26 Jun
We celebrated our 13th wedding anniversary today by taking the kids out to our favorite restaurant. We are looking forward to doing it again, perhaps for our 26th. We’ve had an great year—maybe one of the best, which I suppose is a good way to go about this marriage thing. I am quite fortunate to be wedded to such an incredible guy!
18 Jun
Just a quick baby update . . .
After nearly two weeks of pre labor without much, if any, real progress, my doctor ordered an ultrasound. She had suggested this before, but because I seem to have the kind of babies that make doctors a bit nervous, I had been reluctant to subject myself to anything that could even hint at the need for an early induction given the baby’s size. Turns out, though, there was no need to worry.
The ultrasound tech, upon announcing that this baby currently weighed about 7 pounds, 9 ounces, said, “Yikes, I hope my measurements are off.” Considering that Olivia had already arrived at this point, weighing in just an ounce under 9 pounds, I was too busy celebrating this good news to tell her she need not worry. A seven pound baby at nearly 38 weeks? I was elated, and suddenly in no rush at all.
It would seem that’s a good thing, as this baby is hanging out a bit too high for these contractions to be productive. So, until he decides to head south, nothing much is likely to happen. It’s a big relief to know that despite signs to the contrary, I probably won’t have a baby in the next six hours. In the meantime, I’m doing what little I can to coax him down—walking, sitting on a balance ball and drinking raspberry leaf tea.
And, so, we wait . . . a bit more patiently this week than last.
16 Jun
After many years of cajoling, my grandfather is finally moving from the farm that’s been in our family for generations. This is—without a doubt—a positive transition that will ensure the safety and relaxation he deserves after nearly six and a half decades of manual labor.
While we are collectively relieved, there’s an unspoken sadness surrounding this change. Few things in our lives are fixed, and my attachment to physical places has been well documented, no matter how ill-advised it may be. And so now, as an auction of household items, furniture and machinery is underway more than a 100 miles to the north, the reality of the change is setting in.
It’s hard not to associate the kitchen table, or the boxes of books in the attic, or the feel of tin coffee cups you’ll never hold again with memories of my grandmother. I argued with Bryan for weeks about whether or not I would attend the sale at nearly 38 weeks pregnant. The thought of being there was nearly unbearable, but the idea of missing it was even worse.
But as we visited the farmhouse for the last time a few weeks ago, I realized the things I’d truly miss won’t be for sale today.
Instead, we have the luxury of retaining memories for free, like those of drinking coffee with more sugar than brew as we waited for Grandpa to come in for lunch. And we get to keep thoughts of a rare sick day whiled away on Grandma’s couch. I vividly recall trying on her wedding dress (which happily now hangs in my own closet), and “swimming” in harvested soybeans before they were hauled into town. I remember the fragrance from her prized sweet pea and snowball bush, and the hours spent playing upstairs and outside under the pine tree.
And, as Bryan and Gramma Great have both reminded me, things and places are far less important than relationships and memories. But I have to admit, I will miss them nonetheless.
11 Jun
We spent the weekend with our friend Tom and his girlfriend Katie, who were visiting from the east coast. I’m not 100 percent sure that Olivia knew exactly which “Tom and Katie” to expect, even though Ava kept reminding her it was the “Tom We’ve Known for a Hundred Years,” and not the “Tom Who Will be Our Uncle Soon.” (For the record, a visit from THAT Tom and Katie would be welcomed anytime, too!)
At Katie’s suggestion, we decided to head to the Flint Hills for a performance by the Kansas City Symphony. The outdoor concert was held in a pasture about halfway between Topeka and Wichita, and the setting could not have been more beautiful. We were expecting a “concert on the square” set-up, maybe with a few hundred people. Instead, we were astonished to learn more than 7,000 people were in attendance. Here’s what we saw as we made our way toward the venue:
We settled in on blankets at the parameter of the crowd, seemingly a half mile from the orchestra. Still, the sound quality was remarkable, and despite 90 degree temperatures, the wind kept us cool.
The sun set just as the symphony played the final notes of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.”
The entire evening was quite relaxing for me, but I think Bryan was a bit nervous being so far from home at this point in my pregnancy. The shuttle driver that took us from the gate to the venue commented on how brave we were, as he had just delivered a woman back to her car after her water broke. I’m not sure that bit of information helped much, but we made it back home with no trouble at all.
I have spent the last week in “pre labor,” also known by the slightly more irritating term “false labor.” Since last Monday, I have had almost constant contractions, coupled with other symptoms that are normally quite promising. However, a couple of checks with my doctor early last week showed the contractions weren’t resulting in any real progress.
I can imagine that pre labor is helpful the first time around—it probably conditions your body and prepares you mentally and physically for labor. As this is my third, I’m finding it just short of insulting.
Mind you, I’m fine waiting a few weeks—I’m just approaching the 37 week mark (which was when Olivia was born). However, I’d like to spend those few weeks productively, rather than constantly timing painful contractions only to learn that they are six, and then 12, and then four minutes apart—a sure sign that I am not, in fact, in actual labor. It’s more consuming than I’d like to admit, especially since I’m already at that unfortunate point in pregnancy where you become rather self-involved, forgetting that normal people don’t use words like “cervix” in everyday conversation.
When not at work, I spent a bulk of my time at home on the couch, eating sandwiches and complaining about my inability to contract at regular intervals. Meanwhile, it would appear I’ve outsourced nesting to Bryan, who is cleaning and organizing anything he can get his hands on.
Thanks to his efforts, I think we are indeed “ready”—at least as ready as you can be for a third baby. Part of me wonders if this pre labor business isn’t just an important reminder that while I think I know what to expect, there are never any guarantees. Perhaps going from two to three children (or from girls to a boy) won’t be as effortless as I’m anticipating.
In any event, we’re looking forward to welcoming this little one into our lives, and then welcoming what will hopefully be a steady stream of visitors in the coming weeks and months.
22 May
I’m attending a conference in Vancouver this week, and while I am very much looking forward to returning home to see Bryan and the girls tomorrow, the trip has been fantastic. The weather is chilly and rainy, but Vancouver is absolutely gorgeous. Here are a few shots I took during a cruise last night.
Thirty-four weeks! (And, Mom, I was wearing flats in this photo…)
29 Apr
Various comments directed at me this weekend:
From a shop owner on Mass Street, after learning this is my third: “Let me tell you something no one else will: ALL OF YOUR BABYSITTERS WILL QUIT.”
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A college student who appeared to be 14, though I am sure was old enough to legally consume the drink in her hand: “I just love that you’re pregnant and wearing heels. Like, seriously, I love that.”
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A woman at the capital campaign kickoff, also upon learning this is my third: “We had three. BUT THEN WE STOPPED. Do you know how expensive college is?” (By the way, my reply here was, “Yes, I do, and that is why the University of Kansas announced a $1.2 billion fundraising campaign 20 minutes ago…”)
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Another woman I met at the kickoff: “Oh my goodness! Must be any day now—I hope you make it through this event!”
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One of the interns in my department: “When are you going to start maternity leave?” (My response: “About 12 hours after I go into labor.”)
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Me, at the grocery store’s meat counter today: “Shhhhh.”
It took me a moment to realize I didn’t have my kids with me, and I had inadvertently shushed a grown woman. A LOUD woman, but still.
17 Apr
A few weeks ago, Doug pointed out that I was close to reaching 100,000 blog visitors on this WordPress site. I somehow managed to miss the actual rollover into six-figure territory, but I felt like I needed to mark the occasion by expressing my gratitude for your interest in our lives.
Bryan started blogging before Ava was even a thought—nearly a decade has passed since he launched his first site. Once we moved to Kansas, I continued it, with the goal of creating virtual baby books in place of the paper versions I neglected to start.
Four years ago, I moved the blog to WordPress, and since then, we’ve seen about 70 visitors each day, or about 25,000 each year. Those figures are both exhilarating and scary. I often joke that the moms must account for at least half of those visits, but in reality, I know they are far too busy to keep that close an eye on us. So, that means others are reading about the day to day happenings in the Smith household. Again . . . exhilarating and scary.
It would be disingenuous to claim that nearly 15 years in public relations hasn’t shaped my decisions of what to share (and how to share it), but I’d like to think that overall, we’re pretty open about the highs and lows of parenting and life in general.
Over the past four years, a few posts stand out as favorites, at least according to WordPress stats:
Living apart from our family and many of our friends remains challenging, but marking this milestone makes me realize we are far from alone. Thank you for being a part of our lives—both online and in person. We are grateful!
5 Apr
This title is, of course, totally unfair, but let me explain…
Recently, Ava has expressed that she “just feels seven,” as if the impact of this new number has suddenly hit home. When I visit her room at 7 am, I find the door closed, with holiday-themed “Elves at Work” do not disturb sign hanging from the knob. The first time I encountered this, I was most definitely disturbed, and I swung open the door, only to find her fully dressed and tidying up around an already made bed. This strange behavior has continued throughout the week, and her newfound responsibility and maturity has spilled over into other areas as well.
Case in point: My intrepid seven-year-old arrived home after school last night, looked me straight in the eye and said:
“Mom. I need you to tell me the truth. Santa and the Easter Bunny aren’t real, right? You and Dad put out the presents, don’t you?”
I sidestepped, asking what prompted such a question. Apparently, the first grade class is divided, with half believing and half doubting. Ava felt she absolutely needed to know. RIGHT NOW.
I told her that I most definitely believed in the spirit of Santa.
It didn’t work.
I tried my own mother’s line: “You know, if you stop believing in Santa, he might not come anymore…”
This also failed.
At this point, I did what I usually do when faced with tough questions like, “How did the seed from Daddy get into your belly to make the baby?” and “What’s the difference between a planet and a star?” That is, I promptly directed her to her father.
And then, everything started spinning.
Bryan sat Ava down and told her that she was a smart and inquisitive child. He said she was seven now, and that he’d answer any question she had honestly. And then, when she asked again, he simply said, “No, there’s no Santa.”
While Ava sat there thoughtfully, I burst into uncontrollable sobs, a misstep I am sure will be far more memorable than the actual realization itself.
It seems terribly unfair that there’s only seven years of the magic that comes with such a belief. I was completely and totally unprepared for this phase to end—I had honestly never contemplated it before, and now, there was nothing that could be done. It was just . . . over.
I tried to regain composure, stifling sniffles as Bryan said, “It’s okay, Mommy just really loves Christmas,” and thinking to myself, “Why don’t you just put her on the pill and send her to college?”
I will also admit that at some point (and I think it’s fair to blame hormones here), I said both “Well, at least I have the NEW baby,” and “So help me God, if you tell your sister, Santa will never bring you another present again.”
Later in the evening, somewhere around the fourth or fifth time Ava checked to make sure I was okay, I regained some sensibility, apologized for my reaction, and told her that she was now—at least in part—responsible for carrying forth the spirit that allowed other children to believe. I said, she’d have to be an “elf at work.”
She promised me she’d do her very best, and I believe her.
I mean, she is SEVEN, after all.
26 Mar
On Saturday, we celebrated Ava’s seventh birthday with a county-western party for family and friends.
We had hats and bandannas awaiting their cowgirls…
…and a cowgirl awaiting her guests:
We set up the kids’ table outside, thanks to gorgeous weather that brought early spring blooms.
The “Sweets Saloon” included s’mores pops and number cookies.
I made Debbie’s dip, dubbed “Cowgirl Caviar,” and served a collaborative western barbecue menu on pie tins.
Gramma Great made punch for the kids (and we served margaritas for the grown-ups).
Party favors included caramels and chocolates with trail mix bars in galvanized tins.
My mom made an angel good cake, and we served vanilla cupcakes with strawberry meringue buttercream. I dusted chocolate stars with edible gold glitter to top each one.
Of course, the best part was the party participants…
We were so happy to have our parents, grandparents and aunts and uncles come down to Kansas for the weekend. Thank you for making this such a memorable event for all!
4 Mar
We took the girls bowling for the first time this afternoon. Thanks to gutter bumpers and a ball guide, they nearly out bowled me.
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