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Think i need to add a little color to my life?
I accidentally left my gray scarf at a friend’s house last week. I bought a new shirt last week; also gray. Then i caught myself wearing this outfit.
Before you think i’ve given up my last shreds of dignity and descended into wearing a sweatpant uniform at all times, i’ll have you know that i had actually been wearing some fairly decent jeans, but changed into my comfy sweats at home while the kids napped. Still, the overwhelming grayness of my outfit was hard to overlook. Or maybe easy to overlook, since i’d blend quite nicely into the background of any of the very gray days we’ve had lately.
Even if/when i start the day in something a little more decent, odds are good i’ll be sacrificing at least one shirt througout the day to a spit-up covered shoulder (or both.) Last time i was shopping for clothes the goal was to buy “non-T-shirts,” striving for a less collegiate and also less sad-and-disheveled-mom-to-small-children sort of look. For future, i must add “not gray” to the list.
Good news: Asher, after a few tough nights of ’sleep training’ is up to a six-hour stretch of sleep at night (up from 4).
Bad news: Both big kids have ear infections. So Asher is the only one sleeping as long as six hours straight.
It’s been so long since i’ve slept a solid night– and what i mean by that is the kind of night where you go to bed at bed time and don’t wake up until morning time– that i am wondering whether it really exists, or if it’s just a fairy tale. Does anyone experience the coveted full night’s sleep? This week it’s the big kids. Last week (and the preceding 3.75 months) it was the wee babe. The months before, it was due to the babymaking. I mean the pregnancy part. The part with waking up 43 times a night to waddle to the bathroom, followed by 30 minutes or so of tossing, turning and being generally uncomfortable, along with elbowing the husband back to his side of the bed while sighing loudly.
The sleep while i was pregnant this last time was so rough that for Asher’s first several weeks, i actually felt quite refreshed in comparison. Just waking up every three hours to feed him, he who wakes with sweet baby sounds and drifts so quickly back to full-bellied sleep, was much better than the preceding months discomfort. Somewhere between then and now that feeling faded.
Maybe it was during the same week my hair started falling out and my skin started breaking out (both of which are perfectly normal a couple months after giving birth. But still…) Maybe it was when i started to feel like we were really pretty well-adjusted to life with three kids three and under. Now, though i cling to hope that someday i will sleep a whole night again, I wonder if my hopes of dreaming are just wishful thinking.
It snowed yesterday for the first time since ‘02. Oh, how exciting! I marveled at the peacefulness a snowfall brings, listened to the sound of snow falling, watched the joy of seeing snow for the first time in Stella and Oliver’s eyes. We were out for a routine well-check for Asher (who is still fat, happy and beautifully healthy) at the doctor’s office, planning on another chilly day indoors, and right then and there, while we were in the waiting room reading books, the snowfall began and our day was instantly transformed.
Once home, we bundled up and went out for a little frolic. Crunching and tasting snow were the favorite activities. We didn’t last long, though, especially once snow melted into little gloves and hands turned icy cold, and were soon inside, cuddled up in cozy jammies. Even more excitement: a popcorn and hot chocolate picnic on the living room floor. Then, after a little lunch and story time, a supremely peaceful nap time.
The snow fell steadily, and late afternoon was time for more playing in the snow. Rarely as we see it, i was determined to make the most of it. The guys went out to get some firewood, Stells and i prepared for a walk through the frosted neighborhood. Except this time, everything about dressing for the weather drove her nuts.
Since she’s a girl who’s always bothered by seams on socks, waistbands on pants, etc., it wasn’t too surprising that the layering presented a problem. The little lady insisted on crocs with no socks, no hat, no coat. No way, i said. Of course you will wear boots, hat, coat, and we are going to go out there and have fun. Thus ensued one of the biggest fits we’ve seen yet, which is really saying something. She ran into the yard, she kicked off her boots. She ran away, barefoot in the snow, into the woods. She never wanted to see my face again in her life. She told me so.
Thank God i completely kept my cool, (which has not always been the case lately,) though when i’d hold her foot to re-boot those icy toes, she’d yell “Oh, you’re breaking me in two! Stop pushing me on the ground!” and other such things that make perfect sense to an angry and offended almost-four-year-old. But i insisted. She is stubborn, so am I. We. Are. Going. To. Go. Outside.
I held her face in my hands and reminded her that for the past month i’ve heard how much she looks forward to snow, misses snow and can’t wait to play in the snow. And now, even though we cannot go ice-skating on the pond, and even though we do definitely need to wear boots and a coat, we will go for a walk, and it will be great.
I am so glad i pushed through; though Brian and Oliver returned home halfway through the scene, and Brian wondered if this was truly a battle worth fighting, I felt gut-deep that we would both regret missing that moment if we did not, indeed, get out in that much-anticipated snow.
Once out on the walk, she never wanted to come home. We looked up at the sky to watch the flakes falling. We held hands and tried to catch snowflakes on our tongues. We made up songs about snowflakes, and we skipped along the street listening to the crunching under our feet. She marveled at the beauty of the world frosted white; I marveled at the beauty of a nearly-lost moment reclaimed, redeemed, and always to be remembered.
It was around 2 pm: nap time. All three small ones were napping in unison– aaah. I’d just changed back into my favorite comfy (pajama) pants, grabbed some dark chocolates and settled my weary bones in front of this glowing screen to read some of the blogs that make me laugh real hard. I love dark chocolate. And i love to laugh. Things were looking good.
A knock at the door stopped me cold. I was startled. I mean, who knocks on the door during naptime? Nap time is sacred! Who even shows up unannounced anymore? Not many folks do. And I didn’t expect the one who did. I saw his car before i saw him– a banged up old Buick-y looking jalopy. Then i saw him: standing on the stoop, wearing 4 separate variations of camo (hat, jacket, shirt and pants) with white sneakers and smiling with crazy teeth. He introduced himself as A.J., short for Applejack. He was peddling his services as a landscaper. If you have seen our yard, you will understand why he made the effort to stop and offer. “You could use a good raking. And the hedges cut, at least,” A.J. offered. I was taken aback. In fact i was scared. Scared because his presence had been so unexpected. And scared because i felt i’d been caught.
I told Applejack i’d like to have his business card, so i could call if we’d require his services, then off he went. But me, i got stuck there. See, when folks joke about stay-at-home moms, how we “don’t really work” or just sit around all day, i get my feathers ruffled. Because we who are home with our kids all the time have a big job, and not an easy one. (There aren’t many people who make that kind of jokes, but it does happen. And when it does… grrrr…).
So when Applejack “caught” me sitting in my pajamas, eating candy and perusing silliness on the ‘net, i felt like I singlehandedly confirmed those awful suspicions of lazy moms-at-home. Like by being there he was calling me lazy. Of course he wasn’t. It was just the moment that still small voice chose to convict me of my lifelong laziness habit.
I am very familiar with that irritating phrase, “You have so much potential, you just need to apply yourself,” having heard it (and hated it) throughout my entire school career. I have a (wonderful) husband who sees life through the potential-colored glasses, and nudges me to take life by storm and, basically, to apply myself. (Thank God he doesn’t use those words.) But i’ve always found it remarkably easy to tune that encouragement out, until the day i got caught.
It’s not that i actually spend much time lazing around, and after all, those little bouts of time to myself can be quite refreshing. It’s that i do not seize my moments. I say i have no free time to do anything, but what i do have, i quickly fritter away. I have a lot of (what i think are) good ideas that don’t get done. I am famous for half-finished projects. And you know what they say about good intentions, of which i have an abundance. That afternoon I was deeply convicted about my missed opportunities, my unfocused efforts, my purposeless busy-ness. The fact that I am not stewarding my life, my time, my kids’ lives, to the best of my ability.
But i will say this, a habitual sin like this, with twenty-seven years of practice, is not broken easily.
PS: I’ve been reading through the Proverbs, and seeing things i’ve never seen, though they’ve been there all along. For a bit of this perspective, check chapter 6, verses 6-11, for starters.
I’m not one to put too much stock in feeling. Yet i often want to just do what i feel like doing. Does that make sense? I’m almost certain it doesn’t, but hey, i’m trying to work through this stuff here.
Doing what i feel like leads to things that leave me feeling pretty dumb. Like brushing my teeth with the kids’ sparkly slime-green “Bubble Fruit”-flavored Shrek toothpaste. Because i didn’t feel like going to the great trouble of reaching allll the way across the bathroom (and if you’ve seen our house you know how big that bathroom isn’t,) into the cabinet for the grown-up stuff. Blech.
I have a set of shot glasses in the kitchen cabinet. I keep them for placing little flowers or plant cuttings into water. Some things have come and gone (er, have been accidentally killed by my brown thumb), but for several months a spider plant (i think) and a little cutting of some other plant have been surviving quite well. I thought the other plant was named “Pothous,” but then i realized that was only the abbreviation the store had labeled the plant with, short for potted house plant. Yes.
This week there are two little carrot nubs in the windowsill, where we get the best sunlight. I always do that with the ones that have a little green on top, hoping to one day grow one enough to plant it. I still hold out hope that i will develop a green thumb, like my sister has, and have a vegetable and herb garden. Someday I’d even like to try flowers: peonies and roses, a patch of wildflowers, a fig tree and then some chickens (for the eggs, of course but i think the manure might be good for the soil too) and definitely a goat, since i’d like to try cheese-making. But i’m getting ahead of myself. And what am i doing living in the twenty-first century, anyway?
So far it’s been a tough run this week in my piece of the world, housebound with various sick little ones, and thus deprived of my usual adult interactions and fellowship. All the usual trials of life (for example: tantrum-prone toddlers and nights of too little sleep) seem to overshadow all the usual joys a bit. Nothing dramatic, just a lot of blah and “God, what am i doing here?” So honestly, when i looked into the glass on the window-sill today and saw a little green sprout shooting up from the carrot nub, i felt suddenly hopeful. Progress where i’d hoped to find it. Green sprouting sun-ward, not mold growing on mushy vegetable remains. Perspective miraculously turned on it’s head from a tiny glass half-full of hope.
I have known the day will come when i can no longer use the nickname your big sister gave you when you were brand new, but when? Is it today, after i looked in on you last night while you slept and noticed how tall you are growing?
Should i have stopped when your baby brother was born, and you immediately knew how to treat a baby gently, though you are not gentle with anything else in the world?
At two and two months, you navigate the world by hops, skips and jumps, a bundle of energy and curiosity, looking out through big brown dark-lashed eyes. I remember thinking boys were handsome before but you are quite obviously the most beautiful little boy i’ve ever seen. The first thing you do every morning is climb up into daddy’s and my bed to snuggle with baby Asher. “Tiny baby brother!” you say, though you’re only twenty-three months and twelve pounds larger than he is.
So curious you are; I catch you in all sorts of bad ideas, though you don’t understand why I’m not happy as you are when you push your chair up to the counter to gulp down gleaming white goodness from the sugar bowl, or smoosh your fingers into the wax of a candle i just blew out; “Fire finger, Mom!” you yelled. You were so proud of that. From you i’ve recieved many lessons in “Boys Do Not Think Like Girls Do.” You are always moving, finding any and everything findable; you can’t resist the impulse to throw things (toothbrushes, marbles and other small treasures) down the drain, or to toss any tossable object around the room, even after admonishment. You are starting to log a fair amount of time in time-out.
When angry, you are confined to your high chair, because time-out in your room had you pulling up the rug, scaling little brother’s crib and pulling all the clothes from your drawers. Also, you spit. Just to try and make the rest of us feel as angry as you feel, i think.
You are quick-tempered and quick to forgive. You show affection by wrestling with your sister and attacking me and your dad with OlloBear hugs. Sometimes i catch you flashing me your “i’m-so-sweet” face to try and get out of trouble, and it makes me madder that sometimes i fall for it. And just when i think i am at my wit’s end with you, you give your sister sweet hugs and kisses out of the blue or go find Asher’s pacifier for him, thinking he’ll surely like it as much as you like yours.
You are in love with music, especially ‘tars and ‘dums,’ and are struck with silent wonder when you get the treat of watching the music at church, where you usually make up your own lyrics and some wild, wild dance moves. Though we thought, at first, that you were not a people person, you certainly are. Not only do you love being around people, but you really love showing off for them.
Much like your sister, you’re an all-or-nothin’ kinda kid. Dead asleep or bouncing off the walls. Giggling happy or screamin’ mad. And you have just one volume: LOUD.
I thank God for your little, big-spirited sweet self. And that He gave you a big, soft heart to match your big, strong will. I pray daily that you will learn to submit that will to His.
After a refreshing break from document creation, I return to the keyboard a stranger, hitting the wrong keys as if it’s been years since I last transferred thoughts from brain to screen. Nevertheless I wish I could conduct conversations via written word, most of the time, with a chance to feel the words, to see them before I hit “send” or “publish,” just so I’m pretty sure they make sense outside of my brain like they did inside.
Christmas was joyful. In fact, today I woke up and my first coherent thought was that I wish it was Christmas Day again, not New Year’s Day; warm and glowy and all together instead of cold and grayish and melancholy. Even though today is actually sunny and quite pretty, New Year’s Day always feels gray and a little forlorn.
Christmas Eve after church service, we drove to Charlotte, all Polar Express-style with jammies and popcorn and Christmas carols, looking at the Christmas lights along the way as we drove. The kids eventually fell asleep only to wake up the moment we pulled into my parents’ driveway. It was exciting. And Christmas Day, as is our custom, we woke up the same time as any morning of our lives. We “did” stockings, discovering cute mom-made ornaments and sweet surprises, had delicious Steph-made blueberry muffins and then opened way too many presents (especially the little ones).
The afternoon was spent with B’s extended family, where it was sweet to watch the kids at work. Stella jumped in, playing with the cousins as if they were best friends though she couldn’t keep their names straight. An uncle later reported to us, “What a sweet girl. She even used her manners when yall weren’t looking.” Oliver charmed the socks right off the aunts with his mischievous eyes and antics. “He’s not handsome,” Grandmother said, “He’s just downright beautiful.” And Asher, as always, performed beautifully under the pressure of being passed all the way around, pulling out his signature giant gummy grin and crinkly, twinkly baby blues to bring a smile to everyone he met. I was so proud of them, and left certain that my kids are the best in the world. (As every parent should believe about their own, i think.)
An evening with my grandparents, a few glorious days with long (stroller-free) walks for me and B, little errands to run, conversations over coffee and great dinners around the kitchen table. We had a perfect family Christmas a couple days late with the rest of the extendeds, and on our final night in town drove around looking at Christmas lights– and by Christmas lights I mean entirely over-the-top displays of lights choreographed to music– while singing our own ridiculous renditions (Little Drummer Boy in six-part harmony? Only the beginning!) of favorite Christmas songs. Ah, family time.
Now we’re home. We being just the two and the wee babe, as the big kids got to stay back for a week of Grand Camp. We are cleaning closets, de-cluttering the house and purging old toys, (though we don’t need to mention that to the kids, kay?) and basically doing all the stuff that takes about forever to do with toddlers in the home but five minutes without. We’ve also been holding vision meetings ( just the two of us, Asher doesn’t contribute much) about our finances and goals for the coming year. Exciting stuff.
Tomorrow the littles return, and we’ll be glad to see them again, though grateful for time away to regroup and renew.
I hope you enjoyed a thouroughly Happy Christmas time. And now a Happy New Year to you!
