Heard about the Similac recall?
According to Similac's website, "Abbott Voluntarily Recalls Certain Similac®Brand Powder Infant Formulas That Did Not Meet Its Quality Standards."
Hmmm...upon a little further research, I discovered that their "quality standards" were breached by the contamination of "whole beetles, beetle parts, and beetle larvae". Glad that's cleared up...
Seriously? Beetle PARTS? Unobservant as I am, I think even I would have noticed a whole beetle falling into Little Lady's bottle. However, how small are these so-called "parts" anyway? The Abbott website lists the only possible effect of ingesting these bugs to be a tummy upset. Gives it a "ah, no big deal" feel to the whole thing, right? Except, have you ever taken care of a baby with a "tummy upset"? Not exactly fun times.
So, yesterday afternoon, after checking with my grocery store and pediatrician, I tossed all my open formula into the trash, loaded up the several unopened cans I had in the pantry, along with two 5 o'clock-cranky kids and headed to the grocery store. They were, as expected, totally apologetic, helpful, and quick to refund my money. I did feel a little bad when Little Man calls out, "Mommy, is this the place with the BUGS in the milk?" Probably not the best word-of-mouth advertising for our friendly grocery store!
Anyway, the Little Lady has weathered the storm just fine for the moment. But, I'm STILL struggling with my decision to stop breastfeeding--3 months later! I'm not going to go into the whole story, but suffice it to say that we made the best of a rough situation and all four of us are happier now. But, can you miss the "breastfeeding is best" message everywhere you look? There is actually a warning label of sorts on the formula containers! Do you truly think that I've sat around and said, "Oh, I know breastfeeding is best, but I'll be happy with just mediocre." All these issues that I thought I had dealt with and moved on from. It's just amazing how guilt can sneak up and blindside you like that. I spend lots of my time trying to get my 3-year-old to eat something besides "treats", but I thought I had Little Lady squared away for the moment!
Amazing what a few measly beetle parts can do!
Friday, September 24, 2010
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
The Moment You Start To Question Everything You Knew...
Radical Read-Along Week 2!
Chapter Two starts off continuing the story of the underground believers we meet in Chapter One. Tell me, does anyone else feel as overwhelmingly guilty as I do while reading about the trials these folks go through just to assemble in Christ's name?
Did you drive/ride to church on Sunday in an automobile you found in your garage?
Did you wrestle your kids into clean garb, make sure their teeth and hair were brushed, and shoo them off into children's church?
Is your idea of a rough Sunday morning having to put your makeup on in the car while your husband drives over speed bumps at what seems like the speed of light?
Do you struggle to stay awake during the sermon because you stayed up too late watching TV the night before?
All of the above and more are true of me most, if not all, Sunday mornings. And, let me tell you...reading Radical has made me feel like a second-class Christian because of it. I don't fear for my life when I go to church. I can't leave my "fields" untended while I spend hours upon hours every day meeting with other believers. I truly do not believe that God has called me to sell all my worldly goods and move to a third-world country.
Do I believe that I'm too materialistic? Yep. Do I believe that I have a tendency to cut and paste scripture to suit my taste? Yep. Do I believe that I can (and should) do more for the poor of my area and the world? Absolutely. Do I seriously believe that, if my life depended on it, I could stand up and count myself among the followers of Christ? I hope to heaven I could.
If you sense a little indignation on my part, you'd be correct. While I think I understand what Platt's trying to get across here (namely, that the traditional sign-up-and-be-counted method of getting "saved" isn't necessarily all that's required of Christians), I bristle a little at the suggestion that since I live a privileged life in the United States, I'm not as "Christian" as those who aren't as fortunate. I certainly agree that our churches can water down the gospel so much that it's useless. But, I also think that there are plenty of opportunities to dig deep into the scriptures and commit to following God daily.
I'm interested to see where Platt takes us on this journey. Even though overwhelming guilt was my initial thought upon reading this chapter, I don't think that was his goal. I want to spend the next week really listening to God and discovering where He wants me to serve. Most importantly, I want to be willing to GO there, wherever that winds up to be.
Chapter Two starts off continuing the story of the underground believers we meet in Chapter One. Tell me, does anyone else feel as overwhelmingly guilty as I do while reading about the trials these folks go through just to assemble in Christ's name?
Did you drive/ride to church on Sunday in an automobile you found in your garage?
Did you wrestle your kids into clean garb, make sure their teeth and hair were brushed, and shoo them off into children's church?
Is your idea of a rough Sunday morning having to put your makeup on in the car while your husband drives over speed bumps at what seems like the speed of light?
Do you struggle to stay awake during the sermon because you stayed up too late watching TV the night before?
All of the above and more are true of me most, if not all, Sunday mornings. And, let me tell you...reading Radical has made me feel like a second-class Christian because of it. I don't fear for my life when I go to church. I can't leave my "fields" untended while I spend hours upon hours every day meeting with other believers. I truly do not believe that God has called me to sell all my worldly goods and move to a third-world country.
Do I believe that I'm too materialistic? Yep. Do I believe that I have a tendency to cut and paste scripture to suit my taste? Yep. Do I believe that I can (and should) do more for the poor of my area and the world? Absolutely. Do I seriously believe that, if my life depended on it, I could stand up and count myself among the followers of Christ? I hope to heaven I could.
If you sense a little indignation on my part, you'd be correct. While I think I understand what Platt's trying to get across here (namely, that the traditional sign-up-and-be-counted method of getting "saved" isn't necessarily all that's required of Christians), I bristle a little at the suggestion that since I live a privileged life in the United States, I'm not as "Christian" as those who aren't as fortunate. I certainly agree that our churches can water down the gospel so much that it's useless. But, I also think that there are plenty of opportunities to dig deep into the scriptures and commit to following God daily.
I'm interested to see where Platt takes us on this journey. Even though overwhelming guilt was my initial thought upon reading this chapter, I don't think that was his goal. I want to spend the next week really listening to God and discovering where He wants me to serve. Most importantly, I want to be willing to GO there, wherever that winds up to be.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
The Moment You Realize You're In Over Your Head...
In the list of blogs I read, the recent book sensation has been "Radical" by David Platt. Boomama's pastor wrote it, Missy at It's Almost Naptime and Angie at Bring the Rain have recommended it. And Marla Taviano is hosting an online read-along. Intrigued by the trend, I started reading the preview offered by Amazon.
And, several hours later, I decided I better just order the book and be done with it. Let's just say, steel-toed boots are really required to read this one. I've grown up in very large churches and learned the Great Commission as a memory verse. I spent my graduate school years as a member of one of the largest Southern Baptist Churches in the country. I'm now a member of a church who is in the middle of a substantial building program. Yeah, I'm smack in the middle of the group Platt targets...folks who have found themselves living a "Christian spin on the American dream".
Conflicted? That's me. Feeling guilty? Me, too. A little defensive? Yup, can't deny it. Interested to see what Platt's suggestions are? Most definitely.
All this, and I'm only on Chapter One. Yikes!
Join us at Marla Taviano's blog to turn your world upside down, too!
And, several hours later, I decided I better just order the book and be done with it. Let's just say, steel-toed boots are really required to read this one. I've grown up in very large churches and learned the Great Commission as a memory verse. I spent my graduate school years as a member of one of the largest Southern Baptist Churches in the country. I'm now a member of a church who is in the middle of a substantial building program. Yeah, I'm smack in the middle of the group Platt targets...folks who have found themselves living a "Christian spin on the American dream".
Conflicted? That's me. Feeling guilty? Me, too. A little defensive? Yup, can't deny it. Interested to see what Platt's suggestions are? Most definitely.
All this, and I'm only on Chapter One. Yikes!
Join us at Marla Taviano's blog to turn your world upside down, too!
Saturday, September 11, 2010
The Moment You Realize Your Child is a Better Person Than You Are...
Little Man and I took a Mommy-and-son-only trip to Walmart this afternoon. Since the arrival of Little Lady, he doesn't get nearly as much one-on-one time with Mommy as he would prefer. So, leaving the Little Miss at home with Daddy to watch football offered us an opportunity to stroll the aisles of Wally-world sans diaper bag and car seat.
Incidentally, his first soccer game was this morning as well. I think this post would be remiss if I didn't at least mention the overwhelming cuteness of ten 3-year-olds running around (or standing around, depending on the moment!) in their beloved soccer get-up. Little Man had several friends on the team and, although he certainly isn't a star yet, he had a great time!
Anyway, the morning of soccer and the promise of a fun afternoon out with Mommy led him to ask some pretty serious questions. Always the observant one, we hadn't been driving long before I heard, "Mommy, why isn't the flag at the top of the pole?" We had discussed in the past that when the flag is flown half-mast, it's a sign of respect for someone who has gone to live with Jesus. So, naturally, he wondered who had gone there this time.
I am, if nothing else, a mom who loves to answer questions. I have a feeling it's in deference to my own mother who must have answered several hundred thousand questions from me during my childhood. All those just-wait-until-you-have-children moments have culminated in my having a kid who jumps off of everything possible (from his daddy with the history of jumping off the back of a transfer truck as a kid) and asks questions from sun up to sun down (definitely my fault!)! And I want to fuel his curiosity by answering the best way I know how. I wind up with "Because God made it that way" on a regular basis, but I try to survive a while before then.
So, how do you answer a 3-year-old who wants to know the "scary story" why the flags are half-mast today? My sister had to answer those difficult questions in the first few days following the 9/11 tragedy to a 3-year-old who's now a very grown-up 12-year-old. But now? What do you say about an event that your child will never remember but that you will never forget? For the record, I was sitting in a biochemistry class at UT Memphis when our professor came in and asked us if we'd heard what was going on. Since we'd been in class since 8 am, we didn't know what he was talking about. He went on to tell us all he knew about planes hitting the World Trade Center, all planes in American airspace being grounded, and talk of further terrorist attacks. This particular professor was known for having a flair for the dramatic, so my best friend and I just stared at each other mouthing, "Is he SERIOUS? Can't possibly be!" Once he'd told his story, he launched into the day's lecture. After all, we did have an exam coming up the next day.
As I relived all my emotions from 9 years ago, I started to tell my son about the "bad guys" who "broke some buildings" and "hurt a lot of people" with "guns and bombs." I left out the part about the airplanes, since he loves them so much. He, as expected, had a lot of follow-up questions. "Why did they want to hurt people?" "You know how we talk about how much God loves us? Well, God loves the bad guys too, but they didn't love Him back." The worst was when he asked if they were boys or girls. I told him that they were just boys, and that they didn't really like girls all that much. "If they saw S, would they shoot her?" My heart broke to think of my 3-year-old trying to defend his baby sister against such monsters.
After all the questions were done, I felt the need to remind the Little Man that God STILL loved the bad guys, even though they're in "time out" forever. That God wants us to pray for the bad guys that are still out there. And my baby...my precious, tender-hearted baby...said, "Okay, Mommy, let's do that now." And so we prayed for all the bad guys who are still in this world.
And so I discovered that God has given me a child who has a bigger heart than I could have ever imagined.
Incidentally, his first soccer game was this morning as well. I think this post would be remiss if I didn't at least mention the overwhelming cuteness of ten 3-year-olds running around (or standing around, depending on the moment!) in their beloved soccer get-up. Little Man had several friends on the team and, although he certainly isn't a star yet, he had a great time!
Anyway, the morning of soccer and the promise of a fun afternoon out with Mommy led him to ask some pretty serious questions. Always the observant one, we hadn't been driving long before I heard, "Mommy, why isn't the flag at the top of the pole?" We had discussed in the past that when the flag is flown half-mast, it's a sign of respect for someone who has gone to live with Jesus. So, naturally, he wondered who had gone there this time.
I am, if nothing else, a mom who loves to answer questions. I have a feeling it's in deference to my own mother who must have answered several hundred thousand questions from me during my childhood. All those just-wait-until-you-have-children moments have culminated in my having a kid who jumps off of everything possible (from his daddy with the history of jumping off the back of a transfer truck as a kid) and asks questions from sun up to sun down (definitely my fault!)! And I want to fuel his curiosity by answering the best way I know how. I wind up with "Because God made it that way" on a regular basis, but I try to survive a while before then.
So, how do you answer a 3-year-old who wants to know the "scary story" why the flags are half-mast today? My sister had to answer those difficult questions in the first few days following the 9/11 tragedy to a 3-year-old who's now a very grown-up 12-year-old. But now? What do you say about an event that your child will never remember but that you will never forget? For the record, I was sitting in a biochemistry class at UT Memphis when our professor came in and asked us if we'd heard what was going on. Since we'd been in class since 8 am, we didn't know what he was talking about. He went on to tell us all he knew about planes hitting the World Trade Center, all planes in American airspace being grounded, and talk of further terrorist attacks. This particular professor was known for having a flair for the dramatic, so my best friend and I just stared at each other mouthing, "Is he SERIOUS? Can't possibly be!" Once he'd told his story, he launched into the day's lecture. After all, we did have an exam coming up the next day.
As I relived all my emotions from 9 years ago, I started to tell my son about the "bad guys" who "broke some buildings" and "hurt a lot of people" with "guns and bombs." I left out the part about the airplanes, since he loves them so much. He, as expected, had a lot of follow-up questions. "Why did they want to hurt people?" "You know how we talk about how much God loves us? Well, God loves the bad guys too, but they didn't love Him back." The worst was when he asked if they were boys or girls. I told him that they were just boys, and that they didn't really like girls all that much. "If they saw S, would they shoot her?" My heart broke to think of my 3-year-old trying to defend his baby sister against such monsters.
After all the questions were done, I felt the need to remind the Little Man that God STILL loved the bad guys, even though they're in "time out" forever. That God wants us to pray for the bad guys that are still out there. And my baby...my precious, tender-hearted baby...said, "Okay, Mommy, let's do that now." And so we prayed for all the bad guys who are still in this world.
And so I discovered that God has given me a child who has a bigger heart than I could have ever imagined.
Thursday, September 9, 2010
The Moment You Find That You're Right...And You're Wrong...
Have you ever taken a trip with small children? Specifically a preschooler and an infant? We have now gone on two trips since Little Lady was born. The first was to Disney World. In July. With a four-month-old.
Yeah, it was crazy. This particular trip we knew would be tough, but worth it. We enlisted the help of a beloved (and very brave) aunt to make the plane trip with me and the kids. We were piggybacking this trip on the end of a continuing education course Hubby was taking, so he drove down early and was, essentially, the pack mule. We loaded the SUV up with so much stuff there was barely room for the driver. And we followed up a couple of days later with little more than ourselves and the diaper bag on the plane. All things considered, the trip went spectacularly well. Travel was good, kids adjusted to sleeping in the hotel with no problems. It was hot as blazes and insanely crowded, but we were able to do the little-kid stuff at Disney without too much trouble. The extra hands from Auntie were invaluable. I hope she had fun too!
That trip went so well that Hubby was all excited to schedule a trip to the beach over Labor Day weekend. I have discovered over the years that "vacation" to me and "vacation" to Hubby look considerably different, however. For a week in advance, I'm upping the laundry quota to get all our clothes clean at one time (nearly unheard of during any other time). I'm making lists of things to "not forget"--formula, bottles, diapers, bathing suits, lullaby CDs, loveys, sippy cups, chargers for 15 different electronic devices, you name it! I'm lining up childcare for the day before we leave so I can somehow pack all these items in some sort of order without any little "helpers". And, then, once we get to our destination, I'm childproofing a new place. I'm trying to convince 2 very routine-oriented children to sleep in a new environment. I'm scheduling naptimes around activities around other naptimes. I'm either figuring out how to cook in a tiny kitchenette (ok, to be fair, if there's cooking, Hubby's probably doing that) or taking small children to restaurants--neither of which ever seem to be good options. I'm washing bottles in hotel room sinks and leaving them to dry all over the bathroom countertops. What I'm not doing is vacationing.
Having said all that, I wasn't really excited about the prospect of traveling anywhere farther than the end of my driveway. But, finally, with the promise of sand and sun (admittedly one of my favorite things EVER) and a 3-year-old who started asking, "Mommy, can we go to the beach?", we wound up on the road to Hilton Head, SC.
I'd protested that it was too much work. I'd griped about the poor sleep habits we already had to deal with at home that would surely get worse. But, I'd finally given in. And to a degree we could never have anticipated, I was right. It was the usual drill getting ready to go and the car ride was surprisingly ok. But, things rapidly went downhill when we tried to get the Littles to go to sleep. Little Lady cried nearly all night long for the first 2 nights. Since they had to share a room, Little Man stayed awake as well. They cried, I cried, and we all cried some more. I was convinced that I was trapped in a nightmare of crying babies that would never end.
Enter Mr. Level-Headed...He just happens to mention..."Did you notice Little Lady pulling at her ears today?" And, there's the light-bulb moment....
Yep, I spent the morning at a quick-care clinic with a baby who'd been trying to tell us for days..."People!! I didn't know I had ears until just now! But, now I know! And they hurt! Do something!" I'd like to say things went swimmingly from there, but that would be a bit of an overstatement. She got better slowly, but she's still not exactly back to normal.
On the other hand, I got to see this...
Yeah, it was crazy. This particular trip we knew would be tough, but worth it. We enlisted the help of a beloved (and very brave) aunt to make the plane trip with me and the kids. We were piggybacking this trip on the end of a continuing education course Hubby was taking, so he drove down early and was, essentially, the pack mule. We loaded the SUV up with so much stuff there was barely room for the driver. And we followed up a couple of days later with little more than ourselves and the diaper bag on the plane. All things considered, the trip went spectacularly well. Travel was good, kids adjusted to sleeping in the hotel with no problems. It was hot as blazes and insanely crowded, but we were able to do the little-kid stuff at Disney without too much trouble. The extra hands from Auntie were invaluable. I hope she had fun too!
That trip went so well that Hubby was all excited to schedule a trip to the beach over Labor Day weekend. I have discovered over the years that "vacation" to me and "vacation" to Hubby look considerably different, however. For a week in advance, I'm upping the laundry quota to get all our clothes clean at one time (nearly unheard of during any other time). I'm making lists of things to "not forget"--formula, bottles, diapers, bathing suits, lullaby CDs, loveys, sippy cups, chargers for 15 different electronic devices, you name it! I'm lining up childcare for the day before we leave so I can somehow pack all these items in some sort of order without any little "helpers". And, then, once we get to our destination, I'm childproofing a new place. I'm trying to convince 2 very routine-oriented children to sleep in a new environment. I'm scheduling naptimes around activities around other naptimes. I'm either figuring out how to cook in a tiny kitchenette (ok, to be fair, if there's cooking, Hubby's probably doing that) or taking small children to restaurants--neither of which ever seem to be good options. I'm washing bottles in hotel room sinks and leaving them to dry all over the bathroom countertops. What I'm not doing is vacationing.
Having said all that, I wasn't really excited about the prospect of traveling anywhere farther than the end of my driveway. But, finally, with the promise of sand and sun (admittedly one of my favorite things EVER) and a 3-year-old who started asking, "Mommy, can we go to the beach?", we wound up on the road to Hilton Head, SC.
I'd protested that it was too much work. I'd griped about the poor sleep habits we already had to deal with at home that would surely get worse. But, I'd finally given in. And to a degree we could never have anticipated, I was right. It was the usual drill getting ready to go and the car ride was surprisingly ok. But, things rapidly went downhill when we tried to get the Littles to go to sleep. Little Lady cried nearly all night long for the first 2 nights. Since they had to share a room, Little Man stayed awake as well. They cried, I cried, and we all cried some more. I was convinced that I was trapped in a nightmare of crying babies that would never end.
Enter Mr. Level-Headed...He just happens to mention..."Did you notice Little Lady pulling at her ears today?" And, there's the light-bulb moment....
Yep, I spent the morning at a quick-care clinic with a baby who'd been trying to tell us for days..."People!! I didn't know I had ears until just now! But, now I know! And they hurt! Do something!" I'd like to say things went swimmingly from there, but that would be a bit of an overstatement. She got better slowly, but she's still not exactly back to normal.
On the other hand, I got to see this...
And this...
And this...
And this...
And I was so, so wrong...
Worth it? Yeah, most definitely...
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
The Moment You Notice You're Not the Size You Were Before the Babies Arrived!
Took a pre-vacation trip to Target today. "Gi-target", as Little Man would say. But, anyway, Hubby had mentioned that we might get a chance to do the white-shirt-blue-jeans-on-the-beach pictures that we've admired in the past. Of course, I got everyone else's stuff together before realizing that I didn't have a white shirt for myself that hadn't been around since the Clinton administration. So, in my usual run to Target to get teeny, tiny shampoos and lotions, I naively thought I'd just pick up a white shirt to go with my jeans that finally fit again post-baby.
Ah, yes, the good ol' days of zipping in, picking up something cute, and zipping back out. One more thing to remember fondly. I found 6 shirts to try on. Surely I'd get a winner, right? I'd been kind to myself and gotten a size larger than I'd bought in the past. No reason to stress over remaining baby weight less than 24 hours before spending a week in a swimsuit. Struck out with 5 of the 6 shirts, and the last one is questionable. Apparently I misjudged the size increase needed. What an ego blow! I know I look different than I did before my mama-body took over, but I shop for clothes so rarely that the inability to find ANYTHING tolerable to wear took me quite by surprise!
But, at the end of the day, I did find something that would work. And, one of the advantages of having the kids? No one's looking at me anyway!
Ah, yes, the good ol' days of zipping in, picking up something cute, and zipping back out. One more thing to remember fondly. I found 6 shirts to try on. Surely I'd get a winner, right? I'd been kind to myself and gotten a size larger than I'd bought in the past. No reason to stress over remaining baby weight less than 24 hours before spending a week in a swimsuit. Struck out with 5 of the 6 shirts, and the last one is questionable. Apparently I misjudged the size increase needed. What an ego blow! I know I look different than I did before my mama-body took over, but I shop for clothes so rarely that the inability to find ANYTHING tolerable to wear took me quite by surprise!
But, at the end of the day, I did find something that would work. And, one of the advantages of having the kids? No one's looking at me anyway!
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