THAT Mom.

It happened.

I knew it would come eventually, and I suppose it is best to have it over with.  But it wasn't fun, and I don't look forward to its inevitable return.

This morning, I was THAT mom.

You know the one.  The mom who is falling apart at the seams as her child absolutely loses it.

In public.

With an audience.

We had visited this consignment sale last Thursday, one of the fancy ones that only accepts high-end children's clothing.  The prices were still a bit steep for my budget, so I planned to return this morning at 7 a.m. when everything went half-off.  There we were, my boy and me (Daddy was studying for boards), armed with pacifier and MumMums, ready to shop 'til we dropped.

Until my child decided he would rather drop than shop.  From the get-go, my typically chill baby was hacked.  It started as fussing.  I flipped through the racks faster.  Then it turned to crying.  I finished flipping through the 12-18 month rack, popping in a paci, bouncing, shushing.  He spat the paci onto the floor, and when I bent to retrieve it my entire stash of clothes that had been hanging off of the diaper bag strap went tumbling to the floor.

A kind woman helped me collect them, and I hurried to an empty rack to weed through my hastily-gathered loot.  In the mean time, Riggins sent a MumMum to the floor, which was my major red flag that things were about to fall apart.  MumMums are never rejected.

I eliminated a few items and was left with a pretty good score, and though a few were missing their price tags I figured that they would be similar to the other $5-8 items in my arms.  We hit the cashier, who took a century to add up each price tag, crediting each item to its coordinating consigner in the computer.  As she punched, Riggins continued to escalate.  I continued to get flustered.  It felt like an eternity.

"That will be $150."

Oh no.  No.  It can't be.  Some of those tagless items had to have been way more than the others with tags.  I was so, so tempted to just write the check and get out of there, but I just couldn't do it.  I couldn't go home and tell my husband that I dropped $150 on used baby clothes.

My cheeks burning with embarrassment, I asked if it was too late to put a few items back.  Her lips said it was not.  Her face said it was.  By this point, a line had formed behind me.  I knew that all of these mothers were thinking, "She's getting all of those designer clothes for a steal!  What's the big deal?  $150 is great!"  And it is.  But not for me.  Not right now.

There I stood, screaming, squirming baby in arms, face hot and red in shame, apologizing profusely and mumbling about how my baby must be getting sick because he's never like this and I'm on a budget and this was just a bit more than I'd planned and I guess a few of those items were more than I thought and maybe it's teething and get me the heck out of here.  The only thing that kept the tears from surfacing was my inner chant of, "You'll never see these people again.  You'll never see these people again.  You'll never see these people again."

As soon as my check was in the cashier's hands, I grabbed the clothes and bolted.  I was so upset.  So embarrassed.  So frustrated.  So angry.  Angry at my baby for acting like a baby.  Angry at Jonathan for taking boards and not being free to babysit.  Angry at a life season that keeps me from being able to write a check for $150 without it punching me in the gut.  Angry at snooty Southern women for making me feel like I was too cheap to buy my kid his fancy Southern church clothes.  Angry at myself for being flustered and frustrated with my child.

I'd like to say that I bounced back quickly.  I didn't.  I came home and had a good cry to Jonathan.  I snuggled my baby, feeling guilt and shame just knowing that he could feel my frustration with him.  I worked out, trying to let off a little steam.  But I came home to a still fussy baby and a still studying husband.

And in that moment, when nothing was perfect, when nothing was resolved, God was so good.  He gently revealed the ugly areas of my heart that created the situation of this morning.  Because really, it didn't have to be a situation at all, were it not for me and my sin.

I was mad at my baby, who was only acting as babies are meant to do, not because he was being disobedient (he wasn't) but because he was making me look bad.  In front of other people.  Who--God forbid--might be judging my parenting skills or--even worse--my child.  My child is fine.  My ego is not.  

I was mad at my husband, who was home busting his tail in order to pass an exam in which he will sit for 16 hours answering questions over three years worth of knowledge.  Mad at the husband who approaches parenting as a team, who watches our son multiple times a week with enthusiasm, and who simply needs the next two weeks to really hit the books before this exam.  Mad at the husband who risked it all to bravely follow God's new calling on his life, that will also provide a better life for our family.  My husband is fine.  My selfishness is not.

I was mad at my budget, that does not allow me the freedom to drop money without thinking of it.  Mad that the financial blessings that give us every last thing we need was not enough to spend on trivial things I want.  But heaven forbid I ever, ever reach a place where I spend money on things as frivolous as clothes without thinking first!  Even when $150 doesn't feel as high a price as it does right now, I hope it always seems high.  My financial situation is fine.  My state of discontent is not.  

I was mad at my surroundings, that make me feel that pricey, name-brand clothes with monograms, smocking, appliques galore are essential to having a well-dressed child.  I felt cheap, unable to justify a splurge on even consigned, used clothes for my son.  Heaven forbid he show up to MOPS in jeans and a t-shirt!  But my child has plenty of darling clothes.  And, more importantly, my child is darling himself.  My child's wardrobe is fine.  My envy is not.

I had grown a disaster that was completely rooted in my own mind, nourished with my own pride.  And it was not pretty.  Oh, how I need the grace of Jesus in this life!  How dare I attempt to be a wife, to be a mother, in my own strength and striving, guided by my own distorted view of reality and truth, driven by shallow desires of this world!  I will fail.  I do fail.  Every time.

And just in case the lesson wasn't really driven home, guess who left her checkbook at the consignment sale?

Oh, yes.  I got to go back.  With my tail between my legs.  Just waiting for those women's snide looks.  Just ready for the whispers: "Oh that's the one from this morning?"  Because you know they had been discussing me ever since my departure, the poor girl with the miserable, snotty-nosed baby who couldn't afford to shop.

I decided to make light of it.  I marched up to that cashier's table, asked for my check book, and as they handed it over I said in my best 'it ain't no thang' voice, "Well, y'all were so lucky to experience my first ever public meltdown with a baby!  No wonder I left my checkbook!"  And that's when one of the ladies who had witnessed our debacle said, "Well sweetie, it must have been a bigger deal to you, because we didn't even notice!"  Another worker chipped in, "Yep, and even if we did, it's gotta happen sometime!" A third piped up, "Yeah, every mama's got to get initiated! Congratulations!"  We even chit-chatted about how fast those price tags can add up, especially when some things are unmarked.  She reiterated that it wasn't a big deal at all that I had put items back.

I left with a smile on my face.  Closure, if you will, from those women I prayed I would never see again.  And I'm sure those women were just as nice this morning.  I was just so wrapped up in myself that I was going to interpret everything as one more jab to my ego.

At the end of the day, we mothers are all in this together.  Our kids are fine.  Our husbands are fine.  We are fine.

But that other junk in there?  Not fine at all.

February Showers Bring April Flowers

One of my greatest joys in life is hosting a party, and it's even more fun when you're celebrating the upcoming arrival of a precious baby girl!  I've got a great little group of friends whose husbands are all in optometry school with Jonathan.  One of them is expecting a girl, Brooklyn, this April, so we had a small little gathering to celebrate.  Come on in!  

Diaper wreath on the front door.  To make, simply buy a wire wreath form at Hobby Lobby ($2.50, and slip diapers around it, securing with a piece of ribbon.  Finish with a fun bow!  

The centerpiece for the shower was also part of my gift.  Inspired by my friend Erin , I made a bunch of felt flower hair clips.  Then I secured them to branches for a blossoming tree look.  

(To make, Google "felt flower tutorials" for ideas on the flowers.  Then simply spray paint some branches and a flower pot, anchor the branches with some dried beans or florist foam, cover the base in fabric, and use ribbon tie the clips to the branches)

The shower was in the afternoon, so we went with sweets...chocolate fondue with the works for dipping!  

We had unseasonably warm weather this weekend, and my poor camellia bush got confused...luckily it was just in time for the party!  

The adorable mama-to-be, Joy!

Sweet friends celebrating a sweet baby!  

My Best Girl

When you're expecting a baby, everyone warns that the minute your child is born your dog will plummet to the bottom of your priority list, no long your furry firstborn baby.  At our house, though our actual child is definitely first priority, our Weber Sue is still as loved as ever!  I thought it was high time for a little tribute to my "firstborn." 

 

Our girl has her flaws.  She occasionally wakes the baby from a nap by barking.  If you visit, she will be extremely excited to see you and will probably jump a time or two.  She is a sloppy drunk, sloshing the contents of her water bowl within a several foot radius and then slobbering the remainder across your lap with her soggy chin.  Her favorite past time is "surfing" the kitchen counters for food, and if we feed you on your visit I will guarantee some begging.  If she goes without her run, she will make you bonkers with her energy.  And if you're a cat, well, you don't stand a chance.  

But.  This dog.  Oh, how we love this dog.  And the reason why she maintains her beloved standing in our home?  Because this dog loves our baby.  You never know how your pet will react to a new baby, and I was so concerned that Weber would be jealous.  But from those first sniffs of his newborn baby head, Weber was smitten with our boy.  In our first days at home, she hovered at our feet, watching over every diaper change, crying when he cried, and even sleeping next to me as I spent our first night at home on the couch with my baby in my arms (I was terrified because he kept rolling over in his cradle--too exhausted to see that the cradle was tipping every so slightly--and slept sitting up on the couch!).  

The nursery floor became her new favorite spot, and although the early days of tummy time made her a bit anxious, if Riggins is playing in the nursery, you can guarantee that Weber is nearby with a toy of her own.  In the earlier months, she would even drop a toy on his belly, honestly hoping that he would return the cue to play!

She is tender and gentle, intrinsically aware that this little creature is fragile and special.

She watches over her little brother with care, and now that he is mobile she is often one step behind him. I am pretty certain that she would reach out to catch his tumbles if she had the arms to do so!  

She is patient and tolerant, putting up with horsey rides, ear pulling, repetitive slapping on her back, and tugging at her back leg as she tries to eat.  She allows him to snag her toys, and when he goes for her coveted bone she hops up to leave.  The one time she lost her patience and growled, she immediately sent herself to bed and we didn't see her for the rest of the night...she knew she had messed up!  

Riggins loves his "big sister," and she seems to know what to do to make him happy.  She greets him at his crib when he wakes up, she runs laps around the back yard to make him laugh and when she runs near him she often gives an extra jump that makes him squeal with glee.  When we go for walks, she prances next to the stroller, even allowing Riggs to hold onto her leash (of course Mom still has a firm hold on the actual end of the leash!).   

Of course, Weber became an even more devoted fan of Riggins Thomas when he ventured into the world of finger foods.  It took a good week for her to learn that the high chair tray was not an elevated dog food bowl!  She once cleared out an entire tray of Cheerios when I had my back turned for all of ten seconds!  Now Riggins takes every meal with a little admirer perched at his feet, just hoping and praying that a crump will drop.  She recently figured out that food drops into his lap, and she has been known to stick her nose up under the tray in an effort to snatch any bits she can reach!  

The thrice-daily highlight of mealtime for Weber is when that tray comes off; she becomes the best clean-up crew a mom could ask for!  Every bit of food is cleaned from every nook and cranny of that high chair and the surrounding floor, and all I have to do is wash the tray; not a bad deal!  

This dog is an integral part of our family.  She blends seamlessly into the way we do life, and she brings us so much joy and laughter.  She keeps us active and moving during the day and keeps our bed warm on cold winter nights.  She is my buddy in this stay-at-home mom adventure, keeping me company on long days and joining me for an afternoon nap when I decide to "sleep when the baby sleeps."  

And really, I shouldn't be surprised.  Life for Weber has only improved since Riggins came along.  Before, she spent her days in a crate for up to 9 hours a day while we were at work (don't worry, she got plenty of exercise and loving when we were home, and slept in our bed all night!).  These days, she naps on our bed or on the couch for most of the day, lounges on the nursery floor with her buddy, snacks at the foot of the high chair, and goes for walks and trips to the park in the middle of the day plus a run with her papa after school.  

Yes, life is good for Weber Sue.  And our life is better because of her.  

Just for You, On Valentine's Day

Because I love you so much, readers, I'm giving you what every girl wants on Valentine's Day...

A good looking guy in bed.  

;)

At our house on Valentine's Day:

Flowers, Godiva truffles, a new waffle iron with breakfast made by my valentine, and a lazy night of pizza, wine, and The Bachelor.  (Because what makes you cherish the love you have more than watching The Bachelor?  I know, it's trash, but it is my guilty pleasure of the past decade and I just can't help myself.)

Happy Valentine's Day to you!

If You Blog It, It Will Come...

That's right, folks.  After proclaiming the cuteness of my son's gummy grin to all of kingdom come, we now have a tooth!

Or, shall I say, we are getting a tooth!

The little mister has been a crabby pants for the past two days, complete with drool, raw red skin around the mouth, snotty nose, and diapers that smell like a port-a-potty on a hot summer day.  Add in a few legitimate meltdowns (made all the more dramatic by back-arching, limb-flailing, and swatting at anyone who attempts to console, wipe tears or snot, or anything of the sort) and I knew that something was up with my typically chill little buddy.

Sure enough, a brief investigation allowed me to feel the tiniest sliver of a hard little something on his bottom gum line, and when I finally managed to hold his lip back long enough (amid the above mentioned swatting, screaming, and flailing) I could see the faintest outline of a little tooth poking its way up to the surface.

What followed in a nutshell: more crying, more clinging, more whining, more fussing, more flailing, a brief interlude of happy crawling, some teething ring chewing, a dose of baby Tylenol, sweet holding and snuggling followed by suddenly pushing me away as though I were personally responsible for all the evils in the world of babyhood, followed by more snuggling and then more revolting.

And, finally, he is asleep.

And I just finished off some ice cream straight from the carton.

Like I said, I was just fine with waiting on this whole teething business....

(Just as I was about to hit "Publish Post," Jonathan walked in from a morning of studying with flowers and my favorite cookies from Fresh Market.  What a guy.  I might have sent a few desperate texts his way, and he definitely knew what would brighten my day!  Thanks, babe!)

Q&A Part V: My Food Philosophy

Question: From the looks of your blog, it seems that you eat very heathy all the time.  Do eat all organic?  Do you ever just call for pizza?  


Ahhh...my favorite topic.  I love food.  I love shopping for food.  I love cooking food.  I love eating food.  I love reading about food.  I love watching other people cook food on television.  On my list of hobbies and passions, food is pretty high on the list.  Not everyone enjoys the process of obtaining and preparing good food, so I consider it a blessing that I naturally enjoy something that is a basic need for all of us.

Here's what is funny about my relationship with food.  On one hand, I can be a bit of a food snob.  On the other hand, I have a penchant for the lowest of the low on the food totem pole.  For example, I actually like Ramen noodles, and I think pork rinds are awesome.  It's kind of like how I can be all Emily Post one minute and belching the next.  I am a paradoxical woman.  And just in case you don't believe me, I am eating a ball of frozen cookie dough at this very instant.  So if this post comes across as pretentious, believe me, it's all in moderation!

See?  We eat cake!

Pork rinds and cookie dough aside, I do have a few priorities when it comes to food, but I do hold them flexibly.  At the end of the day, I care more about my food being local and seasonal than I do about it being organic. A few books were influential in this viewpoint, especially Michael Pollan's The Omnivore's Dilemma and Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle.  In a nutshell, that asparagus you bought at Whole Foods in January might have been organic, but the fact that it was shipped from Chile does nothing for its taste or for the environment.

SEASONAL

You can find lists of what foods are in season online.  Once you start buying things when they were actually meant to be eaten, you will never be able to settle for tomatoes and strawberries in December ever again!  Don't be mad at your grocery's produce department when the asparagus is tough in November or the peaches are hard in February.  They were never intended to be eaten in the dead of winter!  Peaches were meant to dribble down your chin on a hot summer day, and when you've waited all year to do just that, it's even sweeter.

Last summer's blackberries and peaches, getting ready for a pie!

LOCAL

Obviously, the best way to get seasonal produce is from your local farmers market, roadside stand, or co-op.  This has the added benefit of supporting your local economy, and it reduces the consequences of shipping.  You might even make some new friends in the process!  As we like to say at the Memphis Farmers Market: know your farmer, know your food!

Farmers markets encourage trying new things!  Zucchini flowers stuffed with goat cheese, getting ready to take a dip in batter before being fried.  Looks crazy, but tastes incredible!

We also choose local restaurants over chains the majority of the time.  This has a lot to do with the economy, but more to do with the fact that they are usually just better!  Find me one Memphian who thinks a burger at Chili's is better than a burger at Huey's and I'll eat my Edible Memphis magazine!  And so many local restaurants are now buying local foods from local farmers and producers, and it all comes together to make some really tasty stuff!

WHOLE

Now.  Organics.  I do buy organic dairy as often as I can afford to do so.  There are also some organic products that I enjoy simply because many organic packaged foods tend to be more natural in general, which is always my preference.  Which leads me to my second point: I like my food as close to its natural state as possible.  I try to shop the outer edge of my grocery store: produce, protein, dairy.  I avoid packaged and processed foods, and when I do buy them I look for the most natural option possible (i.e. the fewest number of ingredients with names I cannot pronounce).  I also make the occasional run to Whole Foods to buy grains (brown rice, bulgar wheat, quinoa, steel cut oats, couscous) and dried beans/lentils in bulk.  It's extremely economical and there is an endless variety to what you can do with that stuff!

One of many bean-based concoctions that we enjoy!

And speaking of variety through basic ingredients, here's one area where I am admittedly a snob: I hardly buy mixes of any kind.  This comes down to economics more than anything.  Why buy a pancake/cake/brownie/cookie/cornbread/biscuit mix when you can make all of those things with some combination of the cheapest ingredients in your grocery store: flour, sugar, butter, eggs, milk, salt?  Your budget and your taste buds benefit when you make things from scratch, and most of the time it only takes a few more minutes of your time.

VEGETARIAN-ISH


Americans have come to the point where many of us don't see a meal as complete unless it contains meat.  For a variety of reasons (see the books mentioned above), I prefer to buy meat and seafood that is local and humanely raised or wild caught (if you live in Memphis, our market has some excellent options!).  Unfortunately, our budget does not allow for us to eat that quality every day.  Jonathan and I probably eat meat at dinner only two or three times a week, and we really don't miss it!  I do a lot with beans, lentils, and eggs, and we eat fish or shrimp at least once a week too.  As Pollan sums up, "Eat food.  Not too much.  Mostly plants."

KEEPING IT REAL


I have a baby.  And a life.  I don't have time to forage for mushrooms or hunt wild pheasant or even shop  at four different stores to get the best deal on basic groceries.  Most weeks, I shop at Super Target for basic groceries (I also buy produce there from November through March when the farmers market isn't open, and the few items that can't be found at the farmer's market, like citrus fruits and such).  They have a great selection of natural packaged products, organic dairy, and wild-caught frozen seafood too.  If you live in Memphis, Easy Way is my favorite source of off-season local produce and dairy.  We tend to shop at Target every-other week for basic groceries, then restock produce and dairy at Easy Way in-between.

An autumn treat, butterscotch pear pie!

I think we should care about where our food comes from, who it comes from, and what it does to and for our bodies.  When you think it's too expensive to shop at your farmer's market when you could shop at Wal-Mart, remember that even though you are saving a few bucks on the surface, you are paying for it.  You're paying for it at the gas pump.  You're paying for it in medical insurance.  You're paying for it in your taxes.  You're paying for it in the environment.  We all have a choice, and would rather pay at the source.

Like I said at the beginning, these rules aren't absolute in my home.  Right now there is Kroger brand mint chocolate chip ice cream in my freezer, non-organic milk in my fridge, and a bowl of candy in my pantry.  We went out for donuts last Saturday morning and I even let Riggins have a little bite.  I'm not perfect and my pantry isn't either.  But I do take pleasure in enjoying the best quality food I can afford the majority of the time.  And I think other people would too if they gave it a try!

If this topic is interesting to you, I can't recommend those books highly enough.  You might also enjoy Fast Food Nation and the films Food, Inc. and Super Size Me.  And feel free to leave any questions in the comment section!

Gummers

After about three or four months of parenthood, a new variable enters the picture.  From that moment on, every fuss, fever, drool, or bite gets blamed on one thing.

"Ooooh....I think he's teething," said my parents after he fussed through our overnight weekend last October.

"Ahh....he must be teething!" said the nursery worker after he spent an entire morning gnawing on an unfortunate toy.

"Surely he's teething," I said through that pitiful Christmas Day fever.

"Looks like you'll be seeing some teeth soon!" said the pediatric nurse when I called about that same fever.

"Please, kid!  A tooth!  Something to explain why you're being such a Cranky McWhineypants!" I say on any particularly difficult day.  

But here we are, nine months later, with not a tooth in sight.  As with everything in child development, the normal range of the first tooth runs a pretty wide curve.  Considering that I am still nursing (teeth + boob = yikes!) and that my kid has a ridiculously adorable gummy grin, I am perfectly content to fall on the later edge of that curve.  And after all this anticipation, it wouldn't surprise me at all if Riggins is one of those kids that just wakes up one day with a pearly white, without any warning at all.  

Let's just say that I am over trying to assign teething as the cause of every whiney morning, warm forehead, wet-chested outfit, or drool-coated toy.  Let the Tooth Fairy come when she may, but I'm done placing my bets!

(Just for fun...those cute little gummers fresh from the oven!  This is one of the only shots I have--and not even a good one--of his little "gum dimple," as we call it.  He's got a significant dip in the center of his top gum line and I will cry a river the day that I can no longer see it between his teeth!  One of my favorite little details about my boy.)  

Thoughts on a Snowy Morning

In light of the blizzard that the majority of my friends and family "out West" have experienced over the past week, it seems just a bit silly to mention that we have snow on the ground in Memphis today.  I suppose it's the fact that we missed "Snowmageddon 2011" in Oklahoma that allows me to be excited about our little dusting.  Nothing like a morning nap time spent looking out the back window over a cup of decaf and an open Bible.

We had a few friends over to watch the Super Bowl last night.  I ate my weight in jalepenos stuffed with cream cheese and wrapped in bacon.  I have no regrets.  Those were washed down with chili, Yuengling, and key lime bars.  The Super Bowl for me is literal...I have a super time filling my bowl with naughty food.  

This morning, I washed the twin sized comforter that we sometimes add to our bed in cold weather.  Fresh out of the dryer, I carried it to the bed only to find a certain pointer sprawled out over the covers.  In a moment of benevolence, I opted against shooing her off the bed and rather laid the warm, fresh, heavy blanket right on top of her, with only her little wet snout poking out of the edge.  She sighed.  One hour later, she hadn't moved a muscle.  

Jonathan came home at lunch after a quick trip to the store.  Decked in stocking cap and dusted with snow, he shuffled into the house with a bag of milk, bananas, and--poking out of the top--twenty perfect pink tulips.  What a fresh, beautiful sight on a cold winter's day!  

If it hadn't been for those tulips, I think I would have opted to trade places with Weber for the day.  But now that it's nap time again, perhaps I should go crazy and opt for both the tulips and a nap under a clean, warm comforter?