On a quest for immunity

January 20, 2015 by Lauren McGill
No Gravatar

Oh, the lengths to which we will go to keep our children healthy.

I’ve tried potions, powders, vitamins, boosters — sometimes, to no avail (and instead, to the detriment of my checking account).
It’s easy to fall for the promises these products make, especially in times like these: the height of cold and flu season. It was summer when I first found myself on the quest for that magic bullet that would end our streak of once-a-month doctor visits to treat the runny nose that always, inevitably, turned into an ear infection.

I pumped all the doctors in our pediatrician’s office for advice, then messaged friends and family in the health care field — they all basically told me the same thing: the “immunity boosters” I was asking about might help, or they might not … it probably wouldn’t hurt to try them.

So then, like any other Dr. Mom would, I fell into the rabbit hole known as the Internet. Here are some of the things I emerged with:

Multivitamins: Maybe your tot eats three square meals a day, made up of rainbow-colored fruits and veggies, whole grains and lean proteins. Or maybe you’re living here in the real world with the rest of us and you’re lucky to get your busy preschooler to eat anything at all — let alone anything that can remotely be deemed “balanced.” A multivitamin is an easy extra step to provide some extra nutrients your child might not be getting naturally. Before our kiddo warmed up to the idea of chewable vitamins, we used a powdered blend mixed into his daily yogurt (bonus: probiotics!).

Just a few products in one mom's arsenal against seasonal illnesses.

Just a few products in one mom’s arsenal against seasonal illnesses.

Echinacea: A popular herb that could help lessen a cold or flu if taken at the onset of symptoms, echinacea falls very squarely in the category of “could help, can’t hurt.” In terms of keeping the whole family a little healthier, it’s a relatively cheap option to try, with capsules for adults costing a few bucks a bottle. My almost-3-year-old is skeptical when I try to mix the liquid form into his drink, so I drop his dose in a medicine cup and have him drink it straight. I prefer mine in tea form, with extra honey. 

Essential oils: These are still relatively new to me, but they have been the method with which I have been the most consistent. My daily go-to is a few drops of Young Living’s Thieves blend — a spicy-smelling oil designed to boost immunity and kill bacteria. The cons of this product are its price, and the fact that you can’t just go out and buy it in a store. The pros are that, in my experience, it truly works. I’ve “beaten back” a cold by upping my usage at the first sign of a tickle in the back of my throat. My son thinks it’s hilarious that I put drops of the oil on the bottoms of his feet in the morning and at night, so he excitedly brings me the bottles and never protests their application. And since it also happens to smell lovely, the fact that I diffuse it in the house the first 30 minutes we’re home each day just means our home also smells nice and inviting, without chemicals or smoky candles.

Immunity boosting powder: We’ve been using this seasonally, especially on days when the notices of contagious illnesses are posted around school. It has a better taste than the powdered vitamins so it’s easier to pass off to suspicious youngsters (it turns regular applesauce a great, bright pink color) and since the recommended dose is such a small amount, a single container goes a long way. 

Superfoods: My blender kicked the bucket this year, so we’re not sipping green smoothies in this house, but I do try to capitalize on the vitamin-packed fruits my son WILL eat. We’ve had success not just offering blueberries, but offering specific amounts (“Do you want three blueberries, or five?”) which is usually enough to get him started eating them, and he often finishes way more that the initially agreed upon serving. Oranges are a traditional kid-favorite, packed with Vitamin C. The 10-lb. bags of seedless naval oranges being sold at Sam’s Club right now are truly awesome because the sections separate beautifully, if your child (like me) hates the bits of white pith that are often left behind.

Proper hygieneThe simplest, the cheapest, and probably the most effective answer to the “how to stay healthy” question is to avoid germs in the first place, but even the most vigilant moms can find this hard to do 100 percent of the time. Have you tried to hold a squirmy toddler over a sink to wash their hands lately? Bring a raincoat. I, personally, hate waterless hand sanitizer, for all its many, convenient forms that all end up leaving my hands feeling both sticky AND dried out, and itchy to boot. Instead, I keep individually wrapped WetOnes Sensitive hand wipes in all my bags (bonus: they’re gentle enough to swipe over messy faces, too). But even if you are successful in cleaning hands and surfaces before every meal and snack, there’s still a very good chance your young child will run from you and lick the plastic play food at the library on the same day the flu is deemed an “epidemic” in your state. Not that I have any firsthand knowledge of such things …

However, for all my cursory research on matters of immunity, for all the times I’ve swiped my credit card at the pharmacy or the Healthy Life Market for THE product that I was sure would stop noses from dripping and fevers from spiking, I’ve learned that there is no magic potion, or combination of preventative measures that will end sick days once and for all.

But with each friend and fellow parent that reports an unstoppable stomach virus, another round of antibiotics, or even — heaven help us — the flu, I can’t help but ramp up my regimen of over-the-counter health aids.

And with every week ticked off the calendar that didn’t include a doctor’s visit, I catch a glimpse of that magic bullet as it whizzes by, maybe — just maybe — a little slower this time.

Lauren McGill is the city editor of the Charleston Daily Mail. She and her husband, Chuck, live in Charleston with their almost-3-year-old son and an aging house cat. Follow her on Twitter at twitter.com/LaurenLMcGill

Life with a 5-month-old baby

January 19, 2015 by Kelly Weikle
No Gravatar

The great unknown – that’s what I considered my future when I was pregnant. I had no idea what life would be like with a baby. So, instead of consulting a psychic and a crystal ball, I read mommy blogs. My favorite? “Day in the life” posts. I read them all: stay-at-home moms, working moms, work-from-home moms and everything in between. For me, it’s reassuring to see that I’m not alone in having weeks of clean laundry living in a pile in my laundry room, or that in that “cooking dinner” is sometimes throwing in a frozen pizza. So here it is, your stereotypical “day in the life” post. If hearing about how long it takes me to get out of the house in the morning isn’t your cup of tea, then I suggest you stop reading now. I don’t pretend that my days are especially difficult or original; I would say they are pretty average (or below average!). Enjoy…

  • 3:00 a.m. Wake up to baby crying on the monitor. Change diaper, nurse baby. She luckily goes right back to sleep. Crawl back in bed.
  • 5:30 a.m. Wake up to baby crying on the monitor. Chris gets up, changes her diaper, and brings her to me to nurse. Then he takes her downstairs to eat breakfast and I get in the shower. The day has begun!
  • 6:05 a.m. Realize I am not in the shower but still in bed. Actually get up and get into the shower.
  • 6:30 a.m. Chris passes AJ on to me. Take her downstairs with me to eat breakfast (cereal) and make coffee.
  • 6:45 a.m. Back upstairs to finish getting ready. Put AJ in her bouncer chair and she watches me put on makeup and do my hair. Talk nonsense to keep AJ entertained, topics range from how to put on mascara to why I love Taylor Swift. Then Chris picks her up and changes her into her clothes for the day.
  • 7:15 a.m. Finished getting ready. Wonder how early I am going to have to get up once AJ is mobile and I have to chase her around all morning. Go downstairs and pack my pumping gear; Chris gets AJ’s bottles ready. Say goodbye to Chris and AJ (he takes her to daycare) and leave for work.
  • 7:34 a.m. Walk into work (thankful for a short commute).
  • 7:34 – 8:30 a.m. Emails, read news, to-do list, coffee.
  • 8:30 a.m. Pumping time. Bring computer into the motherhood room with me so I can continue working.
  • 9:00 a.m. – 10:45 a.m. Work. Return phone calls, write emails, tackle to-do list.
  • 10:45 a.m. Pump again, earlier than normal because I have an off-site meeting during lunch.
  • 11:15 a.m. – 1:30 p.m. Off-site lunch meeting.
  • 2:30 p.m. Pump.
  • 3:00 p.m. Work.
  • 4:30 p.m. Leave work to pick up AJ at daycare. Wonder if she will still be in the clothes she arrived in (it’s about a 50/50 chance). She is!
  • 5:15 p.m. Arrive home after a car ride of AJ crying. I think she prefers 102.7 to NPR. Lament that it takes me 10 minutes to get to work and 45 to get home. Throw on black yoga pants and a T-shirt and immediately change AJ and get her in the bath, something we’ve been doing to combat cold and flu season.
  • 5:45 p.m. AJ is out of the bath, toweled, diapered, lotioned and PJ’ed. Nurse her. Chris gets home around this time.
  • 6:15 p.m. Chris plays with AJ while I tackle dinner. Despite not having been to the grocery store in ages, decide that we absolutely cannot eat out and scrounge the fridge for something edible. Surprisingly come up with an egg, cheese and Quinoa combination with a side of green beans and a slice (or three) of bacon.
  • 7:15 p.m. Eat dinner, then play with AJ. Make lots of funny faces, help her sit up, and listen to the chirps and squeals of her toys. Chris cleans up and washes the dirty bottles and pumping accessories.
  • 7:40 p.m. AJ gets fussy and I know the reason. So it’s upstairs for bedtime, which involves nursing, lullabies and rocking.
  • 8:30 p.m. AJ decided to rally and is wide-awake. Give up on the rocking and take her into our bedroom, where she falls asleep to the sounds of the previous night’s episode of Modern Family.
  • 9:00 p.m. Put AJ in her crib and creep out as quietly as possible. Choose bill paying over laundry folding for my end-of-the-evening activity. Wish that a wiggle of my nose would transfer the two baskets of clean, unfolded clothes neatly into drawers.
  • 10:00 p.m. Wash face, brush teeth, and call it a night.

Sprinkle in a few meltdowns and a diaper run here and there, and this is my typical day with my 5-month-old. The weekdays go by incredibly fast, and the weekends even faster.


January 14, 2015 by Trina Bartlett
No Gravatar

Of my many flaws, believing that I only have a few isn’t one of them.

On the flip side, I’m very, very good finding fault in almost everything I do.

It’s a trait that I come by honestly – it was passed down by the maternal side of my family, but I’m not sure whether its longevity is linked more to nature or nurture. While my mother and grandmother excelled at identifying their own weaknesses, they were less successful at keeping those discoveries to themselves.

I am cursed by these same behaviors.

As a little girl, I  grew up hearing my mother talk about her mistakes, missteps and misfortunes. When I became a teenager, she no longer had to point them out because I did an outstanding job of doing that for her.  Now, I just point out my own.

And even though I’m well aware of the warnings from psychologists and child development experts that we can damage our children when we speak poorly of ourselves, I do it anyway.

And yes, my children picked up on my behavior. What they haven’t done is repeat it. Perhaps their father’s side of the family is more dominant than mine, because they haven’t even taken my concerns about my inadequacies very seriously.

Instead, they’ve turned them into a running joke

When I started saying “I’m a horrible mom,” to note that I had experienced a parenting fail, they quickly picked up on the phrase.

When I expressed dismay or worry about a decision, one of them would say “Hash Tag Horrible Mom.” They found it so amusing that they began using it as the punctuation mark to most of my sentences – almost as a sign of affection.

And while I may suffer from an intense need to openly identify all my faults, I don’t lack a sense of humor.

That means I can not only appreciate how ridiculous I can be, I can also have fun.

And so it was last Sunday night when my daughter and her BFF were trying to complete a display for their social studies fair project. I tried to assist as needed, but I was actually contributing to the silliness as much, if not more, than they were.

I was attempting to restore some order to the overly loud and raucous high -jinks, when my daughter  played the Celine Dion song “My Heart Will Go On.” Kendall knows none of us can be serious when that song plays – especially since her brother shared Matt Mulholland’s  You Tube video “My Heart Will Go On – By Candlelight.”  (My Heart Will Go On – By Candlelight)

As soon as the first sorrowful notes began to play, I stopped in mid reprimand to launch into song – complete with overly dramatic arm gestures and facial expressions. The girls joined in, and the social studies project was forgotten.

At least, it was forgotten until my husband marched into the family room to complain about the noise level, of which I was a primary contributor.

When he left the room, I muttered “what a grumpy dad” under my breath.

The girls picked up on my words immediately. “Hash Tag Horrible Mom Hash Tag Grumpy Dad,” they said. The line has stuck.

Ironically, I no longer consider their words to be a reminder of our faults.

Instead, they are a reminder that, even though we may do many things wrong, my husband and I have obviously done just as many things right.

We encourage our children to pursue their passions. We help with school projects.  And, perhaps most important, we have a home that promotes creativity and freedom of expression (within reason of course).

If the worst my children can say about us is “Hash Tag Horrible Mom and Hash Tag Grumpy Dad,” then I maybe I should start ending my sentences with “#notsohorribleofamomafterall.”

Trina Bartlett lives with her husband, Giles Snyder, their teenage son and daughter, two cats and one enormous German Shepherd. When she’s not being a mom, volunteering or writing, Trina works full time as a director at a nonprofit, social service organization.

Why kids are so quick to fall for Frozen

January 13, 2015 by Lauren McGill
No Gravatar

Just a year ago, I couldn’t tell you what the plot of ‘Frozen’ was. I had been vaguely aware of two princesses, Elsa and Anna, and a snowman that somehow came into play. I hadn’t heard “Let it Go,” and was proud of that fact. I thought the movie would never be part of our home collection, because, frankly, we have a son and not a daughter.
I was wrong.
For parents of young children, there is no escaping “Frozen.” (Cue choruses of “Duh!” from those who have been stuck in the deep freeze grip of the movie since it hit theaters in 2013).
There’s just something about Disney movies in general that immediately grabs youngsters. Our boy was already fast friends with Lightning McQueen and Dusty Crophopper. Elsa, though, became a whole ‘nother animated obsession.

Dad thinks Olaf is pretty funny and Mom likes Anna's spunky nature, but it's Elsa who has captured this boy's heart.

Dad thinks Olaf is pretty funny and Mom likes Anna’s spunky nature, but it’s Elsa who has captured this boy’s heart.

Thanks to viewings with friends and on the occasional “Friday movie day” at day care, he caught the “Frozen” bug. We’d watch the music clips on YouTube until Christmas came, when finally, his very own copy of the movie landed, as promised, under the tree. The day after Christmas, we gathered to watch it — a first full viewing for parents, grandparents and our boy’s very patient, kid-less uncle.
Sure, the movie is great — it’s quick-paced with lots of heart and wit, the latter mostly thanks to the lovable snowman, Olaf. The music is catchy and brilliant.
But none of us adults really felt like we had gained an understanding of what made this film in particular so instantly intoxicating to young girls AND boys.
Then, an essay posted on Time.com last week helped to shed some light on the issue. The piece, “The Science of Why Your Kids Can’t Resist Frozen,” was written by two psychologists who also happen to be sisters, and moms. Their explanation for the widespread appeal of the movie really caused it to click for me. See what you think. Here’s an excerpt:


First, a preschooler’s emotional world is reminiscent of Frozen heroine Elsa’s internal struggle: Her emotions are strong, passionate — and seem uncontrollable. Preschoolers too, are driven by their impulses. When Elsa laments that she’s afraid that there’s “no escape from the storm inside of me,” it resonates with young children (and perhaps their patience-tested parents, as well).

Makes sense, especially when you consider that Elsa is the runaway fan favorite in this film.

Still, I tried to pump my small child for more insight. I wasn’t totally successful.

Me: Which character in ‘Frozen’ do you like the best? Olaf? Kristoff?
Boy: How about Elsa?
Me: Well what’s your favorite part of ‘Frozen’?
Boy: Elsa!

Our conversation continued, but you get the idea.

So as we continue to delve deeper into the world of Arendelle, learning ALL the words to the songs and waiting (hoping?) for a sequel, I’m curious: Why do you think all kids fall so quickly and easily in love with “Frozen”?


Lauren McGill is the city editor of the Charleston Daily Mail. She and her husband, Chuck, live in Charleston with their almost-3-year-old son. Follow her on Twitter at twitter.com/LaurenLMcGill

Baby talk

January 12, 2015 by Kelly Weikle
No Gravatar

“Grab her Sophie,” I said, as my mother stared blankly back at me.

“Her what?”

“Her Sophie! …The giraffe toy.”

“Did you name her toy Sophie?”

“No, that’s her name,” I responded. Then it occurred to me that not everyone knows what a “Sophie” is. “The name of the toy is Sophie. Sophie the giraffe. She’s French.”

Sophie is the favorite chew toy of millions of babies, including AJ. A “must” on many registry lists. Mention “Sophie” to a mom with a baby and she most likely knows what you mean.

For my whole life, I was on the “what?” end when it came to conversations about babies or baby things. Now, bring up the brand Medela and I’ll jump in with a “mine is the double automatic” (Medela is a breast pump and breastfeeding accessory brand).

“Put her in her mamaRoo,” is another phrase I say often, and get blank stares in return except when I’m talking to my husband. AJ’s mamaRoo is a type of infant swing; it looks like a space ship and has five different swing settings, including ‘kangaroo’ and ‘car seat.’

“Rock n’ Play” is another type of infant sleeper swing that even doctors will refer to as common language. If you are expecting, it’s time to brush up on your infant swing brands. Us moms refer to our swings with the same affection we use when talking about a loved one. And for good reason, when all else fails, mamaRoo comes to the rescue.

I started to realize just how ingrained I was into parenting speak when I put together a Christmas list of items for AJ for the grandparents. I had to include web links of examples on almost all the items. If you would have shown me the list I created a year ago I would never have heard of anything on it.

There are countless other brands, words and phrases I never knew or used before I was a mom – bulb syringe, Boogie Wipes, tummy time, just to name a few. Not to the mention the subjects I never knew could be so interesting, like a discussion about sleep methods, introducing solid foods, or poop.

I’m sure a couple years from now, my parenting lingo will include the latest Disney princess movie, the sippy cup that AJ likes best, and maybe even some words she’ll make up on her own.

I knew motherhood would change me in many ways, but I didn’t know an increased vocabulary would be one of them.

The Pink Lady and the Microfilm Machine

January 7, 2015 by Trina Bartlett
No Gravatar

I am a more than three decades older than my daughter, and she reminds me of that on a daily basis.

She doesn’t actually say anything to me. She’s simply 13 and in the eighth grade while I am quickly closing in on a half century.

She can watch her favorite television series on Netflix. When I was her age, only very lucky kids, of which I was not one, had VCRs. If I missed an episode of my favorite show, I had to wait for a re-run and hope that my brother didn’t want to watch something that same night.

She has her own cell phone that tracks everyone who calls her (although she gets many more text messages than actual phone calls). When I was her age, my family had one land-line phone and no one had answering machines.  If we missed a call, we just missed a call.

She literally has a world of information at her fingertips, whether on her phone, a tablet or computer. When I was her age, I had no options but to go to the public library when I wanted to do research.

But sometimes, even in these high-tech days, 13-year-old girls still need to go to the public library to do research.

Such was the case this past weekend when I took Kendall and Bri, her BFF (best friend forever) to the local public library. They are doing their social studies fair project on the history of a local theater where they love to perform. During their interview with a long-time volunteer and default historian (an interview Bri recorded on her iphone instead of on a pad of paper or on a tape recorder), he gave them a list of resources in old newspapers dating back to 1912 that they could probably research at the local library.

That’s the reason I found myself giggling with two 13-year-old girls on a rainy Saturday afternoon as we browsed reels of microfilm from newspapers published more than a century before.

The content was both microfilmamusing and educational.

There was an three-column story about a “well-respected colored man” who had died after eating a large meal. The article described his last few minutes right down to the moment when he raised his hands above his head and proclaimed “Lord have mercy” before he collapsed.

There was a story about a “musical mule” that ate the keys off a piano.

And there were many, many articles about the day-to-day happenings of local residents who had gone on vacation, visited relatives or held parties. There was even an article about my daughter’s great-grandfather.

As we used the rather antiquated technology of microfilm to take a trip back in time, Kendall and Bri snapped photo after photo on their iphones as they giggled and sent text messages. I couldn’t help but note the paradox.

Then, a brief note about a lady dressed in pink who made male hearts flutter sent all of us into peals of laughter.the pink lady

When I finally caught my breath, I asked “Why would this be in the newspaper?”

Bri didn’t miss a beat.

“How is our news today any better? One-hundred years from now, people are going to laugh at us because we had headlines about Miley Cyrus twerking.”

She had a point – a really good point actually. And her words helped make our time together at the microfilm machine even more meaningful.

We left the library that afternoon with much more than a few pieces of copy paper for a social studies project. We left with a mutual understanding about life.

Times change. Attitudes change. Styles change. Even people change.

But the distance between generation shrinks when we realize our shared experiences, which we may document with different technology and with different language,  greatly outweigh our differences.

The pink lady – and the local public library – taught me that.

Moving on up

January 6, 2015 by Lauren McGill
No Gravatar

Monday was a big day.

Our not-quite-3-year-old “graduated” to a new classroom at day care. Typically, this would be an event that would have already happened to us two or three times, but we’re still fairly new to the day care scene.

Perhaps it was those memories, still fresh, of tearful goodbyes in the mornings, of sneaking away while teachers distracted him, that had me apprehensive for the start of this week.

My "big boy" and I discussed his new classroom and teachers Monday evening over a vanilla Frosty.

My “big boy” and I discussed his new classroom and teachers Monday evening over a vanilla Frosty.

See, fortunately for us, our little guy was cared for by a babysitter for the first two years of his life. When she decided to pursue work outside the home, we set off on a bit of a scramble to find a new sitter — an effort that largely proved fruitless.

So, we found ourselves at day care, touring the building as children rested peacefully on nap mats. “This will never work,” I thought to myself, thinking of my toddler who resists all sleep when other people are present in the room.
“No outside food or drink allowed.” Gulp. He’s not going to eat. Stairs? Nope. Potty training? Uhh…

I zeroed in on all the ways the transition would be “too difficult” for our son. A lump quickly formed in my throat. But after we left that day, we considered all the ways it might be really beneficial for our whole family.

So, we forged ahead. And yeah, there were tears — from me, from our son, who had his schedule adjusted, gained approximately a dozen new classmates all at once and was foisted into an entirely new environment. But those days were few, and it wasn’t long before he was bounding into the classroom each day, talking happily about his teachers and learning the names of all his friends.

I knew he had become the oldest 2-year-old in his room when fall rolled around. Just before the holidays, his lead teacher informed me that he’d be moving up to a new class, with a few others, at the first of the year. Cue the lump in my throat.

Though it was just down the hall, I worried about him leaving the teachers he’d grown to like so well — especially the one who helped usher him through those difficult first few days.

Turns out, I should have listened to our kiddo the countless times he told me that he’s ‘a big boy’ now. My husband and I both took him to “school” Monday to encourage him through the transition, but we were barely able to pull off his coat before he went running into his new room, ready to explore.

My husband, well versed in the world of sports, equated this move to a player’s advancement to AA baseball. Our son’s trip across the hall to the 4-year-old room will be his promotion to AAA, one measly step from “The Show” — the major leagues — Kindergarten.

It’s just another step that will come too quickly, in our minds, but that our son will be all too ready for.


Lauren McGill is the city editor of the Charleston Daily Mail. She and her husband, Chuck, live in Charleston with their almost-3-year-old son. Follow her on Twitter at twitter.com/LaurenLMcGill

Leading by Example

January 5, 2015 by Kelly Weikle
No Gravatar

I bet you didn’t know you were reading the words of a criminal.

I’m mortified to admit this, but I stole something last week – accidentally. I was in the process of returning a Christmas gift of which we received a duplicate when I noticed a box of my favorite lip balm on the counter. I pulled one out thinking I would purchase it with the store credit I was about to receive. Then the manager notified me that since I did not have a receipt, I could not return the item (I gave up on trying to sort out the gift receipts from the gift wrap and packaging at Christmas). I understood and left the store. I noticed that the manager walked out after me and I thought he must be suspicious of me for trying to return something without a receipt.

This is a receipt I will be keeping for a while

This is a receipt I will be keeping for a while.

The next morning, I found the lip balm in my purse. I must have grabbed it, either forgetting that I had not paid or thinking it was the identical and already used lip balm from my purse. Whatever happened, I felt terrible. I promptly went to the store as soon as it opened to pay for the lip balm and apologize for my mistake. The cashier thanked me for my honesty and even admitted that she (also a mom) had once done something similar.

This lip balm retailed for a few dollars. It probably cost the store pennies. I didn’t have to go back to the store, admit my mistake and face the consequences. I had already “gotten away” with taking the item. But I made a mistake, however innocent it was, and I knew I had to do the right thing, which was go back and pay for the item. The manager who helped me the night before will probably always think I took the item on purpose, but it doesn’t matter.

Growing up, there were countless times my parents made me do the right thing after I had done the wrong thing. Through them, I learned about apologizing for and learning from my mistakes.

I’m not saying I always do the right thing, oh no no no, far from it. Many times I don’t even know what the right thing is, and even when I do I don’t always follow that path. Although a bit embarrassing, it was easy for me to do the right thing in this situation. It won’t always be that way. And now that I am a mother, I have to remember that AJ will watch my actions closely.

So after purchasing my stolen lip balm, I decided that one of my New Year’s resolutions is to lead by example, and show AJ how to do the right thing when she makes a mistake or does something wrong by trying harder to do the right thing myself. And AJ will eventually make a mistake, because she is human. And even though I will try my hardest, I will continue to make mistakes, because I also am human.

Time Warp

December 31, 2014 by Trina Bartlett
No Gravatar

Tradition demands that every new year, I take time to reminisce about the past 365 days and  look forward to the next 365 days.2015

And so I do.

But what tradition seems to forget is that the older I get, the more quickly the years fly by and lose their distinct identities.

Instead, they blend together into a colorful yet unfinished collage of meaningful, embarrassing, sad, silly, joyful and hopeful moments that comprise my personal history and therefore, whom I am.

Only years of significant life events maintain their autonomy: the year I graduated from high school, the year I got married and the years my children were born are all still etched in my brain. Everything else is marked by “before” and “after.” If  I didn’t have those markers, I think I would lose track of time completely.

Just this past week, I found a wedding invitation from 2010 that caught me completely off guard. I was sure the wedding had been, at most, two years ago. I clearly remembered what I wore, the conversations my husband and friends had and the emotions of the day.  Yet, in my memory, my daughter had been older, I had been younger and the event had much more recent.

After convincing myself that my internal calendar can no longer be relied upon, I also realized how unimportant that really is.

The event itself and the memories it generated are what are truly important. The wedding was memorable and holds a special place in the patchwork of moments that comprise my life.

My children are now starting into that phase when they will be defining their own significant years. In approximately 365 days, as the calendar turns to 2016, my son will be celebrating the year he graduates from high school. I have no doubt that will also be a year that marks “before” and “after” for me as well.

But, unlike the years before I had children, I will now appreciate and celebrate the small and big moments during that year, not that date itself. Moments, not a four digit number, are what define me, my family and my life.

The four digit number just provides that reminder.

Happy 2015. May it be full of memorable moments that make you smile, laugh and treasure your life, those you love and the joy of living.

A Baby Changes Everything

December 26, 2014 by Kelly Weikle
No Gravatar

The lights were dimmed; the house was quiet. The presents were opened, the turkey carved, the cookies eaten. We were home after a long and joyous day of Christmas festivities. As I slowly rocked AJ to sleep, I started singing one last Christmas carol. “A Baby Changes Everything” (Faith Hill) was the song I couldn’t get out of my head.

Last Christmas, I was newly pregnant and even though I had been dreaming and hoping for a baby, I was scared. I took a new interest in the Christmas story, for now I was looking at it from Mary’s point of view. How scared she must have been! I drew courage from her courage. I knew my life would change, but I didn’t know how it would change.

A baby does change everything. This Christmas season was unlike any I’ve had before. It started out extra hectic. Holiday traditions like decorating the home and baking mass quantities of cookies are a tad more difficult with a baby around; and I’m sure almost impossible with a toddler. Shopping with a stroller takes serious skills, skills I do not yet have, and so this season I quickly gained a new appreciation for online shopping.

Our Christmas Eve was different too. No late night parties or midnight church service for us this year. We spent our evening watching It’s A Wonderful Life, and I was so exhausted I didn’t even make it to the end of the movie.

Christmas Day was spent as usual with our families (we are lucky to have both sets of grandparents close). As expected, most of the gifts we received were for AJ and not for Chris or me. Baby clothes replaced adult clothes; toys replaced gadgets. And that was exactly how I wanted it to be.

This Christmas, we started forging new traditions, traditions that include the newest member of our family and our greatest gift yet. As I put AJ in her crib and said goodnight, I thought about how I will experience the wonder of Christmas through her eyes in the years to come. We still have a few Christmases to go before AJ can appreciate the magic and excitement of it all, but I’m already looking forward to how different every Christmas will be as she grows year to year. A baby changes everything, in wonderful and unexpected ways.