What Came First?

Forget the egg or the chicken, the pox came first at our house.
There are many things I like and desire about chickens, but this my friends, is not one of them.

I think he is handling it way better than either one of his parents. We just want to take the pain away, the confusion away, the multiplying red bumps. We have never felt so helpless... this is definitely the first real trial as parents, to be patient and know that God will heal his little body in due time. Say a little prayer for our little guy - and maybe one for his mama and pops, too.

Noah shows us how he really feels about those pesky bumps -
or he's trying to lick the oatmeal bath off his chin.

Daddy always makes everything in my world much better.Can't nobody hold me down, oh no...

The crazy thing, or at least what I find wild, about Chicken Pox is that there is a vaccine for the infection but there are no antibiotics or salves that will speed the healing process, only things to make the child less itchy. I know it's a viral deal, but still, one would think that with the sickness that effects millions of kids and adults each year, there would be some glimmer of goopy hope.

And what better than to have Noah's very own, very special, personalized cape (handmade by the wonderful Liz) arrive during his first oatmeal bath of the day!

Yes, that's right - the wonders of this cape will bring super speedy healing powers and will have Noah bouncing off the walls again in no time! And he will be very cute doing it... But for real, go check Liz out and buy one of these for the little dude in your life - Etsy, everyone else is doing it.

We are on the outs right now, chickens and me, but I still think I want them in my backyard (I don't really have a "yard" per-say, but I like to think of it that way...). I will have to sleep on it. The thought, not the chicken.

Booger in the Sugar

...no it's-not.

To show that I play fair and not favorites, it is pertinent that I share a story that my sister, Heather, specifically looked at me and said, "Please don't put this on the blog,"... even if it makes her crawl out of her skin, it's a must read. Kids say the darnedest things and this kid in particular is quite funny.

Mason, age 6

The Giusti clan (minus Mike) came over and stayed with us for a few days last week. We were busily cooking dinner and maintaining the other wild banshees while Mason was taking a bath. (Note: The bathtub is practically in the kitchen. No children were left unattended while bathing.) He was playing, pretending, make-believing when he asked Heather what this blue plastic pot was that he was playing with. She said "That's Aunt Beth's snot-cleaner-outter!"...to which he promptly dropped in the water and scurried for something else to play with.

He landed his hands on a clear plastic cup that has lime green coloring on the bottom to which he asks, "Why is the bottom of this cup green?"...to which Heather responded, "That's where she puts her boogers." I tell him it's green because the boogers turned it that color. His face distorts and again, he promptly drops the cup.

Seeing the opportunity of a lifetime, because after twenty-six years and plenty of tattling I know the way my sister feels about the olfactory and it's functions, I ask, "Mason, what color are the boogers you eat? Green or yellow?"

He thinks about it for a minute.

"Yellow."

And if you listened close enough you could hear a little part of my sisters heart breaking. And her skin crawling. And her head spinning. And the steam blowing. And her innermost being dying.

And me laughing, quite loudly.

And Mason going on bathing.

Random Fact: There are studies that show that kids who eat their boogers turn out to be healthier adolescents and adults. The boogers boost their immune systems and ultimately help ward off the common cold and other such funkiness.

Explains why I've always been so healthy...

West Virginia Mountain Mama

So I didn't actually go to West Virginia, but close.

We started the week off in Balsam at my in-laws home with my parents and sister's brood, headed to Boone to spend time with the Ashmans, picnicked atop Grandfather Mountain, hiked in Grayson Highlands in Mouth of Wilson, VA, and ended with a quick stop in Asheville to do my civil and earth-loving duty of purchasing "locally". (Some may argue that Asheville isn't exactly "local" to Ten Mile, TN, but I argue that I will always call NC home. So there.)

Before we get to the pictures, funny story:
As a lot of you may know YASNY is the Ford Family mountain home where my in-laws plan to spend a lot of their time once they retire, where we all meet for family Christmases, where Chris and I introduced Noah to the mountains that he will love for the first time, so on and so forth. This was the first time that I went to the house without any of the other Fords...and well, I figured that by this point I knew how to "open" the house (i.e. turn on power, water pump, water heater, etc.)...I mean, I have been in the family now for almost five years.

So we get in the house and I immediately go around to all of the dials in each room turning on the "air conditioners", like I have seen my in-laws and Chris do many times before in past visits. About ten minutes go by and I notice that I am sweating, which is rare for me. I figure it must just be because I am lugging around an eighteen pound weight as I move things to and fro.

Then my dad says, "Is it hot in here or is it just me?"... I think little of it, chalk it up to menopause or something like that, and move along tinkering with this and that.

My mom then points out that "hot air" is blowing from the vents.
Oh boy, I have broken the house. Great.

So I texted Chris and Grammy Nan saying: Where is the AC in the house?

No reply.

At this point I start going around checking the "AC" dials again to make sure that I did it right, at which time I notice the small little golden nugget of information inscribed on the dial: Electric Heater.

Defeated.
Or should I say de-heated?

I text back: I didn't know that YASNY didn't have an AC unit?

To which I recieve: It does. Open the windows.

To my defense, this is the first time going up in the summer since 2006. And by myself.
At least I looked like I knew what I was doing...

Onto the photos...

A little porch reading with my friend, Barbara.
The view ain't too shabby either.

Little monkey climbs on everything.He thinks his Papa is hilarious.
Chris: "Can grandkids have favorites?"Sweet angel baby sleeping with MamaBo on the porch swing.Grits likes the front porch, too.

Mainly rolling her ball off the edge and chasing it into the bushes.The Bullington Fam joined us after picking up the oldest two from

Ridgecrest and Crestridge.Noah with Aunt Krystal at Grandfather picnic & condo in Boone.

And did I mention that Noah and I did this all by our lonesome?

Well, without Chris I mean.

Yep.

Noah slept in a closet, I got blisters with the new shoes to match, and was barely able to close my eyes for more than an hour.
And I would do it all again.

Please don't call Child Services, it was a big closet.

Not-So-Happy Meal

We all know how great I am at being on time for things...
Riiiiight.
And unfortunately this usually manifests itself not so much in my arrival time to destinations (most people probably don't care what time I arrive), more in sending things like birthday cards, gifts, RSVPs... so it always appears that I am aloof and can't seem to keep my days and weeks straight. Partially true, however, to my defense, if I am late sending something it usually has more to do with the fact that I am lovingly laboring over thoughts and ideas of how to make your day extra special. Just a few days after the fact.
I am working on this.

So for Mother's Day, which these "holidays" I am particularly bad about, I decided to make something for our mothers that they would both find useful and enjoy using. There is a big "reusable shopping bag" craze right now, so I thought I would make them one that was their very own since our mamas are hip with the latest fads, you know. I finished my mom's first and sent it out the day before Mother's day-- a day late to her, not too bad, right? It took me a little longer to finish Mama Nancy's due to my week's work schedule, but alas, it too was finished and ready to be sent. It may have even sat in our car longer than it took me to make, waiting to be mailed the next time we were in town.
Chris was running some errands one day so I asked him to go on and send it... this would make my life much simpler than the time that I mailed out four items at once with a baby on my hip. I am sure it looked like a three ring circus...but it got done, nonetheless. So like the good little boy he is, he sent it on its way, note inside and all.

It just so happens that the Fords were coming up a few days later, but I thought we could get it to her before they left, and then she could proudly don her new digs when they were up. And had the "incident" not happened, that's probably how it would have gone down. But no...

Oh, no.

I got an email from N last week after they arrived home that went a little something like this:
N: we are home from north carolina. thanks for my happy meal mermaid doll for mothers day.

Me: happy meal mermaid doll? what are you talking about?

N: thats what was in the package...

Me: from me and chris? um. no, that's not what we sent you.

N: well that is what i got, indeed i thought you made something for me...but when i opened the package, mailed on may 19th from kingston, tennessee and with chris' handwriting on it, there was a long blonde haired mermaid doll inside a happy meal plastic wrap. (she is 5 1/2 inches long, teal body and purple tail)..so i thought there was some hidden message...and said thanks. was it for abigail or anne lois maybe? also it was in a ready post photo document mailer sent first class at $1.73. anyway thanks.

-----Sidenote: At this point I am thoroughly confused as you can imagine... thinking to myself: I sent Chris to do one thing, ONE THING, and he sent his mom a mermaid? What the heck...-----

Me: I have NO idea what in the world happened. Someone must have swiped your gift... we have no idea how a Barbie got in there. That is weird weird weird. Was there a note in there? We know nothing about a mermaid doll... Chris says that sounds like the packaging it was in and the price it was to ship. It was a reusable shopping bag, like I made for my mom as well. I will have to do another one. That is freaky weird... I am a little perturbed. Did the package look like it had been messed with? Maybe the labels got switched? You look around your apartment complex and see if anyone is carrying around a green flowered bag with blue edges. They stole it...

N: no note, the end with the tear strip was not tampered but the flap was packing taped closed. there was no return address on it either. my name and address was written directly on the envelope. i will save the envelope. yep sounds like someone made a switch. you may want to report mail fraud but i don't know those rules, etc.

Me: Yep. Someone definitely messed with it...ugh. Makes me angry. I will be reporting it for sure. That's so sketchy.

What the heck? Who steals a Mother's Day gift? I mean, I thought it was special and priceless and all that other sentimental stuff, but I would never expect some random person to covet my work so much that they must have it at any cost. Including mail fraud...

Really, mail thief, really? You will go down for a felony for a shopping bag? They will think you are real tough in the slammer. Maybe your cellmate will like your flowery bag... Oh, but thanks for replacing it with a HAPPY MEAL MERMAID! Very nice... wouldn't want the receiver to think that I had sent them junk.
Maybe it's a USPS conspiracy.
They really want you to insure your packages. Their budget depends on it.
Or else they will take your flowery bags hostage.
Until you break...

The Breast Choice

I get a weekly email from Babyfit's Natural Mother that is full of helpful and useful information on topics I can relate to: composting, activities for baby, organic choices, diapering, baby food, etc. Like any other advice and information, I take it with a grain of salt and usually do further research if there is something that catches my attention. I was rifling through emails that I haven't had a chance to sit long enough to give a thought to this morning and came across an article about "self-weaning". Now, I have vowed to myself and Noah that I will breastfeed him for at least a year and will begin to wean him after his first birthday, given that he doesn't wean himself first. I am not opposed to going longer, however, I think that beyond a year is just bonus nutrition and often an emotional need for baby and mama. I love to spend this time with little dude, but I can also imagine the freedom that must be unleashed when the baby no longer wants the boob. I am sure I will miss the bonding time, but I also don't want to prolong the inevitable, potentially making it even more emotional and damaging the older he gets.

Disclaimer: I am not seeking approval or criticism, simply stating the way I feel about the topic of breastfeeding. If you choose to take the advice of what I am about to share, more power to you. You are an amazing and dedicated mama. For me, I could not fathom it.

As I mentioned, I received this article based on breastfeeding and self-weaning:

Self-Weaning
Self-weaning, or child-led weaning, describes the natural, gradual process that inevitably occurs when a child no longer has a nutritional or emotional need to nurse. Somewhere between the ages of two-and-a-half to four years, the child will begin to ask to nurse less and less often, gradually tapering off over a period of months until they are completely weaned.

Some people worry that, without a strong parental push to do so, their child will never wean. This worry is unfounded, however, for when children are allowed to follow their own weaning timetables, they all wean. According to Katherine Dettwyler, PhD, a professor of anthropology, "In societies where children are allowed to nurse ‘as long as they want', they usually self-wean, with no arguments or emotional trauma, between three and four years of age...The minimum predicted age for natural weaning is 2.5 years, with a maximum of 7 years."

Holy cow. Literally.

I cannot even begin to wrap my mind around breastfeeding Noah for another two years beyond this, let alone until he's SEVEN! There is something about the thought of him getting off the bus from school and having mama's milk and cookies that doesn't quite sit right with me.
Crazy.

I will say that the "emotional trauma" of weaning is probably very tiring and terrifying for all parties involved, and I think there is truth to allowing the child to lead the way. I can assure you there will probably be many emotions spilled all over this blog about said subject in the future.But I also feel that there could be more psychological repercussions if a child nurses until he is in elementary school...I mean, he is old enough to have vivid memories and recollections by the age of four. Can you imagine the torment from other children if they knew? And what do you tell the kid...don't tell your friends that I nurse you to sleep at night? Then it potentially becomes a shameful occurrence, which launches into a whole separate ball of wax.
I hope to take an approach to mothering that is as natural and as non-traumatic as possible for Noah and potential other littlefords. I hope to try new things and be open-minded to new adventures. I hope to step outside of the box to show my family that I love them uniquely and immensely. I hope to tackle obstacles, big and small, as a team with Chris that will only grow and strengthen our relationship. I hope to teach my littleford(s) to make good choices and be individuals.

I hope and pray that Noah weans himself at a year or a little later.
I really hope and pray that he doesn't still "need" me in the above capacity until he's seven.
Lord, help us all if that's the case.
And for anyone who makes this choice, let me know how it works out for you.
And your little one.
And your little one fifteen years from now.

To Vaccinate or Not to Vaccinate

Ugh.
Let me start with that.
We've not really had a strong opinion one way or the other regarding vaccinations for Noah. I figure that it is the responsible choice to provide him the healthiest path we can choose for him while he can't make his own decisions. We figure we will do all the mainstream ones - measles, mumps, rubella, pneumonia, hepatitis B, etc. - and discuss as it occurs whether we will do the new/optional ones - rotavirus, chicken pox, flu, etc.
I should also say that the Peds group that we go to requires the traditional shots or they will not treat your child. We really like/trust them as they are the largest and most accessible practice in Knoxville, and they didn't get that way because they are terrible doctors & nurses. But to that I also say that just because all the other cool parents are doing it does not mean that it is for us and our child. I am sure we will make many different choices for Noah than a lot of mainstream folks choose...not because we're better, just because we are different.

Which brings me to my recent frustration.

 We opted to have Noah take the Rotarix vaccine which prevents the rotavirus - vomiting, diarrhea, severe dehydration -  in children. We did this in part because my niece, AL, was very sick with it when she was a baby and had to be hospitalized due to dehydration. Scary, right? And protectively, we didn't want this for the baby boy.
We went in for Noah's six month well visit and for his next round of immunizations and lo and behold, they tell us that Rotarix (which he already completed at four months) has been pulled off the market by the FDA for further research.
Awesome.

Now, I try not to overreact, they pull things on and off the market all the time...and I would much rather they research it more than just turn a blind eye. So I did a little research of my own...Seems as though there are portions of  a pig virus, PCV1, present in the vaccine that the company doesn't know how it got in there. Supposedly PCV1 is non-threatening to humans, but PCV2 can be. They have only found PCV1, but the troubling part is they don't know how it got in there.
Seriously?
And this isn't the first time that a rotavirus vaccine has been pulled... in 1999 the CDC pulled RotaShield off the market because it was linked to some sort of fatal infection.
Disturbing.

As a parent, what the heck do you do about that? It's not like Noah can untake the vaccine. Chances are it is harmless and nothing will come of it, but the fact that he has something inside of him that even has the potential to be harmful makes my skin crawl. I can assure you that we will research and think twice before we go vaccinating him with anything anymore, regardless of what the AAP recommends. (Sorry, Erika, I know you will strongly disagree, and that's okay.)
I hate to think like that because I consider myself a pretty level-headed and practical person, but it's just not safe to sign the dotted line until you know all the details.
Not when my baby is involved.

The lesson here?
Be informed. Know what you are signing up for. Consider your options. Weigh the pros and cons and decide what suits you and your family best. Try not to overreact when things don't go as planned. Prepare yourself when it goes awry. Because most likely, it will happen at least once.
You may just have to go against the grain. If you are educated on the matter and feel strongly about it, do it. It's your life, your children, your choice.

Side-note: If it were up to me we would live deep in the woods using natural and homeopathic remedies, eat non-processed foods, and live off the land. Oh, to be one with nature and our Creator...

National Association of Stock Car Racing...This One's For You, Uncle Matt

I never imagined in my wildest dreams that I would be able to pick Jeff Gordon out of a crowd, know the winner of the Daytona 500, or give a hoot about young buck Brad Keselowski's aggressive and risky driving that doesn't seem to sit too well with most of the older drivers, including but not limited to Carl Edwards. But alas, I can tell you all about that and more. And I say that with a little pride, strangely enough. But you see, when you live in the country in East Tennessee you can't really avoid or escape it. It just kind of sneaks up on you like a bad cold that you can't get rid of...and though you don't like the cold, maybe a little embarrassed of the dripping snotty nose that takes over your life, you deal with it.
I doubt anyone ever loves a cold, but oh NASCAR, how I've learned to deal with you.
And maybe even like you.
A little.

But I think I know a little fella who might like you a lot.
Bless my heart.
 

But don't be too hard on him, he has an excuse:
1. We live in East Tennessee. Enough said.
2. We live in the country, twenty miles from town. No cable, no Direct/Dish TV (too many trees), no internet strong enough to watch other things. So we have an antenna...think rabbit ears for the 21st century. We get four channels on a good day and FOX happens to be one of our tried and true.
3. The cars are bright colors and go round and round.  What baby doesn't like those two things...parents pay a lot of money for toys that do that. (Apparently, they aren't too picky about sponsors...a pink Kim Kardashian car, are you serious?)
4. Noah's Uncle Matt #1 is a NASCAR fan...and anything that Uncle Matt does must be good, right? Every uncle needs a good racing buddy.
5. And he's cute while he watches:

All I can say is.

Boogity. Boogity. Boogity.

Let's crank it up.

Bless my heart.

Monitor Mayhem

I used to be a hard sleeper. As in, prop me up against the wall and I could probably get a full 8 hours of sleep. Heck, I slept an entire winter outside in below-freezing temperatures while surrounded by ten shoeless, at-risk teenage girls and never missed a wink.
Not anymore.
Since we brought Noah home I have had this slight concern about how far his room is from ours. Granted, our house isn't THAT big, but his room is all the way across the house, with two thick wood doors between us at night. Hence, why he slept in our room until just after Christmas. I was the one not ready for the transition, he did great (as he does with just about everything). And I was really starting to get used to it. Chris and I really enjoy having our room to ourselves again so our nightly routine could commence.

Get your minds out of the gutter.

We like to read favorite books together and have long conversations. About dreams and goals. About the future. About how we have the cutest little guy ever. Ever.

All was well, we were getting back to normal. And getting some sleep. Until last night.

Noah went down around 9pm and we followed around 10:30pm. This is a new bedtime for him, he had been going to bed around 11pm (or later some nights) and we were beginning to think we were raising a teenager already. That being said, with the adjustment he's been waking around 3am to eat and then goes right back down. I know he will eventually just drop the 3am feeding, since he had previously been sleeping from 11pm-9am, it's just a matter of adjusting.

So we turned on the monitor and hit the hay. Or so we thought.

I stirred around 3am, as my body is used to this, and no noise from little guy. I rolled over and went back to sleep.

I stirred again around 6am, no noise from little guy. I rolled over, but couldn't go back to sleep. Something didn't feel right. Something didn't sound right. I couldn't hear him sleeping on the monitor. So I tried to convince myself, in a sleepy daze, that I was over-thinking things, that this was probably Noah getting back to sleeping through the night. I laid there a little longer, 20 minutes or so, and just couldn't shake the thought that something wasn't right. Something didn't sound right. I couldn't hear the hum of the monitor.

I couldn't hear the hum of the monitor.

I quickly hopped out of bed, went over to the monitor, and sure enough, nothing. No noise. Nothing. The green light was on but there was no static, no white noise. Nothing.

Remember, it's now 6:30am, he normally stirs around 3am. You can imagine the thoughts running through my head. With cat-like speed I scurry to his room to find him on his back (other mama's, don't freak out, but we sleep him on his tummy because he breathes better) squealing, not upset, just making noise. I scoop him up and take him back to our room. He eats for about 15 minutes and dozes right on back to sleep. Like the amazing baby he is.

I will never know what happened between the hours of 3am and 6:30am. I can only hope that he just slept on through because I would have never heard him if he was crying. I will tell myself that he was happy, talking and singing to himself like he usually does. That's the story I am going with.

But the huge wet spot in his crib from drool and probably (sigh) tears may prove otherwise.

Poor baby.

Something Profound

I have no idea what I want to ramble about today.
But I feel like rambling.
I read others' blogs and envy their life. Their ramblings. Their freedom.
Freedom.
I wouldn't trade my life for anything else in the world. Ever. I love my husband. I love our baby. I love our ministry. I love our family and friends. I love our pup. I love our situation. I realize how fortunate I am to have the life that I do. But I miss my freedom sometimes.

Freedom to:
- Sleep in if I want to (not with a 4 month old singing in his bed at 7:30am)
- Take a shower without a whole lot of thought/planning
- Pursue endeavors on a whim
- Support people I love and what they do
- Have a bigger budget (would it then be a budget?)
- Read a book for more than 15 minutes, uninterrupted
- Start and complete a project in the same day
- Randomly road trip. Anywhere. Anytime.
- Follow ambitions. Photography. Sewing. Coffee Shops.
- Make a difference for others. Peace. Love. Hope.

I could still do those things. Well, maybe only a few.
I know that God is bigger than me and bigger than the limits I put on myself. The question is where do I start and how? I would trade the sleeping and showering to be a part of something bigger, something significant. It's as though, at times, I have too many options of where I can pour my energy and passion. Right now, a little fella about 2 feet tall consumes the majority of that energy and passion, which is fine by me. He can have all of me and my love as long as he lets me share it with his daddy. I just yearn to do more. To be more. Do I better myself at the things I know how to do? Or do I take on something new, a random adventure, and hope that it works out? Will it be fulfilling or will it just fill my time?

To fill or fulfill, that is the question.

It's like spring cleaning. You try to get all of the unnecessary junk out of your closets, cabinets, storage bins. You either give it away to someone who could use it more, love it more, need it more or you throw it away if it's no longer any use to anyone (like those select articles of clothing you've been carrying around since high school that will NEVER fit again, time to pass those on). I think I need to do a figurative "spring cleaning" of the things that clutter my life. It seems I try to dabble in too much, and it all ends up being mediocre. Blah.
I want to be great at something. It's like I can't focus on any one thing. You should see our house. Sewing projects. Photo projects. Crochet project. Cleaning (not my fave) projects. Organization projects. All undone. Unfinished. Unraveled?
I mean, read this post again. It's all over the place.
Much like my life.

I suppose I should be thankful. Thankful I can be selfish; though I should not be so selfish, I can be if I want to. And I am. Thankful and selfish.

For this:

And this:

This too:

Her, too:

These as well:

 And especially this:

And for all the things and people these represent.

And for all the things they don't.