Poor Vivian

Someday, when the girls look back at this blog, Vivian is totally going to need at least three years of therapy as to why MONTHS went by after her birth before I even remotely tried to compose posts about her. Parenting fail.

So, as a way to try to make up to her for my slacking, I shall dedicate this post to her and all her going-ons.

Vivian is 10 months old. She is so her own little person. She likes to cuddle, screech, crawl, eat, chase the cats, nap, clap her hands, nurse, cry, and is mesmerized by her big sisters. She has a temper that could rival that of angry person you know.

I find it a smidge harder to finagle three kiddos. It's no longer the matter of Evan taking one kid and me taking another. Now one of us has to be in charge of at least 2-3 of them at a time!! ( All of you with 3+ kids are laughing at me now, aren't you?)

The crazy thing is, Vivian is going to be one year old next month. How is that even possible?!?!

Here are some pictures of my sweet baby V. I hope this helps future V forgive me for neglecting her blog wise.

Poop.

Julia turned 4 years old last month. We had a small celebration with our friends in Colorado while we were visiting there and then celebrated again on her actual birthday at home.  She asked for a bunny cake this year, so I ended up making two--a pink one for the Colorado party and a brown one for her birthday.

 Julia is still Julia--fiesty, sweet, big emotions, smart, funny, stubborn, spunky.  She still sleeps with her nubs, pink bunny, and blankie.  She loves to draw, color, skip, jump on the trampoline, play with baby dolls, ride her bike.  She still holds my hand when we walk places.  She still gives hugs as hard as she can.  She still loves apple juice and Cheezits.

 Julia only wears skirts or dresses (even when playing t-ball this spring).  Her favorite color is pink and she loves painting her nails.  She loves to dig in the dirt and help cook in the kitchen.  She loves to dance and play ball.

 Julia also is scared of bugs.  While watching Evan and Julia playing catch, she unknowingly put her foot in an ant hill. Evan said that hundreds of ants were crawling up her legs and biting her by the time he ran to her.  He beat off as many of the ants as he could and carried her home bawling in his arms to rinse her off and put medicine on her bites. She has been out-of-her-mind scared of bugs (especially ants) ever since.

 Another one of Julia's fears that we've been dealing with for over a year now is her fear of pooping in the toilet. Over a year ago, Julia showed interest in using the toilet.  We let her wear underwear and she started urinating in the toilet pretty regularly.  She was very proud. She would not, however, poop in the toilet.  She would either poop in her froggies (aka: Pull-ups with pictures of frogs on them) or in her underwear.  One day, while over at our friend Rachel's house, Julia was sitting on the toilet waiting for me to bring her a froggie.  She needed to poop and did NOT want to use the toilet.  Well,she ended up pooping in the toilet...which hurt her.  She cried and cried.  We didn't push pooping in the toilet after that, trying to give her time to get over the fear of pooping.

Weeks turned to months and Julia did everything in her little power to not poop in the toilet.  She basically trained herself to wait for nap time and bed time and just poop in her froggie.  We didn't really push it too much.  I had dealt with kids whose parents were so micro-mananging about potty training when I taught preschool age kids that the kids ended up being super constipated and miserable.  I did not want that for my Juju.

Around Halloween, Julia declared that she would poop in the toilet at Christmas time.  As Christmas time crept up, Julia changed her mind and declared she would not poop in the toilet until she was a big sister.  We all said ok, no pressure. Once Vivian was born, we encouraged Julia to at least try pooping in the toilet before asking for a froggie.  She said ok, but she didn't really try very hard.  Then, one day, while going "tinkles", she accidentally ended up pooping a good sized poop.  We all cheered, but Julia started hysterically crying.  She did not want us congratulating her.  She was mortified that her body had betrayed her and allowed a poop out in the toilet.

After that incident, Julia stopped pooping completely.  She wouldn't go in the toilet. She wouldn't poop in a froggie.  After a week of no pooping, Julia started complaining of tummy aches. After two weeks, she was leaving smears in her pants, but still refused to poop. She was getting open wounds from having to be wiped/having poop on her bottom so much. So, now she really didn't want to tell us if she needed to or had pooped because we'd have to wipe her and that was such a traumatic ordeal.  Her screams when being changed made me cry from helplessness. She would leak poop and not even realize she'd done it. If we tried to make her sit on the toilet, she would scream like we were forcing her to put her hands on an open flame. She was terrified.   After almost a month, Julia wasn't even passing gas. Her stomach was rock hard. She was lethargic, grumpy, miserable.

I had avoided seeing a doctor because I knew they'd want to give her an enema and  I couldn't imagine Julia's reaction to that idea. Her biggest fear was pooping and we'd be forcing her to poop by putting medicine in her poop hole (as she calls it).  I took her to a chiropractor, I asked other moms for help and ideas, I googled, I pushed water and gave her fiber, but when we got to that month mark, I was frightened for Julia's insides.  So, we made an appointment with one of the pediatricians on base. The doctor was very nice, especially when I started bawling my eyes out in her office. She talked to Julia about needing to poop, why it was important, etc. Julia nodded and was so, so little sitting there in her pretty dress and favorite red shoes. The doctor told me she didn't need to take x-rays to be able to tell that Julia was completely full of poop--she could tell just by feeling her stomach.  As I'd predicted, she prescribed an enema and also mirilax to help keep her stools soft. The doctor also diagnosed her with encopresis--http://medical-dictionary.thefreedictionary.com/encopresis

I'm not going to go into how giving Julia the enema went.  It was the worst day I've ever had as a parent so far. I really, really hope she doesn't remember the fear and pain she went through that day, but I have a feeling she will. But, I will say that it worked and cleared out her system. That was April.

Now, well, we're just being patient and supportive.  Julia still doesn't use the toilet. She has been able to tell us (after endless conversations) that she is scared to push because she thinks it will hurt her bottom if she poops.  She is always (always) sincerely apologetic when she poops her pants. I've heard her countless times talking to herself in the bathroom when she thinks we can't hear her, giving herself pep talks about how someday she will poop in the toilet and not be scared. (yes, I cry every time I hear her tell herself that). The thing is, this isn't just a battle of wills. Her fear is just as real as Elisabeth's fear of the dark.  I'm not going to make my kid do something she is scared to do; there's no good that will come of that for her or us. What we can do is just help her; give her the confidence that she will some day no longer be scared to poop. We encourage her to poop in her froggies whenever she wants because I will never have her go that long without a bowel movement again. We do encourage her to use the toilet, but don't push it. We found a book about being scared to poop, It Hurts When I Poop,  and read it to her a lot (it's one of her favorites because she TOTALLY understands where the main character is coming from). She takes fiber every day and has only recently stopped taking the mirilax.

Some days, I want to scream and throw a tantrum that she has pooped another pair of underwear. That it's the millionth pair of underwear I've had to clean out. Some days I want to cry if I have to deal with any kind of poop ever again.  Other days, I am the most patient parent you will ever meet.  I am understanding, supportive, her best ally.  

 Why am I telling you all about Julia and her toilet training?  Because I felt really alone in this sometimes.  Because when people who know we've struggled with this poop issue ask how it's going, I have nothing new to tell them. Because for some reason there is a shamefulness to having a kid who deals with these toilet issues and there shouldn't be. It's a medical condition.  It won't get better over night, or maybe even this year. She has to get over that mental block of being scared before we can at all progress to using the toilet.

But, I am also telling you this because you might know someone whose kid dealt with this or you might be dealing with this too and you should know you're not alone, your kid is not alone. It doesn't make you a bad parent and your kid shouldn't feel ashamed.

I no longer ask parents how potty training is going unless they bring it up first. I also do not judge any kid in a pull up who seems to be a bit too big to be wearing one. My Juju sometimes still wears one in public (if it's been a rough day and we've run out of clean underwear) and I pity any person who makes a snide remark within my ear shot of me about her wearing one. :)

Chit Chat.

Vivian was the first one to wake up this morning. Usually, it is Julia who is the first to wake up.  Julia gets up between 7-8 most days and then quietly (well, as quietly as a child who only talks/walks/plays in exclamation points can be) comes into our room to let me know she is awake and hungry. Sometimes, Vivian will wake up at that time too, but sometimes V will sleep until 9 or later (I know! I'm totally keeping her!).  Elisabeth, who is daily turning more and more into me (may god have mercy on our souls) wakes up no earlier than 10. Of course, Ebeth stays up until at least 10 every night reading, which is fine.  It is summer break. :)

Elisabeth and I are on the final book of Harry Potter. I'm pretty sure I started reading the series to her the summer before she started 2nd grade, which makes two full years of reading all 7 Harry Potter books. I will be sad when we are done. It's been fun seeing her fall in love with the books and characters. She wants to listen when I started reading them to Julia when she turns 7.  :)

 At least once a day, one of the older girls tells me how much they love having a baby in the house.  It's super sweet.  Part of the love has to come from the fact that Vivian is such a smiley, funny baby.  At first we kept comparing her personality traits to the other two girls, but now, there's no denying she's just Sweet Baby V--her own little self.  She is just so content, which makes her a fabulous third baby...especially when that second kid is Julia, who, let's face it, needs a lot of attention.

 So, I am a total Pinterest fan, and have decided that for the remainder of the summer, I'd utilize the fabulous craft ideas for the girls.  I've made a very fluid activity calendar for Monday-Friday for July and August.  I needed a little bit of structure to depend on so I wouldn't LOSE MY MIND every day when the girls get bored and start bickering. Honestly, they find something to fight about every single day. Plus, Elisabeth is already asking when school will start (not till August 27th!!!!) and I kind of wanted to get Julia used to a bit of activity structure at home because I plan on doing a very lazy version of homeschooling her preschool next year (very lazy...makes me sound so put together, yes?)  So, I have at least one small thing planned and a bunch of them are Pinterest ideas. The last two summers were spent going on weekly field trips with our Colorado friends, so that wasn't going to work here. In Texas.  Today we are making homemade butterfingers.  Mmm...

Omg, you guys, I have been purging our house of unneeded things.  This past weekend I tackled our basement.  Holy moly, that place was a dump!  Things were just thrown about willy nilly when I was laid up with a broken foot and I just haven't gotten around to reorganizing it yet.  But, with Vivian outgrowing her 6 month clothes and fully into 9 month clothes, I needed to get to the 12-18 month clothes to wash them and have them ready for her next growth spurt.  The super sad thing is that, when V outgrows her clothes, they aren"t being stored for more babies.  They are either getting put in a garage sale pile, a throw away pile, or put into a keepsake box for the girls. Clothes that Ebeth used to wear as a baby that I got to put on Julia and Vivian.  It makes me weepy.  But, I am keeping a few favorites (coming home from the hospital outfits, first Christmas pajamas, a couple of baby outfits that were favorites that we can't part with).  Dude, when Vivian out grew the baby bathtub that all three girls had used, I wanted to throw caution into the wind and say "I want more babies!!!".  Just a fleeting moment of insanity, I promise.

Life with Three

This Wednesday, Vivian will be 6 weeks old.  I'm going to stereotypically tell you how it has both dragged and flown by...well, because it's true.  

Of course the first couple of weeks dragged on and on--I was sore and a hormonal basket case.  I was also getting to know the newest person in our house. But, as with the two before her, it is amazing how quickly they get bigger when you are least suspecting it.

We've slowly gotten back to our normal routine. Vivian wakes up about 2 times a night (rarely 3...which means tonight will be one of those nights...) and is usually up for the day around 7-7:30.  I no longer feel overwhelmed when I have to drive somewhere solo with more than one child.  I have also come to terms with the fact that Vivian is going to be glued to me since I am her food source. I won't lie, I forgot about this part.

Actually, having an infant this time around is surprisingly easier. Maybe it's because I know she's my last one so I'm trying to soak it all in or maybe it's because it's my third time at this rodeo, but I don't feel overwhelmed by all things baby.  She's pretty predictable right now anyway; if she's not eating she's napping or crying because she'd like to be eating or napping.  Just this week she's been awake more and interacting with us.  She started smiling (especially at the girls) (and floor lamps), which is always an awesome time in babydom.

Here is Ebeth at the park the weekend before Vivian was born:  

Julia has done a fine job of sharing Evan with Vivian.  Evan is her favoritest person, and so far Vivian hasn't demanded too much of his time (since she is ALWAYS eating off of me), so there has been no jealousy...yet.

Julia jumping in puddles with her lady bug rain boots.  That girl loves jumping in a good muddy puddle.

Vivian joins our crew.

The last time we talked, I was explaining to you all how I had broken my ankle.

A lot has happened since then.  So much, that I won't be able to tell you all about it in this post, so I'll just tell you that 10 days before Vivian was born, I got that damn boot off my broken ankle.  My mom was still staying with us and helping out.  Once I got my boot off, though, we all literally sat around and waited for the baby to evacuate my belly.  It was obnoxiously annoying. I was already 2 days "overdue" when the boot came off, so waiting for the baby was a part of our daily routine.  And, with those stupid false labor pains, I was tired of feeling like a side show at the circus where everyone is waiting for the climax impatiently.

So, I decided to pretend that the baby was going to permanently be in my belly (didn't work) and focus on our last few days of being a family of four.  I slowly went on one mile walks.  I went to the grocery store and took the girls to their dance lessons. I tried to soak in the fact that my two girls would not just be just two for much longer...they'd soon be three!

 On February 22nd, I went in for my weekly monitoring of the baby. Ever since the breaking of the ankle, I was scheduled for antepartum monitoring.  They'd strap me up to machines to check my blood pressure, heart rate, contractions (if any), and the baby's heartbeat.  Then, I'd have to go and get an ultrasound to make sure everything was going well in the baby house.  I won't lie, I dreaded monitoring.  I would have to pack up me, Julia, and my mom.  We'd try desperately to get to the appointment on time and then sit there and stare at each other while I'd wait to hear what I already knew--the baby was doing excellent.  On the 22nd, when the nurses reminded me that I was 41 weeks and 2 days and that the hospital had a policy of inducing at 41 weeks and 5 days, I was having some pretty hard contractions.  I was technically scheduled for an induction that day at 6:00AM, but I'd skipped it because I really wanted to go naturally and was contracting as it was.  When they did the ultrasound, they were concerned with the low amniotic fluid. They wanted to admit me right away. I said no.  There was no way I was going to be admitted and not go home, get my things, explain to Julia what was going on, eat some lunch, and make sure my mom and the girls were set for when we were in the hospital.  I had to sign a waiver saying I was leaving the hospital against medical advice (which I did gladly).  Evan came home from his office and we got ourselves ready, said good-bye to Julia (Ebeth was at school) and headed to Jimmy Johns (as is "Virginia is having a baby" tradition).

I arrived at the hospital around 3:30, I had a fabulously wonderful idea of how I wanted this baby to be born, but I am a super crunchy/hippie/earth mother about birth and knew I would need to be flexible coming into a military hospital.  The staff found my disinterest in being induced or having any pain medicine amazing...or rather, amazingly weird.  I did say I would agree to the smallest dose of pitocin but refused any pain meds. By 6:30, my contractions were really intense.  When it came time to push, it all came about so very fast.  I actually don't remember all of the details. I know it was more pain than I remembered with the other two.  I know that I was being told that the baby's heart rate was dropping and that I was given oxygen through a mask (which, once it was given, I realized I really needed). I remember wanting to tell the staff to quit calling me "Mama" (I hate that). When I finally pushed her out, there was a great rush to get her over to the incubator.  Evan told me later that she came out purple/blue; that she wasn't breathing; that they had to suck out her nose, throat, and rub her to get her to take that first breath.  I do know that when I opened my eyes finally (I always push with my eyes closed and don't open them unless Evan reminds me or until the baby is born), there were about 12 people in my room.  Yes, the hospital is a teaching hospital, but a lot of that staff was there as a just in case something goes wrong.  Kind of scary.

Vivian did give out a first cry, which sounded like a cat whose tail was being stepped on.

.

She looks exactly like her sisters before her--lots of dark hair, perfect little lips.  Evan told me the same thing he told me when Julia was born when I finally pushed her out, "She looks just like Elisabeth; beautiful!"

Vivian joined our crew weighing in at 8lbs 3oz (my biggest baby!). She was born at 8:06PM (my only evening baby) and she seemed to decide she liked us right away. Evan drove to pick up the girls so they could meet their new sister and, of course, they loved her instantly.

My mom's reward for putting up with me for almost 2 months through a broken foot and a pregnancy that seemed to never want to end?  Being the first family member to meet Vivian.  Vivian was very excited to meet her Memaw.  :)

One of my favorite pictures of the girls:

Can I please tell you how excited I was to no longer be pregnant?  To actually be holding the baby who took her sweet time in joining our family?  Cause I was 41 weeks and 3 days when she was born. That's a long time to grow a baby.

And now, we're a family of five:

Vivian is now a month old and I just now am starting to feel like a human again.  Things are also starting to go back to normal again.  My mom flew back to Illinois on March 2nd and we slowly adapted back to our old routines (just with an extra person added to the mix).  I do spend most of my days sitting on the couch feeding a baby who seems to never tire of eating. But, one of the things that I've been itching to get back to was blogging. I've missed pouring out my thoughts to you people.  And now that I am no longer pregnant, my thoughts are more complete and coherent!

It's good to be back.  :)

Unwilling Couch Potato

You would think that with all the time I have been sitting here on my couch, I would have gotten around to blogging more, but for some reason, I just haven't been in a "bloggy" mood.  Sure, there's been a lot going around in these here parts, but every time I thought about sitting down and writing here, I just couldn't seem to find the words.  Any words.  I blame my pregnancy brain. 

Let's start with the reason why I have been spending so much time on the couch.  Two and half weeks ago, Evan and I were making dinner and I was chatting his ear off.  He'd started the grill (we were going to grill a pizza for the first time!) and was going out to check the fire and I followed him outside to continue with my chatter.  As I stepped down the one, single stair that leads out our back door, my foot slipped. Forgetting that I was 8 months pregnant and not at all centered, I tried to catch balance, but ended up falling sideways and felt my ankle snap. I thought that I screamed out in pain, but Evan said that I didn't scream at all, he just heard a crash and me crying.  I knew instantly it was broken.  I have never broken a bone in my body (except for a toe), but I knew that this was going to be a trip to the emergency room.

The thing about the fall is that it was all in slow motion for me; like those replays in football where they show the player's foot turn in a way no human foot should ever turn.  I have been having issues watching football with Evan the last couple of weeks if one of the guys on the field hurts his ankle in any way.

The good news of all of this is, I did not fall on my stomach in any way.  Never a cramp, never any pain. 

After I told Evan not to touch me (I am one of those people who hate to be talked to or touched when I'm hurt.  Yes, I realize it makes me sound like a jerk, but it has to all be on my terms.), I looked up and tried not to sob when I saw that my girls had run over to see if I was okay along with about 6 of the neighborhood kids.  They were all standing around me in a semi circle...staring. I told Evan we'd have to go the ER, but I wasn't really sure how I was going to stand up, let alone hobble my gigantic pregnant self down the (all of a sudden, super long) sidewalk to my car. The neighbor came out to see if I was ok and was kind enough to help me up. Evan drove the car up to the back door (over our lawn and sidewalk, which all the kids thought was awesome) and I limped to the front seat.  Thankfully, the neighbor offered to keep the girls and feed them while we went to the hospital.

I will not bore you with the details of how the x-ray technician freaked out that I was pregnant and covered me with 3 lead jackets but was by no means gentle with my very, very hurt ankle.  Nor will I go into the story about how, if you are over 20 weeks pregnant, you are shuttled straight up to Labor & Delivery from the ER for 4 hours of monitoring and that, once up there, other doctors (like orthopedics who are supposed to tell you how bad your break is) have a hard time finding you and telling you the results of the xrays.  

I will say that my break was a stable fracture and I did not need surgery.  I was given a walking boot that I will need to wear for at least 6 weeks. I was also prescribed (yes, prescribed) a walker to help me get around.  I am like an old, broken woman.  An old, broken, pregnant woman, that is.

On the way to the hospital, I did break down and cry.  Not so much for the pain I was in, but for the realization that I was not going to have the birth I had been planning in my head for this last pregnancy of ours.  I was not going to get to spend the last few weeks of my pregnancy organizing and getting our house ready for the new person coming to live with us.  To be honest, I have only recently stopped mourning the birth I had envisioned. I have (slowly) come to terms with the fact that I will be going into labor with a broken ankle and a boot on my foot. I was reassured by all the labor and delivery doctors and nurses that I was not the first lady to have a natural delivery with a broken foot/ankle/leg. 

Of course, I broke my right ankle, which means no driving for me until the boot comes off.  This is where I get to brag about how awesome my parents are. When I called them to tell them that I was in the hospital with a broken foot (well, Evan had to tell them because as soon as I heard my mom's voice I started crying like a baby because my mom is a fabulous caretaker and I super wanted her in the hospital with me), my dad went into protective mode.  My parents had already planned a trip to come and see us in February to help after the baby was born.  My parents asked if I wanted my mom to come and stay with us until my boot came off and I immediately said yes.  I fell on a Friday and my dad had changed my mom's plane ticket so that she was at our house by Sunday night.  Honestly, I am forever in debt to them because I do not know how we'd have functioned these last two weeks without her.  Being so pregnant has made this even more tricky because I can't bend at the waist, I have no sense of balance, and I have a lot of doctors appointments I have to go to because they want to continue to keep a close eye on the baby since I had such a fall. My mom has taken over laundry, chauffeuring, and a lot of the child care while I bitterly sit on the couch wishing I could stinking get up and get my own glass of water, but knowing that I can't. She's such a trooper, too, because for the first full week I had cellulitis and was in a terrible amount of pain.  I could barely hobble to the bathroom and cried a lot.

Now, I'm on the mend.  I was able to "walk" up the stairs last night and actually got to sleep in my own bed.  I'm feeling well enough that I'll be able to do it again tonight. I am taking bigger steps with the walker and am pretty confident that I won't need to use the walker around my house by this weekend.  We've gotten to see a lot of this baby with ultrasounds making sure my placenta is where it should be and it's kind of neat to see such a big baby in utero. Right now I am of three mind sets--1. I am at that point in the pregnancy where I am ready to be done and have this baby out but 2.I really need my foot to be better so I'd like the baby to it's time because the longer it waits the stronger my ankle will be but 3.dude, I'm ready to be done being pregnant and wearing a boot.

Food

Hello all!!!

Yes, it is the new year and I am back to feeling bloggy again.  It's been almost a full month since I have felt the need to write down my thoughts and today was a day that I really missed being here.

Of course, once I have downloaded the hundreds of pictures I have on my camera to the computer (being 34 weeks pregnant makes you not only forgetful, but tired as well, so my camera has also been neglected) I will show you all the fun we had over Christmas break.  Evan's parents came to visit along with Kyle and her boys. Their first time visiting us in our new home in Texas!!!

Recently, I told Evan that I wanted to get rid of all the sweenters in our house.  I've been slowly trying to get us to be more mindful of the food we eat and what we have in the house.  A year or so ago, I banned all HFCS and dyes from the house.  This meant saying good bye to some beloved cereals and snacks, but the dyes were really hurting Julia's stomach and I've just never been able to get over how HFCS is made.  So, my family begrudgingly agreed and, low and behold, it turns out that Evan started feeling better when dyes were taken out of his diet too.  Then, I started trying to buy foods that had ingredients we could read, pronounce, and recognize.  That's been harder since processed food is so easily attainable.  I also said I didn't want to use sweetner anymore in our coffee.  Turns out, that was one of the biggest changes we noticed.  Dude, sweenter is gross.

But, throughout all our changes, we've still been keeping cases of soda in the house.  I don't remember what I read or where I read it, but a couple of months ago I was inspired to wean us off of soda.  All soda.  I know that I was drinking about 2 a day and at my worst (when I was teaching) sometimes 4 a day.  Granted, it was Diet Coke, so there were no calories, but that is a lot of chemicals and crap that I was inhaling.  I've given up soda every now and then (for Lent or a diet or to try to build up my self control), but it's always creeped back into my diet.

Growing up, we never had soda in the house. My dad kept diet soda in a refrigerator in the garage, but we rarely drank any.  We'd get sodas sometimes at restaurants, but it was never a daily staple of our diets.  As I got older (probably around high school) I started drinking soda almost daily at school. By college, I was completely addicted to Diet Coke. Probably not an addiction my body has ever appreciated.

So, when I approached Evan about not buying soda anymore, he said no.  He only drank one or two sodas a day and didn't feel it was that big of a deal.  I told him that I would like to try to replace it with sparkling water (like La Crouix) and just see how it goes. Once again, he begrudgingly said he would test it out.  I bought a few flavors of the water and was surprised by how much cheaper buying a 12 pack of the water was compared to buying a 12 pack of any soda.  Maybe saving money would bring a positive spin to getting rid of soda.

Turns out, the water is good.  It took some getting used to since the water is not near as sweet as soda, but we've ended up really liking it.  And, Evan's noticed he doesn't feel as bloated and is feeling better not having soda daily.  I also found sodas with real ingredients at a local store, so we are using those as treats as soda should be.

Since we omitted diet soda from our house (which was around Thanksgiving time!), I haven't really missed it.  I've had 2 Diet Cokes, one consciously and one I ordered out of habit.  Otherwise, we've been drinking water (normal and sparkling), iced tea and orange juice.  Well, I've been drinking orange juice like it's my job, but that's just been the current craving.

Last night I started reading Animal, Vegetable, Miracle by Barbara Kingsolver (gifted to me last Christmas by my lovely friend, Melissa!) and it's the story of her family's journey to eat better.  Kingsolver's fabulous narrative voice tells you how they decided to grow more of their own foods on their small piece of land in the Appalachians and to buy more locally.  I am still in the beginning of the book, but am loving it so far.  I'm hoping to start buying locally here too, especially since we live in Texas and farmers' markets are open year round.

I'm excited!  I know that I am a lover of food and cooking, which does make me more interested in food in general, but I love the idea that I am setting up my kids with a sense of eating healthy.