Helping out in March

If you are anything like me, first of all…I’m sorry. It has taken me FOUR FIVE days just to write this post. Being me can be a challenge.

On the bright side, if you are anything like me, you are oftentimes inspired to contribute, to do good.

If you are anything like me, more often then not, you look to give a little more meaning to your life. Meaning beyond being a partner, or a parent, or an employee…or whatever. Because yes, being any one of those things, or all of those things, is amazing. But sometimes, sometimes maybe if you’re like me, you want to do, to be, just a little bit more. If you are like me, you are moved by organizations devoted to helping others, and find yourself wishing you could take part in making a difference.

Yet if you are anything like me, you are short on time. Busy with work, with kids, with Scandal, or Facebook, Instagram, or Pinterest. Well not really Pinterest, ‘cause holy depressing. And maybe for you, like me, disposable income is excruciatingly tight. Thankfully being short on time, or even money, doesn’t mean I can’t think about how I contribute to making a difference in this community, this world. At the end of January I wrote a blog post that touched upon reaching out and helping others ( http://gonnabethissideofnormal.blogspot.com/2014/01/sleepless-week-fourfifty-two.html ) and after searching and brainstorming and second guessing and flat out letting myself be scared for trying something new with my tiny little blog, I think I’ve finally worked up the courage to try something out...

That being said, with my limited amount of free time and my limited budget, and my love for writing and sharing, I thought I’d highlight an organization each month that is dedicated to bettering this world; dedicated to helping the disadvantaged. Each month I'd like to share with you an organization that could use our help. Let me be clear, I’m not looking to reinvent the wheel here. I’m looking to jump on someone’s coattails for 30 days and do what I can to help them out!

I’ll try to choose a little something for everyone…organizations that focus on hunger, or maternal-fetal health, or homelessness, or veterans, or animals or adoption or the environment. Some will be local, and some, like this month’s, will be half way across the world. I’ll do my best to provide some quick information on each organization, as well as links to their websites, blogs, Facebook pages etc. But I ask you to do your own research as well. Share what you find with your kids. Share what you find with your friends and family. And if you are anything like me, you’ll take a few minutes, and a few dollars and help out a bit too.

March Organization: Every Mother Counts

I discovered this month’s organization via a convoluted midnight scroll through Instagram. So next time you see the baby you can thank him for bringing forth Every Mother Counts. Please take a moment to visit their website at http://www.everymothercounts.org/. Please also follow Every Mother Counts on Instagram @everymomcounts, on Twitter @everymomcounts, or on Facebook Every Mother Counts.

I have given birth four times and had one miscarriage. I, like many of you, had fantastic prenatal and postpartum care. The thought of dying as a result of pregnancy or birth related complications never entered my mind. At least not in the way that women in some countries are faced with pregnancy or childbirth related deaths: For example: a Zambian woman’s lifetime risk of dying from pregnancy & childbirth is 1 in 37, while an American woman's lifetime risk is 1 in 2,400 (source: Every Mother Counts). Undeniably staggering statistics, and one of the many reasons the work Every Mother Counts does is so vital.

Every Mother Count's Mission: Every Mother Counts is a campaign to end preventable deaths caused by pregnancy and childbirth around the world. We inform, engage, and mobilize new audiences to take action to improve the health and well-being of girls and women worldwide.

Indeed "hundreds of thousands of girls & women around the world die every year from complications in pregnancy or childbirth, creating a rippling effect that devastates children, families, and communities. 90% of these deaths are preventable—with your help." (source: Every Mother Counts)

What I’m doing, and what you can do to:

For about $30.00 per kit (+ shipping to New York), you can put together an “Every Mother Kit” through the month of March (and February, but I am, of course, a little Johnny-Come-Lately-ish) Each kit will support moms in Uganda and Zambia. Each kit provides the most basic of supplies for these moms and babies. Find the list of supplies here:  http://everymothercounts.org/blog/201402/we-need-your-help-announcing-emc-s-every-mother-kit-drive

 



 Some of the very basic supplies each kit contains.

 

My kids drive me crazy, but they love to help out! Bring on the assembly line!!

Even the baby got in on the action!



Ready to package and ship!





This One's Trouble

Week Eight/Fifty-Two

 "A portrait of my child(ren), once a week, every week, in 2014"

 

This guy. This week. Exhausting.

 

He ate toilet paper. He climbed stairs. He broke a vase. He toppled over a plant and broke everything. He ate wood. He played in the trash. He chewed on wires. He gagged on applesauce and threw up. He pulled down a table lamp. 

 

He is on a naughty baby roll, and I had forgotten, until this week, how much baby-proofing really needs to take place in order for me to sit on my ass for more than five minutes at a time. And I've baby-proofed three times before him! Thankfully this little bugger loves his pack n' play. And boy do I love this little bugger.  

 

I am joining Jodi and her 52 Project at Practising Simplicity

 http://www.practisingsimplicity.com 



Man-ish

While I realize my little guy still has a vast amount of “growing up” to do (don’t they all really?), I’ve noticed recently that there are a few things that indicate he’s well on his way to becoming a man. For better or worse.

Don’t get me wrong; I love men. I married a good natured one who thankfully doesn’t mind the occasional blog post portraying him in slightly unfavorable light. Also, I’m tasked with raising two. And while I feel ultimately I’ll do a pretty good job, transforming my baby boys into men is also a undertaking that scares me to death. Cause God forbid either of them end up with a wife like me.

At the ripe old age of nine months my little baby boy-cub is becoming more man-ish. For instance:

1.   We don't nurse snuggled up and cozy belly to belly anymore. No. Now he sprawls out like a man on the couch. Feet up, arms askew, slugging a beer...straight from the tap.

2.   He whines. Of course all babies do. My girls did too. Still do in fact. But this little dude turns on the whiny voice. Just for effect and a little bit of attention. I hope he figures out that whiny men are never endearing to women. Neither are men that fake cough, drool excessively, or crap their pants. But for now, we’ll focus on the whine.

 

3.   He flips me off. A lot.

 

      

4.   His feet stink. Holy hell baby boy. I shudder thinking about future sneakers and gym socks and boy specific sports equipment.

 

5.   He tries to make himself fart (and is alarmingly successful). And he laughs when he succeeds. Actually he laughs even if he doesn’t fart on demand…cause farts are just funny. For a while now he’s been trying to make himself poop when he nurses, but he’s definitely upped his game with the flatulence.

6.   He sweats. Ick. And there goes the sweet smell of a newborn baby. Right. Out. The Window.

7.   He has attitude. And according to his pediatrician, he is a sleep manipulator. Apparently because I will do anything to get and keep my little to sleep, said little is a manipulator. Perhaps this is why I am the Mom, and not the pediatrician.

 

8.   He has a favorite chair, and likes to push it from room to room with him.

 

      9.  He is a terrible driver. It is inevitable I suppose.  Zero hands on the wheel. Looking around. Talking to himself. Drooling. Utterly unable to parallel park. Or get from Point A to Point B without me reminding him how to get there.

 

 (Can we pause for a sec and admire the chub!)

  

    10. He has no idea what to do with the laundry.

    11.  I don't even want to tell you what his favorite tub toy is...(hint: he's looking for it!)

Chubby Toes and Fast Fingers

Toes-Week Seven/Fifty-Two

"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2014" 

 

Baby toes that curl and scrunch and squish. Baby toes that provide entertainment, and sometimes a quick snack. Baby toes that propel him forward, so quickly. Moving everywhere and growing so big. Chubby fingers that always find the naughtiest things to play with: iPod chargers, tiny toys left scattered by his older siblings, rolls and rolls of toilet paper. The trash.

Soon he will be walking. He may be the earliest walker I've had, yet. At only nine months old already so close. Honestly it is both a relief (because he's getting so heavy to lug around!) and sad at the same time; bittersweet I suppose. He's really becoming less like a baby, and more like a toddler. But for now, there are still the baby toes. And chubby fingers. And tiny things on the floor that he tries to eat (a stage which I welcome to pass quickly)!

 

As time passes, and my baby grows, and I submit my weekly pictures of the kids (which, really, will likely end up being just pictures of the baby!) I am reminded how mornings, afternoons, days...weeks get away from me. Sometimes it seems insurmountable to just get one good snapshot of my children. To freeze just one moment in time. A moment in time when there are not tears, or attitudes, or chaos. And while oftentimes I feel rushed and hurried to simply submit something...I am constantly reminding myself that a little something is better than nothing.



 

I am joining Jodi and her 52 Project at Practising Simplicity

 http://www.practisingsimplicity.com

 

 

Happy, Happy, Happy

Happy Valentine’s-three kids woke up before 6am-school is closed again-the snow blower broke-one kid is sick but refuses to take his morning nap-the kids were supposed to go to my parents for the weekend but my dad is sick-we ran out of beer last night-the baby is nine months old-and did I mention school is closed-Day!

On the very, very, very bright side, my husband fixed the snow blower by adding gas (which coincidentally rhymes with he’s an ass).

There’s this “kiss face”

 

And he spent the morning trying to say Mummma. I believe that’s what those trendy types call a “heart explosion.”

Sick Day

Sick Day-Week Six/Fifty-Two
"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2014" 


This little guy developed his first true cold, one complete with a fever, this week. With four kids, we've had our share of craptastic and bizarre illnesses and hospitalizations, but even something as simple as a mid-winter cold can break a Mama's heart. The past couple of nights have been extra trying, so I'm so thankful he can still nap during the day.

Perhaps not coincidentally, he has also started chasing me down and trying to climb my legs in an effort to get me to pick him up and cuddle. And while it is endearing and heart melting that he chooses me, and only me, to soothe him when he's not feeling great, it also makes navigating the kitchen during breakfast, lunch, or dinner a bit more challenging.

And of course, one of the most challenging parts of having a sick infant, is managing the guilt that accompanies devoting all of your time to one child, even though there are others that need attention too.

While the oldest two are happily tucked away at school for a good portion of the day, my preschooler is still home most of the time. She is the child, who even after almost nine months, feels the most displaced by her baby brother. And it breaks my heart knowing she is watching television, or eating lunch alone, or talking to herself, while I am upstairs nursing, rocking, or soothing a miserable baby.

Days like today, weeks like this one in fact, make me think that next year, as a Kindergartner, she will be better off at school; far more entertained and engaged, then she would be at home with me.
This is a realization that is again, heartbreaking.

But perhaps I'm over thinking, and holding myself to unrealistic parenting standards. I am hopeful that my increased absence while I help the baby will be met with understanding and gratitude. Deep down I hope she sees my nurturing him as indicative of how much I love her too.

I am joining Jodi and her 52 Project at Practising Simplicity

 http://www.practisingsimplicity.com



For the Love of Hair

For the Love of Hair-Week Five/Fifty-Two
"A portrait of my children, once a week, every week, in 2014" 

It is so easy to miss the details, the subtle changes. To get caught up in the hurry-upness of every day life with kids. But this week I noticed something about the baby. I noticed his hair.

It’s growing. Becoming wispy and curly and thicker. And less red. And I realize he’s growing, and it makes me sad. Because while I am excited for this next phase of his babyhood, I’m also infinitely sad to think that he is the last baby that I will ever call my own. Bittersweet this business of growing up…

Just one week shy of nine months

I am joining Jodi and her 52 Project at Practising Simplicity

 http://www.practisingsimplicity.com

Kids Say the Meanest Things (to their Moms)

Sometimes I think I've got it together. Perhaps I’ve just survived five days with 4 kids while my husband is halfway across the world on business. Maybe I’ve taken a shower two, or better yet three, days in a row. It could be that I’ve cleaned more than one room in my house in a month. Or I’ve been able to get the baby to sleep in his crib for more than twenty minutes at night. Possibly I’ve dedicated a good thirty minutes to playing with my little girl. Or I have managed not to make it through a school morning without losing my temper with my oldest two children, whom both seem hell bent on destroying me emotionally.  So on occasion, yes, I feel like I’m a pretty damn good parent. On occasion I think; Sweet Jesus I’ve got this whole motherhood thing figured out. Parenting is No. Big. Deal.

And then sometimes, while sitting at dinner, my 8 year old son will say something like “mom when I think of you, I think of three things: friendly, funny and swearing.” And that is when I can physically feel myself shrinking to a child-sized being; I feel myself being put in place by my kid. In front of my mother no less, who is quite obviously smirking, and quietly vowing to tell my father all about THIS. To be fair to myself, my son’s outburst of honesty came amidst husband’s said international business trip, and a seemingly endless snowy and bone chilling winter. I have had extra swears to say these past few days, cause there have been extra reasons to say them.

Regardless, it was in that moment that I finally felt as though I need to make a concerted effort to tone down my profanity. Clean my language up, and keep it classy for the sake of my kids. This of course will be a tremendous challenge for me because swearing is what I do. In fact, I used to do it just to drive my father crazy. He would tell me I was too creative to swear, whatever the farting dog that means, and I would tell him swears were just words and storm off swearing under my breath.  

Until now I’ve not worried about my kids picking up on my bad habit, and unlike my father I’m not sure it would irritate me. Thankfully my oldest daughter would never dream of swearing, out loud or under her breath. My son is a little more brazen, but for the most part keeps his swearing to “crap” and “fricking” and for times when he’s really, really mad. Like when his little sister tries to talk to him while he plays Minecraft. And my three year old; she is far more likely to test the waters. And holy shit…she’s actually four. Anyhow, my FOUR year old could hold her own in a bar, at a football game, or with the commercial fishermen at the pier if she needed to. But she’s just a little sprite…you know, around three or four, and it is still endearing when she drops a swear or two. And the baby, who knows? I suppose his first word could very well be shit. Or damn. Or stop driving like an asshole!

 

Yes, I will surrender and admit that swearing is not one of my more endearing qualities. I will make a deal with my son, and promise him that I will try to stop ruining his childhood with my vulgarity. But being the parenting guru that I am; a mom who has her shit together, I will also remind my kid that of late, it is he and his siblings who 99.9% of the time have driven me to cuss and curse and say bad words. Really, it’s his own effing fault.