The First Day of Summer

The constant drizzle and grey skies proclaim nothing of “The First Day of Summer.” I guess the weather forgot to check the calendar. It’s supposed to be sunny now… remember weather? The rest of the country is in bathing suits and off enjoying long hours at the beach, but here in the North West on the first day of summer, I’m in jeans and a sweatshirt. Oh yeah, and don’t forget the cozy socks and quilt to cuddle under as soon as the wind is shut safely outside the door.
Okay, it’s not all ranting and raving… I actually enjoy all four seasons here. In fact, on this first day of summer, I may have started my very own little tradition, today. At least I hope it will become one.
The rain has caused everything in our yard to come to life, to turn three shades of green, and our roses have opened up to give us their very first greeting of the season. One of my favorite things about living here as a child was the fantastic spring and summer bouquets my mom would bring in from our very own yard. She’d place them proudly on the table, arranging them as if she were a paid florist.
As I walked to get the mail today, I noticed several red blooms from our rose bushes. They were calling out to me, pining to be plucked, to be part of the first bouquet to sit on my windowsill. I thought about cutting them just then, but realized it would be more than challenging with a baby on my hip and a three year old wanting the “help.” Later I told myself. And later came just before the sun went down (well I guess I couldn’t really tell since we never saw the sun at all today and the sky just turned a slightly darker shade of grey, but it was after the boys were in bed anyways). I got out my rose pruners and a small vase, clipped a large blossom, some that hadn’t yet opened, and one that was just on the brink of something spectacular. I like to choose them at all three different stages; it makes the bouquet more interesting, less commercial looking, and last longer with continual budding.
After arranging the freshly cut flowers and adding some water to the vase, I set them on my windowsill. They are exquisite. As I look at them I feel my mom’s sense of pride, her joy, I feel more at home then I did only minutes ago. Even the roses shake the rain from their velvety petals as they settle into their new residence. It is summer; there is no denying that. My hope, as you may have guessed, is that every year on the first day of Summer, my roses will pine to be plucked, and I will bring in the most beautiful and first bouquet of the season that will make my house feel more like home all over again.

This n' That Conratulations!

I am sitting at a small children's table at the library... the closest place to get Internet access. I love being in the atmosphere where books line the walls and children eagerly grab for them. My love for reading and books has grown enormously over the past year and is growing greater still, though I believe it has always been a core part of my being. I knew how to read before I even went to preschool, but that's besides the point.
I wish I had more time... this is always my wish. More time to write, to think, to read to be.

Elijah is playing some kind of Barney game on the computer next to me. I don't think he knows how to play it, but it is keeping him entertained.

Martin is taking his turn with Owen around the Children's section. He's getting rather difficult now, Owen I mean. He wants so badly to be able to walk and play like all the other babies a head shorter and five pounds smaller than him, but still her crawls. I'm just as eager. It is such a frustration for us both to go to the park and he constantly says, "play, play," but I can't just let him crawl through the bark chips on his hands and knees! Soon enough, soon enough.

This friday is our fifth Anniversary and my brother's graduation from the Master's program at Eastern University... what a smarty pants! And his little baby will be two weeks old tomorrow! Wow how has life slipped so easily? Are we really all so grown up now?
I'm hoping for an evening of reconnection friday night... no schedule to keep, just me and my honey talking and catching up with this life that has gone on so quickly without my permission. A few months ago I bought a box of 50 tealight candles and I plan to use all of them, dropping them in baby jars and placing them throughout the house. Doesn't that sound beautiful? I've been daydreaming of it constantly.

Happy Anniversary US! And Congrats to my big brother who never fails to make me proud!

Baby Aletheia is Here!

Every woman labors differently. And the entire process of pregnancy to birth and delivery... the whole package still amazes me. God certainly designed it all perfectly. My birth stories are completely different from yours and every other woman in the world. That too is amazing and wonderful. And Tanya's story from my point of view would hardly be accurate, but I can tell you what I saw, what I heard and what I experienced as I waited for my second niece to be born.

Wednesday morning I got a call from my brother. They were on there way to the hospital- it was time! Her water broke shortly after arriving at the hospital- a great sign! I could hardly hold in my excitement, so while I waited for Martin to get some sleep and Owen to get a nap as well, I did the only thing I could think to busy myself and yet still be productive. I made muffins. I mashed bananas, measured flour, and poured the mixture into paper cups as I daydreamed of the miracle about to happen just minutes away. I couldn't wait. For me, birth has a very positive connotation. this isn't true of course for all women. I can't help thinking of the connection to our creator, the way he equipped us all with the empowering task that men will never fully understand. It gives me chills just thinking of it now.

We arrived at the hospital sometime after lunch. I was so proud of my brother for remaining his calm usual self, comforting his laboring wife, but I was even more proud of her. She kept her breathing controlled, staying on top of each contraction. Great Job Tanya! Though we are equipped to handle it, labor is called labor for a reason. It isn't an easy experience. We watched the contractions rise and fall on the monitor...amazing. I was so grateful to be able to be a part of this. The only other births I had been to were my own.

Tanya labored and breathed for hours and hours. We all wondered whether this baby would ever come out. I won't go in to all the details for like I said before that is not my story to tell. I was there to wait, to comfort, to love. At 1:01 am Thursday morning, Aletheia graced us with her presence. The first time I saw her, she was in my brother's strong arms, bundled in blankets, wearing a white hospital hat. All I could see of her was her delicate face- Tanya's lips and all the other features a perfect mix of the two. She blinked a greeting to me, and I got a glimpse of her cloudy eyes (which will most likely turn to blue). What a reward! After waiting all day, just to see her was all I needed! I can't wait to see her grow and watch my brother and friend (sister-in-law) join me on this journey called parenthood. It is quite a ride, but they are off to a good start. I could tell the next day when we went back to visit. Though Aletheia was under that blue light to help with her jaundice, the whole room felt unusually calm. Her special baby sunglasses made me smile. Her tiny cry was almost laughable, so cute compared to what I'm used to. It only took a few rubs and pats and she quieted down. This is going to be one laid back family.
Congratulations James and Tanya!

Aletheia (Greek for truth)
8 lbs. 1oz.
she is beautiful!

(sorry I don't have any pictures downloaded yet)!

Everything Days and Nothing Days

My weeks are compiled of what I call everything days and nothing days. On everything days I find myself doing everything from sun up to sun down. Those days are like a three ring circus and I am keeping it all running- the tight rope, the juggling, the dancing elephants, the whole enchilada. We eat a good breakfast, get everyone changed or to the potty. Getting out the door is always the very worst part. I don’t know why, but that is the point at which I feel like screaming or perhaps throwing something through the front window. No body has socks on even though I’ve requested it three times and repeated exactly where to find them. I think it’s the pressure of getting somewhere on time that really kills me. I hate being late, but my kids haven’t acquired any connection to their actions with what time of day it is or whether we show up somewhere when the sun is up or down or wherever. In fact time makes completely no sense to them at all. Elijah often makes statements like, “I saw a fire truck out my window last night.” Last night, yesterday, this morning, they are all very fluid terms to him that he uses simply to refer to a time in the past that he recalls something specific happening. I have to laugh at it of course, but when I am trying to get out the door when we need to have left ten minutes ago, I find their sense of time very un-funny!
On everything days we try to fit in an activity before Owen’s morning nap, which is often a challenge and usually ends up backfiring on us. If we leave the house somewhere around eight, we have a good chance of getting something done and returning for a nine or nine-thirty nap. Then again, who can manage to get out of the house by eight in the morning? So he ends up taking a nap at ten or ten-thirty, which throws off the afternoon, nap and makes him cranky for the rest of the day until bedtime by which point I am ready to throw something out the front window again.
The morning activity usually consists of grocery shopping, going to the library, bookstore, or possibly the park to meet a friend. I am always more excited and willing to do the non-errand type of outing. Which means we will be getting by on peanut butter and jelly for the next three days…again. It doesn’t bother me, and it certainly doesn’t bother the boys. Elijah practically asks for peanut butter and jelly sandwiches at every meal. Lately I’ve been avoiding the grocery store at all costs. I used to love planning out meals and deciding exactly what menu to whip up for the week, but now… it has turned into this stressful issue for me and I don’t even understand exactly why. Maybe it’s the mixed up schedule. With Martin eating dinner for breakfast, lunch in the middle of the night and breakfast right before I go to bed, it has me all mixed up about how to plan anything in the ways of meals. I try to make something dinner-ish sometimes that he can take as leftovers to work, but honestly I have found cooking to be one of the hardest things to do with two kids running around the house. It usually comes down to yogurt or cereal for dinner and he’s on his own for what to bring for lunch. Then I feel guilty and make him a sandwich, throw in an apple and a string cheese, and he’s satisfied.
If there is more than one outing, it is definitely considered an everything day. More than two outings… and I get to where a crown and carry a wand through the three-ring circus. This does happen every so often on those days when we’ve stayed out to long for Owen’s nap, and missed the window for him to take one at all. On those days I just figure I might as well stay on the boat while it’s still floating. We go to the park, or the library. The boys burn off lots of energy. Elijah always meets some “friends” that usually more than willingly entertain him. He loves following the “big” kids around, getting attention from anyone taller than him makes his whole world light up. He’s now learned a few of the friendship-making basics such as: telling hopeful friends his name and asking what theirs is, agreeing to like the things that they like, and declaring that they are cool and should come to his house. Watching these encounters makes my cheeks soften into slight smiles knowing exactly where he gets his exuberance and shrill confidence. I often wonder if Martin was exactly like his son is now. Of course, Elijah pretends to be shy sometimes, but overall he lets his feelings be known whether happy, sad, thrilled, or concerned, just like his daddy. It still amazes me that my husband is so child-like in this sense. He hasn’t been broken by the world into masking himself. I love that. He is who he is. I hope he never changes, and I hope our boys continue to be like him. (note: yes… of course I get embarrassed sometimes by all the honesty and open feelings, but it’s much better than second guessing or being fake).
If we’ve been able to get through the day with little whining and no potty accidents, I’ve been known to get Elijah a kids smoothie along with my favorite drink at Dutch Bros.- my most recent obsession. I usually need one by the middle of an everything day and I feel good if I can also get Elijah something too. He loves it when the barista puts a dollop of whip cream on the straw for him. I watch in the rearview mirror as he licks it off and gets most of it on his face. Then he tries licking the sides of his mouth and cheeks. This turns into finger licking, and somewhat of a mess in the back seat, but it’s an everything day- messes included.
So whether we’ve soaked up the sun, or soaked up some books, by the end of the day I am ready to get the boys fed and into bed. However, sometimes an everything day also includes visiting grandma and Papa. If it’s a Tuesday we often steal Grandma and include her in our trip to Dutch Bros. Mostly because all drinks are two dollars that day, but also because it happens to be in close proximity to where Grandma teaches first graders all day and she needs a break too. We also like to take Grandma to Target with us. It’s nice to have some company while we look at things on way to pick up the necessary diapers or pull-ups. Grandma also usually buys a cookie or a pretzel for a boy who only has to ask sweetly and gaze up at her with his dark brown eyes. I count the pretzel as dinner, especially if I add in some yogurt at the snack bar and some apple juice. I hope one or both of the boys will fall asleep on the way home so I can have a little time to breathe, but then again sometimes we have the greatest of conversations. I know it sounds bizarre, conversations, but its true. Elijah will bring up something he’s been thinking about that I may have never known had I turned the radio up full blast or had he fallen asleep. Other times the car turns into a sound-fest. Owen will copy a sound he heard from big brother. Elijah will laugh his infectious little laugh and repeat the sound, causing a cycle of laughs and silly sounds all the way home. Sometimes I join in too, they love to see me being silly right along with them, and I know at some point they won’t. They’ll call me a dork or something of equal meaning in complete embarrassment that I really am their mom. But right now I relish in the fact that I am the coolest and most knowledgeable person they know. They believe every word that comes from my lips. And I am the person they come to for everything… more now then ever.
At the end of an everything day I feel both exhausted and empowered. I look back and think, wow how did I get all that done? Did I mention everything days also include laundry, dishes, changing sheets, scrubbing toilets, vacuuming, mopping, oh yeah… and sweating to the beat of my step class workout video? Of course not all of these are done on the same day, well usually not, but they do get accomplished somehow. During naptime on some days, but often after the boys have both gone to bed.
It’s amazing just how different my life looks and feels when the house is quiet with both boys asleep. I feel like me again and I wonder who that crazy woman was that took over my body earlier in the day. That couldn’t have been me. I never lose my temper, or make a big deal about something as small as finding socks and putting them on the correct body part. No, that couldn’t have been me. Now I feel full amounts of air filling my lungs easily. My head isn’t pounding or throbbing. I’m not concerned about anyone or anything, but me and my own little world consisting of the few hours I have just for me.
Now of course your wondering about nothing days. Ideally life should consist of everything and nothing all rolled together in a single perfect day, but for some reason my days never work like that. Especially now, I can’t seem to balance anything. A nothing day almost always follows an everything day. Of course it is impossible for me to spend an entire day doing absolutely nothing, but I am so worn out from the everything day that just the thought of getting out of the house again makes me want to hide in the closet. So, a nothing day consists of me doing the bare minimum. You know what I’m talking about. The kids get fed, I manage to eat somewhere in the mix, but no one gets out of their jammies. We watch a few cartoons, I let the boys get out every toy and book and box from the cupboard to play with- undoing all the work of yesterday. But somehow this brings me the strangest sort of peace. We play and laugh and cuddle and eat things that require absolutely no cooking and little preparing whatsoever- cereal, applesauce, crackers, string cheese, grapes, trail mix. Those kinds of things become our breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Both boys nap on time because we had nowhere to go. I let Elijah do an extra craft project “just because,” and read him an extra story at bedtime too. After they’re asleep I don’t do my workout, I don’t even look at my sports bra. Instead, I hunt for the dark chocolate mint Haagen Daz ice cream and put in my latest Netflix pick.
It works. In this crazy out of control circus of mine, this mix of extreme days works. We go and we do and we do all we can do, and then we rest and play and cuddle. It’s actually a fairly nice cycle. I never really know what to expect, where we might end up on an everything day, or how often I will get a nothing day, but they come and go in this strange unpredictable pattern that has become my life. I love it. Though at times I actually visualize myself throwing that loud destructive thing through my front window just to silence the chaos.

An unexpected Package

Many of you know that I spent a month jump-starting my goal to become healthy and fit. Now I am proudly working out every other day! I'm actually sticking to it! You might also be aware of my incredibly sweet husband. The following has the possibility of making you extremely envious (unless of course you too have a husband who continues to court you). I'm not telling you this to purposely make you wish your husband did things like this... In fact I honestly and whole-heartedly hope that he does. Because these are the moments that make us stop in our tracks, make us sigh with assurance, and hold on to for a long, long time.

This afternoon the doorbell rang. This is going to sound silly- but I'm in the habit of using the bathroom with the door open. I feel like that way I can still keep an understanding of what is happening with my kids. So I'm sitting on the toilet thinking, "who would be ringing the doorbell in the middle of the day?" My mind immediately thinks for some reason Mormons or Jehovah's Witnesses, and I make an effort to close the bathroom door quickly because I hear Martin rush to the front door answer it. That could have been a very uncomfortable situation.
After coming out of the bathroom, I ask Martin, "So who was at the door?"
"Come and see," he says, "I've been waiting for this!"
So by this point I knew it had not been the Jehovah's Witnesses or the Mormons, but some kind of package that had been delivered. Of course, why hadn't I thought of that? A large soft envelope was now on our dining room table. What could it be? At first I immediately assumed it was another book for the classes that he's been taking, then I noticed two letters in the top left hand corner that gave it all away: VS.
Meaning: Victoria's Secret... now before you get any ideas... It was nothing like what you may be thinking. No lingerie or sexy, sexy things. I ripped open the envelope to find the most flattering, fun sports bra I had ever seen in a bright reddish-pink. Along with the bra, were three fitness tanks, one plum, one jade, and one grey!
And this is what he said, "I am so proud of you for sticking with your work-out plan and wanted you to have something nice as a reward. These will look great on you!"
Wow, right?! I mean first of all he did this without me knowing. Secondly, he got my size right... which is amazing all on its own, and thirdly it made me feel on top of the world! He really loves me, more than I deserve, more than I could ever ask for. He's my penguin, my match, my best friend!
I just had to share my happy moment with all of you. I hope that you have many of these moments too. Now I have the perfect thing to wear for Sunday's "Race For The Cure!" What could be more perfect than a bright pink sports bra under that grey tank?

Is This IT? Are we really done having babies?

If you know me well, you might know that I am fairly indecisive. This of course drives my husband crazy! "What do you want... just pick something!" He'll say after I've spent ten minutes going back and forth on an incredibly life altering decision like choosing which flavor of ice cream to get, or what sandwich to order. Due to this "character flaw" I have learned it's easier to stick with things that I already know will work for me. I no longer take chances on trying new flavors at the coffee shop; I get my favorite because it's the best- I know I will love it and I don't have to irritate Martin by weighing out the pros and cons of trying one of the specials. I've tried to use this tactic in all areas of my life to make things easier, but sometimes there just isn't an easy way out. You really have to weigh the pros and cons to come to a reasonable decision, which brings me to a decision I have been thinking about every day for months now.

First of all, I would like to say this is going to sound fairly silly and you might think I am totally ridiculous after reading my thoughts on how I am coming on this particular decision. You see, family planning has come to us in a sort of backwards manner (which is exactly what I am struggling with presently). We started out pregnant, six months into our marriage. It was a God-given surprise that led us on a path we hadn't planned for ourselves. We had always talked about having two or three kids... well now the question is blinking in front of my face every day like a neon add "Two or Three?" How do you know when your family is complete, when is it time to do something permanent?

I thought I knew. When I was pregnant the last time around, we had decided that if it was a girl we'd leave the option open to try again for a third child, but if it was a boy, we'd be done (the thought of possibly having three boys just seemed completely overwhelming to me at the time). Now we have two wonderful beautiful boys, and I am as I should have expected riding the fence about having another one.

Some days it's easy to go along with the already decided plan to be done having kids. It's definitely the more financially smart thing to do in our current situation. I can easily picture our family of four going on vacations together- everyone has their own window and we don't have to do crowd control because we aren't out numbered. I hold one child's hand and Martin holds the other's.

I also sort of like the idea of being the only lady in the house. I dream of days not too far off when I will send the boys off on a fishing trip and I will stay at home for a weekend of pampering or a girls night in.

Then there's the other issue of my sanity. Many days I feel like: how in the world would anyone handle more than two? Of course, I know many who have pulled it off beautifully, my mom included (in fact if she would have stopped at two, I wouldn't exist)! But that still doesn't make it the right decision for me.

So what does?

Certainly the fact that I have several beautiful baby girl names picked out that I may never get to use, is at the top of the list of not being a good reason to have another baby (at least that's what I am telling myself). My other reasons are like it: I notice pregnant women and babies everywhere I go and feel this strange aching in my stomach... maybe it's my heart. I usually remind myself that those parts of my life are over. I come up with some logical, reasonable thing to comfort myself like: now I can help other mommies and love on other babies... oh yeah and I can give even more love to the wonderful babies I already have!

My feelings on this matter change from day to day, and some days, hour to hour. Sometimes I can look at the sweet children God has given me and smile with feelings of contentment. (this usually happens when they are asleep or behaving exceptionally well) - "This is it, this is 'us,'" I think. But then again, what if it isn't?

So here's the list:

pros:

okay so it's really hard to put down what having a baby means on paper (but did you notice the photo at the beginning of this blog?...do I really need to write on?

Here are some words and thoughts that come to mind:

-joy

-being part of, and actively seeing a miracle

-feeling the presence of God

-life

-giggles

-cuddles

-seeing part you, part of the one you love, and a little bit of family here and there, all complied into one of God's most beautiful creations- your baby!

-pure love

-adventure

-lessons you can learn no other way

-afternoons of laying on the couch holding your bundle and thinking of nothing else

-a new friend for life (not just for you, but for siblings and many others)

-a new soul to teach and nurture

-tickles-laughter-playtime

-family

-I already have some great baby names picked out

- I already know how to change a diaper (which I can also do successfully in the back hatch of our car in the rain), and I can randomly and convincingly make up songs to go along with any emergency (such as cleaning up toys, going to bed, or learning to use the potty)

-the house is baby-proofed

-we have lots of baby things... toys, clothes, a crib etc.

-I'm still young- this year I'll be turning 25, which gives me plenty of time for another baby

-I have some kind of yearning that may or may not go away

-(warning: this one is a bit silly and surprising) I love the experience of pregnancy and birth. It is something only we can do as women and it is phenomenal and empowering and amazing.

cons:

these things are a little more tangible, which is why a decision like this is so difficult...

-we have a small three bedroom house (perfect for a family of four)

-I may finally be back to my pre-pregnancy weight and size (well as close as I'm going to get)

-our adult to child ratio is equal with two -another one may feel like juggling

-pregnancy, birth, sleep training, breast-feeding, potting training... etc... ALL OVER AGAIN! (of course most of these could also go on the pro list depending on how you look at it)

-most men would put this at the top of the list- finances- can we afford another one?

-emotionally- another one could just send me over the top... I'm not always stable as it is

-I get a full nights sleep on a regular basis- I'm not sure I can give that up again

-we also have a reliable schedule -I know when to expect naptimes, mealtimes, and playtimes

-it's quite possible that three car seats won't fit in our car

-I like having two boys- this could be it- and I could be completely satisfied

-I'm also not sure what I'd do with a girl, if we did have a girl, but then again, I'm still not sure what I'd do with three boys... I may never have a clean house or food in the refrigerator if that were to happen

I will probably think of more that I should have added to these lists... and maybe I will inform you of those thoughts later on. For now I still don't know where God will take our family, if he will add to it, or if this really is it. But I am finally allowing myself the option to consider it being okay to want another one. This all may sound crazy and backwards and incredibly indecisive, but that's me. I rarely think about anything for a only a fleeting moment... and this could be something that changes the rest of my life.

Let me know how you decided... or give me some ideas on when you know if your family is complete...

The Misfit

This morning I was feeling confident, proud even. After a month of sweating it out in my living room a pair of pre-baby pants gracefully slipped over my hips. I even buttoned them with ease! Later on in the day, we decided to make an outing to Old Navy. They were having a One Day Wonder sale on polo shirts for $5 (I thought they'd be great for Martin to wear to work, but they had no pocket, and aparently this is very important to him... so we didn't actually buy any polos) I wasn't really planning on buying anything, but while I was browsing the clearance racks a few things practically jumped into my basket.
Now, if you are like most women, you avoid the dressing room at all cost. It looks good on the hanger and that is the size you wore last time you bought something, so it should fit, right? This is a terrible mistake, however we all know what is going to happen in the fitting room. The things we wanted to fit somehow look like a completely different garment than we imagined, and the size we hoped to be, well... is still a dream in the making.
I decided to face the fitting room today since I did have the advantage of a husband to help out with the boys. I found this great pair of jeans that they wanted practically nothing for. Of course the jeans were one size smaller than the pants I was wearing. I took them anyway and with brave optimism I stepped behind the curtain . Now it was just me and the jeans. Silently I began chanting, begging, pleading, "please fit, please fit, please fit!" I got one leg in up to my thigh- it was already looking questionable. I begged some more as I squeezed the second leg in, and then the jumping, shaking, and, wiggling began. Taking a deep breath, I sucked in everything I could and fastened the button victoriously. If getting in to the jeans truly was the goal, I would have been a champion, but unfortunately I needed to look good in them too and my reflection wouldn't lie. I kept trying different angles, telling myself that they could look good on me. The girl in the mirror set me straight with, "Stop fooling yourself, you won't even be able to sit down! Just face it, you may never wear this size comfortably again!"
She was right. I removed the too-tight jeans, and slipped back into my own pants. I gave myself a second look. They weren't so bad. I could button them without "stuff" hanging over the waistline.
I hate fitting rooms, but as you can see, it's really all my own fault. We all do it- hoping something is what it isn't, hoping something will make us feel what it can't possibly, and setting expectations too high for ourselves. If there was a fitting room for life I'd probably still pick the wrong jeans to try on... and then I'd realize I look just fine in what I already have.