A celebration and blowout kind of day

Today we celebrated - really had a blowout kind of day.  First, we helped some dear friends move into the house they've been working on for 5 months.  There's still work to be done, but they are living there.  Tonight!  Celebration!

Then this afternoon, we went to my mom's parents' to celebrate both of their birthdays.  I won't tell you how old they turned, but I will tell you that I hope I age as gracefully and with as much spunk as they have.  They are a joy to be around, and all of my mom's branch of the family (save my sister who was away at college) got to celebrate and hang out for the afternoon at Grandma and Grandpa's house.  Hurray!

Finally, on the way home, we stopped off at a little Mexican restaurant for supper.  Conversation was good, the kids were great, the food was delicious.  Mmmm.  A great end to a great day... almost.

Connor had annihilated the rice and beef that I'd shared with him.  Annihilated it in such a way that it was all over the floor.  As we finished up, I bent over to try to mitigate the mess, and then it hit me:  the stench.  Sniff, sniff  It could only be one thing.

I picked Connor up, grabbed the diaper bag and excused the two of us to visit the changing table in the restroom.  There was a mom and two little girls ahead of us waiting for the single restroom.  You know the kind - it's a little 6x6 room that has the sign outside that designates it both a boys and girls restroom.

The door opened, the occupant left, and the waiting mom went in.  Connor looked over at me and gave me a monstrous Mexican-food caked grin.  I made a mental note to wipe his face down while changing him.

We waited.  And waited.  And waited.  And we all knew what that other mom was doing.  Clearly it wasn't going to be ideal to go in after her.  But we were dealing with poop too, so NBD.  As we waited, a lady got in line behind us.  Connor started shooting his most winning grins her way and eventually got bored of his upright perch in my arm.  He dive-bombed forward and I caught across his chest with my other arm.  I pretended to make him fly.  He was loving it!  But then his shirt came up a bit.

What was that?  Oh no.  No, no.  Blowout.  Darn.  At least the onsie caught it and it hasn't seeped through onto his jeans or over-shirt.  Don't lay him down on his back.  Sit him up and get his clothes off so it doesn't squish out more.

The mom FINALLY comes out of the bathroom.  Her daughter goes in.  The lady behind me leaves - too long of a wait.  I balance my son more carefully.  I don't want to inadvertently add to the mess I'll have to deal with.  Handle with care!

The daughter comes out, but just then a little boy comes prancing around the corner with his dad.  He clearly really REALLY has to go.  I graciously inform the dad that I'll be dealing with a blowout - his son should go first.  Son goes in.  Son eventually comes out.

By this time, I know that my family has finished whatever was left of their food, paid the bill, and is likely waiting at the door.  Fortunately, I'm an experienced mother.  A veteran.  I got this.  NBD.

We walk into the little 6x6 room and lock the door.  I see the changing table doesn't have those little paper covers, but there is a roll of that brown paper you dry your hands with.  I quickly unroll 2 lengths and lay them on the changing table.

I sit Connor down and reach for a diaper and wipes.  Connor reaches up and knocks the Glade automatic sprayer off of the little shelf next to the changing table.  Who put that there anyway?  Oh well, I'll pick it up and put it back when I'm done.

I take off his shirt and pants.  His onesie isn't just... well... dirty.  It's bulging.  In the back.  Like a muffin top.  Oh crap. (Literally)  Call for reinforcements!  I reach into my back pocket for my phone to text my mom.  Empty.  Other pocket!  Empty!!!!  Sigh.  Buck up!  Time to show 'em what you've got!  You've done this before!!!  You got this.  I unsnap the buttons on the bottom of the onesie and lift it up his back just enough to assess the situation.  The muffin top is poop.  All of it.  The diaper is no help here.

I look behind me and notice that the toilet and the toilet paper are both within reach.  I grab some toilet paper and lift the onesie again.  Swipe.  Sploosh.  The first offensive went well.  I go for it again.  Swipe.  Sploosh.  I hope that doesn't clog the toilet.

I reassess.  I roll his onesie down from his shoulders and off of his body.  There is still a LOT of poop in it!  Oh well. Where do I set it?  On top of his other clothes on the shelf below the changing table I guess.  I've broken through the front line!  Hurray!  I grab wipes and clean up his back.  Then I stand him up to undo his diaper.

The diaper comes off and I go for a wipe.  The room goes completely pitch black. What just happened?  Why....?  "Connor, leave the light switch alone!"  Why did they have to put the changing table so close to the light switch?  My son is standing on the changing table leaned over one arm as I use the other arm to contend with a diaper that gave up long ago.

I manage to flick the switch back on.  I see the trash can.  It's within reach if I stretch and can get the lid open.  Success!  The diaper is gone!

Then I survey the wreckage.  I have a poop covered son, held up by my poop covered hand, standing on a poop covered table.  Oh, and he's dive-bombing for a pile of poop on the pathetic effort at a changing table cover I put down moments ago in hopes that they'd be helpful.  Now those to strips of brown hand-drying paper are just another thing on which we have caked poop!

I divert Connor's attention from the pile of poop, quickly get rid of the brown paper (all while balancing my teetering son on the changing table) and reach for wipes to get my hand clean.  Pitch black.

"Connor.  Don't mess with the light switch!"

I flick it back on.  Things just got serious.  Giggle!  But this is hilarious!  But I have to hurry this up.  My family will think both Connor and I are buried in a pile of poop... Which we are, but we won't be for long!

I'm like a ninja.  I whip wipes around and clean like all forms of poopy darkness are closing in on me, but refuse to let them win!  Pitch black.

"Connor, seriously, quit with the lightswitch."

I finally get the boy clean (mostly), pull out a diaper and jammies and then lift Connor enough to put the jammies down on the changing table.  I stop short.  Sigh.  The changing table looks like... well... like a major blowout battle was fought and the blowout won.  I look at my naked son, look down at my jacket (already needing a wash thanks to supper getting all over the sleeve).  I shrug and settle Connor on my hip, reminding myself that the jacket has to be washed anyway.  I try not to think about the poop I didn't *quite* get off of his buns.

With one hand, I start wiping down the changing table.  Connor discovers (again) the little shelf next to the changing table that once held the Glade room spray.  With one hand, Connor nearly knocks the shelf down onto us.  Awesome.  Scoot away from that wall, but don't scoot so far that you can't continue to cleaning the changing table.

I finally decide it's clean enough to lay down the jammies, the diaper, and the boy.  Boy into diaper into jammies.  Hurray!!!!

I pick him up and go to grab the bag.  That's when I notice the onesie - my nemisis - still awaiting a safe place to travel home.

I have these fantastic little bags that I keep in my diaper bag for just such an occasion.  They're slightly scented like baby powder, and they really do hold in the smell and the mess very well.  Unfortunately, I'm down to my last bag on the roll.  You know how difficult it is to get the last bag of a trash bag roll unrolled? Yep.

I'm squatting next to the diaper bag, my son balanced on one arm (because public bathroom floors are gross, and that changing table, despite my best efforts isn't much better), trying desperately to unroll this stupid bag with my free hand when I hear my mom's voice, "Steph?  Are you ok?"

"Yeah!  I'll be out in a sec!"  I've been in here forever!  I bet there are 10 people lined up out there.  I wonder if staying in here until the place closes is an option?  No.  No, I can't.  My family is waiting.  Walk out proud and no one will suspect the battle!

FINALLY the bag is freed and opened.  I stuff dirty clothes in the scented bag, stuff the bag in the diaper bag, and hold my head high.

That place has never seen a mom walk through with such assurance and confidence.  Or at least that place has never seen a mom fake it so well.

Post Script - I did remember to put the Glade automatic room sprayer back on the little shelf.  Any who have used that room since us should be eternally grateful for that.

Post Post Script - It's a good thing he's so stinking adorable...

Over half of my life

On Wednesday, February 4, 2015, a major thing happened.  Something I've been talking about for months, something I've anticipated for years, something that happens to most people much later in life.  I hit the point that I've spent 1/2 of my life with my spouse that day.  And you know what?  I didn't even notice it.

Not because it wasn't important, and not because I wasn't looking forward to it.  Simply because life happens and often the urgent (diapers, snow days, dinner, work and the like) get in the way of focusing on the important (in this case, celebrating a major landmark in our relationship).

On February 4, 2000, Chase asked me if I would "go out with him."  So began the adventure that is us, and here we are 15 years later, still together.  Half of my time on this earth has been spent with this man.  I mean, we haven't been married for 15 years.  We'll celebrate 10 years of marriage this summer.  But 15 Valentines with him as my beau, 15 New Years with him to kiss (Ok, not really.  It took a while to work up to the kissing since we were so young!), 15 Christmases where I've searched for the perfect gift for him.  Fifteen years.

When I imagine Lily and Connor being 15 years old, it seems like 15 years is such a long, long time, but when I think back...  Ok, it does seem like a long time ago that he asked me out.  But not THAT long.

How old am I?  How did I get here?  Nearly 10 years of marriage, 2 kids, a dog, a cat, a minivan.

We've often joked that I'm an "old soul."  Part of me has always functioned like a 50 year old.  And we've joked that Chase is "a kid."  Most Part of him has always functioned like a 5 year old.  We're getting to the point where between the two of us we're averaging out to about 30 years old, and we're hitting our stride.

Valentine's Day is coming and we won't make a big deal about it.  We never do - it's just not our style.  But today, as I think back to the last 15 years and all that they've held, I just wanted to put out there, publicly, a few of the character traits about my man that have made the time so special:

Loyalty
Honesty
Servant's Heart
PATIENCE (especially with my particular brand of "crazy")
Love
Grace
Humor
Ornery-ness
Majoring on majors, not on minors
PATIENCE
Provider
Leader
Wisdom
Fun-loving
PATIENCE
Consistency
Support

You can see a theme - I don't think I'm very easy to live with, so much patience is required.  I'm opinionated.  I believe there are right ways and wrong ways to do things, and things in my house will be done the right way.  I expect a lot of others, but more of myself, and I regularly fall abysmally short of meeting my own expectations.  This only makes me mad and makes me work harder to meet the constantly-growing expectations.

My blessed husband has loved me in spite of and arguably because of the above for 15 years.  This man knew as a high schooler that he wanted to marry me (when I was worried about what I'd wear to Homecoming, he was wrestling with how to tell me he was really, truly in love with me).  How did he know, and why would he think such a thing?!?  I have no idea other than that his ear and heart have always had a bent to following the Lord's leading, which is what makes it a joy for this strong-willed-wife to walk in submission to my servant-leader husband.

Chase, we've been blessed with 15 years.  I yearn for so many more, because you have made these so full and fun.  YOU are who I want to face the coming days - the good, the bad, the joy, the heartache, the celebration, the pain that they will hold. Here's to the future, where for as long as we both live, I will be able to say that I have spent most of my life with you, and it was the best decision I ever made.

Moms judging moms

To all of my mommy friends, I have a confession.  I don't really want to say it, but I feel like it needs saying.  And after I say it, I will need to explain, so go with me on this...

I "judge" you whenever I'm around you.

There.  I said it.  And it's true.

Every time we have a play date, every time we hang out, every time we run into each other with our kids (or husbands) in tow, I am watching you.  I see how you respond to your infant's dimpled smile; I see how you put the toy just out of reach of your baby learning to crawl.  I watch you address your toddler's tantrum; I watch each time you offer food to your little.  I notice the way you hand your phone to your preschooler and how you call your school age child to come to the car, it's time to go.

I can't help myself!  I watch it all, and I assess it.

I go home and mention to my husband how you dealt with a situation.  I explain what I liked or didn't like about it.

And I'm not telling you this to make you uncomfortable around me.  Because, the truth is, I know you do it too (even if you don't want to admit it).  Maybe you don't rehash the details of day with your hubby quite like I do, but in your mind, you're doing it too.

But hear me when I say this:  I am on your team!

When I say I "judge" you, what I really mean is that I watch, take it all in, figure out what I like or don't like about how you live life, and I try to learn from it.  I put into practice what I see you do that I believe will be effective with my family.  And I try to avoid those things that I don't think will work with the rhythm of how the House of Francl functions.

I do NOT think you're a bad mom because you do things differently!  I may not like the way you addressed a tantrum, or the huge bow on your baby girl's head, or the car seat cover you use, or the type of jammies your kids wear.  But that doesn't mean that I think it's wrong that YOU do those things.  I only mean that they're not for ME.

There are rights and wrongs in the world, and I acknowledge that there are times I do make value judgments about how others do things.  Abuse and neglect are not ok.  Swearing or beating - those are clearly wrong.  But on the whole, you, my mommy friends, are amazing!  And we were each entrusted with these amazingly complicated creatures called kids.  Yours are different than mine, just like you are different than me.  Therefore, you function differently, do things in ways I wouldn't, and raise your kids in ways I won't, because you're you and I'm me.

Can we celebrate that?  Please?

I love the things I learn from the variety of friends I have as we ache through the growing pains of parenthood.  This thing ain't easy - from the sickness of early pregnancy, to the mountain that is labor and delivery, to the sleepless nights, weird diets, Curious George 4 million times, peas-in-the-hair-at-every-meal, running like crazy to keep up with the activities, worrying all the while that each decision will result in my somehow ruining my child.  And none of that even touches the foundational, lifelong challenge of character formation!

So, thank you, my friends, for letting me learn from you.  And please, learn from me - learn those things you want to do, and those things you don't.  And let's celebrate this life.

On that note, I want to take just a second to put in my two-cents about an issue that has filled my Facebook feed since I first got pregnant 3 years ago.  Vaccinations.

Oh. My. Word.  People!  If there was as much concern from people who are not parents about the unborn who are aborted each day as there is about whether or not my child is vaccinated, we would live in a world with many fewer abortions.  Holy smokes!!!

Here's the thing, no one, and I mean NO. ONE. cares more about my children than I do.  And, no one, NO. ONE. knows them better than I do.  I pour myself into these little beings day in and day out, and I watch them, closely.  So closely.

If there is something wrong with them, I know it.  And I will hunt, search, research, dig, press, push, and advocate on their behalf until I figure out how to fix it.

So when I choose not to vaccinate my newborn, know that I am doing so because I have agonized over it.  I have weighed the pros and cons.  I have read both sides' research.  I have assessed the health of my child and consequences to your child of me not vaccinating.

I am no idiot, and I am not against the public health.  BUT

But I will not put my child in a position with which I'm not comfortable simply because others are trying to bully me there.  And that goes for those who are pushing me NOT to vaccinate as well as those who are pushing me TO vaccinate.

Not that it matters, but my kids are vaccinated.  Not on the schedule that the APA puts out, but on a schedule that I am comfortable with based on my research of the vaccines, of my kids' risk factors of catching each disease, and of my kids giving your kids a disease should they catch it.  I have weighed it all.  And my decisions are ones that I will have to live with.  You don't need to remind me of that - I am acutely aware.

And I (incorrectly, I'm sure, but I choose to assume the best) assume that each mom makes this decision because it's what she believes is best for her kids based on their environment, their risk factors, their health, their situation, their rhythm of life.

Being a mom is hard enough without pressure (from people who aren't parents, by the way!) telling me what I ought and ought not to inject into my children.  When my diet is so restricted that I'm basically eating straight beef, pork, potatoes, peas and rice for weeks on end because anything else I eat bothers my nursing infant, there is no way NO WAY I'm going to inject ANYTHING into him until his body figures out how to handle mommy milk with a little grain in it first.  I am the one who will have to deal with the consequences of EVERYTHING that I allow into his little body and environment, not you.  I take these decisions very, very seriously.

I'm ranting.  I think you get my point. I'm just tired of it.  I know there was a measles outbreak.  I know it's a miserable, dangerous disease.  And I'm sorry for those facing very scary days because of it.  I am.  But bashing what I believe is best for my family isn't going to fix the measles problem.  Probably it's just going to entrench me more into my way of thinking.

And to all you moms who have had to make the vaccination decision, either way (because whether you vaccinate or not, you're making a decision about it), without researching the pros and cons to both sides, take an evening and read up on what is in that little vial that they're injecting into your baby.  Research how developed immune systems are at what ages, and what your risk factors are for various diseases.  I'm not saying do vaccinate, and I'm not saying don't.  I'm saying educate yourself so that when someone tries to bully you into doing what they think is right for your kid, you can stand up to them and tell them to stuff it where the sun don't shine.  YOU are the mom.

God chose you to raise your kids, and you have to stand before Him one day and answer for the way you did it.  You are the only one who can know which decision is right for your family on vaccinations and SO MANY other, much more important issues.

So back to my original point:  I watch you, and you are amazing.  Keep on, mom.  Keep on.

The big tease

The weather around here this January has been wonderful.  So wonderful, in fact, that it's been nothing but a big tease.  We've already had a couple of weeks of single digit temps, but they warmed up well beyond just double-digits.  In fact, this is what we were doing only a few days ago:

Notice the utter lack of coats, the stylin' glasses, and the super-fast bikes.  Me and 3 of my girlfriends met with our kids to head to the park, and the babies rode in the strollers while these two awesome kids rode their bikes.

This was Connor's first time in the swing, and he didn't cry at all!  (His sister would have been sobbing simply because she was sitting in a swing at this age.  She finally conquered her fear of swinging this summer when she was almost 3.  But each in their own time, right?)  Connor watched Eli swing, because the best way to learn to do something is by watching your buddy who's done it before.  And then they had a great time together.

Besides Lily and Noah (the boy on the bike), and Connor and Eli, there were also 2 other babies along - Jamison and Jeremiah - but somehow I missed getting pictures of them.  Of course, that could be because they're really too tiny to even do the baby swings, but they were there and watched the older kids.  In any case, we were at the park a few days ago, without coats, sitting in the gravel, soaking up the sun (and some much-needed Vitamin D).

(These two had so much fun together - Lily kept asking and asking and asking that evening to go back to the park.)

But today the tease ended and reality set it.  About 6 inches of snow has covered our area overnight.  Church was cancelled due to frigid temps, unsafe driving conditions, and blowing snow.  *Sigh*  At least we're healthy, warm, and sharing the snow day together, even if I would prefer the 60 degree temps...

Lily got a snow shovel for Christmas and LOVES to shovel snow.  She was pretty determined that she needed to go outside and help Daddy when he started getting his snow clothes on to go scoop snow.  She didn't comprehend the -14 degree wind chills, however, until she was outside.  At which point it took her exactly 30 seconds to comprehend.  She was back out of this adorable snow getup about 1 minute after this picture was taken.

That's when we decided to play cars.  The baking sheet was our ramp, and kept us occupied for quite a while.  It also occupied the cat, who (before this picture was taken) crouched on the far side of the cookie sheet to pounce on the cars that came over the edge.  But then he got hit and took a break so I could get this picture.  Then he resorted to attacking the cars before they even got to the ramp.  Revenge is sweet, even for a cat.

Connor thought the whole thing was pretty funny.

Lily hasn't had too much trouble with Connor up until the last month or so when he's really been mobile.  Before it was neat to Lily that he thought everything she did was the coolest.  Now, it's just annoying, as you can clearly see.  Fortunately, I had another potato head in my stash, so we played nicely after I got that out and we had 2 to share between them.

Everyone has this obligatory picture, right?  But this is basically the cutest one you've ever seen?  Yeah.  That's what I thought.  :)

Plans for the rest of the night include chili, cinnamon rolls, and the Super Bowl.  Oh, and possibly Downton Abbey for me (thankfully we have a 2nd TV!).  I hope your snow day has been as enjoyable as mine!