A Love Story.

I want to write a little post about adoption. A friend did recently, and having had it on my mind lately, I wanted to spread the word myself.

There are few things in life that I feel are as selfless and loving as adoption. I am under thirty, and already have three different friends under thirty who have adopted. It's beyond beautiful. I am closely acquainted with several couples, who, while a few years older than me, have adopted, and now are praying for a second adoption.

Last year I met a woman who adopted, with her husband, a daughter with Down Syndrome from China. This year, a couple from college will bring home their son from Eastern Europe, living with Down Syndrome in an orphanage. Another couple from college brought their daughter home this year from South Korea. And other friends have adopted through the foster care system, and open adoptions. We know couples still waiting for their son or daughter to be born and brought to their home, or for the legal system to finalize the bonds already made.

To call these couples heroic is an understatement. They were called to love, were open to that call, and have proceeded fearlessly with the trust they would be carried through their trials. From what they share, the blessings are far beyond any burden.

I want to share the websites that have been brought to my attention through my friends who are closely associated with their missions.

The first is Reece's Rainbow, a ministry dedicated to spreading the word about orphans with disabilities in other countries. Many of these countries are post-communist, with the after-effects being that the birth parents of these children believe that the orphanages and institutions are better equipped to raise children with disabilities. Many of these children are left in cribs day in and day out, and if not adopted by age 5, are sent to live in adult institutions.

China is harsh place for children who don't fit the "ideal." Girls are given up for simply being born female, and the pressure to have the perfect child with a one-child limit means there are many children who are left at the mercy of missionaries. The Little Flower Project is a beautiful ministry in China, run by Americans (from my alma mater...!). You can find them on Facebook, and their blog is fantastic; the pictures they post daily, and the care and love they show these infants is nothing short of a miracle. Sometimes these babies are given up just for being born small! It is a wonder to see their transformations!

 As is often said, a family cannot bring them home unless they know their child is waiting. Getting the word out is important. Spread the word, do what you can, and be passionate for the love of children. After all, women, whether mothers or not, are given the great gift of being instinctively maternal, a gift from our Creator. We were made to love, to give our whole hearts to another.

Oh, Boys...

Tonight Mark comes home after being gone most of this week. The boys and I have kept ourselves busy, and we're all sufficiently exhausted from our attempts at making the time alone go faster. And, we were all doing okay until some point last night when, quite suddenly, all my patience, which I had been carefully rationing, had run out.

It was during the course of the morning when my weakness got the better of me. I often read Testerhome, about a mother who had five boys in a row, and definitely related to her recent sentiments. She questioned her ability to adequately mother five in a row--and why did God do this, when she felt that she wasn't cut out for the specific challenge it was.


The boys are loud. They roar at each other, and growl, and pounce. Their favorite games are 1) Chase 2) Wrestle 3) Swords. Often, 1,2, and 3 are done all at the same time--with a fair amount of growling and roaring thrown in. 


I'm okay with this. They are sweet and mannered when they need to be, and when they are free to play, I deal with the boisterous behavior. Except for today. Today I'm not being a very good mother of boys. Without Dad here to circumvent the wrestling, to take on some of their activity level, my weaknesses get the better of me. I'm not sweet, patient or gentle. I yell, lose my temper, and say mean things out of frustration with their boyishness. 

We find out very soon the gender of our new baby. As always, I am completely at peace with whatever God blesses us with. It was only today, after being frustrated, that I thought for a moment "What if...What if it's another boy...???" Not that I would be disappointed--absolutely not, but that I doubted my ability to be a good mother to a FOURTH boy in a row. It's understandable--This tired, pregnant, emotionally fragile woman without a husband for five days that can't keep up with the energy level of three little boys is bound to wonder what God would be thinking to send us another boy.

But then I checked myself. These attacks are not of God. I am weak and vulnerable and alone--a perfect recipe for self-doubt. These boys have a Mother and a Father. God didn't bring these boys to raise on my own, he gave them a Dad, too. A dad who was once a little boy and wrestled with his brothers, was loud and crazy, and can now share that with his three (maybe four??) sons.

We might be functioning on a "basic needs" basis today  until reinforcements arrives. I might be making several more trips to the bathroom just to hear the faucet run instead of the shouts and hollers, but it's okay. Soon enough I'll be delighting in snakes, snails and puppy-dog tails again, and marveling at the affectionate sides of my sons, who will overjoyed to be once again with their Daddy.

The Beast Within.

It's not very often I meet a mom who has kids that are like mine. There is nothing wrong with my boys, and they do try within their capabilities to behave, but they have a certain quality that sets them apart from a lot of other children.

Maybe it's because they're boys, or because they're mine, but seriously folks, they go in and out of stages where they are totally, and uncontrollably BUSY.

Remember this little guy? My sweet, most wonderful baby in the whole wide world? The boy stole my heart after I thought it had been wrapped up with the likes of the first two boys. This baby would put himself to sleep by bouncing in the bouncer, or sucking his thumb while laying down. MichaelANGELO, my angel baby.

Well friends, times have changed. He's still super cute, and we all just love him to pieces, but don't let that grin fool you. He's a terror of a toddler.

I've got him figured out pretty well. First off, he's a lot like my first son. He won't play with toys, and chooses instead to make it his mission in life to find any piece of electronic equipment he can get his hands on and press buttons until Kingdom Come. The remotes, phone, cell phone, computer keyboard, baby monitor, have no chance against his fingers, and by the time I can pry them out of his hands, are usually covered in dry applesauce or drool.

If I can get anything out of his hands, I'm lucky. What really gets us in trouble is when he flushes what he finds down the toilet. Honestly, we haven't had a free-flushing toilet in this house since the boy started to walk three months ago.

Yes, he keeps us on our toes. He is always a step behind us as we go along our daily life. If I'm emptying the dishwasher, he's throwing knives in the plastic bowl drawer. When I'm sorting laundry, he's throwing clothes out of the basket. When I sweep, he is scattering my dirt pile with the dustpan. The mimicry and messes are all part of how is he learning, but oh my, it is exhausting.

After several summer parties that were spent with either Mark or I chasing him before he ran off a dock into the water, or falling into a fire pit, I've quietly resigned that at this point, we're getting a babysitter for the baby, or I'd rather not go. The last time I made that resolution was with our first child, who was just as fearless of a toddler, and very difficult to keep track of. My toddler boys in a crowd are honestly a danger to themselves!

There are seasons for everything, and Michael won't be 15 months old forever. At this time he is a challenge, and by the next season, there will be a new obstacle to face, although I am hoping it doesn't include having to fish through the trash for bills that were thrown out by the toddler. We'll take them the way they are, and pray they stay safe and we stay sane as we care for these little ones who make us laugh with their delight, but worried sick with their every move.

Big(ger) Boy!

Today my oldest baby turns six years old!

Didn't I just write his fifth birthday post? It feels like it.

This summer has been a turning point for our boy who has been quickly growing out of five. He's not really little anymore, but he can't quite keep up with the big kids yet. He's transitioning, and the transformation has been a gift to witness. This young man, still confined to his childish body, is a problem-solver, an adventure-taker, a boy determined to be like his dad, but still clings to Mommy at the end of the day when all the toughness has worn off.

When he was born, I had a hard time those first few weeks. He was the same then that he is now--unable to be satisfied with anything except for the new and exciting. As a newborn, he was never content to sit or sleep or eat or look. At only a few days old, I already knew that my firstborn was anything but typical, and quickly learned to adapt his environment to be creative, stimulating, and educational.

But still, it was very hard. That first year with an especially demanding infant was a breaking-in of the selflessness that would be required later on. "You jiggle and sway me through the apartment all day now, Mom," the baby Luke said to me with his demands, "But when I'm two and need to do jigsaw puzzles all day, or when I'm five and need to play outside for hours on end to satisfy my curiosity, you won't think it's so bad, you'll just be used to it. You'll do what you need to do."

And so, year after year we've done this dance of me trying to keep a step ahead of this precocious boy. Each year I've loved him a bit more for who is, understood him better, and have been ever more thankful for the blessing he is and the God-given gifts he has been given. I'm not sure what his future holds for Luke, but I can be sure it is something exciting.

Happy 6th Birthday, Luke. We couldn't be happier or more thankful for our son. You keep us high on our toes, and our hearts warm with your love and affection. Even if we dreamed it, we couldn't come up with a better version of YOU. You've changed our lives for the forever better, and we love you more everyday.

Grocery Store Reflections.

I was in the checkout lane at the grocery store late last night, behind a family of five from a semi-agrarian religious community. In my head I was thinking of how much I admired their testament of faith--to wear their dresses and bonnets, but to also be out and about as their faith allowed.

At the end of their checkout, something wasn't quite right. Part of their purchase--the nutrient dense foods like cheese, milk, and tuna, weren't getting rung up right. There was a problem, and then a delay. The mother was getting flushed.  At the end of her purchase, six cans of tuna fish weren't able to be subsidized, and she told the cashier she wasn't going to buy them.

I am not a saint or missionary. Heck, I'm not very generous either. I mean, most of my life is spent scrubbing dirt under filthy boy fingernails, and unmentionable substances off of little boys' buns. There are times when I long to serve, to love the little orphans in Africa and Haiti, to win the lottery only to give it away to those who are hungry and cold. But, I am a mother of three young boys, and my time, treasure, and talent is wrapped up in loving and serving these souls.

But, since I was without my three amigos at the grocery store, I gathered up all my introverted courage, all of that welled-up missionary waiting to get out and shower love, and intervened. "Ma'm," I said, "I will pay for those."

The Ma'm looked confused, then quickly said, "No, no, it's okay really," and her face turned red. Then I felt really bad because I realized I had embarrassed her.

"No," I pressed on, "I would really want to buy those for you." I thought I was more serious this time.

She paused, then went on again. "Thank you, but really, no." And it was final. I did the best to hide both of our embarrassment by cooing at her little baby and talking about my own little baby.

I hesitated to share this story because I thought it made me sound a little presumptuous. I wanted to give, perhaps because in many ways I am unable. But with this one thing I could help, with this tiny purchase, I could make a difference. I wanted to love, and I wanted to share that with others outside my family.

On my sidebar is Minnesota Mom's blog. Several years ago she wrote a story about shoe shopping with her (then) five kids. At the checkout the bill was much more than she expected, and it shocked her. "I have to think about this a minute," she said to the cashier as she mentally processed the numbers. Then, a woman came up and said she was going to pay for the shoes. Maggie refused. Then, after some discussion they each paid half.

The story stuck with me. Minnesota Mom accepted the generosity of others, even though it goes against just about everything in our culture to accept someone's graciousness. I think I would have blatantly refused the same offer Minnesota Mom did, and instead been scared and skeptical.

The "pay it forward" mentality definitely has merit. People I don't even know have done very kind things for me and my family--covering whole dinners at restaurants, giving deep discounts or not charging for services, and people going out of their way to encourage us one way or another. These are not easy things to do, and I am always humbled by the gesture. Being so busy at home, when I'm out alone, when an opportunity presents itself where I can actually contribute something is rare.

And you, on the side of the road with the smoking car hood up...sorry...not pulling over. Sista doesn't do that.

In this case, at least I tried. My intentions were pure and I just wanted to do the right thing. I mean, could I have really done nothing and not felt like I was doing wrong by the omission? Until the next opportunity, I will do what Mother Theresa said to do to promote world peace, "Go home and love your family."

For now, that's all I can do. With great love.

Sentiments.

Someday, when he's older and raised; when he's done crawling in on stormy nights and no longer needs help getting pants buttoned or shoes tied...

Someday, when all I have left is gratitude for the opportunity to raise a son, I want to remember him this way...

As the little boy.

Following the Leader.

Maybe my children will be leaders. I hope so, at least. For the moment though, they are "followers." Followers of their mother.

I give the boys a lot of attention. A LOT. I mean, I'm there for everything, and then nod my head enthusiastically when they tell me about Lego Helicopters, their dreams about polar bears, and which Hot Wheels car is the fastest. But then, when I excuse myself to use the bathroom, change a dirty diaper, or to change a load of laundry, the pitter-patter of little feet follow me.

They follow me everywhere. It gets really tricky sometimes, because if I haven't thrown myself together before they are up and at 'em, I'm really at a loss for the day. There I am, trying to maneuver deodorant and toothbrushing, while the boys are digging through the bathroom drawers, making stacks of the toilet paper rolls, asking me to cut the crust off their toast, button their pants, and load their Nerf gun with arrows.

It gets crazy. Sometimes I get frustrated. They don't seem to follow anyone else around, but apparently changing the sheets on my bed warrants a pow-wow in the middle of the mattress, and a trip to the basement to retrieve decorations for spring must be a united effort.

Getting frustrated doesn't help, so I try really, really, REALLY hard to be patient. I pray for patience every day, to enjoy these little guys, and especially to love their littleness and curiosity. I also try to wake up as early as I can to get as much done before the morning routine of absolute chaos begins.

The oldest one doesn't seem to want the kisses and hugs he used to. One day he won't ask me questions continuously while I wrestle with my contacts in the morning. My middle babe won't always need me to hold him close for several minutes in the morning and after nap, so I try to enjoy these moments, even though those first minutes in the morning and after nap times are the busiest of the day. And the baby has a special radar that no matter how early I wake up, he just knows and has to join me on my hip while I swiftly prepare the coffee and attempt to be a step ahead of the game before kids come trampling down the stairs.

For an introvert, I've basically given up on being alone in the house. It used to bother me, and it might have even depressed me at an earlier time--really needing that quiet time. I still need quiet time--time for reading, prayer, and reflection, but it just comes differently. Maybe now 6am isn't too early? Maybe nursing a baby with a prayer book in hand will do? Maybe the morning dishes can wait and we can all take advantage of baby's morning nap?

For now, the kids are at my side--sitting on my lap as I type, asking questions as I chop vegetables, and making a royal mess as they go from room to room along with me. It still bothers me sometimes, especially when I'm short on sleep or help, but it's for now it's life. 

I have three little gentlemen following me around wherever I go.

What an honor. :-) .

EDIT* I love it when a seasoned mother writes authoritatively on something I'm newly discovering. Elizabeth Foss does it again!

Happy Habits.

A few months ago I read the Book 7 Habits of Highly Effective Families, by Stephen Covey. I won't do a review of all the habits here; only one that I found to be worth noting on right now, and that is the need for families to establish traditions.

We all think of traditions as what we do on Christmas Eve, or an annual summer picnic, but I liked what Covey said about making the seemingly mundane a tradition. Some families have a family game night, or a movie night. The author wrote that for some families, a weekly trip to a bagel shop, or making a special meal is a great tradition.

My college roommate had a family in the double-digits, and their lives amazed me. They all got to Mass at 6:30am every morning and the whole family sat down for an actual breakfast afterward before dad went to work. This same family had a Friday night tradition of ordering pizza and watching old black and white films, and a Saturday tradition of date night for mom and dad. I wish I could be a fly on the wall in their home now as a mother instead of as a naive college student.

We are still working on traditions in our male-dominated domain. Our boys are just getting to the ages that they are able to remember birthdays and holidays of previous years, and are able to expect a routine. We are trying to establish their memories rooted in the traditions we are creating with the hopes of being a strong and effective family :-) .

One of our mundane, but special, traditions are our Saturday mornings. We call them "lazy Saturdays." Instead of rushing to get dressed, fed, and on to our day, we take it slow. Mark and I take the coffee carafe in to the living room and visit with each other while the kids sit and listen or play cars at our feet. It's so small, yet, we've come to expect that on most Saturdays, before 10am is sacred time for our family. It's the first time in the busy week that we are all able to sit together and not be thinking about washing dinner dishes, giving evening baths, or preparing for the next day's work.

And while the above tradition is special to us, as I thought about other traditions we have, like book reading, family prayer, Mass and brunch on Sundays, having music in the background of our days, and making the effort to include our family for learning experiences, while they aren't huge and elaborate, Covey says that they make a huge impact on thriving families. That is my hope. (*EDITED TO ADD: the first sentence of this paragraph has 63 words in it. I usually blog early in the morning. Have I mentioned I'm a morning person and have the IQ of lawn furniture after 8pm? Forgive me, it's late.)

I am curious to hear about the small, but special traditions that other families keep. Going out to lunch? Family bike rides? Campfires? Cooking together? I love all of it, and hope that we can all find Grace in the day-to-day.

Celebration.

Last night was a big night. A first! My 9 month old slept through the night, for the first time in his life!!!!

This is no small feat. You see, Michael has always woken at least once or twice a night to nurse. This is old hat for moms, and not worth complaining about. This fall, however, a familiar pattern started that has happened with our older two boys. Twice a night nursing quickly increased exponentially--four times a night, bi-hourly, and then came the inability for him to sleep in his crib all together. For a time, the only way I could catch even an hour of sleep in the night was to sleep flat on my back with Michael cradled in my arm next to me.

I think most moms have experienced what I would call true sleep deprivation. For me, I become intellectually useless, and frequently lose my words in the middle of a sentence, or have the complete inability to focus. I also get a bouts of insomnia. I'll get so tired that I can't take nap during the day if I tried, or I'm so tired, but I still can't fall asleep at night.

Sleep is a big deal. And, I think it's worth celebrating! A week after Michael's tubes, and I think I can say that they were a success! I'm hoping for a better-hearing baby, more sleep for the whole house, and a refreshed, energetic mother who doesn't wake up thinking, "Okay, how well can I function today on two hours of sleep?"

Yes, yes, even though it is record cold outside, it's brighter than sunshine over here :) .

While I'm Here.

Hey friends,

As I posted before, we are super busy with the closing on our old house, the closing and renovation of our new house, and the day-to-day upkeep with the kids. Life doesn't like to slow down, does it?

I just wanted to pop in quickly and ask all of your prayers for our baby. He is getting tubes put in his ears tomorrow, and while it's not heart surgery, it's still an ordeal for us since he has to go under anesthesia and refrain from nursing for several hours. I'm a little worried about him getting upset about not being able to nurse through the night and morning, which he is accustomed to doing. We just hate to take away what comforts him and puts him to sleep!

The little one can't sleep or hear with all the fluid stuck in his ears, so we are very much looking forward to the results of the procedure. Thank you!!

Variations on a Theme.

The past two weeks have been interesting. All the three boys contracted a nasty chest cold that left them with fevers and coughing. All through the night the boys were waking from their coughs and needing medicine to reduce their fevers.

And then there's the baby. He was struck with his first double ear infection and antibiotics. He was, after all, worthy of the antibiotics since he had been sick for over a week and wasn't getting better.

Combine the sickness with daylight savings and....

....WHAM!!

NO SLEEP!

Between the coughs, fevers, and ear fluid causing infection, daylight savings caused an already sleep-deprived family to new levels of...well, depravity.

Last night was the kicker. The baby woke, as he does, and I fed him. Then, even though it was only 3am, I laid him back in his crib to hear a symphony of babbles, bubble blowing and growling. It went on, and on, and on. I did the only logical thing a mother in my situation could do, which was to nurse him to his heart's content until he fell asleep. The only problem is that nursing that much has a tendency to cause projectile spit-up and wet jammies and sheets.

You see the picture I'm painting, right?

Anyway, it was well after 5am before the baby was back sleeping. Half dreaming and half awake from the endless baby noises, I had the distinct thought that if a child were raised in the jungle as the famous Man Child was, he might, in fact, sound like the baby did last night. He does his fair amount of growling, after all.

My thoughts then wandered and I wondered, if a child were raised by a pack of wolves as opposed to a tiger, perhaps he might howl instead of growl. We hear about children who we suspect may have been raised by a pack of wolves, but I have yet to see any headlines. My baby growls, and my older two do have a tendency to behave like wild animals on occasion, but I'm afraid I have to bear (Ha! Pun!) the responsibility for that one.

Come on, boys, Pop Tarts for breakfast!

Mouthpiece

It's big news right now that the Duggar family is expecting their 20th child. It seems that while their family is overjoyed with the news, everyone else feels they need to criticize them. One particular comment that seems to be recurring is calling Michelle Duggar "selfish," for being "not happy with what she has," "making her other kids raise the little kids," comments about her health, and being "excessive."

How can we call a woman selfish who sees every child as a precious gift from God? How can we call a woman selfish for joyfully enduring months of exhaustion, sickness, fatigue, and the physical tolls of pregnancy? How can a selfish woman cope with labor, delivery, recovery, and then months upon months of breastfeeding, sleepless nights and diaper changes?

Most importantly, how can we call a woman selfish when she does these things because she believes it is her purpose, when it fulfills her because she is upholding her belief that all life is sacred, and she has been abundantly blessed for recognizing it?

This husband and wife have given everything of themselves not only in giving their children life, but to provide and educate them through the example of Christian service; putting others before themselves as Christ did.

Say what you will about the Duggar family, but selfish? No way.

Is This Thing On?

I'm walking around in a bit of a fog today. Today is the third day in a row where the day started at 4am. My little man is all mixed up! Maybe it's teeth, changing seasons, the little runny nose he has, or just a keen perception of the transition our family is going through. Whatever the reason, today can be best be described as foggy. I'm just not all there, if you've know what I mean ;-) .

On days like this, my biggest struggle is having patience with the older two, especially my toddler, because well, toddlers take patience. Lots of patience.


Today being a "blah" sort of day, I'm reminded of the words of wisdom that I seem to be hearing from everyone these days. Whether it's in books, blogs, or in this week's case, after church, I keep hearing about a) how blessed I am to have little children, and b) that this time goes fast and to enjoy it.

The crowd at Saturday evening Masses vary drastically from the typical Sunday morning congregation. Our family is familiar sight on Sunday, along with the many other families that attend church. But on Saturday night, families are a rare commodity. So while I hadn't expected it, we were held up after Mass by a show of single women and older couples commenting on our boys.

They loved to see our children at church, and thought our family was "lovely" and "beautiful." Is it bad to admit that I enjoyed the affirmation? It's usually me that's doing the admiring. I'm always around lovely families and beautiful children. I like to observe families to see how they tackle the never-ending challenges that parenthood brings. So, to be the lone family at church and to be encouraged was just what was needed after a long day.

One woman said to me over and over again, "Never forget how blessed you are." She shared that she was never able to have children, and how she dreamed of having boys, and here I was with three. "Never forget how blessed you are to have these children." She was elderly, and I thought she would cry she spoke so intensely.

Naturally, the people who are giving me their time-treasured words of wisdom are no longer changing diapers, nursing babies, or buttering toast, but the sentiment is still the same. The days are long but the years are short. 

Having these little people so dependent upon me is exhausting in every facet. Their physical, emotional, spiritual and educational needs are on a never ending cycle that require my 100% compliance, because I am their mother. And while it is admittedly draining to to work so hard every day (and night!), I've come to appreciate the gift it is to always have a chubby cheeks to kiss, a toddler to laugh with, and a preschooler who just wants to show me what he's accomplished that day.

Are the days long now? Yes. 
Are the years short? I'm not sure.
But, will you be sad when they're over? Absolutely. 

Five Months.

Happy 5-month Birthday, Little M!

Today we're celebrating by cracking open our first bottle of Infant Motrin.

Why, oh why do my boys like to cut teeth so early? A new chapter is beginning in my little one's life. I foretell that he will follow the same pattern that the first two did and cut two to four teeth at a time until he turns one.

Poor baby. If only the first pains in life could be delayed just a few more months.

Coffee's On!

Yesterday Mark accepted an offer for a new job. There it is! Those of us who know us (me) intimately know that this is the fulfillment of a deeply held desire for so many reasons. The primary one?

WE'RE GOING HOME!

The field of law is competitive, and I've always been up for the ride. So, even last year when we reluctantly packed up our house and moved from a community we loved, we did so with the intention that the time away would open doors and provide greater opportunities for our family. We knew it would be tough, we knew it wouldn't be forever, but we still didn't know how long our trek in The Great White North would last. 

And, as eager as we were to return to our family and friends, we certainly wouldn't do it unless it was the right thing for our family, in the long and short term, which is why this news is so remarkable. See, we were preparing for at least another year here, maybe longer, with the prayer that we'd be back in time for our children to receive their religious education and First Communion in our diocese. 

I prayed. I prayed every.single.day. The kids prayed with me, and every quiet moment we had on the way to the library or Wal-Mart was spent in short, pleading prayers that we would know what opportunity to grab for, that we would be prudent in the decision to move our family, and that our wants were in line with the will of God. 

We also had a plan; a nice little plan with a bow wrapped around it, a plan that was practical...to us. But this particular opportunity was not a part of our plan. It's much different, yet, when we looked at how it literally fell into our lap out of nowhere, when everything Mark has done up to this point not only qualified him, but made him an ideal candidate for this opportunity, it made all of the moving around, the loneliness and uncertainty all of a sudden make perfect sense.

We've lived in many cities and states in the past few years. Anyone with a family knows how special it is for young children to have their close family around, and for our kids, this was particularly significant. All summer the kids would cry as we left home and had to head back to our house two hours away. During the week they'd cry for their cousins, their grandparents, and aunts and uncles.

Giving our boys back the wonder of a childhood filled with their loved-ones, wrapped in the security of extended family and friends in their daily lives, is what I am excited for most. My heart is full knowing that we'll now be able to provide that, above all else, for our boys. I'm humbled with joy.

The Wonder of it all.

We're turning a corner as we're nearing a full year since we moved away for Mark's job. It hasn't been easy, and at times we both, along with our kids, have experienced the loneliness and isolation that being in a new, rural area brings. It sounds cliche, but through being alone with our little family we've learned a lot about appreciation, what makes us happy, and what we really want. Indeed, of the several new locations to which we've moved, this one has been the most challenging.

And with the transition to a new geography, we had a baby along the way. Michael is a blessing beyond words. I wrote about our second son, Paul, that having him didn't teach me to be a mother as it did the first time around, but helped me to embrace and love the sacrifice and joy that our days bring.

Having a single word like "embrace" and "teach" encompassed the first two children, and if I had to pick a word for the third, it would be a toss-up between "wonderment" and "freeze." Freeze, because I want time to stand still, I want to hold my growing baby as a newborn. I don't want him to start solids so soon, I don't want him to crawl away from me or cut a tooth. It's just happening too quickly.

And wonderment. What can I say? I started this post sharing the challenge of our past year. Then today I watched as my little one reached to grab a toy hanging over his head. It's so hard! He grabbed it, pulled it down and quickly put it in his mouth. The big boys were so excited, "Look, Mom! Look what Michael did!" We were so happy, and yet, it was such a simple thing. Still we marveled at how this baby is growing day by day, and the smallest of milestones brings us all wonderment as this very loved child gives us a greater perspective on the joys that every day can bring.

Cliche or not, I can't recall rejoicing when my first two reached for a toy and held it in their hand. Lesson learned. If the obstacles we've faced in the last year taught us anything, it was to appreciate the Wonder of it all. It's been worth it.

Milestone.

Michael is 4 months old! He is the sweetest, chubbiest, most delightful little baby ever. He sucks his thumb, loves his two older brothers, and loves to giggle and be tickled. Indeed, this little one is bound to get spoiled with how much his parents and brothers dote on him. 

And may I add that this one looks A LOT like his oldest brother, Luke, at the same age. Wow!

Luke @4 months

Salute!

Did any of you, after moving to your first place on your own, ever come to the realization that you "had arrived." You know, like realizing that after three days with the same dirty dishes in the sink that the someone who was going to have to wash them was you? That the piles of laundry growing up in weren't, in fact, folded by the Folding Fairy, but by someone who had a vested interest in the maintenance of the home?

I've had many such moments in the past six years, some of them were rough; others laughable. Then, after a while, they didn't even phase me. Growing up, when your mother diligently cleaned the dog vomit off of the carpet, or the dirty diaper that the baby managed to smear all over the crib, it's not that she was particularly fond of doing these tasks, but that she was so accustomed to doing such things that not much phased her by then.

Truly, I am convinced that in the "arrived" category, that after six years, I cannot be shocked. Yes, I cried the first time I had to nurse a baby while sick in the bathroom, but by the time I two kids and was sick while nursing in the bathroom, instead of crying, I was just thankful that the three year old was keeping himself busy by racing his cars on the bathroom floor.

I think back to college when I would get irritated that I was spending my money on things like deodorant and toothpaste instead of new shoes. Today I'd much rather spend money on those things than water softener pellets or toilet cleaner.

Growing up is tough stuff. And really, as much as a person might be prepared for it, the shocking realization that you have a lot to care of besides yourself inevitably makes a person either grow up, or stop trying.

So, on this Friday, here's to Moms! If you have letter magnets on your fridge and a Blue's Clues bath mat on your bathtub, I salute you! If you're digging peanut butter out of the cracks in the kitchen table and scraping dried oatmeal off the walls, I salute you! If you do laundry every stinkin' day of the week, I salute you!

If you have nursed a baby in the bathroom, at a truck stop, or in a bar, I salute you!

We have arrived.

Milestone.

Hey all.

I'm wearing a belt today.

No kidding.

It's been over a year, so I'm kinda having a party in my head.

That is all.

Overheard.

Luke-isms

"Mom, did you know that some paleontologists have wives?"


"Mom, can I have Michael for my very own?"


"Mom, my wife is going to be more beautiful than you, and more beautiful than Paul's wife, too." 


"Mom, I wish that all kids and adults could do whatever they wanted all the time." 
"What would you wish to do, Luke?"
"I would eat treats all day long. And I would never get fat."




Have a nice day, everyone.