across the gypsy flat road

2012-01-26T00:25:00.000-08:00

You know what's coming, don't you?

I was lysoling and sanitizing and generally acting like the germophobe that I am (as it relates to vomit, because throwing up is pretty much the worst thing ever). I was feeling pretty cocky, even, 48 hrs and nobody else got it, take THAT random virus that has my baby still congested and miserable. I have finally learned to contain a bug in a house full of small children.

Until about an hour after bedtime tonight, when I heard a sound in the sun room. THE sound. The one that makes every parent's stomach drop.

Poor little Asher. So miserably sick, and so very afraid of being as sick as he was back in August (he was pitiful in August, guys. It was terrible). Brian and I kicked into gear, and got a prescription for nausea called in just before the pharmacy closed.

It helped a little, but not as much as I'd hoped. And at midnight, just as he was dozing off, Emmy woke up. Congested, hot, grumpy. A little juice and a little medicine and she's back in bed, but not before she woke Asher up just enough for him to be sick again.

Yeah, it's like that around here.

But I didn't pause my Lysol tirade to complain. I actually wanted to say this: Brian was supposed to be out of town tonight. If he had been, I would have been in serious trouble. I would love to tell you that I am the picture of nurturing fortitude when kids are throwing up, but guys, I am NOT. I go outside while Brian cleans things up. I am great at picking up Sprite and medicine. Everything else is not really an option.

I'm useless. And tonight, I'm useless times two.

But Brian is so, SO good at handling such things. Calm, encouraging, matter-of-fact, unflinching. Everything I am not in such moments. If he had been out of town tonight, I would have been lost. But if I had been out of town, I doubt anyone would have noticed.

Which is to say, I married the right guy. Also? I don't know how single parents do it.

Good night.

Updated to add: 2:42 a.m., Silas threw up in his bed.

Oh yes.

The good news is, I don't have to quarantine anyone. The bad news: this doesn't look promising for Brian or me. Say a prayer for us, if you feel so inclined.

But again I say, but for the grace of God and Brian, all would be lost. Or at least chaotic here tonight.

3:50 a.m. and I'm going to bed. For real this time.

2012-01-25T12:09:00.000-08:00

Want to know something else my sweet friend Mikkee is really good at? Being hopeful. Mikkee is very very good at being excited about a possibility, while fully recognizing that it might not come to fruition. She is willing to take the risk of being disappointed. It's not naivete, or childishness. She simply possesses an uncanny ability to hope.

Me? I STINK at this.

In fact, ask anyone close to me, and they will tell you that I am a notorious bubble-burster. If Brian comes home excited about an idea, I automatically see how it might not come together and start listing the potential obstacles. If I've ever been disappointed by something, I am probably never going to fully throw myself into it again (which explains why the first trimester of pregnancy is so miserable for me. And no, I'm not pregnant). I tend to be either up to my neck in a thing, or totally guarded with it. Cautious, instead of optimistic.

I want to stop doing that.

I want to enjoy possibilities, and not allow the potential for a negative outcome dictate my experience. I want to be able to take the risk of being wrong, or disappointed, or looking foolish, and to hope more fully.

I want to be more like Mikkee.

2012-01-24T07:26:00.000-08:00

Good morning.

I got my hair cut yesterday. It's shorter than I wanted. A good bit shorter, actually. Some women would be upset, but I keep thinking, Sweet! I won't have to get it cut again for like, six months. It's going to grow into something I'm really going to like.

That probably makes me pretty weird, right?

When I got Emmy out of her bed this morning, I discovered she had thrown up in the night. She slept through it, then IN it.

Nice.

Bring on the Lysol, and bleach, and laundry detergent, and hand sanitizer.

Juice and crackers have been successful so far, and no fever. Whatever that means.

So far we have never had a stomach bug among our kids that didn't run through the house. But typically I live in denial for a while. I say things like, it must have been what he ate. Today I am acknowledging that my kids have never once thrown up because of something they ate. So I'm quarantining her as best as I can, toddling behind her with Lysol, and praying for health for the rest of us.

That's what I'm doing this sunny muddy Tuesday morning. How is your day shaping up?

2012-01-23T09:48:00.000-08:00

"If you seek answers you won't find them, but if you seek God, the answers will find you."

(From an email this morning from Mikkee, who is generally the wisest person I know. Mikkee read it somewhere else, but still).

2012-01-08T06:32:00.000-08:00

Sunday morning, the baby is napping, the boys are with Brian at church, and I'm listening to Maeve. (Please tell me that if you love folky earthy female groups, you're already listening to Maeve. If you're not, here they are. This one is really good, too.)

Listening to Maeve, enjoying the silence, and I'm laughing at the things I used to assume.

For one, when the boys were babies, I had this idea that the older they were, the more they would settle down. I don't know what I was thinking.

A friend recently compared raising little boys - plural - to raising a litter of puppies. Not to be irreverent about the holy task of shepherding little souls, but most of the time, there isn't much difference. Clambering over a bowl of food, chasing each other incessantly, nipping at the other's heels, barking at their own echo. Until, finally still, they curl into a pile of blankets, only to do start all over again the next day. It is equal parts chaotic and cute, and I really enjoy the whole thing, until it becomes MY job to keep one of them still in a church or restaurant pew for half an hour.

Have mercy, between the two of them they've never been awake and still for a half an hour anywhere, ever. Even in front of a television they are squirmy little creatures, flinging limbs and climbing distractedly to hang from the edge of whatever piece of furniture is close.

Another ridiculous assumption I once made about parenting is that there was some secret imparted to the mothers of lots of little kids. Some secret organizational skill that allowed her to keep a living room picked up, regardless of how many inhabitants emptied the book basket each morning. The same organizational skill allowed her to milk a grocery budget, and somehow buy ample food for five with the same money that used to feed three. I just assumed that, similar to lactation, this information would naturally appear at the precise moment it was needed.

Turns out, that doesn't happen. I know the same things now about money and organization that I knew three years ago. Turns out there is no secret knowledge, just me and Brian, staring into the cabinets and learning how to eek out one more meal from the remaining groceries. Picking up the same books, again. Putting the stray puzzle piece in its corresponding box. Nipping at the heels of those little puppies until the blocks are finally put away.

It turns out that raising children really is equal parts chaotic and cute, mesmerizing and infuriating, fascinating and mundane. And it isn't nearly as easy as it sounds in the magazines.

Happy Sunday, friends.

2012-01-06T17:46:00.000-08:00

I'm weaning Emmy. Weaned her, I guess. She's no longer nursing, at all.

She's pretty pissed about it.

I'm okay with that.

It was just time, you know? For me, anyway. The girl eats like nobody's business, and drinks (soy - because somehow I lost my nerve after Silas' allergies, even though she eats cheese and yogurt every day. Don't ask me to explain this logic, it doesn't exist) milk from a sippy cup. She was only nursing to fall asleep at bedtime and in the middle of the night. And yes, she was (is?) still waking up in the middle of the night to nurse. Because I am a pushover like that.

I'm a lot of things to my children, friends, and I make a lot of sacrifices willingly - happily - for my kids' sake. But my stint as a pacifier is over.

So I pulled the plug, no pun intended. No final nostalgic nursing moment, just a decision. I'm done. We're done. She'll be fine.

And she has been more or less okay. She woke up once in the middle of the night - I held her, rocked her briefly, then put her back to bed awake. She only cried a few minutes before falling back asleep. Same with going to bed at night. We have a new Big Girl bedtime routine, and it does not include nursing (or a cup of milk, because for whatever reason my kids have never found sippy cups to be as comforting as their infantile counterparts). The first night she, shall we say, griped a little. But she settled down quickly and was asleep within fifteen minutes.

It's the in-between times ... the late afternoons, when the girl just cannot be appeased, when I think she's the most bothered by it. I am almost certain if I nursed her for forty three seconds, she would be satisfied, and happily play with toys while I cook dinner. But if I do that randomly at 4 p.m., but refuse at 4 a.m., am I not just confusing her? Isn't it better to say, sorry, baby, that ship has sailed? My momstinct says yes.

My screaming toddler disagrees.

In a house of many small children, someone is always pissed at their mom. So be it.

... and a happy new year

2012-01-01T05:49:00.001-08:00

It's official. No more infants in this house.

Happy birthday little Emmanuel. We love you so much.

2011-12-28T04:02:00.000-08:00

Well, when I announced I was coming back, I forgot to factor in when, exactly, I would blog again. I've actually been working on the same post for three days. I'm calling it a wash and starting over.

Good morning.

Emmy threw her first fit in a public place yesterday.

That year went fast, didn't it?

All of December I have been thinking, "Last year I was miserably pregnant at this Christmas party," or, "I skipped last year's Christmas Eve service because I was too pregnant to do anything past 5 p.m." A year ago my little Emmy was still in my WOMB, and now she's throwing fits in restaurants, and eating ornaments (but not before saying "no no" as she reaches for it) and requesting crackers every half hour or so. She took her first steps on Christmas Eve, has thoroughly enjoyed tasting every new superhero as it was unwrapped, and is generally filling our house with the screeches and demands of toddlerhood.

I love it.

This is the stage that makes pregnancy worth it. I mean, of course, the creation of a human life is always worth discomfort, and all of that. But when I'm beached on the couch in the last trimester while children run amok around me, the thought of this moment is what keeps me from despair. I love the metamorphosis - from tiny infant curled into my chest, to this little baby girl, squealing and protesting and blowing kisses. Who will she be in a year? I can't wait to find out.

(Case in point - I want to hold her, and she wants to get down already, and go find another basket to upend. Such is the life of a toddler.)

2011-12-20T10:52:00.000-08:00

The more I blog, the more I have to say. The less I talk, the more ... bashful I am. I write, but lose my nerve, and never hit publish.

I don't earn a dime blogging. I'm not hoping to convert the masses or educate or even - God forbid - give parenting tips. I write in this little corner of the world because I need to. I need a place to think out loud, and this is it.

So I'm coming back.

Awkwardly at first, I'm sure, because I'm out of the habit. But I'm doing it anyway. Because it's good for me, and I miss you guys.

So. Hi. Good to see you again.

that was fast.

2011-12-19T12:44:00.000-08:00

Can you believe this moment happened five years ago yesterday?

Me neither.

2011-12-09T10:37:00.000-08:00

Hi.

Silas had ear surgery today. His third. When he woke up he didn't even cry this time. The nurse told me that once they've had a few under their belt, they tend to handle the anesthesia better. When we went into the recovery room he was propped up, hands behind his head, waiting patiently for us to take him home to watch his movie. He seemed unfazed by the whole thing.

So when am I supposed to get better at it?

Because four hours later I'm still jittery, even while he watches PBS Kids in the living room. The surgery was easy, necessary, and now it's over. He is totally fine, but my hands haven't steadied yet.

It's just been that kind of week in mothering my little brood.

Silas had surgery today, and lately Asher's had trouble with anxiety. I remember being an anxious five-year-old, too. Anyone know if this is just what five-year-olds (or very nearly five-year-olds) do? I would love to say more, but Asher in particular is a private little person - a private little person who now can read, and who will undoubtedly read the archives here one day. So we'll just say that Asher has had a very hard few weeks, involving many jittery tears of his own. But he is calmer, more confident, if he's with me. As Mikkee said, Bowlby and Erickson would approve.

Two weeks of steadying him, today Silas had surgery. And Emmy is cutting three teeth. Did I mention Emmy is cutting three teeth? Emmy is cutting three teeth.

I am spent.

I used to think I had a handle on mothering. Even with two under two, I assumed more would follow, a house full, busy kitchen tables and someone always coming and going. I never doubted my ability to nurture well. It wasn't until after Emmy was born that I begin to wonder, can I really do this? Not, can I feed and clothe and drop off and pick up and read and brush teeth, but can I also hear them and respond to each child thoughtfully? Can I be proactive in discipline and education and setting the emotional tone in our home? Can I do more than get through each day?

The jury's still out.

In the meantime, Silas came out of surgery okay. Asher's had a calmer few days, and the teething baby is finally napping. I'm off to do the same.

it's beginning to look a lot like

2011-12-07T11:54:00.000-08:00

priceless.

2011-12-04T06:59:00.000-08:00

Hi. Sorry I've been gone for a while. Things just sort of ... stalled out around here. But now I'm back, and hopefully you still remember who I am.

Now that we've gotten formalities squared away, let's talk about kindergarten.

You guys know I love homeschooling. I love the idea of setting your own flow to your day, I love the idea of running around less, of playing and working together. I think homeschooling for little ones is FABULOUS, and have spent the past couple of years reading homeschooling blogs, interviewing homeschooling friends, and saying things like, "When we homeschool I will ..."

Yeah. I'm not going to do it.

I know. I KNOW. I'm as surprised as you are. I really wanted to! It fits so well into what I think parenting should be. And herein lies the crux of the matter, friends. It fits into what I think PARENTING should be. But it turns out, my kids' education is not about me (who knew?). It also turns out that I really don't think homeschooling is what is best for Asher.

And we're just talking about Asher right now, because the only decision that has to be made at this moment is what Asher needs to do next year. I strongly believe that education is a case-by-case, year-by-year decision. For Asher, at this time, I don't think homeschooling is best. The reason is simple: he would like nothing better.

He is a mostly happy, mostly well-adjusted child. He has friends, he talks to other adults easily, he LOVES to sit at a table and work on projects or complete a task. He is a homeschooling DREAM, in term of temperament and interest. But over the past few months I have noticed that the more he's at home, the more he wants to be at home. He really would be very content to putter about in his room or the backyard and stay by my side indefinitely. Whenever there is a break from preschool, he has a hard time going back, and withdraws more and more from any social activity (outside of his family, that is). He's my little introvert, and he's quite content at home.

If only he never had to leave home, or deal with the public in any way, maybe this would be a good quality to nurture. If I was always going to be his only supervisor, if his brother and sister were always going to be his primary social outlet, then this would be an ideal scenario, right? But my job is to prepare him for life. It is my job to teach him balance, honoring his natural gifts and talents while also occasionally nudging him out of what is most comfortable. Despite his very appropriate, normal social skills, he would love just stay at home with his mom forever. Which is why I can't let him.

Of course I also think it would be utterly disastrous to send him to an all day every day kindergarten, for the exact same reason. I cannot imagine a worse scenario for Asher. Hopefully we will no longer be living here when the new school year begins, but if we are, he will go to the kindergarten at the church where he attends preschool. It is a half-day program, which will fit well into the existing flow of our family, and continue to give him time to putter around here in the afternoons. If we are not living here, then obviously we'll have to re-evaluate, but I feel pretty strongly that he needs to go somewhere consistently each week, and also that he doesn't need to be gone all day.

It all sounds pretty simple and straightforward here, but choosing a schooling option for my oldest child has been daunting. Kids go to school every day, but he's MY son, and five is still so little, you know? Many many hours have gone into it, and in the end, it has been one more way that God has reminded me that parenting is not about me. Decisions about my kids - from nursing to sharing rooms to discipline to education - have to be based on what is best for them, not how they make me feel. Because if it were up to me? I would love nothing more than to have Asher by my side indefinitely too. I am just introverted enough to love the idea. We could spend our days puttering around, working on projects and tasks and avoiding the pace of life outside of our four walls for a long, long time. We would both enjoy it.

But I love him too much to let that happen.

Happy Sunday, friends. It's good to be back.

worth a thousand

2011-11-12T04:18:00.000-08:00

So, yes, we had Halloween around here. The boys had a BLAST, but my little Emmy girl was sick. She almost missed the festivities altogether, so sad was she about her fever and runny nose, but at the last minute we decided to catch up with Brian and the boys and walk through the neighborhood anyway. Halloween night she was sporting her cupcake pajamas, instead of her cute little costume. Which meant, of course, I had no pictures of her dressed up.

This would not do.

So yesterday afternoon, when I pulled into the front yard and found Asher as Optimus Prime, and Emmy as his sidekick, Super Dragonfly (or Superfly, according to Brian) I grabbed the camera. Silas could not be bothered with his Ironman costume, since he had important matters concerning lollipops to attend. Alas. You take what you can get.

First things first. Emmy, the superfly Dragonfly.

I know, right?

My dynamic duo.

And the one who got away.

I really tried to get them all together.

And tried.

And ... meh. Forget it.

Still, they're pretty cute, right?

And my favorite ... this is the little look that lights my day. Like she's saying, I'm on to you, Mom.

Love it.

Happy Saturday.

2011-11-05T08:25:00.000-07:00

There is a fort set up in my living room. And if you were to ask around, over half of the residents in this home would insist it's going to be there indefinitely.

Meanwhile, they've been playing outside all morning.

I keep finding moments I want to capture somehow - moments like the empty fort in the living room, and the sound of superheroes in the front yard. I want to take a picture or write it here or do SOMETHING - and then it passes before I ever have the chance. The way Emmy has become so bashful and affectionate, tilting her head and smiling slyly at her dad, leaning into my chest before smiling at a stranger. In those moments I think, I could have ten babies, but I really don't mean it. What I mean is - this moment, of holding this sweet little baby girl in my arms - I could do this forever. And I could.

Other moments, though, not so much. Here's one that will make you feel a little better about your own parenting: last week I carted Silas practically over one shoulder out of Target while he screamed, "Put me down you idiot!" Oh yes he did. I WAS that parent in Target you watch and think, why can't she control her children? All of the mothers of one baby - one little girl, I'm sure, happy to sit in a cart for hours - were appalled, I am sure. I was a little appalled myself, but there I was, anyway. In all fairness to him, I set us up for failure to a certain degree, running an errand past naptime with all three in tow. But for crying out loud, some times you just need diapers and baby shoes, and we were on that side of town. So.

This is how my life goes.

My days are full of moments like this. Sweet and endearing and miserable and dumbfounding and frustrating and sweet again, rinse and repeat. I know other women who train for races or paint or learn French or join committees or take on all sorts of new and interesting things while they have babies. Me? I seem to be capable only of having a baby. I don't know why people always talk about moms and multitasking. I am a TERRIBLE multitasker; I focus on one thing, and then snap at whatever interrupts my concentration until that one thing is done. This year, I'm raising a baby. And trying to keep the other two alive, a feat for which I am certain I should be earning some sort of PRIZE. But that's it. That's what I do all day, that's where my energy goes. I'm busy watching babies grow.

Not a bad way to spend a year, really.

2011-10-27T18:45:00.000-07:00

Two things on my mind this week:

On Sunday, a "kid" from my youth group (who is now, what, 29ish?) got married, and several of the "kids" - all adults now, and some with youth groups of their own - were there. It was so fun to be there, to see her sweet wedding and to talk to people I haven't seen in several years. I miss the innocence of that time. I knew nothing - not one single thing - about strategies for growing a group, or different approaches to discipleship, or youth ministry in general. I was completely naive to the business of ministry. I just loved them, and I loved sharing my faith with them. I was sure of myself and my God, I believed in what I was doing, and it never occurred to me to lead a group any other way. God was extraordinarily faithful to us during that time. It was one of the best experiences of my life.

Whenever I pray for the next season of our life, a phrase from an old Caedmon's Call song comes to mind: "Show me a place where hope is young, and a people who are not afraid to love." This is a great description of my experience as a college student in youth ministry, and I hope it is what is awaiting us. I don't think that time can be replicated. And I'm not convinced that kind of innocence can be reclaimed, but I am asking God for it anyway.

Also, I just spent a few days in Nashville with Emmy and Laurie. Such a relaxing, enjoyable few days. And let me just say this: if I ever find myself in a post-apocalyptic small town, with little posses forming and fighting to establish new order and scrape by for survival, I'm joining whatever side Laurie is on. She has MAD survival skills; she absolutely will take down whoever is hoarding the last of the canned goods, and figure out how to make the most of the remaining antibiotics. Also, I'm pretty sure we could be holed up together for weeks, and after winning the stand-off and going back to our respective camps, I would still think of one more thing I meant to say and call her on the way home. Assuming cell phones work in post-apocalyptic small towns. Which they won't, but still. I'm sticking with Laurie.

Happy Thursday, friends.

2011-10-22T07:24:00.001-07:00

A quiet Saturday morning, and I am committed to doing more with it than sitting in front of a screen, but there is a prayer lately that has stuck with me. It came from this blog, and even though his story right now is not really mine, it has caught my attention all the same. I do love a good healing, after all. Anyway, he posted this prayer recently, and again, though it isn't exactly my story right now, something about it resonated. The image of resting in the wind of God's love, of letting go and trusting - certainly that is the calling for us in this place and time. Maybe every place and time, though there seem to be some moments when it's more apparent. We're living in one of those now.

Wow I'm wordy this morning. Enough - the prayer. Written by Howard Thurman.

My ego is like a fortress
I have built its walls stone by stone
To hold out the invasion of the love of God.
But I have stayed here long enough. There is light
Over the barriers. O my God–
The darkness of my house forgive
And overtake my soul.
I relax the barriers.
I abandon all that I think I am,
All that I hope to be,
All that I believe I possess.
I let go of the past,
I withdraw my grasping hand from the future,
And in the great silence of this moment,
I alertly rest my soul.
As the sea gull lays in the wind current,
So I lay myself into the spirit of God.
My dearest human relationships,
My most precious dreams,
I surrender to His care.
All that I have called my own
I give back. All my favorite things
Which I would withhold in my storehouse
From his fearful tyranny,
I let go.
I give myself
Unto Thee, O my God. Amen.

- Howard Thurman

just me and my

2011-10-15T05:23:00.000-07:00

two things i don't want to forget ... wait, three

2011-10-12T07:01:00.000-07:00

1. Dude. I just sent Asher to preschool with his lunch in a plastic grocery bag, because I couldn't find his lunch box. Could NOT find it (I mean, really, where could a lunch box be? If it's not in the van and it's not in the kitchen, where else is it?). And while I searched frantically for his lunch box (at the exact minute it was time to leave, OF COURSE) Asher did his homework in the car. Not because of him - the boy loves projects and assignments, and happily does whatever you put in front of him - but because his mother forgot - again - about it until it was time to load the van. I have such a history of forgetting to sit him down with his pencil and his take-home page that his teacher met me in carpool line one afternoon to gently chide me, saying that Asher is being left out of their homework game in the mornings, because he isn't bringing his papers back completed. So he wrote five 5's while I dug around for a grocery bag for his ham and apple.

I have to homeschool this little boy, because I am totally going to FAIL at having my kids in school.

2. I don't know what Silas will choose to pursue as an adult, but this much I do know: whatever he does, he will excel in it. He is the most determined little person I have ever met. An example: you know how I keep talking about Silas and naps? Honestly it kind of takes over the whole afternoon - can I get him still long enough to accidentally fall asleep? And if I can't, what in the WORLD do I do with these two while the baby sleeps? On and on it goes ... I realized yesterday that the problem is where he takes his nap. Because we have three kids and three bedrooms, for the past year Silas has been napping in a pack-and-play in the master bathroom. He has decided he doesn't like sleeping there, so he has just made up his mind not to sleep anymore. I wish I could convey to you how successful he has been at this. He can just ... decide not to sleep, then not go to sleep. Even though he's a little kid and he's utterly EXHAUSTED. Yesterday afternoon it clicked for me that the problem was not naptime so much as location. So I made a deal with him - I'll put the pack-and-play away, and you don't have to sleep in there anymore, if you will just nap in my bed. He smiled and said, "okay Mama," then curled up in his blanket, closed his little eyes, and WENT TO SLEEP. A three-year-old who determines when he sleeps and when he doesn't - not out of maniacal energy, but out of careful, intentional will - kind of blows my mind. The kid's a force of nature.

Happy Wednesday.

3. I forgot one - riding in the car on the way to school, Silas tells me, "I've decided to change directions. I'm going to trust God." Edited to add - I'm not noting this because I'm convinced it's a commitment to a life of faith (though maybe it is - what do I know?). It just cracked me up. Here's my little three-year-old boy, announcing from the back seat that after careful consideration, he's decided his life is going down the wrong path. He's decided to change directions. Do I sound jaded? Does anyone else find this funny?

2011-10-10T18:26:00.000-07:00

1. Asher read his bedtime story to me tonight. There are a few he has memorized, and he "reads" those to us often, but tonight he read a book he hasn't seen before. I have to say, it is SO COOL to watch my little boy learn to read.

2. And Emmy flat-out skipped a stage of development. You know that late-baby phase where they sit on the floor and play with toys for a while, then slowly begin to crawl around on a blanket? When they eat baby food and sleep through the night (or so I've heard, anyway) and just kind of watch whatever is going on for a couple of months? Emmy didn't have time for that stage. She's eating nothing but people food now (and has been for a few weeks), and anything that can be turned into a finger food, she feeds herself. Noodles, cucumbers, green beans, frozen blueberries, macaroni and cheese, potato soup, broccoli ... we had lunch today with my parents and sister, and Emmy ate so many chicken nuggets and french fries she threw off our kids' meal count. We should have just bought one for her, too. Asher ate nothing from my plate, ever, because I was a Good Mom back then, and Silas was allergic to everything, so this is my first time to just feed a baby a little of whatever I'm eating.

I have to say, this is a. WAY easier, and b. more fun than being so stringent about their food. It helps that we don't eat a ton of processed food anyway (the occasional fast food notwithstanding) so it's a little easier to feel okay about what she's eating.

My little Emmy is also standing up in the middle of the floor, pushing a push toy around the house, waving and saying, "Hey Da" at Brian, attempting to sign "all done," using a consistent sound that means "eat," and clapping and saying, "hooray!" approximately thirty eight times a day.

The girl is nine months old.

See? She just skipped a stage.

3. Silas is growing up in ways that are harder to quantify. He's very nearly potty trained (though I don't want to say that too loudly, because I am afraid I will jinx it), recognizing letters and numbers and SO VERY proud of his papers from preschool. On Fridays their work from the week is sent home, and as soon as he sees me pulls out his folder and describes it from the back seat ("Mama, this is my purple four I painted just for you").

He has also reached that stage where no amount of coaxing is going to convince him to stay in his bed during naptime, but the boy still desperately needs a nap most days. Naptime requires finesse. The right movie at the exact right time (not too early, or he won't be tired enough, not too late, or he'll be overtired and won't settle down), and he'll fall asleep on the living room floor in about ten minutes. But if you miss your window in either direction, none of us get a proper quiet time, and it throws the whole afternoon off-kilter. Dropping the afternoon nap is the despised underbelly of raising a three-year-old.

With that I'm off. There's more to tell, but I'm running out of steam.

even superheroes need a break every now and then.

2011-10-09T07:10:00.000-07:00

you're welcome.

2011-10-05T12:22:00.001-07:00

me to Asher: We're going to run a few errands, and then pick Brother up from Grandma's house.
Asher: No! I don't want Silas to come home!
me: Well, buddy, he lives here. He has to come home.
Asher: I bet Grandma would take him.

2011-09-28T11:33:00.000-07:00

It's Chick-fil-A's fault, really.

In our house, we have a strict rule - no banality in the car. No Wee Sing, no Laurie Berkner (though I personally find Laurie Berkner delightful), and no - NO - VeggieTales. If we're going to hear the same song 843 times in a row, let's at least let is be Amos Lee or John Mayer or Jars of Clay (Silas' most recent unending request). Is that too much to ask?

Chick-fil-A didn't get the memo. VeggieTales CDs are the current prize in their kids' meals. My children were thrilled - Brian and I, not so much. But for the past few days, at least, King George and the Rubber Ducky has been on quasi-repeat (though I reserve the right to say, "No, boys, I just can't listen to Larry the Cucumber right now. How about a little Red Mountain Church instead?").

I have to tell you guys, the more I listen to it, the more offended I become.

It's a g-rated, Veggie Tale version of the story of David, Bathsheba, and Uriah. You can find it on youtube if you want to know more. First of all, the idea of Bathsheba as a ducky - a piece of property, that someone wanted and so they took - is thoroughly offending, but I think in this respect they are more historically accurate than I would like to admit. What's more offending is how sanitized the story is. David didn't just go apologize to Uriah and make things better; he had Uriah KILLED, and the infant son born to David and Bathsheba DIED as a result of David's sin. He also never had peace in his home again. Now it's worth noting that the second born son of David and Bathsheba was Solomon, who was known for his wisdom and, in this regard at least, was the antithesis of his origin. It's a beautiful story, ultimately, of repentance and redemption. But it is not cute. It is not neat. And the attempts to make it so cheapen its meaning.

It's like the way all children's ministry curricula want to talk about Moses and Pharaoh. Yes, it's exciting - flies and water into blood catch our attention, for sure. But it's so gruesome and frankly, a little bit scary. I'm reminded of a line from the West Wing. "Children are dead and then you segue into what." It's a story of God's power and faithfulness, but is it really appropriate for three-year-olds?

I'm just not sure why we do this. Why sanitize these Old Testament stories and fit them into ten minute segments? And why does everyone start children off with burning bushes and plagues of flies? I understand types and shadows; I understand the value of knowing Old Testament stories. But they don't. They won't understand symbolism until sometime around high school. So what are we teaching them, really? Wouldn't a better basis for Christian education perhaps be the central figure of the Christian faith? There's a lot more to Jesus than "suffer the children to come unto me," you know.

Now I'm just ranting. But I grew up in churches with a wimpy Jesus and disjointed, meaningless stories. Imagine my shock to realize there was more to the Bible than VBS ever let on. I know better now, but it took years to undo the senseless and, frankly, boring God I first imagined. I want my children to know better, too.

I think we'll just stick with Lyle.

more on Colorado

2011-09-25T04:25:00.001-07:00

It occurs to me we never talked much about Colorado. I just kind of mentioned it, then left it alone. And though I don't think I have many blog friends anymore that I don't also see in real life, I do have a few. So maybe you're interested in what's going on?

We want to be a part of a church there. Not work for a church, just attend one. Ever heard of Sovereign Grace? They are a reformed (as are we) charismatic (as are we - though typically closeted here in the Bible belt) group. I lean away from the word "denomination" because that implies they are completely separate from other denominations (if you are Methodist, you necessarily aren't Baptist, for example). And they aren't, really - Sovereign Grace conferences and music are widely respected and utilized in Presbyterian circles in general. Still, a reformed charismatic group is a little unusual, and for that reason they are their own entity.

Why Sovereign Grace? And why Colorado?

Am I being overly simplistic if I just tell you God led us there? Probably so.

Sovereign Grace because we like their approach to church leadership. And we are intrigued by the idea of a reformed charismatic church. We hold similar convictions about many (though not all, if you start poking around) of the same things they do. We think it's a church that could be a good place for us to worship and serve for a long time.

We're open to being completely wrong, of course.

Colorado because after a year of researching and praying, this seems to be the right place. I don't mean to be trite or flippant. I understand we're talking about taking our young children twenty two hours down the interstate from every family member they have ever known. But just because something is hard doesn't mean it's wrong. You can imagine that our families are not exactly excited about the idea. There has been much speculation here that Brian is pushing me in a direction I wouldn't choose on my own. I have to tell you guys the truth; if any one is pushing, it's me. If anyone is hesitant, it's him. I think it's going to be good for us in a number of ways. Plus, who doesn't want to live in Colorado?

For our part, we're still working on actually getting out there. Selling houses and applying for jobs, that sort of thing. Brian is a musician; this is his career. Do you know how hard it is for a musician to put his guitar down indefinitely? Also, do you know how hard it is to move across the country only using peripheral marketable skills? And to support five people on an income only using peripheral marketable skills? It starts to feel like a county fair relay after a while - pull five people from point A to point B without using any of your usual strengths to do so. The effort is herculean. Sisyphean. Insert your own Greek mythological comparison here.

But we're doing it. Because it's what God wants and it's what we want, and the fruit is going to be good. In the meantime, if you know anyone in the Denver area who needs a guy to do the thing, I've got just the guy for you.

Happy Sunday, friends.

turns out my week has been about bodily functions. sorry about that.

2011-09-15T18:01:00.000-07:00

Oh ya'll. I've had several moments this week that I've already told you in my head. Entire blog posts, written and forgotten, driving down the road. I'm sure I'm not the only one who does that. But it's kind of been a memorable week. Emmy has hit that stage in babyhood where the dog food bowl and the toilet are the most fascinating spots imaginable. Anybody need a bajillion baby toys? Emmy doesn't. She has a dinosaur and her brothers' Crocs to chew.

Alas.

Silas is also ... well, he's Silas. Boisterous seems euphemistic. He can smell opportunity, and when I'm fishing a page of a book out of Emmy's mouth - again - Silas intuitively knows that he has an 8 second head start on me if he were to bolt out of the front door right then. For every child I am tending, two more are on the loose. Asher, thankfully, is largely predictable, and for that I am immensely thankful. The other two? Not so much.

Which is to say, by bedtime I'm exhausted. I remember now how I lost the baby weight the first time around - I never ate, and I never sat down. I'm falling into the same pattern again. I actually have felt ill because I have forgotten to eat and drink enough recently, so I have started eating Clif bars in the afternoons, and have been surprised at how much they help with my energy level. When food marketed as fuel for kayakers and backpackers is a fitting mid-afternoon snack, you know your days are full.

So. Enough about being busy and tired - you all are, too - I said I had some noteworthy moments to share. Let's see now if I can remember them.

Well ... there was Wednesday morning, when I put the kids in the van, then made four - count them, four - trips back into the house for forgotten shoes and sippee cups and whatnot. By the time I had all of our supplies in the car, Silas had wet his pants. By the time I got him cleaned up, the boys were too late for carpool and I had to unload the whole crew to take them in. By the time we were finished with all of THAT, Emmy and I only had a few minutes to kill before meeting Asher's class (for a field trip to the animal hospital), so we went to Starbucks. I changed her before we went in, and clearly was not paying attention to what I was doing, because while in line there was a total diaper malfunction and my baby girl peed all OVER me. Here I stand, waiting for my bagel and water (because you know I didn't have time for breakfast before we left - see above), with a dripping baby on my hip. I got her cleaned up, but I didn't have a change of clothes for myself (that would have taken a fifth trip into the house) and didn't have time to make it back home before meeting his class.

So I did what any mother of many small children would have done. I put the baby in the sling, and hid it.

What's a little baby pee anyway, right?

Equally memorable ... this afternoon, after a faux nap time, I took the children out to play There's a church/ school with a great playground nearby. The boys were playing superheroes, when Silas started looking a little ... suspicious. "You go away," he told Asher, "or you might smell my poop." Nice. Thankfully he had on a pull-up (don't judge - I know I can't both complain about potty training and put him in pull-ups. This is me, doing it anyway), but I had no wipes (wipes would have taken a sixth trip). Ya'll. This was a diaper of such magnitude that there was nothing to be done but to strip him down and hose him off using the spigot behind the church. Spraying poo off of my son in a random church parking lot - here is a moment I could never have imagined before having children. What else could I do? Thankfully I did have an extra outfit in the car, so once he was bathed and dressed, he was good to go. All's well that ends well, right?

What a week.

2011-09-15T04:53:00.000-07:00

My friend Janet was in town a few weeks ago, and took some pictures of us at the park. Want to see them?

custard, yertle, auden. in no particular order.

2011-09-11T09:18:00.000-07:00

On this beautiful quiet Sunday morning, WH Auden, old-fashioned egg custard pie, and Facebook - waiting for updates on a friend in trouble - are all pulled up on my computer.

It says a lot.

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along

How right he was.

That's what we're all doing today, right? Remembering where we were walking ten years ago. Somehow it connects us to that moment, to the victims we saw on CNN. It is the hinge between "before" and "after" in our country, and we need to claim some skin in it too. So we remember where we were.

I was sitting in a waiting room of an ICU, waiting for my grandmother - who made the best chocolate icing and would dig for worms with me and left oranges on my windowsill until September 10, 2001 - to die. That's where I was.

So I'll make an egg custard pie today. And give it to my Dad, because he will appreciate eating something his grandmother used to bake for him, too.

The memory connects us to one another.

And at the same time, in a smaller way, it's happening again. While I am tempering eggs and tearing foil into strips, a good friend's life is unraveling. Her story reminds me of Yertle, the turtle king who reigned over all he could see. But he wanted to see more, so he stood on other turtles, as many as he could, for as long as he could. My friend is married to a Yertle.

And I'm not a part of his pile.

So. Since I can't stop Yertle (he has to topple on his own), and remembering an ICU waiting room is not something I care to do all day, and it's a glorious Sunday morning anyway, I'm going to bake.

Hope your memories today help you feel more connected.

And I do sincerely hope you're not married to a Yertle. Or if you are, that you'll move out of the way before he falls.

PS - My dad liked the pie.

2011-09-09T12:59:00.000-07:00

It's Friday afternoon, the weather is perfect, the windows are open, and the house is full of sunshiney breeze. The little ones are asleep, it's been a full week. There is NOTHING about this moment that makes me want to unload the dishwasher or run a load of laundry. But wow, do I need to.

On a related note, I commented to Brian a little while that I hadn't done anything around the house this week, and that I felt behind (behind what? I don't know. It's not as though I'm going to be a. graded, or b. finished with these tasks. And yet, I feel behind). He looked around and said, "I honestly hadn't noticed." I'm not sure if this makes me feel better or worse.

Also, Asher continues to collect prizes from the treasure box at school for me. A few weeks ago it was a ring; today it was a bracelet. So so sweet. Are all four-year-olds this sweet to their mamas? Is it just boys? Or is it just mine?

That's all I've got this afternoon.

Hope it's as pretty outside of your window today.

8

2011-09-08T12:30:00.000-07:00

Even though she has positively REPENTED of sleep the past week, I just can't get enough of my baby girl.

Eight months old already - am I going to remember this time? How she loved to ride in the sling when we were out, how she will leeeaaann all the way away from me, head upside down, to blow raspberries at her brother or click in recognition of her dad? Am I going to remember the little "nnnnn" sound she makes to ask to nurse? I hope so.

Part of me would love (love love) to just shoo the next few months along, the way I prod my kids out the back door on a pretty morning. We're almost to a year! After a year, life gets so much easier! But in the same breath I think, this is the only year we will spend this way - on my hip, snuggled close in the quiet of the middle of the night, every tiny thing so new and exciting - and it's almost over.

So in honor of eight months, here are a few pictures of my little Emmy.

Love this picture. She loves that rubber dinosaur. It's her favorite chew toy.

But Spiderman works pretty well, too.

Or a plastic Nurf bullet. You know, whatever.

She's the happiest little baby. Life after the first year gets much easier, but honestly? This isn't so bad, either.

2011-09-03T18:32:00.000-07:00

Can I apologize in advance for how random and miscellaneous this post is going to be?

1. Something in my fridge stinks. For the past few days I've been holding my breath when I open the door. Rather than, you know, cleaning out the fridge.

2. Every now and then I'm still surprised to realize I am the grown-up here. If I don't clean out the stinky fridge, nobody else is gonna.

3. Emmy was up every hour last night until three a.m., and the boys came in to my room (to settle a dispute - they had already been up playing for a long time) at 6:30. What's most noteworthy about this is how UN-noteworthy it is. I really think it's been so long since I slept from evening until the next morning that my body has just adapted. I've just forgotten what it feels like to be rested.

4. Also, Emmy was up every hour last night until three a.m. Because she has the crud, complete with a crusty little nose and an ear infection. Again, what is most noteworthy is how UN-frazzled I've been by a constantly needy baby and two busy boys. Since when did a sick child become so ordinary? How is it that I am less stressed in this moment, with a baby I can't put down and two other children and a house on the market and, and, and ... than I was when Asher was a baby, living in the apartment? He was my only responsibility, and yet I remember it being such a BIG DEAL when he was sick. Also, he was the easiest baby ever. What was I so stressed about back then?

5. Anyone else do consignment sales? I really hate selling things in them, but I did it this year anyway. Three times in a row this past week my plans to finish tagging and drop off my stuff have been thwarted, so that this afternoon I had thirty minutes left before they closed, and the consignment place is twenty minutes away. I had too much stuff to lug both a baby and my things in, and I had - you guessed it - a baby with a crusty nose who wanted to be held and nursed (who also now has a sound that means "nurse" - how cool is that?) Anyway, Brian came to the rescue. He missed the last quarter of the football game to go drop off my stuff for me. There is a special place in Heaven for men who miss the end of the game to venture in to the world of children's consignment sales on their only day off. Double gold stars for him.

And now that I've emptied my head out onto the big wide internet (um, there's a statement that should give me pause, and maybe if more than 15 people read this blog it would), I'm going to bed. My whole little brood is TIRED, friends. Not a peep from anyone at bedtime tonight. Maybe they'll even sleep until dawn.

Probably not.

Good night.

sometimes, out of nowhere

2011-09-02T19:36:00.000-07:00

We have the sweetest moments at the most unexpected times.

Asher and I are cut from the same cloth. The boy is pretty easy going (I like to think I am too), but there is a point of no return. If he gets too tired, too hungry, too out of sorts, there is going to be hell to pay. Tonight he stayed out about 15 minutes too late, and wept and whined through the ride home and his bedtime routine. After half an hour of wailing and protests, he finally made it to his bed, Geoff and Monkey in hand, an extra book to look at until he drifted off. I went into his room to tell him good night, and expected to find him either weepy or asleep. He was facing the wall, eyes closed, presumably sleeping. I kissed his cheek, and he turned to face me, wide eyed. "Thank you for my Captain America Sprite," he whispered. "And thank you for my Spiderman toothpaste. I like to look at the picture. And I like the way it smells."

"You're welcome," I said, surprised and a little amused by what delights a little boy. "Do you know why I picked those things for you?"

"Why?"

"Because I love you. And even when you whine and cry, I will always love you, and you will always be my little boy."

"I know," he said, and smiled. "I will always love you too."

Then he rolled back over and closed his eyes.

Sweet boy.

on patience

2011-08-30T18:04:00.000-07:00

I heard something interesting last night. Patience, a friend read, is serenity in the face of affliction.

If this is patience, I am not patient.

That's not the same as waiting your turn, right? Or not saying what you feel like saying every time you want to say it? I can handle both of those. I can breathe through children fumbling with shoes or stopping to pick a weed before getting into the car. I can even be late because someone had to go potty (or wet their pants in the car seat. Always always). But none of that, really, is what it means to be patient.

It's been a hard summer. The hardest on record, in my estimation, though that summer I was pregnant with Asher and living in my parents' guest room, uncertain of what direction my life was about to take, was comparable. A string of illnesses (including two stomach viruses in a week, and then tonight complaints of a tummy ache, to which I say, "Get thee behind me vomit"), conflict with a friend, tension with family, strain in our home. Feeling called to do something, and having absolutely no way of knowing if, when, or how it will happen. Knowing the present is drawing to a close, not knowing what is coming next.

I would love to tell you I've been serene in the face all of all of this, but just the thought is laughable. I've stomped my foot through the entire summer. I've rolled my eyes, holed up, retreated, yelled back, complained (then complained some more). I've been a lot of things this summer; serene has not been one of them.

But I find comfort in the verses on hardship (though part of me has a hard time acknowledging any of this as true hardship, when children are dying right now - right now! - of hunger and thirst. In light of that, what exactly is my problem? Still, hardship is relative, and compared to the unimaginable ease of my life, this summer has been harder than others). Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature, James says. Hebrews says to endure hardship as discipline. This, in particular, is encouraging. Discipline, not punishment. Discipline is intended to teach, to shape behavior and, ultimately, character. This is what God is doing in me.

So, no, I'm not serene in the face of affliction. Not even close. But I'm hopeful, because this thing isn't over yet. Maybe, by the time boxes are unpacked and relationships are righted, I will know a little more about perseverance. Maybe I will see the fruit of maturity, and will be less likely to yell back in the future. Who knows - by the time we see the other side of this thing, I might even learn to be patient.

Lord, may it be so.

2011-08-28T18:01:00.000-07:00

My friend Laurie turned 30 today. Which means I have known her for half of her life, and not quite half of mine. (This is Laurie, circa 1998ish, as the agape fairy at Chrysalis. You're welcome.)

Truthfully I cannot think of anyone who would want to be blogged about LESS than Laurie, so she hardly ever comes up here. (Here she is, holding a very young small early Asher).

But knowing Laurie for half of her life, and not quite half of mine, has changed me. My perspective on life and God and faith would be different without her. And that's a big deal. (Tell me this is not the best little kid big sister picture you've ever seen.)

So happy birthday friend. This chocolate chip cookie's for you.

2011-08-26T12:05:00.000-07:00

First, Asher chose a ring out of the treasure box at school today so that he could give it to me, and we could pretend we were married. Be still my heart.

Second, preschool is throwing a wrench in our routine. As in, the basic flow of our day that has existed for the past three years no longer applies. I'm trying to figure out a new routine, which involves equal parts algebra, flexibility, grace, and mad warden skills. It's every bit as fun as it sounds.

Third, Silas went from basically potty trained to basically UN-potty trained in the past month. I've even put pull-ups back on him because if you no longer care if you ever go to the potty - nay, if you weren't even trying to make it to the potty - can you still label that an accident? Wouldn't a more accurate description be that your parents are just living in denial, and putting underwear on you as part of some fantasy that you're not going to use them as a diaper? I would just throw my hands up at the whole thing, except that he has to be potty trained to go to school, so three days a week he has to wear underwear. So. If you have some fantastic "here's how I potty trained my strong-willed boy" story, I'm interested in it. But if you only have the, "Gosh, my kid just wasn't that hard to teach, he just sort of did it" stories (which was definitely my previous experience in this area) then keep it to yourself.

Happy Friday, friends.

2011-08-23T17:50:00.001-07:00

Ahem.

So if I have talked to you at all recently, I have mentioned - nay, COMPLAINED - about how my daughter is not sleeping anymore. She's up twice a night, on average, and wants to snuggle and nurse in bed with me. I may have mentioned how I was being PLAYED by this baby, who was clearly fine and just wanted to be held in the middle of the night. I may have even eluded to the fact that it was time to just let her cry already, so that we could finally get a good night's sleep. Truth be told, I never have the stomach for letting them cry, not really, but I know it would work, if I would just suck it up and do it.

If I've talked to you recently, we've had this conversation.

Then today, a full two weeks after Emmy stopped sleeping, it dawned on me - I've been forgetting to feed my baby.

She hasn't had lunch in two weeks.

We dropped a nursing session, but I FORGOT to replace it with baby food. She just ... hasn't been eating from 9ish until 1:30ish every afternoon. And it turns out that if you drop a baby's feeding, they will start waking up in the middle of the night to eat again.

Because they are HUNGRY.

Send all of your gold stars for my Mother of the Year award right here, friends.

2011-08-19T18:05:00.000-07:00

The boys started preschool this week.

Did I tell you they were going to preschool? Probably not, because we didn't fully commit to it until very recently. But they are. They are back at the school Asher went to last year. Asher has gone to some sort of preschool or Mother's Morning Out for the past two years, two mornings a week. But until today, I've always worked while he's gone to school.

Just to spell it out - today was my first day of having two children in preschool while I was not working. Ever.

It was so weird.

Emmy was still with me, and there's some tweaking to be done with schedules (she slept in the car then didn't want to nap the rest of the day - we'll have to get a better handle on that). But our world just changed.

Also -

Emmy is up a few times every night. I think maybe it started with teething? Or sickness? I can't be sure anymore. I know she slept through the night for a while, but most of the summer she has been up at least once every night. The sleep deprivation has descended slowly, so that I have just sort of stared at things all week, willing them back in their place, like something from Mary Poppins. Honestly I thought I was handling it pretty well, until I realized it had been days since I'd voluntarily spoken to anyone I did not birth. Maybe I was a little more tired than I realized.

Which is fine and good, because babies just do this sometimes, right? Except, I'm pretty sure that I'm being played. She goes to sleep awake, naps fine during the day, and is even able to cry out once during the day before rolling over and going back to sleep. She also has made it through the night without eating before, plenty of times - at least until 5 a.m. or so. Why is she now waking up every single night between 2 and 3? Pretty sure it's because she knows I'll go get her and bring her back to my bed.

Boo.

The remedy for this is going to involve tears at 2 a.m. soon.

Emmy may cry a little, too.

That's been our week.

How have you been?

what our daughters really need

2011-08-15T06:23:00.000-07:00

Anyone else read Elizabeth Esther? Anyone else following the Donald Miller blog saga? I didn't read the original post, and now it's been taken down. So my only opinion, really, is on EE's posts.

Do you know what I hope for my daughter?

I hope she can read a blog post from an author she really likes, and, rather than assuming she only deserves a man who doesn't respect women, she will think, wow, that was a stupid blog. And move on.

The better you know me in real life, the more likely it is that at some point you have looked me in the eye and said, "God you are stubborn." It's true, I am. If my mind is made up, there is nothing - no amount of arguing or pleading, no mishap or turn of bad fortune - that is likely to change my mind. There are times when this is to my detriment, of course (it turns out that sometimes people have a better idea than mine. Who knew). But in many ways, being stubborn is my finest quality. It means that I am not easily swayed.

I hope that I give my daughter that kind of stubbornness. I hope she has the confidence to read something, even by someone she respects, and roll her eyes. I hope she has the ability to be a wise consumer of information, to weigh opinion against truth, to hear differing perspectives and not be dismayed. I hope her worth as a person, or her value in a relationship, will not be drawn from popular authors of her time, but from a lifetime of love and affirmation from this vast canopy of family and friends into which she was fortunate enough to be born. Most of all, I hope her faith will not be threatened by the bickering and snipping among believers, but that she will see through the backbiting to the God who loves us all.

That is what our daughters really need.

on a healthier note

2011-08-14T19:45:00.000-07:00

I walked into Emmy's room this morning, and look at what I found:

That would be little Emmy, standing up in her crib (and if you look carefully beside her, you can see teeth marks from her brother's days in that same crib. The joys of being a younger sibling - furniture comes pre-chewed, for your convenience). Standing up, can you believe that? This week Emmy has started pulling up, crawling on her hands and knees (she's been crawling on her belly for about a month) and has even cruised around the couch a little. In a week. Keep in mind she's only seven months old. She also says something that I swear means "Daddy" and "dog-dog" (depending on who enters the room) and today I saw her playing around with the sign for "nurse" while she was eating.

Next week she'll be making her own baby food and writing her own stories.

What's your hurry baby? We only get this one year for you to be months instead of years old. Don't you want to hang out here for a little while? Trust me, there is going to be plenty of time to chew on lamp cords and pull the wheels off your brothers' cars. Don't you just want to, I don't know, sit in my lap a little longer? Please?

2011-08-14T00:04:00.000-07:00

Last Friday night Asher woke up sick. He was up all night. Brian took care of him, but we were both awake the whole night. Saturday afternoon I got sick, though looking back I think mine was nerves, sleep deprivation, and heat. Thanks to the power of Lysol and prayer, nobody else caught the bug.

We thought we were home-free.

Last night (again, a Friday) I was up sick all night. I would have sworn it was what I ate (that I won't be eating again, rest assured). Brian was up with me a good part of the night, mostly because he is way better to me when I'm sick than i am to him. Tonight, he started feeling bad. I assumed it was exhaustion - he had been up since two a.m., planted shrubs in the front bed, spread pine straw throughout the front, then painted the side of the house, all while taking care of the kids. In 105* heat. Surely feeling ill at 6 p.m. is exhaustion, right? I would have thought so, too.

Except that an hour ago Silas woke me up. He had thrown up in his bed.

Boo.

I got him cleaned up, gave him some medicine, and just put him back to bed.

But I ask you - our house has not had stomach-related illnesses since Asher was 2 and Silas was a baby. What is UP with everybody taking turns throwing up two weekends in a row? And why did I get the special privilege of having it both times?

So in the morning we'll call on the power of Lysol and prayer and do our best to keep from spreading it. Again.

Oh how I hate stomach bugs.

2011-08-10T05:06:00.000-07:00

My very favorite thing in the entire world is seeing things - anything, tomatoes or children or cakes or a prayer life - grow.

But it almost never happens the way you think it will.

Take learning to walk, for example. You see babies toddling about and you stare at your own baby, cruising around furniture, and you think, okay - some day you're going to do that. And it's true. Some day he will. First, though, he's going to let go by accident one day, take a step or two without realizing it, fall, and crawl the rest of the way to you. An hour or so later he might do it again. Maybe. In a day or two, he's going to let go on purpose, walk three or four steps, then fall hard and cry. Depending on his temperament, he may stubbornly crawl back over to the couch and do it again - only to fall and hit his head in the same spot ten minutes later - or he may refuse to let go for a few days.

It goes on this way for weeks.

Then one day, a month or two later, you realize - my baby is walking down the hallway. He's not crawling anymore. And suddenly, you have a toddler.

It's the same with first words. Let's not kid ourselves - a first word is nothing more or less than a baby attaching meaning to sound. A first word is almost never recognizable outside of context. In some ways Emmy is already doing this. Anytime she sees her dad or her dog she bounces and says, "a-da! a-da! a-da!" with such fervor that surely, SURELY she's saying their names. Sometimes, though, she grabs her little foot in her carseat, swings it impatiently, and says, "a-da, a-da, a-da," while staring at the ceiling. It's the context that gives the sound meaning, though surely it does mean something in that context. It's not as simple as saying, "My baby talks," or "My baby doesn't talk." It never is.

And now I am learning that reading is the same way.

Asher can sound out words. He also guesses at words, memorizes books and pretends to read them, and makes up words when he can't sound them out. He half-read, half-quoted "Hop on Pop" to me yesterday. He can quote with endearing accuracy our four Spiderman books. He can also recognize a sign by its label, so that at times I don't know what he's reading and what he's remembering.

But you know what? It doesn't matter. My little boy is learning to read.

This fact has completely snuck up on me.

Reading is a big deal, right? I have several homeschooling friends applying considerable effort into teaching their children to read. While I, on the other hand, have not cracked a single curriculum since Asher was three. I have two different preschool curriculums sitting, untouched, in bedroom closets. I really cannot take credit for it; he's taught himself.

It started last year, when he liked to play word games in a car. He would see a sign and say, "Hey Mom that was a sign. Sign has the sss sound. It starts with 's.'" To which I would reply, "Yeah it does. Silas, put your seatbelt back on." And he would start to think of other words that start with "S." Sometimes I played along, sometimes I did not. He learned his letters and sounds from me and from his teacher and from PBS and from wherever else, and the rest he's just sort of ... figured out.

Now, we do read books. But I don't have the type of kids who will just sit in the middle of the morning curled up next to me while I nurse a baby and read a book. Everyone talks about reading and nursing. Ha - I spend my time nursing saying, "We don't jump off the furniture," or, "Don't throw that toy at your brother," but whatever. My kids love to read in the quiet corners of our day, as they are waking up or settling down to sleep. And as long as I am coherent enough to recognize the moment, I try to take advantage of every opportunity to read.

I also offered nuggets of spelling rules, as they came up. Like sometimes the "e" is silent, and some letters combine to make a different sound. We've practiced, loosely (and again, mostly in the car) recognizing "sh" words or "th" words, when it has come up.

That's it. That's how it happened. I went from reading while I drink my morning coffee, and finding "ch" words, to listening to my little boy read a book. Suddenly, I have a reader.

Who knew.

on feeding a third baby

2011-08-08T11:42:00.000-07:00

I remember well Asher's babyhood. The hours I spent mapping out his daily schedule, the trouble I took to make sure it never wavered. Folding each little onesie just so, packing a baby bag the night before we went anywhere. All outings were planned with careful precision, so as not to disrupt his sleep or feeding times in any way.

Then I had another baby.

Then another.

Enter Emmy, my mildest-mannered child yet, with a more confident mother and a distinctly more haphazard schedule. There is a rhythm to our day together, to be sure. But times? Gosh, I don't know. She takes a nap about 1ish? Or 2ish? Whenever she gets fussy and I have time to put her down. Bedtime? Is more drawn out that I'd prefer, but meh. She'll outgrow it soon enough. Baths? Sure, sometimes. Meals? Wait, you mean I have to plan what she's going to eat?

I knew a family who had a third baby the same time Asher was born. When our babies were eight or nine months old, his mother mentioned that she just threw whatever they were eating in the blender, and that was his dinner. Chinese food was his favorite.

I was appalled.

Now I totally get it.

I used to map out a baby's meals. I knew exactly how many green vegetables, yellow vegetables, and fruits Asher was going to need. I did the MATH (I KNOW) and calculated it on my grocery list. Silas was different; he was allergic to everything, so I just bought sweet potatoes and cereal en masse and we were covered. And now, with Emmy, I never seem to buy enough baby food. We run out every four or five days, and I don't want to go to the grocery store that often, nor do I have the inclination to do anything more than stare into the pantry when it's mealtime and say, "How do mangos sound, baby?"

This was becoming a problem, because my baby girl loves to eat, and I was forever running out of food. Until yesterday, when I remembered - wait a second, I used to MAKE this stuff. How did I forget that? This morning I didn't open a jar of baby food; I mashed up a banana, and voila! breakfast. I was so excited I boiled a potato (thinking AHEAD, even) and mashed it up for her lunch. She was not all that impressed with it, but that's okay. Now that I have remembered I don't have to buy a jar to feed her, I have all manner of fruits and vegetables to give my baby. I can just mash up what is on hand for her to eat. I'll even look like a cool mom while I do it. Look! I make my own baby food.

It's virtuous, trendy, cheap, and requires minimal effort (and no math on my grocery list).

Now that's what I'm talking about.

lately

2011-08-07T19:16:00.000-07:00

2011-08-05T18:23:00.000-07:00

So.

I'm reading this book, and one of the things she does is tell one story two different ways. She points out all that she loved about living in a certain place in one paragraph, and all that was difficult about it in the other. Her point, of course, was that experiences are often colored by what you choose as your focus. I feel like I could do the same for this week.

I.

This week I've had more evenings than usual on my own with all three kids, and I am so impressed with how well it has gone. We had a groove, and the boys got to do a few novel things, like play in a bubble bath and go swimming before dinner. We have had a good time together during the days lately too, reading new Dr Seuss books, watching Asher perform Spiderman "plays", playing with chalk paint, swimming in a creek. Last night Asher even wanted to be rocked, something I haven't done with him in forever. Before going to bed he told me, "You're a sweet mom," and he woke up talking about how I was the best mom in the world. When I asked him what made him say that, he said, "God did." Sweet boy. Emmy, too, has been especially cuddly, and I've had extra time to snuggle up with her lately. Also, Brian and I were able to navigate potentially stressful schedules well, and managed hectic moments without tension. One night I had dinner out with my friends, an unusual treat for me at this stage in babyhood. I've made headway on getting our house decluttered and deep-cleaned in preparation for selling it, one of my favorite friends found out today she is carrying a perfectly healthy baby boy (yay!), and I had my favorite salad for dinner tonight (as take-out from my favorite restaurant, a pleasant surprise from Brian).

But also?

II.

The heat index today was somewhere around 110*, with stifling humidity. Twice this week I've gotten significantly dehydrated. Emmy is teething, which means I can't put her down without her crying, she is not interested in nursing during the day, and she wants to nurse for comfort for hours every night. Earlier this week I was so frustrated with nursing a teething baby in the heat that I wanted to just give it up altogether. I can't remember the last time I slept eight straight hours. Brian has been gone most of the week. Our refrigerator is on the fritz, so between that and Brian's schedule the kids and I have eaten out more than usual. I didn't spend all week cleaning, but when I did, the boys were wild, jumping off the furniture, screeching down the hallways. Some of my closest friends, whom I talk to daily, are under serious stress in their own lives, and I have been concerned about them much of this week.

It's an interesting exercise, isn't it? Both paragraphs are true. But honestly, when I think about my week, it's the top paragraph that comes to mind first. But seriously? This nursing a teething baby in the heat business is no joke.

With that, I'm off to eat homemade chocolate cake with strawberries. And I will choose to focus on the antioxidants and vitamin C, rather than the sugar and fat content.

Happy Friday, friends.

brothers

2011-08-02T19:56:00.000-07:00

The boy just won't leave Silas alone.

He's splashed him, sprayed him in the face with his water gun, followed too close behind him. He's four, maybe five. I've sat in a plastic chair beside the pool long enough to know that all manner of harassment is boyspeak for "Play with me," so I don't intervene. But Silas is not accustomed to being heckled. He's usually the heckler, and he's had enough. I watch him from across the pool as he turns around, points his chubby finger at the little boy, and growls something akin to "Stop!" Then he points a few yards away, where his brother is standing on the side, ready to jump in. From my perch, I hear, ".... I'll get Asher."

The boy walks away.

* * * * * * *

Tonight they watched their dad on stage. If they had been alone, either boy would have stood to the side, clapping and dancing benignly. But each is emboldened by his brother's brazenness, and both take their turn seeing just how close they can get to climbing on stage before I shoo them away.

Neither would try if his brother wasn't with him.

* * * * * * * *

They are up at dawn every morning, acting out a plot from a superhero's den, arguing over a toy, walloping one another, then playing again.

All day long I will hear them, talking over one another, battling (either staged or heartfelt), telling knock-knock jokes, plotting their mutiny. Running down the hallway, first to play, then to escape, then to play again. They are loud - have mercy they are loud - rambunctious, mischievous, silly. Whatever life would be like with one little boy is exponentially more so because they are together.

I can't imagine them any other way.

today

2011-07-26T12:52:00.001-07:00

It's been a sanctifying kind of day.

First, I slept in. Sleeping in is beautiful in theory, but in reality, it means that I stumble out of my room, bleary-eyed, fumbling into the kitchen for coffee, while my little charges are already screeching down the hallway, finished with breakfast and ready to play, and Emmy is inch-worming her way toward me, wailing each time I step over her rather than pick her up, ready for morning cereal and clean clothes.

Nothing like being catapulted out of bed and into the middle of the day.

Then I had to wake the baby up to get to her check-up on time. I hate waking babies from a perfectly good nap.Silas had to go with me anyway, so I decided to just take all three to the pediatrician's office. For the life of me I can't remember now why I thought this would be a good idea. It goes without saying that it's pouring down rain when we leave, and we're all soaked by the time we get inside. Silas wet his pants twice (twice!) and threw the kind of fit reserved only for spectators while the (very gracious) doctor was in the room. Then, on our way out, Silas ran away from me to gather rocks to throw at his brother, and Asher climbed out of his car seat and into the front of the van, the better to honk at his mother and brother as we acted out our very own roadrunner and coyote scene in the pediatrician's parking lot.

Ay-yi-yi.

We recovered during lunch, got Silas down for his nap, and moved on. Then, a few minutes ago, I was nursing Emmy before her nap while Asher was playing with the water hose in the back yard. I heard him open the back door and shoot the water hose through the screen, spraying the kitchen floor. If I jumped up, I would wake the baby, so I sat and listened as he came inside, surveyed the damage, then went back out to finish his task of hosing down the kitchen. Intentionally. On purpose. Because flooding the house seemed like the best use of his time in that moment.

I put Emmy to bed, picked up the mop, handed Asher a towel, and thanked God for my children.

Six years ago this week, I had a dead baby in my womb. I had waited a long time to have a baby, and now I was waiting to miscarry. It was the most miserable few weeks of my life.

If you had said to me back then - six years from this moment, your four-year-old son is going to flood the kitchen. Your three-year-old son will pee on the floor (twice!), then throw a fit in front of the pediatrician. And your baby girl will be the easiest, most content baby in the world, as long as you never attempt to leave her side. You'll be fretting over keeping a house clean enough to sell, the dog will develop an allergy to fleas, and you'll spend all day every day focused on the minutia of living with little kids.

If you had said to me back then, in six years this will be your life, it would have seemed too much to hope for.

On days like today, it's so easy to forget how rich my life is. How long I asked for the life I have now, how quiet my world was back then. It's easy to yell, harder to be grateful.

But today I am. Because six years ago right now, all that I wanted in the world was a loud, messy, full life.

And I needed to mop the kitchen anyway.

2011-07-23T05:11:00.000-07:00

I am coming out of the baby fog. In my life, I give a year each time to pregnancy and early babyhood. In some ways I'm totally shocked that Silas is three, because I feel as though I missed the fun of him being two. Did I even notice the little things he did or liked or said at two? I'm not sure. It's also shocking because I feel like, wait, isn't Asher three? No, that was a year ago. Asher's four now. Like I said, I missed a year.

But now I'm coming back around. For posterity's sake, and because I am beginning to accept that we won't live in this house forever (as an aside - I love my life here, and it goes without saying that we have many many people we love here, that we are sad to leave. But the actual location - the idea of leaving this town - doesn't make me especially sad. However. The idea of leaving my house is very sad. I've raised babies here, you know? It has been our home, after several years of looking for one) - the point is, for all of the reasons I just listed, I've been trying to take more pictures of daily life.

Want to see them?

This is us, hanging out around the house, and playing in the beloved toddler pool I have mentioned so often here. Please take note of the elephant water fountain and slide. This is not your mama's toddler pool. Also, the picture of Silas' head lopped off is still my favorite water picture, because that's totally what it's like to try to take pictures of little kids swimming. It's way too fun to stop and pose for a picture.

2011-07-20T18:22:00.001-07:00

I've been working on another post for a few days. One day soon I will be able to sit still long enough to actually give word to thought. Today is not that day.

In the meantime -

* We realized last night that our refrigerator has been hanging out at a balmy 65* for a few days. Nice and tepid. Yikes. Tonight I am so so thankful to have avoided poisoning my family with not-quite-cool-enough lunch meat or milk or, have mercy, mayonnaise. That's one way to clean out the fridge. Also thankful that Brian is the kind of guy who will google "refrigerator not cooling" until he finds the solution, and fixes it himself. Oh and hey, if you ever start to think maybe you're not such a slob after all, you should look under your refrigerator sometime.

* I think I can reasonably say that I now have only one baby in diapers again. The "two in diapers" thing has never been that big of a deal to me, but still. I'm proud of Silas for getting the hang of using the potty. But if he is standing in your front yard and drops his drawers, don't say I didn't warn you. That's just the way that goes, for now.

* Emmy is getting to be so much fun. So playful and cuddly and curious. There is something sweet about tiny babies, to be sure, and I enjoyed Emmy's tiny baby stage more than the other two. But really, the more they can interact with you, the more fun babies are.

* You know, I wept and gnashed my teeth through Asher's third year (because dude three-years-old is HARD), but I just haven't felt that way about Silas turning three. So far, I actually love that Silas is three. He's in that stage where he says funny things all day long (an example: after two helpings of watermelon and a cup of apple juice, he told me tonight that his tummy was getting a headache), he and his brother play pretty well together now that they can have conversations and have similar play schemes, and he is finally getting old enough for me to reason with him. When reasoning doesn't work, he is at least old enough to appreciate the value of a good bribe. I even had a pleasant experience in the grocery store this morning, thanks to the allure of a bakery cookie at the end of our outing. There are some definite advantages to being three.

2011-07-18T06:21:00.001-07:00

I am of the opinion that if I don't have anything productive to say, I shouldn't say anything at all, at least not on the internet.

Usually, I hold pretty tightly to that. Mostly because I really really REALLY hate conflict.

But seriously? This guy makes me a crazy person. Really really crazy.

How hard is it to just say, "Hey, I was a jerk, and I'm sorry about that"? Isn't that so much easier than backpedaling yourself into an entire website devoted to why you were right to make fun of someone in public? And isn't the Joe the Plumber-esque story just a little over the top? So, yeah, you met a guy who agreed with you. Congratulations. That wasn't an opportunity to maybe mention that the Kingdom of God is bigger than our stereotypes?

Okay, I will seriously stop now.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

In other news, Brian told our church yesterday that we're moving. He also spent the weekend painting trim, to get the house ready to put it on the market.

Makes the whole thing feel more real.

That's pretty exciting.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And I feel like Asher is crossing a threshold, both in his behavior and his awareness of how his behavior effects other people. Several opportunities recently to talk about how God loves us, and what it means to be sorry for what we did, ask forgiveness, and try to do better. I don't necessarily enjoy seeing him regretful over his behavior, but I do love the chance to share my faith with him. I love the chance to live out grace to one another.

Because if we can't show grace to our children, then what's the point of being a believer at all?

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I've been fired up recently. Can you tell?

I've also been singing an old Caedmon's Call song all weekend, "This world has nothing for me, and this world has everything ..."

I'm looking at you, Cindy Roy.

Happy Monday, all.

2011-07-14T03:03:00.000-07:00

Can I tell you what I love about this picture?

There we are, smiling at the camera. Meanwhile my dad is soothing the baby and my mom can't work her own camera and Linda is talking to the boys who are laughing at whatever she's staying (and sitting still, miraculously) and Brian's aunt is listening to them and it's all so BUSY - while Brian and I stop for just a minute and smile at the camera. That mirror could be a little bubble for what's going on in my head - or around me - at any given moment in life.

This picture sums it up pretty well, don't you think?

Also - seriously guys? I tell you we're moving AND it's my birthday and I get comments about potty training? It's a commentary on just how un-fun potty training really is. Although with Silas it hasn't been very stressful at all, mostly because I have been so relaxed about it. But still - Colorado? Hello? That's kind of a big deal in my little world.

One more thing - Two of the three kids are sick this week. Strep and ear infections and what not. I spent most of yesterday insisting that Silas had a false positive on his strep test (he's still eating normally, no strep symptoms at all) right up to the moment yesterday afternoon when my throat started hurting, too. Ah, yes. Maybe occasionally the doctor's office knows something I don't know.

Happy recouping.

today

2011-07-11T02:51:00.000-07:00

Hi.

So. We're moving to Colorado. We think. We hope.

We don't know when. Depends on when it all comes together.

The "why" is a larger post than I am ready to write at 4:52 a.m.

But it's good. To me, anyway.

So stick around. Details to follow.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And I'm 33 today.

33 is kind of a nothing birthday, right? Not really a number worth lamenting or reflection. But this is the number that I've always carried. When you're 33, you're an adult. You're very often a parent. And Harry Chapin tells me the greatest men have all died at 33, so there's that.

I like where my life is at 33. I love my little brood. I like the chaos. I like having babies old enough to talk to one another, and young enough to still sit in my lap for stories. I like my husband. I like my friends.

All is well.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Silas had his first day in underwear - in public - with no accidents yesterday. Yay and hooray.

By the way, I'm totally the mom who lets my little boys pee in the parking lot. If you're offended, look away. They'll be done in just a second.

Also, my favorite thing that Silas does right now is tell stories. Some of them are his accounts of real events, and some are totally made up, and truthfully, very often I'm not sure which is which. But they always begin with, "When I was your age ..." or "When I was a little girl ..." or "When I was a mama ..."

It is the best thing ever.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Also, Emmy is six months old.

That happened fast, didn't it?

Little girl is all but crawling. Her movements are not quite coordinated, but she can get where she wants to go.

A baby who crawls before she sits up. The mark of a younger sibling.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

And Asher is more or less reading.

Sounding out words, and half-guessing at words most times.

But the desire is there.

And while I wouldn't say he's exactly proficient at it yet, he gets it, you know? Letters make sounds, and strung together they make words, and words connect us to one another.

That's kind of a big deal.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Don't you feel caught up now?

Two weeks is a long time to go without posting.

But now that the toothpaste is out of the tube, I can be more transparent again.

Which is good news for me.

Secrecy is not my strong suit.

Happy Monday to you.

2011-06-27T17:06:00.000-07:00

MY LORD GOD, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

- Thomas Merton, "Thoughts in Solitude"

on screaming into the crowd

2011-06-24T05:00:00.000-07:00

When I was a youth minister, we went to camp every year. There are several staples of youth ministry in general, church camp in particular, and one of them is the inevitable round of messy games. Water balloons, shaving cream, marshmallows. Some graduate to diapers full of chocolate pudding and baby pools full of sauerkraut. Every camp has messy games.

But there's a line, right? Between silly and disgusting, and you know it when you see it.

We were in the gymnasium, the whole camp, which must have been around three hundred kids and chaperones. There were volunteers, one from each team (there are always teams, too) in front of the crowd. The details are fuzzy, but there was some sort of competition involving gross games, and with each round they upped the ante, so that the "winners" had to go on to a new round of something grosser. Makes you wonder if winning was worth it, eh?

But the kids were earning points for their team, and everyone was very excited. With each round the gym got louder, more rambunctious, as the teams were all cheering for their representative. Our team had made it to the final round. One of the girls from my group, Krystal, was on the gym floor as the representative. The final round of messy games - the grossest thing the camp director could muster - was to eat a minnow.

A real, live, squirming minnow. If this shocks you, it did me too. It was all in the name of fun and whatever, but there's a line between silly and disgusting, and eating a live fish crossed the line.

So here we were: this youngish teenager (whose parents had entrusted to my supervision in another state) standing in front of a cheering crowd that is whooping for her to eat the minnow. The noise was deafening. She was on the fence, it was written in her expression. She didn't want to let her team down, she wanted to earn the points. But a fish? A real live squirmy fish? She wasn't convinced. The whole gym was calling her name, pushing her toward this inane, disgusting thing. "Krystal! Krystal! Krystal!"

And I was standing in a corner of the gym, alone, screaming something different.

"DON'T DO IT KRYSTAL! DON'T DO IT!"

I screamed as loud as I could. Until my throat hurt, until I ran out of air, until her mind was made up. "Don't do it! Don't do it!" I yelled, over and over. But she couldn't hear me, and even if she could, it wouldn't have mattered. She couldn't back down. She ate the minnow. I left the gym. I couldn't watch.

Lately I have been the lone voice, pushing against the throng again, screaming something unpopular. There are several instances in my life where I am the only one saying, "This is crazy! Don't believe it!" Of course, when the noise level has reached that decibel, words are meaningless. Mine is just one more voice among the crowd, and everyone is screaming something.

But I have to do it anyway. Until my throat hurts, until I run out of air, until minds are made up. It's not in my nature to keep quiet.

6-21

2011-06-21T12:07:00.000-07:00

Three years ago today, I became the mother of two little boys, 18 months apart.

And the adventure began.

I could not have imagined how much my perspective would change in three years.

I'm so thankful it has.

And I'm so, so thankful for little Silas.

Happy birthday buddy.

ya'll. this hair.

2011-06-20T20:15:00.001-07:00

2011-06-19T07:12:00.000-07:00

My children are growing up around men who believe it is worth their time to hang out with little kids.

My childhood was much like theirs.

It is a gift that will bless them their entire lives.

Lucky them.

Lucky us.

Happy Father's Day.

2011-06-18T04:38:00.000-07:00

Good morning.

Well, yes. He broke open his head and I rolled my eyes. And yes, Emmy thinks a pacifier is great fun as a toy, but quite useless as any sort of comforting object. But so what. All is well in our little world.

We have been swimming every day this week. We have the great good fortune of several friends and acquaintances with swimming pools, as well as grandparents who live on the lake. So, in the name of Summer! and because it is too hot to do anything else, we have accepted every opportunity to jump in.

And I don't have a single picture to show for it.

Actually, I don't have any pictures of my kids in a swimming pool, ever, really. Because it is my job to keep these kids alive, and when water is involved, that task consumes my energy. Until now. Because, friends, I have discovered the very best have-fun-in-the-water-without-drowning device ever. Want to see it? Click here.

It is perfect - PERFECT - for little Silases of the world. It keeps them up and forward just a little, so that they don't have to work so hard to keep their faces out of the water. Within ten minutes of putting the thing on, Silas was strolling through the deep end and climbing the high dive-esque ladder to the water slide. And I? Was sitting on the side of the pool (nursing a baby, of course), not even a little worried if he was going to die.

Everybody wins.

And now we are all a little waterlogged, the laundry has taken over its designated area and is sneaking into the kitchen, and the baby has a suntan (I KNOW - I TRY to keep her in the shade with her little sun bonnet on, and I guess I've succeeded, considering she isn't old enough yet for sunscreen and has never gotten a sunburn. But I feel as though I should apologize to the 30-yr-old Emmy who will be scourging grocery stores for good "replenishing" moisturizers because her mother let her play in the sun as an infant). So today we are home, folding every towel we own and generally recovering from our week of summer fun.

Happy Saturday, all.

on the boy who cried ... something

2011-06-14T16:24:00.001-07:00

Ya'll, I don't even know if I can do this story justice.

So if you live with little kids, you know that two-year-olds crumple in a heap in the grocery store, three-year-olds scream "NO!" in your face, and four-year-olds whine. Whine whine whine. Whining in the morning, whining in the evening, whining at suppertime. Always with the whining. I try to be patient with it, really I do. I try to account for things like hunger and my mood and whatnot, and to teach a more appropriate response ("You don't get anything by whining. Take a deep breath, then try again." Does anyone else say this 28 times a day?). But I'm only human. And with a teething baby, an almost-three-year-old perfecting his belligerence, and a whining four-year-old, sometimes I'm just over it. Enough already with the whining.

Yesterday afternoon was one of those days. The boy had whined since lunch. By 4:00, I had used up all of my allotted patience for the day. After much droopiness and - yes - whining, he finally resolved himself to playing on his own for a little while with a beach ball from the dollar store. Seeing that all three of my children were occupied or asleep (a rare moment around here), I called Georgia's Mom.

Cue ominous music here.

Georgia's Mom and I are talking talking, and I hear a crash from the boys' room. Asher walks down the hall whimpering and (wait for it) whining, hand to his head. He says something about a broken something from the beach ball. It's a dollar store beach ball; how bad could it really be, right? I insist it scared him, and that we'll clean up the mess when I'm off the phone. He continues to whimper about his head, and again I tell him he's fine, no need to whine, and would you like to watch your tv show while I finish my phone call? Of course. I turn on his current favorite program and go back to the back bedroom, where I whisper into the phone how much my child is WHINING today and I just don't know what to DO with the kid and his incessant WHINE. A few minutes later, I say good-bye and hang up. I walk into the living room and see Asher, sitting in the recliner, engrossed in his program.

As a trickle of blood congeals on his forehead.

Apparently a light from the ceiling fan broke over my child's head (from a dollar store beach ball?). He wasn't hurt badly enough to need stitches or anything, but he had two or three little cuts on his head from the whole ordeal. Two or three places where blood was matted to his little blond curls. The curls I had insisted were fine.

The boy was bleeding from the head and I'd told him to quit whining.

Have mercy.

There's a lesson in here somewhere.

2011-06-12T07:18:00.000-07:00

Emmy is sick. Or teething. Or sick and teething. Who really ever knows with a baby, right? Her forehead's warm, she's not sleeping well, she wants to nurse all the time, she SCREECHES in protest if I even hint at putting her down. Like I said, she's something. Which means lately, if you've seen me, you've seen me like this:

(Probably wearing this outfit, even, because it's one of two from last summer that still fit. And since I'm not mentally prepared to accept the size I would have to buy in order to have new clothes, I'm just wearing the same two outfits over and over. To this I offer a resounding Meh. There are worse things.)

It occurred to me at five this morning, as I held a dozing baby who was just serious enough about nursing that I couldn't put her down, but not so serious that she was actually eating anything, that my worst nursing fear has been realized.

I have become a human pacifier.

No no no, friends. This is not acceptable.

It's not even that I'm opposed to being bothered in the moment - maybe the very best thing about having a third baby is that I'm already accustomed to being needed, so the needs of a baby are not the weight they once were. It's that I'm envisioning how this is all going to play out. In my experience, babies who have some way of soothing themselves - a thumb or paci - sleep better overall. At 10 or 15 or 23 months they can roll over, squirm, find their paci,and fall back asleep without needing comfort from a parent. Kids who don't have that spend hours awake in the middle of the night when they get older. To each his own when it comes to pacis, but me, I'm a believer. So. My quest is to find a pacifier that she might deem an acceptable substitute. She has already proclaimed her disdain for Nuk (which was Asher's favorite as a baby) and Mam. Google tells me a Soothie is best for nursing babies. Anyone want to weigh in?

true fact

2011-06-07T17:48:00.001-07:00

I just nursed a baby to sleep
sitting on a toddler stool
beside a potty
watching David and Goliath on the laptop (that was perched on the counter)
handing out occasional circus peanuts for staying put
hoping beyond hope to hear a sturdy splash.
Meanwhile, the remaining child
skated down the hallway in his father's dress socks
and rearranged the floor lamps.

I couldn't make it up.
I need a circus peanut of my own.

Good night.

2011-06-05T12:39:00.000-07:00

About a million and a half years ago, when I was newly pregnant with Asher, I had visions of a baby girl.

Now let's be clear - there is a Southern Baby Girl look that is practically a religion in the Deep South. Smocked dresses runneth over. Anything that stands still long enough will be monogrammed (no kidding - when I made my only trip into a baby boutique to buy a diaper cover for Emmy's baptism dress, the cashier asked me if I wanted to pay the surcharge to have it monogrammed there, or if I'd rather monogram it myself. Why oh WHY would I spend ten EXTRA dollars on a single pair of baby underwear to put her initials on her dainty little booty?). Bows are glued to fuzzy little heads. The whole thing gets ridiculous.

It surprises exactly none of you that I'm just not the Southern Baby Girl kind of mom.

But forever ago, when I was pregnant with Asher, I imagined a baby girl. A ladybug sort of baby girl, not a Southern Baby Girl. No bows, no glue, just little gingham sundresses and dark curls, a kitchen set parked in the corner by the stove. Yellows and reds and sunlight and playing on a blanket in the green green grass. This is the kind of baby girl I would have.

Then I found out Asher was Asher, and I focused on new daydreams. My thoughts of a baby girl dissipated completely, and even when I was pregnant with Emmy I wondered more about how a little sister would grow and fit among her brothers. I had forgotten all about little gingham dresses and sunlight, and the boys had long outgrown their own toy stove in the kitchen.

Until this weekend, when I opened a bag of clothes Laura graciously passed down to Emmy. I was sorting through what would fit now, and what will fit later, when I saw it.

The gingham dress.

Red. With a watermelon on the front.

And I remembered, I have a girl. Five years later, I have my baby girl after all.

And it turns out, she fits in with her brothers just fine.

some things

2011-06-02T18:51:00.000-07:00

Is this thing on?

Is anyone still reading here?

I hope so. Soon, soon, I'm going to write again. Real posts, with real thoughts and actual information. For now, though, most of what is in my head is not bloggable. Sadly. Because when I can't write about it, I get ... twitchy. (Yes I could write and not publish. But I don't, because frankly, I don't have that kind of time). Alas.

Since I can't say more, want to hear a few things from my day?

* My Emmy girl is cutting four teeth at one time. No WONDER she's had trouble falling asleep this week. Watching her chew on her fist two hours into a futile bedtime, it occurred to me that maybe her teeth hurt, and I found four little swollen nubs on her gums. Four.

* A few library books have piqued our interest lately. Once you get past Hop on Pop, Dr. Seuss really is brilliant.
Two worth mentioning:

From Oh the Places You'll Go -

The Waiting Place…
…for people just waiting.
Waiting for a train to go
or a bus to come, or a plane to go
or the mail to come, or the rain to go
or the phone to ring, or the snow to snow
or waiting around for a Yes or a No
or waiting for their hair to grow.
Everyone is just waiting.

Ever had to wait for something? Doesn't he capture it so well?

Also, the first line of The King's Stilts is the best I've read in any children's book so far:

"Naturally, the king never worse his stilt during business hours." Naturally.

* See this? It makes me laugh out loud every time.

Silas loves to sit in my lap and watch it with me. Mostly I think he likes it because I do; either way, we've had fun with it recently.

* Silas is in the throes of potty training. Wow I hate potty training. But he'll get there. There is no typically developing fourteen-year-old boy who isn't yet potty trained. So, you know, no worries.

What's new with you?

2011-05-29T07:49:00.000-07:00

I don't think well on my feet.

I don't make split decisions. I don't even KNOW what I think at first, which is why I am terrible - useless awful no good - in debates. I need to sit on it for a while, go for a walk and putter around the kitchen, and tomorrow afternoon I'll have an opinion. When it bubbles up it will be good, trust me, but it takes a while for my mind to settle on something.

That bubbling-up period is pretty nebulous. I kind of ... wander around. Stare off. Brian will ask what's on my mind, and I tend to cock my head and just ... blink at him. I don't know yet. I'm going to know. In time, I'm going to be sure of it - whatever "it" is - but ... not yet.

That is where my head is today. Full. Processing.

And my husband, bless his sweet soul, gave me a morning to meander around a quiet house.

The perfect backdrop for my mood.

Hope you have a quiet Sunday, too.

2011-05-28T18:57:00.000-07:00

2011-05-28T06:41:00.001-07:00

Oh friends. How I've missed you.

Blogger wouldn't let me log in for a few days.

I was going through withdrawals.

Also, I have about four different posts in my head.

And in a few minutes I"m going to have a morning alone.

So. Yay and hooray. And I'll be back soon. With plenty to share.

2011-05-22T05:08:00.000-07:00

So, how do you get through four days and five nights alone with three small children?

It's simple, really. Junk food.

"What did you BUY for that amount of money?" Brian asked before he left (Brian, the Spender in our house, who never never heckles me about money). Cookies and bologna, of course. And Nutella, because I needed a little junk food, too.

"I like your special ice cream," Silas said, licking Cool Whip from his fingers one night. I know you do, buddy.

Novelty is the name of the game around here. Anything new! and interesting! and fun! to keep the train on the track. Actually, in many ways our house is running smoother than usual. Floors are mopped, groceries are stocked, clothes are folded. I've been waking up early enough to have my coffee before entering the fray, which makes me generally a more productive and pleasant person. I am On My Game, and life has been surprisingly un-overwhelming, despite Brian's absence.

We're also accepting any and all social invitations. Normally I am pretty guarded with our social time. Too many hours a week with a dozen little ones milling about, and two of the four of us get twitchy (can you guess which two? Hint: I'm one). Crowds are fun in moderation. But this week? Sign us up. In fact, we have three parties in four days on the books, and two play dates in between. Again, novelty is the name of the game. If I can make our time feel like a vacation from reality - like something new and unusual, instead of normal life without Dad - it is a little easier on all of us. And because I know it's short-lived, all of the activity has actually been a lot of fun. My only flub was taking Silas to a big pool (with a diving board, compared to the world of zero entry toddler pools we've grown accustomed to) without a life jacket. It's too cold, I thought. He won't be interested. But as my fearless little boy trotted around the deep end of Liquid Death, leaning all the way over to refill his water gun, I knew I'd made an error in judgment. Alas. Now I know.

So, yes. We're hanging in there. Thriving, even. Thanks to the grace of God, an abundance of birthdays, and Cheez-its.

Happy Sunday, all.

2011-05-18T10:54:00.000-07:00

Want to know what the worst part of parenting is?

It's not tantrums in the grocery store. It's not giving up quiet mornings, sharing illnesses, feeding other people from my plate, or sacrificing ever watching television, ever, before 8 p.m. It is not my never-ending work of staying hydrated. It's not interrupted phone calls, or missing the sermon (every. single. week.) to nurse a baby. These are inconveniences, yes, and annoyances, to be sure. But none of them are the worst part of parenting.

The worst part of parenting is that my children are mirrors of me.

When I am stressed, they are too. When I am impatient with one boy, I am almost certain to see him impatient with his brother a little later. Anxious? Then the baby won't sleep, because she's feeding off of my anxiety. Exhausted, distracted, overwhelmed? Produces listless, bored, frustrated children. Chaos almost always ensues.

My children reflect my mood back to me. And until recently, I have not liked what I have seen.

I say this is the worst part of parenting because I want to always be able to give my kids the ideal. The most nutritious meal, the most focused attention, inexhaustible learning opportunities. I want their lives to be full of only good things. The problem, of course, is that I am human. I am not always at my best. I get overwhelmed, or anxious, or stressed, and seeing the fruit of my emotions in their lives only adds to my anxiety.

If I want happy, calm children, then I must offer them a happy, calm mother. Somehow yelling at them to stop yelling simply does not work. Becoming frustrated with their level of frustration only ratchets up the moment. If I want my children to learn to control themselves, I must first master my own emotions.

It is one more example of how parenting draws me to Christ. I would love to think I could avoid any negative emotion, in order to ensure my children avoided the same. But that is simply impossible. Hardship is a part of life. Lately I have been praying to be the kind of mother that will draw my children to Christ. Whether they seek refuge in Him because of my failures, or are drawn to him through my successes, is not the point. I would love to think I can offer my children the ideal all of the time, but that goal is futile. I hope, instead, to point them to Christ.

worth a thousand

2011-05-17T11:03:00.000-07:00

Jeans, t-shirt, and little pink tennis shoes. Ruffles and polka dots are cute, but when I see this picture I think, now that's MY daughter.

She discovered the jumparoo (or Johnny Jump-up, or whatever it's called) this weekend. Loved it. Of course.

And that hair ... girl, you better hope it curls.

Isn't she cute?

2011-05-13T12:43:00.000-07:00

Hello friends.

It is a glorious afternoon. Warm and breezy, comfortable in the shade. The two little ones have both been asleep for over two hours (to WHAT do I owe this good fortune?!) and Asher has spent most of that time happily creating mud in the backyard, and then splashing in it. And I? Have done nothing. I have no deadline to meet, no report to write. No laundry to fold (of course there is always laundry to fold, but we're pretending this afternoon that none exists), no appointment to schedule. I have SAT in the sunshine, a turtle on a rock, craning my neck to enjoy the GLORY of the afternoon.

Which is to say, life is immeasurably better now that I'm no longer working.

This morning we had plans with friends that fell through at the last minute, and we found ourselves strapped in car seats, ice melting in water bottles, with nothing planned. So we drove to a park with a walking trail, and stumbled on biosystems engineers (“It used to be ag sciences,” the young man said as he removed his ball cap to wipe his brow) working to protect an eroding stream. The men were gracious enough to allow the boys to help scatter hay, and my children heard the word “conservation” for the first time. They spent the best part of their morning stomping around in the heat, Asher stopping occasionally to remark, “It's fun to put the ground back the way God made it, before people messed it up.”

God bless him.

And that moment – my two little boys playing in the hay, seeing and touching and smelling what it means to work and learn something new, stopping occasionally to check on the dozing baby in the shade – that moment is why homeschooling appeals to me. The world is round and great big and just so interesting, but education too easily becomes about ringing bells and inside voices. Report cards and snack money and Spanish clubs have their place in the world, don't get me wrong. But maybe when you're five, or six, or seven, learning should be about what you see and touch, and walking behind men with tractors and ball caps for a few hours on a Thursday morning.

Part 2

I wrote this yesterday afternoon. This morning was spent in the backyard playing Engineers. The boys packed their backpacks with notebooks, pencils, water bottles, a tape measure, and a map. And I showed him how to collect data. We measured the width of the retaining wall, counted the shoes and ride-on toys, measured the length of lawn chairs, counted the swings. Each time he would write the number in his little notebook.

Glorious.

2011-05-09T05:05:00.000-07:00

1. Brian and I sit on the front porch after bedtime if we intend to have a conversation. If we sit in the living room, we stare blankly at one screen or another (and lately I've been nursing and beseeching a baby to sleep). So we sit out front if we intend to complete a sentence. Anyway, one evening recently an older man in a Camry drove by, windows rolled down, music thumping from the windows, and it cracked us up. Brian commented on the incongruence, and I commented that people probably say the same about him. "A middle-aged man driving in a mini-van, Snoop Dogg streaming through the windows." "Middle age!?" he said.

What makes me laugh about this is that the only disturbing feature in that image is that he might be getting older. Snoop Dogg in a mini-van, though, you know, whatever.

2. I gave Emmy cereal last night, and her response was something along the lines of, "Where has the spoon been my whole life?" Loved it loved it. It still took some serious coaxing to get her to bed, but she did eventually sleep away from me for the first time all week. It's a start, anyway.

Happy Monday.

2011-05-07T03:49:00.001-07:00

It's 5:49 a.m. I'm awake, Brian and Baby are asleep, the boys are at grandparents'.

I'm thinking of stealing away to Starbucks.

But first - I am well, thanks for asking. It's been a little quiet around here since my breakdown/tantrum/acknowledgement of defeat a few weeks ago. But things are better. Truthfully, as soon as I hit publish I felt better.

Some people have a therapist. I have a blog.

I finished home visits last week, and finished paperwork this week, so I am completely finished working. I spent all day, every day, of the entire week with Silas for the first time in a very long time. By Friday he was obviously happier, and I was obviously exhausted. But it was the good kind of tired.

This afternoon Silas stood in the middle of the living room with a lampshade on his head (the same lampshade I have tried, in vain, to keep on the lamp all week) and proclaimed, "I am Sir No. I tell people No all the time." I can't think of a better picture of Silas as a toddler.

In other news, Emmy has stopped sleeping. Altogether - she's just given it up, like a bad habit. Maybe THAT is why I've been exhausted. In time, after much beseeching and nursing, she will deign to sleep, so long as I never put her down. She's been in our bed all week (we moved her out of our bed about six weeks ago, but if my choice is to sleep with her in my bed or to never sleep again, I'm up for making concessions). At her check-up yesterday her (beloved wise wise) doctor suggested that cereal may help settle her (presumably refluxing) tummy at night, so that she can sleep again. Cross your fingers, friends. I need this baby to sleep already.

And with that, I'm off. There's a Saturday morning cup of coffee with my name on it.

2011-05-04T13:35:00.000-07:00

This morning I was changing a diaper or nursing a baby, I can't remember which, and Brian was cooking breakfast, when he called to me, "Come look at our back yard!" It took me a minute to get there, of course. When I walked in the kitchen the bacon was burning and Brian was outside, taking pictures like this:

Sometimes you just have to let the bacon burn.

so comfy

2011-05-01T20:10:00.001-07:00

this week

2011-04-29T05:20:00.001-07:00

So yes, they were baptized. Asher, then Silas, then Emmy. When Asher was finished, he looked up and whispered, "Now I'm a child of God!" and while I would have been prepared to argue that he was before the baptism, too, it was still the sweetest thing ever. We ate lasagna and cake and way too much Easter candy, then came home and crashed. It was all very lovely.

The next day, we recovered.

The next day, I worked. This is my last week of work, and it has been such a total disaster - in terms of completing tasks, I mean - that I feel as though this door is closing like an elevator, and if I don't get out of the way soon I'm going to get slammed by it. I'm looking forward to tying up the loose ends and turning in my paperwork for the last time.

The next day, we had tornados.

Maybe you've heard about it? 200 dead in my state. An F4 tornado went down the main drag of a college town in the middle of 5:00 traffic. Whole families killed, whole neighborhoods destroyed. To the east, north, and west of me, they are still recovering bodies.

I slept through the whole thing.

And this feels like a metaphor for my life. So many times I've been close to a disaster, never a part of it. Why them, not me? Why do I continually dodge the bullet without even knowing one existed? I don't know. Please don't tell me it was God protecting me, because the implication is that God wasn't protecting them, and I don't believe that. The rains fall on the righteous and the unrighteous alike. So why do I always happen upon the right place at the right time?

An example: one day this week I was loading kids into the car. I was fastening Silas into his car seat, with my back to the busy parking lot, when a man came running up beside me. The stroller had rolled into traffic. ROLLED INTO TRAFFIC, and I hadn't even noticed, and a stranger had caught it (and saved Emmy's life) without me ever even knowing she needed saving.

Another tornado, dodged.

So this has been my week - working (or not, as it were) for the last time, playgrounds and meltdowns, while in the towns all around me people are grieving lives and livelihood. Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy.

2011-04-26T11:11:00.000-07:00

We had a great Easter.

(Thanks, Jamie, for the pictures.)

on holy thursday

2011-04-21T13:36:00.000-07:00

Speak to me Buzz! Buzz, can you hear me?!

This picture perfectly encapsulates my week. Maybe his nose is to the carpet, foot raised, in mid-tantrum. Or maybe he's dead on arrival, a rescue gone awry. Either way, one thing is certain: the super hero once beloved in this house has crashed.

It's Holy Thursday, and never have I felt less reflective. My Lenten intentions have been feeble at best. I'm missing services tonight because a sleepy infant at bedtime trumps all. For me, Lent has been a wash this year.

To make matters worse, all three children are going to be baptized on Sunday. All I have done to prepare is buy white polos and lasagna noodles. I wanted to read with them about baptism, to pray and talk about what they were doing and why. Instead I threw a toy out of the back door (how's that for modeling self control?) and spent most of Tuesday crying, most of Wednesday on the couch. Company will be here in the morning, and I can't even remember the last time someone vacuumed the floors.

It's Holy Thursday, and never have I felt so weak.

It makes me wonder if maybe this Holy Thursday I understand more clearly than ever my need for Easter. All day I have thought of Rich Mullins: "With these our hells and our heavens so few inches apart, we must be awfully small, and not as strong as we think we are." Never have I been so aware of my need, of my utter deficiency. I am spent.

And tomorrow I will remember Jesus, crucified.

Because I was never going to be able to save myself. God understood my frailty - our frailty - much better than I did.

It is in this moment that I will welcome my children into the family of God. Worn thin as I am, on Sunday I will hold them as we remember the Resurrection, and invite them to join in our hope. It's only a starting point, of course, and ultimately they will decide to accept that invitation or reject it. But on Sunday I will stand with them before God, more aware than ever that I have nothing to cling to but His grace, extended to us through Christ.

Welcome to the Gospel, little ones.

Grace and Peace to you.

2011-04-21T11:22:00.001-07:00

Hi.

I quit my job.
Emmy is teething.

That is all.

meanwhile, back at the ranch ...

2011-04-19T04:49:00.000-07:00

While I have been finding my stride (or trying to, anyway), my kids have had projects of their own.

Emmy has been busy filling out. Look at this sweet face.

Nursing bring such a different dynamic into caring for a tiny baby. It is ridiculous how proud I am of those little round cheeks.

And Silas has been very intent on growing up. He insists he doesn't need an afternoon nap, but I remain unconvinced. See this? This was 6 pm last night, BEFORE we ate dinner. Are you SURE you want to fight so hard against that nap, buddy?

And here is Asher, showing off the puzzle he just finished. Puzzles are his new favorite way to spend the afternoon.

What about you? What have you been working on?

reason #487 why i know i married well

2011-04-17T03:49:00.000-07:00

So, I hit publish on the last post, and Brian cut his eyes at me.

"Your best isn't good enough? Good enough to do what? What is it that you feel like you should be doing that you aren't?"

Well ...

I could make that list. But instead he asked me to make a list of what was going well in our home. And then what was frustrating me. As we talked through it, he said something very useful.

"Lower your expectations."

We talked through a typical afternoon and what is actually reasonable to expect from each child, and guess what - they are already doing that. Everything else is just not as important as I think it is. As for my list - potty training and laundry and whatnot - I need to expect less. It's going to take longer to potty train Silas, because if I'm nursing a baby I often cannot put her down in order to run him to the potty every few minutes. Also, we have this weird nap issue in our house right now, and I basically have to decide who is going to sleep in an afternoon, Silas or Emmy. Brian pointed out that if none of them sleep, well, they just don't sleep. The world will not stop turning on its axis, and bedtime will be a little earlier that night. So what.

So what. This is going to be my mantra for a while. So what.

He also pointed out that when I am trying to do everything for everyone, the goal is to prevent them from having to sacrifice because of the new baby. But learning to sacrifice, to consider another person's needs, is one of the primary benefits of having a sibling. Growing up as one part of a whole, and learning to be aware, at least, of what other people need, is a lesson with lifelong benefits. It is what we have most loved about being around big families. Why would I want to usurp that?

Sacrifice is good. And So What. My two mantras for a while.

And with that, I'm off. It's Palm Sunday, and the Triumphal Entry is one of the most poignant pictures of the Kingdom of God in all of Scripture. Frazzled or not, I don't want to miss it.

So what. Also, sacrifice is good. Repeat after me ...

2011-04-16T03:56:00.001-07:00

The thing is, I thought I was prepared.

I know babies are hard. Transitions are hard. Someone's going to whine and the tv is going to be on way too much and you're going to be late to things because that's just the way life goes when a very brand new baby is in the house.

I thought, I know what to expect. She may or may not be a fussier baby, but if she is, I can handle it. She may or may not sleep for the first year, but if she doesn't, I can handle it. The boys are going to lose their minds for a little while, but then we'll hit a stride, and everything will settle down. I've done this before, I can do it again. And in the end, guess what! We'll have this perfectly beautiful little baby girl in our lives.

I can do this.

You're already laughing at me, aren't you?

Because the baby part? Nothing to it. Nursing has been a breeze. Sleep has been a non-issue. Emmy came into the world understanding that Sleep Was Important, and even in the very earliest days would sleep (on me, but still) several hours at night, then fall immediately back to sleep after she ate. She likes to be held, and likes to play alone. Likes to doze in her stroller, or look around contentedly. Likes to kick around on a blanket on the floor (not that she ever has to worry about being left alone there - one of the blessings of being the youngest in the crowd is that there is always a big brother who wants to talk to her). For crying out loud, the girl even prefers to go to bed awake, and fall asleep on her own. At three months old.

This is the easiest baby ever.

It's the rest of life that's kicking my tail. Potty training and naptime strikes (have mercy) and laundry and a series of illnesses (I didn't mention the death plague we had a few weeks ago here, but we were all sick at the same time, and that's a first in our house) and remembering when it's Asher's turn for snacks at preschool and work ... we won't even talk about work. And other things, things that are important too, happening around me - friends who are struggling and wanting so much to be helpful to them, only to get ten minutes into a conversation and realize someone left the markers out and now Silas is drawing on the boppy.

Life is kicking my tail.

But the baby, man, the baby is good.

I'm not looking for an easy button. I have three children under four years old, and I signed up for this. I want these kids, I want this life.

I just hate feeling like my best isn't good enough.

2011-04-13T19:33:00.000-07:00

Hi guys.

I'm pretty discouraged tonight, but I won't get into all of that. I'm just stopping by to say, I think I may have just reached the pinnacle of parenting ridiculousness. Or maybe I've tapped into my true potential - maybe I missed my calling, and should have been a hostage negotiator. Or an international diplomat. Tactical coordinator? I don't know. You decide.

Bedtime in my house is usually easy. Most nights, all three children go to bed without incident. But tonight, each of my children took turns resisting bedtime vigorously. Emmy was overtired and restless. Silas threw the kind of epic fit that leaves me needing a nap when it's done; after an hour (hour!) of wailing and gnashing his teeth, he finally fell asleep in my arms. Between the two of them, it took TWO HOURS to get them both in bed and asleep. By the time it was Asher's turn, he could smell blood in the water. I was exhausted, and he knew it. After forty-five minutes of sneaking out to the playroom, or standing in the doorway and waving at me (taunting, as it were), I had had enough.

I told him he wasn't allowed to go to bed.

He had to sit on the couch without a toy or his bedtime blankets. He wasn't allowed to get up or to talk. He had to sit on the couch and wait (for what, I don't know, but that's what I told him. "Sit here and wait"). He sat down, and I left the room.

Ten minutes later he started whimpering, "But I HAVE to go to bed, Mom. It's bedtime! And if I don't go to bed I'm not going to feel well in the morning."

I looked at him skeptically. "You think I should let you go to bed?"

"Yes, Mama. Please."

"Okay," I said, feigning uncertainty. "I'll let you try again. If you really think you need to, I guess I'll let you go back to bed."

He jumped off the couch and trotted happily back to his room. I never heard from him again.

I couldn't make this stuff up.

2011-04-03T12:44:00.000-07:00

I am not much of a photographer. I appreciate the art - I enjoy seeing the beauty in common things - but I do not have the ability to create it. But I do have a camera smarter than I am (purchased after my old one was stolen from my porch - remember that?), and sometimes it will surprise me. It isn't my doing - let's be clear - but sometimes my camera will catch what I see in just the right way.

like clown noses

and the occasional pout

and the sacred Sunday afternoon nap

I'm glad to have the pictures, because I know I won't remember. Someday people will ask me about having three kids under four, and what we did with our time, and all I will have to offer are the pictures of the moments that filled up our lives.

march: a review

2011-03-30T11:42:00.001-07:00

I'm so lost in my own head these days that I hardly know what to even say here, unless I just pick up mid-sentence, right where my brain left off, and dig in.

March has been ... difficult. It was supposed to be the month we came back to our old routine - work two mornings, playgroup another morning, grocery stores and whatnot in between - and I endured about two weeks of meltdowns, the velocity of which have never been matched in this house, before I came to my senses. There may be someone in the world who can have a new baby and two impressively energetic little boys and work two mornings a week and go to the grocery store and keep her composure, but friends, it ain't me. I got in over my head, thinking we could just jump back into "normal" life again. That "normal" is gone. Now we're looking for the new one.

Two weeks in, and I realized I had to slash our schedule. No more playgroup for now, and errands that cannot be accomplished through a drive-thru are out. I also realized we had to - HAD TO - get a handle on the feral behavior of the boys. There was one morning a few weeks ago where I felt as though I was being videotaped as the "before" scene in Nanny 911. We are not wolves; we can, must, do more than howl and hiss to communicate with each other. As I tried to understand what in the world was creating such havoc all of a sudden, the answer became clear - it was me.

I was the problem.

My kids missed me. We had spent late pregnancy and early infancy just trying to get through the day, and that was what we had to do in that moment, but that moment is over. My job is about more than meals and baths and the next appointment; if I'm not building a relationship with my kids, then the rest of it is useless. They didn't need additional toys or friends or playdates; they just needed their mom.

Since that realization, life has improved, slowly. We've been to the zoo and the park - not to meet friends, but just to play together. We've eaten our dinner in the backyard and roasted giant marshmallows (did you know they made such a thing? So fun). When I turn on a movie I sit down to watch it with them, rather than automatically opening the computer or loading the dishwasher. Everybody still has to wait their turn (because sometimes the baby just has to eat, and so do I), but after crashing so spectacularly a few weeks ago, my focus is shifting. I'm trying, at least.

This morning began with rain and tantrums and a certain two-year-old who threw his eggs on the floor and lost his breakfast as a result (no worries; he had a pb&j "snack" an hour later). By 8:30, the living room was coated in blocks, and nerves were running thin. Rain or no, we had to get out of the house.

So we did. I loaded everyone up with no clear idea of where we were going, but out was better than in. I threw extra shoes in the car, and after an hour of meandering, we found ourselves at a local nature preserve. By then the rain had slowed, and under the canopy of trees I began to remember who I am as a mother. I spend my days with them not to keep a tidy house or to hang out with friends, but to have the time to follow the road where it leads. To pick up rocks and watch the worms underneath, or spend half an hour marveling at the way bamboo trees sway. This is who I am, and this is what we, as a family, do.

Besides, among the clutter and noise of a life indoors, moments like this never, ever happen:

So here we are, regaining our footing, and learning how to function as a family of five. It's slow going, but we're getting there. The days are not always hard, and not always easy. But I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.

another

2011-03-26T04:02:00.000-07:00

Every time we are in public and a stranger - adult or child, it doesn't matter - catches his attention, Silas declares, "Look Mom! It's my friend I never saw before!"

My little social bee.

2011-03-25T17:47:00.001-07:00

There is really nothing quite like having a two-year-old applaud and cheer, "I'm so proud of you!" as you sit on the potty.

Happy Friday.

today's meditation

2011-03-24T05:24:00.000-07:00

When we alleviate someone’s suffering, we are helping to make God’s kingdom a reality, right here in the present. We become a sign of the way things will be in heaven, when every tear will be wiped away and everyone will be treated as equals— cherished brothers and sisters in Christ.

Read the rest at Word Among Us.

because suddenly it seems possible that one day i won't remember which baby did what, when.

2011-03-19T14:40:00.000-07:00

My mom has always said (of the boys' pictures, especially) to make sure to label and date the backs of photos. "You can't believe it now, but one day you won't remember which baby is in what picture." That seems impossible to be - not remember my babies?! Surely you jest. But now I kind of get it - it kind of does become a blur after a while, and now when people ask me, "Did the boys do that?" I have to stop and think, and sometimes, ya'll, I just can't remember.

When you're in the middle of it - big pregnant with a baby on your hip, then two babies under two years old, the days when double strollers are imperative - it feels like it will always be that way. For years I had two who needed simultaneous undivided attention, and I just assumed they always would. Now I know that those days end. The same is true for Emmy - some day I won't remember when she first slept through the night (um, not yet) or when she first smiled.

But I hope that I never forget how much I delighted in her as a baby.

Because this? Is way more fun than I ever remember having with a baby. She is quick to smile, easy to soothe. The other night I had only slept about three hours total (it was the first night all three of them have been awake at some point), and when she woke up at 4:45, wanting to be UP, I said, "I'm sorry baby. I'm just too sleepy. Night night," and put her back in her car seat (which doubles as her bed for the moment). And was SHOCKED when she serenely nodded off, on her own, without a complaint. Babies who sleep? I just never quite get used to the idea.

I know one day I will forget all of those things. But that's why we blog, right? So for now, here she is, little Emmanuel at 11 weeks old.

Priceless.

2011-03-17T17:17:00.000-07:00

Silas used the potty tonight.

And Emmy took an ounce of sugar water from a bottle with no tears at Grandma's.

It's a start.

on hunger

2011-03-13T07:00:00.000-07:00

I have a weird problem.

I don't get hungry. And I don't really love food. Don't get me wrong; there is a chocolate pie in the fridge with a significant dent in it that was mostly my doing. In general I still like desserts as much as the next guy, but regular meals are not very appealing right now. Food is just fuel, input and output, making sure I eat the right proteins and carbs to make it through the day. Meals are a chore. The problem is, I am almost never hungry.

Some of you will say, "I wish I didn't like to eat," but no, you don't. It's not helping me lose weight (not that I'm trying to lose weight, and please hear me say that none of this has anything whatsoever to do with weight. I'm not secretly hoping to magically shed baby pounds and pretend I don't know how it happened. Not at all. Let's be clear - I am not trying to diet). The same 20 lbs sitting on my hips when she was two weeks old are still firmly planted there two months later. And I'm nursing, right? Which means that I need somewhere around 2500 calories (and close to a gallon of water) a day in order to be able to adequately feed the baby. Miraculously - thankfully - Emmy is still eating just fine (and has gained five pounds in five weeks to prove it). But when I don't get the calories needed - which I rarely do, because I'm just not that hungry - the deficit becomes a serious drain on my energy and mood. I get woozy, light-headed, tired, grumpy. Queasy. And forcing myself to eat a big meal when I feel so bad just reinforces my disinterest in eating.

I've tried keeping nuts on the counter, I've tried peanut butter and crackers. I'm eating protein-rich breakfasts, I'm drinking almond milk (the vanilla is not so bad) and taking prenatal vitamins. I'm doing what I can, but it doesn't really change the fact that I am just not hungry.

A few nights ago, when I crashed (again - this has become somewhat predictable) onto the couch, praying not to throw up and forcing down a snack, the thought came to me that hunger is a gift. It tells you what you need, and knowing what you really need solves half of any problem, doesn't it? Right now my body is not telling me what I need until it's too late. As I ate, feeling moderately miserable, I prayed for the gift of hunger.

The next morning, I woke up starving.

An hour after breakfast I was hungry again. By eleven a.m. I'd had two snacks, and was looking forward to lunch. There still isn't much that tastes good, or makes me look forward to a meal, but for the first time in months, I am hungry again.

It's all had me thinking about spiritual hunger as well. I wonder what else I am lacking without realizing it. What other problems in my life are the result of not knowing what I need until it's too late? What spiritual weakness and lethargy is really just a result of not recognizing my need?

Spiritual hunger, too, is a gift. As we begin Lent, a time of reflection and sacrifice, I praying that I will recognize it.

kids say the

2011-03-12T07:35:00.000-08:00

It's just been one of those weeks, you know? I'm distracted, and my kids have noticed. By this morning, nerves are a little thin.

But the sun is shining for the first time in a week, the trees are budding, and today is a new day. So I thought I would share a few funny comments made by the boys recently.

For example -

(For the record, a good portion of what we eat here is homemade. Simply because dairy free, low-acid, natural, less-sugar foods are hard to find in a box, you know? So we cook from scratch a lot of what we eat. Which is what made the following comment even more random) - Yesterday I told the boys we were going to make a chocolate pie during quiet time, and after dinner we would eat it. Asher said, "Mom, we can't make a pie today. We don't have the box for it."

Then -

We've been listening to Nickel Creek a lot in the car recently. This morning, instead of The Lighthouse Song, Silas kept talking about The Crackhouse Song. The more I tried to correct him, the more insisted it really was The Crackhouse Song. And of course since we laughed about it, it has now been christened with a new name.

And -

This morning at breakfast Asher was singing Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer (naturally), and he stopped to ask me about Rudolph's friend Olive. "Olive?" I asked. "Yeah," he said. "Olive the other reindeer." Of course.

Happy Saturday, friends. Hope there is sunshine out of your window today, too.

2011-03-10T11:59:00.000-08:00

Guys, Silas is ready to potty train. He's been showing signs for a few months, but at this point, it is glaringly obvious that it's time to potty train this boy. In fact, he's moving into the territory where the only thing keeping him from going potty is his mother.

Insert weighted sigh here.

Have you MET Silas? My iron-willed child? The boy who is not at all afraid to make a mess (who delights, actually, in escaping long enough to pee on the floor after bathtime)? Who will do ANYTHING - I do mean anything - to make his brother laugh, and pretty much could not care less about his parents' response, as long as Asher is laughing? THIS is the boy I am responsible for potty training. What are we going to do if Asher thinks pooping on the floor is funny?

Have mercy.

So. Send me your best potty training advice. I will tell you that I don't personally believe in pull-ups, and have preferred in the past to go cold turkey and deal with the messes, to make it easier for them to learn. Of course, that was with my boy who HATED making a mess on the floor, and loved to sit on the potty. Still, I think pull-ups are fancy diapers, and since they were diaper trained since the day they were born, they don't really help little kids know it's time to do something different.

With that in mind, how do I potty train a strong-willed child without creating a war of wills?

Help.

2011-03-08T00:58:00.000-08:00

So much of life is not bloggable. I lost a good friend this week. Another good friend is in trouble. Another friend's mom is sick, and getting sicker. These are the things weighing on my mind.

But they aren't bloggable. So instead I will tell you how little Emmy has gone on a bottle strike that began when I got sick a few weeks ago, and it's totally throwing me for a loop. I started work last week, remember? Which means twice a week I leave my baby to cry in hunger for a few hours while I go save the world. Yeah, it feels exactly like it sounds. I'm trying to warm her up to the idea, but everything I read says that she's more likely to take a bottle from someone else than from me. This afternoon, after she had refused to eat/ cried/ played (rinse and repeat) for two hours, I tried once more to offer her a bottle. She cried, of course, and when the bottle blew up all over both of us (you didn't know that could happen, did you? I didn't either. And I'm not exactly a novice with a bottle, you know?) and I'm sitting in a chair, covered in milk, with a hungry baby in my lap and my body telling me it was time to feed my baby - in that moment I knew exactly why babies take bottles better from someone else than their mom. Because you know I totally caved and just nursed the baby, already.

So. Any tips on a bottle strike? Or, at least, how to handle the guilt/frustration that accompanies one? It's not all that's going on in life - really, it's just a small thing - but of the half-dozen things weighing on my mind, this is the one I can tell you guys.

At the very least, I'm going to need a more durable bottle.

2011-03-06T15:55:00.000-08:00

Elizabeth was here this weekend. We went to the children's museum (known in this house as the "little guy art museum") and the park and out to lunch a few times and watched "The Social Network" (well, Brian and Elizabeth watched it last night - I slept through it last night and watched it this afternoon. I'm useless after 8 pm; it doesn't matter how interesting the movie is, I just can't hang) and went out for coffee and just generally enjoyed sitting in the same room for the weekend. Elizabeth is one of my favorite people, and I don't get to spend nearly as many weekends with her as I would like.

Here are a few pictures from this morning, the only time I turned on my camera all weekend. Poor little Emmy - I have about one third of the number of pictures I had of Asher by this age. I know it sounds crazy to say I don't have time to take pictures, but seriously, I just don't have as much time to take pictures as I used to. And don't even ask about the baby book. Anyway, a few pictures. The last one is a picture of Emmy with my mom, but it's so cute I'm sharing it here, too.

2011-03-01T18:20:00.000-08:00

Guess who found her smile.

Also -

Okay, fine. Some of you have said this to me in passing, and now I am ready to admit that I agree with you. Having a baby girl is a lot like having the best baby doll ever. The ten-year-old me would eat this UP, friends. She is just so CUTE. And unlike their masculine counterparts, baby girls come with accessories - dresses and cardigans (!) and stockings and nightgowns ... I can't help myself.

because i always want to remember

2011-02-26T19:34:00.000-08:00

We snuck in their room to check on the boys tonight. Silas is helter-skelter, sprawled on top of his blanket, one arm above his head - and his pirate sword resting beside his hand, where it must have fallen once he fell asleep. Buzz Lightyear is by his side. Our little warrior has conquered another day.

Asher is neatly snuggled beneath his blanket, Geoff and Monkey under his arm. Always prepared, always ordered, he looks like a picture. His jack hammer is resting beside his pillow.

Of course.

* * * * * * * * * * *

My house has been swallowed up by fairy tales.

We hear them first before dawn. "Ash-uh, let's battle, okay? Hey Ash-uh! Wake up! Let's battle!" All morning they are pirates, the train table, their ship. A section of the backyard has been named Narnia, with bushes just the right size for climbing and defeating the White Witch. Asher also has a newfound fascination with Sleeping Beauty. True love and ever after are completely lost on him; the real story is Prince Phillip and Maleficent (has there ever been an evil witch more aptly named than Maleficent?). Fire breathing dragons and evil fairies and forests of thorns ... and Prince Phillip saves the day. And there may be nothing - nothing - more endearing than a little boy who wants to hear me sing Once Upon a Dream one more time. He doesn't care that I can't sing, and in that moment, I don't either.

I don't ever want to forget this. The way their imaginations take over, how happy they are to play at home, with one another (most of the time). Every day, all day long, they are heroes, warriors, conquerors. I don't ever want to forget.

2011-02-25T10:14:00.000-08:00

Ever heard the platitude that when we make plans, God laughs? Well, I'm not ready to delve into the theology behind that, and whether it's true or not, but I will say that when I read that last post about my plans for the week, I laugh at myself. I had no idea what the week held for me.

When did I say all of that? Tuesday morning? Yeah - Wednesday morning I woke up sick. Desperately sick, calling Brian to come home and take care of me, while someone else took care of our kids, sick. SICK, friends. A very kind, old-fashioned family doctor had mercy on me and sent a nurse to a nearby ER for two bags of IV solution, which kept me out of the hospital (so thankful for that man). Wednesday was the most miserable I have been in my adult life. Thursday I slept all day (at 8 a.m. Brian woke me up to tell me he was taking the day off, and taking the boys to the zoo. A minute - I swear - later, I heard the door open. "I thought you were going to the zoo?" I said. To which he replied, "It's 1:00. We went to the zoo already.") Thursday was a wash. And then it's now.

Today is a new day. I'm better, just weak and a little woozy from not eating. And let me just say that if it really worked - if nursing Emmy really does keep her from getting that horrid virus - then I will be genuinely converted. I may never be a breastfeeding evangelist, but if the antibodies really are that good, I will personally be sold. And with other kids in the house, and all their germy little germs clouding around us, I may never go back.

While I was sick I took advantage of the opportunity to offer it up. I also became aware of how UNmerciful I am most of the time towards others who are sick. I'm pretty healthy. I get colds and hayfever - occasional nuisances. but nothing that really matters. Nothing like I felt on Wednesday. The next time I hear of someone being sick, I will have a lot more compassion for them than I have recently. Now I know.

I am also so, SO thankful for grandparents. This week would have been much harder without them.

And with that, I'm off. Because dude, I just THOUGHT my house was dirty on Tuesday.

Happy Friday, friends.

2011-02-22T11:21:00.000-08:00

I started to title this "lines written while nursing a baby," and then realized that "while nursing a baby" should just be a given. Anytime I say I am doing anything, you should automatically add that phrase behind it. "I'm cooking dinner" (while nursing a baby) ... you get the idea. Like the game with fortune cookies. As an aside, I have a picture of one of my favorite friends nursing a baby while riding a carousel with her older two children last year, and what's remarkable about that picture now is how utterly UNremarkable it is. Of course she was nursing a baby. What else would she be doing?

I digress.

I'm going back to work next week. Is there anyone else who has ever been excited to see their maternity leave end? I miss my work, I miss the routine, I miss the paycheck. Granted, anytime I'm away from Emmy at all, ever, I miss her, so I know I will miss her those two mornings, too. But she's headed to Grandma's house, where she will be properly adored for the morning. Plus, for ten hours a week everyone in our house does their own thing. That is our normal, and I'm ready for it. Anyway, I'm going back to work next week, and suddenly I have this inane desire to get everything - every closet, all of the kid's spring clothes, all of the errands I've put off, birth announcements, thank you notes - EVERYTHING - completed and cleaned and organized before next week. Have I mentioned I have a newborn? And two other very active little boys under four years old? There's not much time for addressing envelopes or waxing floors in my life.

But ya'll, my floors SO need to be waxed. And baseboards cleaned, closets emptied, toys rotated ... my house is in need of a good scrub, and I simply don't have the ability to get it done right now. Not if I intend for all of my children to live through the week, too, because I have the kind of boys who can SMELL opportunity, and will POUNCE on my distraction in a heartbeat. Not exactly the sit-and-read-for-an-hour types, you know? Which is how it all got so neglected in the first place.

And this is why I've been staring at the budget this morning, wondering what I could cut so that I can afford a housekeeper.

Happy Tuesday.

2011-02-19T19:52:00.000-08:00

My friend Laurie was here for the afternoon last weekend, and made a video of her time. It's so good. Want to see it?

The Gates from Laurie Williams on Vimeo.

worth a thousand

2011-02-18T13:14:00.000-08:00

Since becoming a big brother, this little boy has grown into, well, a little boy. Emphasis on boy, over little. He's reasoning and making up his own stories and just ... growing. Something happens about two and a half - kids hit this cognitive burst at that age that I love.

And here is the current star of the show in my favorite onesie - in case you can't tell, that's an angel on her shirt. How cute is that? She's seven weeks old today, for those who care about such things.

Asher saw this picture and said, "Why is her shirt crying?" Do you see upside down flowers? Or dramatic tears?

Look closely ... you will see the entire tool box from Handy Manny attached to his pants. He recently got a pair of carpenter jeans, and Brian explained that the loops are for tools. Of course he needed to test them out.

Happy Friday.

tell and show

2011-02-15T12:04:00.000-08:00

For the first time in a long time, I have actual blog ideas percolating - about Sleeping Beauty and little boys and phobias and compassion - but at this moment in my life, I have no time alone to work on them. Or anything else, really. Alas and alack! In time, in time.

So for now, I am just sticking my head in the door to

a. tell you that I think we may have hit a milestone with Emmy and sleep. Two milestones, really. First, she has grown accustomed to sleeping on me at night. Though I really love having that time with her, I'm ready to get back into something resembling a new normal, and babies in our bed is not a norm in our family. But we discovered that if Brian gives her a bottle during that time (though I'm still nursing, for those who care about such things), she goes right to sleep and doesn't complain when she's put down. So yay! We found a way to get her in her own bed (car seat, but whatever) without tears. The second milestone Emmy figured out all by herself - she has dropped her middle of the night feeding. Last night she ate at 9:15, and slept until 4:30. In the morning. At six weeks old - and a small baby, at that.

Insert angelic choir here.

and

b. show you a picture. Here are my in-laws with the kids yesterday. My mother-in-law has lost very nearly one hundred pounds. I'm so happy for her. And of course the kids are cute, too.

My kids love being at their grandparents' house. Can you tell? They would have never stopped long enough to smile so serenely at home.

Hope your window is a sunshine-y as mine today.

2011-02-12T06:10:00.000-08:00

Saturday morning, sunny and cold. Scones for breakfast and a clean(ish) house. The baby is napping, Asher and Silas are having a rare peaceful moment playing. Brian is working on the washing machine, the dishwasher is running.

And all is right with my world.

The boundary lines have fallen for me in pleasant places; surely I have a delightful inheritance. Psalm 16:6

Wishing you a peaceful Saturday.