Care to join the club?

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.
My soul makes its boast in the Lord;
    let the humble hear and be glad.
Oh, magnify the Lord with me,
    and let us exalt his name together!

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

Spaghetti: it’s what’s for dinner

Our dinner conversation:

Me: Jacob, eat your dinner please.

Jacob: (Looking away to his sister) Look, Sissy! Look at my cars!

Me: Jacob, EAT your dinner!

Jacob: (Still looking away) Sissy, did you see my cars?

Me: JACOB. LOOK at me. (He looks) EAT. YOUR. DINNER.

Jacob: (Nodding head) I heard you, mommy. I will. I will eat it.

Me: Thank you. Thank you very much.

Jacob: I will eat my dinner… (shaking head emphatically) …but I won’t eat dat. Not dat.

Me: Well, that is what’s for dinner. Eat your dinner.

Jacob: (Still shaking head) Nope. Not dat. I will not eat it.

Me: Eat it.

Jacob: (Shaking head “no” with each syllable) NOT DAT. NOT. DAT. NOT! DAT! I WILL NOT EAT DA NOODLES!

Me: Jacob, noodles are what’s for dinner. And peppers. And applesauce. Eat your dinner.

Jacob: (calmly) Noodles are for dinner. (He smiles) But not for me. Day are for sissy. SISSY will eat da noodles! I will eat my dinner. But I will not. EAT. DAT. (long pause) Dank you. Dank you VERY MUCH!

Annalise: Mommy, why are you hiding your face and laughing in your shirt? Is it because Jacob talks so much?

Pretty much, kiddo, pretty much.

That, and I’m just a little frightened for our future. Prayers appreciated.

Busted

So you think you know your kid, right? I mean, you’ve been with him 92% of his life. The other 8% was spent at a babysitter’s, the church nursery, and grandma’s. And 20% of that time, he spent sleeping. So really, only 6.4% of his life has been spent awake and away from you. Every other minute, he’s been with you. Awake, asleep, eating, playing, with you. You know him best.

You know his likes, his dislikes, and all his habits. And you can imagine that the 6.4% of his life that you’re away and he’s awake is very similar to the time when he’s with you. I mean, you know him. You really really do.

Then a day comes when you realize that you actually don’t. All this time, he’s been leading a double life. At least during part of that 6.4% of time, he has. Your 2-year-old boy has a whole other life that you know nothing about.

Let me explain…

Today when I got to Bev’s house to pick up the kids, Jacob was sitting on the ground drinking milk from a sippy cup. He looked up at me and said something about a ba-ba. I thought he was teasing and joked, “Is that your ba-ba?”

He smiled big and giggled. “Noooo…” he says.

“That’s right,” I say, “you’re a big boy. You don’t need a ba-ba.”

Bev looks at me. “You don’t give him a bottle?”

Surprised, I look at her. “No. Not for about a year now. Why? Do you?”

She smiles and starts to giggle. “Um, yeah… Then how do you put him down for a nap?”

“I just lay him in his crib. He plays and talks and goes to sleep. Why? What do you do?”

“I rock him. And give him a bottle. He cries for a ‘ba-ba’ if I don’t. And if I give him a bottle and don’t rock him, he cries to be rocked.”

Really?? He cries for a ba-ba? And to be rocked???”

Bev nods.

I say, “So, he gets a bottle. Do you warm it up?”

She nods again.

We both look at Jacob, still sitting on the floor with a sippy cup. He’s been watching this whole conversation. I say to him, “So… Jacob… You get a bottle at Bev’s house before you’ll go to sleep?”

That kid, my kid, the one I know so well, looks up at us with the biggest accomplished (yet somewhat sheepish) grin, and I’m certain he let out a little “heh, heh.”

“Jacob,” I continue, “do you ask Bev to rock you when you go to sleep every day?”

Same big grin. Same knowing giggle.

Hello, wool. I see you’ve met eyes. My eyes. And Bev’s. Apparently, you’ve been pulled over them for some time now.

Last spring, just after he turned one, we stopped giving the boy bottles. All summer long with me, he didn’t get a bottle. Back to Bev’s in the fall, and he started getting them. Asking for them. Oh yeah, and he decided he didn’t know how to go to sleep on his own but needed to be rocked.

Not to mention, he has never asked for a ba-ba anywhere else. Not at church. Not at Gramma’s. Not to anyone. In fact, when playing with and feeding his sister’s dolls, he doesn’t even call them ba-bas. He gives the baby a “bottle.” Aaaannnnndd, he and I have even joked about baby-ish stuff. Like, I tip him back in my arms and say to him, “Go to sweep my wittle baby. Do you want your wittle ba-ba?” And he laughs and says in his baby-est voice, “Ma-ma. Ba-ba. Ba-ba.” And we laugh and laugh, because he’s really a big boy. A big boy that actually says “bottle,” talks in full sentences, and plays jokes. And hasn’t had a ba-ba for a year.

The boy led a double-life. Big boy at home, baby at Bev’s. He’s just two, but it worked for an entire school year.

Today, he was busted. Wish him luck tomorrow.

And then wish me luck for the next 16 years.

Mocking Bird

I think one of the ways God keeps us parents humble is by creating our children to mimic everything we do.

Just when you feel like super-mom because you mastered the never-ending to-do list all while keeping the family happy… who am I kidding? That never happens. Let me try that again…

Just when you feel proud for being a parenting rockstar, because your children never fight, for making it an entire day without screwing up in the parenting department… UGH.

Just when you feel good because you finally had ONE positive parenting moment, you overhear one of your kids on their “phone” say in a remarkably familiar tone, “You have got to be kidding me. What an idiot!” Or the other child drops a toy and says in frustration with a furrowed brow, “dogGONit!”

Yep, there is no way one can get a big head with the little mini-mes running around highlighting every one of your flubs, parenting or otherwise. And it isn’t just the things you say. Their mannerisms, body language, and how they react to things can often mirror each other and mom and dad. (Although I have no idea where Annalise picked up that eye roll with a sigh thing. Seriously. Just don’t ask her dad about it.)

What I’ve begun to realize is that as they get older, the mimicking changes a bit.

A 2-year old often mimics immediately and verbatim – or as close to verbatim as was understood. I say, “Jacob, come here and give mommy a kiss.” He says, “Give mommy kiss?” I say, “Why is your shirt all dirty?” He says, “Because my shirt all doody.” I get frustrated and let out a loud “uuugggghhh!” Jacob does the same, and then looks at me with a big dimpled grin, apparently proud of his ability to remind me that he is always listening and capable of repeating anything. Anything.

The 2-year old also mimics seemingly mindlessly. At least the chatty 2-year-old does. What I mean is, while his mouth is constantly moving, he can hear something from a distance and add it to the continual chatter.

Example: While in the grocery store, Jacob was telling me a story about Maggie, the dog at Bev’s house. Despite his sister constantly interrupting him to tell me we should buy this or that, or that we really neeeeeed fruit snacks and chocolate covered granola bars, and even though I wasn’t fully focused (I did slip in a number of “Uh-huhs,” and “Oh, wow!”s so he knew I was “listening”), the boy just. didn’t. stop. talking. You’d think that while one was so busy ignoring his sister and telling every detail of his interactions with a puppy, one would not be aware of other sounds, such as the background music and intermittent advertisements being played in the store. But you would be wrong. Because as he told his never-ending story, he’d take a break to comment on whatever it was the nice lady on the loud speaker was advertising. “And den (then) Maggie wunned (ran) over and… she said choc-o-wat, Mama. Choco-wat nummy. Wight, mama? Wight? It nummy. We should get some of dat too… and Maggie wunned over and fall down wif a big cwash! She cwashed and it was so funny! And… she said da qwackers on sale. Did you hear, mama? Da qwackers nummy, too. Day on sale!….And den Maggie got up and…”

How does he do that? I can barely hear him and Annalise and pay attention to my grocery list without running the cart into things. He can tell a story, block out Annalise-noise, hear and repeat commercials, and continue his story where he left off, all the while pointing out things he’d like to buy as we pass them. He is the only male I know that can successfully multi-task.

The 2-year old has an unusually keen sense of hearing. He can pick up on whispered phrases, but he is most talented at catching things said in another part of the house. While he and his sister argue over a toy for the thousandth time, one parent (not mentioning any names) overhears in another room and says in frustration, “My gosh guys, c’mon!” Immediately we hear Jacob shout, “My gosh, guys, c’mon!” Followed by Leesie shouting, “JACOB! DON’T. SAY. GOSH! MOMMEEEEE! JACOB SAID GOSH!”  Great.

Jacob is so good at repeating everything – at any time and from any part of the house – that I called him my little mocking bird. His reply, “I am not your walking-bird! I Jacobpweestman!” He then walked out of the room chattering, “walking-bird, walking-bird, walking bird…” Exactly. And how I love you, my little mocking bird.

4-year-old mocking birds mimic differently, for they are a bit wiser. These older and wiser mocking birds choose phrases they like and try them out at a later – and sometimes very random – time. This is their way of testing a phrase to see if it they want to add it to their repertoire.

Example: In a fit of anger for being put in time out, my sweet girl hollered from the corner of the hall. “Well… You… YOU… You’re just JEALOUS!” (Like I said, phrases are tested out at often very random times.)

So where’d that come from? I don’t recall ever using that phrase in front of her – or come to think of it – at all. It isn’t a word I use much, and certainly not in that tone. But she heard it somewhere and decided to try it out. Multiple times a day. For several weeks. And not once was it used correctly.

“Annalise, can you please pick up your toys?”

“No! You’re just JEALOUS!”

 

“Leesie, don’t talk to your brother like that!”

“You’re just JEALOUS, mom!” No. Actually I’m not. I’m really really not.

 

Or to Jacob, “Go away! You’re just JEALOUS!”

Good grief.

I explained to her that: 1) She clearly didn’t know what the word jealous means and was using the phrase incorrectly, 2) She was obviously trying to be mean, and that wasn’t okay, and 3) If she continued to use it, there would be consequences. Not because the actual phrase was mean, but because her intentions were.  (After explaining that one, she tried out the word “intentions” for a few days on me… until she couldn’t remember what word it was anymore.)

“You’re just jealous!” was also then adopted by brother-mocking-bird, who used it on me a few times as well. It’s very difficult to keep a straight face when a super-cute-toddler-trying-(unsuccessfully)-to-have-a-very-stern–face says to you, “You so jealous, mom!”

Jealous? Of wearing diapers? Of having to depend on others to feed and clothe me? Of playing all day? Of daily naps? Of having no responsibility whatsoever? Yeah, actually. Maybe I am. Except for the diapers part.

In any case, I’m glad that phrase finally ran its course and was not permanently added to the 4-year-old’s repertoire.

It can be very obvious when a 4-year-old mocking bird is trying out a new phrase, even when it is used correctly. They will often say it more than once, and they may look at you to study your reaction to their latest verbiage.

Example: We were on a walk, when we noticed a lady walking her boxer up ahead. Annalise’s Uncle Tom also has a boxer named Elby. While boxers can look very similar, this one was pretty different from Elby and clearly not him. Nevertheless, Annalise decided it was a good opportunity to test a new phrase. In a bit of a chatty middle-school-girlish voice, she said, “Woah! I saw that dog and thought it looked like Elby. But then I was like, what the heck? How could that be Elby out here? And Uncle Tom isn’t even around! So, what the heck???” Quick glance at mom to read my reaction.

I was like??? What the heck???? Is she a 14-year-old from the early 90’s or something? And where did she hear that phrase in the first place? What the h…. Ohhhh… Never mind. Turns out I am the 14-year-old from the early 90’s. And she is just my mocking bird. But I would never tell her that. Because she is wise, and sensitive, and she is ever-trying to be her own person. Only while doing so, she ends up a lot like me. How I love you so, my beautiful and wise 4-year-old mocking bird.

The best (or worst, depends on how you look at it) of the mocking bird mimicking comes, not in words and phrases, but in actions. In moments where you see your little birds doing exactly what you would do. It is the best, because you know how much they really are like you, and somehow, that is comforting. But it is also the worst, because you know how much they really are like you, and that is also very very frightening.

Example: Jacob loves his little cars. He has oh-so-many of them. More than a 2-year old needs, for sure. He sleeps with them, carries them around the house, and takes them everywhere we go in the car. This morning, we heard him talking loudly in the other room. We weren’t sure exactly what he was playing, but his voice was boisterous, as though he were announcing something. This went on for a few minutes before Matt came to me and said, “Come here. Come see what your son is doing.”

My son? Why my son? Is he being naughty, so you don’t claim him? This is what I found:

Not naughty. Just organized and categorizing. Disney cars on the right, other cars on the left/back, larger cars on the ground. And all lined up neatly. (His loud talking was introducing each vehicle “on stage.”)

Yes. My son. How proud I felt. My boy. Linear thinker. So neat. So organized. Just like his mama, who keeps all the pencils in the container with the erasers at one end, turns all the mugs in the cupboard so the handles face the same way, stacks things in cute organized bins including one labeled “Labels,” and always – always – straightens poker chips when playing Texas Hold ‘Em so the white marks on the rim of the chips make a straight white line all the way down. (Clearly, I just play for fun with friends. I’m not sure that kind of behavior would be allowed in casinos. I don’t care which stack is bigger… just give me the straight chips.)

Unnerving chaos:                     Better, but still needing adjustments:

                                                                  

My mocking bird. Organizing his cars. I must get a picture. I grabbed my phone, doing my best to overlook the small gap between two of the cars and stopping myself from straightening the one that was slightly crooked at the end. He will learn. Noticing those details will come with time.

And then, just as I’m about to snap the shot, my 4-year-old mocking bird jumps up. “Wait! Let me just straighten this car and push these together,” she says while scooting the row of cars over, ignoring the protests from her brother.

Ah, yes. And there are drawbacks to my OCD behavior. I recall that now. Over-organizing. Wanting things my way. Not being happy with good enough. That’s right… just when I start feeling proud, my mocking birds remind me of my faults and keep me humble.

But oh, how I love those birds, my gifts. I must do better, for them. They motivate me.

And so my prayer:

LORD, just for today, give me the strength to be patient and loving at all times. To keep my cool, but to be warm to the little ones around me. When I am proud, remind me that “everything good in me is You, everything else is just me.” Help me to model less of me and more of You. And for my little birds, help me to speak JOY, GRACE, and uplifting words of STRENGTH, so they will do the same. ~ Amen

My Sweetest Thing

Before you were here, I wondered…

…I love them so much. How can there possibly be more love in there for another?

aBut there was.  It multiplied. Bubbled up and overflowed. 2 years ago, you came. My heart melted at your sight. Perfect round cheeks, deep creases on every limb. Dark hair and eyes. Love multiplying. My perfect gift from God.

     

aYou were just so little when we had a scare. Lots of tests, lots of pokes in scary places testing for scary things. But you were safe in God’s hands. And we had some time to get to know each other, you and me. Just us, in the big hospital room with the teeniest-tiniest hospital gown I’d ever seen. I got to know you better then. And you got to know me and trusted so fully. My Brave One. And love multiplied again.

  

aNot much longer before you made yourself heard. Constant noises. Happy noises. My Content Boy, joyful heart. Increasing this love in my heart even more.

 

But it seems it isn’t just in my heart. A smile on the face of everyone you meet. You bring joy. You bring laughter. You fill hearts with love.

You are a workmanship of God.

aMoving. Walking, then running, then climbing. My Little Monkey into everything. And still, My Snuzzle Bug. My Curious George. My Van Gogh. His Maspterpiece.  How can this heart get bigger? But it does. Expanding so much, it’s sometimes hard to breathe. The fear of “what if?” But then I remember, you are God’s child. You were made for a purpose.

You are His Masterpiece. And you are My Gift.

   

aTalking. Talking. Always talking. And singing. And laughing. So much joy in you that you decide you must give it away. Something special… your words? your humor? your gentle heart? your smile? your song? Maybe all of these. Many hearts expanding with love. You make it so easy.

 

aAnd now. Starting my day hearing your voice. Always greeted with a smile. “Good mo-ning, Mama. I love you…  …SO much.” The way you talk. The way you walk to a beat. Your tightest hugs around my neck. Your thoughtfulness. “I frew it in garbage for you, Mama.” Or, “Look what I did! I got da milk out for you, Mama!” So proud. My Helper-Boy. My Teasing Boy. My Dancing Boy.

aToday you are two. If this heart expands more, it will burst. But you will find a way. It is your way. It is the Touch of God in you. You are special. You were made for a purpose. I love you, My Sweetest Thing. I love you, My Gift.

And I praise Him, because you are fearfully and wonderfully made; and His works are wonderful. I know that full well.

a“Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart…” ~ Jeremiah 1:5

“For we are God’s workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” ~ Epheisans 2:10

Psalm 139:14