How Did I Get Sucked into This Show?

I'm really not sure why, but I have recently become addicted to "Dancing with the Stars" - like I needed another television show to occupy my very few free moments in the evening. I think the reason I gave it more than a fleeting thought this season was because Shawn Johnson is one of the contestants. I am one of those insane people who stayed up every night until 1:00 a.m. during the Summer Olympics to watch her tumble her way across China. Suffice it to say, I'm a fan and am excited to watch her compete again. There's just something about her that makes me smile - isn't she sweet?

Now that I have gotten into the show, I am completely hooked. There are several stars competing this year that I actually care about, and several I will be thrilled to see go. Sadly, one of my favorites got canned last night, and I might add, I think a bit prematurely.

Call me crazy, but I am convinced Carrie Ann Inaba has had it in for Holly Madison since the moment she first danced across the stage. I don't know if Carrie Ann is just a big fan of Jewel, or if she thinks Holly Madison is an embarrassment to women everywhere, but either way, I think she was pretty rough on her. Granted, all three judges had their share of negative comments for her, but come on, Steve-O stays on and Holly goes? What kind of reality-game-show-obsessed world are we living in? Poor Holly, first she's out of the Playboy mansion, and now she's been kicked to the curb on a weekly dance competition starring second-tier celebrities. How much more can she take? It may sound strange that I would be rooting for both the all-American good girl and Hef's latest castoff, but that's just the type of complex girl I am. (And you thought you had me all figured out).

Well, here's hoping Shawn Johnson continues to do well, and if not, Gilles is always worth watching. I'm just glad they had the good sense to dance Denise Richards out the door last week.

Though the earth give way and the mountains fall...

One year ago today, I was going about my business as a 36-week-pregnant wife and mother. I was in full nesting mode and was spending the morning stocking my freezer with food from Sam's and Wal-Mart. Since Isabella was born early, I had a feeling Sophia might arrive early, too, and I was determined to be prepared. Toting 18-month-old Isabella with me, I made my way through the stores, walking from one end to the other, not realizing I was in labor.

I drove home, put Isabella down for her nap and brought several loads of groceries up the stairs. I had been having odd twinges all day, but having chalked them up to Braxton-Hicks contractions, I mostly ignored them. The twinges became more regular as the day wore on, so Phillip and I decided I should get checked. I was dilated 4 centimeters and almost completely effaced. When the time came, I pushed two times and Sophia literally popped into the world at 3:01 a.m.

I had no reason to think that anything might be wrong. I had carried her a full week longer than Isabella, my pregnancy had been completely uneventful, and every checkup had been perfect. Even so, I was only allowed to hold her for about 15 seconds before she began turning blue. They took her away and told me they would bring her back as soon as they examined her. Everyone left to see the baby, but since my epidural had not yet worn off, I was left by myself in the bed. Finally, Phillip came back, but was minus a baby. He said she was having problems breathing and was being transported to the NICU. All I remember was a flood of emotion coming all at once; one nurse later told me that she heard me crying all the way down the hall. Everyone tried to make me feel better by telling me she wasn't doing so terribly, that a nasal cannula was probably all it would take to help her breathe, and that the worst-case scenario would be a ventilator. Before I knew it, however, she was on a ventilator and the worst-case scenario had become a reality.

Since I still couldn't walk, they put me in a wheel chair and took me to see her before she was transported. She wasn't out in the main viewing nursery; no, my baby was in the private, high-risk room they had told us about during our parenting classes, along with the added reassurance, "We're sure none of your children will have to be in here, don't worry about." But, there was my baby laying on a table with 7 or 8 people rushing around trying to help her breathe. She wasn't moving, she was blue and she had more wires than I could count running in and out of her 7-pound body. Did I mention she was born on Good Friday?

Sophia was transported to the NICU and I was transported two hours later. When I got there, I couldn't believe that the baby I was directed to was even mine. Not once during my entire pregnancy did I ever fathom seeing my child looking so anguished when she was supposed to look rosy, pink and new.

I spent the day running between the NICU and my hospital room, never mind that I had just pushed a human being out of my body a mere 4 hours previous. Each time I entered the NICU, I was greeted with worse news. For example, they could only find two renal vessels; there were supposed to be three. Therefore, she could have potential life-long kidney problems. Additionally, one of her intestines was protruding through her skin, due to an excess of air on her stomach that could also potentially cause long-term problems. Oh, and she still couldn't breathe on her own. I couldn't hold her, I couldn't try to feed her, and instead of snuggling in my comfortable birthing suite with my new baby, I could only lightly brush her skin because we were told how much pain she would experience at anything more. While we were told that she would probably live, she would likely have some life-long issues to deal with and she would probably be in the NICU at least 3 weeks. I cried and worried and prayed all day long.

The next morning, our NICU nurse called. She said to come upstairs as soon as we could; Sophia was miraculously off the ventilator and was, for the time being, holding her own. None of the doctors or nurses ever expected such an immediate turnaround.

Then you will call, and the Lord will answer; you will cry for help and he will say: Here am I. ~Isaiah 58:9

The renal ultrasound had shown that she did indeed have a third renal vessel; it was just very well hidden and was very tiny. So, no kidney problems to worry about, her lungs were finally functioning, and they had managed to suction the air off her stomach before permanent damage was done.

(A very worried daddy)

When we made it upstairs, she was finally beginning to look pink and new. We spent the day with her in the NICU, but were told that she would most likely have to remain there for a week at least, because they had to be sure she could maintain her body weight, her body temperature and keep down a specified amount of food at each feeding. Thrilled though I was that my child was well and had come so far so fast, I dreaded going home and leaving her in the hospital for another week. That just wasn't how this was supposed to happen.

(Checking Sophia's temperature)

God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day. ~Psalm 46:5

Easter Sunday arrived and with it came our own personal miracle. While Phillip and I were in the NICU fawning over our new daughter, her doctor came by on rounds. He examined her, looked at her chart, studied her weight, temperature and feeding statistics. Completely unexpectedly, he told us she could go home the next day as long as there was no change in her progress.

(The first time I got to hold her since she was first born)

Anything else I could say at this point would be anti-climactic. Suffice it to say, our child who came into this world on Good Friday, anguishing, blue, and unable to breathe, had new life about her by the time Easter Sunday arrived; she was finally rosy, pink and healthy. Phillip and I, who could have lost so much just two days before, felt like we had been given a second chance, if you will, with the new life God had blessed us with. What a wonderful Easter.

But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the punishment of our peace was upon him; and with his wounds we are healed. ~Isaiah 53:5

For ye shall go out with joy, and be led forth with peace; the mountains and the hills shall break forth before you into singing, and all the trees of the field shall clap their hands. ~Isaiah 55:12

Sophia Caroline will be one-year-old tomorrow. She is beautiful and perfect. Thank you, God.

A Future Doctor?

This is not the greatest photo, but I thought Isabella was so funny, I had to share.

Isabella managed to get her hands on my iPod headphones yesterday. Thinking they were a stethoscope, she put one earpiece in Sophia's ear and held the other earpiece to her own chest. She then proceeded to shout, "Here, Sister. Listen to Bella's heart 'beep'."

She has recently been watching Elmo Visits the Doctor, and thankfully, is no longer quite so freaked out at her own doctor's visits. (We had a few full-blown meltdowns in Dr. Wireman's office before I bought this DVD).


I think it's finally time to buy the little pink doctor's kit I saw at Babies R Us. I don't think my hot pink headphones will survive another "checkup."

(By the way, Sophia has a plastic lemon in her mouth, just in case you were wondering).

Why Do I Do This to Myself?

Every Monday, it's the same thing. It's just further proof that my obsessive compulsiveness is going to kill me, and probably soon if I keep this up. It is now Tuesday, and as I look around my house, I seriously question the sanity behind my weekly ritual...

What, you may ask, is this ritual to which I refer and why do I inflict it upon myself each and every week? It's just a little thing I like to call "Cleaning Monday," or more recently, "Break-My-Back-Cleaning-Just-So-My-House-Can-Get-Messed-Up-Again-Before-"House"-Even-Goes-Off-the-Air-on-Monday-Night Monday." Here is what my typical Monday schedule looks like (and yes, it's in my day planner):

• Laundry - I typically do 5 loads by the time I wash sheets and rugs.
• Change Sheets - I change our sheets and both cribs - whoever invented bumper pads was both brilliant and sadistic.
• Clean Bathrooms - I clean sinks, tubs, toilets, mirrors and baseboards - I cannot tolerate hairspray buildup.
• Sweep Bathrooms and Kitchen
• Mop Bathrooms and Kitchen
• Vacuum
• Clean Nurseries - This includes picking up the toys, dusting, switching out the changing pad covers and sterilizing the humidifiers.
• Clean Glass - This includes the television screens, storm door, French door, and any mirrors within reach of tiny, sticky hands.
• Clean Walls and Doors - I single-handedly keep the Magic Eraser company in business.
• Clean Out Refrigerator - This includes wiping down all shelves and drawers, as well as throwing out the moldy leftovers.
• Clean Kitchen
• Dust - This includes ceiling fans and baseboards.
• Sterilize Toys
• Clean Hair and Makeup Brushes

Even as I type this, I realize the craziness of it. It is incredibly hard to accomplish even half of this with two babies each and every Monday. Let's just say I start my day early, end it late and make good use of their nap times.

This insanity all started innocently enough. In those first few, simple weeks after Isabella was born, I found myself keenly aware of my new life as a stay-at-home mom. For the first time since I was 16, I found myself without a job outside the home, so I decided I would do everything in my power to run my home as efficiently as I ran my office before I left my job managing the editorship of an internationally-distributed medical journal; I was definitely a pro at meeting deadlines, making schedules and nit-picking details.

Since my sweet baby slept 18 hours a day, I would use all of this new-found time to run the most efficient, clean, and well-organized home I could imagine. I dreamed of being Donna Reed, Martha Stewart and Bree Van De Kamp all rolled into one coiffed, well-manicured, and well-made-up hot mama. You know the type, the ones who look like they just walked out of a Ralph Lauren ad and into the front door of their home in the Hamptons?

(Trifecta of Domestic Divas)

Needless to say, I never quite succeeded on this point (no matter how much I love high heels and pearls), but it was my fantasy, and the first step, I believed, was formulating and maintaining a weekly cleaning schedule. Don't ask me why.

I had tons of time and tons of energy in those early days. I determined I would come up with a schedule and stick to it, no matter what. And I did. It was difficult at times and I frequently struggled with issues like, "Is this all I'm good for these days?" and "My house looks really good, but so what? Is this why I went to grad school?" (Postpartum hormones and no one to talk to but an infant can cause your mind to come up with some pretty self-destructive thoughts). I decided the best thing to do would be to make Monday my "Cleaning Day" and then get out of the house as much as possible during the rest of the week and enjoy the world with the beautiful new blessing God had given me. Once I came to this conclusion, it became the most fulfilling time of my life. Phillip would come home from work and the house would be clean, dinner would be made, and I would be energized.

"Cleaning Monday" became a way of life. Once I worked it into my weekly schedule, it was hard to think of Monday as anything else. Isabella gradually began to sleep less, crawl more and get into everything she could reach, but I managed to keep up with my schedule...that is, until Isabella was 10-months-old. Ladies, forget what you've been told about birth control, breastfeeding and infertility; if it's meant for you to get pregnant, you're going to get pregnant. I am not one who deals well with change, especially major, life-altering curve balls thrown straight from God's pitching arm. Imagine my shock when that little stick turned purple after trying two years to get pregnant with Isabella, knowing all the while that I was religiously taking the pill and breastfeeding a 10-month-old. There was no doubt about it; Sophia was meant to be and life was about to change again.

Well, my sweet Sophia will be one-year-old on Saturday, and though I still have my weekly "Cleaning Day," I am no longer as efficient as I once was. I now do part of my cleaning on Sunday night and am sometimes still working when Phillip gets home from work. I certainly don't look like Donna Reed when he walks in the door, and I am frequently irritable and frustrated that I didn't get everything done.

So why do I do this to myself each and every Monday? Why not spread out the jobs over the course of the week? Well, to me, there is just something so incredibly satisfying about knowing that your entire house is clean all at once. It is wonderful knowing that for the rest of the week, I only need to make beds, clean the kitchen after dinner and pick up the general clutter, or at least that was the original plan. Now, the "general clutter" has amassed, I'm lucky to get the beds made by noon and I'm so tired after the girls' bath time, that sometimes the kitchen just has to wait. So much for living like the Trifecta of Domestic Divas, and it just kills my obsessive-compulsive soul to admit that.

My Obsessive-Compulsiveness is Going to be the Death of Me - I've Noted It in My Day Planner

I have quirks. To some extent, we all do, right? Apparently, I have a higher proportion than most, so Phillip has lovingly come up with numerous names for them. In fact, he often quotes a line from Frasier (our very favorite show in the world) when referring to these oddities of mine,

"I've become attuned to her various quirks...eccentricities...bugaboos...bête noires...night terrors...that's the fun of being in love."

Very funny. Anyway, among my many idiosyncrasies is a paralyzing fear of fire, anxiety about bad news arriving in the mail, and an inexplicable terror of volcanoes. The sheer oddness of these oddities is extreme, and the obsessive-compulsiveness of it all has, I'm sure, made me rather hard to live with from time to time. I have called neighbors from restaurants asking them to look through my French door to make sure I had blown out candles in the kitchen. I have worried relentlessly while on vacation that we might have bad news in our mailbox when we return home. (To be clear, the only bad news we have ever really received in the mail was from our insurance company back in 2005. It turned out to be nothing, but it caused me considerable worry until it was resolved; since that time I worry about the many negative effects the mail carrier could inflict on my ability to sleep just by doing his job). Finally, the fear of volcanoes is the strangest quirk of all, as I have never even seen one in person, but to this day can not so much as look at a picture of one without shaking. (I even had to tape another photo over the cover of my college Geography text book, because guess what was on the cover).

Okay, so those of you who already know me think I'm crazy, and those of you who don't are glad you've never met me. I am really trying to do better about my worries, because I am desperately afraid of inflicting these same character traits on my little girls. As it is, Phillip must really love me to put up with it.

I have been a champion worrier all my life, and depending on my current mood, the worries can seem small or overwhelming. The fact that I am writing about this on my blog with self-deprecating humor is indicative that I know these fears are, for the most part, ridiculous and baseless. The fear of fire and volcanoes has been with me my entire life, and I'm sure they can be traced back to some television show I saw as a kid, but even so, I've never quite been able to shake those fears completely. I suppose that fear of the unknown has always been my biggest worry. "What will be on the test?" "What will the doctor say?" "What will the postman bring today?" You get the picture. You should have seen me when I was pregnant. It's truly a wonder that my children weren't born with gray hair and ulcers. But I digress...

So how do I attempt to combat this problem? How am I able to go about my day-to-day life as a wife and mother of two, who grocery shops, has play dates, and picks up her husband's suits at the dry cleaners? (You didn't know my life was this exciting, did you?) How do I not become an agoraphobic who hides in bed with a pillow over her head? I'm glad you asked. My secret is this:

Those of you who know me best know that I am rarely without this little item. Those of you who have known me longest know that I have rarely been without one of these at any point in the last 20 years.

I have had several day planners over the years. I think I received my first one was when I was just 9-years-old; it was a little aqua-colored plastic one that my mom bought for me at Claire's Boutique. As I got older, they changed in size, color, price and functionality. I get attached to each one in a slightly different way. Each one holds my life between its binding and when I inevitably upgrade after a few years, I must mourn the retirement of my previous one. Yes, friends, my day-planner is the secret to my success.

As a true aficionado of day planners, I have tried many and found much dissatisfaction with most. However, when I was 19, I discovered that you cannot improve upon a Franklin Covey Planning System. I have had three FC binders in the past 11 years, and have treasured them all. Inside the smooth leather binding is a world of possibilities for the obsessive-compulsive. There are calendars, notepads, and lines galore to record every possible "what-if" and "what-will-be" of my life. While it cannot keep me from worrying about fires, mail and volcanoes, it does provide me with a sense of control over the unknown. Don't settle for imitations, and for heaven's sake, don't go electronic! The old-fashioned-paper-pages-you-can-flip-through type is the best. I urge you to go out and find your own day planner; make it your own with accessories, colored pens, highlighters, and post-its. I promise, it will change your life, too.

(Yes, I take it on vacation, to church and even on my date nights. I can't help it. I am who I am and who I am is a wife and mommy who loves her day planner.)

Where Did the Time Go?

Well, my littlest angel is now standing unassisted. Wasn't she born yesterday? It sure seems like it.

(This was taken the day we brought her home from the hospital.)

I would love to capture a photo of her standing, but every time I catch her, she decides to grab at my camera, and then the unavoidable topple occurs. Oh, well.

Hopefull, I can get a photo to share soon. She seems utterly mystified when she realizes what she's doing, and then decides to think about it for awhile, on her bottom, of course.

Healthy Days are Here Again

After unloading in my last entry about the sickness that has overwhelmed my family, I am happy to report that my family is once again back to normal. I took Isabella to the pediatrician on Tuesday because she was still running a low-grade fever. I was thrilled to find out that her ears, throat and chest were all clear and the fever was an anomaly and was expected to disappear at any time. Sure enough, by Wednesday morning, she was fever-free and back to normal.

She got to go back to preschool today, which she had missed so much. Her teacher, Mrs. Juanita, said that Isabella danced around the classroom on her toes all morning and was too excited to eat her lunch or watch the short film they were showing in honor of Dr. Seuss Week. It makes a mommy so happy to hear news like that.

Since both she and Sophia were so feeling well, and because it has been such a beautiful day, I thought I would take them to the mall this afternoon to pick up a couple of gifts . Big mistake! For those of you who know me best, you know I have never been one to stay home just because I have two little bitties. I love getting out with my girls and 99% of the time, it is largely uneventful. Today was one of the exceptions. When we are home, my girls take a three-hour nap from noon to 3:00 p.m. On preschool days, this schedule is disrupted; Isabella gets about a 45-minute nap and Sophia is lucky to get a cat nap before we have to pick up her sister. This was apparently not enough sleep to make it through even one store before we had two meltdowns, which culminated in Isabella dropping her Disney Princess sippy cup "somewhere" in JC Penney, which prompted me to go on a 10-minute hunting expedition, only to discover that the "somewhere" she had dropped it was underneath her seat in the stroller. In other words, we had had it the entire time and did not need to bother the two salespeople and countless customers I encountered on my search. Fun times.

On a slightly related note, while I was at JC Penney, I took note of several tops, purses and pairs of shoes I wanted to investigate for my Spring/Summer wardrobe, which currently consists of several faded, stained or otherwise embarrassing items and two pairs of pajamas. It looks like I'll be wearing the pajamas when I go out because there is nothing appealing about the thought of locking myself into a dressing room with my double-stroller, a toddler, a 1-year-old, the latest Spring fashions and two impending meltdowns. If you have any suggestions, I would love to hear them.

Bring on Spring!

I don't know about everyone else, but I am completely over winter. When I was in college, it really was one of my favorite times of year. I loved walking across campus in the cold and refreshing air, while drinking my coffee, and getting to wear my pretty sweaters, coats and mittens. Of course, I still love the pretty sweaters, coats and mittens, but now they are of a much smaller size and cause me great consternation as I struggle to get them onto the wiggly bodies of my two babies, while exclaiming to Phillip, "Are their ears covered?!"

My children, thankfully, are extremely healthy 99% of the time. The last couple of weeks, however, have been the exception. With our recent swings in temperature of fifty degrees Fahrenheit, Sophia developed a little cold about 2 weeks ago, a seemingly no-big-deal thing. But being 11 months old, she sees no reason why this should stop her from putting Isabella's sippy cups and pacifiers into her mouth anytime she feels like it, despite my very best efforts to intercede. (Oddly, Sophia refuses a paci of her own, but something about Sister's paci just seems so appealing to her).

Of course, Isabella came down with a cold as well, and lucky me, I had two coughing, sneezing, dripping, whiny babies. This wouldn't have been so bad, as kids are super-resilient and tend to get over these things with speed found only in the youngest immune systems. However, as luck would have it, Phillip managed to get it, too. Now I have 3 pitiful babies to take care of. Okay, that's fine. Mommies do this all the time, right?

Now, let's add to the mix that Sophia's temperature hasn't been below 99 for 8 days and I'm starting to get a little concerned about ear infections. Sure enough, I take her to the doctor and she has a double ear infection, even though she has been playing, eating and acting fine for days. So, now we begin the antibiotic regimen. No problem, right? Well, the fun thing about amoxicillin is that it can cause "mild" diarrhea in children. There was nothing "mild" about it where my sweet Sophia was concerned. We were up through the night changing not only diapers, but also her pajamas - I'm sure you can guess why. Life was becoming even more fun.

I think the best part of the last few weeks was when my handsome husband woke up yelling in pain during the night last Saturday with a pinched sciatic nerve. I don't know how he did it, but now I had one with an ear infection and diarrhea, one with the remnants of a cold, and one flat on his back in the floor, unable to move at all. Phillip, being the caring father that he is, didn't want his little girls to get scared by seeing their daddy in so much pain. He asked me run interference between him and them, which I did - like I had nothing else to occupy me.

While Phillip is literally in the worst pain of his life and I am worried sick that he perhaps has something worse than a pinched nerve wrong with him, Isabella is still concerning me because like her sister a few days before, her temperature just won't be normal! After two miserable days and nights of seeing Phillip in pain and helping him do everything from eat, to shower, to roll over (keeping in mind he still has his cold, which is causing him even more intense pain each time he blows his nose or coughs), I am able to leave him long enough with the help of my sister-in-law, to take Isabella to the doctor. Sure enough, Isabella also has an ear infection. So, more antibiotics, more diarrhea, more nighttime fun. The blessings just seemed to keep coming.

Finally, after much worry and prayer, it seemed like my little household was getting back to normal. Phillip was able to work from home on Tuesday and was back in the office Wednesday morning, the girls' diarrhea had tapered off and they seemed to be back to their sweet, playful, precious selves. Life was good again, or so I thought. I really need to not let myself get lulled into a false sense of security. This morning, Isabella woke up whiny and with a temperature of 101. I am just praying that it is simply a fluke or one of those "toddler things" that pop up for no good reason and goes away before you know it. I realize that it is impossible to get the same bug twice and she is still taking her amoxicillin, but she could also have a whole new bug and is now poised and ready to give it to Sophia again, and God help me, Phillip, too.

I have never been more ready for spring.