A change in the program

For me, there's something about leap years. Maybe it's that extra day. Maybe it's the excitement and energy of the Summer Games. Maybe it's the intensity/insanity of a Presidential campaign.

Or maybe it's just that every four years I am ready for something new. A  brief history:

2004 - I became an elementary school classroom teacher.

2008 - I left teaching to run an in-home daycare.

2012 - I left in-home daycare-ing to return to an elementary school - this time as a JV Librarian. (Oh, yeah. I had a baby in 2012, too, but we aren't focusing on that right now.)

And now...

2016 - I am leaving the library to work in the administrative offices of Lakes Region Community Services.

And while a change in my occupation comes along at very even intervals, this is by far the biggest change I've made since I left Los Angeles for New Hampshire. And the enormity of the changes affect my husband and kids almost as much as they affect me. Maybe more. A brief list of how this new job will turn out world upside down:

1. Elliott will go to a new elementary school.
2. Gabe will go to a new preschool/child care facility.
3. After 12 years of me being the keeper of kids' schedules and notebooks and mittens and homework, Scott will be carrying the load of transporting all the kids to and from school/daycare. (Tom is going to a new school, too, but it's middle school and that would have transpired no matter what happened with my worklife).
4. I will go from a 30 minute commute with 3 kids in the car to a 50 minute commute solo.
5. I will not have summer vacation.
6. I am not sure when or how I will train for races. In fact, there are currently ZERO races on my calendar.
7. I have not auditioned and will not audition for any plays or musicals for the bunch of months.

All of the fellas at my life - as well as all of the people in my life in general - have been complete rock stars about all of this. My husband is ready to juggle the life of the primary point person for the kids during the school day. He is so happy for me because my 'career' in the last 16 years has not been what I dreamed it would be. (LOVE kids and LOVE the people I work with in education ,but it is just not my calling.) In fact this job seems to be very similar to the nonprofit gig I had in Los Angeles before our big move. And I REALLY loved that job and was not entirely ready to let it go when it was time to go.

Elliott in particular, who faces maybe the most drastic/unexpected change, is just AMAZING. I know he's sad and nervous, but he was dancing around almost as much I was when I got the call about the job. I swear I do not know how we managed to have such a sweet and empathetic child.

In a few short minutes I will be heading out for an afternoon of HR orientation. I have lots of questions for them about policies and culture of the organization. (For example, I have been offered the opportunity to squeeze in the 37.5 hours into 4 days a  week instead of 5 and this is HUGE. Imagine, a day during the week to keep Gabe home, do the grunt work of the weekend, and prepare to have a relaxing time on Saturday and Sunday... ) And although I know some of the work I'll be doing includes fundraising, donor data base maintanence, correspondence, grant applications, publicity, events.... I really don't know the scope of everything I'll be doing. That will become more clear when I start the job in earnest on Tuesday, Sept. 6. Coincidentally, the boys' first day of school, too!

Finally, I now have a FABULOUS story to tell if I ever got on stage at The Moth. I can't do it justice in the seconds I have left here, but I will share it. Maybe I'll make Scott video tape me telling it... It's a doozy!

For the sake of their teachers, please don't spank your kids

I know this is not universally true... BUT... A can of worms is begging to be opened.

Do parents who spank their kids understand that in many cases this is the ONLY thing to which their kids respond? In other words, adults (teachers, daycare, camp counselors, other relatives, family friends) who don't spank because they cannot (legally) or will not (philosophically/morally) have almost no opportunity to effectively discipline (read: teach) your kids. These adults, who really want to connect and love your kids, are put in an almost impossible position.

The most recent example comes from my DH who had to send a camper home early because there was no progress in getting this kiddo to behave appropriately. When I saw the behavior I said, "I bet his parents spank him and I bet there's no way you can get through to him because he knows he won't get hit here." Sorry to say that the spanking was confirmed by the kid's dad and, guess what? He has a hard time behaving in school, too. Will wonders never cease?

You choose how to raise your kid, by all means. But remember (s)he has to function in the rest of the world, too. And the thing is, there's no way to know when your child is wee if they will be the kind who gets a couple of whaps at home and then learns how to be a functioning human or if those whaps are the only thing to which they are going to respond.

And just in case you think the view from my high horse is obnoxious, I DID spank one of my kids once. It was completely ineffective and only made the situation way worse. I understand there are philosophies and cultures in which this is acceptable. I'm just saying... please think twice Or three or 10 or 1,000 times. 

If not for your child's sake, for the sake of the people in your village that have to help raise him.

(Eventually)... The Agony of De-Finger

About a week and a half ago I decided my next post - whenever I got to it - was going to be "A Love Letter to Community Theater".  To sum up: Playing the Cat in the Hat in Seussical was definitely a role-of-a-lifetime and possibly the one I was best suited for: run around like a maniac, make a huge mess, cause trouble, improv at will, and basically have a blast. Oh, and sing a whole lot but not anything that has to sound real pretty or like you know what you are doing. OK! Sounds great. Audiences were fantastic. Elliott was a model theater citizen AND a joy to watch on stage - so they tell me. And it was one of those beautiful occasions when the people you encouraged to come to the show really, truly had a BLAST and left feeling joyful and entertained. Ka-ching.

Being a dork during the entre' act.

E in one of his MANY roles: The Elephant Bird. Stole.The.Show!

A small taste of the amazing set and costumes.

But Seussical was SO three days ago. So, then I decided the title of my next post HAD to be "Why I Hate 5Ks and Will Surely Keep Doing Them Anyway". See, one of the people I harangued  into coming to the show was my BRF, Lauren, who made the trek from 3 hours away in Vermont. She was happy to come but also suggested we might do the local 5K on Saturday, too, cuz, ya know... BRF is Best RUNNING Friend. As fate would have it, I also got my first-ever FAN LETTER after the first weekend of shows from a little boy who was going to be at the race. That sealed the deal. I decided to run the race. It was about 2 degrees outside (or 25 degrees, but there WAS a wind chill factor) and it was ALL UPHILL (there was one series of hills but I REALLY didn't enjoy them) and there were rabid dogs all along the course. (No, there weren't.) ANYWAY, Lauren SAID she was going to run conservatively but promptly took off like a bat outta hell and taunted me to join her. I was not in any shape to keep her pace but it DID get into my head enough that I had a pretty good race. Still, 5Ks are HORRIBLE and I HATE them. But then they are over pretty quickly and you get amnesia and surely find yourself doing another one soon enough....

The boy in front wrote me the 'fan' letter. It was his 9th birthday. He had hoped to meet Elliott. So, we showed up with the hat, a card signed by the cast and crew and a Seussical pin for him. If he and Elliott ran the kids' 2K as fast as they talked they would have broken world records! SO sweet....!

Lauren won our age group and I managed to squeak out 3rd. Woo hoo! All the frigid temps were worth it when we were able to sit with some coffee and baked goods afterward. 

But people can only take SO much running talk so as of yesterday this post was DEFINITELY going to be "Running Out of Limbs to Injure". Cuz on Sunday I woke up with an "Old Lady Shoulder". I literally could not raise it up without help from my other arm. It was freakish. Blessedly, the flute player in Seussical is also my chiropractor (gotta love small town livin'!) and she set me straight so I could get through the show. But, then Monday (yesterday) it was TERRIBLE. I couldn't even open a door knob with my right arm. Forget about trying to pick up Gabe or do something as skillful as shift my car from Park to Reverse. (One of the few occasions on which I am thankful I don't drive a stick shift!!) It was a lot better today but I had already managed to squeeze in an appointment with my PT guy. The verdict? I slouch. And I sit for long periods at my lap top with my arms out too far from my body and my eye gaze too low. (As I am doing right now, as a matter of fact!) He thinks the problem has built up over a long period and probably an awkward position in Saturday night's sleep was the last straw. As long as it doesn't bother me to swing my arms (which, as of tonight, it doesn't) I am good to run. I just need to ice it once a day and do a few stretching exercises. I'll get some strength training stuff in the coming weeks to help keep this problem at bay. Hopefully for ever....

But no, NONE of those things are what this post is about  because TONIGHT we had a somewhat epic tragedy/comedy play out. It features our hero, Elliott, and his nemesis, wooden train tracks. It seems that Elliott has, in the past, taken to sticking his fingers in the round spaces in the toy tracks. You know, the slot where the knobby thing fits in to connect the next track? Previously this has always worked out OK for him. Apparently, sometime between the LAST time he did that and tonight, his finger got wider.

The poor kid came into the dining room and, trying to remain calm, started to cry. "It doesn't hurt, I just can't get it off!" And this wasn't just any track, It was a BRIDGE, so we are talking wood and a lot of made-in-China's best plastic around it. Here's what we tried:

1. Cold water. (It would reduce the swelling and the thing would come right off.... Nope.)
2. Soap. (Scrub it up a little and it will slide right off.... Nope.)
3. Butter. (Rub that greasy goodness on there real thick. It will slip right off... Nope.)
4. Panic. (This is the point when Elliott started to freak, on and off. That also did not help get it off).
5. Ice. (See #1. Nope).
6. Get the plastic off and hope that would make the wood easier to separate at the place his finger was stuck. Got some off but not all of it. Hurt E too much to keep trying it, so... Nope.
7. Hammer and flat head screw driver. (Scott tried to "chisel" the major section of the bridge away so we would at least be dealing with a smaller object. That was too much vibration for E. He started freaking out again. So, NOPE.)
8. Hand saw. This was LITERALLY Elliott's idea. I think Scott and I were both thinking it would really put him over the edge if we tried it. But, after a few attempts, starts and stops, the major section of the bridge was removed and we were just left with a small section. At this point Scott used his finger as a 'safety' so E knew that Scott would stop cutting long before he hit E's flesh. When he got close enough, I was able to break the wood and release the finger.

Sadly, this was all a little too alarming to poor E at the time to document it photographically. I WISH it was on video. Maybe a reenactment is in order.

Or not. Yeah. Probably not.

So, that's enough excitement at our house for now. Happy Thanksgiving!

Baby Talk

Warning: this post is unencumbered by the editing process. I've got 3 out of 3 kids sick and I am needed in the Snuggling Department. 

Our 18-month-old is going through an amazing span of language acquisition at this time. I am taking a break from Pay It 40-ward posts because, holy smokes!, it's so freaking cool. We've already been through this with his big brothers, but their 'big kid' status makes it easier for all of us to observe and wonder at what is happening with our new little talker.

Some examples:

• Last night Gabe was in one room with Scott and I and Elliott (now age 7) was in another room. Scott was shouting out a fake computer password to E and said, "One... two... three... four..." and Gabe chimed in "Five..." WHAT?! We had  no idea he had any concept of sequence like that. Of course we aren't dumb enough to think he really knows what numbers and counting truly are, but it's so amazing that the seed is already planted.

• I was home with a sick Tom (now age 9) on Friday but had to buzz into school in the morning to pick up some work I wanted to get done. I had Gabe with me and popped my head into a classroom to say hello to a teacher. On top of her cabinets were a couple of those huge exercise balls. Gabe LOVES balls and so he immediately noticed them and said, "BAAALLLLL!" and I confirmed, "Yes, BIG ball, huh?" And he said, swear to God, "Orange." Okay. So, I think that might have been a fluke. But he totally said orange and the balls were totally orange. CRAZY.

• Last weekend Gabe was playing with some beloved balls and bonking himself on the head shouting "zo - zooey! zo -zooey!" It took me a minute but I realized that he was saying "so silly! so silly!" When I thought about it I realized, yup, I do say that exact phrase to him when he does stuff like that. 

• Don't get me wrong. He's not a flat out genius. For instance, cows say "moo" but so does every other animal, except dogs. And all dogs are "Pete" (the dog at daycare). Really, all four legged animals (deer, squirrels, lions, etc. etc.) are "Pete".... who say moo. Oh. Except birds. Because they all say 'cluck'. So, yeah. Genius would be a strong word for what's going on there!

• Much to my chagrin he has also recently acquired the word "bink" so he can now clearly refer to his pacifier and I can't pretend I don't know what he wants. (We were THIS close to having them out of our lives, but he got sick last week and the only way to maintain our sanity was to allow binkies outside of the crib/bedroom, which for a long time had been the only place they were allowed. Can you say "backslide"? Also, can you say "lame justification?")

• And don't get me started on NO... which actually means YES about 30% of the time. More adorable is when he is in agreement (and feels compelled to acknowledge it happily) and he says "'kay". As in:

"Do you want to get your shoes on and go outside?" 

"'Kay! Shoes. Outside!"

It's all just so amazing. What's going on inside his little head right now? What are those synapses doing? He could go on to get a Doctorate in Everything and I'm pretty sure he will never learn as much in such a short time as he is learning right now. I wish I had a better scientific understanding of what goes on in there... or the inclination to dig in and do the research. But I'm pretty happy sitting back and observing and documenting the evolution of our little yakker into a real talker.

Confusing math

Pretty sure my husband and I are both human. So, how is my child aging in dog years?

He is 9 tomorrow but I'm 100% certain I've only aged a year - two tops - since he was born.

Micro Blog... DUH!

It's 7:45 and Gabe is in bed. I've already checked in with the boys in Florida (they had a great day). There's nothing amusing on television, I'm avoiding cleaning up the mess in the kitchen and, well, once again I have no excuse not to blog.

But I have been spending so much time thinking Twitter-style that most of my insights are posted there, in their 140 character glory. What could I say on here that's more interesting. Nothin'. 

Then it occurred to me: DUH! Twitter is a MICRO-blog. (Irony of all caps/large font intended.) So, I will only be violating my own copyright if I repost here. 

So, here ya go, Blogger pals. The *best of my Tweets for the last few little whiles.

(*The term best is relative, of course.)

1. A good test to find if one is mentally competent would be if they are fully content to go to sleep for the night w a pantful of poo.

2. P.S. 10-mo-olds could get away w aaaannnnything. #pantfulofpoo

3. If ur wondering what to get my 10-mo-old for his 1st bday, his current favs are filthy toilet, hot stove & flight of stairs. #dangerzone

4. #hilarious #starwars #publictelevision http://i.imgur.com/QPgaJz1.jpg  

5. Nature abhors a vacuum; baby abhors objects not strewn across the living room floor. #babyscience #resistanceisfutile

6. Drinking big cup of irony this a.m. Big boys & DH off to Orlando. Baby & I battling snowstorm on return from airport.

P.S. As I sit here finishing this blog I am watching "Makers:Women Who Make America" on PBS and they just finished the bit on Katherine Switzer and the Boston Marathon. Goosebumps. Amazing. Go girls!

Baby Ignorance

*Cough cough cough*

*Aaachooo!*

You'll have to excuse me. There is so much dust gathered on this blog that my allergies are kicking in something fierce. 

So, what does it take to get me back on the blog after such a ginormous absence? A major life event? A flash of brilliance that the world just NEEDS to know about? 

Nah. The long and short of it is that my 2 big boys went to see The Mouse in Florida with my husband for February Break and it's just Gabe and me here for the week. So, no job to go to, 2/3 of my kids gone... Plus I'm also on a Lenten Facebook hiatus so that frees up a good chunk of time! (If you are an FB friend, by the way, I'm Tweeting like the Dickens, so if you're missing my nonsense, check me out @PhoebeVG over there. All the ridonk with 1/100th the followers. You'd be totes exclusive!) 

Clearly they are in despair without their beloved Mother/Wife.

Yes, I'm out of excuses for not blogging.

(And really really... I talked to my mom today and she hinted that it's been QUITE a while since I had a new post. Who am I to deny my Mama?!) 

And I actually do have a point. Well, as much of a point as I ever have.

I was giving Gabe a bath tonight and he was being freaking adorable, which is his custom. In the last few days he's really started to get into splashing and squealing and general rambunctiousness in the tub. (Did I say adorable? Maybe I meant dangerous...?) 

Adorb-erous? Dang-able?

He has also recently discovered the power of 'uh oh'. He says it when he drops things. Also when he throws things. And when he sees things he likes. And things he doesn't like. When he breathes in. And out. So, yeah, pretty much all the time lately he's saying 'uh oh'. And I know you won't believe this, but I can sense from the look on his face that he's pretty pleased with himself with regard to this new skill.

So, as my warped mind tends to do, I got to thinking about how funny it is that he's so proud of 'uh oh' when really, he's got an enormous way to go when it comes to surviving daily life. During bath time alone I noted that he was splashing (rude!), trying to stand up (danger!), trying to drink the bath water (gross!) from the bottom side of the cup (duh!). I wondered, "How is this soggy, squirming, can't-even-eat-off-a-plate-because-he'll-throw-it-across-the-room child ever going to absorb all of the things one needs to survive, let alone THRIVE, in this world." 

Okay, if I'm being truly honest, my exact thought was, "If Gabe knew now how much more he needed to learn before he could survive even one day of preschool, he'd never leave the crib."

Which got me thinking about the miracle that goes on in every single person. How in the H-E-LLama do we make it? I know that very smart people have spent their adult lives studying, researching, analyzing, writing and publishing about this. But just looking at the face of it, you don't need to do more than heft a copy of "What to Expect the First Year" to know that some serious junk is going on in those little bodies and brains. 

In the tub tonight, here's what I was saying to Gabe, along with what it made me wonder.

"Do you want the green cup?" (Does he know what a cup is? Does he know what green is? Does he think that cup is the word for green and green is the word for cup?)

"Let's get your belly sudsy and clean." (Does he wonder where we are going to 'get' his belly? Or does he think we are getting 3 things called belly, sudsy and clean?)

"No, no, no. You can't stand up in the tub. That's not safe." (I bet he thinks 'no, no, no' means 'you're clearly having fun and it's time for you to stop.')

And it goes on and on.

I promised I had a point, so I guess it's this: babies are super lucky that they have no idea how much they have to learn in order to survive childhood. The counterpoint to that, of course, is that parents are lucky they have no idea how much they have to learn to survive parenthood. Some of us get enough amnesia that we are willing to give it a go more than once!

And one final shameless plug for Twitter followers. Here's the Twitter version of this post:


(1of 3) 1st time Mom: my 10-mo-old loves to say 'uh oh'. He says it for hello, good bye, I'm hungry.... So precious! #parenting #babies

(2 of 3) 3rd time mom: If my 10-mo-old had any idea all the sh*t he had to learn b4 preschool he wouldn't be so cocky about 'uh oh'.#babies

(3 of 3) who am I kidding? #babies saying 'uh oh' is freaking adorable. Always. #parenting

Now, wouldn't it be easier for you to just follow me on Twitter? Much less yackity yack. @PhoebeVG. You won't be sorry.

Biggest boy gets "banned" from online game

As a Mom, I find this email my 8-year-old wrote to the manager if his favorite online game adorable and compelling. As an educator, I am horrified by the lack of punctuation. It'll be interesting to see if his plea for leniency is effective.

DEAR CUBEVILLE,
IM SORRY FOR STEALING STUFF AT THAT STORE/HOUSE YOU SEE IM ONLY 8 IN REAL LIFE (PLZ DON’T LET OTHER PLAYERS KNOW IM 8) ANYWAY I FEEL BAD OF MY SELF TO MAKE IT UP ILL GIVE AWAY ALL OF MY BLOCKS IN MY
CHEST ILL EVEN GIVE AWAY ALL MY AXES SO THEY HAVE SO WEPONS FOR MOB HUNTING AND TO DIG OUT
TREES I HAD NO IDEA THAT IT WAS SOMEONES HOUSE THAT I ROBED
FROM PLAYER,
TomElliottGabe
PS. SAY HI TO REDSTONE300 FOR ME :)

Christmas Jars

I'm slinking back sheepishly to the blog today because, well, there's ONE thing I do for the holidays that I am kinda proud of: Christmas Jars. It all started in 2006 when Tommy was 2 and Elliott was 6 months old. I'm not sure how the idea actually sparked, though I AM sure that it must have been stolen from someone else.

Anyway, each year I write a little review (with the boys' help now that they're older) of each kid's year. Then, we get a photo of the kid, glue it on a jar, decorate the jar, slap the year on it and - BAM! - an annual tradition that is really worth the effort. The real pay off comes after a couple of years where the kids can see how much they've grown (literally, from the photos) and socially/emotionally/intellectually (from the write ups).

Gabe's first Christmas Jar! Classic in-the-laundry-basket shot.

Tom chose the mouth-full pose. Seems fitting!

Elliott in a costume from "Gypsy". Durn cute!

Now that I don't have the daycare, I'm woefully short on art supplies. So, no paint this year, but confetti! That'll bring fun (read: mess) every year when we pull them out of storage. The gift that keeps on giving.

Six years of Elliott

Six years of Tommy

If you have little kids, I highly recommend starting this or some other similar tradition. It really will brighten your spirits and imagine how precious it will be when they are all grown up!?

Hope you're enjoying the holiday season. We are doing it pretty low key around here, which suits me PERFECTLY.

In case you are a runner-follower, yes, I'm still running. No, not as much as I'd like/should. But, I am LOVING having a BRF (Best Running Friend -Lauren) who lives a couple of miles away. We are keeping each other honest... at least on Saturday mornings. I'll be back to blogging about running soon. Plan on doing the Eastern States 20 in late March with Lauren as she is going to use it as a last long run before Boston. Yup, she's THAT good!

CHEERS!

Hello Muddah, Hello Faddah

I have a race report to write and post but no energy to do so. "Tomorrow," she said with very little confidence.

But... my two "big" boys are spending a week at their G.G. & Poppa's on Cape Cod. This is by far the boys' longest stretch away from us so I've been sending them each a short email everyday and we have Skyped - with hilarious results - as well. I just love this "letter", which was presumably typed by my father-in-law. I think it captures each of them beautifully:

Dear Mom & Dad,

From Tommy: We went to a place and saw how Native Americans lived and we saw how the Pilgrims lived in 1627. The Native Americans have been there for 12,000 years. Longer than anything else could be there. They didn't discover electricity yet.

From Elliott: We had a very good time seeing how the Native Americans lived. I found interesting how they made the fishing nets. I liked the Pilgrims fort with the cannons upstairs. (NOTE: Elliott tried out all the chairs in the various Pilgrim houses. We named him "The Chairman".)

From Tommy: Me & Elliott found people to play with at the playground in Falmouth. In case you are wondering, I went down a fire pole, which I don't think you have ever seen me do.

We are looking forward to Skyping tonight.

Love you
Bye
Tom & El
Apparently at some point a group of Japanese tourists came upon the boys and couldn't get enough of them, saying, "Beautiful boys. Beautiful boys!" They took many pictures of them, too. Not surprisingly, Elliott ate it up and Tommy got exceptionally annoyed.

Here's hoping the rest of their week goes as well and that G.G. and Poppa survive the hilarity (a.k.a. exhaustion) that is hanging out with our two eldest!

The one about my boobs

This is a disjointed blabbering that lacks organization. A better blogger would edit it to make more sense. I could do that but I think the way that it bounces around a bit suits how my head and heart are on this issue. Forgive me.

My sister wrote a bit about it here. About a month and a half ago, I wrote a bit about it here. Otherwise I have been fairly silent on the issue. But the truth is, there's rarely a moment when I'm not thinking about my ta-tas and their seeming inability to feed my child.

And before I dive too deeply into my latest self-pity party, I need to acknowledge that I have had a ton of support and encouragement from a great many people trying to help me figure this out. I truly appreciate the love of all of my People who have worked with me to figure this business out. No one has said anything to make me feel guilty or incompetent. They know I've tried. I know I've tried. But when you are me, even when you know you are doing your best and doing "best practices" for your kid, you still manage to blame yourself.

Just as I had an idea of the kind of pregnant woman I would be (i.e. the RUNNING kind), I have an idea of the kind of mama to an infant I am (i.e. the exclusively BREASTFEEDING kind). While I don't plan to pose for the cover of Time Magazine with my breast-icles in my kid's mouth anytime soon (obviously I'm holding out for Field & Stream) I have always been fairly Old School in that way. My feeling is that Moms who can ought to keep their baby's belly full, brain developing and body growing in that most magical, lactational, fantastical way.

And dammit, aren't I a Mom who CAN!?

Much like the idea of not running right through my pregnancy was almost too much to bear, not being able to nourish my child as nature intended is making me a little bonkers. I'm healthy. I'm accommodating to his belly aches. (Ask me about the two weeks when I couldn't eat wheat, dairy, soy, chocolate, corn, broccoli, cauliflower, onions, peanuts, caffeine, citrus, green peppers.... I called it the "Rice Chex and Fruit Diet"). And (mostly) I'm well-intended!

So how the hell do my girls have the nerve to produce at such a meager level? 

My guess is that a good chunk of the problem came from my well-intentioned change of diet. In aiming to solve one problem (G's terrible gas pains) I caused another (inadequate caloric intake with the Rice Chex & Fruit Diet). For the record, this diet DID eliminate the gas issue... but obviously the whole losing-weight-in-the-second-month-of-life thing is a BIG problem.

Currently I am taking Fenugreek (an herbal supplement meant to enhance lactation), drinking Mother's Milk tea and (as advised by my doctor) enjoying a beer every afternoon. I am nursing him as frequently as humanly possible - at the first sign of hunger. In the night I am co-sleeping with him so he can "slurp" at will. I am attempting to take in "dense" calories as my midwife suggested. (Still off of dairy because I am SURE that makes his tummy cramp up horribly but otherwise I've ditched the insane diet).

And yet.

He's STILL so very hungry. He STILL takes 2 - 4 ounces after every nursing session. And sometimes when he's hungry, he just screams at my boob instead of nursing. He screams and screams until I finally give him a couple of ounces of formula.... after which he will nurse some.... after which he wants more formula.

Oh, and I'm not talking about the ridiculously priced formula. I'm talking about the SUPREMELY ridiculously priced formula. I've taken to calling it his Dom Perignon. I tried, in fact, to work in a slightly-less-pricey-but-still-intended-to-aid-colicky-babies variety. No good. He cramped up terribly and screamed like crazy.

We're hanging in with the Dom, so it seems.

Formula stinks (literally). And when I'm out in public and I have to make a bottle, I feel like I need to explain all my efforts at nursing to any strangers who might be witnessing the transgression.

Before you hit the "comment" button and scold me for griping about what is, ultimately, a very First World Problem, yes, I DO know how lucky I am. Lucky to have three healthy and happy children, a supportive and loving husband, and the means care for them all. I know that in this sense I am exceptionally blessed. I DO count my blessings. I DO appreciate the gift that Gabriel is to my life and to the world around him.

But at my core I know I was meant to be a nursing mama. And I know I was meant to be good at it.

Someone apparently forgot to tell my mammaries.

Maybe my favorite picture of him so far.

Obnoxious 1/4 birthday photo series

Yesterday Gabriel was exactly 3 months old.... Or one-quarter of a year old. We "celebrated" by  traveling for 652 hours from our home to my sister Heidi's just outside of Philadelphia. It was PAINFUL but thankfully not because of anything my kids did. It's just a long way on top of crazy amounts of traffic through the New York metropolitan area and along the New Jersey Turnpike. We left just after 5AM and arrived at about 3:20PM. Just so not fun.

BUT, we are here now and having a great time. The main reason for our visit is so T and E can participate in a week-long theater camp. Their cousin, Maddy, did the camp last year and loved it. This short and sweet camp is taking the place of the close-to-home 5-week theater camp Tommy did the last 2 years. We found that, though we loved it, it was simply too much of time commitment for our family during the summer. Had we done that option, we wouldn't have been able to go to Camp Gungah or to Cape Cod. And what a great excuse to spend MORE time with cousins and Aunts and Uncles this summer!

Because Heidi is a much better Aunt than I am Mother, she took a metric boatload of pictures of Gabriel last night. Here, in honor of his .25 years, are some of the highlights. (Confession/ acknowledgment: he's 99% adorable but sometimes, he's just plain GOOFY lookin'. I know this so it's okay for you to say it out loud, too.)

Griswold's Snoozetime and Car Ride Fun (Part 1)

I would start this post with a long list of reasons/laments about why I haven't posted in so long but it seems that every post I do starts that way.... Much to report but I'll start thusly:

There's nothing better than a good night's sleep preceding a flawless trip home from vacation. Well, that's what they tell me anyway. Not sure I'd know for sure. The last couple of days might explain why.

The boys and I spent a long weekend on Cape Cod visiting my in laws. For the boys there were trips to the beach and toy store, miniature golfing and lunch expeditions, and lots of relaxing in the glow of adoring grandparents. (Also, a superior cable subscription that includes Cartoon Network and therefore episodes of Ninjago. Their level of excitement about this fact was off the charts and you should by all means judge me as a parent for how far down the rabbit hole we've gone with this thing!) For me the biggest win were the extra hands to care for Gabriel when I wanted to run - cue the angel choir. In addition to their G.G. and Poppa, the boys also got to get (re)acquainted with some Great Aunts and Uncles and an afternoon/evening of fun with their Giessler cousins who flew in from Orlando on Monday afternoon.

Side note: it's funny to listen to and talk to my kids about their struggles between saying "Ant" and "Aunt". They are about 50/50 in how it comes out of their mouths and Tommy will sometimes correct himself when he says it the New England way, reminding me, "We're from New York, right Mom? So we say ANT." (He is born and raised in New Hampshire of course, but he figures he has citizenship to the Empire State and all the Upstate pronunciations through me, I guess!)

Because his brother and nephews were in town, Scott even took his precious 24 hours of free time at camp this week and made the 4-hour drive to his parents'. Such a good boy!

All in all, it was a delightful few days and I know my father-in-law will send me photos to post soon. But now for the snoozetime fun....

The three bedroom house, though sizeable, was pretty crowded with the 10 of us Monday night. G.G. and Poppa decided to try the 4 big boys (ages 4, 6, 6, and 8) on air mattresses in the livingroom. They were not sure how it was going to go for the Florida cousins since they have their own rooms at home and it might be hard for them to settle down in a crowd. I assured them that our boys would be fine since they are used to sharing space and at my parents' place they sleep in a room with dozens of cousins.

I was right. And so were G.G. and Poppa. Kinda.

They were all very tired by bedtime and, in fact, Elliott fell asleep before the others had even said good night. Tommy couldn't sleep though. He ran into this problem because, although he's used to sleeping with other people in the room, he is not used to a white noise machine. The cousins have always slept with one so their dad brought it from Florida. It's very "womb-y" (thinking prenatal heart beat) and is just a few thousand decibles louder than jumbo jet landing. Additionally, the cousins had all the typical "urgent" needs that kept them from being able to settle down for sleep. (

Tommy was impressively silent on these matters but I knew he was not going to remain cool about it for too long. After a while, I quietly told him to go up in my bed to sleep. Otherwise I wasn't sure how frustrated he would get and how that frustration might manifest itself.

SO smart. SUCH a good solution. (SOOOOO sarcastic).

Gabriel was already asleep in the pack 'n play and Tommy went to sleep quickly on the bed. Quickly and, I might add, diagonally. So when we went up to sleep, Scott had to move him to a verticle situation, which of course woke him up. No problem. He went right back to sleep... diagonally. The other thing about Tommy in his sleep is if his foot hits something - or someone - he appears to be pre-programmed to kick it. Hard. Repeatedly.


This has already been around FB and some blogs, but it's just too much fun!

Now, I only know this because it was reported to me by Scott. I was scrunched on the far corner of the bed with Gabriel, since he joined us when he needed to be nursed.

Meanwhile, Scott shut the door to the bedroom to cut down on the jumbo jet noise. And I opened the door in order to hear Elliott who would, I thought, be panicked if he woke up without Tommy on the air mattress with him.

Also meanwhile, I shut off the window fan so that I could hear Elliott over the jumbo jet.... And Scott turned the fan back on so that he didn't melt into a puddle (an unfortunate addition to already being blugeoned by Tom's feet.) I think we went back and forth on the window fan about 4 times.

Sadly, at 2:20 or so, I found I was right to worry about E. From downstairs I heard a heartbreaking sobbing. It was, of course, Elliott. He does the same thing at home if he wakes up and can't find Tommy.

(At home Tommy is almost always tucked into the far corner of his top bunk and Elliott simply can't see him... but it's always the same result. Instead of coming to find us and telling us that he can't find Tommy, he just lies back in his bed crying his eyes out. It is SOOOO sad! No amount of reassuring him that he is welcome to come find us if he's scared in the night has convinced him to venture out of that bed. Maybe the long walk to our room is more horrifying than the idea that his brother has disappeared?)

I dashed downstairs and scooped Elliott up (too late, it seemed, since the 4-year-old cousin raised his adorable bed head and protested to me, "He waked me up.") and brought him to our room. For about 2 minutes there were 5 Giesslers in the bed. I knew after 15 seconds this situation was not going to work but I needed the other 1:45 to configure a plan.

I found two small comforters in the linen closet and made a nest on the floor for Elliott, Gabe and I. My theory was that these comforters were so soft and fluffy it would be like having a mattress.

Haa haa haa hardy har!

At some point on nights like this you make an important transition. At first, of course, you are praying mightily to fall asleep. "Please, God, just let me sleep. Just an hour or two so I can drive home tomorrow and not be a zombie." Then, after rolling over 10 or 12 MILLION times in an attempt to find a side-lying position in which you can both nurse the baby AND not feel like your hip bones are going to shatter on the "soft, luxurious" comforter, you change your plea: "Please, God, just make it morning so this hell will end. I just want sun light and the chance to try again tomorrow night."

I know I slept, though, because at one point I woke up from a dream. A very vivid dream. Nay, a very vivid nightmare. And in this nightmare it was 3AM. And I was staying in my in-law's spare bedroom. On the deceptively hard floor. With Gabe and Elliott. And Tommy and Scott were on the bed. And my brother-in-law and his kids were there. And in the dream all I wanted to do was sleep. And my hips were killing me. And then my brother-in-law came to the bedroom door with his sons and said his boys wanted to sleep with their cousins. So they were going to sleep in our room, too.

It took me awhile after waking up to realize that the final detail of the dream didn't actually happen.

Without my glasses I had no idea what time it was, but a good chunk of time after I began making bargains with God about all the amazing things I would accomplish in this life if He would just bring on the morning, I could see that the dawn was breaking. I decided that I could lie there for another hour not sleeping and then get up and finish the packing up process.... or I could get up and go running.

It was 5:11 AM.

I went running.
I went running.

New ways to damage a small person

To begin this tale of Failed Parenting, a lame metaphor for my running friends:

You know how some people are really good at speed work? And others are best suited for longer distances? And rarely you might come across someone who kicks a$$ at the track and on double digit runs. Is it hard work or a natural born gift? For the most part it's almost certainly a combination of those two things. So, even if you're a little envious, you've gotta respect and admire these people.

I think yesterday I succeeded in soaring to the top of my game in two separate categories of motherhood: long-term neglect of- and emergent danger to my youngest.

It was Gabriel's 2 month check up. I knew I'd have a lot to discuss with the doctor, given his belly aches. But since my new "Rice Chex and fruit" diet seems to be working, I thought we'd be talking about how challenging things WERE. Past tense.

Now, I knew he was wee. Correction: I knew he was LONG and wee. But I was shocked to find when he got on the scale that he has LOST 5 ounces in the last month.

WHAT?

He's grown about an inch and lost 5 ounces.

When the nurse left I fought off panic and guilt mode while we waited for the doctor to arrive. I had time to nurse him for awhile and I just couldn't fathon how I didn't know. How I didn't pay attention!

You've certainly had a similar experience in same arena of your life, so you know what I was going through: simultaneously beating myself up and making excuses for why "no one would have known". He's been eating every 2 - 3 hours during the day. He's been eating at least twice during the night. Many times I think he's fussy because he's hungry and he refuses to nurse because he's just not hungry. Plus, my MOM was with him just last weekend and surely she would have noticed if he was not looking good.

When the doctor came in - she was VERY kind, by the way - I immediately asked her for the name of a lactation consultant. She slowed me down and we talked through all the belly issues Gabe has had: what I eat, hydration (yeah, I'm probably not getting enough), wet diapers (his, not mine), gas (painful v. not), stools (remember the great poop watch?)... Unfortunately, it was suggested that we give him an ounce of formula after each feeding to pack on a few more lbs. She very kindly gave me a couple of small containers of hypoallergenic stuff which I'm sure would cost an arm and leg in the store. I really really REALLY didn't want to supplement with formula, but you can't argue with LOST WEIGHT at the age of 2 months. If I do this right, we may be able to drop the supplements in a month or so. I should hear from the lacation consultant today or tomorrow....

The good news is that after examining him, she concluded that developmentally, he's right on track and that it is truly just a matter of getting more calories in him.

(Tracking the metaphor: The previous section demonstrates my long-term neglect of Gabriel, metaphorically similar to a gifted distance runner who plugs along and plugs along through the miles and through the pain.)

Appointment over, I had to decide if I was going to head home, get out the bottles, and start supplementing. Or, if I was going to go (as planned) to the track for a 6 mile run that I didn't get in at 5AM due to a 2AM, hour long freak out from Gabe. I decided that he had a great 15 minute nursing session just before the doctor came in, he was zonked out, and that I really needed the think time going 'round and 'round the track TWENTY-FOUR times. <>

We drove over to the track, I tucked him in the stroller with oodles of neck support and blankets to screen the sun. I warmed up for 4 laps and then began alternating hard/easy laps. Gabe slept through most of it but after mile 5, as I was ready for my 4 lap cool down, he started fussing. I had determined that my first line of defense whenever he gets agitated was to try to feed him... even if he isn't hungry, at least we'll get a little more food into him. So I gingerly pushed the stroller up the small hill to the pavilion where the bathrooms and water fountains are located. I would feed him and then hit the track for an easy final mile.

I parked him next to the water fountain and, remembering my need to stay more properly hydrated, turned to fill up my water bottle.

Oh. Did I mention it was a little bit windy? Not terribly. Just a little.

Enjoying the lovely breeze on the humid afternoon, I turned back to the stroller just in time to see it complete it's roll off of the pancake flat cement floor, down 2 or 3 inches on the stone-covered edge, and dump all the way over.

Never has the word "shit" been exclaimed with such intensity.

In .0002 seconds I was over there, righting the stroller and uncovering Gabe from the blankets that had been there to support his neck.

He.was.PISSED.

Which was sort of good. Obviously he didn't suffer a concussion because his volume was off the charts. I took him out of the stroller, scanned him for major injuries and then tried to settle him down. Nursing? No. Pacifier? No. Close up, face in hug hold? No. Out facing hug hold? No....

Did I mention he was pissed?

Now, had I been home, I would have stripped myself of my sweaty clothes and settled on the bed to try nursing with a little more insistance. But I was in public. I was SOOO in public.

I rolled the still-pissed (did I mentioned he was pissed) off baby back to the car and loaded him up. Go home or seek medical care? I was torn. He was probably okay but the straps that kept him safe from falling out probably hurt. Finally, I decided if we had been in a car accident and he had been jostled that much, there would be no question of whether he should get looked at by a doctor.

I called and left a message for Scott. I called the pediatrician's office to ask if there was a way we could sneak back in for a quick once over. Nope. So off to the ER we went.

To sum up the ER visit: baby is pissed (did I mention... oh, I did?), baby gets into exam room, baby nurses, baby settles, baby naps, baby waits for two + hours, baby gets 4 minute exam, baby is deemed fine, baby goes home.

I was waiting for social services to come in and question me, but I guess my sweaty running clothes made my story seem pretty legit.

(Tracking the metaphor: This story shows how I excel at putting my small person in emergent danger with the speed and skill similar to that of a gifted sprinter.)

Is it hard work or a natural born gift that helps me excel at both the short- and long-term mistakes? No one can say for sure. But you could say it was a day of greatness for me. But if you are honest, you would say it was a day of humbling revelations and horrifying mistakes.

Please. Please. Please. No matter how flat a surface you have your kid parked on, set the brake on your stroller. The wind is a fickle mistress.

Family Photos: Truth revealed!

Sunday was a great day at our church. The Bishop of New Hampshire - one of the Top People of this or any other world, in my humble opinion - was present to confirm 10 young people. I admire Gene Robinson for a lot of reasons, not least of which is that his presence (and the fact that he's retiring and was making his final visit to our church) convinced my husband to come to church. The Bishop earned even more points because the moment we walked in, he beelined over to inspect/admire Gabriel. As I knew he would, he also spoke humbly, humorously, and with great heart. His message was about what Evangelism means for Episcopalians.

(To sum up: it scares the crap out of us, we don't want to do it, and that's because we equate it with people telling us we're going to Hell. His point was that we ought to be so joyful in our lives that people want to know what makes us happy. THEN we can share how our church life/walk with God/what have you has helped us find that joy. In this form of evangelism, there's no "You're Going to Hell Unless You Do It Our Way", just a "Come and See". So cool.)

Anyway, one of my church friends - Phil - is a great photographer and always captures events such as these beautifully. He offered to take a family photo of all five Giesslers - the only one we have now was taken an hour or so after Gabriel was born. Since in this instance my hair was somewhat combed, I was wearing actually clothes, and I was not pondering the state of my episiotomy.... I said, "YES, PLEASE!"

The first photo is quite lovely. We are all behaving ourselves and look pretty good....

I only wish we'd ALL worn orange! Totally on accident for the big boys.

Here's what Phil said about photo number 2: ".... the second photo captures the weary feeling of a mother with a new baby and two young boys!" Yes. Yes. Yes it does.



I should have a caption contest. What do YOU think I was thinking? I don't remember!

And don't take photo #2 as a reflection of how I felt about the Bishop's sermon! If you ever have the opportunity to meet or even just hear Gene Robinson speak, you will be so glad you did.

Sunday School

Here's what I learned (again) today:

When your teeny baby has a belly ache ("And he shall be called Gassy Gabe") and will only be peaceful wrapped snuggly in your arms...

(And even that is up for ne-gas-tiation...)

You should assess whether or not the laundry really needs to be folded...

And whether the bathrooms really need to be cleaned....

And whether you really need to squeeze in a few miles of running.

And you should know that Dad can handle Thing 1 & Thing 2.

(They will go to the lake and discuss Avengers back stories and make up complicated Water War Games in the yard involving rules that are only inflicted on Dad.)

And said Saint Dad will make dinner and ensure that yours features healthy veggies and a Blessed Beer.

And you should snuggle up and love that teeny being as best you can.

And let him take that oh-so-needed two hour nap on your chest while you snooze and read a Christopher Moore book on your Kindle.

'Cuz as far as I know, no one has died because laundry wasn't folded and bathrooms weren't cleaned.

But minds have been lost from trying to accomplish A Thing (or 10) when a baby just needs lovin'.

[Still searching for the cause of this fella's tummy trauma. Hasn't pooped in 5 days! It's not a dairy issue, clearly. Next step will be a wee chiropractic adjustment. Fingers crossed!]

Run Like a... Validation Seeker

Yesterday was a tough one. My darling one-month-old was having some serious tummy problems. He is past the newborn stage of pooping 5 or 6 times a day and we are generally down to once a day. However, it's more of a challenge for him to get things moving and he spends a good portion of his day working out gas. I have taken dairy out of my diet for the last 2 weeks or so because I understand that milk in a mom's diet is usually the biggest culprit... if a nursing baby is reacting to something in mom's diet. (Of course, it may have nothing to do with my diet and I may be living without milk for no reason... though I've discovered almond milk is a pretty good substitute so far).

So, it was a Please Hold Me day. No. It was a HOLD ME OR I'LL SCREAM day! By the time the daycare kiddos were picked up and the boys and Scott got home from karate, I neeeeeeeded to run. I hadn't eaten well all day, hadn't had enough water to drink, and I generally can't get my body in motion after 5PM. However, I nursed Gabriel one last time and had him settled so as soon Scott was in the door, I took off.

I went in the opposite direction of my regular route - which meant even tougher hills than usual. I knew I was going to be needed at home sooner than later so I decided to do 15 minutes out and then turn around. I was pretty pleased as I reached my turn around point because it was just about 1.5 miles from home. Given that I walked the first minute as I got my iPod detangled and started, it occurred to me that I am beginning to feel like a real runner again. I even pondered dusting off my Garmin so I can track my pace. My legs were feeling it from the hills at that point, though, so I decided to walk for 1 minute as I headed back toward home.

Then I thought, "I wonder if this is okay."

Immediately I mentally smacked myself in the head. "I wonder if this is okay?! OF COURSE it's okay! This isn't volleyball where you need to check the rule book to see if the ball can hit the net on the serve. This is RUNNING! You move your body and you get from one place to another and then (usually) back to that first place. There are no rules. You do what feels right and should celebrate just being out the door."

This conversation with myself got me thinking about all the great Mamas I "know" from Another Mother Runner. I am guessing that many of them would have asked "Is this okay?" too. What is it about us that makes us need to question what we are doing and whether we are doing it "right"? Are we worried we aren't going to be part of The Tribe if we don't meet certain running standards? Are we afraid someone will take away our "like" of the Facebook page if they learn that our mileage this week was really low? What is WRONG with us???

And THEN I decided there's nothing wrong with us and everything right with us. Of course we are all runners and of course how ever we get ourselves out there (or on the treadmill) is 'okay'. But the fact that we ask outloud these kinds of questions just means we are looking for validation. Most of us don't get much of that. So, we go to FB and check in with other mother runners in order to accept and receive "attagirl"s and "been there"s and "just keep swimming"s. Maybe it's a x-chromosome thing or just a Mom thing.

Whatever the case, I'm sure I'll keep asking the obvious questions and keep seeking validation. 'Cuz that's how I Run Like a Mother.

Attached? Or lazy, cheap & short?

I don't think it's any accident that shortly after the release of "Bringing Up Bebe", we are seeing a resurgence of books and news pieces about Attachment Parenting.

I read "Bringing Up Bebe" and wrote very briefly about it... but here's s'more. If you haven't heard of it, it's basically an American woman's experience of bringing up her Anglo kids in Paris. She noticed that French parents and kids were much more chill than their American/English peers. The kids were more independent, less reliant on "attaboys/girls", slept better much earlier, ate and behaved well in public.... Her observations and research concluded - most basically - that French parents love their kids but don't LIVE for them. The kids understand that Mom & Dad are people, too. There's much less breast feeding beyond the early months. There's much less co-sleeping. There's much more publicly funded support for well-researched, high-quality, professional early childhood education.

Just a like all American children play in front of the Statue of Liberty... I'm sure this photo is representative of all French kids.

A lot of this sounded really good to me.

I have not read any books about Attachment Parenting, but I've certainly heard a lot about it. (This week's cover of Time Magazine is quite an eye-catcher, if you haven't seen it.) In case you are currently living in a cave (in which case, thanks for reading my blog in the dark!), Attachment Parenting was "invented" by Dr. William Sears about 20 years ago. You can Google it and read for WEEKS so I won't go into it too much.) The basic tenants of Attachment Parenting say that babies should be breastfed, babies should co-sleep with their mother, and babies should be worn... (in a sling, silly, not like fur or anything). This leads to babies feeling respected/loved/cared for/yadda yadda and, ultimately, this will lead to older children and adults feeling those same things.

Confession: I DO kinda have Moby Wrap envy looking at this!

A lot of THIS sounds really good to me, too.

So, how I can feel like these two vastly conflicting styles of parenting are both a good idea? I guess, as with most things in this life, with parenting I want it both ways.

I want to be the Mama who nurses her baby till 12 months. But I kind of want to be that Mama in order to save money on formula almost as much as I want to bond with the baby.

I want to be the Mama who sleeps with her baby. But I want to be that Mama SOLELY because it means I don't have to drag my bum out of bed to feed him in the middle of the night. (Okay, he also sleeps better lying next to me than when he's far away... but mostly it's the lazy thing).

I want to be the Mama who carries her baby around in a sling. But I want to be that Mama mostly because it leaves my hands free to grab hold of older children who may make a run for it. And the sling-thing is really only a MUST-have at the grocery store. (Am I the only Mom who can't see above the damn car seat when it's in the shopping cart? I swear I've almost taken out small armies of shoppers and entire displays of canned goods because I couldn't see what was ahead of me!)

So, I don't know if I subscribe to Attachment Parenting. And I know for sure that I'm not one of those hip French Moms with their hair coiffed and their children angelic. I like the idea of both. And I see the validity in both. Which is, as I said, the reason I never decide anything about anything.

Can I invent Frenchtachment Parenting and turn it into a Thing? Something to consider, wee? (Or possibly, poo?) Are you French-er or Attachment-er? Or, did your parenting style come from your gut without the "help" of the Parent Industrial Complex?

And finally, special thanks to my friend, Kathleen who literally emailed me THIS link as I was typing this Blog. It's about that Time Magazine cover of the hot mom with the large child suckling. Read it. Freakin' hilarious. 

A dabble in cloth diapers

I have been considering using cloth diapers with Gabriel. In fact, I considered it with Tommy & Elliott, too, but it just didn't seem worth it since I knew cloth + daycare would not be a good fit. I hemmed and hawed and decided not to decide because in the research I'd done, I concluded it would be best to NOT attempt to start cloth right away. Blessedly, some very wise friends and family members bought us plenty of teeny tiny diapers so we've actually yet to spend any money on bum covers thus far.

My mom knew I was thinking of trying it and when my sister Heidi asked her what kind of baby gift she should give us, Mom suggested some cloth diapers. This is SO great for many reasons, not the least of which is part of what had me paralyzed on the subject is that there are a ginormous number of choices when it comes to what type of diaper system to use. Check out this website and you'll see what I mean: all-in-ones, pocket, fitted, hybrid, prefold, Unitarian, Manchurian... (Okay, maybe I made some of those up...) I am thrilled that she was The Decider!

Heidi sent me gDiapers. They are SO cute and soft and just looking at them makes me feel like a better person. (Well, pretty much all the modern day cloth diapers are totally-never-want-my-baby-to-wear-pants-and-cover-them-up ADORABLE and would do those other things, too.) The gDiapers are a hybrid because they come with an outer cotton shell, a snap-in plastic liner, and with cloth OR disposable liners to catch the poo/pee. Heidi sent me the cloth (made of cotton and hemp) liners. The disposable ones can be flushed, composted or thrown away. (They are 100% biodegradable). In addition, they have the added "awww" factor of being called gDiapers which suits Master Gabriel Giessler quite nicely.

Today I gave them a whirl and it went pretty well. Here it is in pictures.

This is the back of the diaper. How yummy is this?

The plastic liner snapped in and an extra cotton/hemp liner.

He's in! It's a testament to how easy these are to manage because Mr. G was really hungry when I put this first diaper on him and was MAD MAD MAD that I was changing him before chow time. It literally took me no longer than a disposable to do this.

After a snack and ready for an outing. Yes! I went OUT with a cloth diaper on him and even managed to change him into ANOTHER cloth diaper on the road. We rocked it!

I will definitely use these diapers and invest in more liners and shells to expand my usage. It is FAR from cheap to get all the goods you need to get started (again, THANK YOU, AUNT HEIDI!) but I have a huge box of unopened "size 1" Pampers (thank you Aunt Jen & Uncle Todd!) so I'm not worried about running out of diapers in the mean time! I also think that at least for now I will keep him in disposables overnight.... the cloth do get pretty soaked in just a couple of hours.

Slow and steady I will add to my stash... and to my supply of the myriad super fun accessories you buy to help make cloth diapering more manageable.