Just Another Night or How the Cereal Box Ended Up in the Fridge this Morning

7pm-8:15 pm: Trying to get Sam (7 months old) to sleep. He cries and cries and finally I hang my head over the side of his crib so he can play with my hair as he falls asleep.

9pm: Awake again. Repeat process.

10:15pm: Awake again. Feeding time.

Midnight: Awake again. Try to get him to fall asleep with pacifier. Unsuccessful. Feeding time.
I stumble back to bed at 12:30.

2am: WAH! Guess what? I turn over and mumble to my husband, "Can you try to get him back to sleep. I'm so tired." Husband stumbles down the 7 stairs to baby's room. I hear crying. Crying continues as husband crawls back into bed. "He'll fall asleep. Just let him cry." "Is he wet?" I ask. (That amazing mother's instinct still alive and well at this ungodly hour.) Husband mumbles, "He didn't feel wet to me," as he turns over and falls asleep.

2:15am: I almost fall down the stairs this time. Sam is sopping wet. And cold. He is very unhappy and tries to roll away as I strip him, put on new clothes and a fresh diaper.

2:30am: Back to bed. Sam in the middle of us. I am too tired to change his sheets and put him back into his own bed. I'm praying he'll just give me 3 straight hours of sleep. No such luck.

4am: The last hour and a half were less than ideal. Sam's toes are digging into my back (which reminds me that I need to clip his nails) and he keeps pulling my hair. Feeding time, back into his own bed.

6am: Sam appears to be up for the day. Hubby mercifully gets up with him so I can sleep until...

6:45am: Husband appears at my bedside to hand off the baby. I kiss him goodbye as he leaves for work. Sam is all smiles and squeals in delight. I feel like I've been hit by a bus.

And THAT is how the cereal box ended up in the fridge.

Life of the 3rd Child

Micah is 10 months old and the third child. This is what his day has been so far:
6:15 wake up (none of my other kids have ever gotten up this early)
stay in bed until 7
7 - give him a bottle which he holds himself while still in bed so that I can get my first of 5 loads of laundry in the wash.
7:30 breakfast
8:10 still in highchair munching on cheerios while I give older sis a hair cut.
8:30 stuck in johnny jumper while I take a shower
9:15 moved from johnny jumper to carseat (wait you say, isn't this close to a 10 month old nap time - why yes, it is. However, I have a lot to do today so he will snooze in the day or have one nap this afternoon) to go to WalMart for that thing that just can't wait (me)
11:00 home from Walmart, small snack since we have had no nap.
11:30 other kids want to eat lunch so he is stuck once again in his highchair where is eats lunch which sometimes consist of the crust of other two children.
It is 12 now and where is he? Still in his highchair babbling and munching a banana cookie.

Poor little guy, he gets moved from one thing to the next all day long...The upside: He is happy and pretty consistently easy going. He laughs and smiles a lot. He is in love with his two older siblings and has more hands and feet to play with than the first one did. He gives lots of kisses because he has many other people to give them to.

But now he is yelling ahh-doe (which means all done). He wants out of the high chair.

Swimsuit Recap

Today I ventured out with my 3 to try to find a bathing suit for my postpartum body (I can still call myself postpartum, right? He is only 10 months old!). As if that was not daunting enough, I had all 3 kids in tow. So, we go to multiple stores and I finally see one at Target that seems worthy enough to try on (read - it might shrink my stomach). I try it on and of course, no go. Daniel is cheering me on, telling me it looks great and I should buy it. I say, nah, it doesn't really look very good. So, I get dressed while trying to keep Micah from crawling out of the door. Micah in one hand, trying to get the door open with the other hand that I am holding the offensive bathing suit with. I hand the said bathing suit to Daniel while I try to get us all out of the 2X2 space. Daniel walks up to the sales lady at the desk and says, "We don't want it. It doesn't look good at all." Thanks son...The lady is busting at the seams to keep from laughing.

It reminded me of another such occassion. This is an old story to a few of you. A couple of years ago, I was in the exact same situation. Our mutual friend, Daniele, had this great bathing suit that I loved; I was trying to be as cute as her and find one exactly like it. I did, on sale, at a store that I had a gift card to - SCORE! Only one problem - it was really a size too small but I vowed to squeeze by chubby self into it. For those of you with sons, or if you have ever been around my son, you know that there is really no such thing as an inside voice for him. His voice is always several volumes too loud despite my attempts to quiten it. I am standing in the pretty full dressing room, literally stuffing myself inside this realy cute bathing suit and he shouts in his very Daniel voice, " Mommmy, your booty is WAAAAY too big for that!" It was so embarrassing and so comical that I totally cracked up. He was right, my bottom was way too big.

Just hoped to give you all a laugh!

Wisdom from Beyond "The Trenches"

I was talking to my mother today and complaining about Sam's poor sleep habits and feeling pretty sorry for myself. He is just over seven months old and it is a "good night" if he only wakes up three times. Seriously. (And yes, we have tried just about everything and read close to ten books about sleep.) Anyway, my mother (a mother of 12) said, "You know, I'm 65 and I can tell you that you only have your children for a little while and then they are gone. This first year may seem like an eternity, and you may be wondering when you are going to get any rest, but it will pass so quickly." Even though what she said didn't make me any less tired (and it seems like it'll be a long night ahead, as Sam is screaming his head off as I write this), it does put things in perspective. I am going to appreciate this present time for what it is and appreciate my son, even at 3:30 in the morning! :)

My So-Called Vacation

We're closing out Day Four of the long-awaited vacation (or Long-Awaited Vacation, as Rebecca might capitalize) and, wow. It's not that I wasn't warned by friends that going to the beach (or anywhere, for that matter) with an almost two and a half-year old and four month old would not be a ton of fun nor was I under the influence of any illegal substance at the time the trip was planned. It seems that this trip is simply an enhanced version of my regular life, which right now is a roller-coaster, a crazy dichotomy, a Jekyl and Hyde kind of experience. There's the insane I-am-going-to-lose-my-mind-if-this-doesn't-end-soon stuff followed closely by the I-never-want-this-moment-to-end stuff. It's exhausting and exhilarating, depressing and joy-giving within a five minute span.
But you already know that, don't you?

Working on it.

Teaching a three-year-old to ask for things politely usually ends up with something like:

"May I mama give you milk please?"

At least he's trying.

You May Say I'm a Dreamer

Okay, mommy-friends, this post is neither funny (no, Luke has definitely not been all that funny recently--read on), nor heart-wrenching, nor profound. Just some good stuff I heard tonight that I thought might encourage you, too.

Tonight, I went to a new parents' meeting at the school Luke will attend next year. Good information, good folks. It's a classical Christian school, so a fair amount of the information was about their mission statement, philosophy, etc. The headmaster shared that three key words (goals? or something like that) in what they want the kids to learn, from kindergarten right up through high school, are attentiveness, respect, and responsibility. (It's Charlotte Mason stuff, if you're familiar with her work).

Aha! That, my friends, is what we are missing around here. Luke, yes, but all of us really. Attentiveness, respect, and responsiblity.

Luke doesn't pay attention when he is told what to do, or when a question he has just asked is answered, or when he is called away from something he is doing. It's driving me crazy. But do I pay attention to him when I'm busy blogging or emailing or facebooking or cooking or reading? Luke has been speaking disrespectfully to me, to Sam, to friends, to other adults. I can't stand it. But do I always choose my words carefully and consider what they communicate to their recipient, be that Luke or Sam or anyone else? Luke hasn't been taking responsibility for his things: cleaning up his toys, putting away his books or his backpack, clearing his place. I'm sick of being responsible for everything. But how many pairs of shoes of mine are sitting by the front door, how many books and pieces of mail on the coffee table, how much stuff on the computer desk?

Attentiveness, respect, and responsibility. Good goals. I'm even thinking of planning a family study on them for the summer. Imagine if we all lived with those goals in mind: if we all paid attention to the needs around us, if we all respected each other, if we all took responsibility for ourselves and for others, too.

(I think I'm starting to sound a little bit like John Lennon, which is so not my goal, so I'll stop there. But just imagine it. I am.)

with a few exceptions

(a reprint from my other blog, which seems to fit well here, too)

it's coming, you know.

you probably do. you probably already ordered the flowers, mailed out the card, planned the brunch, or scheduled the massage (ooh, you shouldn't have!), depending on what you tend to do with the day, as a rule.

there's a carefully cut-out flower with a school photo in the middle coming my way this year. (i know this because i just happened to be the mom-volunteer one day when they were making them). and something from rite aid (mouth quickly covered before the details of "something you really, really won't like--snicker, chuckle" slipped out). and no doubt something thoughtful from dad--who is ever-so-much better at keeping secrets--in fact, who delights in "purloined letters" that always always manage to keep me in the dark.

just a few days away, it's coming.

eliza always gave me dairy milk (the chocolate bar, of course, though it must needs have milk to go with it). she had no idea she gave me dairy milk, no notion of smooth chocolate, no notion of gratitude or a mom, even, if you believe the doctors. she never "gave" me anything. that is, nothing from rite aid, anyhow.

except a reminder of real, true need (have you heard sam's eulogy? i can always find someone who has said it better than i can, i think). except a reminder of my dependence--utter dependence--for my every little need. except a reminder to love unconditionally, that love isn't about what you get in return for it. except a reminder of how little power, how little control we have, and how powerful and almighty God is. except a reminder of how good and kind people can be, how people can love so well, even from so far. except a reminder to be faithful in the very little things, the very little details of very little chores that can matter so much to a very little person. except a reminder that we--each and every broken one--are created in God's image, and that is by His definition Good. except a reminder that He died for me, just for me regardless of anyone else, and that none of it is about me or mine at all. except a sweet little yawn, accompanied by a sweet little sigh; a sneeze so like mine that masquerades as a cough; clear, clear blue eyes with fantastic eyelashes; out-of-control (so like mine) curls, so very deliciously (unlike mine) strawberry blonde.

except for that.

An Answer for Everything

I don't know what made me ask. Maybe I suspected a whine was coming and wanted to stave it off. Or maybe it was because his feet were quite right in my face (because, when you climb into bed with someone, isn't that where you put your feet, too?). Or maybe it was tickling each of those toes that made me wonder. Anyhow, I asked.

"Luke, which is your favorite toe?"

Who knew this was such a good question to ask? Only a five-(and-a-half, MOM!)-year-old would have such a complete answer to such a ridiculous question.

(I know you're dying to know the answer, too.)

The big one, of course. Because it's so strong and could lift a thousand pounds. Because with his hands he can only lift five hundred pounds, but his big toe can lift a thousand! And the little toe can't do anything anyhow, can't even bow down like these other ones can (at which point he checked to see if my little toes could "bow down"). And it's as big as these two fingers, as long as this one and as wide as these two together. Which is really pretty big and impressive.

(I love all of them. Because I knew you wanted to know.)