I knew I was going to love the book Where She Went, by Gayle Forman. Okay, so perhaps I didn’t actually know I would love it, but I had my suspicions.
There are rock stars and classical musicians and drugs and first class flights and busy city life and all sorts of things in this novel that I cannot relate to in any way whatsoever. The characters are also a good ten or so years younger than me, unmarried, and without children. So, I guess, this would not really seem like a natural book for me to relate to.
Oh, but I could.
You see, the two main characters, Adam and Mia, have a thing or two in common with my husband and me. You likely don’t know this, my friends, but there was a time, way back when, when my guy and I split up… not because we fought or “fell out of love” or any of that. But because I graduated. And he still had school. And I was in Connecticut while he was in Florida. And we just had things to take care of that didn’t seem to align while we were so far apart.
Still, we may not have been “together” anymore, but the import of the other was never lost. And when I ventured down to Florida to visit that fall? The pull between us was absolutely unstoppable. The connection we had couldn’t be ignored. There was something so much bigger than “us” and our wishes at play.
So, when I started reading about Adam and Mia, I couldn’t help but root for them. I couldn’t help but get caught up in their story and remember how much impact we try to let circumstance have on our emotions. And I couldn’t wait to see how it all played out for them.
I have always said that I can’t enjoy a novel if I don’t care about the characters. And, seeing such a strong parallel between my past and the lives of this couple, I could not HELP but care about them. I was so captivated by their story and wanted to see if it worked out like my own had.
How about you? Do you enjoy reading books when you see yourself in the characters? Or do you prefer a little more detachment or escapism? How do you take your heros? 
Join in the BlogHer book club discussions about Where She Went right here!
This is a paid review for BlogHer Book Club but the opinions expressed are my own.
I always say I like the newborn days the best… that it’s those moments when they’re tiniest that I treasure the most. And there is definitely something to be said for that sweet newborn smell, those itty bitty fingers that curl around yours, the soft downy head, and hungry rosebud mouth. Newborns are fantastic.
But, if I’m honest, toddlers are awesome too. First of all, they are hysterical. And their curiosity simply cannot be beat. They explore on chubby legs and grasp dandelions in dimpled hands and a mama’s heart can’t help but melt.
But they turn into preschoolers soon enough. The “baby” years are definitely over, but oh! the worlds that unfold. Sturdy, confident movements. Speed and agility and independence emerge in new ways. They draw their families and tears spring forth at how big and important you clearly are in their family portraits.
And I watch my older children. A kindergartener, just learning to read. Testing out activities and finding her niche. Learning that she can make people laugh and asserting her capabilities despite her tiny stature. She is fierce, determined, yet still such a little girl. My seven-year-old, so tall, and so loving. He writes books that he reads to me and asks my opinion– “Should I call him Flame Dragon or Garnet Dragon?” A big, bright, handsome young man is starting to burst forth, but, when he’s hurting, it’s still my arms he seeks.
I blow kisses at the bus and no fewer than seven children “catch” them– only two of them are mine. But this age, oh this precious early grade school age… it’s an amazing one.
And, so, I realize… perhaps what I treasure most about the newborn days isn’t just that baby-powder scent and unfailing trust. Perhaps it’s all the possibilities that lay ahead… all the wonder stretching out before us… all the joy of watching them grow.
And loving every stage.
I jokingly refer to myself as an unofficial expert on ways to feed babies– I have exclusively formula fed, exclusively pumped, and exclusively breastfed. Of the three, it is my opinion that pumping exclusively is the most challenging. It seems to involve all the work of both the other options without some of the fun perks. Still, it is sometimes the best or only option a mother has. Such was the case for me when my second baby arrived four months early and was fed through a feeding tube.
If you find yourself in a situation where you must rely on pumping for all or most of your baby’s feeding needs, whether because of a medical condition or work situation, I do have some tips to help you establish a successful pumping relationship!
I’m guest posting for Rebekah as she spends time with her precious newborn son! *insert jealous sidelong gaze– I want to hold that baby!!!* To read my list of tips for the pumping mama, head right over here.
Well, I feel almost safe packing up my boots for the season. (Almost– this IS New England, after all!) Still, my flip-flops have come out and resumed their place of honor next to the front door. What’s that you say? You always put your shoes neatly away in your closet? Wise of you. I doubt you find your children constantly traipsing around the house in them, then.
So, anyway, I’m super, duper excited to be back in my favorite summer footwear. I know some people find them fiercely uncomfortable. I know others who warn me that they’re terrible for my feet. I’m willing to take my chances.
But, hey, since it’s a new season and I’m always up for some fun, tell me, oh ye who are more fashion-savvy than I…
What toe nail polish colors are in this season? What colors do you love? And where do you find the best quality for your buck?
Today, I just feel like having a little girl talk. 
(You can catch up on G‘s story right here: A Third Baby, Fighting Panic, Connecticut to Oklahoma, You’ve Got the Job, The Birth Story, 95 Degrees )
They eventually got me stabilized enough to move into a normal room. So, that was good. I could not move my legs or toes at all, which was not so great. For comparison purposes, I could wiggle my toes within an hour of my messy surgery for C’s birth. With G? She was born at 9:03 am and I couldn’t feel my feet at ALL until 6 pm that night. That, my friends, is NOT the aim of proper anesthesia dosage. But, anywho…
What was really not so nice was that my baby wasn’t with me. And, as a result, neither was my husband. G. had been taken to the Special Care Nursery because she had some fluid in her lungs. This is not entirely uncommon with c-section babies. They do not have the benefit of the contractions from the vaginal canal that help push fluid out of their lungs. (If this kind of talk makes you uncomfortable, my apologies– but this is all just the business of having babies. ) Anyway, because of this, she had an oxygen hood and a pulsox monitor. Honestly, had she been my first baby or had I not dealt with the terrifying ups and downs that went with C’s prematurity, this might have freaked me out. As it was, I was able to just shrug it off. An oxygen hood is NOTHING compared to a ventilator. I don’t mean to minimize the worry that people feel when their babies have issues going on, but, the truth is, it just wasn’t a huge deal. I never really had to worry overly much that she wouldn’t be just fine.
Oh, and she was jaundiced a bit. So she needed those special lights. Again? I’d fried bigger fish before. Bili lights don’t phase me much.
She was also being fed by IV. 
What did this mean for me, her mama stuck by herself who wanted to nurse? Well, it meant I had to pump. Having pumped exclusively with baby #2, I consider myself a bit of an expert in this department, so I tried to take it in stride. I asked for a pump and just nodded agreeably when the nurses advised me that I wouldn’t get much the first couple times. I asked if they would mind bringing me bottles anyhow, then proceeded to pump a full ounce and a half of colostrum and three ounces of milk an hour later.
I produce a LOT of milk. Really, truly, a LOT of milk. The very first day she was born, I bottled about 24 ounces. I had warned the nurses. I don’t think they really believed me until I kept handing them bottles. One got pretty snarky and insisted that my husband drive it home to our own freezer because I was “taking up a ridiculous amount of space.” But most were enthusiastic supporters.
The entire day had gone by and I had yet to hold my baby. My husband had held her a bit and spent the hours by her side– so that was good. But I had only had a brief glimpse of my sweet newborn daughter and I was getting restless and angry. They refused to bring her to me because, apparently, she wasn’t stable enough for that. When I asked to go see her, they told me I could go when I could get there on my own. (Read: they would not give me a wheelchair.)
I tried to get out of bed just as soon as I could feel my feet. Blood poured down my legs and I started to cry. I asked a nurse if she would help me and she handed me a wet washcloth and left. I couldn’t bend down yet (I’d just had surgery, remember) and wasn’t able to clean my legs. I cried some more. A different nurse helped clean me up and changed me up a bit.
I started to walk.
Excruciating pain shot across my mid-section and white spots flashed before my eyes. I felt like I was being ripped and twisted simultaneously. So far, I was not a fan of this “pain patch” they were testing on me. I missed the percocet from my first c-section.
I walked on, sweating and breathing hard, and, by clinging to the walls and counters along the way, finally made it to the nursery.
The nurses there immediately saw that I was in very bad shape and helped me. I looked down at my stomach and saw it was wet– not with blood, but with another liquid. It was the medicine from the pain patch. It was leaking OUTSIDE my body instead of into it and, not surprisingly, I was in terrible pain.
I admit it– I begged for percocet. One of the nurses called my OB. She prescribed a Lortab. I took it and got dizzy, but was still in pain. The nurse called back. She told her to give me another Lortab. I didn’t want to take it, but I was by myself and scared by the pain. So I took it.
While all that was going on, I was finally able to see my sweet girl. She was beautiful. I later remarked to my husband that I thought she was our prettiest newborn yet. He laughed and said, “She looks like you!”
Eventually, I had to go back to my room to change out pads and what-not. I stood and started to walk. The pain was as bad as ever and the room spun madly. Again, I was expected to get myself back there by myself.
I made it to the room and collapsed against the wall sobbing. I couldn’t sit. I couldn’t bend. I couldn’t fathom moving another inch.
And that is where my husband found me when he returned from tucking our older children in back at home.
Have you ever had one of those weekends that, while fun, leaves you utterly exhausted at the end? A weekend when, quite frankly, you’re ready for the regular routine of the workweek to begin? Yep, there’s where I’m at. A massive hike on Saturday and a busy Mother’s Day have left me feeling lost and behind. All fun stuff, mind you! But I need to get back on schedule. (And, ahem, get the two-year-old back to napping.)
Sunday–
B: Cheerios, Yogurt, Juice
L: Baked Omelets, Mini Crescent Rolls, Mixed Fruit, Coffee, Juice (brunch at my sister and BIL’s– I did nothing.)
D: Burgers and Fries from Clamp’s, a little walk-up dive not far from our home– very tasty, very popular
Monday–
B: Tea & Crumpets Oatmeal, Apples, Milk
D: Chicken Soft Tacos, Salad
Tuesday–
B: Creamsicle Oatmeal, Milk
D: Pepperoni & Ground Beef Lasagna Casserole, Green Beans
Wednesday–
B: Bacon & Cheese Oatmeal, Oranges, Milk
D: Fettucine Alfredo w/ Broccoli & Shrimp (let’s just call this the day my husband weeps with gratitude)
Thursday–
B: Creamsicle Oatmeal, Oranges, Milk
D: English Muffin Pizzas, Fruit, Water (<– to go! It’s baseball practice season.)
Friday–
B: Strawberry OJ Slush, Toast
D: Buffalo Chicken & Blue Cheese Pizza
Saturday–
B: Homemade Donuts & Fruit
L: Chicken Noodle Soup, Jello (<– I realize this makes us look like we’re sick, but we’re not. The kids just love it after the baseball game.)
D: Grilled Burgers on homemade challah rolls, Pickles, Corn
And that’s the plan around here!
What’s your favorite thing on your menu plan this week?
** Fun project alert!!** In June, I will be experimenting by eating only foods native to those countries from which my ancestors come– in my case, Norway and Germany– for one week. I already have a few adventurous souls who will be joining me in trying this out. I’m calling it “Eating by Ancestry.” Interested? I would LOVE to have you participate (and to add you to our Pinterest group board, if you’d like)! Leave me a comment or drop me an email. Or comment on this FB post (more details can be found there, as well):
https://www.facebook.com/ParentingMiracles/posts/288150591266982
I’ve posted this photo before. Way back here. But I was reminded of it when I shared early pictures of C. with a teary-eyed mom at karate the other night.
There is something about that shot that just always brings me to my knees.
The thing is…
~~She was only one month old
~~Not yet two pounds.
~~She breathed with the assistance of a c-pap and that was a HUGE leap from the ventilator.
~~Her meals came via a tube threaded into her mouth, down her throat, and directly into her tummy.
~~She could only be held, at most, once a day because, devastating as this is, it was too stressful for her tiny, undeveloped nervous system.
~~They stuck her heel every two hours to check her blood gas levels; both itty bitty feet were bruised and bloody messes more often than not.
~~She had MRSA. And was in isolation. And was handled only with masks and gloves and gowns.
And she smiled.
I was the one who saw it– who noticed she was smiling. And not just a fleeting little grin, but a full beaming smile that spread into her eyes and lasted long enough for me to get my camera and capture the shot.
And, oh, how it humbled me. If this precious little girl could smile when faced with such adverse circumstances in her short and early life, certainly I could find it in myself to stay chipper through, say, a cold.
So smile today, my friend. Smile as much as you can. There is beauty in a smile despite rough circumstances.
My daughter taught me that.
It was baseball practice, a place where lots of intense conversations seem to take place. We chatted about our first grade boys, compared homework loads, discussed reading level goals set by the district. I watched worry cloud the eyes of one of my favorites of the other mommies.
“I worry about his reading,” she said. ”We’re both getting so frustrated and I really don’t think he’s going to get to, what is it, a 16? 18? by the end of the year.”
In typical woman fashion, we “circled the wagons” around her and offered support, encouragement, and suggestions for things that might help. She’s an awesome mom and there’s not a whole lot we came up with that she hadn’t already tried, but she was grateful for any and all ideas. Still, she fretted. She knew her son’s reading level wasn’t as high as that of many of the rest of our sons. Tentatively, she asked me, “What’s A’s reading level? Can I ask? I know it must be high…”
I looked at her. “He’s a 28 now,” I said. She let out a long breath and I sat next to her.
“A couple months ago, A. came home from school and was telling me about reading that day. You know how they always have partners– reading buddies– for each day? And how they’re pretty randomly assigned?”
She nodded.
“Well, that day, A. had been partnered with Jonathan (not his real name) and he was telling me all about it. He said, `You know, Jonathan’s a level 12 and I know that I’m a 24 and all, but the thing is– they started me out at an 18. Jonathan started out as a 2 this year, Mom. He’s made SO much progress. Isn’t that cool?’”
The bleachers got pretty quiet. She looked up at me, tears in her eyes, and whispered, “He said that?”
I nodded, “Yes. He really did.”
“Maybe I need to change my perspective,” she smiled shakily. “Maybe I need to focus on the progress.”
We turned back to watch our sons play ball. Her son, a natural athlete, stood on first, calling out to A. to throw him the ball. A. pulled back and lobbed it from his short-stop position and, while quite a bit too far to the right, the ball had good distance on it.
“Nice throw!” our first baseman called out. “You’ve gotten awesome since last year, A!”
It’s all about perspective.
Here’s the truth:
I’ve never been a huge fan of sour cream-based dips. There’s not a thing wrong with them; it’s just not my “textural” preference, I guess. I like something thicker.
Sometime in high school, I became a huge fan of those Alouette spreadable cheese dip thingies. I loved them. But they were (and are) pricey little things. My best friend and I experimented and learned that a block of cream cheese mixed with a packet of Hidden Valley Ranch dressing mix was also a very tasty, more affordable dip option. Cool.
Now, I’m grown, and I’m trying to move past the questionable ingredients in those little packets. I’m still watching the budget. The solution?
Homemade Ranch Cream Cheese Dip
- 8 oz. cream cheese
- 2-3 tablespoons buttermilk (regular old milk can be substituted here if that’s all you’ve got– don’t buy buttermilk when you need less than 1/4 cup)
- 1 teaspoon dried chives
- 1 teaspoon dried minced onion
- 1 teaspoon garlic powder
- 1/2 teaspoon dill
- 1/2 teaspoon salt
- dash black pepper
Dump cream cheese and (butter)milk into bowl of mixer. Beat until smooth and creamy. Add in all spices and mix until blended. That’s it. You’re done. Serve with raw veggies and/or pretzels.
*note: This dip is not suitable for with potato chips. It’s too thick and the chips will break as you try to scoop it. Sour cream bases are the way to go for your ‘tato chips!
Perhaps you’ll be relieved to know that, despite what many self-proclaimed mommy police seem to think, not a single one of these things qualifies as child abuse:
- Formula feeding.
- Having oodles and bunches of kids.
- Expecting your child to eat the food that you serve.
- Letting your kids watch cartoons.
- Giving them raw milk.
- Having an only child.
- Breastfeeding beyond a year or (gasp!) even two.
- Opting out of story hour, tumbling tikes, play group, or… name your activity.
- Sending them to daycare.
- Not having a TV in your home.
Shocking, isn’t it? And a mite freeing, if you ask me.
Tell me– what would you add to the list?
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