In all honesty, I'm still not quite ready to unveil the new site. It doesn't look at all like what I'd hoped it would by now. It turns out that almost all of the lovely Wordpress blogs I admire are created on premium themes designed by professionals, and the free themes are so much less user-friendly than Blogspot that I wanted to throw my computer out the window numerous times trying to get it to do simple things like upload a freaking picture that would display properly in the sidebar.
The obvious answer is to just stay at Blogspot, but in my classic impulsive style, I had already gone ahead and paid for Wordpress to direct my site to...
teamrasler.com
which is fabulous and exciting and...
...could have just been done here on blogspot. (insert various 4-letter words here).
The upside is that Wordpress allows me to post easily from my fancy new iPhone as well as reply directly to comments, both of which are features I love.
So I'll keep tinkering with it and trying to make it look the way I want it to. In the meanwhile, sorry if this is anticlimactic. I hope you'll like the new site anyway, and even if I end up back here, I'm not giving up my domain name, so you won't need to change your bookmarks again, I promise!
No comments here, please. Head over to the new Team Rasler site, bookmark it, read the new posts, and let me know what you think!
Moving
This will be my penultimate post here on Blogger. My next and final entry will be the announcement of the move to a new site. I've already done a lot of the changeover and am currently posting over there so it will be even more fun for all of you when the official switch happens.
In the meanwhile, I'm discovering just how artistically challenged I am. I cannot draw. At all. Or design blogs very well.
But I can write, and writing is even more fun when it's published on a prettier site.
Details coming soon. Sorry I have no elevator music for you while you wait. But I hope it will be worth it when it's ready! At the very least, it's making me happier.
In the meanwhile, I'm discovering just how artistically challenged I am. I cannot draw. At all. Or design blogs very well.
But I can write, and writing is even more fun when it's published on a prettier site.
Details coming soon. Sorry I have no elevator music for you while you wait. But I hope it will be worth it when it's ready! At the very least, it's making me happier.
Bedtime
It started out as a bath, book, bottle-of-milk-before-bouncing-him-to-sleep routine. That was when he was so small that his entire little body still fit on my lap.
The bouncing turned into swaying.
The swaying turned into holding him for one song on his lullaby cd: "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," then kissing him goodnight and putting him in the crib.
The swaddle blanket was exchanged for a sleep sack.
He fell asleep every night with Toby clutched in one hand, his pacifier still moving rhythmically in his mouth.
The books changed from Fish Kisses to Goodnight, Moon.
The bottle of milk was dropped after too many soggy mornings.
The lullaby cd was tucked in a drawer in favor of a live version of the first song.
The bath was regularly followed by a naked baby dance before the pajamas could be wrestled on.
The goodnight kiss was given along with a request for a hug for Mama. This request was often denied, but the kiss was never refused. He hugged plenty during the day, but at night perhaps he needed his space.
The crib became a toddler bed.
One song became two as we added "I Love You Today" to our repertoire.
The sleep sack was folded away and Gramma's blanket has to be tucked-tucked in snug as a bug in a rug around the limbs that were just hanging off my lap while we read a Thomas the Train book.
Seven o'clock is still bedtime.
An hour later, I hear a little voice talking to Toby.
I walk in and ask what he needs. A change? Some water? A lost pacifier retrieved?
"You need some songs."
So once more, I sing to him that I love him today and I'll love him tomorrow, and how I wonder about that little star.
And then I kiss his forehead a second time and say, "I love you. Have a good rest. Have sweet dreams, and I'll see you in the morning. Good night, Toby. Good night, Sebastian."
The bouncing turned into swaying.
The swaying turned into holding him for one song on his lullaby cd: "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star," then kissing him goodnight and putting him in the crib.
The swaddle blanket was exchanged for a sleep sack.
He fell asleep every night with Toby clutched in one hand, his pacifier still moving rhythmically in his mouth.
The books changed from Fish Kisses to Goodnight, Moon.
The bottle of milk was dropped after too many soggy mornings.
The lullaby cd was tucked in a drawer in favor of a live version of the first song.
The bath was regularly followed by a naked baby dance before the pajamas could be wrestled on.
The goodnight kiss was given along with a request for a hug for Mama. This request was often denied, but the kiss was never refused. He hugged plenty during the day, but at night perhaps he needed his space.
The crib became a toddler bed.
One song became two as we added "I Love You Today" to our repertoire.
The sleep sack was folded away and Gramma's blanket has to be tucked-tucked in snug as a bug in a rug around the limbs that were just hanging off my lap while we read a Thomas the Train book.
Seven o'clock is still bedtime.
An hour later, I hear a little voice talking to Toby.
I walk in and ask what he needs. A change? Some water? A lost pacifier retrieved?
"You need some songs."
So once more, I sing to him that I love him today and I'll love him tomorrow, and how I wonder about that little star.
And then I kiss his forehead a second time and say, "I love you. Have a good rest. Have sweet dreams, and I'll see you in the morning. Good night, Toby. Good night, Sebastian."
Pause.
"Good night, Mama."
And for the first time, his arms reach out to give me a bedtime hug. Unrequested.
Someday I'm going to miss this.
little hippos
Because comparison pictures are such fun...
They're starting to look a lot more distinctive to me, especially since Theo isn't nearly as chubby as our sumo baby was, but there are still plenty of moments of déja vu.
 |
| Sebastian in the bath - March 2009 |
 |
| Theo in the bath - March 2011 |
They're starting to look a lot more distinctive to me, especially since Theo isn't nearly as chubby as our sumo baby was, but there are still plenty of moments of déja vu.
 |
| Sebastian in the hippo towel - March 2009 |
 |
| Theo in the hippo towel - March 2011 |
| And now, this photo pretty much captures the two personalities I'm dealing with right now: |
 |
| Mr. Happy and Mr. Silly |
Count to Ten
We have a counting obsession going on at our house, but rather than freaking out at hearing that "Chicka Chicka 1-2-3" song for the thousandth time, I've been grateful for a simple method of counting to ten.
It's not to get the toddler to do what I've asked him to do. For that, I count back from 5. If I get to 1 before he's made a choice or moved into action (depending on the request), I decide for him or move his body where it needs to go. This works wonders.
It's also not the count to ten strategy I've used for years to calm myself down when I'm angry so that my head doesn't explode, although my husband might like me to reinstitute that particular technique. Especially when I haven't slept more than 4 hours the night before. Ahem.
No, the counting to ten I've been doing lately is to keep myself from interfering in my sons' attempts to solve their own problems.
If the little ball that Theo was happily chomping on rolls out of his reach, I lean down to grab it and put it back in his lap. I can do this while folding clothes and talking to Sebastian at the same time, it is that unconscious.
It's giving Sebastian a boost up into the car seat so we can just get going already because we're half an hour late and of course today would be the day everyone took long naps since it's the only day in the whole week we actually had plans. ARGH.
But they don't really need my help in those situations, no matter how much they or I might think they do. They need me to sit back and wait.
And count to ten. Slowly. Deliberately. Silently.
Because often by the time I get to eight, they've already solved the problem themselves.
Theo has grabbed another toy and is happily chomping that instead. Or he's rolled onto his belly and stretched out that little hand and rolled the ball back into his mouth.
Sebastian has climbed up into the car seat and is wearing that "I did it myself!!" smile when he turns around to look at me.
"Solve the Problem" was my classroom motto for two years before I had kids, and I thought I was good at getting kids to come up with their own solutions before I intervened. But it turns out that I had to relearn that when it came to my own children.
I know it's paying off when I watch Sebastian struggle to turn on the light in Theo's room. I don't offer to help or turn on the light for him or even prompt him at all with my own solution. In my head, I count to ten. As I hit five, I see him walk out of the room and return a moment later with his kitchen stool. He stands on it and turns on the light.
Then he looks at me and says, "Good job solving the problem!"
Those little numbers. Sometimes they add up to a lot of independence. For all of us.
It's not to get the toddler to do what I've asked him to do. For that, I count back from 5. If I get to 1 before he's made a choice or moved into action (depending on the request), I decide for him or move his body where it needs to go. This works wonders.
It's also not the count to ten strategy I've used for years to calm myself down when I'm angry so that my head doesn't explode, although my husband might like me to reinstitute that particular technique. Especially when I haven't slept more than 4 hours the night before. Ahem.
No, the counting to ten I've been doing lately is to keep myself from interfering in my sons' attempts to solve their own problems.
If the little ball that Theo was happily chomping on rolls out of his reach, I lean down to grab it and put it back in his lap. I can do this while folding clothes and talking to Sebastian at the same time, it is that unconscious.
It's giving Sebastian a boost up into the car seat so we can just get going already because we're half an hour late and of course today would be the day everyone took long naps since it's the only day in the whole week we actually had plans. ARGH.
But they don't really need my help in those situations, no matter how much they or I might think they do. They need me to sit back and wait.
And count to ten. Slowly. Deliberately. Silently.
Because often by the time I get to eight, they've already solved the problem themselves.
Theo has grabbed another toy and is happily chomping that instead. Or he's rolled onto his belly and stretched out that little hand and rolled the ball back into his mouth.
Sebastian has climbed up into the car seat and is wearing that "I did it myself!!" smile when he turns around to look at me.
"Solve the Problem" was my classroom motto for two years before I had kids, and I thought I was good at getting kids to come up with their own solutions before I intervened. But it turns out that I had to relearn that when it came to my own children.
I know it's paying off when I watch Sebastian struggle to turn on the light in Theo's room. I don't offer to help or turn on the light for him or even prompt him at all with my own solution. In my head, I count to ten. As I hit five, I see him walk out of the room and return a moment later with his kitchen stool. He stands on it and turns on the light.
Then he looks at me and says, "Good job solving the problem!"
Those little numbers. Sometimes they add up to a lot of independence. For all of us.
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