Historical Facebook Profiles

Being a teacher is HILARIOUS. And I love it.

I went to a conference last week and left a simple sub plan as kind of a fun day. Kids read stories from the book How They Croaked: The Awful Ends of the Awfully Famous. It's a really well written, very entertaining book about how famous people died.

Here's an excerpt:
"In 1827, Beethoven got pneumonia, and he couldn't shake it. His stomach was killing him. He couldn't go to the bathroom (chamber pot); his skin was the color of a banana, and blood dripped out of his mouth. Then he got dropsy. That's when fluid inside your body that's supposed to get out, can't. Very quickly, Beethoven's body filled up with rotting fluid. He got huge. His stomach bloated, and the skin stretched across it tight as a balloon."

Knowing they'd love it, I had the kids read about a famous person and then create a Facebook profile for that person. 
And it was  a GREAT IDEA. 

Here are a few of my favorites. 

Elizabeth I

 Marie Antoinette

Marie Curie

Pocahontas

Julius Caesar

Mozart

King Henry VIII

Beethoven

Napoleon

Edgar Allan Poe

Boring Update

Being grateful for exercise and eating healthy is...going.

Wedensday morning, we didn't have milk for cereal (my favorite thing for breakfast, of course), so I stopped by Walmart for something sweet.

As I walked through the giant store I frequently accidentally confuse with McDonald's, I said to myself, "Make smart choices. Make smart choices, Natalie." I may have looked insane talking to myself, because I was talking to myself at a normal conversational volume.

"Make smart choices. Uh oh, I know the Pop Tarts are down this isle. I probably shouldn't buy those."

*Continues walking toward the Pop Tarts.

"But really. Don't do it."

*Stops in front of the Pop Tarts

"Well, maybe I can practice self control."

I walked out of there with Pop Tarts and Darigold chocolate milk. (mmmmmmmmmm)

Not the best choices, BUT I only ate one Pop Tart. Boom. Self control. (I ate the second one later that day, but I felt pretty good about my choice.)

On the exercise front, I have done some brief, but intense, workouts on the floor in front of the TV. You know, leg raises, etc... That's better than doing nothing, right? ;)

I Will Be Grateful For Exercise...

Let's talk adjectives.

Having a baby is: amazing, mind-blowing, incredible, strange, life-altering, emotional, rough, exhilarating, hard, painful, wonderful.
I am constantly in awe of the little person who came out of me. I mean, look at him!

I am also constantly noticing how my body has changed. Nothing drastic. I only gained 28 pounds, which is pretty great considering I was expecting to blow up like a balloon. I've already lost about 15-20 of those pounds, depending on how much ice cream I've eaten that day. But I'm just in a rut. I'm trying, guys. But having a healthy lifestyle is so hard. Losing any more weight just feels like so much effort.

I've never been a fan of exercising or eating right. Really anything that requires me to have self-control has always annoyed me. I want to watch 29 episodes of Parks and Rec in a row while eating an entire gallon of Tillamook Smore's ice cream. Okay?! Just, gosh! Be cool!

But

I really love how I feel when I am in control and when I feel strong. I love when picking up something heavy doesn't make me struggle, when going upstairs is invigorating, when I randomly feel like doing lunges in the hallway (that's a thing). I love the energy I have when I exercise everyday and don't eat a gallon of ice cream in one sitting...

But

Motivation!????
The knowledge that I can feel that good in like 3 months is not motivation enough. "3 months?!" my body says. "That's not worth it! Gimme that ice cream!"

I've tried incentives for myself.
This week I told myself that if I tracked what I ate all day the whole week, I would get a haircut. Looks like I'm not getting that haircut yet...

You know what I do like, though? I like writing. I like writing and when people read my writing and when they're like - you're a good writer! This was entertaining! That pumps me up. I'm not a great writer, but gimme that praise!

So

Challenge time! Let's say this is part of my happiness project. This month is Gratitude month, so I'm going to say my challenge is to learn to be grateful for exercise and healthy food. And I'm going to write about it, because here is a simple list of things I love: Challenges, writing, social media, people liking things I do.

You certainly don't have to read about it - because I can guarantee it will be pathetic. You'll be like, She is complaining about running less than a mile? 
She only has to lose 10 pounds?
She's not fat! (Awwww, thanks for thinking that.)

But you can follow my journey if you like. The more people who do, the more I'll feel like I should be writing about how I'm learning to be grateful for exercise.

Now, I did just spend about 20 minutes writing this when I could have been exercising...but...uhh... That's because it starts tomorrow? Yeah, that's why.

How To Make Red Beans And Rice

I've been wondering what to blog about. I have the intense desire to write and create, but after writing Charlie's birth story, nothing else seems worthy.
But you're in luck because I tried a new recipe tonight that went...well, it went how most things usually go when I try something new.

So for your culinary pleasure, here is how you make Red Beans & Rice:
(inspired by the recipe found here)

This is the goal...

First, get started too late. Know that you need a good 3 or 4 hours to make this meal, but come home around 4:30pm and realize that you don't have all the ingredients.

Instead of making something else for dinner, go to the store. You have time.

Once you have all of the ingredients, come home and get cookin'!
Dice up the sausage, onions, green pepper, and celery. Cook it up and add the spices needed.

As it is cooking, let your child kick really hard in his bouncy chair until he almost falls out. He's fine.

Next, go add the red beans. It's now 5:45pm, by the way. You're lookin' at a 9:30pm eat time, which is great. This is what you wanted.

And even though you want to eat when you're supposed to be in bed, notice how hard the beans still are as you dump them into the pot.
Yes, you're making this meal with dried beans and you did soak them in water over night, but start to wonder if using beans from a can would be faster. Maybe then it wouldn't take 3 or 4 hours? Maybe?
Ponder this idea.

Check your pantree for some beans.
Surprise! You don't have any.

Hangrily scoop out the hard beans you've already dumped into the pot, and send your husband to the store for some canned beans while you hang out with your baby and watch Parks and Rec to relax.

Once your husband is home, dump in the canned beans and start them boiling. Cross your fingers that the actual cooking part will only take an hour. 

Start smashing some of the beans, and be impressed by your progress! It seems to be working! The Hanger should be subsiding. 

As it continues to boil and your spirits rise, realize you may be able to eat by 7!
Hang out with your baby again. He's just so stinkin' cute.

Once your hunger has reached its peak, and the beans look pretty thick and delicious, dish it up with some rice. It's only 7 o'clock and congratulations, you didn't kill anyone in a hangry rage.

If you're patient, you can make it pretty like Kelly's bowl on the left. If you're not, then it might look like mine. But have no fear, it tastes just as good (and spicy because you didn't realize the value of cayenne pepper...)

Baby Thoughts

Becoming a new mom is strange. Yes, it develops over a period of 9 long months. You watch your belly grow and your feet disappear; you eat strange Mexican popsicles for breakfast and find yourself out of breath after walking down the hall, but sometimes, in the thick of it, it feels like it has happened all of the sudden. You're little baby is almost 5 months old and as you're trying to suck the sticky boogers out of his nose one night, it just hits you. YOU'RE A MOM. Or perhaps it's the fifth time you wake up in the middle of the night to shush your 4 week old baby back to sleep. YOU'RE A MOM.

I'm feeling that today as Charlie cries and whines and pukes and keeps me inside all day.

He's finally asleep, and I just want to write.
So, let's talk about those first few weeks after having a baby, shall we?

The days in the hospital felt like a honeymoon. People couldn't stop congratulating us and commenting on Charlie's round head (have I talked about that enough yet?), and we had multiple visitors, telling me I was so strong to already be up and moving around, and bringing me snacks and presents. It was crazy and wonderful. I was beaming. I was starting to think that the "baby blues" wouldn't hit me at all. Maybe I was lucky. Yes, I was crazy sleep deprived and stressed about my new responsibilities, but I was basking in the glow of all the attention (if you know me at all you know I love attention. That's why I love being a teacher). I felt great.

And then we went home. The first few days were still pretty good. People stopped by to bring us meals and told me how great I looked. Why, thank you!
But then something happened the night before my mom left. I was sitting on the couch, holding Charlie. The sun had just gone down and everything was fine. Better than fine. I think my mom was even singing. But suddenly...tears. Just silently sobbing on the couch as Charlie slept in my arms and I didn't know why. When Kelly asked, all I could do was scrunch my face up and shrug.

The next 2 weeks followed suit. I cried all the time. It was different than my pregnancy crying just because I was hungry. It wasn't crying that would turn into smiles and laughter after I got some ice cream.

Kelly would talk to me a lot during these moments, which was amazingly helpful. He would try to make me put my feelings into words, which was hard, but really helped me realize how irrational some of my thoughts were. At one point, I said, "I just feel worthless." I did. It made no sense. I had just started the most important and needed role in my whole life, and I was feeling worthless.

On day ten post-Charlie, the night the pain in my abdomen was too much for ice packs and my fever spiked over 100.4, we went into the ER to get antibiotics for an internal infection. We were there for over 4 hours. I had doctors and nurses fussing over me, checking my IV, bringing me water and medicine and crackers. The doctor I met with that night was so nice and validating. She was so sympathetic and kind. I found myself leaning back in my bed, in pain, but smiling. That night was a long, satisfying sigh.

I felt sheepish saying it, but I told Kelly it was the first night in a while that I felt okay and I think it was because of the returned attention. I think one big thing that contributes to the baby blues is how quickly we lose all that attention. For 9 months, and 4 days in the hospital, everyone was fussing over me. But when Charlie was born, I disappeared. I mean, I know I didn't. People still asked how I was doing all the time and clearly cared about me, but my crazy doped-up-on-baby-chemicals brain told me I disappeared. And I was worthless. And I was a nobody.

Lucky for me, those awful thoughts only lasted for 2 weeks - pretty much the exact time the doctors say it should last. I was so ready to call the doctor for postpartum depression medication if it lasted even a day longer than 2 weeks. I'm a big believer in medication and doctors and therapy. Do what you gotta do to get better.

Seriously, new mamas out there, those post-baby negative thoughts and feelings are bonkers.
But it ends. Whether with the help of medication or not, it ends.

And it just gets better every single day.

Tonight, after he belch-puked and cried harder than I'd seen in a while, our sick little Charlie started to really pronounce the D sound. Dadadada. That seems like the simplest thing, but I felt my world light up. It's so exciting to watch him grow and learn and try new things and become a little person. I feel so excited and proud and full of love every single day (and the storage on my phone is quickly running out). Loving Charlie is like going to Disneyland, there is an electric light parade and a fireworks show in my heart every night.

I never understood when people talked about how wonderful it is to have children. I thought it looked hard and stressful and sure, sometimes fun. I didn't know.
But it is.

So freaking wonderful. 

5 Years!

2007: 

At first I was his stalker, saving him a seat at work (or rather, forcing him to sit by me), and creating a FaceBook group titled "I'm In Love With Kelly Thomson."

But come on. He totally flirted back.

2008: 

Then I was his friend. I invited him over to carve pumpkins, make s'mores, watch movies, and so I could smell his armpits. (Okay, fine. I was still kind of his stalker)

2009: 

Then I was his girlfriend. I had to snatch him up before he left BYU for good. I told him to ask me on a date just in time.

2010: 

After loving the time as his girlfriend, he made me his fiance.

 And then thankfully, his wife.

2015: 

And now we are parents?!

 We made a human?!

Life is amazing and fast and fun, and there is never a dull moment being married to Kelly Thomson. I am so lucky.

 Happy 5 years to us!

Welcome Charlie Part 2

A lot of my friends and people I know on Facebook are having babies - it's that time of life. I feel like every time I see their pictures after birth, they look so beautiful, sitting up, cradling their babies, looking like they aren't in pain. My pictures are a bit different, because I felt a bit different...
(but maybe this happens to a lot of C-section mamas, and I'm nothing special. Every birth story is traumatic and exhausting, but, come on, guys. This is cathartic for me. Just roll with it.)

After they gave me that morphine, things got woozy and fuzzy.
I remember being wheeled out of the OR (this time more like Grey's Anatomy), and...where was Charlie? Was Kelly carrying him, walking next to me? Kelly must have been carrying him.

...Nope. I just asked Kelly.

Apparently Charlie was in my lap as they wheeled me to my recovery room. I don't remember any of this. Morphine does not sit well with me. I was so out of it and felt sick to my stomach. I do remember at one point, they gave me Charlie to hold. I held him to me and they encouraged me to try breastfeeding. I started to fidget with my gown, but couldn't do it.

"Someone needs to take Charlie before I throw up on him."

These pictures Emily took tell the story pretty well (remember what I said about birth being all about unflattering photos?):

Kelly said he felt pretty alone those first few hours. 

I felt sick and sad. I couldn't sit up. I couldn't hold my baby. I couldn't even hold my lunch (figuratively speaking, since I wasn't allowed to have lunch).

I was so sick from the Morphine, they had to give me Phenergan, which then just made me extremely tired and out of it. I could not stay awake, and I was imagining strange things. At one point, a nurse was telling me something important, and as I looked at her to show I was paying attention, all I remember her saying was something about Jedi chicken nuggets. I'm pretty sure she didn't say anything even remotely close to that.

 But eventually, the drugs wore off and I was able to hold my Charlie.

That first night was rough. I mean, ROUGH. Charlie cried every hour, on the hour. I was in pain, and didn't want to take any of the strong drugs after what I had just been through with the morphine. Kelly and I were both really cranky and exhausted. By 4am, we sent Charlie to the nursery so we could get some rest. Did I want them to wake me up when it was time for him to eat? I was just too tired... no. Just feed him. You guys are probably better at it than I am. 

The next day, I showered, took a walk, and visited with my mom and sister. I was glad to be coherent again, even if I moved like a 100 year old woman.

As the day went on, the nurses became increasingly concerned with Charlie's breathing. Normal breath rates for newborn are between 30-60 a minute. They counted Charlie's breaths in the 90's. They furrowed their brows, and said they'd keep an eye on it.

Meanwhile, Charlie wouldn't eat. He screamed any time I would bring him to my chest. That didn't make me feel too great as a new mom. 

We called in a few lactation specialists, which was the WORST. In our childbirth class, they praised lactation specialists. Oh, they're god-sends; definitely talk with one. You'll love it. They're life savers. You'll feel like you've died and gone to heaven. You might even start to pray to them. All hail the lactation specialists.

Our experience left us cursing them instead (sorry, great lactation specialists out there. I'm sure I would praise some of you had I the opportunity to meet with you instead).

It went pretty much like this:

Me: He screams every time I try to feed him. 

Lactation specialist: Well, you're holding him wrong. Hold him like this *a super uncomfortable way that was impossible*

Me: Okay, but he's still screaming when I try to feed him. See?

LS: Well, he can sense your insecurity. Be more confident and wait until he opens his mouth, and put him on.

*LS continues to shove Charlie's face into me as he screams, which makes him scream louder*

LS: His breathing is too fast. 

Me: Yeah, we've noticed that. The nurses are keeping an eye on it. Maybe it's because he's been crying so hard?

LS: I don't know why he's not in the NICU. It's way too fast. He should be in the NICU.

Me: *holding back tears* Well, how do I get him to eat?

LS: You're just doing it wrong. *SHOVE*

Me: This is stressing me out *burst into violent tears*

Kelly was not pleased with this encounter, and he let her know. And then he let the charge nurse know. He let everyone know, really. 

We finally got Charlie to eat a little bit with a tube taped to my chest, connected to some formula. That was a pain to set up. But by this time, his breaths per minute had gone up into the 100's. No one was concerned with my slight inconvenience.

After more furrowing of their brows, the nurses took him up for some tests, x-rays, and feeding with a tube. I had to stay behind to try to get some milk for the little guy, but Kelly went up with him after giving him his first father's blessing in my arms.

Kelly sent me these pictures from the NICU.

My new-mommy heart didn't know what to do about the tiny baby IV in his hand.

I had a nurse wheel me up to the NICU room as soon as I could, and sat in a chair next to Kelly as they put a little tube down into Charlie's stomach to feed him. Everyone was acting so normal, like what was happening wasn't at all out of the ordinary. Just feeding your baby with a tube, no big deal. I felt like I couldn't fall apart. With everyone acting so normal, things must be fine.

But watching them put a tube down his throat did not feel fine. Typical, worried mom stereotypes flooded my mind. I didn't want to just cry for seemingly no reason (boy, was I in for a surprise the next 2 weeks...) - I wanted to be strong and so not worried, like everyone else seemed to be. I was strong. I was calm and cool. I was a totally relaxed new mom.

But I wasn't.

I was neither calm nor cool. I was helpless as my tiny baby was poked and prodded.

Words from the blessing Kelly gave me Wednesday played in my mind on repeat: "Keep things in perspective. Don't overdramatize things."

I knew things would be fine. My mind was very rational. It said, Everything's fine, Natalie. This is probably unnecessary. This will be over very soon, and he'll be a healthy, happy boy. No need to worry. 

But my heart - my mushy, hypersensitive heart said, There's a tube down his throat, and he's covered in wires. Why is he covered in wires? He should be in your arms. His poor little heels - pricked and squeezed for blood. He must be so uncomfortable. He needs you. Nothing is okay! Can we just go back to everyone commenting on how round his head is?!

And so I silently wept in the uncomfortable hospital chair as I waited the moment to pass.

After the tube feeding, they put him - cords and all - on my chest. He was sedated with glucose (his first sugar coma), and his breathing was short and quick against the slow and steady rise and fall of my own.

After more tests over the next 3 days, they determined that he was just stressed out. A sensitive boy. He just needed us to be calm; he didn't need us shoving his face into my boob over and over again as he screamed.

Before we left the hospital, Charlie had one more breathing test. The sassy South African charge nurse came in to test Charlie's oxygen levels as he ate. She wrapped a tiny cuff monitor around his foot, and gave us the most sound advice we had heard since getting pregnant.

(Imagine a strong African accent and freezing cold hands)
"People will tell you to do all these things - hold him this way, feed him that way. You know what is best. You are the mother. Do what works for you."

It was exactly what we needed to hear after 4 days of being told how worried we should be by doctors. She was my spirit guide.

"Do you think puppies come out and they need a nurse to teach them to breastfeed? No! It is human nature. You are his mother - you know what to do."

I am Charlie's mother. I know what to do.
That should be my mantra.

I never once wore anything other than a hospital gown our 4 days in the hospital, and at the end of it all of Charlie's oxygen levels were perfect - we went home.

 And then I cried for 2 weeks straight and got an infection, which landed me back in the ER, and life was strange and confusing and wonderful and suddenly fulfilling...but those are all words for another post, another time.