When to Say When: What the heck does "family planning" mean, anyway?

This post is a bit out of character for the tone of this blog, but I felt the inspiration to write it and the compulsion to actually post it. I understand if some of you don't agree with me and I salute you if you can stick with it to the end.

I know that this is not the actual time in my life to be asking the question of when to stop having children, but I stumbled upon a Blog Post this morning that caused some serious insight on my part. I'm sure most couples at some point have the talk about how many children they'd like to have, what gender, how far apart and what age they'd like to be when they have said children. I think John and I have been talking about this since we had been dating for a month. But, always in our conversations, has been an open acknowledgment that God plays the largest part in our role as parents--we may know what we want, but he knows what we need. In our lives, we've been fortunate that these two opinions seem to have intersected for the most part.

We've been blessed with an easy pregnancy, Audrey's uneventful birth and a beautifully rambunctious child. This time around, we would have liked to have been pregnant sooner (I'm nuts, right?) I actually would have welcomed a pregnancy when Audrey was only months old, but my (for once) sane husband convinced me that it would not have been a stellar idea. That being said, I feel incredibly blessed to be pregnant again so soon. Once we started talking about having kids again, I tried to prepare myself for a long haul, knowing so many women struggling to get pregnant and a lot of mothers who experienced secondary infertility. I felt that thinking the second would be just as easy as the first would be hubris on my part. Luckily, God has chosen for our first two children to be close siblings and I just pray that this baby will be as safe and healthy as Audrey was.

Now, back to my original point: When to say when? I don't think Norbert is my last child by any means, but I think it's important to remember that God brings children into our lives in so many ways. I have an older "brother" who came to us as Joe's best friend and, subsequently, a sister-in-law and nephew who I cannot imagine not being a part of our family. Shawn and Angela found two of their children in Liberia; countless others are blessed by adoption, surrogacy and in vitro procedures.

A favorite story of mine is of my maternal Grandmother (Pfaff), who never thought she would have children. She was in her thirties when my Grandfather was widowed with two girls and they were married six months later. She thought that this was how God had given her children. She told my mother that even though she thought she couldn't have children because of her age, she prayed to have a little boy: my Uncle Bill...and then she prayed to just have one more girl: my mother. Those three sisters have one of the most beautiful bonds I've ever been witness to and they were all given to a woman who thought she would have no children.

The moral of the story as I take it? God says when...and how...and how long. Who else could mastermind such beautiful bonds of family and friendship?

This is Getting Ridiculous

I've found myself stuck with writer's block in the middle of the blogsphere and I need to pee...metaphorically. It's been so crazy around here and I've been meaning to write about a million different things, but I don't have the time/energy/brain power to get it done. So, here is the abridged version:

Jessica and Matt came to visit us. You already knew this. What you didn't know is that it was awesome, even though I was an incredibly sleepy hostess. Matt made us lots of good food (By the way, best idea ever to con your guests into cooking dinner), we lounged by the pool and then they took the train back to Portland through the Gorge. Jessica and Matt did not get to go to Voodoo Donuts, much less get married there. I guess that's what happens when you actually send out save the dates--you can't just pull the rug out from under 250 people and get hitched in a doughnut joint.

Audrey is now 11 months old! How did that happen? I didn't even make baked goods! Bad Mom. Audrey is starting to think about walking, but knowing this kid, it'll take a while for her to decide she actually wants to do it. She still has eight teeth and is eating finger foods like a little piggie. We've also recently decided that she can speak, it's just in French. Anyone with an insider tip on a cheap translator, let me know.

Audrey and I went Cherry picking Friday at an orchard in Benton City (Beautiful! And don't let anyone tell you otherwise.) We now have two shopping bags full of cherries. They're calling me to make them into Jam and Pies. yummmmm

The Cool Desert Nights Car Show started last night with a parade of cars. It was so nice to be around that many real engines and actually smell some good old fashioned exhaust. There were two Goats: one plum '66 and a cherry apple red '67. Next year I'm at least entering the Riv in the parade...but only if John comes with me.

Today was CRAZY. Audrey was awake for two hours last night and John threw out his back at the parade. This means we were both sleep deprived zombies all day and we decided to have an impromptu pool party with the Mullers. It was a ton of fun, but I'm beat!

Tomorrow is my birthday. I'm not saying that to get well wishes, more just to remind myself because I keep forgetting. I'm going to be 24. I'm also writing that to remind myself because I so often just assume I'm 31 like John. It should be an interesting day. Hopefully I don't have to actually do anything. Likely? nope. I'll keep you posted.

Norbert is still 10 weeks old, the size of a kumquat and is now sucking the juices out of Mommy's brain.

In Which Jessica and Matt venture to the Northwest and I Pee in the Woods

It has taken me a while to get around to writing this post...yet again because I just don't think I can do the story justice. It's an epic tale that begins innocently with my best friend from High School, Jessica, and her fiance, Matt, planning a trip to come see the Schweighardt clan.

Times being what they are and air fare being ridiculously expensive, Jessica found some decent tickets into Portland and decided to jump on the deal. I hadn't been to Portland in over a year and have subsequently been craving some good quality sushi, so I bribed my friend Jackie to take the 3 1/2 hour drive with me to Portland with the promise of a delicious sushi meal before we picked Jess and Matt up from the airport.

We left with plenty of time to spare and perhaps it was an unacknowledged sense of foreboding in the air, but Jackie and I started swapping stories of bad luck we've had on road trips. Let me warn you: This will ALWAYS produce a jinx...save the horror stories for when you get home or at the very least, knock on wood. Consider yourself warned.

So, it should come as no surprise that traffic came to a complete stop fifty miles from the Portland airport...in the middle of nowhere. (If you're wondering where nowhere is, it's somewhere between Hood River and Wyeth, OR.) Luckily, Nowhere is at least blessed with a dense forest, because you just can't stop a pregnant lady for 4 hours with no indoor plumbing in sight and expect her to be fine. So, after scowling at every man who decided to relieve himself on the edge of the forest...in view of everyone...just flaunting that the lack of a restroom is no hindrance to the male call of nature, Jackie and I crossed two railroad tracks, scaled a steep hill, grabbing onto pine tree branches as anchors along the way and finally found a suitable place to relieve ourselves. I think this is another way God punished women...seriously, Eve? Did you HAVE to eat the fruit? I mean, did you never think you would be stranded on the side of the road and need to pee? Gah! Women!

Anyway, there's nothing quite like being forced to pee in the woods to create a bond between two people. Once the traffic started moving again and we got over the fact that a flaming hay wagon had delayed us for over four hours, Jackie and I celebrated by rocking out to Bohemian Rhapsody. What can I say, it's an elixir. We even made it to the airport just as Matt and Jess got their bags. Divine intervention really is strange sometimes; maybe God doesn't want me to have sushi.

...the actual story of Jessica and Matt's visit with us will be continued in the next post...unless you want to wait another week for me to get around to finishing this one.

Norbert is almost 10 weeks old and the size of a kumquat. He's still making mama sleepy and now a picky eater...but she's still not technically complaining.

"Sweet Ride"

I'm starting to get an inflated ego--not that it wasn't already well on it's way to begin with, but the newest additions to the Schweighardt complex are really reflecting well on me. Introducing:

Sweet Ride #1: My 1973 Buick Boat tail Riviera

Thanks to my Father, this Beautiful Golden Girl is now parked in our garage in the Tri-Cities. For those of you who don't know the story of how she got here, it all begins with bribery: Dad was determined that all of his kids would graduate from high school and college. And where a little encouragement doesn't hurt, the promise of a car for graduation goes a heck of a lot further.

So, when I got my High School diploma and went off to college, I was given the first Golden Girl: my old faithful 80's Grand Am...who turned out to be not so faithful when someone *cough* not really my fault *cough* forgot to check the fluids before a road trip and cracked the engine head. ouch.

We won't mention the second Golden Girl, aside from saying she was a 1970 Impala and my first love. And yes, John is completely aware that if she were still my car, he and every other man on this earth probably wouldn't stand a chance.

...Which is why being reunited with my third Golden Girl is so special to me. She was my present for graduation with my bachelor's degree and I can honestly say that Dad worked harder on restoring her than either Joe or Emily's college cars. I can say this because I'm the youngest and we get all the best stuff. That being said, I totally don't deserve this car or the implication that someone loves me so much that he wanted to restore it and give it to me. Maybe someday I'll find words adequate enough to say thanks, Dad. (Is it enough to say that writing a post about cars has made me start to tear up...twice?)

Moving on! John and I realized that she may not be a year old yet, but Audrey needed a hot ride too. Itroducing:

Sweet Ride #2: Audrey's new Phil & Ted's Graffiti Sport Stroller

This thing defines the phrase "sweet ride" and it only helps that it was designed in New Zealand by people who enjoy slipping Bill & Ted's references into their product advertisement. It also has a snap on attachment to convert it to a double stroller. (So Audrey can fart on her little sibling, according to Auntie Em)

Hopefull this will just be the begining of Audrey's love affair with the feel of wheels on the pavement and the wind in her hair...as long as she doesn't actually start driving until she's 35.



Norbert is 8 weeks old, the size of a raspberry and is making Mama very, VERY tired...but not sick, so she's not technically complaining...but maybe just a little.

Dragon Smooches

So, my notoriously non-cuddly Dragon has suddenly turned affectionate...toward herself. Check out Audrey giving herself some smooches in the mirror. I'm jealous; I never get kisses!

You Say Norbert, I Say Norberta

So, lately I've been having some doubts about whether my guess at Norbert's gender has been correct. And my reasoning is unbelievably sound. Trust me--I referenced Harry Potter. In case you're out of the loop: Baby Norbert has received his nickname from the Harry Potter series, and is thus named after the baby dragon Hagrid tried to raise in his hut. BUT! I started re-reading the 7th book last night and came upon this 'lil passage that has since made me start to question my judgment:

"Bin meanin' ter write fer ages. How's Norbert doin'?"
"Norbert?" Charlie laughed. "The Norwegian Ridgeback? We call her Norberta now."
"Wha--Norbert's a girl?"
"Oh yeah," said Charlie
"How can you tell?" asked Hermione
"They're a lot more vicious."

ekk! That's enough to plant the seed of doubt into my goldfish-sized brain!

Now, I know for a fact that I've never actually felt any kind of mother's intuition...if such a thing even exists. And I've never understood women who know the exact date of conception and what gender their baby is before even a doctor can tell. Since, apparently, I'm not tuned into this sixth sense of baby wisdom, and Harry Potter has effectively knocked me off of my I-have-no-doubt-Norbert-is-a-boy kick, I think I'll now go for the scientific approach. I figure I've got roughly a 50/50 chance of getting it right, so from now on, I'll spend most of my time waffling evenly between the two--at least then I'm guaranteed to be 50% wrong instead of having a 50% chance of being 100% wrong. Thankyouverymuch, J.K Rowling!

Norberta is 7 weeks old and the size of a Blueberry!

New Video

We are a bunch of sleep-deprived, snot-nosed, allergy-suffering goons around here, but I did download a few new pictures to Picasa and I wanted to share this video with you. It's one of Audrey's favorite new games; John starts at the door of the living room and comes to attack her. Audrey's main defense is trying to burrow into my chest...it doesn't work very well, but she loves it.