best, and I'm confident mine won't come out just exactly like her's, but I hope I can get pretty close with a couple practice trials. And, once I master her Cream Pie, next in line is her Homemade Divinity. Because successfully making candy is on my bucket list. And I can't wait to try it. Wish me luck!

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(Pre-jelly. The soon-to-be-boiling goodness of fresh fruit juice.)

(Thassa whole lotta shugah.)

(25 pounds, to be exact.)

(Quick and Easy? LIES.)

(The most important section I referenced all day was at the bottom of that page. It also validated me in my mistakes because it meant that there are probably thousands of other women out there who had jelly that didn't set. Hooray for not being the only one!)

(Lagniappe jelly froth. Swiped from the spoon and onto my finger. Because I'm still 7 years old when it comes to jelly froth. I can't resist it. My kids loved it too.)

(Getting ready to pour the Plum syrup into jars. I was praying on the inside.)

(I will savor every.single.spoonful.)

13 Things I WON'T Miss About Having A Newborn Baby

Alright, y'all. I have to admit that I cried a little a lot after writing last week's post. I clicked "Publish" and promptly melted into a puddle of "I-can't-believe-I'll-never-have-another-newborn-baby-ever-again" tears. So, in a theraputic effort, I decided to compile a complimentary list of things I will be more than happy to bid adieu to now that my youngest, Nathan is growing out of the newborn/infant stage. 
And, here they are. Enjoy.

1. Lowering Crib Mattresses. See the opening of last week's post. 
2. Digging Things (bugs, beads, half a crayon, dog hair, etc.) Out Of Crawling Babies' Mouths. We're still not quite out of this stage yet. Nathan's snack yesterday may have been 4 cockroach legs, some cantaloupe and blueberry muffin. How do they find dead bugs SO QUICKLY? They can find any dead insect or marble or scrap of tin foil within a 20 foot radius within 3.7 seconds. Babies were born with skills for this. It's scientific fact.
3. Diaper Rash. C'mon, y'all. AMIRIGHT??? The changing table in Nathan's room looks like combo between a CVS Pharmacy and a VooDoo man's medicine bag. I've got at least one of each of the following in a container/bottle/can currently sitting at the end of Nathan's dresser: Coconut Oil (in a mason jar, of course), homemade diaper rash cream, A&D Ointment, Boudreaux's Butt Paste, a jar of Apple Cider Vinegar/water combo, Desitin, Desitin Maximum Strength, Desitin Creamy, Aveeno Soothing Relief Cream, corn starch (in a Sam's Club sized jar), a prescription cream, Maalox, Neosporin, homemade bottom spritzing spray, and a half a tub of Vaseline. The struggle to keep my baby's bottoms fresh and rash free is real. 
4. Used Cornstarch Diaper Pebbles. (See #3.) Y'all. It's awful. You open their wet diaper to change them and those little rocklets of cornstarch balls scatter from one end of the nursery floor to the other. They get EVERYWHERE. When I vacuum the carpet in front of Nathan's dresser/changing table, it sounds just like Christmastime, except instead of hearing that sound of sucking up pine needles, I'm hearing that sound because I'm sucking up little pebbles of urine and cornstarch balls. How nice...
5. Cottage Cheese Foam Spit Up. Seriously. You nurse-and-burp-and-nurse-and-burp and yet you STILL get covered in that foamy, funky-smelling, curdled spit up goop half an hour later. You get to walk around for the rest of the day smelling like the dairy case of a WalMart 3 days after a hurricane. {While we are discussing spit up, I can't forget to mention the projectile variety my daughter was so adept at creating. The force that little bundle of pink could muster to spew her latest meal across the room was unreal. She could knock down a Coke can 20 yards away, I'm sure. You'd have to position the burp rag just right in order to make sure you could catch it, squeeze it into the fabric and reopen your hand to catch the second wave that you knew was coming out, wether you were going to be ready for it or not. Burping a baby that's a spitter is an exercise in hand/eye coordination for sure.} So yeah, I'm glad the spit up days are behind me. 
6. Teething. More specifically, nursing while teething. Because they've gotta cut their teeth on something. And, if you're nursing them: IT IS GONNA BE YOU. (Ouch.) Plus you get the low grade fever, sparkling personalities, and explosive diapers that go along with cutting teeth. It's a gloriously splendid time for all parties involved. We still aren't out of the woods with this stage, either. UNFORTUNATELY.
7. Cluster Feedings. Because 48 hours straight of being a baby's personal AYCE buffet isn't exhausting at all. (The resulting chubby baby rolls are pretty cute, though.)
8. SIDS. All three times around, this was the biggest fear that I had a really, really, REALLY hard time letting go of. I wanted to sleep. I needed to sleep. But I couldn't. If they were sleeping longer than usual, I was NOT relieved that they were stretching hours between their overnight feedings. I spent the whole time hovering outside their door praying that they would start to cry, or twitch, or grunt just so I would know they were alive. At night, I would watch the baby's video monitor like a TV news junkie because I just could.not.turn.it.off. Now that Nathan's hit the 9 month mark, I feel like I can cross this compulsive fear off my list. I can't imagine the pain a syndrome like SIDS can cause to families. I realize I am blessed beyond measure to have three healthy, happy babies in my house.
9. Post-Circumcision Care. Did y'all know that skin cells can heal back onto themselves as they heal? Did you know, that after a circumcision, you do NOT want that to happen? Did you know, that if this happens to your baby boy, what that means you will have to do??? BECAUSE I DO. ::shudder:: I am so, so, so relieved that the Vaseline-slathering and skin-stretching and delicate-diaper-changing period is OVER. Hallelujah.
10. Cord Stumps. The days that my three babies lost their cord stumps were bittersweet ones. It signified to me that they weren't 'brand new' anymore. I might have welled up a little when it happened, but in the week or so preceding that event, oh my mercy. Y'all. Cleaning and accidentally snagging it on a gown WAS AWFUL. I know they say that cord stumps don't have nerve endings, so the babies don't feel anything when you touch it, but I still got the heeby-jeebies when I would have to clean it. And, at the end, when it's juuuust about to fall off and it's just hanging on by a thread... Heavens.
11. Newborn Skin Conditions. This includes, but is not limited to: Baby Acne, Cradle Cap, Ear Fur, Back Fuzz, but especially that weird transitional period about 6 days after delivery when your baby's skin just kinda peeeeels off in layers. Then, when you take off their gowns, you can see all sorts of those little rolled up pieces of waxy, sloughed off skin on the inside of their outifts. Ewwwwww.  
12. Newborn Nail Clipping. Probably the most stressful task you can undertake, short of #9. In my house, it's nothing short of a surgical operation. I've resorted now to just biting them. Gently. 
13. Tar Poop. You have a baby and suddenly someone else's bowel/bladder functions become the most important, most closely watched events of your day. You count them, chart them, compare them, color-code them, and maybe even write FB status about them (guilty!). The amount of time you spend examining your baby's body eliminations is nothing short of magnanimous. Their first dirty diapers are a thing to be celebrated (Hooray for fully functioning intestines!)... until you go to clean them up. I'm not sure what is in the black tar that babies create during their first days of life, but I'm pretty sure it could fix a hole in the bottom of a leaky boat. If they would have had a jar of this stuff onboard, I'm pretty certain the Titanic wouldn't have sunk. They fill their diapers with that black goo and you swipe and swipe and wipe and wipe, and it doesn't budge. That stuff is HARD TO CLEAN OFF. Mercy, the amount of wipes you go through... 

I realize that this list is longer than my previous post's. I guess this means my self-imposed therapeutic exercise was a success. It has been a joy to watch our youngest grow and change. It has been a blessing to see his older siblings meet and fall in love with their new baby brother. It has been bittersweet, at times, to realize how quickly he's growing. But with every phase he leaves behind, there are bigger and newer and better milestones waiting for him to achieve. And with two fantastic older siblings to forge a path for him to follow, I can't wait to see what coming around the next bend in the road for our family of five. 

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10 Things I'll Miss About Having A Brand New Baby

Bright and early Monday morning, I walked into Nathan's room and found him like this:

(Mornin'.)

5 seconds after I took this picture, I moved one very important chore to the top of my "To Do" list: Lowering his crib mattress. 

Dropping Nathan's mattress was a bittersweet moment to me, because it meant that my baby wasn't really a "baby" anymore. He's an infant. A Crawler. A Puller-Upper. An Almost-Walker. While that might seem trivial to some, it is painfully significant to me because to me, it feels like he's growing at warp speed. And I am NOT READY.

Maybe I'm borderline hyperventilating about all this because Nathan's my last baby, I'm really not sure. But I do know that after I finally wrestled and wrangled and got his mattress lowered (while in a room with three kids, a dog, and cradle full of 742 stuffed animals); I straightened up his nursery, put his blankets and toys away and started feeling super nostalgic. I'm not even ashamed to admit that my eyes got hot and my throat got tight and I may have cried a little because I realized in that moment that I will NEVER, EVER, EVER, EVER HAVE A LITTLE NEWBORN BABY AGAIN. Whaaaaaaaah.

So, in a {hopefully} therapeutic effort, I've compliled for myself a list of 10 things I will dearly miss about having a little bitty newborn baby. And I'm gonna share it with y'all. Here they are:

1. The 'I  Can't Believe I Just Had A Baby' Adrenaline Rush. Am I the only one who has a baby and then immediately feels like she could repaint the ceiling in her living room or pressure wash her entire house? Seriously though, that post-delivery high you get is RIDICULOUS. It's like, for a week or so after the baby is born, YOU COULD RULE THE WORLD. Sleep? Ha! Sleep is for the weak. Food? Ha! I'll just live off the 40 pounds of fat my body has recently stored around my newly spread child-birthin' hips. While it feels ah-mazing, you need to be prepared. Because that kind of rush is a dangerous thing. As high as you fly when you're leaving the hospital and passing on naps your Mom offers to give you while she's in town to help out and declining that decaf latte your friend offers to bring you, the low you'll crash into after the fire dies is nothing short of apocalyptic. Gone are the bursts of riduculous amounts of energy. In their place you find yourself gritty eyed and sleep deprived after 7 weeks of all night nursing marathons. You begin to eat cereal straight from the box, with your hands (that you may not have washed completely after the baby's last diaper change) because the extra time it'd take to pour it into a bowl with milk and eat it with a spoon takes just.too.much effort. You've stopped washing your hair, convincing yourself that you've jumped on the no 'poo bandwagon when in reality, it's because you've gone 4 entire days without a full body shower. And for me, nowadays, when just the thought of loading all three kids into the van and into their car seats to run an errand is enough to reduce me into a tired heap on my driveway, I think back on that adreneline rush. And I really wish I would've taken my Mom up on that nap...
2. Tiny Pink Toes. Let's be honest- babies' tiny pink toes are one of the first things that you notice when they bring you your swaddled newborn after they're born. You hold that little wad of blanketed goodness, and then puuuullll that blanket open and count those precious piggies like they were the sweetest, most precious feet that have ever been born. Because they are. 
3. Milk Drunkenness. Oh my mercy. Y'all- is there any better sight in all the world than a full, happy, content baby? Your newborn fills up their tank to positively bursting, lets out a long and satisfying burp and then just sort of melts into this relaxed position against you that could only be described as them being milk drunk. It is literally the most peaceful state you'll ever see anyone in. For example:
   
   (Name:Josie. {milk drunk} Age: 3 days.)  
4. The Kitten Cry. I realize this one is highly debatable. A few years before we had our own babies, my husband and I went to the hospital to visit some friends from church who had just had their first son. He was the sweetest, most precious little thing I had ever laid eyes on. We visited and snuggled and swaddled that little prince for about an hour or so. When we got onto the elevator to leave, I was still wrapped in a cloud of baby blue happiness. "Oh, he is just the sweetest thing I've ever seeeeen?!" I told Matt. "Couldn't you just EAT HIM UP? Even his little kitten cries were absolutely precious!" He did NOT agree. The little meowing wails and whimpers were not the musical melodies to his ears that they were to mine. I couldn't believe it. (Aside: Once our babies came around, he did adjust to the kitten cry quite nicely. Maybe because they were ours. I dunno.) There was a visiting family at our church last Sunday morning, and during the adult Bible Class, I could hear his little newborn coos and it hit me: Nathan doesn't sound like that anymore. I don't know when he stopped meowing and cooing, but he did. And I realized then how much I missed it. Newborn baby noises are the BEST. Colic cries and gassy screams are the WORST.
5. Odorless Poop. Once you get past the black tar diapers, God gives you a few months of blissful, odorless poopy diaper changes. While the new baby dirty diapers are messy, (When did they eat seeds?) THEY DO NOT STINK. Considering how distasteful their stench is nowadays, I think it's a blessing that you're given three or four months of odorless messes to clean up before the real stench hits you once they start cereal and solid foods. Mercy.
6. Dribbley Milk Grins. *If you are a man, (not that I think many men read my posts, but just in case) and you don't want to hear my glowing tales of nursing- this is your warning. DO NOT READ THIS PARAGRAPH. Skip on down to #6. You're welcome.* Y'all, when I say I dreamed about the glow of nursing my babies, I'm not exaggerating. I DREAMED ABOUT NURSING MY BABIES before they were born. That is how much I love it. Nathan's my last, and I will positively nurse him until the last possible second. I was talking with a friend of mine earlier this week about the heartbreak that's going to befall me when he weans, and she totally got it. She experienced the same heartbreak when her son (her last) weaned and I am refusing to even think about it now. For now, I'm going to continue to bask in the glow of his dribbley milk smiles and enjoy his sweet little snuggles. The dribbley milk grin is one of my favorite parts of nursing. There is literally nothing sweeter than when your baby pauses mid meal to look up and smile at you. They grin, and it turns themselves (and you) into a wet mess, but it is the BEST. I have been fortunate enough to have really good experiences breast feeding all three of my babies. I have gotten mastitis (a lot) while I've nursed each one of them, but I have to say, for me, even with the recurring infections and raw places and painful letdowns and clogged ducts and cement milk bags, it has been worth it. If you are a new mom and you're intimidated by the idea of nursing and need to talk to someone, ASK ME. Call me. Message me. Email me. Text me. Send a carrier pigeon. Just get in touch with me! When I was new to nursing, I would call my sister-in-love, Connie, at all hours of the night and day with random nursing questions. (I may or may not have asked her why it felt like my boobs were made of cement when my milk finally came in. Because I was just that clueless, bless my heart.) She was such a blessing to me, I'd love to be able to pass that blessing on to other new mom's. So gimme a holler if you need to, I am happy to help!  
7. Finger Grasp Reflex. When you hold your baby for the first time and put your finger inside their palm and they instinctively grasp it. Mercy, y'all. If that doesn't tug at your heart strings check your pulse because you're probably dead. 
8. Toothless Smiles. Babies spend so much of their first weeks crying and not sleeping and then crying some more, it can be enough to wear even the toughest, most seasoned Momma down. But then, magically, just when you need it- they start to smile. At first, you're not sure if it's gas or a reflex or an accident but one day, they hear your voice above them as you're changing their diaper and BAM! instant grin. It's precisely the balm your tired, tortured soul needs after weeks and weeks of screaming and crying and sleepless nights. Their smiles will still be fantastic once they cut those first little teeth, I know. But I know for me- it was a bittersweet day when I realized I'd never again see those naked pink gums grinning back up at me. 
9. Swaddling. I'm convinced there's something scientifically significant about the positive affect holding a bundled up, burrito-ed baby has on a person. It is literally impossible to be angry when you're holding the human version of a soft taco. I'm sad to say my kids grew out of the swaddled stage preeeetty quickly, and I was so disappointed to see my little cocooned babies disappear. Before too long they were bustin' outta the wraps faster than I could fold them. Nathan'll still want me to swaddle just his body in a blanket every now and then (and I still try to swaddle his lanky frame out of sheer determinedness and unwillingness to let my last baby grow up) but it's becoming less and less of a bedtime necessity. I found him yesterday sleeping on his tummy with his little diapered tush poking up in the air like such a big boy. ::sigh:: I'm not ready.
10. Johnson's and Johnson's Lotion I am a chronic over-lotioner. I'd use like 37 pumps of the dreamy, pink goodness that IS Johnson's Baby Lotion after every.single.bath I'd give my babies. Nathan's time was cut short with an eczema flare up, but I'll still sometimes rub some onto his feet and hands just so I can still catch a whiff of the baby goodness that comes in that bottle. That smell will forever been imprinted on my heart because it is the smell of a newborn baby to me. It tugs at my heart strings like nothing else. Mercy. 

Despite my sadness at the fast rate that it's happening, I am glad Nathan's growing up. I'm glad he's here and happy and healthy. And whole. We went through a tremendously stressful pregnancy with him, and I realize what a blessing that is that after all the tests and scans and worries, he is perfect. He's our last baby, the one we didn't ask for, the one we can't imagine living without. He is the perfect piece to our family puzzle. We wouldn't be complete without him. He was the gift we never knew we needed to ask for. I'm grateful God's plans are bigger than mine. Nathan is a testament to that. I love you so much, my little bonus baby. While you may not have been planned, but you have always been loved. Our cups runneth over because of you. 

If you are in the midst of a high risk pregnancy like we were, I'd like to share a verse that I clung to while we were traversing the endless doctor's appointments and ultrasounds and blood work and scans and tachycardia and trips to Labor and Delivery and almost C-sections. The entire chapter David wrote in Psalm 34 spoke to me, but verse 4 really touched my scared and tired soul: 

"I sought the LORD, and He answered me and delivered me from all my fears." 

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What about YOU? I've given y'all my top ten list of things I'm gonna miss about having a new baby, what would be on yours?  

Eczema, Schmeggs-eczema.

Anyone who's ever met my youngest, Nathan, knows that he's a fair skinned fella. 

C'mon, y'all- Look at that skin. And the red hair! 
He's an Irish lad, for sure.
(Photo courtesty of Dusti Randall)

Along with being my lightest skinned offspring, he's also the only one of mine to suffer with eczema. Both Luke and Jo managed to get through their babydom years without any major skin conditions. They had some minor bouts of cradle cap and that whole post-delivery-skin-molting/baby acne thing that all newborns go through, but that was about it for the both of them. Nathan, however, wasn't so lucky.

I first really noticed his symptoms when he was about 6 months old. We had gone to visit my Mom for Easter and, when I was changing his diaper after a particularly long afternoon out in the south Louisiana heat, I noticed some red, scaly patches had flared up back behind his knees. I'd seen them a time or two before our trip, but hadn't really made the connection between them and eczema until that day. When I had noticed them before, though they were mainly just kinda dry places that I'd feel when I was greasing him up with my traditional 14 pumps of Johnson & Johnson's after his bath at night. (I'm a chronic over-lotioner. I can't help it.) 

So I'd noticed his dry patches before, but rubbing some coconut oil on them usually took care of them. I'd slather some on and forget about them. Like I said before, because neither of my other two chaps had eczema- I didn't really think much of it. When I saw them at my Mom's, though- they had changed. Gone were the tiny, dry white areas and in their place were large, red, flaky sploches that covered almost the back of his entire leg/knee fold area. Poor fella! 

I sent out a mass Facebook post asking for advice, and my friends immediately jumped in to help me out. I didn't realize until that day how many of my friends' kids had eczema/skin conditions. I got lots of good advice, as well as ideas about things that could trigger a flare up and different products that are avaliable to treat them. Hearing their stories, with both their successes and failures, is what prompted me to write this post. Because when you find something that works- you want the whole world to know about it! 

A friend of mine, Margo Baker of Happy Skin Soap, LLC, became the game changer in this whole eczema treatment battle I was in. She sent me an awesome box of goodies:

(Her packaging smelled awesome. Seriously. I'm not lying.)

Her oldest daughter's breakouts promtped her, after trying multiple prescription and OTC methods that didn't work, to try her hand at making her own soap instead.  Her daughter's breakouts were gone within a week. She found so much success (and fun!) in soap making that she started mixing up various soaps and potions for her friends and family. One thing led to another and before she knew it: BAM! She was a small business owner. She's got tons and tons of different products to try- even if you don't have sensitive skin. As soon as this post is finished, I plan on doing some more browsing on her website and Facebook page. (She's got a diaper cream that I am dying to schmear all over Nathan's tush.)  

After I perused through my goodie box, I immediately threw gently placed Nathan in the tub, anxious to try out all the things she'd sent me. Y'all. I was not disappointed. Her soap was incredibly mild, not terribly sudsy, and didn't seem to irritate his tender haunches. *I did keep it away from his eyes. I'm not 100% sure it's tearless. So use your best judgement, y'all.* But it even worked great in his hair- this kid's still rocking some cradle cap every now and again, even at 8 months old. Mercy, child. 

I was happy with the soap, but y'all, I had no idea what was awaiting me. Once I opened her jar of body cream the skies parted and angels sang. I'm not really sure how Margo does whatever voodoo magic she does in her body cream making business, but IT IS AWESOME. I know she infuses olive oil with lavender and chamomile, but beyond that, I'm not quite sure. (Maybe it's not fit for mere mortals to know.) 

It's literally perfection in a jar. It is a thick, whipped, delicious smelling tub of unicorns tears or Icelandic glacier water or drops of pure sunshine or something, I don't know what, but I know this: It cleared up Nathan's flare up in like 2 days flat. It's thick enough to cover nicely, (it's mega concentrated) but it still absorbs completely into their skin instead of rubbing off onto their clothes or blankets or towels or favorite stuffed animals or onto your two day old dirty Tshirt that you've still not changed out of at 7pm. I scoop some onto my fingertips, warm it up a little by rubbing them together, and then I focus on applying it to his trouble spots after every bath. And for Nathan, that means on his legs and arms. And boom, y'all- it's GONE.

I've been using her products on Nathan since Easter and y'all- he hasn't had a flare up since. While I'm still doing tons and tons and tons of research to try and find the root cause of Nathan's eczema flare ups, I am 100% relieved to know that I have found a line of products that I can trust to treat his skin when he flares up. If you or your little ones are suffering with eczema, I would strongly encourage you to check out Happy Skin Soap's line of baby products. They have worked wonderfully on sweet Nathan's skin and hopefully they'll help give your little one some relief, too! 

And, even if your skin isn't as sensitive as my sweet Nathan's- check out her page anyway. She's got a Citrus & Spice blend of soaps and sugar scrubs that sounds positively divine. I'm dying to try her Lavender & Lemongrass soap soon, too! (Doesn't that blend just sound like summer?!!)

Do any of your children suffer from eczema? Have you been able to pinpoint a cause? Was it a food allergy? Humidity? Seasons? Pollen? Dust? Perfume? 

Comment below and share any tips, tricks or suggestions if you have any. 

I'm all ears, y'all! 

30 Things

I turned thirty last week. 
::gulp:: 

My youngest, Nathan's face says it all. It was big doin's. 

It's not that I am opposed to aging. I get it. I'm getting older. I'm absolutely owning the first few dozens of gray hairs that I've recently discovered. They go along nicely with some crows feet and laugh lines that have started to appear in my bathroom mirror. That's not what's making me pause.  

It's the fact that, with the official arrival of my 30's, I feel as if- by some cosmic power or biological force- I should have "it" together. My life. My house. Myself. I should be over being self conscious about my body, clothes, and personal style. I shouldn't be worrying about things I have no control over like other people's opinions or actions. I should "get it" by now, shouldn't I? 

Life. Love. Happiness. Peace. It's like, when you think about life- about the passing of time and the journey that you travel down, your 30's are the years when you settle into yourself. You discover yourself in your 20's. You make peace with yourself in your 40's. But your 30's are the time when you curl comfortably into the person you've become. You light a candle, grab a cup of coffee, a comfy blanket, a good book and you settle down into yourself. Who you are. Who you've turned out to be. It's kinda freaking me out.

At least, that's what I want my 30's to be. I want to live this decade confidently knowing who I am. And, when I take this time to stop and settle and sigh into myself and maybe see something that I don't like- I AM GOING TO CHANGE IT. Because, y'all- I'm a grown up now. For real. I'm thirty years old. I can make choices and challenges and changes to make myself a better person. And I will. 

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To help commemorate my 30th birthday, I've compiled a list of 30 facts about our lives that one day, I'd like the kids to know. These are things that I'd like to help give them a true glimpse of what I was like, what our lives were like, when they were only 3.75 and 2.5 and .75 years old. So- Luke, Josie, Nathan: This is what life for your mother was like in 2014. Be prepared.

1. I like coffee. A lot. Since December of 2009, I have either been growing or feeding one of you with my body. What this means, is that for the past half a decade, I have had to limit myself to one cup of coffee a day. It's been a sacrifice. It's been a challenge. It's been a struggle. Once Nathan is weaned, I plan on buying a fancy espresso maker/milk steamer thing and I'm sure I will positively vibrate with the caffiene jitters for every day hence forth. Bring it on. 
2. I used to read for fun. A lot. Then I had y'all and now I'm knee deep in about 17 different books about parenting and homeschooling and how to clean your house on a schedule. My home library has become remarkably lame. 
3. I like my hot dogs grilled extra crispy with just mustard. 
4. Sometimes I am so tired that I don't' know if I can make it through another day. How do y'all have so much stinkin' energy?!! (Seriously, though. How?)
5. I feel guilty on the nights that I don't fix y'all a vegetable with our supper. But I give y'all an extra vitamin at bedtime and my guilt is *mostly* absolved. 
6. There are secret nap snacks y'all don't know about. There, I said it. Blammo.
7. I never used to worry about what came on television before y'all were born. Now, we've cancelled cable and restricted Netflix to 'G' rated shows only. I really hope y'all continue to love Curious George as much as y'all do now, because it's all I'm gonna let y'all watch for the next 15 years or so. 
8. Y'all's triple naps are sometimes the only thing that gets me through the day. (See #4.) If y'all don't all settle down for at least 30 mintues consectuively, I wouldn't eat or brush my teeth at all that day. Motherhood brought out the grungy hobo in me.
9. I skip pages sometimes in y'all's really, really long books. I've become a paraphrasing professional. But Luke's starting to catch on to me, so- bummer. But hooray for his reading comprehension! 
10. I love that y'all love PB&J's for lunch everyday. It is literally the easiest thing in the world to fix and I'm confident that I could cut the crust off y'all's sandwiches in my sleep. (And I probably have.)
11. I sometimes look forward to the day when I don't have to wipe all your faces and all your places all the times that they are dirty. 
12. I donate/throw away your annoying and broken toys while y'all are sleeping. Sue me.
13. I used to be really territorial about my food. But now, I don't know what I would do at a meal if I didn't have tiny fingers sneaking bites or rogue forkes diving into my plate or tiny people sitting in my lap eating my chicken because it tastes better than the identical cubed pieces that are on her plate. (I'm talking to you, Jo.) 
14. I used to be on time. All the time. For everything. But now, I'm constantly running late for EVERYTHING. Y'all have taught me an important lesson about my attitude toward punctuality: I'd rather be 10 minutes late for church with a smiling face than be on time because I brow beat and bullied us out the door. I do everything I can to prepare as best I can in advance to help keep us on schedule, but if we're gonna be late- I've learned that my prodding and pushing and pestering doesn't get us out the door any faster, it just makes us cranky and cross and crabby when we arrive at our destination. It ain't worth it.
15. Nail polish is one of my love languages. Polish doesn't give me a muffin top and makes me feel fancy and poised and put together. (Which, 87% of the time, I'm not.) An accent nail with a glitter top coat is my jam. I like to paint my nails every week, on Wednesday nights. I come home after church, throw y'all put y'all to bed for the night and treat myself to a fresh coat of fanciness courtesy of Sally Hansen.
16. I take 20 extra minutes to feed Nathan at night just so I can look at his precious, squishy face and listen to his sweet, sleepy breathing and feel his warm, little body relax against mine as he falls asleep. During the day, you big kids are running around like hooligans and I'm putting out fires and cleaning up messes and I don't always feel like I get to spend that good, quality time with him while I feed him. (It's hard to soak in the moment when you're feeding a baby next to a toddler who is constantly trying to pull their toes or pat their heads or slap their backs when you burp them.) But, at the end of the day, when you big kids are in your beds, it's just the two of us. And I soak it in. 
17. Sometimes I worry that there's not enough of me to go around. But then, y'all all climb into my lap and I realize I'm worrying about nothing. It is however, a little like trying to hold onto three wet cats in a rainstorm when y'all are all in my lap. Y'all are squirmy. And your elbows are SHARP.
18. I love y'all. I love y'all more than coffee, but not always before coffee. (See #27, #28 and #1.)
19. Redeeming Love, by Francine Rivers is my all time, read-it-over-and-over-and-OVER again, most favorite book. Josie, I will buy it for you for your birthday one year. I promise. 
20. I eat two boiled eggs for breakfast every day. Not because I love them, but because they're the only food that I can quickly inhale while standing at the counter while I'm trying to get the three of y'all fed. 
21. That said, I eat lunch at like 2pm when y'all are sleeping because it's impossible to feed myself even a single bite while I'm feeding/supervising the three of y'all at the table. (See #6.) 
22. I'm awful at remembering to write thank you notes. It's always to touching for me to receive something, and I want to be better about extending the feeling of gratitude to my gracious giver. In fact, I've got two "to compose" thank you notes on my list right now. Some lovely friends surprised me for my birthday with sweet gifts that I am splurging on fancy schmamcy nail polishes (#15) and a soup and sandwich supper with a good friend sometime soon. (Mom loves soup in a bread bowl, guys. LOVES IT. Panera Bread, here I come.)
23. My favorite color: RED. No big surprise there. :)
24. I don't wash my face every night. It's another goal that I'm setting for myself now that I'm 30: To take better care of my skin. So, I bought a ridiculously large red sun hat with some of my birthday money and I'm on the market for a new (cheapish?) line of skin care products. I've gotta start using more than just my old standby Oil of Olay pink jar of night cream.
    
    (This hat is huge, I know. And red! I kinda feel like a dork wearing it, but it really keeps the sun off my face and neck so I'm gonna keep on wearing it. So take that- melanoma!)
25. My clothes are old. I've got plenty of hangers in my closet, but I only wear like 20% of them. Half are way too big, half are way too small. For the past 4.5 years I've been gaining and losing 40ish pounds between getting pregnant with the three of y'all. I've purchased maternity clothes, and gotten some really great hand me downs, but I haven't been 'clothes shopping' since before BP covered Pensacola Beach in tar balls back in 2010. Seriously. Your Dad and I drove down to the beach for maternity pictures literally two days before the oil arrived. I bought a new shirt for the pictures and that was about the last time I really went shopping for fun instead of out of desperation. 
26. Another borderline obsession I have: Accent lighting. I love it- lamps, string lights, cute night lights. You name it. I've pinned about 342 different ways to decorate with white Christmas lights and one day, I'm going to do it. I'll string some rope lights to display Grammy's old milk glass collection. I will do it. Y'all watch. 
27. When y'all are teenagers, I'm not going to feel badly for one minute about waking y'all up early. Because, right now, y'all get up waaaay too and I am gonna love to pay y'all back for it. 
28. I wake up SUPER early.(See #27.) I roll outta bed about 2 hours before y'all because it's the only time during the day that the house is quiet and dark and peaceful and all mine. And, for me, if I don't give myself that time to read and think and pray and drink one cup of Community Dark Roast, I'm not a good wife to your Daddy or a good Momma to you. Everybody loses on those days. 
29. Favorite movie: Pride and Prejudice. No question. I turn on my old DVD for nap time noise while y'all rest in the afternoons. I can literally quote it line for line now. A close second: Sabrina- both versions. Don't ask me to pick which one I like best, because they're both fantastic. If you ever need to butter me up for something- bring me both copies, a comfy blanket and snuggle next to me on the sofa for a few hours while we have a Sabrina movie marathon. When they're over, I'll be putty in your hands. Just sayin'.
30. NEVER FORGET: I'll love you forever. I'll like you for always. As long as I'm living, my babies you'll be.