Disappointment, Truth, And Chocolate Cake

October 6, 2014 / Julie / 1 Comment

Is it Monday yet?

Because I’m really, really done with last week. With the last fortnight, actually. (“Fortnight” – let’s bring back that word. Isn’t it delightful?)

In the last fortnight the members of our household have suffered: a (thankfully, minor) car accident, a decently bad fall, a fever, a mild stomach bug, an ear infection, a glass shattering high enough up that we needed to clean a fine dust of glass off half the kitchen, two thwarted birthday celebrations before we hit upon a successful one, enough internet connectivity issues to make me somewhat concerned for my mental health, and a pickle juice spill in the refrigerator. (You might think that last one’s silly, but you didn’t have to clean out the refrigerator.)

Lesson: Steer clear of our family right now. You don’t want to be standing next to us when whatever’s-coming-next happens.

Folded into that litany of woes were two great disappointments for yours truly: First, due to my boy’s little stomach bug, I had to miss Jen Fulwiler’s talk at the Catholic Information Center in DC. And second, what “should” have been a nice evening of board meeting/reception/birthday dinner/walk by the water/maybe-even-ice-cream turned into a sad, stressful, embarrassing couple of hours of trying to distract my boy from the intense pain in his ears. And stop him screaming. (Poor boy – he suffered all those ailments in the span of three days.)

However, as disappointments sometimes do, these gems helped me recognize a few truths:

1) It’s not so awful to miss out on a good thing when you do so for the sake of someone you love. I’m definitely an angsty, crying-over-spilled-milk type of person by nature, so I surprised myself a little last Monday evening when I wasn’t a whiny, resentful mess over missing Jen’s talk. In fact, once the decision to stay home was made, I relaxed. I gained some clarity. I left my dress laid out on the bed and took my freshly-made-up face downstairs to spend some time with my sickly boy. We snuggled on the sofa and read his brother’s new books. I don’t do that often enough – just sit with him on the sofa to read. It was a lovely silver lining to our disappointing change of plans and it felt so right and so good.

2) Small children don’t care as much about plans as grown-ups do. My middle son turned three last week. Because we had a commitment the evening of his birthday, I made a few days’ worth of birthday plans so we could fit in everything I thought necessary to “properly” celebrate the occasion. Then most everything went wrong.

On Sunday, when we were to have our birthday dinner as a family – spaghetti and “wochate cake”* and presents and all – our oldest son and Brennan’s mother were both unwell. They ended up half-way joining us for the meal, present but not entirely so. Most of the birthday boy’s gifts (all but the bedtime books) were put off for another day. We sang “Happy Birthday” tired and deflated and sad about the unwell grandma and the glassy-eyed, red-cheeked, somber little boy who just needed to go to bed. We ate just a little bit of cake.

When they don't eat their cake, you know they're sick.

You’ve got to be sick when you won’t eat your cake.

On Tuesday (the actual birthday), we were due to head to Annapolis. I was to attend a board meeting while Brennan watched the boys, then we were all to attend an informal little reception. Afterward we planned to walk toward the water for a pizza dinner, maybe some ice cream. But as soon as we arrived, (though he’d seemed perfectly fine all day) my oldest son mentioned that his ear hurt.

Soon, that little off-hand comment turned into full-on wailing. The poor child couldn’t stop moving; he seemed to be trying to walk away from the pain. He wandered around, screaming. “My ear huuurts! I want Daaaddy!” (Daddy had gone to the drug store for some Children’s Advil.) “I want to go hooome!” (Please understand that this might be the first time in his life that this child has ever uttered those words. Our little social butterfly would usually rather be anywhere but home.) I tried to help. I sat on some steps and tried to hold him, to comfort him, but he was beyond comforting. All he wanted from me was pain relief, but until Daddy arrived, I couldn’t provide any.

But the birthday boy? (Getting back to my point now – promise.) He was fine. I could wish that he’d had enough empathy to be concerned about his brother’s plight, but I’m really just glad he was fine. He followed us around wherever we walked, singing and performing and pretending that a formal little flourish to the concrete steps was a trophy he’d won racing back and forth across the lawn. He showed me how fast he could go. He threw himself down on the ground and rolled in the grass. He ate a little cupcake.

He didn’t care that we’d driven so far for a couple of hours of confusion and concern and wailing. He didn’t care that we never got the pizza or walked along the docks or ate the ice cream. He was fine with pretending to be a race car. He was fine with the mini cupcake. He was fine with the chicken tenders he ate on the way home. He was fine with the frazzled, grumpy parents on his birthday evening. He’d been fine, too, with his sad little birthday meal on Sunday night. He was fine.

The plans, as it turned out, were for me, not him. He had people who loved him and wished him a happy birthday. He had a couple of presents. He had a “wochate”* cake. He was a perfectly happy little boy.

*(When I’d asked him what kind of cake he wanted for his birthday, he answered, “wochate.” “A rocket cake?” I asked. “No, not wocket, wochate.” (They sound the same.) “Oh, you want a chocolate cake? We can do that! But what do you want it to look like?” “Wochate,” he repeated, “wiff eminems.”)

I obliged.

3) As hard as you try, as well as you mean, as much as you plan, sometimes taking your children out into the world is going to go horribly. I’m a very stubborn person. I tend to think I can just force something into place. I tend to think that if I’ve thought something through and tried very, very hard to achieve it, I will. And even though I know theoretically that everything can fall apart for reasons outside of my control, I really don’t expect them to.

So it’s not like I went into Tuesday’s meeting/reception/dinner plans thing on a whim. I usually don’t take my children with me to such events. (Or the mobile children, at least; I routinely bring my infants to meetings.) I’d arranged to have my husband meet me there to watch our boys during the meeting. I knew he’d enjoy chatting with some of the people at the reception anyway. I knew we’d be at a location where the boys could run and play with some freedom. I knew that my boys enjoy being around new people and that they’re generally well-behaved in public. I knew that we’d only be at the reception (i.e. my little people in the same space as all the grown-ups) for about an hour before we walked into the land of pizza and ice cream and water viewing. We weren’t there because of a thoughtless, “Hey, I want to do this thing! Let’s bring everybody, regardless of temperaments/accommodations/situation!” I’d thought it through.

But it didn’t matter! Just as small children don’t care about plans, neither do ear infections. My poor boy was caught unawares by a sudden onslaught of pain, and so were we.

I wish I could tell you that when my child was wandering around that beautiful place, wailing his sad little head off, he was my only concern. But he wasn’t. Though I felt horrible for him and hated how helpless I felt not being able to make him feel better, I was concerned about the other people at the reception too. I felt badly about our family creating such a distraction. I was embarrassed. (What a cliché we must have seemed: harried parents chasing after screaming children!) I was frustrated that I couldn’t force this situation back into place.

Just keep thinking about the cake.

This must sound like another cliché, but I feel like I learn something new from this motherhood gig all the time. And even when the something isn’t entirely new, it becomes more present in my mind or more relevant than I’d previously considered. So it was during this (wonderful! terrific! ha!) past fortnight. And like so much of what I learn, this fortnight’s truths can be boiled down to one simple message:

“Chill, Julie.”

This Child

September 30, 2014 / Julie / 1 Comment

This child… oh, this child. He is passionate, he is fierce. He loves aggressively. He’s my most attached, the one who tries to burrow himself right into me.

He has a twinkle in his eye and a grimace in his grin. He barrels. He has strong arms and tight fists.

He’s agile. He’s fast. He’s cautious. He covers his face when we sing “Happy Birthday” to him. He clings to me when we go somewhere new.

He’s even-tempered for a long ways, but will suddenly explode with emotion. He’s sensitive. He’s a little bit wicked. He forgives easily. He shows mercy and he seeks it.

He loves, he loves, he loves.

And oh, how we love him back. How thankful we are for that evening, three years ago today, when he fought his way into our arms.

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What To Do With An Annoying Husband

September 8, 2014 / Julie / 5 Comments

I went to my cousin’s bridal shower on Saturday. (Congratulations, Jaime!)

In my typical fashion, I did that thing where I get all excited about making something fancy for a special party, so I overestimate my abilities and I underestimate the time needed to pull it off. Accordingly, I spent a flustered Saturday running around like a madwoman, trying to fit in all the normal stuff, plus grocery shopping, making myself presentable for the party, and constructing 48 beautiful little tartlets filled with feta/spinach/pine nuts and tapenade/artichoke/pancetta/parmesan/arugula. (Yum.)

No time for an artfully-arranged photo before serving the tartlets: these babies are leftovers.

The boys were bouncing off the walls, my husband was managing them, and both he and my mother-in-law were enlisted to help me with the food. I was scurrying around, so consumed with the tasks at hand that I hardly made eye contact with anybody. (Because who has time for eye contact when you have stuff! to! get! done!?) I’m sure I was a peach.

Somehow, I got everything mostly put together and (thunderstorm notwithstanding) arrived at the shower a mere 20 minutes late.

But that’s beside the point. (And I promise I have one.)

At the shower, there were these notecards on which guests were asked to write messages to the bride. You might be familiar with the idea: on the envelope, the guest writes an event in the bride’s future and on the card, she writes a message for the bride to read when the event comes to pass. (Incidentally, when they did the same activity at my bridal shower, a bunch of the envelopes read “When you have your first daughter.”)

Ha.

Anyway, on to my point.

On my envelope, I wrote, “When you get annoyed with your husband.”

Now, I certainly don’t think I’m the ideal person to be giving marriage advice. Brennan and I have only been married for five years. And ours is probably not the marriage most starry-eyed engaged couples are dreaming of: We’re not all that romantic. We’re probably pretty boring, even.

But we work. We’re content. We’re happy. And we’re getting better at our marriage every year.

A significant reason for this, I think, is that seemingly small thing: how we deal with being annoyed with one another.

When we were first married, all of my husband’s little idiosyncrasies drove me nuts. The dirty dishes on the counter, the socks on the floor, the cabinet doors left wide open, his absolute conviction that he is always right. And I could tell that he was annoyed with me too: my OCD tendencies, my procrastination, my perfectionism, that little sticking noise I make in my throat when I breathe.

So for the first several months of our marriage, there was this cloud of gloom hanging over many of our interactions. I was annoyed. He was annoyed. Sometimes it was all I could think about. Why did he spread those things across the kitchen counter? Doesn’t he realize I just spent an hour cleaning it off? He’s so inconsiderate! He doesn’t even notice that this bothers me! He wouldn’t care anyway! He must not love me! Waaaahhh!

(In my defense, I was pregnant at the time.)

Ultimately, the gloom built to the point where I couldn’t take it any longer. Our annoyances had left us each feeling self-righteous. And my annoyance with his annoyance with me (got that?) left me feeling hurt. So I prayed about it. And we talked it through. We realized that we needed to stop letting ourselves become so annoyed. After all, when we’re annoyed by something another person does, the other person isn’t the only one responsible for the situation. We’re responsible too. We have a say in what we let get to us.

Over time, we have decided to choose our relationship over our individual selves. We’ve decided to remind ourselves that annoyance can build on itself, growing into something darker and more damaging. And we’ve decided to recognize that words said in annoyance, frustration, and anger can act as chisels, chipping away at a marriage, bit by (seemingly insignificant) bit.

Now every time Brennan does something that gets to me — every time I feel that hot, prickly annoyance welling up in my chest — I ask myself which is more important to me: my relationship with my husband or my own feeling of being wronged. I no longer find it acceptable to dwell on the situation; I’ve got to either deal with it head-on or walk away. I can find a kind and constructive way to ask that Brennan do something differently, or I can stop letting that something bother me.

And it goes the other way too. There was a time when a day like Saturday — a day in which I’m running around like crazy, trying to do too much — would have really bothered my husband. Maybe it bothered him yet; I’m sure I was indeed pretty annoying to be around. But there was no palpable tension over it: he was so kind. There was simply him, stepping back or stepping in as needed and me, quietly pushing to get it all done.

I now try, and I think Brennan does too, to react, to act, to think, in ways that will build up my marriage. What a difference this has made. For all the talk of honeymoon periods, my husband and I are far more happy and relaxed in our marriage now than we were back then. I hope that Jaime and Dustin — and other engaged couples — will be able to say the same.

So, what to do with an annoying husband? Love him. Be kind to him. You’ll never regret those responses. And hopefully your love and kindness will encourage your husband to respond just as charitably to his annoying wife.

P.S. I know, I know, I know I made a little pledge to post every other day for the next two weeks. But I’m making a small adjustment to the thing. Rather than every other day precisely, I’m doing seven posts in fourteen days. Given my propensity to fall asleep at the computer, I’ve got to be somewhat flexible with deadlines. (And though I missed posting on Sunday, I’ve already written three posts in the first four days. So that’s not bad!)

The World, My World, And Edel: 7 Quick Takes (Vol. 30)

July 19, 2014 / Julie / 8 Comments

This has most definitely been one of those weeks when the world seems to be just thick with things to think on – immigrant children pouring over our southern border, religious freedom under attack in the Senate, Iraqi Christians fleeing the terror of ISIS, another round of murders and attacks in Israel and Gaza, more killings by Boko Haram, Thursday’s downing of the Malaysia Airlines passenger jet…

And here I find myself, pacing through my home, cooking and feeding and nursing and picking up toys, those events and those people heavy on my mind. I would so love to lose myself at the computer, attempting to make sense of it all by piecing together words in just the right way.

But this week – perhaps because of my anniversary, now that I think of it – I’ve felt the pull of my own little world more strongly. I’ve felt the weight of my responsibilities to my home and my husband and my boys. So in lieu of a few involved (and perhaps self-indulgent) posts on The Worries Of The World, allow me to share with you a collection of things I’ve been thinking about this week:

—1—

Immigration

Oh so much has already been said about those kids trying so hard to get into our country. I hope to flesh out my thoughts on this particular situation sometime soon, but for now I’d just like to point you to a post I wrote last year on immigration reform, generally.

Here are the bullet points from my post: People have always moved. People deserve a chance to protect and provide for themselves and their families. Things change. Laws change. Families matter. Skills matter. The labor market doesn’t lie. Long borders will never be 100% secure. We should encourage immigrants to invest themselves in this country.

I hope you’ll take a few minutes to click over and read what I mean by those points.

—2—

Religious Freedom

There was a great discussion in the comments section of my post from a couple of weeks ago on religious freedom. I love that people were willing to ask honest, challenging questions and dialog in such a smart, respectful way. I know that comboxes have a horrible reputation, but, idealist that I am, the fantasy of discussions like that one drew me into blogging. Keep it up, people! You made me very happy.

—3—

Betterment and Expectations

Speaking of blogging, I’m honored to have been invited to participate in a little “blog hop” hosted by Amy of Go Forth And Mother. Amy has just kicked off a year-long life betterment project called “The Happy Wife Project.” To get things going, she’s asked ten bloggers to post about their expectations of motherhood… and how reality stacked up.

I’m excited to be one of the participants, because really, how fun is it to get to do something alongside these great ladies? But also because I’m intrigued by Amy’s project. Since becoming a stay-at-home mother, and especially since moving into this, our “forever” house, I’ve thought a lot on how I go about my daily work and how it – and the state of my household, and interactions with my family members, and any number of other things – impacts my sense of happiness and well-being. I know that being more purposeful about such things would bring more peace into my life. So I look forward to seeing what Amy shares and I hope the project will inspire me to make the right changes in my own life.

‘Till then, here are the participants and the schedule for The Happy Wife Project’s Expectations vs. Reality Blog Hop:

July 21 – Amy @ Go Forth and Mother
July 22 – Julie @ These Walls
July 23 – Kelly @ This Ain’t the Lyceum
July 24 – Sarah @ Fumbling Toward Grace
July 25 – Nichole @ Yackity Shmackity
July 26 – Colleen @ Martin Family Moments
July 27 – Lindsay @ Lindsay Sews
July 28 – Olivia @ To the Heights
July 29 – Ana @ Time Flies When You’re Having Babies
July 30 – Jamie Jo @ Make Me a Saint
July 31 – Michele @ My Domestic Monastery

I hope you’ll stop by here next week for my contribution and then “hop” on over to the others for theirs.

—4—

This One and Love

You know how women describe an incredible rush of all-consuming love when they have a baby? How they say things like, “I feel like I’ve known you forever” to their newborns? Well, I’ve started much smaller than that with each of mine. There has, of course, been love from the outset. But it’s been meek, awed, a little hesitant. I tend to ask, “Who are you?” to my new babies.

But my love grows. Each day, I love each of my boys more than I did the day before. And in some seasons, my love for them grows by leaps and bounds in just short stretches of time. So it is right now with this one. His smiles, his little fist grabbing onto my shirt, my growing comfort with how his shape fits in my arms… I am really feeling the love for this one this week.

—5—

This One and Mercy

This beautiful little guy here – he’s got something of the stinker in him. He has that wicked little gleam in his eye, you know? To a point, he’s impervious to our corrections: he grimaces or grunts or laughs when we tell him not to do something. But past that point (and it can be hard to tell where it is – all I can guess is that there’s something about the tone of our voice) – he loses it. He is suddenly and deeply hurt/embarrassed/remorseful. He starts wailing and flings himself at us, clinging and gasping and looking so terribly pathetic.

After he’d done this a few times, it struck me: the boy is looking for mercy. His eyes become super wide as they search yours, pleading for it. So I give mercy: I hold him tight and assure him that I love him. I wait for him to calm down and I talk through his correction. Then I hug him again and send him on his way.

The situation has really gotten me to think on mercy. I think about it terms of my boys, but also about other people in my life, about times I’ve needed it myself, and about conflicts throughout the world in which people would surely benefit from it.

—6—

This One and Time

This one in orange, that is.

The other day I had a big grocery trip to undertake and I dreaded the logistics: how was I to fit two preschoolers, an infant, and loads of food and household goods into one cart? So I took a little gamble: I let my four-year-old push the baby in the stroller while I pushed his two-year-old brother in the grocery cart.

And you know what? It was wonderful. Everybody was happy and (mostly) well-behaved and all of our purchases had somewhere to go. When we got home, my big boy even helped me unload the car. (Happily! Without being asked!) My sometimes dramatic, frequently challenging four-year-old made my day easier. And a shopping trip I had dreaded became one that I enjoyed.

It was yet another reminder of just how big and grown-up my little boy is becoming and what a neat kid he really is.

With three very small children to care for and a household to manage, I don’t spend much time trying to get to know my kids. But I should. I should remember, in the midst of the cooking and the diapering and the correcting and the stepping over toys, to appreciate my boys for the individuals they are. I should take the time to get to know their little-kid personalities and preferences and talents and to become excited for the big-kid ones that are coming next. Thanks for reminding me, Big Man.

—7—

The Edel Gathering

One week from today, I’ll be in Austin for The Edel Gathering! I’m super excited to get the opportunity to meet so many great women, including most of my favorite bloggers. And I’m really super excited to just get away. Nevermind that I’ll have the baby and the stroller and the luggage to deal with – I’ll get to revisit my old, glimmering, plane-hopping, fancy-hotel-staying past. And I’ll only have one-third of my usual workload to handle!

That said, I’m a little nervous too – about flying with the baby, about leaving my boys behind, about spending a weekend with dozens of people I don’t know. And, I’ll admit it, I’m a little intimidated at the prospect of plunging myself into the midst of all those Texans. (No offense intended, Texas. It’s just that you can be a bit daunting with all that “TEXAS IS THE BEST PLACE EVER!!!” stuff. A bit.)

I decided I needed a little something to arm myself against the jitters so…

I chopped off my hair. I’m not sure about it yet. We’ll see how it looks after a wash and an air-dry return my curls to me. (Update: It’s not great. You win some, you lose some…)

—Bonus—

I have revived my Twitter account! My primary motivation in doing so was to be able to tweet while I’m at Edel, but I have to admit, I’m enjoying reading my Twitter feed much more than I expected to. If you’d like to follow me on Twitter, click here!

Well, that’s that. Be sure to stop over to Jen’s (whom I’ll see next week in Texas) for more Quick Takes!

All Because We Said Yes

July 11, 2014 / Julie / 13 Comments

This morning a little blonde-headed boy appeared at the foot of our bed, asking for his daddy. “Downstairs,” I mumbled, half-asleep. A while later – no idea how much – a little brown-headed boy woke me with a “Jude’s hurt. He’s pwobabwy bweeding.” “Is he actually bleeding?” I asked. “Nope. He’s just pwobabwy bweeding.” Silence. No screams. It can’t be that bad.

The boy climbed onto the bed and crawled over to his baby brother, who was jerking his arms around, chirping at the ceiling fan. He cooed over the baby, smiled sweetly, and said good morning.

All because, five years ago today, we said yes.

I brushed my hair and tried to look less morning-ish, but didn’t get far before the blonde one was back (unhurt), needing a diaper change and a nice, long hug. The diaper was taken care of, clothes were unearthed from the pile of clean laundry, and the boys were dressed.

I wandered back into our bathroom and looked around blearily. I should get myself ready. But the baby was hungry for his bottle, so I turned toward him. I saw you, instead. You looked happy and alert, fresh from your morning work-out. You picked up the fussy baby and we kissed good morning.

Breakfast and more diaper changes and teeth brushing and make-up were gotten through. We gave you hugs and kisses and then some more, and we told you to have a good day.

We dropped off a meal to a friend, picked up her little boy, visited my family’s animals. The boys held chickens and petted goats and cats and turkeys and cows and they pointed at the pigs. We went to another friend’s house for lunch and I nursed the baby while we chatted. The boys rode scooters and ate popsicles and shouted “Watch this!” as they jumped off the sofa.

All because, five years ago today, we said yes.

~~~

Five years ago this morning, my stomach was in my throat. My mind raced over all the details I no longer had control over. My good sense fought my mind, telling it to relax and to absorb as much as I could.

Then I saw you down that aisle and you looked so handsome and you smiled. And everything changed. I was still nervous; I was in the middle of the biggest day of my life, transitioning from one phase of life to another. But I was doing so with you.

We were made one that day. We became partners; we undertook the same path.

~~~

Today we rush from one task to the next. We wipe mouths and we pick up forks that have been dropped on the floor. We step over dinosaurs and airplanes. Sometimes we admonish a “ROAR!!!” and sometimes we join in. We work hard. We sleep little. We go through phases when we don’t fit in more “us” time than the moments it takes to kiss good morning or goodbye or goodnight.

But we’re better partners now than we were on the day we married. Each year, each struggle, each big decision has taught us how to better work together, how to be more patient, how to be more respectful, how to better support each other.

And look at what we’ve done: three gorgeous boys, a beautiful old home, friends who are becoming our community. We have much to be proud of and more to be thankful for.

Especially when it comes to each other. Today I want you to know how thankful I am to have you in my life. I want you to know that I appreciate you even when I don’t say so. I want you to know that my favorite time of day is when you walk in that door. And I intend to be more deliberate about showing you that.

I intend to smile your “hello” and hug you more warmly and sit next to you on the sofa. I intend to act like I love you as much as I do, even when the baby’s screaming and the boys are fighting.

All because, five years ago today, we said yes.

And because that “yes” is the best thing I’ve ever done.

P.S. Remember all those things I told you I loved about you last year? I love them even more today.

Smiles and Summer: {pretty, happy, funny, real} (Vol. 14)

July 3, 2014July 3, 2014 / Julie / 3 Comments

It’s been quite a while since I’ve participated in {p,h,f,r}. We’ve just been through a series of preparing for parties and recovering from parties and dealing with emergencies and illnesses and injuries and… it’s been a little hard for me to see the forest for the trees.

But now I’m breathing a little more slowly and *thinking a little more clearly, and beginning to once again take note of my contentment with our everyday little lives. So I did a quick perusal of my camera’s memory card and I present to you the following:

{pretty}

We’re now getting lots of {pretty} smiles from this little guy, who will be a full three months old on Friday!

And even when he’s not smiling, he sure is pretty.

{happy}

When our oldest son turned four last month, we gave him a sandbox. The boys were so {happy} to be finally helping Daddy put the thing together this past weekend, and then even happier to get to play in it for the first time on Tuesday. They even had friends here to help them break it in.

He’s such a good little worker.

We’ve also been happy to see the bees do well settling into their new home. Brennan brought in some burr comb the other day. (Comb that was built where it shouldn’t have been.) The boys sure did enjoy checking it out!

{funny}

The other day while the boys were playing outside, I suddenly stopped when I remembered it: the sprinkler! In my mother-in-law’s garden! Sure enough, when I got out there, the following scene greeted me:

“We’re aw wet!” Oh, yes they were – clothes and all. I’m so glad I was in the right mood to see how {funny} it all was.

Though I’m not sure the sprinkler thing was quite as funny as the dinosaurs that were – in ever such an orderly manner – exploring our front staircase.

{real}

No. explanation. necessary.

For more images of contentment, don’t miss {pretty, happy, funny, real} at Like Mother, Like Daughter.

*Please note: I hope you’ll stop back here this afternoon, when I’ll be posting on religious freedom and why I think it’s worth worrying about. (Yes, this involves Hobby Lobby. Fun stuff!)

Nothing Like A Sum Of Its Parts: One Hot Mess (Vol. 2)

May 15, 2014May 15, 2014 / Julie / 6 Comments

I hate feeding my children.

In my imagination, where there are peaceful, still-warm meals in which everyone is actually seated, I love feeding my children. But in real life, I hate it.

He dropped his cupcake. I stayed up late last night making the stupid things from scratch, so that my son could bring them into preschool for his (un)birthday celebration. All that groggy work and the stupid things fell in on themselves. Ugly, ugly cupcakes. Still, his was a devastating loss.

Our meals are disjointed and loud and stressful. They are full of: “Face the table.” “Sit on your bottom.” “Start eating, please.” “Don’t bang your fork on the table.” “Just try it; you’ve always liked it before!” “Sit on your bottom. No, actually on your bottom.” “Stop dropping your cup on the floor.” “Turn around and face the table.” “Stop it with the fork!” “Sit on your bottom.” “Eat! Your! Food!”

They also include a million-and-one parental hops up from the table to retrieve any number of food and cutlery items. Plus a hovering parent or two, feeding children bites of food because apparently preschoolers are unable to do something so taxing as lift a fork to their mouth.

Also, it’s not uncommon for mealtimes at our house to include vomit.

No, it’s not vomit. I wouldn’t do that to you. This is the banana my son told me he’d eaten so that he could get his cupcake.

Hate it.

Do you know what else I hate? Dishes. And diapering. And bathtime. And changing pee-pee sheets. And cutting food into small bites. And wrestling wiggly little limbs into pajamas.

When broken down into bits, I hate just about everything involved in caring for my children and my home. So it would make sense, wouldn’t it, for me to hate being a stay-at-home-mom?

But I don’t. Not at all.

It’s a peculiar thing, isn’t it? I have found that parenthood is nothing like a sum of its parts. My daily tasks are unpleasant, yet I love what I do.

I really, truly, love what I do. Even when I hate it.

There is something there – love, I suppose – that makes such a contradiction possible. Whatever it is, I’m grateful for it. I am happier now than I have ever been in my life – here in the midst of the diapering and the clothing and the cleaning and the bathing. And the feeding – even the feeding.

Another meal, another mess.

Be sure to stop over to Blythe’s to check out more hot messes!

Unreliable Equation: {pretty, happy, funny, real} (Vol. 13)

May 1, 2014May 1, 2014 / Julie / 6 Comments

It’s funny, isn’t it, how you can feed the same variables into the homemaking/mothering equation day in and day out, and yet get completely different outcomes? All. the. time. Same mother, same children, same schedule, and one day turns out to be sunshine and roses while the next is miserable misery.

Yesterday afternoon while waiting for my husband to come home early from work (yippee!), I pondered what I might write for my {p,h,f,r}. Despite not feeling my best, I was very much in the sunshine-and-roses mindset. (Sing it: Home early from work!!!) My mind was full of pretty, pretty, pretty…

Until it wasn’t.

Six hours into fussy baby, hungry baby, FUSSY baby, HUNGRY baby, fussy, fussy, FUSSY baby… I’d had it. I was done, cooked. Everything was suddenly very, very real.

Grump, grump, grumpity, grump.

After developing an awful crick in my neck from falling asleep nursing little-mister-nearly-four-weeks-old (which STILL didn’t do the trick), I finally deposited the unhappy little bugger in his Rock-n-Play (seriously, our absolute favorite piece of baby gear, hands-down) and tossed dirty dishes into the dishwasher with rather too much vigor. I’m lucky I didn’t break anything.

Thank goodness for daddies who are good with babies.

And thank goodness for those sunshine-and-roses moments, which feed the soul and soothe the mind and which will surely, surely come again.

Until they do, I’ll just go ahead and remind myself of the following:

{pretty}

I think this little guy will be serving as my {pretty} for quite some time. He really is a dear, isn’t he?

{happy}

The boys are {happy} to have something as exciting as Grandma’s new garden going in the backyard. I’m happy to have the boys outside. Grandma’s happy to have her own piece of dirt at her new home. Brennan’s happy to be done digging.

I’m also happy to finally have these new titles in my hot little hands:

(For those who don’t already know, the books are written by two wonderful bloggers. “The Little Oratory: A Beginner’s Guide to Praying in the Home” is co-authored by Leila Lawler of Like Mother, Like Daughter and “Something Other Than God: How I Passionately Sought Happiness and Accidentally Found It” is written by Jennifer Fulwiler of Conversion Diary. I’ve started both and can’t wait to get through them. I’ll report back when I do.)

{funny}

Oh my, has this little guy been funny lately. He is such a ham.

Yesterday afternoon when I scolded him for waking up the baby, he said, “But Mommy, I was just twying to teach him to dance!”

A moment later he walked back into the kitchen looking like this:

When he repeated the ensemble for his father that evening (this time with the lovely addition of oven mitts on his feet), he said “I yook fashion!” and “C’mon, everybody, yet’s CWAZY shake! Yet’s have some fun!”

{real}

Need I include anything more in this category?

How about the beautiful, moving kind of brotherly love that also kind of drives you nuts because you know it will result in a woken up/disturbed/crying baby? Yep, that’s {real}.

He loves that baby so, so much.

So do I. (Grumble, grumble…)

Head on over to Like Mother, Like Daughter for more in the way of {pretty, happy, funny, real}!

The Thing About Having A Full Plate

March 4, 2014 / Julie / 3 Comments

This past weekend, my situation was clarified for me: I have quite the full plate at the moment. It’s not full of bad things or scattered, abstract things or things that are worth wasting time worrying about. It’s full of two big, hearty, substantial portions of meat, if you will. Two portions that simply must be dealt with. Now.

Here’s the deal: I’m due to have my third baby in a little over five weeks. And like all expectant couples, my husband and I have a lot to do before the little guy arrives. Here’s our (conservative, whittled-down-to-the-bare-minimum) list, because I’m a list-maker:

Finish the bigger boys’ Big Boy Room.
Transform this mess (I’m not even exaggerating, am I?) into a nursery/guest room/laundry sorting space/catch-all room.

Do all that baby-readying stuff like washing baby clothes and linens, digging the baby gear out of the attic, cleaning it, etc.
Clean out the minivan and rearrange the seats and car seats.
Pack overnight bags for myself and the boys.
Put away the Christmas decorations. (What?! It’s only March.)
Deal with no fewer than a dozen boxes of papers and junk.
Move/construct no fewer than 20 pieces of furniture. (That job is reserved for the hubby, which would be obvious to you if you could see the way I’m waddle-limping around the house these days.)

What’s with the last two, you ask? Why would any sensible person tackle tasks like that a month before having a baby? Well, it’s because having a baby is just one of the Big Life Changes we’re preparing for right now. It’s just one of those substantial pieces of meat I was referencing.

We’re also about to welcome my mother-in-law into our home. Permanently. Brennan’s stepfather passed away in January, prompting Brennan’s mother’s need to find a new place to live. So she’s moving here, all the way from Minnesota.

While we’re aware that this new living situation will involve a tremendous adjustment for all of us, we’re confident that we’re doing the right thing. And we look forward to many wonderful things about having Hilde (pronounced “Hildy”) living with us. (First and foremost, our boys will actually get to know their grandmother! Currently, they only get to see her once a year. Also, you know how newborns want to be held at all times? Solution: Grandma!)

The original plan was for Hilde to arrive at the beginning of June. But now it looks like she’ll be here in… two-and-a-half weeks. So it’s not like we even have five whole weeks to accomplish the tasks on that list. For most of them, we’ve just got 2.5.

Two! Point! Five! To ready our home and household for two new people. With one of the primary workers partially incapacitated by third-trimester fatigue, a big huge belly, and a bum hip joint. It’s a lot of pressure. It’s a full plate.

But the thing about having a full plate, I’ve found, is that it tends to do what it did for me this past weekend: clarify things. All-of-a-sudden, necessary things are made more obvious and unnecessary things fade into the background. You (or at least I) become more business-like, more matter-of-fact about what you need to do. Those tasks that have been swimming languidly along in your mind for months are suddenly lined up, alert, standing at the ready.

So, despite my fatigue (and another annoying post-nasal-drip, sore-throat thing), I’m ready to get this thing done. Yesterday afternoon, I finally finished up a task that I’d left hanging for months. A handful of more afternoons like that and we’ll be in good shape.

At this point in the game, I’ve got to believe that all this is doable. I don’t have the luxury of worrying about it or letting it overwhelm me. I’ve just got to move forward with purpose and determination… and love. We’ll get there. And we’re doing it for a good reason, for people we love.

Also, do you want to know a little bonus about having this particular kind of a full plate? I’ve been thinking so much about logistics in the past few days that I haven’t had any time at all to devote to the subject that had been lurking in my mind, making me uneasy: labor and delivery. Let’s just put that one off as long as possible, shall we?

Reminding Myself Of The Joy That Is Him: {pretty, happy, funny, real} Vol. 7

January 23, 2014 / Julie / 7 Comments

Yesterday was rough. It wasn’t exceptionally crazy; it didn’t contain a series of awful events. All the same, it was the kind of day that left me questioning, seriously, what I think I’m doing having children. The reason? I was in bad form that morning. I seriously lost my temper with the biggest little Mister. I won’t tell you what I did, because you’ll either think “Oh, that?! That’s nothing!” or “Tsk, tsk, tsk… for shame, Julie.” And I’m honestly not sure which response would be harder for me to receive.

But the what doesn’t even matter that much. What matters is what the what made me think about. Minutes after my little temper tantrum, I got the boys in the van to head out to do our first errands in almost a week. Namely, we had to go to the pediatrician’s office so my younger boy’s ear infection could be diagnosed (check) and we had to go to my ob’s so I could put an end to the month-long saga of trying to get my Rhogam shot (CHECK).

Anyway, we loaded up, made our way down our snowy, steep driveway, and got going. The littlest guy fell asleep almost right away, leaving nothing but uncomfortable silence between me and his older brother. Sniff, sniff, sniff… I kept glancing back to see my three-year-old staring off into space, looking sad. (And tired. The reasonable part of me has to remind myself that the morning’s drama stemmed, in part, from a big case of Tired Little Boy.)

I felt awful.

I asked my boy if he was okay. I told him I loved him. I apologized for my overreaction. He whispered a few “yeah’s” and “okay’s” before drifting off to sleep.

As we moved down the highway, I thought about how deeply I’d always desired to be a mother. I thought about how I’d always delighted in having lots of children around and how I always thought I was naturally cut out to be a mother of many. And it finally hit me: I don’t feel that way anymore. It’s not that I don’t still want the children – the two (and one in-process) that I already have and the however-many-more God sees fit to give us in the future – I just no longer feel like I’m naturally cut out for it.

I’m easily overwhelmed. I’m impatient. I’m stubborn. I’m a perfectionist. I’m a world-class procrastinator. I have a hot temper. I don’t have much tolerance for noise or activity or little people climbing all over me. I need a fair amount of alone time to keep from blowing my top. How in the world did I think I was a good fit for being a stay-at-home mother to lots of little ones?

But, here I am.

And here they are: these lively little guys who, after all, are only two and three years old. At the end of the day, even though I’ve told them a million-and-one times not to do x (say, stabbing at their brother with a fork or – yesterday’s trigger – roaring and charging at Mommy while she’s on the phone dealing with the Rhogam saga), they are just two and three years old.

That’s a hard pill for me to swallow. I think that children – even small children – are much more capable than our society gives them credit for. I think that if you want your children to be able to do things like sit still and follow rules and be considerate of others, both you and your children are best served by beginning to teach them how to do so when they’re very young. (Wouldn’t it be shocking to be five years old, entering Kindergarten, and find – for the first time in your life – that you’re expected to sit still for most of the day?) Still, I can attach myself too strongly to that concept, losing sight of the fact that they are just two and three years old. Yes, I should have high expectations for my children. But my expectations should also be realistic. This teaching children thing was never going to be easy.

And this boy is not easy. He is rather too like his mother. For I know that’s part of the problem between us: we have very similar personalities. We don’t do give-and-take with one another too well. We do the butting heads thing very well.

As I continued to drive down the highway, he slept while I thought. I thought about the disservices I’ve done to him. I thought about how amazing he is, and how he doesn’t deserve to be burdened with my short-tempered, overwhelmed outbursts. I thought about how much I love him.

When I saw Leila’s Facebook reminder about {pretty, happy, funny, real} yesterday evening, I brushed it aside at first. What kind of contentment could I dig up at the moment? But then I thought of my boy again, about how good he was in the afternoon, seemingly meeting my sadness with his sweetness. And I knew that at that moment, I needed to focus on the {pretty, happy, funny, real} that is him – the joy that is him.

{pretty}

And boy, is this boy {pretty}. I don’t care about anybody’s verbiage hang-ups: Someday he’ll be handsome; right now he’s pretty, he’s beautiful. He has these gorgeous, long eyelashes that any woman would envy. He has big, blue eyes. He has soft, round cheeks and thick, wavy hair. He has the sweetest smile.

This picture is obviously not from this week. But still — pretty!

{happy}

My boy loves being outdoors. When he was a baby, the instant we walked outside, he would quiet down and look around him in wonder. It was a great cure for meltdowns: step outside and they’d stop, like a switch had been flipped. On pleasant-weather days, I’d set him out on the deck in his stroller so I could eat lunch in peace.

Today, regardless of the temperature or the elements, he’d rather be outside than almost anywhere else. So when we, like much of the East Coast, had our biggest snow of the season this week, you know this boy wanted to go out to play. He was so {happy} to be chilly and rosy-cheeked and covered in snow.

I don’t know what he was doing. Apparently “smile” now translates into “Cock your head and scrunch up your eyes.”

Or, as in this case, it translates into “Show me your chin and the roof of your mouth.”

{funny}

After all the angst of the morning, he was so good yesterday afternoon. We went to two doctor’s offices, a sandwich shop, and the grocery store/pharmacy. At the store, I sat him in the back of the cart and he handled all the items being piled onto him with such good humor. It was so {funny}. Towards the end of the trip he voiced a little, “Umm… Mommy? I can’t weawy move anymore.” But still, a few minutes later as we were finishing up at the check-out and I was piling things back onto him, telling him “They’ll keep you warm!” he responded with a cheerful little, “Oh! Gweat!”

{real}

And then of course there are all the little, everyday, {real} things that too often go unnoticed: the play, the helping, the creating, the reading and snuggling.

Aren’t those toolboxes amazing? My very talented brother made them for the boys for Christmas.

That may look like a mustard bottle, but I’m told it’s glue.

Before we moved his baby brother into his room with him, I used to visit my son’s room every night. I’d stand by his crib and watch him sleep. I’d soak him up. I’d pray for him. But then the baby went into the room and I was nervous about waking one of them up, so I stopped. I got out of the habit of walking into that room once they were asleep. It was painful at first, but after a while, I didn’t miss those moments so much.

But last night, I felt like I was overdue. I crept into the boys’ room and watched over them for a few minutes while they slept. I lingered especially over my older son’s crib, soaking him up, praying for him. I thought over the day and how I’d hurt my boy’s feelings and disappointed myself. I asked for help.

I don’t know how to wrap up this post, except to say that today I’m trying harder – to be understanding, to be kind, to not let my interactions with my boys devolve into the kind of mess we had yesterday. I still feel yesterday’s sadness echoing around here, but I’m trying.

Thanks, as always, to Leila and the other Lawler women for hosting {pretty, happy, funny , real.} Head on over there for glimpses at others’ contentment this week.