And Baby Makes Four

It's been such a joy having a baby in the house again! There are other emotions, of course, such as exhaustion, frustration, and the occasional suffocating feeling of being overwhelmed. (By the way, I cannot imagine what it must be like to have multiple babies at once. The people who manage this feat have my utmost respect.)

Gannon completes our little family. After the complications we had attempting to expand to a household of four, we're counting our blessings, surely. Our newest member came with a few quirks, though, and they've really kept me on my toes!

First, this little guy was face up during a majority of my labor. That, combined with the fact that we knew he was going to be a hefty little guy, made us realize that a natural birth may not be possible. After some shoving and coaxing by my midwife, and my body's innate ability to correct the issue, Gannon finally turned as he descended down the birth canal (thankfully!).

After we were discharged from the hospital, we struggled mightily with breastfeeding. Avery had been a champion at nursing, so these feeding problems with Gannon were stressful and completely foreign to me. After approximately eight days of attempts - some successful, most not - I remembered a segment I had read in one of the breastfeeding books the hospital had given us. It turns out Gannon was tongue tied! I spoke to the pediatrician on call (Who assured me that even if Gannon was tongue tied, she had only recommended that three cases in her 27 years of practice be surgically fixed, therefore she doubted the problem with nursing was due to his tongue. She told me that most likely our problems were because of poor nursing positions and all we would require was more education on proper latching techniques.). Monday morning I called to set up an appointment with this physician (Not because I liked her, mind you, but because I knew our problems were going to prove her over-the-phone diagnosis wrong. And I love a chance to prove I'm right!).

So, to make a really long story slightly shorter, we saw the physician later that week. She recommended we see one of their lactation consultants to have a latch evaluation, and by Thursday we were seeing an ENT specialist to have a lingual frenectomy.

My breast pump and I are no longer best friends, and I can't tell you how happy that makes me. And if the rate of growth of this boy is any indication, we're definitely doing a good job. My two-month-old snuggle bug is currently wearing 6 month size clothing, and I'm lucky if I get two wearings out of any given outfit. Thank goodness for second-hand stores that take gently used children's clothing!

Now I can say that the only challenges we're dealing with in the Weatherby household regularly are that the dog decides he needs to go out at the exact moment that I sit down to feed Gannon, Avery has to have a refill of juice or milk while I'm changing a diaper or bathing his brother, and Gannon decides to fuss while I'm playing with the dog and/or Avery. I've also become much more respectful of single parents; how on earth does one take an infant and a preschooler out on their own? The person who invented the shopping carts with the plastic seats geared for older kids have my complete admiration. And although I vowed I'd never use one, I found myself breaking down and purchasing one of those backpack-leash doodads to keep my misbehaving older child next to me while we're out and about without Matt. I discovered I'd rather deal with the incredulous looks and embarassment at using it than abandoning my infant so I can go chase after his brother.

These little hurdles make me sigh with contentment (and exhaustion) at the end of the day, though. I am a happy woman, indeed.

So Much to Say!

My goodness, it's been a while, hasn't it? I have a number of posts planned just to update you on all that's changed in recent months. First, though, I have to tell you about my newest love.

His name is Gannon Russell. He came into this world kicking and screaming on October 21st of this year. I'll spare you from the labor and delivery play-by-play, but let's just say it was miraculously short (painful as all hell, of course, but short!). After twelve minutes of pushing, out came this nine pound, seven ounce bundle.















Thankfully, his older brother decided a couple months before his arrival that it would be ok to have a little brother (Phew!). Avery has been excited and helpful, sometimes bordering on overzealous. I've decided, however, that I'd much rather have that than deal with an older son who despises his sibling.

I've got loads more to say about this little guy and the chaos he's added to our little family, but for now, I think I'll let some photos do the talking.

Evil Stomach Bug Chronicles: Victims I and II

For the last week, Avery's had a nasty stomach bug that's created such chaos in his little digestive system, he's been able to clear rooms single(ahem...)-tootedly. I can't begin to describe what this little experience has been like to deal with while pregnant and nauseous at all hours of the day.


Last Friday, my poor, sick little boy finally started to feel a little better. Hooray! (Cue the overly-dramatic "Dum, dum, dummmmm" music.)


Or so I thought. Turns out, the beast that had been living inside my dear child was just releasing its grip on him long enough to squirm its way into another body - mine. The result?


Saturday = complete and utter agony.


Sunday = I finally listened to my husband and drove myself over to Urgent Care, received some IV fluids (to ward off dehydration) and some IV Zofran, which until this stomach bug fiasco had been my saving grace for nausea-related instances. Four and a half hours later, I was on my way home, feeling considerably better than when I'd gone in. By 8:00 that evening, however, I was back to my vomiting self.


Monday = Back to Urgent Care. Blood tests, urine sample, more IV fluids, different IV anti-nausea medication. My results were as follows: viral stomach germ - no treatment other than Pedialyte and Reglan (the new anti-nausea med) to keep the deydration and vomiting at bay. No bladder infection. (By the way - Pedialyte? Did this Dr. know I was 28 years old?? Yep -- apparently this horrible-tasting little beverage has a unique characteristic in that its electrolytes are absorbed straight through the stomach lining and doesn't have to be fully digested in order to provide benefits to the body. Hm...still doesn't taste good.)


After another 3+ hours in Innovis (this time, because the ER and Urgent Care were so busy, I got a lovely "overflow room," which consisted of a gurney, rolling stool, pillow and blanket placed in the hallway of the ER with a curtain draped around it. Oh - and it was right next to the ice/water dispenser and blanket warmer. What lavish accommodations!), I finally left feeling better than I had in days.


I sure hope this bug is done with our household. It's left some marks on us (me) that we (I) won't be forgetting for quite some time.

Closeup of a Three-Year-Old

My baby turned three this month. I can't believe the changes this last year has brought; my boy is dressing/undressing himself (and gets quite miffed when we try to assist!), speaking like a school age child, using the toilet for its intended purpose regularly (accidents happen, of course), and expressing his ideas, interests, and opinions as an individual. There are more accomplishments and milestones, obviously, but these seem to be the defining moments each day in which I look at this child and wonder,
"Where did my baby go?"

This boy loves broccoli.

He gets frustrated with his mama's photo sessions.



He has ridiculously long eyelashes.

He is fun. And hilariously funny.



So silly.

And when we cuddle - whether we're reading books,
watching cartoons, or having a quiet moment -
he leans in for a hug,
and tells us with absolute certainty,
"I love you so much."

Oh Avery...
I love you so much.

Seeing Red

*If you have a weak stomach, please don't read the rest of this post. Please.*

Sunday.
I went grocery shopping.
Concocted Pioneer Woman's Baba Ghanoush.
Made scalloped potatoes and ham for supper.
Tried to tell Avery he didn't need to watch Spiderman 3 for the fourth day in a row.
Washed the supper dishes.
Baked cookies for my grandma, who helps with her church's version of the "Welcome Wagon."
Washed baking dishes.

And started to miscarry.

Being nearly 8 weeks pregnant, the last thing I expected when I took a bathroom break was to find red-tinged toilet paper. My mother is a nurse, as I've mentioned, and she calmly and confidently told me not to get too worked up; that some women have spotting during pregnancy. I was to just monitor the situation and call my Dr's office in the morning.

So I did. I monitored the situation like a fanatic.

Every couple of hours I would sit straight up in bed, unable to shut off my mind and return to sleep. Is it worse? Has it stopped? I would try to fool myself into feeling confident, trying to walk slowly to my bathroom like I had all the reason in the world to take my time.

Like my brain wasn't clanging against my skull with jittery nervousness.
Like my hands weren't shaking uncontrollably.
Like my heart wasn't trying to pang its way out of my chest.
Like it wasn't a strong conscious effort to take a deep breath.

So with those shaking hands, I swiped again with the toilet paper. It was redder, darker, and there was more of it. And was it just my mind overworking, or was I feeling some cramping?

Each time I went to check, it was worse than the time before. My heart was plummeting to places that were shady with their incredible sadness and negativity, and each time it dove down there, I reeled it back in, attempting to stay positive.

When morning finally came, my husband kissed me and told me everything would be okay. He left for work, and I called my OB nurse...and left a message. I felt like I watched every damn minute tick by until she finally called back - nearly two hours later. She told me that some women experience bleeding between their 6th and 8th week of pregnancy, when the embryo burrows down into your uterine lining. She told me this doesn't happen to every woman, and it doesn't occur during every pregnancy. I was to come in for some blood tests to check my hormone levels. I was also told that some women's bodies don't produce enough progesterone to support pregnancy, and that if I had low levels, they could supplement them to help my body be more stable for the baby growing inside.

I called Matt. He was coming home to watch Avery so that I didn't have to keep track of a two-year-old while I had blood drawn.

I put in Spiderman 3 and headed for the shower. I undressed and looked down at my barely-showing belly.

What's happening? I wondered for the hundredth time in about 8 hours.

I said a little prayer and stepped into the shower. (Why do I only think to pray when things are scary or not going well? What makes me think my prayers will be answered? For someone who isn't incredibly religious, it seems a bit pathetic to reach out to God when I don't regularly make Him a part of my daily life.)

As I felt the hot water stream down my body, I looked down. And saw clots. Horrible, deep scarlet splotches dropping to the floor of my shower, and being quickly whisked down the drain. I made myself look up and continued showering. I finished, stepped out of the shower, and hoped the worst was done.

The cramping wasn't my imagination, and it continued.

Matt returned home, and I left for the clinic. After I registered, I entered the lab waiting room. Do you know how many large, pregnant bellies one sees on a Monday morning in the lab? Thirteen. I counted. And that was in a 20 minute time frame. Finally my name was called, and I followed the phlebotomist back to have my blood drawn. I have "terrible veins" apparently, and watching the vile woman wriggle that needle in my arm, searching frantically for my vein just about put me over the edge. But I just closed my eyes, grit my teeth, and imagined bashing her head against the Band-Aid dispenser.

I was told that it should take only an hour to have the results back. I was to call my OB nurse again and let her know we were awaiting my results. I had left the clinic at 10:45 that morning, so by my calculations, I should have my results by noon - at the latest.

I tried to show I was cool, calm, and collected - I waited until 11:51 to call. And left another message. I endured their insanely long, informative but infuriating voicemail message about pregnant women needing to get flu shots, and how their line is answered "between the hours of 8 am and 5 pm. We are not available to take your call right now, so please leave your name, date of birth, chart number, your doctor's name, and contact number, and we will return your call as soon as we are able."

Which turned out to be three minutes before 2 pm. Do you know how evil your mind can be in that length of time? Very.

It turns out my Hcg (pregnancy hormone) and progesterone were extremely low. I was told that the normal level for a pregnant woman's progesterone is 20 - mine was 1.4. And the tale I was told about getting this hormone supplemented, should it be lower than normal? Apparently a pregnancy is only worth "saving" if your levels are 10 or above. The OB nurse informed me that it's best "just wait and see how things play out. We don't want to try and save a bad pregnancy."

Wow. Did this woman take lessons to become cold and careless with her words?

I sat propped against the pillows in my bed.

I tried to stay calm.

And dammit, I needed to pee. I was beginning to despise the bathroom. Every time I entered, I would cling desperately to the hope that maybe this time I wouldn't see blood. And every time the bleeding was worse.

I hadn't cried yet after hanging up with the nurse. On my way out of the bathroom Matt asked me how I was. Evidently he hadn't heard the phone ring; he didn't know of our news. All I could manage was, "The nurse called back. Not good." Then I scurried back into my cave/room and burrowed into the covers. I just wanted to sink in and never surface again. I rolled onto my side, facing the closet, and saw all of the maternity clothes hanging there. I looked down, and at the foot of my bed was the double stroller I had purchased at a garage sale only a couple weeks earlier.

I was sobbing so hard I thought surely I would wake Avery from his nap.

How could this be happening? We wanted this baby. It was no accident that we were expecting! And after two unplanned pregnancies before this one with no problems to speak of, why this? Why us?

---------------------------------------------
I have to go in today for more blood work. They will need to check whether my body has done its job and pushed everything through, or whether a doctor will have to assist with completing that job. It's called a D & C. And I am desperately hoping that it's not necessary.

I believe I'm a strong woman.

I know I will get through this. And I know we will try again when we're told it's safe. But I know there will be fear of this happening again. And I believe it will make me more reserved and cautious about announcing a pregnancy, should we be fortunate enough to have another.

The absolute only positive thing that has come from this is that I look at Avery and see a miracle. The stars aligned, we were blessed, everything went as it should have with his fetal development.

Of that, I am now so incredibly grateful.

"Teghan baby"

***Have you ever tried to do a photo session of just you and someone else using a camera that has a little weight distribution problem (don't get me wrong, I LOVE my D60, but trying to just point it at yourself at arm's length is exremely difficult!)?

Anyway, I'm getting a little off the topic. Matt and I have been talking to Avery for the past six months or so about how he'd feel about having a little baby brother or sister. So far, he's really excited about the whole idea! (Not that we have news for y'all, because we don't YET.) And when asked if he'd like a baby brother or a baby sister, he states very emphatically, "I want a Teghan baby."

Teghan is Avery's cousin, whom he doesn't get to see often. She lives in Nebraska with her mommy and my in-laws. But the few occasions he's been able to bond with Teghan, he's loved every moment of it. Yes, part of that time is spent being the older (by three months) bully. But the majority of it was wonderful! At least from the mama's perspective...

My loving husband has only sisters - his own, whose name is also Megan, and my two, Danielle and Jessica. He has seen for himself the drama and mood swings that come along with having females in a household. Because of this, he has proclaimed that he will never have a girl - he even states he doesn't "make girls." Mmm hmmm. Yup. His "swimmers only make boys."

Well, Matthew, I have my heart set on a girl. And yes, as long as the baby is healthy I truly don't care about the sex. But darn it, if your negative attitude is the only thing keeping us from getting sugar and spice and everything nice, I'm gonna be a mama with one huge chip on her shoulder.

And trust me, you don't wanna cross this mama.

Mine! Mine! Mine!

I alluded to the fact that Avery may have some issues with sharing.

So this book really caught my eye. (I don't know who Amazon is kidding. $45 plus shipping for this book new? And used copies starting at $28 plus shipping? I guess we really got a good deal at $1.99!)

Anyway, I'd like to confess something: I'm a sucker for rhyming. Add to that some cute dinosaurs and a very good lesson, and I'm really sold.


I love the crazy, unbalanced look in his eyes. His mama is NOT proud of this moment.


As if that first display wasn't bad enough, he then steals everyone's snacks. (I'd have probably thought about stealing the scones, too. Man, those babies are delicious!)

In the pages to follow, somehow this selfish, wacky guy learns his lesson, though.



I'm sure his mama is breathing a huge sigh of relief.

Books, books, books

Oh, how we LOVE books!

Well, I should clarify. Avery and I LOVE books...Avery's daddy - not so much. I'm okay with it, though. If I can't convert my husband, I'm at least going to make sure my children appreciate all the wonderful, out-of-this-world, imagination-tickling places books can take us.

A couple weeks ago, Avery and I stopped by Savers and spent the majority of our time searching for books that would appeal to a 2 1/2 year-old. We found some real winners! And not only did we get a great deal (eight hardcover books for less than $2.00 a piece), but they have really become some of our favorites.

In my next posts, I'm going to share them with you. And we're going to start today with my favorite out of the bunch, "Five Nice Mice" presented by Chisato Thashiro, translated from the Japanese by Sayako Uchida, and adapted by Kate Westerlund. (Phew! Jennifer, if I didn't do that correctly, please look away now and pretend I was never your student!)

Not only is this story adorable -- I mean, come on, mice and frogs??? How could it not be cute? -- but the pictures are endearing, too. Here, I'll show you!

Now, I'm not going to tell you the whole story, but here are a few of the highlights:



In this scene, the mice have just come from a concert performed by frogs, and have been inspired to start a band. They hunt around for items to transform into instruments. See the can of tomatoes and the pencils? They're my favorite.




The completed instruments! They practice very hard so they can put on their own concert. Don't you just love the lollipop drumsticks?




Near the end, mice and frogs have joined together to make beautiful music.




This one is Avery's favorite. They played so long and so hard, they just wore themselves out!

By the way, this book is part of Dolly Parton's Imagination Library. Just in case that matters to you.




Tomorrow: "The Mine-O-Saur" by Sudipta Bardhan-Quallen and illustrated by David Clark. Betcha can't guess my reasons for buying this one! The fact that this has become Avery's favorite could be taken two ways: either a) it is seeping into his little brain, switching a little lightbulb on in the sharing department of his brain, or b) he IS the Mine-O-Saur.

Let's hope for the first option, shall we?

Lessons learned

Sounds like I'm going to share some kind of changed-my-life-forever life lesson, doesn't it?

Nope!

I'm referring to Avery's first swimming lesson, which was last Thursday evening at our local YMCA. You see, my boy is in love with water. We inflate his little floaties, put them on his arms, and in the time it takes you to uncap the sunscreen, Avery is already jumping off the dock and into the lake.

Because of this passion for water, Matt and I decided now is the perfect time to start some actual swimming lessons (lessons that go way beyond our, "Move your arms! Kick your legs! You're paddling just like a little puppy!"). We thought we'd capitalize on this situation, before Avery would have a chance to develop any sort of fear of water; large bodies of water, large fish, etc.

As it turns out, a child can't be enrolled into a swimming class on his own until he's three. (Do you see where this is going?) Which means that one of the loving adults in his life get to sign up with him, and accompany him in the pool. Did I mention this is SWIMMING LESSONS? And it requires a person to WEAR A SWIM SUIT?

I think I've become a fairly rational, level-headed adult. But the thought of donning a swim suit in front of other (slimmer, more glamorous) adults just about put me into panic mode. I trudged into the YMCA Thursday evening, though. I knew my little tadpole would benefit from these lessons, and I'm a mama, first and foremost.

Surprise! There were mamas just like me! Granted, there were some who were definitely slimmer, more glamorous, and just plain lovely, but I was so focused on the instructors and their lesson, I didn't have time to worry about how my thighs jiggled or how my post-pregnancy belly was still MIA.

And my little tadpole? Well, let's just say after having the freedom to do as he liked in the water at the lake, he had a slight problem with authority. At the end of the lesson, however, the instructors allowed the children to jump off the edge of the pool into their Mommy or Daddy's arms. Talk about leaving on a good note!

Three more classes to get through...then this winter after his birthday, he can be enrolled in a class on his own. Much as I hate to admit it, I think I'll breathe a sigh of relief knowing I don't have to squeeze into my swimsuit and accompany him in the public pool again.

S*U*M*M*E*R

(Please excuse the food on my child's face. We were at the park, and after a picnic lunch there, excitement trumps manners.)







I love this season...almost as much as I enjoy autumn. I can't wait to try capturing all the rich, glorious colors it has to offer.

For now, though, we are perfectly happy to bask in all the sunshine, warmth, and all that is green.

The proof's in the puddin'

I've denied my moderate road rage for quite some time. Most often, this occurs when my entire little family is in the car while I'm driving (usually as my husband reaches defensively toward his seat belt, making sure it is as secure as it should be).

I honestly felt that I was justified in my clever comments aimed at other vehicles on the road. I mean really, when the light is green, that means GO! If someone out there is trying to make a left turn out of a straight-bound lane, any law-abiding citizen should be letting them know of their mistake. And if there is an extremely rare horn honk now and then? They just deserved it, gosh darn it!

Here's the problem, though. Avery and I have been in the car together quite a bit lately (without my overly-dramatic, argumentative husband). The past three times my son and I have been in the car, stopped at a red light (with cars ahead of us), I've heard this statement hollered from the back seat:


"GO, DUDE!"


Yeesh.

1. Who knew I sounded like a washed-up surfer?

2. I hate it when my husband's right!

Are you still there?

I know it's been a very long time, but I'm here now!

Is anyone out there?

I won't even try to give you excuses about how busy I've been, how life has been complicated, or how a two-year-old can monopolize your time like nobody's business. Really...I won't. Or at least I'll try.

I'll just post some of my best photos from the last few months and hope you'll forget the fact that I abandoned you all.

We've Been Busy

As you can see, we've been busy with a few things around here. Tattoos, toilet training (which is slow, at its best), and eating stuff. And not just any old stuff. Yes, there's the usual crayon here and there. But in addition, almost a week ago now, this kid swallowed a nickel -- or at least I'd have bet good money that he had. As the days went by, and I found no coins in the dirty diapers, I started to think maybe I had just imagined Avery gagging and then swallowing hard...and then coming up a nickel short on the 15 cent deposit into his piggy bank.

But alas! Today I opened the average smelly diaper, and there it was! I'll spare you the photo I so badly wanted to take. But let me just tell you it didn't look like it does now when it went in.

I thought we were getting past this "Everything must go in my mouth!" stage. Evidently I was wrong.

Our Holiday in Photos

First of all, I realized this Christmas what a hassle it is to have to rely on everyone else to take photos of all the special moments you'd like captured on film. I was constantly chasing down my mother and sisters to catch these fleeting events. Then, last night, I realized an even bigger problem. I got some decent pictures of my family during the holidays, but none of them were accessible to me! I begged and pleaded with Danielle to stop over so I could download (upload?) her photos to my computer. Jessica is still in Minneapolis, so hers will have to wait.

In the meantime, you'll have to be content with these. At least until I get that darn Kodak replaced with my dream camera, the Nikon D60. ***Hint hint, Matthew. My birthday's coming up, you know.***


My parents thoroughly enjoyed the calendar we made using ArtsCow (Thanks, Jennifer, for the idea!). I think it will have to become a Christmas tradition.



This is what you get when this kid is hopped up on sugar for the better part of 48 hours.



Daddy did a great job picking out gifts for Avery!



Or were they for Daddy? (Matt is modeling Avery's Army helmet and goggles. The gadget belt, which holds a mini shovel, compass, flashlight, and walkie-talkie was just a bit small.) They were holed up in that tent for a good long while.



That adorable little horse is Charmin. He was mine when I was Avery's age. My family didn't have a strange liking for bathroom tissue...my father once owned a real live horse he named Charmin.

Oh baby, it's cold outside!

It is now nearly 6 pm. After a full day of not venturing outside to even run errands, you could say we're a little stir crazy...well, some more than others. Avery doesn't seem to care that he'd be knocked over by blowing snow and his tears of boredom/frustration would freeze on his little cherub face.

He just wants to get outside - NOW.



Sorry, kiddo, this what it's like to be snowed in.

The Gift Dilemma

Ok, so after receiving some input (thanks, Jennifer!) about what to do about our gift opening professional, our wrapped Christmas gifts now have a temporary home.



See that pretty purple one next to the gigantic box of oatmeal? There is a little wagon filled with Lego-type blocks in that one. When I was still being silly (thinking he would leave the gifts alone if I just sat them in the middle of the living room), Avery tore it open and had blocks spread across the living room, dining room, kitchen, and bathroom. Uh huh. That'll be a fun one to clean up after every afternoon.

Oh, and see that plain white one that looks just like a shirt box with a green bow? Yeah, it is a shirt box. That's one of Matt's gifts - it mysteriously lost all its wrapping paper. And mommy was tired of re-wrapping, so it just got some tape to hold it shut and a bow.

And while we're discussing bows, have I ever mentioned we have a cat? If so, did I also mention he's the devil's own kitty? You see, he rips ornaments off our tree, and bats them around until they either A) break or B) get lost under the china hutch. Lovely. He also gnaws on wrapping paper and bows. Try to feel warm and fuzzy handing someone a gift that looks as though it was peppered by a shot gun at forty yards.

By the way, the 4th of July is my favorite holiday.

Hustle and Bustle

It's December 2nd and I'm about 95% finished with my Christmas shopping! Yay!

December 15th is the deadline for a project I've had nagging at me for a couple of months now...Emmeline aprons for Jessica and Danielle's birthday gifts. I'm also planning to make one for myself and one for my mother - they're just so dang cute, after all!

I'm not exactly sure what we're going to do about a tree and gifts this year. Avery has already ripped open two of his presents that we brought back from Thanksgiving in Nebraska (Grandma and Grandpa Weatherby have excellent taste!). He also managed to tear apart one of Matthew's presents. So I'm under the impression that we're just asking for trouble if we put wrapped gifts under our tree - if we even put up our full-sized tree. That's the other dilemma. Tree or no tree. I have this terrible feeling that if we put it up, we will have no ornaments left by the end of this holiday season. And even if we do as my mother-in-law suggested and only decorate the top half, I am afraid Avery would just yank the entire thing down on him trying to reach them.

What do you think? Tree or no tree? Wrapped gifts under the tree? Wrap the gifts and let them sit in the closet until Christmas Eve (this one gets my vote).

I just can't wait until Christmas morning, watching my little one excitedly rushing from one gift to another, surrounded by people who love him so deeply.

23 days and counting...

The Kodak is Kaput

Yup - that's right.

Obviously I've been talking too much lately about replacing my EasyShare. I also probably shouldn't have spoken about Avery being obsessed with the camera and seeing himself in photos.

Today, while I was working on my Libby's Pumpkin Roll in the kitchen, Avery decided to be a photographer. This wouldn't have been so bad if, upon discovery of this situation, I hadn't turned on the camera to check it, seeing a partially black screen. The remainder of the screen, I might add, is now made up of criss-crossing gray lines, a couple of red and blue streaks, and a pulsating light.

I guess we're getting that new camera sooner rather than later.

Matt vs. Megan: A Debate About Schooling

Last night Matt and were discussing the pros and cons of certain forms of education. We talked about big schools vs. small schools and public schooling vs. home schooling. We have very different outlooks, my husband and I.

I think it's wonderful that there are still areas of the U.S. that do not require the use of metal detectors, security personnel, or drug dogs in schools. I'm so glad we live in a place where our children can retain some of their innocence just a bit longer than the rest of the country.

Matt thinks it's idiotic to not have these things already implemented, that it's stupid to wait until something terrible happens and then try to keep it from happening again. He says we should start preventing these things before it even touches this community a first time. And while I agree that it does seem slightly backward to have to correct something rather than prevent it in the first place, I still can't help but want to hold onto simpler times.

As I stated earlier, we also talked about public vs. home schooling. I trust our region's teachers; I admire them. They are paid poorly, and they go far beyond what's expected of them. I know this from experience. The teachers in my high school would spend as much time as necessary to make sure each student understood every lesson. This was true of every math, english, music, and science teacher I ever had (including post-secondary). Not being especially bright in math and science, I spent a good deal of time after school hours with my instructors.

I've tried to imagine how my views would change had I been brought up in a city such as New York, Los Angeles, Phoenix, or Dallas. I surely would not have gotten the one-on-one attention I needed to grasp certain school subjects. I'd also be numb to things like random drug searches, which doesn't seem like a good thing at all. Would my parents have felt like keeping me at home, educating me in the safety of our own residence rather than taking the chance with the public school system? Probably, and I wouldn't blame them one bit. I'd probably do the same thing with my son.

However, if my husband had his way, Avery would be sent on his merry way to one of those schools I find so frightening. He thinks it's silly for teachers to devote so much time to one student when they won't get the same treatment in the "real world." He thinks it's better - usually - to make children find a way to overcome challenges on their own...that they end up being stronger individuals if they have to find their own route, without a guide.

**This might be the time to mention the fact that Matt is an Army brat. He moved around a lot as a child, to many different regions of the country, having to make new friends, meet new teachers, and walk his little sister to strange schools frequently.**

So, how do two people who have such very different outlooks on education compromise?

You tell us.

Did you know?

Spaghetti sauce is great for the skin. The acidic juices of the tomato gently peel away unhealthy skin. The herbs cool and calm any red, irritated spots. It's also especially helpful in aiding the healing of any carpet burns, bruises, bumps, and scrapes.

Oh, wait. I'm making this up. I just thought I'd try to make Avery feel better about his slightly out-of-control self-feeding episode the other night.