No really. I mean it. See?
WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP THERE????
BUSTED!!
Young man, how in the world did you get up there???
"Kime Dat!"
He actually did "kime" right up the front of the dresser. Like Spiderman.
Lord have mercy.
Thursday, September 20, 2012
Jamie's Penchant for Mischief reaches New Heights
No really. I mean it. See?
WHAT ARE YOU DOING UP THERE????
BUSTED!!
Young man, how in the world did you get up there???
"Kime Dat!"
He actually did "kime" right up the front of the dresser. Like Spiderman.
Lord have mercy.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
The Liturgy of Laundry
One of the hardest things about being a mother is the sheer monotony of the vocation. I've blogged about this before, but it bears repeating. The work that we do every day is undone almost immediately. The larger spiritual goals to which we attain are very long term and it may be decades before we see our ideals for our children come to full fruition. I far too often find myself replacing my daily responsibilities for home and hearth with lesser, more easily attainable and more apparently "productive" tasks. Even "good" things, when elevated above the Best become little more than idols. Fellowship with other moms is a good and godly desire, but leaving dirty dishes in the sink to pack my children, in their unwashed clothes, off to a playdate is probably less often a Best thing than I would like to imagine, however refreshed it might make me feel in the short term. Staying up too late reading inspirational blog posts?... ditto.
I have been helped recently by a book (it is so often a book of one sort or another, isn't it?) by Kathleen Norris, "Acedia and Me". While written from the perspective of a childless widow, and with a much deeper exploration of the topic and far more inspired applications, I have found in it a nugget that I find quite profound for the circumstances in which I find myself-- homemaker, mother-of-three, impatient servant. That is, to seek to become aware of a Sacramental quality in my daily work. A liturgical parallel, if you will. The daily-ness, the repetition, the lack of immediate and visible result-- all those things can be said of many of the rythms and repetitions of the church's worship.
And in the same sense, my daily routines, if attended to with a reverential and sacrificial heart (in the sense that I offer them to the Lord as a sacrifice and an act of worship) becomes my Liturgy of the Hours, in a very real sense. And with this emphasis I can rightly order my goals; shifting from an expectation of Results, Product and Effect in my environment (my children are clean and well-mannered at all times, my house is spotless, my laundry stays cleaned and folded in the drawers, the weeds never regenerate, etc) to a desire to see change in myself-- in my attitudes, affections, endurance and perseverance, as well as a deepening relationship with Christ. This shift in perspective, in expectations, will I think cause me to be less impatient towards, less critical of, less dissatisfied with my children and husband. I will be concentrating more on the log in my own eye and less on the specks in theirs.
linking up...
I have been helped recently by a book (it is so often a book of one sort or another, isn't it?) by Kathleen Norris, "Acedia and Me". While written from the perspective of a childless widow, and with a much deeper exploration of the topic and far more inspired applications, I have found in it a nugget that I find quite profound for the circumstances in which I find myself-- homemaker, mother-of-three, impatient servant. That is, to seek to become aware of a Sacramental quality in my daily work. A liturgical parallel, if you will. The daily-ness, the repetition, the lack of immediate and visible result-- all those things can be said of many of the rythms and repetitions of the church's worship.
And in the same sense, my daily routines, if attended to with a reverential and sacrificial heart (in the sense that I offer them to the Lord as a sacrifice and an act of worship) becomes my Liturgy of the Hours, in a very real sense. And with this emphasis I can rightly order my goals; shifting from an expectation of Results, Product and Effect in my environment (my children are clean and well-mannered at all times, my house is spotless, my laundry stays cleaned and folded in the drawers, the weeds never regenerate, etc) to a desire to see change in myself-- in my attitudes, affections, endurance and perseverance, as well as a deepening relationship with Christ. This shift in perspective, in expectations, will I think cause me to be less impatient towards, less critical of, less dissatisfied with my children and husband. I will be concentrating more on the log in my own eye and less on the specks in theirs.
1 Timothy 2:15
Yet she will be saved through childbearing—if they continue in faith and love and holiness, with self-control.
linking up...
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Merbaby
(this is the fourth in a series of posts I'm writing about my Water Babies. you might want to read part one, part two and part three,
James in the pool is the most improbable. Guests watch incredulously his tiny body launching from the deck, arching dragon-fly-like, wings extended back, as he splashes belly-first (every time) and then hangs almost motionless, face-down in a deadman's float for a moment, as mother-eyes watch to see if a panicked rescue is in order...
But no, he's merely taking stock of his domain. He jack-knifes underwater, touching his toes and then straightening out to kick his way to the other side. This child swims a good eight to ten feet without a breath. I hold mine while I watch... just to see... so I know when he's running low, when he's about to have to breathe or drown. He swims one-sided. His right arm takes comically vigorous strokes, while his left plasters to his side, his legs thrashing the water determinedly.
On the longest jaunt-- 20 feet, clear across the pool-- he has to flip to his back to breathe. He waits for a moment, white-knuckling the edge of the deck, grins up at me "Wha wide, Mama?" ("other side?"), then pushes off with his toes, sideways, face down, kick-rightstroke-kick-rightstroke, then swoosh he flips to his back, tiny ohsotiny face floating high in the deep blue water, utterly isolated, utterly serene, calm, self-confident.
A baby island in the deep end.
Kick, kick, kick. Flip under, eyes wide to find the direction, re-orient, float again, kick kick kick to the edge.
Goal achieved.
Destination reached.
He elbows up over the edge, toddler pot belly resting on the deck and arm-over-arm, knees up onto solid ground. But only briefly. This solid ground is not for him. He prefers the world where he is the equal of all, where he is the master of all he sees...
James in the pool is the most improbable. Guests watch incredulously his tiny body launching from the deck, arching dragon-fly-like, wings extended back, as he splashes belly-first (every time) and then hangs almost motionless, face-down in a deadman's float for a moment, as mother-eyes watch to see if a panicked rescue is in order...
But no, he's merely taking stock of his domain. He jack-knifes underwater, touching his toes and then straightening out to kick his way to the other side. This child swims a good eight to ten feet without a breath. I hold mine while I watch... just to see... so I know when he's running low, when he's about to have to breathe or drown. He swims one-sided. His right arm takes comically vigorous strokes, while his left plasters to his side, his legs thrashing the water determinedly.
On the longest jaunt-- 20 feet, clear across the pool-- he has to flip to his back to breathe. He waits for a moment, white-knuckling the edge of the deck, grins up at me "Wha wide, Mama?" ("other side?"), then pushes off with his toes, sideways, face down, kick-rightstroke-kick-rightstroke, then swoosh he flips to his back, tiny ohsotiny face floating high in the deep blue water, utterly isolated, utterly serene, calm, self-confident.
A baby island in the deep end.
Kick, kick, kick. Flip under, eyes wide to find the direction, re-orient, float again, kick kick kick to the edge.
Goal achieved.
Destination reached.
He elbows up over the edge, toddler pot belly resting on the deck and arm-over-arm, knees up onto solid ground. But only briefly. This solid ground is not for him. He prefers the world where he is the equal of all, where he is the master of all he sees...
Tuesday, September 11, 2012
Merman
(this is the third in a series of posts I'm writing about my Water Babies. you might want to read part one, part two and part four)
Judah... Judah in the pool.
Oh my heart.
Of all our children, he is the one we most worry over. The one we pray God we don't ruin. He seems so easy to hurt. So hard to Shepherd. So hard to understand.
But in the pool, he is strong, confident, brave. He is happy.
When this child is in the water, he is all. the. way. in. He's the one I rarely see breathing. He often just floats, spread-eagle, face-down. He dives, strong arms, broad shoulders-- so like his daddy's, but so small. He's so thin and light, it's hard work to get to the bottom to fetch a diving stick. But he charges down, dolphin-kicking determinedly.
The water seems to fuel his imagination as it does Sofi's. He talks to himself continuously, narrating a hundred adventures and ballads. His imaginary friend, "Betend Friend" (B.F.'s been around since Judah first started talking, many moons ago), swims and plays and "talks" with him. He spends a lot of time upside down. He doesn't so much swim, as he just plays.. underwater... He hardly seems to acknowledge the difference between air and water, up and down are equal, there are no limits, no rules, no expectations. Here in the water he doesn't have to worry about spilling things, knocking things over, running into stuff. His absent-minded way of walking through life is totally fine, safe, acceptable-- in the water.
If only he could float, spread-eagle, face-down all through his life, staring off into the deep. I think he could always be this happy.
Judah... Judah in the pool.
Oh my heart.
Of all our children, he is the one we most worry over. The one we pray God we don't ruin. He seems so easy to hurt. So hard to Shepherd. So hard to understand.
But in the pool, he is strong, confident, brave. He is happy.
When this child is in the water, he is all. the. way. in. He's the one I rarely see breathing. He often just floats, spread-eagle, face-down. He dives, strong arms, broad shoulders-- so like his daddy's, but so small. He's so thin and light, it's hard work to get to the bottom to fetch a diving stick. But he charges down, dolphin-kicking determinedly.
The water seems to fuel his imagination as it does Sofi's. He talks to himself continuously, narrating a hundred adventures and ballads. His imaginary friend, "Betend Friend" (B.F.'s been around since Judah first started talking, many moons ago), swims and plays and "talks" with him. He spends a lot of time upside down. He doesn't so much swim, as he just plays.. underwater... He hardly seems to acknowledge the difference between air and water, up and down are equal, there are no limits, no rules, no expectations. Here in the water he doesn't have to worry about spilling things, knocking things over, running into stuff. His absent-minded way of walking through life is totally fine, safe, acceptable-- in the water.
If only he could float, spread-eagle, face-down all through his life, staring off into the deep. I think he could always be this happy.
Monday, September 10, 2012
Mermaid
(this is the second in a series of posts I'm writing about my Water Babies. you might want to read part one, part three, and part four, too)
Sofia is almost ten. She stands poised, as all ten-year-olds do, on the brink of young woman-hood, awkwardly suspended between adult and child. Vacillating between the two, rarely perfectly comfortable in either world-- the grass always green on the other side of the proverbial fence.
But in the water she perfectly straddles those two worlds, my graceful water-girl-woman. She glides and swoops and twists, mistress of herself. She feels, I think, a little safer, a little private, here in the water. She goes back to her imaginative games, elaborate plots and characters played out on the bottom of the deep end. Completely unconscious of any audience, or even any world outside these four concrete walls and 20,000 gallons of blue, she acts out her fantasies, her dreams.
I'm glad she has this place where she feels so Right. I remember all too vividly the wrong-ness that dogs one during those early teen years. A place where one feels one truly belongs is so important. When I watch her dart and glide and dive, I think perhaps we will survive these next eight years without too much heartache. Perhaps here in the pool we will always be friends. Perhaps we can come out and swim together and all the argumentation and conflict will wash away, untangled and smooth...
check out the other bloggers just writing with Heather...
Sofia is almost ten. She stands poised, as all ten-year-olds do, on the brink of young woman-hood, awkwardly suspended between adult and child. Vacillating between the two, rarely perfectly comfortable in either world-- the grass always green on the other side of the proverbial fence.
But in the water she perfectly straddles those two worlds, my graceful water-girl-woman. She glides and swoops and twists, mistress of herself. She feels, I think, a little safer, a little private, here in the water. She goes back to her imaginative games, elaborate plots and characters played out on the bottom of the deep end. Completely unconscious of any audience, or even any world outside these four concrete walls and 20,000 gallons of blue, she acts out her fantasies, her dreams.
I'm glad she has this place where she feels so Right. I remember all too vividly the wrong-ness that dogs one during those early teen years. A place where one feels one truly belongs is so important. When I watch her dart and glide and dive, I think perhaps we will survive these next eight years without too much heartache. Perhaps here in the pool we will always be friends. Perhaps we can come out and swim together and all the argumentation and conflict will wash away, untangled and smooth...
check out the other bloggers just writing with Heather...
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Water Babies
(this is the first in a series of posts about my water babies. here's part two, part three and part four)
I'm sitting here on the deck watching my water babies swim....
I'm sitting here on the deck watching my water babies swim....
My children don't swim like others I've seen-- half afraid, excited screams, tentative forays into deeper water followed by squealing retreats to the steps. My children return each day to the pool as into the arms of a lover; or perhaps a world traveler, returning to the country of his birth-- here is their Familiar, this water is their First World.
All three of them were born in the water, their improbably small and impossibly-large-at-the-same-time bodies struggling out into the birthing pool. The harsh but necessary expulsion from their warm, wet cocoon softened, delayed, made more gradual, bearable, by this detour on their way Out. I had the joy of Pharoh's daughter as I Moses-ed each one up into my arms.
Welcome to the big dry world, my water child.
I think that those tiny seconds of delay between womb and world has left each of my children some sort of vestigial umbilicus to the world of the Deep.
When they get into the pool, they at first seperate- each to their own corner-- no loud shouts just yet, no games, no splashing. They dive, down down, they swerve and somersault and dart from side to side. Their returns earthside for quick sips of air are so fleeting, so seamless, I sometimes wonder if I'm really seeing it, are they actually stopping to breathe? Or have they somehow grown gills in the night? Are they breathing water, not air? Only the trail of bubbles, all I see of them as they dive down the deep end till they are merely shadows trailing the bottom...
...only the bubbles tell me there is human life in the pool.
I can see them, sometimes, under the water, eyes wide open, hair floating smooth and silky-- tangle-free for once, no longer daubed with peanut butter, dirt, paint, or any other myriad experiences of the day. Their moods seem to untangle in the water, too. They move oh-so gracefully, a slow languid swoop of arm or torso, or a whole body twists and turns in undulations, dolphin-like. The slow peaceful underwater movement of body somehow unraveling the cares of the Solid and the Dry.
Sunday, August 19, 2012
2012 Everyman Photo Contest
I'm entering again this year :) Remember that momentous year when I actually won an honorable mention??? So exciting :) Would you help me decide by voting now for you two favs? The categories are people/portrait, nature/landscape, black/white, macro/abstract, and travel/architecture. I think I'll either do two entries into people/portrait, or one there and one in nature/landscape. Thoughts? Keep in mind that this is a contest for amateurs and focuses on "capturing a moment", rather than on technical perfection. No post-production editing allowed, outside of adding a b/w filter or basic cropping.
I'm including the titles I intend to label them with-- titles are important in this contest, so feel free to comment on them as well :)
I think he likes me (I can't tell if there's red-eye problems with this one or not, does it show on your monitor?):
Comedy and Tragedy:
I need to choose ONE of these beach pics:
Looking out to sea:
St Augustine Beach Pier:
St Augustine Beach Pier 2:
Can't decide which of these is the best:
Helping Daddy 1:
Helping Daddy 2:
No Title Yet:
No Title Yet 2:
No Title Yet Here, Either:
I'm including the titles I intend to label them with-- titles are important in this contest, so feel free to comment on them as well :)
I think he likes me (I can't tell if there's red-eye problems with this one or not, does it show on your monitor?):
Comedy and Tragedy:
I need to choose ONE of these beach pics:
Looking out to sea:
St Augustine Beach Pier:
St Augustine Beach Pier 2:
Can't decide which of these is the best:
Helping Daddy 1:
Helping Daddy 2:
No Title Yet:
No Title Yet 2:
No Title Yet Here, Either:
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Some things from today...
I found an apple in my washer this morning. A whole apple. Or rather, the remains of a whole apple. It was rather... beat up. I took out all the clean, wet laundry and there was this apple rolling around in the bottom of the empty washer. As I wondered at it, I suddenly remembered an incident several days ago...
A clatter of the hamper lid, a thud, a wail from Jamie, "Aaaaapppuh!!"
At the time I'd simply stored it in the back of my mind as more pressing things claimed my attention, but now I stared at the ball of mush at the bottom of the washer and remembered.
The big kids wanted to play without Jamie this morning, so I brought him into the kitchen with me to make muffins. James is a very...er...enthusiastic Kitchen Helper. Afterwards I had to mop batter off the floor, counter, walls...etc....
We're swimming. Every time Jamie launches himself from the side, straight into the deep end, and swims to the steps (arms pressed back against his side, legs propeller-ing-- merman-like), head breaching the surface riiight before I jump in to rescue him, chest heaving, lungs sucking for air, grinning cheekily at worried mama and then racing off to the other side to do it again... it takes ten years off my life.
Jamie peed on me this morning and I haven't changed my pants yet, because it seems to be shaping up to be the kind of day where I probably will get peed on again before lunch.
They tell me that some day I will miss all this...
A clatter of the hamper lid, a thud, a wail from Jamie, "Aaaaapppuh!!"
At the time I'd simply stored it in the back of my mind as more pressing things claimed my attention, but now I stared at the ball of mush at the bottom of the washer and remembered.
The big kids wanted to play without Jamie this morning, so I brought him into the kitchen with me to make muffins. James is a very...er...enthusiastic Kitchen Helper. Afterwards I had to mop batter off the floor, counter, walls...etc....
We're swimming. Every time Jamie launches himself from the side, straight into the deep end, and swims to the steps (arms pressed back against his side, legs propeller-ing-- merman-like), head breaching the surface riiight before I jump in to rescue him, chest heaving, lungs sucking for air, grinning cheekily at worried mama and then racing off to the other side to do it again... it takes ten years off my life.
Jamie peed on me this morning and I haven't changed my pants yet, because it seems to be shaping up to be the kind of day where I probably will get peed on again before lunch.
They tell me that some day I will miss all this...
Monday, August 13, 2012
Jamie says "yes"
Jamie has never said the word "yes" before this week. He says "no!" loud and clear, but his term of ascent has always been a slow, deliberate and distinct "Uh. Huh."-- often accompanied by vigorous head-nodding. When he first began to respond to instruction with a "yes, ma'am", it usually came out more like "Uh hiiiyee, Mama" And when "yes, sir" began to be required, it was, "Uh hiiyeee, Mama, szzir"
But this week, for the first time, he said, "SZES!"
*sniff*
He's growing up.
But this week, for the first time, he said, "SZES!"
*sniff*
He's growing up.
Tuesday, August 7, 2012
Just Writing
When you lose something very dear to you-- a person, an idea, a place, an experience, a faith-- it leaves behind (even after "healing) a narrow, deep chasm that you occasionally fall back into. There's no predicting what might precipitate this. A song, a smell, and turn of phrase, an email, a glimpse of someone you think you know in a crowded mall.... Perhaps even simply a quiet evening where your mind, free for the moment from more pressing and immediate concerns, turns a little aside from the daily routines and begins to wander down unfamiliar paths. And then suddenly you find yourself back There. And you feel the ground drop from under your feet and the memories, despair, disappointment come crowding back and the security of daily life and comforts seems hollow, false. And there you are, fingertips clutching at the brink, James Bond-esque.
You might just hang there for a moment, fingers scrabbling at the edge for the solid ground you know was there just a moment ago. You might breathe deeply, smelling the familiar smells of bed and home. You might slowly get a hand, then an elbow-- one, then the other-- up onto your church, your friends, your husband, your beautiful children, the things you still have-- the More, the Now. Now you're on your hands and knees, looking back. Danger passed. You stand up, shake yourself off, square your shoulders, smile, call someone, write an email or a blog post and on you go.
By God's Grace.
Finish the race.
check out the other bloggers just writing with Heather...
You might just hang there for a moment, fingers scrabbling at the edge for the solid ground you know was there just a moment ago. You might breathe deeply, smelling the familiar smells of bed and home. You might slowly get a hand, then an elbow-- one, then the other-- up onto your church, your friends, your husband, your beautiful children, the things you still have-- the More, the Now. Now you're on your hands and knees, looking back. Danger passed. You stand up, shake yourself off, square your shoulders, smile, call someone, write an email or a blog post and on you go.
By God's Grace.
Finish the race.
check out the other bloggers just writing with Heather...
Sunday, August 5, 2012
Conversation with Jamie
Watching Judah give me a giant hug and then run off, Jamie gives a little grin, "Whheeeet"
"Sweet? Is Judah sweet?"
"Uh huh. Duh-duh whheet." More grins. "Mommy whheet, too?"
Awww.
"Mommy sweet, huh? Is Jamie sweet, too?"
"NO." Shakes head emphatically. "No enny whheet, too!"
"Sweet? Is Judah sweet?"
"Uh huh. Duh-duh whheet." More grins. "Mommy whheet, too?"
Awww.
"Mommy sweet, huh? Is Jamie sweet, too?"
"NO." Shakes head emphatically. "No enny whheet, too!"
Saturday, August 4, 2012
My morning started with poop and just went downhill from there.
Jamie came into our room at 6:20 yelling "Boh-Boh!!!" which means "potty". J, in a sleep-haze, pulled off the diaper and set him on the baby potty. Responding to Jamie's call, "Oook, Mama!! Oook!" I went to "ook" and discovered that he'd been poopy already and now his entire lower body and the whole baby potty was covered in poop. I threw him in the shower, wiped down the potty and went to get him a bottle of milk.
It was a foreshadowing of things to come.
In between my first cup of coffee and the time I actually sat down to eat my egg, Jamie dumped out the remains of a bag of quinoa all over the kitchen floor. And proceeded to track it all. over. the. house. while I frantically chased him around with a vacuum. While I was vacuuming up the worst of the mess (kitchen), he came running in yelling "Boh-boh!!" again.
"Oh Jamie, you're already wet, see?" (un-snapping the sides of the pull-up and taking it off) "See right here? "You tinkled in the pull-up" (holding the pull-up up in the air so he can see it)
Plop.
Whaaa???
Uhoh.
More poop. ON my foot. And the floor. And Jamie.
"Maaaamaaaa!!!!!!"
Judah.
"Maaaaamaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I CAN'T get the vacuum to go AROUND dis corner!! MAAAAMAAAAA! I NEED YOU!"
"Now is not a good time, Judah. There's poop everywhere!"
Cleaned up the poop, finished vacuuming the quinoa, helped Judah move the vacuum around the corner, started Sofi on her chores and sat down to finally eat breakfast. 9:30 am.
That is my Saturday so far. Surely we can only go up from here... Surely?
Jamie came into our room at 6:20 yelling "Boh-Boh!!!" which means "potty". J, in a sleep-haze, pulled off the diaper and set him on the baby potty. Responding to Jamie's call, "Oook, Mama!! Oook!" I went to "ook" and discovered that he'd been poopy already and now his entire lower body and the whole baby potty was covered in poop. I threw him in the shower, wiped down the potty and went to get him a bottle of milk.
It was a foreshadowing of things to come.
In between my first cup of coffee and the time I actually sat down to eat my egg, Jamie dumped out the remains of a bag of quinoa all over the kitchen floor. And proceeded to track it all. over. the. house. while I frantically chased him around with a vacuum. While I was vacuuming up the worst of the mess (kitchen), he came running in yelling "Boh-boh!!" again.
"Oh Jamie, you're already wet, see?" (un-snapping the sides of the pull-up and taking it off) "See right here? "You tinkled in the pull-up" (holding the pull-up up in the air so he can see it)
Plop.
Whaaa???
Uhoh.
More poop. ON my foot. And the floor. And Jamie.
"Maaaamaaaa!!!!!!"
Judah.
"Maaaaamaaaaaaaaaaaaa! I CAN'T get the vacuum to go AROUND dis corner!! MAAAAMAAAAA! I NEED YOU!"
"Now is not a good time, Judah. There's poop everywhere!"
Cleaned up the poop, finished vacuuming the quinoa, helped Judah move the vacuum around the corner, started Sofi on her chores and sat down to finally eat breakfast. 9:30 am.
That is my Saturday so far. Surely we can only go up from here... Surely?
Friday, August 3, 2012
Being his mother.
I am a fast person. I move quickly. I move a lot. I talk fast. I think fast-- sometimes around in circles, usually out loud (which can get me in trouble), never very clearly-- but FAST. I flit from task to task, keeping all my balls in the air, keeping the plates spinning. It's who I am. It's what I do.
Sofi is like me. She's always on the move, too. She talks fast, moves fast, constantly looking for the next thing. And we ALL know about Jamie... Right?
And then there's Judah.
Judah is not fast. Judah is Slooooooooooooow. Judah is focused. Judah is obsessive. Judah moves slowly. Judah listens very slowly. Judah talks. very. slowly. Judah thinks deepdeep inside his head and the words take a long. long. time to percolate to the surface. Judah is like a aircraft carrier. Full steam ahead is powerful and effective, but God forbid you try to take a tight turn in one. Maneuverability is not his strong point.
Judah needs predictability. He needs stability. He needs lots of time at home to play and dream and make up stories. He needs me to sit for longlong minutes and listen to his stories. He needs lots of time to sit on my lap, roll his head around on my chest and flail his feet against my shins and burrow his nose into my shoulder and tell me his stories and all the rules to his games and the myriad levels of the "New Judah Plants Versus Zombies Game."
I can give Sofi a list of four tasks, send her off and check back on her later. I can even tell Jamie to "go get a diaper and bring it to Mommy" and he will. If I tell Judah, "Here, take your flip-flops and put them on," five minutes later he'll be sitting on the bedroom floor staring at the ceiling and inventing a new zombie-eating plant made out of flip-flops. "It flip-flops at the zombies, Mama, and den they flopflopflop and they die!"
There are some days (like today, hence this post) when I'm trying to make bread and cinnamon buns for a new neighbor, dress and feed breakfast, get J out the door with a lunch, clean the kitchen and leave for the gym by 9:30. I'm breaking up fights, handing out stickers, mopping up pee (and mopping up pee, and moppinguppeeandmoppinguppeeand...). I'm breaking up more fights. Then I'm sending fighting children outside. And then I'm running out the door to break up more serious fights and then...
I finally realize.
It's not going to happen.
He's fighting with everyone and whining and babytalking because I'm moving too fast. It's too crazy. He can't cope. I'm losing him.
So I have to stop. Give up on the gym. Cuddle that annoying, loveable, precious, obnoxious, tear-stained, dirt-streaked face. I have to look into his eyes, wait for him, listen to him.
Slow. Down.
Some days it's nearly impossible. And I know, too, that he won't always be in the care of someone who's willing to do this for him. Somehow he has to learn to keep up. Somehow my parenting has to transition him from this to something approaching a normal pace of life. My prayer is that it will come with age and maturity. In the meantime, I may not get to the gym very often.
I don't know how else to be his mother.
Sofi is like me. She's always on the move, too. She talks fast, moves fast, constantly looking for the next thing. And we ALL know about Jamie... Right?
And then there's Judah.
Judah is not fast. Judah is Slooooooooooooow. Judah is focused. Judah is obsessive. Judah moves slowly. Judah listens very slowly. Judah talks. very. slowly. Judah thinks deepdeep inside his head and the words take a long. long. time to percolate to the surface. Judah is like a aircraft carrier. Full steam ahead is powerful and effective, but God forbid you try to take a tight turn in one. Maneuverability is not his strong point.
Judah needs predictability. He needs stability. He needs lots of time at home to play and dream and make up stories. He needs me to sit for longlong minutes and listen to his stories. He needs lots of time to sit on my lap, roll his head around on my chest and flail his feet against my shins and burrow his nose into my shoulder and tell me his stories and all the rules to his games and the myriad levels of the "New Judah Plants Versus Zombies Game."
I can give Sofi a list of four tasks, send her off and check back on her later. I can even tell Jamie to "go get a diaper and bring it to Mommy" and he will. If I tell Judah, "Here, take your flip-flops and put them on," five minutes later he'll be sitting on the bedroom floor staring at the ceiling and inventing a new zombie-eating plant made out of flip-flops. "It flip-flops at the zombies, Mama, and den they flopflopflop and they die!"
There are some days (like today, hence this post) when I'm trying to make bread and cinnamon buns for a new neighbor, dress and feed breakfast, get J out the door with a lunch, clean the kitchen and leave for the gym by 9:30. I'm breaking up fights, handing out stickers, mopping up pee (and mopping up pee, and moppinguppeeandmoppinguppeeand...). I'm breaking up more fights. Then I'm sending fighting children outside. And then I'm running out the door to break up more serious fights and then...
I finally realize.
It's not going to happen.
He's fighting with everyone and whining and babytalking because I'm moving too fast. It's too crazy. He can't cope. I'm losing him.
So I have to stop. Give up on the gym. Cuddle that annoying, loveable, precious, obnoxious, tear-stained, dirt-streaked face. I have to look into his eyes, wait for him, listen to him.
Slow. Down.
Some days it's nearly impossible. And I know, too, that he won't always be in the care of someone who's willing to do this for him. Somehow he has to learn to keep up. Somehow my parenting has to transition him from this to something approaching a normal pace of life. My prayer is that it will come with age and maturity. In the meantime, I may not get to the gym very often.
I don't know how else to be his mother.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Seven Scenes
SCENE ONE
(Pounding on the door accompanied by shouts offstage of "Help, Mama! Open the door!!!" from the child recently sent on a mail errand. Door is wrenched open to reveal said child standing in a maelstrom of junk mail (or rather, make that mail-strom, right? right?) while further tattered pages waft around the yard and up and down the street. Child tosses armful of still more junk mail through the door into what turns out later to be puddle of pee in the hallway and runs to street to retrieve runaway pages. Naked-from-the-waist-down toddler escapes streaker-style into the yard yelling)
Naked Toddler: "Meeee Tooooo!!!!!!!"
SCENE TWO
(Shirtless child, balanced on the back of the couch, cup in hand. He slings it repeatedly in a broad, milk-spewing arc while laughing uproariously. His confused response to discipline causes us to realize that he had no idea that milk was actually coming out. Flashback to first five minutes of dinner in which he knocks his cup over twice and also snorts tea out of his nose once.)
SCENE THREE
"Hep me, Mama?"
SCENE FOUR
(Suspiciously shiny footprints lead from upside-down butter stick wrapper to All. Of. The Everywhere. Forever. Milk-spilling-tea-snorter responsible. Again)
SCENE FIVE
(Mother rushing to rescue screaming child applies too-swift discipline to seat of (it turns out) innocently helpful pants...)
Screaming Child
"Buh-buh-buuuuut Maaaaahahahamaaaa! I was tryin' to HELP him get out!"
Mother
"Weren't you pushing that chair over in front of him to trap him in there??"
Screaming Child
"Nohohooooooo! I was tryin' to pull it outta the WAAAAAAAAYYYYEEEEEEEE so he could get OUUUUUUUUUT!"
(Apologies, hugs, reconciliation ensue)
SCENE SIX
(Dinner)
You know you want this recipe, right??? Say it with me now..)
Readers
SCENE SEVEN
(Exhausted and brain-dead adults collapsed on couch, wine glasses in hand, staring at the walls. Peaceful, bed-time-ish musics swells as the lights fade and the curtain falls.)
Tuesday, July 31, 2012
Ten Things
1) I have 900 posts on this blog. I've been blogging for five years-- next month is my five year blogiversary.
2) The heat index today is 109 and the pool pump is broken and we can't swim because the water is looking grody after five days without a pump.
3) I have begun writing and then trashed about ten posts in the last two months. I have lost my mojo.
4) Sofi is starting fifth grade in two weeks. I have a fifth grader. I occasionally pinch myself to see if this is real. So far, it is.
5) We have lived here two years now. I still miss my friends and family back Home. Every day. Some days more than others. Blogging about this sometimes helps, but also feels like hurting my friends here-- which I do have. Friends here, I mean. Good ones, too. Just not the same ones.
6) Judah is turning out to be a superb artist. He invents and draws Angry Birds games. He has inherited his parents' tendency to obsess over stuff. There are pages covered with Angry Birds all over the floors of my house.
7) My sister is getting married at Thanksgiving. It will be the first sibling wedding that I won't be able to be there to help with flowers and music and food and everything... See # 5 above.
8) Jamie has, despite all my attempts to dissuade him, decided that he's ready to potty train on the first week J goes back to work. He is, essentially, potty-training ME. We are buying the standard issue ten-pack of Superhero Undies at Walmart today.
9) I have to go to Walmart today. This is how I feel about Walmart:
Needless to say, I am not thrilled about my afternoon.
10) You know how lame my workout was today? I'll tell you how lame it was. I spent thirty minutes on an ELLIPTICAL and watched Olympics swimming. Seriously. Lame.
2) The heat index today is 109 and the pool pump is broken and we can't swim because the water is looking grody after five days without a pump.
3) I have begun writing and then trashed about ten posts in the last two months. I have lost my mojo.
4) Sofi is starting fifth grade in two weeks. I have a fifth grader. I occasionally pinch myself to see if this is real. So far, it is.
5) We have lived here two years now. I still miss my friends and family back Home. Every day. Some days more than others. Blogging about this sometimes helps, but also feels like hurting my friends here-- which I do have. Friends here, I mean. Good ones, too. Just not the same ones.
6) Judah is turning out to be a superb artist. He invents and draws Angry Birds games. He has inherited his parents' tendency to obsess over stuff. There are pages covered with Angry Birds all over the floors of my house.
7) My sister is getting married at Thanksgiving. It will be the first sibling wedding that I won't be able to be there to help with flowers and music and food and everything... See # 5 above.
8) Jamie has, despite all my attempts to dissuade him, decided that he's ready to potty train on the first week J goes back to work. He is, essentially, potty-training ME. We are buying the standard issue ten-pack of Superhero Undies at Walmart today.
9) I have to go to Walmart today. This is how I feel about Walmart:
Needless to say, I am not thrilled about my afternoon.
10) You know how lame my workout was today? I'll tell you how lame it was. I spent thirty minutes on an ELLIPTICAL and watched Olympics swimming. Seriously. Lame.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Dear Doctor,
You may think that projecting an air of confidence inspires trust in your patients. This is likely true. But when you combine that air of overweening confidence with an emphatic statement that my concerns are completely misplaced and that you have "never heard of such a thing", trust is not inspired. Quite the reverse.
In fact, upon returning home and re-visiting the studies that I referenced in our conversation, finding that they are not, after all, "tiny little, irrelevant studies" (as opposed to "major studies done with actual control groups and published by ACOG"), but are rather significant exploratory research being done to test the advisability of prescribing this medication to someone with my condition and published by The Journal of Clinical Endocrinology... well then, at that point I may start to doubt your competence. If you would like me to consider you as an adequate care provider for someone with this condition, you might want to consider staying "up" on the latest research. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to simply listen respectfully to my layman's rundown of the topic and get back to me later. After you read it, too.
Sincerely,
A Former Patient
You may think that projecting an air of confidence inspires trust in your patients. This is likely true. But when you combine that air of overweening confidence with an emphatic statement that my concerns are completely misplaced and that you have "never heard of such a thing", trust is not inspired. Quite the reverse.
In fact, upon returning home and re-visiting the studies that I referenced in our conversation, finding that they are not, after all, "tiny little, irrelevant studies" (as opposed to "major studies done with actual control groups and published by ACOG"), but are rather significant exploratory research being done to test the advisability of prescribing this medication to someone with my condition and published by The Journal of Clinical Endocrinology... well then, at that point I may start to doubt your competence. If you would like me to consider you as an adequate care provider for someone with this condition, you might want to consider staying "up" on the latest research. Unless, of course, you'd prefer to simply listen respectfully to my layman's rundown of the topic and get back to me later. After you read it, too.
Sincerely,
A Former Patient
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Jamie versus Judah
I know we've mentioned many times how different Jamie is from our other two children. But in today's post I give you a video representation of this reality.
Judah, circa 2009, at 20 months old.
And now, Classic Jamie. Circa this morning. 22 months old.
Full of beans, that one.
Judah, circa 2009, at 20 months old.
And now, Classic Jamie. Circa this morning. 22 months old.
Full of beans, that one.
Monday, July 16, 2012
Downey Park: 2012
You might remember this place from our first summer here in Orlando... But we had a different baby back then :)
Hard to believe how much he's grown since we left VA!!
And now THIS one is our baby :)
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Publish it quickly before you get self-concious about the completely narcissistic randomness of this post.
I have a laptop again. Due to the generosity of a friend, I have a "new" laptop. I can sit on the deck while the children play and swim and write again.
It feels good.
My mind has gotten constipated over the last few months of not writing. I may have forgotten how to let my thoughts flow out through my fingertips into the keyboard. I've gotten a little shy of the process of externalizing all the Me inside me.
But the pressure just builds up and something's got to give. I have to write-- to let the words spill out until the storm in my brain subsides and I can think clearly again.
As if I ever think clearly... :P
It feels good.
My mind has gotten constipated over the last few months of not writing. I may have forgotten how to let my thoughts flow out through my fingertips into the keyboard. I've gotten a little shy of the process of externalizing all the Me inside me.
But the pressure just builds up and something's got to give. I have to write-- to let the words spill out until the storm in my brain subsides and I can think clearly again.
As if I ever think clearly... :P
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Jamie's Words: update
"Nilp!" (milk)
"Weeewhat" (yogurt)
"Momee cahcoo" (Mommy's coffee)
"Whabweee" (strawberry-- one of his first signs, now voluntarily replaced with the real word. *sniffsniff* my baby's growing up!)
"Weeewhat" (yogurt)
"Momee cahcoo" (Mommy's coffee)
"Whabweee" (strawberry-- one of his first signs, now voluntarily replaced with the real word. *sniffsniff* my baby's growing up!)
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