pajama morning memories
Yesterday no one got dressed until 10 am. That used to happen all the time back in the baby days, in the ‘two under two’ days. And suddenly things got different. Was it the event of preschool? Which gives us a place and time to be up and presentable and productive? The added responsibilities of my little at-home during-nap-and-after-bedtime job venture, or the little ways i get to participate in ministry with Brian? Was it the way babies became people with their own hopes and ideas for the day? People who request schedules and agendas and even goals, who ask for play dates and plans? (I know it’s weird– especially since they came from me!) Or was it me, growing in my sense of purpose and my vision of what productive wife/motherhood can be?
I don’t know. But i know that yesterday, during Asher’s morning naptime, while the big kids were still pajama’d and happily playing pirate and princess (whoa there, unintentional alliteration), and i was curled up in my favorite chair with journal and Bible opened before me, with time not only to read but to process, i suddenly remembered how slowly life used to move. A friend who is there right now called. I remembered just a glimpse of life before all the littles starting talking (all at once) and running around, and playing creatively and before they learned to dress themselves, to climb stairs without assistance; when there were multiple sizes of diapers to be changed and several sets of clothing dirtied daily.
I committed when Stella was born never to wish any stage away; to enjoy each day as much as i could. But looking back on those early, hazy days of sweet chaos, i wonder if i knew then how good it was. And do i know now? Sometimes i do. Yesterday morning, my soul nourished on Truth, my heart grateful for such a long list of things, as i listened to the princess and the pirate playing loudly, and cuddled a post-nap toddler, i know i did.
I apologize. (And again, and again.)
I know that last post was lame. I know if you are a bookmarker (i am), you saw there was a new post, and then you found… next to nothing. And also, apologize is something I’ve had a chance to practice plenty this week. (I mean, not that I don’t usually.)
I had another round of not-sick-but-not-great, Oliver joined in this time: Sore throat, headaches, and tired-and-cranky. To have a sickish cranky kid is one thing, but a sickish cranky mommy? Not good. So, apologize i have: to Brian for sulking around moodily like a thirteen-year-old; to Oliver for raising my voice past “stern mommy” to “uh-oh, mom’s losing it;” to Stella for becoming rather short while she asked ten questions whilst I yelled at her brother (really, sweetpea, was that the best time for questions?)
Thursday, one of those January cold-and-rainies, was the worst of it. We spent the day, as we in the business say, in Crazytown. You know those days when everyone is just in a mood, and there’s no getting around it, and nothing goes quite like you hoped, and then Plan B gets all messed up too? Usually there’s some kind of a major mess in there somewhere, too. That’s it, you’re off to Crazytown. I was up with the alarm (granted the alarm had been adjusted 15 minutes late to account for a late night prior). I was at the table, Bible and journalling, petitioning for His strength in my weakness; i knew it would not be an easy day. Especially considering that by breakfast it was already apparent that at least two of us were struggling to have a good attitude. Or at least, one of us was struggling, and one was (very three-year-old-ishly) letting the rest of us know just how he felt.
We had some good morning time- we’ve been doing lots of songs with motions and singing/dancing together because all three kids love it (and it is a lot of silly fun!) We played, we drew pictures.
Then the ‘big’ kids asked if they could play out in the rain for a bit. With an umbrella. “Sure,” i said. There were about 20 minutes till lunch time, they were getting quite antsy, and that sounded just great. So i bundled them up and sent ‘em out. The door to the screened porch was open so Asher could play “ous” in his own (contained) way. About 13 seconds later i heard the most awful noise, like that of an alley-cat fight, which was the sound of my children fighting over the umbrella. Out i went to retire the greed-inspiring item. “Play out until I call you for lunch,” I said, closing the door behind me. Another seven seconds after that, there was again an awful sound. This time, sort of a “weeping and gnashing of teeth” type thing. Now they’re wailing over the injustice of playing outside, in the rain, with no umbrella. “Oh, mommy won’t let me IN! It’s SOOO COLD!” I heard. I had no sympathy. It was not actually SOOO cold, they were properly dressed. They had about 16 minutes of outside time until lunch, and outside time is very good for antsy children. To sum up the unglamorous end of the story, the wailing persisted, i brought the wailers back in and sent them up to their respective rooms until lunch time (probably about 11 torturous minutes). Lunch was really quite nice, after all that. Nap/rest time was just fine.
I anticipated that naptime would refresh the whole lot of us, at first it seemed to have worked. For about 20 minutes. My head still ached, my body and brain felt completely depleted, and already I was counting down the minutes until “daddy’s home!” Meanwhile, Mr. Three was pulling out all the stops on whiny voice and just not letting up, so I sent him up to his room for some alone play time. I brought his trains up, thinking it would be a treat for him to put all his tracks and such together without a little brother tearing it all apart. He yelled about that too, but i left him and his trains up there. Surely within moments he’ll settle in and have fun. And then, from the kitchen I heard the most awful crash– and the cry of the baby brother who’d been on the bottom step. The bin of trains had been chucked over the second-story railing down the stairway (and onto Asher, who was mostly just scared and not hurt).
I simply didn’t know what to say. I was ticked. So, naturally, i went with a classic “mom” question: “What in the WORLD are you doing!?” I yelled. Really loud.
This would be a good time for discipline. But I could not, for danger of drowning under a wave of rage. “You must go to your room. And. Stay. There.” My best impersonation of stern-but-sane. I scooped up the frightened little. Stella was happily outside playing on the porch. I stomped around the house a few moments (yes, much like a two-year-old). I sat on the couch. I asked the Lord, “why?” I stomped some more. And again, I asked for His strength in my weakness.
And then, up the stairs, little brother in tow, to sit on the bed and apologize. Again. “Mom, I sorry too.” he says. And then, “Will you tell me about when Jesus died?” Thank God, through my weakness, I can tell about His strength.
jumble
You know when it makes sense till you try to say it out loud? Happens to me all the time. Usually writing offers respite from the problem… but lately, I sit, i type, i have things on my mind (even though I have been busy. The good kind of busy.) And i’ll be honest, when I am off doing, ya know, whatever it is I do, I don’t miss the sight of the computer screen. Not one bit. Nothing pulls me back to this space but deadlines and the knowledge I am trying to improve my communication-via-technology skills. (Returning emails? You have to check your email in order to do that. Ditto Twitter and also FB messages. Sigh.)
So I sit, and I type, but the words are not arranging themselves properly. Backspacing and re-typing (and backspacing and re-typing, and so on) has not helped the problem. And so I am a shoddy blogger. Which is the sort of situation I feared when I began this thing.
Christmas was beautiful, we’re back home.
We tried having “our own Christmas” once, the first year with Stella. I found it to be sad– personally, I love being packed in with the whole family with lots of noise, and lights and lots and lots of singing and dancing, and that’s what we do.
We went, and it was beautiful; and today we packed (and packed and packed) the little old van, and now we’re home. We tried to get things cleaned up and normal-ish, then went on a family walk, then dinner and an early bedtime for three small ones who just experienced a very exciting Christmas weekend.
[Sidenote: Stella told me a few days before Christmas, that she 'would not be naughty all day,' on Christmas. And sho' nuff, little lady delivered-- as I tucked her in, I told her how much fun I'd had with her, how proud I was, that I loved watching her open gifts and express gratitude for each thing. "Yeah," she said, "And i didn't even have to be naughty at all!" Uh, probably not all that hard to be good, Brian observed, when you get everything you want all day. True. But still...]
So, we’re home: We bought a cinnamon broom. I ate my last Christmas cookies. We watched Julie & Julia. A lovely evening, for sure.
in which the baby grows up
I wondered when Asher would cease to be “baby Asher,” or even “the baby.” Turns out that maybe we’ve reached that time.
At the park yesterday, the bigger ones were climbing up a narrow wall that slanted all the way down to the ground. Undeterred by the fact that he still sometimes falls just from walking too fast, he started climbing too. He didn’t get far, but when he realized he couldn’t he looked at me and reached out his hands. Very quietly, very determinedly, he reached for my hands, positioning my finger on his just right so he could hold on and climb up, and with his little jaw set, up he went, just like big sister and brother. And then all over again.
After that, he looked to me and pointed to something on the ground, saying “Eh?” which can be code for anything, really. I handed him the stick he’d pointed toward, and he was so happy– walked around banging it on the ground, the park bench, whatever, just like a little boy does. And though he’s not much for talking, (flirting, though, he’ll do all day long), and he’s still pretty little (relatively– he’s a miniature linebacker, at this point), and he sometimes still wants me to hold him before bed like he used to, my “baby” has becoming a very small boy.
Also– because i love baby linguistics, here are some words he does say: Stella, uh-oh, daddy, mama, “nuh!” (snack {really any food}), hi!, hot, woof, dog-dog, ball, wa-wa (water), me-ow, “Dee-dup” (clean up), “Ki-duh-dee” (Christmas tree {that one was pretty obvious, though, right?}), dan-der (danger)
Other likes and habits– loves trying to plug things in (argh! boys and their innate love of danger!), hitting things with sticks (in a semblance of playing drums {learned from older brother}, climbing anything, attempting to walk down the stairs like a grown person, wearing socks on his hands like mitts, most all foods except don’t even try any orange veg. (except pumpkin’s okay. And, being a toddler, it’s all subject to change on whim); he loves going to bed early and usually giggles when we put him in bed, then hums to himself until he falls asleep; loves walking the circles from our kitchen to dining room and living room and back again; stands on the hearth and yells or dances, wrestles with siblings, joins in on any joke (loves to be part of the action), occasionally finds one of us just to give us a sweet snuggle. Have i mentioned how much i love the early-one-year-old stage?
Fav Christmas Music Moments
Hey. So, I like Christmas music. Not all of it, of course. There is some really terrible stuff out there. But generally, yes, I get excited when the stations turn to 24/7 Christmas tunes. Crank that stuff up, light up the tree and start baking, and that is a happy moment.
Here are some of my favorite moments in Christmas music. I will Disclaim this: I like Christmas carols the most, the songs about Christ and His birth, and consider them to be in a completely separate category from Christmas music. In spite of that, Christmas-y songs are lots of fun for good ol’ Christmastime festivity and cheer. Here are some of my favorite moments:
“Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” Brenda Lee. So good! I love the instrumental part with that sax solo, where the sax has such a similar tone to her voice. I’ve never heard a cover as good as the original.
“Last Christmas” George Michael. So bad, it’s good. Is there anything else to say about it?
“Step Into Christmas” Elton John. This song has nothing to do with the holiday at all, except for mentioning it once in the beginning and once in each chorus. I don’t want to hear it very often (at all), but that first time, it does make me laugh. And have you ever noticed the bass line? It’s just silly! Makes me laugh all over again.
Anything Mannheim Steamroller. The theatrics. The details. The drama. The synthesized everything!
“Feliz Navidad” Jose Feliciano. Best moment: the “a-ha” before the chorus. Such a happy-sounding song. And I have heard so many ‘misunderstood lyrics’ over the years it’s hard not to laugh a little just remembering those. (Police on the dot; police shot my dog; and from Stella & Oliver– May-meece mommy-dah!)
“Mary’s Boy Child” Boney M. Island/disco Christmas! And the story of Christ’s birth, to boot!
Christmas approaches, and some other stuff too
When we brought home our Christmas tree a week ago, we didn’t initially agree where it should go. There is a roomy corner in the playroom, which the logic portion of Brian’s brain chose as the obvious practical location, but I was sure that the tree belonged in the family room, where we can see (and smell) it every time we sit together. And I was thrilled to hear Brian say tonight, “You were right about the tree,” not just because he was conceding that i was right, but because I really love that he loves it too.
This December has been unlike any month. I have been confronted with the reality that I am not nearly as adaptable and content as I imagine myself to be. I feel behind. We were in and out of the house and of town while our house required some unforeseen renovations. That was harder than I wanted, being uprooted from our ‘normal,’ not knowing when we’d be back home again. I had minor surgery four days ago, something I have been putting off for quite some time. When is a good time to go through the surgery prep, the nerves and the actual procedure, the recovery, the bills? Never, that’s when. Though if i had a dollar for each time my sweet husband talked about “Lindsay’s ovaries” with our friends, we’d make a dent in that surgical bill. That’s what needed repair, or more precisely, a cyst needed to be taken off one. Is that as gross as I feel like it is to say? Clearly (surprisingly) doesn’t seem too gross for husband to talk about, but I think that’s just because he does not have ovaries himself. However, I know it’s one of the most mundane conditions in the world, and also that I can’t just say I had surgery without eliciting more questions. So, that’s that.
To my surprise, I’ve taken just about five doses of the pain meds over the course of the past four days, yet I’ve felt so spacey you’d imagine I was all dosed up. I can only assume that’s what they mean by “it may take a few days for the anesthesia to completely leave your system.” I’ve never spent so many consecutive days wearing sweatpants all day long. I mean, i’ve changed at some points from my regular sweats to my slightly more presentable sweats, and one day (yesterday, to church) I did wear pants with an actual waistband. I am in no hurry to do that again. The incision inside (!) my bellybutton and surrounding area is still all swollen; I resorted to the old rubber band through the buttonhole trick (ahh, it’s been a while). Youch. So, sweats it is.
Due to the recovery, it will be a bit before i can properly wrangle all the littles. I mean, Asher can’t get into/out of the pack-n-play/high chair/car seat by himself… but thankfully Mom’s been here all the while, wrangling and lifting, and basically juggling everything with Brian. I don’t know what I’d be doing otherwise.
I started out talking about Christmas; there is a beautiful tree sitting just right over there as I type. And can I tell you a miracle about the tree? Turns out all our ornaments (our first years as a couple, the kids’ first ornaments, and from my whole lifetime– like the ones I made in preschool and everything!) were lost in our move… to the hands of the former landlords who said they’d not go through the house (which we were still paying for) until we came for the last load, but then threw out those boxes before we got there. We’re not people who hang on to a whole lot of stuff, but that was a box for hanging on to! Ugh. Well, Uncle Bob left behind enough Christmas ornaments to fully decorate our tree and the Clarks’ (my sweet sister and brother-in-law). AND, while visiting their house the other day, they’d finished pulling out her childhood ornaments and discovered my “baby’s first” had been accidentally stored in their box. And now it’s up on our tree! So, bittersweet as it was to lose a chunk of memories like that, the tree is still covered in memories and heritage. And that’s sweet.
rhythm and chaos
Monday (whoa… five days just flew by) morning i was out for a run. I was fighting stress, and had been losing until i went out to break a sweat and burn some energy. And then, a perfect moment. I was running along with “Strawberry Swing” (coldplay), right in tempo with the music. Something caught my eye from above: two orange butterflies flitting along ahead of me, under a perfectly blue sky. For a moment life was all caught up in the rhythm and the movement and from there on out, it was brighter than it had been.
Wednesday, during the long Wilmington-Charlotte drive, on a stubbornly rainy, dreary day, I was listening to “None but Jesus,” (Hillsong united) — just so good. As many times as i’ve driven that drive, alone, with Brian, just me and the kids, whatever, there’s no great way around it. My strategy is a cup of Starbucks and a solid playlist, and after about the halfway mark I put on something good to sing along with. That seems to help. So there I was, singing along to “In the chaos, in confusion I know You’re sovreign still…”
The word that had best described my week was “chaos,” and frankly, i was none too happy with that. For a variety of reasons, life felt like it was on hold; plans couldn’t be made, and normal pieces of life had to be cancelled. So as i drove and sang, i saw how much i find my security in my circumstances. In the chaos, in confusion, i feel disoriented and unsettled. I do know God’s sovreignty, but I also crave my own control. The daily getting-things-done routine, school/work/activities schedule we’re all accustomed to, the same home to come home to, the friends who bring so much life to my life: I don’t realize how much these things feel like the foundation of my life.
Sometimeses
Sometimes i worry for my sanity: I set things down, and then can’t find them again. And when i do, finally, i wonder why i put the shoes in the drawer or the toothbrush on the stairs, etc. I call people, and get nervous when they pick up because, um, who did i just dial? I am clinging to the hope that this is residual ‘baby brain,’ and will dissipate (or at least improve) when kids around here are dressing themselves, and going to the bathroom by themselves and know not to try to step off the edge of the chair or put their sweet fingers into the door hinge. I hope.
Sometimes, when i least expect it (isn’t that how it always is?) I find myself living with the ‘evil twin’ version of me. Out of nowhere. Doing all the things i thought i’d gotten past. Some of which include: Losing my patience/losing my cool on the kids when everyone’s talking at once, making a meal out of a plate of cookies (while i feed the kids something slightly more nutritious, like maybe hot dogs.), comparing my (personality/face/hair/shape/personal style) to everyone else’s, staying up too late and being crabby in the morning, and being defensive with Brian. Oh (sadly) i could go on (and on), but you get it. Ugh.
Sometimes, I find myself thinking of certain (random) things i do, “Oh, everyone does this.” For example: I think of myself as basically a goof. Or a dork. Doesn’t everyone? I narrate my life in my head. I completely lose focus in large group settings (especially restaurants… loud places… and forget about a for real conversation in the hallway at church.), though i fight it desperately when it happens, perhaps it’s just sensory overload. I burst into song regularly. It takes a good few minutes to ‘come to’ in the morning (and i’m thinking, “what is that poking into my ribs, and who is making all that noise?” Oh yeah, the three kids who have now crawled into bed with me. And then suddenly it occurred to me (yesterday,) that maybe everyone doesn’t!
Also, sometimes I think I’m going to write something silly, and suddenly it’s oh, so vulnerable. What do you think, do you do random stuff like this too?
