5 years, 8 months, 6 days

So apparently I have some sort of weird attachment to hair.

First there was this episode where I bawled like a baby for the 1/2 inch of hair that was trimmed off Annalise’s long locks. But they were her baby locks. And this was her first cut. And so I saved a lock of curls in an envelope. But the envelope stayed in my purse, which is really just a catch-all for random toys, kids’ dirty socks, a spoon or two, gum wrappers, and papers of many kinds. Oh the papers!

And one day, in a fit of frustration, I dumped all papers – including one envelope containing a lock of hair – into the trash without really going through them much. And when I remembered the envelope, garbage day had passed.

And so I bawled like a baby. Again.

But now I think I’m finally over the hair loss. Annalise’s, at least. I’m still emotional about Matt’s. But he’s been losing his hair for quite some time, you say. Yes. Yes, he has. I’m not talking about that hair loss.

His beard. He shaved it off tonight (goatee still intact). I’m happy he did. It looks awesome. But I still bawled like a baby.

It’s just that he’s had that beard for 5 years, 8 months, and 6 days. I know, because I remember the last day he shaved, 5 years, 8 months, and 7 days ago. And I know that day, because it was the day we were going in for an ultrasound of our twin babies.

And then we were sent to the hospital. And then I was transported by ambulance to UW perinatal center. And they told us our girls wouldn’t survive because I was going to deliver them that day.

But I didn’t.

So instead, I was put on inclined bed-rest. And so Matt didn’t shave the next day – 5 years, 8 months, and 6 days ago – because we were at a hospital in Seattle unexpectedly, and he hadn’t packed.

And then he didn’t shave the day after that. Or the next day. Or the day after that. And his beard became an outward sign – a tangible measurement – of how long I was still pregnant since the day they told us our babies would be born that day.

And soon he had a full beard. And we were proving “them” wrong, because I was still pregnant with two healthy, kicking baby girls.

But then 2 weeks and 1 day later, my water broke. And the next day, Madison Faith was born and died. 5 years, 7 months, and 23 days ago.

And the day after Madison died, my water broke again. And the next day, Taylor Grace was born and died. 5 years, 7 months, and 21 days ago.

And today Matt shaved his beard. It was emotional for him, too, and we talked about it first. There have been many times where he thought about shaving but didn’t, because it was too hard for one or the other of us.

Today we agreed. It was okay to let it go. And I love how he looks. But I bawled like a baby, because it reminded me that I am no longer pregnant with our two baby girls. And I didn’t play with them today. Or read with them. Or dye Easter eggs with them. Or tuck them in bed and sing them a song. Or say prayers with them and kiss their cheeks.

But I did kiss my two other babies’ cheeks. And I can see Matt’s dimples again. I love them. And I can kiss his cheeks.

And now I wonder if Madison had his dimples. She had a wider smile than Taylor’s, and she had my chin. Taylor looked more like her daddy, except she had my dark hair. Madison’s hair was blonde. 5 years, 7 months, and 21 days ago, and I still remember. When you have only moments to make memories, I guess you burn them into your mind so deep that you won’t ever forget. Each detail. Each movement. The perfect little fingers and eyebrows and noses. Twin girls with very different mouths and different hair color, born on different days. One of them – Taylor – already nearly an inch taller than her “older” sister.

I haven’t forgotten.

5 years, 8 months, 6 days ago, our lives were changed.

And so I cried for the beard.

 

I will lift up my eyes to the hills – where does my help come from? My helps comes from the LORD, the Maker of heaven and earth. ~Psalm 121:1-2

I will give thanks to the LORD because of his righteousness and will sing praise to the name of the Lord Most High. ~Psalm 7:17

And those who know your name put their trust in you, for you, O Lord, have not forsaken those who seek you. ~Psalm 9:10

But let all who take refuge in you rejoice; let them ever sing for joy… ~Psalm 5:11

They really should require some sort of license for this job

Another FB re-post from last summer so I have our stories in one place…

August 30, 2011

This note is the same Sassy Sauce story I posted a few weeks ago, which was then deleted when I decided I don’t like people judging me, but is now being re-posted because 1) People keep asking me to email it to them and I would rather they just have access to it so I don’t have to find it and find their email address, and 2) I decided I don’t care about the thoughts of those who are going to judge me based on this silly note and a one-time lapse in judgement. I’m a perfect parent every other day of the week. (Ha!)  And because seriously, this story is real-life, and if you can’t laugh at your real-life-self, then you are going to be miserable. I choose not to be miserable. Judge if you wish. Just keep it to yourself… 🙂

As a kid, my parents didn’t wash our mouths out with soap. Instead, we got “Hot Mouth” when our mouths were naughty. I don’t remember this for myself, but I do remember my younger sister Kylie getting it often for her sassiness. I think I also got it for that, as well as for sticking out my tongue, lying, or biting. (I’m not sure it has effectively rid me of sassiness, but I usually don’t bite. Feel free to sit real close.)

Really, anything that involved naughtiness of the mouth (swearing? Never!) was fair game for Hot Mouth. Hot Mouth is simply the tiniest bit of Tobasco Sauce on mom’s finger, which is then put on the suspect’s tongue. Naughty mouth leads to stinging consequences.

As a young teen, I thought it was so funny that Kylie got Hot Mouth often. Sassy lil’ thing.

As an adult, I figured I’d use “hot mouth” on my own children. Then I married Matt. He was against it. So, it has been more or less banned as a punishment in the house, because we agree on all consequences.

As I parent, I don’t find the sassiness quite as funny as I used to.

I think God must have a sense of humor and used it when he gave us the spunkiest (read sassiest) little 3 year old on the planet… with a great vocabulary and quick wit (think come-backs and last words.) It’s really unbelievable the things that come out of my darling little angel’s mouth. Thus, I have adopted the mantra, “Strong little girls make strong women. This is a GOOD thing.” Thank you, Polly.

Sometimes the mantra changes to “INCONCEIVABLY STRONG little girls make INVINCIBLY STRONG women.” It just depends on the day, really.

Needless to say, the topic of Hot Mouth has worked its way back into our child-rearing conversations. Is it a fair punishment? Is it over-the-top? (I’m NOT asking for your advice here… just sharing the focus of our conversation.) I have leaned towards: fair, not sure if I could do it though. Matt is always an adamant NO.

Rewind a few months. I have been spending time with a friend-who-shall-remain-nameless with a similar situation and a remarkably similar 3 year old. As we share our common issues and frustrations, we have also shared our current solutions. This nameless friend said she took the advice from another friend with children who are a little older now, and used “Sassy Sauce” to combat the sassy mouth. Sassy Sauce is the same as Hot Mouth, just with a much more appropriate name for the issues I’m dealing with.

Hmmmm… Sassy Sauce. Sounds more and more like something I could use. And I certainly am not worse off for having had it as a child, right?

I decided to “try it out” by dropping it into a few conversations with friends and family. Conversations usually morphed from discussing kids and our oh-so-strong girl, to something along the lines of, “So a friend of mine has a similar situation with her girl, and she started using “Sassy Sauce,” or Tobasco Sauce on the tongue as a consequence.” Then I’d quickly read the person’s reaction and decide if they thought it was a good idea or bad one. Just putting out some parent feelers and getting feedback. Although I’m not completely sure why I did that, I think it had something to do with gathering support in case I decided to take the idea of Sassy Sauce back to the table with Matt.

I did. He still didn’t like it.

I bought some anyway. Just in case. (Easy, Matt fans, I told him I had it after I bought it. And I would never use it – or any other punishment – without his permission. We are a team in this parenting fiasco.)

As the summer has progressed and my time alone with the kids has continued – time which I am SO INCREDIBLY THANKFUL FOR – I have also had more opportunity to experience the sassiness of my strong girl… and she has had more opportunity to practice it. Which means she is getting REALLY GOOD at it. You may even say she is an expert.

…Wondering right now why SHE is getting better at it, but my parenting hasn’t seemed to improve with an equal amount of practice…

I mentioned Sassy Sauce to Annalise. Just to put it out there as a possibility. Not even knowing what it is, she was still terrified of it. The second she is sassy, I only have to look at her, eyebrows raised, and she instantly says, “NO Sassy Sauce! Please! I’m so sorry I was naughty with my mouth!”

Now mind you, I’ve never said I’d use it. I simply told her that I knew of other mommies that had it and used it when their kids were sassy. That’s it. I never discussed it again. Apparently it made a big enough impact. Either that, or Annalise has been talking to her friends that have experienced it already.

Fast forward to this week. All in all, it’s been a good week. But the sassiness is still there and is really draining. So I asked Matt if I could use it, just once, to see how it would go. A teeny-tiny drop of Tobasco sauce. It won’t make her sick, it isn’t abuse… Good grief, some people pour it on nearly every meal. (Again, NOT asking for your opinion of the matter here, just letting you know what I was thinking and the arguments I gave him.)

Matt, I’m sure feeling bad that I am getting the brunt of the sassiness as he works so hard with two jobs (which I am so thankful for and proud of him for), agreed…. reluctantly.

I didn’t use Sassy Sauce immediately. Instead, I sat Annalise down after a major sassy moment and told her exactly what would happen if she continued to talk that way. Sassy Sauce was now open for business, so-to-speak.

This morning, a little sassy mouth was warned that if it was sassy again, it would receive it’s first sassy consequence. Threats never deter Annalise, so she repeated her sassy comment, just to be sure I was telling the truth.

I was.

The drama that began in that moment – the moment she realized I don’t lie – wasn’t worth it. The drama that continued after the teeniest tiniest bit of Sassy Sauce touched her tongue (and I mean so-teeny-youcan’tevenseeit-tiny) – wasn’t worth it.

And then my motherly guilt kicked in. I felt so horrible that I caused my child (what I’m sure was extremely minor) pain in her mouth, that I gave myself some Sassy Sauce just to see what she was going through. (Not bad, really, but I do enjoy spicy stuff.) I could see why it would be frightening to a sweet – because she really IS sweet – little girl.

I felt awful. I gave her milk immediately. It didn’t work fast enough. She cried harder in fear (and a bit in drama) saying that “It will NEVER stop hurting! It won’t EVER go away!”

I called my sister. Who better to tell Annalise that yes, the stinging will go away, than the queen-of-hot-mouth, KYLIE? Annalise LOVES Auntie Kye-Kye, and I’m sure she could be calmed down by Kylie’s words of encouragement. “This will be a good lesson, afterall!” I tell myself.

Kylie didn’t answer.

How about I call Grandma? If Kylie is the queen of Hot Mouth, then the deliver-er of Hot Mouth, the queen-mother (that joke was for you, dad) would also have great advice, right? This only caused further howling as Annalise was afraid of her precious Gramma Kitchen finding out she indeed does naughty things and had a sassy mouth. (“What??” Gramma says, “Annalise ISN’T perfect??? -GASP-“)

What to do, what to DO??? Panic. Guilt. Tears…. from both of us. What could make this pain go away so we can actually DISCUSS why it’s important not to be sassy? What do I have the can cover the sting of too much spice???

Ice cream. (Don’t judge. You have not been in my shoes.)

I run to the freezer. I grab the only ice cream that is there… Haagen Dazs Java Chip. I feed the creamy COFFEE deliciousness to my 3-year old. How’s that for good parenting? (Again, not looking for your input.)

Stay tuned for future stories of Annalise being sassy and then quickly asking for ice cream. Even as I write, hours later, she is telling me her tongue “still stings a teeny… I might just need a teeny more….” I cut her off. I don’t even want to hear it. I’m already sulking.

Why anyone would leave me alone with these children is beyond me.

Needless to say, Sassy Sauce will retire. But the Tobasco Sauce will remain… I think I’ll start putting it on my scrambled eggs.

14 + 4 = 57 + 2100

14: The number of times my kids (mostly Jacob) threw up (mostly on me) in the last 5 days.

4: The number of times Jacob overflowed his diaper in the last 5 days. I’ll spare you the description, except to say that sleeper jammies (the kind with feet) ended up being a great floor protector. The last couple days, I’ve left him in PJs on purpose. Just in case.

57: The number of extra loads of laundry I did due to above mentioned vomiting and diarrhea. It may have been a bit less. But it certainly felt like 57. Or more.

2,100: The number of extra minutes Matt or I got to spend with our kids this week when we normally would have been working. Yes, I calculated it.

And there it is… 2,100 minutes… The joy found. When you’re doing an extra 57 loads of laundry and cleaning up bodily functional messes, you have to find the joy, right? That was mine. Extra laundry isn’t so bad when it meant I got extra snuggles in between time, extra kisses, extra books to read with my kids, extra lunch-time prayers where they thanked God for making mommy, daddy, Kim, and Grandma Kitchen better and prayed with even greater faith to make Jacob better, and extra minutes to just hold them.

Thank you, God, for extra minutes. I love them so.

A Bat Dream

Over the past year, I’ve posted some notes and stories on Facebook that I’d like to save. Since I now have a blog, I decided to save those stories on here so I have them all in one place.

This story is from last summer about Annalise missing her cousin so so bad. It is the perfect story to post today for two reasons:

1) Today (March 10) is my mom’s birthday. And I’m pretty sure there is no one she loves more than her 5 (+1 on the way +2 in Heaven) grandkids. Except maybe my dad. But grandkids are a close second. Closer on some days than others… am I right, dad? All kidding aside, mom always loves a good grandkid story, and this story is about 3 of them. So, happy birthday, mom!

2) Annalise has really been missing her cousin Ellia lately. Just this morning, she was carrying around pictures of her and talking about when she’ll get to finally see her again. We really miss that girl. So so bad. And her mommy and daddy and sister. We are hoping to get to see them soon. And when we do, there will undoubtedly be stories of antics from FOUR hilarious kids – 5 if my other sis and fam get to visit, too. Until then, most of the stories will be of our two. But that’s okay, because even on sad-and-missing-my-sisters days, these two bring joy in a thousand different ways.

So here it is… “A Bat Dream” – June, 2011

Jacob has a giant blue blow-up bat that is as tall as Leesie. (No, I would not purchase such a ridiculously tempting sister-beating tool for him, but a nice boy gave it to him at the Raspberry Festival after Jacob tried to steal it about a dozen times. Thank you, “nice” boy.) Anyway, it is the only thing in the house that is the exact same height as Annalise, it is easily transportable, and it is the perfect squeezable toy for ginormous hugs from a girl of the same height.

So, naturally, Annalise took possession of the bat and named it “Ellia.” The real Ellia is Annalise’s same-age cousin who is a missionary kid living in Indonesia.

Annalise misses her dearly, and since Ellia left, Leesie has played with an invisible playmate she named “Pretend Ellia.”

Blue-bat Ellia has replaced Pretend Ellia. Finally, Ellia exists in a physical form… just one of a giant blow-up bat.

Having a physical replacement-Ellia seems to be much more fun for Annalise than an invisible-Ellia. First off, inflatable-bat-Ellia can give hugs. Well, not really give hugs, but hugs are definitely easier than with invisible-Ellia. Annalise squeezes the bat tightly and says, “I LOVE you, Ellia!” Then she kisses it, talks about being friends forever, and tells the blue inflatable how much she has missed her. And although she used to dance with Pretend Ellia, I now know where to look when she says, “Mom, watch Ellia spin!” So yes, inflatable-Ellia has been a step-up, (or I should say an upswing.)

But it has also been a problem. Mainly because Jacob also knows exactly where Ellia is now, too.

Sometimes, Jacob gets a hold of “Ellia” and beats people with it… I mean her. Or, he whacks the end of the bat on the ground. Both generate blood-curdling screams from his older sister about him hurting Ellia’s head. Never mind my head. Or arm. Or whatever it is Jacob can reach at the moment with the 3+ foot tall bat.

Other times, usually when Annalise has just set Ellia down for a moment, Jacob grabs her and runs as fast as he can out of the room with a big goofy grin on his face. This is usually a very comical site, as inflatable Ellia is much bigger than Jacob, and he doesn’t run very well when he isn’t holding anything in his hands. And of course, Annalise is right at his heels yelling, “JACOB!!!  PUT!  ELLIA!  DOWN!  NOW!!!!!!!” This usually makes his goofy smile even bigger, and sometimes even triggers a giggle. I’m thinking we’re in real trouble here…

But the biggest problem with inflatable Ellia is not that Jacob can run off with her, tormenting his big sister. No, I’m certain the biggest problem is yet to come. At the moment, Annalise spends nearly all her waking hours at home telling Ellia what to do. And at the moment, “Ellia” is nothing but compliant.

“Ellia, you sit here. I will sit here.” Ellia does.

“Ellia, lay down and take a nap.” Ellia does. And for as long as Annalise desires.

“Ellia, you sleep on the bottom bunk, I’ll sleep on the top, okay?” No arguments from Ellia. Not even about the choice of blanket or pillow.

Next year sometime, the real Ellia – the one that Annalise misses so badly that she actually carries around a giant inflatable toy to give her some sense of her presence – will be here. And I’m thinking she won’t be quite as accommodating to each and every one of Leesie’s demands. In fact, I’m thinking she may have a few demands of her own, as she is also a strong little three-year-old much like her cousin. (Right, Auntie Ko-Ko?)

I’m just so curious how this meeting will go, when both strong little girls at last get to be together to play – with a playmate who has her own strong opinions. Not to mention, there will be two (three, counting Riley!) younger siblings together to torment their older siblings as a team. And from what I know of Jacob and what I’ve heard about mischievous Alyssa, I’m thinking the combination of Jacob+Alyssa will be more than 1+1=2.

Whatever happens, I am so looking forward to the time when we can all be together and cousins can play and make memories like the ones I have of growing up with my own cousins. They are some of my greatest memories.

Although a giant bat may not argue much, real cousins definitely have more interesting things to say, and you don’t have to carry them everywhere you want them to go. But most importantly, they can return ginormous hugs with their own arms. That is a moment I dream of for both my kids, and for me. Auntie Holly loves you so much, real-Ellia. And your mommy, daddy, and sister too!

The REAL Ellia and Annalise running to meet for one of their ginormous hugs. Early Spring, 2010. I can’t wait to see this again…

Baby Steps

Want to make me bawl like a baby?  Hurt my family.  Make fun of a kid.  Tell me a sad story of heartache.

Or apparently, give my daughter a haircut.

That’s right, folks. We did it. We took our girl for her first ever hair cut.

She was born with a full mop…

and we’ve let it grow…

and grow…

   

and grow…

   

and GROW!

   

Until it was so long, that she was in danger of Auntie Ko-Ko putting her hair in a bun.

~ Side-story: My little sis, Kylie, once had hair as long as Annalise when she was young. She liked it in a bun for bath-time. One night, she forgot to have someone pin it up and was about to step in the tub when she remembered. Running into the living room buck naked, she asked someone to put her hair in a bun. My older sis, Korie (11 1/2 years Kylie’s senior) volunteered. As Kylie backed her little naked body up to Korie, Korie grabbed her hair and stuck it right between Kylie’s butt-cheeks and said, “There. It’s in a bun.” Kylie didn’t find it funny. Korie found it hilarious.

Korie may live in Indonesia, but I still think it’s best to avoid bun-length hair. ~

For Leesie, as it is for all of us, some hair days were better than others…

   
So with her hair approaching “bun length” and with more frequent bad hair days recently, we thought it might be time to get it chopped.

I probably should have taken her in when she told Auntie Nee that her hair falls in her potty when she goes. (I don’t really think it did.)

Or maybe I should have scheduled the appointment 4 months ago after the Target fiasco. Long story short: Me, 2 kids, 1 dirty public restroom, 1 full cart of yet-to-be-purchased household necessities left in the clothing section as I run with said 2 kids to the potty for an “emergency” and end up with 1 girl’s long hair in the toilet as she bent down to pull her pants back up. I saw it coming. I hollered. Then gagged as she pulled wet hair back out. It could have been prevented if I had a free hand. But I happened to be busy frantically putting Jacob on my shoulders to stop him from reaching in the little secret garbage box in the stall, then frantically pulling him back down and covering his mouth after he tried to look over the stall at the nice lady next door. “Peek! I see you!”

In any case, I postponed the haircut because I wasn’t sure I could go through with it. Those baby curls at the bottom of her long beautiful hair would be gone. They’ve been there 4 years, 4 months, and 17 days. No – even longer, since her hair was growing well before she was born.

So today, when we decided to finally do it, I was nervous. She was nervous. She couldn’t eat breakfast because her “tummy felt funny.” I couldn’t eat breakfast because I was crying. She brought bear-bear to hold. I just held tissues.

  

“How much do you want cut?” the hairdresser asked.

Not much. Baby steps. I don’t want her to grow up. I’m not ready for this. “Oh, just an inch or two. We still want it long.”

  

Matt says it doesn’t look much different. I am happy about that. Maybe next time we can go shorter. Or not. We’ll see. For now, I’m just trying to figure out how to survive her growing up when I couldn’t even keep it together at the hair salon.

And in case you’re wondering, yes, I did keep one lock of baby curls. I’ll have to keep them in her baby book. She certainly isn’t a baby anymore. I love you, my big girl!