Category Archives: my boy

big boy or baby?

Posted in laughter, my boy, my girl, parenting (aint for sissies) by

It’s summer. He’s 2 and 2 months. I’m home. He’s home. So naturally, I’ve been working on potty training Jacob.

When I say working on potty training, what I really mean is, I’ve set him on the pot a total of 4 times in the last month hoping he’ll have success. Mostly, I’m working on it by talking to him about it.

And when I say talking to him about it, what I really mean is, every time I change an unusually nasty diaper, I mention to him that since he is such a big boy, he could really go potty in the toilet next time.

So really, the “potty training” has consisted of me telling Jacob – several times in the last few weeks – what a good idea it would be for him to go potty like a big boy and hoping he figures it out for himself.

No luck so far.
I know, shocking.

I’m holding out, though. For a little while at least. Because I’m not new to this parenting thing, you know. I was a master, a master, at training Annalise.

It pretty much went like this:

  • 5 months pregnant. Plan to potty train 2-year-old before baby boy arrives.
  • Take advantage of 2-week Christmas break. PERFECT! Because Christmas break is not busy at all, and anyone can potty train a 2 year old in 2 weeks time while starting and finishing Christmas shopping, baking, packing, traveling, and staying with family out of town. NO problem.
  • Use the first day of break to cover the carpet in hospital pads, set up the potty chair, play games and take “potty breaks” while reading books about potty training. On hand: stickers and star chart, treat rewards (m&ms), and big girl panties. Mine, I mean, because they’ll be needed later when I have to put ’em on and deal with it.
  • Begin the day calmly, but keep the “potty mood” exciting! This is BIG GIRL stuff going on here!
  • By afternoon, take a nap at nap time because, well, I’m worth it. And because seriously, I’m working a heck of a lot harder at this potty training thing than she is.
  • By bed time, finish off the m&m rewards and go to bed less than thrilled about the lack of success. No worries, though. There is always tomorrow.
  • Day 2: Begin the same as Day 1. Give up after the first accident because 5-month-pregnant-gag-reflexes are on overload and frankly, you don’t want to deal with bigger messes than this.
  • Sulk for weeks – then months – about having to change diapers still.
  • Accept the fact that even though you have a very bright and capable 2 and 1/2 year old, you will be changing TWO kids’ diapers soon, because you seriously suck at potty training.
  • Thank God for the miracle when, just weeks before her brother is born, Annalise says to you out of the blue, “Mommy, I think I’ll wear big girl panties today.” And she does. And never once has an accident even though you rarely remember to take her. She just asks to go on her own.
  • Consider your potty training a success. You have about 3 weeks of no diapers before the little man arrives. Job well done.

So like I said, I’m pretty much a pro at this and am really just holding out for Jacob to show his readiness. Yeah, that’s it.

But just to speed the process along, I decided to take the boy shopping and get him some big boy undies. You know, for motivation. He picked out the Disney Cars undies and was super excited. Right up until I told him what they were for. Because really, he has no intention of going potty in the toilet.

I told him big boys go potty in the toilet… He told me he is not a big boy! I told him that yes, he actually is.

It was at this point during our conversation that he told me why he is not a big boy. “But I not a big boy, Mommy. Because I stiwl sweep in my cwib. And because I way-oh (wear) die-pees (diapers). And because I’m dist a baby stiwl. I your wittle baby, Mommy. So I can’t go potty in da toe-let.”

Funny. “Babies” don’t usually reason like that. Hmmm.

“Jacob, Mommy thinks you’re a big boy. I know you’re a big boy. Will you just wear the big boy undies and see? It will be so fun! You’ll get to wear Lightning McQueen Undies!”

“No. I not wearing dem.”

“Jacob, will you please try…”

“NO! I NOT wearing dem!” This is beginning to remind me of a dinner conversation about not eating spaghetti.

“How about you just try them on. Will you put them on for mommy?”

“No. I WILL NOT! I will NOT. PUT. DEM. ON.”

It was at this point I had finished buckling him in his car seat. I opened the package from Target and handed him a pair of Lightning McQueen undies to hold while he thought it over. Because clearly, from that last statement, he indicated he would think about it.

I unloaded the rest of the cart in silence and fumbled through my purse for my phone, paying no attention to the strong-willed “baby” in my back seat.

But then, hope!  He showed signs of giving in… “Mommy, I will wear da undies. I will wear dem for you.”

Yes! My plan is working! Proud of myself for my convincing tactics, I move from the back of the van to his open door to look at my son to tell him what a big boy he is. And I see him. Grinning from ear to ear. Clearly proud of his own tactics. “See Mommy. I wear dem for you. Wight away!”

Not exactly what I had in mind.

Just the same, he is cute as can be and rather hilarious. So I set the package of undies on his lap and – phone now found – hold it up to take a pic. “CHEEEEEEEEEEESE!” He shouts.

And I laugh, seriously impressed he was able to pull them over his head. Not an easy task, actually.

Big boy. Big boy indeed.

Floss please

Posted in laughter, my boy, parenting (aint for sissies) by

Jacob: Mama, can I have some fwoss, pwease?

Me (knowing he never wants floss to actually floss): What do you want the floss for, bud?

Jacob: To pick my boogers.

Me: Jacob, I think you should use tissue to pick out your boogers.

Jacob: No, I don’t want da tissue in my mouf. Dat’s why I want da fwoss.

Me: So the boogers are in your mouth?

Jacob: Yep. I put ’em dere after I picked my nose.

Me: And now they’re stuck in your teeth?

Jacob: Yah… Can I have da fwoss pwease?

Me: Why did you eat your boogers? That’s so gross, buddy. You need to get a tissue next time.

Jacob: But I was in time out. I was in time out when I picked my nose. So I put da boogers in my mouf and now day are stuck in my teef. Can I have da fwoss now pwease???

Who wants to kiss my adorable (and obedient) boy????

Ponderings

Posted in Food Stuff, friends, grief and loss, joy found, laughter, my boy, my girl by

It’s been a week. Lots on my mind. Most of my thoughts are still swirling around, not ready to form into words or be elaborated on, so this post is full of randomness… a list of just the beginnings of some of these thoughts – the serious, humorous, and disgusting. Consider yourself warned.

1. First and foremost: LIFE IS SHORT… Live slowly. Love deeply. Laugh often…  THIS is my new summer “to-do” list.

2. The more people you care about that enter Heaven, the further away and closer it can seem… all at the same time.

3. When Jacob says, “Mom, can you do me a favor?” don’t say ‘no’ immediately. The next words out of his mouth might be, “I need a hug.” Melt.

4. When Jacob says, “Mom, can you do me a favor?” don’t say ‘yes’ immediately. The next words out of his mouth might be, “I just went poopoo.”

5. It is not helpful, just very frustrating, to discuss problems if you do not also consider solutions.

6. It’s important to teach song lyrics carefully. Otherwise, you may end up with your daughter singing loudly, “Deck the halls of jowls of Holly…”

7. Don’t leave the song-lyric-correcting to the husband. He will only find the new words humorous and make it worse by saying, “It’s not ‘Deck the halls OF jowls of Holly,’ it’s ‘Deck the halls WITH jowls of Holly.'” Lovely. You are oh-so-helpful, my dear husband.

8. If you love someone enough to consider them family, tell them. Here are a few of mine:

  • Pete and Judy. Matt is beginning to think I would replace him with the both of you because every time I come home after seeing one of you, I say, “I know I’ve said it before, but I just love Pete and Judy.” And so I’ve decided to adopt you as aunt and uncle. This is also perfect because I adore your girls so much, and that would make them my cousins. I’ve always loved my cousins and could use a few more. The only problem is, since Judy wants to also adopt my dad as her uncle, our familial relationship has just gotten very complicated because my dad would now be my great uncle as well. And it will get even more confusing as the little ones grow up, because I’m fairly certain – based on their latest display of affection – that Jacob and Eisley are already in love, and I’ve got my eyes on Caleb for Annalise. This could get tricky.
  • Rachel. In the absence of my sisters nearby, you have been a very worthy replacement. I know I can speak my mind and can be myself, and the same goes for my kids. No judgement, no worries, no competition. I am so blessed by you and thankful we reconnected to experience mommy-hood together.
  • Renee. While you really are actually family of some kind (sister-in-law-in-law?) you have truly filled a void for our kids who miss their aunties so very much. Thank you for being an auntie to them and a sister to me, and for loving all of us as we are.

9. Last and least, but still on my mind ALL THE TIME, the disgusting…

I am obsessed. Witnessing a fly lay eggs in my recently cooked pork tenderloin fajitas has caused me to examine food ridiculously closely and Google things I never really wanted to know. Although I am relieved to learn that fly eggs can not hatch in your stomach, I am less than thrilled to know that the FDA allows eggs and maggots to exist in uncomfortable quantities of tomato products. And really, even just one little egg or maggot is an uncomfortable quantity in my food. Am I right? (If you didn’t already know the story, here is the summary: Made massive batch of fajitas while kids played outside with back door open. Left food on burner on “warm” while we sat down to eat. Got up from table to stir fajitas and scrape leftovers into container. Noticed slow moving fly. Noticed chunk of garlic. Remembered I didn’t chop garlic into fajitas. Realized garlic was actually fly eggs. Slow fly was not being cooked, but was just a little too busy to move. Decided to never again leave food uncovered, never again leave door open, and never again eat at a buffet or anywhere where food sits out. Except that all 3 have happened in the last week.

Just another Saturday…

Posted in laughter, my boy, my girl, my husband, parenting (aint for sissies) by

Please tell me I’m not the only mother who lets her children run around in just their undies and diaper on a Saturday while trashing the living room with every toy and kitchen utensil imaginable and waving at strangers from the window with the blinds wide open. Because the nice Jehovah’s Witness lady and little girl that came to the door today seemed a bit uncomfortable. I’m pretty sure she was reconsidering giving me the invitation to their event, but felt bad because we already knew they were already there witnessing the chaos of our home, so she gave it anyway. Her discomfort may have had less to do with the nearly naked children with their faces smashed to the window and more to do with the frazzled mother, still in her PJs with messy hair, standing on toys because no floor was in sight… at 11:30 in the “morning.”

Normally, I wouldn’t answer the door at 11:30 when I am still in my pajamas and a tornado has run through my house, but the naked children in the window waving at the lady and hollering, “MOM! SOMEONE IS AT THE DOOR!!!!!!” was a bit of a giveaway that I was home.

In any case, I think the nice lady realized (to her relief, I’m sure) that we probably wouldn’t attend the event they invited us to, because as she was making a (quick) escape, Jacob loudly informed her, “HEY! MY Past-oh Phil has an owie on his neck. Only it’s not on da outside, so we can’t put a band-age on it. Dat’s why I’m pwayin’ foh Jesus to put a band-age on da inside. We pwayin’ foh him.”

Translation and Summary: Our pastor had some odd symptoms last week that led to an MRI that showed he had a dissection in his carotid artery. He is taking medication and cutting out strenuous physical activity and should be fine in 3 months. But Jacob was highly concerned when he heard me reading Matt an email that was sent out to our church explaining what happened. He asked all sorts of questions and finally suggested we put a bandage on it. I told him we couldn’t, because it was on the inside of his neck. So he said he would pray for Jesus to put a bandage on the inside. And he has.  Every day. “Dank you, Jesus, foh Past-oh Phil’s owie to be all better. You gonna put a bandage on da inside. Dank you.”  And he tells lots of people about it, too. Our door visitor this morning wasn’t the first person he’s told, and she wasn’t the last person he told today. Jacob also informed Mrs. Burkhart at Doris Jean’s Donuts in Lynden. Mrs. Burkhart knew exactly what he was talking about and told Jacob she’s praying for him, too.

Later that sweet boy sat at the dinner table eating his apples. When he put his hand in the air and said, “Momma. I got dirt on my fingers,” I didn’t think much of it. He said it a few more times before it hit me… he hadn’t been outside playing in the dirt since last night, and he had a bath afterward. Panic set in as I saw the “dirt” covered finger heading towards his face. “STOP! DON’T. TOUCH. ANYTHING!!!!” He lifted his other hand. It, too, was covered.

Turns out his entire diaper was FULL of “dirt.”

After a thorough washing, we headed back to the table, where Jacob continued to refuse to eat his dinner but had no problem eating his boogers and telling us about it. Matt thought it would be humorous to point out the irony and said, “You can’t feel too good about your cooking when he’ll eat his boogers and ate a bunch of dirt last night, but he won’t touch dinner.”

Thank you, Husband. I look forward to eating the wonderful meals you’ll be preparing from now on.

In other news, I have decided to post a weekly self-pity story like my last post – even if I have to make one up. Because all you ladies that ignored me and commented anyway sure know how to make a girl feel good. Your kind words were good for my soul. Loves.

Care to join the club?

Posted in blogging, my boy, my girl, parenting (aint for sissies), the parents by

Admittedly, I am an ultra-paranoid, over-sensitive, don’t want to ruffle feathers kind of girl. I don’t easily get over it when someone doesn’t like me. Or even if they like me but have just one teeny-tiny slightly-negative thought about me. Not that everyone loves me, or anything. It’s just that I – thankfully – don’t know who doesn’t like me. Ignorance is bliss.

Then recently, I was told that I brag about my kids. Although it was added “I don’t mean that in a bad way. But you do brag about them.” Not in a bad way? Ummm…. okay. That clarifying sentence didn’t do much to ease my mind about the bragging part.

Before I go on, just know there is no need to fill the comment section here with “Please keep posting! I love to read the funny things your kids do!” Or other such ego-boosters. You have all been very kind and have already shared the love plenty. It’s just one comment from one person that has weaseled its way into my psyche and slowly pecks at the loving comments from others. You know how it goes… It just takes one drop of blood to taint the whole batch. No, that’s not it. But anyway…

I don’t like braggers. I avoid them. And I’ve tried to be very conscientious about not bragging. Not that I have to work hard at it or anything… it isn’t like I actually have many accomplishments, skills, talents, belongings, or other good-enough-to-brag-about things.

It’s just that Matt and I decided from the very beginning – when I was first pregnant – that we didn’t want to be one of those parents. You know, the ones that tell everyone each and every awe-inspiring accomplishment of their child more than twice because they forget they’ve told you already, or the ones that genius-ize every basic skill their child has. “My 8-month-old breathed today. Isn’t he amazing? He is the smartest baby I know. Hands down.” Nope, that was not going to be us. Even if our kids learned to crawl at 3 months, walk at 5 months, and read at 2. (They didn’t.) And even if they received countless awards for their cuteness, were smart enough to solve quantum calculations, or could scale Mt. Everest – or even a flight of stairs – while jumping rope. (They haven’t, they aren’t, and they can’t.) Cute? Yes. But not a single award. Not even one. And while I don’t want to squelch their hopes and dreams to “be whatever they want to be” or “do whatever they want to do,” we’ve got to be realistic here… They do have Matt’s and my genes, after all. Quantum physics is not likely in their future (I don’t even know what it is.) And Annalise, my girl, you have many talents. Coordination while walking is not one of them. Mommy is sorry I passed that on to you, baby. Let’s just be thankful we’ve both managed to make it this far without sprained ankles or broken arms.

No, bragging is definitely not something I find appealing.

And so of course, my over-sensitivity and over-analyzing self quickly went into over-drive. I cried. I laid in bed awake re-playing every conversation I ever had with this person. I read every Facebook post and blog post I wrote since… well, pretty much since ever. I asked a few key people just a couple questions, like: Do you think I brag? If so, when? And how? And to whom? And about what, exactly? And if you don’t think so, what kinds of things do I say or write that could come across as bragging? And do you think I should stop writing about those things? Should I stop writing about my kids? Should I stop writing altogether? Do you think I’ve offended someone? Who? Did they say something? What did they say? Do they not like me? Do I talk too much about the kids? Do I talk too much in general?…  You know, just one or two questions like that.

And in all my thinking, analyzing, over-analyzing, and over-over-analyzing, I came to a few realizations.

1. Yes, I agree I talk about my kids. And I write about my kids more than I talk about them. And I take pictures of them even more than I write about them. But I don’t really think describing the countless ways Jacob decides to redecorate the house with marker, vaseline, peanut butter, eggs, and other medium counts as bragging. And sharing stories about how Jacob told his sister he is sorry she is stupid, or how Annalise was super-sassy and how I responded with horrible parenting doesn’t exactly scream, “Look at me! My kids are THE BEST. And I must be THE BEST for having them turn out so perfect!“ And sharing pictures of my kids – who just happen to be astoundingly cute – isn’t the same as telling everyone my kids are astoundingly cute. It’s just sharing pictures. Feel free to draw your own conclusions about their level of cuteness or lack-there-of. If, after seeing pictures, you decide on your own that they are cute, that was not me bragging. That was your own opinion. Right? Right????

2. I do write about and post pictures of Annalise and Jacob an awful lot. But you know what? Dang right, I do! And why shouldn’t I? They are hilarious. They bring us joy in countless ways. They are our gifts from God. Sharing that joy with others is like bragging about how awesome God is for making such studly little amazing creatures. They certainly aren’t so awesome because of me. In fact, they seem to be that way despite me. And NOT telling others of their hilarious escapades would feel a bit like hiding a light under a bushel. Hide it under a bushel? NO! I’M GONNA LET IT SHINE!

Only, here’s the thing… I really am a wuss. Now that I’ve been called out for bragging, I cringe when I want to post something public. And so I’ve decided that while I will keep writing all the antics that keep us in hysterics, I will do more so on my blog and less so – although not never – on Facebook. That way, if you don’t like the “bragging,” stay out of the kitchen, would ya? And also, I won’t be posting every blog link to Facebook so as to not be any more annoying on there than I already am. So if you are one who enjoys reading about our circus home and would like to continue, you might want to click “follow blog” on the right – at least while I deal with my overly-sensitive hurt feelings and bruised ego. And added bonus!… By clicking to follow, you’re increasing the chances that my ego will recover all the more quickly, because I will be so pleased with myself to have a few more blog followers.

ONE LAST THING…

While I did just write a lot about not wanting to be a bragger, here is something definitely worth bragging about: Mom and Dad.

Married 40 YEARS TODAY. A young love that wouldn’t likely last… Met in April, married two months later on June 9, 1972. Spent the first few years just getting to know each other, I’m sure. They had 5 years to do so before my older sister was born. And now, 3 kids, 8 grandchildren (counting almost-born-Mason and our twin girls in Heaven), and 4 decades later, they are a shining example of a how building your marriage on the firm foundation of Jesus is not only the secret to success but speaks volumes of the love of God. They have shown me what it means to love unconditionally, live sacrificially, and commit to one another fully. They are the most giving people I know. And as a recent guest to their house said, “When you step in their home, you know it is different. You feel it.” And I’m pretty sure she wasn’t referring to dad’s quirky sense of humor or our general dysfunction.

I love you, Mom and Dad. And I’ll brag about you any day.

Wedding Day. June 9, 1972

Easter. April 8, 2012  (That’s right. I slipped in a pic that included my two adorable kids. Get over it, people.)

And finally, the only real reason to boast:

~“Let the one who boasts, boast in the Lord.” 2 Corinthians 10:17

~Psalm 34:1-7 

I will bless the Lord at all times;
    his praise shall continually be in my mouth.
2 My soul makes its boast in the Lord;
    let the humble hear and be glad.
3 Oh, magnify the Lord with me,
    and let us exalt his name together!

4 I sought the Lord, and he answered me
    and delivered me from all my fears.
5 Those who look to him are radiant,
    and their faces shall never be ashamed.
6  This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him
    and saved him out of all his troubles.
7  The angel of the Lord encamps
    around those who fear him, and he delivers them.