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..."

Love Means Yellow

We have some fun conversations while we are rocking at bedtime. Sometimes, if I'm really lucky, I just get to listen to how his little mind works.

Me: Gus, I love you
Gus: Momma, love you!
Me: Do you know what the word love means?
Gus: Yes! No!
Me: It means that you care so much about someone else that you try to do as much as you can to make them happy.
Gus: Yeah! Love! Yellow! Big bird, momma. See his head? (Big Bird was rocking with us) Oh! That's daddy! Daddy drink pop! Daddy cooking?
Me: No, daddy's getting kitty his medicine.
Gus: Daddy feed kitty now mommy, oh! there water! Daddy play in water! Feed kitty and play in water daddy, good daddy (I find it fascinating that the kid can narrate daddy's movements downstairs when he 'can't hear me' say his name in the same room). Hans nigh-night momma? All friends nigh-night? Trains nigh-night? Need eat? no...Speecee (Spencer) in mud momma, Hiro helper! Hey momma?
Me: What baby?
Gus: Love you momma. Night!
Me: I love you too baby.

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

Come Join the Pity Party

It's just one of those weeks. The kind you have to write about or you'll cry... One of those weeks that even though you manage to take a shower every night, you still smell like you haven't bathed in a week by 10.30 a.m. The kind of week where every time you put the baby down he screams like he's covered in fire ants. The kind of week where your kitchen floor smells like baby vomit and oranges. One of those weeks where your husband brings home his ear plugs from work.

What is this? Teething? Even medicated, he's completely miserable. And then I looked in his mouth and it's completely white. Thrush? That's not an emergency. So I'll wait till tomorrow to get him looked at. So 14 more hours of dealing with a squalling 12 lb. bundle solo. The other boy is covered in a "heat rash" (says the allergist) that gets worse every day. Heat rash? It's been anywhere from cold to downright beautiful here. Is that worth a doctor visit?

Where is this stuff in the parenting books?


My industrious two year old has taken advantage of my somewhat distracted state to teach himself advanced climbing, beginner lock-picking with a twist-tie and fastball pitching with oranges and tomatoes.

At least one of us is having a productive day.

I need a high five. Or an expresso. Or a massage.

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.

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!

Mr. Mom

How 'bout something different? 

This week was horrible. Rob was out of town for a budget meeting in Missouri leaving me home alone with two sick kids all week. I've barely learned to juggle two kids when they are healthy. Two sick kids? No one can help because we are highly contagious? I'm sure it's not that big of a surprise that Rob came home to an exhausted wife who hadn't showered in three days and two screaming kids. Welcome home honey! Yes we all stink, yes we missed you, oh, and I'm pretty sure there's leftover meatloaf in the fridge-help yourself! What? I can't hear you...how was my week? Seriously?

Thursday night my phone disappeared. I found it Friday morning, checked my messages and discovered that we had dentist appointments that morning. We had already missed Rob's but I could make mine if I left immediately. Rob yelled "Just go, I got this!" I threw on clothes and left. I went to the dentist and then took the opportunity to go to the grocery store (I haven't been to the grocery store for more than milk and eggs since the baby was born). 

I wasn't even gone two hours.

I walked in the door to two screaming kids and an exhausted husband draped in stinky burpy cloths. He expressed wonder at the amount of poop an eight pound baby could produce and seemed annoyed with Gus's new charming habit of only needing things when the baby needs attending to. After professing my sainthood and apologizing in advance for having to leave me part of next week he politely asked me to wipe the grin off my face or at least stop giggling where he could hear me.

One Year Pictures

Yes, I know they are really late (6 months or so). Thanks Becky for your help with these!

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.

Man that fish was "This Big!"

I took Gus to the botanical gardens today in an effort to get some cute pictures. That was a complete failure. He did, however, really enjoy running around...and throwing his shoe at the fish...and attempting to jump in the pond himself.

Luckily the shoe landed on a ledge out over the pond, but out of reach over a rickety railing. As I was trying to figure out how to retrieve it, a really nice giant wandered up, took off his shoe and sock and retrieved it with his toes. Gus (and mommy) were very impressed.

After that fun episode, we wandered to the other side of the pond where Gus dropped to his belly, shimmied under the railing and had his head and arms into the pond before I managed to catch his feet. There I was, holding a squirming, dripping toddler by the ankle and briefly debating if I should hand off my camera to one of the other people there and ask them to take a picture of me and my 'catch.' He sure is longer than any fish I've ever caught!

The First Twelve

This morning Rob left for Phoenix. He will only be gone for 30 hours but I'm not sure his son will be alive when he gets home. It all started when I dozed off on the couch this morning while he was playing. I was abruptly startled out of said nap by a crack to the skull. Gus hit me in the head with a metal rod with enough force that it bled for a while and I'm going to have a goose egg for a few days.

A couple hours later I am strapping his car seat in so we can go get milk. This task takes about 45 seconds. In the meantime, he has let himself out of the house and goes running towards the street with me running and screaming after him. I watch in horror as he runs right out in front of a car. I am so thankful that the driver was not on their phone and was not speeding. They didn't even come close to hitting him. Rob called to see how things are going seconds later and I was still so shaken up I couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. Gus was screaming because I was holding him so tight and because he was subsequently banished to his crib while I finished strapping his seat in.

We went to the grocery store where he charmed other shoppers by throwing blueberries at them and playing peekaboo. Then he made some other shoppers grateful that theirs were grown (I know because they told me so) as he kept trying to launch himself out of the cart headfirst and screaming in outrage when I put him back in the seat.

When we got home I left him strapped in the car while I unloaded the groceries because short of locking the deadbolt behind me every time, there isn't a good way to keep him in the house while I'm outside. He let the whole neighborhood know what he thought about the situation. I can only wonder what some of our new neighbors think of us. I imagine most of them understand as probably nine out of ten of them have kids still at home but still....

While I put away groceries, he took them back out for me, then grabbed a bottle of hot sauce from the fridge and took a swig of that. Then for some reason, he wanted a drink (I couldn't help but laugh at that!) Then he spent a good five minutes grunting and straining trying to pick up the watermelon. Then he decided that rolling it down the stairs looked just as fun. I managed to get there in time to prevent him from sending the watermelon to a messy meeting with my carpet.

Then my oven told me it was preheated, I opened it, put the squash in the oven, closed the door, turned around and saw my son standing on the counter drinking out of the glass coffee pot.

The last few days he has discovered he can move the dining room chairs to reach stuff on the counters. Apparently today he discovered he can pull all the drawers out and climb them and sit and stand on the counters. This has the added bonus of allowing him to reach the stuff in the upper cabinets. Again I'm so thankful he didn't hurt himself, that I never got around to making my coffee this morning, that he wasn't scalded, that he didn't climb up on the counters where the knife block is, that he didn't bang the coffee pot on the sink that he feet were in and cut himself, that he didn't fish the butcher knife out of the sink, that he didn't fall and bust his head open or break his neck.

I am at a loss for how to deal with this. Telling him "NO!" takes months to sink in for any particular undesirable activity. I was in the same room and had my back turned for maybe 20 seconds. I can't never take my eyes off him. He can't stay locked up in his crib all day. The kitchen is as baby-proofed as it can possibly get and there is no way to gate it to keep him out of it completely. There are some things that need to be on the counter. I'm so frustrated right now and I'm hoping once he settles in he will calm down a bit. In the mean time, I'm scared to take my eyes off him. I think it's amazing the survival rate for boys is as high as it is.

I also think I'll take that straight jacket now dad!

A Prickly Sort of Week

Gus STILL not sleeping. I thought he was just in a new habit with the late night wake ups but I checked his mouth today and lo and behold, three more teeth (or four, his patience for mouth prodding rapidly disappeared). So apparently this isn't just a desire to see me go completely nuts from sleep deprivation on his part. The last couple days have been of the fussy variety. It goes like this:

Gus: Wah!
Me: What's wrong baby? Are you hungry? Do you want to nurse?
Gus: Wah!
Me: What about food?
Gus: Wah!
Me: Are you tired?
Gus: Wah!
Me: Do you want to sit?
Gus: Wah!
Me: Do you want to lay down?
Gus: Wah!
Me: Here, how about a toy?
Gus: Wah!
Me: Do you want to be held?
Gus: Wah!
Me: Diaper?
Gus: Wah!
Me: Are you sure you don't want to sleep?
Gus: Wah!
Me: Oh, you want to lay in your crib and scream with door closed! Got it!

Mommy's Here

I am standing in the midst of my living room, spit-up rags piled next to the couch from last night, the sink filled with stained clothing soaking, the washer's beeping letting me know the diapers are ready for another wash cycle, the same lullaby playing for the seventeenth time today. Somewhere in the midst of a crying bout triggered by the dual injustices of teething and a localized diaper rash it hit me.

I love my job.

All the education I have had could not have prepared me for a career as well as God and nature have equipped me to be a mother. How else would my arms know the exact way he needs to be held and patted to calm him. He looks at me with those teary eyes and our hearts speak. What hurts? Your bottom? Your teeth? Your belly? Do you just need to be held? Talked to? Smiled at? Do you just need to be here with me, sitting with me, breathing the same air as me? Mommy just stop. Take a second and stay with me.

What job could be more mundane? What job could be more significant?

In the end it doesn't matter that the house isn't perfect or that we are nuking something frozen for dinner or that I will be running laundry late into the night. It doesn't matter that most of the last three days were spent with his misery pouring out to cover us both. His smiles of joy and appreciation at my presence despite his pain make this job worth waking up for. As he lays his head against my shoulder I can't think of a single thing on my to do list more important and I hear the inane babble of moms everywhere coming out of mouth.

"Shhh...mommy's here, mommy's here."

Happy mother's day to all you amazing women out there, but especially to my mother who has been nothing short of amazing for 26 years! By your example, you have prepared me for motherhood, mentally and emotionally. Thank you!

Morning Reflections

You lay there for a moment in the peaceful silence. You can hear the birds singing outside and the light filtering in through the blinds. You hear the deep breathing of your boys on either side of you and the cat's purr at your feet. And then it dawns on you...I just slept the whole night without waking up once!

So of course I woke everyone up to share in my excitement. Gus because he hadn't eaten in seven hours and Rob because I felt he should really appreciate the significance of the moment.