Best Christmas ever and postpartum advice from Emma

**Note** I wrote this one week ago today, but apparently fell asleep before I posted. :)
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Today, Christmas Day, we returned home from the hospital as a family of four. Jackson Robert Day entered this world with the most beautiful cry I've ever heard on December 23, 2011 -- his daddy's 33rd birthday. For those keeping score, he was 8 lbs, 0 oz, 20 1/2 inches long and had a full head of coal black hair.

There's so much to say about that experience in itself, but I'll save that tale for some other time. Let me summarize by saying that God continued to remind me of His promises found in Isaiah 40. The Great Shepherd gathered me in His arms, keeping me close to His heart. Time and again, the One who has "with the breadth of His hand marked off the heavens" renewed my strength when I was weary. (Read this passage next time you're discouraged!!!)

At any rate, we were ecstatic when both Jackson's pediatrician and my OB cleared us for take-off. We scooped up Emma from Aunt Nana's house and came home to find Santa had raided our cookies in return for a blue baby stocking and a slew of gifts for our wide-eyed 5 year-old. To be sure, Emma was thrilled with every present she opened. But her excitement this year seemed to surpass all the normal Christmas giddiness. Yesterday, when she hung out with us in the hospital, she told Robert, "All I want for Christmas is for us to be home as a family."

I'm so glad her Christmas wish came true.

On a lighter note....

Tonight, as I was laying in bed trying to nurse Jackson to sleep, Emma crawled under the covers beside us. She cuddled up next to me and said with the honesty of a five year old, "Mommy, your tummy is still big." I laughed and then explained that it will take some time before I lose that.

"Well," she said, "There is a vitamin you can take that makes your tummy go away."

"Oh really?" I asked "Where did you learn about that?"

"On a commercial. It's for women over 40."

Puddle Jumping

Tonight, the sky opened up and rained down on the great metropolis of Momence. It was just a short shower, not nearly enough to raise our yellow lawn from the dead, but it did leave behind a series of shallow watering holes.

I threw caution and dry clothes to the wind and invited Emma on a puddle jumping date. She was stoked.

We splashed around in the puddles in our driveway. Then on the sidewalk. Then down the street. Then she said, "I have an idea. Let's take a little walk." "Yes," I agreed. "Let's take a little walk."

So there we were on a quest to find the biggest, bestest puddles in town. "Ooh, look over there," I said. "There's some great looking puddles."

"Yes," she said. "Perfect for a little girl and a grown up to jump in." I laughed out loud at her perfect articulation.

We continued our puddle walk another a half-mile or so, and then turned back toward home for dinner. We revisited the deepest, muddiest spots we'd found along the way.

Passing through a parking lot, Emma took note of all the cigarettes and other debris on the ground. "Mommy, why do people throw things on the ground?"

"I don't know, hon. They shouldn't should they?"

"No." (Pauses for contemplation.) "We should tell all the people in all the world to stop throwing things on the ground."

"Great idea," I agreed.

"We can save the world," she said matter-of-factly.

"Yes," I laughed. "We can save the world."

Teach us to pray

Every night, Robert and I pray with Emma before she goes to sleep.

Depending on how exhausting the bedtime routine has been, our prayer time looks a little different each night. Sometimes I pray, sometimes Robert does, and sometime she insists we both take a turn. And often, after we're done, she prays all by herself, including every family member and stuffed animal within sight in her list of "thank you for"s.

Lately, Emma has taken it upon herself to lead us in prayer. She says, "Repeat after me," and then Robert and I follow faithfully along, never knowing exactly where her ramblings will take us.

This is a typical prayer:

"Dear Jesus" (She pauses for us to say "Dear Jesus")

"Thank you for this day."

"Thank you for your blessings." (I wonder if she knows what this means, knowing that she's mimicking my oft-uttered prayer.)

"Teach me to be a good girl" (Robert chooses to insert "boy" instead.")

"I love my Star Wars figures."

"I love my Cinderella." (The stuffed horse directly beside her that she's named after her favorite princess.)

"I am so beautiful." (I chuckle as Robert goes with it.)

"In Jesus' name, amen."

As we turn off the light, and say good night, I can't help but smile.

I'm thankful for our funny little girl, and the God who is always there to listen to our silly prayers.

30 by 30 (Part Deux)

I'm now less than five days away from my 30th birthday, and so I figured I might as well get this end of the "30 by 30" challenge report out of the way.

Short of a miracle and liposuction, coupled with a full-limb amputation, I will not meet my goal. Since July, I have lost approximately 10 pounds (give or take a few ounces, depending on whether or not I had pizza the night before), not the 30 I would have hoped for. Bummer.

What happened?

Holidays. Birthdays. Tuesdays. Taco Bell. I have no good excuse, I just didn't pull it off.

BUT, as mentioned in a previous blog, I'm focusing on the lovely. And you know what? I think I look lovelier than I did 10 pounds ago.

Furthermore, that 10 pounds is on top of the 30 pounds I had already lost when I began this challenge. And 40-some pounds was enough to prompt a genuine "I'm proud of you" from my doctor at my last annual appointment. That felt pretty darn good.

I'm also coming to grips with the fact that 30 is not a magical age where I immediately begin the transition toward death. Sure, I've sprouted a crazy amount of gray hairs over the past couple of weeks, but I think that's more related to stress than impending elderly-ness.

30 is not the end of me being young, and it's certainly not the end of my quest to achieving a healthier weight. I'm still hoping to rock (maybe easy listening is a better analogy?) a new, smaller-but-still-one-piece swimsuit this summer as I float around whatever lazy river I can find.

There's really no change at 30 -- except that I can FINALLY remove that ridicules countdown calculator from the sidebar that's been haunting me for the past six months.

That, my friends, is something worth celebrating.

Whatever is lovely

hello blog. it's been a while.

have i been avoiding you? yes. because of the 30 under 30? mostly. (we'll talk about that some other day)

so how do you welcome me back from my long absence? by suddenly making my shift key stop working so that i can't capitalize any letters. okay, i suppose i deserve that.

anyway, it's been a long day. a reaaaaaaaallllyyyy long day.

there have been a lot of those lately. days where i have more places to go than i can possibly go. more things to do than i can possibly do. more people to see than, well... you get the picture.

in fact, it's been downright discouraging.

i've dwelled on it for far too long, and have finally decided that what i really need is a paradigm shift. afterall, the frustrations, the stress, etc. are not going to disappear anytime soon.

so... i'm repurposeing this blog, dedicating my posts to the embodiment of of philippians 4:8.

'finally brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable -- if anything is excellent or praiseworthy -- think about such things.'

i won't be able to post every day. maybe not every week. maybe not even every month. but i will try to post something pure, lovely or admirable on here from time to time, if for no other reason than to remind myself that life is good, and god (with a capital g) is definitely good.

so here's my lovely thing for today...

i took emma to dance class tonight, which she loves, loves, loves. she looks forward to it every week and gets downright giddy about wearing her pretty pink leotard with matching pink tights and ballet slippers.

she also loves the fact that there is a heartily stocked candy store in the mall, directly beside the dance studio. emma knows that if she is a good girl and listens to everything her teacher says, mommy will take her to to the candy store after class and let her pick out whatever candy she wants.

tonight, after we left dance class and picked out our candy, i walked across the parking lot toward our van holding emma's thick-mittened hand. it was a quiet night with no one around, so we chatted uninhibited along the way.

i asked emma, 'do you like your dance class?'

'yes, mommy,' she replied.

she returned my question with a question. 'do you know what i like even more?'

i smiled knowing she was thinking of the long, gummy snake i was carrying in the brown paper bag in my right hand.

'what do you like even more?' i humored her.

'i like you and daddy more.'

in my humble estimation, that's about as lovely as it gets.

The wit and charm of Emma Day

Well, it's been a while since I posted. I blame it on Caravans which is consuming my every non-working hour.

When she asked me to consider taking over, last year's director told me, "All you have to do is order badges."

Not that I'm bitter. In my heart, I knew better than to trust the person who was trying to find her replacement so she could quit. And actually, as busy as it's kept me, I'm enjoying every bit of it. Strange, I know.

At any rate, I figured I'd use my lunch time to post some of the funny things Emma's said lately.

If you don't find childish banter amusing, a) what's your problem? and b) come back next time where I will resume discussing nonsensical topics with no profound meaning.

THE ALL ENCOMPASSING EXCUSE

Lately, my daughter has begun applying a universal excuse to getting out of anything she doesn't want to do.

I say, "Emma, finish your vegetables." She replies, "I can't, because my throat hurts."

Or if I say, "Emma, say that you are sorry." She replies, "I can't because my throat hurts."

Or I say, "Emma, go pick up your bedroom." She replies, "I can't because my throat hurts."

You get the picture.

I really don't think she was ever sick to begin with, or if she was, that it has persistantly plagued her throat for 4 1/2 weeks.

MUSIC TO HER EARS

The other day Robert passed gas in front of Emma. (Apologies to my husband for telling this story.)

Emma says, "Daddy, you tooted."

"Yes, I did."

She replies, "It was a beautiful toot."

HOLE IN ONE

We've been helping my sister, Deanna, paint and repair her new home. In the process, the house has been less-than-kid friendly.

So Emma walks into the bathroom and proceeds to fall into a vent where the cover had been removed for paintng. Not baby Jessica style. She just stuck her foot into it, and as she pulled it out, clipped the back of her heel.

Weeping and gnashing of teeth ensued.

Later, Emma had pooped in her pull-up (which gives you an indication of how well potty training is progressing) and so I laid her on the bathroom floor to change her.

She notices the still uncovered vent, and then look up at me with deep concern.

"I hope you don't throw me in that hole."

I didn't know how to reply except to tell her, "I hope I don't either."

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Well, there's been plenty of other things Emma has said to make us chuckle, but alas, my lunch hour is over. I'll resume bragging about her wit and charm some other day.

Thought you'd like to know

Right now, I'm sitting in my office eating a Smart Ones Three Cheese Baked Ziti Marinara meal. It's like, my favorite frozen meal ever. Seriously.

It takes 4 1/2 minutes to cook it to cheesy perfection in our office microwave. Three minutes. Stir. Put back in for 1 1/2 minutes more.

In general, I hate standing idle, so after I hit the initial 3-o-0 on the microwave, I decided to walk down the hall to use the restroom.

I walked down the length of second floor Burke, exchanged pleasantries with Roy and stopped by Deb's desk to evaluate whether or not she had any candy worth taking. Nope, not at the moment.

I walked into the restroom, did my business, washed my hands.

On the way back, I exchanged a second round of pleasantries with Roy who was still in the hall and said "hello" to a girl I assume to be his granddaughter.

I stopped to fix my shoe and then walked into the break room to retrieve my ziti.

There were still 28 seconds on the clock.

Impressed? I was.

Side note: I came one click away from accidently posting this on Olivet's official blog, because I didn't realize what account I was logged in under. Whew! That would have been fun.