Say Good-night to Sister

Here's how it's done:

You start with both cheeks; right, then left, Paraguayan style (I was grabbing the camera and missed step one of this daily ritual).

Then move on to her feet.  Both of them:

Then her knees:

Both hands:

Belly:

Return to her head for a kiss right on top of her dome:

Doesn't she look THRILLED by this process???

Bailey tried adding "kiss the diaper" to this ceremony, but that was too weird.

New house rule: we don't kiss diapers. 

And Then What?

The past five weeks I've been doing Beth Moore's Bible study on the book of Esther with my pastor's wife and two other young ladies that she's discipling.  Every week during the DVD session I think to myself: "I have to put this on the blog! It's just too good not to share!" But until now I haven't followed through.

In this week's session, we hit the part of the "story" where Esther had to decide.  Decide to face her fear of death by entering the king's presence without being summoned, or sit back, do nothing, and die for being a Jew.  Tough choice.

In talking about the fear Esther must have faced at that junction in her life, Beth Moore went on a tangent - a long, thoughtful, wonderful tangent - about fears and how often we let them control our lives.  So much so that we can become paralyzed by them and miss out on being used by God in amazing ways.  There was so much that she shared about fear, so much that hit home for me, but what stood out to me was the illustration that she used from her own life as she faced a nagging fear of her own.

"What if my husband falls in love with someone else?" she confessed as a recurring fear in her mind.

One day, plagued by the thought, God lead her to play it out.  As if God said, "Okay, Beth. Say he does. Then what?"

"I'd throw a fit!"

"Okay, and then what?"

"Well, I'd get really, really mad and yell terrible things."

"And then what?"

"I'd fall on the floor and cry."

"Then what?"

On and on she went.  Ping-ponging with God over what would happen next.

I'd cry. I'd yell. I'd pull the covers over my head.

And then what?

Eventually, Beth's answer to "then what?" was that she'd throw her Bible across her face and stare at it.  And then she'd start memorizing scripture to give her the strength to cope. And then she'd find her way back to ministry - admittedly a bit jaded and angry at first - but she'd survive. She'd bounce back. God would still work through her to accomplish His will.

I tried the same thing with some of my biggest, recurring fears.  And you know what? After enough "and then what's?" it all comes full circle. God is faithful to bring us back to Him and will use us - despite the fearful thing.

What if I fail at _____?

What if ____ doesn't work out?

What if _____ happens?

It was a bit scary, entertaining the fear and letting it "unleash" all it's misery, but in the end, it was incredibly liberating.  Because in the end, no matter what the "what if" was, the answer was always, "then, God!"  God will be there. God will be faithful. God will pick up the pieces. God will use me despite (rather, because of) the situation.  God. God. God.

Next time YOU feel overwhelmed with fear, I challenge you to do the same.  Ask yourself "and then what?"  You'll realize that God is bigger than the fear and that He will bring you through whatever it is.

Swallowing my Pride

This blog set out to be a way for our family and friends to keep "in the loop" about what is going on in our lives while we're down in Paraguay. And while it has done that (at least I'm assuming it has, don't burst my bubble if it hasn't) it has also been rather therapeutic at times for me.  I've been able to write about the experiences we've had, process them a bit more than I otherwise would have, and draw "bigger" conclusions about relationships, God, life, etc.

Blogging has been my psychiatrist (okay, that might be taking things a bit too far, but I hope you get what I'm trying to say).

The last month of posts - Boston's birth, the hospital comparison, Bailey's potty training adventures in three parts, the installation of the grass - have all been reflection-less on my part.  And quite intentionally.  I didn't want to reflect. I didn't want to think about how I was feeling, let alone admit to how I was feeling, let alone admit publicly to how I was feeling.

But it's time . . . so here goes.

We hired Patricia back.

Some of you might recall that Patricia came during last semester to watch Bailey while I was teaching part time.  At that point in Bailey's life, she was getting up at 7, then napping again at 9:30ish (until I got home from school).  Patricia did most of the routine household chores before Bailey got up and during her nap.  There was a part of me that felt kind of awkward about it all - having someone else clean my house, wash the dishes, and do the laundry - but what else was she to do for the three hours of her work day that Bailey was sleeping? And those are the things that I potentially could have done during Bailey's morning nap, a nap that I was "missing out on" because of being at work.  I justified the heck out of the situation and got to a guilt-free point.  Besides, who doesn't like to come home to a clean house, without having to do the cleaning yourself?

When we left Paraguay in December, we had to let Patricia know that we weren't going to need her services for the foreseeable future.  My parents were coming (and did come) for the first month when Boston was born, and Brandon's mom is coming at the end of May.  At the time there was even rumor that my sister might come (okay, it might have been more wishful thinking than anything) between the two parental visits, leaving me with a whopping four weeks or so with both girls by myself.

But during the last week or so that my parents were here, I had a rough go at it (ask Brandon, he'll tell you).  I was a wreck thinking about how in the world I was going to manage the house by myself.  I would be sitting nursing Boston, with my mom making dinner and Papa or Brandon helping Bailey go potty and I'd burst into tears.  What was I going to do in a week when I was the only one there? Boston would go hungry, Bailey would wet herself, and dinner would be burnt, all with me curled up in a ball in the living room, praying for it all to go away.  At least that's the way I imagined it playing out in my head.

Chock it up to postpartum depression (or regular depression for that matter).  I was terrified about being alone with the girls.  I couldn't fathom how generations of mom's before me did it (and continue to do it, and with more than just two kids).  Then I'd have a moment of rational thinking (just a fleeting moment, mind you), and I'd be okay.  "You've got this" I'd say to myself.  "People do it all the time and you're no less of a person than any of them.  You can do it."

And like the little engine that could, I'd recite: "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can . . ."

Then it would all blow up in my face and I'd cry myself to sleep. Again.

The weekend before my parents left (and Brandon went back to school after being on Easter break), Brandon made a decision for us: we're hiring Patricia back.  His solution to my irrational fear was to bring back the help.  And while part of me jumped for joy ("she can do the chores! yippie!") his words cut deep to my heart.  I felt like he had no faith in me, that even he didn't trust the girls to my care.  That's not the truth - I know that in the rational part of my brain - but I couldn't help but feel betrayed.

That first Monday with her there was harder than I imagined being alone would have been.  And not for her lack of assistance.  It was because of my internal monologue telling myself that I failed.  I failed as a mom - I had to hire someone to care for my own two kids, one of whom sleeps 90% of the time.  I failed as a homekeeper - someone else is being paid to do my laundry and wash my dishes.  I failed as a wife - she's taking care of "everything" and I'm still in my PJ's, glasses, sans makeup when Brandon gets home.

After that first day, I told Brandon that I needed to try doing "it" by myself, if only to prove to myself that I could.  So when a downpour started in the wee hours of the morning Tuesday, I typed out a text to Patricia, telling her not to worry about coming in with the bad weather (bus travel does get tricky in the rain).

I did it.

Then came another tricky part: I could do it alone (duh!), but I felt like we had already made a commitment to Patricia for the six weeks between my parent's and Brandon's mom's visit.  So we talked it over and shortened the time that she's with us. What started out as Monday through Friday, 9-4 is now Monday, Wednesday, Friday, 9-1:30 (when Bailey goes down for her nap).  I still have to be a stay-at-home-mom by myself at least two days a week.  And I still do some of the household chores.

It's still hard to admit to; that we have a "chica" when I'm there at home all day anyway, but it is what it is.  And I'm still processing it.  And I'm sure I will be for a while. But this was a start.

We've Got Grass!

While I've gotten quite used to seeing this . . . 

. . . every day as I look out the kitchen window and side doors, I'm absolutely THRILLED that our yard is now blanketed in green!  We are grateful (again) to Tio Ruben and Rosalino (friends from Asuncion Christian Academy) who worked so hard to make our yard beautiful!  Here's the play by play:

Day One: leveling out the dirt and starting the fence
to keep Nala off the grass while it "sets"

Day Two: the truck arrived with teeny tiny squares of sod

Working late into the evening

Protecting the sod until they could come back on
day three to finish the fence.

Day Three: Laying the sod, finishing the fence, and
chopping down branches so the grass can get some
sunlight

The pile of branches cut
(from out neighbor's trees)

One of Rosalino's friend's came by with his horse and
cart to take away all the branches

All done! Bailey snuck onto the grass to check it out!

And while Bailey might miss
rolling around in the dirt, I'm looking
forward to a little more "green"
in our outdoor pictures!

Part 3 - The Girl Who Cried Potty

As if potty training (part 1) and the ensuing fear to poop (part 2), wasn't enough, Bailey decided to add her own element of "drama" to Operation Ditch the Diaper (a.k.a. potty training).  "Drama" being code for she's a master manipulator and one smart cookie.

When we first began potty training, Bailey had no clue about when she needed to sit on the toilet.  We just set a timer, sat her down, and hoped we got the timing right more often that we got it wrong.  After being mildly successful, though, she caught on (as all kids eventually do), and took notice of what it felt like to need to go to the bathroom.  In addition to sitting on the potty when the timer went off, she'd also start letting us know ("potty? potty?") when she felt the urge to pee.  Those first two weeks there were - of course - times when she'd say "potty" but there'd be nothing to show for it, and other times when she wouldn't say anything, but mom would wind up with a wet lap because I forgot to put the absorbent pad in my lap before letting Bailey sit down.  That's to be expected.  She's not even 2.

It's what happened weeks into the "training" that threw us for a loop. When we'd started weaning her off her "treats" for successful potty trips (only giving them if she remembered to ask and even then, only giving her two morsels of cereal instead of the original four).  When she started wearing pants again because we weren't (as) worried about another article of clothing to wash out in case of an accident.  When she would tell us at the mall that she needed to go potty, waited patiently in line, and didn't (completely) freak out having to pee on a big toilet.

That's when things got interesting.

It all started over dinner one night.  And as a bit of background, our house rule is that we eat dinner together as a family.  Even if Bailey finishes early, she still has to sit in her high-chair with the family until most everyone else is done (i.e. me). We don't make her wait for Brandon - that would take all night - but it's important to us to set the precedent now that dinner is a time to unwind and talk about the day and reconnect as a family.  Obviously she isn't doing a lot of conversating, but we want her to get into the habit now, rather than have to re-train her later.

And now, back to the story . . .

Bottom line is that she was ready to be done with dinner and didn't want to sit in her high-chair any more. Trouble was, she was the only one done.  Brandon, Papa, Graw and myself were all still finishing up our meals.  Rather than pout and flail her head from side to side (her usual antics), she had a lightbulb moment: "Potty!"

We all stopped in our tracks. Graw and Papa looking at us newbies to see how we'd react, Brandon and I trying to read each other's minds about how to respond.  We were fairly confident that she didn't have to go; the grin on her face was rather telling as she scanned her audience for their reaction.  But what if she did? And we didn't want her to stop telling us because we wouldn't listen; then we'd be back to (a soggy) square one.

We decided to take her (no pee . . . let me put on my shocked face!) but plopped her right back in that high-chair when she was "done."  Take that, Toots.

A few minutes later, though: "Potty!"

Same discussion, same solution, only this time she did an about-face in front of the bathroom and didn't even sit on the potty and attempt to continue the ruse.  Another crossroads.  Now what?

A swift smack on the side of her leg, that's what.  And I reminded her that she's the one that said she had to go potty and she needed to at least sit and try.  She didn't like it (after all, she didn't have to go), but she sat, and we returned to the high-chair.

Moments later: "Potty!"

You've got to be kidding me!  This time she was given a fair warning about the potential discipline should she decide not to sit on the potty (we stopped shy of punishing her for not going potty; that seemed a bit much, even for us).  She still said "potty, potty" so we marched back down the hallway.

Another about-face attempt, another swat, another forced (and tear-filled) squat on the pot, and she was returned to her high-chair.  Are you getting the message, girl? You aren't getting out of things just by saying potty!

We survived the end of the meal, but the same scenario played out over the course of several dinners the next few nights, as well as at strategic moments during play.

About to be scolded about something-or-other? "Potty!"

Don't want to do what you've been asked to do? "Potty!"

Don't want to play in your room by yourself anymore? "Potty!"

Our rule of thumb was to entertain her the first time. After all, it might be legit.  After that, we used our judgement (especially in light of her poop "issues" addressed in part 2), but always made sure to return her to whatever she had been doing before the cries of "potty" began.  We didn't want her to win.  That's what Mommy and Daddy do.  :)

And when she wanted to run in and out (and in and out and in and out) of the house to go potty, Daddy had an ingenious solution: take the potty outside!  She's going to love these pictures when she gets older:

Part 2 - Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Poop

This post is all about poop, or rather the lack thereof for days on end and then it's rapid, sudden, and I dare say soggy appearance. Don't say I didn't warn you.

Speaking of warnings, no one warned me that potty training really involves TWO trainings.  Getting a kid to pee on a toilet is one thing.  But poop?! That's a whole 'nother story.

If you read part 1, you know how we went about potty training.  And it was successful (if not maddening at times).   But I left out half of the story. The poop side of things.

Leading up to potty training, Bailey never had problems pooping (save when I first introduced solid foods and plugged her up with too many bananas).  Like clockwork she would poop in the morning, usually before 10 A.M. and then again at some point in the late afternoon/evening.  I never dreamed that a pink potty chair with a lid shaped like an elephant (or is it a bear?) would change all that.

Once we started setting Bailey on the potty throughout the day, she stopped pooping.  And although she was downing bananas, bread and cheese daily (all known to stop ones self up), that's what she's always eaten.  I didn't think her diet had much to do with it.  But in the name of desperation, we cut out bananas and scaled back on the bread and cheese.  We introduced bran cereal (sprinkled into her yogurt like granola) and prunes (she still called them raisins since we cut them up in smaller bits).  Graw even used some of the prunes, boiled them in water and she sipped on homemade prune juice.

And still, no poop.

Bottom line was she was afraid to do the deed in the toilet.

We could tell she needed to poop; she'd say "Poo! Poo!" and run to the bathroom, but then, when faced with the prospect of having to squat on the pot to go number two, she's clamp those booty cheeks together and hold onto it for dear life.

Every few days, though, all the self-control and squeezing in the world couldn't hold back the inevitable.  And once she let go, she really let go.  I'll leave it at that.  ;)

Even with all of our praise over her being such a big girl and how proud we were of her, she remained terrified of going poop for nearly two weeks. Even when we'd coax her onto the toilet, she'd be screaming and crying and waving her hands for "all done" in sign language.

The beginning of the end came late one night after another three day span with no poo in sight.  We were sitting around playing cards when Bailey started screaming "Potty! Potty!" from her room (she had been put to bed an hour and a half earlier and is an EXCELLENT sleeper).  We debated for a while over whether to get her up or not (more on that "issue" in Part 3), but decided that it was probably best to get her up and let her try - again - to go to the bathroom.

After a handful of out-of-the-crib-to-the-potty-nothing-in-the-potty-diaper-back-on-back-in-her-crib cycles she was still not going to sleep, insistent on screaming "POTTY!"  We were certain she needed to poop.  We tried reasoning with her that she'd feel much better if she just let it go.  At one point I could actually see the poop popping out of her cheecks . . . but nothing.  In desperation, I grabbed a Q-tip, some Neosporin (we didn't have Vaseline), and the rest is history.  She pooped.

I can't say that the events of that night "cured" her of her fear of pooping; it was still a few more teary-eyed attempts - and several days - later that she actually went number two without the accompanying water-works. But it was a start.

Stay tuned for Part 3 - The Girl Who Cried Potty

Part 1 - Potty Training

Last October/November, I realized that I'd soon have two kids in diapers if I didn't do something about it soon ("something" being to potty train Bailey).  Knowing that we would be traveling to California for Christmas, I didn't start anything at that point, but had grand ideas of potty training her while in the states.

Fat chance.

With all the jumping around from house to house that we did while visiting friends and family, there wasn't much time to dedicate to potty training.  My mom did buy her a little potty that she sat on from time to time, but she only actually went pee in the toilet a handful of times.  Sheer coincidence; nothing we could congratulate ourselves over (though we did, of course).

All smiles on the potty at
Grandma and Grandpa's

Come February, we were headed back to our kid-potty-less house in Paraguay still in diapers.  What's a girl to do?

Within a few weeks of being back in Paraguay (and the baby coming in less than a month at that point), I found a training potty and placed it in the bathroom along side our big toilet.

Bailey FREAKED OUT!

And by freaked out I mean absolutely refused to even look at the thing, let alone sit on it. The legalistic I-told-you-to-sit-on-the-potty-so-you-better-sit person inside of me wanted to smack her little tush and discipline her into sitting on the potty, but reason won out as I realized that I didn't want potty training to be any more traumatizing than it had to be.  For the next few weeks I just kept asking (not telling) her if she wanted to sit on the potty after nap time, before bath time, whenever I went to the bathroom.  Usually her answer was "no," but after a while she warmed up to the idea of sitting on her pink toilet.

Finally comfortable on her potty in Paraguay

Now Boston was set to arrive at pretty much any point and Bailey was still sporting her diapers.  And I was still determined NOT to have two in diapers.

Grandma (a.k.a. Graw) and Papa to the rescue.

The day after my mom and dad got to Paraguay, we officially started "Operation Ditch the Diaper".  Our strategy was simple (adapted from Pottywise):

1 - No more diapers
2- Bailey sat on the toilet every 15-20 minutes
3 - She sat there for 4 minutes
4 - She earned a sticker for trying and got a treat (a few pieces of a sugary cereal) for actually going pee in the toilet

Simple. Crazy. And exhausting.

Thankfully it was still warm enough
to run around naked; it saved us a
lot of clean-up!

We spent the next week living by the obnoxious beeping of the kitchen timer telling us that it was time (again!?) to sit on the potty or that we still had more time to wait it out on the seat (it's only been a minute?!).

Books...one of the few "toys" on the list of approved toys
to take to the bathroom (sippy cups did NOT make the cut)

The first couple of days we were pretty much homebound, helping Bailey get the hang of things.  But we couldn't stay in the house forever, so we would put a diaper on her to go to the grocery store (with panties on top, at Bailey's insistence).

Adding stickers to her chart after potty attempt #2,592

The whole thing was a three-steps-forward, two-steps-back experience; one day she would go the entire day without an accident.  The next, we'd be washing out panties every hour.  But within three weeks, she was pretty much trained.  She'd even tell us "POTTY!" while out and about (and we'd have to scramble to find a bathroom).

So proud of herself!

One day, we were walking home from Brandon's school and she kept shouting "Potty! Potty!"  I tried to reason with her that she had her diaper on and that it would be okay to go in her pants, just this once.  She wouldn't have it.  She was a MANIAC the whole walk home and started peeing just seconds before sitting on the potty.  Mommy should have skipped the lecture and focused on getting that girl home!

Whenever she sat around the house,
she had to sit on an absorbent pad;
I learned that one the hard way!

Nowadays Bailey is a champ at going potty. She still hasn't gotten the hang of how to pull her panties up over her booty, but she can sit down and get things going without any help.  The past week she's even been wearing panties during nap time (after a week of dry diapers during naps) and has woken up the past two mornings with dry diapers, too!  She's incredible.

Oh panties!  Top - training panties
Center - "normal" 2T panties
Bottom - Paraguayan panties :)

There is NO WAY that our potty training with Bailey would have been even remotely successful if not for the help of my parents.  They kept the timer going when I was too tired to care anymore and wouldn't let me throw in the towel and resort back to diapers.  Mom washed out countless pairs of panties and cleaned up too many accidents to count (thank goodness for tile!).  Papa even helped get her on the potty when both of our hands were busy with Boston and other household chores.  And of course Brandon was around to make jokes about the whole thing, making Bailey laugh as she sat for four (painstakingly slow) minutes on her potty.

It definitely took a village.

Still to come?

Part 2 - Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Poop?

Part 3 - The Girl Who Cried Potty

Sister Sister

Brandon was watching Boy Meets World today and I was feeling nostalgic over the old shows we used to watch.  So here's a post all about sisters:

First sister kisses

Watching over "baby?"

Hanging out with Mommy while
Boston eats

Combing Boston's hair after her bath

Cheese!!!

Helping Daddy

Showing the big girls how to take care of Boston

Bath time helper!

Chil-axing on the bed with Daddy

Story time

Hogging Graw's iPhone

Nap time! :)