Cleverly Disguised as a Responsible Adult

Hurry Up and Wait

2011-05-27T15:10:00.000-04:00

Lately I get the feeling that things are changing so quickly that I just can't keep up. But when I actually sit down to write all the things that are changing I realize that nothing's really changing at all. It's the stillness that has me dizzy.

I recently applied for a job at my home church. It seemed like a perfect fit. The job was Interim Christian Education Coordinator. It was just for the summer (although they will be hiring for a permanent fill in the fall), part-time, at the church I love, doing the things that I've been doing happily (without pay) for 10 years. I applied, interviewed, and started mentally making plans for this life change. It's been a while since I've worked outside the home, but I thought I was ready, considering that this was a just baby step back into the working world (temporary, part-time, and in a familiar location). I never considered that I wouldn't get the job. Why wouldn't I? I have lots of experience doing the very things that they were hiring the new employee to do, and I knew all 4 people on the interview team very well. One of them even encouraged me to apply for the job prior to my submitting my application.

Long story short: I didn't get it.

I was crushed. I cried for a couple of days and felt cheated and insulted and looked for someone to blame and reasons to pick a fight about it. And, although I still feel a little cheated and very insulted (and hurt), it's time to move on and get busy with...well...nothing.

This non-change in my job status occurred at the same time as the completion of our second full year of homeschooling. We're on summer break, folks. Last week was our last baseball game, cello lessons are spotty all summer with no group classes until fall, our Friday homeschool co-op is on break, Wednesday night church doesn't meet in the summer, and MOPS doesn't meet again until August. In other words, our schedule is wide open. Now I know there are some out there who might read this and think dreamily of empty blocks on the family calendar and days when the only thing on the agenda is using up the excess chicken purchased when it was on sale. But I am not one of those people. It's my nature to go. I like a full schedule, a busy week, STRUCTURED TIME. This stillness...it's unsettling.

I came across the familiar Psalm (46:10) which reads: "Be still and know that I am God." And initially I was annoyed. Be still. Sit. Wait. Meditate, even? Not what I wanted to hear. And then, because I am a geek, I researched the Hebrew roots of the verse. And (happy dance) "be still" doesn't at all mean sit quietly and wait for something to happen. That's just laziness. Be still comes from the word raphah that basically means make yourself weak or humble. Surrender yourself. We're not talking zen meditation stillness here (which is good since I've never been very good at that kind of stillness). We're talking pure surrender to the Lord's plan. And, although that isn't exactly my strong suit (me, submissive? laughable), I can appreciate the need for that kind of stillness.

So, no, I won't be going to work this week. I won't be planning a math lesson or proofreading a research paper. I won't be chauffeuring children to sports or music lessons. But I will be doing God's work. My children (now 6, 5, 3, and 18 months) need me here, being still, surrendering to God. They need to see me in prayer, reading scripture, modeling a Christian lifestyle. During these, the most impressionable years of their lives, they need Mama at home bringing them up by The Book.

The days are long. The schedule is light. It's summer--the season when stillness is on the agenda. Hurry up and wait for it.

She's Baaaack

2011-01-31T19:12:00.000-05:00

Oh, golly. I know, I know. I haven't written in an eternity. I hear it from my husband, best friend, you name it. But, guys, I've been seriously busy.

To catch you up on the last...um...six months or so...

We moved! (Insert chorus of angels here.) I won't bore you with all the stressful details of finding and buying our new pad, but I'll just tell you that we are now the very happy owners of a lovely new-to-us place. We got everything (almost) that we wanted in the new home new: 5 bedrooms (essential for a family of 6), a playroom (essential for a mom who doesn't like toys scattered all over the house), a school room (essential for a homeschool family), a HUGE storage room equipped with a sink and bathroom and lots of built-in shelves (this room is next to the school room and doubles as our art/science room since it has easy-to-clean floors!), a music room (for all those cellos and my big piano), a real dining room (although it's still empty because we don't have a dining room table yet). We are in a good school district, should I ever decide to put my kids in public school, and we are close to the interstate (essential after living in Karns for several years and feeling cut-off from the world!) We are just really happy here. The biggest hurdle was that our old house hadn't sold when we put an offer on this one. So, the idea of two mortgages put us in a panic enough that we decided to rent the old place. And so we are now landlords. It actually hasn't been as scary as I thought.

I started homeschooling again this fall--this time registered with the county so it's official. We're over halfway through the year now and still loving it (most days). We are participating in the co-op again this year, and I'm teaching a preschool class there while my big boys go to their own classes. What a joy!

MIKE GRADUATED! Yes, yes. Mike went back to school and finished his BS in Organizational Management in December. No real change in our lives right now, since he's not planning to leave his current job, but it is SO wonderful that he has his degree now so he has so many more options for his future.

I took on leading the middle school youth at our church. I've only just started, so it's too early for me to say how it's going. I think it will be a great experience for me (and hopefully the youth too!)

Jackson and Ei played soccer in the fall, and Jackson is playing basketball now. They will both play baseball in the spring. They are both taking cello lessons and group classes. I need a secretary to keep up with their schedules.

Aaron turns 3 next month. We're potty training with moderate success. He is hilarious.

Nolan turned one in November. He's still referred to as "the baby" around here though. He is still nursing and sleeping in my bed, and I don't plan to make him grow up anytime soon.

I'm having a niece next month. I'm sure you'll hear all about her because I am just so excited I could burst.

Okay, so sorry about the "Christmas card letter" post. I will do better about posting...maybe. For now, I leave you with this picture of my precious family. Happy 2011, all.

Nolan, Man of Many Nicknames

2010-12-15T11:11:00.000-05:00

Nolan Maxwell

Nolan

No-No

Nano

Nanners

Nannerator

Noles

Nolie

Rolie Polie Nolie

NoMax
Baby

Buddy

Love Bug

Little One

Tiny One

One Year Old

Ei, Pie in the Sky

2010-11-01T16:24:00.006-04:00

Ethan

Ei Pie in the Sky

Gentle Giant

Lover

The Darling of His Mama's Heart

Firm Believer

Concrete Thinker

Make-it-Right-er

Tantrum Thrower
Pouter
Precious, Sincere Apologizer

Snuggler

Daydreamer

Individual

Mama's Baby Ei

A Brother's Best Friend

5 year old

Jackson

2010-08-02T20:10:00.003-04:00

Jackson

question asker

cello player

Lego builder

fact rememberer
rule follower
calculator

loving big brother x 3
thinker
bearer of beautiful blue eyes

people pleaser
line leader
negotiator

smarty pants
the love of his mama's heart
six year old

Spill It.

2010-06-17T10:20:00.005-04:00

I'm going to let you in on a little secret. Don't tell anyone. Promise? Okay. Here goes...

I feed my kids McDonald's. {audible gasp}

Oh, it felt good to get that out. Want to know more?

I use TV as a babysitter while I take showers and make supper.

If my kids fall asleep without brushing their teeth, I don't wake them up. They're going to lose those teeth anyway, right?

I count playing Wii Music as our music theory lesson for the day.

I sometimes clean the bathroom floors with baby wipes as opposed to dragging a bucket of soapy water up the stairs.

I Febreezed my kids' VBS shirts one day last week so they could wear them again the next day without my having to do another load of laundry.

I sometimes skip rinsing cans and jars before putting them in the recycle bin.

By sometimes I mean almost always.

I sometimes say things like "don't act like a moron" to my kids.

I pretend not to hear questions that I don't want to answer.

If I forget my reusable grocery bags in the car, I just use plastic bags rather than go back for them.

I almost always forget my reusable grocery bags in the car.

I bribe my kids with candy--pretty much every day.

And I don't feel guilty (most of the time) because I am still a good mom (most of the time). Anyone else tired of all the pressure to be perfect? Well, spill it, Sister. Put it out there that you're not perfect but you ARE still pretty darn amazing.

Going UP

2010-06-14T23:43:00.004-04:00

A few weeks ago I was sitting on the playground with my children. I was visiting with another Mama who was watching her littles play, and the atmosphere was chill. I love those days. No worries. Nowhere to be. No one crying or needy but coming by often enough to get kisses and nods of approval at the bouquet of weeks freshly picked. Heaven, I tell you.

The other Mama watched my boys race each other UP the slide and turned to me and asked a question I'd never considered before. "Do you allow your boys to climb up the slide?" Well, yes. Why wouldn't I? Why do I care which direction they go on the slide? If it's more fun going up, I say go for it. Play on, brothers. Play on.

Her question makes sense in hindsight. Last week my big boys were in VBS, but since there was no program for littles under 3, I had the two babies all week. My Aaron needs a routine and was bothered by leaving the two big brothers every morning, so we developed a new routine--drop the big boys off and head for Chick-fil-A where we ate breakfast together, then played on the playground and fed the birds our leftover biscuits. Every single morning I saw other kids rush out the glass door to the play enclosure and head straight for the slide--going up. Do you know that Mama after Mama insisted that those kids climb the stairs and go down the slide like civilized little playground users?

I think the other Mamas were trying for something very noble--respect. If you're going up the slide, those who are trying to come down can't reach the bottom. The thing is, my Aaron got off the slide anytime someone else was trying to come down. Being aware of others--now that's respectful.

I loudly praised him when he made it particularly far up the twisty slide. I'm sure the other Mamas glared. But the Mama at playgroup and I get it. Chill. Create your own sense of chill. Play on.

Love Them and They'll Shine

2010-05-11T21:30:00.024-04:00

When he was 3, I took Jackson to the library to hear a string quartet. It was a fun afternoon, and I drove home feeling that "good mother" feeling that I get when I turn off the TV and do something enriching with my kids. I didn't think any more of it.

Days later, Jackson asked me what "the big one" was called. I had no idea what he was talking about. "The big one at the library?" he prodded. "Oh, the cello?" I asked. Yes, that was it. I inquired about what brought about his question. "I want to play it," he told me. I smiled. So cute. 3 is a fun age.

But it wasn't just a 3 year old's whim. Days turned into weeks turned into months of asking--begging--for a cello. And so, while his friends asked for bikes and video games, he asked for a cello for his 4th birthday.

But that was the easy part. For days after the birthday party, he asked me to help him play. I, having played the violin as a kid, had some idea as to how to put the strings on, rosin the bow, and make a sound. But that was about the extent of my knowledge of the cello. So I started researching teachers. I started by calling an old friend of mine who teaches cello. He was willing to take Jackson as a student, but his schedule meant it would be the end of the summer before we could start. He was eager to get started, so I decided to keep looking. I called a local string shop, and they gave me the names of several cello teachers in the area. I started calling. Each person told me the same thing: 4 is just too young to play the cello. I tried to explain that he was no ordinary 4 year old, but it was no use. They had it in their heads that I was a crazy whip-cracking mother who was pushing her child to be a musical prodigy for my own benefit. One teacher agreed to "give it a try," but her negative attitude about the whole thing put me on the defensive. It didn't feel right. I kept looking.

Finally I Googled "Suzuki cello teacher" and landed at SuzukiAssociation.org. I searched for a teacher in my area and found three that I hadn't previously called. I left messages for all three of them. One didn't call me back. One did call back but gave me the same song and dance I'd already heard about 4 being too young. But one called and was brilliant.

I talked to Kathleen Bowman for over half an hour. I described my situation, and she got excited. 4 is the perfect age to start, she assured me. I felt really good about her. So we set up a trial lesson.

My sweet Jackson talked about his upcoming lesson non-stop in the days leading up to our first lesson. He asked a million questions and wondered out loud about what it would be like. Then, finally, the day arrived. A surprisingly young woman opened the door and invited us in. And Jackson stopped talking.

He loved her. I know he did because he told me later--she was nice, funny, smart, pretty. He was full of compliments at home. But while we were there, he didn't speak. He didn't even look at her. Week after week we sat in her living room while she provided patient instruction, and week after week he sucked in his cheeks and stared at his toes. He did hear her though. Whether or not she knew it, he heard her. We went home and he repeated verbatim all that she had told him. And slowly, but surely, he started looking up. One day he looked right at her and answered with a "yes" instead of a half nod of the head. I could have kissed her then. She brought my little boy out of his shell.

Fast forward a couple of months. The end of his first semester of lessons was approaching, and with it came the Christmas recital. I could have predicted his reaction. I mentioned the idea of playing in a recital and tears formed in his tiny eyes. No, he didn't want to do it. Yes, he loved playing the cello. No, he didn't want to play in a recital. But this lady is brilliant. She asked him for a favor. Would he mind going with her to play his cello in a nursing home for some grandmas and grandpas? It would mean so much to them, and they wouldn't know or care if he messed up. Yes, he would. No, he wouldn't play in a recital. Yes, he would do mission work in a nursing home. It wasn't until we got home that evening that we told him he had successfully completed his first cello recital. We celebrated with a sundae. He beamed. And, the following week, he played in the Christmas recital--his second public performance--without any tears. He was proud. I never cared if my boy became a musician. I just wanted him to believe in himself.

And that's why I sing Ms. Kathleen's praises to anyone who will listen. She's an excellent cellist. She's a brilliant teacher. But most importantly, she's a compassionate Christian who loves her students. And they love her in return.

Those two handsome boys in vests on the front row? They're mine. They just had their spring recital. I asked Ei how he thought he did, and he replied, "I played like a 10 year old!" I asked Jackson if he was nervous, and he replied, "Yeah, maybe a little, I guess." That's the difference 2 years with a brilliant teacher makes. (She's the one right in the middle with the pink shirt, black jacket, and kind smile.)

Oh, by the way, if you want to learn more about Kathleen Bowman's studio, go to her website: http://www.bowmancello.com/. No, I'm not on the payroll--she's just a good friend and has been wonderful to my family. I owe her a lot more than a link on a blog, but it's a start.

Put a Sling On 'Em

2010-04-06T22:15:00.001-04:00

A friend send me the link to this video today. Y'all, I'm still laughing. Maybe it's lack of sleep, but this struck my funny bone the right way. Watch it and smile. You're welcome.

The Beginning

2010-04-04T23:00:00.003-04:00

It wasn't the end of the story. It was only the beginning. See for yourself:

Matthew 28:1-10

After the Sabbath, at dawn on the first day of the week, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to look at the tomb. There was a violent earthquake, for an angel of the Lord came down from heaven and, going to the tomb, rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning, and his clothes were white as snow. The guards were so afraid of him that they shook and became like dead men.

The angel said to the women, "Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus, who was crucified. He is not here; he has risen, just as he said. Come and see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples: 'He has risen from the dead and is going ahead of you into Galilee. There you will see him.' Now I have told you."

So the women hurried away from the tomb, afraid yet filled with joy, and ran to tell his disciples. Suddenly Jesus met them. "Greetings," he said. They came to him, clasped his feet and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, "Do not be afraid. Go and tell my brothers to go to Galilee; there they will see me."

HE IS RISEN. HE IS RISEN INDEED!

Saturday

2010-04-02T23:55:00.010-04:00

I don't remember going to sleep. I don't remember sleeping at all, but I must have because I woke up. I woke up and willed my eyes not to open. "Please let it be a bad dream," I prayed. "Please let it be a bad dream." I finally opened my eyes, burning and swollen, and saw the circle of women around me. "She's waking up," one said in a whisper to the others. The light from the window blinded me, and I immediately felt enraged at the sun for rising over a world without my son in it. "He's really gone," I whispered to myself. "HE'S REALLY GONE!" I cried to the heavens. The sobs suddenly poured out of me uncontrollably, and my body felt hot with rage and sorrow. I jumped up and tried to cross the room to cover the window--to darken the room to match my mood--but body caved into a heap, the weight of my grief too heavy for my legs to bear. I wailed and let out primal sounding moans. I could physically feel my heart breaking, and I clutched at my chest and was surprised not to see any blood. The women gathered closer around me and made hushing noises while they stoked my hair, just like he did only days ago.

When he told me what was to come, I didn't want to believe. "No," I said, "you're so young. I've lived my life. Let them take me." His sad eyes answered me before his words did. "It has to be me, Mama." I imagined them doing terrible things to him (not, as it would turn out, as terrible as would actually occur) and cringed. I remembered patching up his bony skinned knees and kissing his bruises. Could that have really been so many years ago? "Mama will fix it," I used to cluck in his ear when he was hurt. But I couldn't fix it this time. How could it be that I depended on the little boy who used to depend on me? "No," I told him again. "I need you." He nodded. "Yes, Mama. So does the rest of the world." "No!" I was more adamant this time. "I can't live without you." He wrapped his arms around my sobbing body and stroked my hair. "That's exactly why I have to go."

He promised me that this would not be the end. I believed him. He promised me that God had a plan. I believed him. But he's gone. He's gone and he took a part of me with him. "Just wait. You'll see," he told me. See what? See them beat and murder my precious son? See them hang him from a cross and mock him? See him take his last painful breath? WHAT, Son? What do you want me to see? My God, did You really mean for it to end like this?

Carry On

2010-03-13T11:17:00.008-05:00

Can I rant just a little?

This week the CPSC issued a warning about infant slings and wraps. (Mom, you can click on the word warning in the previous sentence to read the news coverage about it.) The article writes that the concern comes after 14 (or 12 or 13, depending on which news channel you choose to believe) infants died in accidents related to infant slings or wraps. What it does not tell you is that those deaths are spread out over a TWENTY year period. TWENTY. You can verify that here.

Now, go here. That's a link directly to the CPSC's website and an article about stroller deaths. There were 22 stroller-related deaths in a 10-year period. Do you see where I'm going with this??

I'm reading a book that a friend loaned me called Free Range Kids. I'm not finished with it yet, so I'll save my review for later, but I'm enjoying it so far. As with any parenting book, take the advice within with a grain of salt. Anyway the author (Lenore Skenazy) suggests that parents are too overprotective these days. Compare your childhood to the one you're allowing your child to live, and you'll come up with a dozen examples on your own. And she says that parents SAY the reason this is true is because times are so much more dangerous. But she argues that that's simply not the case--the real reason is because we watch too much Law & Order and read too many newspapers. Terror sells.

I linked to the CBS article first so that you could see how this is true. The CBS Early Show didn't give parents all the information that they needed to make an educated decision. A much more honest way to present the information would be something like this:

The CPSC has issued a warning about the use of infant slings and wraps. Used IMPROPERLY, they can pose a small risk of death by suffocation or injury from falls. Over the course of the last twenty years, about 14 infants have died. Most of these infants suffered from other health problems or were premature infants, and most of them were not using the slings according to the manufacturer's instructions. These statistics are no higher than the rate of infant deaths related to improper stroller usage. Parents who use infant slings are urged to review the wearing instructions carefully and make sure that their babies' faces are not covered and that their chins are not curled into their chests.

But that just wouldn't make headlines, now would it?

The fact is that women (and men, and even children) have been wearing babies for hundreds of years--safely. It's good for babies. Check out this article by Dr. Sears. You trust Dr. Sears, right? He points out all the benefits of babywearing. It's good for baby and for mom. And, unlike the CPSC, which is urging parents to wait until babies are 4 months old to start babywearing, he encourages parents (moms AND dads) to start right away. He says, "The womb lasts 18 months: 9 months inside, and 9 months outside."

I'm not encouraging you to ignore warnings about your baby's safety, but I am urging you to do your research and know the facts before you panic. And once you're satisfied that carrying your baby in a sling is not a death sentence for your tot, carry on. I am, and Nolan thanks me for it.

Dear Aaron

2010-03-04T21:58:00.008-05:00

Dear Aaron,

You turned 2 on Saturday. I can't wrap my mind around it. It seems like you went to bed a baby and woke up a little boy.

Sweet Aaron, I remember so clearly looking at your tiny squash-colored body and worrying that you were jaundiced. I remember sitting in the doctor's office as they pricked your heel and tried not to worry me. I remember getting the phone call that afternoon to go immediately to the hospital. I remember crying as they took you from me and pricked you again and put an IV in your foot. I remember sitting by your side counting the minutes until I could pick you up for those precious few moments every two hours--for days. And, Aaron, I remember exactly how it felt to hold you for the first time after all this, without cords tethering you to medical equipment. It was just you and me again. It felt beautiful and terrifying all at the same time.

I don't think I put you down for a month after all that. I held you while I ate my lunch. I held you when you napped. I held you even at night. I rubbed your tiny feet every day so that you wouldn't develop a fear of being touched on the foot after all the pricks. I wanted you to feel how much I loved you.

And you cried, little Aaron. You cried and cried and cried. You cried for hours every day no matter what I did. I was so frustrated. And I was disappointed because I wanted so much for things to be perfect. I wanted to be the perfect mom this time around, and I just couldn't pull it off. On a whim, I ordered a sling. I put you in and--insert chorus of angels--you stopped crying. You fell asleep on my chest all snuggled in your sling. I could smell your powdery goodness and kiss the top of your fuzzy head as you dozed. And you know what? Things were perfect...well, almost perfect.

Aaron, when you laugh, your entire body laughs. You kiss your baby brother and try to share your toys with him. You adore your big brothers and mimic every move they make. You charm the socks off of everyone you meet. Your eyes are the most beautiful almond shape. You talk on the phone in a whispery voice that melts me. You're perfect...well, almost perfect. You find trouble. And when I redirect you to something else, you find trouble again. And again. And again. You STAY in trouble. Oh, but your sweet mischievous smile. You find trouble, and I scold you, and you give me that smile, and I forget how mad I was. And we repeat. Over and over and over.

Little Aaron, we joke that you're our future football player. We kid that all your roughness will pay off someday when you sign the contract to be a linebacker. And if that makes you happy, I'm right behind you. But, Aaron, if you want to be a teacher, or a scientist, or even a garbage man, Buddy, I want you to go for it. Love God and your family (in that order) and do whatever you decide to do with enthusiasm. And you'll be amazing. You ARE amazing.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Mama

Y'all, We Have A Problem

2010-02-26T22:18:00.003-05:00

So, don't tell Mike, but I'm pretty sure Nolan is a Florida fan.

A Looong Winter

2010-02-22T20:02:00.012-05:00

I know I've been gone a long time. It's been a long winter, y'all.

We did a lot of this,

quite a bit of this,

and, thankfully, bunches of this.

Oh, and two babies in the house means a LOT of this.

And now, we're ready for spring. We're dreaming of flowers. And rainbows.

Thanks for coming, winter. It's time for you to leave now.

Good to Be

2010-01-16T20:08:00.005-05:00

Tonight at supper I kept noticing a lady at the table next to us watching my family. I caught her eye several times, and she quickly looked away, embarrassed that I made eye contact with her. I wondered what interested her so. I wondered if she envied me with my sweet family. I didn't find it hard to imagine that. If I were someone else, I'd envy me. That's a really good feeling.

It's good to be the Mama.

Hold Me Close

2010-01-15T15:12:00.010-05:00

I have a baby who doesn't like me to put him down. If I put him on my bed while I change clothes, he whimpers and whines until I pick him up. If I put him in his crib, he turns red in the face and wails as though I've abandoned him forever. And so I pick him up.

I've read about 50 parenting books. I get all the parenting magazines. I get weekly emails from BabyCenter updating me on what my baby SHOULD be doing and how I SHOULD be responding. Popular belief seems to be that the best thing to do is to let him cry a little--show him that he won't die if he's left alone--and "teach" him to be independent of me.

Fortunately, I learned long ago to ignore popular opinion.

I put myself in his shoes (or lack thereof), and I realize that it does feel scary to be put down. The world is big and bright and noisy, and, by contrast, Mama's arms feel comfortable, warm, familiar. I often put him in a sling and "wear" him to free up my hands. It's convenient. Sometimes I wear him for his benefit and not mine, however. If he's overstimulated or overtired it helps if I pop him in the sling and sway a little. The outside world goes away, and he can relax in the comfort of my embrace. He usually goes to sleep and dozes peacefully for as long as I will let him.

I understand his need to be held close, for the world to disappear. Every Sunday morning my church sings the first verse of "Jesus Draw Me Close" as a sung prayer:

Jesus, draw me close

Closer, Lord, to You.

Let the world around me fade away.

Jesus, draw me close

Closer, Lord, to You.

For I desire to worship and obey.

As I'm singing these sweet words, I picture God wrapping his arms around me, refusing to put me down. Sometimes the world feels hard and overwhelming, and I am just sure that God has left me. I whimper (and sometimes even wail) and then feel His arms around me. He hasn't left after all--He was there all the time. I picture Him shhing softly in my ear and promising to make everything okay as He holds me tight. He's an attachment parent. It feels so very good. I can see why Nolan likes it so much.

And that's why I wear my baby. That's why I love attachment parenting. Those "experts" have it all wrong.

New Year. Fresh Start.

2010-01-04T08:47:00.011-05:00

I saw this bumper sticker yesterday that said, "More Wag. Less Bark." I tried to get a picture of it, but the light turned green before I could get my camera out, so you'll just have to take my word for it. Anyway, I liked it. I think I've been barking far too much lately. My kids are slow to do their chores. Bark. There is too much noise in the house. Bark, bark. And I've been wagging far too little.

So, my new year's resolution: More Wag. Less Bark.

Also, my first baby lost his first tooth on this first day of the new decade. Put the brakes on. It's moving too fast.

Happy New Year, friends. I hope that your 2010 is filled with many blessings and that you wag far more than you bark.

*I DID write this on New Year's Day. Unfortunately, blogger was not feeling cooperative. I haven't been able to get it to post until today. So, Happy New Year a few days late.

Quick Takes for Christmas

2009-12-24T14:24:00.006-05:00

I'm short on time (always), but I wanted to update on little Nolan and also put a few other thoughts in my head in written form. Today, we get 7 quick takes.

1. Nolan went back to the doctor on Monday for a weight check. They were hoping he would have gained 2 ounces (1/2 ounce a day for 4 days), and he gained 9. So, that's thrilling. Of course, that was with breastfeeding, formula, pumping, and almost no sleep for Mama. So, we've backed off just a little hoping to find that perfect balance of weight gain and sanity in our household. Right now I'm breastfeeding about every hour and a half then offering a bottle. I've been pumping enough (SO MUCH PUMPING) that I'm able to offer breastmilk as a supplement most times, so he's only had formula twice in the last 3 days (both times he spat most of it back out, so I don't know if he was full or just thought it was yucky--because it IS yucky). He is taking less and less from the bottle and seeming satisfied after breastfeedings, so I think that my milk supply is increasing and he's getting stronger. THANK YOU for your prayers, kind words, and even meals. I'm serious that I couldn't have gotten through this last week without all your support.

2. I talked to a lactation consultant this week. She told me that a big part of breastfeeding is mental--if you think you can do it, you can do it. If you decide you can't, you can't. Now, I don't know what the ratio is of mind power:science when it comes to the actual mechanics of breastfeeding, but I definitely see where she's going with this. She said that there's no science to prove that mother's milk tea actually improves milk production, BUT if a mother is willing to give Daddy the crying baby and make herself a cup of tea and take the time to drink it before breastfeeding, she's already in a better state of mind and will produce more milk as a result. I think this can apply to most areas of parenting. If you walk away for a few minutes (take a walk, call a friend, go to your room and listen to Sarah McLachlan's Christmas album--which is fabulous, by the way) you come back in a better state to do whatever task is on your plate. So, it's not always easy to put into action (it almost never is, in fact), but it's really remarkable how much difference a shower in a locked bathroom can make in a tired mom's life.

3. This week a very dear old lady in my church passed away. She was the oldest church member, so this was hardly a surprise, but it still stings when someone you love passes. I only had one grandparent in my life, and she lived far away. Not that I didn't love her, of course, but she wasn't an active part of my daily life. So, when I came to my church, part of what I was looking for was that extended family that I didn't have. Boy, did I find it. There were plenty of grandmas and grandpas who surrounded me and cheered me through graduations, weddings, babies, and life's everyday ups and downs. I clung to 4 of them most dearly. She was the last of the 4 to pass. When I got the news I felt very personally sad. My boys will never again sit in her bony lap. She will never again hold my hand in her very frail one and whisper in her old lady whisper (which was really quite loud), "I sure do love you." But the news also made me extremely happy. She's finally Home for the holidays. I know that she's glowing as she greets her lost loved ones and celebrates her first Christmas Home.

4. Christmas is tomorrow. Once again it snuck up on me. I was going to be ready this year. And then I had a baby. And then the baby needed me more than I anticipated. And then it was Christmas. And the gingerbread house sits on my kitchen counter unassembled. And the presents sit in my garage unwrapped. And my Christmas lights sit in a bin unhung. And Christmas still came. And somehow all that stuff seems totally unimportant in the grand scheme of things. And I'm not even sorry that I didn't get around to all that stuff.

5. I'm struggling with Santa. The Jolly Old Elf has my gut in knots. I grew up with Santa visiting my house every year, and it just seemed natural that the same would be true for my kids. But the boys have been asking questions--too many questions--and I don't know how to lie to them. And I once heard a lady in my church talk about when her son started asking questions. She told him the truth. So, he asked next about the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny. She, again, told him the truth. Then he asked about Jesus. You know, it makes perfect sense that those things would get all tangled up in a child's mind. They can't be seen, and yet grown ups insist that they're out there somewhere. Believe in the unseen. That's faith, right? So, how do we nurture their faith in Christ when they take a blow to their faith in all the imaginary childhood icons? How credible will I be when I tell them that those guys weren't real, but BELIEVE ME THIS TIME Jesus is? So, I think Santa is coming this year just because I don't have time to really sort it all out in my head before the boys go to bed tonight, but I need to do some serious thinking on this before next year. If you have advice or thoughts on the topic, I'm all ears.

6. I really didn't have 7 things to write about today.

7. Have a very Merry Christmas and a blessed 2010.

If I Had Only Known...

2009-12-19T10:47:00.006-05:00

I didn't know.

I didn't know that when I chose to feed the boys lunch AFTER Nolan's doctor's appointment on Thursday they wouldn't get to eat until Mike came to pick them up at 3:00.

I didn't know that when I left the house for the routine checkup at 12:00 that I wouldn't return home again until well after 6:00.

I didn't know that when my baby sucked his pacifier so vigorously he was actually searching for food.

I didn't know that when he cried he was trying to tell me that he was literally starving.

I didn't know that every time I put him to the breast he would suck until he exhausted himself and fell asleep but only received a small amount of food.

I didn't know that his tiny body was the result of hunger, not genetics.

I didn't know.

If I had only known. I would have done things so differently. I would have started pumping earlier to increase my milk supply for him. I would have insisted on frequent weight checks to make sure he was gaining appropriately. I would have forbidden pacifiers and put him to the breast every time he wanted to suck, even if it was just 15 minutes after our last feeding. If I had only known. But I didn't know. And this happened.

And now. Now my baby is scheduled to have a second blood test next week. Now he is drinking cold formula from an artificial nipple. Now I'm pumping every hour and a half and nursing too and my breasts are sore and my older children are feeling neglected. And I'm still not making enough milk. His weak suck and my ignorance allowed my milk supply to decrease to nearly nothing, and I'm not sure I'll be able to build it back up. I'm feeling betrayed by the very body I was so in awe of only weeks ago. I'm feeling cheated because I won't be able to breastfeed my very last baby the way I had planned. I'm feeling exhausted because my routine right now consists of nursing the baby, giving him a bottle, then pumping, then about 30 minutes of down time before the process starts over (day and night). I'm feeling ashamed because I let this happen--what kind of mother lets this happen? When I checked in at the hospital for his tests, I was horrified to see that I knew the admitting nurse. I handed her the orders for the tests with the words "failure to thrive" written across the top, and wanted the floor to swallow me up to avoid sitting in the room with her thoughts of how I was neglecting my baby. Failure to thrive is something that drug addicts' babies have. Good mothers have fat babies and laugh about their pudgy thighs. My baby's diaper leaks every time he pees because his legs are too skinny to get a good fit. How could I have not known? I'm terrified that his "failure to thrive"--my failure to parent--will have long-term affects on his brain and his development.

So, if you are so inclined, please pray for my very little man. And, if you don't mind, for me too.

More Like Mary

2009-12-03T11:00:00.005-05:00

Advent started this week. Having just had a baby, I'm especially deep in thought this year about Mary and her place in the Christmas story.

I've already shared with you my birth story, in which I revealed that things didn't go quite as planned in my labor and delivery. My mom wasn't in the room as we had planned. Plus, it hurt like crazy, and I just couldn't imagine that it was supposed to hurt that much (and maybe it wasn't--the placenta was abrupted, after all, and I have nothing to compare it with having never experienced a natural childbirth before). It would have been super-nice to have had the doctor standing there with me telling me what was going on, why it was hurting, what was going to happen next. But it didn't happen that way. This baby was coming, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. I felt helpless and scared. I went into a bit of a panic, to be honest. And this was in a hospital, with a RN standing over me and my husband by my side.

But, Mary. We don't get to know a lot about Mary's labor and delivery. This is because the gospels were written by men. If we had a Gospel According to Mary, I feel certain we would have details about Jesus' entry into the world. Men, though. Luke writes "...the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son," as though it was as easy and automatic as taking a breath. He says nothing of her pain, her fear, her embarrassment. I mean, we've got to assume that Joseph had a hand in delivering the baby, and let me remind you that the two still did not "know" each other. If you've never attended a birth, I'll be the first to tell you that it's not a modest event. Talk about a get-to-know-you session for the young couple.

I wonder if Mary was a little (or even a lot) upset with God over the situation. Let's face it, God really asked a lot of the girl (and I say girl because, historically speaking, it's very likely that she was merely a teenager when all this happened). First she has to deal with an unplanned, out-of-wedlock pregnancy and public ridicule and the possibility of losing Joseph. Then she has to postpone her wedding plans so that she can remain a virgin for the entirety of the pregnancy. Then she has to travel the 70ish miles from Nazareth to Bethlehem during her last trimester, the part of the pregnancy when most of us complain if we have to waddle down the sidewalk to check the mail. When she gets there she doesn't even get to crash in a nice hotel room with a plush bed and room service. No, she's sent to the stable where she can enjoy the pleasant aroma of animal manure and the softness of itchy straw for her bed. At least she can rest after her journey, right? Wrong. Now comes the really hard part. She labors and delivers the precious baby Jesus in an unfamiliar city, many miles from her family and her home. The Baby was coming, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. I wonder if she cried out to God in fear or anger or both. Then again, she was no ordinary woman.

Oh, but then. The baby was born, and her labor pains stopped. She got to hold that tiny baby and, if she was anything like me at all, it made all the pain and suffering worth it. She looked at the baby in her arms and saw something beautiful: the face of God. Can you imagine? I know that I can hardly hold my baby without crying just because of the miracle which has taken place in my life. It's almost too much to fathom--a human woman holding the savior of mankind, nursing him at her breast, He as helpless and tiny as my little Nolan.

I'd love to meet Mary. I'd love to ask her how she did what she did. I'd love to ask her how she kept her cool (IF she kept her cool) with all that was required of her (not even ending with the birth of Jesus). I'd love to BE like Mary. Because there are times in my life when I realize that things aren't going as I planned, and I get more than a little irritated with God for changing the plans on me at the last minute. I'd love to be able to say, "This baby is coming, and there's nothing anyone can do about it," with a positive attitude, trusting that God has a plan and is taking care of me and my family. The truth is that I DO believe that, it's just hard to remember in the midst of life's labor pains.

My Many Colored Days

2009-11-22T20:48:00.007-05:00

I very firmly believe that postpartum depression is real. After Ei was born, I found myself anxious and angry and sad for no good reason. Prozac is a wonderful thing, by the way. I told my doctor, she wrote a prescription, I took a little blue pill each morning, and in a few months I felt better. It's hard when you're in the middle of it though. You've got this perfect little baby and a wonderful life and then your stupid hormones and sleep deprivation get in the way and make you cry because you're out of toilet paper in every bathroom and you start to think that if you can't even keep toilet paper stocked how are you ever going to remember to feed and bathe two children and what was God thinking entrusting all of this to you. If you've been there, you're nodding your head knowingly right now. If you haven't, just trust me.

It's not like that this time. If there's a such thing as postpartum elation, that's what I've got. I am so sleep-deprived it's ridiculous, but I am getting by on this baby high that feels amazing. All I want to do is hold him and stare at his face. The older boys are all doing fine (to my relief), my recovery was amazingly simple, the baby is healthy and nursing well, and life seems to be falling nicely into place.

And that's all. I don't have anything earth-shattering to write tonight. I just wanted to let you know that my absence in the bloggy world is not due to crippling postpartum depression or even being overwhelmed with my new life. It's just that right now I'm just content to sit and hold this baby and do nothing else. So, I'm going to get back to doing just that. He'll be big far too quickly.

Nolan, 12 days old

Nolan

2009-11-19T15:16:00.006-05:00

Introducing...

Nolan Maxwell Sharp

Born Monday, November 16, 2009 at 10:30 a.m.

He's well-loved already.

His birth story is still whirling in my mind. It's wild. Let me share...

After much debate and discussion with my husband and my doctor, we decided to induce his labor on Monday morning. We were concerned that he might not have enough amniotic fluid because this had been a problem in all three of my previous pregnancies. I was disappointed because I really wanted to do this completely naturally. My doctor told me 2 weeks prior to the induction date that I was dilated to 3 cm and already 90% effaced, so I really thought I would have him soon. So I was also a little relieved to finally be done with the pregnancy and meet my baby.

We arrived at Parkwest at 5:30 Monday. They got my IV in and we signed paperwork, but nothing much really happened until 7:45. That's when they started pitocin to encourage stronger and more regular contractions (I had been having mild, irregular contractions for about 2 weeks). At 8:00 my doctor arrived and broke my water. She confirmed that I was still 3cm. They turned up the pitocin every 15 or 20 minutes, so it didn't take very long for me to be in hard labor. I was having painful contractions every 2 minutes (lasting about a minute each) by 9:00, and they gradually got stronger and lasted longer after that. I had signed the consent form for the epidural but told the nurse I wanted to wait to get it. The truth was that, although I had suspected I would need an epidural to get through an aggressively induced labor, I was disappointed about not having the natural childbirth I had dreamed of for so many months. So, just kept telling myself that I would wait 10 minutes and then ask for it if I still wanted it. After 10 minutes, I'd tell myself the same thing again. I kept watching the clock and, when the deadline came, setting a new goal time. At 10:00, I was holding strong.

At 10:15 my dad brought my children back from the waiting room where they had been playing. They were loud and busy. They climbed on the bed where I was laboring and made noise and broke my concentration. It was at this moment that I realized I couldn't go on for 4 more hours (I was expecting a 2:00 delivery, which was pretty consistent with the labor time for my second and third children, minus just a little bit due to wishful thinking). I don't know if the pain actually got worse at that point or if I just lost my concentration and ability to deal with it with all the noise, but that's the point when I could no longer look ahead 10 minutes. I told Mike to call the nurse and ask for my epidural. He gladly did. I guess everyone must have realized that I was in a lot of pain at that point because my mom took the boys back out of the room, and my dad left altogether saying that he'd be back around lunch (and not to have the baby before he returned). My nurse came in right away and went immediately about the business of preparing for the epidural. As she was unpacking the kit on my tray, I told her that I needed to use the restroom before the anesthesiologist arrived. She told me to wait because he would be there in 10 minutes and put a catheter in place. I assured her that there was no way I could wait 10 minutes, and she helped me unhook the 50 thousand cords which tethered me to the hospital bed so I could go. Leaning on my IV pole for support, I made it to the restroom, where I was hit with the most unbelievable contraction. I was dizzy with pain, and I felt pretty sure I was going to die in that bathroom. I called to Mike who helped me cross the room back towards the bed. I had another very painful contraction just as we reached the foot of the bed, and I stopped there to wait it out before I tried to climb back in. It was different though. This was no ordinary contraction. This was a prepare-for-your-death kind of pain.

I told Mike and the nurse that it was suddenly extremely painful. They ignored me, minus a few consoling pats on the back. I guess, "THIS REALLY HURTS!" is just something that women in labor exclaim, so no real reason for alarm. After repeating it over and over and OVER the nurse finally asked if I thought maybe the baby was ready to come. I told her I thought maybe he was already coming. Mike wanted to assure me that the baby was, in fact, NOT going to fall out of my body, but first he looked to be sure that he knew what he was talking about. That's when he said, "The head is already out!"

The rest is a bit of a blur, but here's what I know. The nurse insisted that I lay down on the bed, but I absolutely couldn't move due to pain and panic. So, Mike pushed me backwards onto my back. The nurse grabbed the towel she had just put out for the anesthesiologist to use and caught my baby with it (because she didn't even have her gloves on at this point) at 10:30 a.m. after 2 and a half hours of labor and zero pushes. There was a little nursing student observing (it was her first day on the maternity floor). She couldn't have been more than 18 years old. The nurse sent her out to get help, and she gladly bolted. Within seconds, a crew of nurses descended on my room. Meanwhile, the nurse who delivered the baby was cleaning him up at the foot of my bed. I hadn't delivered the placenta yet, and the cord was not yet cut. She wanted to wait for the doctor to do those things. The doctor did arrive quickly (out of breath from running from her office) and delivered the placenta. She discovered that it was abrupted, likely the cause of the "I might die" pain I felt while walking to the restroom.

The anesthesiologist arrived shortly afterwards. We thanked him but told him his services would not be needed.

So, minus the induced contractions, I got my natural childbirth. I would highly recommend it. I felt GREAT afterwards, and the high of what my body is capable of still has me smiling three days later.

Oh, and the best part? He's wonderful. He's tiny and squishy and velvety soft and smells divine.

And that's the story of how 7 pound, 6 ounce Baby Nolan was born and made his mark on the world. Welcome, little guy. I hope you always have as much enthusiasm for life as you showed Monday.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

2009-11-04T11:51:00.004-05:00

Parenting is hard. I've written that before, but this time is different. We're having a really hard time at the Sharp household right now, and I'm struggling. The big boys have started fighting, which I know is normal for siblings, but it's aggressive and ugly and makes me so sad. They refuse to clean up their toys. They talk back. The last couple of days I've been standing there looking at them, scratching my head and thinking, "What has happened to my family?"

Yes, I know we're in the midst of major life changes. The baby should be here any day now (the doctor said on Monday she'd be surprised if I lasted another 10 days), and that alone is bound to cause some ripples in our usually still waters. Aaron is outgrowing the baby stage and becoming both a playmate and a real nuisance to the big boys. We've started homeschooling, so our days are no longer full of free play (although we do still get plenty of that). So, I know that there's a lot going on in their worlds, and I've tried to be understanding. But enough is enough.

I got really strict about time outs. I started using a timer and had very specific rules about what constituted a successful time out. I was consistent, for the most part anyway, and tried to be calm but firm when sentencing. Aggression was a non-negotiable time out, as was talking back and acts of defiance. And they just didn't care. 5 minutes later they came bounding out of their time out spots, offering a half-hearted apology only because it was required. Nothing changed.

The other day I did something I thought I would never do. I spanked my child. Ei bit Jackson on his face, leaving a nasty looking bitemark next to his eye. I asked him why he would do something like that (not that there is any good reason, but I needed to know if Jackson also deserved punishment), and he said that they were playing ball and Jackson got to the ball first which made him mad. I wanted to cry when I realized that my sweet little boy had the potential to be so very mean. So, I spanked him twice, while Jackson watched, and thought that this would surely put an end to this recent streak of ugliness. Afterwards I felt like throwing up. I'm not judging others here--just being honest. I just can't figure out how someone can spank a child and walk away feeling good about her parenting skills. All day I wanted to grab Ei in a big hug and tell him how sorry I was, that returning violence for violence was a terrible thing to do. But I talked to Mike about it, and we decided that it might be good for him to see that parents do have bigger ammunition than just time outs and that he better get his act straight. We agreed not to use this particular method of punishment on a regular basis (in fact, I think I'm done with it), but we thought maybe some good might come of it. It didn't. He has bitten Jackson 3 times since then.

Today I walked into the bonus room of our house and took a good look around. There were toys (so many toys) on every inch of the floor, despite my pleas that they clean up for 4 days in a row. I walked the boys into the room and showed them what I saw and asked if they thought it was acceptable. They said no. They asked if they would still get their allowance this week, but they made no effort to pick up their toys. I wanted to bang my head into the wall. What have I created?

And so, today begins a new experiment in my parenting career. We skipped our regular trip to the library for storytime, and instead I emptied the toy room. I gutted it. While the boys screamed and begged for me to stop, I loaded up all their toys into boxes and took them to the garage. Afterwards we had a discussion about how they are not entitled to a room full of fancy toys, dessert after every dinner, and fun outings every day. I told them very calmly that they've become spoiled brats, and that I'm accepting part of the blame for what's happened because I'm the one who buys all the toys, gives them treats, takes them for outings, and doesn't expect an ounce of respect in return. And I told them that today things change. They will earn their toys back by keeping their room clean, respecting others, following directions, and refraining from acts of unkindness. Time outs will continue. Rewards (treats, fun outings, etc.) will be just that--rewards for good behavior, not a part of our regular routine.

Yes, this is poor timing. The baby will be here before we know it, and all of this will be put on the back burner while we just try to survive those first few weeks. Yes, it's going to be hard on all of us to change our old habits. But it's a good start, and I feel hopeful about things for the first time in weeks. Parenting is such an incredible responsibility. I have such a short amount of time to teach these little people to be responsible, compassionate, KIND adults. There's no room to be wishy-washy, even if it's more fun and seems to make the moment easier. I get it. I know this. Now, doing it is the hard part. Prayers, please.

32 Days to Go

2009-10-17T21:30:00.009-04:00

The belly, 35 weeks

That's some serious belly.

The Mama with her boys

32 days until our Nolan is due
Life is good.

2009-10-05T20:38:00.003-04:00

Thanks to http://www.when-did-i-become-my-mom.com/, I'm a blog award winner. Who knew you could be such a blog slacker and still win an award? Thanks a bunch!

So, I'm passing it on. As I understand it, you're supposed to accept the "One Lovely Blog Award" (check), post it on your blog together with a link to the person who nominated you (check--see above), and pass the award to other bloggers that you enjoy along with a personal contact to let the blogger know he or she has been chosen for the award. Oh, the pressure! So, here are the blogs I read every time I get the chance:

Adventures in Babywearing
4 little men and girly twins
Owlhaven
BECAUSE I SAID SO
Love Well
Casual Friday Everyday
The Extraordinary Ordinary

I love to read blogs, especially about parenting (it's nice to hear stories about other parents making the same mistakes I make each day!) I wish I had time to read more and keep up with these blogs better, but I'm struggling to keep up with my family some days. Anyway, go check out these bloggers and tell them I sent you. They're all worth your time.

Where, Oh, Where?

2009-10-02T21:09:00.004-04:00

Where have I been?

I've been preaching. I was asked to guest preach at a little church in Seymour for two weeks. The first week I was there the electricity was out, and I preached by candlelight in the scorching hot little wooden church. It was very Little House on the Prairie. The second week the lights were back on (along with the air conditioning, thank goodness), and I had fewer jitters, so it went much smoother. I have really mixed feelings about this though. On the one hand, I loved being in the pulpit and sharing a message with the congregants (however few there were!), but on the other hand I just kept wondering what I was missing at my home church and feeling sorry that I had pulled the boys from the Sunday School classes that they love to visit a church with only one other child their age. So, I don't know where I'm headed right now, but I am thankful for the opportunity that came my way.

I've also been getting older. Yes, let's not make a big show of it, but the anniversary of my birth recently passed. I purposefully did not say birthday because I am not having any more of those. 29 was plenty. 30 sounds old. 30 feels old (or so I'm told, but I wouldn't know because I'm staying 29). I think it's made especially difficult because I can't dye my hair right now (on account of the little guy growing inside me), so my grays mock me every morning by multiplying faster than I can pluck them out.

And I've been incubating. Baby Nolan is due in 47 days (not that I'm counting or anything), and I am finally feeling PREGNANT. I have to type that in all caps because it can only be said in a heavy, groaning voice, and I can't recreate that for you here. So, PREGNANT is the best I can do. Overall, it's still been a really easy pregnancy, but now I feel like I have to struggle for breath, and my hips are finally hurting (as if they needed to spread some more, seriously), and his knees are so bony and poking me right in the gut. At my last appointment I asked the doctor to identify the huge bump in my abdomen that was causing me so much pain, and she said, "Well, that's your little guy's knee!" as if I should swoon and put it in his baby book. I guess I didn't look very happy because she offered to help me move him. Do you know how this is done? She had me lay down, then put both hands on my belly and, I'm not kidding here, she practically did a handstand she put so much weight on my middle. Yowza. That was unpleasant. The good news is that it worked--he turned on his side and moved his knees. The bad news is that he was back in the painful knee-forward position by evening. He gets the hiccups all the time, which, again, sounds cuter than it is. This child shakes his entire body when he gets the hiccups. This is only tolerable for about 3 minutes before I grow impatient with the full body jerk inside me every 5 seconds or so. So, if you ask me how I'm feeling, I'll probably answer, "PREGNANT." And that's about as good as can be expected at 33.5 weeks, huh?

Oh, and in my spare time I've been homeschooling and cleaning out closets to make room for fall clothes and washing and hanging baby clothes and visiting doctors (one ear infection, one diagnosis of Vitiligo, 3 dental cleanings, and a trip to the vet--in addition to my bi-weekly OB/GYN appointments) and also completely revamping our entire diet in the hopes that I can prevent little Aaron from getting back in the ear infection cycle this winter.

I'm very tired now.

31 Weeks

2009-09-17T21:57:00.004-04:00

The belly, 31 weeks

Yes, I'm sure I'm only 31 weeks, but thanks for asking. It gets funnier every time I hear it.

My doctor says that he is measuring large and suspects that he'll come early.

I'm thinking he'll just be another huge Sharp boy, and I'm not expecting to go into labor until the turkey hits the table on Thanksgiving (making him 8 days late). I think I'll still want green bean casserole, even if I'm in labor.

So, tell me, when are you thinking he'll come? Lock in your votes now.

Dear Ei,

2009-09-06T21:14:00.007-04:00

My Sweet Ei,

Today you turn 4 years old. In some ways it seems like you should still be my tiny baby, but you are so grown up that I often think of you as even older than 4.

When Jackson was still pretty little (about 5 months old) I took a little drive to the store by myself. I didn't get out much without him, and I had thought it would be really relaxing to spend some time alone. I got in the car and turned on the heat. As soon as the air in the car warmed up, I began to feel really sick--I mean, REALLY sick. I don't get carsick except when I'm pregnant so I decided to buy a pregnancy test while I was at the store. When I got home I took the test, meaning for it to be my little secret. No need to tell the world if it's a false alarm, right? I hadn't even had time to wash my hands when I noticed the two pink lines. I read the box to be sure: two lines=pregnant. Since the recommended time had not passed to read the test I told myself not to panic--maybe it would fade in a minute or so. When it didn't, I knew. I was pregnant. I cried. I was still very much new to this whole mothering thing. I wasn't sleeping through the night. I wasn't eating hot meals. I was still unsure of how to manage a baby and a grocery cart at the same time. How could I possibly handle another baby? I think I must have sat on the bathroom floor and cried for at least half an hour before I decided I would soon be missed. I tidied myself up and went about the day, unsure of how to tell your Daddy that he was about to be a daddy again. I told Aunt Becca first. Then, when I had given myself a couple of hours to digest the idea, I told Daddy. I prepared him for news I wasn't sure he was going to like. I'll never forget his response: "How could I be upset about a baby?" Suddenly, this whole second-baby thing seemed so much more manageable. I wasn't doing it alone. Daddy would be right alongside me, as would all of our family and friends. From that moment on, I never even considered crying about being pregnant again. I was scared, sure. And tired, absolutely. But I was so happy. I was also fiercely defensive for you. People joked about my little "oops" baby, and I adamantly explained that you were well-planned, just not by me. No, you weren't in my plans, little man, but God knew that our family needed you. And, boy, was He right.

You dropped into our world and instantly felt like you'd been a part of us forever. I think we might have called you Ethan once or twice before Jackson re-named you Ei. You became "Baby Ei" and would be until we dropped the "baby" and left it just Ei. You had this round bald head and ears that stuck out, and you looked exactly like Charlie Brown from behind. You adored Jackson from the beginning--no one could make you smile the way he could (and the feeling was mutual). You were on the move from the beginning, and I almost can't remember a time when you didn't talk in full sentences because you started talking so early. And your laugh. Oh, Ei, you didn't just laugh. You cackled. And your whole body laughed. You shook all over and turned red in the face and couldn't breathe you laughed so hard. It was impossible to be in the room with you and not laugh along with you. We started saying that your cuteness would keep you out of trouble. 4 years later, I'm sure we were right. You are so rotten, Mr. Ei. You tease and pick and stay on the verge of trouble, but your precious laugh still gets you out of trouble. Everyone who meets you is charmed. Your Sunday School teacher from last year still goes out of her way to talk to you. Your Bible School teacher made a point of telling me how much she adored you. People who barely know you fall in love with your mischievous smile and funny mannerisms. I can't tell you how many times someone has said to me, "I'd take Ei home with me in a heartbeat," or something similar. I always beam with pride. And you and your brother Jackson? It melts my heart to see the two of you becoming such good friends. You tell me often that Jackson is your best friend, and I hope that's true forever. You love each other so well.

You know how sometimes someone surprises you with something wonderful, when it isn't even your birthday or Christmas? Those are the best kinds of presents because they are so unexpected, and because it usually means the giver is so sure you'll love this particular gift that he just can't wait for a big occasion to give it to you. That's you, Ei. I had always planned on having more children. I knew I wanted more babies--someday. I really think that God had an idea for a great little person, and He was so eager to present it to me that it just couldn't wait until I thought to ask for it. You are my perfect little surprise. If I could have planned all my children to be surprises (which seems like an oxymoron, I guess), that's exactly what I would have done. I couldn't have planned anything as marvelous as your birth. I couldn't have designed a better relationship between brothers. I couldn't have imagined a more precious child. I am so lucky to be your mom, and I hope you know that. I hope you know how much I love you. I hope that you know how proud of you I am. I hope you know how wonderfully made you truly are.

Happy birthday, Big Boy Ei. I love you so very, very much.
Love,
Mama

The Eyebrows

2009-08-26T22:14:00.004-04:00

What Aaron lacks in vocabulary, he makes up for in facial expressions. This particular look says, "You again? Go. Go now. Leave me alone with my Mama."

School's In!

2009-08-24T20:00:00.006-04:00

Today started the 3rd week of homeschooling in the Sharp household. Many of you asked how it was going, so here's the scoop.

For the most part, it's going great. I'm teaching Jackson and Ei together, so that means Jackson is occasionally bored while Ei catches up, and Ei is occasionally lost while Jackson explores a more difficult concept, but for the most part we're all working together. Ei's attention span is really short, and I have to remind myself over and over that he's not even 4 yet. Both of them love science best and are fascinated by outer space. So, we've spent a lot of our free time this week watching video clips on the internet about space. I've actually learned a great deal too! Math is our hardest subject, mostly because there is such a gap between what Ei is doing and what Jackson is doing. I've been spending most of my one-on-one time in math so that Jackson doesn't have to go back to square one but Ei doesn't get lost. Ei does not enjoy seatwork of ANY kind, so he gets frustrated when I give him some work to do while I work individually with Jackson. The best part is when they recap the entire day for Daddy over supper. I'm constantly amazed at how much they retain. Even after a few really hairy scheduling days in which we fell behind on our plans for the day, we managed to get caught up and are currently right on target. So, overall, I'm really pleased, and the boys seem to be enjoying themselves (mostly) too.

We are back in Funtastic Fridays (our homeschool co-op) this year. Jackson and Ei are both taking a math class, a language class, a Spanish class, and karate. I was afraid that I had over-scheduled them (4 classes is a lot in one day), but they seem fine. We're always exhausted when we leave, but they enjoy all their classes.

Oh, and I get asked a lot about what I do with Aaron while we're doing school. Good question. He says the Pledge of Allegiance with us every morning (well, he puts his hand on his heart and mumbles), and he sits on the sofa with the boys while they're listening to a lesson. But while we're busy working on seatwork or doing hands-on projects, I often forget to keep a close eye on him, and this is what happens:

He self-teaches an art class. I give him an A for self-expression. Class dismissed!

The Belly

2009-08-12T20:47:00.004-04:00

26 weeks

Yes, I still feel great.

Happy Birthday, Dear Jackson

2009-07-30T21:16:00.009-04:00

Dear Jackson,

Today you turn 5 years old. I don't know how that's possible. I can still remember so vividly the weight of you in my arms for the first time, the intoxicating sweet smell that followed you around, and the softness of your fuzzy head as you nestled into my shoulder. You loved to be carried on my chest with your tiny legs tucked under your body like a little frog. You really weren't much of a crier, but when you did cry your face turned beet red and, buddy, you wailed. How is it possible that all of that was five years ago? When did you turn from a helpless infant into this charming boy?

Jackson, there's so much I will tell you someday. I want to tell you about the time I took you for your 9-month well-baby checkup and they told me that your liver was enlarged. The doctor guessed it was probably harmless but wanted to order an ultrasound to rule out cancer. CANCER. I heard that word echo in my head for the next 4 days as I wavered between begging God to take care of you and fury that He would bless me with this precious person only to take you away from me. I have never been so scared in all my life, and I've never cried that many tears. I can remember feeling your brother kicking around inside me (I was pregnant with Ei at the time) and feeling so torn because I wanted to give you a piece of my own liver but knew that I couldn't with Baby Ei inside me, and it was too early to deliver him. I don't think I slept at all for 3 nights. When they told me the ultrasound looked fine and that you were okay, I couldn't stop kissing you and holding you close to me. You squirmed away and wanted me to put you down, but I needed to hold on to you.

Jackson, someday I want you to know how I worry about you. I watch you suck in your cheeks when you're nervous, and I want to pull you close to me and make the world go away. I want to protect you from all that makes you scared and sad and embarrassed, but I also want to teach you how to believe in yourself and talk yourself through the anxiety. I want to push you hard to be the best you can be, but I also want you to know that the best you can be doesn't have to be perfect. I want you to know how proud I am of you, but I don't want you to think I'm proud of you only because of what you accomplish. You're a complex person, but I get you because you're my mini-me. I understand, but I don't have a clue what to do about it. And I worry all the time that I'm not getting it right.

Jackson, I don't even have the words to describe how much I love you. When I asked God for a baby, I hadn't thought much about what it would be like to have a child. I knew I wanted little doll clothes and strollers and tiny shoes (oh, the shoes!), but I didn't think ahead to what it would be like when my baby turned five. I had no idea that I would still sneak into your room at night to watch you sleep. I didn't know that I would still find the smell of your hair intoxicating. I couldn't have guessed that I would still struggle with my own need to hold you close and your need to wiggle free. You changed my life, little man. You love to remind me that I wasn't even a mom until you came along, and you have no idea how true that is. It's not just a title. Before you were even born, I fell in love with you, and my life started changing. I didn't know I could love like this. And, Jackson, it wasn't just me! You changed our whole family. I have never loved your Daddy as much as I did the day he tried to change your diaper for the first time. It took him a good 15 minutes just to get the old one off (meanwhile a very patient nurse was standing by waiting to take your vitals, and, bless her heart, she didn't laugh even once). Since you came along, I've fallen in love with Daddy's playful, patient, tender side. And our extended family? Never have we been so close. You wouldn't believe the welcome you received. My hospital room was packed to the brim with balloons, gifts, food, and so many people who just couldn't wait to squeeze you. For days we had a steady stream of visitors at our door. No one could get enough of you. Even after the newness of you wore off, we found new reasons to get together. Everyone just wanted to be near you. That hasn't changed. Five years later, we still have a steady stream of visitors at our door. Grandparents, aunts, uncles, friends--everyone wants to be a part of your life and watch you grow into this fantastic young man. You are a well-loved person, Jackson Reed...but no one loves you like your Mama loves you.

Happy birthday, precious Jackson. I hope all your birthday wishes come true. And I hope someday you have a child of your own so you can love someone this richly.

Yours forever,

Mama

Isle of Palms

2009-07-21T17:16:00.001-04:00

Last week we took a much-needed vacation to Isle of Palms, South Carolina. It was wonderful to get away from our routine for a week and relax with our family. In addition to the Sharps, Oma, Nana, and Uncle Marc came along, so we had lots of people chasing after the boys (well, mostly Aaron--but it takes 5 adults to keep up with him!)

Aaron traveled with his loveys. And, if you are my pediatrician, no, that is not a bottle in my 16 month old's mouth. It's trick photography.

The big boys were amazingly good in the car. Our DVD player worked on the way down but not on the way back, so we had to rely on good old fashioned car fun on the way back (i.e. bribery and snacks).

Aaron crashed that night. He doesn't much like leaving home, and the whole thing was a bit stressful for him. Every time we go on a trip he develops an unexplained fever, which we can only attribute to stress. It went away the minute we got home.

We went into Charleston one day.

At the Children's Museum

This is how we kept up with all our children.

Aaron was mostly unimpressed.

After the museum we went on a horse-drawn carriage ride to see historic Charleston. Aaron loved the horses. He called them all Alley (our dog's name).

It's kind of hard to get a picture of the buggy while you're on it, so this is the buggy that returned just as we were leaving. We looked like that, but without the matching green shirts. My family just wouldn't cooperate with coordinating their outfits for the carriage rides. Party poopers, if you ask me.

We saw all the beautiful historic homes and churches. This house is my favorite. I could live here.

I think Aaron liked it too.

If you've never been to the Charleston area, you have to go just to see all the crazy bridges. We must have gone over a dozen cool ones. This one was especially cool. It was a little intimidating, actually, but the architecture was amazing.

This is what is looked like from under the arches.

These baby birds were on our back porch. We really enjoyed watching the mama sparrow feed her babies. It was really interesting because several different sparrows visited the babies and even fed them. It takes a village, even if you're a bird, I guess.

They were really hungry. This is also what my kids look like when dinner is late.

On the boat tour--one of the boys' favorite things

Showing off his dimple

Being silly

Aaron was mostly impressed with the captain's dog, who accompanied our trip. He called her, you guessed it, Alley. (Her name was really Bella, but she didn't seem to mind being called Alley.)

Oh, and he liked wearing Mama's big hat.

But mostly he was unimpressed with the boat tour too.

This is a dolphin. Just take my word for it. We saw tons of them on our little trip, but they weren't feeling very photogenic. I have a bunch of pictures of the still water where there was ONCE a dolphin though.

The boat took us to Barrier Island, which is completely undeveloped. It was REALLY beautiful.

The boys got nets and went crabbing...

successfully. One of my favorite memories was watching Jackson pounce on a crab. He got wet from head to toe, but he came up with the crab all tangled in his net.

Showing off their catch--Ei wasn't so sure he liked holding it

The boys and Oma were constantly on watch for wildlife in our backyard. We had a really cool view of a "lagoon" (well, that's what the website called it, but we all agreed it was more of a swamp), and we saw all kinds of animals hanging out back there.

TONS of birds--various herons and cranes and pelicans

We saw lots of white-tailed deer. We even saw a baby hanging out in another condo's front yard with his mama. Of course, I didn't have my camera with me though. They are not afraid of people at all, and they came right up to the front porches of people's houses in our little subdivision.

We saw racoon fishing. There were 4, but we only caught 3 in this picture.

And this guy. Yup, that's an alligator. When we arrived we saw a sign next to the pool that said, "Do not feed or approach the alligators." We thought it was funny...until we saw one. He hung out all week. Aaron called him Alley.

This is where we spent quite a bit of our time. The boys got really comfortable putting their faces in the water and swimming with their legs behind them. It was fun to watch.

Watching Animal Planet is much cooler inside a fort.

The view from inside

Poor Aaron. We bought this swimsuit with a built-in float for Jackson, but it was too small. So, we tried it on Aaron. He floated, all right, but he looked ridiculous. We didn't make him wear it again.

In the evenings we put puzzles together. We got through 3 and a half puzzles.

And, of course, we played on the beach.

Aaron was unimpressed. He fell asleep in his beach chair. It was too hot to cover him up with a towel, but I didn't want him to burn. So, I strategically covered him in hats. You can't tell from this picture, but the hats (and one bucket, which covered his foot)are completely blocking all of the sun's rays.

Ooh, look who woke up.

The boys buried Daddy in the sand. This might look familiar. We did the same thing last year.

Aaron was still unimpressed. Oh, but isn't this a cool photography trick? Marc did it. I cannot take credit for it.

Flying kites

Aaron was so happy to be home. He rolled all over the floor and then finally fell asleep. Poor guy.

We had a wonderful time, but we are all glad to be home. Next year, 4 boys. Who's coming with us?

The Belly

2009-07-19T22:03:00.003-04:00

The belly, 22.5 weeks

Have Wet Bag. Will Travel.

2009-06-30T21:48:00.004-04:00

My husband says we've become hippies. He's referring to this:

That's Aaron in a cloth diaper. Is it the cutest thing you've ever seen? I decided to buy a couple of cloth diapers and give it a trial run. I love it. I ordered 16 more. Want another peek?

Okay, that's some serious bedhead, but how cute is that bright red caboose?

The first time I changed a dirty diaper, I had a little panic. I was pretty sure this was all a big mistake. But now I've gotten the hang of it, and I am in love. It's easy. And they are SO cute.

So, the big question is WHY, OH WHY would you choose to do this when there are great disposables out there? Oh, thanks for asking. First, there are health benefits. Disposables contain Dioxin, Tributyl-tin, and sodium polyacrylate. These have been linked to cancer, hormonal problems, and toxicity (respectively). Also, boys who wear disposables are at risk for reproductive problems. Then there's the cost factor. Disposables save money, no doubt about it (although if you become a diaper addict, as I fear I might, the cost savings is harder to see!) And, of course, cloth diapering is much greener.

I had intended to ease into this. I would start putting Aaron in cloth while we were at home, but keep using disposables while we were out. But now that I'm spoiled to cloth, I just can't stand to put a rough, toxic disposable on him. He wore cloth to church on Sunday, and the nursery worker (bless her) didn't complain a bit.

Last week we made a trip to Chattanooga to visit Daddy. I packed a bag full of cloth diapers, a couple extra sets of clothes (I haven't quite figured out how to tell when the diapers are wet yet!), and my brand new (and very cute) wet bag. I really thought about packing a box of disposables, just in case, but I thought better of it. We did great. I considered our first road trip in cloth diapers to be our official crossover to a cloth diapering family.

...Or hippies, as Mike would say.

Wanna Know a Secret?

2009-06-17T15:20:00.010-04:00

The baby in my tummy? He's a boy. His name is Nolan Maxwell Sharp.

That's a view of his underside. Leg on either side and, yup, boy parts in the middle.

Here he is rubbing his tiny eyes.

So, there you have it. Four sons. Wow. Jackson and Ei are very excited. We already went shopping and bought Baby Nolan (Baby Max? We're still deciding what we'll call him.) a lovey. Aaron sleeps with "Silkie Dog" every night, and Jackson and Ei really thought the new baby needed a silkie animal too. We bought an elephant and a bear (because they couldn't decide, and I was in the mood to buy baby stuff anyway so I said we could buy both), but Aaron immediately claimed the bear. He has been clinging it to it all day. Something tells me little Aaron isn't going to be quite as excited about sharing our lives with a new baby.

I know what's on all of your minds. You're thinking that we must be terribly disappointed that we aren't having a girl. I've actually heard several comments of the like just today. Well, stop worrying about it. We're very happy. The honest truth? I would very much like to buy some cute little girl dresses and Mary Jane shoes and ruffly bloomers. I pass by them in stores and swoon on a regular basis. But in all of my fantasies of having a girl, I was always focused on the shopping. When I fantasized about bringing home a little boy, however, I imagined reliving all the sweet moments that I cherish with my three sons. True, the clothes aren't as cute (and Mike will probably complain if I put Baby Nolan in lacy bloomers), but the babies are just as precious. I'm not disappointed. I'm thrilled. We make some pretty fantastic boys, and I'm so excited to see what this sweet little boy will be like.

There's this restaurant in Cozumel we have visited several times over the years. It's pretty far off the beaten path, and yet they manage to stay in business. It's right on the beach, and you can dig your toes in the sand while you wait for your meal. The first time we visited we were all a bit taken aback by the waiter who first offered us our choice of beverages (bottled water or beer) and then announced, "You have lobster." There was no menu, no daily specials list, no question about it. We were eating lobster. See, they caught several large lobsters that morning, and he knew they were fresh and delicious. He didn't give us the chance to mess up our order by thinking it over and weighing our options. The lobster was amazing. It's not what we would have ordered had we been given the choice (I'm not really a seafood fan, and I'm cheap to boot), so I'm glad that I wasn't offered a menu because I would never have known what I was missing.

If you had asked me when I was 20 to describe how my family would look in 10 years, I would probably have told you that I would be married and have three daughters. That always seemed like a perfect family to me. I never wanted sons. In fact, I used to say that I would absolutely refuse to have them. God laughed, I'm sure. Fortunately, He took away my menu. I wasn't offered the choice. I would have blindly picked daughters because, well, their clothes are cuter, I suppose. I would never have considered boys with their dirty faces, scraped-up knees, and rough play. And I would have missed out on their kind hearts, precious smiles, and that heart-melting way that they curl up in my lap and tell me that they love me. I would never have known what I was missing.

Today I was offered a peek at what God is in the process of creating, with a little help from my body, and I saw him. He's tiny and animated and HE'S REAL. God is growing a real-life person inside me. Do you know how honored I feel? He singled me out to be this baby's mama.

So, no, I'm not sorry at all.

16 weeks

2009-06-04T21:38:00.003-04:00

The belly--16 weeks

The picture above makes me look a little bigger than I really am because of the shadow. By the time I figured it out, my camera battery had died.

How HOW did I manage to get something on my dress between picture 1 and picture 2 when they were taken only seconds apart? It's no wonder our family goes through so many loads of laundry. We can get our clothes dirty while standing still.

Better shots next time. This is the first time in my life I've ever set the camera timer, so it was a learning experience.

Just Call Me Mom

2009-05-25T09:12:00.006-04:00

I recently read an essay in which the author attempts to convince her reader that women who post pictures of her children on Facebook as their avatars (Mom, an avatar is a picture which represents someone, kind of a photographic nametag) rather than pictures of themselves are hiding behind their children and are, as a result, offensive to the feminist movement. She argues that women are returning to a 1950s role and are in danger of becoming Mrs. John Smith. Her point is that we should be spending more time bragging about who WE are, rather than always talking about who are children are. Because I was engaged in the argument, I read the comments to the essay as well. There seemed to be a very clear divide between those who agreed and those who did not. The commonality? Those who agreed were childless and those who disagreed had children.

I have 3 beautiful children, and one on the way. I am educated, was once very good at my job, won a number of awards based on academic and literary merit, and have traveled quite a bit. My Facebook avatar is a picture of my children.

To some degree, I completely agree with what this author wrote. My children are the center of my world. I talk about them infinitely more than I talk about my own accomplishments. I spend my days shuffling from cello lessons to karate practice and making sure that they understand about vowel sounds and being nice. It's dizzying how much energy it takes to raise a child, let alone 4 children. What I don't agree with, however, is her argument that we should somehow feel guilty for all of this and change or risk losing ourselves to motherhood. Mothers have enough to feel guilty about. I lost my temper with my children. I made chicken nuggets for lunch--again. I haven't washed their sheets in 3 weeks. I let them play a computer game rather than reading a story which would enrich their lives. But at the end of the day, my children know that I love them very much. They love God and know important Bible truths. They are secure, confident, happy children. I did that (well, my family and I did that). I think moms who sacrifice parts of themselves in order to bring up healthy children deserve an award much more prestigious than a certificate from an academic society. These children are my life's work. They are my greatest accomplishment.

So, if I bore you at dinner parties (which I think is a hilarious argument, because how many moms do you know who regularly attend dinner parties??) with stories of my children, I apologize. My observations today tell me that if this is true, you probably do not have children of your own. If you never have children, perhaps you will never understand what I mean. If you do, however, you'll get it. You'll take down all the expensive art in your home and replace it with photos of your children with cheesy smiles. You'll start answering to "Aaron's Mom" without minding a bit. You'll wake up in the morning with a prayer on your lips for the tiny people who make up your world. You'll pass up a chance to go out with the girls for a chance to go to the park with the kids. You'll put a picture of your children on Facebook as your avatar. And you won't feel a bit lost in the process.

Dr. Doctor,

2009-05-21T21:22:00.005-04:00

Dr. Doctors of the World,

We would very much appreciate it if you would stop having your nurses call us to give us lab results. Your nurses, while very kind and well-intentioned, do not understand what they are reporting. They are able to read "positive" or "negative" and repeat as many times as is necessary to get us off the phone, but ask them a question and they are lost. We pay you a LOT of money. Seriously, pick up the phone and call us yourselves.

Sincerely,
Your Patients

So, yeah, Aaron's on ear infection #10. On Monday only his left ear was infected, but since then his right ear has started draining nastiness, so I feel pretty sure it's infected now too. I have adamantly refused to put him on any more antibiotics until a lab culture reads positive for some kind of bad bacteria. But, alas, two cultures in a row have come back negative. The nurse on the phone seemed just as baffled as I was as to why the good doctor was so very sure there were bacteria eating away at my son's eardrum when the lab results show the opposite. Last time she told me perhaps the ear infection was viral. At my next visit the doctor he said that he didn't think that was the case and ordered another culture, which came back negative today. This time the nurse told me directly that she just didn't know why the culture would read negative. I asked her why we were treating a non-bacterial infection with antibiotic ear drops (which I did reluctantly agree to use because the doctor assured me it was necessary, even if we didn't give him an oral antibiotic), and she didn't know. I asked her if I should bring Aaron back in to be re-examined, and she didn't know. I asked her how I would know if the ear tube got blocked or if it healed itself. She didn't know. I asked her if I should have the newly infected ear looked at, and she said she didn't know. She diligently wrote down my questions and told me she would call me back with the answers. I asked her why the doctor couldn't call me himself, and she assured me he was very busy with surgeries. I think I'm done with this doctor. Anyone know a really good ear, nose, throat doctor in Knoxville?

A Different Perspective

2009-05-20T16:18:00.005-04:00

Jackson: When will we get to see God?

Mama: Well, the Bible says that someday Jesus will return to take all the people who believe in Him to Heaven, but we don't know when that will happen. If it doesn't happen before we die we'll get to see Him in Heaven then.

Jackson: Oh, so you have to die to see God?

Mama: That's typically the way it works.

Jackson: Well, those people we saw in the nursing home must be really excited because they're going to die any day now.

What do you say to that?

Today...

2009-05-19T20:22:00.005-04:00

Today...

my youngest child went back on ear drops (which he hates more than just about anything) for ANOTHER ear infection. If you're counting, we're on number 10.

my middle child threw tic-tac-toe pieces into the air like confetti. My youngest child scooped them up before we could reach them and put several in his mouth. I think I got them all out before he swallowed any, but there was a brief moment of gagging that was pretty scary.

my oldest child looked at me and flat out said "no" when I told him to do something.

I separated approximately 50 fights between the big boys.

my middle child decided he was big enough to put the toothpaste on his own toothbrush. Normally the toothpaste would have been far out of his reach, but I just bought a new tube today, and it was still sitting on the counter. He squeezed about half of it out of the tube onto the floor and then proceeded to try to put it back in. Have you ever read the Ramona books? Yeah, that's what happened.

my oldest child tried to "help" clean up the toothpaste mess (I suspect that he might have had a part in it) by wiping the bathroom floor with half a roll of toilet paper. He threw it all in the potty and then tried to flush. The toilet is now clogged.

I think we're all at our limit with this traveling Daddy thing. Around 5:00 today I started thinking that I would lose my mind with disobedient, disrespectful children. This is the point when I would normally begin the countdown to pass-off time. I might even call Mike to get an ETA so I could mentally coach myself through the last few minutes. But today, like every other evening since February, I could only count down to bedtime, knowing that before I could tuck them in bed I would have to feed the children, bathe them (we had Ravioli, so baths weren't optional), and do the bedtime routine (which is my least favorite part of every single day). I'm trying to be patient with them. I know the bad behavior is just their way of showing their frustration with Mike being gone. But I can only take so much. I'm tired of being the bad guy. Tonight when we were doing our chore chart I took away 3 smiley faces from each of them (because their rooms weren't clean, they didn't obey me, and they weren't nice to each other). They both cried. I wanted to give them a last-minute chance. "Quick, clean up your rooms and hug each other and I'll give you the smiles," but I knew that would reinforce bad behavior for the following day. I just reminded them that they could start over tomorrow and get all smiles to earn their rewards, and they cried and begged for mercy.

I'm not sure where I'm going with this. It seems a bit rambly and muddled, but I just needed to get it off my chest, I suppose. I am tired of always being the heavy. I am tired of working around the clock with no relief. I'm tired of my baby always being sick and no one being able to help him. I'm tired of picking up after kids all day and still having a house full of dirty dishes, laundry, and random toys strewn across the floor at bedtime. I'm just really tired.

It's Not Fair!

2009-05-11T21:48:00.012-04:00

I've been meaning to post a sermon from my preaching and sacraments class for a long time, but it's just never crossed my mind while I was sitting in this chair until tonight. This sermon is based on Matthew 20. I strongly suggest that you read it before reading the sermon. Did you read it? Good deal, carry on.

It’s not fair!

For any household with children, this phrase ranks right up there in popularity with “Why?” and “Because I said so.” When served two exquisite sundaes with all the fixings, one child is sure to look at the other’s and proclaim, “He got more sprinkles than I did! It’s not fair!” I hear it so many times a day, I just block it out or reply with a noncommittal, “Life’s not fair.”

I guess I assume that my kids will someday outgrow this idea that things have to be fair. I hope that one day they will wake up and decide that it’s okay that one brother got offered a killer job in a big city and will be moving there soon with his beautiful young wife while the other is still working at a fast food restaurant waiting for good things to happen. I hope for this, but I know it isn’t likely. I know this because, even as an adult, I myself expect things to be fair. I hate it that my friend can eat everything on her plate and never gain an ounce. It kills me that the grass in my neighbor’s yard is thick and lush while mine is patchy and yellow. I can’t stand it when I do all the work and someone else gets the credit. It’s not fair.

Is God fair?

In Matthew 20:1-16 Jesus told a parable to illustrate the kingdom of heaven. A vineyard owner hires laborers from early in the morning right through the day. Every three hours or so he goes back to the market place and, finding people still with no work, hires more of them. The last group starts work at 5:00 pm so they work for just one hour. When it’s time to be paid, something surprising happens. The last ones to join the labor are first to be paid and, to everyone’s amazement, they receive a full day’s pay. The ones hired first must have been thinking that they would be earning a small fortune because they worked ten times the hours of this late-arriving group. But, in fact, they receive the same as everyone else. So they complain. They feel they have been cheated. Can you imagine the grumbling and resentment which must have arisen? But the vineyard owner says: “No, this is right. This is what we agreed. I am giving you the full entitlement. I just want to be generous to the others.”

Is God fair?

Rabbi Harold Kushner wrestled with this very question when he learned that his 2-year old son had a disease which would lead to death before he reached adulthood. In When Bad Things Happen to Good People he writes:
How does one handle news like that? I was a young, inexperienced rabbi, not as familiar with the process of grief as I would later come to be, and what I mostly felt that day was a deep, aching sense of unfairness. It didn’t make sense. I had been a good person. I had tried to do what was right in the sight of God. More than that, I was living a more religiously committed life than most people I knew, people who had large, healthy families. I believed that I was following God’s ways and doing God’s work. How could this be happening to my family? If God existed, if God was minimally fair, let along loving and forgiving, how could God do this to me?

Is God fair?

No. The parable makes it clear that God is not “fair,” in the way that we think of fairness. God doesn’t treat us all equally. He treats us all lovingly. Had the vineyard owner have treated everyone “fairly” they would have received the same hourly pay for the work they completed. They might have even received a bonus based on how many grapes they were able to collect. This way the hardest workers would be rewarded for their dutiful labor. But he doesn’t. He pays the last the same wages that he promised the first, a reasonable rate for a full-day’s work. It isn’t fair. But it’s generous. It’s loving.

The problem, it would seem, is that we are so focused on the unfairness that we miss the grace that shines through in this parable. We are afraid if some get more than they deserve, we will get less. We look at what others get and forget to look at what we also received. The truth is that, regardless of how much we deserve it, we are all offered God’s grace. It’s not fair. It’s not dumb luck. It’s not earned. It’s just very lovingly, very generously passed out at the end of the day.
There are some people who, from the very start of their lives, have lived a Godly life and have, with their family, been workers in the vineyard. They will receive the kingdom of heaven, as God has promised. But then there are the rest of us: those who have lived very differently and came to God late or find ourselves wandering away from Him from time to time. We, too, will receive the kingdom of heaven.
Jesus was crucified between two men who were being punished for living lives of crime. They had not followed the teachings of Jesus and had not named God as their Lord. While one criminal mocked Jesus, the other one of the men pointed out the injustice of Jesus’ punishment and asked Jesus to remember him when he comes into the kingdom. Even in his agony, Jesus offered undeserved grace. He told the man, Today you will be with me in paradise.” This man, this criminal, this menace to society receives the same reward as a life-long missionary who swears off all luxuries and devotes his life to Christ.
And so "the first shall be the last and the last shall be the first” is not meant to discourage those who devoted all their life to working for God. It’s not meant to demonstrate the lesson on every mother’s tongue: “Life’s not fair.” Rather it was said for those who came to God at an older age, for those who wander from the path and return at the 11th hour, for those who do evil and repent. It was said so that we may know how much God loves us. "Call the laborers and give them their wages, beginning from the last to the first.” It’s all about grace. We don’t deserve it. We can’t earn it. But, because we have His priceless mercy, we will receive the reward. God's ways are not ours. There won’t be justice, but there will be love.
There is an old story about a farmer who had two sons. As soon as they were old enough to walk, he took them to the fields and taught them about growing crops and raising animals. When he got too old to work, the two boys took over the chores of the farm. When the father died, they found working together so meaningful that they decided to keep their partnership.

Each brother contributed what he could and, during every harvest season, they equally divided what they corporately produced. Over the years the elder brother never married. The younger brother did marry and had eight children. Years later, when they were having a wonderful harvest, the old bachelor brother thought to himself one night, “My brother has ten mouths to feed. I only have one. He really needs more of his harvest than I do, but I know he is much too fair to renegotiate. I know what I’ll do. In the middle of the night, when he is sleeping, I’ll take some of what I have in my barn and slip it over into his barn to help him feed his children.”

At the very time he was thinking this, the younger brother was thinking to himself, “God has given me this loving wife and these wonderful children. My brother hasn’t been so fortunate. He really deserves more of this harvest than I do, but I know him. He’s much too fair. He’ll never renegotiate. I know what I’ll do. In the middle of the night when he’s asleep, I’ll take some of what I’ve put in my barn and slip it over into his barn.”

And so one night, when the moon was full, as you may have already anticipated, these two brothers came face to face, each on a mission of generosity. The story goes that, although there wasn’t a cloud in the sky, a gentle rain began to fall. It was God weeping for joy because two of his children had gotten the point. Two of his children had come to realize that generosity is the deepest characteristic of the holy. Because we are made in God’s image, our being generous is the secret to our joy as well.

Is God fair? No. He’s not fair because He’s graceful. We don’t get what we deserve, which is a blessing for us sinners. We get what we are promised. Thanks to God!

When Good isn't Good Enough

2009-05-05T22:43:00.007-04:00

Today I was having a conversation about Jackson with a friend of mine who knows him well. She asked if I had decided what do to about his education, and I told her this: next year we are doing kindergarten off the record (meaning I'm not registering him as a kindergartner), and at the end of the year I am going to have him tested and see where to do from there. In my head this made perfect sense. I work with him all year on kindergarten skills, then test him and find out that--low and behold--he'll be ahead in all areas. This will justify homeschooling him rather than sending him to school to relearn all these skills he's already mastered. But as soon as I said the words aloud I realized that this is just my way of justifying to everyone else what I've already decided to do. See, I just feel really good about teaching him at home, at least for now, and I need everyone else to feel good about it too. And somehow I think that crazy high test scores will do that. Maybe it will, but I'm afraid of what I'm setting up.

I don't know where I got my inner need to be the best, outperform everyone else, and excel at everything I do. I don't recall my parents participating in that obsession. In fact, I once told my mom that I was afraid I might make a C in a class in high school, and she offered to pay me if I did. I'm not kidding. She thought that taking the rest of the semester off and letting myself chill out a bit was more important than my grade point average. But I didn't listen. And I didn't make a C.

The point is, something inside me demands that I not only meet expectations (in a timely and organized fashion) but blow the top off of them. I don't want to be a good employee. I want to be employee of the month. Three times. I don't want to make an A. I want a 100%. (Is extra credit an option? I'll make a 105.) And it might sound lovely to come out on top, but I assure you that it's not. It's not because while I should be celebrating one victory, I'm instead trying to figure out how I can raise the bar. And at some point, I'm bound to miss it. And it hurts every time.

Last Sunday my son received an award at his cello recital. He practiced more in the month of April than any other student in the studio (44 times in a 30-day month). He was so very proud. He talked about it all day and wanted to show off his certificate to anyone who would listen. Then something very troubling happened. He said that next time he would try to practice 45 times. See, it's not good enough for him that he's the best. He wants to beat his own score. A little piece of me panicked. It's going to hurt when he misses the bar. Did I do this to him? Or was he born with it like I was?

So, I wonder what I'm doing with all this testing business. It's kindergarten for goodness sake. I know Jackson. If I tested him today he would already excel kindergarten standards. Do I need a test to tell me that? Am I just putting pressure on him to excel? And if he is a grade level ahead this year, will I just push for him to be 2 grade levels ahead next year? How can I teach him to let himself relax if I can't? And, even if his test scores aren't ahead of grade level, doesn't he still deserve the same loving home-based education that I have planned for him? This isn't a reward for outstanding performance. Somehow those things have gotten entwined in my head, and I'm having a hard time separating them. True, I think that my children will receive a better education at home AND will excel if they receive a one-on-one education. Who wouldn't? But that's not what is driving me to homeschooling, and I need to be honest about that. I think that my Jackson needs some more time in the nest before he is ready to fly outside on his own. That's the bottom line. I don't know when he'll be ready. First grade? Fifth? Not until college? I know that I'm his mom and I pray for him every day, and I feel sure that this is right, at least for now. Now, the hard part is deciding where to draw the line between gushing with pride over his accomplishments and pressuring him to do more.

Parenting is hard.

Parenting is Dangerous

2009-04-28T22:28:00.009-04:00

Aaron is having a terrible tantrum. He wants me to put him down, but as soon as I do, he screams and tries to climb up my leg. I pick him up and he struggles to get down. I'm tired. I don't know why he's so grumpy, and at this moment I don't really care. I just want him to stop screaming for five minutes so I can close my eyes for a second before I have to go downstairs and cook supper. I hold him tight hoping that he'll settle into my embrace. He struggles. He throws his head back. The hard part of his head hits the bridge of my nose. It makes a horrible cracking noise, and pain shoots through my entire body. I swear I see lights. I think for a moment that I might have been struck by lightening. My husband runs into the room and looks terrified. I realize that I'm crying and that I can't speak yet. It hurts. A. LOT.

That was yesterday. Today my nose is still very sore. I can't wear glasses at all because I can't stand anything touching the bridge of my nose. I even flinched when putting on makeup because the mineral brush hurt just brushing across my nose. There's a big bump at the top, and it's a bit swollen. I'm pretty sure it's broken, although I don't fully understand how you can break a nose if it's all cartilage. I'll read up on that when I can hold my eyes open long enough. For now, I'm thinking it's time to head to bed.

Oh, and we did find out why poor Aaron is so grumpy. He has an ear infection in both ears. Yes, ear infections again. He had tubes less than 2 months ago, and we're already on our second round of ear infections. Two weeks ago they had to reopen his tubes because they were blocked AND infected. Seriously, this kid can't catch a break. It's no wonder he's so mad he wants to break his mother's nose. And he has a big bump on the back of his head in the shape of my nose.

The Baby is on His Way

2009-04-20T21:52:00.006-04:00

I had my first prenatal appointment today. The official due date is November 18. I watched him squirm and listened to his heart beat. Those things never lose their magic, no matter how many times I've experienced them.

That's him (or maybe her...) He kind of looks like Mr. Peanut, I think. The big circle on the right is his head, and the little bumps on his body are an arm and a leg. The round dot under his head is the yolk sac. Pretty cool, huh?

The Secret Life of Moms

2009-04-20T21:26:00.006-04:00

I couldn't find the exact place, but I remember that in The Secret Life of Bees, Lily says that telling the truth means telling even the worst parts. This is my worst part.

I am tired. I am so very, very tired. And hormonal. And irritable.

My kids are energetic. They are so very, very energetic. And loud. And messy.

I spent two hours today sitting in a doctor's office, being poked and prodded and exposed. By the time I picked up my children, my patience was spent. They didn't have a chance.

They fought about which CD to listen to in the car. They ran in the house and kicked off their shoes in the middle of the living room floor. They passed too quickly by the baby and knocked him down. They let out all of the energy and noise they'd pent up all day. They were preschool kids, is what I'm trying to tell you. And it was more than I could take. I yelled. I didn't just raise my voice. I yelled. I was so very, very ugly.

Tonight I put them to bed and told them how sorry I was for my bad behavior. I explained that I feel kind of funny right now with a tiny person sucking up all my energy, but that it didn't excuse my behavior. And they forgave me. They hugged me and told me that they loved me. How could they love me today? I don't love me today.

Just recently I preached a sermon on how God loves us, not because we earn it, but just because that's how purely He loves. My kids get it. I could learn a lot from them.

Oh, the First Trimester

2009-04-12T21:03:00.003-04:00

So far, so good, really. I have had two nonconsecutive days of feeling icky, but neither was unbearable. Compared with the last pregnancy, it's already been a million times better. I'm exhausted. Really exhausted. I start to think about going to bed around 3:00 in the afternoon, but obviously that's not reasonable with 3 kids running around. Things taste funny. I don't enjoy chocolate (which is just tragic), and I can't get enough salt (which is REALLY unlike me).

But I haven't told you the weirdest part yet. I have become a weeping mess. It's not really sadness. In fact, it's not sadness at all. It's a combination of happiness, nostalgia and sentimentality, appreciation, awe...I could go on. But mostly hormones. The littlest things make me cry. We're not talking a sobbing cry-fest, but just watery eyes. I am watching Extreme Makeover Home Edition, and it's making me cry. I hear my kids pray, and that makes me cry. I hear a beautiful song, and it makes me cry. I see a Johnson & Johnson commercial, and it makes me cry. Don't laugh. Those "having a baby changes everything" commercials? Whew--an emotional roller coaster wrapped up in 60 seconds.

I remind myself that this is the last (insert any pregnancy/baby milestone here), and I try to appreciate it and savor the moment. Sometimes it makes me cry. Sometimes it makes me smile. But it always makes me need a nap.

Reserved for Expectant Mothers

2009-04-10T14:34:00.006-04:00

The best part of being pregnant? Hands down, it's the parking spaces. Do I feel silly parking in these when I'm not even showing (that much) yet? Um, I have 3 preschool children. So, no.

Way Down in Mexico

2009-04-07T22:17:00.019-04:00

I spent last week in Cabo San Lucas. Think sun, sand, excessive amounts of delicious food, afternoon siestas on the beach, and night after night of uninterrupted sleep. It was wonderful. And here, for your viewing pleasure, are some pictures of the hotel and surrounding area. I did not take most of these. They are stolen from the hotel website and Cabo tourist guides. I didn't carry my camera around much, and the pictures I did take weren't that great because it was already dark outside. But this is pretty much what we saw...

This is the hotel. It was really beautiful.

This is the fountain at the center of the breezeway at night. Even as I look at this picture I feel like I need a sweater. The Cabo nights were a little chilly due to the breeze off the ocean. The days were perfect though--sunny and 80 degrees.

I've been to Cabo before, but I was still surprised by the rocky shoreline. It's nothing like the beaches where I've spent most of my summers. I was amazed to see the beach out one window and a huge mountain out the other. The landscape there is just amazing.

This is the Arch of Cabo San Lucas (or El Arco, as it's called there). Last time I was there our boat traveled under the arch. This time the water level looked a little lower (from what I could see). I'm told sometimes the water level is so low you can walk under it on sandy ground. They told me that it looks like a dinosaur taking a drink, and since I heard that it's the only thing I can see when I look at it.

I got a kiss from a dolphin. They said she was an old lady nearing retirement. She's 29. I take offense to the adjective "old" describing a 29-year old, even if it IS a dolphin.

This is not the same dolphin as in the previous picture. The dolphin we swam with (in the previous picture) was too old to hop up on the edge of the water like this. So, her stunt double stepped in. This dolphin was INSANE. He was thrashing around and slinging people all over the place when they were "swimming" with him. It was hilarious, and it made me appreciate my very sweet, very mature dolphin friend.

Okay, so this is the only picture on here that I actually took. Mike and I like to wander around and find little hole-in-the-wall restaurants that would fail health inspections in the States. This year we traveled only a few blocks off of the beaten tourist path, and we were quickly ushered back by a police officer who was just sure we were lost. We did find a great local restaurant that wasn't quite as hole-in-the-wally as we were hoping, but had the most delicious guacamole I've ever put in my mouth. And that made the whole trip worth it. On the way out, I noticed this sign. They have "extra private" parking behind the restaurant. I glanced at the lot and noticed that it was just an open gravel lot behind the restaurant. So, I wonder what makes it "extra" private. I didn't try to find out, but I thought the sign was funny enough to warrant a picture.

Pretty fantastic, huh? I was really thrilled to get home though. I swear we saw a thousand little boys on the way home, and it just seemed like an eternity until I could squeeze mine again. I'm told they did great while we were gone. They hopped from Nana to Oma to Aunt Kristen to Uncle Marc to Aunt Becca to the Krebs to Mamaw. They went to the zoo (and got a new stuffed animal each), McDonald's more times than I care to know, Chuck E. Cheese's TWICE (which, I think, is a bit masochistic on my family's part), and got "treats" from WalMart and just about every other stop they made. So, I guess it shouldn't have come as a surprise that they were a little challenging the day after we returned and tried to get back to normal. They spoil quickly. Of course, I whined all afternoon the first day back about missing my siesta. So, maybe I spoil quickly too.

Complete

2009-03-26T22:01:00.006-04:00

I'm pregnant. Over the last 2 weeks I've woken many nights and smiled a smile only for God and repeated those words to myself. I've been through this 3 times before, but this is different. The first time I was scared. The second time I was overwhelmed. The third time I was tired. Now I'm just happy. I tried to think of a better word, one more civilized and interesting, but the truth is that I'm just happy.

I've heard people say before that they knew that they didn't want more children because their families felt complete. I've just never known that feeling. I'm not taking anything away from my sons. They're absolutely wonderful. My family is absolutely wonderful. I wasn't unhappy before this baby came along. But...oh, my...this feels so perfect. I know this is the last baby, and not just because Mike says it is (which he did) but also because I finally have that feeling of completeness. This baby is the last piece of our puzzle.

I've been reading about what he looks like at 5 weeks (which is how far along I believe I am). He's about the size of a sesame seed and looks like a tadpole with a tail and an overly large head. My heart melted when I saw the pictures. I've seen them 3 times before. And yet this is different. This is the last time I'll look at them and imagine the person growing inside my body. I don't feel sad. I feel complete.

I'm in love. I'm in love with the person inside me. I'm in love with the three precious boys who will be his big brothers. I'm in love with the husband who made these people with me. We're complete.

A 5-week old fetus

Two Lines

2009-03-16T18:40:00.005-04:00

True, the second line is a bit faint. I wasn't sure. So I took 2 more tests...

It's hard to tell in the picture, but all have 2 lines. So, drum roll please, #4 is on the way. I estimate he's due November 24. I'll keep you posted.

I couldn't be happier.

Crunchy

2009-03-09T23:29:00.006-04:00

I wear my babies. I don't believe in letting kids cry themselves to sleep. I breastfeed exclusively as long as possible. I love cuddling next to my boys at night and don't really mind when they crawl in bed with me. I want to home school. I try alternative treatments before resorting to medicine. I can rattle off at least a dozen reasons to drink organic milk. I absolutely do not consume any artificial sweeteners and don't allow my children to either. I really want to have my next baby (if there is a next baby) in a birthing center instead of a hospital. So, yes, I'm a bit crunchy. But I prefer the term "attachment parent."

I follow several blogs of other attachment parents. Although I'd never heard this term before having children, I've discovered the trend and fallen in love over time. I wasn't this way at first. I started off my life as a parent with an induced labor and an epidural. I let our pediatrician set an ultimatum for me regarding my son's breastfeeding (he must gain weight by the end of the week or we start formula). I carried my baby in his car seat and never considered taking him out to carry him if he wasn't screaming. I thought home schoolers were weird and a bit selfish (if I'm being totally honest) for taking something away from their children which can't be replaced. I thought I was going back to work.

Something in me changed. I can't say it was immediate. Early on, I knew I couldn't go back to work. I began cosleeping with my kids quite a bit (mostly just so I could get some sleep) and worried about what foods they put into their bodies. But there wasn't a day that I said, "Today I will become an attachment parent." Something about Aaron changed my life. I don't know if it was the thought that he might be my last baby, the fact that he was a difficult baby to soothe, the confidence that came with being an experienced parent who was able to make more educated decisions, or none of those, or maybe all of those. But I know that I started wearing Aaron, and it felt amazing. I stopped complaining when my kids slept in my bed. I refused to see the pediatrician who gave me the nonsense advice about formula and found a pediatrician I fell in love with. I started feeling a pull away from corporate education and towards something much more friendly. And I started looking for other people like me out there.

I found them. LOTS of them. They're called attachment parents. And I realized that I was one of them. Well, sort of. You see, I believe firmly in vaccinations. Actually, I consider it an act of cruelty not to vaccinate a child from a potentially life-threatening disease. I really clung to some of their research on the dangers of vaccinations and considered doing a modified vaccination schedule with my children but then I realized that I was taking their medical care into my own hands, and, seriously, I'm just not qualified for that. So, I decided to trust our pediatrician (whom I love dearly). And then there's the issue of behavior. I don't believe that discipline, when used lovingly and appropriately, is stifling a child's soul. I don't spank my children and think that, in general, it's an unnecessary practice, but I do lots of timeouts and heart-to-heart talks and chore-charts. I think it's good for my kids. Oh, and I don't think that babies really care if their mamas had an epidural or if they screamed their way through labor. The end result is the same. So maybe I'm not an attachment parent. Do you have to follow all their beliefs to be one? Not completely adhering to the values of attachment parents can make me feel a bit guilty.

My youngest child bit me while I was breastfeeding, so I weaned him around 10 months. It was a selfish decision--no doubt about that. At the time I read and read and read about breastfeeding and how to retrain your child not to bite you and then (warning: moment of disclosure) nursed him in secret for a few weeks after that because I had already told my family that he was weaned. I read and read about how selfish it was not to breastfeed, and I felt SO guilty. Every morning I would express a tiny bit of milk, just to be sure that I still could, and I made a point to nurse the baby at least once a day, to keep my milk flowing. About 2 weeks into this, I tried to breastfeed him, at which point his crying got stronger, so I tried giving him a bottle. He settled immediately. I have no doubt that it was because the bottle flowed so much quicker and easier. I spoiled him with a bottle and, thus, destroyed any chance I had of continuing to breastfeed. But somehow I felt very free anyway. I really liked being able to drink a glass of wine in the evenings, take my Prozac in the mornings, wear clothes without any regard for how accessible my chest was, etc. It was nice. And I felt bad about how good I felt.

It's great to find a group of people who share similar values and ideas, but I've decided it's very unhealthy for a person to make decisions on her parenting based on the definition of a parenting style which sounds appealing. So, I release myself of any guilt which I bear for inductions, epidurals, forced weanings, grocery-store brand milk, stroller rides when it would have been just as easy to put him in a sling, and the list goes on and on. Oh, my it feels good to be free of those burdens. But it feels bad to feel so good. Crunchy and crazy. Perhaps that's my parenting style.

You Hold My Heart

2009-03-04T22:12:00.005-05:00

Friday my baby turned one. He's a toddler. And it's been really hard for me. Part of me is trying to come to terms with the fact that this is likely my last first birthday party, last first steps, last snaggly tooth grin. And part of me wants another baby so badly I can't stand it. There's just no right answer.

Monday he had surgery. Yes, it was minor. He had tubes placed in his ears. But it was surgery, all the same. He was under general anesthesia, and it was scary. The nurse gave him something she called "happy juice" to calm his nerves enough that he would go with a stranger into the OR. I needed some happy juice to calm my own nerves as I watched him go. He did fine, and we made it through the ordeal.

Back up to Saturday. We went to a birthday party at a kids' indoor play station--kind of like Chuck E. Cheese for the older crowd (including bowling, indoor go-carts, and laser tag). The boys were in heaven. We collected tickets for all the games we won, and we cashed them in for cheap prizes before leaving. The boys chose matching stuffed hearts. One said "Be" and the other said "mine." I assume they were leftovers from Valentine's Day, and I thought they were a pretty lame prize, but I really wanted to go and didn't particularly care what they chose. On the way out, Ei told me that he wanted me to have his little heart. It was really cold and I thanked him for the gift but asked if he could hold it until we got to the car where I could look at it while warming up. He said, "Okay, Mama. I'll hold your heart."

Oh, my precious Ei. You already hold my heart. You and your brothers have held my heart since before you even entered this world. As I sat in the doctor's conference room on Monday waiting to hear that the surgery was over and everything was okay, I replayed this moment. I wish I had thought to take the heart with me to hold as a tangible reminder of how precious my children are to me. But the truth is I didn't need anything tangible. I watched them take my baby Aaron as I stood there empty-handed and helpless, and I knew that my heart was with him.

Jackson, Ei, and Aaron--you hold my heart.

My Toddler

2009-02-27T22:26:00.009-05:00

Aaron Michael, 1 year ago

My baby Aaron turned one today. One. Whole. Year. He's a toddler. Well, he's still MY baby. And, following in the tradition I started with my other boys, here are the things that I love most about him.

His cheeks are so soft and chubby. I can't walk past him without kissing them.

His hair won't lay down no matter how hard I try. It has a mind of its own--just like Aaron.

He bullies his big brothers.

He throws things from his high chair and laughs. And it's so cute I pick them up every time.

He holds everything to his ear as though it's a phone. He's been known to talk on the cello-case-phone, paper-towel-tube-phone, graham-cracker-phone, and the diaper-cream-phone. He really carries on a conversation too. I wonder what he's talking about?

He explores--but not too far. He always comes back to me.

He gives the best slobbery kisses in the world.

He has had more ear infections than I care to count this winter, but he's still sweet and bubbly.

He squints his eyes and throws his head back and whines when he's mad. And then he stops and opens his eyes to see if you noticed.

He smells so sweet I can't stand it.

He loves his brothers more than anything in the world. Even in the midst of a terrible tantrum, he will stop and smile if he sees one of them approaching him.

He darts his tongue in and out while making silly noises. We call him our lizard.

He laughs at himself.

When he says Mama in his precious baby voice, it makes all the middle of the night feedings, diaper explosions, mealtime messes, grocery store tantrums, stretch marks, and countless trips to the pediatrician all worth it.

He's taught me to slow down, stop trying to make things perfect, and just enjoy the moment.

Just look at him. What's not to love?

Aaron Michael, this afternoon

And they lived happily ever after...

2009-02-14T20:34:00.012-05:00

Being Valentine's Day, it's only appropriate that I tell you a love story.

February 14, 2001--it was my first Valentine's Day with Mike, and really the first time I'd been excited about the silly Hallmark holiday. (I once spent Valentine's Day eating a Subway sandwich in a closed pool store because my lazy boyfriend didn't want to go out so he thought it would be romantic to take me to his place of work for a club sandwich. So, needless to say, I was a bit bitter about romance in general.) I wore a red sweater and a heart shaped necklace to show the world that I was happy about this day that I usually dreaded. Around mid-day, a dozen beautiful roses were delivered to my work, making my coworkers and all the kids in my class swoon. But that was only the beginning. When I got home I found my entire apartment COVERED in balloons, streamer, and flowers. My sweet boyfriend (who won my heart and later became my husband) had spent the majority of his day (with a lot of help from my best friend, who knew he was good for me) blowing up hundreds of balloons. I wish I had a better picture, but here's me sitting on my bed, which only shows a very small portion of the decoration. (The dog is my late pooch Delia.)

Oh, and then we went to the circus with my best friend and her current boyfriend and then out to eat. The circus was my idea, so don't hold it against him. Anyway, it was perfect and forever changed the way I look at Valentine's Day.

Now are you ready for the love story? Nope, that wasn't it. That was only a warm-up. Today was far more romantic that that.

I have been feeling pretty sick for a few days. This morning I decided I couldn't take it anymore and went to the CVS Minute Clinic (which is, by the way, the greatest invention of my lifetime). I thought I had Strep Throat, but I was wrong. It's just a really nasty sinus infection which has irritated my throat and made me feel like the walking dead. There really wasn't anything the nurse could do for me except suggest that I get plenty of fluids and lots of rest. I think I laughed out loud when she said that. Rest? For a mother of three? Ha.

We came home, and I must have looked pitiful because my husband suggested I go lay down. Then he packed up the boys and took them to Wal-Mart to do the grocery shopping. When I woke up, our pantry was stocked, the baby was up from a nap and wearing a clean diaper, the floors downstairs were swept, and I felt refreshed (even if I didn't feel completely better). For dinner I made cold sandwiches and canned soup, and my husband complimented me on the soup.

That, my friends, is love. A nap in the middle of a busy afternoon. A day off from the duties of shopping, child rearing, and cooking. No guilt for any of it.

Nine Valentine's Days, and he still wins my heart.

Twinkle, Twinkle, I'm a Star

2009-01-31T21:50:00.006-05:00

I had a cello lesson. It was slightly traumatic. But I think I'm going to be okay.

First of all, the cello is not like the violin. All my smug inner thoughts that told me I was going to be a super-star at this cello thing were dashed when I realized that my experience in violin is not going to help he here. Just like all the other kids, I'm new and terrible and butchered Twinkle, Twinkle.

Second, my hands shook during the whole lesson. They even turned blue. Okay, bit of history here--my best friend recently got diagnosed with Raynaud's Syndrome. Her hands turn blue when she gets cold. She looks like a corpse, and it's creepy. The other day I was in my preaching class and saw that MY HANDS WERE BLUE. Very weird. Anyway, it's only happened a few times (not all the time like my weird gross friend), but it did happen during my lesson. I became very self-conscious and tried to hide it from the sweet gal who is teaching me cello. She didn't mention it if she noticed. My hands shook for about an hour after the lesson, but the blue tint went away by the time I was in the car.

Third, I was not good at it, but I survived. This was important. Here's my story--when the going gets tough, I quit. I have never stuck with anything that challenged me. So, I'm trying very hard to coach myself through this. This probably all sounds very silly, but if you have an anxiety disorder, you get it. It was terrifying. And I survived. I think I might even go back next week. I'm convinced that this makes me a superstar.

And I think I've broken my little finger. I can't tell you how because you'd be disappointed to learn that I was opening a box with a little to much vigor and pulled my finger so hard that I almost cried (but instead laughed for about 5 minutes because I'm cool like that). So, now I'm wondering how I'm going to play the cello with a broken finger?

And I'm already dreading the moment when my teacher mentions a recital. Seriously? A recital? At my age? I feel silly just thinking about it.

Thank goodness for Prozac. Yes, I weaned the baby, and thus have been reunited with my old pal Prozac. I've missed him so. Pass the little blue pill, please.

Did Ya Know?

2009-01-21T15:36:00.002-05:00

25 Things You Might Not Know about Me

1.I don’t take out the trash. It’s going to get ugly while Mike’s out of town.
2.My toes go numb when I get cold. Sometimes they stick up in the air and I can’t make them lay down again.
3.My tummy is obscenely stretched out after 3 babies, and the skin hangs lower on the left side. I have thought about having a tummy tuck after my next baby.
4.I dance in the kitchen (using my counter as a barre) while I’m cooking supper.
5.I didn’t know I was afraid of mice until Saturday.
6.I did know that I was afraid of heights, germs, spiders, guns, and cancer.
7.I can’t figure out why anyone would move to a place where it snows 6 months out of the year. One day was enough for me.
8.I once came within inches of a 40-foot whale shark while swimming in Utila.
9.I will eat just about anything if it has cheese on it.
10.Except fish. I won’t eat that regardless of what you put on it.
11.I am good at math but terrible at balancing a checkbook.
12.I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up.
13.I took Latin for 7 years and don’t remember any of it.
14.I only got in trouble twice in school. Once was in second grade for talking in the bathroom. The other time was when I was in high school. Becca and I got yelled at and separated for laughing when the landscaping teacher was labeling plants and said, “D. Monkey Grass, E. Fern, F. Yew.” (Did you catch it? F. Yew? It was hilarious. He disagreed.)
15.I realized the other day that I know the name of every Handy Manny tool, Bob the Builder truck, and Cars vehicle, but I can’t identify a single Disney princess. I think this officially makes me a boy mom.
16.I check my email about 5 times a day but only check my voicemail about every other day, usually because I can’t find my phone. So, email me, okay?
17.I used to teach at a rehab facility for children with behavioral problems. I had a hard time naming my children because I have negative associations with so many beautiful names.
18.I spend more money on pictures than I do on clothes. This is not an exaggeration.
19.According to statistics, I’ve changed 12,000 diapers.
20.I think this is why I only have time for a haircut about once a year.
21.When I do get a haircut, I always get suckered into buying all the products they use.
22.I can pretty much fix anything with a hot glue gun.
23.I don’t think camping is fun. Call me crazy, but I’d rather stay inside where I have a nice comfy bed and I control the temperature.
24.I don’t like my wrists touched. I can’t explain, really. It makes me aware of my pulse which makes me think of all the blood rushing through my veins which makes me want to pass out.
25.At one time in my life I could only sleep with my feet hanging out of the covers. Now I can only sleep if the blankets are tucked into the bottom of the bed so my feet are covered tightly. I don’t know why the change.

Day 2

2009-01-19T21:21:00.004-05:00

Okay, first of all, thank you so much to everyone who read yesterday's post and then emailed or called to express their concern. I just reread it, and I realize now that it was a bit over-the-top dramatic. You know those days when reality comes crashing in on you and it seems too much to process? That was yesterday. Today was better.

It snowed this morning. It started as little delicate snowflakes drifting past our window at breakfast. By lunch it was coming down hard and stuck enough to pretty well cover our yard. It was so beautiful and relaxing to watch. The boys were so excited they were just beside themselves. During Aaron's nap I took them outside and showed them how to make a snowman and snow angels and snow balls to throw and catch snowflakes on our tongues. Alley (our lab) ran around like a puppy and chased snowflakes. The boys danced in the falling snow and giggled in the way that only preschoolers can. I took pictures. Go to my photo blog to see.

When we came in the boys were cold and lazy and curled up on the sofa with a warm rice sock and a fluffy blanket to watch cartoons. I took the opportunity to clean out the junk drawers in my kitchen. When I was finished I felt like I had accomplished something.

I went to dinner with some friends of ours that have become like family. It was a wonderful distraction for the boys and for me. I know it was a pity dinner--they went out with me because I was alone. But I took it anyway. It was fun. It's lovely to have people who go on pity dinners with me.

Jackson didn't cry himself to sleep tonight. We did have a rather deep discussion about Heaven and dying, but it wasn't sad. It was very matter-of-fact. He seemed a little bothered until I told him that we'll all be in Heaven together. Then he was happy. So, I have a real obligation to get there now since I've promised.

I'm still lonely for my husband, but I'm okay now. I remember when he went away last time it was the first day that was the hardest. We'll make it. But thanks for being there anyway. I feel very loved today.

A Little Self-Pity

2009-01-18T20:23:00.007-05:00

I'm feeling overwhelmed with life again.

Last week I took the baby to the pediatrician because he was really fussy. They confirmed that he had a double ear infection and also told me that he has Adenovirus. He went on antibiotics for the ear infection, and that gave him diarrhea for the next several days. The doctor said that if he gets another ear infection before March she'll refer him to an ENT for tubes. He's still tugging on his ears after 6 days of antibiotics. Not good.

Last night Jackson woke up around midnight crying. Mike went upstairs and found him in his room hysterical because he had thrown up. We cleaned it up and put him in the shower. I put him in bed with me and cuddled him until he fell asleep. He woke again at 4:30 to be sick again. I took his temperature. It was over 102.5 (I say over because the thermometer had still not beeped that it was done, but Jackson pulled it out of his mouth and said that he was done with it--I didn't fight him because I figured that we were giving him Tylenol no matter what the exact number was). He didn't get sick again, but he did run a fever until this afternoon. He didn't eat any dinner tonight and fell asleep about 7:00.

Prior to Jackson's waking up last night, Becca, Russell, Mike, and I were having game night. We were playing a nice game of Rook when my dog started going crazy. She was running around and acting like a maniac. Mike got up to see what the commotion was about, and he saw a tiny mouse run under my refrigerator. I have to be honest here--I knew there was a mouse in the garage. I saw him when I was putting away the Christmas decorations. I just didn't really care. It's cold outside, and I figured if he could get warm in my garage, what's the harm? But this crosses the line. My generosity has been taken advantage of. It is not okay with me for a mouse to be in my kitchen. I also have to defend myself and say that my house is clean. It's not just tidy, but it's safe to eat off my floors. I just don't want anyone reading this and picturing nastiness in my home. Anyway, Mike and Russell moved the refrigerator and the mouse ran out, but they didn't see where he went. The dog can't find him either. So, there's a mouse loose in my house--unless he moved back into the garage.

And this afternoon Mike left town. He hasn't had to travel much in the last couple of years, so this is new for us. He will be gone for the rest of the week. Then, in two weeks, he leaves for Chattanooga where he will spend the next 4 months. We're hoping to be able to work it out so he can come home some during the week and we can visit him when he can't get away, but it's still going to be a major change. Jackson cried himself to sleep tonight. I held him and rocked him and made soothing sounds, but it just didn't do the trick. He needs his daddy. This is going to be a challenge.

And so tonight I put my three precious children to bed, fixed myself some supper, and sat down to check my email. I couldn't sit still. Instead I found myself pacing the floors of my house trying to figure out how to make it feel right. I turned up the heat. I put on my favorite jammies and slippers and wrapped myself in a fuzzy blanket. I checked Facebook. I turned on the TV. I enjoyed the noise and turned on a CD in addition to the TV. I got mad at the noise and turned everything off. And now I sit here and type and wonder what to do next. I did this once before. Mike was gone for 7 weeks the last time he had to travel. I did it. I fed and bathed and dressed my two babies and managed to remember to put the trash out every week. But now they're sick. And sad. And it's cold. And there's a mouse. And I'm lonely already. And this sucks.

Where Did it Go?

2009-01-02T20:55:00.007-05:00

Today I wrote a check and, for the first time, wrote the year 2009 as the date. I really think 2008 was such a blur that I can't quite grasp beginning a new year. It got me thinking--where did 2008 go? And then I remembered...

I began potty training my Ei.

We had a baby.

The baby had jaundice--bad jaundice. The kind that makes the doctors tell you to immediately go to the hospital and put an IV in your baby's foot. The baby was hospitalized for 3 days. He still had jaundice. They pricked his tiny foot every day for so long I lost track of it. Then finally they decided that it wasn't going away and that meant it was just breastmilk jaundice--no big deal after all. Go home and forget that your baby is yellow.

The baby cried--a lot.

Ei rejected the idea of potty training.

The economy went sour. This is bad news for a husband in sales. He managed to hold on but was stressed out quite a bit.

We went to Disney World--with a 3 year old, 2 year old, and a 4 month old.

The baby finally stopped crying and became the sweetest little guy.

I started homeschooling my children (although it's best if you just say we "play school" when my husband's around mmmkay).

My 3 year old turned 4 and my 2 year old turned 3. We had parties at Pump it Up and celebrated becoming big boys.

Jackson started taking cello lessons.

Ei continued to reject potty training.

I started teaching Sunday School. Jackson was promoted out of the preschool Sunday School class and into "big boy" Sunday School. He rotates to my class once a month, and it's such a joy watching him grow in his love and knowledge of God and the Bible.

Ei developed stranger anxiety. I discovered this when he asked to go to cello lessons and then refused to talk to the teacher.

I had a birthday--my last birthday, to be precise. I turned 29. I choose not to turn 30.

Ei got sick--really sick. We went to the ER in the middle of the night (our first ER trip, actually) and wound up being admitted to Children's Hospital. He spent 2 nights there. He cried for Jackson. It broke my heart.

Then the rest of us got sick. We managed not to get hospitalized, but it made for a bumpy last few months of 2008.

Mike was offered a new job which will require that he work out of town 4 months every year. We pondered it and weighed our options and decided to go for it. The stress of making this transition smooth for my family added 15 gray hairs to my head.

I dyed my hair--a lot.

I finished Pastoral Care and Polity, which leaves me with only one semester remaining in the Presbytery's lay pastor program.

I gave up on potty training and called the PottyMD in a desperate plea for help. He said he can help me and my insurance will even pay for it. I heard a chorus of angels in the background.

The baby started crawling and got two teeth. Then he started standing up. I think this may lead to walking soon. There goes another gray hair.

Jackson performed in 2 cello recitals (one for a nursing home and one more formal Christmas recital). He did great and made me so proud.

Christmas came on schedule even though I was behind. Some of our decorations didn't go up this year, and we didn't make it to Gatlinburg as we had planned. The boys had a wonderful Christmas anyway and gave me a wake-up call that Christmas is about a lot more than bows that never made it on packages.

My family grew, not only in number but also in love. Ei is amazing with the baby--so patient and loving--and he adores his big brother. Jackson is so considerate of both of his brothers. He saves Ei bits of his cookie, even when Ei isn't around, and brings Aaron's pacifier or blanket or special toy when he's upset. Aaron thinks the big boys are the greatest toys and loves to crawl all over them and smother them with "kisses."

So, goodbye, 2008. Hello, 2009. I hope that we can go slower this year--less hospitals and hurrying and more laying on the playroom floor and giggling. I hope I'll be able to savor 2009.

Oh, and I'd also like a new baby too.

New Year, Fresh Start

2009-01-01T10:15:00.002-05:00

I saw this bumper sticker yesterday that said, "More Wag. Less Bark." I tried to get a picture of it, but the light turned green before I could get my camera out, so you'll just have to take my word for it. Anyway, I liked it. I think I've been barking too much lately. I bark when my boys don't do their chores quickly enough. I bark when I there's too much noise in the house. And I wag way too little.

Today is the first day of a new decade. We all have a fresh start. So, my New Year's resolution: More Wag. Less Bark.

Also, my first baby lost his first tooth on this first day of the new decade. Put on the brakes. It's moving too fast.

Happy New Year, friends. May yours be filled with many blessings. And may you wag far more than you bark.

She's Back

2008-12-28T21:45:00.009-05:00

Crickets...crickets. I know--it's been quiet around here. I have three children, we've taken turns being sick for the last 2 months, and Christmas was 3 days ago. Those are my excuses. And, because I have not written in so long, there is much to say. That being true, today you get blog clips. I'll be back in full swing in 2009.

1. The baby was standing up in his crib when I went to get him this morning. I am not ready for him to walk, so I pushed him down. I'm going to try not to beat myself up over it. (Of course, I didn't actually push him down. Don't flood my email with criticism of my parenting skills.)

2. We had a lovely Christmas, although I wasn't ready for it. I have a list of things that just never got done this year. I don't know why--I was fully aware of when it would occur. I just couldn't seem to get it all in our schedule. I'm going to try not to beat myself up over it.

3. I enrolled myself in cello lessons. I think I can do this. The teacher emailed and said she wanted to wait until late in January to start the semester because her schedule is crazy right now. Fine by me, I said. I was secretly glad to postpone it a bit. I'm going to try not to beat myself up over it.

4. The baby has two teeth. He bit me while I was nursing him and made me bleed. I decided to wean. I felt a twinge of guilt for not breastfeeding for a full year like I had planned, but it hurt and, honestly, I was really looking for a reason to quit anyway. He got almost 10 months of exclusive breastmilk, and I think that's pretty good. I'm going to try not to beat myself up over it.

5. Everyone is talking New Year's Resolutions. I don't have one. I feel pressured to make a decision in the next couple of days. Then I'll feel pressured to keep the resolution. Then I'll feel like a failure when I break it on January 5. I'm going to try not to beat myself up over it.

Maybe I do have one after all.

You know, if someone talked to my children the way I talk to myself, I would be livid. I wouldn't stand for it. In fact, I wouldn't even allow someone to talk like that around my children. It's just not nice. So, I'm not sure why it's okay for me to talk like that to myself. 2009--I'm going to take better care of my children's mother. And I will fail. I'm going to try not to beat myself up though.

Like Mother, Like Sons

2008-12-10T15:47:00.005-05:00

Ei has been going to cello with us. Last week their cello teacher asked him if he wanted a turn playing, and he said no. I was so surprised. He plays at home all the time. He talks about cello lessons all week. He tells everyone about "his" teacher. I just couldn't understand why he wouldn't play for her.

Fast forward a week. Jackson asked me to take my cello to his lesson (as he does every week). As I do every week, I put it in the car with no intention of actually taking it in to the lesson. I usually get away with this, but this week Jackson insisted that I take it inside. We had talked about it before we left the house, and I knew this was what he wanted. We have been playing a duet to a song he's working on, and he wanted to play it for his teacher. I wasn't so sure about this, but I went along hoping he would forget or change his mind. Once inside, I figured I was trapped into playing. Now, I have to explain that I was actually looking forward to this. I really do enjoy playing with Jackson, and I knew how happy it would make him. When I went inside, however, his teacher asked, "Do you want to play today?" and I took the out. No. I didn't. I actually didn't. I took the huge instrument into her house, put it in the entranceway, and left it there for the entire lesson, then picked it up and took it home when it was time to go. How silly. So, I guess I really can understand Ei's behavior last week.

I know. It doesn't make any sense. I guess the underlying fear is being judged--of not being good enough. But seriously, this lady teaches cello. Surely she's heard worse than my out-of-tune attempts to the harmony parts of book one songs? And, even if she hasn't, I just don't figure her for the type to ridicule or make me feel bad about it. AND, I would have no reason to be a good cello player as I have never had a lesson in my life and have only owned a cello for a few weeks. This is just silliness. But I guess it's more than that. It's very real. Something about the idea of doing something I am not good at in front of someone who is good at it really scares me. It's about not being the best. And there is the root of my problem. I carry around this assumption that if I'm not the best I have failed. And you can't fail if you don't try, right? So, I just don't try at all if I don't know for sure that I can do it and do it very well. This is frustrating for me. I would like so very much to open myself up to something new--to be a student and to learn a new skill. But to do so means that I will be far from the best. I will be a beginner with sour notes and awkward posture. I want to set a good example for my kids and show them that it's okay to do things even when you aren't very good at them. I will get better in time, but to do so means overcoming this self-criticism and allowing myself to be far the from the best--just a beginner.

But maybe I can be the best at being a beginner...

Away in a Manger

2008-11-29T08:36:00.006-05:00

I love Christmas. I can hardly wait to get through Thanksgiving to bust out my tree and wreaths and collection of Christmas music. I actually started listening to the Christmas music in the car about a week ago, a crime I think went unnoticed this year but usually gets me much ridicule from my husband who is NOT a fan of holiday tunes. He's a Scrooge.

I was singing along in my car yesterday to "Away in a Manger" when I remembered a shirt my friend Elizabeth wore last Christmas that made me smile. It said "THE way in a manger" and had a picture of baby Jesus. I love it because it's so Elizabeth and so true.

I've written before about John 14:6. Jesus makes it perfectly clear here that He is THE way. There are no detours or back roads. He's it--take it or leave it. It's in black and white in 1 John 5:12 too: "He who has the Son has the life; he who does not have the Son of God does not have the life." Jesus is the only one who bore our sins and restored us to a full relationship with God. Period.

I have friends and family who do not believe in God. I wonder sometimes if this is one of the fundamental beliefs that turns them off of Christianity. It can be hard to grasp that there is only one way. We live in a society of choices: everything from the clothes we wear to the sides we get in our Happy Meal. We want to know all our options. Don't tell ME I have to have fries with my cheeseburger--I want apples! We like to call the shots. When I was in high school my youth group made my minister go gray with our constant argument that Buddhists, if they behaved themselves, could get a sort of divine pardon and a free ticket into Heaven. Looking back, I see the naivete of this. We wanted it to be so because we are products of our society that values political correctness over all else. Jesus wasn't very politically correct. I've spent some time with my Bible since my high school days. I have poured over it and just can't find a passage that supports random forgiveness. It's free--that much is true--but you have to claim it. So, those who choose not to believe in Jesus obviously do not request forgiveness and, therefore, cannot be granted it. It's simple, really. But it's hard to swallow.

THE way in a manger, indeed.

My Cup Runneth Over

2008-11-21T19:35:00.009-05:00

Jackson is my hero. I mean it. Today my 4 year old faced his biggest fear head-on. He performed in his first cello recital.

I took violin lessons from 2nd grade through college. I was never forced to go to lessons or practice or play in recitals. I chose to do all of that. I decided I wanted to play violin like Isaac Stern (a hero all 2nd graders idolize, I'm sure), and my mom obliged. My dream was to play "Flight of the Bumblebee," which was my favorite song at the time. (What? It wasn't yours? I told you I wasn't normal.) I had a number of teachers over the years (some for many years and some for only a short time), and although each of them taught very differently they all had one thing in common: recitals--not negotiable. Each time a recital approached I got that same sick feeling in my stomach. Oh, and juries in college? It makes me want to puke just thinking about them. It is basically what it sounds like: a room full of people judging your every move as your hands shake so badly you can barely hold the bow let alone play a song. So, no, I was not a performer. I never did learn to love playing in front of people. (And I never did learn to play "Flight of the Bumblebee." Maybe someday...)

So, the reason I tell you all this... I woke up this morning with that same "gonna throw up any second" feeling in my stomach that I used to get before one of my own recitals. All day I kept worrying that Jackson was experiencing the same thing, but he sure hid it well if he was. This afternoon I suggested that we practice his song once before we pack up his cello and he said, "Okay, but I'm already pretty good." Well, there's nothing wrong with his self-confidence, anyway. But then I made the mistake of calling it a recital. Okay, a little background info for you: Jackson told me he would not perform in a recital. So, when Miss Kathleen (his cello teacher) asked if he would perform with her at a retirement home, we told him that it wasn't a recital but rather an opportunity to minister to some grandmas who didn't get to see kids very much. How can you say no to that? He agreed and was happy to do so. So, when I slipped and called it a recital, he looked at me with this look of betrayal. "So, it was a recital after all?" his eyes seemed to say. I quickly corrected my language, but I think he knew something was up. When we got to the retirement home, he looked around and anxiously asked me what would happen if he made a mistake. I am so thankful that we just attended a cello recital the other night in which two of the students messed up enough that Jackson noticed. We had a lovely conversation later about how sometimes people make mistakes and no one was angry or upset with them and everyone still enjoyed their music. So, I reminded him of this conversation and he nodded knowingly. I swear this kid has a soul so much older than 4. He sucked in his cheeks and rocked on his heels as Miss Kathleen tuned his tiny cello and set up their chairs. When she told him it was time to play, he nervously walked to his little chair, sat down, and played his song like a champ. I wanted to stand up and scream, "That's my kid. See that brave little boy? He's mine!" but I restrained myself. After the recital Daddy and I took him out to eat at the restaurant of his choice and gushed all evening about what a great job he did.

I asked him what it was like playing in his first recital (and I used that word because it's over now). He said, "Well, I was pretty nervous at first. But when it was over I felt kinda proud."

I told him that he has another recital coming up in a few weeks and that he's going to play "Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star." He started to protest when Ei chimed in with, "What will I play?" I told him that he probably wouldn't play in the concert because he's only had 2 lessons, and he looked so sad. Jackson beamed at him. "Ei, when you're four you can play in concerts like me."

We have had a bad month: sick kids, hospitals, dying relatives, funerals, break ins. It's been rough. Today my little man played his cello for a room full of elderly people while his fan club cheered him on, and somehow the world seemed right again. I am so proud of him I could burst. He's my hero, I tell you.

And I leave you with a picture he drew for his cello teacher. It's of him, happily playing his cello.

Take my Credit Cards--Just Leave my Sling!

2008-11-19T14:59:00.009-05:00

Sunday night someone broke the passenger side window out of my car which was sitting in our driveway while we slept. It was a scary thing to wake up to. I called Jannette who agreed to lead playgroup for me (because it's just way too cold to drive with 3 kids in a car with no window). Mike called the auto glass guys and scheduled them to replace the glass at 10:00. He vacuumed the bits of shattered glass that were all over the car and driveway, then he was off to work. The glass guy came, fixed the glass, and for the low price of $278 we were back in business by noon.

I watch way too many crime shows. I kept expecting to hear of other houses with similar episodes or find a note on my door outlining a list of demands to prevent the same thing from happening night after night. But, alas, it appears it was just an isolated incident.

The big question--was anything taken? Originally I thought no. Two pairs of Oakley sunglasses and a DVD player sat undisturbed in plain sight. My CDs were still there. The Pack and Play was still in the trunk (leftover from my weekend away). It seemed to be a random act of vandalism. But yesterday afternoon I had to take the baby to cello (another story for another day) and couldn't find my sling. I didn't use it at all on Monday, so the last time I saw it was this weekend when I had it packed in an old diaper bag full of baby supplies for the trip. I didn't think anything of it at the time. I was in a hurry and decided to just carry him on my hip and look for it later. Then today I was packing things for our weekly library trip and couldn't find several of Aaron's little toys. Again, the last place I remember seeing these was in the diaper bag I took on the trip. Still in a hurry, I put off thinking about it. I threw coats on the boys and went to get their hats. Where is Aaron's brand new monkey hat? I couldn't find it anywhere. Where did I last see it? Oh, yes--in that bag. No one remembers bringing the bag into the house (it was REALLY cold when I got home, so I only brought in the essentials). So, after a day of tearing my house apart looking for it, I have decided that the bag was in the car and now it's gone. I guess it must have looked like a purse and was tempting to a thief. So, someone broke out my car window and stole a diaper bag.

Okay, this shouldn't be a big deal. I should be counting my blessings. The garage door opener is in the car, and, prior to Sunday night, we did not lock the door going into the house from the garage. So, whoever broke in could have easily pushed the garage door opener and waltzed into my house while my husband, myself, and my three sons slept. I shutter to think of it. But despite the fact that we didn't lose anything particularly valuable, I feel so violated. My car was parked in my driveway. We live in a nice neighborhood in the country. This is hardly crime central. We have no trees anywhere. This is not an easy place to hide. And, although the criminal was probably dreadfully disappointed with his booty, I feel like I've lost something valuable. When Jackson was a baby he loved this little squeaky bee. We used to play "Buzz, Buzz, Buzz, Weekie, Weekie" with him all the time. It guaranteed a smile. When he outgrew the toy, we passed it to Ei, who also loved it. Recently it's been passed to Aaron, and the game continues. My big boys play with him. And it's gone. The bee was in the bag. And my sling--the very sling I wrote about earlier in the week. Is it ironic that my sling was stolen during International Babywearing Week? I am just sick about losing it. All day long I've been wishing I could have it back. I'll meet the criminal in a dark alley--just give it back. It's probably crazy but I'd rather they have taken the sunglasses and DVD player and left the bee, the hat, and the sling. So, this babywearing mama is very sad.

Oh, the boys don't know any of this. So, if you bump into us out in the world, don't mention it to them. They know that the car window was broken, but they didn't ask how that happened (when you're a toddler, things break all the time--no big deal). They don't need to know. There will be plenty of time later to explain about bad guys, broken windows, lost bumblebees, and heartbroken babywearers.

Joyful Noises of All Kinds

2008-11-15T22:40:00.009-05:00

I just got back from a women's retreat with the ladies of my church. It was really wonderful. I had some reservations about going (leaving the big boys at home, forced socialization, cold mountain weather, an already full calendar...need I go on?) but I decided it would be good for me. I took the baby. The cord doesn't reach from Tennessee to North Carolina, you know.

We had 3 mini-sessions this weekend covering prayer and worship. Aaron tired of being quiet very quickly. He banged his toys against the floor, blew raspberries, and squealed at all the ladies who smiled at him. I was embarrassed during the first session and took him out of the room so as not to interrupt the atmosphere of worship. But then we had a session in which we talked about worship and how each person experiences it in different ways. One lady mentioned that she likes to stand and raise her arms to God when she is moved but feels intimidated about doing this because it might disturb those around her. I should point out that we are Presbyterians. We don't shout amen or clap or raise our arms or deviate from the norm. It's comfortable because it's standardized and expected. Despite this, everyone immediately assured her that she should let the Spirit of God move freely in her and stand if she feels led to do so. Worship is an expression to God about how incredibly awesome He is. It doesn't involve your neighbor or what he thinks of you. Then the minister who led the retreat read from the Bible, "Make a joyful noise unto the Lord..." (Psalm 100). Aaron let out a huge squeal. Everyone giggled. Don't mind him--he's just making his joyful noise. I believe that. He doesn't know who God is, but he feels joyful and uninhibited. I wish I was so uninhibited in my demonstration of joy. As his mom, it is my job to tell him about God and the source of his joy. As my child, it is his job to remind me to squeal with delight when the Spirit moves with me.

On the way home we saw a double rainbow--one directly over the other. It was so beautiful. Becca and I squealed.

Celebrate Babywearing

2008-11-13T16:31:00.007-05:00

When Aaron was about 6 weeks old I thought I would lose my mind. He cried all the time. I couldn't put him down even long enough to brush my hair, let alone take a shower. It was a difficult time. Then I stumbled across Steph's blog (Adventures in Babywearing). A light went off in my head. This could work...

So, I bought a Peanut Shell and popped him in. He looked around, confused at first, and then closed his eyes and went to sleep. My baby, who prior to that day only slept in 15 minute increments, slept for an hour. When he woke, he looked up at me, smiled really sweetly, and leaned in close. I was immediately in love with this whole idea of babywearing. We went to DisneyWorld, and my sweet guy rode on my hip contently the entire week. I feel so bonded to him. I really regret that I didn't think of this earlier. My older two boys really missed out--and so did I.

Whenever we're out running errands, I find it really convenient to wear him. He can't reach for things, he doesn't put his mouth on the nasty shopping carts, he doesn't get cranky, and my hands are free. Wherever I go, we draw attention. While babywearing is really common in other parts of the world, it just hasn't quite caught on in full force here in the United States. I was actually surprised that my spellchecker kept flagging babywearing as a misspelled word. I understand that it's becoming trendy in some parts of the country, but it's still a very "granola" thing to do around here. I'm okay with it. I love having him close to me, and he loves it too. As soon as I pull the sling out of my bag he starts laughing and shaking his arms. Today my dad was visiting and as he watched me wear a sleeping Aaron he joked that I would eventually have to cut the cord. Maybe. But not today.

Tears and Laughter

2008-11-09T20:59:00.004-05:00

"The main thing in one's own private world is to try to laugh as much as you cry." -Maya Angelou

Sometimes the best cure to a crappy week is to get your closest friends together and be silly. We played Quelf. We laughed until we cried. And tomorrow is Monday--a new week. It's a good time to start over. So good.

The Sharps and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week

2008-11-05T14:46:00.007-05:00

I will warn you up front: this post has no merit. I do not plan to put any moral lesson or a silver lining or anything positive at the end. So, if you are looking for inspiration today, look on. I can't help you. I'm drained.

Today marks day 11 of Croup in our house. Ei got it last Sunday night and spent Sunday and Monday nights in Children's Hospital. Then Jackson got it Friday. Fortunately he only needed a prescription for steroids and was sent home. Then last night Aaron got it. He slept no more than 90 minutes at a stretch before waking to stridor breathing and that horrible seal-like cough. I'd fill the bathroom with steam from the shower and we sat in there for as long as we both could hold our eyes open and then go back to bed and start the cycle over. We made it through the night without having to go to the ER, and that's an accomplishment, I think. This morning I took him to the doctor. Yup, Croup. And a double ear-infection, just for an extra kick in the pants.

As I was getting Aaron ready to go to the doctor this morning, my husband called me. His stepfather had died a few minutes prior to his call. His blood pressure dropped dangerously low, and he was rushed to ICU. Unfortunately they were unable to stabilize him. Mike's mother was waiting for her husband's mother to arrive at this hospital so she could break the news to her. She was understandably heartbroken, despite the fact that this was not a surprise to anyone. I was not particularly close to the man, nor were my husband or children, but my mother-in-law loved this man, and I love her. Her mom just died last year. Sometimes life is super-unfair. She was supposed to babysit the baby tonight while Mike and I took the big boys to Disney on Ice. She called and said she still planned to watch him. Can you imagine losing your husband and then volunteering to babysit that very evening? Instead, Mike is going to skip the show tonight and stay home with her. I'm sure that on the day you lose your husband you need your child there for you. I wonder if she is really hurting for her mom right now. I would be.

So, life spat on us this week. Sometimes it does. Now is when I would normally insert some bit of wisdom or clarity or even a Bible verse to tie everything up neatly with a bow. I guess I'm just feeling peevish today because, although I know all the right words, I can't bring myself to say them. My head feels like it's going to explode. I'm not sure if I'm getting sick too or if it's the stress of the world moving chaotically around me while I stand helplessly and watch (sleep-deprived, no less). I can't stop thinking about how nice it would be to dive into my bed and pull up the down comforter and wake up two weeks from now.

Look, But Don't Touch

2008-11-01T21:36:00.009-04:00

On Halloween, kids want you to pretend to be scared of them. I saw a rather silly looking werewolf approaching my front porch last night and feigned terror. He laughed. I gave him a glow stick and some candy. We were friends for a few moments.

But when Halloween is over, it's not fun anymore.

After Ei received several breathing treatments and oxygen and steroids and was still not getting any better, the hospital posted a little sign next to our door that said we were an isolation room. This meant that Ei was not to leave the room for any reason, and anyone entering the room was to wear a paper gown and mask to protect himself from airborne germs. It would have been nice if they had shared this information with us. We woke up Monday morning (and I use the term woke loosely--it implies that we slept when we actually only closed our eyes between intruders) to find women in yellow masks and gowns hovering over our bed (we slept together in the hospital bed because he was afraid). Where the night before had been chatty nurses with big smiles, we now had sterile paper columns with eyes. They didn't speak. To do so would only prolong their time in the house of germs. With one foot out the door they offered an insincere, "Can I get you anything?"

I don't blame them. One of the nurses--a really sweet girl--had an 8 month old baby at home. Before we were red-taped I shared with her that my baby was turning 8 months that very day and we compared pictures. I was concerned about bringing the germs home to Baby Aaron. I know she must have had the same fears for her own child. But it just didn't feel good to be stuck in the infirmary while others scurried around the edges trying not to inadvertently get to close.

I love the story from the end of Mark 1 about Jesus healing the leper. If you haven't read it in a while, here it is. In Jesus' time, if a man had leprosy he was isolated from society to avoid making other people unclean. From the time his leprosy was diagnosed until his death, a person with this disease was doomed to live a life of loneliness, watching as others dashed into their homes upon seeing him approach and hearing his sad voice warning, "Unclean!" The leper in this story broke all societal rules and approached Jesus, asserting his firm belief that Jesus could make him well--if he was willing. This is the part I love. Jesus stretches out His hand and touches the man. And, if you really do some digging, you'll discover that He doesn't just touch him. The Greek word used here is haptomai, and this is literally translated to "fasten to" rather than touch. We're talking a full-on contact, folks, not a casual brush of the fingers across this guy. Can you imagine how much this guy needed to be touched? Not just by Jesus, although we could all use that, but by anyone? Can you imagine being shunned from society and living without human contact forever? No hugs, no kisses, no holding hands, no pats on the back--nothing. Jesus didn't have to touch him. He heals a man's son without ever even seeing him. So why did He? I think the key is in the words proceeding the touch: "And moved with compassion, He stretched out His hand" (Mark 1:41). Compassion. Jesus looked at this man and knew that, more than anything else, he needed someone to touch him, to feel no fear of him.

One lady came into our room with only a mask (missing the paper gown). She apologized for wearing the mask but said that she had a little case of the sniffles and didn't want to pass them on to us. She patted my son on the arm before she left. I don't know if she was telling me the truth or not. Perhaps she did have the sniffles and didn't want us to catch them. Or maybe she knew that, in the big scary hospital, we needed someone to stand near us and not be afraid so that we could stop feeling so afraid ourselves. Whatever the case, I loved her for her kindness.

I mean, does this look scary to you?

Not My Week

2008-10-30T14:15:00.010-04:00

What a week.

Ei took nap Sunday afternoon. I should have known something was up then. Around midnight Sunday he woke up wheezing and gasping for air. I wrapped him in a blanket and took him outside. We sat there for about 10 minutes until he complained that he was cold. I brought him in. He was still having a hard time breathing, so I called the doctor who told us to bring him to the ER. Mike put him in the shower while I got ready to go. We got to the ER around 1:30. They gave him a breathing treatment and oral steroids and said we could probably go home in 2 hours. At 4:00 they gave him another treatment and said he would be admitted to the hospital. Tuesday, 5 breathing treatments and 2 days later, we finally got to go home.

Monday morning Mike's stepfather began a series of 7 days of continuous chemotherapy. The idea is to kill off all of his bone marrow. Hopefully it will then begin to slowly regenerate. Most likely it will not, and we will not have him with us by Thanksgiving.

So, yeah, it's not been a good week.

But here's what I learned:

1. Some things are not in my control. As badly as I would like to, I cannot stop bad things from happening, and I don't have a solution for every problem.

2. The world does not fall out of orbit if I am away for a few days. Other mothers can host a Halloween party. The other parent can care for a grumpy baby.

3. I have an amazing support system. My phone didn't stop ringing the entire time I was in the hospital. We had a steady stream of visitors. Family members canceled plans to pitch in and help with Jackson and Aaron. Friends made meals for us after we got home.

I have several thoughts swirling around in my head after all this, and maybe some day they will make it into full posts. For now, my house is messier than it's ever been (I'm not exaggerating). Fortunately, I don't have to cook tonight because of aforementioned friends. So, to everyone who called, visited, babysat, made a meal, sent a balloon, or said a silent prayer for us--THANK YOU.

Lost and Found

2008-10-23T14:56:00.010-04:00

A devotional I wrote for the MOPS meeting this morning:

A lady at my church shared with me a scary but true story. S he was running late one morning as she pulled to the stop sign at the entrance of her neighborhood (at the intersection of a busy road). She looked over and saw a little boy around 2 years old standing in the grass in his pajamas by the side of the road. She looked around and couldn't see any parents. She got out of her car and approached the boy. He looked frightened. She asked him if he was lost, where his house was, where his Mama was, if he needed help. He didn't answer but just looked at her with fear in his eyes. She looked at her car, knowing that she was going to be hopelessly late for work, then took the little boy's hand and started walking with him. At each house she stopped and asked, "Is that your house?" hoping that he would recognize a house and nod or speak or smile or somehow show her that she was on the right track. He never looked up but just kept walking silently beside her clutching her hand tightly. After several minutes she noticed a house with the garage door up and lights on inside. Since it was still quite early, most of the other houses were not yet stirring. She led the boy to the front porch and rang the bell. A woman answered the door, looked at her, then looked down at the little boy, and got a panicky look on her face. She began to cry. "Where? How? When?" She couldn't even finish her questions. She later explained that her husband had left the garage door up by mistake, and she hadn't known there was a door open to the outside. She was embarrassed to admit that she hadn't even missed the little boy yet because she was so busy getting ready for the day.

I am a mom. Immediately I began to sympathize with this poor lady. An honest mistake--we all make them. Mommy Guilt--it's the worst. I wonder what she told her husband. I wonder if she tried to share the guilt with him for leaving the door open. I wonder if she canceled her morning plans and just sat and held her son and cried for fear of what could have happened. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that I'm more like the little boy than the mom. Let me retell the story from his perspective.

Mom is getting ready for work. She's in a bad mood and keeps telling me to get out of her way. I'm hungry for bananas, but she said, "In a minute." I am bored but she won't play a game with me. Daddy has gone to work. He said he'll play ball with me when he gets home. I opened the garage door to tell him good-bye again, but he was already gone. He forgot to close the door. I'm not allowed outside by myself. Mom says it's dangerous. I wonder what's so scary about going outside. It's still dark out, but I think I can see the sun coming up over the trees. I'll just step outside and see if I can see it. Ooh, a squirrel just crossed the road. I wonder where it is going. Mom will be mad if she knows I'm gone, but surely she would understand that you don't get to chase a real squirrel every day. It's nice outside by myself. It's quiet, and I can hear the birds singing. It feels good out here. I see the birds fly over a house. I follow them. I have walked a long way, and I can't see my house anymore. The cars are so close now. There are lots of them. They are driving very fast. I am scared of them. I know I should go home, but I don't know which way it is. I wish the birds would fly back to my house so I could follow them. It's pretty cold. I don't have shoes on, and the grass is wet. I want my Mommy. A lady is getting out of her car. She's talking to me. I don't know how to answer her. She wants to take me home. I don't know how to get there. I need help. She is holding out her hand. I'm scared, but I put my hand in hers. She's going to help me.

We live like this little guy every day. God gave us the gift of free will. He left the garage door open, if you will indulge my metaphor. He makes it quite clear that we are to stay inside, but He doesn't force us to do so. Sometimes we just mean to look outside, not to actually take a step. We mean to keep a foot in the door so it won't close behind us. But little by little, we move away from Him. Sometimes we realize that we're sinning, but it feels so good we just keep moving farther away from God. By the time we decide to turn around, we are hopelessly lost.

Fortunately, God understands that we are like curious children. He knows our sinful natures, and He sent us Jesus to show us the way back. Sometimes we are so paralyzed with fear--or so wrapped up in our sinning--that we can't or don't ask for help. Jesus holds out His hand. Take it. That's all you have to do. Just reach out and accept the grace of Jesus Christ and allow Him to lead you home. He doesn't want you to explain why you left. He just wants you to admit you can't get back home without Him. Jesus said, "I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me" (John 14:6). Consult a map. Wander aimlessly. Leave a trail of breadcrumbs. You just won't find your way home unless you take His hand and let Him lead you. And when you do, I can promise you that God will be there to throw His arms around you, hold you tight, and say, "This son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and now is found" (Luke 15:24).

Peas and Manna

2008-10-15T21:33:00.010-04:00

Today is Blog Action Day. Across the globe, bloggers are writing about poverty and hunger. I think I'll join them.

Last week my MOPS group collected canned and nonperishable foods for a local food bank. I took my kids to the store and let them each pick out a canned vegetable that they would like to give to someone who didn't have any food. (They both picked out peas, the only canned vegetable they'll even allow near their plates.) In the store, our conversation went something like this:

Mama: Boys, let's all pick out a vegetable for the MOPS food drive. It's for families who don't have any food in their kitchens.

Jackson: Why don't they have any food?

Ei: Can I have some candy?

Mama: Some people are not as lucky as we are. They don't have money to buy groceries.

Jackson: Well, what do they eat then?

Ei: Can I buy cookies?

Mama: People like us who have plenty of food help out by giving them some.

Jackson: Don't they need more than 2 cans of peas?

Ei: Can I ride in the cart?

Mama: Yes, they will need more than 2 cans of peas. We'll pick out a couple of things and give them. And everyone else in the group will give some things too. We have to work together to help people.

Jackson: Will the people come to church and get the food?

Ei: Can I hold the peas?

Mama: No, they won't come to the church. Someone from our church will take all the food to a big place where they keep all the extra food. And then they will pass it out to people who need it later.

Jackson: Why can't they just come to the store to get it?

Ei: Can I get out of the cart?

Mama: They don't have enough money to buy it.

Jackson: Why can't the store give them food if they need it?

And there you have it. A simple solution to a very difficult problem. My 4 year old could look around the huge grocery store at the stocked aisles and bulging displays and see that there's plenty of food for everyone. That's a fact. There's enough food for every person on this earth. The issue clearly isn't quantity. No, the problem is that we just don't share very well.

My children have been learning the story of Moses and the Exodus for the last couple of months. We've been talking about the years that Moses and the Israelites wandered the desert and how they had to trust in God for their needs to be met. The people were hungry, so God sent Manna. Every morning their meals were, quite literally, dropped right in front of their feet. There was a catch: God told them to only gather what they needed for the day and no more. Of course, because they were human, they attempted to hoard the Manna, just in case God forgot them one day. The excess Manna decayed and became inedible. God just wouldn't stand for greed and mistrust in Him. I feel like we are living like the Israelites. How much excess do we store up "for a rainy day?" How often do we go to the pantry and whine that there isn't anything to eat when, in reality, our kitchens are bulging with enough food to feed us for weeks (or even months)? God has provided enough for everyone. If we hoard it up, it can't reach those who need it, and God will surely not stand for this greed.

I'm afraid I don't really have a solution for world hunger or poverty. I'm sure that it all boils down to being a good sharer. Jackson's right: it's going to take a lot more than 2 cans of peas.

'Til Death Do Us Part

2008-10-13T20:22:00.005-04:00

I'm taking Pastoral Care right now. In our last class we were doing an exercise on loss. Our instructor asked us to list these things: the 4 most important living people to us, the 4 most important roles we fill, the 4 most important abilities we possess, and the 4 most important material objects in our lives. Then, as he read a scenario, we were asked to cross off some of the items to represent losing those people/things. We were allowed to choose which things we crossed off, but we had to choose from the list. Early on, it was pretty easy. Although I would not voluntarily surrender my house, car, computer, or piano (the 4 objects I decided were most important to me), I didn't have to think very hard to decide that I would much rather give those things up that one of my children. No sweat. But he kept going. I was asked to cross off more things. Before long I had crossed off all my abilities (nurturing, listening, teaching, and making music) and two of my roles (daughter and friend). He announced that we had to mark off just one more item and we would be finished. I looked over my remaining choices: my people (Mike, Jackson, Ei, Aaron) and my roles (wife and mother). I cringed and marked off wife.

I am fortunate that this was only an exercise. It is not necessary for me to actually choose what things are most important in my life because I have room enough for all my people, roles, abilities, even material possessions. Or do I? Several months ago I wrote about all the balls I had up in the air and how I can't possibly catch them all at the same time (HERE). Individually, no problem. But all at the same time? No way. And it's still true. I haven't figured out any magic solutions recently. So, the truth is that I don't have enough time for everything and everyone. Some decisions are easy (I'll forfeit a day on the computer for a day at the zoo with my kids any day). Some are not. I realize that, without really meaning to, I've neglected my marriage. I crossed off "wife" for the purpose of keeping "mother" on the list. It's not that I'm having marital troubles. Far from it. My husband and I are perfectly happy together (well, at least I think we are). But in thinking about this I began to worry that we'll be one of those couples that drops their kids off at college and looks at each other like, "Who are you and where did you come from?" If I were giving someone else advice I would suggest a regular date night (monthly, at least) and setting aside time in the evenings for each other. It always seems like I'm having to make that big choice though (wife or mother?), and mother wins every time. It's so stressful for me to leave the baby (and the big boys, for that matter), so date night sounds scary. And the evenings are devoted to laundry and packing diaper bags and homework for our classes. There's just never enough time. So, wife gets crossed off. "Someday," I think. Someday I'll have time for everything that's on my plate. How? I assume more hours will be added to the day. Or I'll give up sleeping. Probably not realistic. So, it's back to the juggling act. I've got to get better at this. Someone keeps throwing new balls into the routine. Me, you say? Why would I add to my already chaotic schedule? I see. I have got to cross off a few items to save the rest. Okay. Back to square one. Some are easy. Others are not. I get it. This isn't helping. But what if I just lightly crossed over one item, so that I could erase the scratch mark later? Would it be such a betrayal of my children to put them on the back burner on occasion so that I could focus on wife for a moment? And, I wonder, wouldn't it benefit my children if my marriage got some extra attention?

I know my husband reads my blog. He mentions it occasionally. He even once commented. If you didn't read it, you should. It was so very sweet. So, Mikey, bear with me. I know that I cross you off when I'm forced to choose. I know that I can't be easy to live with. But I love you. You are the best father I have ever known, the most amazing provider for us, and the person with whom I want to spend forever (even when you're a cranky old man). I'm lucky to have you. I'm trying. I am.

Thou Shalt Not

2008-10-06T15:31:00.011-04:00

Thursday evening I was invited to a dinner meeting for the board of directors of the nonprofit for which I write grants. I'm on staff, not on the board, but they wanted the staff members and the board members to get to know each other. Wow. I so did not belong there. Driving to the house, I realized I was in a different world. The road on which she lives is one of the fanciest in the area--one full of old money. The houses were huge, the cars were expensive, and the properties back up against the lake. I parked my very basic, non-loaded minivan on the street and walked up the path to the house. I was met in the driveway by one of the board members, a lady I've met a few times but wouldn't necessarily consider a friend. She and the hostess are friends, and she had obviously been here before. She walked in the front door without even stopping to ring the bell. We entered a huge foyer and into a big beautiful home. Inside I saw some faces that I recognized and two that I did not. I was immediately introduced to one lady I did not know, but another gentleman just stood in the corner not talking to anyone. I thought it was odd, but, well, I'm just too shy to run up to someone and thrust my hand out in introduction. It was a little uncomfortable though. Someone should really introduce this guy to someone so he doesn't have to stand there alone. Anyone? The hostess announced that we were all present and should make our way to the dining area to eat. The man from the corner offers to get me something to drink. Weird. No one even introduced us, and now he is getting my drink? "No, thanks!" I said. I poured myself a glass of water. Then I notice that the man is getting other people drinks. Oh, crap. He's the freaking waiter. There are 8 of us here, and we have a waiter. Seriously? Oh, yes. The meal has been catered, and there is a waiter.

Suddenly I become very self-conscious. I look down at my Target shirt and Wal-Mart pants and feel a surge of embarrassment. I am instantly grateful that I bought those shoes at the consignment store. Even though they weren't new, they're at least a name brand. I wish there was some way to wear the shoes higher on my body. I considered dangling them from my ears. Why, oh why, didn't I wear my big fake diamond earrings tonight? I began to scan the other guests--3 carat diamond ring, expensive leather handbag, designer clothes, trendy haircut. Even the men were well-dressed and clean-cut. I scan the house. Beautiful pool overlooking the lake which runs right along the backyard. Ridiculously high ceilings. So many doors I forgot which one I came in. Fancy drapes which match the fancy furniture. Professionally decorated everything. Everything is beautiful, fancy, expensive. I imagined what it would be like to live here. What would this life be like? I assume that they have a perfect life to go along with this perfect house. And I want it. I'm just being honest here. I wanted the sparkly pool and the lakeside property and the Cherokee Boulevard address. I wanted the face lift and the big diamonds and the artificial laugh for jokes that aren't funny. I wanted it the whole night. I wished my handbag wasn't old and worn out. I wished my shoes weren't scuffed. I wish my clothes weren't from a discount store. I wished my diamonds weren't fake. I wished my house wasn't amateurly decorated and landscaped. Even as I walked to my car I wasn't done. I wished my car wasn't the cheapest minivan on the market. I wished it started when I pushed a button on my key chain. I wished my dinner tomorrow would be served by waiter. I got to my car and opened my embarrassing purse to pull out the keys to my embarrassing car and suddenly felt...well, embarrassed. But this time for a different reason. Inside my purse I saw a spit rag, a rattle, and a pacifier. See, I wouldn't trade purses with anyone in that house. While it may not contain loads of cash and cards with high limits, mine contains cracker crumbs and other artifacts from the most wonderful people I know. I am wealthy. My bank statement may not agree, but I am wealthy. My dictionary says that wealthy means "characterized by abundance." That's me. I have so much. I have a beautiful house (on a much smaller scale than the one I visited). I have a car that I love (because it meets all of our needs and has never given me an ounce of trouble). I have clothes for all occasions (purchased mostly from Wal-Mart and Target and consignment stores). But most of all I have a husband who loves me, and I have 3 children who are amazing. I could very well have spent my whole night focused on what I don't have. There are certainly enough things to fill a night thinking over them. Opening my purse and seeing my baby's belongings helped me to remember what God says about all this. Exodus 20:17. Click on that. Read it; I'll wait. Did you read it? There it is. God's 10th commandment in plain English. And I broke it. I didn't just break it--I shattered it. Envy is one of The Enemy's most powerful tools. I let him into my life a little bit Thursday evening. I let him take up residence in my heart and fill me with greed and discontentment. I let him cloud my judgement and turn me into someone I didn't even recognize. And I'm embarrassed. And I'm sorry.

I won't lie to you and say that I haven't thought about that evening with the smallest (er, maybe not smallest) bit of jealousy since that night. I won't lie to you and tell you that I won't ever look at what I don't have and feel greedy. I won't lie to you and tell you that contentment comes naturally to me. But I will tell you that I'm in prayer about this. I'm asking God to help me with it. I'm asking God to help me remember how lucky I am. I'm asking God to keep my eyes on my wealth and not on others'. I'm asking God to fill my heart so full with His love that there isn't room for the other guy. It's hard. But it's so worth it.

The Great Kindergarten Debate

2008-10-02T15:59:00.010-04:00

My oldest son is 4. In August he will be eligible for kindergarten. Eligible, mind you, does not mean ready. So, let me invite you into my worry for a moment. If you have enough problems of your own, please hit the red X at the top right hand of your screen.

For quite some time, Mike and I have been discussing whether or not to start Jackson in school next year. He will be 5, but barely. He would be one of the youngest in his class and would graduate from high school when he was 17 years old. If we hold him a year, he will be the oldest in his class (giving him another year of life experience and a lot more confidence) and will graduate at 18. Plus, I'm told, it gives him an advantage should he choose to play sports in high school (being 1 year older and bigger than the other kids). This is not a factor in my decision, but I'm just laying it all out on the table here. So, with all those things in mind, it seemed a fairly easy decision to hold him an extra year and start kindergarten in the fall of 2010, just after his 6th birthday.

Now, my Jackson is very smart. He can write the alphabet (uppercase and lowercase) and understands phonics (as well as any English-speaking child can) and has about 20 sight words. He can count to 40 (with a little bit of prompting after 20) and can add sums up to 10. He can make a graph and then analyze it. He can cut with scissors well. He follows directions and takes turns with other children. He knows the days of the week. He dresses himself, combs his own hair, and brushes his own teeth. He takes cello lessons and plays piano and practices both. So, it would seem, he's kindergarten-ready today as far as skills go. Of course, this leads me to wonder what life will be like for him in 2 years when he begins kindergarten and goes back to square-one, learning letters and numbers. I'm currently taking a class which is a very watered-down version of my own major in college. And I'm bored stiff. The work keeps me busy, sure, but that's all it is: busy-work. I hate it. Of course, I don't hold the teacher responsible. He's teaching the material that needs to be covered. And it is necessary material. I've just already learned this stuff and know it well. The point is, I don't want him to experience this same problem when he goes to school. He's going to be bored and he'll be wasting time that he could be learning new skills and moving forward rather than standing still.

So, I began to consider two alternatives: private school and homeschooling. Now, this is my blog, so if you have any beef with either of those, take it elsewhere. Create your own blog called "Down with Homeschooling" or something, because I don't want to hear it. If you're still with me, read on. Okay, the obvious problem with this is cost. At minimum we're talking fifteen hundred bucks or so each month for all 3 kids (and we're not separating them--I'm not evening delving into that), and most of them are much more. So, that eliminates the possibility of my being Room Mother or even a stay-at-home mom to the preschoolers still at home. Then I have to consider the fact that I'm raising a kid to be a snob. Yeah, that's a little bit of a stereotype. Not all kids from private schools are snobs. But they don't get the chance to mingle with children from all walks of life and learn to get along, a skill which I think is really important. So, the world becomes this fairy-tale-like setting where everyone is middle or upper-class and all kids either get with the program or get kicked out. I'm just not sure I'm really explaining my concerns well, but surely you get the general idea.

Okay, the second possibility I started thinking about was homeschooling. Currently, I'm "homeschooling" preschool with both of the older boys. I am a little bit more structured with Jackson than Ei (because he's just 3), but I make both of them sit down and work with me a little bit every day. We do some seatwork (during which time they are not allowed to get up without asking and are not permitted to have toys at the table) and then do a project together (like graphing or crafts). We go to the library every week and check out books that we want to read and explore new concepts from our books. It's going really well, and we all love it. All of the skills I mentioned earlier Jackson has because I taught him (with the exception of cello, I guess). So, it seems that something is working. I joined a homeschool coop for some support with all this, and we plan to start going to the group so the boys can take classes in January. So, this seemed like a good option (not necessarily the only option) to consider. But, of course, it's not that easy.

My Jackson is also painfully shy. I don't even think shy is really the right word here. He's really--[gulp]--antisocial. Okay, now some of you are reading this and saying, "No, he's not! He plays with my kid just fine." Well, that might be true. But, I assure you, if I left his sight, he would become a nervous wreck. He cries every single week in his Wednesday night class (and that's with his brother there, in the church where we've been going since before he was born), and Mike has to go sit in the room with him. I can't even describe how he behaves in cello lessons (although I made an effort to HERE). So, I have to consider that, perhaps, being around other kids to "socialize" him would be beneficial. But I'm just not sold. I mean, we're around other kids almost every day. He goes to MOPS, Mommy & Me, library, Sunday School, Enrichment, and his Wednesday night class. He does fine with playdates and with kids his age when I'm present. But even with all this exposure, he still acts...well...weird. I just don't think it's lack of socialization. I really think it's anxiety. And I think this because I was the same way. I distinctly remember in 2nd grade we got a flyer for Brownies. There was this tiny part of me that wanted to join (all the other girls were going to!), so I brought it home to my mom. She said I could join. I panicked. Suddenly I began to picture myself in this group with a bunch of kids I didn't know and my family far away, and I didn't want to do it anymore. I couldn't tell my mom I changed my mind (Why? I have no idea. I was an anxious kid, I tell you.) so I dropped the registration form behind the bookcase where it would surely never be found. And this was not the only example of my overwhelming anxiety. My mom had to sit in my 1st grade class forever while I adjusted to the new school (we had just moved to Tennessee from Oklahoma). And sometime ask me about the paper backpack story. Geez. I was a nut. I was so anxious about social interaction and being away from my comfort zone that I stayed in tears. I was miserable. And I'm not about to let Jackson have the same kind of childhood. So, I wonder if maybe homeschooling would be a very kind thing to do for him. He could get a good education without all the anxiety that goes along with leaving home. Nope, there wouldn't be a basketball team. Nope, there wouldn't be a band. But there are coops and community orchestras and plenty of ways to get those kinds of experiences.

Oh, wouldn't it be great if it was that easy? I could just say, "I think this is what's best for my kid," and be done with it. I joined the homeschool coop and my husband's radar went up. He's completely opposed to the idea. So, it's causing some friction at home. And I know he wouldn't be the only one. It would be a tough sell. And that's if I tried to sell it at all. I'm just not sure if that's where I think we should be headed.

So, for now I pray. I feel pretty sure that we're not doing kindergarten (wherever that might take place) next year anyway, so we have some time. I wish the stars would spell out a message from God, but even if they did I would probably still find a way to question if I was doing the right thing. This is huge, right? Or is it? Is it just cut and paste and letter people and who cares where he goes anyway? And how can you tell if you got it right until it's all said and done? I guess anxiety doesn't go away with age. If you are so inclined, say a little prayer for us. And, by all means, join me in The Great Kindergarten Debate. Goodness knows I can't do this alone. I leave you with the picture Jackson drew in response to the book Barn Dance. He's so wonderful.

A Heroic Tale (in which I am the heroine)

2008-09-26T16:53:00.006-04:00

Yesterday was so beautiful. I decided to open my windows and turn off the air conditioner to let in a little fresh air. The boys went outside, so I left the back door open so that they could come and go freely (we have child-proof door handles so they can't open the doors on their own). Now, I don't know about other areas of the country, but in East Tennessee the Yellow Jackets are awful right now. They're everywhere. So, one flew in my open door and perched himself in my kitchen.

Like any responsible adult, I panicked. I shooshed my kids back outside (you know, where there aren't any bees) and put the baby upstairs. Then I came back down slowly and quietly as though there was a crouching tiger in my kitchen instead of a half-inch long insect. (Are bees insects? Another question for another day.) Think, think, think. What should I do? I grab the broom and try to urge him to fly back out the open door by waving the broom near him. He takes off flying, and I take off running like a mad woman, waving my broom as I go. Then I realize that I'm no longer following the bee and don't know if it's still inside or hiding somewhere in the house just waiting to catch me off guard and bite my head off. So, I again begin creeping around the downstairs. I spot him buzzing around my kitchen window looking for a crack to escape. WHY, OH WHY ARE BEES SO STUPID? Fly out the giant open door already! That window is not going to magically open up and let you out. FLY OUT THE DOOR. He doesn't. I swear about an hour elapses while I try to think of a new plan, all the while keeping an eye on the bee (who doesn't move from the window). I consider hitting him with the broom, but then I wonder if the short plastic bristles are sturdy enough to kill him. The last thing I want to do is make him mad. I was in the process of making sandwiches when he flew in, and I begin to hope that he'll fly into the open peanut butter jar so I can throw the lid on it and trap him. For a few minutes I consider calling my husband and asking him to come home from work to take care of this problem, but I think better of it. I also briefly consider putting the kids in the car and leaving the house, but I wouldn't want to leave the back door standing open, so I realize that he'll just be here waiting (in an unknown location) when I get back. I consider getting a shoe to smash him with, but that would mean getting awfully close to him and pretty good aim, so I scratch that idea. Obviously the only logical solution is to move. I know when I've been defeated, and Buzzy Buzzington has done it. In desperation I search our pantry for a tool to use when I see the can of bug spray leftover from the time spiders tried to take over our backyard. One shot of the stuff and the bee drops to the ground. I have conquered the beast and taken back my castle.

I'm amazed that I ran around like a mad woman for a good 45 minutes in a complete panic before I finally realized that I had the tools to solve my problem quite literally right in front of me. We do that a lot, don't we? We panic and awfulize and give up, only later to realize that a very logical (and sometimes painfully easy) solution was staring us in the face. We overlook the easy, just sure that only something truly challenging will do. Perhaps the next time I go into battle I'll inventory my ammunition before I panic. But probably not.

A Dollar Printed is a Dollar Earned

2008-09-25T15:59:00.007-04:00

So, I'm pretty sure I don't understand anything about economics. I took that class as a 2nd semester senior in high school (which means I didn't really pay attention because my mind was already on bigger and better things), and I never took any economics in college. Upon graduation from college, my checkbook was confiscated by my soon-to-be husband due to my poor balancing skills. (Ahem--don't worry about that if you're in my MOPS group. Really, I'm a great financial chair. Really. Really...) Thus ended my consideration of all things financial. When my employer said I should enroll in my 401K, I gave the paperwork to my husband who filled it out and told me to sign on the line and turn it in to HR. When I need to make a purchase, I whip out the trusty American Express and charge it and Mike takes care of it later. I don't actually know my bank card pin number. I'm pretty good at math, but put a dollar sign in front of those numbers and suddenly it's foreign to me. So, if I can't even figure out my personal finances, the chances of my understanding world economics are pretty slim. But how hard can this be? I say, if we are running short on money, print some more. Then stick a few hundreds in everyone's mailbox as a surprise. What's the problem? Maybe I should run for president.

Holy Cow!

2008-09-22T14:56:00.005-04:00

Did you ever notice how grumpy cows look? I mean, seriously, next time you're driving past a cow farm, look one in the eye. She will not smile. Well, I guess if I was forced to give milk for the rest of my life, I'd be grumpy too.

The View from Here

2008-09-18T15:36:00.015-04:00

One of my favorite CDs is by a string trio (Mark O'Connor, Yo-Yo Ma, and Edgar Meyer). It's one of the few CDs the boys and I can agree on, so we listen to it often. Many of the songs are so beautiful I probably shouldn't listen to them while driving because I can't not close my eyes to focus on them better. One of my favorites on the CD is by far not the prettiest song on the CD. For most of the song, it's organized chaos. All of the instruments are playing their own melodies, and they don't come together in harmony very often. Then the counter says 3:43 and suddenly the three come together in a final measure that ties the entire song up and always makes me smile. I love this ending so much. Once or twice I have tried to fast forward through the piece and just listen to the end, but it isn't the same. I have to muddle through the chaos of the first 3 minutes and 42 seconds to really appreciate the beautiful unison finish.

It kind of reminds me of this road I like to travel. It's just an ordinary East Tennessee road, winding and hilly, lined with smallish homes and tacky lawn ornaments. But just as you reach the highest hill, suddenly there is a clearing in the trees and you can see forever from way up there. It catches me by surprise every time, even though I've driven that road more times than I can count. It's really beautiful. Now, the view isn't exactly post-card magnificent. I think you can see a McDonald's and a ball field and a busy road. It's not a view that would normally stop traffic. The thing that makes it so spectacular is the fact that it comes as such a surprise at the end of an otherwise boring road.

Today was one of those kinds of days. It was unexpectedly beautiful following what has been a rather blah week. I've been running ragged this week, trying just to get from point A to point B on time. My favorite kinds of days are the ones when my calendar has nothing written in the big white square ("pajama days" as the boys and I call them), and we haven't had a single one in weeks. This morning I had to work at 9:00, and so I had to be out of bed before 7:00 to get there on time. That didn't set this up to be a very good day. But we walked out the door on time, and that was satisfying. It was cool outside today, and that was lovely. And I took the boys to the park where they made a new friend and played hard, and that was what we all needed. The baby took a nice long nap this afternoon (still napping, in fact), so the big boys and I got to do our school work and practice the cello and piano uninterrupted, and that was such a relief. There are some days that you look forward to for weeks or even months, and the pressure for them to live up to your expectations often ruins the greatness of the day. Today was not one of those. This morning I was sitting on the precipice of a wonderful break in our chaos, and I didn't even see it coming. Tomorrow I'm at 0:00 again, but for today, I was at 3:43. The view is breathtaking.

Out with the Old

2008-09-17T13:31:00.009-04:00

Our church is undergoing a massive face lift. Our building and grounds folks have been hard at work evaluating what our needs are and how we need to change to meet those needs. I don't envy them at all--what a difficult task! Recently I had the opportunity to view the rough draft of the blueprints. We're adding bathrooms, classrooms, storage spaces, and lots of other goodies to make the building more user-friendly. Oh, and we're getting a new sanctuary. This part makes me a bit sad. You see, in the "old" (current) sanctuary:

in 1996 I was baptized (having been in a Baptist church as a baby, I did not receive the sacrament of baptism as an infant) and confirmed alongside one of my closest friends and became a church member.

in 1998 I gave the sermon during youth Sunday and began to hear God calling me into ministry of some sort.

in 2001 my husband-to-be was baptized and confirmed and became a church member.

in 2003 I walked down the center aisle and married my best friend.

in 2004 my first son was baptized.

in 2005 my second son was baptized.

in 2008 my third son was baptized.

So, my emotional attachment to the sanctuary is not to the 50s chandeliers or the retro stained glass windows. No, my attachment is purely sentimental. The biggest and most important events of my life have occurred in that room. And, let's be honest here, I really envisioned watching my children get confirmed there, watching my sons marry there, watching my grandchildren receive the sacrament of baptism there.

Now, I'm a realistic person. I know that needing a new sanctuary is a sign of growth. We have simply outgrown our current sanctuary, a wonderful problem (especially considering that many churches in our denomination are struggling just to survive). I know that we cannot continue to use this sanctuary forever because we just won't fit there (or worse, we will). And I also know that a church is not bricks and mortar. The great people in my congregation will all show up to move the hymnals to the new sanctuary, cut a ribbon celebrating our first Sunday there, and worship with renewed energy in a bright new place. That's church. I know this. And I know that everyone to be married in our church for years to come (hopefully my sons included) will benefit from losing the harvest gold pew cushions. Yes, it's for the best. New memories will be made in the new sanctuary, and the old ones will be forever burned in my brain. Oh, but change is so hard.

Life's Little Instruction Book

2008-09-16T21:03:00.009-04:00

Someone very close to me is having a hard time with life right now. The world has really thrown him some punches in the last couple of weeks, and I don't know what to do. The truth is, there isn't really much I can do. I've offered to be a soft place to fall. My ears are open, my couch is available, and my lips are sealed. But the bottom line is that his heart is breaking, and I can't mend it.

If you know me, you know that I'm a terrible evangelist. It's my personal weakness. Come to church, and I will make you feel welcome. Ask me about God, and I have so much to tell you. But you have to make the first move. I'm just not comfortable meddling in someone's life. I don't doubt that it's the right thing to do. The Bible makes it perfectly clear that we are to spread the Word. Jesus was a life-meddler. Oh, but I just can't do it.

I tell you all this because the person I mentioned who is having a hard time is not a believer. My gut reaction to all his problems is to help him pray about it. You see, the problem this man is experiencing is that he and his wife are unable to forgive each other's faults. It all seems very simple to me. If you do not experience the grace of Jesus Christ in your own life, there is no way that you can extend that grace to someone else. So, I am not surprised that he is having a hard time, but, boy, am I sorry that he is. So, my struggle now is how to relate that message without turning him off. It's times like these that I am glad Christianity came with an instruction book. Now, if only it came with a personal assistant... Prayers, please.

Out of the Mouths of Babes

2008-09-12T19:56:00.004-04:00

A prayer offered by my oldest son tonight:

Dear God,
I hope that you are having a good day.
I love you.
I wish that I could play with you every day.
I was thinking of you at supper.
In your name we pray,
Amen.

Amen to that.

How Do You Like Them Apples?

2008-09-09T21:29:00.013-04:00

It's day 9 of my 30 Days of Nothing--well, almost nothing. Okay, it's been 30 Days of Slightly-Less-Than-Usual. Here are my shortcomings thus far:

1. Ei finally decided to start pooping in the potty. We had promised he could pick what we had for dinner on the day of his first success. He was successful September 2, and he chose McDonald's. Hmmm... We couldn't go back on our promise, so we went. I packed myself a PB&J sandwich, not wanting to break my 30 Days on day 2. The kids didn't seem to notice my meal. They were too wrapped up in chicken sandwiches, apple slices, and Star Wars Happy Meal toys. But aren't we excited that he is making progress?! He is about 50-50 now in terms of successes and--ahem--accidents, and that's great news to me.

2. I made a "quick" trip into McKay's (the used bookstore where I could spend hundreds of dollars without batting an eye) the other day to pick up a couple of books for my exorbitantly long reading list this semester. Since I was child-free (which almost never happens) I decided to poke around a bit to see all the little nooks and crannies I miss when the boys are with me. I found the homeschooling section. I spent $25 on curriculum for my kids in addition to the books I bought for myself (which I do not count as a failure because those are required).

3. Saturday was Ei's birthday. We always go out to eat at the birthday boy's restaurant of choice, so I didn't feel right about telling him he couldn't share in this tradition. He chose Gondolier. I ate a Spinach and Feta calzone and shared the most decadent cake with my family for desert. It was so sinfully good. I should have packed a sandwich, but feta and chocolate are two of my weaknesses.

4. After Jackson's cello lesson we always get a milkshake or Icee or something fun, just the two of us. This is the only time I ever have with just Jackson, and I cherish our Tuesday afternoons. As we were leaving his lesson today he asked if we were going to get a treat. I caved. We bought a $2.50 smoothie. He was so happy.

As I write this I realize that after each goof I feel obligated to explain why I fell off the 30 Days plan. It all boils down to entitlement. I feel entitled to a calzone and cake to celebrate my child's birthday. I feel my child is entitled to a smoothie after he stretches his comfort zone at cello lessons. Mary wrote a great essay about entitlement HERE. And it's so true.

The weekend before I began this challenge, a lady I work with gave me a big box of cooking apples. She said that she couldn't use them all before they went bad and I should take them to prepare for my family. I decided that this was a good opportunity to practice being grateful and using what is given to me, so I set out to make the best use possible of the apples. I made Apple Brown Betty, Apple Crisp, Applesauce baby food, and Rosemary Apple Chicken. I used most of the apples before they finally started to go soft and I threw the rest out. I peeled so many apples that my fingernails turned red from the natural dye. This was kind of fun for the first 5 apples or so. Then I grew weary of the task. I started looking for shortcuts. Maybe I could just partially peel the apples. There are a lot of nutrients in the skin, right? Or I could only use the big apples so I wouldn't have to peel as many. You know what I need? I need one of those apple peeler-corer-slicer deals from The Pampered Chef. Oh, yeah. That would speed up this job. If I'm going to do with nothing, I want to do it with an expensive piece of cooking equipment that I will use only once in my life but feel good about owning because I am the pampered chef. Entitlement. It's a tricky beast.

E-I-E-I-O

2008-09-08T14:41:00.007-04:00

When Ei was born, Jackson was 13 months old. Obviously he didn't have a huge vocabulary at that age. I kept showing him the baby and saying "Ethan, his name is Ethan," and Jackson would reply, "E-i-e-i-o." And it stuck. 3 years later, he's still our Ei.

Saturday Ei turned 3. It's amazing how quickly time goes by when you're in love. As I did with Jackson, I will share some of the things I love about Ei, in no particular order.

He can talk to anyone, anywhere, about anything. But he can also be quite shy.

He makes baby Aaron laugh every time he plays with him.

He knows the name of every single Bob the Builder car, all the tools in Handy Manny, and has memorized his favorite picture books. But he can't seem to remember where his shoes go.

He can talk for a full 5 minutes without ever saying anything.

He still loves to sit in my lap.

His smile lights up my whole day.

He says he's sorry when he makes a mistake--and means it.

He occasionally says he wants to talk to me, but he doesn't even have anything to talk about. He just wants to talk to his Mama.

He has an imaginary friend named Ranch. He's always got a story about her.

He loves our dog and is very gentle with her.

After Communion he whispers (too loudly), "I want more!"

He gives slobbery kisses freely and often.

He can turn a boring task into a game.

He has two speeds: on and off. He's either loud and moving around or asleep. There is nothing in between.

He always has a song in his head.

He wants everyone else to be as happy as he is.

He never stays in trouble (although he's always getting into trouble) because his smile is so contagious.

He made me realize how much I love surprises.

Ei, your sweet spirit is the most amazing gift. I am so blessed to be your Mama. Every day you give me a reason to smile, and you help me remember to enjoy the journey. In your words, "You're the best!" I love being your mom, and I am so honored to be in your life. Love, Mama

When Nothing Adds Up to Something

2008-09-03T15:54:00.005-04:00

Last year my MOPS group had a great speaker who talked with us about sin. In her talk, she made the point that Satan tells us that we are not satisfied with our lives so that we'll seek out what we're missing. The irony is that in seeking for what's "missing" we actually lose what we already had--a close relationship with God. Our greed takes over and separates us from Him. Sounds a lot like the situation in the Garden of Eden, no? She used a word that buzzed around in my head all summer: contentment. "Be content with your lives," she warned.

And so I set out to be content. It lasted about 2 hours. Then I drove home and saw that my neighbor had hired a professional landscaper, and her yard looked awesome. Oooh...I want that too. Then I opened the refrigerator and discovered that I had all the ingredients for a perfectly nice chicken dinner but lacked the motivation to put it together, so I took my family out to dinner, where we ordered chicken much like what I was going to prepare but a lot more expensive. And so went the summer.

A couple of weeks ago my minister preached on contentment. It just so happened that it was the first Sunday that my 6 month old baby has ever stayed in the nursery happily for the entire service. I sat uncomfortably in my pew feeling as though he was talking right to me. "You fool, you didn't at all do what you promised yourself you would do," he said--but not in those words.

Then Mary (of Owlhaven.net) wrote about the 30 Days of Nothing. For the month of September she and her family swear off all unnecessary expenses. There are no rules, exactly. The idea is to decide what is necessary to your family. She has her reasons for doing this project, but I won't recap them all here. Go to her site if you want to get the whole scoop. When I first read about it I thought that it sounded interesting, but I had no intention of joining in.

Near the end of August I ran into Target to pick up a few things on our shopping list. You should know that I'm a Target-junkie. I enter with full intentions to buy 1 tube of toothpaste and a box of dish washing soap, and I reach the counter with $72 worth of treasures. Every time. It's a sickness. My kids have discovered the Dollar Zone. It's chock-full of junky toys that, because they only cost $1, Mama will purchase. So, we enter the store and immediately fill our cart with about 9 toys from the Dollar Zone. Then we make our way around the store and eventually end up at the counter with--yes--$70-something worth of items. I swear, I should go on The Price is Right because I can hit that $70-something mark with my eyes closed. But the story doesn't end here. No, I got home and realized that, despite the fact that I brought home approximately $50 in things that were NOT on the list, I managed to miss one necessary item that was ON the list. So, we head back to Target, mere hours from our last trip. But I'm no dummy. I knew my husband would not be pleased with two big receipts from Target in one day, and I also knew that my kids would not willingly leave the store without their precious Dollar Zone toys (never mind that I already bought every one that they wanted that morning). So, I had a chat with them in the car on the way there. "We are NOT buying toys this time. We just bought some this morning. We are NOT buying a slushy or popcorn. We are NOT buying candy in the checkout aisle." Whine, whine, whine. Well, at least we're clear on the rules. We enter. And it starts. Can-we-gets galore. "No, we are not buying another punch balloon simply because you popped yours this afternoon." "No, we are not buying a pretzel, even though your offer to share it with your brother was most noble." "No, we are not buying cat food. We don't even have a cat!" This is out of control. I went home fuming. My children are spoiled brats. How did that happen? I was reminded of exactly how that happened when I got home and tripped over 35 cars, 22 balls, and 3 huge boxes of Lego's all spilled across the floor. They want more because I've taught them to want more. Yikes. We're SO doing the 30 Days of Nothing.

So, for our family, what is necessary? We haven't exactly pinned that down yet. I think that, rather than sitting down and drawing up rules for the month, we'll just play it by ear and see what we decide we need and what we decide we can do without. I feel certain that we'll purchase things that someone else would deem frivolous. My goal here is not deprivation. My goal is for us to become aware of how very well we have been blessed and, hopefully, find some contentment with our lives.

Today we went to the library for story time (as we do every Wednesday) and saw a couple of the boys' friends there. The boys wanted to go to lunch with their friends, but I was firm that we were eating lunch at home today. We made sandwiches and ate on the back porch and then played on their swing set. It was wonderful. And, for just a few minutes, I felt content.

Wear the Aare Bear, Mama Bear

2008-08-26T21:50:00.004-04:00

These days, I'm babywearing. My sweet Aaron (Aare Bear, as I've taken to calling him) demands to be held at all times. I researched the best wraps and slings to find the perfect one for us. I decided on a Peanut Shell pouch sling. He LOVES it. No matter how fussy he is, I can pop him in there and he'll be content (sometimes even asleep) within minutes. The maker claims I can wear him until he's 35 pounds. I guess they're sending me a personal trainer to buff up too? He will be 6 months tomorrow. 6 months. Half a year. That's 1/36 of my time with him. Okay, probably a little dramatic. Taking a deep breath.

I'm feeling overwhelmed with life today. This morning the boys were especially petulant, and I wasn't at my most patient as I threw clothes on them and tried to get out the door. Ei pooped all over everything 10 minutes before we had to leave, and my only choice was to throw him in the shower. I am at my wit's end with potty training (or lack thereof). I couldn't keep Aaron in his sling while I was cleaning the mess, so he was wailing from his exersaucer. Jackson thought of 500 things that he needed, and I fussed at him to leave me alone. We finally got in the car, and I unloaded them at Nana's. She told me she wanted a diaper on Ei, which I completely ignored. I understand her concern (refer to Monday's post), but I can't take two steps back in process. It was rainy and gross outside. An 18-wheeler changed lanes on the interstate too close to me, and suddenly, I wanted to cry. I dumped them in Nana's house and left with a half-hearted kiss on each of their cheeks. What if the truck had hit me and I never had the chance to make peace with my kids? I'm the grown-up here. I can't believe I let myself get so worked up over normal kid stuff. But I did make it back, and I grabbed them up and kissed all over them as soon as I did.

Okay, last random thought... I took Jackson to his cello lesson this afternoon. Yes, my 4 year old takes cello. I know that everyone who hears that thinks that I'm one of those crazy whip-cracking moms who makes their kids take music lessons and practice French in their spare time, but I promise I'm not. He wants to play the cello. So, off to cello lessons we go. His teacher is really sweet, and he likes her very much. At home, he is so excited about this whole experience. At the lesson, however, it's a different story. He sucks in his cheeks the way he does when he's nervous, and he refuses to speak. He won't make eye contact with her, and his limbs jerk rather than move fluidly. I knew he was shy, but this seems a bit extreme. So, of course my mind goes to dark places and I worry. Breathe.

So, I can't seem to potty train my middle child. I can't seem to socialize my oldest. But I can wear the Aare Bear and solve all his problems. So, I wear on. He's almost 20 pounds. I am going to need a backup plan for what to do 16 pounds from now.

Hansel and Gretel, Eat Your Heart Out

2008-08-25T12:50:00.000-04:00

I was feeding the baby when Jackson came running into the room screaming, "POOP ON THE FLOOR!" This is not new. Ei waits until I'm busy with something, then he relieves himself on the floor, and Big Brother comes tattling. So, I was not surprised to see this.

I did, however, grow more distressed to see this.

And this.

And, eventually, this. Guess where I found him???

So, I guess I should consider this a sign of progress. I mean, he DID eventually get to the bathroom, right? I hate potty training.

Mrs. Jackson's Mama

2008-08-14T14:03:00.000-04:00

The other night I went out with a group of friends from my MOPS group. The next day, my kids asked me who went with me. "Emily's Mama, Hannah's Mama, Brooke's Mama, Eli's Mama..." and so on until I had listed all the ladies who joined me. It never occurred to me to use their names. I wonder if other people refer to me as Jackson, Ethan, and Aaron's Mama?

There was a moment when I was pondering this that I thought it is so very sad that women lose their identities over time. We marry our husbands and become Mrs. So-and-So. Then we have our children and become Jr. So-and-So's Mama. We pack away our hobby rooms to make space for a baby. We stop listening to music we enjoy and start listening to Silly Sally Sings Sunday School Songs. Ask any mom to tell you about herself, and she will instead tell you about her family. "Well, I have 3 children and a great husband."

But I've decided it's not so very sad after all. Being a wife and mother IS my identity. I spend my days thinking about what to make for supper, how to potty train, when to start my kids in school, how to get a baby to sleep. That's my life. 5 years ago it might have sounded miserable. I always pictured myself as the working-mom type. I liked the image of me working by day and mothering by night. No way was I going to trade in my identity for a day full of diapers and Goodnight Moon. Then everything changed. During my first pregnancy Mike and I started having the talk about my returning to work after the baby was born. Something inside of me had already changed. I couldn't bear the thought of dropping off my baby in daycare so I could go to work at a job that suddenly seemed meaningless. So, Mike and I compromised on a part-time working solution. No daycare--I would work 3 days a week, and my mom would help me with the baby. So, when my Jackson was 12 weeks old I went to work. I showed off pictures of the baby, felt the overwhelming need to run home to him, burst into tears and holed myself up in my office for the rest of the day. I called Mike and told him we would make it work but that I just couldn't COULDN'T do this. He agreed (bless him), and I called my boss. She already suspected that I wouldn't return and had a replacement for me picked out. The next day I returned to work for my last day--baby on hip.

So, 4 years and 2 babies later, who am I? I'm Jackson's Mama. I'm Ethan's Mama. I'm Aaron's Mama. I'm Mike's wife. I am Miss Katina to the kids in playgroup. I'm Kat to my best friend since childhood. And I'm still just plain old Katina to my mom. I guess you never really lose who you are. I'm still Katina. I still enjoy musicals. I still get excited about Christmas trees. I still cry when I watch Steel Magnolias. I'm still afraid of artificial sweeteners. I still crave "depression cake." I still hate heights. I'm me--but better. Now I have magic kisses that make boo-boos feel better. Now I know all the words to Raffi's Greatest Hits. Now I am the queen of my house. And, my, it's good to be queen.

Mike and Katina, in a previous life (2003)

Mike and Katina (and sons) now

BE KIND (and please rewind)

2008-08-11T13:58:00.000-04:00

I had this thought the other day: "They aren't mine." Yes, they're "my" kids. Yes, I birthed them, diapered them, fed them, clothed them, disciplined them, played with them, loved them. But they still aren't mine. Although they grew in my body, I didn't make them. These precious people are on loan to me from the One who made them. Eventually my job will be done. I'll have to send them into the world and hope that I've taught them to love God and respect others.

Loan me a book, and I'll read it very carefully so that I don't crease the spine or wrinkle any of the pages. Loan me your car and I'll drive it like it's made of glass so I don't scratch the paint or dirty the tires. I'd NEVER return a movie to the video store without rewinding it. (Those of you who are of the younger generation, we used to borrow VHS movies from Blockbuster roughly 100 years ago.) Yet, I've got 3 great kids on loan, and I often forget to take such good care of them. I damage their spirits by using a harsh voice. I damage their creativity by focusing on the mess they made rather than the masterpiece they completed. I damage their understanding of what it is to be a Christian when I don't live what I teach.

It makes me cry to think of the day that I drop them off at college and return home empty- handed. I know that on that day I'd give anything for one more chance to sit in the floor and make play-doh food or curl up on the bed together and read them a story. So why do I fly through those things like they're mundane chores now? The "return by" date is coming up. 18 years is a very short time to get it right. I'm wasting time. There are books to be read, pictures to be painted, walks to be taken, cuddles to be shared.

Happy Days are Here Again

2008-08-06T14:28:00.000-04:00

Since I wrote an entire post about how Aaron is driving me crazy some weeks back, I thought I better return now to say that he has become a delightful baby. Oh, true, he still wakes up 3 times at night (no kidding) and he screams if I try to sit in the sanctuary on Sunday mornings (what does he have against church??), but overall life is better. He smiles and coos often. He adores Ei and laughs just at the sight of him. He takes a nap every morning (and sometimes in the afternoons). He still demands lots of social attention and wants to be held at all times, but at least we've gotten past the unexplained crying stage. I've decided to become a babywearer. I ordered my wrap yesterday. More on that later.

So, I think I'm ready for #4. Could you please help me convince Mike?

Yes, Monsters are Real

2008-08-03T21:24:00.000-04:00

If you are not from Knoxville, let me quickly fill you in on what happened in our city last week. I was nursing my baby in the dark in the church nursery enjoying a few minutes of quiet with him before church started. The nursery worker came into the room looking like she'd just seen a ghost. "There's been a shooting at the Unitarian church," she told me. She didn't have a lot of details, because it had just happened and the media didn't quite know what was going on yet. Later I learned that a man entered the church during a children's musical, took a gun out of his guitar case, and opened fire on the crowd. He killed 2 people and injured several others. Children witnessed the entire event. How those babies are sleeping at night now, I have no idea. The news later reported that the man was acting out his rage over the fact that the church openly invited gay persons to worship there and supported other "liberal" policies. Scary stuff.

So, seven days later, where are we? Every Sunday I ask my kids the same question: "After the Children's Sermon, do you want to stay in big church (the worship service) or go to Children's church?" Until recently, Jackson chose to stay in big church, but now Ei is old enough to go to Children's Church with him, so that's what they've selected for the past few weeks. Today I cringed as I asked that question. As I suspected, they said they wanted to go to Children's Church. I considered going with them. What if that man were to have chosen our church? What if someone entered our church angry over some political stance the church has chosen to take (or not take) and opened fire near my babies? The idea of it makes me ill. Are they safe downstairs so far away from the service? Are they safe on the playground? During the service, I was walking my baby in the narthex (he cries if I stay in the sanctuary, so I try to listen to the service from the back). A couple tried to slip out early, but the doors were locked. One of the ushers came out of the sanctuary to help the couple and explained that we lock the doors after the service begins now. They nodded in understanding, and no one had to say what we all thought to ourselves: if you aren't safe at church, can you be safe anywhere?

I'm so angry over the whole thing I just can't stand it. I'm angry with that man--that monster--who took away our sense of security at church. I'm angry with our government for allowing any old Joe to have a gun. Yeah, I've heard the argument that guns don't kill people, people kill people. Well, I say, hogwash. People kill people WITH GUNS. I'm scared too. I want to round up my children and shelter them like a mother chicken does her chicks. And I'm confused about why God allowed such a tragedy to occur. Here's where things get complicated, I guess. We had a rather lengthy discussion in my theology class last semester about the age-old question of why God allows bad things to happen to good people. I left even more confused than before the class. The one idea I did latch on to was that God grieves with us when bad things happen. I choose to believe that God mourned last week too.

I've been thinking a lot about the horrible man who did this. I read a discussion board about whether he deserves the death penalty. I'm not even sure if that's a possibility. Does Tennessee even have a death penalty? I don't know, but that's not the point. I just got started thinking about what God would want us to do. I keep thinking about how God made that guy and celebrated his birth. I keep thinking about how he was a baby, just like any of us, innocent and helpless. And I wonder if something happened to his man to make him the monster that he is today. I wonder if someone hurt him or if he just grew up around meanness so that's all he ever knew. I wish I could say that my heart feels sad for him thinking about these possibilities, but I can't. I just feel angry. And sad. And scared.

My oldest son has been having nightmares for a few months now. I think it goes with his OCD personality (not to diagnose him prematurely, but, well, if you knew him...) He worries and gets worked up over little things. (Where in the world did he get that??) The other day I asked him what scares him so badly. He told me he's afraid of monsters. I told him there's no such thing as monsters. But I lied. There are monsters. And I'm afraid of them too.

How Do I Love Thee

2008-07-31T11:24:00.000-04:00

Yesterday my first baby turned 4. In celebration of his life, here are the things I love most about him (in no particular order).

He has the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen.

He has a dimple on his right cheek that will melt your heart.

He uses big words like improvise and destination.

He calls bananas "gananas."

He loves his brothers and tries very hard to make them happy.

He has a passion for music already.

He prays several times every day.

He wants to know more about God and asks me to read to him from the Children's Bible.

He likes to write cards to his favorite people.

He remembers everything he hears.

He has friends from different races and has never once asked why they look different.

He can give you directions to our house, using left/right and correct road names.

He says "I love you" spontaneously, and often.

He follows directions.

He wants to know why things are the way they are and how things work.

He gets nervous and sucks in his cheeks when he's around unfamiliar people.

He looks forward to Sunday School all week.

He wants to please me so badly.

He forgives me when I'm impatient.

He still loves to sit in my lap.

I am so proud of him I could just burst.

Sometimes I call him Baby, and he protests that he is not a baby. I remind him that he's my baby and will be forever, even when he's an old man with babies of his own.

I have so many more things to say. I love him for so many more reasons. Happy Birthday, Jackson. I have loved every minute (okay, most minutes) of the last 4 years. I love watching you grow. I love seeing the person you're becoming. I can't wait to see what kind of man you'll become. I am so proud of you. I love you so much. -Mama

Jackson, 1 day old

Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep

2008-07-19T10:10:00.003-04:00

There's a new member in our extended family. Mike's cousin just had a baby boy. We went to see him Thursday night. He was so tiny and wonderful. I held that little limp body and examined the wrinkles all over his skinny legs and decided that my heart definitely wants another baby. I know, I'm not normal. Mike isn't quite as opposed to the idea as he once was, but I still think he would very much prefer not to have another. Well, we'll see.

Anyway, the baby's mama was having a rough day. She had just gotten back from the doctor with the baby because she was concerned about white spots in his mouth. Turns out that he has Thrush (which, if you are unfamiliar with it, is no big deal). They were settling back in with him when she noticed a small lump on the back of his neck. Her husband tried very hard to convince her that it's just a little fat deposit and that it will be fine. But she was very upset and called the doctor. They said to come in on Monday (keep in mind that it was Thursday). She fought back tears. I told her just to take him to the doctor tomorrow and tell them that a first-time mom is asking for them to please take a look at her baby, and I know that they will. I did not suggest this because I think he's ill. I agree that it's a fat deposit and no big deal. No, I suggested that because I know what was going through her mind. She didn't say it out loud, but I'll tell you exactly what she was thinking. She was thinking that by Monday it will be too late because it's probably cancer and it will continue to grow over the weekend and on Monday they will go in and find out that if they had taken him in immediately they could have removed the lump but now it's inoperable because it's grown around the brain stem and he has about a week to live. I know this because I am a mom and a worrier too.

When I was pregnant with my first baby I was terrified. I ended up getting hooked up to the fetal monitor twice because I was just sure that he had stopped moving. I cried all the time because I just knew that I was going to go to the doctor and she would say that she was sorry but I had lost the baby. I honestly could not bring myself to believe that I would have a healthy baby. That's something that happens to other people. It was too good to be true, I guess is what I'm getting at. Then I delivered this perfect little person, and they put him in my arms. I remember that I couldn't open my eyes, and I heard my mother say, "Look at your son! He's so beautiful!" My son? That's when I started crying. I have a son. You would think that reality would then set in and I would stop believing that this is just something that happens to other people. But no. This was only the beginning. For the next week I watched in agony as my son lost weight every day, and I just began to believe that this is how it would end. I would forever live with the pain of birthing a son and then losing him. Then one day he started gaining weight, and the doctors said he was healthy and perfect.

Eventually, I was able to settle in and believe that having a son was, indeed, a reality for me. I still worry about him (and now my other kids too), but I no longer believe that God made some huge mistake and is trying to correct it by taking my baby away (yes, that's what I thought...the combination of hormones and OCD didn't sit well with me). Eventually having children became so routine that I stopped experiencing that panicky "something this good isn't supposed to happen to me" feeling. Yes, routine. That's the best word for my world. Routine. Not in a bad way, but not necessarily good either. Just routine.

When I saw this new mama in her distress I suddenly had a rush of emotion come over me. I wanted to go wrap my arms around her and promise that her baby is fine (perfect, even) and that she will stop feeling so scared all the time in a couple of months and settle into a state of managable worry when things become routine. But at the same time I wanted to tell her to bottle up these emotions so that she can pull them out in 4 years when she has one child crying over a broken crayon, one child peeing in the floor, and one child screaming because she put him down for the first time in 2 hours (so that she could clean the carpet where child #2 peed). I had almost forgotten how it felt to be in a constant state of thankfulness for my children. I take them for granted. Every night when I say my evening prayers I thank God for my children and ask Him to protect them. Routine. I hardly even think about what I'm saying now. In fact, I would almost say that my prayer is less a true prayer to God and more a superstition, as though if I forget to ask God to protect them he'll allow something horrible to happen the next day. I don't believe this, but I still don't dare alter my prayer. It's one of those little things that helps manage OCD worry. I'm sure God understands. The point is, it's just routine, a recited prayer no more meaningful than the poetic prayers we make our children recite before they even understand who God is. I'm not moved to stop my day and tearfully proclaim my gratitude for putting these amazing little people in my life.

Today I vow to stop taking my children for granted. I will live as though I still believe today might be the last day I have with them. And when this too becomes routine, as I know that it will, I will pray to God for some experience like I had Thursday which will stir up these emotions again. Welcome to the world, New One. You will never know how the lesson you taught me this week. I can't wait to watch you grow. God has so richly blessed our family.