Super Noa Sunday

As of 2014 I will forever love Superbowl Sunday and Groundhog Day. Last year they happened to occur on the same day AND this also happened to be the day that we found out that a tiny little microscopic Noa Lou was in our lives.

here is my commemorative post from this past weekend

We went to watch the game at our BFFFamily's house where I started feeling queasy and promptly barfed to usher in the pregnancy. Maybe it's mental, but this exact thing happened the day we found out about Layla (although I barfed before the test there) with pimiento cheese. I guess I barf the day I take the first test and then real morning sickness doesn't start for about a month. 

Noa's pregnancy was actually a shock since we had tried the two previous months but then decided to stop. because I really wasn't feeling like having a baby anymore. Well, whoops, I guess we didn't fully stop...everything.

We were napping after church that Sunday and one of my best friends, Natalie, was due to go into labor with her third any second and I had been thinking about her a lot. I had a dream during this nap that I don't remember the details of, but I woke up from it and knew I just violently wanted a baby.  In that same moment I felt a little twinge of nausea, but refused to get excited because my boobs were already hurting in preparation for my period. But wait...*grope, feel* are they even MORE sore than usual?

I had a test left over from the actual trying so while Jesse slept on (he gets so mad when I take tests when there's no chance of a baby...he says, "here, why don't you just pee on this $5 bill!?) I went into the bathroom to check--still 99% positive I'd be seeing a negative since there was really only one "time" that could have possibly caused it (Atlanta Snowpocalypse, anyone?)

I left it on the counter and watched as the great tide of urine wicked its way up the stick, immediately leaving behind the first pink control line and then right on its heels, the test line coming in slower but undeniably. I felt that magical swoop like when a boy you like asks you out, or before a first kiss. 

I always tell myself (when not pregnant) that when it happens I will create some elaborate surprise for revealing the news to Jesse, yet, being able to keep secrets from him for maybe 12 seconds, I've always had to immediately abandon that dream. I thought frantically in the bathroom about at least a meaningful way to let him know, quickly did some math and determined my due date would probably be early October, near our anniversary and decided to play it that way.

I went ahead and secretly video'd it too...which turned out to be the best idea.

He's saying something about me being sure I was going to start my period there at the end because I had already been a lunatic on him that day for something stupid and apologized, thinking it was the PMS demons. 

And that moment it where the dreaming of this little fuzzy bundle began. Such a beautiful mindjob to think that it was her in there, even then, making those lines turn pink, that cheese dip come flying out, and that papa of hers elated and amazed.

Cheese dip-fed, free range. Super indeed.

Halloween 2014: The Walking Dukes

Did you think we might take a year off from our family Halloween costume tradition since we had a 3 week old? Well, all you doubting tricks are about to get treated (I am among you...never thought we'd pull one off this time).

Jesse actually gets all the credit for this one. Before Noa was born he was thinking about a theme that would work whether or not Noa and I felt up to joining in. AND one where Noa could be in her carseat or worn the entire time.

You may or may not already know that we live in a little town called Senoia. We are home to a famous fancy furniture store, the house at the beginning of Fried Green Tomatoes, and as of the past few years, we are also where The Walking Dead is filmed.

I've never been a zombie girl (in terms of liking them...and being one). I'm all about Harry Potter, Star Wars, Game of Thrones and those facets of dork-dom, but zombies just always bored me--or at best grossed me out.

So when the buzz was getting out about the new zombie show on AMC that was filmed in Atlanta, i thought that was pretty cool that our city was the setting, but I would pass just because of yuck.

Well, when filming began in season 3 and was a half mile from our front door, that pulled Jesse in. He was hooked. And oh how I judged. It was like how he told me our entire dating lives that he hated tomatoes (like all good people should) and then a few months into marriage he starts saying, "they're not that bad." VIPER IN MY BOSOM!!!! You like tomatoes and zombies now? Okay, well, you're a disgusting traitor...enjoy your lycopene and nightmares.

But not wanting to spend precious, kidless  nighttime hours apart, when he would be watching episodes of the show, I would sit out on the couch and tool around on my laptop (because occupying the same space counts as working on our marrige, right?).  I would be all, "this is disgusting, you know that? I cant even look at the screen. It's just over the top and gratuitous and I am just so much more highbrow than you. I read Jane Austen now, ya know?"

But as the weeks went by I found myself averting my eyes less quickly. The turning point was one night I caught myself going, "Okay, wait a second, why is that guy mad at her? Isn't she on their side?" When I heard myself it was like I had blurted out some nasty word. NOOOOO! I take it back--REDACTED!

But alas, I was hooked.

I went back and tried the first few episodes on Netflix and was instantly a huge fan/addict. I binge watched to catch up. Oh, I still hate the zombies and the gore is ultra sloppy-doo and over the top, but the show isn't a zombie show; it's a human show. It really is incredibly thought provoking, and the actors are very-well cast and talented.

For fans of the show: we live a stones throw from mainstreet "Woodbury."

So when Jesse needed a theme that included a baby, Walking Dead was fresh in his mind...AND super on-point for our little zombie-crazed town. Jesse looks a lot like Rick anyway, Noa was obviously going to play baby Judith in her "carried around in her carrier all the time" phase, I was the one blonde chick who you could take or leave (in case I flaked out due to postpartum angst). Judah and Layla got to be the two characters with the most kid appeal: a dreadlocked sword wielding badass warrior woman for Layla, and a fan-favorite crossbow-toting redneck hottie bad boy for Judah.

Here's how it unfolded.

Layla Dukes as Michonne.

I can't recommend messing with her.

or her.

Judah Dukes as Daryl

In the words of most fangirls: YUM

He was upset when I first told him what to wear. He said "It looks too snappy!" So we quickly de-snappied it AND made it more true to the character by going outside and smearing dirt all over everything and then using makeup to make his face dirty and spray in hair color leftover from Diego to darken his locks.

Power duo.

DON'T FRONT. THEY WILL WASTE YOU!

 Walkers beware.

For whatever reason I was never totally a Daryl girl. I found myself drawn to Rick--for reasons I didnt totally understand.

Until Halloween:

Yup, there it is. Mystery solved.

And that just leaves no one's favorite character: Andrea!

I couldn't get my hands as veiny....but I did crawl around our front yard with a plastic knife at 3 weeks postpartum to really get into character.

We even DIY'ed Daryl's signature vest design!

 Patrol duty.

Our town has fully embraced our little slice of specific notoriety. We have many Walking Dead themed events, restaurant specials, and there is even an official Walking Dead Store, which of course we had to visit that evening.

I'll take the one on the left. *NOTE: that is not a real gun. But boy oh boy, the security guard at the church Trunk-or-Treat we attended wasnt aware of that and converged on Jesse like whoa until it was clarified.

Per his request, I gave him a lil' redneck mustache.

Weirdly my most naturally aggressive (her kisses leave bruises) and fierce child CANNOT fake being intense/angry.

 Dream Team

 Even dreamier team.

Official Portrait. We give you, The Walking Dukes.

Off to save the world, and make all the ladies swoon in the process!

*P.S. NOOOOOO My kids have never seen even a nanosecond of this show! We shoed them their inspiration character photos and they know about the TV show of "yucky zombies for grownups only and even then it's still gross" that films all around us, but OBVIOUSLY they are never seen it!*

---------------

More halloween group costume insanity:

year 1: Sushi Fam

year 2 : Volley Fam

year 3: Curious George fam

year 4: Wall-E fam

year 5: Dora Fam

a few pre-kids group hits (clue and britney/k-fed)

It's Not a Hobby; IT IS WAR

With 3 kids in the house who are basically just industrial strength needing machines, finding time to pass stool without another human touching me is challenging.  Carving out an hour to sew when I have all 3 kids at home with me is downright comedy. One of my Big Mommy Beach Bags should take about an hour to sew. But unless a minimum of 66% of my offspring are unconscious, it takes about 3 hours--and years off my life--to get it done.

It can get frustrating. And I tend to end up angry. Not so much angry at the kids, because for the most part the interruptions are simply kids being kids; needing attention, a diaper, help, a mammary, a cage match referee. Just angry because my desire to stay seated at my sewing machine and work for longer than 3 minutes at a time feels like it is constantly being thwarted. 

A crash from the kitchen: He scaled the pantry shelves and pulled an entire Fruity Pebbles box's worth of cereal on top of him and all over a basket of clean laundry. PAR-TAY!

They have neediness radars that are tuned to sense any productivity hormone my brain emits and to instantly react with full force to stop it in its tracks. I swear, they can and do entertain themselves happily for long periods, but for some reason when I have something I really enjoy doing, they can't survive 45 seconds without my requiring my undivided attention and my two able hands.

Jesse came up with a new definition for anger recently: he says anger is often just blocked goals. 

It seems to fit:

Cut me off in traffic? I'm angry because you blocked my goal of not having my life endangered and/or personal space stolen. 

Internet acting schizo at work? I'm angry because it's blocking my goal of disseminating my delectable spreadsheets throughout the company.

Somebody talking bad about me? I'm angry because it blocks my goal of having healthy relationships and not getting my feelings hurt.

It's a really useful exercise for me when I feel the anger monster just taking over. Instead of seeing anger as this 3rd party outside phenomenon that I have as little control over as I do the weather, I can break it down a little and better figure out what's going on: What goal do I have right now that feels like it's being blocked? Often times it give some self awareness that my goals might need adjusting (I just want to sleep until 10 am on a work day! I expect the three children to behave in the grocery store when they are hungry and have been trapped inside all day! Jesse obviously needs to read my mind!)

This new perspective also reminded me of the kids' eternal interruptions of any private creative time that I try to take lately. When it comes to blocking this particular goal, my youngins are basically at Dikembe Mutumbo levels against me. (Fun fact: I once found myself with Dikembe in the cough/cold aisle at a CVS in 2002).

I sit down and start threading my machine: in comes Layla reporting a milk spill:

I pull out all my fabrics and get ready to cut them to start on existing orders: Noa wakes herself up from what should have been a nice long nap with an explosive poop:

I take two squares of fabric, place them perfectly under my needle and lower my foot upon the pedal. Judah bursts in needing me to beat a level for him on Lego: Star Wars.

Next thing I know, 2 hours have passed and I have sewn maybe 7 stitches, gotten up 34 times and have rage-tangled my machine at least twice.

When I applied the new blocked-goals to this common source of anger and frustration in my life--and then immediately thought of Dikembe--I starting thinking of sewing not as an activity that the kids ruined, but as a goal temporarily blocked.

Dikembe blocked shots better than anyone, but opposing players scored on him plenty of time. They just had to work around him.

As such, I decided to stop thinking of sewing as a hobby of mine, but have chosen to look at it as a competitive sport. My kids aren't ruining things; they're just playing defense.

Productivity? Think again, Mommy.

Getting angry about someone ruining my plans makes me bitter and teeth-gnashy, but being in competition with someone: well that's my JAM. 

It's now a contest for me: how can I prepare, react and deflect so that I win by being able to get things done AND keep the kids reasonably happy healthy at the same time. (Spoiler alert: they win too because I stop treating them like temporary inconveniences or bite-sized stressors).

Layla comes in, bored with the show I let her watch on Netflix after 6 minutes? BOOM I parry that attack with a new little art project from the $1 section of Target. Noa isn't happy unless I am holding her? BANG! I pick and roll that baby into the Ergo. Judah comes in saying he's hungry when he's just had a snack and dinner is an hour away? KAH-BLOOWIE! I tell him I bet I can finish sewing this scarf before he can pick up all his toys. The Force (of competition) is strong in this one and he loves a chance to win.

Nothing fundamentally changes except for my attitude. I never got pouty and bitter on the volleyball court when opposing teams tried to do their thing. Because, duh, I expected some resistance and adjusted so that I could accomplish my goal (#Winning). My kids aren't against me, but often the flow of their little lives just naturally throws resistance into my perfect idea of a day. Instead of meeting that resistance with a spoiled little tantrum that leaves us all feeling unfulfilled, I am committing to just adapt my strategy and make it a game where I expect to have my productivity momentarily opposed, but still try to score as much sewing time as I can.

Dragon-mommy is mean to kids, gets nothing done and is a stressed out mess puddle by the time Jesse arrives home:

NOT IN MY HOUSE!