Holiday Mugs! -a D.I.Y.

I love decorating mugs, and all the fun things you can do with them. Pinterest has so many ideas! It’s a good thing that I drink a lot of tea, and therefore need a lot of cups.

I’m sure this isn’t your first mug decorating shenanegains you’ve read- this is basically craft #1! ^{(I’m now imagining a mug that says “#1 Craft!”)}
So this is just what I did for my designs to gift this holiday season. Maybe you’ll be inspired!
Believe me, this is definitely something you’ll enjoy doing. And if your kids are old enough, they can totally make their own! A more heartfelt gift, and they’ll have a blast.

^{(This past mother’s day, I got supplies for my nieces to make a travel mug for their Mama.)}

Pin this- sharing is caring! Holiday mugs a DIY. ♥

The metallic gave it an expensive (and more festive, imo) charm! I added little details like hearts hidden in the pattern of the clear mugs, and secret notes for those who are sipping from them! 

Anyways, here’s what I used:

• Metallic Oil-Based¹ Sharpies: Fine-Point (Amazon’s price is best)
• Clear Glass Mugs by Anchor Hocking Company (Found at Walmart)
• White Porcelain Mugs by Better Homes & Garden (Found at Walmart²)

 

Tips:

• I keep an olive oiled paper towel, a wet, and a dry one near me while I decorate, just in case I make a mistake or don’t like something.
  ^{(Rub off with oiled, then clean surface with wet, and dry before redecorating.)}
• I let mine “dry” for a bit before I cooked them in the oven at 350° for 30^minutes.

 

Notes:

1. Oil-based is definitely more pricey than regular, but trust me- regular permanent markers are just …not permanent enough. They’ll wash away, and all you’re beautiful artwork will be ruined.
2. If you search “Plain White Ceramic Mug set” on Walmart’s site, they have sets of 4, 6, or even 12 mugs for a really good price! Make all the mugs! ♥

 

Happy Decorating!

-Okaachan

Birth: IV

Attempting hypnobirthing, I refused to open my eyes to break meditation. I just knew from the new rapid beeping, something wasn’t right. Dylan was no longer encouraging me- he was attentive to the monitor. From afar, I overheard the Doctor make a call for help by the delivery response team. The Doctor was no longer pleasant- now demanding.
I was ordered to push, a constant non-stop push. Threatening episiotomy if I was unable to comply. I was told to push even if there wasn’t a contraction. I was frantic and felt I was drowning in a sea of confusion. I was weak, and terrified of what was happening.

So I did the only thing I knew to do- I pushed with all the strength I could muster, and then double that. Motivating myself: soon I would get to finally meet him, see his sweet face, and feel him on my chest. Ignoring everything that wasn’t directly pertaining to our little family.

And finally, I felt relief from the pressure- followed by another, more complete waterfall. But… there was nothing. No noise except that of the hustle-bustle of hospital staff that was fuzzy in my ringing ears. I had been anticipating for my baby boy to be placed on me, to feel his skin on mine, only to feel heartbreak at the realization that they took him away. Where’s his cry? I opened my eyes, terrified. My eyes, swollen and shaky, darted around the room- searching. Where’s my baby?

There were plenty more Doctors and Nurses in the room that hadn’t been there before, and there was now a table beside the bed lined with shiny and frightening objects. Across the room, there he was. With a team of Nurses surrounding him, their backs to me. They did a series of procedures that I was unable to see past them. No one ever explained.
I sat there, with tears pouring down my face wondering what was wrong, wondering what I did wrong.
“I’m sorry.” I remember apologizing over and over. Dylan was still beside me, holding my hand, trying to see past the Nurses. “Is he okay?? Is our baby okay??”

After what felt like an eternity, they finally offered him to me. I was relieved that he was okay, a euphoric type of relief. And yet still broken that I wasn’t the first to hold him: His mother- who long anticipated, and relied upon that as a source of motivation- and it wasn’t me. I clung to him and cried, and apologized profusely.

Grayson Luke. Born at 2:20^am, 7^lbs 13^oz, measured him to be 22^inches long.

After a long while, we allowed family to come in. One of the Nurses stayed in company though. She had been a member of the Delivery Response team, however, she was just subbing for someone. She was actually a NICU nurse.
And noticed behaviors she deemed to be of a concern: He did not, and would not cry. Not when he was born, and not since. He was “floppy” and limp in his muscle tone. He wasn’t grasping [fingers]- a natural instinct for newborns. Furthermore, he was “lip-smacking”- which would be a normal sign of rooting, if it hadn’t been accompanied by “bicycling” his leg.

She asked around 5^am to admit him to the NICU.
Just overnight. Just to be further supervised. Just to be safe.
Hesitantly, we agreed. He was admitted around 6:30^am.

 

–Okaachan

Next: NICU Woes

 

Birth: III

The anesthesiologist came within the hour. Around 9_pm, I had been sitting on the edge of the bed with Dylan crouched before me, while the Doctor slid a needle into my back. A foreign tingle flooded over my legs. He asked his necessary questions.
“There’s her eyes! I think that’s the most I heard you say today!” The nurse commented.
They joked to themselves about how much better that must feel. I remember being relieved just by being able to see Dylan’s face again, he rubbed my hand and smiled lovingly up at me. I knew I wouldn’t of been able to do it without him.
They told me they only gave me a small dose- a fraction of what they usually give women- due to my petite size. I don’t know if that was just something they said because I wanted to do without so badly or what. But they wanted to be sure I could still feel the contractions to know when to push.

I could finally relax. I laid back on the bed, and tried to get some sleep. I could now actually feel the contractions- before I couldn’t feel anything but my back. I found peace in that; I closed my eyes and felt my body work with my baby to bring him to me. I don’t think I slept, but I felt rested.
My nurse checked my vitals for the last time before her shift was over, while she informed the night nurse that I had just gotten the epidural and to try to let me get some rest. She introduced the night nurse to me, but we had already met. In triage. She checked me in, the one who made a comment that I was being irritable… yeah.
I didn’t want my lovely nurse friend to leave, and definitely not be replaced by this one. And at the time, I didn’t know I could request a different nurse.

Midnight came. “I think I’m ready to push…” that impending feeling was now upon me. She dismissed me, and told me to wait it out, to get more rest. “oh, alright.” Maybe 20 minutes later, “I think I’m ready to push!”
“Are you sure?” …are you kidding me? Maybe it was the way she asked, not concerned, unattentive, only paying attention to the computer. She checked me, and sure enough! She dropped my epidural dose and instructed to push with each contraction. Didn’t really feel natural, though, it felt awkward.

Dylan was by my side doing his job with leg-support, while the nurse was on the other side- half­assing. I say this because she only ever held my leg while the doctor was in the room. Otherwise, Dylan was holding both- reminding me he loved me and encouraging me, “you’re doing great, you’re so amazing”. _{To which he later told me the nurse gave him dirty looks.}

The Doctor would come in and out, checking the other women giving birth at that exact time (four of us, total). She would tell me how impressed she was, and she could see his hair, “Almost there!” She kept saying that…almost there. So why wasn’t he here? Eventually I had to break and ask- how much? She made about the size of a quarter/half-dollar with her thumb and forefinger. Thats it? That’s not enough! With how much energy I’d been exerting, how much time that’s passed- that’s it?! Don’t say “Almost there” unless he’s about to be here. C’mon. “Keep it up! I’ll be back!” And she left again. Almost there, my ass.

God, how I hated this nurse. She must not have read my plan at all, or she simply didn’t care- she used the trigger words, and WORSE. “Get mad! Push against the pain! Ring of fire!” Get mad at what? My baby? No- I want to meet him! What pain? Ring of fire?? Wha–Oh shit!
Yeah, then I felt it! Sure, when someone is enforcing it into your mind that it should be there, naturally your brain starts searching- trying to understand. I understood, then alright.
I think I pushed with too much gusto too early on. I was beginning to lose my oomph and strength. I kept trying, despite that. With each contraction, push once strong– quick exhale, grab more oxygen, and- push hard and long– quick exhale, more air, and- push past-the-limits until there-was-nothing-at-all-left.
Each time. Every time. It was that last one that really made the difference each time, every time. It was so demanding that my eyelids were squinting hard against themselves (_{until it felt they overlapped a couple of times}), my fingers were going to lock up, and my wrists could hardly bear much more (_{‘lest I wanted my tendons to pop, and bones to puncture past my skin}).
There were a couple of times where quick, high-pitched screech escaped my throat. Noises I didn’t know I was capable of.

And yet… despite everything, I would do it all again just to be sure what happened next wouldn’t have. I would do it again even with that awful, hit-by-a-train, physically drained, sore next-day postpartum muscles+the swollen postpartum genitalia.
Anything. Just to be sure.

But it did.

-Okaachan

Next, Birth: IV

Birth: II

Maybe not quite as ready as I was thinking. I thought, “Hey, yeah it’s what- 6_am? He’ll be here by, like- 3_pm, the latest.” …Riiight.

I eagerly waited, too excited to get more rest. Instead, I browsed around on Pinterest, reminding myself of all sorts of cute pictures to take once he’s here! It’s not like I’d be getting much sleep anyhow: Every hour they would come in to re-check me. And every hour there really wasn’t that much of a difference. I started feeling… disheartened.

Finally around noon, when the Doctor came to check me, she decided she was not satisfied with the sluggish pace I was dilating at. Hey- I wasn’t either. So she asked to “pop” my “bag”. After questioning what that entails, she just kinda went ahead and did it. Waterfalls.
Of course I felt embarrassed, like I had just peed myself. But of course, it was nothing out of the ordinary for her. She just wanted to speed up the process, like a waitress trying to turn tables at lunch rush.
I was mildly uncomfortable with her to begin with. I had gone to my OB/GYN appointments, and met with all the Doctors that were affiliated with that clinic. So there wouldn’t be any surprises with, “Hey, hi…yeah I don’t know you. But here! Take this baby out of my vagina”. And yet, I had never met her.

After that, I was exceedingly uncomfortable. Mainly with the torture ridden back pain. It was as if my spine was twisting and contorting in the worst of ways (think Harry Potter’s Cruciatus Curse). For relief, I bounced on the birthing ball- the rhythm helped, but I had to stay entirely focused. I stopped talking, listening, even seeing. My eyes remained closed, because it was just easier to tolerate. Dylan would try to rub my back again and again- like he’d been taught in our Childbirth Preparation Class- but would feel useless each time when I would beg him to stop with a few hushed words- all I could muster. I wished I could’ve explained that when he touched where it hurts it only highlights the pain, drawing my attention to it. 
Hypnobirthing. I wanted to stay calm and in the most meditative state I was capable of.
So at the time, I wasn’t thinking pain. It was tension, and attempting to allow my body to relax the best it could with each recited exhale. *Imagine your body opening up like a flower to reveal your baby* I pleaded with my body to be the flower.

The nurse- how I adored her- came in and suggested alternate ways to sit, walk and stretch to try to release some tension. I was so thankful. Especially because she didn’t use trigger words (i.e. pain, sharp, etc.), she actually acknowledged my birth plan and was trying to help me the best she could without offering pain medications. 

It was now 7_pm. The pain became all consuming. I was shaking I was so weak. Dylan asked if I could get some kind of food, explaining that it’s now been 24_hours without. No- no food (_{even though at my clinic, all my OB/GYNs said that if they were the one delivering, they were fine with light snacks}). My Doctor explained how baby was in a slightly skewed position, and without getting him straightened out- it’s going to be more difficult to dilate. The Nurse helped me into a better position, in hopes it would get him to shape up: facing the incline and hugging the bed in a squatted position. And there it was. The pinnacle of the back labor. I attempted this for as long as I could handle. Dylan couldn’t take the pain on my face, and insisted I try to get some rest. I complied. I lay down, covered in a cold sweat- convinced I was dying. I couldn’t foresee anything getting better- or even think of him ever being here.

“Hey, babygirl- how are you doing?” I heard a female voice. I felt hair brush my forehead- I began hyperventilating. I recognized my older sister’s presence, but the other left me panicked. “It’s okay, just Aunt Tonna.” I began slowing my breathing again. But I never responded. I could feel their hands, on my neck and brushing hair of my own out of my face. They kept reassuring me, expressing how amazing I was doing- and they couldn’t imagine without an epidural. I mumbled a plea for them to kill me, I honestly thought I wouldn’t make it. They kept encouraging me, how this will all be over and I’ll have the most beautiful thing ever, and once he’s in my arms I’ll forget all about it and it’ll be so worth it. I could hear the tears in my sister’s voice.
I remember hearing the faded explanation of Dylan, standing behind my sister, “She hasn’t slept”, “…won’t let her eat”, “…crooked position…”
“She’s shaking.” My Aunt exclaimed in a worried tone.
“Sommer,” my sister began- I think she could tell what I was thinking. “I know you don’t want to take the epidural- but no one’s going to think less of you. It’s going to be okay. You have nothing to prove. No one’s going to hold it against you. We’re all so proud of you, you’ve done enough…” etc. I was terrified of a million things concerning the epidural. But ultimately, now– with this– I was terrified I wasn’t going to have the energy to push. I was terrified of needing an emergency cesarean, or worse. I could hear her voice shaking, and her sniffles after each sentence, followed by an “okay?” I knew Dylan didn’t mind, it was mainly something I felt I had to do (labor of love). But ultimately…

Nodding, slowly. “Yeah? You will?” Nodding. She told the nurse, and the nurse asked me to be sure, then phoned the anesthesiologist. My sister let me know that she’d be right out in the waiting room, and that if I changed my mind and wanted her in the delivery room, she’d be there in a heartbeat. They told me they loved me, and headed out the door.

Dylan came to hold my hands, I think he was relieved, too. 

-Okaachan

Next, Birth: III

Birth: I

It was 5^am, the second time I was into triage that night. We had just been there a few hours earlier, and the nurse sent us home to get more rest- baby wasn’t quite ready yet.
She advised me to take some Tylenol PM if I was unable to rest, so Dylan went to the store for some. Still couldn’t sleep. So he walked with me to 7/11 and back, over and over again. Pausing with each contraction. I was able to smile from excitement, and laugh against the pain, yet.
The contractions were fine- they didn’t bother me. I’d been one of the lucky females selected to tolerate agonizing menstrual cramps since puberty. What was awful: the back pain. I had read of back labor- it sounded bad, and I certainly didn’t want to experience it first hand. And most definitely not during my first bout with childbirth. I mean, c’mon- that’s a major deterrent for having more.

Walking helped. But not entirely. I had read somewhere that swaying your hips while you walked would help as well. It felt ridiculous. I worried that I looked like a cat in heat, begging for attention, with the way I exaggerated shimmying my butt with each step. But it offered relief, and with that my self-consciousness steadily diminished.
Finally, I began to feel tired. We headed back, and tried to lay down. You know, the best any woman who’s 9_months pregnant can- tossing and turning attempting to get comfortable for 10 minutes…then having to pee. And so I got up- filled with an unworthy amount of urine, and immense disappointment that I’d never be able to find that comfortable position again.

(TMI-feel free to skip) When I went to *ahem* clean-up, I felt swollen. It scared me- despite reading books on labor, I didn’t know what that meant. It felt enlarged- at least the labia did- and like it was drooping under the weight of itself. It was as if my vagina was just going to fall out.

“Uh, yup. We’re leaving now.” I told Dylan. He laughed softly, thinking I was joking. We were just there- couldn’t be any different, right? “No seriously.” He questioned why now, so I explained to him the best I could- so he wouldn’t pull the paramedic card on me and ask to examine me himself.

He grabbed our hospital bag, and baby’s diaper bag and carseat- I had the water bottle (&a baby!)- and we hobbled out the door as quietly as possible (we were staying with my sister, her and her young daughters were sleeping- with work and school in just a few hours). When we arrived at the hospital, the man at the front desk recognized us and looked more convinced this time (Prior, when we told him we needed to be directed to triage he asked if we were meeting someone who’s having a baby there…). I chose to walk rather than take a wheelchair, but talking got more difficult at the same rate back pain became more intense.

They examined me in triage: being 3_cm dilated, they decided it was time to stay and walked us to our room. Thinking to myself how just the day before I had my 41_week check up- the one with a stress test for baby- and my doctor let me know that artificial induction is a possibility, and may come to be necessary. I insisted we wait- ‘baby is healthy, why rush his birth? He’s just not ready.’
And there we were. He was ready.

-Okaachan

Next, Birth: II

Before

None of it felt real, per se. I didn’t feel like I was a Mommy yet, or even about to become one. I felt like I was just me. Kinda felt like my purpose was that of being a vessel: to hold and nurture this life inside to ascertain it made it here safely- I hardly felt like a person.
Of course I was excited, but I was just as well a nervous wreck. Not to mention irritated- I was 6 days past my due date. Like, stop asking me when my baby will be here- I wonder that every second of every day. If I had the answer, I’d be off trying to induce labor- not talking with you. Sorry.

Which, I did try. I was always looking into ways to get my baby here and in my arms. Red Raspberry Leaf Tea, bouncing on a birth ball, walking, and *whispers* nipple stimulation. I wanted to meet him so badly, to see his face. To hold him close.

I had read a dozen pregnancy and parenting books. I had written up a birth plan, because I knew exactly what I wanted. And I felt very strongly about it. I wanted an all natural birth with no medicines to help with pain. I would practice hypnobirthing, use the tub if needed, and have only Dylan- the father- in the room with me.
I wanted skin on skin immediately after birth, and to delay cord-clamping. I would try to nurse him right away, and put a hold on any procedures, in order to maximize the time I would have with him in his very first moments of life. I wanted baby’s daddy to cut the cord after it stopped pulsing, and for him to be present for baby’s circumcision. And I wanted for us, the parents, to be able to administer his first bath.
I printed out my preferences and clarified very precisely when I went in for my Maternal Preparedness Stay appointment at my hospital. They understood my wishes after talking it over, and put a copy on file. Assuring me that anyone who works with me would read the file first.

I know, I know. Be flexible. Birth plans are just that, an ideal plan. But nothing ever goes according to plan. That’s fine. I understood that. I expected some discrepancies.
But never imagined what actually happened. Never even thought of the possibility.

-Okaachan

Next: Birth: I