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."

Conversations About God: Part One

Rocking with Gus: always a bewildering experience.

Gus: "There ghosts."
Me: "There are? Where?"
Gus: "Ober there. In the dark. They scary."
Me: "Ghosts aren't scary." (absently, not really paying attention)
Gus: "Ghosts scary. I scared."
Me: (oh. hmmm) "You know what to do when you see a ghost?"
Gus: "Uh-huh."
Me: "You look it in the eye and say 'In Jesus name, go away!' Here you try it!"
Gus: "JEEMUS DAY BYE!"
Me: "Did it work?"
Gus: "Yeah, ghost gone."
Me: "Do you know why that works? Jesus's name is very powerful because Jesus is the Son of God. Whenever you need him, you can call him and he will be right there with you, even if mommy and daddy aren't. Jesus watches over you and takes care of you."
Gus: "Jeemus jump?"
Me: (huh?) "Does Jesus jump? I suppose he can."
Gus: "Yep, Jeemus jump high! And slide!"
Me: "I suppose he could slide if he wanted to."
Gus: "Yep, he slide down the big, big slide! Jeemus like ice cream?"
Me: "I would imagine that he does."
Gus: "Mommy, I like ice cream."
Me: "Me too baby, me too..."

Humiliated? Or Humbled?

"They are so darling!"

Checkout ladies love my boys. 

I HATE that by the time we reach the checkout, it's all I can do to grit my teeth and growl "Thank you," and listen to the cashier and patrons behind me in line coo to Teddy. "Oh you were an unhappy boy weren't you! I could hear you two aisles over! There, there now, dry those tears, aww, there's a smile! You're a happy baby aren't you!" And to Gus (as he adoringly strokes the top of Teddy's head and helpfully loads the conveyor belt): "What a good helper you are! Are you a good big brother? So handsome!" And to me: "Oh I remember these years. This is such a great age, cherish every minute, they grow so fast. You have some really great kids, you know."

Rewind a few aisles...Gus is throwing stuff out of the cart. I tell him no. He smashes chips or bread to let me know he disagrees with me. I tell him to stop and move yet another item to the overflowing bottom of the cart. Helpful patrons point out the stuff falling off the cart as I trundle down the aisles at warp speed. To express displeasure at being thwarted Gus reaches over the top of the baby seat and pokes Teddy's eyes (or hits him on the head, or pulls his arm, or something else guaranteed to provoke screams from the baby and wrath from mom). I give the whole if you want to ever want to eat ever again spiel...he may or may not get disciplined...usually I have to abort the shopping trip and leave immediately. When we get to the checkout, Gus is pretending he can behave for more than 12 minutes at a stretch if only I'll reconsider and not make us leave because he LOVES grocery shopping and it's SO MUCH FUN!! ("Store! Not bye-bye! Fun! Store! NO GO HOME!!! MY fun store! I be nice! Puh-LEEEEASE!")

And now, we get to go grocery shopping AGAIN in two days because I didn't get everything we needed.

That night, while rocking Gus for the second time because, "Need more rock, more hold, mommy PLEEEASE!" he begs to pray again. 

"What do you want to tell Jesus?"

"Tell Jesus I sorry."

"What are you sorry for baby?"

"For poke Teddy's eyes and make him owwies."

Wow.

So this is me.

Cherishing every minute. Crying. Laughing. Rocking as many times as he wants it because he's rapidly outgrowing my lap. Leading him through repenting the first time. Repenting myself for not showing the same patience with him that God has shown to me time after time. Awed that our two-year-old desires to "Not make Jesus sad." Rejoicing over one less time-out a day. Thankful for the many, many opportunities to teach him how to behave in grocery stores.

They are pretty great kids you know...

Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven. -Matt 18.4

Six Ounces

A year ago today, we had the second of three miscarriages. It was harder than the other two because we were 16 weeks along, had shared the news with more people, were a week from the "big" ultrasound. We were out of the first trimester, miscarriage shouldn't have been a concern. Then there was no heartbeat and worse, the baby was big enough that a home delivery was more than I could handle emotionally. Going through labor to deliver a dead child with Rob three hours away, home alone with Gus...I was pretty sure I would have crawled so far into a bottle it would have taken a while to dislodge me. I wasn't willing to test my weak faith in God's tender mercies to that extent. Instead we had him in a hospital and Rob was able to be there with me.

We named him Leo and he was perfect. So tiny. Six ounces. Ten fingers. Ten toes.

God was so, so good to us. I have no idea how we made it through that and the next miscarriage without ever blaming God or asking why. Somehow it seemed so foolish to question the plans of the one who made everything. He worked in my heart all through my pregnancy with Teddy, taking away the fear, helping me to rejoice in the life growing in me. He is helping me sort through the emotions and guilt for loving Teddy whom I never could have had if Leo hadn't died.

Today was a very bad day. Today it feels like I was punched in the throat. Today I can feel an empty place in my belly. But today, I also looked at our two children and I am so very thankful that I will get to hold them tonight as they fall asleep. Thank you Lord for letting me have these. I don't know why you needed them so badly, but take good care of my babies for me.

Happy Birthday Leo. Your mommy and daddy miss you.

Comforter

So many of the people I know that I was pregnant with are starting to welcome their babies. Still others are nearing their final month of uncomfortableness, waiting restlessly to join the ranks of the sleepless and exhausted yet again.

Me? I'm not sure where I'm at. I was warned that approaching the due date, the sharpness of my grief would reemerge and it has. Choking, aching grief. Deep sorrow at never being able to hold my baby, hear him laugh. A brother for Gus that he doesn't even know to miss. Another son for a proud papa. Another piece of our hearts walking around in a scary, dangerous world. Instead, he sleeps in a tiny heart shaped box. Forever safe, forever pure. Leo, we will miss you forever.

Through everything though, God has had his hand on our lives. He led us and comforted us through the initial shock and disbelief. To the doctor's surprise we were able to tell he was a boy so we could name him. He healed the raw edge of my grief. He took away my crippling fear over this new pregnancy so that I could rejoice in the new life growing in me. I may not be innocent anymore, but I am joyful over this new life.

What I am the most thankful for though, as September 13 approaches, is that there I am already, at nine weeks, visibly pregnant. I'm not sure how how difficult that day would have been without tangible hope for the future. I know that faith is the evidence of things not seen, but sometimes I think God knows that a visual goes a long, long way towards settling our fears. I know it isn't past yet but God is preparing me for that.

And then today, when I was laying there being thankful that I could see evidence of the baby, I felt the baby move. Unmistakably. I know it's really early for that, but I did not imagine it and it was exactly what I needed this week to help me through the renewed grief over a child that died while I carried him.

Even though Leo's death was God's plan for us, he did not lead us to it alone. He has been with us, comforting us every time grief threatens to overwhelm.

Faithful friend and fatherI've called you through the years.You've been great physician when sickness lingered near.Through distressing moments your name is new and sweetYou've become comforter to me.

You are comforter that's who you are to me.Comforter a name that fits so perfectly.Peace that passes all understandingComforter is who you are to me.

To the grieving family who weeps for loved ones gone.The pain of separation consumes another home.On the waves of sorrowYou walk with perfect ease
Comforter is who the whole world needs.

You are comforter that's who you are to me.Comforter a name that fits so perfectly.Peace that passes all understandingComforter is who you are to me

-CeCe Winans

Broken

Yesterday was one of THOSE days. You know, the days where if a miniature person touches you one more time you are going to burst into tears. Gus was clingy, and whiny, and tugging on me, and wanting held, and wanting down, and clumsy then crying every time he fell down.

He's teething. I get it. He's miserable. Three canines making their grand entrance in unison. Apparently the show is more impressive in slow motion. This act has been building for weeks and yesterday, the crescendo peaked and broke. Well...two of them did anyway.

I went to the garage to get him a Popsicle from the Popsicle shelf (yes we have an entire shelf for Popsicles) of the freezer in the garage. He followed me out there (because there isn't a way to lock the garage door behind me). My pantry is stashed in numerous places till I get off my exhausted bum and finish the shelving in the laundry room so Gus went through the stash in the garage while I searched for frozen delights. I turned around and saw him pick up a bottle of soy sauce.

"Hand that to me."

"No!"

"Give it to mommy, now!"

"No!" and he turned and threw it at the garage door. It, of course, shattered on impact.

Popsicle forgotten, I yelled "Don't move!" I felt myself morph into my father, screaming at the kid not to move. I didn't understand how he though a teenager was stupid enough to run through broken glass. I get it now Dad...instinct.

"No!" Gus runs right into the middle of the mess.

My garage and child smell like Chinese takeout. Gus is screaming while I'm picking shards of glass out of his bare feet. I'm crying, shaking and a little overwhelmed. I give him a bath, stash him in the crib while I clean up the soy sauce (and a melted Popsicle).

Once freed he resumes his drive mommy crazy agenda. Whiny, crying, touching me, touching me, touching me... He refuses to eat anything, is pulling everything off the counters and shelves and emptying laundry baskets, holding down the water dispenser on the fridge. His diaper rash is only marginally better and every diaper change involves me pinning him down by a leg across his chest and dangling him from his ankles while he shape shifts into one of the torments of hell. Spinning on his head and everything...

He's been awake for two hours and I'm over it. In the interests of consistent discipline, he has been corrected...a lot.... By eleven A.M. he is in trouble at least every five minutes. I'm furious, shaking in rage, he's angry, hurting and acting out. We are testing each other's wills. I get the brilliant idea that we should go for a walk or something, get out the house, change of scenery and all that.

I go upstairs to change my clothes (again) and hear shattering glass. And screaming...

I run downstairs and see that he had been banging together little glass ramekins and one had shattered. He has glass in his feet (again) and about twenty pieces embedded in his forearms. We sit in a chair and pick all the glass out of his arms and feet. I strap him into his high chair while I sweep and vacuum. He screams and attempts to shake the booster seat off the dining room chair. In his rage he grabs a bag of potato chips sitting on the kitchen table and pounds it with his fists reducing the contents to crumbs.

I. Have. Had. It.

We do NOT smash potato chips in this house!

I lost my mind. I stood rooted to the spot, clenching the broom. I wanted to chloroform him, put him in a ventilated box and ship him to his dad in Alabama, throw him against a wall, cry. So cry I did. I left him in his chair, sat on the stairs and cried. How did I get here? How could a one year old have enough power that he could completely break me? I was supposed to be a great mom. I have been so patient, kind and firm with discipline up till now. And now? afraid to touch my kid because I don't think I can do it in love. Angry with my husband for having the nerve to have a job. Terrified. What if he gets deployed? This is us after one month of Rob being gone, how could I ever think I could do a year?

I called my cousin and told her I was coming over. I needed help. On the hour drive there, I prayed. Gus and I held hands, he sang to me and I prayed for me, for him. I apologized for being angry and losing my temper. I apologized for not being patient and yelling. I explained that his behavior had been bad and that it wasn't appropriate destroy things when you didn't feel good. I promised to do better as his mom, not a perfect mom, but a good one.

He just smiled at me, blew me a kiss, patted my hand and made train noises until he fell asleep.

I think I'm forgiven.

One of Those Mornings

I had this really deep blog planned that has been on my heart all week, then we had one of those mornings.

While pulling beef roast from the crock pot to put in freezer bags, I notice that Gus is too quiet. I go to investigate and find him happily unspooling an entire roll of toilet paper into the toilet with the cat's supervision. He looks up at me and squeals with glee. "Look mommy what I did! For you!" He throws his hands in the air in a very TA DA! fashion.

I sit him in my room and go back to the bathroom to scoop the toilet paper out of the toilet. Our bathroom is a construction zone and I don't really want to deal with an overflow today. I finish cleaning up that mess and go back to the kitchen where Gus is engaging in his new hobby, abstract trash montages which mostly involves removing every piece of trash from the trash can and connecting the themes with anything that has sufficient smearing properties. After the 3-D exhibit is complete he adds a performance art aspect to the show, which lately has involved holding a pop can with just a finger through the opening or some sort of garbage can urban beat scenario. Today was the pop can feat. I give him a pot to play with while I clean up that mess, finish up dealing with the contents of the crock pot, and banish him to the living room to play while I drink a Pepsi.

While I am sitting on the couch drinking my soda, I glance over and he is studiously pouring salt into every crevice of his piano entertainer and his little papasan chair. Where did he find that? I sit down my pop to go rescue the salt shaker and pull out the vacuum. I'm cleaning up that mess when it occurs to me that he isn't interfering with the vacuum. He loves vacuum cleaners. Loves chasing them and hitting them when he catches them. Loves unplugging them. Loves swinging the cord around. I look around and find him sitting on the floor drinking Pepsi by upending the can four inches above his upturned face and open mouth. He looks like he took a shower in Pepsi. He sees me, gives me that "What?" face and gives me the "Watch this cool trick face" as he holds the can off to the side upside down and watches it pour into the carpet. Seeing me coming, he pulls the can to his mouth sticks his tongue in the opening and cuts himself.

I strip down a still screaming bucking baby, wash him off, cuddle him for about 30 seconds, put him in his crib, shut the door and return to the living room. I vacuum and clean carpets with the sweet melody of childish outrage in the background. And that, is why there are no profound thoughts in this head today.

Thank you God for this child who has cured me of my laziness.
Thank you God for this house which shelters us from the cold despite the mess.
Thank you God for the salt that seasons our food.
Thank you God for the toilet paper to wipe our bums.
Thank you God for our garbage, because it means we have more than we need.
Thank you God for being here alone, because it means my husband has a job and I can be here with our baby, our blessing.

To Steal a Title From a Friend...That We May Delight Our King

Despite being sick, I am looking forward to church tonight. Pastor is starting a series on building your ministry. I am very excited about getting involved in some of their ministries. A big part of why we chose this church was their involvement in the community.

Once Gus's immune system is a little more developed, we will be starting his training in ministering to others. I am sure he won't remember this for years, but I want some his earliest memories to be of service to others. I want it to be a part of his life as much as actually attending church. I don't know that we would be doing him any favors by giving him 'religion' without also instilling the responsibility that being a child of grace entails.

What a Difference a Day Made

I was listening to some old jazz today today and came across the "What a Difference a Day Made" song, which got me to thinking about days that have utterly and completely changed my life. This isn't to say that life isn't completely changing and evolving, but there are days that stick in your mind forever and whatever happened on that day makes every day afterward different.

In order, mine are:

The day of my earliest memory...I am four and I am staring out our living room window. I remember wishing that I were bigger. I said as much to my mom and she commented that I should enjoy every part of life, even the part where I am little. I don't remember much else about that conversation, but I remember the enjoying life part. I have, to the best of my recollection, done so to date. What I realized this year is that this also means not living in the past, not regretting that those days are gone. This was not a problem when I married, but before Gus was born, I had a minor panic attack about my carefree days with my husband coming to an end...rather rapidly.

The day I received the Holy Ghost. I remember it much like getting glasses...where you are finally able to see and even when you take them off and everything is blurry, you remember the clarity that you had with them. Sure you can get through life without it, but why would you choose to continually stumble over things you would have been able to see if you would just wear your glasses.

The day before Rob's eye surgery where we decided rather unromantically that we wanted to be together forever. I will never forget the amazement I felt that someone as wonderful as Rob wanted to be with me forever. I still feel lucky...

The day after our wedding...one of those first day of the rest of our lives feelings...the day before felt like a dream, this felt permanent.

Then there is Gus. He cannot be described in one day. He was a long time coming and he is my answer to prayer. There was the day the doctor told me I might wake up from surgery without either ovary and the devastation that I felt and the helplessness we felt putting the matter in God's hands. The joy I felt on the day I saw his heartbeat on the monitor...it didn't feel real until then. The day in the grocery store where God sent a stranger to pray an anointing on my baby. The day he was born when we looked into his eyes and saw an old soul. The first time we took him to church I cried over him and thanked God for him and had the unmistakable feeling that we were supposed to give this one back to him. Our lives all of a sudden feel like there is a lot less wiggle room, that our mistakes from here on out are not as insignificant. It is intimidating and challenging all at the same time. I'm not sure what purpose this baby was born for, but I do know God has been involved from the beginning and he will not abandon us on this, the first day of the rest of our lives. Hopefully we will not fail him either.

For What I am About to Receive...I am Truly Grateful

It has been a really rough couple of weeks...

Following both of us taking time off for Rob's dad surgery, we have been working like crazy to catch up, Rob on flight hours and backlogged paperwork, and me the lost money from five missed shifts and getting way behind on homework and housework. Tonight we both got home from work around eleven, collapsed on the couch and commiserated about how beat we were. Both of us will be pulling all-nighters to get our work done in time and we agreed to meet tomorrow night for an extended power nap (known to everyone else on the planet as bedtime, hard to call it sleep when it never seems to be for long enough). I suppose this is great training for when we have children. I feel like I haven't slept in five weeks and I don't foresee it happening anytime soon. Sigh...

While we were whining to one another, he said something that put things into perspective. "Guess we should stop complaining and be thankful that we do have jobs, there are a lot of people who would gladly take our places." He never says much, so it always surprises me when he says something wise that instantly changes my attitude. In the midst of my own futile job search how could I have forgotten that I do have a job and we are able to pay our bills, keep our cars running, keep our heat on, phones connected? I feel humbled...and grateful to God for taking care of us and up till now at least, protecting us from the economic difficulty so many people are facing.

"What recession!" has been the theme at work for the last month or so. The restaurant I work for seems to be untouched by the recession. Yet one more blessing I wasn't appreciating nearly enough. Being employed is nice, but if no one is coming in the doors I don't make any money. God is providing, one night at a time...