When you eliminate twaddle

Your mother will say, "You have such different books," when reading bedtime stories to the grandchildren.

After three kids, I'm still amazed...

... that a 3-month-old knows to lift her pudgy hips when I change her diaper. (I was going to write about this last month but then I dislocated my elbow and I got a surge of freelance editing and daily swimming lessons for the boys and, well, I was swamped. So now this child is really 4-months but it's so much more amazing when one is 3 months don't you think?)

... that a baby can actually explode more poop up her back than what remains in the diaper.

... how much stuff a tiny baby can spit onto you, causing you to change your shirt three times a day, causing you to wash those same three shirts daily so you have something to wear and wash the next day. Of course, the smart thing to do would be to have more than three shirts that fit but you're nursing and you're trying to lose weight and you're trying to save money so you can drive places and you're now babbling and you need to go change your shirt again. By the way, the stuff spewed forth and what it looks and smells like--you never want to eat cottage cheese again.

... by the bodily noises that infants can make. My one little princess is decidedly unladylike; the sounds erupting from her can make everyone in an entire room to turn, stare and stifle their giggles. Frankly, she's much louder than either of her two big brothers were. Hmmmm, is that a sign of what's to come?

... how early personality traits show up. Annaliese will squeeze her face tightly together and scream shrilly enough to break glass when Jonas pushes her too fast in her baby swing. Go figure, the boys' motto has always been the faster the better. I have a feeling this child won't like the roller coasters.

... how completely enamored a grown person can become with a itty bitty sweetie petitie munchkin pumpkin bobo bobo baby.

Thanks Honey

Thanks Honey for putting aside your plans for your day off and taking care of the kids, feeding them, dressing them, changing diapers and reminding at least one of them many, many times to go potty. Thanks for doing the laundry, cleaning out the closet and mopping the kitchen floor. Thanks for reading lots of stories, and not the ones you picked out for your pleasure. Thanks for doing this without me asking. Thanks for letting me run away for a few hours. Thanks for forgiving me. Thanks for loving me.

Where has the year gone?

I just realized that I've been blogging for a year now. So, of course, I had to go back and reread my first post. That's my life. That's still my life. Plus a new baby, plus homeschooling, plus potty training, plus habit training, plus...

Superheros or wise men from the east?

Our little leaguer

We have entered a new phase in our lives. Today was Owen's first day of t-ball. And he had a ball!

She's here!

This is our precious little girl that we have been anxiously waiting to meet. We adore Annaliese (her online nom de plume). Every morning Owen comes into our room and wants to hold "my baby." Both boys frequently come up to give her a big smooch on top of her head. Although they obviously love her we're definately seeing evidence of a "Very Big Change" in our house, as I'm sure we will for a while.

A proud mother moment

This morning at church a mother came up to me and said, "You must read the Bible every day to your kids."

"Oh no, I do read Bible stories to the kids, but I can't say we do it that frequently."

"Well, Owen was able to answer all the questions about the story of the woman at the well." I had been in Jonas' class so I wasn't there to witness this.

"Really?" I replied, searching my memory if we had read this story recently, or even at all.

"He just pipped right up and answered every question."

"Did he get them right?" Owen is such an extravert it's no surprise to hear he spoke out, but to answer the questions correctly, I wasn't sure.

"He did."

"Wow."

Later, as I marvelled about this with Jack, who had been in class with Owen, I said, "I'm not sure I've read that story to him yet. How did he know the answers?"

"They read the story and he just listened well."

Good enough for me!

A perfect afternoon

The boys and I did a couple of errands right after lunch and it was such a beautiful day--sunny and warm, in the low 70s here (I know, I know, it's rough)--I just didn't want to go home. So, I impulsively decided to visit a botantical garden I recently heard about at a nearby university. How had I missed this place! Truly an oasis in a sea of cities, highways and congestion.

With 40 acres, four miles of trails and more than 3,500 species of plants, the boys and I enjoyed traipsing through the garden and walking up the winding switch-back trails to the top of a hill overlooking the city. When we arrived at the top, Owen exclaimed, "We're almost as tall as the trees!" Then he ran back to me and flinging his arms around my bulging nine-month pregnant belly said, "Thanks, Mom!"

That certainly made my huffing and puffing to get up the hill worth it.

I LOVE that my kids enjoy the simple, beautiful and profound things of life like our afternoon spent in nature. I didn't grow up that way. I admit, I spent way too many hours indoors in front of the TV. But somehow I still loved to read and to learn, and still do. I've only been learning a love for nature as an adult.

It's funny, when I compare this idealic afternoon with an outing to Chuck E Cheese with a friend the other day, today seemed more special. The boys were just as excited, or even more so. Owen didn't run exuberantly to me to say thanks and give me a hug at Chuck E Cheese. I was certainly more relaxed and at peace today since I was not worried that they would find a game that was too mature or violent for them or worried that they would get lost in the crowd. At the botantical garden they were able to run and explore and observe and just be. The park provided a bingo sheet with pictures of plants, insects and such for young kids to find. The boys had great fun looking for things like a cactus, a bird, a spider's web, and an acorn to cross off their list.

Charlotte Mason recommends visiting one or two specific nature spots that you get to know intimately. A place that you go to in all seasons to observe the changes. I think I've found our spot.

Later, while we, or rather I, was resting on a bench in the garden where no sight or sounds remind you that you are in fact in the middle of a huge metropolis, Owen climbed on some low-lying branches of a tree. He made up a song on the spot that I just have to share:

Trees, trees, trees
Treetops are taller than we

Baby fears

"When the baby comes, you won't have time for me anymore," said Owen.

"Sure I will. I'll still be able to play with you, read stories and do lots of other things with you." I promptly replied.

"But I won't be as special as the baby."

Ouch! That your older children may feel that is what every parent fears about having another child, second only to the baby's health. Of course, I reassured Owen that I would still have time for him and that he is very special. But I admit, it caught me off guard.

All our previous conversation about the pending arrival of a new baby had me convinced he was OK with the whole thing. He seemed understanding and realistic. When people ask him if he's excited about having a little sister, he replies, "I don't know, I haven't met her yet." Knowing how this child thinks, I took that as quite a logical answer. He honestly did fine when Jonas was born, and as long as I continue to give both of the boys individual attention, I pray, it will be fine again.

The great, modern parental conflict

Jack and I stood back and watched out little boys’ joy find expression, as it so often does, in rapid movement. This morning they looped the sleeves of their shirts around their necks and ran running and whopping down the hallway.

“Why don’t you go to work and I’ll stay home with the boys?” said Jack.

I know and he knows that I wouldn’t like that, completely. I tried working full-time outside of the home last year. Hated it! Way too much time away from kids.

“How about we each work part time?” I suggested.

“My work couldn’t be done part time.”

True, unfortunately. His work requires more than the standard American 40-hour workweek to be successful.

“How about we start a home-based business together?”

“I thought we wanted to save our marriage.” He countered.

True, again.

But I love him for wanting to stay home with the kids.

He happier, she's less so

This headline in The New York Times caught my attention. So, after all our efforts to grant women equal rights, we've ended up more stressed. Read all the way to the end and you'll see why I want the author to come to my house.

What really matters

As we're entering the fire season here in southern California, I remember the first time we lived through it about four years ago. This photo shows the view from our back yard. By nightfall, the flames glowed through the smoke.

Watching the fire from my second-story bedroom window, I could see the bright orange-red flames outline the ridges. Every time I looked out the window, the fire seemed to be getting closer and closer. Then I heard that the homes higher up the hill than mine were being evacuated. Our street, only a few blocks south, was under voluntary evacuation. Jack was working late and I called him to come home. The police were guarding all the streets into our neighborhood and would let people leave but not to enter. Jack left his Jeep at the police barricade and snuck past them to walk the couple of miles to our home. We decided to pack our necessities into our car so we could be ready to leave if the authorities evacuated our street as well.

As we went through our house to grab what we needed, I realized that the things that I would pack if I were leaving town for the weekend—clothes, diapers, toothpaste, and such—was not the things I wanted to pack now. I wanted our family photos. I took the wedding photos off the wall—the ones that instantly transport me to that day when I looked into my husband’s eyes and saw the depth of his love as he recited the vows he wrote for me. I grabbed the photo albums that contained pictures of fun times with our friends, images of grandparents that had passed away, and portraits of our families throughout the years. I gathered up the discs that had all the digital snapshots we had taken the past year documenting Owen’s life.

It turned out that our street was never evacuated and no home on our part of the hillside was lost. Many weren't so lucky. Several homes and thousands of acres of woodland was burned. But that experience continues to serve as a poignant reminder of what is truly important. First, the safety of my family. I would have watched those precious photos burn rather than lose my husband or my son. Second, since we had time, we chose to save the most important items we had, and those were not the most expensive items we owned, but the most meaningful—our family photos.

Everything else is replaceable

Our first camping trip

We joined our church group for a camping trip in the mountains this weekend. Thanks to a borrowed tent and stove, we made it. The boys enjoyed running through the trees with their friends, and Jack and I enjoyed the luxury of their prolonged entertainment so we could chat with our friends. And, of course, being in nature always makes me feel rejuvenated--like I can breathe deeply again and not worry about things in the normal hustle and bustle of life. So, even though the air mattress we slept on made me feel as if I was on a boat about to capsize in the waves, and even though it was so cold at night that when Jack returned from the bathroom and wrapped his frozen self around me I was thinking about mutiny, we will definately go camping again.

I do it myself

Yep, Jonas was so proud of dressing himself in his jammies he had to show them off.

Pregnant pause

I suppose that's the best way to explain my sporadic silence on this blog. I'm finally nearly the end of my first trimester and I'm starting to feel a little more like myself. Of course, the infamous nausea is awful (although much, much better this time around), but the extreme exhaustion and lack of energy completely wipe me out. I've found that this pregnancy is more difficult because I have two highly active boys to care for while I just want to stay in bed.

What little gumption and brain power I have must be reserved for what's most important--saving my kids from major injuries. I've already failed in my house. Just this week the boys painted a 4-feet swash of carpet, poured a couple of gallons of water on the floor, cut my living room curtain and riped up my bedside lamp shade. Anyone wanna trade?

I'm surprised we haven't been to the ER yet

At a lovely potluck with lovely friends in the mountains, Owen tried to paralyze himself. (Or at least that's my version. Jack thought of it as good preparation for a hockey defenseman.) Owen laid face-down on a hammock with his fingers laced through the rope and had his friends push him as fast as they could. Then when he was pushed so high that the hammock swung completely around, he let go and landed flat on his back on packed dirt.

Then he got up and shouted, "Cool, let's do that again!"

Swimming lessons

Owen is in his first week of swimming lessons. No longer is this Baby and Me with the child held securely in his mother's arms. Now he's in the water independently, with his fellow classmates and teachers. Not only is this a new experience for our preschoolers, this is a big change for us parents as well. We sit on the edge of the pool calling out instructions: stay on the wall, listen to your teacher, don't splash the person next to you, etc. When the teachers wrapped noodles around our little charges and lead them into the deep end, we leaned in closer and held our breathes.

I'm fighting the impulse to be a smother mother. When Owen has strayed from the group, a few times I've reminded him to stay with the teacher and a few times I've remembered my decision to let the teacher lead and bit my tongue while the teacher encouraged him to come back.

We're both growing up, Owen and I. He is learning to jump into the deep end without me and I am learning to sit on the side and cheer him on.

Night, night kisses

Jonas has started a new beguiling bedtime routine that has me wrapped around his finger, quite literally. After prayer and a good-night kiss, he flings his arm around my neck and plants a smacking wet kiss on my check. I give him another kiss. He leans in closer to rub his nose against mine and we giggle. We rub noses, we share kisses, we both have big grins. What could be better?

Happy Father's Day, Daddy!