A Message for You

Popping in to the blog because this message has been on my heart to share, and it's one that I know many of us are seeking to hear and know right now. So here it is...

This world is full of kind people. Period. No qualifiers. No situational variance. Just kind people.

I could end this post right there of course, but the good writer (and human!) in me knows that evidence is necessary. My life - more exactly my family's life - has been full of such evidence lately, and I've been compelled to give you a glimpse because my heart is full, and I want yours to be too. What follow are experiences that have been less than awesome. I'm not sharing these because I want sympathy, or pity, or really anything. Part of being alive is that sometimes we have a shit time. The thing is....all this kindness I'm about to share has lifted us up and carried us through.

At the beginning of January, I made up my mind that I was going to 100% do right by my body. I started exercising, with a friend, 2-3 times EVERY week. Exercise led to better mood, better food choices, confidence, and my friend and I bonded just a little bit more as we suffered, and then overcame, the challenges and sweat of making your not-as-young bodies do something difficult. At the end of January, my body decided it was going to misbehave anyway. After a weekend of an incurable headache in and around my right eye, I visited my eye doctor. Diagnosis? Uveitis. It's really a black hole of a disorder. It can pop up once and go away with treatment. It can be tough to get rid of in other cases. It can be chronic. It can be indicative of an underlying auto-immune disorder, most of them pretty scary. It can be a sign of things to come. Or...... not.

Skipping the knitty-gritty details, I'll fast forward to the present time, and let you know that for me, the condition proved difficult to cure. I've had countless labs run, and put more steroids into my eyes than is good for them. I even experienced an entire week of completely blurred vision, thanks to dilated eyes. The good? I don't seem to have any underlying issue as of today. The not as good? The word "chronic" is being batted around. It'll be awhile until I accept that, for what it's worth. My vision has also deteriorated due to all of the steroids, so I will be super grateful to have new lenses for my glasses next week. The words on this page are both blurry and wavy right now. It's cool for a moment.

Through it all, people have been amazingly kind - remarkably so - every single day. My eye doctor, who I've gotten to know pretty well through our frequent appointments, has never tried to sugar coat anything, but he has told me the truth and discussed sometimes very undesirable options with great empathy to how it would impact my life as a young adult. When he decided to use extreme measures to try to halt the condition via eye dilation and extra steroids, he gave me his phone number. I have used it a handful of times, and he has always responded soon, and always made time in his schedule for me. When he sent me to see a specialist, he called me before the appointment to talk me through what it would be like. That conversation in particular was so helpful, as I was truly frightened about what might be done to diagnose and investigate my issues (think needles + eyes). The afternoon after my specialist appointment, he called me again to check in. We both took joy in the discovery that my eyes were clear of inflammation that day. They remain clear to this day, and my steroid intake has greatly decreased. I do, however, need a new glasses prescription. Knowing that I've already spent a lot of money on healthcare this year, and knowing that my prescription will likely change again soon, the doctor told his techs to "order the best materials and give her a 50% discount." Even as I write this, my throat has a lump in it. He didn't have to do any of these things. All he had to do was look at my eyes to see whether they were getting better. Though my doctor sticks out as one of the greatest examples of kindness, I also need to tell you about many others:

• B, who has *made* me take breaks, even when he would like one himself. One recent Saturday in particular, he issued these orders: "Go upstairs, take a bath, then lie down. I don't want to see you again for 2 hours." He also cooks every single meal in our home, and is incorporating the dietary changes I'm making to try to head off inflammation in the future. 
• My exercise friend who has kept me going to classes, and been a loving ear.
• Mister learned that almonds are good for your eyes (inflammation really), so he gives me a snack bowl of almonds at every chance he gets. One day I was searching for something to eat in our pantry. "How about some almonds, Mom?" he suggested. I really wanted the fritos, but for him, I had almonds.
• Bean, who is wise and kind beyond her years, takes note of how many discarded tissues are on my bedside table in the mornings. When there are a lot, she asks if I am OK because she knows I use them to wipe my eyes after using drops. She has also completely taken ownership of bedtime stories since it's hard for me to see.
• My coworkers have made it easy to be away from work as much as I've needed to be. Through all of this, I've learned what is important and what isn't in so many ways, and thanks to my wonderful colleagues nothing important has fallen through the cracks. 
• My knitting friends check in on me regularly. I've had many more conversations by phone than I can remember in recent past. 
• Yesterday, the tech who ordered my lenses put a rush on the order, so that I could have relief from my blurry headaches as soon as possible. She didn't have to do that. I hadn't asked her to.

The early part of this year was also trying for our furry ones. One pup was seen by the vet 5 times in 2 months. She is OK now, but it was a challenging go for awhile. Knowing the stress of the situation, and financial burden, our vet combined services as often as possible and gave us "in case" medicine supplies, so that we could avoid more appointments in coming days. 

Mister had tubes placed in his ears in March, the same day I had to see a rheumatologist to check for underlying conditions. My mom stepped right in and took care of him for the afternoon after his surgery. She really is the best mom. 

Perhaps the most difficult moment of all this Spring was the moment that took B's brother from this earth, long before his time. It was premature, and sudden, and will take a long time to process. BUT. Through all of the darkness and sadness of the grief, I have seen so much light and kindness. Neighbors immediately surrounded the family with support and cooked for us in the week following his death. They continue to check in on B's parents, and help them through the unthinkable and difficult task of wrapping up affairs for their son. The funeral director knew we were all in shock, and patiently worked with us for almost 3 hours as we plodded our way through deciding how best to memorialize one of our own. My mother took custody and care of Mister and Bean for as long as was necessary. It ended up being a week. The kids didn't miss any school or appointments, or practices. And they had Grammy love and hugs to uphold them. I truly believe that God sent me my dear childhood friend's name to serve as the minister for the services. I have never experienced a more fitting and beautiful and meaningful funeral service. And my dear knitting friends, whose retreat I had to miss. I understand they thought of and talked about me all weekend. My name was in their stitches. I was uplifted by them and their subsequent phone calls and messages. Bean's school teacher has been a boon for her. She messaged me just this morning, in fact, to let me know Bean was sad but that she had suggested drawing a picture to help her feel better. She messaged me again later to let me know Bean had recovered. 

I know that B has been lifted up by his coworkers and friends too. His boss drove the 2 hours to attend the funeral. So did friends and parents of friends from our childhood. 

In the coming weeks, we will plant a tree that was so kindly sent to us by one of my family members, to stand as a living memorial. 

So, as we head into the Summer season, and hopefully have a bit more breathing room, know that there is so much kindness in this world. Know also that if you do something kind for someone, it can truly make that person's load immeasurably lighter. I am sincerely grateful to all of you mentioned an unmentioned who have been kind, whether you knew it or not. 

A New Place, a New Garden, a Hungry Caterpillar

This year, the Beez are living in a new home. Blessed with more space, a flat yard, a cul-de-sac, we bid farewell to our first home as a married couple, and moved into our life house, the one where we see ourselves raising our family and hosting friends, movies in the basement and splashing in the backyard.

With our new home has come an adjustment year for gardening. Rather than dive right in, we've got a lovely container setup this year. I'm not absolutely in love with it, but it's given us time to get to know our yard and scale back our production a little as we settle in here.

Cute, right? I do love this vertical planter, and the rabbits cannot get to it! 

This week, our little garden received a "special" visitor. Meet the Hungry Caterpillar.

More specifically, this is a Tomato Hornworm, and the little jerkwad eats - you guessed it - tomato plants. At first, I was just in awe of this little critter. I mean, he's SO large, SO fat, SO HUNGRY.

So, night #1, we marveled at him, and let him be. Ooops!

"What's that?" you ask, Well, that would be caterpillar poop. Poop that resulted from the jerkwad nibbling on not 1, but 4 tomato plants in just one night. 

See these bite marks? I've seen this type of damage before and blamed groundhogs due to the size of the bites. 

Obviously, all of this damage called for action. The next morning, a caterpillar flinging expedition was organized. 

B bravely plucked Jackwad from the plant.

And flung it into the woods. 

So long Hungry Caterpillar!! Please don't come back!



Addendum: The very next morning the caterpillar was back. So Bean and I went to greater lengths and threw it in a storm drain across the street....wouldn't you know as I was driving away to work, I saw a bright green blob climbing out of the drain. We haven't seen one in our yard again though! Fingers crossed!

Two

"Oh, he's TWO? YOU must be busy!"

"Wow, you don't get any sleep, do you?"

"I'm sure you're having a terrible time." (wink, wink)

I hear these and similar statements at least daily, as we're currently in the thick of parenting (taming?) a two-and-a-half-year-old human. Add in that said tiny human is a male, and the clucking tongues of others really get going.

And what do I do? Well, I do what many moms do while they're wrestling their sweet beloved boys (or girls) off the top of the clothing display, or out of the trash can, or away from the unattended highly reachable candy bowl for the 50 billionth time, and someone whose hands are empty makes what is typically a well-meaning comment. As I hoist up my forty-pound son and his belongings, and drag him toward the car/door/corner-for-a-talking-to, I do my best to glance in that person's direction and give some sort of awkward eyeball acknowledgement of the comment, perhaps accompanied by an "mm-hmmm." But the truth is, in that moment, I have no TIME to stop and express the TRUTH, which is that two is not terrible.

Two is challenging, and it is tiring, and it is, in my opinion, one of the moments in life that helps solidify whatever your relationship is going to be like with your child (no pressure!). Two is full of battles of will, testing of lines, and screaming (hopefully more so from the kid than from the parents).

Two is also full of something else, that in all of our "busy-ness" with parenting little people, we might fail to recognize because we don't have the time to. However, now that I'm experiencing two for the second time, I have come to believe that this age is the height of unfettered creativity and inquisitiveness for a human being.

I mean, think about it. We're born into the world without boundaries. We're just hungry. Then someone starts to feed us, and schedules start, and we begin to take in the rules that make humans function as grown-ups. And we start to emulate them a bit. And our parents let us, because we're exploring and that is good.

And then comes mobility, and the watchfulness of parents grows because it has to - we want our little humans to stay alive so we do things like pull them off stairs and away from stoves and trashcans. It's the good thing to do. And then comes TWO. And little humans' brains kick in and say, "Hey! How do these things work? I want to make stuff happen! And I don't CARE about the boundaries!" Because really, their brains aren't quite set up for that yet, which can be SO FRUSTRATING as you clean vaseline off your child's whole body and pull toy cars out of the heating vents.

But when  you strip all of the behavior challenges away, what lies beneath is a wellspring of creativity that is dying to express itself, make statements, solve problems, and test boundaries. (Hey, isn't that the definition of art?)

 Mister and I spent the entire (challenging) day together yesterday, just the two of us. Let's just say that he was at the height of invention and creativity. In the span of 10 hours, Mister locked me out of whatever room he was in at least 5 times (within 5 minutes). "I'm just pwaying in here Mommy!" or "I'm being safe!" He rearranged his sister's bed to "make a nest" multiple times. Had his sister been home, there most certainly would have been several tantrums about this.

In a moment of helpfulness, he switched from mopping floors to mopping the walls. In a grand display of artistry, the poor boy who was so very exhausted at nap time, kept himself awake for two hours by doing things like climbing on his laundry basket (and then falling off of it) because "I'm too short!" He played with his babies, yelling for me when they needed something. And ultimately, he fell asleep naked, a fact that I only discovered upon getting him up in time for dinner, which he scarfed down because he'd worked up such a hunger during the afternoon. And then bedtime featured water splashed all over the bathroom because he was swimming, another nakedness incident (we're pretty sure he's trying to solve his own problems by removing wet diapers), and the need to sufficiently tuck in his dollies several times.

You might be thinking I was exhausted by the end of this day, and you'd be correct. But I'm also in awe. I'm in awe of Mister's persistence and creative problem-solving, and his implementation of ideas. No doubt during the coming 6 months, our parenting messages of being careful and safe and clean will begin to sink in - because his brain will allow them to - but I want to take care not to squelch this spirit of creativity that exists during the crazy exhausting beautiful age that is TWO.

Despite all of his shenanigans, sometimes Mister just knows when he's hit the limit. 
Here he is, putting himself in time out. 

The End of my Sabbatical

So today I'm going to discuss two sabbaticals.

1) My sabbatical from writing.

Apparently I haven't posted here (or anywhere really) since 2014. That. Has. To. End. I'd offer a recap,  but really, who wants to read THAT long thing. Let's just leave it at "life has happened." I've been spending a lot of time working on learning to care in better ways for myself, and I've taken a lot of time to consider my life path related to my health, home, hobbies, and career....which leads me to ...

2) My sabbatical from work.

One of the greatest gifts of being a librarian with faculty status at a large university is that, once I receive tenure, I have the opportunity to take up to a year of sabbatical leave once every six years. This year, I took my first leave of SEVEN MONTHS, which is coming to a close on January 31. And, having had the experience of a sea of time and space in which to exist without many parameters, I can tell you confidently that I WILL do this again every chance I get.

So what have I been up to?

Dabbling in yoga, knitting, drinking copious amounts of coffee, buying a house, moving, selling a house, decorating a house, spending time with friends, binge watching Gilmore Girls, making soup, volunteering for a local charity, having more lunches with B, taking days off with B, nursing sick kids (this cycles NEVER ends, I swear!), staying up late, keeping my pajamas on as long as I want in the morning...have I mentioned drinking copious amounts of coffee?

OH, and also, I taught an online course during 5 of the 7 months of my leave (You can't just loaf around all the time - you do have to have something to show for the time away from your regular duties). Anyhow, it was a course that I co-authored for the College of Liberal Arts, and that guides students with various learning experiences (work, internships, assistantships, military experience, entrepreneurial experience, etc.) through the process of translating those experiences into the academic context, the better to (hopefully) attain academic credit for those experiences. Why was I involved? Research (aka the Library) was identified early on as an essential piece of the puzzle when it comes to contextualizing experience. The collaboration was natural. And, in short, I am eternally grateful to have been able to take the time to do this. It was an experience that changed my perspective, changed my life, changed my goals. It was an experience that, in essence, did exactly what sabbatical is supposed to do in my opinion.

So now I write. And now I process. And now I return to "work." What I hope - and indeed intend - for myself is that I carry with me the feeling of space in my life. Space to LOVE, space to GROW, space to REFLECT, space to LIVE.

May we see more of one another soon.

A Day with my Bean

My sweet Bean is about to turn four. She's busy - she has her own life full of school friends and dancing, gymnastics and Grammy days. Her joy is my joy, as I watch her grow into a beautiful young person who drinks in life by the gallonfull.

As Bean's become a busier person, and she has to share her parents with Little Mister, she and I have begun a tradition of going on girls' dates - out for ice cream, to the playground, shopping. This tradition of "special times" is something I learned from my mom who did the same with me and my sister. Heck, we still do!

So when the day rolled around for Bean to have to travel to Hershey - HERSHEY!!!!! - for an allergist appointment, how could we NOT sweeten the experience with some special times together.

With a mid-day appointment looming - we were both a bit nervous about it - we hit up Chocolate World to distract ourselves.

We rode the ride once...

and then we rode it again, being sure to capture ourselves inside the roasting tunnel, and this time yelling at the animatronic singing cows, scaring them back because they scared us...

...and then we had lunch, totally unworth a photo...

...and then the Bean faced her fears and posed for this shot with Mr. Peanut Butter Cup.

Unable to avoid the clock, we grabbed some milkshakes for the road, and headed to the medical center, sufficiently sugared up, and oh so cool. 

And the med center? Well, it was not so bad. I cannot say enough good things about the pediatric care folks there. They made us both feel at ease, explained everything incredibly clearly, and treated Bean like a human being. Best news of all? Bean has NO ALLERGIES. (and the test didn't even hurt.) Bean was pretty curious about the numbers on her back and what her gown looked like, so we had to snap these photos, for the record. We were also not allowed to wash her back that night :)

On Weaning

My Little Mister and I shared our last nursing session last Sunday night. It was time for us. As the wee one gained enthusiasm for "real" food and solids replaced liquids, nursing had become not much more than a ritual - one that often left Little Mister wanting more to drink anyhow. Still, the process of weaning was hard for me this time. Perhaps this is because I have no thoughts of having another child right now, and maybe ever. Some is also because - and this may sound strange - I sacrificed so much of my own life as I knew it to nurse him well (I gave up all foods with any amount of soy, milk, or nut ingredients). My own nutritional habits became about choosing foods that fed our bodies rather than merely please them, about eating to sustain life. And this became a part of my own ritual in nourishing my baby. I know I definitely had a hard time because this Little One was such an enjoyable nurser. He was gentle. He snuggled. We'd exchange giggles as he played with my mouth and nose while he drank. He quietly demanded attention, biting me if I lost focus on our time together. Nursing Little Mister was intimate. I guess I was afraid to let that go.

Needless to say, this week was a wee bit emotional for me, especially in the nighttime. I even dreamed one night that Little Mister was a gigantic baby, dwarfing everyone in the room we were in (he is pretty large for his age, and growing so fast!). But I need not have worried that my connection with the babe would be broken. On Monday night, as he drank his "milk" from his sippy cup and I rocked him in his room, he stopped periodically to giggle at me. He'd catch my eye and his own would sparkle, the corners of his drooly mouth turning upward. When he had finished drinking, he did exactly as he's done every single night before that and he nuzzled right into my chest, tucking in his arms, and closing his eyes.

I know, of course, that Little Mister and I will forever be connected. But as he grows, that connection will become less physical- moving steadily away from the umbilical cord and breast- and more emotional. And it will take work. But for us, I know that the foundation has been laid. We've already put in 10 intense months of work at getting to know one another's rhythms, likes and dislikes, physical and emotional needs. It is a foundation that I am eager and committed to building on, even as my gigantic baby becomes his own physical being who can crawl, and eventually walk away. These nighttimes are a reminder that we can and will come back to the earthy, innate connection that is the gift of being mother and child.

Little Mister: A letter for your Half Birthday

Dear Little Mister,

Two weeks ago, you turned six months old. Your first half birthday. I intended to write this letter to you then, but you and your sister were sick, something that's been too regular of an occurrence lately, and I wanted time. Time to make sure that I could properly focus on you, in that moment when you needed me, and in this moment as I write your letter.

When I think of you, I immediately think of your bright eyes, your smile, and your soft, bubbly giggle. Your eyes light up and you get quietly excited when someone you know walks in the room. Your breath quickens, you flap your arms, you flash your two bottom teeth.

Quietly excited. That describes you through and through. You are calm, yet enthusiastic. You watch everything and everyone, and you very gently and sweetly express your pleasure with the world. Your favorite person in the universe is Bean. When she walks into the room your whole face sparkles, and you can't stop grinning. The two of you already share a special bond and my heart warms when I see the two of you touch foreheads and giggle at each other. I can't wait to see what adventures you have together.

The last six months have been a whirlwind, but each and every moment has been full. Full of love, snuggles, drool, tickles, friends, and family. I've so enjoyed the way you nuzzle into my neck, giggling when my hair tickles your face. You did this from the moment you were born, and I hope that you never ever stop. One of our favorite things to do has been to steal a Sunday afternoon nap together on the couch, you resting your head on my chest, settling into the crook of my arm.

And since you've taken to waking at 5 in the morning, we lie together in bed with Daddy while you nurse. Sometimes you stay awhile and drift back to sleep. Other times you prefer to go back to your own bed, for as much as you like to snuggle, you also like and need to have your space to rest. You've always told us when it's time to put you down.

Lately, you've been more eager than ever to MOVE. You spend hours in your bouncer jumping up and down. And just today, you pushed up on all fours in your crib. You'll be tearing up the carpet in no time! No more playtime blankies for you! You'll be all over this house!

I know that during the next six months, you'll literally crawl your way away from life as a newborn and into life as a little boy. I am so excited for you, my little baby. And I pray that we can continue to take joy in each and every moment of your full and precious little life. Blessings to you, Little Mister.

The World According to Bean: Wildlife

The following conversation took place today on our way home for supper:

Bean: What's that sound in the car?
Me: Good question. I think it's Little Mister's stroller rattling around in the trunk.
Bean: ...No, it's not O's stroller. It's cheetahs.
Me: There are cheetahs in the car?
Bean: No, they're outside....

.....Bean (whispering): Mom! I see groundhogs!
Me: Oh yeah? Where? (it was dark. there were no groundhogs.)
Bean: In the forest.
Me: Is that where they live?
Bean: Yes. That's where they live...

....

Bean: Do groundhogs roar? You know, like bears?
Me: No. I'm not really sure what they do. They're not so scary like bears and lions and tigers and cheetahs.
Bean: Can you play with them?
Me: Well, no.
Bean: Why not?...

....

Bean: Do groundhogs poop in the grass or on cars?
Me: In the grass. Why would they poop on cars?
Bean: Well, birds only poop on cars.

Ah, She's a Witty One

Every day, Bean puts together ridiculous amounts of knowledge that add to her understanding of the world. And then she tells (or draws) us about them. These conversations reveal some one-liner gems and pictorial insights that leave us laughing, wondering, and, sometimes, purely in shock. Today gave us several of these moments. Here are the highlights:

Pre-dinner conversation:

Bean is gathering her art supplies. She's got a tablet and some colored pencils in her hand.

Bean: These are my portrait things, Mommy.
Me: Oh yeah?
Bean: Yeah, these are for drawing portraits.
Me: Do you know what a portrait is?
Bean: No.
(I explain.)
Me: Can you draw my portrait?
Bean: Oh, yeah. Yeah, sure. Let me see if I can find a page here....

Pre-dinner doodles:

Bean: This is your belly button...And Here's your mouth. I think you're smiling. Yeah, you have a smiley face......

Sorry no, that's a frog.

Me: Um.....Can I have eyes?
Bean: Oh, yeah sure.
      And here's a nose. (giggles to herself) It looks like a hot air balloon. It's a hot air balloon nose!
Me: I have a hot air balloon nose?
Bean: Yeah...

Dinner Conversation:

B has gravy left on his plate so he goes to get a piece of bread to mop it up. After peeking at the Bean through a hole in the bread, he offers her half. 

B: Would you like some?

Bean: No. Definitely not.

(B and I raise eyebrows at each other.)

B: OK.....

................

Bean: Can I have some bread?

(Laughter)

Bean: There's no need for laughing!

More Dinner Conversation:

Bean: Boy, you're really tanked up, Mommy!

Me: .......

Three!

Oh, my! You're three today! What an amazing thing! Three is a birthday you've looked forward to for quite awhile. It was the milestone you referenced for when you'd be able to go to school...

And here we are! You're doing it! You started school last week and you're learning so much already. I can tell that you really like it there. You're making friends and every day you share something about your day that was new and exciting.

This has been a big year for you in so many ways, but the biggest deal by far is that you became a big sister. We began waiting for your brother, who we all call Little Mister, to arrive soon after you turned two! It was a joy to wait for him along with you - you called me your "Big Momma" and you were very proud to help prepare our home for his arrival. Since he arrived in June, you have loved Little Mister. You take care of him and look out for him, making sure that someone comes to help when he cries. Every night you kiss and hug him goodnight, and you've started telling me what you think he's saying when he "squeaks."

You ARE a tremendous helper, for Momma and Dad, your grandparents, and to people you don't even know. I am so proud of how much you care for others. You greet people as we meet them and often stop to offer help to those who might be having trouble carrying something or setting off to do a chore like setting the table. Nearly every day you ask me, "Can I help?" with something.

doing laundry

Your favorite chores are the laundry, vacuuming, making your bed, and putting the soap in the dishwasher. Some day you'll probably read this and roll your eyes, but you even MADE ME scrub my bath tub one morning because it was getting "too dusty."

making the bed

My favorite thing about this past year - and hopefully your favorite too - is that we've had so many adventures together! You are keen on discovering your world, asking me every morning, "Where are we going today?" Since we've had a lot of time together after Little Mister was born, we've explored parks, made friends, danced in fountains, gone swimming in pools, creeks, and lakes, and met all sorts of animals at farms and fairs. Your eyes sparkle when we see new things, and you're always noticing the little stuff of life. Like the day we took a walk and you noted the yellow butterfly that was flying alongside us the entire way, and the Queen Anne's Lace that grows in the vacant lots in our neighborhood - it's one of your favorite flowers.

Every Saturday is "family day," and you hold that sacred. I live for the moments when you sit between me and Dad, put your arms around us, and say,"I love my family." In these moments, you effervesce with an infectious joy. Your Dad and I love you so very much and our family would not be complete without you. 

Happy birthday, Little One. May your joy overflow. 

First Day

Last Wednesday was the Bean's first day of preschool. I've started and stopped this post several times because I get writer's block as soon as I type that first sentence. What do I say next? This milestone has me swirling in emotion - okay, more emotion. My thoughts jump from sadness at the passing of babyhood to gratitude for the crazy fabulous summer I've been able to share with both of my children, to disbelief at the swift movement of time, to the realization that this is just the first of many baby steps out of the nest, to intense pride that my little girl is ready for and excited about school. And all of these thoughts have the capability to pass within the span of three minutes' time and leave me crying and smiling all at once. Motherhood does indeed permanently open us up and leave us intensely vulnerable, as our hearts wander around outside ourselves through our children. It is a beautiful, frightening, wonderful thing.

The build-up to last Wednesday had been long. Not as long as the build-up to Little Mister's birth (thank goodness!), but long enough. The Bean has wanted to go to school for quite awhile. She's watched the kids there playing on the playground and confidently told us, "I want to go there some day!" She's also checked of many milestones in the getting there. Getting dressed? Check! Going to the potty? Check! Sharing? Mostly check! And as the actual start of school grew closer there were visits to the classroom, back-to-school shopping trips, and a whole host of play dates and field trips that let us squeeze out every last delicious bit of summer that we could.

Yet when the day came - it actually  came - I think we were all just a little bit in shock and definitely anxious. The night before, Bean could hardly stay in bed and on one of many trips  I took upstairs to help her get back to bed, we had this conversation: "Mommy, WHEN am I going to school?" "Tomorrow," I replied. "Oh...," her voice quiet. I realized that prior to that point, school was not yet real to her. The change coming was incomprehensible. It was an exciting idea the floated somewhere in the timeless world of the toddler mind. But the time had come, and it was real, and somehow we all still went to sleep that night.

In the morning, B and I put on our most enthusiastic faces and excitedly helped the Bean get ready. I had set out her clothes the night before and noticed that she had already made her own editorial adjustments to the outfit (note the socks). Bean was ready and excited. She left the house smiling and made a smooth transition into her classroom when B dropped her off.

Thus began one of the longer days of my life. I could not WAIT for my little girl to come home and tell me her stories. (I also prayed that it would all go OK and that she would want to go back again!) And I missed her....

And I made her dinner. And I waited for her to walk in the door. I felt like a kid at Christmas time, filled with anticipation about what she would tell. At 5:30 she and B walked in the door, both happy (phew!).

"How was your day?" I asked.
"I have decided that I'm not going to tell you and Little Mister about my day," she replied.

OH boy, I thought. So much for Christmas. During the course of the evening, I learned that lunch was "not too bad," and they sang "Wheels on the Bus," and that the Bean wanted to go back, even if only to rescue her precious buddy (a stuffed bunny named Paddy) who she no longer wanted to "live" at school. ("We need to talk about this as a family," she said.)

So there I had it. Right before my eyes, my little girl was defining her own world - making sense of and delineating an experience and place that belongs to her. From now on, she gets to choose how to spend her day and what her story will be. And when she gets over the fact that her world has been rocked (again) and school starts to feel normal, and her confidence grows, I cannot WAIT to hear all about it. Until then, I will have to be satisfied with the knowledge that school makes good lunch, the playground is "good," and the Bean seems to be excited to go back.

Sibling Moments

One of the most enjoyable things about having two children is the opportunity to catch them together in adorable tender moments. Bean absolutely adores her little brother, and loves to interact with him. 

What I also love about capturing these moments is all of the outtakes it leads to:

Uhh...Mom? Mom?! She's touching me.

Srsly Mom. I shake my fist a you. She's gonna rub my hair off.

MOOOOMMM!

uh, headbut?

And then there are moments like this. True tenderness. My heart swells.

Falling in Love

I have officially fallen in love with Little Mister. Specifically, it happened yesterday afternoon. For those of you without children, this statement probably raises some eyebrows. After all, it has been nearly 8 weeks since the little guy was born. Didn't I love him already? And the answer is, without a doubt, yes. I loved him before he was born. I knew his demeanor before he arrived - I had even correctly guessed at his preferred fetal position. And once he was here, I would have stopped a speeding train on his behalf if possible. But...

...there is a real biological reason that the body excretes a so-called "love hormone" upon the emergence of a child who has been born via unmedicated vaginal birth (and I'm going to refer to this experience not because I judge those who went any other route to bring about your child, but because that is the road I myself have traveled twice). For the first several hazy crazy weeks of an infant's life, he's a fragile, floppy, sleeping pooping being who wants and needs to be constantly attached to my breasts. My breasts which are sore and huge and leaky and even bleeding. The newborn's most secure place is with his exhausted mother - he just spent three seasons inside her, after all - and his mother will forego hours upon hours of sleep to ensure his security and wellbeing. When the mother wants to go places, it's with the knowledge that there is a ticking feeding timer alongside, and for me, this time, there's also a lovely but moody two-year-old in tow. As my last post indicated, it's safe to say that time has passed without my realizing it or knowing where it went. All I know is that this hamster wheel of a summer that I've been at times riding, at other times driving, has started to slow its pace a bit, and Little Mister and I have finally had the chance to start to know one another as people rather than as the hungry one and the food source.

I know nothing scientific about the ebb and flow of a postpartum woman's hormones, but I'd be willing to bet that something changes between 6 and 8 weeks out from the birth of her child. At least for me, and anecdotally for others I know, now is the time that the magic starts to happen and my baby becomes a person to me. He smiles at me. He stays awake for longer periods. He naps! He maintains a semi-respectable schedule of meals, within reason. Not only does Little Mister make sounds, but I know what they all mean, and they are all adorable! He even makes sounds in order to "converse" with the family. And he's not so floppy anymore. He's becoming his own little sturdy self, still incredibly snuggly and soft, and vulnerable, but he's a solid little guy too. He responds to my touch not just in an instinctual way, but in the way a person who likes me - a lot! - responds...

And I love him. Last evening, as I watched him roll around on the floor and respond to the Bean and my smiles and voices, I knew that the moment had arrived. My heart has leapt out of my body and I love him. Dearest Little Mister, thank you for being here, and thank you for letting me know you and help you as you grow into the one and only you.

Today

So for the  majority of my life, I'm a working mom. I get up in the morning, go to work, come home, have dinner, go to bed. My kids are with me for all but the go to work part, which represents the majority of my day, which means that the majority of their days are spent somewhere else in someone else's care. I'm OK with this most of the time because I've come to own this as who I am and I truly believe that I'm an excellent mother. And my kids will know their mother works...

except for right now. Mister O came along, and I decided I'd take an extra long leave to be a stay-at-home mom. (I also believe this to qualify for the title "working mom." Hopefully after reading this post you'll agree.) I did this when Bean was born too - stayed home for four months with her. By the end, I felt that I was in my element, a domestic queen ruling her domain...and then I went back to work. This time, I'm home for seven months with a work at home project thrown in the middle of it. Currently, I'm home with both kids at the very same time all day most days. And it's no wonder that the time has flown right by this summer. Here's a sample day. Today, actually, if I can remember it now.

So, this morning, after feeding Mister O., showering while B fed the Bean, and throwing on some clothes and half-drying my hair, I came downstairs to a kitchen that looked like this:

I wasn't exactly surprised - it had of course looked that way last night too - but it annoyed me. I sighed and headed for the coffee maker (not pictured) and navigated the maze of dirty bowls and recyclables to put my toast in the toaster.

As soon as I put my breakfast on the table, Bean abandoned her post there. She was anxious to get outside and help me spread the remainder of a straw bale on the garden. I was pretty excited about this being her idea. I hadn't counted on getting any more garden work done today, but here she was, proposing it. I asked her to wait, ate my breakfast, and we headed outside. Mister O remained just inside the screen door in his bucket seat on the kitchen table. I said a silent prayer that he'd remain content.

Upon reaching the garden, Bean noted that everything was still wet and we had a lesson about what dew is. I commenced to pull some weeds to clear ground on which to throw the straw. Bean went off on her own to play. Perfect, I thought. Even if she doesn't help, we're out here and I can get some stuff done! Fast forward about 5 minutes: Mister O. was fussy and Bean decided it was too cold to be outside. Another sigh from me, and we headed indoors. My eyes were now on the clock, as we had a 10 a.m. playdate at the local park, which involved getting the Bean into swim gear and packing a picnic.

By now it was about 8:30, and the Bean requested stories. Great idea! I praised and rewarded her request until 9, when it was time to prepare for the park. I needed some time to make our lunches, and then it takes at least a half hour to gather all troops, potty, and shove bodies and gear into the car. I also fed Mister O. at some point.

All loaded up, we headed to the park. I drove us all the way there, only to realize we had no diaper bag. I decided to take my chances. We wandered around the park, Bean in her swimsuit, and awaited our playmates. I feel that I should also mention it was 59 degrees outside this morning. OUr friends soon called - change of plans. I was proud of the Bean for receiving the information fairly well. She's not so good at flexibility these days, since her brother arrived and stole the Mommy show. But we both made it to the car, and then to Chik-fil-a in a happy mood. We even stopped for gas, where I helped the Bean out of her suit and into her clothes while the tank filled up. Mister O. slept - thank you, Mister O.!

After lunch and playing and some conversation among moms at Chik-fil-a we headed home where Bean actually did eat her lunch. Then stories and a Mister O. feed, and a nap, from which there were ZERO WALK-BACKS THANK YOU VERY MUCH. (this is a huge victory for me - it doesn't happen often and Bean has been more than trying at sleep time)

And then I proceeded to get ready for a trip to the pool, an opportunity that serendipitously arose as I G-chatted with another working mom friend this afternoon. By 4:10, I had woken the Bean, fed Mister O., gotten all of us dressed, packed our bags, and loaded into the car again to go to the pool...where I got to sit still for a few minutes while the Bean played happily in the water and O slept. I also noted that these days are numbered - my friend spent the time chasing after her youngest while keeping track of the oldest's behavior choices. She did not sit still.

Then it was home, supper, tele, stories, bath, be...no. not bed. There was an hourlong battle with the Bean, fraught with tears, over staying in bed. And then there was feeding Mister O., and putting him into his bed. I also did some laundry and the dishes at some point. A pile of clutter destined for the basement made it down there too. And now there's this rambling post telling you about all of it.

Why? Because this is life, and I want to capture it. And just as I can barely remember the details of today anymore, I know that very soon this entire season of life will be just a tiny drop in the bucket of my memory. It is a crazy, chaotic, happy, stressful time, and I know that it's cliche to say so, but I truly would not trade it. Motherhood in all of its messiness and dirty dishes and tantrum refereeing is beautiful.

Now excuse me, while I collapse into bed.

July 4 : One Month Old

Owen is one month old today. The time has flown - it's true that baby time runs at its own pace. It's long and fast all at once. Add to it toddler time and you're off to the races!

Owen is a sweet boy, mild mannered but alert and so very eager to move. He is STRONG, holding his head up high while on his tummy and kicking his legs with vigor. Every medical professional who's tried to examine him has commented on his strength. He wants to take in the world and explore, even at this fresh age. His eyes are often open, and he tunes into the voices of his Momma, Daddy, and Bean. And he's a snuggler. He'll take his little nose and nuzzle it into my neck, letting out this adorable little sigh. He's even beginning to coo, and we can tell that a genuine smile is just around the corner. In the middle of the chaos of adapting to life as a Momma of two, one of whom is rightly feeling a bit salty about all of this, Owen is a calm place to settle for a moment. It's safe to say we're in love. Happy one month, Little Mister.

And because we love comparisons...

Siblings

Ever since Owen was laid in my arms, I've been struck by how much he seems to resemble his big sister. Same little sweet mouth, button noses, dimples forming, and even similar preferences for body positioning when resting.

Recently, I received the proofs from a newborn photos shoot of Owen. I was floored by how very similar the two children are. So much so that one photo of Owen immediately brought to mind an almost identical one of the Bean (two different photographers, at that!).

Check it out! These two could be twins!

The Bean was a bit more bird-like and, well, feminine, while Owen is definitely a solid chunk of a boy (Bean was almost 2 months in the photo, while Owen was 2.5 weeks). But the resemblance is unmistakeable. I cannot wait to watch these two peas in a pod (beans on the vine?) grow up together. 

It happened on a Monday Night: Owen's Birth Story

Monday June 3 was my first day at home completely solo with the Bean. Following a weekend of fatigue, I had carefully planned some pretty low-key activities for us to fill our day together. The weather was perfect, and we spent our morning making a trip to the local greenhouse for some plants to put in our flower beds. Bean got to pick out a hanging planter, and - the highlight of the trip - she made friends with the greenhouse's resident rooster. We returned home, setting up the plants for Daddy to put in the ground later that day. We fed the birds, played with the sand table, and ate a simple lunch together. Bean, prone lately to testy toddler behavior, was perfect. It was a very sweet morning with simple conversations, and she went down for her afternoon nap without a fight. I also went down for an afternoon rest. I read awhile, then let myself drift off for an hour or so. When I woke, Bean was still asleep. I rolled onto my side, and for the first time ever felt a contraction while in a resting position. It was 4:30 p.m. I took note and moved on with my evening.

B came home from work a bit after 5:00. Bean was just waking from her nap. As we made create-your-own pizzas, I noted that I felt funny. A few times I said to B, "I'm having some contractions and they might be real this time. I'm just giving it time so I can figure it out." Between 5:30 and 6 we sat down to our dinner and then went outside for awhile. Contractions? Check! At this point, I timed a few and they were 4-6 minutes apart. Hmmm...could it really be active labor?! naaaaah. I'll just monitor them and see what happens. If it's for real, I'll go in and lie down for awhile..conserve my energy. The baby won't be here before tomorrow morning anyhow...

I continued to play with Bean at her sand table, and supervise B who was planting our greenhouse selections for me. Several more times I say to him, "I think this might be for real. We'll see." I periodically hit the button on the contraction timer app on my phone to check in on timing. Things are getting closer to 3-5 minutes apart. huh.

It was also an active night in our online world. What follows now is a mashup of our virtual correspondence and our real-life events, thanks to the breadcrumb trail we left through our texts, skype calls, and emails. It was a fast and furious night.

6 - 6:30 - outdoor play with the Bean and planting time
6:49 - I send an email response to a well-wisher regarding our upcoming baby. "Thanks! Won't be long!" I say. (heh)
7:00ish - Bean and I do a Google hangout with Aunt Em and Uncle Nick. (yep, still contracting. still 4-6 minutes apart, with some strength behind them. still mentally assessing.)
7:30 - B gives Bean a bath. I agree to do storytime.
7:34 - I talk to my Mom. I don't mention the contractions.
8:00 - I do storytime. I'm having a bit of trouble getting through but persevere. Timer is getting closer and closer to 3 minutes. Bean drags it out and asks for songs. I have to take a break to contract. Yeah. This is probably real. 
8:37 - I call my Mom again and let her know that I "might" need her tonight. Do I want her to come over now? I don't know. She suggests that I call the doctor. I tell B I'm going to call. In the meantime Bean sneaks downstairs and overhears. "Why are you calling Dr. S., Mommy?" (oh, crap. in my vision, this is all supposed to go down without her knowing. oops.) B walks her back to bed.
8:45 - I call the doctor and tell him things are 4-6 minutes apart. He says to go in to the hospital and get checked. I tell him I can be there in half hour to 45 minutes.
8:56 - To her credit, Mom texts that she's coming over right away (I would have told her to wait). I go to take a shower. Sometimes taking a shower can relax you and slow things down. After this, maybe I'll lie down awhile. 
9:24 - I hear Mom arrive. I'm out of the shower and making sure the bag is packed. Contracting at 3-5 minutes apart. Guess they're not slowing down.  As I leave my room I see Bean sitting at the top of the steps. She's worried. "Who's here?" she asks. "Grammy," I say. "Remember the big tummy ache?" I ask. "Yeah," she replies. "Well I think I have it. I think the baby is going to come tonight. I need to go to the hospital."
There were hugs and kisses and contractions. By the time B and I left the house, contractions were 2-3 minutes apart, and I was stopping to breathe and sway through them. The building intensity was surprising and impressive.
10ish - We arrive at the hospital. Nurse Amanda, the best nurse I've ever had ever ever, says she'll check my progress. I'm 3 cm (eh), but 80% effaced. This is for real. Still, given our prior experiences with false alarms at the hospital when Bean was born, we agree to wait until I've been checked into the hospital to let family know...

Absolutely no time is wasted beginning the checkin process. As contractions keep coming, I periodically look at B, smiling, and say, "I can't believe this is happening!" Then I return to my position, seated in a rocking chair next to the bed, and take my deep breaths. Amanda is patient and coaches me through the contractions. At some point during the medical forms and questioning, I can't sit anymore. A strong contraction comes and my body involuntarily stands up. I remain in that position, bending in and L shape over the tray table, breathing and swaying for the remainder of the laboring.

10:59 - Finally, the questioning is over. B's texts the family "Anne has been admitted to the hospital. Will send updates as able."

11ish and Dr. S. arrives, and I'm checked again - you have to be over 5 cm for them to be able to unstrap you from the monitors. In the last hour I've progressed to 6 cm with a paper-thin cervix. (woah. what?!) At 11:17, B texts: "6 cm. Should not be too long." "Wow. I take it she's staying," replies Mom. :)

I'm allowed to stand up again. I continue my breathing. Everything is about breathing now. In through the nose, out through the mouth. Repeat. Every now and then I give B instructions about what to do, but mostly I don't want anyone to touch me. I'm in this game and I'm going to do it.

Now it's time for an IV and blood draw. Seriously?! You wait until NOW to try to stick me? By the way, my legs are shaking at this point. I'm still standing, but realize that I'm in the thick of transition. "Do I really need the IV?" I ask Amanda. Unfortunately, they must insert the port "just in case." ugh. In she comes, trying to miss the height of my contractions, but it's becoming harder to do so. The moment she sticks my hand, I begin to cry. This pain from the needle is so different from what my body is programmed to handle at this moment that it registers with great intensity, sending the pain receptors over the top, and totally messes with my focus on the real mission that my body has right now - strengthening the contractions that are pushing my baby out. I continue to cry as the dude from the lab sticks me twice to get blood out of my arm. I think I'm probably wimpering now for it to stop - I mean the needles, not the contractions.

It's well after 11 now. I'm aware that the room is filling up with people. Even though I'm convinced this is going to take a lot longer, I notice in my peripheral vision the wheeling in of the warming table, the doctor getting into scrubs, an army of nurses standing at the ready and watching. (An unmedicated birth is quite the spectator event.) I hear someone say that they've brought in extra blankets in case the warming table isn't heated up in time. huh, really? I guess the think this baby is coming very very soon! I continue to focus on a spot on the floor - swaying, moaning, breathing. At some point I'm asked whether I feel that I need to push. "I don't think so," I say. Then a moment later, "I do feel like I need to go to the bathroom." THAT springs them into action: "Sweety we need to check you NOW because we don't do standing births here!" I don't want to lie down, but I do. Being flat on my back feels worse than anything else.  They check me, and I'm 8 cm. Go-time is just around the corner. Dr. S offers to break the waters so that I can push sooner. He is under the assumption that I'm in too much pain. I don't argue. It's 11:47, and B texts the family: "8 cm. It's baby time." Responses include, "Go Anne!" and "I hope the doc is in the neighborhood," to which B responds, "In the room. I think it is time." "OMG," writes Mom.

Waters break, and in 2 contractions I feel it. The head. "I need to push!!!!" Dr. S. gets into position and the nurses look ready. Everyone stands back, though, and lets me work. Amanda is at my side, B at the other. Unlike at Bean's birth, this time I hold my own legs, make my own calls about when and how to push, and for how long. Dr. S. uses his hands to hold my cervix back. I yell at him, "GET OUT! GET OUT!" I think he assumes I mean the baby. Then he realizes and explains..he's helping. (sigh, okay) I push, I poop, I feel the baby's head, my body lets out a primal guttural weight-lifter type yell. The ring of fire happens..."HELP ME!" I scream. But I'm calling out to my own body, and to my baby - not to anyone in the room. One. More. Push....and...

At 12:06 a.m. HE emerged. I was the first to see and announce that the baby is a boy. He was laid on my chest, and I held him there for several minutes while his cord stopped pulsing. "He's heavy!" I say. "He has ROLLS!"  He was briefly moved to have the cord cut and get a quick once-over, and then he was returned to me. I held him for over an hour. He nursed. He was eventually weighed - 8 lbs, 3 oz. By 12:09, the family all know that Owen Russell Behler has arrived. Replies include "OMG!" and "Great job, team!" and "That's a big boy!"At some point I told B he could go home and sleep.

Sometime after 2 (3?) I was taken to my hospital room. I tried to rest, but I couldn't sleep. The adrenaline rush was just too strong to allow it. Here I was, a Momma again, to a perfect little baby boy.