4 months of Hartley Lane

I never thought I'd acclimated to southern traditions , but there are a few specific to little girls, that are growing on me.  I love a cute, southern sized bow on my baby girl's head.  Well the size maybe isn't southern standards of big, but to this Oregonian mama at heart, this bow is big.

I also adore her name Hartley Lane (obviously), and more often than not, I call her by her first and middle name, a common thing in the south - Hartley Lane

 Today, sweet little miss is 4 months old.  She is the most smiley girl ever.

Seriously.  That smile.  I adore.

 Having 3 older siblings, perhaps is the reason for her laid back attitude.  She sits back, and absorbs everything that is going on.  When she gets really excited, she kicks her little legs and flails her arms cooing in delight.

 Exciting changes this month - hands.  She has them, and she's discovered them.

 Goodness they are such a fascinating thing.

Even better are those little fingers.  Sometimes it is one...

  Sometimes it is a thumb…

and sometimes it is two.  But these tiny fingers sure keep her content.  She's my fourth, but my first to be a finger/thumb sucker.  Both boys were binky babies, Jovie never sucked on anything (and goodness was she a noisy, vocal thing).

 Other things happening this month - the great roll over.  Belly to back, and back to belly.  She's done both.  Never intentionally though.  Each time it has happened in the pursuit of those fingers or a toy.

 and she is getting strong.  During tummy time now, she is the master of weaseling her way around like a little inch worm.

She is also so very observant.  She adores staring and grabbing her toys.  She also is a book lover - soaking in the colors, shapes, and pictures on each page.  She wiggles in my lap with delight, kicking her legs and flailing her arms in excitement.

 fingers and hanging toy - pretty much baby bliss.

Sweet little lady bug is in size 1 diapers, size 3-6 month clothes, size 6 month footed pjs, size 6 month onsies (girlfriends got her mama's long torso), she's got a bit of thigh chunk and squishy cheeks that are irresistibly kissable.  Oh this 4 month stage of baby bliss - the age of endless smiles, infinite baby noises, ticklish giggles.  The beauty of babyhood, those moments before the teething drama and bumps/bruises from newfound mobility that are just around the corner.  Always, always soaking her in.  

Heels and curls

5:30am and my little nursling baby is stirring in her crib.  A lovely alternative wake up call compared to the alarm that was set to go off just 15 minutes later.

I nurse her and shush her.  Patting her back and praying she goes back to sleep.

I get up and ready for the day.

My day of interviews for FNP positions.

Curls, heels, and clothing other than scrubs/workout attire are proof this is a monumental day.

I head out, trying to be as quiet as possible as not to wake the tiny humans nestled in bed.

6:00am and I am on the road.  Purse in hand.

I arrive 15 minutes early, because that is standard interview etiquette.   My unzipped, oversized purse has me pondering the things I should have done before this interview - manicure, apply deodorant, and my purse...

Contents inside my purse (aka mama bag) include: a wallet exploding with crumpled receipts, an ugly colored lipstick, a cap-less red marker, a blue and purple marker, 3 diapers, container of wipes, spiderman action figure, baby toy that chimes when wiggled, 5 resumes, peppermint essential oil, fruit snacks, and a half eaten granola bar. 

As I get ready to zip it, a lady greets me in the lobby.  She insists on ordering me a Starbucks coffee, I obviously do not refuse!

Coffee in hand we make our way to the interview round table.  She tells me not to be intimidated and says there will be 5-8 physicians coming.  I can't really focus on what she is saying because all I hear is that darn baby toy in my purse - rattle, chime, ding in a repetative tune.  I step a little more graceful as we approach the room hoping to make a quieter entrance.

I was the focus of the round table, obviously.  It was intimidating, but not overwhelmingly so.  After 30 minutes I shook hands with the crowded table of people, and ended the interview with a tour of the hospital from another NP.

"They will offer you the job" she tells me.  "They don't give a tour if you aren't going to get the offer."

I thank her for her time.  Walk out to the van, and throw that baby toy in the van immediately when I get inside.

They called tonight, said they would check references and then give me a formal offer once references check out.

5 blisters on my feet from uncomfortable heels, but apparently I must come aoilcross with more confidence than I think I have.

Now to wait and wonder.

we all scream for ice cream

We decided to stop at this little roadside ice cream/shaved ice shack on the way home from picking R up from school.  R and P have been there before. 

This little shack only accepts "cold hard cash or good checks" direct quotes from the signage displayed in their window.  Ryk tells me as I pull up, "when I came here with daddy, someone else paid cause dad didn't have any money."  No surprise given we are adults of a debit card generation.  Thankful to whoever took pitty on my 7 year old that day and purchased his sweet treat, I am sure he charmed someone with his toothless grin.  Despite this no cash to pay ordeal, I assure their experience was much less uneventful than when we were there. 

All in about 4 minutes things turned from the teal swing picturesque smiles, and ice cream anticipation, to meltdown central.  And I'm not just talking ice cream melting, I am talking 4 kids being a hot mess.

Kip chose "ganilla," then noticed a kid was eating his favorite "green kind" - mint chocolate chip.  So he cries because he wanted a new one.  He further validates his feelings of frustration in his selection by saying "I HATE 'ganilla, let me just have a new kind PLEASE!"

Despite Kip's loud verbal word vomit, I overhear a mom, who had perfect hair and an ironed dress with kids dressed equally as pristine behaving like gems, tell her kids "we don't say hate do we children..."

I'm thinking to myself, yeah you probably don't say butt or fart or OMG either.  Get your children away quick, mine must be toxic!  But I smile amd try my best to help Kip work through his state of pissed off ice cream rage.

Then Hartley projectile spit ups in the lemon lime shave ice cup that I hadn't even taken a bite of yet, in my efforts to calm the Kip chaos.  Whatever, i'll take that as my cue to begin my get on track with the sexy body after baby mode.  I hand the small lemon lime shave ice with a hefty side of baby puke to the high school aged gal working this shack to throw away for me, because there weren't any trash cans.  

Poor gal, after witnessing the Loprinzi wrath, she'll probably never have kids.  Ever. 

Jovie spills chocolate ice cream all over her new outfit and cries "cause my pretty new 'spakle' pants a be all ruined forevea and I gots brown all everywhere and I am sticky."  Such tragedy!

Ryker eats his vanilla cone while saying "it is good we had money today so someone else didn't have to pay for us all."  Then rather loudly, in this crowded area with mamas who are much better put together than me, with kids who make no messes and don't cry over hating their choice of icecream, and don't have a baby that projectile spit ups in their lemon lime shave ice; Ryk feels the need to say in one of those should only be used at the playground loud voice,  "Jovie looks like she has diarrhea all over her shirt."

This begins an epic potty talk conversation between Kip and Ryk, and I am just sitting there...

so very outnumbered.

I realize a few things: that I would fit in much better in Oregon with my children, and that this outting would probably make me so embarrassed if it happened to me a few years ago.

But I am at a point in parenthood that I adore.  Acceptant of this place that I am at - a mama with kids she loves fiercely,  but could teach better manners to.  A mama who giggles when potty talk errupts, and bolts out of the joint as quickly as possible to discuss "appropriate out in public manners" with her little boys for the gazilionth time.  A mama who promises a magic solution and the washing machine will " 'rerase' the diarrhea looking icecream mess from the new 'spakley' pink pants and shirt" of her overly dramatic 3 year old girly.  A mama who wipes spit up residual from the final fourth's face using the corner of her own sweat soaked shirt, exposing the mama stretch marks on her side for all the onlookers to see.  A sight of life lived, and lessons learned. 

A beautiful, chaotic mess.

And I wouldn't change it for the world.

oldest and youngest

 3.5 months old - Ryker Paul and Hartley Lane

The Mississippi Way

We are settling in here.  Slowly.  Literally.  

While we could spend our entire existence here discussing how different things are compared to what we are use to, Paul and I have instead, appropriately termed our new way of life as…

 "The Mississippi Way"

I'm not joking about this.  To validate this assumption I'll list some scenarios:

Take for instance the plumber.  I called to schedule a plumber to come out and take a look at our obnoxiously loud toilet.  I made 8 calls to local places that had good ratings with the Better Business Bureau.  The quickest I could get someone to come was 4 days after my call.  Then the guy who could come, four days after I called, said he would come at noon.  Noon came, and went.  So I finally, at 2:30pm on that day, called him to see where in the heck he was.  He was surprised that I was calling just "a couple-a-hours from the predicted time" he said he would be there.  He came, smelling of cigarettes and body odor, and had the stereotypical plumbers crack (that Jovie, of course, pointed out to Kip and they both giggled.)  One hour and $136 later he did properly fix our toilet.  "The Mississippi Way"  

The pace at which conversations occur here, well lets just say this month our Verizon bill was $482.  Yeah, I had to pick my eyeballs up from the countertop when I opened that bill, of which I'm still currently debating with Verizon about.  We had to make calls to get our jobs situated, get all utilities in our name and set up, and well one phone conversation to get our water hooked up took 48 minutes.  I'm not kidding.  I called the number the realtor gave us for the water company.  It turns out the water company for my neighborhood, isnt a company at all.  Rather it is just a short and stout little old lady.   I know this to be true, because I saw her crouching in my yard reading the meter the day she connected the water.  I confirmed that she was the person to address about getting water set up, as the whole scenario seemed a bit sketchy.  She said "let me grab a "pincil"dollin' and I'll get all y'alls information to get er' hooked up with water."  I proceeded to spell my last name to her.  She didn't get it the first, second, or third time despite my best efforts  Finally I say "L-O-P (as in Paul), R (as in rope), I-N (as in Nancy), Z (as in zebra), I."  I repeated it just like that eleven times, she sighed, and said "y'all are good to go."  I got my first bill yesterday in the mail addressed to Kristina Loprinski.  Sigh.  "The Mississippi Way."  

Then our washer and dryer.  We bought a house that didn't include the washer/dryer.  Sour subject of which I won't go into.  So I went to the only store within an hour of our house that sells them - Home Depot.  They didn't have a single matching washer/dryer set in stock.  So I had to ordered one.  What should have been a couple clicks of a mouse online to order these two things, took the sales guy over an hour to get it ordered online.  Partially the faulty internet connection, partially his inability to navigate the internet.  14 days after my order was placed, my washer and dryer was finally delivered.  "The Mississippi Way." 

But perhaps the most ridiculous was the internet.  As I sort of eluded to in the previous paragraph, the internet leaves much to be desired here.  It took 2 weeks to get the internet hooked up in our home.  By hooked up, I mean AT&T mailed me the stuff, I set it up by myself and then I think I paid a $40 "installation fee" for them to just flip a switch or something to get it working and that took 2 WEEKS!  And this internet I speak of, it is archaic.  Like dial up archaic.  The only places that has a fast speed internet is right on campus.  There are worse things in life, but a slow internet speed is a bummer, especially when Skype is your lifeline to "seeing" family back "home."  Sigh.  "The Mississippi Way"

I accepted a job, and after 3 weeks I finally have a start date, but still no set signed contract.  I'm not sure if it is "the Mississippi way" to begin employment without having a document that sates salary and expectations for the job…but it isn't the Kristina way.  There is absolutely no way I'm showing up for my first day until I have a contract.  

I know in the grand scheme of things these are SO, very minimal.  While I'm here typing about how annoyed I am about it taking 2 weeks to get a washer and dryer, there are some people who just want clothes to wear.  I get it really, I do.  And I am thankful for everything we have.  It is just an adjustment.  

Another change is the grocery prices.  Perhaps the college town life drives up prices.  But $4/gallon for milk and $5 for a box of cereal.  Bread too, a good deal is 2 for $4.  Yeah, we could go broke just trying to eat.  I now understand why the south is know for people who participate in extreme couponing, because it is the only way to be able to afford to eat, I joke, mostly.  Now that I am over the initial grocery bill of $200-300/week shock factor, I just accept that I want to feed my kids fresh fruits and veggies, and am thankful I have a job that can provide so that we can afford to feed them this way. 

Our kids are slowly adjusting.  We are on the hunt for a perfect nanny.  Replacing the sweet one we had in KY is proving to be impossible.  She was a gem.  I knew it then, but goodness, now that she isn't here I realize just how special she was for our family.  

Ryker's school here is SO very different than his small town feel public elementary school he went to in KY.  Apparently this city has just had astronomic growth the past two years and the public school systems are having a hard time keeping up.  His school is just K-2nd.  The lower elementary, upper elementary, middle and high school are all on the same campus.  To make matters worse, all of these schools have the same start/end time, so you can imagine the nightmare that occurs during school drop off/pick up time.   There are police officers that have to direct traffic daily because apparently a stagger start just isn't something that is done here.  He always rode the bus in KY, and adored his bus driver who knew him on a first name basis (she knew ME on a first name basis).  But here, the bus is so crowded as it has both lower and upper elementary, middle AND high school students on the bus at the same time.  Ryk rode the bus one day, and after being stuck on it for over an hour, declared his hatred of Mississippi, and said he was "NEVER RIDING THE BUS AGAIN!"

So Paul does drop off, pick up.  

He also tends to take Ryk on fun outings after school just daddy and Ryk, which I am sure is helping get this kiddo adjusted.  So far on their special one-on-one after school outings they have done "Fryday on Friday," 

found a skate park that Ryk has dubbed the American Ninja Warrior course where he mastered the "warped wall"

Went exploring near a "creak"

Overall, Ryk is adjusting just fine into school despite being "the new kid in class."  He is doing just fine.  In fact, his new teacher sent a really sweet email, saying how great of a kid Ryk is, and is amazed with his reading ability.  

Can I just say how amazing of a husband, daddy, and provider my Mr. is!

Anyway.  This was long, and obnoxious, but it is the truth of where we are at in the transition right now.  I'll end with the current state of my bedroom at this moment...

The reality of this all - no matter where I'm at, it is home when I'm with them.

i

Frankie

We got a new kitten.

Meet Frankie.

If Paul were a kitten, he would be Frankie.

Seriously.

This kitten does not want to be left alone at all.  He is spastic, playful, wild, and vocal about his needs.  

But he is sure a cute accessory to our couch, 

and he makes me oldest boy so happy,

and puts up with Jovie mauling him

  So I deal with his quirks.

FNP

I was busy this past week.  Cramming like crazy for the AANP certification exam.  You know, the huge one that lets me get my APRN license so I can work as a nurse practitioner.  Paul was so amazing taking on solo daddy duty to give me time to prepare.

Hartley went to bed at 11pm the night before my exam.  She woke at 4am to nurse, and I had to be at my testing site at 7:30am (which was an 1hr and 20 minutes away), so I just got up for the day after nursing her.  So a little less than 5 hours of sleep.  I was tired, but nothing a bit of coffee and prayer couldn't fix.

I checked in, and was so overwhelmingly nervous.

 I breezed through the first 45 questions, and was feeling super confident.  Then it all got so, so tough.  By question 80 I was ready to have a mini-meltdown.  So I took a bathroom break, walked around the lobby of the testing room for 5 minutes to regain my focus, and inhaled some peppermint essential oil and rubbed a bit on my wrists (which got me some crazy stares).

I walked back into the exam room ready to conquer those last 70 questions.  My heart rate increased at question 140.  I just was so anxious to get to that magical last question - 150.  I really had to take deep breaths, and re-read almost every single one of those last 10 questions several times.  I've never experienced anxiety like that before.  Finally I got to the last one.  I answered question 150.  Then of course it prompts you to do a quick survey about the testing center…of which I didn't even read, just selected C for every answer.  Then there was about a 2 minute delay, which felt like 20, and my hear rate was probably in the upper hundreds at this time until finally the blank screen popped up the results.

PASS!

I cried, raised my hand (so I could leave the testing room, that is what was protocol).  The sweet testing lady said "congrats," while handing my unofficial results.  I did a jumping heel click, with that paper that said PASS in hand and headed my way out to the car.  I called my Mr. and then my mama…then texted all the amazing people who supported me in one way or another throughout this long, tiring, challenging journey.

We did it.  I say we, because there is absolutely no way possible I could have done this without the help from everyone on my side.

So thankful to close this chapter in my book, and move forward to life after grad school, which looks a lot like snuggling on a couch with my Mr. and our littlest Loprinzi watching a movie.

Up next - applying for my license and officially begin working on 9/29.

Until then, I'm soaking up the next week with nothing on my calendar except things that involve motherhood.  My favorite.

3.5 months old

Three months old is full of change for this sweet lady.  

She rolled over today, back to belly in search of that tiny thumb.  That girl is motivated to get it in her mouth.

 Victory!  Thumb in mouth.  She despises pacifiers, but will slobber her entire face sucking on her fingers.  I forgot how much babies do that non-nutritive suck from 3-5 months.

H at 3.5 months old with her doggy.  Girlfriend is always moving, sorry about those blurry toes!  She wears size 1 diapers, size 6 month sleepers, and size 3 month clothes/onsies.  Not sure of her weight, but she goes in Oct 2nd.  She sleeps like a gem most nights, down by 11pm at the latest.  Sometimes she wakes between 2-4am to nurse, but most of the time she gets up at 6-7am to nurse.  She doesn't nap very well, which is not a surprise given her noisy older siblings and our smaller home…but she is smiley most of the time and doesn't seem affected by her constantly interrupted naps yet.

 She is the most loved baby ever.  My girls, J at 3.5 years old - H at 3.5 months old.  

I love that J isn't phased when H gets grumbly.  Such a little mama that 3.5 year old is.  "It's okay Hartley, your Jovie has you," as she shushes her and pats her little back.