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Baby Rabies

pregnancy & parenting

  • Start Here
    • About Baby Rabies
    • Baby Registry Top Picks
    • Favorite Pregnancy Apps
  • The Book
  • Pregnancy
    • Birth Stories
    • Perinatal Mood Disorders
  • Parenthood
    • Babies
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    • School Age Kids
    • Parenting LOLZ
  • Photography
    • Photography

      6 Stunning Photos You Would Never Guess Were…

      February 11, 2019

      Photography

      Simple Tips For Editing Snow Photos On Your…

      December 13, 2018

      Photography

      I Wrote A Photography eBook And This Is…

      December 6, 2018

      Photography

      Creative Lighting Ideas To Help You Take Great…

      November 27, 2018

      Photography

      Learn How To Take And Edit Photos On…

      November 19, 2018

  • Reviews
    • Reviews

      The Answer To Last Minute Holiday Gifting For…

      December 19, 2018

      Reviews

      I Was Never A Barbie Girl Until Now

      October 1, 2018

      Reviews

      Finally! Jeans For My Jean-Averse Kids!

      August 22, 2018

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Kendall

I Hate You
ParenthoodSchool Age Days

I Hate You

by Jill June 15, 2015
written by Jill

I was probably 7, standing upstairs, peering out of my parent’s bedroom window down to my friends below.

“I HATE my mom!” I shouted at them as they ran off to continue whatever they were doing when my mom discovered whatever it was that I was doing that got me grounded for the afternoon.

It was an act of defiance, a way to show my friends that I would not stand to be treated like such a… well, a child by my mother. It was also a reaction of embarrassment, and something I would NEVER say to her face. It was actually the first time I ever said I hated her, I think. At least the first time I can remember choosing to use such words.

And I never intended for her to actually hear it, but when I turned from the window, I saw her standing there. I don’t remember her exact reaction, but I remember that it was clear I had disappointed her. I was a child who did not like to disappoint people, especially not grownups, and most especially not my parents.

Perhaps I said I hated her again many more times, but I feel like that wasn’t something I threw out intentionally in battle until I was well into my teen years. And even then, I recall that being a desperate, calculated, risky move, with intent to sting, but never with actual hatred behind it.

Because teenagers are total assholes like that. (A million apologies over and over to my parents.)

So what I’m saying is the phrase “I hate you” represented a lot of power to me, the kind of power that I knew would disappoint.

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I think the first time Kendall shouted, “I HATE YOU, MOM,” to me was probably a year ago? Maybe 2?

It didn’t sting because he was so little. I knew he had no actual concept of the meaning of “hate.” But in that moment, I thought, “I have to show him that this can be powerful and hurt people. I have to react in a way that will make him not ever want to say this again.”

And so I recoiled, and tried to show the wounds of hurt feelings to him. I gasped. I did that thing where I scrunched my eyebrows together, knelt down, and explained what that meant.

He said it again a week later. And again. And again. And again, and again, and again, and on and on and on.

Because Kendall is his own person, and I doubt very much that he cares a fraction as much as I did about pleasing people. Kendall lives for reactions. He wants to see how far he can push someone, and then he pushes them more.

So it came to pass that I am the mother of a 7 year old who flippantly shouts at me, “I HATE YOU!”

And all I can do is take the power away from him, and calmly reply, “I love you no matter what.”

Every. Single. Time.

June 15, 2015 19 comments
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He’s Only 7
School Age Days

He’s Only 7

by Jill May 4, 2015
written by Jill

“We just have to remember, he’s so young still. He’s only 7.”

I say stuff like that to Scott a lot. We are both quick to get frustrated with Kendall, and we throw things out there like, “bad attitude,” and “immature.”

But, he’s only 7.

As of this weekend.

A photo posted by Jill Krause (@babyrabies) on May 2, 2015 at 7:18pm PDT

We’ve been reading Harry Potter together since late last summer, and we’re on the 3rd book now. I didn’t think he’d be so found of me reading to him from a book with no pictures every night. I didn’t think he’d sit still. I didn’t think he’d be delighted to get a chapter book for his birthday.

He’s only 7.

I gave him a blank, lined notebook this weekend (some conference swag I brought home with me from Mom 2.0, courtesy of Dove), and told him it was for him to write a book in, mostly expecting to find it with gum stuck between the pages under his bed in a month.

He began the “next Harry Potter book” last night- Harry Potter and the Wizard of Secrets. He’s halfway through the first chapter- Hungry Wizard. He’s outlined where the 2nd chapter- Wizard Secret- will begin.

He’s only 7.

A photo posted by Jill Krause (@babyrabies) on May 3, 2015 at 6:37pm PDT

7 year olds can write chapters of new books, but sometimes it’s hard for them to understand why nobody threw the ball to them during their baseball game. Sometimes 7 year olds throw themselves on the ground and cry like a toddler when they don’t get what they want, and sometimes they quietly work in the garage for hours, inventing things.

7 year olds are also great arm pit fart students.

So I guess when you turn 7 it’s customary for your dad to take his shirt off at the dinner table and show you how to make armpit farts.

A photo posted by Jill Krause (@babyrabies) on May 2, 2015 at 8:14pm PDT

Here’s to 7!

May 4, 2015 2 comments
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School Age DaysThe Story

He Is The Grit The Wears Us In

by Jill May 9, 2014
written by Jill

“So, did you bring any electronics?” Kendall asked as he hoped up on the exam table after the nurse left and before the doctor came in.

Frozen was playing on a TV in the exam room. A TV was playing a current movie. In the room. At a doctor’s office. I looked at him quizzically.

“Uhm, no. I mean, I have my phone, but it’s nearly dead. The doctor will be in soon anyway,” I replied.

“So you didn’t bring my Kindle Fire?” he innocently pressed.

Yes, we bought him a Kindle Fire for his 6th birthday. I got some kind of $50 off deal from Amazon last week, and in an exhausted haze thought, “Eureka! What our kid needs is another device with apps and games! Birthday present, check!”

In my defense, we’ve set the Kindle to only allow him to play the games (that we download for him) after he’s done an hour of reading. This kid is smart, but he also needs incentives. And if a Kindle Fire is going to get him fired up about reading books, I’m all for it.

Sometimes I’m convinced we’re failing him. Maybe we don’t discipline him enough, or the right ways, or we give in too easily. Maybe we’re “those parents” who allow their kids to play apps while out to dinner so we can carry on a grown up conversation. Maybe we’re part of “the problem,” whatever that is.

A lot of other times I feel pretty good about how we’re handling things, though. I’ve learned with Kendall that we can’t force him to do things. I mean, I guess we can, but we might also get arrested for trying. So there’s a lot of reward charts, and rock jars, and devices that make him think that reading an ebook is more fun than a paper book.

Book purists, please don’t hate me. I assure you we have MANY books made of actual paper. And we read them. Often.

The point is he’s reading. The point is we are trying as hard as we can to instill a love of learning, and to encourage his natural curiosity, and to help him succeed in a school environment where he often gets into minor trouble for talking too much and not sitting still.

I’ve come to accept that there likely won’t be an age with him where he hits a switch and stops being challenging. Each year he pushes us, frustrates us, and forces us to rethink our entire strategy. With him, I don’t think we’ll ever be able to coast through parenting.

I don’t say that as a bad thing. This boy who made me a mother has shaped me into a version of myself that I am quite proud of today. All his grit and toughness has washed over us again and again, wearing us down, smoothing out our rigid edges, breaking us in. I think we are more comfortable because of him, like a well worn leather sofa.

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Every year, I remember how my very first Mother’s Day was spent with him at the ER at 4 in the morning because he was crying so hard and I just could. not. make. him. stop. There was nothing “wrong” with him. He was just… mad? Colicky? Introducing himself to me?

I think of all the things I didn’t know then, and still managed to keep him alive. I’m acutely aware of all I still don’t know, and yet he still thrives.

This weekend, there is much to celebrate. Kendall’s 6th birthday party is tomorrow, Mother’s Day is on Sunday. He is healthy, and his spirit is full of fire. I am healthy, and full of gratitude.

May 9, 2014 8 comments
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PhotographySchool Age DaysThe Story

I Didn’t Cry

by Jill August 27, 2013
written by Jill

Kendall’s first day of kindergarten was yesterday. I didn’t cry.

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Be sure, there were plenty of emotions in me, and it’s possible I expelled all my tears the night before when he came home with a botched haircut (that I did my best to spruce up the next day with the help of daddy’s hair gel).

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But no real tears were shed from me as I watched him walk to school EARLY in the morning. (That’s the sun rising, people. I can’t remember the last time I saw the sun RISING.)

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And into the halls of his new, big school.

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No tears when I realized late last night I took this picture-

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And this one at the same spot, 4.5 years apart. Walking to learn, learning to walk.

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I started this blog 6 years ago because of this boy.

No.

Because of the idea of this boy. The one I knew would change us.

The one who continues to challenge us, make us eat our words, and drive us just crazy enough to keep us from signing up for any of the parenting awards we were sure we’d easily win before we actually became parents.

While I fought him and won (for now) on the Skylanders backpack, I caved to the Skylanders t-shirt. Never in a million years did the pre-kid me think she’d let her son show up to the first day of kindergarten wearing a licensed character t-shirt. Good thing we’ve both done some growing, learning, and getting to know each other these last 5 years and almost 4 months. And I’ve learned to pick my battles.

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I bought his regular school supplies, then scoured the internet for any kind of notebook, pen or pencil with Skylanders on it. I freaked out and felt inadequate when I couldn’t find the 2 pocket folders with brads ANYWHERE. I helped him cover a pencil box with Skylanders stickers and relished in my momentary “coolest mom ever” status.

I reflected, I laughed, I gave MANY hugs and kisses, and I made him pose for pictures.

But I didn’t cry.

August 27, 2013 22 comments
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School Age DaysThe StoryToddlers

I’m Not Alright With The Growing Up Thing

by Jill April 26, 2013
written by Jill

Omg. Showed up to K’s pre K recital and they are showing cap and gown pics while “it won’t be like this for long” plays. This is an AMBUSH!

— Jill Krause (@babyrabies) April 25, 2013

Prior to entering the room, it never occurred to me that Kendall’s pre K recital was going to make me question my journey through motherhood. I thought I’d show up, take some pictures, they’d sing some songs, and we’d go have ice cream after it’s done. Just like we’ve done every year.

Except this year is the last year because next year he’s going to be in Kindergarten.

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And suddenly, it hit me- that train that I thought wasn’t going to catch up to me. The one I thought I’d been smart enough to stay one step ahead of. The one that knocked me on my ass and reminded me, “YOU ARE NOT IN CONTROL OF TIME.”

No amount of picture taking or memory making can stop your kid from growing up. No amount of blogging about how much you know they are going to grow up, no amount of acknowledging that you can’t freeze time makes it feel ok to not be able to freeze time.

You know what? I’m really not alright with this growing up thing. I’m not cool with the turning 5 and going to Kindergarten part. I’m not okay with knowing I’ve wished away so much of the last 5 years. I tried to stop myself from doing that when he was a newborn…

I know I’ve spent more than my fair share on here complaining in some way or another, and I’m really not writing this to sugar coat things.  The fact remains that the last 6 weeks have been TOUGH in a lot of ways, but as I started packing tonight for our big move to Dallas next week I couldn’t help but get a little sad.  My baby is six weeks old.  He will never be younger than this again.  He will never be smaller than this again.  He’s growing so much already…  So I write this to remind myself and anyone else out there in the bowels of newborn hell to stop and TRY to enjoy it, even if it’s only for the brief moments throughout the day that he is not crying and not demolishing my breasts.  Looking back, it scares to think how quickly the last six weeks have gone (although they seem like a lifetime too in some ways).  Although I’m exhausted 90% of the time and frustrated 50% of the time, I don’t want to wish away these precious days.  I surely will never get them back.

But the overwhelmed waves washed over me time and time again. Just get through this stage. Just get past this age. Just get beyond this milestone. I wished and I wished for things to be easier, knowing full well it’s not that they ever get easier. They just become a different kind of difficult.

And I write this knowing that I’ll never be able to stop myself from wishing away days, moments, stages, ages. Because I’m human.

That is really what’s getting to me here. I know, no matter what I would have done over the last five years, no matter how many more special outings I would have taken him on, no matter how many more crafts I made with him or books I read to him, I would still have regrets.

Parenting is a human experience. Remember, Jill? 

It’s the regrets, I think, that make it hard to give into time passing.

It’s knowing I’m going to continue to make mistakes, and that there’s no pressing the pause button. There are no do-overs. There’s no way to take anything back. And what happens between now and 13 years from now is going to matter so much.

Blink. He’s one.

Blink. He’s five.

Blink. He’s gone.

April 26, 2013 11 comments
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School Age DaysThe Story

I’m Going To Be A Wreck In August

by Jill April 12, 2013
written by Jill

He was determined to get himself there. Scooting faster than I’ve ever seen him, his legs reached further than they ever have before.

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Watching him race to the school made me remember that time he wanted so badly to keep up with the big kids in the neighborhood, calling out “FWIENDS!” desperate to join them.

Oh, sweetheart. One day you will be able to join them…One day you will be big enough to look both ways before you cross the street by yourself and join the rest of your “fwiends” in a rowdy game of tag… And until then, when your feet can keep up and your legs can make strides big enough to run as fast as those big kids you so admire, I will be your playmate…because I know my days are numbered. I know that one day entirely too soon you will be too fast for me, you will be too strong for me, you will be too big for me. – September 14, 2010 “Baby, My Baby, You Will Be Big Someday… Soon”

I huffed along behind him, holding my pregnant belly, not able to keep up. Watching as he’d race toward Scott pushing Leyna on her tricycle ahead of us. Then he’d stop and wait for me to catch up.

He’s too fast now. He’s too big now. He’s ready now.

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There was a little uncertainty from all of us when we walked into that cafeteria. Kendall cautiously went into the library with the teachers so they could ask him some basic questions and talk to him a little about the school. I sat down at a table and began to fill out all the paperwork. Scott chased Leyna.

How did we get here? Wasn’t it just yesterday I took that pregnancy test? Wasn’t it just yesterday he was born? I never thought when I started this blog, that I’d write about the day I registered my first baby for kindergarten. Back then that all seemed too far away to even comprehend. His whole life is here. It’s on these pages. From conception to this… pregnant with a 2 year old and a kid big enough to lose teeth and start school.

“Why is this school so big?” he quietly asked.
“Because so many BIG kids go here,” I responded. It was the first time I teared up.

Oh God. I’m going to be a wreck in August.

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He wasn’t too thrilled to pose for any pictures for me. I forced a couple obligatory shots. Snapping away while hearing the conversation behind me between a few moms turn to the PTA and Room Mom sign ups.

There were sheets out at the tables to volunteer for such things.

I suddenly felt like I was grossly unprepared for this. Kendall may be bigger and faster and ready. I, however, am still the same flakey, overwhelmed me. Flipping through the welcome packet, I read about the tardiness policy, absence notes, the importance of checking and initialing his folder daily, schedules, lunch money. I forgot to bring his birth certificate, immunization record and my I.D. with us to register.

Oh God. I’m going to suck at this.

Of course, I avoided the PTA and Room Mom signup sheets like herpes. I couldn’t get past the visions of arriving late for the 7:30 a.m. bell every morning to even consider them. SEVEN THIRTY A.M.

Oh God. I am going to die.

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He settled in, the trepidation barely noticeable anymore. “This place is cool,” he calmly noted. “Yeah, it is,” I agreed.

The tone and tempo of his conversations on the way home exuded confidence. Ready or not… here we come.

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This summer, I think, will be a little like that feeling you get when you wait in line for the coolest, biggest, scariest roller coaster in the amusement park. Anticipation, mixed with nerves, mixed with the knowledge that the ride will be over way too fast.

Oh God. I’m going to be a wreck in August.

April 12, 2013 18 comments
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The StoryToddlers

Today, He Is 3.

by Jill May 2, 2011
written by Jill

Yesterday, he was born.

Credit Regetis Photography

Today, he is 3.

Tomorrow, he will be 13, and no longer whisper to me as his eyelids get heavy in the dark of his room, “Mommy, stay. I just want to snuggle with you.”

He won’t ask, “Mommy? Are you a princess?” when he sees me try on a new dress.

He won’t exclaim, “You’re having an Idea Emergency!” when he hears me swear at the stroller that won’t fold so I can shove it back in the car.

Tomorrow he will grow up, finally get to run off with those “fwiends!”

But today, he is 3. And he’s still all mine.

(Marking this one as uncategorized because I haven’t come up with a category to replace the Terrific Terrorist Twos.)

May 2, 2011 26 comments
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