she doesn’t nap anymore…

…but at least she uses her free time to save the world…

with style.
princess superhero 1

princess superhero 2

princess superhero 3

[These were taken mere moments after she woke up her never-actually-naps 4-month-old foster sister. I *may* have lost my s**t. Just a little. Her consequence was entertaining said baby whilst I have my Internet zone-out time. #TuesdayisthenewMonday]


my family: January 2016


I love re-reading the little Philomena updates I used to sporadically write. I realized the last one I did was well over a year ago. It makes me tear up now, because so much has changed in her life in this time.

And the changes are the type that are beautiful, but so difficult when you are in them. I am not just talking about Mena here. I have been refined and stretched more in the past year-and-a-half than I ever thought possible. Last night in prayer I kept getting the image of this huge, jagged boulder. It was being slowly, painfully chipped away. So slowly. So painfully. And yet, in the end was this small, sleek stone that you couldn’t help but marvel in its smoothness.

I don’t think I need to spell out that analogy for you, now do I?

[I intended this post just to be a general update on the past few months, but now I’m getting all deep, huh?]

When I wrote this back in July, I felt so empty as a mother. I was at the point in which every moment of every day reminded me of my insufficiency. I didn’t think it possible for me to handle even one.more.thing.

Our Lord has a way of taking this kind of emptiness, fear, and vulnerability and doing something unimaginable.

In this case, it came in the form of newborn baby N.

IMG_2063 bw

The first week of October we received this unexpected gift, the full biological sister of J. We don’t know what is going to happen in their futures, but we know their presents are inter-twined with ours for a reason, so we are clinging to our foster children with a fierce love.

That said, suddenly becoming a family of five was very overwhelming for quite awhile. It wasn’t until about December that we started to feel the fog lift a little. And there is no way we could have survived those first couple months without all the extraordinary help from our friends and family. Sometimes I feel a little guilty about how good we have it.

Blessings without number; mercies without end.


Philomena turned four on Christmas. Goodness gracious. [Are four-year-olds still considered toddlers? Or are they called “preschoolers,” even if they don’t attend preschool? I feel like I should know these things!] Four is looking eerily similar to three, in terms of challenges. And yet, she has these fleeting moments of maturity that give us a glimpse of hope. For example, just now Ryan came into the office to ask me if I asked Mena to sweep the pine needles from the (still up!! we’re working on it!!) Christmas tree, because that is what she was currently doing.

I hadn’t.

And there’s the fact that she takes her picture “chore chart” very seriously. If she remembers she didn’t make her bed, she immediately runs upstairs to remedy the situation. Also, now she sometimes lets J walk in front of her when we’re going up the stairs. That might not seem like much to you, but she is obsessed with being the one in front, so it’s momentous here in our casa.


In general, she is still very head-in-the-clouds and imaginative. She usually has some dress-up outfit on at any given time, and she can easily play by herself for hours. I do a *little* bit of not-really-but-kinda schoolwork with her, which she absolutely adores. I have no doubt it has very little to do with learning the sounds of letters and is much more attributed to having one-on-one time with her usually preoccupied Mommy. We also read “chapter books” with her now before bedtime (one chapter a night), and I think it is the favorite part of the day for all of us.


Philomena was really “into” Advent and Christmas this year. I don’t think my heart could have swelled more than with her off-key rendition of “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” every night around the Advent wreath.


is 20 months now, and there are almost no words to describe his wildness. He has this astute radar that tunes into exactly what he shouldn’t be touching or doing, and he goes after such goals with an enviable fervor. I am constantly finding him on top of the dining room table or running off with my phone or trying on Philomena’s most-favorite princess shoes.

He gets frustrated very easily and throws countless (extremely short-lived) tantrums throughout the day. His speech development is a bit delayed (in that, he doesn’t really talk at all, but he has quite a few baby signs), so we think that is the main reason for said tantrums. At least, that is what we hope.


HOWEVER…he has one of the kindest hearts I have ever encountered. Seriously. He is obsessed, so obsessed with N. From the first moment he laid eyes on her, he has been giving her kisses and cuddles. Granted, this affection pretty much always goes too far, and she ends up screaming at the top of her lungs, as I sprint across the room. But it’s the sentiment, yes? Also, if any kid anywhere (even strangers at Target) starts to cry, he gets this very concerned look on his face and goes over and gives the child these very heartfelt strokes.

And he’s weirdly helpful when he wants to be. He likes to bring me N’s diaper and take his plate to the counter. And after he hits or bites Philomena, he gives her gentle pats of affection to make up for the offense.


In all seriousness, J has gotten very attached to us. He is indubitably a Mama’s boy. He actually cuddles with me before and after naps (this never happened when he first came to us), and when he is upset (which is often), only my hug can satisfy him. Many of his tantrums result because he can’t sit on my lap or I can’t hold him in that moment. And when I do pick him up, he burrows his head into my shoulder and holds onto me with an unnatural strength. This has earned him the nickname from Ryan of “koala.”


is three months of chub and happy. She is nice and plump, with those thigh rolls that make my motherly hormones go crazy. She is starting to vocalize so much, and she can baby-smile on command like the best of them. She actually is an amazing night sleeper, but basically doesn’t nap for more than 20 minutes at a time. C’est la vie. You can’t have it all.



As for me and Ryan, we just kind of hang out all day. I am always on top of the housework and never stress eat or stay up too late. We read dozens of books about which we have stimulating conversation.


Like I said, life is difficult. But the good kind of difficult. Ryan is taking on three (!!!) classes this semester, along with working full time. I predict he will be just as calm and cool as he usually is about all of it. And that is said without even a twinge of sarcasm. The man is as close to a saint as anyone I know. Or maybe a robot, because he essentially never sleeps.

Since I have so much free time, I decided to take on a few work projects. Like writing another entire textbook. And teaching a master’s course in the Fall. I can assure you I will approach all of this neither calmly nor coolly.

But, the Lord is making me into a smooth stone. So there’s that.

[I just realized that this blog read like a Christmas letter. Unintentional, I assure you. Happy Holidays?]


surviving #thethrees

surviving the threes

As I was carrying Philomena to bed last night, in between her hiccups as a result of a major crying session just minutes previously, she whispered to me, “Mommy, tomorrow I will listen and obey. I will!” With tears in my own eyes, I held her closely, caressed her hair, and said, “oh, my sweet girl, I know you will. It is so hard, but I know you will try your best tomorrow.”


So, “the threes” are completely draining my motherly self. Honestly, for us, I think it’s more than just her mere age. The gift of a younger foster brother has taken its toll on her. She was the center of our family and our extended family for her whole life until now. And I know the experience of gaining a sibling is a universal struggle; however, in her case it was even more difficult. All of a sudden, she had a BIG, crawling, rough-housing, toy-stealing baby in her life. There was no gradual transition from a little newborn.

I don’t want to go into too many details, because she deserves a certain amount of privacy from her overly-open, blogging mother. However, let’s just say that her adjustment has been rough. We have had days in which it feels like an alien is inhabiting my sweet girl’s body, and she does and says things that just seem so awful and foreign to her disposition. As much as she truly loves J, she can be terrible to him. And as much as I know she loves us, she has moments in which she disobeys and talks back. Like most three-year-olds, I suppose.

However, added to all of this is our parental guilt that we are bringing all of this upheaval into her life, but J very well may leave us one day.

Double sigh.

But! The good news! Things are getting better. So much better. Seriously. We’re far from the ideal, but for the first time in six months, I don’t feel like I have been run over by an emotional truck at the end of every day.

I thought I’d talk a little about how things got better for us. How’s that sound?

I want to be completely clear that is not meant to be an “advice” article. I mean, I am a freaking novice when it comes to parenting. This is my first child at the age of three. Most of my friends have parented through this age at least twice; I wouldn’t dare pretend to have some sort of special knowledge or ability other mothers don’t possess. Because I don’t.

Rather, I am writing this mostly for myself, so on those days in which I want to pull my hair out and just hide in our bedroom whilst drinking wine and watching Netflix, I can remember what really does work for our daughter. It’s to remind myself that disciplined, loving parenting does, indeed, reap results and that virtue is not going to develop through bribing and threats.

In other words, this is a reflection, not an exhortation.

surviving the threes 2

I totally recognize that one, two, three years from now, I will probably look back at this and laugh heartily at how “big” these little problems were. That said, when you’re in it, the difficulties seem almost insurmountable.

This should go without saying, but this is what has worked for us. Every child is a unique creation of God, with his or her own strengths and weaknesses. Thankfully, Philomena’s temperament is naturally very sweet and compliant…she just forgets that sometimes. ;)

[FYI at any given point of any day you could probably find me not following these guidelines. I am also veeeeeerrrrry much a work in progress. Most days I need someone to discipline me.]

1. Eye contact at eye level. Goodness gracious, I can be terrible about this. I have such a tendency to yell at her from another room, or talk to her while I am doing something else, like cleaning dishes or reading on the computer. Nevertheless, when I stop what I am doing, crouch down to her level, and look her in the eye and ask her to do something/stop something/etc. it can make a world of difference.

2. Speak positively. Or, Never say no to something reasonable. This is simple, but Mena really responds to it. For example, I try not to say, “no, I can’t play a game with you right now.” Instead, I replace it with, “sure, I’d love to play a game after J goes down for his nap!” Or, “yes, we can play outside after it cools down later today.” This has salvaged many potential melt-downs.

3. Affirm specifically. Words of affirmation just happen to my primary love language. Ryan and I have a strong suspicion that this is also Philomena’s way of feeling loved. Although we definitely try our best not to fall susceptible to the “good job!” or “you are smart!” traps [see here and here and here and here], we try hard to praise her specifically in the moment. For example, “I really liked how you listened and got on your pajamas right when I asked.” Or, “I know it was hard for you to walk away instead of hitting him when J was pulling your hair. Thank you!”


4. Name emotions and have empathy. We’ve been doing this quite a while. Even before she could say the word, Philomena could do the baby sign for “sad.” However, this has taken on another level now that she is feeling so many new emotions. Now, we’re helping her use more complex words like “jealous” and “frustrated.” Also, we’ve found that for her a little bit of empathy goes a LONG way in learning to control her own emotions. Like, “it is really hard to wait for something! Sometimes I don’t like being patient either.” Or, “it really hurts when J bites me too. I wish he was old enough to know better.”

5. The do-over. This takes a lot of discipline and patience on our part, but we have really seen results. When she misbehaves or speaks rudely, we’ll simply say, “let’s try that again!” or “how would a sweet girl ask for that?” It is definitely easier to give into her whining or just ignore the poor behavior, but it’s not better for her in the long run.

6. Speaking softly and calmly. I will admit that this is probably my numero uno personal difficulty. By nature, I am a yeller. Heck, even my “normal” voice is as loud as most people’s yelling. And yet, I have a very sensitive daughter who responds much better to normal talking than to raising our voices. And like my favorite professor in college said regarding classroom management: “never yell, because they can always yell louder.” The same is true for a toddler.


7. Giving her space for alone time. And Giving her special time with us. Philomena is almost-definitely an introvert, but since she’s been inadvertently “competing” with J for my attention, she was feeling the need to be around the two of us all the time. I could tell this was emotionally draining for her, especially because she doesn’t nap every day anymore. I started encouraging her over and over again to go play by herself in another room. I kept it very positive and made it clear it wasn’t a punishment. I usually frame it like, “it looks like you don’t want J getting into what you’re playing with. How about you go to the other room by yourself for a little bit, so he won’t bother you?” It took a few months for her to really embrace this, but I can definitely see a difference in her disposition when she gets some alone time.

I also try…really, really try [and fail a lot!] not to use the time J is at a visit with his birth family or down for a nap to “get things done” around the house. It is so tempting, because I can’t even empty the dishwasher with the tornado-of-crazy that is our 15-month-old. Instead, I have been making a conscious effort to make really good use of one-on-one time with Philomena by reading her books, playing games, doing art projects, etc. She even feels special when I ask her to “exercise” with me. [This is probably due to the fact that we greatly limit her screen time, so even a YouTube pilates clip is exciting for her. Oops.] For obvious reasons, this kind of special attention has been great for her.

8. Choices. “Do you want to brush your teeth before or after you get your pajamas on?” “Do you want to eat your lettuce or your carrot first?” “Do you want to put away your toys now or in five minutes?” You all know this approach. And it works for a reason.

9. Affection, affection, affection. When she blatantly disobeys us, deep-down she wants love. When she hits J, deep-down she wants love. When she whines and throws a fit, deep-down she wants love. How do I know this? Because that is what all of us want and need. This doesn’t mean we excuse her bad behavior or turn a blind eye to the necessary consequences. Instead, this means that after she has a “do-over” or she apologizes to J, we give her plenty of hugs and kisses. We love her through the struggle. This sounds kind of hippy-dippy and easy, but it’s not. This is because when she needs my affection the most is when it is most difficult to give it. Those moments I just want to scream at her and leave the house are the moments I should be opening up my arms to give her a big hug.

10. Teaching her apology and forgiveness. This is a two-way street. I apologize to her and ask her forgiveness when I lose my temper [which is more often than I’d like to admit]. I expect the same from her. I don’t see this as a lessening of my authority; instead, I see it as modeling humility, which is the true strength.

11. Prayer. This one should have been listed first, but whatever. For months, Ryan and I were praying for Philomena and her difficulties. Then, one day it dawned on me that I wasn’t praying with her about them. So, one morning instead of just mentally asking the Lord for help, I said aloud, “Philomena, let’s pray together that we can have a good day!” I will admit that sometimes she is feisty and says no, so I will just pray aloud for her. Ryan also has been encouraging me to ask our miscarried baby, Gerard, to pray for us: I think this is very beautiful and efficacious. I am convicted that when we added specific pleas during our family prayer time for our relationship with Philomena and her behavior, this is when her actions (and my reactions) turned a corner.

Alrighty, this may be my longest blog post ever…sorry/not sorry? Thanks for sticking with it. What are your thoughts? Any attitudes or helpful tidbits for #thethrees?


what I wish I’d known

Awhile back, Grace at Camp Patton hosted a series from some wise mommy bloggers titled, “What I Wish I’d Known” about motherhood. For some reason my cynical self was oddly moved by their words. I think what struck me the most was the wide range of advice offered, from the trivial to the profound. [If you haven’t read the series yet, please do yourself a favor and stop reading this banal post and go over there for a while.]

Anyway, it got me thinking about what I wish I had known about motherhood before embarking upon this journey. [Ugh. “embarking upon this journey”- so corny]

And what came to me was this: what I wish I would have known about motherhood is just how bad I would be at it sometimes.

Let me be clear that I did not make that statement out of some kind of false humility or self-deprecation or a desire for compliments. Simply, it is true: some days I am a bad mom.


What makes me incredulous is that I never expected this to happen. I mean, what did I think, that my concupiscence would suddenly disappear the day I gave birth? Nope. I am still the same self-centered, flighty, emotional, slothful, quick-tempered person I was before Philomena (and now J) entered my life.

I wish I would have known that there would be moments when I would lose my temper with my sweet girl for such a minor offense. I wish I would have known that there would be days in which I would totally “phone in” with motherhood, instead of being actively engaged and present. I wish I would have known that there would be times in which I would consciously choose to zone out on the Internet, rather than play a game with my child. I wish I would have known that I would repeatedly call my husband at work in tears, because I had messed up again and again and again.

I wish I would have known all of these things, so I wouldn’t be obsessed with my failures when they happen.

We all have that distance between “the person I am” and “the person I want to be.” Lately that great chasm has absolutely plagued me. I have hours, days, weeks in which I become obsessed with my insufficiencies and my brokenness, especially in motherhood. I think this is partially due to the reality that my very identity is wrapped up in my wife-ness and mother-ness [are those words?]. I feel that when I fail as a wife and a mother, I fail as a person.

Indeed, it is a grace to see one’s faults (truly!); however, it is the father of lies who cajoles one into being obsessed with said failings.

When all I see in my motherhood are my sins, my faults, my less-than-ideals, then there’s no room in my vision for Christ. Deep-down, I know that in my insecurities is right where Jesus wants to be. He desires to transform those awful parts of me into something beautiful. But when I focus merely on my faults, then I forget about the Answer to these faults.

This is not an excuse to sit on my spiritual ass, and say, “well, we’re all broken, so it’s okay if I’m a bad mom.” Of course not! By God’s grace, we are to raise saints. And that means nothing, if we ourselves are not striving for sainthood. But what I am coming to realize is that when I focus just on the struggle and not on the goal, then all I will ever do is struggle.

Marriage and motherhood are like those mirrors that magnify your face and show every flaw, every pore. Those mirrors are totally freaky, but goodness knows I can pluck my eyebrows so much better with them. The Lord uses our vocations to refine us, and it really hurts at times. Nevertheless, I can see in the three short years of my motherhood His challenging me to embrace virtues I had no idea that I lacked.

And you know what? Even on the bad days, my daughter and foster son see my sincerely asking for their forgiveness. Even if I over-react nine times out of ten, there is still that one time that I bite my tongue and say a prayer. These moments impact them too, even if it is not conscious for them right now. This is part of what we want to teach our children: that all of us are broken and fallen, but the virtue is in embracing the cross, getting back up again, and keeping our eyes on the victory.


what I wish I'd known about motherhood

“Nobody can go off to battle unless he is fully convinced of victory beforehand. If we start without confidence, we have already lost half the battle and we bury our talents. While painfully aware of our own frailties, we have to march on without giving in, keeping in mind what the Lord said to Saint Paul: ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness’ (2 Cor 12:9). Christian triumph is always a cross, yet a cross which is at the same time a victorious banner borne with aggressive tenderness against the assaults of evil. The evil spirit of defeatism is brother to the temptation to separate, before its time, the wheat from the weeds; it is the fruit of an anxious and self-centred lack of trust.” – Pope Francis, Evangelii Gaudium, “The Joy of the Gospel”

summer 2015

I’ve never been a big summer person. I mean, of course as a student for 16 years and a full-time teacher for 8 years, these months had the distinct appeal of sloth socially acceptable relaxation. Nevertheless, my disposition and inclinations lean much more toward the coziness of Fall or the vitality of Spring.


But there’s something about this particular summer that has struck me. It has just been very summer-y for some reason. It’s not like we’ve been to the beach or gone to an outdoor movie or even the pool that much. Maybe it’s that Ryan and I finally own a grill [took us long enough, eh?] or that there have been some days that have actually been cool enough to get outside.

I don’t know, and I suppose it doesn’t really matter. All I know is that I like it.

Travelling has been pretty low-key too. At the very beginning of summer, I took a solo trip to Ontario to see some longtime girlfriends. It was a delightful time, marked by wine, endless conversations, and a sudden cold snap [of course you would do that to us, Canada]. Then, last week all of us went with Ryan’s family to a wedding in Illinois to see his cousin get married. Philomena and J were both adorable, and the bride and groom seemed so happy. Of course, our kids were the only ones at the reception, so they dominated the dance floor [by “dominate,” I mean ran around like the crazies they are, and then demanded to be held for multiple songs before running around some more.] We also have planned a little trip with my family to a lake in Oklahoma, so that should be nice and relaxing-ish [hopefully!!!!!!!] .

Anyway, I thought I’d share with you some of my favorites as of late:

Perfect Summer Dinner: grilled chicken sausage [this roasted red pepper sausage from Costco is our current fav] + grilled zucchini and bell peppers + a hearty, legume-based salad [my black bean and quinoa salad is still a fav, as is this lentil salad, which lives up to its lofty name]

Perfect Summer Drink: We decided to be cliche, and christen the Moscow Mule as our official summer imbibement. And imbibing we have been.

Perfect Summer Snack: Fruit. All the fruit. Seriously. It is so cheap and amazing this time of year. [Second runner-up is homemade popsicles.]

Perfect Summer TV Show: For some reason, my TV-watching gets really fluffy during the summer. Ryan and I are weirdly into “The Next Food Network Star.” [Jay and Eddie will definitely be in the finale, but the third person is a toss-up for me.] However, if you’re okay with something more intense, we both surprisingly enjoyed Netflix’s “Daredevil” [warning: very violent].

Perfect Summer Album: Sufjan Steven’s “Carrie and Lowell.” Really, this is a terrible summer album. It is full of melancholy and longing, which are the opposite of summer, but I haven’t stopped playing it since about April. So, for me, it’s the best. Listen at your own risk.

Perfect Summer Reading: I actually haven’t had much light reading this summer, so I don’t have any summer-y recommendations. What about you? I mustered my way through Anna Karenina, which was grandly poignant, but far from fluff. I also caught up to 2007 and read Sarah’s Key in less than 48 hours. It was an easy read, but its (depressing) subject matter is not your typical summer fare. I think next I’m going to re-read To Kill a Mockingbird, in order to join every other middle-class American in reading Harper Lee’s new novel [which is getting very mixed reviews, unfortunately].

Alright, that’s it. Go get yourself a popsicle and run through the sprinklers.

Philomena: 2 years, 22 months

[Fair warning, this is merely a doting-ish, overly sentimental musing on my daughter’s current state.]

Philomena is at *such* a great age. I know I have probably said this about every stage, but well, so be it. Sometimes I just want to bottle up her two-almost-three-year-old-ness and keep it forever in my heart.

I can’t do that, so a blog post will have to do.

– Mena is still introverted and shy, but I find that very sweet. And she is definitely becoming more and more sensitive. Philomena is starting to feel emotions more deeply, but she also gets over them quickly too. And yet, her attention span is seriously longer than mine.

– Contrary to what you might think and much to my dismay, she is really into bugs and all things creepy-crawly. [Except bees. She’s dramatically afraid of them. Thank you, Winnie the Pooh.] Nothing excites her more than holding a caterpillar or digging for “wormies.” And this is awful for me, because I have to pretend not to be totally freaked out.  I am terrible at pretending.

not a bug, just an acorn

– She’s kind of klutzy like her Mommy. Like, she can’t catch a ball for the life of her. She just kind of hold her hands there, and when the ball inevitably falls to the ground, she gleefully picks it off the ground and throws it back. [Yes, I realize this is a pretty important gross motor skill. We’re working on it. I promise!]

– One of Philomena’s most beautiful traits that I pray she never loses is her extraordinary empathy. I was in the hospital for three weeks [Long blog post to come! Sorry! However, I’m almost all better now.], so Mena’s world was completely turned upside down. Instead of tantrums or defiance, she faced this awful situation with mind-boggling flexibility and compassion. Every time she visited the hospital, she would give me so many “gentle pats,” because she knew I couldn’t hug. If I ever winced in pain (which was a lot), she would exclaim, “I love you sooooo much, Mommy!” Without anyone telling her to do so, she began “helping” me get out of bed, go the bathroom, etc. She would refuse to let anyone else bring me my slippers or water. The sweet nurses began referring to her as “Nurse Philomena,” a reality with which she was quite proud. She would often remind me, “I make you so happy, Mommy.” Indeed.

– About six months ago I remember complaining quite a bit about how she wouldn’t play independently for very long. Oh, how times have changed. Now she is a classic only child who will play by herself in her own little world for significant periods of time. She creates these weird and convoluted scenarios with whatever toys are in front of her. She talks and talks, but usually we have no idea what’s going on in her mind. She pretends certain people are with her (like friends or cousins), and they take trips to the zoo or Aldi or to church to pray for Mommy [we live such an exotic life].


– Since every Mommy blog must have some words about potty training [wink!], I suppose I should mention that Philomena is about 85% potty trained. She still wears a diaper during nap and bedtime, and we don’t plan on changing that anytime soon [sleep is just too precious for that kind of work]. Other than that, accidents are rare nowadays. The credit for this endeavor goes completely to my Mom. We kinda-sorta potty trained all summer, but three weeks with Grandma and bam! that’s it. [I am in denial about how much sugar was used for this feat.]

– I don’t want to pretend it’s all champagne and roses around here. [Is that the right expression?] I mean, Mena’s a toddler, so things have to be *just so* or she gets very upset. Like most toddlers, routine and method are so important to her. It’s infuriating at times, but it also is interesting to see her develop her own little world of logic and rules. And when her expectations *are* interrupted, she usually gets over her dismay very quickly. She outwardly reassures herself with such self-directed promises as, “SOMEDAY I will get to watch Curious George. Maybe after naptime.” Or, “SOMEDAY I will get some candy. Maybe tomorrow.” I refrain from pointing out that “someday” rarely comes about. That life lesson is for another day.

IMG_0016People often say [by “people” I mean random strangers], “oh, she’s sweet now, but just wait until she’s THREE! Three is so much worse than two.” Maybe they’re right, maybe not. Regardless, Ryan and I still are struck almost-daily by just how madly in love we are with this special girl. Our gratitude runs so deep for the gift of her life.

End gushing.

[Unless you want some more. Philomena at two years, 19 months, 16 months, one year.]

wake-up call

As I have mentioned before, mornings are my nemesis. I know everyone says they don’t like getting up in the morning, but I really really really really do not.

Philomena still wakes up ridiculously happy. For a few minutes she will leave me alone and usually play by herself or gaze out the window whilst defecating her diaper.

However, an arbitrary moment comes in which Mommy must be out of bed. I don’t know what spurs the thought, but once it is there, she is relentless in her pursuit of this goal.

She employs many methods to accomplish her solemn mission. As she has gotten older, the tactics have become more extreme.

A couple months ago, it was pretty mild. She would walk up to my bed and say, “eat! Eat! Oatmeal! Eggs! Mena eeeeeeeaaaat!” [She knows breakfast is one of the first things we do in the morning, so she tugs at my don’t-want-to-deprive-my-child-of-basic-necessities heart strings, so then I would eventually oblige. Of course, when we get downstairs, she refuses to even enter the kitchen and begs for books.]

Then, those pleas were accompanied by throwing my glasses from the nightstand at my face, “sack-es! sack-es!” [translation: glasses]

This process then evolved into sitting on my head, complete with her urine-drenched diaper. Sometimes she even adds a little bounce for greater effect.

She upped her antics again a few weeks ago, when she started yelling, “Sarah! Saaaarah! Saaaarah! Mommy-Sarah! Sarah, UP!”

Aaaaand the culmination of her efforts has become getting out of her pajamas, taking off her soiled diaper, and screaming in my ear (while totally naked), “poopy poopy poopy!!”


I recruited Ryan to document some of this morning’s events.

wake up call 1 wake up call 2 wake up call 3 wake up call 4

[channeling my inner-Mary with the most awkward picture of me ever]