Happy Colic Awareness Month!

Today is the last day of Colic Awareness Month.  How are you going to celebrate?  I for one, will be giving thanks that my baby has been colic free for nearly four months.  

Taylor is such a fun girl.  She laughs, she sings, she entertains herself, and she cries--but only occasionally.  I get asked a lot, "Wow, what a happy baby!  Is she always this good?"  Which I get to answer, "Yes!" But, this was not always the case.

Our first days as a family spent in the serene hospital room were so encouraging.  Taylor Rose was a beautiful bundle of joy who loved to snuggle.  Her sleeping patterns allowed me to catch up on some much-needed rest and her vigorous appetite brought tears to the eyes of the lactation consultant.  Roo and I headed home with high hopes and settled in with our newest addition.  It seemed we had this parenting thing figured out.  In fact, the first few weeks almost seemed a little TOO easy.  Should have known better.

At right about the two week mark, Taylor realized she was in the real world and was not at all happy about it.  We would have about half an hour of happy baby in the morning, and then like someone flipped the switch, she would cry for almost the entire remainder of the day.  We attempted our first restaurant outing for a friend's birthday and we officially became "those parents"--you know the ones with the crying kid who everyone secretly (or not so secretly) wishes would have just stayed at home.

To be fair, it wasn't non-stop crying all day.  She was sometimes content as long as you were up and moving, bouncing, and running the vacuum.  Our carpet has never been so clean.  Consoling Taylor was such a challenge that I often felt guilty leaving her in someone else's care because I felt I understood her best, even though I had no idea what I was doing.  

After about 12 weeks, Taylor's crying sessions seemed to diminish from all day to only two or three hours.  The good news was she mostly only fussy in the evenings.  The bad news, I was now back at work full time and mostly only got to see her in the evenings.  

Then one night, when Taylor was about six months old, we took her to her first high school basketball game.  It was magical.  She contentedly sat still on Roo's lap for the entire game.  It was a major turning point in her babyhood.  She still had fussy days, but from then on they were outnumbered by happy days.

At the time, I didn't want to label Taylor as a colicky baby, because that meant there was nothing I could do to fix it.  Through that entire time, I felt like I was just on the verge of figuring out how to, in the words of my neice, "make her happy, make her happy," and calling it colic felt like giving up.

There is no clear definition of colic and there are countless theories on what causes it.  From my research, most people agree that if your baby cries for no apparent reason three or more hours a day, for three or more days a week, for three weeks or more then you are probably dealing with colic, whatever that means.  It usually begins around two weeks, peaks at six weeks, and diminishes around 12 weeks but can last until six months or later.  Lucky us.  All I know is that it can be frustrating, heartbreaking, and exhausting, especially when you see parents with content babies.  

There is, however, one huge benefit of colic...it makes those smiles and bouts of baby laughter all the more rewarding.  After struggling to console Taylor for hours on end, one little toothless grin would melt my heart and make it all worthwhile.  Not to mention, all that carrying and bouncing kept my arms looking super toned.

So yes, I will finally admit that my baby had colic.  That doesn't make me a bad mother, but has in fact made Roo and I stronger parents.  Colic has taught us lessons in patience, keeping calm and unconditional love.  Having survived colic has made us appreciate even more the happy Taylor we have today.  Yes, she still fusses occasionally and never hesitates to let us know when she's unhappy, but she is consolable and there are very few issues a Cheerio can't solve.

If you're dealing with colic, I'm sorry to say there is no cure.  What soothes Baby one day might make it worse the next.  However, speaking from experience, it does get better.  One day, hopefully soon, you'll be able to look back with a sigh of relief and think that wasn't so bad.  In the meantime, focus on the happy moments, seek advice and tips from parents who have dealt with colic and know that this too shall pass.  Keep calm and carry on.

isn't it grand?

I am blessed to have known all four of my grandparents and to have had a close relationship with each.  It helps that I grew up in a small town, just a few miles from both of their houses.  Every Sunday we alternated dinner at their tables and I spent many childhood hours playing and exploring in their backyards with my siblings and cousins.  Their influence in my life has a lot to do with the person I am today.
Gramps was an adventurer and a storyteller.  The most prominent images I have are of him sitting at the head of the kitchen table sharing tales of hunting camp until he laughed so hard he cried.  He taught me how to shoot a gun and how to ride a horse.  He always encouraged us to go outside and get dirty.  It's probably for the best that he didn't live long enough to see kids playing with iPads instead of in mud puddles.
Meme was the hardest working lady with the kindest heart I've ever known.  Her hands were always busy doing something for someone else.  She was a cook and a gardener, a seamstress and a farmer.  She made the best cinnamon rolls, grew the prettiest tomatoes, and her sewing machine could create something out of nothing.  Meme loved her cows and chickens and protected them fearlessly.  I'll never forget the time I saw her whip a giant black snake out of the barn with her bare hands.

Grandpa was a creative genius and problem solver.  He built an irrigation system to make his garden thrive in the heat of summer.  His tractor was a shuttle to pull his grandkids to the top of the snowy sledding hill, which became a driving range for our family of golfers in the off season.  Branson entertainers were inspired by his musical ability and Grandpa's songwriting made me Santa's sweetheart.  His uncanny talent as an electrician made him an invaluable consultant for an unnamed magician.  His workshop was a treasure trove of repurposed items used to make whatever you needed a little better and most certainly one of a kind.
Grandma was a woman of wit and encouragement and to her I owe my love of sports.  After Sunday dinner, Grandma and I would watch tennis on TV while listening to the Cardinals on the radio.  She was an equal opportunity sports lover and followed everything--football, golf, basketball and especially St. Louis baseball.  Like I said earlier, she could watch one sport, listen to another and be able to tell you exactly what was going on in either game.  She was a St. Louis football fan until the Cardinals left for Arizona.  Grandma said after that she could never be a fan of another Missouri football team, so it's her fault I cheer for the Tampa Bay Buccaneers.
Beyond my genetic grandparents, I also had the pleasure of being granddaughter-in-law to the Coughennowers--two of the most genuinely nice people I've ever known.  Together they were charming and hospitable, welcoming me into their family with open arms.  It's hard to picture one without the other, because they were a perfect pair.  Since Grandma Coughennower passed away in November, Grandpa C. is my sole surviving grandparent.  You're likely to find him traveling between Iowa and Texas, playing games or watching college sports.  I would like to hear his thoughts on Iowa State in the NCAA Sweet 16.
I could go on and on about the role each grandparent played in shaping my character.  And yesterday, at the funeral of a best friend's grandpa, I was reminded of all the many other grandparents who have touched my life in some way.  Chaperones, cheerleaders, mentors, friends.  All have changed my life for the better.
But perhaps the greatest legacy they all leave behind is their fierce love of God and family.  Ask any of their grandchildren and they're likely to tell you that they are the favorite.  And that's saying a lot because there are more than quite a few of us Bass and Rose kids.  We all have different memories, or the same memories from different perspectives.  They loved us each uniquely and took seriously their role of grandparent.  I learned a lot of valuable life lessons from each of my grandparents and my only regret is that most of them won't have the ability to personally impact my children's lives the way they did mine. 
It's now my responsibility to make sure they continue to live on in the memories and stories I pass on to the next generation.  My kids can't know them personally, but they can know what awesome people they come from.

new post schedule

I apologize to anyone expecting a new post yesterday...or today.  Starting tomorrow I will update my blog twice per week on Mondays and Thursdays, rain or shine.  See you in 24 hours!

pick your team

So we're walking through the mall when my mom spots this sweatshirt with a cute bird on it.  On closer inspection, it's kind of a strange feathered foul with it's red head, bright blue wings and large beak curled into a cocky grin.  And what kind of a bird wears buckled shoes anyway?  But it's on sale, is my brother's size and it says "Kansas" across the front--my dad's home state.  My dad will be so proud, right?
Welllll.....
My brother is wearing his new collegiate apparel when my dad gets home from work and nearly has a heart attack when he walks through the front door.
My dad is indeed from the state of Kansas, but was born into an allegiance to Kansas State.  My great-great grandpa was an instructor in electrical engineering at the university, although he himself had only a third grade education.  Perhaps the most important lesson he ever taught, however, is that wildcats hate that little bird.  Unfortunately my mom was the last one to find out.
Despite protests from my dad, Wesley wore his sweatshirt with pride to my grandpa's house and nearly got himself written out of the will.  My brother became a fan for life and Sunday dinners were never the same.
March Madness brought out the best in their rivalry and I'm reminded of it again as I fill out my championship bracket.  Can K State beat Kentucky then hand the Shockers their first loss of the season?  Not likely.  Which means I hope my grandpa isn't looking down from heaven to see which two teams from the Sunflower State I have playing in the final four.

spring fever

Winter is the best season.  Cold, crisp air.  Frost blanketing the front lawn.  Football.  Wearing sweaters and snowboarding when you get the chance.  And it really does not get any better than curling up in front of the fireplace in a cozy quilt with a cup of hot cocoa watching It's a Wonderful Life with snow swirling outside the window.
At least that's what I say around Novemberish.  Now I'm ready to ditch the snow boots for sandals.  Ready to air up my bike tires, plant the garden, throw something on the grill.  I'm excited to sit in the turkey blind, fill out my March Madness bracket, pick out an Easter dress.
We're still nine days away from the official kickoff to the warmer seasons, but I have already eaten a Cadbury Crème Egg.  The garden seeds are planted and germinating in the kitchen window.  Sports Illustrated has moved on to Spring Training (and swimsuits).  The fishing boat is de-winterized and ready for its inaugural trip to the lake.  Perhaps spring is the best season.
And then comes summer.
And then it's time for fall.
One of my favorite things about living in Missouri is experiencing all four seasons.  I love the changes in weather and changes in activity that come every four months, more or less.  And each season helps me appreciate the others.  Would I enjoy the snow so much if I didn't experience 90 degree heat in the summer?  Would it be as exciting to watch the leaves bud and turn green in the spring if I hadn't watched them turn brown in the fall?
Embrace the change, but enjoy the moment.  Don't get so caught up wishing for the next thing that you miss the good in here and now.  When you find yourself grumbling because there is snow in the forecast, AGAIN, mentally fast forward to those days ahead when you're baking in the heat of summer, begging for a sno cone.
We have come to the part of the post where I could go all philosophical on you and start comparing the seasons of year to the seasons of life.  Instead I'll let you draw your own conclusions.  I have a fishing trip to get ready for.

it's game time

I'm a competitive person.  I like to be good at something, I get excited when I win, and most of all I hate to lose.  At anything.
During these cold and snowy months, most of our outdoor hobbies hibernate and Roo and I spend our social time playing games indoors--card games, board games, a video game (Shrek Super Party--the only reason we own an Xbox).  And did I mention I hate to lose?  Ask my husband, any family member or friend and they can vouch for that fact.  I also don't give up easily.  If at first I don't succeed, we will play another hand, another round or one more tournament until Shelley is the winner.  Or until Roo threatens to go home without me.  It's a good thing my mom and I won the first game of pinochle last night so Taylor could get to bed on time.
I'm not a very good loser, either.  With every point I fall behind, I tend to get a little grouchier and sometimes downright mean.  It really is a wonder anyone plays with me at all.  Sometimes Roo lets me win and I pretend I don't know so we can all go home happy.
That's why our pastor's sermon on "Taming the Beast" really hit home with me.  Troy said one way to battle envy is to celebrate others.  I hate to lose because I love to win.  I am envious when the other team lays down a double pinochle while we go set yet again.  Perhaps if I spend more time celebrating others' victories and less time dwelling on my own defeat, we can all have more fun.
Not that being competitive is bad or keeping score is wrong.  It drives me to keep improving and to strive for my best.  Winning builds confidence and losing (should) teach us to be gracious.  It's not wrong to dance when I win, but I shouldn't rain on another's victory parade when I lose.
Oh, we still have to play until I win, but my goal is to pout less and toast my hot chocolate to you when I lose.
So, who's up for another game?