Good read

“When life is sweet, say thank you and celebrate. And when life is bitter, say thank you and grow.” 
― Shauna Niequist, Bittersweet: Thoughts on Change, Grace, and Learning the Hard Way

I'm reading a new book, Bittersweet by shauna Niequist. It is amazing. I've never had a book speak so clearly to where I am in life right this very moment. This has been a hard year, and this is a perfect book for right now. This has been a hard year for a lot of people I know. In fact, I can think of 10 people off the top of my head who I want to buy this book for. So, maybe wait and see if I buy you one :)

It's short essays of 4ish pages each, so it's perfect for the end of a busy day. I have laughed out loud (on an airplane! sort of embarrassing...), almost cried, and read numerous parts to my husband. I have been deeply moved by this book. It also makes me hungry, because seriously... look at this cover!

Five months of Avery

It occurred to me I haven't been posting these, so here's the latest!


Dear Avery,

Today you’re five months old. I’m pretty sure I’ll say this for your entire life, but I can’t believe it. I still think of you as my little tiny baby, and the fact that you still wake up several times every night helps me stay in the newborn frame of mind. I spent a few hours today organizing closets. I went through through all of your clothes, packing away the many items that are now too small, making room for the new outfits in bigger sizes that you couldn’t possible fit into, except that you do. In fact, you’ve already outgrown some of them.

You’re at a place where it’s hard to ignore you are indeed getting older and growing every day, but you still need us on such a deep level. You can’t yet sit up on your own. For now, you still rely on me for all of your nourishment, but that’s not going to last too much longer. You watch us eat with a new fascination and interest. A few nights ago, you watched your dad with such intent, staring at his fork as it made its way to his mouth. When he did finally eat the bite, you cried. You were truly so upset by this process, the bitter injustice that this precious morsel was not for you! This cycle repeated itself throughout the meal. So, I think it’s safe to say we’ll be starting you on solids soon.

You are full of joy. You smile all the time. It took you a little while to get used to daycare, but now you’re doling out the smiles to everyone. You are reliably joyful once someone has won you over. When you do cry, we’ve found a secret weapon: Bob the Builder. If you start to fuss, every scream, you will immediately light up when I start singing the Bob the Builder song. Turns out, yes, we can fix it! Fortunately your brother loves to sing that as much as you like to hear it, so we have used that to our advantage to make both of you happy a few times.

You love your feet. Sometimes you lunge at that as if you’re stalking prey. If your sitting in your carseat or hanging out in your swing, sometimes you will sit for minutes at a time with both legs sticking up in the air. I think it’s just so you can see them better while you work out a plot to get them in your mouth. You are also rolling all over the place now. I’m still not sure where you think you’re going but it seems to be an important missing. Hardly a night goes by when we don’t find you curled up against the very edge of your crib, sometimes with a limb stuck through the bars. Last week you managed to get both your arm and your leg tucked down next to the mattress. I fear for the next few months as you begin crawling and eventually walking! You do not like to sit still! I have no idea where you get that from…

This year has been a tough one, and the last month has brought a lot of heartache and turmoil to our lives. But you, my sweet girl, are the brightest spot of light this year. If everything else crumbles this year, we still cherish you as the beacon. This year has taught us that every moment is precious. YOU are precious. I thank God that he brought you in to our lives, especially this year.

With so much love,
Mama

Workin’ Mama

I’m writing this from Denver, where I just returned to my hotel room after about 12 hours of presentations, discussions and a dinner meeting.

Back at home, my babies are sleeping. I left yesterday after they went off to school and I’m hoping to be home tomorrow with a minute or two to snuggle them before bedtime. Assuming, of course, that tomorrow’s projected blizzard lets up enough for me to get out tomorrow.
I know this is necessary, it’s important for my job for me to be here. There’s no one else who could be here in my place. My husband and I both work hard to put food on the table, a roof over our childrens’ heads, blah blah blah. I also know my husband is a more than capable father and will do just fine without me.

That doesn’t really make me feel any better. When my plane took off yesterday, I just couldn’t shake that feeling that it was worng, that this piece of steel shouldn’t be carrying me away from the city where my children were, to a place several states away. I’m still sitting in a hotel room by myself when I wish I was tucking them into bed. It’s hard enough to deal with the implications of being a working mother when I do get to see them and spend some precious time with them each day, it’s brutal when I don’t even have that. I'm still the primary (and only) food source of a small baby, so there's a whole slew of complications that come with that (although I can now I say I've pumped in flight on an airplane).

We’re all going to be just fine. Everything will be okay. And I’ll keep reminding myself of that until it is.

New territory

Carter is increasingly interested in art. He loves to color. His master pieces are mostly composed of straight lines (I drew a snake! I drew a stick!). As a special treat when he had the flu last week, I let him draw in his bath with bathtub crayons. He looked up at me, eyes gleaming, clearly very proud of himself, and exclaimed:

"Mama, I drew a rocket ship penis!"

Ah, raising a boy.

In lighter news...

I have an extreme phobia of eye drops.

I thought this was pretty normal. Apparently, it is not. This does not, however, change my phobia. I guess I'll add that to my list of irrational fears.

Perspective.

Something happened this week, something awful and terrible and tragic. And it rocked me to my core.

A baby died at our daycare.

The details are slightly more complicated than that. The baby had pre-existing medical conditions and there’s nothing the daycare should have done differently. It probably would have happened at home. He stopped breathing during his nap at daycare, was rushed to the hospital and paramedics were able to restart his breathing in the ambulance. In the end though, he didn’t make it. I got a call on my office phone from my husband. My panicked first words were “What’s wrong?” His first words were “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you.” He continued to tell me that our kids were okay, but told me what had happened, that the ambulance was on the way, and that he was on the way to pick up our kids. I struggled to pull myself together, to get in my car and drive a sensible speed, the whole way praying and praying for this little one and wishing I worked closer to home.

It was his very first day of daycare, his mother’s first day back at work, his very first nap. This sweet baby boy was dropped off with my children two days ago. He and my daughter are weeks apart. He had come up in conversation several times, we talked about how fun it would be for Avery to have this little friend, how Carter would get to know him. Now he’s gone. As a mother, and as a working mother, I cannot even imagine the pain and suffering that family is going through now. It seems fitting that the weather has been gloomy and raining the last few days here.

What can you do? How can you keep your children safe and ensure that nothing bad ever happens to them?

Sometimes, nothing. The crushing weight of that helplessness is terrifying, infuriating, and exasperating. As a parent, as a human being, you want to do everything. I want to go overboard, cause people to label me as the crazy over-protective mother, purchase little bubbles for each of my children, and never ever leave them again.

I can’t stop paying the mortgage and start dumpster diving for food. I have to go to work. I have to entrust them to “the village” we have carefully and thoughtfully assembled. Even if I didn’t, there are no guarantees. At the end of the day, I do what I can. I take reasonable precautions and then maybe just a little more. I fight the guilt. I fight the urge to throw all caution and reason to the wind and declare that I’m never leaving my babies ever again. I fight the crushing fear. I don’t let myself be (permanently) crippled by anxiety. A few times, I’ve had to remind myself to keep breathing. Sometimes, especially this week, I have to hold back the tears and keeping it together in front of Carter or in a meeting. I ask God to watch over them and keep them safe. I snuggle each one of my little blessings and thank the Lord for these precious gifts, and praise him that they are healthy, even if only for this moment.