— 1 —
The election happened. Well, America…not what I expected. But what can you do? One more lesson not to place my hope in [lame] politicians and only in Christ. We’ve found renewed zeal to focus on our family and getting involved in our local community this week, so the outcome hasn’t been all bad.
— 2 —
I must be spending too much time on Twitter (or my husband is spending not enough). But twice this week I have been cracking up at Twitter-related jokes and Dan has had absolutely no idea what I’m talking about. Just now, I introduced him to The Fail Whale.
More importantly–since I’m still giggling about it–after Wisconsin fell on Tuesday (oh, I shouldn’t use war euphemisms to describe the election, you say? and oh, here I am, talking about the election again…), still early in the evening, one of the conservatives I follow tweeted: I had to share my Twitter joy, but alas he didn’t get it. Which he contributes more to not having a lyric library in his head, but oh well.
— 3 —
I’m kind of over breastfeeding. Is that OK to say? I think so. The problem is that my daughter is not. I’ll take one for the team and continue–with all the challenges it occasionally presents, I can still see the good nursing as a toddler is doing for her–but we need to set some [more] boundaries.
I have this idea of setting a timer. Is that crazy? She only nurses before nap, bedtime, and when she wakes up in the morning (which isn’t a problem in terms of length because unlike me, she is a morning person and wants to GO GO GO!). But those sessions before sleep can stretch out and involve all sorts of acrobatics. At some point I get so uncomfortable and over it that I just say “milk went night night,” but that leads to emotional breakdowns. And I give in again anyway, after she’s worked herself up into a tizzy.
So my idea is to set a timer for, say five minutes (or maybe 10 to start? I have no idea how long our sessions are going right now!), inform her that we will nurse until the bell rings and then we will be all done nursing. I’m thinking her having some verifiable/outside “mommy says” reason for cutting off might work. Any other mothers of nursing toddlers out there?
— 4 —
Les Miserables. Christmas. That is all.
— 5 —
I vacillate daily between “I really care about the food my family eats” and “THIS IS SO COMPLICATED. No one agrees. I cannot eat anything. All food is toxic!”. It’s a problem. And in the end, I follow my belly.
Enter: the bread machine.
I got this baby at a thrift store 50% off sale for $3. Yes, you read that right. It takes zero effort to make beautiful loaves of delicious WHITE French bread.
The problem? My husband was trying to do a low(er) carb diet, and I was quickly becoming convinced I should too.
But that delicious bread! Sliced while still warm and slathered with delicious kerrygold. Mmmmm!
“Bread is bad!” shouts the demon on my shoulder. “I am the Bread of Life!” sings Jesus (OK maybe Jesus doesn’t speak to me about eating French bread, but you see how powerful its hold is on me, yes?).
So my compromise is basically to only eat bread when I make it from scratch. The first week I made bread almost daily. I’ve since cut it down to two or three times a week. I have no idea if we’ll get fat or sick because of this new bread-baking habit, and at this point I don’t care. It might be white bread, but it’s made from scratch with love and there are no funky ingredients. I eat it and enjoy it, unlike storebought whole wheat sandwich bread which, yes, our family has been eating.
— 6 —
And then today I read that if you are hypothyroid and in your childbearing years, a low carb diet might not be the best for you. So out went all guilt and I am rejoicing with Jesus!
Oh, excuse me, bread machine just beeped and today’s loaf is ready!
— 7 —
I have to write seven of these? That’s a lot.
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