A Weekend in the Life of

Weekends come in two types around here. The ones where Blake has to work. And the ones where he doesn't. I'm sure I do not need to elaborate on which I prefer. Or why. But I will anyways.

The ones where Blake has to work start earlier.
The ones where he doesn't start later.

The ones where Blake has to work start with Audrey crying and whining for over an hour.
The ones where he doesn't start with us all snuggling and laughing in bed together and then enjoying breakfast and playtime in our pjs.

The ones where Blake has to work find me chasing Toby under the bed with a rogue sock, or toy, or crayon, or hundred dollar bill.
The ones where Blake doesn't find me standing by while the man does all the chasing.

The ones where Blake has to work involve me going to the grocery store with Audrey in tow, sometimes twice.
The ones where he doesn't involve either a family outing or a solo trip, either occurring in half the time of the alternative.

The ones where Blake has to work involve me wracking my brain to come up with activities to keep Audrey busy and happy.
The ones where he doesn't involve seemingly effortless and endless things to do.

The ones where Blake has to work involve me taking Audrey and Toby solo for a 2.5 mile walk around the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and Audrey crying for 2.4 miles of the walk.
The ones where Blake doesn't do not involve questionable activities like taking Audrey and Toby solo for a 2.5 mile walk around the Indianapolis Motor Speedway and Audrey crying for 2.4 miles of the walk.

The ones where Blake has to work involve me trying to find time to do the laundry, fold clothes, put clothes away, making food for everyone, cleaning the kitchen, all while exhausted and exasperated.
The ones where he doesn't involve me being able to do all of those things without the frustration.

The ones where Blake has to work leave me counting the minutes and seconds until he comes home and wishing that Monday would hurry up already.
The ones where he doesn't leave me happy and looking forward to the next weekend we spend together.

The ones where Blake has to work simply mean that I know, on a small scale, what it must feel like to (1) be a stay-at-home mom or (2) a single parent.
The ones where Blake doesn't remind me why we are in this family endeavor together.

This past weekend, like all weekends of any variety with a two-year old (TWO IN JUST TWO WEEKS!!!!), involved fun and frustration, laughter and tears, peace and chaos. Blake worked, so the frustration, tears and chaos were a bit elevated. But, like always, we survived. I love my little bug so much and even when I am just waiting for her daddy to get home so that I can pee in peace or eat my own snack without little fingers poking into it, her smile lights up my life. Shoot, sometimes even her frown lights up my life. And when Audrey's not pulling her weight in lighting up my life? Toby takes over.

Not exactly doing it for me at Mutt Strut... loved all the woof woofs, but had a hard time appreciating that we could only walk one way on the track.

This one though? The most perfect angel dog of all angel dogs in town. Rocked the Mutt Strut. Not that it's a competition, but he won.

Love them both.

Quick Thoughts on Boston

I have mixed emotions about yesterday's bombings at the Boston Marathon. I feel relief that the few people I know who happened to be in Boston, for the marathon, are all safe and sound. I feel angry that this happened. I feel sadness for the families who have lost loved ones and for those who will live with the scars and injuries of the day forever. I feel helpless. I feel scared. I feel annoyed.

The number one question people were asking on the radio this morning was: "Was the scene chaotic?" It's like, they were trying to get witnesses who were calling in to add to the drama and admit that there was pandemonium, to say that somehow, because there was chaos, terror was achieved, that the Marathon planners weren't prepared, that the city of Boston is full of hot-headed people who can't "STAY CALM" in an emergency. I had to turn the radio off.

Of course it was chaos, you idiot djs. Bombs went off in the middle of what was otherwise a glorious day. People were killed and injured out of nowhere.What else would you have people do? Sit in their seats and not run away? Pick up their belongings and children and just walk home or to their hotels? Hail a cab? Use their indoor voices rather than calling out about the people nearby with serious, horrific injuries? Yeah, that type of response wouldn't be concerning at all. Chaos is what we should expect. Chaos is a human response to tragedy. It doesn't mean that people weren't prepared, or that people weren't helpful. It just means they were human. I'm not going to listen to the radio again until they stop asking the nonsense questions and giving whoever did this credit and start focusing on the helpers and the heroes and the victims.

If you've ever run a long race, you know the feeling of euphoria that fills your body as you approach the finish line. If you've ever watched someone you care about finish a long race, you know the feelings of pride and respect that you feel for them as they finish. Long races tear down the body but build up the spirit. The people who were in Boston yesterday - racers and spectators alike - understand that. They and the city of Boston will recover. We all will. Hopefully we will hold on to the feelings of euphoria and pride and want to race again. Hopefully we will all want to move forward together and continue to make our world a safer, more peaceful place. I know that I will, because that feeling you get from being a part of a moving crowd of people all sharing the same goal - whether it be finishing a race or world peace or something else - is powerful.

And. The people who are responsible will pay. May they never drink chocolate milk again.

4 1 96 13+ 11 153 129

Most of you who read and/or follow my blog are also either (1) my close family and friends or (2) my facebook friends. Thus, you already know the biggest news that there is to know about the Erdel family right now:

We are expanding again!

And we couldn't be happier. Well, I could be happier. If I didn't gag all day long, I would be happier. If I could sleep through the night, I would be happier. But, other than that, we really couldn't be happier. And, the end to those things is in sight. The magical second trimester is right around the corner. And I loved that part of my first pregnancy. And, I plan to love it again this time . And now, your questions answered, by the numbers:

4. How many months we tried before getting pregnant. Long in the grand scheme of things? No. Long compared to how long it takes many women to get pregnant? No. Do I feel lucky? Yes. But, when you are trying, 14 days between events seems like an eternity and, even though you know it's normal, you start to worry that something is wrong. My prayers and compassion go out to all of those I know who are still trying. Your babies will come when the time is right!

1. How many miscarriages (we think) we had this time. But, unlike last time, it was so early that it really didn't register. Sad? Yes. Very sad? No. Thank you for not asking the details. We are lucky. And again, prayers out to those who are still waiting.

96. How many days pregnant I am. Or for those of you who can't do that kind of math, 13 weeks and a few days.

11. My due date. In October. Probably the day this one will be born as I'm leaning towards a scheduled c-Section this time around. No pitocin, ever again. No labor and then a section, ever again. And the term "VBAC" makes me think of a Dyson. Doesn't exactly evoke smooth-birth-experience feelings. Plus, the 11th is a Friday. A weekend at the hospital sounds awesome.

153. The baby's heart rate at our ob check-up today.

129. How much I weighed at today's appointment. That's with my clothes and shoes on. By my estimate and home weigh-ins, I can safely gain 21 more lbs. Sweet.

The other most frequently asked question (either aloud or in your head): Are you going to find out if it's a boy or a girl? Are you going to trick us again? We don't know. Seriously. We don't. Have until May 16th to decide.

So, with that, thanks for your good wishes and prayers for a continued smooth pregnancy!

Kato+1

We Aren't Here to Judge

I'll keep this as brief as possible. But it's complicated.

I'm a practicing Catholic. I attended Catholic schools for the first 12 years of my education. I pray. I go to mass. I had Audrey baptized. I try to be a good person. I try to follow the church's teachings. I at one time thought, and at one time even said out loud, something like "I don't care if same-sex couples have the same rights as married people - insurance and stuff like that - but the word 'marriage' should be for a man and a woman." I thought, really thought, that this kind of thinking let me both fit in with my more liberal friends and not be excommunicated or face an eternity in hell. It also let me say, in another breath, "we aren't here to judge." Today, I only still believe one of these statements.

Here's how I came to it.

Nine or so years ago, I was a recent college graduate. I lived in St. Louis with a roommate. I taught 7th grade language arts at an inner city public school. My new friends were from California and New York and everywhere in between. I missed Blake, who was in medical school in Indiana. I missed my old friends. I missed my parents. My downstairs neighbor's apartment was broken into. Twice. When I was at home upstairs. My students stole my candy. And my phone. I spent a Sunday afternoon in the hospital after an acute case of "food poisoning". I was miserable. And not just when I was in the hospital. I felt lost and I didn't love myself like I used to.

Enter, a door-to-door salesperson. Basically selling credit cards. And raising money for the Human Rights Campaign. I was feeling generous that day. I didn't know what the HRC did. Or what kind of human rights we were talking about. But I gave some money. And, since I needed a credit card in my own name and unattached to my parents, I signed up. I received a shiny new VISA with a serious credit limit. I could have bought a new car on credit alone. And, it had this symbol.

I liked it. I also got a bumper sticker with the same symbol. I liked it, too. I slapped it on my car. I had no idea what I was doing. Or supporting. Or why. None at all. That's what sad, lonely, lost 22 year olds do. They just do stuff without thinking about it. Granted, there are worse things I could have done (ahem, did do - see "food poisoning" above) than stick an equality-themed bumper sticker on my car without knowing fully what it stood for. I guessed it meant "equality" and I liked that idea. It fit with my explanation for how I, as a Catholic, could easily remain friends with and support people who were on birth control, had pre-marital sex, got divorced. "We aren't here to judge," I would tell myself. Plus, I really could never believe that God would ask us to isolate, condemn, or hate people for any reason at all. But even with these kinds of thoughts about my faith and what my church expected of me, I thought that gay people and same-sex couples were different and deserved to be treated differently. That's what my church told me. And I didn't know anyone who could convince me otherwise.

But, time happened. Friends' marriages happened. Friends' divorces happened. And my own marriage happened. I love my husband. I love the family we have created. I love being married. It is the most rewarding commitment I've ever made. And I plan to stick with it for my entire life. But it is hard. Really hard sometimes. And, over the last five years, my thinking on marriage, and same-sex marriage specifically, have changed.

Any two people who are in love, committed to one another, and willing to give marriage a real shot deserve it. They deserve the title. They deserve the ceremony. They deserve the government's support. They deserve our support.

So, long story short, I support marriage equality. I still have some ways to go in terms of figuring out how this effects my Catholicism. Or maybe the church has some ways to go. I don't know. But, I'm not here to judge. We are not here to judge.

How having a sick child makes you really appreciate your job...

Even though the flu is out in full force this year and kids seem to be oozing snot everywhere I go, Audrey has been healthy enough to go to daycare since Christmas. She's had the sniffles and some loose poop, a minor temp one afternoon, and mega drool that I think is related to some new teeth. But, she's not been sent home from school and I just about made my hours in January. Coincidence. Absolutely not. Sick children are tough. They require full attention and pretty much no one can give it to them but mom and/or dad. Usually just mom.

But, tonight, Audrey is not healthy enough to go to school tomorrow. She's had really gross, watery poop (AKA diarrhea) all weekend and threw up last night. I know, for a fact know, that she will be sent home from school tomorrow before noon with that poop. And, the teachers will be pissed at us for sending her in the first place. Especially since they've been starring her daily report card for loose poops for a week. Especially since they sent home a little "reminder" about when kids can't come to school just last Thursday... and loose poop is reason number 1.

So, we're going to keep her home. And we're not even calling in reinforcements (MiMoo) to help. Blake can take the morning shift, I'll come home at 11 and get her fed and down for a nap, and then B will be home to take over again. I'll maybe get a few hours of real work in. I'll do some necessary stuff. I'll show my face to my co-workers. I will appreciate the couple of hours of quiet I can have at the office. And, even more than that, I'll be extra extra thankful that I have the type of education that qualifies me for the type of professional career that takes place in a work environment where I am treated like a responsible adult and I can generally come and go as I please without risking my job. And, they might even ask if my kid is okay.

So, while I often complain about work, how it keeps me from Audrey, and all things related thereto, thank you God for this job at this moment. I know that others are not so lucky for so many reasons. Because in this job, I get to take care of my sick baby when no one else can, and I get to close my office door for a moment of poop-free silence. Both in the same day.

Kate

PS Thank you, too, to Blake. Of course.