walmart jesus...

back when i was SUPER pregnant with Henley, i was suddenly struck with a fear.  i was laying in bed reflecting back to my first trimester when i thought for sure i was pregnant with a girl... this was so exciting to me as i really wanted a girl and already had my sweet little boy.  i don't know why i thought i was going to have a girl then... i just felt really feminine and drank a lot of lemonade when i felt nauseous... so i just kind of knew she was a girl.  

but as the second trimester started those feelings of just knowing faded.  i was ok with this as first trimester wasn't THAT far behind me and i could still vividly remember the feeling of just knowing.  so i waddled in confidence that yes, this was going to be a girl.  

but then the third trimester came.  you know... when your maternity clothes no longer fit, you've been pregnant FOREVER and you can't remember the last time you saw your shoes, never mind the feelings you had 6 months ago.  

so i laid in bed, clinging to my giant pregnancy pillow, with this fear washing over me... what if she wasn't a girl and instead of receiving her with joy i felt disappointed?

so i unashamedly asked God for a sign... just to see if i was on the right track.

he had given me several with leif... which i tried to ignore (only dreamed about boys, saw an ultrasound image of his head and "just knew" he was a boy) because i had wanted a girl so bad.  reflecting back, i knew that leif was going to be a boy but i think (poor leif) that i was really hoping for a girl.  

i just didn't want to feel that way again... like my mothering instincts were terribly out of whack or something.

so i asked for a sign... just anything to give me a little insight.  

i think in my pregnant little head i thought He'd give me a dream with a little boy or girl in it.  i don't know... i mean, i was hoping for a sign but it's like i forgot that He's GOD and has managed to get pretty creative when He's had news to share with someone on earth.

(ahem... heavenly hosts singing...)

so...

the 

very. 

next. 

day. 

(i'm not even exaggerating) 

i was grocery shopping at Wal-Mart.  I had left leif with kjaer and was enjoying a toddler-free shopping trip.  you mama's know what i'm talking about.  i was savoring walking down the aisles whilst checking my list and actually crossing the things off of my list with a pen instead of mentally crossing off... which always gets me into trouble.  

i was standing in the bread aisle putting tortillas into my cart when an older man... probably in his 50's or 60's walked up to me.  he had a slight limp and there was really nothing else about him that stuck out to me.

anyways... he walked up to me, looked at my very round belly, and said:  making three bullet points in the air with his finger from top to bottom.  

"boy,

girl,

girl"

and then he walked away.

at first i laughed.  probably a nervous laugh because i'm not very good at playing things cool when i'm baffled.  and then i realized what truly just had happened.  

a stranger...

came up to me...

and told me...

about all of my children...

the one i had...

the two i didn't have yet...

and walked away.

so i started roving the aisles of wal-mart looking for a middle aged man with a limp and he was nowhere to be found.  i'm not sure exactly what i was going to say if i had found him... but i think it would have sounded something like... "sir, excuse me.  who are you and why did you say that to me?"  

i mean... who walks up to an extremely large pregnant woman and starts spouting off sexes of babies and quantities?  it would just be cruel.  

i never found him.

so i came home and told kjaer... whose first reaction was, "WE'RE GOING TO HAVE THREE?!?!  I DON'T THINK I CAN DO THAT. I JUST DECIDED TODAY THAT WE'RE GOOD WITH TWO." "

after kjaer settled down, we discussed it and decided that we wouldn't tell anyone about my strange encounter until baby k#2 was born.  i think i was mostly afraid people would think i was crazy.  we did end up telling immediate family and very close friends before the baby came, but i really did keep quiet because... well, it just all seemed so surreal.  

so you guys know what happened.  baby k #2 was born and she was a beautiful baby girl.  those that we had already confided in were astonished and we started telling everyone else about "walmart jesus" who we lovingly refer to him as... though maybe it was a "walmart angel".... i don't know.  

so here we are two and a half years later... i'm one week away from my 20 week ultrasound (where we will NOT be finding out again.)

 expecting a third child in itself is already amazing as kjaer was truly happy with two and i was the one who wanted one more.  however, it was really important to me that if we had one more, the decision came from kjaer.  so i was starting to wonder about ol' walmart jesus and if i was crazy.  but kjaer's heart changed and now, very suddenly, we find ourself expecting our third.  and we're thrilled.  and i'm getting a little bolder in believing that one of God's messengers really did show up for me in that Walmart store.  He showed up for my very insignificant, selfish request because sometimes He likes to blow us away with His love.  

so my question for you, dear friends and family... is what do YOU think?  

boy?

girl?

we won't know until a late day in May.  but i'm telling you, i believe... we believe... our loving God has already told us one ordinary january day in 2014 in a grocery store.  

perpetual child delay...

i'm the kind of girl... at least i used to be... that was mostly on time.

by that i mean i usually arrived at my destination right on the nose... give or take a minute or two... 90% of the time.  while i know this wasn't best practice, it is basically how i've functioned my entire life.  yes... sometimes i'd occasionally be 5 minutes late.  but for the most part, i was there when i was supposed to be. therefore, i've always considered myself one of those punctual-ish people... though not quite as impeccable as my parents.

my mom... she's 15-20 minutes early to every place.  i'm pretty sure my dad was about the same as well.  this isn't because of a generational gap -  they were/are basically just the most decent human beings you've ever met and they would never disrespect you by being late... not even for the most casual of occasions.  

going grocery shopping with my mom?  she'll be at your house ten minutes early.  

me?  i'm punctual-ish.

the problem with this mindset is that then i had children and now i'm on a constant child delay.  to illustrate how much i cogitate upon this perpetual lag in my life, here is an excerpt from an email i sent kjaer last week after my drive into work:

got out of the door at 7:27.  was feeling so proud I was actually leaving 6 minutes earlier than my usual lateness and ON TIME.  got stuck behind a caterpillar bulldozer on Dayton from 6^th to that next major light.  basically showed up at work at my normal time. (five minutes late)

I’M TELLING YOU… I CAN NOT WIN!  :/

and that's the way it always goes these days.  i have two small children and a senile dog who will poop on his hind legs should there be a whisper of punctuality.  and though i have instituted a plethora of precautionary measures meant to ensure our punctuality to preschool/work/church, nothing seems to help.  

precautionary measures include:   

-exercising and taking my shower at night 

-setting an alarm 15 minutes before we're supposed to be backing out of the driveway

-revising said alarm to 30 minutes before we're supposed to leave to include going potty and brushing teeth

-packing bags/diaper bags the night before and sometimes even loading them in the car by moonlight

-packing lunch night before

-making coffee and setting timer night before

-waking up 5 minutes earlier

-waking up 10 minutes earlier

-waking up 30 minutes earlier
-resorting to a daily "messy bun" and no longer styling my hair

seriously... 

it doesn't matter. 

i'm cursed. 

it's like i'm sisyphus... pushing two children out the door and into a car.

to further my case of how i just can't win... let us cozy up and hear the tale of last thursday.  

leif goes to pre-school on tuesdays and thursdays- my days off.  he needs to be there at 9:15... seems like a reasonable time of day, right?  i mean, since having children i haven't slept past 7 AM so you'd think that two hours to get myself and two small beings out the door would be plenty of time.  especially since i have put all of the precautionary measures in place over this past school year.

negative. nope.  never.

we still stroll into preschool 2-7 minutes late...

every.

time.

i feel the director eyeballing me as i charge through the door every tuesday and thursday like a wrecking ball. 

what's worse is, i'm a freaking teacher for pete's sake.  

you'd think i could get my own child to school on time.  

but no.

so this particular thursday morning, things were going fairly smoothly.  both children were dressed, hair was combed and pig-tailed, bags were packed and i was waiting for the 30 minute timer to start our exodus.  i was SO ready.  nothing was going to stop me.  i could literally visualize us pulling out of the driveway at 8:58. looking back, i probably should repent for my cockiness.  

so the timer on the oven beeps with the 30 minute countdown and i ask leif to turn off Curious George (yes... he still loves ol' c.g... and i love that he loves him so) and go to the bathroom.  i could see the funnel cloud form above his head.  there was an exchange of angry three year old words with mommy-who-wants-to-be-on-time words which might have included something about not being able to watch curious george later that evening since he was throwing a tantrum.  gnashing of teeth ensued.

(so there, young dawdling child!)

and, as if it were airborne, henley started crying and i can't even remember why.

so i was in the throws of trying to survive a double whammy tantrum.  but i could not be swayed.  i was going to get us to preschool on time by golly.  a freight train wasn't going to stop this expedition.  so i gave hugs and kisses and bribed henley with bringing toys like elmo and baby doll and "packpacks" out to the car.  i held hands, carried and gently rounded up my offspring in the general direction of the car. they moved like bellowing cattle, and i was their patient, punctual cowgirl.  

once leif was out front in the fresh air, his tantrum cleared up as quickly as it had surged, and he stood upon his picnic table in the front yard and surveyed the land. he does this from time to time, like Simba on pride rock.  who knows, he could also be checking the weather and listening for prey as well, but i usually take it as my moment to buckle henley in... which turned into another fit because she is now undeniably two.

t.w.o.

... and she likes to punctuate her thoughts with "I DO IT" while she feebly plays with her buckles for an eternity.  should you even to attempt to help her do anything without her consent, be ready for the toddler assaults and screams to fly.  this takes a very fine act of trying to offer my help but making her think it's her idea.  i have not quite perfected my strategy with her yet... as being fiercely independent has just recently reared it's ugly head.  so it takes us a while.  

but i'm not shaken.  

i've got this. 

i am a punctual goddess.

meanwhile, leif has started walking his domain and i remember a spray of diarrhea from our fossil of a dog that had been lain earlier that morning.  I leave henley's side, and show leif where it is like an air traffic controller, motioning my arms this way and that,  with a gentle reminder to watch where he's walking.  he looks at me like, oh my!  where did that come from?!?

(you know where i'm headed... don't you?)

i head back around to henley and check my phone.  we're doing good.  i can see the finish line.  my angelic son is calmly waiting for me and  i'm nearly done with his adorable, yet fiesty sister.  i cue leif to enter the car and get started on his seat belt when finally, henley gets the brilliant idea that we should work together on this tricky thing called a car seat buckle... to which i happily oblige, give high fives, load her dolls and books in and shut her door.  

success!!!

meanwhile, leif hops in the car, his little blue eyes sparkling as he starts to ask me his usual round of curious questions while climbing into his car seat.  

and i see it.  

i see it before i smell it.

a little bit of grass and.... something... on the end of his boot.  

FREEZE! i say... a bit loudly perhaps.

leif... did you... step in poop?

he looks at me, confused.

DON'T MOVE, i say firmly, running around the car to lift him out.  

and there it was... all over his little boots.  

NO, I REFUSE!!! I WILL NOT FALL TO THIS ATROCITY!!!!

i have him go sit on the stoop and remove his boots.  he's very sweet and apologetic.  i knew it wasn't on purpose of course... though it sort of feels like it.  i dash back into the house to grab another set of shoes.  i toss them on leif and have him run to the car while i put trooper's diaper back on and get him into the house.  i see the clock... 9:02.  

i can't believe this... i might be OK... i might only be a couple minutes late.  

i start tearing out of our house like i'm on a Wipe Out obstacle course when i hear leif call to me... "mom?  i think i got poop on your seat."

no!  it can't be!  i think.  it's mud from the other day.  don't panic.

i get to him to adjust his seat belt and there it is... smudged on my back seat.  for a second i entertain the thought of leaving it there until after preschool drop off.  but i couldn't.  i just couldn't.  living with a 105 year old dog makes you feel pretty sick and tired of smelling excrement from ancient bowels.  

so i get henley's diaper wipes out and clean off my seat, find all of the blankets and objects that leif had inadvertently stepped on when entering the car, toss them into the back of my car and jump into the drivers seat.  i turn the key... the clock reads 9:07.  

DAMN IT!!!

i drive to preschool like a defeated soul who just can't go on.  i can already picture pulling into the parking lot with all of the other mom's exiting the school (in their designer outfits and flawless makeup, of course) staring at me in slow-motion as i lull by them... top knot in my hair and the same sweatshirt and ripped up jeans i wear every week.  they chant "tar-dy, tar-dy, tar-dy!" pumping their fists high into the morning sky, while i unload my littles (and toys and packpacks) and mosey into the building.  one lady leans over and whispers to another, "how can someone be late at nine.fifteen.in.the.morning?" and the other responds, "What will she do when kindergarten begins and he has to be at school by 7:45?"   i do my best to shake this vision from my head as i pull into an empty space and unload.  

there are no more excuses.  we have an old, sick dog has been used many times.  i'm in the middle of helping my mom move has been an excuse.  it doesn't matter.  there's always an excuse.  always.  my son accidentally walked through poop or we got stuck behind a giant tractor on a one lane road just doesn't seem to suffice.  i want to weep at the feet of his sweet preschool teacher and beg for forgiveness.  i want to explain that i'm a teacher and deal with tardiness all of the time from other parents and students.  i used to (pre-children, of course) shake my head at that one mom who just couldn't get her shit together and i'd think, "just leave 5 minutes earlier! it's not that hard."

yes, judgy monica of yesteryear.  it IS hard.  it is SO freaking hard.  it's hard to stay calm while moving your little brood out the car every morning.  it's hard to make sure everyone has brushed teeth, that 50% of your children have combed hair on most days and everything they need to successfully move throughout the day.  it's hard to do all of that, plus care for a house,  your husband, yourself, and your senile, dying dog.  it's hard to do this amazingly wonderful job of being a parent.

so that does it.  i'm declaring my life in a perpetual five minute delay.  you want me somewhere?  lie and tell me it's starting 10 minutes earlier than it really is.  who knows, maybe i'd walk in on time.  as for me, i'm going to try giving myself a little more grace.  

my children are kind and sweet. 

i'm madly in love with their dad,

who's madly in love with us.

we all love each other to the marrow.  

my babes are well-fed.  
they are happy.

they are amazing.  

but, i'm sorry, they have one flaw.  
they will be five minutes late to whatever they're supposed to be doing from now on.

peace restored...

you guys... lately i don't know what in the world is happening, but it feels like everyone is hurting.  

oh.my.stars.the.hurt.

nearly every day a tragedy or worrisome situation is whispered in my ear and causes me to clutch my heart in grief.  it feels as if the last christmas tree was taken down and with it went the last ounce of hope or joy for awhile.  i mean... there's joy in some places... there has to be... but lately it feels like it is eclipsed by a dark cloud.

kjaer and i have both been carrying home these stories in our hearts, like fragile pieces of glass; sharing them with each other and then praying over them at the dinner table.  but i have to admit, after what we've brought home to lift up over the past two weeks, i've gotten sucked into the dread.  

here's a little tidbit about me i bet you could've already guessed: i've been known to get a little worried from time to time. (!) i've experienced a few of my own tragedies in the last decade and it's often hard for me to separate myself from other people's situations.

so i became overcome with fear last week... more specifically jan 11 and jan 12.  it was very messy and borderline crazy-person-behavior.  i began to think that because other people were experiencing tragedy that my own was just around the bend.  this is a very dangerous place to be in your mind.  suddenly you are picturing the worst possible scenarios for every moment of your day.  it's all conjured and pretend... but you believe it could be true.  it's all very erratic and intoxicating... like you're drunk on grief and fear.  

so right about the time i was at my breaking point, i decided to pray (because, why do that first... am i right?  geez, when will i learn?) and take it to Jesus.  there was a lot of selfish whining and pleading (because fear and worry make you do that too) begging for the protection of those i love and requests for peace... LOTS of requests for peace.  when i removed myself from the pile of tears i was on the floor... i didn't feel more peaceful or less worried... just tired from all of the drama i had immersed myself in so selfishly.  so i asked for a sign and went to bed.

i feel ashamed to write this,  knowing the hurt that people i care about are in.  here they were H.U.R.T.I.N.G. - and here i was, perfectly unscathed, begging to stay that way.

it's in our nature i suppose.  but it doesn't make me feel better about it.

the next morning i was still feeling a little uneasy... like the roof might collapse on me or something.  i was eating breakfast with my beautiful children and decided to crack open their new devotion book.  i had gotten it for Christmas with the intention of reading one every day with them (seeing as how they are dated that way) but had already failed.  I'd made it to January 2 and it was January 13.

so i read january 3 to leif (why skip the days?  i'm not getting graded on this!) and he loved it.  we talked about the pictures and then he asked to read another one.  so we read another.

i was getting a little nervous that he was going to ask me to read 365 straight days of devotions to him.

but he didn't.  he did, however, ask for another and turned to two specific pages.  (i later went back and looked at the dates out of curiosity and they were, quite spectacularly, January 11 and 12.)  i closed the book and told him we could read those another day.  he opened the book, flipped through it back to those two days and demanded in his most bossy, almost-three year old way to read them to him.  the two titles read this way...

Jan 11... King of the Earth

"How awesome is the Lord Most High, the great King over all the earth!" Psalm 47:2

Jan 12... Don't Worry

"Don't worry about anything, but pray and ask God for everything you need." Phil 4:6

pregnant pause... inhaling peace.

there, staring me in the face, was my sign.

My dearest Monica,

I'M in charge of everything, don't worry... just talk to ME.
Love and kisses, GOD.

so here's the thing.  our world is broken.  we all experience pain, loss, sickness and grief during different seasons.  no one can hide from it.  none of us can ever have pain free lives.  BUT, our joy comes out of pain.  the tears we cry can heal our wounds and grow us into something more incredible than we were before.  

and like my aunt kathy said, when she took my scared little face in her hands this week so i would look her square in the eyes while i sobbed through terrified tears,

 "DO NOT LET FEAR ROB YOU OF YOUR JOY."

the heart?  it can be deceitful sometimes.  it can get us wound up tighter than a corkscrew over nothing but an idea... an IDEA.  no facts to go off of... just an idea that was whispered into your mind by fear.   and fear can make you do things that just make no sense at all... or NOT make you do things.  

i read an interesting fact the other day that an African impala can jump to a height of over 10 feet and cover a distance of greater than 30 feet.  However, in the zoo, they can be kept in an enclosure with a 3 foot wall.  They will not jump if they cannot see where they will land... fear. 

Faith is the ability to trust what we cannot see, and should we choose to live with faith, we are freed from the frail prisons that entice us with fear.

so today i'm giving the fear back, over and over again, to my Creator... the King of the Earth.  i choose faith.  i stayed home sick today and sent my kids to daycare because i wasn't feeling 100% and needed to rest.  when i was washed over with fear that something would happen to them, i laid flat on the floor like some crazy lady and said, "take it God... it's too big for me... take it.  don't let me yank it back." 

and then i decided, i'm going to bask in the joy of an empty home for a few hours... blog, nap, take care of myself.  tonight, when the energy and noise return with the arrival of my precious family, i'm going to bathe myself in the clatter and hum of our little brood.  it doesn't mean i'll never worry... knowing me, i'll worry all of the time.  but i'll do my best to lean on the One who told me not to worry about today.  i'll concern myself with how i can be the catalyst to those hurting around me with problems like brain tumors, homelessness, starving bellies, other peoples children who don't feel loved... and how i can possibly make a difference.  after all, i wasn't called to be on the earth to worry about myself... i was called to minister to the broken.  

today i'm choosing to take a leap and have a little more faith than yesterday.  today i choose to turn my back on fear and live with joy.

some of many moments of joy from 2014

toilet for a table...

ok, so... don't judge. 

i've already shared my struggles with weight and food with you all several times.  

since henley's birth, i've lost 75% of my pregnancy weight, but I have that damned last 25% to go.  and i'd love to tell you it's my last 5 pounds... but it's more than that.  don't pry too much.  i'll disclose if you truly care and want to encourage me.  but leave me alone to eat my damn carrot sticks in peace if you want to know for any other reason.  and if you're a REAL friend, you'll let me whine about how fat i feel even though you think i'm looking fabulous compared to the me you saw  9 months ago.  i want to live in my loathsome head right now and i'm too stuck in it to see myself for who i am... so don't try to argue with me.  i'll just smile and nod and go back to my dark, chubby cave.  

anyways...

it was fall break a few weeks ago.

fabulous fall break. 

which also means i'd abandoned any sort of weight loss regimen and had indulged in the finer things in life that week.  as i began to near the end of my diet vacation,  my anxiety began rising... deep down i knew that feast of a week was soon to be famine and my very cells were screaming more! more! hurry!  get as much in as you can!!

one evening was particularly stressful for me.  we were decorating pumpkins, henley had hardly napped all day, kjaer and i were having one of those serious conversations that almost turns into a fight and doesn't but it sucks anyway, we were still not sure who the hell was going to watch our kids the following week because our beloved daycare was closing... 

i was stressed.  soooooo stressed. 

so i thought, "i know, i'll eat a piece of cake with lots of icing!  cake fixes everything temporarily."  i had frozen some from henley's dedication and it was calling to me from our freezer in the basement.  so i sliced myself a lovely corner slice with ample buttercream frosting while trying to simultaneously clean up dinner, keep henley from fussing and help paint pumpkins (though kjaer was mostly in charge of that, thank GOD!)  my job was to play defense when henley would try to put her non-toxic painted hands into her mouth.  i kept staring at my sugary, sexy icing just spilling off of my cake.  i wanted to eat it so badly.  but i knew i'd be busy for another couple of hours (until both kids were down) and i just couldn't wait any longer.

(and yes, our children were naked... or as leif says, "naken" which kjaer always calls "naken bacon" and it makes my heart melt a little).

so when it came time to wash paint off of henley, i carried my slice into the bathroom with me to eat while she played in the tub.  

if you are already judging me... read on at your own risk and i don't want to hear from you how disgusting i am.  i'm already aware of my shortcomings and i find them a little bit funny in a sick twisted way (hence, why i'm sharing them with you).  

so the first problem (well, second problem if you consider that a piece of cake being eaten in a bathroom is a problem too) was that as soon as i set my plate down, my fork went flying through the air and landed behind the toilet.  

Lord knows what could be on that floor... so i ran through a quick mental debate.  the floor was just scrubbed a week ago, leif doesn't have bathroom rights in this bathroom, i have lucked out with one of those very clean men who never leave a mess around the toilet.  the disgusting pros kept growing.  but i knew i couldn't get up and get a new fork, because i had an eight month old who was fussing and needed to be quieted by warm bath water and floating alphabet letters.  and because i wisely chose to cease the crying at once and put her in the water, i couldn't leave her.  she's sturdy, but she's still a freaking baby that can tip over with the slightest change in air pressure.  so, i picked up the fork, wipe it vigorously with a towel and told myself it can't really be THAT bad... right?

what's the saying???
“No matter how bad things are, you can always make things worse.” (Randy Pausch)

so, i was watching my mostly stable daughter gnaw on a foam letter while taking my first bite.  if you know me, you know i eat the cake and filling first and save that delicious, sugary, decadent frosting for last.  it's my favorite part.  but right as the first bite on my fork is headed for my mouth, henley took a spill.  

i threw my fork aside and to catch her before she went under... staring sadly at my piece of cake as it slid down the side of the tub and the crumbs spilled onto the bathmat.  henley was fine... but i was not.  i knew i should just concede and wait to eat my cake until she wasn't sitting in a tub full of water.  but i continued to look jealously at that piece of cake during the rest of henley's bath, commiserating that i didn't even get 10 freaking minutes to myself to indulge in dessert (let alone go for a run or have a night out with my own husband).  before i could stop myself i had opened the drain and henley was curiously watching the water drain away from around her little chubby thighs so that mommy could have her way.  

i then took her out of the bathtub, wrapped her in her little monkey towel, stuck her in my lap and i ATE that damn piece of cake like a BOSS.  right there on the bathroom floor.  

as i was licking the last bit of frosting off of the fork, i came to my senses and realized all of the disgusting atrocities that had occurred in that span of 5 minutes.  and while i could have sat there a few more minutes, feeling terribly sorry for myself and the depths to which i have fallen...  i shrugged, got up, put my dish in the dishwasher and thought, thank God for things like cake on days like today.

being a mother has surfaced so many new pieces of me that i didn't know existed.  if young, childless monica had read this blog post, she would have thought, what the... i'll never act like that crazy woman when i have kids!  just like i used to think snotty things like that about other peoples kids before i had kids like... my kids will never act like that, it's disgraceful.  

kharma is a b*&$% my friends.

i now have a 2 1/2 year old little boy... who has the biggest heart and happiest soul i know.  BUT he also is an independent and strong willed 2 year old... and can be a rude little booger at that.  sometimes, after he has matter of factly yelled at some poor unsuspecting soul YOU DON'T TALK TO ME i float above my body and look down thinking... this is what you get for judging others... judgy mcjudger.  i literally have no idea what to do and feel like a failure.  i just want to drown my sorrows in cake and hope it all works itself out without me having to figure out a way.

i'm coming to find that in the glory and blessing of being a mother... there is also the part of motherhood where we find ourselves crouched on the dirty bathroom floor eating cake.... wondering things like: when will i get 10 minutes to myself or when will i figure out what it takes to change my children's rude behavior or when will i finally snuggle into the nook of my husbands arm for the night or when did i last brush my teeth and comb my hair?

but then i remember that i also have moments where my vivacious two year old lays his hand on my cheek during naptime and whispers ever so sweetly, "mama... you are my sunshine," and i can muster up the moxy to keep moving and try my best.

so for all of you mommies out there who find yourselves at a low point, take heart.  our babes give us those profound and beautiful moments to counteract all of the terribly messy ones we find ourselves sitting hopelessly in.  and for those times when it still isn't quite enough... there's cake.  lots of cake.  so grab yourself a slice, pull up a bathroom rug and indulge with me as we figure out this messy, hysterical... and yet beautiful thing called being a mama.

the underpants dance...

i didn't plan on potty training this early...

in fact, i've been counting on not potty training early.

ever since leif was about 18 months i'd get the occasional, "aren't you going to potty train leif?  isn't he old enough?" and i'd smile sweetly (while scoffing internally) and say, "no, i've heard not to even try with a boy until he's 3. plus, i think having him in diapers while i'm nursing a little one is probably best because he can wait until i'm done."  

it. was. THE. perfect. plan.

i had it aaaallllLLLL worked out.

but then a funny thing started to happen.  leif would wake up with dry diapers or get on the potty every once in awhile when he was running around naked.  

hmmm, showing some signs of readiness... it's ok to let him experiment, i'd think.
and when he's 3 we'll go for it.

i'd watch other mamas try dutifully to have their kiddo out of diapers as soon as possible while i happily used our diaper sprayer to spray the tar out of toddler sh** into our toilet and think, thank God for a diaper sprayer!  i'd NEVER make it to 3 without that bad boy!

then, about a month ago i went to a consignment shop to pick up some winter clothing for leif.  i walked by the potties and thought, well, it never hurts to expose him and let him explore.  but i am NOT going to potty train him.  so i bought him a potty and a few pairs of 3T underwear... thinking he'd fit in them by the time he was 3 1/2.  never hurts to be prepared... for potty training after 3 years of age.  

he didn't even seem particularly interested in that little potty while we were at the store.  he was too busy running around playing with things he shouldn't (and perhaps certain costumes his mom dressed him up in because she couldn't help herself.)

but i brought that toilet home and BANG... he wanted his diaper off.  

awww.... how cute, i thought.  i'll let him explore.  but i am NOT potty training him. i just don't have time and besides... i'm nursing an infant right now.  it's just not convenient for me.

he went potty... everyone cheered and clapped. 

then i went to put his diaper back on and he looked me square in the face and said, "no thank you."

so i played along with his little game... dead set that i was NOT going to (did you hear me?  NOT GOING TO) potty train him until he turned 3.  

but he was obsessed.  he woke up the next morning and asked us to take his (dry) diaper off so he could go potty.  

and then he went.

and ate breakfast.

and asked to go again.  

crap!  i thought.  crap! crap! crap!

so i did a little online research and thought, well... perhaps i'll let him explore a few hours in the morning and few in the afternoon when we're home...  but i am NOT potty training him.  i'm not shoving kool-aid down his throat and locking us in the kitchen for the next 3 days.  i don't have time.  i don't want it that badly.  

by the way... i have no problem with those potty training methods that others use... kool aid and such.  i don't care if you potty train at 1 year or 3.  seriously.  i'm just lazy.  i already have to watch a wild two year old while nursing... i didn't want to run said wild two year old to the bathroom with one boob hanging out.  it's just not my style.  i am already exhausted... i don't want to be hanging topless over a potty (more than i already am) and exhausted.

plus... cleaning out poopy underwear is WAAAYYYY worse than cleaning it off of a cloth diaper.  at least cloth diapers can easily be removed without dragging the poop down his legs or it falling out with a sickening thump.  i don't know why no one has told me of the horrors of potty training... everyone has probably repressed their memories of it... because it's traumatic.  for reals.

about 5 days later i'm telling miss robbin (his daycare provider) about our exploration of the potty world.  she had me bring him some underwear just to see how he did.  he had a poop accident but did stayed dry all day.  i declared (with relief) well, he must not be ready.  that's 3 accidents in a week.  DARN!  i'll just try again when he's 3!  robbin reassured me that poop was the last to master and that i really shouldn't stop because he was ready to do this.  

but i'm not ready to do this! i told her.  

and she said (with a laugh) it's not really about you, though, is it?

.

.

.

.

sigh.  

i guess not.  but i wanted this ONE thing to be about me.  it feels as if everything in my life for the last 3 years has been about my children.  couldn't i have this one thing?

n.o.p.e.

so just in case you're wondering... my brilliant little boy potty trained himself in about a week in a half.  the other morning kjaer and i were enjoying a conversation after breakfast when we realized it was deathly quiet.  we peeked into leif's bathroom and there he was taking his morning dump.  "i had to poop!" he grunted, and then he got back to work.  

we just stared at each other.  that kid is seriously amazing.  

well, so much for me waiting until leif was 3.  he had other plans.  he potty trained himself a few weeks before he turned 2 1/2.  my co-sleeping rockstar of a son also decided he was no longer sleeping in our room (he's been in our room since he was a baby because it's the only way any of us got any sleep).  a few days into his potty training fiasco he crawled into his toddler bed and declared, "i'm sleeping here tonight" and he's been in his room ever since.  (even though i wasn't quite sure he could tackle two big milestones at once and nearly fainted from panic... he rocked it.)

you know?... in this game of motherhood i've always felt a little awkward because my choices for leif have not been what "everyone else" seems to be doing.   i'm not going to lie, i've felt a little judged... (and it could totally have been self perceived) as if people have been walking away from me laughing under their breath.  but these past several weeks have been a vindication of sorts for me.  my little rebel of a son, who has never done anything the way it's "supposed" to be done in our culture, has just proved to me that by meeting his needs (which were plentiful and high) my husband and i have developed a brave, independent little guy.  and my hope is that as these milestones keep rapidly approaching, we continue to read his signals instead of our own or everyone else's so that we can elevate him to the amazing man we know he can become.  

but i will tell you something... i am NOT going to teach him how to use the tivo remote. 

  

a woman has got to (feel needed and) have some boundaries.

(btw... i'm very proud of him and i'm excited he is potty trained.  i know all of my complaining makes me sound rather ungrateful.  he's a rockstar... and i'm his mom!  couldn't be prouder!)

when it counts...

usually every july i post a little tribute to my dad... last years being the most famous... 

this year i was having trouble getting started when i happened across the journal i kept while he was sick and after he passed away.  as i read it i was instantly transported back into a memory that had catapulted to the front of my brain shortly after he was gone... i thought i'd pass along the story that was so typical of my dad.  funny how i had forgotten about this until i reread it.  glad i wrote it down to remember... and re-remember- again.

may 5, 2010

was taking a shower the other day when the most random memory came upon me.

i was 16, interviewing for a job at the Gap (swoon).  i didn't have a car yet so my dad had driven me there and patiently waited in the mall on a bench. (ironically, it was at the Old Buckingham Mall... which i live 1 block away from now)  i wore a black baby doll dress with yellow sunflowers that i had borrowed from a friend and it was my very first job interview... 

and a weird interview at that.

it was a group interview... totally nerve wracking.

they even made me assemble an outfit, to my horror.

i guess i hadn't realized you actually had to be fashionable to work there.   

before the interview was even over i knew i wouldn't get the job...  and it was a teenager's dream job. 

by the time i left the store my heart was broken into a million pubescent pieces.

i walked out of the storefront and straight into my daddy's arms... a ball of tears.  it was like he knew i would be exiting the store in tears and he needed to have his arms open just for me. he was my harbor and i just soaked up his love as i cried about my impending rejection.

then (i think) he took me for ice cream...

that or i've inserted it into my memories because it seems the sort of thing he would do.

it is one of the happiest of my sad memories because even though he spent a lifetime on the road as a truck driver away from us, it seems to me he was always there when it really mattered... 

and i can't picture a better person to console me in that moment than him.

ramblings of a pierceless wonder...

you guys...

i lost my crap the other morning..

and not just a little.

lost.it.

as in, stomped off to my room, threw myself down on our bed and howled until i could howl no more.

kjaer and i used to call these sorts of days D-days (daddy days) after my dad died.  it was a code word to tell him it was basically pointless to try and make me happy... because i just needed to be sad and have myself a good cry and move through the day with puffy eyes.

that's what the other day was... a D-day.

if you asked me why... which is probably what you're wondering... i'm not sure that i could even tell you.  i mean... i know the incident that set the whole emotional downslide into motion, but it's really a cacophony of thoughts that have been running through my mama brain for weeks now.

that morning, the minor straw that broke the camels back was that i was sitting in our beautiful sunroom trying to wake myself up after a lo-o-o-o-ng night.  i can't really describe why the night was so terrible... but it was.  it was one of those nights where you are sure you probably got some rest in there, but it came in increments of 30 minutes here, 20 minutes there.  henley, who is usually an awesome sleeper, was moaning and groaning the way a baby would if they could toss and turn.  i had pulled her into bed with me around midnight and after two hours of (refusing to get out of bed) trying to snuggle and nurse her into submission... i finally gave in and went into the nursery, changed her diaper and nursed her in the chair.  she was dead asleep in less than 5 minutes.  when i went back to my room i put her in her rock and play... because even though i love having her in my bed, it was 3 AM and i had hardly slept at all.  the minute... i kid you not... my head touched the pillow leif started wailing for me from his little mattress on the floor.  kjaer was sleepily trying to get up and get to him... but i was up so i decided to be a martyr i suppose.  pooooooor meeeeee, i'm a mama and evrrrrrrry bodyyyyy neeeeeeeds meeeeee.  after throwing a mini fit into my pillow...i went and laid with him on his mattress and promptly fell into a restless sleep until 5.  when i woke up i tiptoed back to my bed... exhausted and ready to soak up a handful of hours of good sleep.  about 20 minutes later henley was ready to eat again.  so i pulled her back into bed and fell asleep nursing her.  i then i had weird dreams about my daddy... whose anniversary of his death is this week.

 so... i could feel i was fragile that morning already.  kjaer was playing with leif in the kitchen and i had taken henley with me outside in the backyard to let trooper out.  as i was out there i just sunk with henley into the grass... it was like i just needed to feel the earth beneath my feet, the grass between my toes... something to ground me.  henley seemed perfectly happy sitting in the grass and so we sat... avoiding the clamor that comes with a two year old boy who has just had his whopping 12 hours of sleep.  then i got up and moved into our beautiful sunroom... soaking up some sunshine and trying to absorb my dreams from the night before.  i just wanted to idle there for awhile.  sink into my surroundings and enjoy this place i call home.

so i'm sitting there... and leif comes running over delighted to see me.  he's in his santa claus jammies, eating a bowl filled to the brim with strawberries.  his blue eyes are sparkling and he has the silliest shock of bed head in his beautiful red curls.  he keeps climbing up into my lap and down, pushing and poking at my sack of potatoes that i loathingly call my body right now.  i don't mind so much... he's so happy and sweet and kind.  the whole time i'm thinking... 

damn, that kid is one amazing masterpiece.

and then he cracked my phone.

the back story is that my phone has been broken a few times.  we have some service plan that replaces it absolutely free... so i shouldn't really care...  except that the employees of best buy mobile are starting to treat me like i'm doing it on purpose.  i hate it.  i hate it when people assume the worst about me because i am not THAT person.  and then they always replace my phone with a refurbished phone with more problems... and it usually takes 3-4 refurbished phones until i can get one that acts like a good phone should.  so i'm sure it looks to them... on paper... like i've had my phone replaced a gajillion times over the past two years... when really it's been my fault (or leif's) about 4 of those times.

so... leif picks up my phone... which i had purposely moved out of eyesight 5 minutes earlier so it wouldn't be tempting for him...  but somehow he spotted it, picked it up and it slipped from his hands.

i didn't curse... though i wanted to.

i just sat there.

and then i became leif's jungle gym again.  he's crawling and poking and prodding and he won't leave me alone.  only now it isn't cute.  it was then that the cork popped off... i couldn't handle it anymore.  i moved leif aside and ran off to my room like a school girl and threw a big crying fit in my bed.

so i'm sobbing on my bed... telling myself that i just need a good cry.  but as i'm crying, the intensity with which i'm doing so is ramping up.  i feel like i mentally floated above my body and looked down on myself and saw the craziness unfolding there... and i starting flipping through all of the things that are making me upset... because i knew a phone that could easily be replaced couldn't matter this much.

first of all... we have been battling a diaper rash with henley for almost 3 months now.  finally... FINALLY... we figured out that she has super sensitive skin and can't even wear the plastic covers that go over her cloth diapers (and disposables have the same effect). so now i have to switch over to wool and fleece covers... which are much more involved than the little plastic covers that we have come to love.  and wool is expensive... so it's like we're having to make another small financial investment right before i have to send two children into part time daycare and we're already cinching up our belts.  it's a learning process and i just want it to be simple like cloth diapering has been with leif.

and speaking of those two kids going into daycare... one of them REFUSES a bottle.  she is the easiest baby i have ever met... except with this one crux.  everyone is telling me not to stress... but our daycare provider keeps nervously asking me if henley is taking the bottle yet... like EVERY time i see her (we still bring leif once a week in the summer) and it makes my blood pressure jump.  i feel so... pressured.

i don't like pressure.

and then yesterday (*Sigh*) i remembered that i hadn't put my tongue ring back in from my visit to the dentists office last week.  i was feeling particularly self conscious... looking like a ragamuffin.   and not the cute kind... like all of my girlfriends with the cute yoga pants and tank tops and doo-rags.  no... as in giant maternity shirts fresh with spit up stains and water from lanolizing some wool covers, unshaven legs, crazy hair and glasses.  so i decided to put my tongue ring back in that i had discreetly tucked into my wallet when they took x-rays at the dentist because i thought it would make me feel a little bit like my old self.  it was the only piercing of my many at the dentist's office that i thought, "oh, i'll just do it when i get home."  well... by the time i had remembered, the hole was closed.  i tried to go from underneath and above.  i thought about just ramming it through the new skin.  and then i could feel my daddy laughing at me from up above... because i had promised my parents years ago that when i got married i would take it out for my wedding day and never put it back in.  then my daddy died (around the time i got engaged).  as my wedding drew closer my mom reminded me about "that stupid tongue ring" and my promise.  i told her i didn't recall making such a promise and laughingly reminded her that she couldn't prove that i had because the only other witness was dead.  

she didn't think i was very funny.

but now here i sat... not one shred of me feeling attractive... and this stupid tongue ring... which must've had signified my beauty and youth was being rejected by my tongue. (who's laughing now, right?)

you wouldn't think it would matter after 15 years... but apparently i had a lot of identity tied up in it.

suddenly all of my sex appeal... or what i had left of it after having children... was left on the counter in the bathroom and my emotions were plummeting.  so i did what any depressed and unsexy mom would do.

i went grocery shopping looking like a total wreck.

i mean, i figured i already felt like crap... let's just get this shiz over with.

and then i'm catching my reflection in the dairy cases and thinking, so it's come to this, has it?

here's the thing, people.  it's not really about a phone breaking, or a tongue ring that won't go through it's hole.  it's about me feeling so unlike myself that i cling to these tangible things that i perceive as "attractive" or "cool" about me.  my iPhone isn't fat or greasy... it's sleek and stylish.  my tongue ring doesn't have lumps and bumps where it shouldn't... it is young, hip and sexy.  i don't have to worry about putting them on diets or squeezing them into too small clothes.  they don't have to wear clothes that are wayyyyy to big for them either.  they are perfect, unchanging, tiny little objects that i've staked my value on because i've forgotten who i thought i was... or as leif so sweetly proclaims i "got-for" who i was.

i've read the inspiring blogs and articles my mommy friends post to facebook... hell, i repost them too.  the ones where the mommy's are proud of their tiger striped stretch marks, their soft bellies and cellulite.  i've even been moved by some... the other day i put up a picture of myself on facebook of me at the zoo with my kids... even though when i looked at it i could feel my insides churn at the sight of myself. i've been inspired to wear a swimsuit and not miss out on making memories with my children this summer... except all i have right now is a damn, old lady looking, maternity suit that i feel like crap in.

if i only had money... yes, money would fix all of this.  money and being skinny.  

and probably wine... lots of wine.

but here's the truth.  here's the revelation i'm having.  yes i want to be the mama who doesn't care what others think and embraces who she becomes.  i will be that mama... just not today.  today this mama also needs to grieve what she's lost.  i've lost my athletic body... it's somewhere under these giant nursing boobs and post-partum belly.  and even though i've been watching what i eat and have started running again... the boobs and belly are still there.  my loving husband... who knows me all too well... likes to remind me that i just grew a tiny miracle and it'll all come back with time.  he strokes my hair and tells me i'm lovely and not to worry and i want to clench my fists and stammer through gritted teeth BUT I WANT TO FEEL SEXY AGAIN, RIGHT NOW!!!!  

even more unfair than losing my image of who i was... is that i lost my daddy and our (greatest accomplishments) babies will never know their opa on this side of heaven.  well... i say they'll never know... but leif seems to have some sort of spiritual connection with him.  he tells me when we pull up to oma's house "opa is here" or when my mom was watching the kiddos so i could nap when henley was born he looked up from his toys and quietly said, "opa went bye-bye." just yesterday (this probably is also contributing to my emotional train wreck) he pointed to a picture in a book we were reading and said, "that's an opa."  and wouldn't you know it... it looked just like him... bald head, happy grin and plaid shirt... even though leif has maybe seen 2 pictures of my dad in his life.

my dad was the original safe harbor before i fell in love... the OG.  if I had D-days like this before he was gone, i would crawl up into his lap and he would anchor me.  he was the earth beneath my feet and the grass in between my toes.  he may have thought i was crazy or a bit nutty, but i was also his daughter... one of his masterpieces too.  so that softened the insanity surrounding me, i'm sure, and allowed him to let me take shelter under his wings for a speck of time while i recovered without too much scrutinizing.

now i have a husband, who my daddy passed his mantle onto rather dramatically, and he is also trying to figure out this parent thing.  he's waking up next to this hormonal, puffy woman who goes all sorts of batty when her tongue ring hole closes and her iPhone cracks.  he probably doesn't recognize me in all of this either... but he does a fabulous job of holding down the fort while i take a D-day to sort through the emotional mess that is me.  he's my harbor... where i dock my little boat and wait out the storm.  but i'm also his harbor... so that makes it a different type of relationship than what my dad and i had.  we have to take turns losing our crap and picking up each others broken pieces... and i think we do a damn good job at it if i say so myself.

but i haven't fully gotten to the revelation yet, have i?

it is this... sometimes we all need a D-day.  a day where all that gets accomplished is having a good cry, making the bed and then watching a movie.  a day where we stand with mouths agape as we stare at the scary role of parenthood and wonder if we'll ever survive.

but a D-day is also something else.  it is defined as an important day for an operation to begin.  it's a day to pull yourself up by the bootstraps (in my case, after laying in a puddle for a bit of time) and take on the role that's been gifted to you.  a day to accept your challenge and strategically move on.

so for me... this means i need to accept that i'm not as hip and skinny as i once was (or thought i was).  accept that my daddy's physical presence is gone from this world.  accept that being a mother is stinking h.a.r.d. and trying to be a good one and a rockin' wife can often leave me feeling like a waste of space by the end of the day.

the operative word in all of this is acceptance... of who i am and what i'm becoming.  acceptance of the woman who stands in front of the mirror at the end of the day with no tongue ring, a chubby mama belly and a gap between my two front teeth when i smile.  because that woman can conquer mountains.  that woman does the best she can every single day by the grace of God.  and though there are failures, and tears (and childish temper tantrums that involve wailing on my part), and hiccups... it is ultimately the operation at hand... and nobody said it'd be perfect.

so i tell myself it's ok to fall into a mess of tears and sobs every once in awhile.  but after i've exhausted those frustrations, it'll be time to lace up those boots and get a move on girl. 

 throw your arms around those who love you, lean in and press on.  

and one day i'll look back on this challenging season of my life and see it for all of the splendor it really was... the chunk of time where i got to know and love myself for the beautiful mess i am... and embraced it.