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I have not told you very much about Asher yet. That is mainly because after he was born, the times during which i am free to tell you things decreased, as did my energy and the capability of my brain to tell anything in any sense-making manner.
Well, as soon as he was born it seemed that he was, as we’d prayed for, a happy and content baby. We were scared to speak the words, for fear we’d jinx our luck. But it’s true. Three months into his life, Asher is, as we prayed for, sweet, chill, sociable and bringing big smiles to everyone he meets. Thank you, Jesus.
Because of his easy-going temperament, I was surprised one day when in the midst of some important errands he would not stop crying. Let me tell you about it, it’s a funny story. It all starts when i was summoned (summons-ed?) to appear for Jury Duty on my birthday. I decided instead of just writing the reply letter to beg out, that i should just swing by the Jury Coordinators office in the Courthouse and show them why i am not currently a good candidate for jury duty.
The summons directed that this could be done between 2 and 4 p.m. on Tuesdays or Wednesdays, so on that Wednesday, after nap time, everyone got changed and hair brushed and loaded into the car with a snack and downtown we drove, where I parked, fed the meter, loaded Oliver into the stroller and Asher into the sling and instructed Stella to keep her hand on the stroller while we walked into the courthouse. Wouldn’t you know, as soon as we walked in that building, Asher started to whimper. As we made our way through the security clearance and to the elevators the whimper escalated to a whine, which, by the time we reached the correct office had turned to a wail. And it was unstoppable. Over the din of his little lungs releasing his fury, i tried to explain the situation to a room full of goverment employees. “Are they…. all yours?” Asked the Jury Coordinator, as if three equals thirty. Whether i made any sense or not, i don’t know; i could not hear myself talking. All i registered was the looks on their faces, though exactly what sort of looks they were giving me, i coudn’t tell. One thing was clear, though: they wanted the noise to stop. It probably goes without saying that they dismissed me from duty.
A couple weeks ago, the kids came with me to Overflow. Usually it’s much better for me to go without them, but every now and then, when it’s a night of all music, they come along. They were so excited. “Tars! Mu-mick!” Oliver shouted, dancing around, every time we’d talk about it. Stella didn’t nap that day, which can make for an unpredictable evening. And as soon as we walked into the building, Oliver started dancing. When we entered Studio 3 he stood, awed, staring at the band. He would have preferred to actually be up on the stage, but was okay with just getting close as possible.
Stella, on the other hand, clamped her hands over her ears, yelling “Too Loud!” It was loud, yes, but that’s never been a problem before, so i kind of brushed it off, thinking she’d warm up to it. Well, i thought wrong: the hypersensitivity of a sleepy kid made her anxious, pretending to be shy and asking to go home. Let’s just make it through the first few songs, i told myself, hoping to get lost in the music just for a bit. I moved the kids off to the side, where it was a little less loud, and thought we’d found a good compromise. Suddenly i felt a little body come hurtling up to me, and there was Stella, sobbing. The poor girl, in the clumsiness of overtired, had hit her head on a foosball table, and that was just the last straw.
What i’ve observed about life with three littles is that we are at the mercy of one another: our plans must shift encompass the needs of the neediest each day.
Yesterday, i don’t know what i expected when i took the kids out Christmas shopping. We’d been out late the night before. When we left the house, we couldn’t find Oliver’s pacifier, which is neccessary for many activities that require sitting still and reasonably quiet. As we drove to our destination, he screamed and he yelled and i knew he was just tired. But i thought, naively i thought, he’d enjoy the errands. One was to a surf shop, and he loves all things surfboard. What i failed to take note of is that he would love to run amok and get his hands and feet on all those things, rather than be confined to the stroller.
He did alright for the first ten minutes or so, but suddenly became very antsy, and very jealous that Stella walking around. This was about the time i started to feel that the store was much to small for us. I was trying to pick my purchase quickly, but at this point there was no such thing as quick enough to get us outta there. As i paid for the present, Oliver yelled like a banshee, struggling to escape the confines of the umbrella stroller, as i, with Asher in the front pack, struggled to keep him confined while paying.
As i walked to the car, Stella obediently and happily walking by my side, Asher sleeping soundly and sweetly in the carrier, and Oliver red-faced squirming and screaming, I wondered if the people we encountered remember the two happy kids or the one screamer. Because it feels like two outta three ain’t good enough.
I just need to blog because, wedged between piles of dirty and then clean-waiting-to-be-put-away dishes and fixing food upon food and feeding the baby and changing his clothes and diapers and my baby-fluid covered clothes and repeating of all of the aforementioned, it’s one of the few tasks i do that has a clear beginning and end.
Thank you for reading, for making me feel there may be value in sitting and synthesizing through words on this screen, because i’m doing this for me but i’m not just doing this for me.
I’ve said this before, and maybe it’s not a good thing to say, but really sometimes i feel like my little lady could just raise herself. Oh, it’s not that i don’t think she needs guidance or authority, because i am quite aware that she does. It’s mainly that she is a better planner and organizer than i. And that she knows everything.
Today we drove home past a dinosaur statue in someone’s front yard. (a little kooky, no?) “I missed that Triceratops earlier, mom,” she says. How did you know what it’s called, i ask. Her answer, “Oh, i just do,” leaves me silent, thoughtful. It had taken me several drive-bys to figure out what the thing was, i was calling it a rhinoceros and then a dinosaur and later a rhinosaur because i couldn’t tell quite what it was, nevermind the surprise of seeing it as we cruised by. So i know she didn’t know the correct name from me, though as i looked back in the rearview i saw that she was correct.
Earlier we’d passed an “Open 24 hours” sign, and she’d said “Hey look, a 2 and a 4!” Sure it’s simple stuff, but we’ve never worked on numbers together. Where is she learning all this stuff on her own? That’s what i want to know.
The other day she walks by and sees me looking through a coupon book. “There’s some pretty sweet items in there,” she comments so knowingly in passing.
About a year ago, her favorite stuffed animal, Duckie, sustained a serious injury after a little blowdrying accident. He’d been washed and wasn’t dry yet when his presence was required for bedtime. I had no idea a hairdryer would melt right through the back of his little polyester skull. Amazingly, she was okay with my hasty explanation that Duckie now had a special birthmark (though, no, it was not there at birth). When bits of stuffing began falling out, she called it his brain. Occassionally we find fluffy bits of Duckie around the house. The other day Stella walked in on Oliver in the bathroom, tossing several of these fluff pieces he’d collected (with my encouragment) into the toilet. “Mom!” Her voice alarmed, “What is he doing with Duckie’s brains?” I’m sure the situation seemed quite serious, but it was all i could do to keep a straight face.
And you know there are lots of things i’ve said that i never thought i would. Seems the things that all parents say that drive their kids nuts are said for a reason. Example: Just because, Because i said so, or worse yet, “Because Mommy said so.” Why the third-person? Why is the least-satisfying answer the most popular? Well, it doesn’t take long in the presence of a preschooler posessing insatiable curiosity and an endless supply of questions to explain this.
But sometimes she has some really good answers for me too. Playing with her baby doll Pink, Stella let Oliver take Pink out for a spin in the stroller. “Have fun with Uncle Oliver,” she calls to Pink. Then to me, “Mom, i think i want to be the aunt and not the mom.” Why? “Because i just don’t really like breastfeeding.” By all means, little lady, though sometimes you are such a grown-up three-and-three-quarters, there is no rush.
In years past, we celebrated with a two-foot pre-lit fake, er, artificial tree, bought the first Christmas after we were married. We didn’t have much space or, of course, much money, so it was fine for a time, but the truth is there are many things that make me feel more festive than that wiry, prickly thing did: i was pinin’ for pine. (I’m so sorry about that. I just couldn’t restrain myself.)
As the tree cost 9.99 that first year and was used for four Christmases, I’d say the net cost of $2.50 per season was a worthy investment, but when we plugged ‘er in last year and no lights lit, we promptly hauled the spindly thing to the dumpster. In it’s place we purchased a Rosemary bush which had been trained into a conical Christmas tree shape. We hadn’t exactly gone out in search of it, but Brian, ever practical, convinced me that a living and growing herb (we could even cook with it!) was a better choice than a cut pine that would last just a month. The idea did make sense, but let’s just say the by the time the season ended he had solemnly promised, with a just little nudge from me, that this year, we would purchase and enjoy a real tree.
The day after Thanksgiving i began to pester him, pulling out the calendar and plotting which day would be best for our great tree-finding mission (or trip to one of the nearby Marts, where we could score a pine and all the accoutrements.) Though usually a rendezvous with the calendar really makes my guy’s eyes light up (the planning! the precision!), he just waved me off saying we’d talk about that later. Strange, i thought, though i wasn’t terribly surprised that he feeling less festive than I. Yall, he doesn’t even like the 24/7 Christmas-music station! (What’s that? You don’t either? You say it’s cheesy and over-commercialized and just downright crummy music? Well you might be right. But you cannot deny my right to sing along with “Hey Santa” loudly and with feeling. So bring on the festivity!)
So anyway, last week i was out for my Wednesday afternoon walk with Sarah and the kids, when behind us a car slowed and honked. Thank goodness it was my husband, or we’d have been pretty creeped out. Rolling down the window, he said not “hello,” but “Ho! Ho! Ho!” and across the backseat a Christmas tree was propped, shedding massive amounts of deliciously-scented needles onto the seats and into the crevices of his until-then clean car.
Not only a tree did he bring, but the lights, the stand, and (double surprise!) a gift certificate for me to go have a massage (when i asked what the occassion was he responded, “Well you said your back always hurts, right?”). The kids shouted with joy, singing and dancing as we decked our first real tree. Stella, as always, was ready to take charge, directing “Okay now Daddy, you get the lights on. I’ll water the tree. Mommy, do you need me to help you get that box open? And where are all the ornaments?” Oliver jumped up and down shouting “Happy! Kiss-muss Tee! Kiss-muss light! Yay yay yay!” while Asher was entranced by the twinkling lights and endless action.
Brian said their reaction alone made all the effort of his surprise worthwhile, but i didn’t think a little shameless bragging on him would hurt either.
I heard the Mannheim Steamroller version of “Deck the Halls” the other morning. Oh, the healing power of music.
That dose of Christmas-y kookiness was jut what i needed on (yet another) drizzly and dreary morning. Oh, you can laugh at me if you want to. In fact, that’s how it started for me. I was so busy poking fun at the M.S. versions of traditional Christmas carols that i didn’t realize i actually enjoy listening to them. In my head i was being ironic. Turns out the unique blend of melodramatically orchestrated synthesized sounds evokes fuzzy memories of Christmas past as well as being so over-the-top as to induce a good mood impervious to gross, gray mornings and my own occasional cynicism. Maybe you could say it’s my version of hearing that little sleigh bell from “The Polar Express,” reminding me that i believe, not in six-foot inflatable penguins or big sales or Santa Claus, but in Christmas; in the life that Christ brings. That’s worth singing out for, right?
1: A small Thanksgiving miracle. Tuesday, we went to the mall to do some mall-ish business. It was a dreary and brrr-cold day, so we made a family outing of it. The kids played in the dingy mall play area that they do enjoy so much, i Lysol-ed the crud out of their hands, and we were off to the jewelry store to have my ring sized. Waiting for me to complete the transaction, the kids watched as the carousel, just out in the atrium, spun around; bright lights blinking and painted animals moving. Oliver had never seen it before, and turned to ask “Is it, Mommy? Is it?”
Stella has wanted so badly to ride that carousel for months now. I, a combination of frugal and a bit nervous to tackle that by myself with all three crazy kids, kept telling her that we would make a date and do it some other time. In fact, B and I had debated making that dream a reality for her this very night, but decided instead to spend those few bucks on popcorn and a movie for Family Night at home.
As we girls finished up in the last store our errands called for, Brian and Oliver walked out into the atrium so B could take a phone call. We joined Brian on a bench while Oliver studied the animals on the carousel and tried to climb over the fence.
Two women working one of the nearby kiosks approached us, having recognized him from church. After introductions all around, they offered us a free carousel ride. Apparently this is one of their job perks, which may only be exciting to 1/2 dozen people in the world, but fortunately for all involved we were five of those people! (Well, I would be overstating things a bit to say that Asher was excited about it, but those of us old enough to have opinions were unanimously pleased by the offer.)
At Stella’s request, we climbed to the top of the carousel, were we chose our seats carefully: For the little lady, a white horse and for daddy, a seahorse right by her; me and the boys sat together on a bench. As we began to spin and her horse started to move, i caught a look of panic in Stella’s wide, wide eyes. “Hold on tight!” Brian encouraged, and she did, and momentarily she was loving it. As soon as our two minutes were up, both kids asked “Again?” but were content when we assured them that was enough for one night, especially when we had popcorn and a movie to get home to. I am always so thankful for those moments when God humors my love of the little things in life and sends me a love letter in the form of a simple moment of joy.
2: Lessons Learned
a) Although hosting your family for Thanksgiving, not just for one meal but for two days including and official Thanksgiving dinner, sounds like a very grown-up thing to do, if you did not feel like a Real Grown-Up before, you will probably not feel like one afterward.
b) Though there is not a guest bedroom per se, my home can comfortably sleep 10. (Well, I was comfortable. Hopefully those on air mattresses were as well.) Oh, plus a dog. But don’t tell my landlord.
c) If your sister is a vegetarian who finds the animal raising and processing situation disgusting, she will not find Venison Stew any less offensive even though the deer are completely and totally free their whole lives, and when they die it’s relatively quick and easy. No need to even tell her about it, really.
d) Just because your oven worked when you cooked breakfast on Thanksgiving morning does not mean that it will still be working when you start cooking Thanksgiving dinner a couple hours later. And if you have a gas oven and the electric starter is broken, the gas will automatically shut off, so that you cannot even light it yourself. Bummer.
e) It is good to have friends who live close-by, on whom you can call when your oven breaks on Thanksgiving day.
f) Everyone loves a good bonfire. (Also, a good bonfire brings out the pyromaniac in everyone, but perhaps especially males, including two-year olds and their slightly mischievous grandfathers.)
and finally, g) There is nothing better than to be surrounded by people you love. Even if it means a ten-to-one people-to-shower ratio, it is well worth it.
