There is something almost sacred about checking on your sleeping child. It is one of my favorite things to do, especially after a difficult day or even after a date (when a few hours away feels like days).
It's really quite difficult, if not impossible, to capture the sensation with words, but I want to try - so I won't ever forget...
I tiptoe down the hall and turn the door knob ever so gently. The room is awash with the soft glow of the nightlight. Usually the kids are so sound asleep they don't even stir. As I wait for my eyes to adjust, I feel the warmth of the room and listen to the comforting sound of tiny inhales and exhales.
I can't help but smile as I approach the bed. Do all children resemble angels when they sleep? I think they must. Dark, thick lashes resting on still-chubby cheeks. Smooth foreheads devoid of any wrinkles assure me of peaceful dreams. I lean in close and inhale. With Parker, I wonder how he still manages to smell like a little sweaty boy even after a bath...I suppose it's due to the fact that his running doesn't cease until his head hits the pillow. To be honest, I love that smell. It's the smell of pure energy, of life fully lived. With Maddie, I wonder when I will have to give up using baby shampoo and move on to big girl products. I almost hope it's never. When I smell that smell, I can almost convince myself she is still a baby and not the long child lying on the big girl bed in front of me.
I gently brush each child's hair back and kiss the soft skin of their foreheads, cheeks, and noses. When does baby soft skin go away? I don't want to know.
I relish in the fact that I am the one who can do this. I have access to this inner sanctuary. If their eyes happen to flutter open, they simply snuggle closer. This is heaven.
They sleep like rocks. Warm, comfortable, peaceful. I whisper in their ears that I love them, and tiptoe back out again.
Thank you, Father, for the blessing of these children.
The only thing worth stealing is a kiss from a sleeping
child. ~Joe Houldsworth
There was never a child so lovely but his mother was glad to get him to sleep.
~Ralph Waldo Emerson
P.S. For those of you wondering about Jack, well, he's not such a sound sleeper. I don't dare open his door. Thank you, Lord, for video monitors. :)
3/3/12
2/29/12
The Reluctant Parent
I am sharing this post for all the friends who have struggled/are struggling with the transition into parenthood. You know who you are.
I was there, and I was shocked. Hadn't I always said I wanted 8 kids and that Aaron talked me down to 4? Wasn't I the child counselor who couldn't get enough of the little dears? Didn't TLC's A Baby Story make me tear up every single stinkin' time?
So why was I such a mess when I actually had a baby?
No one can tell you what it's really like when you bring a new life into the world and are suddenly completely responsible for another human being's survival. If someone tried towarn tell me, I either a) didn't listen, or b) assumed they were exaggerating.
We recently had dinner with some old friends [who shall remain nameless]. I was so refreshed with how candidly they talked about their own difficulties transitioning into parenthood. They freely admitted that during the early weeks of their child's life they would lie in bed awake at night and cry, asking each other, "What have we done?" and "Why would anyone be stupid enough to do this twice?!"
Now you have to understand that their infant was sick for a time. I think that added stress can really color the early parental experience. I have never experienced anything more exhausting, terrifying, depressing, etc. as knowing something was wrong with my infant and not being able to fix it.
Parker was born tongue-tied. The frenulum (little membrane under his tongue attached to the bottom of his mouth) was so short he was unable to lift and extend his tongue. This hindered his ability to breastfeed. Though the doctors and lactation consultants insisted he would be fine, he kept losing weight. For weeks. He (and I) cried continuously, until he would pass out from exhaustion. Finally, when he was on the verge of receiving a "failure to thrive" diagnosis, we switched doctors, clipped his frenulum, and started him on formula. I'm not sure I will ever fully recover from the guilt I felt about starving that poor child.
I know that's a bit of an extreme case. I think even without all of that drama, I would have had a tough time adopting the role of mother. During pregnancy I read all the books. So the baby wouldn't sleep well to begin with, big deal. (I don't recall anyone warning me that this could last for six months). I knew I would need to change some diapers, etc. I was just looking forward to putting the baby in adorable outfits, going on walks, taking the baby to lunches with friends...I suppose I thought I would give birth to a baby doll as opposed to an actual infant.
The realities of motherhood soon set in:
Spending money was sparse. We went from being DINKS (double income, no kids) in the south to one check and three mouths to feed living on the west coast.
Our support system was gone. Far from being a day's drive to Louisville, we were now 3 time zones and zero direct flights away from all of our family.
Hearing Aaron say, "I'm going to have to work late tonight" had the ominous ring of a death knell. In days past I would have shrugged my shoulders and scheduled an impromptu dinner with my girlfriends. Now, if he were more than 15 minutes late, all hell might break loose (because momma was losing her everlovin' mind).
Even personal care was altered. Lengthy, luxurious baths were replaced with 2 minute showers. I still don't get to use the bathroom alone most days.
Routine outings (grocery shopping, doctor visits, etc.) were suddenly complicated hassles. Never again would I be able to preface a trip to the store with: "I'm just going run in and grab...." Forget it. You are taking that ginormous car seat in with you, like it or not. And good luck scheduling your outing. Between naps and feedings, you might just as well stay home.
Vacation? Ha! With a baby?! Let me tell you, that was one of the biggest eye-openers of all. Do you really think the baby will magically know you are all on vacation and choose to sleep in? Good luck planning those fun outings around baby's schedule. Someone is staying in the room. And then there's all the gear. After schlepping the pack-n-play, diapers, portable highchair, etc. you quickly realize you would have had a better time if you'd just stayed home.
Basically, it's the end of the world as you know it. (R.E.M., anyone?)
The thing is, it's the end of your old world, but it's just the beginning of your new life. As much as I loved Parker, I will freely admit it took me a long time to embrace my new life...to accept that it wasn't just mine anymore. Once a mommy, always a mommy. And what a gift!
But for those of you who may not be there yet...Perhaps you have a newborn. Perhaps you have a sick child. Perhaps you just returned from your first "vacation" with your one year old. May I give you permission to grieve your old life? The one where you never left the house with puke on your shirt, where you had intelligent, adult conversations all day long, where you did what you wanted when you wanted. Just take a moment to recall all of the freedoms and joys of that past life.
Now, let. it. go. Don't waste a moment dwelling on the past. You probably have on rose colored glasses anyway. Embrace every moment [well, almost every moment, not the poopy ones] of your new role. Everything is a phase, even the good stuff, so don't blink.
I was there, and I was shocked. Hadn't I always said I wanted 8 kids and that Aaron talked me down to 4? Wasn't I the child counselor who couldn't get enough of the little dears? Didn't TLC's A Baby Story make me tear up every single stinkin' time?
So why was I such a mess when I actually had a baby?
No one can tell you what it's really like when you bring a new life into the world and are suddenly completely responsible for another human being's survival. If someone tried to
We recently had dinner with some old friends [who shall remain nameless]. I was so refreshed with how candidly they talked about their own difficulties transitioning into parenthood. They freely admitted that during the early weeks of their child's life they would lie in bed awake at night and cry, asking each other, "What have we done?" and "Why would anyone be stupid enough to do this twice?!"
Now you have to understand that their infant was sick for a time. I think that added stress can really color the early parental experience. I have never experienced anything more exhausting, terrifying, depressing, etc. as knowing something was wrong with my infant and not being able to fix it.
Parker was born tongue-tied. The frenulum (little membrane under his tongue attached to the bottom of his mouth) was so short he was unable to lift and extend his tongue. This hindered his ability to breastfeed. Though the doctors and lactation consultants insisted he would be fine, he kept losing weight. For weeks. He (and I) cried continuously, until he would pass out from exhaustion. Finally, when he was on the verge of receiving a "failure to thrive" diagnosis, we switched doctors, clipped his frenulum, and started him on formula. I'm not sure I will ever fully recover from the guilt I felt about starving that poor child.
I know that's a bit of an extreme case. I think even without all of that drama, I would have had a tough time adopting the role of mother. During pregnancy I read all the books. So the baby wouldn't sleep well to begin with, big deal. (I don't recall anyone warning me that this could last for six months). I knew I would need to change some diapers, etc. I was just looking forward to putting the baby in adorable outfits, going on walks, taking the baby to lunches with friends...I suppose I thought I would give birth to a baby doll as opposed to an actual infant.
The realities of motherhood soon set in:
Spending money was sparse. We went from being DINKS (double income, no kids) in the south to one check and three mouths to feed living on the west coast.
Our support system was gone. Far from being a day's drive to Louisville, we were now 3 time zones and zero direct flights away from all of our family.
Hearing Aaron say, "I'm going to have to work late tonight" had the ominous ring of a death knell. In days past I would have shrugged my shoulders and scheduled an impromptu dinner with my girlfriends. Now, if he were more than 15 minutes late, all hell might break loose (because momma was losing her everlovin' mind).
Even personal care was altered. Lengthy, luxurious baths were replaced with 2 minute showers. I still don't get to use the bathroom alone most days.
Routine outings (grocery shopping, doctor visits, etc.) were suddenly complicated hassles. Never again would I be able to preface a trip to the store with: "I'm just going run in and grab...." Forget it. You are taking that ginormous car seat in with you, like it or not. And good luck scheduling your outing. Between naps and feedings, you might just as well stay home.
Vacation? Ha! With a baby?! Let me tell you, that was one of the biggest eye-openers of all. Do you really think the baby will magically know you are all on vacation and choose to sleep in? Good luck planning those fun outings around baby's schedule. Someone is staying in the room. And then there's all the gear. After schlepping the pack-n-play, diapers, portable highchair, etc. you quickly realize you would have had a better time if you'd just stayed home.
Basically, it's the end of the world as you know it. (R.E.M., anyone?)
The thing is, it's the end of your old world, but it's just the beginning of your new life. As much as I loved Parker, I will freely admit it took me a long time to embrace my new life...to accept that it wasn't just mine anymore. Once a mommy, always a mommy. And what a gift!
But for those of you who may not be there yet...Perhaps you have a newborn. Perhaps you have a sick child. Perhaps you just returned from your first "vacation" with your one year old. May I give you permission to grieve your old life? The one where you never left the house with puke on your shirt, where you had intelligent, adult conversations all day long, where you did what you wanted when you wanted. Just take a moment to recall all of the freedoms and joys of that past life.
Now, let. it. go. Don't waste a moment dwelling on the past. You probably have on rose colored glasses anyway. Embrace every moment [well, almost every moment, not the poopy ones] of your new role. Everything is a phase, even the good stuff, so don't blink.
2/21/12
Speaking of Germs....
God has a funny sense of humor...
Earlier this month I wrote about germs and how my kids seemed bent on ingesting as many as humanly possible. I wondered at that fact that they were well...
Yeah, not so much now.
Jack has RSV. That's why I'm writing this post at 1:47 a.m. For those of you who aren't familiar with this lovely little virus, RSV stands for respiratory syncytial
(sin-SISH-uhl) virus. It's like a baby cold. On steroids. Before I continue, I would like to thank my Heavenly Father that we didn't end up in the hospital like so many other babies with this virus this year.
That said, it sucks. Quite literally. It sucks the energy right out of me (well, the sleepless nights do, anyway). I suck the snot right out of his little nose. Over. And Over. And Over.
It goes a little something like this...
Jack can't breathe. We suction his nose and give him a breathing treatment. (Please don't think for a second that just because I ended that sweet little sentence with a tidy little period that those two tasks are simple as they sound.)
Have you ever tried to suction a baby's nose? I'm not talking about a docile little newborn. I'm talking about an 18 pound, arm-flailing, fingernail fighting (yee-ouch! when was the last time I trimmed those suckers?), little person who can thrash his head from side to side with the best of them. I have to lie across his chest, pinning his arms with one arm and shoulder and attempt to stabilize his little head and place the suction bulb up inside impossibly tiny nostrils with my other arm and hand. What?! I don't mean to brag or anything, but I kind of feel like Supermom when I'm able to successfully remove some gunk. Then I feel evil because I am gloating about subduing a 6 month old (whose face is purple from rage after the ordeal).
Now on to the breathing treatment. Seriously. To the person who invented the tiny little plastic mask that is supposed to stay over a baby's mouth and nose by simply placing the elastic band around the back of his head and pulling on the band (think airplane low cabin pressure emergency masks), I say: What were you thinking?!! The only way that contraption would work is if my child were unconcious. As it is, after I place the mask over his nose and mouth, turn on the machine (which sounds like a Mack truck), and the smoke [albuterol] begins to flow, he hell-bent on getting out of town. Do you really think that quarter-inch piece of elastic is going to serve any purpose whatsoever? I suppose if you were trying to strangle your baby, this would be a good place to start. Soooo, simply hold the mask in place [read: use every available body part to keep the child an a human straitjacket while holding the mask on his face] and wait 5 minutes for the treatment [torture] to end. Repeat 4-6 times per day. Did I mention RSV lasts about 3 weeks?
After the breathing treatment it's time to suction his nose again because he's been crying and of course, can't breathe. He can't nurse well because he can't breathe, so feedings are frequent (like newborn, up all night frequent).
Now it's not as bad as it seems. After one week we can venture out into society again, as he won't be as contagious. After a few days of breathing treatments, we can reduce the frequency.
There is always a silver lining, and I don't want to miss the blessings that have accompanied this trial.
1. When you wake in the middle of the night from a dead sleep, it is amazing what you can accomplish (especially since everyone else is asleep and not underfoot). My kitchen is clean, I have time to blog and answer emails, I remember to check my calendar and Parker's backpack, etc.
2. When you are forced to stay home, you can relax and just stay home. No running to the gym, baking banana bread for the mothers' meeting, play dates...Instead I had play dates with Parker and Maddie. It was so nice that I think I need to re-prioritize our calendar again. (Who knew being a stay-at-home mom meant I'd never be home?)
3. I am reminded to be thankful that my kids don't suffer from any major long term illnesses. I cringe when I think about how much I whine [see above] about my child's 3 week illness. I know parents whose children suffer on a daily basis and likely will for the rest of their lives. They frequent the childrens' hospitals, have to watch their babies undergo painful treatments, have to administer treatments at home, and they don't bemoan their situation to the world.
I hope most of you reading this will recognize that while I'm not thrilled with our current circumstances, I am just trying to offer some humorous commentary. I know how good we've got it. And I'm oh so grateful!
James 1:2-4
2 Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. 4 Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.
Earlier this month I wrote about germs and how my kids seemed bent on ingesting as many as humanly possible. I wondered at that fact that they were well...
Yeah, not so much now.
Jack has RSV. That's why I'm writing this post at 1:47 a.m. For those of you who aren't familiar with this lovely little virus, RSV stands for respiratory syncytial
(sin-SISH-uhl) virus. It's like a baby cold. On steroids. Before I continue, I would like to thank my Heavenly Father that we didn't end up in the hospital like so many other babies with this virus this year.
That said, it sucks. Quite literally. It sucks the energy right out of me (well, the sleepless nights do, anyway). I suck the snot right out of his little nose. Over. And Over. And Over.
It goes a little something like this...
Jack can't breathe. We suction his nose and give him a breathing treatment. (Please don't think for a second that just because I ended that sweet little sentence with a tidy little period that those two tasks are simple as they sound.)
Have you ever tried to suction a baby's nose? I'm not talking about a docile little newborn. I'm talking about an 18 pound, arm-flailing, fingernail fighting (yee-ouch! when was the last time I trimmed those suckers?), little person who can thrash his head from side to side with the best of them. I have to lie across his chest, pinning his arms with one arm and shoulder and attempt to stabilize his little head and place the suction bulb up inside impossibly tiny nostrils with my other arm and hand. What?! I don't mean to brag or anything, but I kind of feel like Supermom when I'm able to successfully remove some gunk. Then I feel evil because I am gloating about subduing a 6 month old (whose face is purple from rage after the ordeal).
Now on to the breathing treatment. Seriously. To the person who invented the tiny little plastic mask that is supposed to stay over a baby's mouth and nose by simply placing the elastic band around the back of his head and pulling on the band (think airplane low cabin pressure emergency masks), I say: What were you thinking?!! The only way that contraption would work is if my child were unconcious. As it is, after I place the mask over his nose and mouth, turn on the machine (which sounds like a Mack truck), and the smoke [albuterol] begins to flow, he hell-bent on getting out of town. Do you really think that quarter-inch piece of elastic is going to serve any purpose whatsoever? I suppose if you were trying to strangle your baby, this would be a good place to start. Soooo, simply hold the mask in place [read: use every available body part to keep the child an a human straitjacket while holding the mask on his face] and wait 5 minutes for the treatment [torture] to end. Repeat 4-6 times per day. Did I mention RSV lasts about 3 weeks?
After the breathing treatment it's time to suction his nose again because he's been crying and of course, can't breathe. He can't nurse well because he can't breathe, so feedings are frequent (like newborn, up all night frequent).
Now it's not as bad as it seems. After one week we can venture out into society again, as he won't be as contagious. After a few days of breathing treatments, we can reduce the frequency.
There is always a silver lining, and I don't want to miss the blessings that have accompanied this trial.
1. When you wake in the middle of the night from a dead sleep, it is amazing what you can accomplish (especially since everyone else is asleep and not underfoot). My kitchen is clean, I have time to blog and answer emails, I remember to check my calendar and Parker's backpack, etc.
2. When you are forced to stay home, you can relax and just stay home. No running to the gym, baking banana bread for the mothers' meeting, play dates...Instead I had play dates with Parker and Maddie. It was so nice that I think I need to re-prioritize our calendar again. (Who knew being a stay-at-home mom meant I'd never be home?)
3. I am reminded to be thankful that my kids don't suffer from any major long term illnesses. I cringe when I think about how much I whine [see above] about my child's 3 week illness. I know parents whose children suffer on a daily basis and likely will for the rest of their lives. They frequent the childrens' hospitals, have to watch their babies undergo painful treatments, have to administer treatments at home, and they don't bemoan their situation to the world.
I hope most of you reading this will recognize that while I'm not thrilled with our current circumstances, I am just trying to offer some humorous commentary. I know how good we've got it. And I'm oh so grateful!
James 1:2-4
2 Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, 3 because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. 4 Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.
2/9/12
Germs
When we lived in Seattle, there were a few times I would wonder how on earth the kids got sick. We didn't go many places, and I was militaristic somewhat obsessive about hand sanitizer.
When the kids are healthy these days, I wonder why they are not sick. Between preschool, the gym, the church nursery, etc. they are constantly exposed to a plethora of germs. Apparently mere airborne exposure isn't enough to satisfy them. They seem bent on seeking out and ingesting germs. (Like the time when I caught Parker licking the length of the handrail that lead down the ramp into the library, or when Maddie popped a piece of candy in her mouth that was on the floor near a quarter candy machine before I could utter a "nooooo!")
So right now Maddie has a very runny nose. Thankfully it is of the clear variety. Somehow that doesn't gross me out as much as the other kind.
Today as we sat at the kitchen table eating lunch, she complained to me of her runny nose. I was feeding Jack some strained carrots and oatmeal mush (quite a messy and consuming job). I instructed Maddie to go to the bathroom and get a tissue. She argued that she wanted me to get the tissue. I informed her I would gladly do that after I had finished feeding Jack. If she needed one before then [and by the looks of her nose, she would], she'd need to get it herself. Repeat this exchange about 10 times.
Pause.
"Mommy!" she exclaimed excitedly, "My boogers are gone!"
I glanced up. She was grinning in a delighted, almost surprised manner. Sure enough, it was as if they had miraculously disappeared. I was not so delighted.
"Wow! Where did they go?" I forced a smile.
"I don't know," she replied (still grinning).
"How did you get rid of them?" Neutral tone.
"I don't know." Her smile begins to fade.
"Maddie, did you use your shirt?" Business tone.
She shakes her head and looks serious.
"Your fingers [please no]?" Approaching "mean mommy" tone, thinking about what I'll need to disinfect.
She shakes her head again.
"Your tongue [ewwwww]?" Desperate tone.
Shaking her head again, all of the usual excuses begin to pour out of her little mouth. I could almost watch her nose grow. "I don't know...I forgot...It was an accident..."
"Maddie! Just tell me what you used so I know what I have to clean!"
Realizing she wasn't in any real trouble, she smiled and answered simply, "My pants."
(*Whew*) It makes me cringe to think that I was actually relieved by her answer. When you consider the alternatives, pants don't seem all that bad. Oh, how low have I sunk?!
When the kids are healthy these days, I wonder why they are not sick. Between preschool, the gym, the church nursery, etc. they are constantly exposed to a plethora of germs. Apparently mere airborne exposure isn't enough to satisfy them. They seem bent on seeking out and ingesting germs. (Like the time when I caught Parker licking the length of the handrail that lead down the ramp into the library, or when Maddie popped a piece of candy in her mouth that was on the floor near a quarter candy machine before I could utter a "nooooo!")
So right now Maddie has a very runny nose. Thankfully it is of the clear variety. Somehow that doesn't gross me out as much as the other kind.
Today as we sat at the kitchen table eating lunch, she complained to me of her runny nose. I was feeding Jack some strained carrots and oatmeal mush (quite a messy and consuming job). I instructed Maddie to go to the bathroom and get a tissue. She argued that she wanted me to get the tissue. I informed her I would gladly do that after I had finished feeding Jack. If she needed one before then [and by the looks of her nose, she would], she'd need to get it herself. Repeat this exchange about 10 times.
Pause.
"Mommy!" she exclaimed excitedly, "My boogers are gone!"
I glanced up. She was grinning in a delighted, almost surprised manner. Sure enough, it was as if they had miraculously disappeared. I was not so delighted.
"Wow! Where did they go?" I forced a smile.
"I don't know," she replied (still grinning).
"How did you get rid of them?" Neutral tone.
"I don't know." Her smile begins to fade.
"Maddie, did you use your shirt?" Business tone.
She shakes her head and looks serious.
"Your fingers [please no]?" Approaching "mean mommy" tone, thinking about what I'll need to disinfect.
She shakes her head again.
"Your tongue [ewwwww]?" Desperate tone.
Shaking her head again, all of the usual excuses begin to pour out of her little mouth. I could almost watch her nose grow. "I don't know...I forgot...It was an accident..."
"Maddie! Just tell me what you used so I know what I have to clean!"
Realizing she wasn't in any real trouble, she smiled and answered simply, "My pants."
(*Whew*) It makes me cringe to think that I was actually relieved by her answer. When you consider the alternatives, pants don't seem all that bad. Oh, how low have I sunk?!
1/17/12
210
Big, fat, teardrops are landing on my arms as I type. Minutes ago I was simply planning my day for tomorrow. Drop Parker off at preschool, go to the bank, go to the gym, have some special time with Maddie while Jack naps, call some schools...
Call some schools, as in call schools to find out about kindergarten programs. The big K. It hit me like a ton of bricks, and I can't stop crying.
I've had friends whose kids have gone to kindergarten. At the time I simply didn't get it. What was the big deal? These kids had gone to preschool, right? So now they'd be gone a little longer. So what?
Well for those of you with the same questions, let me tell you what...
He's my baby. Yes, he's leggy, but he's still my baby. I still swoop him into my arms and kiss his soft cheeks. He still lets me snuggle in bed and sing him to sleep. His preschool is less than one mile from our home. On nice days we walk there. Any school I choose for him will now require a vehicle. A big, yellow vehicle. Filled with kids who don't know...
They don't that he is precious. They don't know that his feelings are easily hurt, though he tries to appear tough when the bigger kids don't let him play their games. They don't know that he's trusting to a fault. For the most part, he hasn't encountered any malicious or ugly behavior. He believes everyone is good.
Questions plague my heart. Have I done enough to instill in him the importance of being kind to everyone? Does he know he is loved and will always have Mommy and Daddy in his corner no matter what? Does he know he is a person of value even when the world tells him he is not?
It is such a blessing that I can't follow him into school and hover over him (because I am sure that is just what I'd do). My Parker is an extrovert. He'll make friends, no problem. It's just that I know that he'll encounter bad stuff, too. How I want to protect him! How thankful I am that my God is big enough to do it for me!
Psalm 121:1-8 I lift up my eyes to the hills- where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip - he who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The LORD watches over you - the LORD is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. The LORD will keep you from all harm - he will watch over your life; the LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.
Even as I write, I am feeling better. Reading God's Word just does that to me. It changes you from the inside out. I titled this post "210" because that is exactly how many days I have until Parker enters kindergarten. I had been racking my brain, trying to think of how best to fill those days to make sure he had fun but was still learning, that he felt carefree but continued to be responsible, that he felt loved but not smothered. It was an exhausting mental exercise.
I just need to breathe and take a step back. It's time to fix my gaze where it belongs (and it's not on Parker). My friend, Serina, recently told me that a speaker at her moms' group said, "It's not your job to be a good mom...Your job is to glorify God."
Think about it. When you focus on making sure every action you take brings glory to God, everything else falls into place. You won't be snippy with your kids. You won't be catty when you chat with the girls. You won't be rude to your spouse. You won't be preoccupied with future fears.
*relieved sigh* I'm looking forward to the next 210 days.
Call some schools, as in call schools to find out about kindergarten programs. The big K. It hit me like a ton of bricks, and I can't stop crying.
I've had friends whose kids have gone to kindergarten. At the time I simply didn't get it. What was the big deal? These kids had gone to preschool, right? So now they'd be gone a little longer. So what?
Well for those of you with the same questions, let me tell you what...
He's my baby. Yes, he's leggy, but he's still my baby. I still swoop him into my arms and kiss his soft cheeks. He still lets me snuggle in bed and sing him to sleep. His preschool is less than one mile from our home. On nice days we walk there. Any school I choose for him will now require a vehicle. A big, yellow vehicle. Filled with kids who don't know...
They don't that he is precious. They don't know that his feelings are easily hurt, though he tries to appear tough when the bigger kids don't let him play their games. They don't know that he's trusting to a fault. For the most part, he hasn't encountered any malicious or ugly behavior. He believes everyone is good.
Questions plague my heart. Have I done enough to instill in him the importance of being kind to everyone? Does he know he is loved and will always have Mommy and Daddy in his corner no matter what? Does he know he is a person of value even when the world tells him he is not?
It is such a blessing that I can't follow him into school and hover over him (because I am sure that is just what I'd do). My Parker is an extrovert. He'll make friends, no problem. It's just that I know that he'll encounter bad stuff, too. How I want to protect him! How thankful I am that my God is big enough to do it for me!
Psalm 121:1-8 I lift up my eyes to the hills- where does my help come from? My help comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth. He will not let your foot slip - he who watches over you will not slumber; indeed, he who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep. The LORD watches over you - the LORD is your shade at your right hand; the sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon by night. The LORD will keep you from all harm - he will watch over your life; the LORD will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.
Even as I write, I am feeling better. Reading God's Word just does that to me. It changes you from the inside out. I titled this post "210" because that is exactly how many days I have until Parker enters kindergarten. I had been racking my brain, trying to think of how best to fill those days to make sure he had fun but was still learning, that he felt carefree but continued to be responsible, that he felt loved but not smothered. It was an exhausting mental exercise.
I just need to breathe and take a step back. It's time to fix my gaze where it belongs (and it's not on Parker). My friend, Serina, recently told me that a speaker at her moms' group said, "It's not your job to be a good mom...Your job is to glorify God."
Think about it. When you focus on making sure every action you take brings glory to God, everything else falls into place. You won't be snippy with your kids. You won't be catty when you chat with the girls. You won't be rude to your spouse. You won't be preoccupied with future fears.
*relieved sigh* I'm looking forward to the next 210 days.
1/13/12
First vs. Third
I love to compare myself as a mother of three to myself as a mother of one. My, how things change!
First Child: He shall have absolutely no refined sugar until he licks the icing on his first birthday cake.
Third Child: No hard candy before 6 months. (Just kidding! But if the grandparents want him to teethe on a cookie, I'm not going to pitch a fit. Don't bite the hand that gives you free babysitting!)
First Child: He shall not watch any television until he is at least two years of age, at which time he will be allowed 30 minutes maximum per day.
Third child: I'll turn his Bubmo seat away from the television while I hop in the shower and his older brother and sister watch a show, but if he turns around, c'est la vie!
First Child: He shall consume only organically grown well-balanced meals. [Note: This lasts for less than one year.]
Third child: I wonder how old he has to be before he can eat a french fry??
First Child: I will give him whatever sippy cup he wants if he will just stop screaming while I drive.
Third Child: Cups/drinks of any kind are banned from the van which still emits a funky odor from milk (or who knows what drink) spilled eons ago. Let the wailing begin!
First Child: He is toted to the bathroom with me on every trip, often placed in a bouncy seat so I can monitor him at all times.
Third Child: He is placed in the care of his older siblings [read: baby is in a swing and siblings are told to get me if he stops breathing] while I enjoy a closed-door bathroom break.
First Child: Older children are directed to be gentle, gentle, GENTLE! Don't squish [actually, don't even touch] the baby!!!
Third Child: Kids, please don't press on his skull that hard.
First Child: He is dressed to the nines to visit the library, grocery, doctor, etc. Matching socks, shoes, bibs, hats and outerwear.
Third Child: I know he had on bottoms when we left the house...
First Child: He shall only be left in the care of medically trained (or at least infant CPR certified) adults for very brief periods of time (during which I will call several times to ask how things are going, and by that of course I mean how closely is the caregiver following my three page schedule, notes, and contact information).
Third Child: Anyone over the age of 12 who lacks a criminal record, has a pulse, and can dial a phone is a potential babysitting candidate.
First Child: His bedtime routine is of the utmost importance and shall not be altered: feeding, leisurely bath, pajamas, books, prayers, and lights out at 7:45.
Third Child: It's 9:30. I think he ate about an hour ago. Diaper change, kiss him on the head, whispered I-love-yous, andchuck him gently lay him in the crib.
The list goes on and on. I remember when Parker was my only child and I heard mothers of multiple children chuckling about how their own standards and routines had changed. Where was the structure? Where was the order? How were they surviving?
I never imagined I'd be one of them. My plans were ironclad. Ha!
What I came to realize is that, for me anyway, multiple children and the demands they impose absolutely necessitated a change in my standards. I had to re-evaluate. I had to give myself a little grace. I held on to what I felt was essential and released my white-knuckled grip on complete control.
So Maddie refuses to brush her hair and wants to wear her elastic headband Chuck Norris style. I can live with that. Parker chooses his own outfits; blue and brown striped sweater with gray and navy striped sweatpants...okay.
Jack sometimes has to wear princess pull-ups that were left over at Grammy's from Maddie's potty-training days because I forgot the diaper bag again. No worries.
This is life now, and I'm still loving it!
First Child: He shall have absolutely no refined sugar until he licks the icing on his first birthday cake.
Third Child: No hard candy before 6 months. (Just kidding! But if the grandparents want him to teethe on a cookie, I'm not going to pitch a fit. Don't bite the hand that gives you free babysitting!)
First Child: He shall not watch any television until he is at least two years of age, at which time he will be allowed 30 minutes maximum per day.
Third child: I'll turn his Bubmo seat away from the television while I hop in the shower and his older brother and sister watch a show, but if he turns around, c'est la vie!
First Child: He shall consume only organically grown well-balanced meals. [Note: This lasts for less than one year.]
Third child: I wonder how old he has to be before he can eat a french fry??
First Child: I will give him whatever sippy cup he wants if he will just stop screaming while I drive.
Third Child: Cups/drinks of any kind are banned from the van which still emits a funky odor from milk (or who knows what drink) spilled eons ago. Let the wailing begin!
First Child: He is toted to the bathroom with me on every trip, often placed in a bouncy seat so I can monitor him at all times.
Third Child: He is placed in the care of his older siblings [read: baby is in a swing and siblings are told to get me if he stops breathing] while I enjoy a closed-door bathroom break.
First Child: Older children are directed to be gentle, gentle, GENTLE! Don't squish [actually, don't even touch] the baby!!!
Third Child: Kids, please don't press on his skull that hard.
First Child: He is dressed to the nines to visit the library, grocery, doctor, etc. Matching socks, shoes, bibs, hats and outerwear.
Third Child: I know he had on bottoms when we left the house...
First Child: He shall only be left in the care of medically trained (or at least infant CPR certified) adults for very brief periods of time (during which I will call several times to ask how things are going, and by that of course I mean how closely is the caregiver following my three page schedule, notes, and contact information).
Third Child: Anyone over the age of 12 who lacks a criminal record, has a pulse, and can dial a phone is a potential babysitting candidate.
First Child: His bedtime routine is of the utmost importance and shall not be altered: feeding, leisurely bath, pajamas, books, prayers, and lights out at 7:45.
Third Child: It's 9:30. I think he ate about an hour ago. Diaper change, kiss him on the head, whispered I-love-yous, and
The list goes on and on. I remember when Parker was my only child and I heard mothers of multiple children chuckling about how their own standards and routines had changed. Where was the structure? Where was the order? How were they surviving?
I never imagined I'd be one of them. My plans were ironclad. Ha!
What I came to realize is that, for me anyway, multiple children and the demands they impose absolutely necessitated a change in my standards. I had to re-evaluate. I had to give myself a little grace. I held on to what I felt was essential and released my white-knuckled grip on complete control.
So Maddie refuses to brush her hair and wants to wear her elastic headband Chuck Norris style. I can live with that. Parker chooses his own outfits; blue and brown striped sweater with gray and navy striped sweatpants...okay.
Jack sometimes has to wear princess pull-ups that were left over at Grammy's from Maddie's potty-training days because I forgot the diaper bag again. No worries.
This is life now, and I'm still loving it!
1/1/12
Baby Mine
Dear Jack,
Though you are only five months old, it feels like you've been a part of our family forever. You love to watch your brother and sister chase each other and eagerly kick your feet as if you'd like to join in the fun. You are extremely ticklish and love it when I nibble your little toes. You have started eating baby oatmeal. We tried the rice cereal, but you broke out all over, and when daddy accidentally got some peanut butter on your little foot, it was immediately covered in blisters. Looks like you have your sister's allergies. No worries, little guy. We know what to do this time around.
You are such a joy! Everything I do with you is enjoyable. Diaper changes become giggle-fests. Often when I'm feeding you, milk spills from your little mouth because you can't stop smiling. You play contentedly in the Exersaucer while I clean the kitchen and roll around on your back while I fold laundry. Most times you don't even cry when I lay you down to sleep. If I happen to peek over the side of the crib, there you are, smiling up at me.
Your brother and sister love you so much! We often have to remind them to hug you gently, as they would literally love you to pieces if they could. Maddie loves to give you a bath and zip up your pajamas. Parker loves to make you giggle with his silly faces and is willing to share even his most treasured possessions (transformers).
Your dad and I shake our heads at how wonderful you are. I love your chunky little thighs, your fuzzy hair, your toothless grin. I love how you quickly open and close your chubby fingers around my arm, grasping tightly. I love the way you open your mouth wide when I come in for a kiss, as if you would eat my face right off if you could. I love how you ride quietly in the van, even with all the chaos surrounding you.
I just love you.
Though you are only five months old, it feels like you've been a part of our family forever. You love to watch your brother and sister chase each other and eagerly kick your feet as if you'd like to join in the fun. You are extremely ticklish and love it when I nibble your little toes. You have started eating baby oatmeal. We tried the rice cereal, but you broke out all over, and when daddy accidentally got some peanut butter on your little foot, it was immediately covered in blisters. Looks like you have your sister's allergies. No worries, little guy. We know what to do this time around.
You are such a joy! Everything I do with you is enjoyable. Diaper changes become giggle-fests. Often when I'm feeding you, milk spills from your little mouth because you can't stop smiling. You play contentedly in the Exersaucer while I clean the kitchen and roll around on your back while I fold laundry. Most times you don't even cry when I lay you down to sleep. If I happen to peek over the side of the crib, there you are, smiling up at me.
Your brother and sister love you so much! We often have to remind them to hug you gently, as they would literally love you to pieces if they could. Maddie loves to give you a bath and zip up your pajamas. Parker loves to make you giggle with his silly faces and is willing to share even his most treasured possessions (transformers).
Your dad and I shake our heads at how wonderful you are. I love your chunky little thighs, your fuzzy hair, your toothless grin. I love how you quickly open and close your chubby fingers around my arm, grasping tightly. I love the way you open your mouth wide when I come in for a kiss, as if you would eat my face right off if you could. I love how you ride quietly in the van, even with all the chaos surrounding you.
I just love you.
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