Christmas Cheer

Ho Ho Ho! Merry Christmas!



It's been ages since I've written on this thing, I've nearly lost my memory of it. I need to get back on it for me - to chronicle all of the joys that fill my days that are passing too quickly and that I know I'll someday forget.

Mak? Perfectly boy, simultaneously trouble and joy at the same time. I wouldn't have him any other way. He has a way of saying things right now that makes my heart smile:
mex mixer (cement mixer)
trinkle trinkle widdle star
brockery (broccoli)
"I almost love you, mom"
Josie-phine
His "Oh, yeah"
"Sumping needs to come out of my body..." (my cue for commanding him to get on the potty RIGHT NOW!)
Having a way of prefacing a myriad of statements with, "when I was a baby..."
and his way of sticking out his fist and saying "Bat-man".

At three and a half, I can hardly remember him as my little baby - he's getting tall, gets himself dressed, does his chores, immediately stops to help me if I ask him. He used to be my little boy who wouldn't clean up to save his life... Now he's turning into a responsible boy. Just like his daddy. Where once he was mostly MINE, he now rushes to get his "tools" to help Brian with his projects. Quickly reassuring me that "it's ok, mom; I'll just have a look"... at my van which has a dead battery. He's precious, and quickly become a vision of the man he'll be. The greatest joy? His love for music, for being drawn to worship music and wanting to sing it at the top of his lungs. My prayer? "Lord, help me to be faithful with this one. He has a calling in your church. Help me to guide his love for music well."

Sophia? Brilliant. Reading. Adding. Asking important questions. Learning self control. Being responsible, and sometimes bossy. Eating all of her lunch at school, and correctly writing all of her letters. She's amazing. She soaks in all I say, every answer she meters against what I've said before and then stores it away in the confines of her six-year-old mind to recall later. Everything matters, everything counts. She's a rule follower, and also a dreamer. So talented. So artistic and creative. There isn't a competitive bone in her body, but bless her, she tried basketball this year. All because I encouraged her to do it. My prayer? "Lord, help me to encourage this one to dream big for you; help me to be faithful with what I do and say, because she's watching." She's such a kid: jumping rope this summer, learning to ride her bike, memorizing her sight words. She's also responsible: there hasn't been one morning, NOT ONE, in the last two months that I've had to wake her for school. Every day, her alarm goes off, she gets up, gets herself dressed, brushes her teeth, makes her bed, and comes down for breakfast. This in itself is such a blessing.

Josie? Darling. Endearing. Enchanting. Engaging. Rolling over, playing, cooing, blowing bubbles, giggling. She's everything she should be at five months. I can't get enough of her and simultaneously don't have enough time for her. I wish I could suck her up like a sponge and become saturated with her. She's more joy than I think a third baby should be, and maybe (dare I say it?), she is a double blessing because of our loss last summer? I have never mommied a sweeter, more easy-going baby. She sleeps. She nurses. She puts herself to bed at night and routinely naps well. She's flexible, adaptable, and ever-happy. Be still my heart, she fills me with unspeakable joy. If life could only slow down so that I could just sit and stare at her. Isn't that what we'd all do if we could? Go back to our ____-year-old self and tell them to "chill out; savor the day; stop sweating the small stuff and life a little fuller". Six years ago I had my first baby, and if I had one wish in life, it would be to go back and have the chance to say this to first-time-mommy self.

And me? 33 years old, almost 34. Feeling simultaneously older and younger. Liking who I am more and more (thank you, age-related perspective), being more sure of myself than I ever was before, and also feeling sad about aging because I am seeing how fast it is all going. I'm thankful this year.

...For my husband, for above all, he is the greatest gift of my lifetime. Brian makes me laugh, challenges me, frustrates me, and teaches me. He balances me, smooths me, and supports me. He is a once-in-a-lifetime. My prayer? "Help me love him in a way, Lord, that he feels it. Help me to show him how loved he is on this side of heaven. Help me to show him that I notice all he does for my family."

...For my kids, because I thought I would never be able to have them. And here they are. For the laughter they bring in my life. For the reason to yell, "Go to sleep!" And, for the reason of knowing the feeling of tiny arms wrapped around my neck and tiny hearts that love me big.

And for Jesus. He's the reason for the season, but also so much more. He's the reason for my every day. The reason I can love at all. The reason I can hope for tomorrow. Everything I have is proof of a God who loves me. And I feel so lavished in His love.

Merry Christmas!

Note to self:

If I hear Mak singing to Macy, "Very very precious dog. Be very very gentle with this precious precious dog", he is PROBABLY not being very nice and gentle with that precious dog.

How to tell a boy from a girl.......

No, no, no - it has nothing to do with their "parts". You dirty-minded fool.

Today, while I was putting on my makeup, I heard several repeated thuds. Turns out it was Mak jumping off one of my chairs in my family room. What he said when I asked him what he was doing, however, is key. Here is his actual rendition, and then an approximation of what would have been said had I caught Sophia in the act.

Mak's version:
Me: (Me, walking down the hall. I can't see him.) "Mak????!!!! What are you doing?"
Mak: "I'm just jumping off the chair."
I now see he has piled pillows under a chair and was using them as a cushion for his landing.
Me: "Mak, stop jumping off the chair."
Mak: "Ok."

Sophia's version:
Me: "Sophia, what are you doing? What was that thud?"
Sophia: "I just made up a game. It's called jilta whirl."
Me: "What's jilta whirl?"
Sophia: "You have to take the pillows from the couch, make a pattern, make sure all the sides are touching."
Me: "...and?"
Sophia: "Then you have to roll up your sleeves and take off your socks."
Me: "...AND?"
Sophia: "You climb up on this chair and you have to pick a spot on the cushions."
Me: "Sophia, were you jumping off the chair?"
Sophia" "It's part of the game."
Me: "Were you jumping off the chair?"
Sophia: "Yes. Onto part of the pattern that you picked. And if you land on the pattern you get five points."
Me: "Stop jumping off the chair."
Sophia: "Ah, man! That's not fair! I'm not done with the game!"
Me: "I don't care. You could get hurt. No more jumping."
Sophia" "But what will I do with all my points? And the pattern of the cushions?"
Me: "Figure it out."
Five minutes later:
Sophia: "MOM! I made a new game for my Bitty babies. If they eat all their vegetables, they get to move to a new spot on the pattern of the cushions! And if they land on all the spots, they earn a sticker!"
Me: "Are you jumping off the chair?"
Sophia: "NO! And I told Bitty baby if she does, she's in a time out."

Exactly.

I'm sure if I asked this baby girl in my belly why she was kicking my bladder last night at 3am, she would say:
"I made this new rule for my jumping. I was trying to jump on one leg for as many times as I could in a row, but I decided if I could switch legs mid-jump it wouldn't count for a start-over. Now I'm getting 10 points every time I switch legs. And if I can do a somersault, too, mid-jump, I get 5 more points!"

If SHE were a BOY, it would've sound like this:
"I was kicking my legs."

Girls will offer you every explanation to justify their actions, while boys just tell it to you like it is.

Brian: "Did you spend $127 at Target yesterday?"
Me: "Yes. But I went there for wipes and Benadryl and walked by the clearance rack and there were these t-shirts that were $24.99 and they were on clearance for $7."
Brian: "So what happened with the other 102 dollars?"
Me: "Well, I remembered that Sophia has a birthday party next week, so I went back to get a toy for it, and I passed the shoes and remembered that Sophia's rain boots were too small, and they had them on sale, so I bought her a pair. And a pair of Easter shoes."
Brian: "That's IT? Wipes, benadryl, one $7 t-shirt, a pair of Easter shoes, and a pair of rain boots?"
Me: "No. I bought her two pairs of Easter shoes because I wasn't sure what size she was."
Brian: "And that was it?"
Me: "No... I just figured I'd look for her easter dress, too, and so I got her one and also a white sweater to wear over it because it's sleeveless. And it will probably still be cold then. And if I wait too long, they'll all be picked over and then I'll have to drive everywhere looking for one."
Brian: "And... that's... it?"
Me: "No... I bought her two My Little Pony sets for her party."
Brian: "Does she need TWO sets?"
Me: "Well, no, but they were on sale, and I just figured I'd buy an extra one because I know she's bound to have another birthday party soon. And then I won't have to run back to Target, I'll already have it."
Brian: "Well, that was a good move. I'm sure "saving you a trip to Target" will save us money."

Moments

This week has been full of cute and sweet moments.

Mak:
(Sorry for the TMI, but Mak is obsessed with his penis and the word penis.)
Tuesday (to a fellow 2-year-old):
"Do you have a penis? I have a penis." At which point, the little boy began to show him his. I am very glad we caught this before it escalated into anything more.
Tuesday night (right after Brian walked in the door at 5pm):
"**** has a penis, I have a penis, you have a penis. I need to see a penis." We are schooling heavily on "private" parts and keeping them covered.
Wednesday morning, before school:
"Sophia, I have two cars, a button, and a penis."
Wednesday afternoon:
Me: "Mak, did you poop? I smell poop."
Mak: "Nope. Maybe it's just pizza."
Me: "Nope. Pretty much smells yucky. Pretty much smells like poop."
Mak: "Nope. Pretty much smells like pizza."
After the diaper change, he made me show him his poop to prove that it really wasn't pizza. Forthelove.
Wednesday night:
Me: "Mak, what's in my belly?"
Mak: "A BABY!"
Me: "What kind of baby?"
Mak: "A red and green one!"
Let's hope not.

Today: Soph, in time out. Crying. Mak walks up to her, crouches down, rubs her back, and tells her, "It will be alright. Calm down. It's ok. I'm right here. It's ok. I'm here now." Moment pretty much rocked, even though I usually make them leave each other alone during time out. My heart melted.

The date

Ever get so consumed by your roles that forget the rest?

Under all of the practicality, the eye cream, and hair smoothers, the dental floss and concealer, I'm still a girl that wants to be dated. I still want someone to look at me with a little wonder in his eyes, wondering if he'll kiss me. I still want someone to reach for my hand, to tell me I look great, to say I smell good. I still want someone to remind the waiter of the water I'm waiting for without me asking him to do it.

It's so few and far between that these dates happen, yet when they do, they change me. Make me into a better housekeeper, better helper, better mom, a more patient person, more kind. I have more tolerance for my husband's faults after he's taken me on a good date. I feel giddy the next time the next time he reaches for my hand.

In this rapid trip toward aging and middle age, these dates reverse the clock for me. They make me feel 17, again. They make me feel young and vibrant and happy. If only the men in our lives knew how easy it would be to recreate this; if only they believed it was so simple.

A little noticing, a little hand holding, a little eye contact and laughter at something we say would surely do wonders. Let's hope a guy reads this and takes notes. We all know the dividends it would pay....

Slow it down, savor it.

It's so funny how life experiences, that remain mostly the same over time, change as you age. With my first pregnancy, I wanted it to go fast, fast, fast. I wanted her to come early, wanted her to eat foods early, wanted her to crawl early, talk early. I wanted to get to the next milestone before we hit the first.

I'm older, wiser (I'd like to think). I love the Bible's reference to Caleb's "ripe" old age. I hope I'm ripening. I know I have a long way to go. There is nothing worse than a peach that is consumed before its flesh has softened and sweetened with time. And, while it takes patience to wait for something to ripen, I think that's what I'm gaining now. Patience for others, patience for myself.

I can wait. I want to. I want to relish the moments when I feel this baby's swooshing flips in my belly. I want to enjoy the times I dream of who he or she will be. I want to imagine what color their eyes will be, or if they will have hair when they're born, or dream of what their new baby grunts will sound like. I want to ready my heart, to get it to a place where I will enjoy every moment, savor it, even the sleeplessness.

I can say for me that in immaturity, there seems to be a sense of entitlement: of searching for a husband, wanting to be married; of wanting to own a house, or a car, or take trips; of wanting a baby, to start a family. None of these things are bad, it's in the wanting that they can be corrupted.

Life has changed me. Although I still want, I also know that the bigger blessings lie in the savoring. The striving, pushing to gain what you don't have, changes the blessing into an entitlement, a gain. Something you've earned, worked for. So then, it can't be a true blessing. It has become a paycheck. How we diminish what is beautiful in our life by making it our reward for our hard work. I have learned that, if we let ourselves see it, everything is a gift. Even the hard work without gain. Even the suffering.

This baby is a gift. It came nearly unexpectedly after a loss. The loss is bittersweet in that, should I have never experienced it, I wouldn't have this baby now. I wouldn't be slowing getting to know this tiny being growing in my belly and loving it. How do you choose one blessing over another?

I'm so thankful for the suffering of the loss. I learned that the plans that have been laid for my life are good, are purposeful, but also enable me to counter loss with blessings. If there was no loss, how would we know to call "good" "good"? How would I recognize the happy times if there were no sad times to compare them against?

This baby is good. This baby is a gift. This baby was wished for, prayed for, hoped for, but was never an entitlement. This baby is direct evidence of a wonderful, lavish God who redeems loss. I thank Him, because opening this gift has been even more wonderful than before: I know now how perfectly it all is a miracle. I know that no work on my part achieved it. And I won't scarf down this meal; I plan to savor it. Every bite.