Not Another Christmas Letter

I am a competent mother...I am a competent mother...I am a competent mother.

If I repeat this enough times, my wish will come true.

The last eighteen months were rough. The never ending pregnancy. Three heartbroken endings. Finally, a perfect child to hold in my arms. And he was beautiful, sweet and perfect, I couldn't have asked for more.

But.

Enter a whopping case of postpartum depression. A husband who works a lot and travels a lot for work. Here is newly outnumbered me, not coping well, starting a lot of conversations with my husband with "I know this is hormones and completely unreasonable, but I need you to humor me..." He is really an amazing man.

By the time I was coming out of it, winter was setting in, bringing with it Gus's winter psychosis. I can truly appreciate just how bad his cabin fever is now that he's outside for 8+ hours a day and is a mostly happy, well-adjusted three year old who sleeps and eats and plays.

I told myself I would write Christmas letters once we had children and had something to talk about other than our boring grown-up lives. Yet at Christmas time, I was too ashamed at having spent most of the year in the dumps emotionally. My children are great! bright! beautiful! it's me who can't get a grip...

Then at some point, everything just clicked. I could handle it. I'm spending lots of quality time with the boys. They are friendly and well adjusted. My marriage is doing well. We've finally settled in and formed relationships with people up here. My house still is never clean for a week solid, but the laundry and dishes are caught up. I haven't forgotten an appointment in six months. I feel this qualifies me for super-mom status.

I even made cookies twice in the last couple weeks.

So, God, where's our next baby?

We dreamed of a large family, but here we are 29 and 30. Two kids. Teddy is 14 months. When can I have another baby? I'm doing a good job now!

Now obviously I know that I'm not going to prove to God that I deserve another baby by keeping my house clean. Here comes the part where we have to live what we believe. We said we would trust him to give us the children he wanted us to have. I'm realizing now that not only does that mean the number of children, but accepting that he might want them further apart than I do. Not rushing his timing for our family.

While I was busy wrapping my head (and heart) around that little nugget I realized that Teddy is a gift from the same God that is not giving me another baby right now. Maybe Teddy needs me more that I realize. Maybe he needs to be my 'baby' for a little while longer. Maybe Gus needs his mommy not wrung out from another difficult pregnancy. It's obvious that both of them are thriving with the attention they've been getting lately. Maybe those three miscarriages were because my body needed more space between pregnancies. Maybe God is protecting me from that heartache again.

I have had a very hard time letting go of the image I had of our family of lots of children one after the other. (Also, I never pictured blond-haired, blue-eyed babies.) It's been a very slow process learning to trust God in all things, not just children, everything. The children have just always been the thing about our family closest to my heart, and having the control issues that I do, the hardest to leave to someone else's plan.

Around Mother's Day (and, I suppose, the rest of the year) I always drive myself crazy with second guessing myself and hyper-analyzing everything I'm doing right or wrong with my children. This time I think I'll just say, "Thank you God, for my wonderful little family, for these little boys, for their love and their hugs, for their sturdy little bodies. Thank you for the relationship they have with each other and with us. Thank you for their health. Thank you for trusting us with their souls. Thank you for giving me such a fine father, provider, partner and friend as my spouse. Thank you for this new peace that I've found with my life just the way it is."

Just 'Happy Mother'

So much has happened this year, but these two pictures sum up the best of what has happened to me between last Mother's Day and this one:

My first-born brought me my first mangled dandelion. I've been trying to think of a clever title for it. "Mangled Love" or "The Thought That Counted" or "Sob, Sniffle, Choke." Or how about just what he said when he handed it to me... 

"Here Mommy, I Bing You Frower!"

What a smart, calm, fascinating child Gus is turning into! I love that he genuinely seems to delight in my company (most of the time). What a joy this little person is that God sent to me to teach and mold.

The second wonderful thing that happened to me this year:

A long awaited child. Our answer to prayer. Our sweet, snuggly, charming, happy little boy.

My heart is full.

I am so blessed.

Outnumbered Party of One

Depending on the age of your kids, this post will make you laugh, cry or be very very glad your kids or grown. Or you will think that I am extremely disorganized which means that 1)You are correct 2)You are a better person than I am 3)I'm not having the type of week that I can be happy that you have it all together so I don't want to hear about it. 4)I'm still new at this being outnumbered thing and the only way I'm not losing it is by telling myself that it (and I) will get better in time (like when the last one leaves for college...)


Some mornings make me want to cry...or nap...or never EVER leave the house ever again.

Here is an example of what might happen on any given morning that we have to leave the house early in the morning (before say...10 am).

Probably somewhere around 530 or 600: Teddy wakes up and wants to nurse. He is too tired to do an effective job, so he keeps falling asleep, and waking back up outraged and 'starving.' By the time he is actually done eating, it's 30 minutes before I have to get up and I'm so stressed about getting every possible minute of sleep I can't fall asleep until 5 minutes before the alarm goes off.

Alarm goes off. For a more concrete example, we'll say 700. I get up trying very hard to not wake the baby sleeping on my arm. I get dressed very quickly, use the toilet and sink two floors down so I don't wake the kids before I get a chance to get coffee made. The flush of the toilet wakes Gus. C'MON! I hear his door slam. I race up two flights of stairs to head him off. Too late! He jumps into my bed with the baby. "Hi baby!! Mommy look! Baby is awake!!" He gives him a germ laden kiss and a pat on the head then runs downstairs yelling "EAT-EAT!" Now the baby is screaming, but if I don't follow Gus immediately, half my fridge will be on the kitchen floor by the time I calm the baby and Gus will have picked out breakfast, whether that's strawberries and yogurt, or pickles, or raw eggs (apparently, eggs are "ucky" when eaten raw with shells on...). Why don't we lock the fridge? Well, that would require remembering to do so before bed...and knowing where the lock is at any given time.

I get Gus settled with an appropriate breakfast, dress the baby, nurse the baby, clean Gus up and get him dressed shoes and all which will hopefully stay on. It's probably somewhere around 740 by the time all this is done. My coffee is cold and untouched. I have not eaten. I give Gus a coloring book or other task that were I not trying to go somewhere would keep him occupied for an hour and put the baby in the bouncer. I start packing a diaper bag. I'm interrupted about 6 times by requests for food, Gus messing with the baby, Gus messing with the cats, random tantrums, wanton stuff scattering just to make me crazy, or going to the bathroom to eat toothpaste or "warsh hands" (and face and hair and shirt and floor). I'm trying so hard not to plop him in front of the TV all the time, partially because he becomes a miniature zombie, but also because if we have to leave before he's done with his "show," it will be a screaming, physical wrestling match to get him in the car. I digress...

I lose my sense of humor about the delays and strap both kids into car seats so I can finish packing. It's probably 830 by now and I'm still hungry and caffeine deprived...and LATE!

I do a once through the house. Do a cat head count. Double check that I have spare clothes for both kids and plenty of diapers. Make sure I have Blanket and Paci and 'Warter' (that's water for those of you whose toddlers don't have southern accents). Grab a granola bar and a Pepsi for me. Turn the car on. Remember that I forgot to give the cat his medicine which reminds me that I forgot Teddy's medicine...and oh, yeah there's a load of laundry in the washer that will be mildewed if I don't switch it before I leave but there are clothes in the dryer, where's a laundry basket to put these in!

 Run back in two or three more times to get so-and-so's casserole dish or that shirt they left over here the last time they were here or the paperwork for the doctor's visit.

Leave. Maybe make it out of the neighborhood or even to the toll road before I remember what else I forgot. Decide if it's worth going back for. Look in the rear view mirror. That's right, I was interrupted getting dressed. I forgot to comb my hair. AGAIN.

This last part usually has pieces that get missed. For example Thursday when I went to Michigan for the day (I was gone about 15 hours) I came home to find 5 trains in the toilet upstairs, the water in the downstairs sink running full blast, the cats completely out of food not that it would have mattered because one had been locked in the office and one was in the garage because SOMEONE opened the garage door into the laundry room. Once last week Gus went with no pants while his dried in the dryer because he soaked through his diaper and I didn't bring a spare. On a different day he went without a shirt while I hand washed it because an aunt spoiled him with chocolate...while teething...in a white shirt. (Chocolate is horrible to get out once it's set). Gus had to wear one of Teddy's diapers when I forgot to bring enough of his. If I forget the blanket or paci and we are going to be out of the house for naptime...oh man...

I feel that I am really at a disadvantage here because the same kids that make getting out the door so hard also stole pieces of my brain in utero. I pretty sure at my pre-children intelligence level I could have handled getting in a car and leaving even with two midgets in tow with a lot more efficiency (or more importantly, dignity).

I caught myself daydreaming on the drive to Michigan. In my fantasy world my morning looks like this.

My alarm goes off, I get dressed, grab my coffee and have a bowl of cereal that is NOT soggy from sitting for an hour while I'm constantly interrupted. I grab my keys, my phone and my purse (which has NOT unpacked itself while my back was turned and distributed it's contents to different parts of the house).

Then I LEAVE. Period.

Move Over Brother

We brought it on ourselves really...

Since before Teddy was born we have been promoting what an amazing helpful big brother Gus was. We may have to scale that back a bit...

"How nice of you to give brother gentle kisses."

"Thank you for bringing mommy brother's diapers! What a good helper you are!"

"Oh, that's so nice of you to give brother his paci when he's sad."

We were trying to avoid Gus getting jealous of the massive amounts of time and attention the baby would inevitably require, especially at first. We were completely successful. Other that getting mildly annoyed when Teddy nurses for more than 30 minutes ("Baby done eat-eat, no more milk, all done"), he seems to absolutely adore his little brother. Considering what a rough and tumble little boy he is, Rob and I are very relieved that he doesn't seem inclined to hurt him out of malice.

Gus tries very hard to help whenever Teddy cries. He would first find me and announce that "Teddy sad!" I would reply that I could hear that and thank him for telling me. Then he would offer me suggestions for fixing the situation. 

"Baby shooeys?" 

"Baby need milk?"

"Baby need paci?"

...Until this week. Apparently proud of what a great big brother/helper he is, he decided to help even when Teddy wasn't crying. Rob and I are a little worried (read: terrified) that he is going to love Teddy to death (or a broken arm). "Brother need eat-eat!" Or at least that was the explanation I got for why he fed the baby a peanut. Every morning this week he has woken the baby up with the comment "Need brush hairs in morning! Make brother look nice!" And then there was the heart-stopping few seconds it took me to cross the room when the baby started crying on the couch and Gus tried to pick him up to hand to me...by his arm.

Yesterday I had laid the baby down for his nap in a little Moses basket sitting next to the couch. What this picture doesn't tell you is that the baby was sleeping just fine on his own. Gus climbed off the couch, shoved the baby to the edge of the basket, said "Move over brother," climbed in with him (waking the baby), put his arm around the baby, informed me that "I help brother sleep. Shhh...shhh...shhh...baby. Need go night-night"

Oddly enough, the baby nuzzled up to him and went right back to sleep. What a good big brother he is!

Da Da Da DAH!

Rob and I are pleased to announce we will be welcoming a new baby in late February, early March.

Lingerie and Jet Fuel

Rob and I just celebrated our sixth wedding anniversary. Our celebration was very low key. We dined on fine hot dogs and exchanged gifts. Part of the lack anything more spectacular was that we don't know a babysitter yet and part was that Rob had to work that day. Part of the difference between that and previous celebrations was a not-so-subtle shift in what we find romantic.

Last week I unpacked a box labeled simply "pajamas." In in I found my wedding lingerie. I sat there holding this stuff in my lap and simply staring at it. Honestly, I had forgotten that I had it. I feel special if he doesn't go to bed smelling like jet fuel. I don't remember that being on my 'list of desirable qualities in a mate' list that I had. To romance me he must first bathe...yeah, not sure that ever crossed my mind as a form of romance. I'm also pretty sure that if he had offered to let me go the store alone to shop for paint six years ago I would have been annoyed that he wanted to get out of running errands with me. This time, it was one of the highlights of my month. Two hours completely alone? To shop for paint? Honey, THANK YOU!

Regardless, that night I put on the lingerie, feeling slightly idiotic (and amazed that it still fit), like he didn't know every inch of my body underneath it and love me despite my flaws. His comment, "I remember that stuff!" wasn't exactly what I was going for. We both got a good case of the giggles. It's what I imagine the great romances were made of.

We've hit that point in our marriage where we find intimacy in the knowledge that we have our whole lives to discover each other, that we belong completely to each other, that we are building something worthwhile together. Seeing him playing with his son is far sexier than him mowing the lawn shirtless ever could be. The emotions have burned off the relationship and what's left is solid, deep, it's commitment, it's our choice to stay together, it's grounded in God and the family that we have made together, it has been tested by distance, by loss, by tragedy. It isn't a piece of silk over exposed legs...it's better than that. It's knowing that whatever I need him for, he's there, that he is mine and mine alone. It's why I'll follow him wherever he goes even when it takes me from my loved ones. It's a bond that only grows deeper with every passing day. It's being willing to put in the work to have one love for one lifetime.

It's simple, it's perfect, it's happiness...

I didn't "fall in love," I chose to love him. I make that choice every single day. I'll make that choice over and over again until death do us part.

Happy Anniversary my love...

I'm Over It

I have finally hit that point...

I have a houseful of company this weekend and I didn't clean...at all. Either that means that I am finally keeping my house in a semi-reasonable state, or that I know the people coming love me no matter what my house looks like, or that switch has finally flipped in me that just doesn't have the inclination or energy to care anymore. Or all of the above...

Anyway prepping for this visit was very easy...stock the fridge, wipe the bathrooms, hang out clean towels. Yay!

Hurricane Lizzi

Jami came to visit this weekend with her sixteen month old daughter, Lizzi. Now Lizzi has the sniffles and while we did pretty well at keeping her and Gus apart for the duration of the visit, she is teething and drooly and has a runny nose, manages to materialize in different rooms slightly ahead of supervision, and has a fascination with all of Gus's things.

We bought a can of Lysol.

After they left today, I dumped all the toys in the sink with some bleach, threw everything cloth that she had touched into a hot load in the washer, and Lysoled everything she could possibly have touched. It has given me a crash course in baby proofing our house. We have quite a bit of work to do in the next couple months. I am amazed at the vast reach of these miniature hurricanes we call children and the awesome power of their destructive force.

Now we need to leave the house for a little bit so it can air out a tad. Do they make a Lysol that doesn't smell like, well, Lysol?

Nurses know best?

Dad's bypass surgery went well. I know he his feeling better because he was arguing with the nurse about what an acceptable bed time was. She wants him to go to bed at 8.30, he asked why. She says they are going to give him a bath at four in the morning. He doesn't understand why he should try to go to bed six or seven hours before he is usually in bed so they can wake him in the middle of the night for a bath. He feels that if they really want him to rest like they claim, they will let him sleep in. Mom and Monica are still at the hospital, so I am assuming that he won the argument...

I hung out with a family in the waiting room today that made me miss mine. They were loud, outspoken, argued for hours on end good-naturedly about nothing. Quite a difference from Rob's family who are quiet and mostly courteous with each other. I think that I counted fifteen or so of them crammed into the tiny waiting room. Mom couldn't understand how I could do homework in that chaos...how could I explain to her that it was easier to focus there than in the absolute silence of the hallway. Anyway...I finally got the big project that I have been working on done...I feel I have earned a solid night of sleep.

Books and Monica

I love reading. I hate finishing a book. I cannot not be reading a book, so every time I finish a book, I immediately pick out a new book to read. I hate finishing books because it is always so hard to decide. Do I want to get anything done in the next two days? Am I going to want to ignore the world for a couple days? Will this book provide that escape? Do I want funny? suspense? history? different cultures? all of the above? Is this book written in verse (apparently I have to read those types of books out loud or I miss a lot of content)? I think we are sort of on hiatus from the book club thing. We are both reading Paradise Lost, but it isn't one you just sit down and read for four hours straight.

I just finished Couch, which was interesting. It was about three roommates who end up floating out to sea on this couch, has adventure, betrayal, heartbreak, then at the end of their quest they discover that this supernatural couch has the seeds for the destruction and rebirth of mankind. Turns out to be a more interesting couch than any that I have ever owned. What should I read next? The new Orson Scott Card book, the new Kathy Reichs book, one called Gods Behaving Badly about twelve Greek gods sharing a London townhouse? I think it may take longer to decide than to actually read the book.

On a completely different topic, Monica (sister) is coming to town tomorrow. We had mentioned sledding this weekend, but there is a limit to how cold it can be and me still voluntarily stay outside. We have passed that point. I think for me to want to go sledding it has to be at least double digits. Maybe we will stay in and bake the recipes I didn't get around to making for Christmas. Maybe we can make No-Spit candy! (Andy, I cannot tell you how excited I am to have that recipe...) I have a recipe for apple soup I have been meaning to try too... I always enjoy her visits and I think she will be excited...the last time she was here the toilet was in the guest room and our bathroom just had a hole in the floor. We are a little more high-class now, we have a toilet in our bathroom and everything! Fancy!

Thanksgiving

My parents came in Wednesday night with my brother and niece. Saturday, Rob's best friend from Phoenix came into town with his girlfriend and spent the morning with us. Thanksgiving was very laid back. Rob and I really enjoyed the time we were able to spend with everyone.

Jadyn and Mom making frosting for the cake

The after dinner "itis" flattens Dad and Jadyn.

My beautiful mommy...

Joe giving me the death stare to discourage picture taking...

Keith and Mimi

Jadyn makes a friend...