It Takes a Village

While I’ve never actually read Hillary Clinton’s book by this same title, I have quickly come to learn that it does indeed take a village to raise a child. In our Western culture, the term ‘village’ may be defined quite differently than in other cultures, but in my opinion, it takes a village nonetheless! In the time known as B.M.K. (Before Marriage and Kid), I had a tendency to try to do most things on my own, somehow equating ‘needing someone’s help’ with weakness. I’m ashamed to admit it, because I love to help others, but I have a very hard time asking for help myself. Perhaps it was the first child in me or the fact that I am a byproduct of this isolationist, pull yourself up by your bootstraps culture, or maybe I just felt like I had something to prove as a woman. Or quite possibly, it was just a mask for that weakness no one likes to admit, pride.

The reality is we do need each other. We need other people. And that’s a good thing. Needing each other doesn't weaken us, it strengthens us. The opportunity to give and receive in relationship is such a gift. It builds trust and it strengthens connection. Why would I want to rob myself of that? Oh right, the pride thing. Well, fortunately for me, being married and having a child have quickly stripped me of much of my pride, and in more ways than one. I’ve had to ask for help on plenty of occasions. And lately, sometimes that request just comes in the form of a desperate look on my face, like when I’m trying to lug my increasingly heavy son in his car seat into the dry cleaners, while carrying about 10 items of clothing in the other hand, with my purse thrown over my shoulder. You know that look? The “please, please, be so kind and open the door for me so I don’t have to put something down and then have to figure out how swing open the door and quickly scoop everything up in my arms again in such a way that I can still get through the door before it hits me in the behind” look.

Just a couple of weeks ago, Tom was out of town and I had hoped to attend a Mom’s Night Out event with some of the other Stroller Strides mamas. The event was a cooking class where the moms attend the class while the dads hang with the kiddos in the play area. This event, by the way, just so happened to take place at a local venue named, The Village. Coincidence, I think not. Anyway, obviously I couldn’t go to the event sans a caretaker for my child. So, that morning, a couple of the other mamas said to me, “you should go, Melissa, our husbands will watch Ben. It would be no problem at all.” My first reaction, “oh but I hate to pawn B off on some other dad. I feel bad doing that.” My second reaction, I got over it. I accepted the offer with gratitude and had a blast at the cooking class while one of the dad’s watched my lil man (thanks again, Stephanie!). And I think B had a fun time too. I know it seems like a little thing, but I think that in day to day life, the little things often feel like big things!

Yes, we need each other, especially when life throws us curve balls. One of my dear friends has been thrown a whole lot of curve balls, the latest being her husband's diagnosis of a rare form of lymphoma, and the starting of his treatment, all while she has a 2 year old and is nearly 9 months pregnant with her second. I'm so thankful that I have time to meet with her for coffee, to watch her 2 year old, to support her in any way I can. She has asked me to be in the labor & delivery room with her for the birth of her daughter. This, to me, feels both like an incredible privilege and honor, as well as a daunting responsibility. What if I don’t say or do the right things? I don’t know how to coach someone through labor. But I have to stop and tell myself, sometimes being a friend is just showing up. Hopefully, my presence will be support enough. I know that this is a season that she and her family are in, albeit a very dark and stormy season. I believe the storm will end for her, but I want to stay in it with her until it does. I know that I have and will have stormy seasons in my life when I will need, like it or not, the support of the people in my life.

Relationships are so important in times of celebration too. Afterall, we want people to witness the milestones we hit and the commitments we make in life. Last Sunday, we had Ben baptized. We invited many of our family and friends to attend, with the understanding that we cannot raise Ben in the way we desire, by ourselves. We greatly value our friends who feel like family and our family who feel like friends, and we hope that they will continue to walk with us on this journey called life, and us with them. They are part of our village. And I do not want to try to live this life apart from my village…ever again!

Blowing It Out of the Water

This past Tuesday, Ben and I ventured out into sub-zero temps (-9) for our first parent/child swim class at the rec center. Don’t worry people, he was bundled to the hilt and I warmed up the car first (NOT backed up to the garage, of course – see post entitled, Out with a Bang, In with a Beep) for 20 min to get it nice and toasty inside. So yes, out we went to our first swim class. Basically it was just an introduction to swimming, to help kids begin to feel comfortable in the water. My parents started me in swim lessons at a very early age and I have always been grateful because I've had an affinity for the water and swimming for as long as I can remember. And since birth, Ben has loved his baths, so I had high hopes for him and the whole swimming thing. And as it turned out, he loved it. You might even say, he blew it out of the water. He was smiling, kicking, and splashing away, with little visible fear and not a single tear. I was a proud and happy mama.

Fast forward to today, swim class numero dos. Today the instructor announced that we were going to work on blowing bubbles. She said that we, the parents, should blow bubbles, in effort to model to the kiddos how to do it. She said that as they watched us, they would begin to get the idea and start to do it themselves. So, there I was blowing bubbles in the water and making motor boat sounds. Ben, just stared at me, looking somewhat bewildered. But at some point he caught on, because he began to blow his own bubbles. The only problem being, he was blowing bubbles of a different kind, if you know what I mean. In other words, while on Tuesday, I would say he blew it out of the water, today, he apparently decided to blow it INTO the water!!!

Picture it, I'm in the water and B is sitting on the side of the pool, ready to practice jumping into the water, when suddenly I spy a brownish colored substance making it’s way into the little filter thingy on the side of the pool. For a split second, I think ‘oh sick, I wonder what that is. No, I take that back, I don’t even want to know. Pools that have lots of kiddy users are so gross.’ And just as that train of thought rolled into the station, it hit me, with hurricane-like force, ‘oh my gosh, that is BEN’s poop!! HE BLEW OUT HIS SWIM DIAPER!!!’ I look into the pool, scanning the water, and can do nothing but gasp as I see them, the brown floaties swirling about in the pool, having escaped from MY son's swim dipe! Quite honestly, I didn’t know what to do. I mean the classes at the hospital certainly don’t prepare you for what to do when your son blows out his diaper in the middle of swim class. So, mustering up all my humility, I quickly let the instructor, who is all of about 21 years of age, into my dirty little secret. To her credit, she managed to move the rest of the class out of the pool and into another kiddy pool, all the while assuring me that it happens to every mom at some point. Really? To all you moms and dads out there, has this happened to you? Or anyone you know? Or was she just trying to make me feel better? I’m betting on the latter.

In unforeseeable circumstances such as these, I find that I have to try to keep my wits about me and just do my best, as far as a plan of action goes. I mean, when you’ve got the brown stuff oozing out all over the place, you have to act and you have to act fast. So, I briskly wisk B and his poopy little self out of the pool and wrap him in my towel, making a bee line for the showers. I quickly rinse him off, watching all of the evidence make it’s way down the drain. And through all of this, B is just looking at me with his usual sweet face, wondering what’s going on. After all, for him it was just business as usual. Only today, he decided to do his business in the pool! Tom said I should tell him that just because the first 3 letters in pool are poo, doesn’t mean he has to do it in the pool!

As for me, it was yet another opportunity for learning and growth. Sure, I thought of things I could have done better. Yet, if this had happened when I was in my 20’s, I probably would have been absolutely mortified and may have had a very difficult time going back to the class next week, that is if I even would have gone back at all. But, here I find myself in my 30’s and this little defining moment shows me that I’ve grown. Instead of being mortified, I just found myself momentarily panicked as to what to do, but was able to laugh about it pretty quickly afterwards. And really, all I could do was shrug my shoulders and look at the other parents like, ‘well, sorry everybody to put a damper on all the swim fun, but I don’t really have a whole lot of control over the kid’s poop schedule! See ya next time!’ And we will go back next Tuesday, and we will resume our work on blowing bubbles, but hopefully next time they will be the kind that come out of his mouth!

On the drive home, I decided that this eventful morning called for a drink. I’m not gonna lie, a margarita sounded pretty darn good! But seeing as it was 9:30 in the morning and I had to drive my little man home, I opted for a Starbucks. I call it my, ‘Pool Blowout Recovery Latte!’ And of course, I drove 10 minutes out of my way to a Starbucks with a Drive-thru , because guess who was asleep? You guessed it, the Lil Pooper. And why wouldn’t he be, he too was recovering from quite the active morning, with all that kicking and splashing, and workin’ out of his business. As I rocked him back to sleep once we were home, I looked down at him and thought, ‘I love his naiveté and absolute oblivion to what other people think of him.’ And I felt a twinge of sadness, knowing that at some point, he will begin to concern himself with what other people think. At least for a few decades anyway, until he realizes once again, like his mama is beginning to, that you can’t control what other people think of you. You just have to be yourself! And well, this morning I expanded the definition of who I am a bit, becoming a member of that special club, the ‘My Kid Blew Out His Diaper In The Pool During Swim Class’ club! Any other members out there?

Mom-radery

Following the birth of my sweet little cub, many people called, texted, and of course, posted on my facebook wall, words of congratulations and celebration. Yet, at the time, it was the words from other moms that struck me the most. They said things like, 'Welcome to the club' and 'Welcome to the mommyhood, you did it!' It was as though I'd just been granted acceptance into some type of exclusive group, this following a long and grueling initiation process. And now that I've been an active member in said group for almost 7 months, I have to admit that I really value the sometimes vocal but sometimes silent support that comes from other members of the club, moms who have walked a mile or two in my shoes.

Sometimes I feel that support in one simple glance, like the one I received from a woman who held the door open for me at the post office, as I attempted to push the stroller through the door, juggle the handful of packages that I needed to mail, and all the while lugging my 10lb purse overflowing with toys, hats, and a variety of other baby sundries. It was that look in her eyes that seemed to convey an assurance, like her eyes were saying, "it's ok, I know. I've been there, it can be tough. But I survived and they really do grow so fast. You're doing a good job, keep it up." And in that moment, with that one glance, I breathed a sigh of relief, my shoulders relaxed, and I was reminded that I'm not alone in this journey.

A couple of months ago, I walked into an early morning meeting looking rather bleary-eyed and one woman who happens also to be a mom took one look at me and asked, "rough night? How many times was he up?" That's all it took from one mom to another, just one glance at my weary face and she could immediately empathize with my sleepless plight. It's what I like to call 'mom-radery,' a form of comradery that assures me we're in this together and that we can learn from one another as well as support each other. I actually just got off the phone with my friend who recently had her second baby and well, let's just say that thus far, this one is a little tougher than the first one was. We commiserated for a while on how difficult and tiring it can be to have a baby who screams constantly, not to mention the sadness it brings us to watch such a little one struggle in angst to work out his or her business.


There is strength to be had and wisdom to be gained from each other, especially from those veteran members of the club. And this is not such an easy club to get into (well, the 'rushing' phase where you express your desire to get into the club is pretty fun and exciting, if you know what I mean!). Yet, after 9.5 months of hazing and 45 hours of initiation at the hospital, I can honestly say, "it was totally worth it." Not only is my little boy one of the greatest joys I've ever known, but I am also extremely grateful for the mom-radery that I've discovered amongst the members of this club, both friends and strangers! Yes, I very much like being part of this club, which is good because I hear that de-activation is not an option! Once a mom, always a mom!

Out With a Bang, In With A Beep

That's right, 2010 went out with a bang. The 'bang' being the noise our furnace made when it decided not to work anymore! I mean, who can blame him, he was 30 years old and putterin' along on his last leg and all. I woke up that morning to find the house oddly chilly. As it turns out, the furnace had stopped dishing out heat and it was a nippy 56 degrees in our house. No wonder Ben hadn't slept well that night. The poor lil guy was cold. I'm sorry Ben. Did I mention that this all went down 3 days after Christmas? Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to us!

Oh and that's not all, because that alone wouldn't be blog-worthy! That same night I had to go in for an emergency CT scan due to some abdominal pain and the doctor's concern that I might have appendecitis. Yum, barium, 2 bottles of it. You'd think with all the technology they have these days, they could make that stuff taste at the very least, palatable. Perhaps that should be my new innovative mission, or not. As it turns out, I don't have appendecitis or so they think, they couldn't confirm really. But it's been a week and the pain hasn't worsened, though it's still there. So, once again, I'm somewhat of a medical mystery to the doctor. Because that's what everyone wants to hear. But who has time to think about abdominal pain when you have a 6 month old and are in need of a new furnace. Needless to say, that night when we got home from the CT scan at 10pm (which mind you is already past my bedtime), Tom and I hadn't eaten dinner yet, so we devoured a large pizza. That's right, just the 2 of us and I don't feel one iota of guilt about it!! It was that kind of day.

We did get the furnace peeps to loan us some space heaters and they were able to come the very next day to install our new, pretty, oh so shiny, high-efficiency furnace. Upsides, it was installed before the arctic blast blew in the next day, we'll save up to 50% on our heating bill each month, and it happened just in time to utilize that $1500 federal rebate on high-efficiency furnaces. I'd say those are some pretty good upsides. And while we were at it, we decided to have them put in a whole-house humidifier, so no more having to fill 2 silly little humidifiers every night before bed. And did I mention that the furnace is shiny and new? I like shiny.

So that all happened smack dab in between Christmas and New Years, which by the way, were both lovely. So we said goodbye to 2010 with a bang, only to be welcomed to 2012 with a beep. And there may or may not have been a bleep accompanying that beep, if you know what I mean. The evening of New Years day (Sat), Ben was in bed for the evening and Tom had left to go pick my mom up at the airport. I was all nestled on the couch with my tea, rather excited for 2 hours of pure vegging (is that even a word?) in front of the t.v.

Ha, that apparently wasn't in the cards for the evening. No sooner had I settled in and found myself hooked on some TLC show, did I hear the beep, and another beep and another beep, and in between those beeps I could hear the dreaded automated female voice informing me of "carbon monoxide, carbon monixide, carbon monoxide." It was one of those moments or string of moments where the mom card gets tested a bit. I thought to myself, 'ok, we've got to get out of the house a.s.a.p.!' So I went in and woke up my sweet, sleeping little cherub, put him in his carseat, covered him with a blanket, grabbed my purse, keys to Tom's car, phone, and some shoes and headed for the door. Oh and I remembered Sami the dog too, thankfully. That all happened in about 3 minutes tops. The 3 of us trotted out into the 10 degree temps and c-r-a-z-y winds to the car and got snuggled in. Thankfully, I always keep one of B's hats in my purse, so I could keep his lil head warm. I called 911 and the fire truck was there in under 5 minutes. I was impressed and Ben was pretty fascinated. While some of the fire people (they weren't all men) went inside to investigate, a paramedic took my reading for the CO and it was pretty low, only 4. They tried to do it on little B, but his fingers were to tiny to get a reading. The paramedic checked his circulation, heart rate, and overall appearance and thought he was looking and acting pretty normal. Yup, he was looking and acting like a 6 month old who just got woken up from his sleep and found himself awake 3 hours past his bedroom...and that's fun to hold in the car for 2 hours!!

So, as it turns out, before Tom had left for the airport, he had loaded some things into the back of the running SUV which was backed up to the garage. It was running for all of about 5 minutes, but because it was SO stinkin cold and windy out, it blew that CO straight into the garage and when Tom closed the garage door behind him, well it trapped that CO right in there. After 2 hours of 'investigating' and determining that that was the cause, the fire people advised us to stay elsewhere for the night even though they had blown all the CO out of the house and the level now read '0' again. So, we drove on over to my parents' house and called it a night. yawn, sigh.

Thus far, this week has been far less eventful than last week, hence me having time to write this post. We hope it stays this way. Why did I write this? Well, looking back, it's all a little crazy in the "really, I can't believe all those things happened in one week" kind of way. But more importantly, we are VERY grateful for working Carbon Monoxide detectors and thankful that we had one on each floor. Actually we have 4, because I'm a little paranoid that way. But it was the one that was adjacent to the door to the garage that went off. Because it went off first, and we got the hey hey outta there, the CO never had time to get on up to visit Ben in his room, thankfully. So, for those of you who are reading this, do you have CO detectors in your home? One on each level? Have you checked the batteries lately to see if they're working? I hope so. And I hope you never have to hear the automated lady's voice saying either "carbon monoxide" or "fire, fire, fire." Ever.

But like I said, it was all a good test on what I'm made of as a mom. I think I did ok, but one can always learn from situations like those. More on that later.

And So Goes the Countdown

Ahh, the countdown we’re all familiar with, 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2-1, Happy New Year! We do it every year and every year that countdown means something different to us. With each descending number, we put a little more closure on one year, its challenges and its triumphs. And it’s that same countdown that guides us into a new year, bringing with it new possibilities, new hopes, new goals. As the clock strikes midnight, even if for only a moment, we’re given a clean slate and the year is wide open!

This new year marked 6 months post-partum for me. And as I counted down on Dec 31, I celebrated an incredible first 6 months of both joys and challenges with my beautiful son and husband. I also celebrated having reached one of my goals, to run a 10 K (6 miles) by 6 months post-partum. In doing so, I waved goodbye to my pregnancy weight and with it, the stretchy, over-sized, interim clothes that will forever be in a box labeled, “Tweener Clothes,” the clothes that fall in that category somewhere between maternity clothes and pre-pregnancy clothes. As the clock struck midnight this year, I was reminded of my goals for the coming new year, one of which is a countdown of another kind, my countdown back into shape and my goal of choice, to run a half marathon in March.


I knew that getting back into pre-pregnancy fitness shape would be a challenge and that my body would feel differently afterwards, but what I wasn’t prepared for was all of the jiggling! You mamas know what I’m talking about! Places that were once taut and firm now jiggle like jello. And I’m not sure anyone can comprehend ahead of time just how exhausted you feel, not only in the weeks but also the months following Ben’s birth. It’s the jiggly feeling all over that makes me want to get out and run, but it’s the, “I’m so exhausted I don’t even want to take a shower” feeling that makes me want to park it on the couch and sleep the yawns away! It’s as though they are pitted against one another, jiggles vs. yawns, throwing me into a daily web of indecision, to run or not to run, that is the question! And I find that the answer to that question depends on the day, depends on my energy, depends on Ben’s mood and nap schedule, and it depends on what else needs to be done. And that’s the way it is, because we moms are often attempting to juggle 101 things a day. I view my health as a priority and designating time to take care of myself, even if it means bundling Ben up and running with him in the BOB for just a few miles, is important, very important. Yet, sometimes there’s something that’s gotta give, because there are days when Ben has snot dripping out of his nose and it would be completely selfish of me to take him in the stroller out into the winter weather just so I could run. And some days, my body is calling out to me, begging for me to rest, and I need to listen. But there IS such a thing as balance it’s just a matter of striking it!

So, for me it’s about having goals AND holding them loosely. Easier said than done, right? I don’t know about you, but once I get an expectation in my head, it’s hard for me to let go of it. And sometimes I don’t even know I have an expectation until it goes unmet. But that’s what we moms do, we are constantly re-working our expectations, because let’s face it children don’t operate according to our plan! My son, Ben, decided to teach me that lesson from the get go. My “plan” to have a natural, un-medicated birth turned into having to be induced, followed by 45 hours of grueling labor, which after 24 of those hours I chose to get an epidural. It was either that or my first choice, to just go home, which I was quickly informed was not an option! I could look at his birth as though I failed in some way or I could see it as, “I had a hope, things didn’t go as planned, so I had to re-work my idea of what was best for me and for my son,” which is how I choose to look at it. In the end, I had the privilege of giving birth (and for all you preggo mamas out there, I don’t even remember the pain now!) to a healthy, beautiful baby boy, and I call that, one big success!

So, as I’ve said goodbye to 2010 and with it celebrated achieving my goal of running 6 miles by 6 months, I now forge on ahead into 2011, setting my sights on a half marathon and counting down a few more pounds. I may run the half marathon, I may not we’ll see how it goes. But either way, I’m on a journey back to fitness and that’s a good thing. And as I journey forward into the coming year, I’m learning how to relax my grip a little, and by grip I mean the white knuckle grasp I attempt to have on my life’s outcomes! Yes, I’ve just embarked on a run down Goal Setting Avenue and now I’m turning the corner onto Hold Loosely Lane, anyone care to join me?

I'll Be Watching You

Every breath you take and every move you make
Every bond you break
Every step you take, I'll be watching you
Every single day and every word you say
Every game you play
Every night you stay, I'll be watching you

This song by the police has always creeped me out. I mean no one wants a stalker, right? And yet curiously, I find myself these days with my very own stalker, so to speak. Granted, he is far less creepy, but no less scary. He is my 6 month old son and he's entered the staring stage. He holds my gaze indefinitely and watches my every move. Literally, every breath I take, every move I make, he IS watching me. Hence the scary part. His formidable young mind and heart is witness to how I spend my time, how I talk to people in the grocery store, how I talk about people when they're not present, how I interact with my husband and my friends, and just about everything else I do with my time and energy. He hears and sees it all and while it may not all be registering yet in that 6 month old brain, he is taking it all in somehow. I've never had someone who watches my every move before. It's a daunting responsibility. I expect I will have to admit some mistakes and make some apologies to him. But for now, what better accountability to challenge me to live true to who I am and what I claim to believe, than a curious, attentive to every detail, cute-as-can-be, lil stalker?!!

Same Season, New Meaning

The holiday season has almost come and gone already and I've been meaning to write this post for the last 4 weeks! Regardless of what holiday you celebrated or how you celebrated it, you probably couldn't help but notice the carols streaming, homes lit up with lights, and car after car (or here in CO, SUV after SUV) passing by with some type of evergreen strapped to it's roof. In our house, we celebrated Christmas and the birth of Jesus, and thus we find ourselves during the last month, in the season of Advent. It is a season of anticipation, one of waiting and one of hope. In English, those are two separate verbs, but in Spanish, one verb, Esperar, means both to wait and to hope. And it makes sense, because what is waiting without hope and hoping without waiting is not really hope at all. And as we prepared for this season, I couldn't help but be reminded of this time last year, when I was waiting with much hope for my sweet son to arrive. And now he his here and he is more wonderful than I could have ever hoped for, definitely worth the wait!


Ben experienced his first look at giraffes and elephants on our recent stroll through the zoo lights. While he was totally fascinated by all of the bright lights, he gave the real animals mixed reviews. Well, actually he cried at the sight of them. We're thinking he was a bit overstimulated. I mean, who wouldn't be...large crowds, christmas music playing, bright lights everywhere, giant moving animals, and one very loud screeching bird. He also made his first venture up onto Santa's lap, again perhaps a little stunned by the big old dude in the red suit, but it made for a great picture.
More important to us than the lights and santa and cookie baking however, are the traditions of receiving a new ornament to capture the year, the reading of the Christmas story, the practice of choosing someone special to serve in some way and give of our resources to, and the small actions that bring us together as a family.


I'm a big fan of traditions for 3 reasons. Traditions are meaningful, flushing out the values most important to us. They are intentional, calling us to pause, focus, and reflect, lending new meaning to everyday moments. And traditions are a great vehicle to pass down those things that are of value to a family. My family had countless Christmas traditions growing up and we are looking forward to incorporating many of those into our family's Christmas. For the first year ever, we celebrated Christmas where we live, in our own home, allowing us to introduce Ben to our Christmas traditions. I'm sure he won't remember them from this year, but as time goes on, hopefully he will grow to love these traditions along with new ones that will probably develop over the years.



The presence of Ben in our lives introduces new layers of meaning to words often associated with this season, like joy, love, peace and hope. The way he laughs without inhibition at the simplest of things, like when I lift my coffee mug up in the air, gives new meaning to the word 'joy' for me.
The sense of comfort and rest I feel while rocking him to sleep lends new meaning to the word 'peace.' I can't explain the love I feel for him and the gratitude that fills me when I look at him asleep in my arms. And I have great hope for the boy and man he will grow up to be. I believe that the characteristics of the Creator are reflected in the created and because of Ben, my whole perception of God and what it means to hope in him, has been expanded and deepened this season. And all of this has made for a very Merry Christmas!