Five Pictures, Five Minutes

So about a month ago (I'm guessing; I don't want to think about how fast time has flown), I was busy in the kitchen and saw the kids in picture-able poses and stuff lying around that just means stuff to us. Little things. I thought, "I get so rushed with things and behind on the blog, I should really do something simple--like taking five pictures in five minutes of what's happening in our lives." Sounds good, right? So here's the pictures from then. I'll post another set soon. Whatever that means.

She Laughs -- On Camera!

Yesterday we held our last dinner for youth from our church. During Lent, every Wednesday, the confirmands have come over for dinner with our family and then watched portions of The Passion with Papa's commentary (while I clean up and read to our three littles, who won't be ready for that kind of visual depiction of Christ's suffering and crucifixion for a long time). Then we all go to Lenten service. As much as I would get slightly stressed out about the cleaning and cooking required for these days, they truly have been special, and Papa and I both hope we can continue to do this in the years to come.

Yesterday we had an additional bonus. After dinner, the big kids and the little kids were hanging out for a few minutes. Taylor, who as the resident young man attracts most of our sons' attention, was making S laugh--and C, who was being alternately held by Katie and Makayla, was mesmerized by their antics and starting laughing! And we caught it on tape! Please forgive our rough camera work.

And that's S laughing in the background, saying "Do that again." Baby AND little boy laughs--great combination!

Anger Management, Small-Child-and-Lent Version

"The wisest of women builds her house, but folly with her own hands tears it down. ... Whoever is slow to anger has great understanding, but he who has a hasty temper exalts folly." 
~Proverbs 14:1, 29

As parents a mom an extremely sinful mom, Papa and I learn every day how little patience and gentleness we I have. (Even if Papa agrees with this, it's not fair for me to lump him in with my admissions of guilt. He can do that on his own time in his own way, which probably doesn't include blogging about it. Hence all the crossing-outing.) I have a terribly bad habit of letting my temper flare and my responses to outsize the situation. This includes circumstances that warrant a response that is carefully measured. Take, for instance, yesterday:

--In which P decided to artistically decorate the bathroom walls with the skills only boys are blessed with. I was not happy.

--In which S found a ball-point pen, pushed a chair up to the kitchen counter, climbed upon said chair and proceeded to practice scribbling on top of every professional picture of C on the counter that I had ready to go into envelopes, all while I changed C's diaper. I was beyond not happy. I was so mad I cried.

Even the Packers can't fix everything. P at two months.

Discipline usually refers to the teaching of appropriate behavior to small children. It can also refer to life-long learning of truth, from history and literature to compassion and self-control. The boys received discipline and one-on-one talks about what they did and why they had to be punished for their very-non-appropriate acts, but I also (I hope) received discipline of temperament. 


I pray I may learn to react to my children as God reacts to me, His child, as this Litany collect so beautifully states.
 
Spare us, O Lord, and mercifully forgive our sins. Though by our continual transgressions we have merited Your chastisements, be gracious to us. Grant that all these punishments which we have deserved may not come upon us, but that all things may work to our everlasting good; through Jesus Christ, Your Son, our Lord, who lives and reigns with You and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

Postscript: Yuckiness in the bathroom can be easily cleaned, and so--it seems--can pen on pictures. After some rubbing with a clean white towel moistened with water, C's face magically reappeared, and S's practice strokes disappeared. Nothing short of miraculous. As is, when I think of it, the love God shows to us.

A New Coat for Anna

Sometimes our library visits unearth surprising gems.

Awhile back, in an effort to stem the tide of Cars and cars and other tricked-out-merchandising paper collections otherwise labeled as "children's books" (I can't pretend to call them children's literature) that our sons our oldest son inevitably gravitates toward, I grabbed A New Coat for Anna, written by Harriet Ziefert and illustrated by Anita Lobel, from the Winter bin. It contained a few more words than the average books I read to them, but I thought--on the drive-by snag--that it "looked good." Well. I had no idea. P ended up loving this book, and because he loved it, so did S. In the two weeks we had it checked out, P practically memorized it, and even S knew all the steps.

The book is based on a true story about a little girl living with her mother in post-World War II Europe who needs a winter coat. There's no money or supplies, so Mom gets really creative and tenacious and they end up figuring out how to get a new coat in stages using barter to provide payment. A farmer's sheep provides the wool, and he gets Grandfather's watch. A spinner who spins the wool with an old spinning wheel gets a lamp. They dye the wool red themselves with lingonberries they pick in the depth of summer, and then a weaver weaves the red wool into cloth and gets a garnet necklace. Then Anna and her mother visit the tailor, who measures her for her coat, works his magic, and produces a lovely red coat in exchange for a teapot. Then Anna and her mother invite the farmer, spinner, weaver, and tailor over for a Christmas party--the happiest one they've had in years. And at the end, Anna goes to visit the sheep to thank them for their wool.

Simple story, this; not so simple lessons (beyond the hypnotic step process that seems to enthrall all young children). Lobel's frontispiece illustration is of a war-torn city. P wondered why it looked the way it looked, and I had to explain to a three-year-old, in the simplest way I could, what war is and what happens during war. I think I told him that wars happen when groups of people fight over places or people or things and ideas, and lots of people get hurt and places get destroyed. It's ugly. Sometimes it's necessary, but always it's ugly. And this is why I found myself loving this story--because even though war is ugly, and the aftermath can be brutally difficult--not that we Americans generally know anything about this, but I digress--people can band together for simple  moments of joy and thanks for life even after losing practically everything, including loved ones. A wool coat, and the people who help make it for a little girl, can inspire hope.

When Anna's first waiting for the sheep to grow their wool so it can be sheared in the springtime, she and her mother go to visit them almost every Sunday. At that first Christmas, she adorns their simple heads with paper chains and sings carols to them. At the end of the book, when she's wearing her red coat and visiting the sheep again, P started saying that Anna must have sung "Hark the Herald Angels Sing" to them. He was more right than he knew. "Peace on Earth and Mercy mild; God and sinners reconciled." What a fitting reminder.

Poo-Poo Genius

S, in one of his many active moments.

Though I simultaneously grit my teeth and dry heave at saying this, potty training does have its upsides. (Have fun with that one, you Punsters. You know who you are.) Such as:

S and I had a little bathroom potty time last week after he failed to do the dirty where we'd really like him to. He's been in training pants and rubber pants consistently for the last few weeks, basically after Papa and I both realized 1) he was consistently dry for parts of days anyway, basically when we remembered to take him to the bathroom, and 2) we were tired of buying changing buying and changing diapers for a practically potty-trained toddler. Anyway, since we've done this before, we're not so hard-core about it (i.e. "If he's potty-trained, it means he'll tell us when he has to go and never, ever, ever have another accident. EVER!" This is like saying about a beginning reader: "If he's reading, then he'll read independently and never, ever, ever need any other help with letters or words. EVER!" But I digress.). So S does his dirty and we have little conversations, which turn out to be classic little moments. Like:

Me: So who's the boss in our family?

S: I'm the boss... (trailing off, then looking me in the eye) Mommy boss.

Me, pleasantly surprised: You're right! And who's the main boss in our family?

S: Boss, boss, boss... (thinking hard) Boston town.

Me, not getting it: Right, Boston town. But who's the main boss, S?

S: BOSS-ton town.

Me, finally getting it: BOSS-ton town. Boston town! (quickly thinking of all the metaphorical applications I've missed over never hearing this linguistic connection, then returning to the toddler) Like in the song--"Trot, trot, to Boston town, to get a stick of candy"!

S, grinning: Yeah.

And the really amazing and kind of scary thing about this? S has been making these kind of observations a lot lately. Like two weeks ago, when we went for an interview for an observational study he's a part of (I signed up for it for the free diapers--we got C's size this time--and the Target gift cards we get in "thanks" for showing off our brilliant kid. Plus, I get to spend time with S alone, which rarely happens at length). There, he did a few incredible things in front of Luke and Libby, like:

• Telling me "Mommy, I get down. Right NOW! Please." when he got bored with a video. Libby told me, "I've seen kids his age pitch fits, but I've never heard them ask to get down, let alone use manners."
• Upon pretending with a bear and a plate, cup, and spoon, and asked what he would do if the bear was thirsty, picking up the cup with a big smile and saying, "Give him some COFFEE!"
• Listening to directions very closely, like when he was already swinging his arm to knock down a stack of blocks he'd built and Luke said, "No." He immediately dropped his arm. No, he doesn't usually do that at home.
• Putting together a three-piece rattle together with no verbal directions an hour after he'd watched Luke do the same thing. And he did it three times with different pieces than Luke had used.
• When asked to identify pictures, saying, "Cookie" for a picture of a cookie, "Bear" for a bear, and "Cow" for a horse. Okay, he needs some work. 
• When asked which child in the picture had the most, pointing to a boy and saying, "He's got a lot of M & M's." (The stacks in front of the pictured kids were little, round, colored balls. Kind of like...)

I honestly was so moved--and, frankly, overwhelmed--by what S did and said at the interview, I had tears in my eyes. There's nothing quite so humbling as realizing there's no possible way your self-perceived brilliance could have turned out like this in your kid. Truly, only God can create minds like this.

Of course, that also means He creates... well, potty-training doesn't last forever. And I guess I'll take with it what comes.

After all, S will only be two at the end of April.

"Take my picture, too, Mommy." And here's my thumb. 

Secondhand News, Part II

So now that this news is cyber-mom-official -- okay, I'm just really SLOW! -- I can add to the list from earlier this year:

• My sister is engaged to CJ, thanks to his New Year's Eve work at Memorial Park! Their nuptials will take place at the blessed church of St. Paul in Hamel in mid-summer. YAY!

You can read Sis's lovely and lyrical take on the big moment, which is much better than this short update. We're super excited and glad to be getting a brother out of a great party! Bring on the good cake, the good family times, and the uniting-in-Christ celebratory wonderfulness that is weddings. 

Sis and I on Ellis Island (NYC behind us), a whole seven years ago, right after Papa and I were married.

Why I've Only Been Blogging Once a Week Lately

1. I hid the laptop. No, seriously. I do my little online tutoring thing in the basement guest bedroom, which is seriously one hundred miles away from the rest of the house. This is great for concentrating on tutoring away from every-sleeping-body, but not so great for blogging when I'm not by the laptop. Even if I think about blogging during the day, I have to hike one hundred miles to do it. So usually I think about it and do nothing instead.

2. I have this guilt thing about tutoring when the kids are awake. Well, that's not totally true. I mean, I DO get guilty, but I've also found in the last few weeks that every time I get online for two minutes or more, someone gets hurt. Running into a counter top, slugging Brother, crying hungry Baby, you get the drift. So then I feel double-guilty that I've neglected my kids for two minutes and it's resulted in agony (kid-agony, that is). Weirdly, they don't get hurt or seem to mind when I'm washing dishes, scrubbing floors, or feeding another kid instead of being with them. At least not in such extremes. So that leaves me with...

3. I enjoy sleeping. I mean, enough so that I'm not a total crab, which lately hasn't been happening. I mean, I haven't been sleeping a lot, not that I'm not a crab. I have been a crab. So when the boys go to bed between 7:30 and 8:00, I am ready.to.collapse right after that. When C doesn't need to eat at 4:30 a.m. before I tutor, then I think I'll have a little more time to blog, since I'll (theoretically) be sleeping more.

4. I lost the camera. For about two weeks. I had literally picked up my phone to call a lady whose house I'd last seen it at when I found it. Of course, I've got a ton of pictures on it, which makes me dread going through them, uploading them, etc. Which makes me feel guilty that I haven't posted pictures of our lovely three lately. Vicious, vicious cycle. But at least I found the camera!

5. Um, have you NOTICED the weather? We've been playing summer every spare afternoon minute. And the laptop collects dust.

6. People say, "You must be so busy!" Well, yeah, but not much more than any other mom of at least one kid (wait... ). Basically, that means we spend a lot of time reading The Cat in the Hat and nursery rhymes, singing songs, doing the fun kid stuff. And though I love posting about our life here, I guess I like living it more than blogging about it. That sounds like a really defensive "Take THAT!," but I mean it in the best possible way. And I think you dear readers understand.

Happy Living!

Who needs a dog...

...when the crumbs on the floor are consumed by your children?

And for S, this jar with its contents all over the floor = INSANE happiness.

She Laughs

So our not-so-little C (she weighed in at 11 pounds, 12 ounces at her two-month visit a month ago) is fast taking on lots and lots of endearing habits. Like cooing and smiling and waving her fists in front of her face until she's cross-eyed. She's also started laughing, but it's hit-and-miss. The first two times she laughed was in her sleep--that just-drifted-off slumber where her limbs are all relaxed and angels dance in the lights sparkling behind her eyelids. Since then, she's half-giggled a few times, but mostly she goes from big smiles to concerned looks. (Although she literally wets herself as we sing "Sing a Song of Sixpence" fifteen times in our efforts to get her to expel a little chortle like she did the first time. So that should count for something... right?)

Until this afternoon. Miss L, a wonderful, awesome lady from church, stopped by so I could sign a check that Papa took to the bank this morning and mistakenly needed my John Hancock for. (Small town sidebar: where else would someone drive to your house so you could sign a check because they knew your husband was out of town with the car? Now that's service!) I picked up C, who immediately smiled at Miss L--anyone who knows her will understand the compulsion, as she's officially one of the Nicest People Ever--and then C's smile grew. And grew. And grew. Until she laughed. And laughed. And LAUGHED! Only God knows why she was so tickled, but for at least four uninterrupted minutes, C had one of the funniest moments of her life. And Miss L and I laughed and laughed and laughed, too, and shared a moment we won't soon forget. It was beautiful, and wonderful, and tear-inducing. Baby laughs are the best. Here's to hoping you get to enjoy some firsthand soon.