Older than her years

Just sitting here reading a book while A plays with her toys in the living room, when she announced: "let me go wake up those children." I'm now watching, bemused, while she awakens her father and older brother...

When the Terrible Twos are Over

Now you are three.

This year, you've learned so much that you're practically unrecognizable. It's easy to forget how much a toddler changes until you look back at the year before. Your dad runs a full-time classroom of one around this place, and what with colors and letters and numbers and such, it's making it seem like he really misses homeschooling your brother. You can finally ride AND steer your tricycle. You had the pedaling down pretty much instantly, but you could never get the idea that those handlebars were there for more than just comfort. You can run like the wind, and you know how to put your "running shoes" on all by yourself. There was great rejoicing when you finally consented to be potty trained, and you are out of diapers (nighttime doesn't count, it's hard to hold your bladder in your sleep, I totally get it). You are stubbornly independent, and voracious for knowledge, which keeps us on our toes with your barrage of "why" questions. Not going to fudge, here, I've totally replied "because I said so." It's not a cop-out, it's exhaustion. You are more logical than your developmental charts say you should be, and easier to reason with than your older brother (ahem!). You notice when we take a wrong turn on the way home...from anywhere! I couldn't do that until I was...well, still can't...

You have converted back to being a dress-wearer. You love wearing your gigantic pink tutu over everything (including nothing...), and are so proud of the fact that you can put it on and take if off by yourself.  I had to convince you yesterday that your pirate dress wasn't acceptable church attire. You dressed as Alice in Wonderland, Princess Anna, a fairy princess, Batgirl, and aforementioned pirate (complete with frilly pirate tutu, lest you should be concerned...) all within the course of your birthday month. When people asked me what you were going to be for Halloween, I just said you'd decide on that day. How could it be otherwise, when it means your world is full of possibility and imagination?

You still talk ALL. THE. TIME. Most of the time I can understand you now, but sometimes you still say absolutely nonsensical things. You converse with me over the breakfast table, and when you sleep in of a morning, I miss hearing your constant chatter, which is about absolutely nothing, but perfectly captures your delight in the world around you. This morning, I was trying to multitask, and you took me sharply to task for not being available to "talk" to you. I think your father's hearing has gotten worse, just from the steady stream of sound directed towards his ears. You have an extremely loud stage whisper that you usually employ in church, to the giggling delight of your brother. You have a maniacal laugh where you throw your head back and burst out laughing. It makes everyone around you giggle, but also scares them a little bit... You'll say something crazy, and then roll your eyes while declaiming, "I'm just kidding!" You didn't get that sense of humor from anyone I know...

You have warmed up to strangers (somewhat). You now realize that when you wave at someone, or smile cheekily, they will respond in kind, and you take every chance to scan the crowd for takers. This must be done from a safe distance, however, for the instant that contact is made, you are done with the new relationship, and have moved on. I surmise that you were suspicious of the world at birth, and are planning on doing more research into the subject before fully committing yourself to an opinion. Maybe when you're ten, you'll be capable of shaking someone's hand. You make Stranger Danger into an art form.  The same wariness does not characterize your love for the Animal Kingdom. You adore animals of all kinds, but especially Tesla. It's not even really true to call her "the family cat", or "our cat." She's your cat, and has been from day one. You will "play" with her, "talk" to her, hug and squeeze her, and she will allow your affection without batting an eyelash or swishing a tail. Either you are part cat, or she's your familiar...

You sing constantly - one would suspect you get that from your mother, but your father has plumbed previously-unrecognized depths, and loves to teach you new songs, or make up words to old ones. You nickname all of your lullabies: the Sunshine song, the Ariel song, the Cheeky song, the River song, the Dancing song.  You can sing in tune, and you add a hefty dose of dynamics to your vocal offerings. You like to create impromptu drums out of everything (much like your brother, I will add), and you notice when everyday sounds have repetitive rhythm or variable pitch ("it's making music, Mom!"). Your dad will turn on "ballerina music" at your command, and classical strains will fill the house, as you spin and twirl with your eyes closed, swept up in the sound. One day, my heart almost broke for joy as you sat beside me at the piano, learning your first notes. I have always hoped that we could teach you to love music, but I don't think you have need of teaching when melodies run in your veins.

You still fit on my lap and in my arms, a warm, compact parcel of curls and wiggles that smells of sunshine and sugar. You have learned to say "I love you", and you make sure that we know it, we who share this life with you, with liberal hugs, and kisses, and words of appreciation all around. And if I have one wish for you, it would be that someday you glimpse how joyfully, how deeply, how fiercely we love you.

Happy birthday, beanie.

Playing Favorites

Right as I was sitting down with A in her rocking chair, after all the pomp and ritual of the bedtime routine was over, she announced that she wanted to kiss her brother. Since she was already exhibiting signs of extreme fatigue, and we were already past the point of exchanging kisses with family members, I deflected by saying she could kiss him tomorrow instead, but that it was too late for tonight, expecting her to forget as soon as she was tucked in.
Naturally, five minutes later, she was still asking to kiss her brother goodnight. She then proceeded to explain: "I want to give him five kisses, because he's my favorite boy."
I'll give you one guess as to whether she won that round.
I'm a pushover, yes, but gosh, that level of cuteness is difficult to combat.

She is Mighty

I talked with my sister last night about our respective careers.  Listening to her talk, as always, I am stunned by her intelligence, her compassion, her kindness, and above all, her passion.

No one in my family lacks strength in our convictions, nor do we feature low on the ferocity scale. But my little sister is the most passionate person I know. She's always had the family reputation for taking up the cudgels in an unlikely someone's defense, and she has made a life out of that same fierce drive. Don't ever get into an argument with her, for you will likely feel not only stupid,  but as if you're the greatest monster on earth.  She speaks so eloquently, and with such fire, that I envision her legal opponents crumbling before her. I definitely would/do (it's very humbling, since I'm older, and therefore should be correct by age alone!).

I'm so proud of her, not only for the career she's chosen, but for her belief in it. She makes the world a better place in the best way she can.

Satellite

When you were small, I observed to my mother that my reflexes were faster, better trained, clumsy/awkward girl that I was before you. You see, I spend my motherhood trying desperately to catch you - an outstretched arm, a wild grab. Don't trip, don't fall, don't run away, don't grow up. But you don't wait for permission, and you don't slow down to allow me to catch up.  I've never been ready for the being that is you (although how could I ever have been prepared), your energy, your love, your life have always caught me by surprise. It was not an option, I couldn't fail, I couldn't ever be less than you needed, and yet, I cannot ever succeed in being what you deserve, this endless parent-sized paradox in which we find ourselves. Thus, you dragged me along out of my childhood, and into yours, you old soul, you wise babe. And now, you have my long legs, and my passionate arguments, and my bleeding heart, and you run farther out of reach, with your height scratched ever higher on the door post, with your long legs, your likes and dislikes that are no longer reflections of mine. I struggle to keep up, but you'll always outrace me, a small, fierce sun just over the horizon, but lighting the path back into grace.

Hugs are pretty awesome, after all

Last night, as I was cuddling with and singing to A before putting her in her bed, she suddenly threw her arms around me and said: "I love your hugs, Mommy. They're so squishy."

I laughed so much that she kept repeating it, which obviously just made me laugh harder.

Having a toddler is hard work (and I'm not even the at-home parent!), but good grief, they're so cute.

Book Lover

On my desultory way home from work
I saw a book on the sidewalk
A simple paperback novel
No identifying marks at this distance and speed
No nearby potential owner searching with purposeful steps
Only words on pages fluttering aimlessly in the sweltering sun
How did it get there, this literary discrepancy?
Thrown, perhaps, in a fit of pique at an unwanted turn of events
Or discarded as trash due to uninteresting tales
Fallen out of a bag, greatly missed later
Perhaps this was someone's only treasure
Or an excuse for unfinished homework
Now lying, incongruous, where books are never placed intentionally
I hope that it is claimed by an appreciative finder
I can't bear the thought of words unread

The Downside

I walk a fine line sometimes, when it comes to the health of my family members. 

The children of physicians ourselves, my siblings and I never saw other doctors (at least once we were past vaccine age), and the same goes for my kids.  I remember being so annoyed when my parents would downplay our cuts and bruises, but forbade us the trampoline and made us wear helmets. My mother would always say "We've seen what can happen," but I never appreciated the sentiment, of course.

Now, I know how to manage most of my childrens' ailments on my own, and I don't worry about a rash or a runny nose either, because I'm lucky enough to have the required knowledge.  But sometimes, my children will develop a symptom or sign - my daughter's lips turn blue while she sleeps, my son complains of "heart" pain. They don't turn out to be serious, but for a few moments, I think of all the diseases or outcomes that could happen - a catalog of the worst possible scenarios presents itself, things that I almost wish I didn't even know about, so that the idea wouldn't make me freeze in sudden terror. Sometimes, I wonder whether it may be better to fear the worst when you don't know exactly what the worst is.

Such is the price of knowledge.

Gossip

Sometimes I wonder
Curious that I am
About the private dramas
I'll never know
Having been the child
Of appropriate parents
(Or perhaps wrapped
In youth's self-absorption)
When I think about
All the small things
In my own adulthood
That are so deeply felt
Yet with a bit of time
Are revealed to be quite shallow
-Even embarrassing-
I find gratitude
That such secrets
Shall remain bits of dross
In the memory of my family

With Thanks to Richard Rodgers

Today, you are two years old.

You have decided that you are a picky eater, something I anticipated, and that your poor father did not. Overnight, you went from eagerly eating onions and peppers and pickles, to turning your nose up at chicken nuggets, and squeezing huge crocodile tears out every time we suggest you eat food you don't want (which is everything). You don't throw food very often, but you do like to dump milk and cereal onto your tray. And then splash in the mess. This sort of behavior is odd, considering that falling down and getting dirt on your hands is a household crisis.  But this is you learning to exercise control, and by all means, I want you to grow up to be a strong, independent woman.  So you go right along with your food refusal.  Just know I'm also a strong, independent woman, so I'm not going to make you something special to eat (but your dad probably will).

You decided that you were going to be two, as in "terrible," several months ago.  You try your darndest to tell us exactly what you want, and even when we do understand, sometimes you can't have your way.  It's so hard (and, I will admit, sometimes hilarious) to watch you be frustrated and furious as you learn to communicate with us.  It would probably help if you didn't speak your own very precise, very extensive language. You like to make long-winded speeches in this untranslatable tongue, speeches that are complete with gestures, and you even laugh at your own jokes.  I suspect you get that propensity for verbosity directly through the maternal bloodline.  I also get the feeling that if we could only understand you, you'd tell us such wonderful things.

I don't make you wear as many dresses as you used to, but that's because you're so active that a dress sometimes slows you down (I know, who knew??). You can roughhouse with the best of them, you see.  You still point out the "pretty" things you like in stores, which your daddy just loooooves (sarcasm). You love to have your hair done, and you like clomping around in my high heels. One time, you took a proxy brush out of a bag of dental supplies, and used it like a mascara wand.  On a less girly note, however, you have recently become obsessed with a certain Thomas THE Tank Engine (your brother's extensive Thomas book collection may have had something to do with that). This has sparked a fierce debate in our home as to whether Thomas says "peep peep" or "toot toot." The jury is still out.

Your baby book collection is ridiculous. You have more board books than any toddler could possibly need.  In the course of an hour, you make your dad read the same one over and over again, so why would you even need more than one? And yet, every time you see a new book, you greet it with adoration and excitement. Your parents are bibliophiles themselves, so I guess that's why they keep buying more books. They did name you after a character in a fantasy novel, after all. You like to sit in your book box and read stories to yourself.  I just know someday soon you'll be reading under the covers with a flashlight, as girls like Anne Shirley, Laura Ingalls, and Jo March come alive for you.  I can't wait for you to meet them.

You continue to be enthralled by music in all forms. You nod your head and dance when your father plays his heavy metal in the car.  You were the first one on the dance floor at my cousin's wedding this year. You've learned that both Daddy and E wear excellent platforms for you to stand on while they dance with you.  You've gotten your father to dance with you more times in your short 2 years of life than I have in all my years of knowing him. Sometimes, a man just has to concede that his daughter needs to dance.  Tonight, while your brother practiced the piano, you insisted on sitting on my lap next to him, and "practiced" your toy piano.  You were then upset when you had to go to bed and he got to keep practicing.  You have startled yourself awake while singing your favorite lullaby in your sleep. Your brother and I once sang the ABC song in two-part harmony for 30 minutes at your request.  Every night, you fall asleep to an instrumental lullaby CD, and if it isn't cued up when you're ready to get in bed, things get ugly.

Before you lie down at night, you sometimes ask me to sing. And my heart aches with the sweetness and the joy and the sheer delight of loving you, temper tantrums or no.

"Nothing comes from nothing

Nothing ever could

So somewhere in my youth or childhood

I must have done something good"

Happy birthday to my fierce, darling, strong-willed, much-loved baby girl.

She's not a baby now

Tomorrow, you will be one year old.

On your third night of life, you reduced me to tears because I couldn't get you to wake up and eat. Tears! I have never been so tired in my entire life.  I was even a surgery intern, once upon a time, I'm very familiar with exhaustion. So congratulations, you have superior exhaustive powers.

You started out as "Peabody," but your dad calls you "Little Bear," which seems more appropriate considering that you are so wild.  You are willing to be held, but you are not amenable to cuddling. You do not tolerate meditative mother-daughter periods, and even our bedtime rituals are all-business.  Sometimes, however, when you aren't quite ready to go to sleep, you reject my arms, and demand your father's.  Sometimes a girl just needs her daddy, you see.

You have more facial expressions than a mime.  I literally feel sad sometimes that my eyes are not cameras, because I will catch glimpses of you in positions or in lighting that breaks my heart with your perfection, and I want to share those moments with everyone.  However, you rarely hold still long enough for pictures, because you are constantly on the go.  Sometimes you flash this silly, adorable, toothy grin that makes you look like a demented bunny, and your dad thinks it's really funny when you frown, because apparently you look just like me.  When your brother walks into a room, you watch him so expectantly, knowing that sooner or later, he will do something hilarious, and you will laugh uproariously.  The first time you laughed, I thought I would die of joy.

When you were just starting to babble, you would stare at completely blank walls and hold entire conversations. So, I'm fairly certain that you see angels.  And yet, you can be more than a little devilish, like when you cried all the way to Kansas City.  Your brother wanted to give you away that day. And your dad wasn't far behind.  Most of the time, though, you are easygoing and cheerful, which is something you definitely did not inherit through the maternal line.  You have also inherited your father's need to explore, however, which is not something an infant needs.  You scared me so badly the other night when I thought you were about to swallow something you shouldn't have. So badly that I cried from relief because you were still safe.

You love being in water, which I think is funny, because your favorite lullaby is "Baby Beluga".  When we brought you to the river for the Fourth of July fireworks, you were so overstimulated and tired that I thought we would have to leave, but I started singing that song to you and you were instantly calm, like I had thrown a life preserver to someone drowning.  You dance, and you bang on the piano, and you are mesmerized by your Papa playing the guitar. I think you were born with music inside of you.

We seek out and celebrate all of your milestones with such fervor: first smile, rolling over, sitting up, crawling.  I rejoice when you learn something new, like the first day you signed or when you copy a sound after your brother demonstrates.  And yet, I hate that you are growing up, that you aren't the same little freakishly loud, wrinkly-old-man infant we brought home one year ago.  I would freeze time to keep you from changing, because I love every single moment with you and cannot bear for any of the moments to be over.

One time, before you were born, I dreamed that you were not mine, that you existed, but I could not have you.  So I thank God every day when I wake, when you are and that I do.

Happy birthday, little bear.

Mom Rage

I was reading an article this evening about the recent measles outbreak in Texas, and the part about how some of the ill patients were those who could not yet be vaccinated (i.e. poor, defenseless, sweet, innocent babies) struck a chord. Obviously, consideration for people who cannot be vaccinated (which includes poor, defenseless, sweet, innocent children with cancer and other immunosuppressed states) is something those of us who believe in vaccines usually cite as an argument for our side, but I'd never thought of it in such stark reference to my own, too-young-to-get-a-measles-vaccine daughter.
I believe in the right of parents to be fully educated about vaccines, and if you choose not to vaccinate despite that education, our country's laws allow that. However, please then keep your child away from my children, out of common courtesy. Also, because with most illnesses, you become infectious before you're symptomatic (which is how so many people in Texas got exposed...), and because it's impossible for me to fully disinfect every surface that my children might ever touch, that also means stay out of public. I'm serious.
I can't even imagine how I would feel if my daughter were exposed to a preventable and potentially fatal disease by someone who chose not to get their child vaccinated.  I was telling my husband this, and he laughingly said "Would your 'mom rage' come out?"  And the answer is yes. You may have the right to not get vaccinated, but then I would have the right to let my mom rage out. And it is ugly. Consider yourselves forewarned...

Heroics

Today, when we went to the mall, E offered to push Peabody's stroller through the parking lot. He firmly instructed me to "walk on the outside" to protect her from moving vehicles and said he would protect her on the other side. I reminded him to watch carefully for cars that were backing out, since they would hit his sister first, and he replied "I know. You know, I've always wanted to do something heroic and I've never had the opportunity. But most of the time, I'm glad no one has ever needed me to be heroic."

He is so sweet it hurts my soul. And I'm sure all mothers of small boys think the same thing...

Books and Brilliance

My conversations with E:

"What was your bad thing that happened today?"
"Well, a lot of sad things happened in my book, so that was bad."
"What kind of sad things?"
"Mom! I can't tell you, I'd ruin it for you! I really want you to read it, I think you'd enjoy it."
"Oh, ok. What do you like about it?"
"I like the way you can see the things it's talking about. {sigh} Don't you just love how books can transform your world?"

"Why is gas so expensive? Oh, wait, I know, it's because it's so difficult to obtain. Did you know that in the year 2745 we're going to run out of coal, gas and all our resources? I hope I don't like a miracle life and live to see that, because that will be a sad day."
"Well, we've got several hundred years, maybe we'll figure something else out before then."
"That would take a brilliant scientist."
"That's true.  Maybe that brilliant scientist could be you!"
"No way, mom. There's no way that I could be that 1 in 1000 scientists that would be that brilliant."
"Why not?"
"Well, I've only had two good ideas my whole life, and both of them already existed..."

Crunching Numbers

Today, I present an oversharing post on budgeting.  Now, as I've already made (hopefully) clear, our family is that of the one-income variety. And I'm still in residency, so the pay, while it's obviously more than I've ever made in my life, and is more than a lot of people make, isn't a whole lot for a family of 4 with a mortgage. So this is how we do it.

For some background, when D & I were in college, we were pretty poor. I was a single mom in college by the grace of an academic scholarship and he was a college student in the work-study program.  In med school, I suddenly was blessed with a stipend through a different scholarship.  D had a grown-up job by then, made a heck of a lot of money, and wasn't at home often enough to spend very much.  When we got married, we both through budgetary concerns out the window, bought whatever we wanted, and ate out almost every night.  It's not healthy to have a lot of money when you're very young, by the way. You become greedy and you waste a lot of things.  That changed when we decided to live on my income only, and budgeting became much more important.  It's even more of a factor now that we have 2 children, and a house payment.  So let's dig in.

First off, I went through our bills and factored up the average cost of every single thing we spent money on.  Car payment? Put it on the budget. Water bill? Budget for it. Clothing? Unless you want to be naked... Gas money? Can't walk everywhere in this town, so you'd better have money if you don't intend to take the bus. Even incidentals have to be accounted for. For instance, I noticed that for various reasons over several months, we were spending about $100/month on car maintenance (oil changes, new tires, windshield wipers, whatever). That had to go on the budget, too.  I also calculated how much we were spending on our credit cards every month. This all went into a nice pretty spreadsheet with formulas and labels and everything.

Then, I figured out how much I get paid per month through various sources, did some addition and subtraction and voila! I know how much money I can spend. At the beginning, the numbers in the income bracket were a heck of a lot lower than the ones in the spending column.  So then I went through and decided what we did and didn't need. Cable was unnecessary, so it went.  Eating out is not only expensive, it's bad for the waistline, so that wasn't too hard of a sacrifice.  Home decor changes and upgrades had to be put on hold, for the most part.  A car payment was too high, so the car was traded in (much to my husband's chagrin, and I've promised to make it up to him with a much nicer car when I get real money, so hold me to it, Blogosphere).  I even negotiated our internet bill down by about $15/month.  We stick to a grocery budget now, which prevents me from being brainwashed into purchasing a bunch of junk from the pretty displays at Target. I look at our bills every month and make sure that we're allocating money where it needs to go, and that none of the numbers have changed without me noticing.

The next step, once you've balanced your budget and it's going at a steady rate, is money goals. I keep a list of goals at the bottom of my budget spreadsheet. It includes short-term goals, like "pay hospital bills" and long-term goals, like "pay student loans".  Other examples of goals could be saving up for a vacation, saving for a new baby ;-), saving for that beautiful couch you saw last weekend, paying off a car loan, paying off a credit card bill, you get the picture.

At first, we had to tap into some of our savings, which was a bit of a downer, but now we're able to save a little bit every month, so I feel better about it. We also haven't had to touch D's retirement fund or stock from his old job, so we still have a lot saved up for a rainy day.  Although our grocery budget is tighter now, we definitely don't have to worry about paying for food. We've just changed what we do with the food we get.  I eat leftovers now (something I grew up doing, so I'm not sure how I started thinking it was such an undesirable habit).  E had to finish the breakfast foods we had before I'd buy more breakfast cereal.  It sounds so simple and commonsense, but see my statement above, about how we got careless.  We both come from families that are careful with their money, so we had no excuse other than the fact that we went straight from almost no money to too much money.

As far as how this impacts our kiddos, one of them is too young to care/notice (and her food source is free...).  For E, he doesn't know anything about how the bills get paid anyway.  He asks how much money we have sometimes, but I always dodge the question and say we have enough (haha, which is what my mom always said).  I think the only time he really notices money is when it comes to groceries and eating out.  We try to put the emphasis on health and avoiding waste rather than money, or that we're not eating out because we're saving money for something else, not that we don't have the money to do it.  There are definitely ways to screw with your kids' psyche when it comes to moolah.  One way is to act like you have too much of it and give them everything they have ever wanted, so that they've never had to earn a thing and are incapable of feeling grateful for what they do have.  But I think it's also possible to err in the opposite direction, so that your kids have an overwhelming desire for money and possessions because they never had either.  So we remove money from the equation entirely, and make it more about what we need rather than what we can spend.

There have been a lot of good things about having only one working adult in our family, but I think one of the biggest lessons has been about money. I'm definitely more appreciative now about what we do have. And budgeting took a lot of the question out of our situation. Bills weren't a surprise any more, and when surprises do happen, I can change my numbers around a little bit to find room for negotiation.  It appeals to my obsessive-compulsive side and helps me feel that I have more control in my life overall.  Which is a nice thing to feel in an uncontrollable world!

The Bowin School for One Small Brown Child

Last fall, we made a very big decision for our family and decided to homeschool E through 4th grade.  We made the choice for a lot of reasons, none of which are exciting enough to detail here. Suffice it to say that we weren't happy with the school he was in, and the other various options were not very desirable either.  Since I was homeschooled for 4 years and loved it immensely, I don't have the same biases against it that most people (including my dearly beloved husband) do.  For anyone who's contemplating it, I think the most important factors are choosing a clearly defined curriculum and making sure that your child has plenty of opportunities for socializing, since they won't be doing it in the school room any more.

So for the first point, the curriculum, we started with the Sonlight curriculum, which is a reading-based, Christian program that my mom used waaaay back when we were homeschooled. One of the best things about homeschooling is the ability to pick what your child is going to learn.  With Sonlight, you choose from several different programs within each subject, depending on what you want to emphasize. For instance, this year, we chose a 4th grade world history/geography program, and the science program focuses on electricity and magnetism.  The core program is made up of history and geography combined with the language arts: in short, E will read a short textbook chapter on a country or a spotlight in history, and then read a novel that incorporates those ideas.  It's fun. Some of my favorite books of all time were books that I first read as part of a curriculum (like Witch of Blackbird Pond and Johnny Tremain). We also have the ability to add in whatever "electives" we like. (But he doesn't get the choice, he just has to do them...) This semester, we added journal writing (D comes up with some hilarious prompts), world religions, letter writing, and typing.  Chores figure prominently as a part of his day, and he regularly washes, dries and folds his own laundry, sweeps, dusts and vacuums, and cleans the bathrooms.  Manual labor is very educational, you see!

As far as socializing, E's best friend lives down the street from us, and there are about 4 or 5 other boys his age that live in this neighborhood. In the summer, they form a regular little hoodlum gang, running around the park, jumping over fences, and generally being a fairly well-behaved little bunch of nuisances.  In the winter, they're mostly restricted to indoor play, which they do almost every day.  E's also been on the same soccer team for 3 seasons now, and they practice twice a week during the season. Practice slash play around on the soccer fields and drive their poor coach nuts.  Homeschooling is a situation where it would admittedly be nicer for E if he had a sibling closer to his age, something he pointed out quite early in the process, but we manage quite well.

I think my favorite part about homeschooling is that it's fun to know exactly what E is working on in school on any given day, because then we talk about it at the dinner table or when something comes up while watching television or driving around town on errands.  When we play games, Spartans and Trojans and Romans figure prominently. When E helps D cook, they talk about random science and math topics.  School isn't limited to a certain time of our day, it's all day long. And most of the time, E doesn't even realize it.

Hope

You stood in the aisle
And I will always see you there
Your heart pouring from an open gaze
As I struggled to give you the only gift I could
What comfort can anyone mortal offer
For the loss of a child
I wouldn't even let myself weep
My emotions so unworthy
Guilty, aware that my two
One, tall and the light that had led my life
One, small and so long-awaited
Both safe
How could I even look you in the eye
How could I share loss in human words,
Phrases of hope and resurrection and love
When your son is gone

Yet, you stood there,
So alone, so fragile
I wonder how you could bear to keep breathing,
keep your heart beating
under such assault
And I did it for you
The song you asked for
My heart, my sorrow wrapped inside
It ached as I pulled it forth
As you stood there in the aisle
Gazing at me with such desperation
Too much loss for any hope of relief
And finally, finally, I let myself see you
Under cover of a melody
And someone else's words
I said everything I could
I felt your soul grasping
I felt your hand in mine
And I gave you everything I had

Later, when the comfort of ritual was over,
And uncharted life still left to be lived
How could you be so brave:
You asked if you could hold her,
my survivor's guilt,
my own sweet babe
I laid her in a mother's empty arms
You smiled at her with no trace of fear
And I found she could give more than I ever could
Such a small bandage to cover such a wound

If my mother could hear how much I whine...

Yesterday, I had a busy day.

On my way home from work, I was convinced that it had been a bad day. When I got home, I told my husband that I felt as if I had gotten a slight breather at lunch time, but otherwise was going at full steam, non-stop, without a single break.

And as I said it, the thought came to me, "Why are you complaining? You got to come home for lunch. You got to cuddle your children while your husband fixed you a meal. How could that not redeem any bad day you could possibly have?"

My mother and I have talked a lot this past year about how ungrateful we can be about our lives.  Sometimes at work, I feel that all I hear is complaining.  And I'm in a line of work where I get paid vacation, where I took 6 weeks off for maternity leave, where my bosses listen to me when things need to change, where my very job description engenders some sort of respect.  In short, I mean that I'm not picking up feces every day, so where the heck do I get off complaining about it?

Our culture teaches us that external factors control how we feel, and that to do nothing and get paid for it (cough, cough - the Kardashians - cough, cough) is glamorous and desirable. My parents taught me that hard work is its own reward. That every job should be done well, from cleaning toilets to healing disease. That if you have work, you should feel blessed, because you are able to be productive and your life has meaning.  And yet every day, I find myself complaining.  I bet if most of you examine your conversation in general, whether it be texts, phone calls, face-to-face or even Facebook statuses, you will be shocked by the amount of complaining you do.

I'm not a New Year's Resolution-type person, never have been. As a friend of mine said recently, "If I feel that something needs to change, I just change it." Well, something needs to change in my life.  I'm not planning on never complaining again, because goodness knows sometimes just having my husband or mom listen to my day makes everything better again. But I will try to be more grateful, to whine less, and to enjoy more.

Any takers?

The Ideal

When Peabody was born, that first night home was a doozy. D and I were both reeling from the lethal combination of the sleepless night before the induction, the sleepless night in the hospital, and (too much...) friend/family time. And then Peabody refused to be set down. My body hurt everywhere, and I was on a postpartum emotional roller coaster of sheer elation and sheer exhaustion. But it was ok. Because I had someone else there to hold the baby, someone else to change diapers, someone else to share the sheer burden of situation with me.  And because said someone wasn't my mom or dad, brother or sister, I didn't feel guilty about sharing that burden. I felt relieved and so very, very blessed.

I took off six weeks to be at home with my family when Peabody was born.  Those were six delightful, dreamy weeks that I was so lucky to have, and that I will remember forever as such a wonderful time. D and I spent countless long, luxurious hours staring at our baby, snapping endless pictures, exclaiming over her every expression, comparing notes on the best way to soothe her, the best way to attract her attention. We were able to take turns sleeping, showering, eating, playing with E, homeschooling, cleaning the house, doing laundry, so that nothing and no one was neglected.  We went together to doctor's visits and made the first anxiety-ridden visits to the grocery store with baby in tow. We tried out the stroller and the swing and the bouncy seat and the bassinets. We learned how to put her to sleep (that all-important goal of all parents...). We were able to figure out how this new little creature was going to fit into our lives, how we were going to handle any number of new situations. 

If we were a "traditional" family, and D had gone back to work after a week (if he had even felt comfortable taking that much time off), I can't imagine how much more we all would have suffered. Everything would have been ok, but it definitely would have been so different.

When I went back to work, one of my bosses was surprised that I looked so happy.  How could I not have been? I was well-rested, my children were safe at home, my house was clean, my pantry full, and I had spent six weeks falling even more in love with my wonderful husband, who I knew was perfectly capable of taking care of everything at home.

So the moral of the story is, if there is any way for both you and your partner to be at home with your new baby, do it. And do it for as long as possible. It's so worth it.

Humility

The other day after Mass, the lady in front of me turned around and said "You have a lovely voice!"
E looked up at me disingenuously and said "That hasn't happened in a while!"