I think that in our new age of technology and media, there is so much pressure to be a perfect mom. As much as I understand this in my head, my spirit can't seem to find the rational thinking needed to give myself sufficient grace.
These days are hard.
I woke up today, and after having promised myself to try to check facebook far less often than I do, I checked facebook. I justified the top-of-the-morning check by saying that I would only check it once in the morning, in my room, and leave my computer in my room. Anyway, on facebook, there was an amazing post from an amazing blogger about starting your day as a busy mom. It was short but concise, and I really felt good about being intentional with my day. I wanted to be kind and patient, and be a good mom, and play with my kids, and enjoy them, and enjoy the day. Did I mention patient? I really, really wanted to be patient.
But it was not to be.
I feel like I spent the whole day just below boiling, and reaching full boiling point a couple times. But I wanted it to be different. It's so hard on these days. The days when I have such good intentions, and want to try so hard, and want to be better. It's hard to feel like I don't have control of myself, or of who I really am. I am trying to become a better mom, but the struggle to be the mom I want my kids to have is really a hard one.
My crappy day ended at the pool. After the 5 year old bopped his sister with his beloved pool noodle for the umpteenth time, I told him that it was being taken away. I told him several times to go put it on our chair. And while this pregnant lady chases a one year old, her tolerance for repeating herself is apparently maxed out at about 5 times. So, after telling him several times, I plunked him out of the pool onto the side, and told him again to go put it down. He wasn't pleased. He was ticked off that I physically moved him, and probably not as gently as he would have liked. So he threw his pool noodle on someone else's chair, and after spying an open package of graham crackers, he picked one out and started to eat it.
I was mortified. It wasn't as if I hadn't fed them. I did. I got them supper at the pool, which in our world is a major treat. He was doing it to express the rage.
And then I got mad.
So the mom guilt really hit home when he was asleep in bed by 6:20. He was clearly exhausted. And while he is almost five, he is still just four. So what do I expect from a seriously tired four year old who has had a rough week? What do I expect him to do with a tired and pregnant mom who has such a short fuse on some days? I expect too much.
I am tired. I can't sleep at night, and have so many things to do that I can't get done. I am so frustrated with myself, and with life things that I can't control. I am upset, and searching, and hurt, and isolated. I have the biggest job in the world, and wonder if I am doing it well enough. I wonder if I would send my kids to me to take care of them. I wonder if they are going to look back and think that they had a crazy and unpredictable mom who yelled too much. I wonder if I am honestly sane, or if my up and down is something aside from normal. Because how am I supposed to know what normal is?
And I really wonder if tomorrow really can be a better day. Here is to better days.
7.19.2013
9.25.2011
Here we go again...
Nothing like taking a year off, I guess. I'll spare the effort of trying to think of all the big things that have happened in the last year and a half.
Or will I?
Obviously, the biggest life event was tragic. On Oct. 9th, it will be the one year marker of the death of my only nephew. Nephew. It sounds so distant. He wasn't distant to me. He was very important to me, and his mother is one of the most important people in my life. I've known her all my life, so to watch someone you care for so deeply go through something so big is, well, it's hard. It's too big for the right word. I can't come up with the right word. I have decided against: terrible, unbelievable, sad, tragic, horrible, unfathomable. It's all of those, obviously, but really, it's none of them. It's beyond words. It's beyond Webster.
So in a way, that has been the marker of the passing of time for the last year. Usually it's a birthday, or an anniversary, or something joyfully monumental. But for my family, we have thought of all the months that have passed since the last day with DJ, all the moments he missed, all the milestones he lived without passing. And now, it's been just about a year. I have said that "I can't believe it's been a year since..." so many times in my life. Since graduation, since we moved, since I got married. It has been true each time. A year seems to pass as a mere moment in time, and we look back, and realize all we've done and felt and thought. We come to the sudden realization that we aren't the same as we were just a short year ago. Many times we have known someone who has passed away. It's so raw, but so common.
And yet, this time, as I say "I can't believe it's been a year since DJ died", it has such a different meaning, an all-together different typeset in my book of life. It seems longer. I remember the events of last October with such vivid clarity. I remember thinking of "next year". I recall the precise time I left the hospital to begin my long drive home. Without the aid of a calendar, I would promise that 12 months had not passed.
And yet, this time, as I say "I can't believe it's been a year since DJ died", it has such a different meaning, an all-together different typeset in my book of life. It seems longer. I remember the events of last October with such vivid clarity. I remember thinking of "next year". I recall the precise time I left the hospital to begin my long drive home. Without the aid of a calendar, I would promise that 12 months had not passed.
But it has.
And we're all different. I'm different. A dear family friend talked with me as I struggled to process the events the unfolded before me. As I watched, for days, the life drain out of this beautiful boy, I had so much turmoil and grief and sadness that I didn't know how to cope. I had no tools to deal with this mess. I walked into a gas station one morning, it was the first step into public I had taken in days, and I felt overwhelmed by the normalness happening beside me. People were stopping for their morning cup of coffee and their pack of smokes. The clerks were at work. They were working today. My daily routine had morphed into wandering between a Pediatric Intensive Care Unit, it's waiting room, and the cafeteria of the hospital. I had spoken to nurses, family, doctors, my children over the phone, and a few strangers. But I was overwhelmed by this gas station clerk who asked me how I was as I placed a granola bar and a ridiculously large cup of coffee on the counter. I didn't know. I wasn't good.
So I spoke with the family friend on the phone after the coffee buying experience. He gave me the insight to go to Church, which I did and it helped tremendously. He told me that God could do something great out of this, even though he doesn't create pain or tragedy or death. He told me I could learn from this baby, and I could be a better person. I could grow. He could change the world through the people he touched. It sounds cliche, I know, but it's really true. I don't want to be the person who took the little things too seriously. I don't want to be the person who misses the moment, who forgets who she loves for a few days, who ignores the important things in life to dwell on the petty. I want to be the person who strives to live my life with the goal of being ok with the way things worked out when it's all said and done. Because as I sat in a downtown hospital for a week, with no distractions, watching as death inched his way forward, I received a dose of perspective I'll never lose. Nothing really matters like we think it does. The extra five pounds, the clean kitchen floor, my latest failings as a mom. I'm going to spend my days trying to love my extra self, walking upon bread and cheerio crumbs, and forgiving myself for not being perfect.
I can't fathom the loss of a child. He wasn't mine. Part of the grief process for me was grieving without guilt for grieving. How could I be this sad, or how could I wear the cloak of mourning, when I know his mom and dad have it so much worse?
I felt terrible guilt because as I watched them suffer, I knew that I would never offer to take their place. People say that sometimes, and maybe they mean it, in certain circumstances. I would take my spouses pain, I would take the place of a young cancer victim. I don't know. You empathize and wish you could take it away for that person. But as much as I hurt and as much as I love my nephew's mom, I would never, could never, take her place. The love of a mother is more than anything else I know of, and nothing could make me give up a child. I love many people, but the sacrificial protecting life-giving love I have for my children is in a different category. I felt so guilty because I knew that I would never sacrifice my child so hers could live. The mere thought of doing so took the breath out of me. And in the same breathless moment, I understood with painful clarity that her love was just as strong as mine. And yet, here she was, watching her son die.
And although it took many, many months, I finally thought about this from the perspective of Christ. I had thought of it before, but recently, my heart was able to digest the meaning of DJ's death in the larger picture. I have spent my whole life hearing of God's sacrifice of his son. I would feel safe to bet that I have heard of it more times than of anything else in my life. But realizing how much a mother and father love their son, and knowing what is lost with the death of him, I had an overwhelming understanding of God's love for me. He loves me more than I love my children. I now know how much I love my kids, not because of the day to day life I have with them, but because I watched a mother lose a child, and I was able to stare through the window into her grief with just enough clarity to be terrified of walking through her shoes. My love pales in comparison to God's.
I think of DJ often. I think of meeting him when he was this itsy-bitsy dude. I recall dressing him and feeding him and telling him how happy I was to welcome him to this world of ours. I remember watching my own children meet him, and becoming mesmerized by him. I have the pictures of my daughter watching intensely as he was bathed in the kitchen sink. I have all those memories. I remember my last days with him. I remember his little body slowing down, his movements stopping, and his eyes ceasing to open. I remember clutching his chubby hand and bidding him farewell. I remember wondering what life was like with all the angels and saints, and wondering about all the wonders of the life to come. I remember the great spiritual events that happened in my life in the days following his death, and the certainty I had that these were raindrops of proof and hope from heaven, wherever heaven is.
So now, as I prepare to meet my own new baby, in less than a week, I pause and remember the baby that I said good-bye to. As many cliches as I have come to understand during the last year, none is more true than "lost, but not forgotten."
4.27.2010
Hey cous-
After much anticipation, the newest addition to the Holman clan joined us on March 3rd. The children met and were very cordial, and I think that baby DJ (short for David James, both family names) did not want to go back home. Just a hunch.
This is a favorite picture of mine already. The baby is so darn cute, and my baby looks really big.
Emma was on cloud nine from the moment of his arrival. She was a big help to Aunt 'K K', and was actually pretty good at it. (Right 'K K'?) She perched on the counter during bath time, and couldn't really be bothered to look at me for a good pose.
Now, don't get me wrong, little dude enjoyed having some company as well. He said, "It's a baby!" and then tried to poke him with a toy he was carrying around. Ok, he wasn't as good at helping, but he was interested. Ok, he was a little jealous, but he was good natured about it. He did pretty well at not sitting on the baby, and began to understand that the littlest addition won't be romping around him anytime soon. But in the next few years, these guys will be buddies for sure.
Emma was taking her job (one of her favorites) very seriously.
This is the blanket that I made for DJ. Thanks to some wonderful help to a wonderful far away friend, I think it turned out ok.
This is a favorite picture of mine already. The baby is so darn cute, and my baby looks really big.
Emma was on cloud nine from the moment of his arrival. She was a big help to Aunt 'K K', and was actually pretty good at it. (Right 'K K'?) She perched on the counter during bath time, and couldn't really be bothered to look at me for a good pose.
Now, don't get me wrong, little dude enjoyed having some company as well. He said, "It's a baby!" and then tried to poke him with a toy he was carrying around. Ok, he wasn't as good at helping, but he was interested. Ok, he was a little jealous, but he was good natured about it. He did pretty well at not sitting on the baby, and began to understand that the littlest addition won't be romping around him anytime soon. But in the next few years, these guys will be buddies for sure.
Emma was taking her job (one of her favorites) very seriously.
This is the blanket that I made for DJ. Thanks to some wonderful help to a wonderful far away friend, I think it turned out ok.
4.20.2010
ABC
A couple of weeks ago, we finally put up a For Sale sign on our yard rock. Doing so was good advice given to us by a man who has sold many things successfully. Thank you!
There were a couple of interested people, and a few skeptics too. One guy walked by and sarcastically asked if we delivered. Well, it was good fortune that a guy who owned or had access to this amazing thing-a-ma-jig wanted our rock, and came and picked it up three days after we put the sign on it. And, I will admit, it made me snicker a little because all those people who laughed at us walked by the next day and saw a clean yard with no dumb big rock in the middle. Not that the rock wasn't great, I am sure it looks fantastic in Mr. Tractor's yard. But, now we don't have to worry about our kids running into it and getting a concussion.
The guy drove the forklift thing from town somewhere. He just swung in our yard, scooped it up, strapped it down, and off he drove with it.
Having this guy drive up made me feel a little "country", but that isn't all bad. :) This would not have happened in our last location!
Good-bye yard rock. We made sure that you went to a good home, or at least another home. May the moss grow on you, and your surface be warm for many more years.
Last week we were out for the morning and found this little guy by the gutter. I will admit, with a bit of shame, that I did make some sort of little girl squawk when we saw it for the first time. But, redemption was mine as I borrowed my son's stick and picked it up for my kids to see.
Emma thought it was really neat, and Owen wanted to pick it up. We admired the way it stuck it's tongue out, how it slides to move, and how it was getting really mad at me for poking it and picking it up. It was really fun.
When I was younger, my mother found a snake in our basement. She thought it was a toy, but then it began to slither, so she yelled and ran across the basement of the old farmhouse. After waiting for a few minutes, she realized that rescued, she would not be. So, she put on her Miss. Resourceful hat and got to work.
Grabbing an ice cream bucket in one hand, and some sort of tool in the other, she got this thing contained and brought it upstairs. I was enthralled and insisted that we let it go outside. I was a bit of an animal guru at that time. (I had numerous pets through the years, including several rodent pets and an iguana.)
Some days later, with great sadness, the poor snake was found dead in the horse pen, with a telling hoof print across its body. Obviously the old Appolusa had not shared in our interest of the snake and taken care of business.
The next step, obviously, was to bag the dead thing and haul it away to church, where we were great friends with a dear man named Mr. Baker. (I once got to help Mr. Baker stuff a dead gopher that I took home in a paper towel tube, marked with an arrow so the fur-ball did not get taken out in the wrong direction, lest his coat get mashed up.)
Mr. Baker looked at the snake and was in great awe (really, he was) because the particular snake in front of us was a blue racer. They are very fast snakes, thus the name racer. He was impressed that my mother caught the thing, and determined that he must have been really cold and had not been able to move at full speed. I don't recall what happened to the snake after that, but it was the end of our family adventure. So, it would be a great disappointment to Mr. B to learn that I was so girly when I found our snake last week. Between you and me, the head of the thing is about the size of my pinky finger knuckle.
Sorry Mr. Baker.
There were a couple of interested people, and a few skeptics too. One guy walked by and sarcastically asked if we delivered. Well, it was good fortune that a guy who owned or had access to this amazing thing-a-ma-jig wanted our rock, and came and picked it up three days after we put the sign on it. And, I will admit, it made me snicker a little because all those people who laughed at us walked by the next day and saw a clean yard with no dumb big rock in the middle. Not that the rock wasn't great, I am sure it looks fantastic in Mr. Tractor's yard. But, now we don't have to worry about our kids running into it and getting a concussion.
The guy drove the forklift thing from town somewhere. He just swung in our yard, scooped it up, strapped it down, and off he drove with it.
Having this guy drive up made me feel a little "country", but that isn't all bad. :) This would not have happened in our last location!
Good-bye yard rock. We made sure that you went to a good home, or at least another home. May the moss grow on you, and your surface be warm for many more years.
Last week we were out for the morning and found this little guy by the gutter. I will admit, with a bit of shame, that I did make some sort of little girl squawk when we saw it for the first time. But, redemption was mine as I borrowed my son's stick and picked it up for my kids to see.
Emma thought it was really neat, and Owen wanted to pick it up. We admired the way it stuck it's tongue out, how it slides to move, and how it was getting really mad at me for poking it and picking it up. It was really fun.
When I was younger, my mother found a snake in our basement. She thought it was a toy, but then it began to slither, so she yelled and ran across the basement of the old farmhouse. After waiting for a few minutes, she realized that rescued, she would not be. So, she put on her Miss. Resourceful hat and got to work.
Grabbing an ice cream bucket in one hand, and some sort of tool in the other, she got this thing contained and brought it upstairs. I was enthralled and insisted that we let it go outside. I was a bit of an animal guru at that time. (I had numerous pets through the years, including several rodent pets and an iguana.)
Some days later, with great sadness, the poor snake was found dead in the horse pen, with a telling hoof print across its body. Obviously the old Appolusa had not shared in our interest of the snake and taken care of business.
The next step, obviously, was to bag the dead thing and haul it away to church, where we were great friends with a dear man named Mr. Baker. (I once got to help Mr. Baker stuff a dead gopher that I took home in a paper towel tube, marked with an arrow so the fur-ball did not get taken out in the wrong direction, lest his coat get mashed up.)
Mr. Baker looked at the snake and was in great awe (really, he was) because the particular snake in front of us was a blue racer. They are very fast snakes, thus the name racer. He was impressed that my mother caught the thing, and determined that he must have been really cold and had not been able to move at full speed. I don't recall what happened to the snake after that, but it was the end of our family adventure. So, it would be a great disappointment to Mr. B to learn that I was so girly when I found our snake last week. Between you and me, the head of the thing is about the size of my pinky finger knuckle.
Sorry Mr. Baker.
4.05.2010
I almost gave up on blogging. Half the time I think there is nothing new to talk about, the other half I just can't bear the guilt of sitting down to write when my list is waiting. But, here I am.
The spring is off to a wonderful start. It is so much easier than last year. Emma is so independent, and really does her own thing really well. She also listens really well. Last week I left her in the front, at her request, while I ran inside. The window was open so we could still talk, and of course I kept an eye on her. I don't think I'll do that all the time, but it is nice to know that we are in a different stage. She can be trusted a little more, and can make more of her own decisions all the time.
Owen is a mover and a shaker. He loves it outside. He tries to open the door while we are inside, and carries his shoes around, saying "shoes, shoes". He likes to be on the go out there. He cries when it is time to come inside. He can run and walk so well, and has become a master of stairs, so it is easy with him too. We all go out, and just hang out. It is much easier than trying to keep him from crawling off the deck (we fixed it so it is completely impossible for a child to fall off of it now) and helping them both up and down. I can even work on a simple project while we are all outside. Whoa. That is different.
I am really getting into garden mode. I have some seeds started inside, and our really amazing neighbor is tilling the ground for me. He is really kind. So, I am going to get some peas in and get to work. It must be in the blood, because I really like it.
Yesterday I grabbed the kids and marched outside with the kite. The wind was really going, so it was a great night to fly it. Owen wasn't all that into it, but he was better than the first time. Emma enjoyed it a little more though. We got it really high, and she got to hold onto the string. She did a really good job. She used two hands and we both had this really great bonding experience that she'll remember for the rest of her life. It was so great.
Until she let go. In her defense, I don't think it was really her fault. She happened to be looking at the ground, and the wind came up and ripped it out of her hands. The same thing happened to me just a few minutes before. The difference was when Emma was holding it, it was as high as it had ever been, and the wind was really strong. So, of course, it flew away, into the neighbors tree. Not the tilling neighbor, the other one. So, I didn't want to leave this plastic kite in their tree all summer, it would look pretty crappy. I walked over and opened the back gate, and worked to get it out of the high maple. It came down. Wonderful! There was so much string though, and the wind so high, that I couldn't wind it up in time, so I had a mess of string, and the kite flew into the next tree. Emma was really excited, she wanted to come into their yard too. I was not as gooey as I was trying to explain that she couldn't come in, it wasn't our yard, and trying to get this dumb kite down. But, I did. It broke a little, but it is an easy fix, so we'll no doubt try again. It was a fun adventure for me, which is really important to me for some reason. It somehow resets my clock, as if I go from one adventure to the next. And, this one only cost less than three dollars.
My previous adventure dealt with a stack of wood being picked up and stacked from across the street, and the city thanking me for my efforts by throwing it onto their truck that was being used to haul all the dead wood out of various public access points . Never mind that me and my precious children had worked for a long time, well, half and hour, to drag it close to our mailbox so we could burn it in our fire pit. Thanks city. But, we won't go into that now.
So, spring has sprung, we're all happy and healthy, and life is still good.
The spring is off to a wonderful start. It is so much easier than last year. Emma is so independent, and really does her own thing really well. She also listens really well. Last week I left her in the front, at her request, while I ran inside. The window was open so we could still talk, and of course I kept an eye on her. I don't think I'll do that all the time, but it is nice to know that we are in a different stage. She can be trusted a little more, and can make more of her own decisions all the time.
Owen is a mover and a shaker. He loves it outside. He tries to open the door while we are inside, and carries his shoes around, saying "shoes, shoes". He likes to be on the go out there. He cries when it is time to come inside. He can run and walk so well, and has become a master of stairs, so it is easy with him too. We all go out, and just hang out. It is much easier than trying to keep him from crawling off the deck (we fixed it so it is completely impossible for a child to fall off of it now) and helping them both up and down. I can even work on a simple project while we are all outside. Whoa. That is different.
I am really getting into garden mode. I have some seeds started inside, and our really amazing neighbor is tilling the ground for me. He is really kind. So, I am going to get some peas in and get to work. It must be in the blood, because I really like it.
Yesterday I grabbed the kids and marched outside with the kite. The wind was really going, so it was a great night to fly it. Owen wasn't all that into it, but he was better than the first time. Emma enjoyed it a little more though. We got it really high, and she got to hold onto the string. She did a really good job. She used two hands and we both had this really great bonding experience that she'll remember for the rest of her life. It was so great.
Until she let go. In her defense, I don't think it was really her fault. She happened to be looking at the ground, and the wind came up and ripped it out of her hands. The same thing happened to me just a few minutes before. The difference was when Emma was holding it, it was as high as it had ever been, and the wind was really strong. So, of course, it flew away, into the neighbors tree. Not the tilling neighbor, the other one. So, I didn't want to leave this plastic kite in their tree all summer, it would look pretty crappy. I walked over and opened the back gate, and worked to get it out of the high maple. It came down. Wonderful! There was so much string though, and the wind so high, that I couldn't wind it up in time, so I had a mess of string, and the kite flew into the next tree. Emma was really excited, she wanted to come into their yard too. I was not as gooey as I was trying to explain that she couldn't come in, it wasn't our yard, and trying to get this dumb kite down. But, I did. It broke a little, but it is an easy fix, so we'll no doubt try again. It was a fun adventure for me, which is really important to me for some reason. It somehow resets my clock, as if I go from one adventure to the next. And, this one only cost less than three dollars.
My previous adventure dealt with a stack of wood being picked up and stacked from across the street, and the city thanking me for my efforts by throwing it onto their truck that was being used to haul all the dead wood out of various public access points . Never mind that me and my precious children had worked for a long time, well, half and hour, to drag it close to our mailbox so we could burn it in our fire pit. Thanks city. But, we won't go into that now.
So, spring has sprung, we're all happy and healthy, and life is still good.
2.25.2010
Emma-isms
Two for today-
1. Emma, and Owen, got to watch Barney today. This does not always fit into our schedule, so when it does, she thinks it is a real treat. She doesn't watch a lot of TV, so she gets pretty excited when she gets to watch her show. I don't know where she got confused, but sometime along the way, she got the words to the opening song mixed up.
Rather than, "Barney is a dinosaur from our imagination", Emma sings, "Barney is a dinosaur from our abomination." She is very sincere as she sings this, and it's darn cute.
2. Emma and I are settling her in for a nap. As usual, she wants to read a book, which we always do. But today I was hungry, and didn't really feel like it. Yeah right. Try to convince a three year-old to switch up the routine on a whim. I know, I know, I am laughing at my own foolishness too. So, she fought back. She didn't yell, she didn't scream or cry.
Matter of factly, she begins to point towards her fan and says, "Ok, I want the fan off, no music, and the door open." :) This girl. Of course, (need I explain?) we always have the fan on, turn on the music, and close the door.
She fought me with logic today. Whoa. I relented, because she made sense, and there is nothing wrong with reading a book for naptime, geesh mom!
1. Emma, and Owen, got to watch Barney today. This does not always fit into our schedule, so when it does, she thinks it is a real treat. She doesn't watch a lot of TV, so she gets pretty excited when she gets to watch her show. I don't know where she got confused, but sometime along the way, she got the words to the opening song mixed up.
Rather than, "Barney is a dinosaur from our imagination", Emma sings, "Barney is a dinosaur from our abomination." She is very sincere as she sings this, and it's darn cute.
2. Emma and I are settling her in for a nap. As usual, she wants to read a book, which we always do. But today I was hungry, and didn't really feel like it. Yeah right. Try to convince a three year-old to switch up the routine on a whim. I know, I know, I am laughing at my own foolishness too. So, she fought back. She didn't yell, she didn't scream or cry.
Matter of factly, she begins to point towards her fan and says, "Ok, I want the fan off, no music, and the door open." :) This girl. Of course, (need I explain?) we always have the fan on, turn on the music, and close the door.
She fought me with logic today. Whoa. I relented, because she made sense, and there is nothing wrong with reading a book for naptime, geesh mom!
2.23.2010
Baby in bed
I sat in Emma's room, patiently waiting for her to come in and read a book before she got into bed. She finally came in, carrying her carseat, and her "baby". She had been getting the baby ready for bed. She began to put the baby in its own bed, and it was then that I saw the baby that she was so tenderly caring for. I took her "lentil" baby away today, but she obviously isn't terribly distraught. She has imagination. My personal favorite detail is how her baby must be placed "upside down".
Three year-olds rule.
:)
Three year-olds rule.
:)
2.21.2010
My peanut is three.
Emma had a birthday! It is actually on Tuesday, but we celebrated over the weekend.
I made a cake for her, which was pretty fun. It took a lot longer than I had expected it to, but all in all I think it went ok. We put up a little banner, and a little decoration over her door. She really knew her birthday was coming, and all week she was excited. It is so much fun to celebrate with children. Their joy is fun to watch and participate in. My own joy for my own birthday seems to be dwindling, but I suppose that is expected.
Emma had several of her little friends over, so we had a full house of little girls. Owen was the only boy, but I think he enjoyed himself despite the excess level of estrogen. The little girls all had fun too. Emma was very good, and welcomed her guests just as we had practiced all week. "Welcome to my house, let's go play!" At the end of the party, she did a very nice job of thanking them, and helping them pick out a balloon to take home with them.
I have a hard time believing that she is 3! It goes really fast. I know I know, we hear that all the time. But I think over the last three years of my own life, and it just seems really long ago that I didn't have a little Emma, but it also seems like just yesterday. So much changes in a little person in that time period. She is no longer a baby. I am going to look back on these years and just miss the tar out of them. I am going to gaze into the air and try to remember what she was like when she was just a three year old. She seems so old to me now, but obviously, she is just a little peanut. It is like savoring something that you know you can't save forever. You have to eat the cake, or it is going to rot. I know that these are amazing years, and I need to focus on enjoying them as much as I possibly can, rather than fret about missing them tomorrow. Stopping time isn't an option.
Emma says to me the other day, "Mom, you're big, you're not a peanut. I'm small, I'm the peanut!" So she is.
A few Emma facts:
She will only wear short sleeve shirts. No bribes, treats, begging, convincing or sternness will change this. She only wears short sleeves.
She dresses herself by herself everyday. I don't help her pick out her clothes or take off or put anything on. She gets everything right. This makes her very happy.
She likes to eat her breakfast out of the red bowl with the red spoon. Every morning, she breezes into the kitchen, fully dressed, and asks on her way to the table, "Mom, is the red bowl and the red spoon clean?"
She has two babies that she is in love with, that no one is really allowed to touch or mess with. One is a bag of lentils that gets replaced every so often, when I have to cook it, and the other is a little eye pillow. Both of her babies are much more special to her than the "real" babies she owns.
She loves real babies, like the human kind. She loves to hold them, look at them, and talk to them. Her own babies, like the lentils, are named after the babies that she knows. She takes very good care of them.
If you are related to Emma, she knows where you live. We have a little state book, and she knows, South Dakota, Washington, Nebraska, and Iowa. Our state is green. ;)
She still enjoys music a lot, and likes to sing.
She is a sweet little thing, and most of the time, we have very good days, and a lot of fun.
Emma saw G'ma and G'pa on her birthday. She got a little tea cart that she is in love with. This has been added to the "no touch" category of toys. Little Owen knows this, and proceeds with caution. But, he is a boy, and boys are daring, so he has taken it for a spin a time or two.
Emma opened some gifts at her party. She was happy, can you tell?
Mmm..blue frosting. Thankfully, none of this beautiful blue frosting made its way to our beautiful white chair or ivory furniture. All of the children did have blue tongues and lips though.
All the party goers enjoying cake.
The birthday song. She loved it. Too bad birthdays are only once a year. I think I enjoyed myself as much as she did.
I made a cake for her, which was pretty fun. It took a lot longer than I had expected it to, but all in all I think it went ok. We put up a little banner, and a little decoration over her door. She really knew her birthday was coming, and all week she was excited. It is so much fun to celebrate with children. Their joy is fun to watch and participate in. My own joy for my own birthday seems to be dwindling, but I suppose that is expected.
Emma had several of her little friends over, so we had a full house of little girls. Owen was the only boy, but I think he enjoyed himself despite the excess level of estrogen. The little girls all had fun too. Emma was very good, and welcomed her guests just as we had practiced all week. "Welcome to my house, let's go play!" At the end of the party, she did a very nice job of thanking them, and helping them pick out a balloon to take home with them.
I have a hard time believing that she is 3! It goes really fast. I know I know, we hear that all the time. But I think over the last three years of my own life, and it just seems really long ago that I didn't have a little Emma, but it also seems like just yesterday. So much changes in a little person in that time period. She is no longer a baby. I am going to look back on these years and just miss the tar out of them. I am going to gaze into the air and try to remember what she was like when she was just a three year old. She seems so old to me now, but obviously, she is just a little peanut. It is like savoring something that you know you can't save forever. You have to eat the cake, or it is going to rot. I know that these are amazing years, and I need to focus on enjoying them as much as I possibly can, rather than fret about missing them tomorrow. Stopping time isn't an option.
Emma says to me the other day, "Mom, you're big, you're not a peanut. I'm small, I'm the peanut!" So she is.
A few Emma facts:
She will only wear short sleeve shirts. No bribes, treats, begging, convincing or sternness will change this. She only wears short sleeves.
She dresses herself by herself everyday. I don't help her pick out her clothes or take off or put anything on. She gets everything right. This makes her very happy.
She likes to eat her breakfast out of the red bowl with the red spoon. Every morning, she breezes into the kitchen, fully dressed, and asks on her way to the table, "Mom, is the red bowl and the red spoon clean?"
She has two babies that she is in love with, that no one is really allowed to touch or mess with. One is a bag of lentils that gets replaced every so often, when I have to cook it, and the other is a little eye pillow. Both of her babies are much more special to her than the "real" babies she owns.
She loves real babies, like the human kind. She loves to hold them, look at them, and talk to them. Her own babies, like the lentils, are named after the babies that she knows. She takes very good care of them.
If you are related to Emma, she knows where you live. We have a little state book, and she knows, South Dakota, Washington, Nebraska, and Iowa. Our state is green. ;)
She still enjoys music a lot, and likes to sing.
She is a sweet little thing, and most of the time, we have very good days, and a lot of fun.
Emma saw G'ma and G'pa on her birthday. She got a little tea cart that she is in love with. This has been added to the "no touch" category of toys. Little Owen knows this, and proceeds with caution. But, he is a boy, and boys are daring, so he has taken it for a spin a time or two.
Emma opened some gifts at her party. She was happy, can you tell?
Mmm..blue frosting. Thankfully, none of this beautiful blue frosting made its way to our beautiful white chair or ivory furniture. All of the children did have blue tongues and lips though.
All the party goers enjoying cake.
The birthday song. She loved it. Too bad birthdays are only once a year. I think I enjoyed myself as much as she did.
b-day
An actual cake, with actual candles and actual fire.
We were preparing to place the candles into cake.
"Where do we put the candles children?"
The unanimous decision, including Emma's say, was Cookie Monster's mouth.
Happy Birthday dear Emma.
Emma with her cake.
The cake.
We were preparing to place the candles into cake.
"Where do we put the candles children?"
The unanimous decision, including Emma's say, was Cookie Monster's mouth.
Happy Birthday dear Emma.
Emma with her cake.
The cake.
My dear Emma-
Emma has a wonderful ability to stick to her guns. I am hopeful that this means that in later life, it will translate into standing up for what is right, and for being a protector of her siblings. Always the optimist, I am.
Right now, what she sticks to, are her own ideas. This particular day, she would not yield to my request, and chose to sit in time-out rather than to listen to her mommy. She was very sweet about sitting in time-out after a bit. I checked on her periodically, and asked, "Are you ready to listen to Mommy yet, or do you want to sit in time-out?" She replied, "Time-out." After an hour and a half, she fell asleep, and this is how I found her.
"Dear Emma,
You are very stubborn. I hope that you had a good nap.
Love,
Mom"
Emma wanted to share her snow suit with her baby. So, naked Emma puts baby in snow suit. :)
Right now, what she sticks to, are her own ideas. This particular day, she would not yield to my request, and chose to sit in time-out rather than to listen to her mommy. She was very sweet about sitting in time-out after a bit. I checked on her periodically, and asked, "Are you ready to listen to Mommy yet, or do you want to sit in time-out?" She replied, "Time-out." After an hour and a half, she fell asleep, and this is how I found her.
"Dear Emma,
You are very stubborn. I hope that you had a good nap.
Love,
Mom"
Emma wanted to share her snow suit with her baby. So, naked Emma puts baby in snow suit. :)
Some Owen love
My dear little boy loves to climb into things. We have a few baskets, and he delights in emptying them and climbing on in.
Laundry day is a favorite in our house. Owen loves the laundry baskets that are available for his pleasure, and Emma enjoys getting all of her clothes returned to her.
One of Owen's other favorite "toys" are bottles. He is consumed for many hours by the tops. He likes the screw-top kind, as well as the flip kind. So, in these pictures, he is very happy because he has an empty chocolate syrup bottle to play with.
I tell ya, this kid is wrapping himself around my heart more each day. I can't decide if he is my baby still or not, but it matters little, I think. He loves to look at books, and will try to say new words when he wants to make me happy. The other chunk of the day he points and whines, and at times grudgingly uses words.
I remember when I was pregnant with him, I worried, as I have heard other women do, that I could not possibly love him like I did my first baby. Of course, on the other side of it, we all know that is a silly worry. Somehow your heart opens and creates a little place for each new person you welcome into your life. They are so very different from each other, my two children, but they each have given me a mother's heart. I am almost surprised that I am so in love with them. I find myself gazing at them, in their good moments, and being so overwhelmed with thankfulness that I am able to spend so much time with them, and share the simple moments together that mean so much to each of us. In the moments that are not so gushy and gooey, I love them, but watch the clock until daddy comes home a little closer. :)
Laundry day is a favorite in our house. Owen loves the laundry baskets that are available for his pleasure, and Emma enjoys getting all of her clothes returned to her.
One of Owen's other favorite "toys" are bottles. He is consumed for many hours by the tops. He likes the screw-top kind, as well as the flip kind. So, in these pictures, he is very happy because he has an empty chocolate syrup bottle to play with.
I tell ya, this kid is wrapping himself around my heart more each day. I can't decide if he is my baby still or not, but it matters little, I think. He loves to look at books, and will try to say new words when he wants to make me happy. The other chunk of the day he points and whines, and at times grudgingly uses words.
I remember when I was pregnant with him, I worried, as I have heard other women do, that I could not possibly love him like I did my first baby. Of course, on the other side of it, we all know that is a silly worry. Somehow your heart opens and creates a little place for each new person you welcome into your life. They are so very different from each other, my two children, but they each have given me a mother's heart. I am almost surprised that I am so in love with them. I find myself gazing at them, in their good moments, and being so overwhelmed with thankfulness that I am able to spend so much time with them, and share the simple moments together that mean so much to each of us. In the moments that are not so gushy and gooey, I love them, but watch the clock until daddy comes home a little closer. :)
1.26.2010
I hear ya-
Small victories.
1. Emma has, dare I say it, mastered the art of being a big girl, and using the bathroom accordingly. Read-doing all of her "duties" in the appropriate place. After a (very long) morning of a battle of wills a few weeks ago, she adjusted her attitude, and it has been getting easier each day. For a week or so, I had to remind her that she could choose the bathroom, or choose to sit in time-out. She tested us one time, and then began to choose the bathroom. Now, I don't have to say that anymore. I do tell her to go, and she toddles off and listens.
I must rip on the new trend of parenting for a moment. Everything that I read while searching for answers told me to wait until she's ready, one day she will just decide, and you can't make her. Just be patient, they all said, and take it in stride. Heck, you'll miss these days sometime in the future. Well, my patience ran out.
I admit that there is some truth in the advice. A year ago, I agreed. But, the girl is about to be 3. When you google our "problem", there are pages and pages of people complaining that they are cleaning underwear, and their little person just doesn't want to stop using underwear instead of the bathroom. Well, of course not!
What my little Emma needed was some old-fashioned, tried and true, hard nosed parenting. She fought. After an hour and a half of her crying in the bathroom I wondered if I had made a big mistake here, and wondered if getting into a battle of wills was really a good idea. Oh, how those internet doctors would shun me. But, we stuck it out, and we won. My tidbit that I want to pass on to you, is don't start a battle and not finish it.
2. After a round of antibiotics, my dear son is sleeping through the night, finally. No more 3 a.m. wakings. A night of solid sleep is doing wonders for all of us.
Growth Spurts
1. Emma has begun to call me "mom" on a regular basis. It took me a couple of days to realize it, but one day, I suddenly stopped and it registered in my brain. I think it is a different kind of mothering. "Mommy" vs. "Mom".
Mommy roles include cuddling, soothing, offering security. Mom seems to be more of get Owen out of the way, fixing annoyances, cleaning up spills and washing favorite clothes. Not that the roles are not interchangeable, they are. It just seems like our relationship is growing into something bigger.
2. Owen is changing all the time. He has decided that maybe baby sign language isn't so bad, and is beginning to talk more. The frustrating part, for me, is knowing that he is capable of saying words, he just isn't very interested. He would rather grunt, cry, point and lunge after what he wants. He communicates very effectively, but I get really exhausted after hearing him be so loud all day long. He really likes to look at books, watch the washing machine start (hey, I like that too0, play with things he shouldn't (that is how the dryer light bulb broke) and walk around when we shop for groceries, rather than sit in the cart. He is a baby at some moments, and fiercly independent and a toddler the next. *sigh* I miss my baby, but am enjoying the ease that comes as he can do more things for himself.
Little joys
I am now the proud owner of a pair of brand spanking new Gingher G-8 8 Inch Knife Edge Dressmaker's Shears.
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/images/B000UU6SR4/ref=dp_image_text_0?ie=UTF8&n=284507&s=kitchen
They are pretty amazing. They arrived in a very shiny metal case, with a "holster" for the blade. I was too excited not to try them out. I recruited my husband to help me trace onto fabric to cut, and then took them for a spin. I think that I instantly became a better seamstress. My old 8 dollar pair of Wal-Mart craft scissors were pretty pathetic, and when I used them, the edges of my fabric were embarrassingly jagged. No more. I decided that I like to sew enough to invest a little bit of green, so now I am ready for more projects.
Little lamentations
I realized how much we are paying a year for health insurance. For some reason, most likely denial, I never realized the yearly rate, just the monthly. When I realized the dollar amount, my body did an involuntary shudder and my intestines flipped over a few times. WHAT! THAT IS ABSURD!
The incident that steered me towards this unpleasant revelation began with Owen having an ear infection. The doctors usually, in the past, have urged me to make a follow-up appointment for 10 days after the initial appointment, to make sure the antibiotics have done their job. The kicker is that this requires another official office visit.
Read between the lines, $$$$.
I finally got bold enough to ask if we could just have his ears looked at, and of course, they basically laughed at me, and asked if I wanted to make an appointment. An office visit is at least $100. Checking a child's ears takes about 24 seconds. Now, understand, that I am not an economist, a nurse, a doctor, or an insurance agent. I am merely a mom. Little old me can't understand how anyone can be asked to give you 5 twenty dollar bills for less than 30 seconds of service. This, in my humble opinion, is a system that is really broken. The part that got me even more riled up is when we realized that not having insurance is just risky enough that we don't dare try it. But, what if we saved our monthly premiums in a savings account, and managed our own dumb health care. What if we paid for all medical costs out of pocket? We would save a ridiculous amount of cash, and have an account that should be sufficient for any medical costs in the future.
On the flip side, if God graces us with another child, or we have a serious but rare incident that requires any emergency service, we are in a lot of trouble. Being a home owner is scary in that sense, because if the deck becomes stacked against you, you lose your house. So, we pay thousands of dollars for assurance that a night in the hospital won't leave us homeless so we can then pay the equivalent of 360 dollars an hour to make sure that the last doctor visit, for which I spent 100 dollars, ten days ago, was effective.
Of course, I have little else to complain about. In the grand scheme, I have healthy kids and a wonderful life. That is why I titled this section "Little lamentations".
Big Hopes
Spring comes early.
1. Emma has, dare I say it, mastered the art of being a big girl, and using the bathroom accordingly. Read-doing all of her "duties" in the appropriate place. After a (very long) morning of a battle of wills a few weeks ago, she adjusted her attitude, and it has been getting easier each day. For a week or so, I had to remind her that she could choose the bathroom, or choose to sit in time-out. She tested us one time, and then began to choose the bathroom. Now, I don't have to say that anymore. I do tell her to go, and she toddles off and listens.
I must rip on the new trend of parenting for a moment. Everything that I read while searching for answers told me to wait until she's ready, one day she will just decide, and you can't make her. Just be patient, they all said, and take it in stride. Heck, you'll miss these days sometime in the future. Well, my patience ran out.
I admit that there is some truth in the advice. A year ago, I agreed. But, the girl is about to be 3. When you google our "problem", there are pages and pages of people complaining that they are cleaning underwear, and their little person just doesn't want to stop using underwear instead of the bathroom. Well, of course not!
What my little Emma needed was some old-fashioned, tried and true, hard nosed parenting. She fought. After an hour and a half of her crying in the bathroom I wondered if I had made a big mistake here, and wondered if getting into a battle of wills was really a good idea. Oh, how those internet doctors would shun me. But, we stuck it out, and we won. My tidbit that I want to pass on to you, is don't start a battle and not finish it.
2. After a round of antibiotics, my dear son is sleeping through the night, finally. No more 3 a.m. wakings. A night of solid sleep is doing wonders for all of us.
Growth Spurts
1. Emma has begun to call me "mom" on a regular basis. It took me a couple of days to realize it, but one day, I suddenly stopped and it registered in my brain. I think it is a different kind of mothering. "Mommy" vs. "Mom".
Mommy roles include cuddling, soothing, offering security. Mom seems to be more of get Owen out of the way, fixing annoyances, cleaning up spills and washing favorite clothes. Not that the roles are not interchangeable, they are. It just seems like our relationship is growing into something bigger.
2. Owen is changing all the time. He has decided that maybe baby sign language isn't so bad, and is beginning to talk more. The frustrating part, for me, is knowing that he is capable of saying words, he just isn't very interested. He would rather grunt, cry, point and lunge after what he wants. He communicates very effectively, but I get really exhausted after hearing him be so loud all day long. He really likes to look at books, watch the washing machine start (hey, I like that too0, play with things he shouldn't (that is how the dryer light bulb broke) and walk around when we shop for groceries, rather than sit in the cart. He is a baby at some moments, and fiercly independent and a toddler the next. *sigh* I miss my baby, but am enjoying the ease that comes as he can do more things for himself.
Little joys
I am now the proud owner of a pair of brand spanking new Gingher G-8 8 Inch Knife Edge Dressmaker's Shears.
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/images/B000UU6SR4/ref=dp_image_text_0?ie=UTF8&n=284507&s=kitchen
They are pretty amazing. They arrived in a very shiny metal case, with a "holster" for the blade. I was too excited not to try them out. I recruited my husband to help me trace onto fabric to cut, and then took them for a spin. I think that I instantly became a better seamstress. My old 8 dollar pair of Wal-Mart craft scissors were pretty pathetic, and when I used them, the edges of my fabric were embarrassingly jagged. No more. I decided that I like to sew enough to invest a little bit of green, so now I am ready for more projects.
Little lamentations
I realized how much we are paying a year for health insurance. For some reason, most likely denial, I never realized the yearly rate, just the monthly. When I realized the dollar amount, my body did an involuntary shudder and my intestines flipped over a few times. WHAT! THAT IS ABSURD!
The incident that steered me towards this unpleasant revelation began with Owen having an ear infection. The doctors usually, in the past, have urged me to make a follow-up appointment for 10 days after the initial appointment, to make sure the antibiotics have done their job. The kicker is that this requires another official office visit.
Read between the lines, $$$$.
I finally got bold enough to ask if we could just have his ears looked at, and of course, they basically laughed at me, and asked if I wanted to make an appointment. An office visit is at least $100. Checking a child's ears takes about 24 seconds. Now, understand, that I am not an economist, a nurse, a doctor, or an insurance agent. I am merely a mom. Little old me can't understand how anyone can be asked to give you 5 twenty dollar bills for less than 30 seconds of service. This, in my humble opinion, is a system that is really broken. The part that got me even more riled up is when we realized that not having insurance is just risky enough that we don't dare try it. But, what if we saved our monthly premiums in a savings account, and managed our own dumb health care. What if we paid for all medical costs out of pocket? We would save a ridiculous amount of cash, and have an account that should be sufficient for any medical costs in the future.
On the flip side, if God graces us with another child, or we have a serious but rare incident that requires any emergency service, we are in a lot of trouble. Being a home owner is scary in that sense, because if the deck becomes stacked against you, you lose your house. So, we pay thousands of dollars for assurance that a night in the hospital won't leave us homeless so we can then pay the equivalent of 360 dollars an hour to make sure that the last doctor visit, for which I spent 100 dollars, ten days ago, was effective.
Of course, I have little else to complain about. In the grand scheme, I have healthy kids and a wonderful life. That is why I titled this section "Little lamentations".
Big Hopes
Spring comes early.
1.12.2010
Hey, big head...;)
This is proof that the kid does smile! It is on his terms though, no smiling for the camera just because I ask him nicely. He is an outdoor kind of guy, really enjoying our trips outside.
This has got to be one of my favorite pictures. The kids are buddies. I have watched Emma treat her brother very nicely. Of course, there are the moments when she gets frustrated with him too, but we've all been pushed around by our siblings, and survived.
Today I took Owen to the doctor. Among the other findings, we learned that he is in the 5th percentile for weight, and 70th percentile for his head size. In height, he is in the middle.
11.19.2009
hawing is ok, but please, no hemming.
My life in recent weeks has been somewhat stressful, and definitely intense.
As hard as I try, I don't seem to have enough patience to last for the entire day. I have enough for a few trying catastrophes, but sometimes there are more catastrophes than there is patience, and those are the days when I find myself knee deep in moments that make me want to weep with disappointment for myself. For my lack of patience , my lack of understanding.
One such day was last Friday. This potty-training business is as hard as anything I have done before. Honestly. Literally. Seriously. What about labor you say? Well, with labor, there is a definitive moment when you're done. The baby comes out. That's it. Finish line crossed, battle won. With potty-training, there seems to be no end in sight. Everything was going fine. Then, suddenly, it wasn't.
Last week, it was a challenge each day. I seem to have run out of "tricks", because there was not a whole lot of motivation to get it right. My clean laundry pile was a true indication of how the week went. I washed some socks for my husband, a few shirts and one pair of paints for O man, and a running outfit and some socks for me. Then came Emma's pile. It was three time the size of ours. A ridiculous number of undergarments for my dear daughter. I sighed as I saw the evidence folded nicely on the counter. Yes, it was a hard week.
So on Friday that was it, it was the last straw. I really lost it. I hope that I did a contained version of losing it, but I'm not sure what the boundaries are to constituent "contained". Owen was holding onto my legs, crying to be picked up or paid attention to, and he would not stay out of the bathroom. Emma was screaming because she had had an accident. My ear happened to be very near to her mouth, and the stress barometer seems to rise quickly when the volume goes up. I was telling her repeatedly to "stop screaming", "it's ok", "we'll fix it".
It was a vicious cycle. We were all getting upset. I finally put Owen in his high-chair with a few crackers, I finished with Emma and told her to get dressed, and I went into the garage. I screamed a couple of times, and felt a lot better. The frustration is something I can't describe, but I'm telling you, it was so intense.
Then, the weekend came. It was nice. We spent it at one set of Grandparents, and they watched our kids while we went to a seminar to learn how to parent better. The timing was impecible. Lessons and advice on how to be a better mom, I was desperate for.
Home again, home again, jiggity jig. I spent a few days breaking Emma of her new and terrible habit of screaming at me when she got in trouble. Advice that I heard over the weekend helped tremendously.
But then yesterday came. My mind was racing with things I needed to get done, with ways I could parent better, with questions of what I was doing right, or not right. It was just a rough morning. For one reason or another, I just felt inadequate. Like I just don't have it together, and can't seem to do all of these things that I want to in a day. I want to read to them everyday, I want to read by myself, I want to pray, I want to play, I want to sip coffee, I want to blow raspberry's on tiny tummies and giggle, I want to clean, I want to relax. I want to write, I want to cook, I want to sew.
Sew. Do I really want to learn how to sew? After a few experiences, I can assure you that I don't. I want to know how to sew, but the learning hasn't been all that fun, to be honest with you. My high expectations for myself were dashed as I hung Emma's curtains up several weeks ago, only to find that they were crooked, and the top and bottom of each weren't exactly the correct size. But, I forged ahead. I bought fabric for Owen's room, and began to make his.
The pinning and ironing part is driving me crazy. Last week I spent 30 minutes trying to get it pinned right, and looked at the final product only to discover that it was crooked. Ahh!!
Yesterday, I tried again, and guesed that it was acceptable. After I hemmed one side, I inspected the hem closely and saw that I had missed the fabric on the backside. Good grief. I redid it. I had to rip it out once before because the thread had gotten all tangled up, and it was showing the bobbin thread, rather than the blue thread. Then it got stuck.
The second side went a little better, but the fabric ended up kind of bunched up, and I didn't have the heart to do it again. I carefully measured the bottom, and ironed it, and gleefully put in the last hem.
In that sequence of events, the iron fell onto the carpeted floor, and of course a bunch of stuff got glued onto it. I had to spend about 10 minutes getting the carpet gunk off of it. Thankfully, I didn't ruin our iron, which is the second one I have had in this marriage.
After I hung up the curtain in Owen's room, I stepped back to inspect my work, and really could have cried. It was crooked. It wasn't right. It was terrible. I tried, and yet again, I failed.
Emma got up shortly after. We played some songs, and we all danced around together. Then, we all marched to Owen's room so I could change his diaper.
Emma was chattering away, and as she turned the corner into the bedroom, she stopped dead in her tracks. She looked up with her little face at that curtain, and she looked back at her mama, and she poured out her little heart. "Owen" she said, "you have a new curtain! It's so pretty. It looks so great. Mommy made you a curtain!" Her sincerity was genuine. She loved it.
It was a clarifying moment for me. All of the frustration I had melted away, all of my doubt about my qualifications for this job fell aside. She was really happy for me, and she was proud of me. She doesn't care if my dumb curtains look ridiculous. Just like she doesn't care if I do all of the things the books tell me to do, they don't care if I am super organized, and they surely don't care if I am caught up on the unending housework. They are learning how to be people from me, and I am learning how to be a mom from them.
I was reminded that my children need to see me venture out, to try new things. They need to watch their mom learn new things, and they need to see me fail. They need to watch me fail with confidence. They need to know that it's ok not to be perfect. I need to teach them that being imperfect is ok, that trying again is more vital to character than trying the first time. Part of being a good mom is being me, and I am more than wiping bottoms and sweeping cheerios and washing a ridiclous number of underwear in a week. A good mom is accepting of the learning process, and she shows her children that learning is hard, and not doing it as well as you had hoped to is hard, but you don't throw a tantrum about it, and you don't have a pity party. (me, I don't throw a tantrum about it!)
All of this stemmed from my little Emma's words.
The icing on the cake came later, as I was telling my husband this story in the kitchen after he came home for the day. In the midst of my recounting the events, little Emma sprang up from her seated position, and tried earnestly to tell her daddy...something. All we heard were bits of words and sentences. "Daddy....Owen...pretty..." On her way past him, with her little legs pumping as fast as possible, she threw out the only word she could get a handle on.
"RUN"!
She screamed it in excitement on her way to her brother's room, in great anticipation of showing her daddy what her mommy had made. Her joy seeped out of her, and we could not help the grins that showed themselves on our faces.
That, my friends, is the joy of mothering. And it makes all the crap I put up with worth it.
As hard as I try, I don't seem to have enough patience to last for the entire day. I have enough for a few trying catastrophes, but sometimes there are more catastrophes than there is patience, and those are the days when I find myself knee deep in moments that make me want to weep with disappointment for myself. For my lack of patience , my lack of understanding.
One such day was last Friday. This potty-training business is as hard as anything I have done before. Honestly. Literally. Seriously. What about labor you say? Well, with labor, there is a definitive moment when you're done. The baby comes out. That's it. Finish line crossed, battle won. With potty-training, there seems to be no end in sight. Everything was going fine. Then, suddenly, it wasn't.
Last week, it was a challenge each day. I seem to have run out of "tricks", because there was not a whole lot of motivation to get it right. My clean laundry pile was a true indication of how the week went. I washed some socks for my husband, a few shirts and one pair of paints for O man, and a running outfit and some socks for me. Then came Emma's pile. It was three time the size of ours. A ridiculous number of undergarments for my dear daughter. I sighed as I saw the evidence folded nicely on the counter. Yes, it was a hard week.
So on Friday that was it, it was the last straw. I really lost it. I hope that I did a contained version of losing it, but I'm not sure what the boundaries are to constituent "contained". Owen was holding onto my legs, crying to be picked up or paid attention to, and he would not stay out of the bathroom. Emma was screaming because she had had an accident. My ear happened to be very near to her mouth, and the stress barometer seems to rise quickly when the volume goes up. I was telling her repeatedly to "stop screaming", "it's ok", "we'll fix it".
It was a vicious cycle. We were all getting upset. I finally put Owen in his high-chair with a few crackers, I finished with Emma and told her to get dressed, and I went into the garage. I screamed a couple of times, and felt a lot better. The frustration is something I can't describe, but I'm telling you, it was so intense.
Then, the weekend came. It was nice. We spent it at one set of Grandparents, and they watched our kids while we went to a seminar to learn how to parent better. The timing was impecible. Lessons and advice on how to be a better mom, I was desperate for.
Home again, home again, jiggity jig. I spent a few days breaking Emma of her new and terrible habit of screaming at me when she got in trouble. Advice that I heard over the weekend helped tremendously.
But then yesterday came. My mind was racing with things I needed to get done, with ways I could parent better, with questions of what I was doing right, or not right. It was just a rough morning. For one reason or another, I just felt inadequate. Like I just don't have it together, and can't seem to do all of these things that I want to in a day. I want to read to them everyday, I want to read by myself, I want to pray, I want to play, I want to sip coffee, I want to blow raspberry's on tiny tummies and giggle, I want to clean, I want to relax. I want to write, I want to cook, I want to sew.
Sew. Do I really want to learn how to sew? After a few experiences, I can assure you that I don't. I want to know how to sew, but the learning hasn't been all that fun, to be honest with you. My high expectations for myself were dashed as I hung Emma's curtains up several weeks ago, only to find that they were crooked, and the top and bottom of each weren't exactly the correct size. But, I forged ahead. I bought fabric for Owen's room, and began to make his.
The pinning and ironing part is driving me crazy. Last week I spent 30 minutes trying to get it pinned right, and looked at the final product only to discover that it was crooked. Ahh!!
Yesterday, I tried again, and guesed that it was acceptable. After I hemmed one side, I inspected the hem closely and saw that I had missed the fabric on the backside. Good grief. I redid it. I had to rip it out once before because the thread had gotten all tangled up, and it was showing the bobbin thread, rather than the blue thread. Then it got stuck.
The second side went a little better, but the fabric ended up kind of bunched up, and I didn't have the heart to do it again. I carefully measured the bottom, and ironed it, and gleefully put in the last hem.
In that sequence of events, the iron fell onto the carpeted floor, and of course a bunch of stuff got glued onto it. I had to spend about 10 minutes getting the carpet gunk off of it. Thankfully, I didn't ruin our iron, which is the second one I have had in this marriage.
After I hung up the curtain in Owen's room, I stepped back to inspect my work, and really could have cried. It was crooked. It wasn't right. It was terrible. I tried, and yet again, I failed.
Emma got up shortly after. We played some songs, and we all danced around together. Then, we all marched to Owen's room so I could change his diaper.
Emma was chattering away, and as she turned the corner into the bedroom, she stopped dead in her tracks. She looked up with her little face at that curtain, and she looked back at her mama, and she poured out her little heart. "Owen" she said, "you have a new curtain! It's so pretty. It looks so great. Mommy made you a curtain!" Her sincerity was genuine. She loved it.
It was a clarifying moment for me. All of the frustration I had melted away, all of my doubt about my qualifications for this job fell aside. She was really happy for me, and she was proud of me. She doesn't care if my dumb curtains look ridiculous. Just like she doesn't care if I do all of the things the books tell me to do, they don't care if I am super organized, and they surely don't care if I am caught up on the unending housework. They are learning how to be people from me, and I am learning how to be a mom from them.
I was reminded that my children need to see me venture out, to try new things. They need to watch their mom learn new things, and they need to see me fail. They need to watch me fail with confidence. They need to know that it's ok not to be perfect. I need to teach them that being imperfect is ok, that trying again is more vital to character than trying the first time. Part of being a good mom is being me, and I am more than wiping bottoms and sweeping cheerios and washing a ridiclous number of underwear in a week. A good mom is accepting of the learning process, and she shows her children that learning is hard, and not doing it as well as you had hoped to is hard, but you don't throw a tantrum about it, and you don't have a pity party. (me, I don't throw a tantrum about it!)
All of this stemmed from my little Emma's words.
The icing on the cake came later, as I was telling my husband this story in the kitchen after he came home for the day. In the midst of my recounting the events, little Emma sprang up from her seated position, and tried earnestly to tell her daddy...something. All we heard were bits of words and sentences. "Daddy....Owen...pretty..." On her way past him, with her little legs pumping as fast as possible, she threw out the only word she could get a handle on.
"RUN"!
She screamed it in excitement on her way to her brother's room, in great anticipation of showing her daddy what her mommy had made. Her joy seeped out of her, and we could not help the grins that showed themselves on our faces.
That, my friends, is the joy of mothering. And it makes all the crap I put up with worth it.
11.08.2009
Often times we sit and remember the past year, and soak up how much easier it is now.
Past-While attempting to watch a movie or show, I would have to get up several times to comfort the baby. Many times, I would just take him back to the living room, because it was easier. Quality time was definitely a scarce commodity, and let's not revisit the worn out subject of very, very sleepless nights.
Present-Bedtime is often times one of the easiest parts of the day. After finishing some milk and cuddling for two or three minutes, Owen decides that it is now time to go to bed, and he lunges and twists for the mattress. A kiss and a pat, I leave, and don't hear from him for hours. Sometimes it is not as many hours as I would like, but we always have an evening to ourselves. Emma typically reads a few books, and kisses the last page goodnight before literally scampering down the hall to her room. She climbs in, and although she may not be asleep quickly, she is as happy as you could believe. She sings several songs, and talks with her butterfly and baby, and drifts off in her own good time.
Past-Emma in all of her sweetness was just a baby herself. She needed so much hands on help. She was beginning to master her spoon usage, but needed help. She was probably feeling like she got nudged out of the nest too early, and wanted to be the baby for a little while longer. I remember the stress of trying to keep her close to me while we were out. For the most part she did very well, but there were a few horrific instances that involved me leaving a screaming (honestly, if you have heard him, you know) baby in a car seat while chasing a very quick 18 month old, who giggled the entire time.
Present- Emma is a true little girl. She still needs help, of course, but is mastering many new tasks. Not only potty trained now, she can put her underwear and pants on by herself, and has manages with her shirt a few times as well. She feeds herself very well, and is learning to be patient. She plays by herself more, and is furthering the concept of pretend more all the time. This afternoon she "washed my hair" before "putting in a ponytail", and she made me some "juice coffee" a few days ago. She is beginning to truly earn my trust. Last week, we went to a favorite eating establishment that houses a fantastic toddler play area, and as we unloaded under the big arches, I plopped her down on the sidewalk in front of the van, and told to wait there. She didn't budge. In all her excitement, as she looked for her promised friends to arrive, she stood on that little square of cement and giggled and talked and pointed and waved, but, most importantly, she waited and she didn't move.
Past- Our old basement was a disaster, as we ever so tediously decided what to unpack. Unsure of our future housing arrangements, we didn't dare to unpack everything. We had bare, white walls and a cold, cold winter. We were short on square feet and overflowing with baby paraphernalia and toddler gear.
Present- I have let out a sigh and settled in. After three moves in less than two years, we gleefully threw away our boxes. Our walls now surround us with color, and we have put nails in the walls and curtains on the windows. The baby paraphernalia and unending trail of toys, books, pretend kitchen items and various real kitchen items that I have surrendered to the children still threaten to take over at times, but are much more easily managed thanks to a basement and some storage furniture upstairs.
I find that the days go slow but pass quickly, and I must force myself to be in the moment sometimes. Emma says darling things all day long, and Owen is learning at the speed of light. She'll say "How was your afternoon?" to her daddy, and Owen can go get items and bring them to you, and he communicates very effectively.
It has been a wonderful year, though much has changed. I feel really lucky, and am as content as ever.
11.03.2009
xyz
Raking leaves.
Old man pj's
I thought that she resembled a cockier spaniel, with the hair.
Rock on man.
Success! This is post 5k run. My partner was a trooper to run with me, because she was definitely faster. It was fun, and I am sure that I'll try again next year.
Old man pj's
I thought that she resembled a cockier spaniel, with the hair.
Rock on man.
Success! This is post 5k run. My partner was a trooper to run with me, because she was definitely faster. It was fun, and I am sure that I'll try again next year.
10.21.2009
Giggle me Elmo
The joys of a content and simple life are abundant for me here. There is little that I would rather do than have moments like these. A good belly laugh from your kids is pretty unbeatable.
10.02.2009
Emma waking from nap is cause for celebration
It all seems worth it at times like these. My only question, will she like this as much when she is 16? Regardless of what the future holds, I am quickly and systematically becoming a third wheel around here.
7.20.2009
And now...the rest of the story.
Miss Emma feeding "Baby".
O-dawg at 9 months. He now has 4 teeth, and is beginning to balance without holding onto things. I see his bright smile more than not. He is a happy little guy, and has amazing tolerance with his sister.
The cat made friends quickly. She is trying to resist the charm of the children, but who can resist them?
Emma got used to her new home quickly. I believe this was a day or two after we moved.
And for all of you who can relate, and for those who tolerate crazy moms, a crazy baby shot. He loves avocados!
O-dawg at 9 months. He now has 4 teeth, and is beginning to balance without holding onto things. I see his bright smile more than not. He is a happy little guy, and has amazing tolerance with his sister.
The cat made friends quickly. She is trying to resist the charm of the children, but who can resist them?
Emma got used to her new home quickly. I believe this was a day or two after we moved.
And for all of you who can relate, and for those who tolerate crazy moms, a crazy baby shot. He loves avocados!
6.19.2009
Don't make me gag
A few days ago I was in the bathroom. And, as many of you can relate to, my children inevitably end up there with me more times than not. On this particular day, Owen discovered the toilet paper stand, which is a free standing type. It was great fun for him, and as hard as I tried I could not convince him otherwise. He pulled it down and I grabbed it before it bopped him on the head. Then, as I was occupied (for like 7 seconds, I swear) he pulled himself up and figured out how to unroll the toilet paper, which was much more fun. Emma thought she needed a turn too, so it wasn't long before there was toilet paper everywhere and a baby who did not want to sit down.
After I had the toilet paper rolled back up, I noticed Owen chewing. Oh boy. The standard finger sweep in his mouth did not produce anything. Clearly, he had ingested some of that wonderful t.p. The boy does not have a stomach capable of handling all of his impromptu snacks, so it was a matter of seconds before he began to gag.
The amazing thing was my reaction. As he began to make to sounds associated with eating things that should not be eaten, I calmly held him and instructed Emma to take a step backwards. I held onto my son and made sure that he was positioned on the rug, and as the toilet paper came up, I had the presence of mind to wait for round two, which came a moment later. I then plopped him on the floor, wiped him up and gathered the rug up to throw into the washer. My blood pressure did not rise, I didn't yell at Emma, I didn't freak out in the slightest. I was calm. Calm! No panicking. I marveled at this uncharacteristic approach of mine (I am the one who once ripped my husband's head off because Emma "is bleeding!" and he was calm while I was not) and was pleased with the conclusion that I came up with for this phenomenon.
I am officially the mom of...a boy.
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