So I headed to Walmart with my children this morning to purchase their Easter baskets and fixin's. I know, I am the most fun mom out there, spoiling all the surprises by letting Mikayla hold all the Easter presents in her lap in the back of the cart. But I think it's more realistic than mean to say that hiding her Easter basket for the next four days will re-set the surprise meter. At the beginning of your life and again at the end, you could hide your own Easter eggs and still have fun hunting for them, right Dad? (He has been telling me for years that he can hide his own Easter eggs. I figure he'd be happy to know he has cute company in the short-attention-span/poor-memory camp.)
Mikayla picked out the Easter baskets. Pink for herself, blue for Isaac. There were other options, but the girl apparently goes the conventional route once in a great while. I tossed a few bags of goodies into the cart, which Mikayla is too young and naive to be excited about. I'll refrain from naming them because a few of these might turn out to be surprises for the hubs. I saved $1.97 by not getting him an Easter basket, but an Easter plastic bag gets to be exciting when you're pushing 30.
It only took an hour, but it felt like eons in a purgatory of cheap plastic pastel. They almost had me at the Easter bunny sippy cup, but this is not my first rodeo. That sucker is going to pop at its poorly-glued seams the first time a certain somebody squeezes it with all her two-year-old gusto. Instead, found a ten pack of Hanes socks that included pink and purple and should fit into a few plastic eggs (why stop at Christmas stocking when you want to give boring/awkward necessities as gifts?). AND. The poor girl has been begging for a belt for ages. She watches momma and dadda belt our jeans and asks to wear one. I've tried the double-wrap around her tiny tummy but we both know she looks a little ridiculous at that point. Today, I found a two-pack of sparkly belts, one white/silver, and the other pink, in toddler size, for the low Walmart price of "this might actually last you through the summer if little brother doesn't chew on it". Also, shades and a sweet sun hat. Mikayla totally wore the sun hat through the entire store as she carried her Easter basket. Again, best mom ever. Isaac spent the trip chewing on a bag of green plastic grass, so I'm pretty sure that seals the "Mom of the Year" deal.
I also needed a few things for myself, such as leggings and those little invisible socks you can wear with dressy shoes. Of course they were superbly organized and took hardly any time and effort to actually find the right color and size. Meanwhile, Mikayla filled her Easter basket with ladies' socks and a bra and Isaac learned how to stand up in the front of the shopping cart. I can only hope he learns how to apply that skill every time I try to strap him into something.
And then it was time to hit the checkout. Always the best and most enjoyable part of any Walmart trip, right? Lo and behold, God's providence smiled upon us. Just as we rounded the corner, with Mikayla helping me push the cart/being dragged along the side as she attempted to name every object and person we passed, I saw her. An angel in a blue Walmart vest standing behind an empty Express lane register. I may or may not have heard cherub voices serenading our approach, but I'm 80% sure a soft heavenly light shone down upon her name badge. We made it through there in five minutes, which felt like it was only twice that long as Mikayla struggled to understand why her pink hat and beautiful pink basket were wrenched from her grasp and dragged away on the conveyor belt of doom. Toddler problems.
By the time we were loading into the car, Mikayla was genuinely irrational. She wanted to hold her basket, no she wanted her book, no she wanted to get into the car, no she wanted to ride on the roof while singing Itsy Bitsy Spider. Momma pulled out the crackers, and the tears evaporated into thin air. Eyes still red and nose still flowing, Mikayla looked at me and said around a mouthful of Wheat Thins, "Crackers make me happy, momma! I not sad anymore!" I thought back to my first outings with Mikayla long ago, the times I spent frazzled and weary from public restroom diaper changes and pleading with my infant to stop crying, and I realized how truly seasoned I have become. I am a professional sippy-cup-carrying, cracker-wielding mother of two. I have learned to pack snacks over diapers any day of the week because of EFFICIENCY in bag space and implementation effort. A child will happily forget about a soggy bottom for awhile when he or she has fistfuls of food to devour. And really, regardless of the problem, crackers make it all better, at least temporarily. Motherhood is 70% strategy and 30% praying for grace. And strategy is 98% crackers.
So we made it home, and the children are napping. Except for Isaac, who just woke up because he can tell when Momma has set a goal to accomplish and he apparently has lots of help to contribute. My goal is to put together Easter baskets and then hide them in our new bathroom closet until Sunday so that the toddler memory wipe can commence.
That reminds me, we girls tried on our Easter dresses today between lunch and naptime. Mikayla bestowed her approval upon my dress and legging combo, and she looked just angelic in her fancy light-pink dress and flower headband. It seemed like a good time to show her how a lady stands and curtsies, but the girl all but fell over trying to execute the curtsy. Have you seen Rogers & Hammersteins' Cinderella? Think nasty stepsister #2.
Those Easter baskets aren't filling themselves. Thanks for reading along, and remember, if you go to Walmart, don't forget a snack!
The Washing Machine is More Thankful Than I Am
About two weeks ago, Mikayla decided to boycott the whole potty thing. She had been doing well for several weeks, with perhaps a couple dribbles or full-fledged accidents a day, but overall grasping the concept and motivated to put her pee pee where it belongs. It was a dark and stormy Friday when she felt she had had enough of the potty concept and would simply let loose wherever she stood. Momma's lap included. Friday and Saturday actually blur together a bit because Joel worked that weekend, but I do remember lots of laundry and lots of wine (for me after bedtime, not for her...though that probably would have explained the problem a bit, eh?). I reasoned. I begged. I pleaded. I almost cried. Nothing seemed to change the determination with which she looked me straight in the eye, said "pee pee in the potty!" and urinated straight down her leg and into her socks/shoes/momma's slippers.
For close to a week, I was washing almost all her 16 pairs of undies every other day. Other parents assured me this was a normal phase, and I read that it was a result of Mikayla mastering the skill and getting bored with it. I guess. Child psychology feels like voodoo sometimes, even to the thoroughly initiated. All I knew was that it had. to. stop. And that retreat was not an option. To return to diapers would be an admission of failure and confusing to Mikayla. It would ensure eternal revocation of my crunchy, homemade-baby-food-making, cloth-diapering, overachieving momma membership card.
So we hung in there, through dinners that involved four changes of undies and ended in Mikayla pantless and sitting on a towel. Don't even ask me about the poop.
And just as suddenly as it began, the rebellious phase ended. Mikayla woke up exactly one week later and decided that she had punished her poor momma enough. In fact, from that morning on, she commanded me to wait in the hallway while she pottied by herself. Ours is a purely utilitarian relationship at times. I gain admission into the royal presence when she realizes that wiping her own bottom would be beneath her. (Literally. See what I did there?) She also needs me to reach the yogurt raisins and stickers, which are her potty reward. Of course, she's not strong enough yet to completely disdain me, so we have lots of giggles and squeals along the way because we are both so proud of her for going on the potty!
And people, she has even started pooping on the potty. Several times. By herself. Once she waddled into my room with her pants around her ankles to tell me she had pottied by herself, and we much later discovered the #2 evidence in the bathroom. That girl.
I am already strategizing with regard to makeup and leg-shaving.
For all the sarcasm and desperation that go through my mind at times, I hope you all know me well enough to trust that I am so delighted by Mikayla's growth and determination. She is so elated when she does something by herself, and it fills my heart up with so much gratitude and love. We have done the happy potty dance together many, many times. The Lord has outdone Himself in His goodness to us in our sweet children <3 .="" p="">
Isaac's First Birthday Post
I'm not sure quite how or when, but a whole year has gone by since Isaac came into our lives. From a little blue line to his peaceful water birth, and now his precious kisses and doe eyes, it seems he has been nothing but sweetness and laughter in our lives. Sleepless nights, an overnight hospital visit, and that bathtub full of poop not withstanding.
His current existence might be summed up by saying he is on the move. Since he discovered his ability to clamber up the stairs a month ago, he has spent most of his waking time attempting just that. I regularly discover him sitting at the top of the stairs doing nothing in particular, just waiting for me to come bask in the joy of his wonderful accomplishment. So far he hasn't attempted the descent, even by accident, but I'm just waiting for that moment to come. His love of the stairs is so great that he has invented a way to teleport himself through a barricade consisting of two to three dining room chairs placed in various configurations at the foot of the stairs, without moving them or making a sound. No, but seriously, I've never seen him do it, but the chairs apparently are small fries for this guy. Carrying him upstairs for diaper changes and bedtimes? No deal. He will wiggle and squirm until I concede and let him crawl up himself. Usually, I give in at the landing, and head up the stairs ahead of him to enjoy the sight of his little grinning face bobbing toward me as he climbs. This activity rivals only the eating of cheerios for Isaac's greatest pleasure.
Isaac splashes around in the bathtub with his big sister, squealing with delight and tolerating her bossy ways. He tries to climb into the tub by himself (which, a baby boy trying to climb over something that is clearly too big for him, while naked, is the dearest, funniest thing to watch!). He succeeds in climbing onto the bathroom stepstool, two steps up, while hanging for dear life onto the drawer, which he pulls out for that purpose. My little problem solver.
Splashing in the toilet, unrolling the toilet paper, demolishing window blinds. These are a few more of his favorite things. Along with unabashedly watching his sister do every little thing she does. I can only hope he is learning all her tricks and foibles, because it would be such a breeze to have two with her penchant for opinions and independence. They enjoy each other so much, whether obliviously engaging in parallel play or vying for the same blue mega block (they are not created equal and it's apparently not worth having if it is not also worth fighting for).
Other miscellaneous details: He's been in size 12 month clothing for a few months now (well, ought to have been...I've been squeezing him into some 6-9 shirts until my parents' birthday package for him arrived last week!). Six teeth present and accounted for. Eating some finger foods but prefers being spoon fed for most things because if you could get somebody else to do your work, wouldn't you? Says mama, dada, banana, moo, and amen if you know what to listen for, usually repeating after somebody rather than saying them spontaneously (he'll answer "What does a cow say?"). He signs "all done!" after meals and tends to just gesture wildly for "more" and "drink". We get the point. My little pragmatist. He waves, claps, tells us he is "so big!" or, as we joke, "sorta big", because he often throws up just one hand.
Favorite foods include, in order of preference, cheerios, graham crackers, banana puffs, anything with applesauce, oatmeal, yogurt, anything with black beans. He's grown tired of plain avocado lately but will eat it with yogurt or applesauce stirred in. Ditto sweet potato, we sometimes have to add some seasoning or other food. He eats a whole bowl of oatmeal with a banana and yogurt stirred in for breakfast. Meats are no sweat, and he loves most veggies and potatoes. Of all things he loves to eat, his cookie monster-blue birthday cupcakes were not among them. He was decidedly underwhelmed and even cried when I tried to force-feed him a bite.
His temperament is so mellow and quiet most of the time. He can tolerate so much of Mikayla's toddler antics, and sits peacefully when I tow them to doctor's appointments and the store. People marvel at how great my kids are, and I attribute it to Joel's laid-back 50% of the gene pool for sure.
In closing, I told Mikayla that I am writing a birthday post for Isaac, and asked what I should write. Mikayla would like to share a very robust "Happy birthday to you!" with her little brother.
Measurements coming soon. His one-year well baby visit is tomorrow, and then I'll come back and update with his weight and length for the record books you are all keeping at home.
**We had a great doctor's appointment! He weighed in at 24.4 lbs and 30.5" long, 75th percentile for both. The nurse practitioner thought he looked perfect in every way other than that pesky diaper rash, which is totally going to embarrass him later if he ever looks back on his birthday posts when he is older.
His current existence might be summed up by saying he is on the move. Since he discovered his ability to clamber up the stairs a month ago, he has spent most of his waking time attempting just that. I regularly discover him sitting at the top of the stairs doing nothing in particular, just waiting for me to come bask in the joy of his wonderful accomplishment. So far he hasn't attempted the descent, even by accident, but I'm just waiting for that moment to come. His love of the stairs is so great that he has invented a way to teleport himself through a barricade consisting of two to three dining room chairs placed in various configurations at the foot of the stairs, without moving them or making a sound. No, but seriously, I've never seen him do it, but the chairs apparently are small fries for this guy. Carrying him upstairs for diaper changes and bedtimes? No deal. He will wiggle and squirm until I concede and let him crawl up himself. Usually, I give in at the landing, and head up the stairs ahead of him to enjoy the sight of his little grinning face bobbing toward me as he climbs. This activity rivals only the eating of cheerios for Isaac's greatest pleasure.
Isaac splashes around in the bathtub with his big sister, squealing with delight and tolerating her bossy ways. He tries to climb into the tub by himself (which, a baby boy trying to climb over something that is clearly too big for him, while naked, is the dearest, funniest thing to watch!). He succeeds in climbing onto the bathroom stepstool, two steps up, while hanging for dear life onto the drawer, which he pulls out for that purpose. My little problem solver.
Splashing in the toilet, unrolling the toilet paper, demolishing window blinds. These are a few more of his favorite things. Along with unabashedly watching his sister do every little thing she does. I can only hope he is learning all her tricks and foibles, because it would be such a breeze to have two with her penchant for opinions and independence. They enjoy each other so much, whether obliviously engaging in parallel play or vying for the same blue mega block (they are not created equal and it's apparently not worth having if it is not also worth fighting for).
Other miscellaneous details: He's been in size 12 month clothing for a few months now (well, ought to have been...I've been squeezing him into some 6-9 shirts until my parents' birthday package for him arrived last week!). Six teeth present and accounted for. Eating some finger foods but prefers being spoon fed for most things because if you could get somebody else to do your work, wouldn't you? Says mama, dada, banana, moo, and amen if you know what to listen for, usually repeating after somebody rather than saying them spontaneously (he'll answer "What does a cow say?"). He signs "all done!" after meals and tends to just gesture wildly for "more" and "drink". We get the point. My little pragmatist. He waves, claps, tells us he is "so big!" or, as we joke, "sorta big", because he often throws up just one hand.
Favorite foods include, in order of preference, cheerios, graham crackers, banana puffs, anything with applesauce, oatmeal, yogurt, anything with black beans. He's grown tired of plain avocado lately but will eat it with yogurt or applesauce stirred in. Ditto sweet potato, we sometimes have to add some seasoning or other food. He eats a whole bowl of oatmeal with a banana and yogurt stirred in for breakfast. Meats are no sweat, and he loves most veggies and potatoes. Of all things he loves to eat, his cookie monster-blue birthday cupcakes were not among them. He was decidedly underwhelmed and even cried when I tried to force-feed him a bite.
His temperament is so mellow and quiet most of the time. He can tolerate so much of Mikayla's toddler antics, and sits peacefully when I tow them to doctor's appointments and the store. People marvel at how great my kids are, and I attribute it to Joel's laid-back 50% of the gene pool for sure.
In closing, I told Mikayla that I am writing a birthday post for Isaac, and asked what I should write. Mikayla would like to share a very robust "Happy birthday to you!" with her little brother.
Measurements coming soon. His one-year well baby visit is tomorrow, and then I'll come back and update with his weight and length for the record books you are all keeping at home.
**We had a great doctor's appointment! He weighed in at 24.4 lbs and 30.5" long, 75th percentile for both. The nurse practitioner thought he looked perfect in every way other than that pesky diaper rash, which is totally going to embarrass him later if he ever looks back on his birthday posts when he is older.
Meanwhile, we will continue to praise God for the sweet, surprise blessing of Isaac. I feel like I say this all too often, and yet not nearly enough: We are undeserving of such goodness from the Lord's hand. Thank you, dear Father, for the great challenges and rewards of parenthood.
Attempted Independence
I guess it's kind of a big day around here. Lunchtime caught me by surprise (seriously? both kids are hungry right at 12:00? is that, like, a "thing"?), so Isaac went into the highchair with a handful of cheerios in front of him. Mainly because Mikayla is louder than him, and you know what they say about the squeaky wheel. Anything to achieve the sanity more quickly, I always say. Mind you, Isaac has never actually eaten cheerios before. We've gotten him onto those little dissolving Puffs things in the past week or so, but otherwise he is all, "Put it on a spoon, peasant." So the cheerios today was purely a move of "hey, he can at least throw them around and amuse himself."
Much to my delight, he seized upon the opportunity to refine his pincer grasp and CHOWED those things. Fast. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't searched his bib pocket and the secret hiding place in the corners of the high chair. So cool! My sweet Isaac is a little self-feeder now!
The backfire: He proceeded to reject all of his normal lunch foods, eating only when another handful of cheerios was dumped onto his tray. Even the sippy cup was immediately launched. I did briefly interest him in a graham cracker, but I soon realized that forcing variety for its own sake only resulted in a lot more crumbs to sweep up. Cheerios really are the perfect, bite-size baby/toddler snack, aren't they?
So Isaac had like three cups of cheerios for lunch. Can't wait for the old digestive process to grind to a slow, grainy halt over that one.
And then? Mikayla announced she was done eating and ready for a nap. Cue her insistance that she is capable of putting herself down for a nap all by herself. I'm all about less work (see above), so I told her to just come back down when she wakes up. She went upstairs, I heard her door close, reasonable quiet ensued. Then I remembered the whole potty/no diaper thing. Shoot. Mental calculations suggested inevitable naptime "incident" based on most recent tinkle. Also, I began to hear strange thumping.
My freshly reheated pizza snickered at me as I jogged up the stairs to intervene. Turns out, Mikayla had the same thought, and was in the process of leaving her room to go potty. I'm sure that would have gone well, but I was obviously happy to help. Various potty time shenanigans followed, but we eventually got her back into her room (Isaac was, naturally, wailing for more cheerios by now).
I only had to threaten spanking twice before she stayed in her bed for good. That girl knows the cards to play, too. Will her good Christian momma refuse to read her the Bible before naptime? Yes, yes she will. Don't judge.
It got easier from there, though. Isaac let me know he was finished with a hearty, "All done, momma!" (Waving his arms wildly and making Donald Duck-like sounds. The fine art of interpretation.) And he has spent the last 15 minutes while I've been writing this post, doing this:
That boy loves him some outside! He could stand at a window for...well, at least 15 minutes, until his momma interrupts his workflow to snap a poor-quality backlit phone picture.
He currently has located another window and is working on raising the blinds. It was going so well until he noticed the leftover cheerios on his highchair footrest:
I wish that had better lighting, because the sight of him next to the cock-eyed blinds, munching on old cheerios is really one of the cutest things ever.
So, self-feeding and self-napping. I might just go book myself a vacation because obviously my kids barely need me anymore!
Much to my delight, he seized upon the opportunity to refine his pincer grasp and CHOWED those things. Fast. I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't searched his bib pocket and the secret hiding place in the corners of the high chair. So cool! My sweet Isaac is a little self-feeder now!
The backfire: He proceeded to reject all of his normal lunch foods, eating only when another handful of cheerios was dumped onto his tray. Even the sippy cup was immediately launched. I did briefly interest him in a graham cracker, but I soon realized that forcing variety for its own sake only resulted in a lot more crumbs to sweep up. Cheerios really are the perfect, bite-size baby/toddler snack, aren't they?
So Isaac had like three cups of cheerios for lunch. Can't wait for the old digestive process to grind to a slow, grainy halt over that one.
And then? Mikayla announced she was done eating and ready for a nap. Cue her insistance that she is capable of putting herself down for a nap all by herself. I'm all about less work (see above), so I told her to just come back down when she wakes up. She went upstairs, I heard her door close, reasonable quiet ensued. Then I remembered the whole potty/no diaper thing. Shoot. Mental calculations suggested inevitable naptime "incident" based on most recent tinkle. Also, I began to hear strange thumping.
My freshly reheated pizza snickered at me as I jogged up the stairs to intervene. Turns out, Mikayla had the same thought, and was in the process of leaving her room to go potty. I'm sure that would have gone well, but I was obviously happy to help. Various potty time shenanigans followed, but we eventually got her back into her room (Isaac was, naturally, wailing for more cheerios by now).
I only had to threaten spanking twice before she stayed in her bed for good. That girl knows the cards to play, too. Will her good Christian momma refuse to read her the Bible before naptime? Yes, yes she will. Don't judge.
It got easier from there, though. Isaac let me know he was finished with a hearty, "All done, momma!" (Waving his arms wildly and making Donald Duck-like sounds. The fine art of interpretation.) And he has spent the last 15 minutes while I've been writing this post, doing this:
That boy loves him some outside! He could stand at a window for...well, at least 15 minutes, until his momma interrupts his workflow to snap a poor-quality backlit phone picture.
He currently has located another window and is working on raising the blinds. It was going so well until he noticed the leftover cheerios on his highchair footrest:
I wish that had better lighting, because the sight of him next to the cock-eyed blinds, munching on old cheerios is really one of the cutest things ever.
So, self-feeding and self-napping. I might just go book myself a vacation because obviously my kids barely need me anymore!
A Day in the Life
Today, my daughter has been particularly humbling to me. I usually involve her in conversation just to keep both of us occupied, and her relatively engaged in what we are doing. More and more lately, though, she has actually had something to contribute. This morning at breakfast, for instance, we practiced Psalm 100 and she remembered most of the words to the first verse, and then we talked about God loving us forever and ever. We dialogued about the good news of Jesus, and at the end of it, she reminded me that he loves us forever and ever. Well, "ever, ever, ever!" I sometimes get weepy when her little heart overflows with joyful truth. My greatest prayer is that my children would have regenerate hearts, and any sign that Mikayla loves the Lord just staggers me with gratitude.
Later this morning, I needed to open a big five gallon bucket of laundry detergent in order to make a small batch with added soap. I sat down on the floor with my big bucket and told Mikayla what we were up to, as I began to pry with all the sinewy strength of my little chicken-bone fingers.
Me: Let's take the lid off of this 5-gallon bucket! Grrr it's so hard!
Mikayla: Screwdriver!
Me: ....Yes, that would be a good idea.
My two-year-old totally schooled me on the physics of opening a giant bucket lid. True, she was probably only recalling what worked the last time Momma had to open it. But she remembered more quickly than I did that there was no way I could get that lid off without some mechanical advantage. Humbling.
Then, it started to snow like crazy.
Me: Mikayla, look at all the snow outside!
Mikayla: Merry Christmas!!!!!
She has only consciously celebrated one Christmas in her lifetime, so it seemed pretty cool that she connected the snow with the holiday. And it was hilarious that she barely looked out the window before making her exclamation with all the vocal enthusiasm she could muster. I'm telling you, she barely got the words out past the excitement welling up in her soul.
So then I promised her we would do some stretches on the exercise ball, since my bi-monthly exercise regimen is a far cry from the twice daily prescription of my chiropractor. But first we started a load of laundry, at which she gazed lengthily, since she had helped "make" the soap. Mikayla has a great memory. The second her toes hit the floor after she finished staring down the washing machine, she was asking me about "stretches" again. I explained that I needed to go potty because, as the song goes, "When you have to go potty, STOP and go right away!" (We take advantage of all the teachable moments we can find around here, particularly with the goal of washing fewer toddler undies on a daily basis.) When I had persuaded her it was a worthwhile pursuit for me to use the bathroom, she barricaded me into our powder room and wouldn't let me out.
Me, flushing the toilet: Mikayla, time to let Momma out so we can do stretches on the ball!
Mikayla: No, wash, Momma!
(Proceeds to not let me out of the bathroom until I wash my hands. Momma needs to be taught basic hygiene. Obviously I was just making conversation WHILE I washed my hands, but Mikayla couldn't be sure. Imagine persuading a toddler, through a closed door, that your hands are, in fact, clean.)
As I type, Mikayla is sweeping the living room carpet with a broom. I think my next goal will be to channel all this hygienic energy into some legitimate household chores. Too bad we don't have those cats anymore; my lifelong goal of having my children scoop the litter is THIS close to becoming a reality! Well, it's between that and my other next goal of patenting a process for bottling and selling toddler energy. Or using it myself. Not that she outpaces me or anything. Anyone who's seen me on a Sunday after church knows that I have all the natural stamina I need to wrangle a troop of caffeinated monkeys...er, my children...with no need of a nap or a bottle of wine or anything.
Why are you laughing?
Time for lunch and the daily nap swap, wherein I trade the one who doesn't make it to the potty every time for the one who lives to climb the stairs unsupervised and unroll all toilet paper, ever. Seriously, I am totally good on energy. Don't worry about me. I hope he learns to turn doorknobs next, I could use a good challenge!
Later this morning, I needed to open a big five gallon bucket of laundry detergent in order to make a small batch with added soap. I sat down on the floor with my big bucket and told Mikayla what we were up to, as I began to pry with all the sinewy strength of my little chicken-bone fingers.
Me: Let's take the lid off of this 5-gallon bucket! Grrr it's so hard!
Mikayla: Screwdriver!
Me: ....Yes, that would be a good idea.
My two-year-old totally schooled me on the physics of opening a giant bucket lid. True, she was probably only recalling what worked the last time Momma had to open it. But she remembered more quickly than I did that there was no way I could get that lid off without some mechanical advantage. Humbling.
Then, it started to snow like crazy.
Me: Mikayla, look at all the snow outside!
Mikayla: Merry Christmas!!!!!
She has only consciously celebrated one Christmas in her lifetime, so it seemed pretty cool that she connected the snow with the holiday. And it was hilarious that she barely looked out the window before making her exclamation with all the vocal enthusiasm she could muster. I'm telling you, she barely got the words out past the excitement welling up in her soul.
So then I promised her we would do some stretches on the exercise ball, since my bi-monthly exercise regimen is a far cry from the twice daily prescription of my chiropractor. But first we started a load of laundry, at which she gazed lengthily, since she had helped "make" the soap. Mikayla has a great memory. The second her toes hit the floor after she finished staring down the washing machine, she was asking me about "stretches" again. I explained that I needed to go potty because, as the song goes, "When you have to go potty, STOP and go right away!" (We take advantage of all the teachable moments we can find around here, particularly with the goal of washing fewer toddler undies on a daily basis.) When I had persuaded her it was a worthwhile pursuit for me to use the bathroom, she barricaded me into our powder room and wouldn't let me out.
Me, flushing the toilet: Mikayla, time to let Momma out so we can do stretches on the ball!
Mikayla: No, wash, Momma!
(Proceeds to not let me out of the bathroom until I wash my hands. Momma needs to be taught basic hygiene. Obviously I was just making conversation WHILE I washed my hands, but Mikayla couldn't be sure. Imagine persuading a toddler, through a closed door, that your hands are, in fact, clean.)
As I type, Mikayla is sweeping the living room carpet with a broom. I think my next goal will be to channel all this hygienic energy into some legitimate household chores. Too bad we don't have those cats anymore; my lifelong goal of having my children scoop the litter is THIS close to becoming a reality! Well, it's between that and my other next goal of patenting a process for bottling and selling toddler energy. Or using it myself. Not that she outpaces me or anything. Anyone who's seen me on a Sunday after church knows that I have all the natural stamina I need to wrangle a troop of caffeinated monkeys...er, my children...with no need of a nap or a bottle of wine or anything.
Why are you laughing?
Time for lunch and the daily nap swap, wherein I trade the one who doesn't make it to the potty every time for the one who lives to climb the stairs unsupervised and unroll all toilet paper, ever. Seriously, I am totally good on energy. Don't worry about me. I hope he learns to turn doorknobs next, I could use a good challenge!
Isaac Walks With His Car
This morning, as I was folding socks and underwear on the floor of the playroom amidst my two kiddos (the metaphor of brushing one's teeth while eating Oreos comes to mind, if you're wondering about how productive that endeavor was...), I suddenly noticed that Isaac was walking around with one of the riding toys.
Yes, you read that correctly. Walking. Pushing the car around like he was born to do it.
When did this kid grow up, again?
I think he now has most of the basic skills required for mowing the lawn. Joel will be so thrilled!
Yes, you read that correctly. Walking. Pushing the car around like he was born to do it.
When did this kid grow up, again?
I think he now has most of the basic skills required for mowing the lawn. Joel will be so thrilled!
The Lord's Daily Provision, in Three Acts
It's one of those days when I feel like we should have our own TV show.
First, I woke up at 4:30 a.m., again at 5:19, etc. and struggled to sleep much more after that. I'm not sure why, just one of those flukey things, but come 7:30 I was in that wonderfully sleepy place that surprises one after tossing and turning through the wee hours. The children were still snoozing, or at least quiet, a minor miracle considering big sister is no longer behind bars. After a week and a half of guys "working" on our bathroom "starting at 8" (meaning I have been up and dressed before that every morning. I think they were here at 8:00 on the first day, maybe the second as well. Since then it has been pretty come-and-go later in the day. Not complaining, just giving the background.), I thought perhaps I could enjoy just a wee lie-in, just this once, please? After all, I was exhausted, I was down with the upper respiratory crud, and there was only a 2/7 chance that someone would actually knock on my door at 8:00 a.m. It shouldn't have been any problem to milk it until at least 7:50.
So there was a loud knock on the door at 7:42. PERFECT. The nice thing about construction guys is they knock twice, then open the door and call a resounding "hello! plumber!" to let you know they are, in fact, on their way in, ready or not. It totally reminded me of my college days when a sing-songy "Man on the hall!" was considered sufficient warning at the crack of 10:30 on a Saturday morning. Anyway. I staggered to my bedroom door and croaked a terse request for him to hang out for fifteen minutes and then I sprang into action. "Sprang" is, of course, a relative term at this point. Anyway, all this to say, it is probably a good thing that I was forced from my bed then because Mikayla came tottering out at 7:53 and Isaac began to notice that he was hungry about thirty seconds after that. Providential act #1 - a stretch to call it that, maybe, but I need to redeem the experience somehow because my jersey sheets felt so stinkin' heavenly this morning.
Second, the dear, dedicated plumber who arrived so promptly was working away in the master bath when I walked downstairs and heard the sound of dripping water. Following the Great Deluge of Last Tuesday, I feared the worst and thought it was another flooding issue in our dining room.
The Great Deluge, post-crisis situation (this should be a blog post of its own. Water was pouring through that hole, and down from the corner of the ceiling, with water pooling all over this side of the dining room.
Pictured is bucket #2 catching water, and the mop I used to soak up the worst of it):
Turns out I hadn't feared the worst. No, the dripping sound turned out to be water running down through the ceiling tiles of our LIVING ROOM. That can't be good...so I dashed up the stairs to find our plumber buddy. He was able to drop everything and come investigate - apparently, the sink drain line in our *other* upstairs bathroom was never properly glued, and chose that exact month, day, moment to fall apart. Even another day this week, and there would have been no plumber here to intervene. My living room carpet may think otherwise, but God is certainly good to us! Act #2.
And finally, partly because of the way the morning unfolded, I was just dying for a shower but had to keep putting it off for another hour, and another hour. I was *so* thankful that the leaking ceiling was an easy fix, but it made me realize just how fragile is the ability to wash my hair. I decided not to take any more chances with my hygiene. The Wonder Pets allowed me a solid 12 minutes to myself before Mikayla realized I needed company. All clean, I even dried my hair and threw on some makeup amongst the carnival that is fixing lunch for a potty-training toddler and sleepy baby. Mind you, my goal in all of this was simply to feel somewhat human and to demonstrate to that poor plumber that the lady of the house does, in fact, possess some degree of dignity.
Imagine the sheer delight (well, sort of) that flashed through my heart when Joel called at noon and told me he was taking the rest of the day off! Unfortunately, it's because he isn't feeling well, but he sure has a clean, beautiful wife to come home to (in stark contrast to the miserable creature he kissed goodbye this morning, as I'm sure I uttered obscenities at being awakened "so early"). How thankful I am that I neglected my children in order to wash my hair and powder my nose. The Lord knew Joel would be home to appreciate it! Yeah, ok, maybe that one's a stretch, too.
So other than the plumber arriving awkwardly early, water leaking into the living room, and my husband possibly having Mikayla's stomach bug, can't you see how the Lord is providing for all our needs? How good to be His daughter, if only because His grace is sufficient for each day.
And for each pile of #2 I have to clean off the floor, but again, another blog post for another time...
Soli deo gloria!
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