11/29/2014 0 Comments Number Two will be Four.I looked back at some previous posts, thinking I would just re-post the story of Teaghan's arrival. Quickly I realized I had never written it down. While the story is four years old in my mind, it was one of the best stories, so I haven't forgotten too many of the details, and thought I would type them out before my "mom-brain" takes over too much of my memory, and the thoughts now circling, are lost forever. Teaghan stands out in my mind because she was the only Curzio kid we actually planned from conception. (Don't rant about Gods plan and how all the kids are/were- I know and wouldn't change a thing. But as a mom of five- cray cray! Five!!- I can say that was something!) Teaghan was the only baby that "happened" and when I found out we were pregnant, we hugged withOUT tears and worry. The only baby that had immediate smiles plastered on our faces. The others eventually lead to smiles, but Teaghan was the kid we wanted, planned for, dreamed of, timed-out on our own, and waited for. That's a pretty special thing. She was the first and only baby of five, that we wanted, long before she was ever conceived. She came quick. Both in the womb and out. We tried to get pregnant around 9 months after McKenna, and thought "no one gets it on the first try! Right?" Wrong. Just call me mertyle. She's also the only baby with her own special birthday. I know that sounds silly. But all of us Curzio's share months. August and May. And that means dual parties, joined celebrations, shared songs of "happy birthday". Teaghan is the only person in the family born in November. It's a blessing and a curse, because while presents are uber cheap, the thanksgiving/Black Friday craziness is always the same weekend. I can remember being super content with however long she was inside of me. The others I wanted out. Not that I didn't want Teaghan out- I hate being pregnant. But I remember thinking with ease and peace that she would come "when she does". Teaghan was also the only baby with whom my pregnancy was free of vomit. And that's a big deal. A really big deal. I was still sick like with all the other kids- but I never actually threw up with her. Looking back I know I took it for granted. November 29th, 2010, I was helping paint a Christmas play stage set at church. Hulling paint buckets and brushes, tarps and taping off the various scenes. I wasn't feeling much of anything, but knew if I kept busy, she would come when I was least expecting. I got home, around 10:30 that night. Exhausted. My back was so sore and my feet swollen. We put McKenna to bed and I showered and was ready to do the same. I laid my head on my pillow, beside my baby-daddy, and closed my eyes, while my body ached for a full nights' sleep. The clock read just a few minutes past eleven. I closed my eyes, and it seemed as though I had only just rolled over a minute later, but it was now 12:05, and I could feel slight cramping in my lower abdomen. I was too tired to care. Closed my eyes, and tried desperately to sleep. Shrugging off the next few "cramps" as Braxton hicks. They wouldn't stop. And I couldn't sleep through them. I nudged Paco and told him I was going to get a drink and sit in the bathtub. If it was real, things would keep going. If not, I would be back to bed in an hour or so after relaxing and hydrating myself. Another hour came and went, and I knew this wasn't going to let up. Teaghan was coming. But in a few hours- later that afternoon? Who knew. We called my mom to fill her in, and my parents came over to "wait it out" with us. Only an hour later, just around 2:30, we were making our way to the car. Things were going really quickly, and we didn't want a baby born on the side of the road. I remember needing to get down two flights if stairs from our two bedroom apartment, to the car. Every two or three steps, I would have to stop and lean on Paco to not fall over from the strength of the contractions. My legs were like jello, and I wasn't even pushing yet. The car ride was terrible. It's actually one if the reasons I looked into a home birth with Adalynn. You can't get comfortable, wearing a seatbelt is like wearing a torture device, and the length seems to go on and on, regardless of how far you are from the hospital. We got there, breezed through triage, and were shown to our birth suite. I had no idea where in the maternity ward we were because I just kept my face buried into Paco's chest to maintain control over my body. By the time the "non stress test" (which is super stressful during active labor contractions!) was over, I was telling them all I wanted to push. The nurses didn't believe me. They never do. And only having been there for an hour, (now 3:50ish) I guess I could see why not. They checked me, and decided they should actually call my doctor at this point. Meanwhile I was supposed to just cross my legs until the doctor arrived. Thankfully she was just a few minutes from the hospital, and by 4 was rushing into the room, just as Teaghan was crowning. Two whole pushes was all it took and she was plopped on my chest. She was so different than McKenna. Once you have a second child you spend a lot of time initially, comparing the differences and similarities between the two. She was darker- more yellowed, olive skin. She was shorter and chubbier. She was so pretty. And her name fit perfectly: Teaghan Aracelli, which means pretty little girl. To this day, Teaghan is a diva. She doesn't suffer from "middle child syndrome" because she will demand attention if needed. She lives in a tutu. The more ruffles and sparkles the better. She is a musical child. She has rhythm more accurate than most adults. When she was two, she used to march around the house, the pool, the yard- stomping to a beat. She would then add claps on the down beat, of 1 and 3 each time. She sings all of the time. When I tell her it's time to settle down and stop singing, she hums. (Smh) She loves polish and will beg you to do her nails at every chance she gets. She has already planned her wedding. With whom, what she will wear, the ring. She tells me often. She will wear a bow, a head band, clips, and a girly hat all at the same time. She would punch your lights out if she was ever allowed. She can hold her own, yell at a crowd, perform a samba, and quote all of psalm 23 to you in the same afternoon. Her favorite foods are macaroni and cheese, steak, shrimp, and any kind of soda. In fact she will shake all the empty cans from a dinner table to gather whatever she can from anyone else. (Since she's only allowed so much). She is terrified of heights, of going too fast, or things that are "scary". She's a girl when it comes to spiders, snakes, lizards, and bugs. But she is sweet. And loving. And nurturing. She is compassionate, and graceful. She loves to cuddle and sit "bine you". She calls her back pack a "jet pack" and Christmas "chrimas". She says her "V" sounds with a "B" sound like all true Latina girls, and she will be four in the morning! Happiest birthday to you sweet girl! Momma loves you, and can't wait to watch you grow!!!
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11/28/2014 1 Comment Elf on the Freaking ShelfWhy we don't do Elf-on-the-shelf.... And other Christmas "traditions". This year, as a mom with other mom friends, I've seen a lot of posts, thanks to social media, with Christmas traditions covering my newsfeed. There's lots of them: 25 days of Christmas pictures, Carolling, Christmas lights, Trees, and that little elf for the shelf bit. I'll never forget about two Christmases ago, when I first had heard or seen the little devil doll. I was in Target, with my husband and we were shopping. I passed a display case with the books and elves all neatly arranged, and stopped to marvel this phenomenon. Obviously, my face showed confusion and I didn't know what I was doing, because a complete stranger came about 4 inches from my face and asked me "Do you have kids?" "Yes?" I said, still confused. "Then you need that. It's the best thing ever." "Well what the heck is it?" I said with a look of disbelief. The woman, that I didn't know, went on to explain the "tradition" to me, and how it works. Including in her description, the control regained over your kids when the elf is present in your home. I couldn't believe it. Her eyes were bright and hope returned to her face as she described the role of this elf and how it "reports back to Santa" so that your kids "actually listen". I thanked the woman, and kindly turned away before I burst out laughing as not to offend her. We put the elf back on the store shelf, and headed onto whatever we planned on purchasing. So now that my kids, have grown in number and age, and Christmas is for lack of a better word "magical" to them, I thought I would tell you why I am an advocate for NOT doing elf on the shelf. First off, that thing is straight up creepy. Have you ever looked at one? I mean, at the store or the one hanging around in your house right now- go look at it. It's got this fake carnival painted face with bright eyes and a suit fashioned out of fleece, that looks like it's directly out of a Stephen King novel. The idea of this thing "reporting to Santa" while you sleep, mean that this in-animate object also "comes to life" behind your back. You teach your kids not to touch it or bother it, but place it in these "naughty" places or positions and let your kids wake up to find "what the elf has done" each day. Tell me what creepy looking stranger you let come into your house, with free reign over your home, that your kids can't disturb, and you let sneak behind your back? That elf on the freaking shelf needs to learn his or her place and be shoved into the tree like the rest of the ornaments. For goodness sake, if he really does tell Santa what to do, lock it up in a cage and hold it hostage until Santa delivers the mother load to your house! I don't need an elf to "control" my kids. I don't need and elf to get them to "obey". We have a thing here at our house where if my kids don't obey, a form or punishment or natural consequence is the result. You're running in the house, then go sit on your bed. You didn't eat dinner? Then no dessert. You keep whining? I'm not listening to your request until you stop. Some things have natural consequences too. For instance, if you're jumpng on the bed, and fall off, I'll remind you that we don't jump off the bed. If your chair falls backwards and you bump your head, I'll remind you that we sit instead of stand on our chairs. There's no reason a small toy has to do the communicating to my kids, or to Santa. Speaking of Santa, that's another "tradition" we don't practice. I know, I know, we are robbing our kids of holiday "cheer". And this is in no way a judgement on anyone who does do "santa" at home- So please save the hate mail for another topic, like abortion, racism, or politics. But my kids see Christmas as a holiday where we celebrate being grateful and generous, because God was generous to us when He sent Jesus to us. We celebrate with a Christmas Tree because Pine trees are the only tree that can last through the winter and not die, and God is the only God who can last through life's winters, and He does not fail. We put lights on our tree, and a star, because God is the light of the world and the Star of the season. We give gifts, because it teaches giving and selflessness in a world where generousity has been forgotten and selfishness and consumerism is dominating at staggering inclines. My kids only get three presents. And when I was growing up, my brother and I only ever got three presents. Jesus only got three presents, so who are we but man that we should get more than that? Back to Santa- If you ask my four year old about him, she will tell you he is dead. I know- its a little harsh for a preschooler! But hear me out. She knows that Saint Nick was a generous man who brought gifts to children who couldn't afford them. The idead of giving gifts has been carried over, by his generosity to today. So the spirit and cheer of what a man did at one time lives on, but the man himself does not. Now think for a moment with me, about the figure of "Santa Clause". His image is recognized world wide, as a figure of the Holiday. You can "visit" him at any local shopping mall, or various places. You can write him mail, and in some cases, he writes back. Society as a whole has adopted the idea and publicizes his role loudly. But one day, my children will (if they did "Santa"), like many other children, realize that he is not real. That it is a tradition and spirit that began long ago and does not exist. They can see him, and feel him, and hear him loudly, but he is not real. All the while, as we are a Christian home, I tell them about a God in heaven who does mircales and has stories of compassion and redemption in a book called the Bible. He also does things for us now, like answer prayer, and send His Holy Spirit. But they will never be able to see Him in a mall. The television will never confirm His existence. The media will probably never again promote this "God" we proclaim at our house. And yet if or when they would have realized I had lied about a person, such as Santa, who they can see. How much more difficult would it be for a child or young adult by then, to believe in a God whom they cannot see? Our house chooses to participate in different Christmas "traditions" like driving around to look at Christmas lights. Opening presents with family bright and early Christmas day. Putting up the tree together. Stockings filled with goodies. Giving and receiving. But as a parent and guardian of my home, I am selective in what I allow as an influence on my kids. I've said it a million times before and I'll say it again: As parents our job is to raise up disciples of Jesus Christ. And that primary role is the purpose of anyone with the title Parent, whether you embrace it or not. I'm not suggesting that you get rid of all the other traditions that you do in your home, or that you quit celebrating. I'm suggesting we filter our traditions, our decisions, our purposes, and influences by the Word of God, and let that ultimatum be the deciding factor in how and what we use to parent. I hope you'll share your favorite traditions below, and give the reason for the Season His due place in your heart and home this Christmas season! Merry Christmas- From the Curzio's 11/5/2014 0 Comments Pointing fingersIt's funny how sometimes you can read a blog and find yourself in the EXACT same life seasons as another person. But this post here is not quite my situation. See we couldn't be farther than opposite from all the physical characteristics: they live in a parents basement. They only have three kids. Ha! But what's here is the emotional "twinning" happening all through the individual text characters. It's the identical DNA makeup of the moms on two opposite sides of a screen, in worlds far different and yet so much the same. So read on and enjoy the post whether you're pregnant now or later or never again, and be aware of who you are in the post. Be it the expectant mom, the onlooking patrons, whatever. The Shame of Baby Number Three11/04 134 COMMENTS We had just ordered our food and were walking the boys to our table at the sandwich shop. I had Emery on my hip and my hand on Jonah’s head as we walked past all of the other customers to pick out a table. The last family we passed was a young couple with a little girl around Emery’s age. Emery is obsessed with babies and every time he sees one he points and shouts, “Day-tee? Day-tee?” That’s Emery talk for “baby”. So I said, “Yes, that’s a baby. Look at her pretty bows.” And he waved, and then she waved, and then I smiled at the baby’s mom and she smiled back at me. But then she lowered her eyes, stopped at my baby bump, and she dropped her smile as she raised her eyebrows. She looked at Emery, then looked at her husband and did that eye thing that you do with someone who knows you really well that communicates everything you want to say without actually saying anything at all. I didn’t get it at first. I kept talking to Emery about the baby as we sat down at the table directly behind them and I still didn’t get it until I’d walked past their table to get our drinks and caught their slightly judgy stares again. And then I got it. OH. I have a baby. And I’m very obviously and overtly pregnant. Le sigh… Now before I get started on describing the next five minutes of my inner dialogue, I have to acknowledge that I could’ve totally just been projecting my own insecurities on to what was actually innocent glances at my growing belly. But I don’t think so. As I walked to the soda fountain, I felt my cheeks flush. I was embarrassed. Ashamed that I got pregnant so soon after having a baby. And this girl doesn’t even know the half of it. She doesn’t know that we’re living in my parents’ basement, that Emery still sleeps in a pack ‘n’ play, and that Zach’s job continues to be a big financial question mark. She doesn’t know that our debt is through the roof, we’re scraping the bottom of the bucket to pay what few bills we have now that we’re not living in our apartment, and that us going out to eat that day was an absolute violation of our budget that we’ve been butchering lately because we just can’t seem to get our act together. She doesn’t know that one of the first things I thought when I found out I was carrying another baby was, “How could we be so irresponsible?” BUT, by the time I had our drinks and was walking back to our table, my shame was replaced by an intense amount love and pride for this little one growing inside me. How could I ever EVER be embarrassed that we’re having another baby? Four years ago, I knew that we would never have children. We were looking at adoption agencies and signing up for classes and home studies. Two years ago, I knew I would never have another baby. I was certain my brief window of fertility was up and Jonah would be my only biological child. I prayed desperately for another baby and God heard my cries and he answered them. Six months ago, I said I was done having kids. That I was thankful that making babies didn’t come easy to us because we’ve never had to worry about birth control. I was dreaming of the day that we could maybe adopt a little girl from India, but totally content with the idea that I would never carry my own child again. And then this baby comes out of no where. The baby that I didn’t know I wanted. The little oops that is a perfect blessing. And then I realized that I’m actually not embarrassed at all by this quickly conceived baby. Maybe I just feel like I should be. Maybe if I acknowledge the irresponsibility and inconvenience of this baby, other people won’t feel the need to. I mean, I’m the type of person that has learned to make fun of myself before anyone else because then they won’t have anything left to pick on, so maybe this works the same way? But no. I’m not embarrassed. I’m thrilled. This kid is such a gift. A beautiful, perfect, mess of a blessing and I cannot wait to hold him or her in my arms. Regardless of how a baby is brought into this world, no one should ever feel ashamed that they are carrying life. Teen pregnancy, out of wedlock pregnancy, back to back pregnancy, whatever it is, life is life and babies are gifts. I know that’s such a cliche’ thing to say but it’s justso true. And who gets to say when a good time to have a baby is? Why does anyone else get to have input on other people’s family size and the speed at which that family grows? Who gets to decide who is is worthy or “deserves” to have a baby? We may not have planned this baby, but we’re the only ones that get to have an opinion about him or her. No one else gets to shake their heads and say “That’s so irresponsible”. No one else gets to say, “How are you going to care for another kid when you can barely afford the ones you already have?” And please if we can keep the, “You do know how this happens, right?” comments at bay, that’d be nice too. We love this baby so much and we are (finally) SO excited for him or her to join our family. March can’t come soon enough. Related Posts
comments LOAD COMMENTS By KRISTEN Filed Under: BABY NUMBER THREE,ESSAYS ON MOTHERHOOD If you'd like to send thoughts tht are encouraging and credit where credit is due, you can find the original post here. Now I'll only sum this up a smidge differently because if you're like me, you've walked all the roads she mentions. Be it a baby when you're young, a baby when you're not married, or a baby....or babies....so close to another. Maybe you've never even had a baby. But you've somehow managed to have shame "birthed" into your lap. Or maybe you've only ever walked one. But the shame she describes is clearly displayed for you irregardless of which it was. Why is shame so burdening anyways? Because it's the result of judging someone based on assumption. It's the feeling after the finger has been pointed at your flaws and wrongs and imperfections. The point here is that you don't have to walk around in shame. The author of this blog gracefully tells us that we shouldn't carry such shame- but maybe you're thinking "listen I've already got it whether I should or shouldn't and I can't shake it". I'm here to tell you there's freedom and joy and strength and divinity waiting for you. Not because shame is something us mere mortals can rid ourselves of. But because the God who created the universe- and the baby you carry or carried- took it on for you, so that you wouldn't carry it anymore. Jesus Christ paid the price for shame, for guilt, for wrongs, terribly awful wrongs, and even the "righteousness" we think we've attained. Because the truth is my goodness- or badness- is not of importance. The only thing that will matter is the blood of Jesus which washes away shame and stains for good. And God is so good that instead of pointing a finger to blame an shame you for all you've screwed up, He starts pointing at all the amazing, wonderful, good things you are and will be. And He begins to call them out- even if the rest of the world- including you- can't see it yet. I know because I've lived it. I know because I'm walking, breathing, child bearing proof! Shame is not of God. And I am a child of God. Which means I inherit shame-less living! I am not ashamed of the gospel of Jesus Christ! So instead of pointing at others' flaws- let's use our hands to raise...the point to Jesus and His glory. |
AuthorBri is the mom to four little people, the wife to a gentle giant, and a lover of Jesus. She's figuring out the best ways to parent by trial and error, and sharing her struggles, successes, and stories with you! Archives
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