Ronan has been sick for almost a week.

He’s got a really heavy cough that leaves him gurgling, and he’s stuffed up.  My little mouth breather.  Poor guy.

His temp stays right around 101, but he’s active and happy.  He’s eating and drinking, and sleeping a TON.

Today, he slept in until 9:55am.  I couldn’t even stay in bed that long.  I got up and did dishes, cleaned fruit, and made breakfast.  It was kind of awesome.  It was actually all SORTS of awesome.

Brock and I have both been feeling under the weather, which may be a slightly less robust version of the bug that Ronan has.  But I’m tired of being cooped up in the house.  I miss going to the pool.  Or to the mall.  Or for playdates.

I don’t mind the sleeping, but I’d love to go out and have some fun.  Hurry up and get better, son!

Woo.

Need to write a blog today.  Had nothing to write about.  Until about 5 minutes ago.

I was sitting on the couch with Ronan, sharing my hummus and pita chips.  Ronan will eat just about anything we’re eating, and he LOVES hummus.  He was taking his own pita chips and ‘dipping’ them in the hummus on his own.  He really wasn’t even making that big of a mess!  I was careful to only let him have half a chip at a time, as he’s notorious for sticking the whole thing in his mouth, or as much as he could possibly fit.

Now, Ronan has all four of his one year molars, so he has no trouble chewing food.  I could hear him crunch, crunch, crunching away at his chip, and gladly going for more hummus any chance he could get.  We’d been snacking for a while, and I figured he’d be slowing down soon… he usually leaves out of boredom rather than being full.

All of a sudden, I looked at his face as he started to yell angrily in pain.  His eyes, nose and mouth were all bright red, and he started crying.  It looked like he had maybe swallowed a piece of chip that hadn’t been fully chewed yet, and it HURT going down.  I watched as he sucked in, and then started choking – the rest of the food that was in his mouth went somewhere it shouldn’t have.  He was coughing, and wheezing, then coughing again.  I left him, let him cough, until I realized he didn’t seem to be able to get his airway cleared.

Trying NOT to panic, I picked him up and dug some of the food out of his mouth – positive for TOO MUCH in there.  Once I did that, he started spitting out the rest, and began to cough more normally.  It took just a few more seconds for him to start crying, really crying and only THEN did I feel like everything was going to be okay.

He cried a sad, pitiful cry while I held him.  He put his head on my shoulder, and wrapped his arms around me.  It was scary for both of us, really scary.

I put him down on the ground, and he immediately went for another pita chip.

Sigh.  Kids.

It feels like everywhere I look, everyone I talk to is going through the same soggy crap right now.

Tons of Facebook statuses like, “My kids are driving me nuts!” and “I can’t take all the whining.”

So many tweets about babies that aren’t themselves, and wishing things would get back to normal.  Complaints of kids that gripe and annoying spouses.

Blogs about how everything feels off, and down, and in a rut.

Is there something in the air?  Is it the pollen driving us all insane?  The gradual change from indoor life to outdoor?  Are we upsetting our miserable routines?

I mean, It’s SPRING time!  It’s supposed to be brightness, and sunshine, and everything new again.  It’s supposed to be wonderous and light.

So far, it’s been pretty crummy.

I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m ready for things to level out again.  Let’s get rid of colds, and spend more time outside.  Let’s have play dates.  Let’s do summer baking, and try new recipes.  Let’s play games we forgot we played as kids.  Let’s teach our babies how to enjoy running, and swimming and playing.  Let’s share ideas of things to do.  Let’s take LOTS of pictures, because there’s never too many.

Let’s enjoy the spring, because it turns into summer, and then fall, and winter.  Then, before you know it, another year is gone, and you wonder what you did.  Let’s make memories that are worth keeping.

Yes, this one.

You might wonder how one can develop a hatred for something so cute and innocent.  It’s just a truck, you say.

This truck makes an innocent little sound when you jam the nose.  ”Chug chug chug chug…” it sounds like a truck running.  And it runs for about 10-15 seconds.  Ronan LOVES it.

Only, he can’t press the nose hard enough to make it work.

So, he picks it up, brings it to me so I can mash the nose, and then walks happily off.

For 10-15 seconds.

And then he starts whining.  He can’t make it work.

Then he starts yelling.

And screaming.

He throws it down, and hits it.

He can’t make it work.

We can have this fit several times in a row, until I take the truck away and set it up out of his line of sight.

Mark.  Dana.  I love you more than you can imagine.

But

I

hate.

Hate.

HATE.

this.

truck.

Ronan and I went to the park yesterday with some neighbors. We brought a picnic lunch and a blanket, and planned to hang around outside for a couple of hours. With Ronan routinely missing his morning nap lately, I wasn’t very optimistic of a great trip, but I had my fingers crossed and hoped for the best.

We got to the park and set up. Ronan immediately set off, exploring. He has absolutely no fear, and will pick one direction and walk until he can go no farther. He never even looks back. I spend most of the time at the park following him until he gets too far away, and then bringing him back to the playground area.

He also has no fear of people. He will walk up to a large group of parents watching their kids, and ingratiate himself without a second thought; he starts playing with toys, talking to kids, and picking up sippy cups. It’s a little awkward for me, when I can’t quite as easily slip into the group unnoticed, and remove him before he sets of the alarms off some other child.

At one point yesterday, Ronan walked up to a picnic table where a father and his sweet little girl sat. He placed himself between them, and started climbing up on the bench. The little girl laughed and said, “He wants to sit with us, daddy!” Ronan was about the same size as she was, and I couldn’t believe how well she could speak! I had seen her running around, and was impressed with her ability to climb, and go down slides by herself.

I walked up and introduced myself, telling them both that the little interloper was Ronan. The little girl got VERY shy at that point, and wouldn’t even look at me. Her father introduced himself as Curtis and told me her name was Isabelle. “Hi Isabelle! It’s really great to meet you,” I said. She didn’t look up.

I looked at her father. “How old is she?” He smiled, knowing that his answer was going to be hard to believe. “She’s four,” he told me.

I couldn’t believe it. Four years old? She was absolutely TINY, and I told him so. He sort of grinned, expecting my reaction, and told me she’d had some difficulty at birth. Her story was – and IS – absolutely incredible.

Isabelle was born 5 weeks early, and with leukemia. She was started on her first round of chemotherapy when she was only 4 weeks old – but being 5 weeks premature, she was on chemo even before her due date. The medicine was very strong for her tiny body, and she went into remission after the first round. However, despite the remission, she had to finish the chemo protocol, and was continued her regimen of medicine. One of the medicines she was on proved to be too powerful for her little body to handle, and it damaged her heart. Over the next three years, frequent echocardiograms followed her heart function as it declined – first from 60% to 30% and then down below 10%.

At that time, just before her 4th birthday, she was put on a transplant list. It took over 6 months for a heart to become available, all the while she was surviving with her cardiac output at 10% of normal. Her energy declined, and then her body started to do so. Finally, they were called – a heart was available, and it was hers.

One day after her transplant, she was a different girl, he told me. She was able to sit up on her own ONE DAY after her massive heart surgery. She started laughing again. She wanted to run again. I suddenly understood why he watched with such amazement and adoration as she ran around the playground. Her surgery was January 10th – 3 short months ago, and she had improved by leaps and bounds. With no sign of rejection, the possibilities now in front of her are limitless.

I can’t imagine the rollercoaster of emotions her parents have been on. To be told your child has cancer, and then to beat it. To be told her heart is failing, and then to fix it. To watch her blossom into a gorgeous, sweet, intelligent girl with a little spunk… I can’t imagine.

When I rose and took Ronan up with me, I told Isabelle we had to go, it was time for our nap. Until that point, she still hadn’t had the courage to look at me. But I guess any friend of her daddy’s was a friend of hers, because she flashed me a huge, gorgeous grin and said, “Bye Mandy! Bye Ronan!” and I saw all of her sparkle shine through. I could tell, in that moment, that Isabelle is a very special girl.

*names have been changed to protect identities.

Happy Easter from Ed and Ronan.

Marilyn from ALotOfLoves wrote a great post called “What Will Make Me Read Your Blog Post” and it honestly made me stop and think about how I post.  Sometimes it’s not good enough just to write whatever you want.  I had never really put much thought into my posts before, but this opened my eyes.

Here were her bullet points on the blogs she chooses to read:

There is some really great stuff in there!  I mean it.  I have a lot of trouble with #2.  I tend to be wordy like crazy.  But I now keep length in mind when writing, instead of just noticing how much I’ve written at the end.  Paragraphs are also a BIG thing for me.  If I come to read your blog, I want to be able to see a little bit of ‘white space’ between words.  One big wall of text is hard to dive into, and more often than not, I wont bother.  Also, I’m a big sucker for 3.  I am just as guilty of scrolling through a whole series of blogs to see pictures, and they’ll keep me around faster than a great post.

I wanted to see if I had a few rules of my own to add.  Here’s what I came up with:

1. Have an “About Me” page. When I go to a blog for the first time, I will read the most recent post, and then click on the “About Me.”  If I find myself interested in the author, and have any sort of connection, I will subscribe immediately.  I tend to give people the benefit of the doubt, but I want to know a bit about ya.
2. Don’t OVERWHELM your front page with adds, buttons, links and other mishmash.  I have clicked through to countless blogs because of an interesting title or a good recommendation, and not been able to get my brain past the massive onrush of information thrown at me.  You may be the best writer in the world, but you’re drowning it in crap.  My own blog may be a bit TOO simple, but I try to reflect what I like.
3. Blog with some level of consistency. I don’t care if you only write once a month, or if you write every single day of the week.  But writing every day for a month, and then nothing for several weeks causes me to wonder, “Who is this again?” when I come across your latest work in my reader.

I would really have to sit and focus to think of more than this.  Honestly, I have a hard time with how many blogs I’ve subscribed to already, because I try to comment on everything that I read.  The world of blogging is FAR more vast than I had ever imagined, but it’s also filled with a great number of incredible people.  I like to spread the love.  I want to read what you have to say, and I want you to do the same for me.  It’s all good.

What makes you stick with a certain blogger?  How do you decide who to keep reading?

Following up my 3 day marathon post of a story, I haven’t got much to say.

Ronan was a complete bear last night.  He didn’t go to sleep easily or well, he was up at 10 and didn’t go back down until 2 am.  Yes, I’m serious.  I tried for almost 2 hours to put him to sleep.  All of my usual tricks did nothing.

We are starting something new.  I’m taking a page out of the books of a few of my friends.  We’re doing a super strict schedule, which means meal times, nap times and wake times at the SAME time every day.  We’re going to be more strict about bed time, and staying in bed.  We’re going to get this under control.  We have to, before I snap.

I have been depressed, and not getting anything done.  No energy, no drive, no desire.  I’m wasting my life away.  I think most of it can be contributed to sleep deprivation and exhaustion.  I can’t keep living like this, and it’s NOT better for Ronan than a happy, well rested mom would be.

Wish me luck.

I have done everything possible in the last hour to avoid writing a blog.

I don’t even know why.  There is NOTHING coming to my mind about what I would like to write about today.

Then I realized that I could celebrate a breakthrough last night.  Only I don’t want to jinx it.  I’ll just put it succinctly… I got some sleep last night.  And Ronan did too.  That’s all I’m going to say about it for now.

Birthday party anxiety is ramping up.  Way up.  So far, I have 14 people RSVP’d and are coming to my tiny little house.  My tiny, little, dirty house.  I’m planning on working on that today – you know, since I’m all rested up.

What does any of this have to do with the title of my blog?  I love it when Ronan is napping.  I swear, God invented naps to preserve mothers’ sanity.  I could genuflect over naps alone.

Goals for today?

• New baby gate at Target
• Kitchen tidied and cleaned.
• Floors swept/mopped.
• Living room tidied.
• Laundry DONE!
• Bonus goal: Clean master bathroom.
• Bonus goal: Clean and organize baby room.

I’ll admit, my expectations for today are a little unrealistic, but why not aim high?  We’re getting the trip to Target out of the way early.

And right here, I’d like to do a little celebratory dance… just days from my son’s first birthday, we FINALLY have him paid off.  *dance*

We, as moms, have this need, this terribly desperate desire for the positive affirmation of our parenting choices.

It’s only natural.  We want others to approve of what we are doing with our children.  We want validation, support, compliments – anything to help us feel like we’re doing a good job.  That feeling comes so rarely, and is so incredibly powerful when felt.

Because, lets face it, being a mom is really hard.  It’s really hard to make all sorts of decisions without ever knowing what the final outcomes of your choices will be.  It’s incredibly difficult to decide on a path that you would like to take despite all of the opposing arguments you hear around you.  You will ALWAYS hear opposing arguments.  It doesn’t matter what choice you make.

The thing is, every single choice that you make is the right one.  And at the end of the day, the only person you have to prove that to is yourself.  If you can look at what you’ve done with your child, how you’ve raised him or her, the choices that you’ve made and the actions that you’ve taken without feeling guilt or remorse, you have done well.  It doesn’t matter what your next door neighbor did, or what your mother-in-law thinks you should be doing.  It shouldn’t bother you when someone criticizes something you have chosen to do, because they do not have to live with the outcome.

And here’s the real kicker of it all.  We ALL want to tell other moms what they should be doing, because if someone does the same things we did, it somehow means – in a round-about way – that it was the RIGHT thing to do.  If it works for more than just me, it must be right, right?  So sure, I’ll look at what you’re doing wrong and say, “Oh, we did this.  You should try it.”  Fully expecting it to work for you as well as it worked for us.  But your kid isn’t my kid.  And your style isn’t my style.  And JUST because it worked for us does NOT mean it will work for you.  When it doesn’t work for you, you’ll think less of my parenting skills, and be less likely to look to me for advice again.  Then, in the future, when someone asks YOU for advice, you’ll tell them what YOU did, fully expecting it to work, and feeling bad when it doesn’t.  Here’s a secret I’m going to let you in on: it probably wont work for someone else.

I have been in situations where I’m willing to listen to ANY advice that is given, hoping to finally fall upon the one little piece that works.  And when someone asks me for advice, I give it.  Every time it doesn’t work, it makes me seriously hesitate to give out any other advice.  I hate that feeling, like you’ve let someone down.  But I always tell myself that just because it didn’t work for them doesn’t mean it wasn’t the right thing for us to do.

So, here’s a question for you.  If you give formula, and your sister gives breastmilk, and your cousin gave whole milk too early, and your neice-in-law never gave cereal, and your mom says she would never have let the baby get that old without putting cereal in her bottle, and your aunt on your dad’s side says that you’re spoiling your child because you hold her while you feed her, and your co-worker only gave a vegan diet… which one is right?

That’s it.

They all are.

YOU are right.  And you need to STOP listening to what they’re telling you is wrong, but you also need to STOP looking at other people and thinking their way is inferior to yours.  Because it’s not.  It’s right up there beside yours on the “it’s right for us” table.  Your right to do exactly what you want goes hand in hand being mature enough to let others do what they would.

I am proud to baby-wear, co-sleep, breast feed,  glad that I never gave cereal or purees, don’t use strollers, and can’t let my child cry it out.  That is what is right for ME.  I hate it when someone tells me something I’m doing wrong.  But I realize that they just want me to do it their way because that was RIGHT to them.  I think the hardest part of being a mom is realizing that your way isn’t the universal way, and that is okay.

Oh, and to all my formula feeding, stroller loving, cereal-in-the-bottle, sleep training mommas – I love you for what you do.  Be proud of your choices and decisions.  Because.

You.

Are.

Right.