Leave the tricks to the magicians

Folks, if a woman shares with you that she's been praying for another child, the correct response is, "I'll pray for you, too."  Please no more advice about strategically placed pillows, or tracking and charting of temperatures and discharge (gross!), or trips to the doctors to discuss special pills, or relaxing about it because she's still young.  Say, "I'll pray for you, too."

Chances are, she's already feeling enough guilt over the matter already, whether because she's gained some weight, or she had to have a c-section, or she used the pill for too long, or because she thinks she's being punished by God.  Whatever her reason is, don't add to her guilt by making her think she doing something else wrong.  She's burdened by the Law, she's feeling the weight of sin.  She's living daily with a body she feels is defective and is afraid she's the cause.  Share with her the Gospel she needs to hear.  Remind her of God's steadfast love, and his enduring mercy.  Then do as you said you'd do, and pray.

Indeed, the waters around me have grown

I had to explain to a four year old that my cell phone couldn't play Angry Birds.  He didn't believe me until I got the thing out, flipped it open, and touched the screen to prove that it doesn't work like an iPad.

 He stared for a long time at the phone before turning to me and saying, "What does it do, then?"

Yup, I'm that cool.

For the nursing mother

Or the humor-deprived mother, or the grandmother, or the mother's lactation consultant;  really, it's just a good book for anyone who has tried breastfeeding.  Especially good for those of us who tried it and found it rather daunting.

Seriously.  It's like she had been sitting on my couch with me all those months.

For the Kindle, for the bookshelf or that other bookshelf, for more information.

Sometimes I feel like a hamster

A month ago I thought to myself, "Ahh.  I finally feel settled in this wonderful house."

Good timing, as Call Day is May 1, and I'll get to pack everything back up this summer to start over.  Again.

If only it were that easy . . .

We'll Keep It

Once in college, I shelled out twenty-five dollars for a faded loveseat that harkened back to the 70s.  It was my first furniture purchase (and so far, my only furniture purchase-everything we now own was either a gift from family, or found sitting on the side of the road begging to be plastered with beer labels).   Though it was a bit small, I found that it was perfect for all the reading I did to get that English concentration, and, if I tucked up my legs enough, would sleep quite comfortably.

But it was kind of ugly.  So I tried covering it- first with a fitted sheet that forever had to be readjusted, and then by putting my high school set-building skills to work and attaching fabric to it with a staple gun.  Eventually, I made a slip cover, once the staples starting pulling out and stabbing my arm every time I attempted to use the arm rest.  So the little couch moved from dorm room to dorm room, and once I married, fit quite nicely into our oddly narrow living room.  It's now been lugged from state to state with all of our moving, even though we've acquired a real, unfaded couch.

Last summer, I overhead my parents discussing this little couch as it was loaded into our moving pods.  "How many more moves before they ditch that thing?" my father asked my mother. Well, Pops, that little couch isn't going anywhere soon.  I have visions of passing it on to my son when he moves out of the house.  It would be quite poetic.  After all, it's the very place I sat all those hours, weeks, months (!) after he was born- nursing, napping, eating, pumping.  The only seat in house I could find that was both comfortable to sit, and possible to leave.  And since my kid took for.ever. to nurse, and wanted to nurse every two hours, and wouldn't sleep unless someone was holding him, I spent a lot of time on that little loveseat.  Enough time, in fact, to catch up on the past seasons of House, CSI, and Friday Night Lights. 

Besides all that, it's still the most comfortable seat in the house, and should I have pleasure of nursing another child, I can't imagine anywhere else I'd sit.  Unless, of course, someone feels like buying me one of these: