I love Whitney Houston's rendition of The Little Drummer Boy. There's this one line where she sings, "He smiled at me," and it melts my heart. What must it have been like for Jesus to smile at you? To know the Messiah had come, was walking and living amongst you, and He was shining His face upon you. AWESOME! That must have been completely and totally AWESOME!!!
What must it have been like for Mary to have a perfect child? She had the other hooligans and perfect Jesus. When she asked Him to take the laundry out and hang it up, no grumbling. When she asked Him to pick up the toys, He didn't say, "Roro had those," or "Baby had that." When she took Him to the marketplace, waiting in line to get Hanukkah pictures developed, He stayed beside her. He didn't run off to the M & M display, grab a bag of M & Ms, eat them, have drooly chocolate all around His mouth, then act as if He did nothing wrong. Nope Mary never had that problem with Jesus. Nope that seemingly something only babies do. And I bet if Jesus' younger siblings had acted that way in the marketplace, He wouldn't have asked if He could have some M & Ms too. You know since the baby had already opened the bag and all.
Whomever God gave the wisdom to to make shopping carts should have been given a Nobel Peace Prize and put on the cover of a Wheaties box. We are officially never going into another store without using one. And I'm not really caring that Jory is almost too big for that. Nope not caring at all.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Have a holly, jolly Christmas
Christmas is my favorite time of year. I wish the time between Thanksgiving and Christmas could be even longer so the anticipation could build even more, but I will gratefully take what I could get.
Today as spent on the far edges of the earth visiting Miss Sarah. And yes, Sarah when the 405 turns into another freeway you live on the far edges. We had a great time and took our Christmas picture. It took me back to the days of guerrilla-style film making. While Sarah's house was lovingly and beautifully decorated for Christmas, I felt we should keep the theme going of outdoor Christmas pictures. Sadly, people in Sarah's neighborhood dropped the ball some families were in the midst of decorating and others hadn't started at all. Slackers! Luckily a family, whose home we had drove by earlier when we were lost, had decorated. Their red bows looked beautiful on their white picket fence. So I quickly got the girls out of the strollers, took off jackets, did last minute hairstyling, got the kids in place, and snapped away. I think we got some good ones.
The girls looked gorgeous in their matching Christmas dresses. Jory looked handsome as always in his white shirt and matching red Christmas vest. (I won't even go into my tirade about how Macy's felt every Christmas sweater needed to have a football, or train, or basketball, next to the Christmas tree. Because what people wouldn't be able to tell the five-year-old wearing the sweater wasn't a boy unless they drove that point home with sports paraphernalia? UGH! If you can't tell whether a five-year-old is a boy or a girl, then you need to sit the child's parents down and have a long, long discussion.)
We even got a few pictures in front of a barren Christmas tree. I love the smell of fresh Christmas trees. Does anything smell better?
After our lovely visit with Sarah, we came home and the trio ate some Thanksgiving leftovers their Oma brought them. As they ate, I busted out with the Christmas music. It's amazing how the music takes you back.
I started the set off with Mariah. I LOVE her Christmas album. I hope her new one is just as good. I still remember when Emily gave me that wonderful Christmas present, since I only had the album on tape. I was so excited I broke my own Christmas rule and listened to the album post-Christmas. I still remember being shocked that Mariah could get down with the gospel music. It's one of the best Christmas albums out there.
Then I played my beloved Touched By an Angel Christmas album that Chi and Mike got me one year, along with a Christmas epi starring Randy Travis (he was so good on that show and I miss that show). I never would have bought either for myself, but I'm so glad they did. I love both the album, though it's not truly filled with Christmas music, but it's still great. Della opens the album and Roma closes it with an Irish blessing.
I'm still not sure why I bought the Jessica Simpson Christmas album. I think when I'm out on Black Friday I just feel the need to buy Christmas albums by people I know. She can sing, but on some songs she tries a little too hard.
I love Vanessa Williams' slow jazzy version of What Child Is This. When I hear it, I see my mom in the front of our little church in Venice singing this song.
And every time I hear Breath of Heaven, I'm instantly taken back to my kitchen Christmas 2004 where I was washing the china while crying, as my family enjoyed the holiday, asking, begging God to let this be my last birthday and Christmas without a baby to share it with. He heard my cry and unknown beknownst to me had already answered my prayer. Maybe I should tell the kids I want this song played at my funeral, it'll be like my love letter to them from the great beyond.
Today as spent on the far edges of the earth visiting Miss Sarah. And yes, Sarah when the 405 turns into another freeway you live on the far edges. We had a great time and took our Christmas picture. It took me back to the days of guerrilla-style film making. While Sarah's house was lovingly and beautifully decorated for Christmas, I felt we should keep the theme going of outdoor Christmas pictures. Sadly, people in Sarah's neighborhood dropped the ball some families were in the midst of decorating and others hadn't started at all. Slackers! Luckily a family, whose home we had drove by earlier when we were lost, had decorated. Their red bows looked beautiful on their white picket fence. So I quickly got the girls out of the strollers, took off jackets, did last minute hairstyling, got the kids in place, and snapped away. I think we got some good ones.
The girls looked gorgeous in their matching Christmas dresses. Jory looked handsome as always in his white shirt and matching red Christmas vest. (I won't even go into my tirade about how Macy's felt every Christmas sweater needed to have a football, or train, or basketball, next to the Christmas tree. Because what people wouldn't be able to tell the five-year-old wearing the sweater wasn't a boy unless they drove that point home with sports paraphernalia? UGH! If you can't tell whether a five-year-old is a boy or a girl, then you need to sit the child's parents down and have a long, long discussion.)
We even got a few pictures in front of a barren Christmas tree. I love the smell of fresh Christmas trees. Does anything smell better?
After our lovely visit with Sarah, we came home and the trio ate some Thanksgiving leftovers their Oma brought them. As they ate, I busted out with the Christmas music. It's amazing how the music takes you back.
I started the set off with Mariah. I LOVE her Christmas album. I hope her new one is just as good. I still remember when Emily gave me that wonderful Christmas present, since I only had the album on tape. I was so excited I broke my own Christmas rule and listened to the album post-Christmas. I still remember being shocked that Mariah could get down with the gospel music. It's one of the best Christmas albums out there.
Then I played my beloved Touched By an Angel Christmas album that Chi and Mike got me one year, along with a Christmas epi starring Randy Travis (he was so good on that show and I miss that show). I never would have bought either for myself, but I'm so glad they did. I love both the album, though it's not truly filled with Christmas music, but it's still great. Della opens the album and Roma closes it with an Irish blessing.
I'm still not sure why I bought the Jessica Simpson Christmas album. I think when I'm out on Black Friday I just feel the need to buy Christmas albums by people I know. She can sing, but on some songs she tries a little too hard.
I love Vanessa Williams' slow jazzy version of What Child Is This. When I hear it, I see my mom in the front of our little church in Venice singing this song.
And every time I hear Breath of Heaven, I'm instantly taken back to my kitchen Christmas 2004 where I was washing the china while crying, as my family enjoyed the holiday, asking, begging God to let this be my last birthday and Christmas without a baby to share it with. He heard my cry and unknown beknownst to me had already answered my prayer. Maybe I should tell the kids I want this song played at my funeral, it'll be like my love letter to them from the great beyond.
Friday, November 26, 2010
Thanksgiving Weekend 2010
Where? Where? Where to begin? I guess at the beginning is always good. It all started on a bright and glorious Wednesday with taking the terrific trio to the lab so some of Jory's blood could be drawn. Let me say, there is nothing more exciting than trying to hold down a five-year-old who starts crying as soon as the alcohol pad is seen. The girls thankfully sat on the bench quietly as their mommy wrestled with their brother. After that exciting event and my baby boy acting as if he would die, I dropped the kids off at school and Happy's and went to see my brand new dentist.
The day before I had a toothache and went to the kids' dentist. I don't like the kids' dentist because she has the bedside manner of a ganat, yes, a ganat, and even though we only see her twice a year for fifteen minutes, in that short period of time she irritates me. But I didn't have know any other dentist so I went to her. After a few quick x-rays, she advised I pull the tooth that was causing my ache. Uh, pull my tooth? Are there other options? She quickly rattled off an expensive solution, gave me a referral and a prescription, and I ran not walked out the door. I think her lack of bedside manner makes me doubt her doctoring abilities, which is funny because the new dentist made the same suggestion she did. But he did so by explaining everything in layman's terms and telling me the options I had. His bedside manner rocked! He suggested I have my tooth pulled right away in case the pain got worse over Thanksgiving and i couldn't get into a dentist until Monday. I wanted the pain to stop, so I was given a referral and given the address to an oral surgeon.
The surgeon saw me right away, looked over my x-rays, and explained what he was going to do. Say goodbye to my wisdom tooth. He numbed the area around my tooth. It felt like half my tongue, mouth, and lips were numb. Then he said I would feel some pressure. Feel some pressure?! I felt like an expectant mother on Birth Day after she's had an epidural. I didn't feel pressure, I felt like he was taking out my tooth with a pair of pliers. Periodically, he would ask how was I doing. All I could say was okay, because it wasn't as if I had any other options.
He tried to be encouraging and he had the hygentist assistant help hold my jaw to help with the pressure. Yeah, strangely it still felt like he was ripping my tooth out with a pair of pliers though I did say to myself if this is what it feels like with drugs, what in the world would this feel like with none? Going into the spin zone didn't help make me feel much better.
And finally, when I thought I couldn't take anymore, he said he was finished. He showed me the decaying tooth. Amazing how something that was dying could live inside something living. And like a woman who had just given birth, I was relieved it was over, and I asked if I could keep it. My gosh the root of that tooth was long, like vampire fangs long. Freaky! His assistant slapped some gauze in my now empty gum, gave me instructions, my tooth, a prescription for Vicodin, and then I was sent on my way. Did I mention had I not found public parking I would have paid $1.75 per fifteen minutes to park in the surgeon's office building and they don't validate? And also, when it was all done and I paid my portion of the bill, I thought I went into the wrong profession.
So like any sane woman, I went to the hair stylist so I could go home five hours later with an aching mouth and a hurting head. A quick trip to CVS gave me my first taste of this drug called Vicodin. All I wanted to do was take some drugs, take a shower, and go to bed. I somehow had the strength to organize the trio before I finally laid in my bed. With only a fourth of a burger and five chili cheese fries in my stomach, I thought the medicine would kick in quick, fast, and in a hurry, but it didn't so instead I let the wonderful world of hulu lull me to sleep with the aid of The Chase. (Why is this show so mediocre? It has a good cast, a great lead, the cases are as good as any other on procedurals, so what is so wrong?)
Thanksgiving morning I wake up thankfully and thinking that maybe going to my brother's might not be the best of ideas. And after going to the grocery store to get the items we needed to take to Mort's (why do people high on crack think Thanksgiving morning is a good time to go grocery shopping?) and Jory's meltdown because he couldn't have candy after breakfast, staying home became more and more appealing. And when it became apparent that Oma had been smoking crack (how could she take the girls with her when they weren't as independent as Jory? Yes, you would have to spend so much time watching the girls in a house full of children and adults), I made the decision the trio and I would spend Thanksgiving by ourselves. After Oma was happily on her way, a nap was in order to get more even tempered children and to ease my aching mouth, head, now mysteriously my back.
We were eased into a nap with the help of The Event. (Is Blair Underwood really that hot that I'm still somehow invested in what I refer to as the fractured backstory? Is Jason Ritter's character really that interesting? Why? Why do I sort of care?) Naptime over, I started planning Black Friday while I waited for our pizza to arrive. Why didn't I get a JCP's or Best Buy ads in my paper? Thank God for google and the internet. The game plan was made and our pizza was here.
One by one, we all said what we were thankful for before we ate our pizza. The trio was later thankful for the trashcan after they discovered there's a reason why Mommy doesn't allow you to put crushed red peppers on your pizza.
A quick call to Whitney said game time was on for 2:30AM. I got dressed and went to bed cuddling with Rowan. I woke up at 2:15, put my socks and shoes on, layered down, brushed my teeth, put a scarf around my mouth, and was out the door at 2:35AM.
Oh, the joys of Black Friday. JCPenney's wasn't open yet, but Whit and I saw a lot of activity going on at one of the mall entrances and we decided to see what was going on. Why are people sitting outside in the cold in front of a shoe store? Really?! You sit outside for shoes? I guess so. The mall was buzzing. Children's Place was open. Does a children's clothing store need to be open at two in the morning? And why had the overpriced, even with 60% off, New York and Company opened at midnight? Toy stores I get opening at midnight or in Toys R Us case 24 hours, but a clothing store? Oh well, the former Learners being open at 2AM gave us something to do until JCP opened at 3AM.
SCORE!!! We got our free gifts from JCP and did some quick shopping, but for it was decided we had to leave to get to old Target by 4AM. We arrived a ten minutes before 4AM and the line was past Ross. Thank goodness I was dressed in layers. When I could finally see the doors to Target a USC clad man was loading his TV into his car. I got in and went to town. New York and Company, JCP, Target, Macy's, back to JCP, and we were done. A breakfast at IHOP and after only 6 1/2 hours together, Whit and I parted ways. Can I tell you what a rock star she is? She hosted Thanksgiving dinner at her house, her last guest left at midnight, but she was up and at my house at 2:30. Rock Star!!!
Toys R Us, where I got my own personal shopper, that's never happened to me before there, was followed by Ross. Why my mother would want me to go into that store on Black Friday looking for red tablecloths she saw there a week ago is beyond me. Ross is like Pic N' Save, items are here today and gone tomorrow, never to be seen again. But like the dutiful daughter I went and purchased the red tablecloth that I was certain not the one she wanted, but it was the only one there. Pic 'N Save, where I ran into my aunt and Happy, see LA isn't that big. From there, I made the worse mistake ever- - I went to Kohl's. YIKES!!!
I had never been in that store before and if I didn't have to get the right size shoes for my aunt, I would never step foot in it again. How can you only have 8 cash registers in your store? On Black Friday? Do they not know what Black Friday is? Do they not know if they advertise things on super sale that people will turn up? Obviously based on what I saw today, the answer is no on all counts. Next was CVS, where I was hugged by a strange woman who was crying because her son was ill and they lost her pictures of her and her fiancee in Jamaica. Followed by another CVS, the bookstore, and Home Depot. Dreams of going to Game Stop and K-Mart died. Kohl's sucked the life out of me. What a horrible disorganized place.
A stop by home to drop off bags and pick up Jory so he could get a much needed haircut. McDonald's for a little pick me up and at 3:15PM, I arrive back home less than thirteen hours after I left. Okay, can I just say it's odder than a banjee to have this big gaping hole in my gum. There's like the Grand Canyon in my mouth. The Grand Canyon. It's trippy. Bereft. I've lost a piece of myself. I am empty. Who knew one tooth could mean so much?
It was a good Black Friday and I look forward to the next one. Hopefully next year's I won't be missing any body parts.
The day before I had a toothache and went to the kids' dentist. I don't like the kids' dentist because she has the bedside manner of a ganat, yes, a ganat, and even though we only see her twice a year for fifteen minutes, in that short period of time she irritates me. But I didn't have know any other dentist so I went to her. After a few quick x-rays, she advised I pull the tooth that was causing my ache. Uh, pull my tooth? Are there other options? She quickly rattled off an expensive solution, gave me a referral and a prescription, and I ran not walked out the door. I think her lack of bedside manner makes me doubt her doctoring abilities, which is funny because the new dentist made the same suggestion she did. But he did so by explaining everything in layman's terms and telling me the options I had. His bedside manner rocked! He suggested I have my tooth pulled right away in case the pain got worse over Thanksgiving and i couldn't get into a dentist until Monday. I wanted the pain to stop, so I was given a referral and given the address to an oral surgeon.
The surgeon saw me right away, looked over my x-rays, and explained what he was going to do. Say goodbye to my wisdom tooth. He numbed the area around my tooth. It felt like half my tongue, mouth, and lips were numb. Then he said I would feel some pressure. Feel some pressure?! I felt like an expectant mother on Birth Day after she's had an epidural. I didn't feel pressure, I felt like he was taking out my tooth with a pair of pliers. Periodically, he would ask how was I doing. All I could say was okay, because it wasn't as if I had any other options.
He tried to be encouraging and he had the hygentist assistant help hold my jaw to help with the pressure. Yeah, strangely it still felt like he was ripping my tooth out with a pair of pliers though I did say to myself if this is what it feels like with drugs, what in the world would this feel like with none? Going into the spin zone didn't help make me feel much better.
And finally, when I thought I couldn't take anymore, he said he was finished. He showed me the decaying tooth. Amazing how something that was dying could live inside something living. And like a woman who had just given birth, I was relieved it was over, and I asked if I could keep it. My gosh the root of that tooth was long, like vampire fangs long. Freaky! His assistant slapped some gauze in my now empty gum, gave me instructions, my tooth, a prescription for Vicodin, and then I was sent on my way. Did I mention had I not found public parking I would have paid $1.75 per fifteen minutes to park in the surgeon's office building and they don't validate? And also, when it was all done and I paid my portion of the bill, I thought I went into the wrong profession.
So like any sane woman, I went to the hair stylist so I could go home five hours later with an aching mouth and a hurting head. A quick trip to CVS gave me my first taste of this drug called Vicodin. All I wanted to do was take some drugs, take a shower, and go to bed. I somehow had the strength to organize the trio before I finally laid in my bed. With only a fourth of a burger and five chili cheese fries in my stomach, I thought the medicine would kick in quick, fast, and in a hurry, but it didn't so instead I let the wonderful world of hulu lull me to sleep with the aid of The Chase. (Why is this show so mediocre? It has a good cast, a great lead, the cases are as good as any other on procedurals, so what is so wrong?)
Thanksgiving morning I wake up thankfully and thinking that maybe going to my brother's might not be the best of ideas. And after going to the grocery store to get the items we needed to take to Mort's (why do people high on crack think Thanksgiving morning is a good time to go grocery shopping?) and Jory's meltdown because he couldn't have candy after breakfast, staying home became more and more appealing. And when it became apparent that Oma had been smoking crack (how could she take the girls with her when they weren't as independent as Jory? Yes, you would have to spend so much time watching the girls in a house full of children and adults), I made the decision the trio and I would spend Thanksgiving by ourselves. After Oma was happily on her way, a nap was in order to get more even tempered children and to ease my aching mouth, head, now mysteriously my back.
We were eased into a nap with the help of The Event. (Is Blair Underwood really that hot that I'm still somehow invested in what I refer to as the fractured backstory? Is Jason Ritter's character really that interesting? Why? Why do I sort of care?) Naptime over, I started planning Black Friday while I waited for our pizza to arrive. Why didn't I get a JCP's or Best Buy ads in my paper? Thank God for google and the internet. The game plan was made and our pizza was here.
One by one, we all said what we were thankful for before we ate our pizza. The trio was later thankful for the trashcan after they discovered there's a reason why Mommy doesn't allow you to put crushed red peppers on your pizza.
A quick call to Whitney said game time was on for 2:30AM. I got dressed and went to bed cuddling with Rowan. I woke up at 2:15, put my socks and shoes on, layered down, brushed my teeth, put a scarf around my mouth, and was out the door at 2:35AM.
Oh, the joys of Black Friday. JCPenney's wasn't open yet, but Whit and I saw a lot of activity going on at one of the mall entrances and we decided to see what was going on. Why are people sitting outside in the cold in front of a shoe store? Really?! You sit outside for shoes? I guess so. The mall was buzzing. Children's Place was open. Does a children's clothing store need to be open at two in the morning? And why had the overpriced, even with 60% off, New York and Company opened at midnight? Toy stores I get opening at midnight or in Toys R Us case 24 hours, but a clothing store? Oh well, the former Learners being open at 2AM gave us something to do until JCP opened at 3AM.
SCORE!!! We got our free gifts from JCP and did some quick shopping, but for it was decided we had to leave to get to old Target by 4AM. We arrived a ten minutes before 4AM and the line was past Ross. Thank goodness I was dressed in layers. When I could finally see the doors to Target a USC clad man was loading his TV into his car. I got in and went to town. New York and Company, JCP, Target, Macy's, back to JCP, and we were done. A breakfast at IHOP and after only 6 1/2 hours together, Whit and I parted ways. Can I tell you what a rock star she is? She hosted Thanksgiving dinner at her house, her last guest left at midnight, but she was up and at my house at 2:30. Rock Star!!!
Toys R Us, where I got my own personal shopper, that's never happened to me before there, was followed by Ross. Why my mother would want me to go into that store on Black Friday looking for red tablecloths she saw there a week ago is beyond me. Ross is like Pic N' Save, items are here today and gone tomorrow, never to be seen again. But like the dutiful daughter I went and purchased the red tablecloth that I was certain not the one she wanted, but it was the only one there. Pic 'N Save, where I ran into my aunt and Happy, see LA isn't that big. From there, I made the worse mistake ever- - I went to Kohl's. YIKES!!!
I had never been in that store before and if I didn't have to get the right size shoes for my aunt, I would never step foot in it again. How can you only have 8 cash registers in your store? On Black Friday? Do they not know what Black Friday is? Do they not know if they advertise things on super sale that people will turn up? Obviously based on what I saw today, the answer is no on all counts. Next was CVS, where I was hugged by a strange woman who was crying because her son was ill and they lost her pictures of her and her fiancee in Jamaica. Followed by another CVS, the bookstore, and Home Depot. Dreams of going to Game Stop and K-Mart died. Kohl's sucked the life out of me. What a horrible disorganized place.
A stop by home to drop off bags and pick up Jory so he could get a much needed haircut. McDonald's for a little pick me up and at 3:15PM, I arrive back home less than thirteen hours after I left. Okay, can I just say it's odder than a banjee to have this big gaping hole in my gum. There's like the Grand Canyon in my mouth. The Grand Canyon. It's trippy. Bereft. I've lost a piece of myself. I am empty. Who knew one tooth could mean so much?
It was a good Black Friday and I look forward to the next one. Hopefully next year's I won't be missing any body parts.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Happy Thanksgiving!!!
I'm thankful that God sent His One and Only Son to die on the cross for my sins. He didn't have to do it, but I'm so glad He did.
I'm thankful that I have the most awesome loved ones in the world. They are awesome.
I'm thankful for the incredible, better than I ever dreamed for children who can happily play with their trains, cars, planes, while watching a movie so mommy can recover from missing a body part.
I'm thankful for Domino's pizza for being open on Thanksgiving so they could deliver a delicious meal (okay delicious is a bit overboard, I mean they are no Numero Uno)so the terrific trio and I could have a lovely Thanksgiving just like the Quartermaines.
I'm thankful for great friends who recommend great dentists and for friends who give the best medical advice.
I could go on and on about what I'm thankful for, but since Whit will be here at 2:30AM for Black Friday I better go. I got my clothes on, my lists written, and I'm ready to rock n roll.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!
I'm thankful that I have the most awesome loved ones in the world. They are awesome.
I'm thankful for the incredible, better than I ever dreamed for children who can happily play with their trains, cars, planes, while watching a movie so mommy can recover from missing a body part.
I'm thankful for Domino's pizza for being open on Thanksgiving so they could deliver a delicious meal (okay delicious is a bit overboard, I mean they are no Numero Uno)so the terrific trio and I could have a lovely Thanksgiving just like the Quartermaines.
I'm thankful for great friends who recommend great dentists and for friends who give the best medical advice.
I could go on and on about what I'm thankful for, but since Whit will be here at 2:30AM for Black Friday I better go. I got my clothes on, my lists written, and I'm ready to rock n roll.
HAPPY THANKSGIVING!!!!
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
How is it
that Rowan is gagging and barfing while the baby is saying something indecipherable?
And when Rowan finishes, I ask, "What is your sister saying?"
The baby repeats her phrase.
Rowan quickly answers, "She says she wants a cookie," and then just as quickly turns back to the trashcan to barf some more.
"You want a cookie?" I question the baby while rubbing Rowan's back.
"Yes, I want a cookie," the baby responds, as she rests her chin in her little hands as she watches her sister barf.
My first thought is wow, this baby has a stomach made of steel. And second, does she really think that just because we're up with her sick sister at 4AM that she should get a cookie? Really?
How is it that I can't hold a five-year-old while the phlebotomist tries to draw blood so we can discover what exactly he's allergic to? We had to get a male phlebotimist to help. He's five. I hope he's not allergic to egg whites like the baby.
How is it that the day I'm getting my hair done becomes the same day I have to get a wisdom tooth pulled? Dual pain, which was tolerable until the sun went down and the moon rose. So it seems I won't be able to enjoy turkey to its fullest tomorrow, but I can still be thankful on Thanksgiving and also I'll still be able to shop on the second greatest holiday, Black Friday.
And when Rowan finishes, I ask, "What is your sister saying?"
The baby repeats her phrase.
Rowan quickly answers, "She says she wants a cookie," and then just as quickly turns back to the trashcan to barf some more.
"You want a cookie?" I question the baby while rubbing Rowan's back.
"Yes, I want a cookie," the baby responds, as she rests her chin in her little hands as she watches her sister barf.
My first thought is wow, this baby has a stomach made of steel. And second, does she really think that just because we're up with her sick sister at 4AM that she should get a cookie? Really?
How is it that I can't hold a five-year-old while the phlebotomist tries to draw blood so we can discover what exactly he's allergic to? We had to get a male phlebotimist to help. He's five. I hope he's not allergic to egg whites like the baby.
How is it that the day I'm getting my hair done becomes the same day I have to get a wisdom tooth pulled? Dual pain, which was tolerable until the sun went down and the moon rose. So it seems I won't be able to enjoy turkey to its fullest tomorrow, but I can still be thankful on Thanksgiving and also I'll still be able to shop on the second greatest holiday, Black Friday.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
You wake up
it's 3AM just the time you like to blow dry your hair while the world is sleep. And being the great Irish twins that they are, your babies sleep through the blow dryer going on and off for the next hour. And as you comb and dry, you watch the amusing show, The Defenders, followed by the hilarious Community. As you watch Community, you wonder where is Jack? Why doesn't Jory have a little brother? The Turk to his JD. The Sean to his Gus. Where is his Abed or Troy? Ahhh, the wonders of brotherhood and bromance.
Omas
You gotta love them. The terrific trio's Oma rocks! She loves them! Adores them! Spends her afternoons and sometimes weekends caring for them. I love that they are growing up knowing her intimately, in ways I never knew my own grandma due to distance. I love that one day they are going to see her for who she is (thank you Jesus for taking those blinders off slowly) and will still love and adore her, warts and all. So when they hand her a blouse, she picked out in a magazine and saved such magazine to order at a later date, and say, "Hey, try this blouse on for me," and she does and says, "It fits,"; then as she takes it off says, "You couldn't find the blouse in silk." (You know instead of satin.) They won't get angry or frustrated, they'll just think, that's my Oma, calmly accepting their Oma is difficult to shop for, and will gently reply, "No, it didn't come in silk." What would the world be without Omas?
Seeing myself
The first time I read the Bible all the way through, it took me the longest time to get through the first five books aka The Torah. Not simply because it was a lot of material to digest, but mostly because the Israelites were so OBNOXIOUS!!! Yikes! The plagues happened. They witnessed the water turning to blood, frogs, gnats, diseases on livestock, boils, hail, darkness, and the death of the firstborn. They saw this yet none of it happened to them or their livestock or their children. They saw the parting of the Red Sea. Food came down from Heaven, so isn't that like food personally made my God. Must have been the best food EVER. Yet still with all of this, they disobeyed, grumbled, complained, made golden calves out of their jewelery.
I read Exodus and thought God truly loves us and praise Him that I'm not God because I would have killed those ungrateful brats. Waaaa, when are we getting to the Promised Land? Waaaa, Moses left us for a hot minute what are we suppose to do without him? I know let's make some idols. They worked my last nerve. I praised God for being who He is, was, and will always be and I was in awe of His patience with them.
The second time, I read the Bible through my eyes were opened and I realized my ancestors, the Israelites, were me and I was them. I wake up every morning and sometimes before I even thank Him for bringing me through the night and allowing me to see another day, I hop on the Internet to see what's going on in the world, to read about what movie has been greenlit, what TV show is in the works. He allows us safe passage as I take the terrific trio to school and Happy's. He has given me a job that allows me to put food on the table, to pay back my loan for my very useful degree that I got from the school that can't be named but is nicknamed the Hellmouth, yet when I eat lunch sometimes I don't even take a second to say grace.
How am I different from the Israelites? I'm not.
A while back, the baby was in this "mine" stage. Okay, we're still sort of in that stage, but I digress. One morning, I was rinsing off her toothbrush and putting toothpaste on it. The whole time I was working, she kept saying, "Mine! Mine! Mine!" And when I handed her her toothbrush, she smiled at me and said, "Thanks." I thought wow, isn't that me? God give me. Give me. Help me. Help me. He graciously and mercifully does, I give Him a heartfelt thanks and praise Him, and then sadly I go right back to my selfish ways. It is a constant struggle.
I watch my kids play together and sometimes they play together nicely. Everyone is sharing and caring and it's great, but that is solely due to God's grace.
I've had friends who were raised in the Scripture, with the Scripture, but have turned their backs on the beliefs they were raised with. I've seen their parents struggle with what to do. How do you find the strength of Abraham and lay your child on the altar? I've seen parents compromise their beliefs in fear that if they don't, their child will stop talking to them. As the parent of the terrific trio, I completely understand the dilemma these parents faced. The thought of not being a part of your child's life is terrifying. Yet every day, every second of every day God sees His children turn away from Him, but He remains the same (thankfully). He doesn't change His rules so He can stay apart of our lives. He remains faithful and just and is there for us when we are ready to repent and come home, like the prodigal son.
My babies are young yet, I don't know what the future holds for them or me. I pray they will be men and women who earnestly seek God, who love God more than anything. Yes, they will stumble and fall, like we all do, but I pray my eyes will remain on Jesus and I will direct them to the Truth continuously even if they threaten to ostracize me. A great group once sang to me, "If I keep my eyes on Jesus, I can walk on water."
I read Exodus and thought God truly loves us and praise Him that I'm not God because I would have killed those ungrateful brats. Waaaa, when are we getting to the Promised Land? Waaaa, Moses left us for a hot minute what are we suppose to do without him? I know let's make some idols. They worked my last nerve. I praised God for being who He is, was, and will always be and I was in awe of His patience with them.
The second time, I read the Bible through my eyes were opened and I realized my ancestors, the Israelites, were me and I was them. I wake up every morning and sometimes before I even thank Him for bringing me through the night and allowing me to see another day, I hop on the Internet to see what's going on in the world, to read about what movie has been greenlit, what TV show is in the works. He allows us safe passage as I take the terrific trio to school and Happy's. He has given me a job that allows me to put food on the table, to pay back my loan for my very useful degree that I got from the school that can't be named but is nicknamed the Hellmouth, yet when I eat lunch sometimes I don't even take a second to say grace.
How am I different from the Israelites? I'm not.
A while back, the baby was in this "mine" stage. Okay, we're still sort of in that stage, but I digress. One morning, I was rinsing off her toothbrush and putting toothpaste on it. The whole time I was working, she kept saying, "Mine! Mine! Mine!" And when I handed her her toothbrush, she smiled at me and said, "Thanks." I thought wow, isn't that me? God give me. Give me. Help me. Help me. He graciously and mercifully does, I give Him a heartfelt thanks and praise Him, and then sadly I go right back to my selfish ways. It is a constant struggle.
I watch my kids play together and sometimes they play together nicely. Everyone is sharing and caring and it's great, but that is solely due to God's grace.
I've had friends who were raised in the Scripture, with the Scripture, but have turned their backs on the beliefs they were raised with. I've seen their parents struggle with what to do. How do you find the strength of Abraham and lay your child on the altar? I've seen parents compromise their beliefs in fear that if they don't, their child will stop talking to them. As the parent of the terrific trio, I completely understand the dilemma these parents faced. The thought of not being a part of your child's life is terrifying. Yet every day, every second of every day God sees His children turn away from Him, but He remains the same (thankfully). He doesn't change His rules so He can stay apart of our lives. He remains faithful and just and is there for us when we are ready to repent and come home, like the prodigal son.
My babies are young yet, I don't know what the future holds for them or me. I pray they will be men and women who earnestly seek God, who love God more than anything. Yes, they will stumble and fall, like we all do, but I pray my eyes will remain on Jesus and I will direct them to the Truth continuously even if they threaten to ostracize me. A great group once sang to me, "If I keep my eyes on Jesus, I can walk on water."
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Isn't it awe-inspiring
how great God is? How in the winter of 1917 in a small town in Southeastern Georgia, my great-grandmother would rub her stomach wondering if she was carrying a boy or a girl and what his or her future would be like. And that, that baby was my grandma born March 18, 1918 and how then He knew that one day that woman and her unborn baby would be connected to a family in Vietnam. That a baby born nearly a ninety years later would be their great granddaughter and great great granddaughter respectively and she would carry their last name as her middle name.
The same Creator who formed us so beautifully and wonderfully, knows how many hairs we have in our head, knew the exact moment these two families would connect and land us here on a Sunday morning, the Sunday before Thanksgiving in 2010, with me soothing a restless two-year-old, born on the other side of the world, back to sleep as my great grandmother used to do for my grandma.
To borrow Chi Chi's phrase, God is omni-omni. Omnipontent, Omnipresent, omniscient. He is a great God worthy to be praised. He is so great that if we didn't praise the rocks would cry out. A mighty God we serve who saw us in this moment with our families as He took the rib from Adam to create Eve. What an awesome God!
The same Creator who formed us so beautifully and wonderfully, knows how many hairs we have in our head, knew the exact moment these two families would connect and land us here on a Sunday morning, the Sunday before Thanksgiving in 2010, with me soothing a restless two-year-old, born on the other side of the world, back to sleep as my great grandmother used to do for my grandma.
To borrow Chi Chi's phrase, God is omni-omni. Omnipontent, Omnipresent, omniscient. He is a great God worthy to be praised. He is so great that if we didn't praise the rocks would cry out. A mighty God we serve who saw us in this moment with our families as He took the rib from Adam to create Eve. What an awesome God!
Friday, November 19, 2010
Please pray with us and for us
My middle one or my oldest daughter, whichever way you prefer, has not had a good week at school. On Tuesday, she was sent to the bathroom to calm down. Yes, after more than five minutes of her piercing screams, it's best to send her to the bathroom, close the door, and let her emerge when she's calm down. Saves your hearing and your sanity. Usually when she comes out, she's smiling and happy.
So what was the incident that sent her into a forty-five minute screaming fit? Well her teacher had the audacity to tell her to put her shoes on by herself after naptime. Say what?! Put her shoes on by herself?! Oh, them are fighting words. Or rather screaming words. The audacity of some people.
Wednesday's work was sent home with the phrase "Refused to do work." And Thursday was a repeat of Wednesday.
I've talked to her, disciplined her. I've made her apologize to the teacher. I've asked her why she does this. She says because she didn't want to work or put her shoes on. I've asked her what God wants her to do. She says He wants her to listen and obey. I ask her if He's happy that she is being disobedient and she says no. Each day there is a promise to do better.
At the end of devotionals, we pray. Everyone takes a turn to pray after The Lord's Prayer and Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep is said. And after praying for Auntie Dee Dee and Bubbles - the girls. And after my mature boy prayed for Auntie Dee Dee, Uncle Stan (yes! the connection of that relationship has been made), Bubbles, Aunt Julie, Aunt Julie's Daddy, and the church in Orange County (who know he knew where the church was? He's a genius.); I prayed.
I prayed for the kids, but looking at Rowan I prayed that God would change her heart. Because ultimately it is a matter of her heart. I prayed for wisdom on how to parent her because I so was not the child to scream when I was asked to do things or refuse to do things adults asked me to do. I was/am not a stubborn or hard headed person. This is hard. She can be such a loving, kind, generous little girl. She loves to snuggle, loves to be picked up and carried, loves to touch, and give hugs, kisses, but then there's this other side. I don't see so much the refusing to do things side because she knows it would be ON if she pulled that with me.
But the screaming at the slightest things, been there done that have the t-shirt to prove it. And when she emerges from the bathroom, 30 minutes later, so proud that she turned her t-shirt around the right way, it's hard for me to rejoice with her. This morning I was convicted of letting that anger simmer and holding it against her. When she comes out of the bathroom, we do discuss why she was in there, about her behavior, and what the appropriate behavior should be and why.
This morning before I left he school, we looked into each other's eyes and we had a Q & A on how God wants her to behave and act. Hopefully, she'll have a good day at school. When I drop her off in the mornings, she seems so happy and excited.
God is such a genius. I wanted a girl first. I had three nephews, I wanted a girl finally. I didn't want another boy. Boys' clothes weren't any fun. But He oh so wisely gave me not what I wanted, but what I needed. I needed a boy first. A beautiful, intelligent, funny baby boy because if Rowan had been my first, the baby train might have stopped with one. And if I somehow had her as my oldest and then the Baby was baby number 2 for sure I would have been finito! No more. No more. No more. I see how God works with children, slides the easy one in first so you think it's a breeze, then He ups the ante.
Tait (why did they break up?) on the genius Pandora was ministering to me:
Cause you oughta know
There’s a reason for these changin’ seasons
God only knows how much your heart can bear
So don’t you let go
Everybody has their up and down times
Everybody needs to know how much they’re loved
My friend
So hold on, it’s not the end
There is a lesson for Rowan and I to learn through this season. And I know the lesson is something more than just how many times can I bang my head against the wall before I get a concussion and pass out. Or to teach me that parenting is not for wimps. It's just hard. But at the end of the day, the issues she's having are the same ones I'm having, they just manifest themselves in different ways.
The disease of self runs through my blood
It's a cancer fatal to my soul
Every attempt on my behalf has failed
To bring this sickness under control
Tell me, what's going on inside of me?
I despise my own behavior
This only serves to confirm my suspicions
That I'm still a man in need of a Savior
I wanna be in the Light
As You are in the Light
I wanna shine like the stars in the heavens
Oh, Lord be my Light and be my salvation
Cause all I want is to be in the Light
All I want is to be in the Light
So what was the incident that sent her into a forty-five minute screaming fit? Well her teacher had the audacity to tell her to put her shoes on by herself after naptime. Say what?! Put her shoes on by herself?! Oh, them are fighting words. Or rather screaming words. The audacity of some people.
Wednesday's work was sent home with the phrase "Refused to do work." And Thursday was a repeat of Wednesday.
I've talked to her, disciplined her. I've made her apologize to the teacher. I've asked her why she does this. She says because she didn't want to work or put her shoes on. I've asked her what God wants her to do. She says He wants her to listen and obey. I ask her if He's happy that she is being disobedient and she says no. Each day there is a promise to do better.
At the end of devotionals, we pray. Everyone takes a turn to pray after The Lord's Prayer and Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep is said. And after praying for Auntie Dee Dee and Bubbles - the girls. And after my mature boy prayed for Auntie Dee Dee, Uncle Stan (yes! the connection of that relationship has been made), Bubbles, Aunt Julie, Aunt Julie's Daddy, and the church in Orange County (who know he knew where the church was? He's a genius.); I prayed.
I prayed for the kids, but looking at Rowan I prayed that God would change her heart. Because ultimately it is a matter of her heart. I prayed for wisdom on how to parent her because I so was not the child to scream when I was asked to do things or refuse to do things adults asked me to do. I was/am not a stubborn or hard headed person. This is hard. She can be such a loving, kind, generous little girl. She loves to snuggle, loves to be picked up and carried, loves to touch, and give hugs, kisses, but then there's this other side. I don't see so much the refusing to do things side because she knows it would be ON if she pulled that with me.
But the screaming at the slightest things, been there done that have the t-shirt to prove it. And when she emerges from the bathroom, 30 minutes later, so proud that she turned her t-shirt around the right way, it's hard for me to rejoice with her. This morning I was convicted of letting that anger simmer and holding it against her. When she comes out of the bathroom, we do discuss why she was in there, about her behavior, and what the appropriate behavior should be and why.
This morning before I left he school, we looked into each other's eyes and we had a Q & A on how God wants her to behave and act. Hopefully, she'll have a good day at school. When I drop her off in the mornings, she seems so happy and excited.
God is such a genius. I wanted a girl first. I had three nephews, I wanted a girl finally. I didn't want another boy. Boys' clothes weren't any fun. But He oh so wisely gave me not what I wanted, but what I needed. I needed a boy first. A beautiful, intelligent, funny baby boy because if Rowan had been my first, the baby train might have stopped with one. And if I somehow had her as my oldest and then the Baby was baby number 2 for sure I would have been finito! No more. No more. No more. I see how God works with children, slides the easy one in first so you think it's a breeze, then He ups the ante.
Tait (why did they break up?) on the genius Pandora was ministering to me:
Cause you oughta know
There’s a reason for these changin’ seasons
God only knows how much your heart can bear
So don’t you let go
Everybody has their up and down times
Everybody needs to know how much they’re loved
My friend
So hold on, it’s not the end
There is a lesson for Rowan and I to learn through this season. And I know the lesson is something more than just how many times can I bang my head against the wall before I get a concussion and pass out. Or to teach me that parenting is not for wimps. It's just hard. But at the end of the day, the issues she's having are the same ones I'm having, they just manifest themselves in different ways.
The disease of self runs through my blood
It's a cancer fatal to my soul
Every attempt on my behalf has failed
To bring this sickness under control
Tell me, what's going on inside of me?
I despise my own behavior
This only serves to confirm my suspicions
That I'm still a man in need of a Savior
I wanna be in the Light
As You are in the Light
I wanna shine like the stars in the heavens
Oh, Lord be my Light and be my salvation
Cause all I want is to be in the Light
All I want is to be in the Light
Thursday, November 18, 2010
99 Cent Store and Homeschooling 102
I was walking the aisles of the 99 Cent Store when I saw a 64 pack of crayons complete with a sharpener in the back of the box. I thought about the kids' pathetic crayons in the crayon container and decided to snatch them up. SCORE!
A few weeks later, Rowan's schoolwork, which she chose not to do at school, but that's a story for another posting, required the use of crayons to help color the jellybeans, then count them. The top didn't open from the side, but from the top. I thought it was odd, but I figured there's a reason why the crayons were at the 99 Cent Store. Rowan colored one jellybean brown; two jellybeans green; etc., etc.
"Mommy, there's no pink in there," the three-year-old informed me.
No, she was wrong. There had to be pink. It's a standard color in a large box of crayons. She handed me the box, I look through it and nothing. There was no pink. No, this couldn't be. I emptied all the crayons out of the box and onto the table. Pink was no where to be found, but there were three shades of peach and four shades of brown. UGH! How can there be no pink? "You're right Rowan, there's no pink. Let's see if there's a pink crayon in your old crayons." You know the ones I threw in the trash because who needed broken crayons when we had a brand new shiny box of 64.
I found a pink crayon and she colored away. Everything was fine, until it was time to color nine jellybeans black. Rowan couldn't find the black crayon. "Mommy, there's no black."
No black? NO BLACK?!?! Okay, the pink got a pass because it's pink, but black? Black is one of the standard basic colors in any crayon set. How can they not have black? I searched through multiple colors of green and yellow, but the black remained elusive. Really? Really, no black? Really seemed to be the answer. So I went through the old crayons and handed Rowan her an old, broken, black crayon.
The joy I felt in finding the deal of 64 crayons at the 99 Cent Store was gone. How could the 99 Cent Store do this to me? How? Yes, I know they sell things that don't sell or are close to expiring or excessively bought items from another store. But to have bought a reject box of crayon, which now that I think about it, also didn't even have the simple color of white, well, that hurt. It simply hurt.
Rowan was able to finish her assignment by using the old and the new crayons without complaint. Maybe she liked having the various shades of peach as oppose to the simple basic crayons every set should have.
So if I go into the spin zone, I don't think of how the 99 Cent store did me wrong; but I think hey, Rowan really knows her colors; and she was able to look through all the crayons and discover the colors she needed weren't there. You go Rowan! Also, we got through the schoolwork without me wanting to bang my head against a wall in frustration. Gotta love the spin zone.
Now next time I'm in Target and I remember, I will buy a 64 box of Crayola Crayons. I've learned my lesson never again shall I buy crayons that aren't Crayola. And I'm opening the box before I purchase them to make sure the colors of crayon every human being needs are actually in the box.
99 Cent Store, how could you do me so wrong?
A few weeks later, Rowan's schoolwork, which she chose not to do at school, but that's a story for another posting, required the use of crayons to help color the jellybeans, then count them. The top didn't open from the side, but from the top. I thought it was odd, but I figured there's a reason why the crayons were at the 99 Cent Store. Rowan colored one jellybean brown; two jellybeans green; etc., etc.
"Mommy, there's no pink in there," the three-year-old informed me.
No, she was wrong. There had to be pink. It's a standard color in a large box of crayons. She handed me the box, I look through it and nothing. There was no pink. No, this couldn't be. I emptied all the crayons out of the box and onto the table. Pink was no where to be found, but there were three shades of peach and four shades of brown. UGH! How can there be no pink? "You're right Rowan, there's no pink. Let's see if there's a pink crayon in your old crayons." You know the ones I threw in the trash because who needed broken crayons when we had a brand new shiny box of 64.
I found a pink crayon and she colored away. Everything was fine, until it was time to color nine jellybeans black. Rowan couldn't find the black crayon. "Mommy, there's no black."
No black? NO BLACK?!?! Okay, the pink got a pass because it's pink, but black? Black is one of the standard basic colors in any crayon set. How can they not have black? I searched through multiple colors of green and yellow, but the black remained elusive. Really? Really, no black? Really seemed to be the answer. So I went through the old crayons and handed Rowan her an old, broken, black crayon.
The joy I felt in finding the deal of 64 crayons at the 99 Cent Store was gone. How could the 99 Cent Store do this to me? How? Yes, I know they sell things that don't sell or are close to expiring or excessively bought items from another store. But to have bought a reject box of crayon, which now that I think about it, also didn't even have the simple color of white, well, that hurt. It simply hurt.
Rowan was able to finish her assignment by using the old and the new crayons without complaint. Maybe she liked having the various shades of peach as oppose to the simple basic crayons every set should have.
So if I go into the spin zone, I don't think of how the 99 Cent store did me wrong; but I think hey, Rowan really knows her colors; and she was able to look through all the crayons and discover the colors she needed weren't there. You go Rowan! Also, we got through the schoolwork without me wanting to bang my head against a wall in frustration. Gotta love the spin zone.
Now next time I'm in Target and I remember, I will buy a 64 box of Crayola Crayons. I've learned my lesson never again shall I buy crayons that aren't Crayola. And I'm opening the box before I purchase them to make sure the colors of crayon every human being needs are actually in the box.
99 Cent Store, how could you do me so wrong?
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Great Mornings
start off with your son lying next to you smiling in his sleep and you wonder if he's dreaming about being an awesome little boy who always listens and obeys. You know like a mini-Jesus.
Then your mother says, "You went to sleep leaving light in the house on."
You pause and think, my light was off, Rowan's light was off, both bathroom lights were off, the living room and dining room light was off so translation really is you went to sleep leaving the light in the family room off and the light in the kitchen on. So the slightly annoyed voice is bothered because I left the light in the family room on, where she was sitting and watching TV as I headed off to bed, and because at some point she went into the kitchen and forgot to turn the light off. Hmm...
Then comes, "Don't you wake up at night?"
Yes, our favorite topic is on the table. How do you approach this? With the tried and true, remember we aren't the same person. You're Oma, I'm me. Or do we answer the question directly? Directly.
"I never wake up in the middle of the night."
"Not even now that you're a mother?"
"No, I don't wake up in the middle of the night." That's you. Remember we're two different people. You are the one that wakes up at every little footstep. I sleep like the dead. The only time I woke up in the middle of the night was when Jory, Willow, and Sasha woke up every four hours to eat; when Jory wet the bed at night and woke me up; and when Layla would wake up at 1AM or 2AM sick of her crib and crying until I took her out of it and put her next to me.
Omas you gotta love them. You wonder if one day, you'll be telling your kid their hot simply because you're hot. I wonder if I would become a millionaire if I took India.Arie's I Am Not My Hair, changed it to I Am Not Your Clone, and marketed to adult children?
Great mornings start when your baby is crying for you because she fell asleep in Rowan's and Jory's room and she woke up without you and as soon as she hugs you stops crying and is happy. No whining baby asking to watch Scooby Doo or the semi-annoying Handy Manny. She's just a giggling delight in your arms.
Great mornings end with leaving early enough for home to hit up Macy's one day sale to return the shirts you paid $12.99 for to rebuy for $9.99. You know on that off chance, you and Oma pull two male family members name in the great pulling name Christmas gift exchange. SCORE!!!
Then your mother says, "You went to sleep leaving light in the house on."
You pause and think, my light was off, Rowan's light was off, both bathroom lights were off, the living room and dining room light was off so translation really is you went to sleep leaving the light in the family room off and the light in the kitchen on. So the slightly annoyed voice is bothered because I left the light in the family room on, where she was sitting and watching TV as I headed off to bed, and because at some point she went into the kitchen and forgot to turn the light off. Hmm...
Then comes, "Don't you wake up at night?"
Yes, our favorite topic is on the table. How do you approach this? With the tried and true, remember we aren't the same person. You're Oma, I'm me. Or do we answer the question directly? Directly.
"I never wake up in the middle of the night."
"Not even now that you're a mother?"
"No, I don't wake up in the middle of the night." That's you. Remember we're two different people. You are the one that wakes up at every little footstep. I sleep like the dead. The only time I woke up in the middle of the night was when Jory, Willow, and Sasha woke up every four hours to eat; when Jory wet the bed at night and woke me up; and when Layla would wake up at 1AM or 2AM sick of her crib and crying until I took her out of it and put her next to me.
Omas you gotta love them. You wonder if one day, you'll be telling your kid their hot simply because you're hot. I wonder if I would become a millionaire if I took India.Arie's I Am Not My Hair, changed it to I Am Not Your Clone, and marketed to adult children?
Great mornings start when your baby is crying for you because she fell asleep in Rowan's and Jory's room and she woke up without you and as soon as she hugs you stops crying and is happy. No whining baby asking to watch Scooby Doo or the semi-annoying Handy Manny. She's just a giggling delight in your arms.
Great mornings end with leaving early enough for home to hit up Macy's one day sale to return the shirts you paid $12.99 for to rebuy for $9.99. You know on that off chance, you and Oma pull two male family members name in the great pulling name Christmas gift exchange. SCORE!!!
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Once again....
in a land far, far away lived a trio of children who thought it was okay to pick up the pencil the elder child had been using minutes before to write Bible verse, was now being used write on the hardwood floor. The mommy was stunned into silence.
Yes, she had heard the three-year-old say, "Mommy, my brother is writing on the floor." But the mommy hadn't believed after everything that had happened that her eldest would do such a thing.
Then the mommy heard the five-year-old say, "Mommy, my sister is writing on the floor." The Mommy decided to investigate and sure enough there was writing on the floor.
All three of the trio were guilty party members. UGH! What is going on? Maybe aliens have invaded the trio's bodies. Hmm... Maybe. It would explain a lot.
Yes, she had heard the three-year-old say, "Mommy, my brother is writing on the floor." But the mommy hadn't believed after everything that had happened that her eldest would do such a thing.
Then the mommy heard the five-year-old say, "Mommy, my sister is writing on the floor." The Mommy decided to investigate and sure enough there was writing on the floor.
All three of the trio were guilty party members. UGH! What is going on? Maybe aliens have invaded the trio's bodies. Hmm... Maybe. It would explain a lot.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Why?!?!
Why did I ever start blogging at night when I'm a morning person?! Why?!?! For as long as I can remember I was a morning person. I remember waking up at 2AM to watch soaps, GH in the 90s was to die for, TO DIE FOR. I won't even get started about the beauty that was Sonny and Brenda, Stefan and Laura...my heart is racing just thinking about it. But I digress, I would wake up 2 or 3AM to write papers. I found it so much easier to go to bed early, then wake up early and get work done. So with three children, why did I think I should blog at night? Simply because I had a few nights, after I started this blog, that I didn't collapse after the kids went to bed. To quote my baby, "Enough!" (I know crazy right, that the baby says "enough" and in the right context.) I'm reclaiming my sanity or rather restoring it and posting in the morning.
And keeping on the reclaiming sanity theme, I will never again cook dinner before I leave for work. When my baby boy was my one and only, I tried getting dressed, while he still slept, and then cook dinner. BUST! Just not enough time if something didn't cook the way it was suppose to, then the food was too hot to put in the fridge if I couldn't find the pot holders. It was unnecessary drama added to a hectic morning.
But because some time last night, I decided that I was too tired to cook though I had all the food out, I cooked this morning. Oh, wait I remember, I convinced myself I couldn't cook because I hadn't defrosted any meat and you can't cook the main dish and entrees, if you can't cook the meat at the same time. That's cooking 101. So I thought I would wake up early this morning and my human Lojac would sleep through me easing out of the bed, except for the first time in weeks, PRAISE GOD!, I slept through the night. I went to bed shortly after putting the kids to bed at 8PM and I didn't wake up until 10 minutes til 6AM. AMAZING!!! Okay, so I'm grateful for a complete night of sleep, but I can't sleep until 6AM every morning. How will I get everything done?
But back to the point, I got up, fiddled around for a while, until I remembered I had to cook. The kids had cereal for dinner the night before and unless they wanted oatmeal tonight, I had to cook. But before cooking, I had to get Oma out of the house which is a process, move my car so she could get her car out, then it was on to cooking. The chicken had defrosted so I was ready to go.
I sprayed the skillet so I could cook the zucchini, but they weren't browning the way I wanted. Why weren't they browning? I left them to cook and turned up the heat, while I turned my attention to the chicken. A little seasoning, hopefully enough seasoning (how do you know you've put enough season on meat?), and on to the George Foreman Grill. Thank you, Daddy, what a great buy. It's as if he knew one day, he would have three growing grandchildren that his daughter would have to cook for.
Back to the zucchini, which still hadn't browned, and then I remembered what Louise said to me. "If you want something to brown, you need to use grease." SCORE! There was grease near the stove, add grease and presto. With the veggies cooking as they should, I turned my attention to the au gratin potatoes which I hadn't even started and time was ticking away. I read the directions and multiplied by 3, since I was cooking three boxes of potatoes, but that seemed like too much water especially once it was combined with the milk. So I parted ways with the directions, which is hard for me to do, and put less water, then put the concoction on the stove.
Everything was going on swimmingly, the meat was cooking, the veggies were browning, after I lessened the amount in the skillet, the potatoes were on, and just in time for the piercing cries of "Mommy! Mommy!" to begin. My Lojac had awakened. At times, it's hard that I can't even get out of bed without her waking up, but other times it makes my face shine that my baby can't sleep without me.
"I'm in the kitchen, baby," I called out as I turned the fires down, glanced at the clock, and readied myself for baby. "Good morning, baby," I greeted my little one as I gave her hug and picked her up.
She hugged my neck, then dried her tears, as we headed off to job number 2, ironing. Yeah, I hadn't felt like ironing last night either, even though I had set up the ironing board and had the clothes all ready to go. I couldn't be bothered with the ironing board, so I grabbed a towel, plugged up the iron, and sent the baby on her way to get her underwear so she could be distracted as I ironed. If I hadn't been cooking, then ironing the kids' clothes before school wouldn't have been crazy, but I was and the ironing made the clock tick even faster.
As the baby disrobed, I ironed while watching CMT until I heard a hissing sound. What was that? I ran into the kitchen to find the milk, water, cheese components of the potatoes overflowing. YIKES! I wanted to clean up the mess before it hardened on the stove, but I didn't have time. These potatoes had to finish before we left for work and school, so I did the best I could, turned the flame down even lower, and went back to ironing. Not trusting the time on my watch since Jory fiddled with it at church, I checked the time on the TV and realized it was time for the other two to get up. "Rise and shine!" was shouted with individual names, but no bodies appeared before me. I continued to iron as the baby and I rocked out to country. (Really is there any genre that mixes God, patriotism, and everyday life stuff so well? Or even at all? No pop singer could sing a song about the house they grew up in as eloquently or as realistically as my new fav Miranda Lambert.)
More encouragement given to wake up was given, then nicknames fell to the wayside as names were used, which seemed to move Rowan, who had been sleeping three feet from me. But to get Jory out of bed, took the use of his whole name. His waking up was not a pleasant one. It started with whining.
"I'm tired."
"You should have went to bed when I put you to bed, instead of running up and down the hallway with your sisters."
I woke up at some point last night to the sound of a herd running and giggling. The first time I know I told everyone to go to bed. The second time I might have made a threat of punishment. And the third time, I thought about getting out of bed and thought, ah, they'll go to bed eventually, and I went back to sleep. Then sometime even later than that, the baby woke up and knew Oma wasn't mommy and started calling for me and walking towards my room. Which in turn woke up her brother (I guess everyone was sleeping with Oma or more like collapsed near the sleeping Oma), so he asked if he could sleep with us and I told him to come on.
"Mommy, I'm cold," he then said, because I totally got him with the go to bed early thing.
"Put your robe on and get up and brush your teeth."
Rowan walked up to me and I gave her her morning hug. I've discovered she works better with a morning hug. I sent her on her way to brush her teeth when I noticed I had to do her hair. Oh, that's right I was going to wash it the night before, but when she got into the bathtub I hadn't taken down her hair or the baby's so I told them I would wash it tonight. Crap! Now I had to finish the ironing, check on the potatoes, take a shower (another thing I didn't do last night), and do Rowan's hair. UGH!
As she walked away, her brother walked down the hall with his blanket.
"Put it back," I called out.
"But I'm cold," he whined.
"Put your robe on!" I unwhined back, which then led to tears. Ah, the first tears of the morning. Or the second, if you count the baby's, which I don't cause that's what she does whenever she wakes up without me by her side. What would a morning be like without tears?
I tried to urge Jory to hurry up, but I was having little success which was starting to get to me, kinda like the potatoes that kept overflowing. This is exactly why you can't cook in the mornings.
Oh yeah, I had to take a shower. I decided something had to give, right after I noticed Rowan's tennis shoes needed lacing. I quickly laced them, then ran to the bathroom to brush her and the baby's teeth. The still crying Jory was left to his own devices.
Teeth were brushed, and I sent Rowan off to put her clothes on, forgetting something important as I ran off to the kitchen. The chicken was done and after a slice inside, I saw it was done inside too. SCORE! Meat done and put in a container. (I need some more plastic containers of various sizes.) My brown veggies were done and put in a container. It would have been nice if the container had a lid, but I couldn't find it so a clean dishtowel would have to do. The something I forgot as I walked back into the room was that Rowan's other kryptonite is the TV. With the TV on, nothing can get done or if it does it's an incredibly, my dead grandma could do it faster, rate. She was banished from the room to get dressed, as Jory walked into the room so I could go over his finally finished brushed teeth.
Minutes later, Rowan appeared dressed and I sent her off to find her sister's orange pants. As I cleaned the kitchen and by cleaned, I mean I rinsed out the dirty dishes, I forgot Rowan's other kryptonite. How could I forget she's horrible at looking for things I asked myself, when she walked up to me holding Jory's now hers red Hilo Hattie's Hawaiian shirt? If it's not out in the open or a toy she wants to play with, Rowan can't find it.
The potatoes weren't finished. Cook you evil things! I still needed a shower, dress the baby, and be a hairdresser. Tick tock. Yikes! Then Jory walked out of the room dressed, but missing a t-shirt. Really dude? Really?!
"Put your t-shirt on, please." I always love his look of shock, as if he doesn't know he doesn't have a t-shirt on or as if he doesn't know he left his pajama top on. Can I bang my head against the wall?
"Mommy, I can't find it."
"You went to bed without putting a t-shirt on?"
"Yes."
I gave him the look and sent him off to his room to put a t-shirt on, then I decided to put myself out of my misery and go get the baby's pants myself, which I quickly found under a pillow. That Rowan will be the death of me. I grab the baby's t-shirt, pick her up, and quickly start to dress her, until I noticed little Miss "I sweat in my sleep" had no undershirt on. I run, grab one and dress her. She was sockless, but I did have her shoes next to me.
"Baby, go get some socks," I commanded, as I had Rowan sit down to tie up her tennis shoes. I looked at her hair, checked the time on the TV, and decided her hair didn't look that bad with a little brushing. But on second glance, maybe...I took down her back two ponytails, brushed her hair carefully as to not disturb her braids, put the ponytail holders back on, grabbed some coordinating barrettes, and she was finished just as the baby walked back into the room.
"You wore those socks last week, Baby. Go get some new ones." How do I know she wore those socks last week? Because they are Christmasy and I really had to bite my tongue and go against my nature to let her wear such socks before we partook in turkey with our loved ones. I was not doing that a second time.
With a quick help to Jory, who was taking forever and a day, tucking in his shirt which I know is just a way to dig at me, but that's an issue for another day, I was off to take my shower, finally. As I showered, the baby came in with the deodorant (gotta love babies who observe the routine and decide without asking to jump in and help) and Rowan came in with the lotion. Brush teeth and shower as quickly as humanly possible. I jumped out and on the way to my room decided it had to be a sweatsuit week because I couldn't even begin to think of putting together outfits for the week.
I was dressed, the trio was dressed, Jory had done his chores, and the potatoes were as close to finish as they were going to get. I picked up the pot holder, found a tight space in the fridge, and put the pot in. As I turned to grab my ear piece, I noticed those evil creatures. EVIL ANTS had found something I left on the counter. It was official I was past late for work, I cleaned up the ants trying to make sure none got on me. I HATE those evil little things that carry what twice or three times their body weight!
I made my lunch, took out the trash, and ran out of the door with the trio who had remembered their blankets for school and homework. And this is why you can never cook dinner in the morning...
And keeping on the reclaiming sanity theme, I will never again cook dinner before I leave for work. When my baby boy was my one and only, I tried getting dressed, while he still slept, and then cook dinner. BUST! Just not enough time if something didn't cook the way it was suppose to, then the food was too hot to put in the fridge if I couldn't find the pot holders. It was unnecessary drama added to a hectic morning.
But because some time last night, I decided that I was too tired to cook though I had all the food out, I cooked this morning. Oh, wait I remember, I convinced myself I couldn't cook because I hadn't defrosted any meat and you can't cook the main dish and entrees, if you can't cook the meat at the same time. That's cooking 101. So I thought I would wake up early this morning and my human Lojac would sleep through me easing out of the bed, except for the first time in weeks, PRAISE GOD!, I slept through the night. I went to bed shortly after putting the kids to bed at 8PM and I didn't wake up until 10 minutes til 6AM. AMAZING!!! Okay, so I'm grateful for a complete night of sleep, but I can't sleep until 6AM every morning. How will I get everything done?
But back to the point, I got up, fiddled around for a while, until I remembered I had to cook. The kids had cereal for dinner the night before and unless they wanted oatmeal tonight, I had to cook. But before cooking, I had to get Oma out of the house which is a process, move my car so she could get her car out, then it was on to cooking. The chicken had defrosted so I was ready to go.
I sprayed the skillet so I could cook the zucchini, but they weren't browning the way I wanted. Why weren't they browning? I left them to cook and turned up the heat, while I turned my attention to the chicken. A little seasoning, hopefully enough seasoning (how do you know you've put enough season on meat?), and on to the George Foreman Grill. Thank you, Daddy, what a great buy. It's as if he knew one day, he would have three growing grandchildren that his daughter would have to cook for.
Back to the zucchini, which still hadn't browned, and then I remembered what Louise said to me. "If you want something to brown, you need to use grease." SCORE! There was grease near the stove, add grease and presto. With the veggies cooking as they should, I turned my attention to the au gratin potatoes which I hadn't even started and time was ticking away. I read the directions and multiplied by 3, since I was cooking three boxes of potatoes, but that seemed like too much water especially once it was combined with the milk. So I parted ways with the directions, which is hard for me to do, and put less water, then put the concoction on the stove.
Everything was going on swimmingly, the meat was cooking, the veggies were browning, after I lessened the amount in the skillet, the potatoes were on, and just in time for the piercing cries of "Mommy! Mommy!" to begin. My Lojac had awakened. At times, it's hard that I can't even get out of bed without her waking up, but other times it makes my face shine that my baby can't sleep without me.
"I'm in the kitchen, baby," I called out as I turned the fires down, glanced at the clock, and readied myself for baby. "Good morning, baby," I greeted my little one as I gave her hug and picked her up.
She hugged my neck, then dried her tears, as we headed off to job number 2, ironing. Yeah, I hadn't felt like ironing last night either, even though I had set up the ironing board and had the clothes all ready to go. I couldn't be bothered with the ironing board, so I grabbed a towel, plugged up the iron, and sent the baby on her way to get her underwear so she could be distracted as I ironed. If I hadn't been cooking, then ironing the kids' clothes before school wouldn't have been crazy, but I was and the ironing made the clock tick even faster.
As the baby disrobed, I ironed while watching CMT until I heard a hissing sound. What was that? I ran into the kitchen to find the milk, water, cheese components of the potatoes overflowing. YIKES! I wanted to clean up the mess before it hardened on the stove, but I didn't have time. These potatoes had to finish before we left for work and school, so I did the best I could, turned the flame down even lower, and went back to ironing. Not trusting the time on my watch since Jory fiddled with it at church, I checked the time on the TV and realized it was time for the other two to get up. "Rise and shine!" was shouted with individual names, but no bodies appeared before me. I continued to iron as the baby and I rocked out to country. (Really is there any genre that mixes God, patriotism, and everyday life stuff so well? Or even at all? No pop singer could sing a song about the house they grew up in as eloquently or as realistically as my new fav Miranda Lambert.)
More encouragement given to wake up was given, then nicknames fell to the wayside as names were used, which seemed to move Rowan, who had been sleeping three feet from me. But to get Jory out of bed, took the use of his whole name. His waking up was not a pleasant one. It started with whining.
"I'm tired."
"You should have went to bed when I put you to bed, instead of running up and down the hallway with your sisters."
I woke up at some point last night to the sound of a herd running and giggling. The first time I know I told everyone to go to bed. The second time I might have made a threat of punishment. And the third time, I thought about getting out of bed and thought, ah, they'll go to bed eventually, and I went back to sleep. Then sometime even later than that, the baby woke up and knew Oma wasn't mommy and started calling for me and walking towards my room. Which in turn woke up her brother (I guess everyone was sleeping with Oma or more like collapsed near the sleeping Oma), so he asked if he could sleep with us and I told him to come on.
"Mommy, I'm cold," he then said, because I totally got him with the go to bed early thing.
"Put your robe on and get up and brush your teeth."
Rowan walked up to me and I gave her her morning hug. I've discovered she works better with a morning hug. I sent her on her way to brush her teeth when I noticed I had to do her hair. Oh, that's right I was going to wash it the night before, but when she got into the bathtub I hadn't taken down her hair or the baby's so I told them I would wash it tonight. Crap! Now I had to finish the ironing, check on the potatoes, take a shower (another thing I didn't do last night), and do Rowan's hair. UGH!
As she walked away, her brother walked down the hall with his blanket.
"Put it back," I called out.
"But I'm cold," he whined.
"Put your robe on!" I unwhined back, which then led to tears. Ah, the first tears of the morning. Or the second, if you count the baby's, which I don't cause that's what she does whenever she wakes up without me by her side. What would a morning be like without tears?
I tried to urge Jory to hurry up, but I was having little success which was starting to get to me, kinda like the potatoes that kept overflowing. This is exactly why you can't cook in the mornings.
Oh yeah, I had to take a shower. I decided something had to give, right after I noticed Rowan's tennis shoes needed lacing. I quickly laced them, then ran to the bathroom to brush her and the baby's teeth. The still crying Jory was left to his own devices.
Teeth were brushed, and I sent Rowan off to put her clothes on, forgetting something important as I ran off to the kitchen. The chicken was done and after a slice inside, I saw it was done inside too. SCORE! Meat done and put in a container. (I need some more plastic containers of various sizes.) My brown veggies were done and put in a container. It would have been nice if the container had a lid, but I couldn't find it so a clean dishtowel would have to do. The something I forgot as I walked back into the room was that Rowan's other kryptonite is the TV. With the TV on, nothing can get done or if it does it's an incredibly, my dead grandma could do it faster, rate. She was banished from the room to get dressed, as Jory walked into the room so I could go over his finally finished brushed teeth.
Minutes later, Rowan appeared dressed and I sent her off to find her sister's orange pants. As I cleaned the kitchen and by cleaned, I mean I rinsed out the dirty dishes, I forgot Rowan's other kryptonite. How could I forget she's horrible at looking for things I asked myself, when she walked up to me holding Jory's now hers red Hilo Hattie's Hawaiian shirt? If it's not out in the open or a toy she wants to play with, Rowan can't find it.
The potatoes weren't finished. Cook you evil things! I still needed a shower, dress the baby, and be a hairdresser. Tick tock. Yikes! Then Jory walked out of the room dressed, but missing a t-shirt. Really dude? Really?!
"Put your t-shirt on, please." I always love his look of shock, as if he doesn't know he doesn't have a t-shirt on or as if he doesn't know he left his pajama top on. Can I bang my head against the wall?
"Mommy, I can't find it."
"You went to bed without putting a t-shirt on?"
"Yes."
I gave him the look and sent him off to his room to put a t-shirt on, then I decided to put myself out of my misery and go get the baby's pants myself, which I quickly found under a pillow. That Rowan will be the death of me. I grab the baby's t-shirt, pick her up, and quickly start to dress her, until I noticed little Miss "I sweat in my sleep" had no undershirt on. I run, grab one and dress her. She was sockless, but I did have her shoes next to me.
"Baby, go get some socks," I commanded, as I had Rowan sit down to tie up her tennis shoes. I looked at her hair, checked the time on the TV, and decided her hair didn't look that bad with a little brushing. But on second glance, maybe...I took down her back two ponytails, brushed her hair carefully as to not disturb her braids, put the ponytail holders back on, grabbed some coordinating barrettes, and she was finished just as the baby walked back into the room.
"You wore those socks last week, Baby. Go get some new ones." How do I know she wore those socks last week? Because they are Christmasy and I really had to bite my tongue and go against my nature to let her wear such socks before we partook in turkey with our loved ones. I was not doing that a second time.
With a quick help to Jory, who was taking forever and a day, tucking in his shirt which I know is just a way to dig at me, but that's an issue for another day, I was off to take my shower, finally. As I showered, the baby came in with the deodorant (gotta love babies who observe the routine and decide without asking to jump in and help) and Rowan came in with the lotion. Brush teeth and shower as quickly as humanly possible. I jumped out and on the way to my room decided it had to be a sweatsuit week because I couldn't even begin to think of putting together outfits for the week.
I was dressed, the trio was dressed, Jory had done his chores, and the potatoes were as close to finish as they were going to get. I picked up the pot holder, found a tight space in the fridge, and put the pot in. As I turned to grab my ear piece, I noticed those evil creatures. EVIL ANTS had found something I left on the counter. It was official I was past late for work, I cleaned up the ants trying to make sure none got on me. I HATE those evil little things that carry what twice or three times their body weight!
I made my lunch, took out the trash, and ran out of the door with the trio who had remembered their blankets for school and homework. And this is why you can never cook dinner in the morning...
Far, far away
In a land far, far away, there lived a three-year-old girl and her five-year-old brother and they loved to talk and play with each other. One night, the girl and her brother were talking and their mommy caught snippets of their conversation but didn't really understand it and kept at the task she was doing. But at the end of one particular convo, the mommy heard the brother say, "Take the eraser," and she was throughly confused. Take the eraser? What did the phrase mean?
Minutes later, the mommy heard, "Come here, Mommy," being shouted by the girl. The mommy stopped what she was doing, followed the shouts, and discovered a line from her bedroom, down the hall to the bathroom. She walked into her room and found a line under her light switch.
"Who did this?" the mommy asked the little girl.
"My brother," the girl answered.
The mommy yelled for the brother. Obviously the mommy hadn't been clear about writing and drawing on walls, lamps, windows, and televisions.
The brother when questioned had no reason of why he had done what he had done. And as he discovered erasing the pencil mark off the walls smears instead of cleans and had to upgrade to a rag and soap, the mommy thought it was time for a family conference about the joys of paper and coloring books. And maybe after the conference, this far, far, far away land won't ever see markings on walls, TVs, or any other places they shouldn't be.
Amazing how the brother can remember the lyrics to Wrong Baby Wrong by Martina McBride, but can't remember a conversation that happened hours before about not writing on things. Oh the goings on in the far, far, far way land.
But back in the greatest city in the world, the trio and I went to a potluck on Saturday. An acquaitance came up to me and asked, "How old is your youngest now?"
"Two," I answered.
The woman nodded her head. "I thought so. She has the face of an one or two-year-old, but she has the confidence and swagger of a two-year-old."
I nodded and smiled. That's right my baby has swagger. And that's the problem, it's that cute little baby face. So innocent. So babyish. So hard to believe she could do wrong or throw siblings under the bus. My perfect little baby with swagger.
Minutes later, the mommy heard, "Come here, Mommy," being shouted by the girl. The mommy stopped what she was doing, followed the shouts, and discovered a line from her bedroom, down the hall to the bathroom. She walked into her room and found a line under her light switch.
"Who did this?" the mommy asked the little girl.
"My brother," the girl answered.
The mommy yelled for the brother. Obviously the mommy hadn't been clear about writing and drawing on walls, lamps, windows, and televisions.
The brother when questioned had no reason of why he had done what he had done. And as he discovered erasing the pencil mark off the walls smears instead of cleans and had to upgrade to a rag and soap, the mommy thought it was time for a family conference about the joys of paper and coloring books. And maybe after the conference, this far, far, far away land won't ever see markings on walls, TVs, or any other places they shouldn't be.
Amazing how the brother can remember the lyrics to Wrong Baby Wrong by Martina McBride, but can't remember a conversation that happened hours before about not writing on things. Oh the goings on in the far, far, far way land.
But back in the greatest city in the world, the trio and I went to a potluck on Saturday. An acquaitance came up to me and asked, "How old is your youngest now?"
"Two," I answered.
The woman nodded her head. "I thought so. She has the face of an one or two-year-old, but she has the confidence and swagger of a two-year-old."
I nodded and smiled. That's right my baby has swagger. And that's the problem, it's that cute little baby face. So innocent. So babyish. So hard to believe she could do wrong or throw siblings under the bus. My perfect little baby with swagger.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Saturday Mornings with the Trio
Waiting for the genius Ewe Know to rewind (why did they stop making this series?), I noticed crayon markings on the television.
"Who drew on the TV?" I asked, 99% sure it was Layla.
"Roro." "Baby." The trio answered at once.
The baby pointed at Rowan, while Jory and Rowan pointed at the baby.
"Mommy, it was the baby," Rowan confirmed.
"No, Roro," the baby countered.
"The baby's telling a story," Jory interjected.
This seemed like something the baby would do.
Once upon a time there existed a five-year-old who thought drawing lines on his mommy's lamp and climbing on top of the sink to outline the bathroom window with a black Sharpie was a good idea. The same five-year-old only the night before thought it was a smart idea to write his name on his leg at AWANA while "recovering" from an "eye injury." Though to be fair, this five-year-old only wrote his name in red marker on his leg so people could know his name. And to be extra fair, he only did that because he saw his cousin, who was visiting Sparks with him, had a name tag on and he wanted everyone to know his name, too. Maybe I should have explained to this once upon a time five-year-old that AWANA was like Cheers, a place where everybody knows your name and they're always glad you came; but that might have been a bit over his head.
I decided to take the middle ground in case anyone got the bright idea to ever draw, write, or color on anything other than paper or a coloring book.
"No one can color or draw on the TV," I responded, looking directly at the baby.
The baby turned to her right and reprimanded her sister, "Stop it, Roro!"
That baby is going to be the death of me. The conviction in her little two-year-old face. Rowan was the guilty party in her mind and that was never going to change. How can someone wearing 18 month pants seem so innocent, yet be so guilty? How can someone so young be so quick to throw someone else under the bus? I guess that answer is easy, watching and listening to older siblings.
When my first baby started pre-school, I discovered how evil other people's children were. Yes, my baby was/is an angel, after all he is the second greatest Christmas present ever. But nowadays when I see or hear some of the things my youngest does and says, I think, wow, older siblings are like little "disobeying as manna and quail fall from the sky" Israelites. You gotta love them. You do love them, but sometimes- -
"Who drew on the TV?" I asked, 99% sure it was Layla.
"Roro." "Baby." The trio answered at once.
The baby pointed at Rowan, while Jory and Rowan pointed at the baby.
"Mommy, it was the baby," Rowan confirmed.
"No, Roro," the baby countered.
"The baby's telling a story," Jory interjected.
This seemed like something the baby would do.
Once upon a time there existed a five-year-old who thought drawing lines on his mommy's lamp and climbing on top of the sink to outline the bathroom window with a black Sharpie was a good idea. The same five-year-old only the night before thought it was a smart idea to write his name on his leg at AWANA while "recovering" from an "eye injury." Though to be fair, this five-year-old only wrote his name in red marker on his leg so people could know his name. And to be extra fair, he only did that because he saw his cousin, who was visiting Sparks with him, had a name tag on and he wanted everyone to know his name, too. Maybe I should have explained to this once upon a time five-year-old that AWANA was like Cheers, a place where everybody knows your name and they're always glad you came; but that might have been a bit over his head.
I decided to take the middle ground in case anyone got the bright idea to ever draw, write, or color on anything other than paper or a coloring book.
"No one can color or draw on the TV," I responded, looking directly at the baby.
The baby turned to her right and reprimanded her sister, "Stop it, Roro!"
That baby is going to be the death of me. The conviction in her little two-year-old face. Rowan was the guilty party in her mind and that was never going to change. How can someone wearing 18 month pants seem so innocent, yet be so guilty? How can someone so young be so quick to throw someone else under the bus? I guess that answer is easy, watching and listening to older siblings.
When my first baby started pre-school, I discovered how evil other people's children were. Yes, my baby was/is an angel, after all he is the second greatest Christmas present ever. But nowadays when I see or hear some of the things my youngest does and says, I think, wow, older siblings are like little "disobeying as manna and quail fall from the sky" Israelites. You gotta love them. You do love them, but sometimes- -
Friday, November 12, 2010
Dilemmas and Growing Children
Why is Target opening at 4AM?! They know that's the time JCPenney's opens and they open at 5AM, which allows you to go to both stores. Target and JCP aren't equal stores so why is Target trying to be difficult. If I had to choose, then I'd have to go with JCP. They give away free stuff for being there when the doors open, what is Target giving away? NADA. I hope JCP one ups them and officially opens at 3AM. We'll see what happens when JCP finally releases their Black Friday ad.
Now on to other happenings. As we were driving down the horrendous Santa Monica Boulevard, Jory says, "Mommy, you have to buy your gas from there."
I look up and see a Mobil gas station on the corner. "Mobil?"
"Yes. Mobil's gas makes your engine run smoothly."
The ad executives' commercial got to my son.
"The other gases don't make your engine run smoothly."
Not sure if that last part was in the commercial or not, but either way somewhere I'm sure an ad exec got his wings and in twenty years a loyal patron.
Now on to other happenings. As we were driving down the horrendous Santa Monica Boulevard, Jory says, "Mommy, you have to buy your gas from there."
I look up and see a Mobil gas station on the corner. "Mobil?"
"Yes. Mobil's gas makes your engine run smoothly."
The ad executives' commercial got to my son.
"The other gases don't make your engine run smoothly."
Not sure if that last part was in the commercial or not, but either way somewhere I'm sure an ad exec got his wings and in twenty years a loyal patron.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
When do girls learn about hair...
In Rowan's case, the age of three, "No, Mommy don't get my hair wet." Oh wise girl, she had no shower cap on so she knew she had to protect her newly ponytailed and braided hair courtsey of Oma the best way she could as I fiddled with the showerhead.
And in Layla's case, the age of one. At one, she was my human Lojac if I woke up, she woke up. There was no slippin' out of bed without Layla sensing it, then instantly waking up, and holding her hands up to be taken wherever I was going. But after spending another tireless day taking down my hair, I simply washed it and left the conditioner in overnight. In the morning, I would wake up, rinse out the conditioner, blow dry, and be finished. At 3AM, I eased out of bed without Layla making a peep. And at 3:30AM when I turned the blowdryer on to comb out and dry that first section in the back, my baby slept right through it. She slept through the whole blowdrying process. Even at the tender age of one, she knew you don't come between a woman and her blowdryer or a woman and her hair time.
And in Layla's case, the age of one. At one, she was my human Lojac if I woke up, she woke up. There was no slippin' out of bed without Layla sensing it, then instantly waking up, and holding her hands up to be taken wherever I was going. But after spending another tireless day taking down my hair, I simply washed it and left the conditioner in overnight. In the morning, I would wake up, rinse out the conditioner, blow dry, and be finished. At 3AM, I eased out of bed without Layla making a peep. And at 3:30AM when I turned the blowdryer on to comb out and dry that first section in the back, my baby slept right through it. She slept through the whole blowdrying process. Even at the tender age of one, she knew you don't come between a woman and her blowdryer or a woman and her hair time.
Sleep
What a marvelous thing sleep is. It rests our tired bodies. It gives our bodies time to heal and grow. And when you have kids, it gives you time to look at these amazing beings and simply be in awe.
In sleep, you can observe them in a way that you can't when they are running around getting into everything. You can see the small marks or scratches, they've gained in the battle of life. You're reminded of the fingernails which need clipping and the toenails that don't. You get to caress soft cheeks and place light kisses on them. You can run your fingers through unruly, yet soft dark brown hair trying to bring some order to it.
You see how quickly one talks in their sleep when their sister decides to use their head as a foot rest. "Get off of me!" Or in the case of the baby, "Get off me!" being yelled so she can sleep free of a sheet or blanket. You can also sometimes hear their dreams as my big boy on more than one occasion has had many a conversations with someone.
In sleep, you don't think of all the times you're going to say: stop that; leave your sister alone; are you tattling; are you having a good attitude; can you not climb on that; what is taking so long; why'd you do that; wait; no, you can not have trick or treat (the baby's code name for candy), you just had breakfast. Or how many times, you will sign and say, no, no, no. This last is done enough that Layla said a certain way with a certain look allows the aforementioned person to grin as she signs and says it before I can answer her question.
In sleep, you want to pick up their sleeping bodies and place them on top of yours and just hold and cradle them in their sleep. To share this type of closeness that is only available for a limited number of years. Because in sleep, you see how the baby you rocked in your arms has grown taller, longer. The faces a little less babyish.
In sleep, you can be amazed at how you ended up with three horrible sleepers who you have to be slightly on guard with to make sure no one falls out of the bed. Really not one good, still sleeper in the mix?!
In sleep, you see all the possibilities in their faces and you pray that God will bless them, keep them and protect them. That one day they would come to know Him for themselves, believe in Him, and let Him direct their paths as they run this race so at the end they will hear, "Well done. Well done, my good and faithful one."
In sleep, you see these absolute miracles, these adorable faces and you thank God He blessed you in such an awesome way. That He allows you to parent these beings created in His own image. These beings who in their sleep seem like perfect angels that you just want to wake up and play with, but you don't because you know they really aren't perfect angels and sometimes if they don't wake up on their own they wake up whining and crying and that is such a killer way to start the day. So instead, you let them sleep and you go back to gazing at the gorgeous Irish twins sleeping next to you and think what perfect angels they are.
In sleep, you can observe them in a way that you can't when they are running around getting into everything. You can see the small marks or scratches, they've gained in the battle of life. You're reminded of the fingernails which need clipping and the toenails that don't. You get to caress soft cheeks and place light kisses on them. You can run your fingers through unruly, yet soft dark brown hair trying to bring some order to it.
You see how quickly one talks in their sleep when their sister decides to use their head as a foot rest. "Get off of me!" Or in the case of the baby, "Get off me!" being yelled so she can sleep free of a sheet or blanket. You can also sometimes hear their dreams as my big boy on more than one occasion has had many a conversations with someone.
In sleep, you don't think of all the times you're going to say: stop that; leave your sister alone; are you tattling; are you having a good attitude; can you not climb on that; what is taking so long; why'd you do that; wait; no, you can not have trick or treat (the baby's code name for candy), you just had breakfast. Or how many times, you will sign and say, no, no, no. This last is done enough that Layla said a certain way with a certain look allows the aforementioned person to grin as she signs and says it before I can answer her question.
In sleep, you want to pick up their sleeping bodies and place them on top of yours and just hold and cradle them in their sleep. To share this type of closeness that is only available for a limited number of years. Because in sleep, you see how the baby you rocked in your arms has grown taller, longer. The faces a little less babyish.
In sleep, you can be amazed at how you ended up with three horrible sleepers who you have to be slightly on guard with to make sure no one falls out of the bed. Really not one good, still sleeper in the mix?!
In sleep, you see all the possibilities in their faces and you pray that God will bless them, keep them and protect them. That one day they would come to know Him for themselves, believe in Him, and let Him direct their paths as they run this race so at the end they will hear, "Well done. Well done, my good and faithful one."
In sleep, you see these absolute miracles, these adorable faces and you thank God He blessed you in such an awesome way. That He allows you to parent these beings created in His own image. These beings who in their sleep seem like perfect angels that you just want to wake up and play with, but you don't because you know they really aren't perfect angels and sometimes if they don't wake up on their own they wake up whining and crying and that is such a killer way to start the day. So instead, you let them sleep and you go back to gazing at the gorgeous Irish twins sleeping next to you and think what perfect angels they are.
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Less than a week into the blogging
and I already missed a day. But in my defense, it's due to a sleeping issue I'm having. I seem to wake up at 2AM or 3AM in the morning and can't go back to sleep. So as you can imagine working all day, then coming home to the trio, by the time dinner and bathtime are finished I'm on the verge of collapse. There have been nights during devotionals when I was adding words to God's Word so I decided to start with devotionals and follow it up with storytime.
Last night, I was so sleepy devotionals became every person getting to sing their favorite song. I was semi-conscious for that. I do remember having to reprimand the baby, who became very irritated when her brother and sister joined her in singing Wade in the Water. After that things got sort of hazy, I'm pretty sure Jory sang Awesome God, while Rowan sang her favoriteThis is the Day. Prayers were said? Yes, I'm fairly confident they were. All I know is I said they could watch a few episodes of Scooby, then go to bed. This way I knew everyone would stay in the room, Oma could get some peace and quiet, and I could nap. I love TV shows on DVD. BRILLIANT!!! I did wake up at some point to send everyone to bed, though somehow Rowan didn't make it to her own bed and the baby thought her bed was on top of me.
So at 3AM this morning I was up with a headache and I remembered I didn't post last night, so here I am doing it.
It was suggested I maybe start taking something to help me sleep, but I think I'm afraid to though I'm not sure why. I know you can take sleep aids that aren't habit forming. Hmm, maybe because I'm not that fond of taking pills. There is a thought that crosses my mind that I could choke on a pill. No one wants to be the person who died trying to swallow an Advil or a sleeping pill. That would just suck and no one wants to be mocked in death. I know some of my friends, not to name names Whit, Mel, Vicki, Steph, would laugh hysterically if that was how my end came. Or maybe I worry that if I start taking them so close to Black Friday weekend, Whitney's call at 3:15AM would wake me up. Then she would reprimand me for not being ready to go and threaten to leave me if I wasn't outside in the next three minutes. I can't allow that to happen. *Note to self, get the kids' clothes out for Black Friday at Happy's before leaving for Mort's house for Turkey dinner.* Ah, the things we do to get ready for Jesus' birthday.
Okay, there's my explanation for my early morning blog. Maybe I should blog in the morning instead of at night. I don't know why I started writing at night, when I'm a morning person.
Now on to what I was going to post last night. On Monday while watching the greatest show on earth, OTH aka for you laymen One Tree Hill, there was an interesting scene between Nathan, former NBA star turned sports agent, and his first client a quaterback pondering whether to sign with the Atlanta Falcons (I wonder how much the Falcons paid for all the promo they got in this episode?).
Nathan asked his client, when you were a kid what did want to be when you grew up.
His client responded, some kids favorite time of the year was Christmas or summer, but his was the fall because the fall meant football season and he'd been putting on a football jersey every fall since I was seven and this was the first fall he hadn't. Plain and simple, his dream as a kid was to play in the NFL.
Nathan turned to the younger gentleman and asked, was getting the top signing bonus or pay increases based on performance or being the highest paid rookie quarterback in the league part of the dream?
The quarterback shook his head and said, no, he just wanted to play football. And so he signed his contract and became a Falcon. At the very end of the episode, we're taken inside wherever the Falcons play football and over the PA system we hear the rookie's name called and he runs out onto the field. He pauses for a moment and looks around at the roaring crowd, the cheerleaders, and takes it all in. When I saw him, I thought wow what must that feel like? Your dream coming true? And I realized I knew what that felt like four times over.
My dream came true the first time when I took Jory out of his green and blue padded carseat and held him for the first time. When I drove down Slauson for forever and a day to get to the DCF office and held Sasha for the first time. When I was in the Southbay one warm September afternoon and Rowan was lovingly placed in my arms by her beaming foster mom. And once again as Nancy, Barbara, Michael, and I walked into the orphanage in Da Nang. I did know what that young man was feeling when he stepped onto that turf. A feeling of I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe this is REALLY happening. Incredible joy. But mostly the sense of unbelief that the dream you had for so long had finally and amazingly come true.
Last night, I was so sleepy devotionals became every person getting to sing their favorite song. I was semi-conscious for that. I do remember having to reprimand the baby, who became very irritated when her brother and sister joined her in singing Wade in the Water. After that things got sort of hazy, I'm pretty sure Jory sang Awesome God, while Rowan sang her favoriteThis is the Day. Prayers were said? Yes, I'm fairly confident they were. All I know is I said they could watch a few episodes of Scooby, then go to bed. This way I knew everyone would stay in the room, Oma could get some peace and quiet, and I could nap. I love TV shows on DVD. BRILLIANT!!! I did wake up at some point to send everyone to bed, though somehow Rowan didn't make it to her own bed and the baby thought her bed was on top of me.
So at 3AM this morning I was up with a headache and I remembered I didn't post last night, so here I am doing it.
It was suggested I maybe start taking something to help me sleep, but I think I'm afraid to though I'm not sure why. I know you can take sleep aids that aren't habit forming. Hmm, maybe because I'm not that fond of taking pills. There is a thought that crosses my mind that I could choke on a pill. No one wants to be the person who died trying to swallow an Advil or a sleeping pill. That would just suck and no one wants to be mocked in death. I know some of my friends, not to name names Whit, Mel, Vicki, Steph, would laugh hysterically if that was how my end came. Or maybe I worry that if I start taking them so close to Black Friday weekend, Whitney's call at 3:15AM would wake me up. Then she would reprimand me for not being ready to go and threaten to leave me if I wasn't outside in the next three minutes. I can't allow that to happen. *Note to self, get the kids' clothes out for Black Friday at Happy's before leaving for Mort's house for Turkey dinner.* Ah, the things we do to get ready for Jesus' birthday.
Okay, there's my explanation for my early morning blog. Maybe I should blog in the morning instead of at night. I don't know why I started writing at night, when I'm a morning person.
Now on to what I was going to post last night. On Monday while watching the greatest show on earth, OTH aka for you laymen One Tree Hill, there was an interesting scene between Nathan, former NBA star turned sports agent, and his first client a quaterback pondering whether to sign with the Atlanta Falcons (I wonder how much the Falcons paid for all the promo they got in this episode?).
Nathan asked his client, when you were a kid what did want to be when you grew up.
His client responded, some kids favorite time of the year was Christmas or summer, but his was the fall because the fall meant football season and he'd been putting on a football jersey every fall since I was seven and this was the first fall he hadn't. Plain and simple, his dream as a kid was to play in the NFL.
Nathan turned to the younger gentleman and asked, was getting the top signing bonus or pay increases based on performance or being the highest paid rookie quarterback in the league part of the dream?
The quarterback shook his head and said, no, he just wanted to play football. And so he signed his contract and became a Falcon. At the very end of the episode, we're taken inside wherever the Falcons play football and over the PA system we hear the rookie's name called and he runs out onto the field. He pauses for a moment and looks around at the roaring crowd, the cheerleaders, and takes it all in. When I saw him, I thought wow what must that feel like? Your dream coming true? And I realized I knew what that felt like four times over.
My dream came true the first time when I took Jory out of his green and blue padded carseat and held him for the first time. When I drove down Slauson for forever and a day to get to the DCF office and held Sasha for the first time. When I was in the Southbay one warm September afternoon and Rowan was lovingly placed in my arms by her beaming foster mom. And once again as Nancy, Barbara, Michael, and I walked into the orphanage in Da Nang. I did know what that young man was feeling when he stepped onto that turf. A feeling of I can't believe this is happening. I can't believe this is REALLY happening. Incredible joy. But mostly the sense of unbelief that the dream you had for so long had finally and amazingly come true.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Mommy
"Mommy, what's that?"
"A sandwich," I answer.
"Me like sandwich!"
"I know you like sandwiches."
"That your sandwich?"
"Yes, it's my sandwich."
"Me like sandwich!"
"I know," I respond, as I continue to eat my sandwich as my youngest looks on hungrily.
Please note the word sandwich can be replaced with any type of food or drink and the same exact conversation would take place. And if it was a conversation with Oma, it would end with Layla getting a bite or a sip of whatever Oma had. Thank God for Omas.
"A sandwich," I answer.
"Me like sandwich!"
"I know you like sandwiches."
"That your sandwich?"
"Yes, it's my sandwich."
"Me like sandwich!"
"I know," I respond, as I continue to eat my sandwich as my youngest looks on hungrily.
Please note the word sandwich can be replaced with any type of food or drink and the same exact conversation would take place. And if it was a conversation with Oma, it would end with Layla getting a bite or a sip of whatever Oma had. Thank God for Omas.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Last Night
The girls and I drove to the far edges of the earth to a city called Laguna Woods. We attended the baby naming ceremony/welcome to the family party of my childhood friend's brand new daughter and her brand new nephew.
Laughter, talking, and music were all around us as we sat at Ekua's and Quentin's table with some of their other friends. After the girls finished eating, the infectious music got to them and showing a bravery and courage I have never possessed Rowan got out of her seat and decided to dance; Layla followed suit. I wasn't sure the area in front of our table was actually suppose to be a dance floor, but the girls didn't care and I let them be. The joy on their faces as they danced together on their impromptu dance floor was indescribable. They happily boogied all by their lonesome though a four-year-old girl at our table kept eyeing them.
They danced and chased each other in their matching blue, white, and yellow Children's Place dresses with blue ribbons adding the right oomph to their ponytails. Rowan loved spinning around in circles so her dress could twirl all around her. They laughed and talked in a language all their own, until an expectant father from our table decided to join them on the dance floor. The girls were ecstatic to have someone else to dance with or rather someone to dance around. And finally the other little girl at our table joined them on the dance floor with her dad. Three beautiful girls having a great time.
I watched my two girls and felt such joy. Joy that they were two brilliant girls, who rarely meet a stranger, having the time of their lives and I was their mother. Their bliss made up for the nine billion trips to the bathroom.
"Bathroom, Mommy," Layla would say.
We'd go, she'd tinkle and claim she was finished. Toilet flushed, hands washed and dried, paper towel thrown away, the walk to the other side of the hall to get our table, settling back into our chairs to hear, "Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom," from Rowan three minutes later. Repeat pattern. Repeat pattern. Even if I had wanted to have a real conversation with anyone at the table, the girls made sure I didn't and couldn't.
I'm glad they haven't inherited my shyness around strangers, where I use my kids as shields to not engage in conversations or make ugh! chit chat. I don't do small talk well. It always makes me feel uncomfortable and awkward. Now if I know I have something in common with someone I'm Chatty Cathy, but if I'm not sure I am as quiet as a church mouse.
I hope the girls are always outgoing, willing to be trailblazers, and do the things no one else will do. As I've learned through swimming lessons, Miss Rowan definitely won't be one following the crowds. But that's a story for another day.
I've been blessed with a pair of awesome Irish twins.
Laughter, talking, and music were all around us as we sat at Ekua's and Quentin's table with some of their other friends. After the girls finished eating, the infectious music got to them and showing a bravery and courage I have never possessed Rowan got out of her seat and decided to dance; Layla followed suit. I wasn't sure the area in front of our table was actually suppose to be a dance floor, but the girls didn't care and I let them be. The joy on their faces as they danced together on their impromptu dance floor was indescribable. They happily boogied all by their lonesome though a four-year-old girl at our table kept eyeing them.
They danced and chased each other in their matching blue, white, and yellow Children's Place dresses with blue ribbons adding the right oomph to their ponytails. Rowan loved spinning around in circles so her dress could twirl all around her. They laughed and talked in a language all their own, until an expectant father from our table decided to join them on the dance floor. The girls were ecstatic to have someone else to dance with or rather someone to dance around. And finally the other little girl at our table joined them on the dance floor with her dad. Three beautiful girls having a great time.
I watched my two girls and felt such joy. Joy that they were two brilliant girls, who rarely meet a stranger, having the time of their lives and I was their mother. Their bliss made up for the nine billion trips to the bathroom.
"Bathroom, Mommy," Layla would say.
We'd go, she'd tinkle and claim she was finished. Toilet flushed, hands washed and dried, paper towel thrown away, the walk to the other side of the hall to get our table, settling back into our chairs to hear, "Mommy, I have to go to the bathroom," from Rowan three minutes later. Repeat pattern. Repeat pattern. Even if I had wanted to have a real conversation with anyone at the table, the girls made sure I didn't and couldn't.
I'm glad they haven't inherited my shyness around strangers, where I use my kids as shields to not engage in conversations or make ugh! chit chat. I don't do small talk well. It always makes me feel uncomfortable and awkward. Now if I know I have something in common with someone I'm Chatty Cathy, but if I'm not sure I am as quiet as a church mouse.
I hope the girls are always outgoing, willing to be trailblazers, and do the things no one else will do. As I've learned through swimming lessons, Miss Rowan definitely won't be one following the crowds. But that's a story for another day.
I've been blessed with a pair of awesome Irish twins.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
You know what's great
waking up, not sure if its early in the morning or late at night, and looking down and seeing your baby's head lying on your stomach, your eldest's head on your thighs, and your middle's head on a pillow yet still somehow touching your eldest's head.
Your eyes adjust to the dark with the aid of the light coming from the TV showing the menu page of Scooby Doo, Where Are You? Season three. How do you know it's season three? Because for some unknown reason they changed the classic theme song, not that season three's song isn't catchy 'cause it is but it's...it's just not the original.
You see your three babies and think even if you had had the where with all to pray for something other than a healthy baby, you never could have prayed for three babies this terrific, this awesome, this beautiful, this intelligent, this great. You take a moment to thank God for not giving you what you ask for, but what you needed.
Wanting the ability to move your lower body once again, you decide to wake your oldest, ask him to turn off the TV and DVD, while you reposition the other two. He wakes up groggy, but understands the task asked of him, until you add another request that he also close the bedroom door. And suddenly you enter into the twilight zone.
"I want you, Mommy," he says to you sounding sad and pitiful.
And just like that the moments of bliss you had been experiencing die.
A few months ago, Jory said that phrase when he was ill. If he had a different sort of mother, my heart strings would tug whenever he said it. But he doesn't and this mother, who has been known to be cynical at times, sees through his words and recognizes what they really mean. "I want you, Mommy," means I've softened you up with these words and my sad look so don't ask me to do whatever you're asking me to do. Let me sit next to you until you forget whatever you were asking me. "I want you, Mommy," spread faster than that disease that killed everyone in The Stand . Rowan says it. Layla says it though her version has two meanings. One version means the same as her brother's and sister's. And the other version means stop whatever you're doing mommy, pick me, hold me, walk me around, and do my bidding. How could one phrase have such nefarious meanings?
So you take a breath, look at your son, and say, "Close the door so we can go back to sleep."
And grudgingly he walks those four steps to the door and closes it. It crosses your mind to ask him, if he's having a good attitude and doing the task without grumbling or complaining, but you're tired and you just want him to get in bed, fall back asleep, so you can get back to the place where you can say...you know what's great.
Your eyes adjust to the dark with the aid of the light coming from the TV showing the menu page of Scooby Doo, Where Are You? Season three. How do you know it's season three? Because for some unknown reason they changed the classic theme song, not that season three's song isn't catchy 'cause it is but it's...it's just not the original.
You see your three babies and think even if you had had the where with all to pray for something other than a healthy baby, you never could have prayed for three babies this terrific, this awesome, this beautiful, this intelligent, this great. You take a moment to thank God for not giving you what you ask for, but what you needed.
Wanting the ability to move your lower body once again, you decide to wake your oldest, ask him to turn off the TV and DVD, while you reposition the other two. He wakes up groggy, but understands the task asked of him, until you add another request that he also close the bedroom door. And suddenly you enter into the twilight zone.
"I want you, Mommy," he says to you sounding sad and pitiful.
And just like that the moments of bliss you had been experiencing die.
A few months ago, Jory said that phrase when he was ill. If he had a different sort of mother, my heart strings would tug whenever he said it. But he doesn't and this mother, who has been known to be cynical at times, sees through his words and recognizes what they really mean. "I want you, Mommy," means I've softened you up with these words and my sad look so don't ask me to do whatever you're asking me to do. Let me sit next to you until you forget whatever you were asking me. "I want you, Mommy," spread faster than that disease that killed everyone in The Stand . Rowan says it. Layla says it though her version has two meanings. One version means the same as her brother's and sister's. And the other version means stop whatever you're doing mommy, pick me, hold me, walk me around, and do my bidding. How could one phrase have such nefarious meanings?
So you take a breath, look at your son, and say, "Close the door so we can go back to sleep."
And grudgingly he walks those four steps to the door and closes it. It crosses your mind to ask him, if he's having a good attitude and doing the task without grumbling or complaining, but you're tired and you just want him to get in bed, fall back asleep, so you can get back to the place where you can say...you know what's great.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Day One - November 5th
Today is Friday, November 05, 2010, the day I decided to finally start a blog about the terrific trio, Jory, 5, Rowan, 3, and Layla, 2. This blog will mostly be about them though I may post a thing or two about whatever else is going on in my life aka their lives.
My friend, Angela, directed me to her friend, Kelly’s blog, and Kelly posted every day for a year and so I’m going to take Kelly’s inspiration and try and do the same. Side note, how is it that every woman I know named Kelly is just awesome, even the ones I hear about. If I didn’t have the name of my next 17 kids already planned, I would name one of my daughters, Kelly. Well that and the fact that it is sort of a popular name. Kelly Dee Dee would be her name because every Dee Dee I know rocks! Okay, the name Kelly Dee Dee doesn’t real flow, but you get my drift.
I’m excited about this adventure. At the beginning of the year, I asked God to help me do something with my writing and I’ve seen that happening this year. I think this blog will help with that too. Yes, its eleven months or so after I made that request but as always God is AWESOME and does everything in His own perfect timing. He’s an on time God. And I thank Him for all the great people who encouraged me with my little diddles about the kids and sent encouraging notes. So with that said, let’s begin.
On Wednesday night, I came home to a quiet home. There was no Layla or Jory racing to greet me as I stepped foot in the house. There was no “pick me, Mommy,” Layla’s short hand for pick me up. There were no leg hugs from Jory. There was nada. Nothing. So I walked into the family room to find Oma and the terrific trio spellbound by the television screen.
I put my purse down, greeted everyone, and then look at the screen. It looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place the movie as I watched for a minute or two. As I walked towards the kitchen to grab a bite to eat, it dawned on me. Predator. Oma and the kids were watching Predator. Part of me thought, I should stop this. My kids shouldn’t be watching Predator, though it was on SyFy so it wasn’t as gory, and then I realized that’s how I grew up watching horror films with my mom.
I still remember my first movie experience was at a long gone theater on Rose in Venice. We had just finished seeing Friday the Thirteenth, not sure which one, and when we emerged from the theater the fog was heavy and thick. I don’t actually remember seeing the movie, but I vividly remember my mom’s umm caution of walking the five blocks or so home to our two bedroom apartment on Indiana. She made sure my jacket was buttoned up, held my hand tightly, and instructed to me to walk quickly. Then off we went into the fog (insert Vincent Price’s haunting laughter here).
Over the years, I saw movies about Dracula, Frankenstein (what a gross injustice to Mary Shelly’s great book), zombies, werewolves, blobs, you name it I probably saw it. Watching Elvira was a late Sunday afternoon appointment that could not be missed. I remember re-enacting a horror/suspense TV movie, Don’t Go to Sleep, for many recesses.
So if I could handle: camp counselors being slaughtered by Jason; Freddie killing kids, my once beloved Johnny Depp, and desperately trying to kill the oldest daughter from Just the Ten of Us (yes, I loved the Growing Pains’ spin-off); and Mike Myers desperately trying to kill Jaime Lee Curtis; then the kids could watch Arnold kick alien butt and take names. Watching horror films with Oma is a right of passage. And it’s a whole lot better than watching those horrible, cheesy made for SyFy Tv movies, even they sometimes do have cool names like Mansquito (and yes, Corin Nemic aka Parker Lewis was part man/part mosquito) with her on a Saturday.
After all I reasoned as I made my dinner plate, the kids had learned from old school Scooby that monsters are really just greedy, selfish people in costumes desperate to get their own way. But when Predator 2 came on, it was bath time. Nice how the timing of that worked out.
And this concludes post one. A quick shout out to my own personal Jonah or in pop culture terms from Pulp Fiction, Cane from Kung Fu. Happy 40th Birthday, Shane Paul Hanna! Wherever you are running, I mean roaming, know that you are loved, you are being prayed for, you are missed, you are wanted, you are thought about, talked about, asked about, and most importantly that God loves you, calls you His own, and wants to heal your pain. You know He loved you so much He sent His only Son to die on the cross for your sins and as a mother blessed with only one son (at least for now), I can attest that’s saying A LOT. I love you! The fam loves you! Mike loves you! Chi Chi loves you! Even Goeran is somewhere in Russia thinking fond thoughts of his American roommates and the adventures, the three of you shared. Love ya! Happy Birthday!
My friend, Angela, directed me to her friend, Kelly’s blog, and Kelly posted every day for a year and so I’m going to take Kelly’s inspiration and try and do the same. Side note, how is it that every woman I know named Kelly is just awesome, even the ones I hear about. If I didn’t have the name of my next 17 kids already planned, I would name one of my daughters, Kelly. Well that and the fact that it is sort of a popular name. Kelly Dee Dee would be her name because every Dee Dee I know rocks! Okay, the name Kelly Dee Dee doesn’t real flow, but you get my drift.
I’m excited about this adventure. At the beginning of the year, I asked God to help me do something with my writing and I’ve seen that happening this year. I think this blog will help with that too. Yes, its eleven months or so after I made that request but as always God is AWESOME and does everything in His own perfect timing. He’s an on time God. And I thank Him for all the great people who encouraged me with my little diddles about the kids and sent encouraging notes. So with that said, let’s begin.
On Wednesday night, I came home to a quiet home. There was no Layla or Jory racing to greet me as I stepped foot in the house. There was no “pick me, Mommy,” Layla’s short hand for pick me up. There were no leg hugs from Jory. There was nada. Nothing. So I walked into the family room to find Oma and the terrific trio spellbound by the television screen.
I put my purse down, greeted everyone, and then look at the screen. It looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite place the movie as I watched for a minute or two. As I walked towards the kitchen to grab a bite to eat, it dawned on me. Predator. Oma and the kids were watching Predator. Part of me thought, I should stop this. My kids shouldn’t be watching Predator, though it was on SyFy so it wasn’t as gory, and then I realized that’s how I grew up watching horror films with my mom.
I still remember my first movie experience was at a long gone theater on Rose in Venice. We had just finished seeing Friday the Thirteenth, not sure which one, and when we emerged from the theater the fog was heavy and thick. I don’t actually remember seeing the movie, but I vividly remember my mom’s umm caution of walking the five blocks or so home to our two bedroom apartment on Indiana. She made sure my jacket was buttoned up, held my hand tightly, and instructed to me to walk quickly. Then off we went into the fog (insert Vincent Price’s haunting laughter here).
Over the years, I saw movies about Dracula, Frankenstein (what a gross injustice to Mary Shelly’s great book), zombies, werewolves, blobs, you name it I probably saw it. Watching Elvira was a late Sunday afternoon appointment that could not be missed. I remember re-enacting a horror/suspense TV movie, Don’t Go to Sleep, for many recesses.
So if I could handle: camp counselors being slaughtered by Jason; Freddie killing kids, my once beloved Johnny Depp, and desperately trying to kill the oldest daughter from Just the Ten of Us (yes, I loved the Growing Pains’ spin-off); and Mike Myers desperately trying to kill Jaime Lee Curtis; then the kids could watch Arnold kick alien butt and take names. Watching horror films with Oma is a right of passage. And it’s a whole lot better than watching those horrible, cheesy made for SyFy Tv movies, even they sometimes do have cool names like Mansquito (and yes, Corin Nemic aka Parker Lewis was part man/part mosquito) with her on a Saturday.
After all I reasoned as I made my dinner plate, the kids had learned from old school Scooby that monsters are really just greedy, selfish people in costumes desperate to get their own way. But when Predator 2 came on, it was bath time. Nice how the timing of that worked out.
And this concludes post one. A quick shout out to my own personal Jonah or in pop culture terms from Pulp Fiction, Cane from Kung Fu. Happy 40th Birthday, Shane Paul Hanna! Wherever you are running, I mean roaming, know that you are loved, you are being prayed for, you are missed, you are wanted, you are thought about, talked about, asked about, and most importantly that God loves you, calls you His own, and wants to heal your pain. You know He loved you so much He sent His only Son to die on the cross for your sins and as a mother blessed with only one son (at least for now), I can attest that’s saying A LOT. I love you! The fam loves you! Mike loves you! Chi Chi loves you! Even Goeran is somewhere in Russia thinking fond thoughts of his American roommates and the adventures, the three of you shared. Love ya! Happy Birthday!
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