Because they fight like cats and dogs

Hayden has a loose tooth.

Yep, another loose tooth.

This makes six...I think six, anyway. I feel like he's lost at least one per month since he started losing them.

Sebastian finally outgrew some pants that fit just fine at the beginning of the Fall...you know, the time when we DON'T need pants in Mississippi. It's till ridonkulously hot here at that time and the thought of even putting on pants sends me into a sweatty mess, much less thinking about buying them. So I usually don't. And inevitably, we're left with the need for pants, only we have no time during the week, so he goes to daycare with pants a bit too short and I make a pact with myself every time I see him that I need to remedy my procrastination in that department ASAP, because the day is quickly approaching that he'll be teased mercilessly when it comes to everything about him.

And that makes me sad.

We've started something new around the house and it falls into the category of "my husband is a genius" because it works like a charm.

You see, the boys fight like you wouldn't believe. Nothing physical really, but more hateful talk and one person trying their hardest to exert their boss status over the other and the other hates it so they rebuke and even though they may actually be speaking words like "Please brother. Stop talking to me in that manner", my brain computes it as a noise similar to nails down a chalkboard or a car alarm in the distance that will. not. quit. And so I find myself going from patient to incredibly annoyed in a matter of seconds. Spare me the advice that one day it will get better, or just get ready when it does turn physical...I know they're brothers and by design, they will fight like cats and dogs. But believe me, if we can find something to stop the madness, then we will do it!

Yelling does not work. For a moment, yes, because I'm sure they think I'm about to flip my lid. Threats, do not work. Because inevitably, they just return to the nails down a chalkboard banter back and forth and honestly, my cerebellum cannot take it.

So enter the ingenious husband who learned a neat little trick while in the Marine Corps.

If you fight with your brother, you will be forced to hold hands for an extended amount of time. If you continue to fight, you will be forced to sit holding hands while you sit forehead to forehead. Gripe at any point in the process of serving your affectionate time, and we'll just add more time. Eventually, what happens, is nothing short of magical. Because eventually, they start giggling and miraculously, all is forgiven.

And my brain can process real words and thoughts once again!

If only I could remember to do this regularly. We tried it once before last year with the "he ain't heavy. he's my brother", but then I forgot to do it again.

**Sorry for the lack of blogging lately. This baby has totally stolen my brain. I hope to keep up more. I promise.

You can't always get what you want

I never dreamed of this life. I did in one way or another, but all these boys. It's definitely not what hit the high points of what I deemed the plan for my life. I've come to understand that the whole "plan" thing is something God actually laughs about when we make them.

With the impending arrival of our third son, sometimes the reality of life these days blindsides me. Especially the joy. I know I'm hormonal, so I cry easy most of the time, but while pregnant, I'm really prone to sudden bouts of sobfests where the full scale of how much I am blessed hits me at random times.

Like last night when Sebastian fell asleep on the couch and the Christmas lights hit his cheek is such a way that it highlighted every beautiful thing about his face that I couldn't help but gasp and fight to catch my breath.

Or to see one light after another go off in Hayden's head as he finally makes the connection between how the sounds letters make pair with other letter sounds to form words and then sentences. Especially when he's doing it on his own.

That although cramped as hell when our bed is filled with two kids and the belly the third occupies, it's all this tangible example of what love can create.

This family that I'm not sure how on Earth I got so lucky to call my very own...unspeakable joy.

As we approach the new year, I've made a decision. Stop making plans. Stop trying to control it. Stop thinking that my plans are actually the best way.

Instead, let it ride because what He's got in store for me is better than I ever could have imagined.

Truly, asthe Stones said it best, you can't always get what you want, but you'll find in time, you get what you need.

When the going gets tough...

There are times I look at my children and wonder what they’ll do with their lives. What will they be? What sort of interests will they develop? Will they be doctors? Lawyers?  Accountants? Actors? Writers? Adventurers?

And the biggie…will they make good choices?

Everything I’ve done as a mother often can be traced back to a burning desire to teach my children some sort of lesson. Lessons about life. Lessons that I hope and pray will serve them well in their pursuit of a fruitful existence. I want them to be liked, to do well, and to be happy.

Well, any fellow parent that’s in the same biz and operates with a similar parental protocol can tell you that too often teaching those lessons is hard. It takes a lot of resolve to stand firm when your child gives you those huge puppy dog eyes rimmed with crocodile tears. It honestly breaks your heart.

This morning, we were presented with the perfect opportunity to teach our oldest a bit of responsibility and if ever my parental resolve was tested to the limit, it was today.

In short, Hayden discovered he’d left his backpack at home….right as we were pulling into car rider drop off. If anyone has ever had the pleasure of experiencing said drop off, you know that there is a magic hour. A time in which you should be merging into the car rider line without sitting for what feels like hours. Morning commute, by nature, has a magic hour when a meager time frame of minutes can make it or break it. Leave the house at 7 and have a smooth sailing commute. Leaving the house 6 minutes later means sitting in traffic that creates road rage of mass quantity. So when my dear first born discovered he’d left his backpack and we were within the magic hour, I knew that turning around to head back to our house was a recipe for timely disaster.

There are a lot of things I’m responsible for as a mother, and making sure my children get from point A to point B on time (and in one piece) is one of them. Not to mention, my own personal responsibility to arrive at my place of gainful employment at the appropriate time. Turning around prior to dropping him off, was simply not an option…as I would have failed in my obligation as his mom to get him to school on time. So I told him if I had enough time after I dropped his brother off, to go home to retrieve the beloved backpack and take it to the school, that I would. Knowing full well, that I wouldn’t have time. With eyes as big as saucers and rimmed with the above-mentioned crocodile tears, he pleaded with unspoken words to please get his backpack. But I turned away and cranked my resolve up to Mach 10 explaining that I would do my best, but the prognosis was not good and he may have to do without.  

His responsibility to is make sure he has his backpack. I pack it and he makes sure he actually has it in the car, and he knows this. The lesson that floated to the top was clear…let him experience the mistake of what leaving your backpack at home means. Chances are he’s more likely to remember that thing in the future and not to mention, what that means on a bigger scale with responsibility.

Oh it hurt to see the revelation that he’d messed up! To know that I could easily come to the rescue and needed to choose the harder option, which was to let him fail so he could learn the lesson, had my Mommy heart in a vise.

I went back and forth…is 6 too young to teach this lesson? Maybe just this once? Will he feel as if he cannot count on the one person that loves him more than anyone? He’s only 6!!!

But then a louder voice bellowed above my weakness. The lesson and what it might mean if he never learns it. What if every other choice he makes could be traced back to this very moment. Rescue someone one too many times and they lose the ability to rescue themselves. You know the whole give a man a fish and he eats for a day….teach a man to fish and he eats for a lifetime. And if there is one thing I want above everything, it is to have children that can fend for themselves when no one is left to count on.

I gotta say…the lines of mental resolve going on at 7:30 this morning were thick, and I did not go to the house to get the bag. It hurts me…even now, hours later, to think of what he might have thought, but this is where the business of parenting gets difficult. Sometimes we have to be the bad guy in the eyes of our kids, especially when the benefit of what they’ll learn is greater than what their opinion of us as their parents is.

Truly, the lesson here is bigger than anything and I'm beginning to truly understand why seasoned parents say that the baby years are truly the easiest.

*While I did not get the backpack, I did stop by a curb store to pick him up some crackers and took those to the school office along with lunch money. I mean…the kid’s gotta eat, right?*

You hold them even tighter

To my boys:

You are going to think I’m crazy, because there will be times when I squeeze you so tight you think I’ll make you pop.

You’re going to scoff in protest to my warnings to please be careful over something you see as harmless or when I tell you that you can’t go somewhere or do something you really want to do.

You’ll tell me that I’m off my rocker because if I confess to you all the horrid things I imagine might happen to you, you’d see the probability of said happening as almost impossible.

But bear with me. In my mind, the horrible, nightmarish impossibilities are possible.

Earlier this week, a 10 year old boy was getting on the bus to go to school when a car struck him and never stopped. The boy wasn’t even in a bad place. He was where he was supposed to be, doing what he was supposed to do. He was going to school…and still the nightmare of his mother came true. The next day, he died.

He died.

That news story comes bundled this week with other stories of children that have died in accidents that should not have happened.

There are parents right now that are holding onto nothing more than memories of their children because that’s all that’s left.

So forgive me, my sweet, precious boys…it’s ever apparent to your mother’s fragile heart that time is always ticking and if I can control even an ounce of the possibility that the impossible might happen….so be it, I’ll do.

Because that’s my job as your mother and I love you with a fierceness that you’ll never understand…until one day you have your own children to worry about.

So do me a favor and just go with it. Embrace your mother’s neurotic tendencies to protect you because I can assure you...one day you'll get it.

I wanted a girl

I said I didn’t care, but the closer we got to finding out, the secret I’d buried so deep in my heart, came bubbling to the surface.


I wanted a girl.

As we sat in the ultrasound room, waiting with bated breath, I tried to push that want down. I wanted to only care about the fact that this baby was healthy. I wanted that peace and ambivalence to this baby's gender that I’d had up until a week before our big ultrasound.

We brought the boys to the ultrasound because we wanted everyone to be in on this. They were so excited, dead set on the theory that you were a girl. And I started to actually believe that they were right.

The technician took measurements; long limbs, a steady heartbeat, and everything in between. You were perfect and flawless.

And that’s when it happened.

In that tiny room, filled with our family of four and the technician, my eyes began to water. My nose began to burn. And all I wanted to do was get off that bed and RUN.

Sebastian not only ripped one of the stinkiest farts we’d ever smelled, but he ripped at least two others right after…with only a curtain separating us from the other family in the next room, who I’m pretty sure was having their first child and may have decided pretty quickly that maybe they wanted to back out of the whole parenting thing.

How the technician managed not to laugh, grimace, or offer to do an ultrasound of Sebastian’s belly to see just what died in there to cause the offensive odor, is beyond me. She is obviously a professional in every sense of the word.

And that’s when she gave us the news…boy #3.

I have to admit I wanted to cry a little. Not because boys aren’t great…but because boys will be boys.

Farty ultrasound experience…Case. In. Point.

And I’ll have three of them. Good Lord…please help me.

All I wanted was some pink…possibly even some purple.

But for some reason, the good Lord above has chosen me to raise three men.

I suppose that would make me the queen though right….

Well then, GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!!

Drama, drama, drama

I'm sitting on my couch....sitting. And I've been sitting since approximately 1:30 p.m.

I'm sitting because there's not much else I'm supposed to be doing...unless you count laying down. I can alternate to laying down.

It's not bedrest, but it sort of feels that way, because I'm supposed to be "taking it easy" and apparently, I don't know how to just do things moderately. You know...it's the whole "go big or go home" type mentality.

I wanted so desperately to stay incredibly active during this pregnancy. The experts on pregnancy have written countless articles, backed by research, that states that there are very few circumstances where a woman shouldn't be able to continue her prepregnancy level of activity for all nine months. That's my cup of tea...I am not one to sit. So I did that. I continued jogging and walking and TaeKwonDo and that was my plan for the entire pregnancy.

Until Tuesday's checkup revealed that this crampy type tightening I've been having off and on actually sounded more like contractions. They did a cervical sonogram to be sure my cervix had not changed and I left the office with instructions to call if they got worse. Wednesday came and I went walking as normal...nothing too strenuous, but just keeping the legs moving.

There was, of course, the whole lifting all 50ish pounds of the deadweight boy that is The Teenager out of bed in order to speed the whole process of waking him up for school...but, I'm sure that had nothing to do with what happened next.

Whether it was the walking or the lifting, I found myself having contractions over and over and over again....every 3 to 5 minutes apart for 3 hours.

Another trip to the doctor. Another cervical sono. And luckily...no change.

Back today and luckily no change.

But we're back to sitting and laying around in the hopes that these pesky contractions will go away or in the event they do not go away...at least cause zero change, so everything stays locked up tight.

And so it begins...the drama, drama, drama.

Dear baby #3,

When you come out here, you are getting a spanking so you might as well stay in there and mind your manners until I cool off.

Love,

Your mother

When you just don't like this day

Dear Hayden,
 
This morning I felt like the world’s biggest meanie. The wicked witch of the west, at the very least.
 
You have arrived at the level of exhaustion that comes from a week’s worth of living and the rest of us can definitely sympathize.
 
Waking you up for school is probably one of my least favorite activities as a parent. This morning’s episode was particularly laborious and it took at least 50 minutes to get you out of the bed and eventually ended in me raising my voice and warning you of the consequences of not getting out of bed. I admit, those moments are not my finest, but you sure do hop to it when the octave of my voice goes up and lately, my voice is the only stronghold I’ve got.
 
Yesterday, I tried to move you by force. I did move you by force actually, by picking all 47 pounds of your dead-weight body out of the bed and placing you on the floor. You tried to fight and claw your way back to bed, but I managed to hold you off by locking you between my knees until you quit fighting me. You actually reminded me of a wild animal. *Sigh*Although successful in finally getting you out of the bed, it may have been the straw that broke the camel’s back as I was at the doctor 3 hours later with contractions. Not just measly practice contractions, but real contractions and obviously at 14 weeks pregnant, that’s certainly less than ideal. The irony in all of this is your stance on going to bed. I thought I’d never live to see the day you were actually fighting me to get back into bed. But, I digress.
 
I’m not sure what did it, but when I finally resulted to the dreaded 1, 2, 3 countdown, you stopped me at 2. Threw your hands up into the air and then placed your hands over your eyes, exclaiming “I just don’t like this day!” as the huge crocodile tears fell down your sweet cheeks.
 
At 6, your fits are few and far between. You barely have those volcanic meltdowns anymore and your tears are rare. Though this morning, something had gotten a hold of you and pushed you to the edge. As I watched the tears reach your chin, I realized that you’d finally gotten to the place I find myself some days of particularly challenging weeks. You were done. Tapping out and you just wanted to go back to bed.
 
Just as I have many a morning, hung my feet over the side of the bed and sat trying to will myself to get up, you sat on the side of your brother’s bed, hesitating to put your shoes on. Putting those shoes on seals the deal. You’re up and you have no choice but face the day.
 
It pains me to know that you’re already there. That at 6 and in Kindergarten, you’ve experienced a time that you just don’t have any fight in you for the day and the only option is to go back to bed.
 
Just as I often do, I wrapped my arms around you and squeezed and tried my best to reassure you that everyone feels this way at one time or another and I pray you always remember my words of encouragement. That even when the day looks awful, you gotta look for the good and have tunnel vision for that. It’s the ONLY way to get through the days when life is just too hard to face.
 
To my knowledge, there’s no such thing as a mental health day for Kindergartners, but hang in there because tomorrow is Friday and after that, two days of rest.
 
Love,
 
Momma

Six

Hayden,
 
Today is your birthday and you are six.
 
Six.

Can we all just take a moment to reflect on that?
 
A lot can happen in 6 years, and it has. Mainly, you became a big brother and in the next year, will get to do it all over again with another brother or a sister. Over the past year, it’s become abundantly clear that if ever there was a person created to be a big sibling, it was you. While you and Sebastian have your sibling moments, you do dote on him and invite him to follow you around and partake in whatever activity it is you’re involved in. You delight in the fact that he follows you, because you delight in leadership. And so I hope that you always do. Be a leader, Hayden. Be a leader.
 
At six, you impress me to no end at what you’ve learned and what you’re learning. You’ve formed opinions about the world like Disney World is the coolest place on the planet, next to Utah, of course, and you have it all at your finger tips. I’ve never seen someone so welcome of adventure in all of my life. When you were born, you stayed awake for hours. To the point that even the nurses commented on how they’d never seen a newborn sleep less than you. To this day, bedtime is a four letter word in your opinion. To you, it means you’ll miss something and in your eyes, there is no greater tragedy.
 
Over the last year, you’ve not only gotten taller….your legs really do go on for miles and miles, but your interests have expanded and we’ve finally gotten to witness what we assumed was the impossible. Which is you, sitting still, for more than 15 minutes. You love to build with Lego’s and have taken an active interest in science. In the bath tub, you’ll mix potions and test what happens when you combine your “ingredients”. Even still, I catch glimpses of days gone by when you were merely months old and you’d stare intensely at objects trying to figure them out. You’re definitely still worthy of the nickname “the thinker” and we often catch you staring out the windows of the car thinking of who knows what all. My hope is that your thoughts reside on how limitless you are and how big the world really is. Because you’re big too, ya know. Big like the world.
 
Along with your interests, you’ve also shown dislike for very particular things. Like exercise. I so hoped that one day you might take up an interest in running and that you and I would compete in all sorts of races, but you’re showing me more and more just how much contempt you have for anything that causes you to exert too much effort. For instance, your bicycle. Apparently, it’s too hard to pedal and so you’re trying to give up on it. We’re pushing you, but you push right on back. While you’ve enjoyed martial arts, you seem to be pulling away from it as well and I only hope that we can keep you interested long enough for you to see the benefits you’ll receive from the art as you get older. Plus, if I get a Black Belt and you never do…how lame is that? You can’t let your own mother beat you in that game! 
 
Last night, you asked me to read you one of my favorite books, The Giving Tree and after we’d said our good nights, I realized just how appropriate that book is for a birthday. The story tells of a young boy that loved a tree and the tree loved him. And in his youth, the boy needed nothing else from the world but the companionship of the tree. His happiness wasn’t found in things, but rather the experience of the love he felt from simply being with the tree. As he grew older, his need for tangible objects grew stronger until the tree was no longer enough for him. He wanted money and a house and a boat….until he’d reached the end of his days to realize that none of those things helped him rekindle what it was that always made him happy. Truly happy. And so in the end, he returned to the tree, now a stump, just to sit.
 
And so it goes, that all any of us really need in this life to make us happy, is companionship. And through that companionship, a soft place to land. At 6 and at every year after, I hope you always know that. The things of this lifetime will wither away, but rest your hope and your heart in your relationships. And always know, that no matter how harsh the world may be. No matter the challenges life will throw your way. No matter the joy, triumph, success…no matter….at home, with us, you will always have just that. A soft place to land.
 
And just like that…I think we renamed the blog.
 
Happy birthday, my son.
 
All my love,

What dreams may come

Kneeling before a dresser, putting away laundry, I took a pause to notice my surroundings. The dresser, white. The laundry, white. My clothing, white. The floor, glass.

I gazed through the floor at what was beneath me and gasped at how familiar the person below me seemed, but went back to putting the laundry away. The drawers began to pump rhythmically, like a heart beat, causing me great difficulty at completing my task and yet I was not annoyed. I continued at a steady pace, until I glanced below me once again as I realized.

The familiar person beneath me...myself. Laying on a floor with people surrounding me. One pounding away on my chest to revive me as the others looked on in astonishment. It took only a moment for my senses to come back to me to realize what was happening. I was above myself watching the life drain out of me.

A presence caught my attention and I looked up to see a man, also dressed in white, standing before me. Without pause, he put his hand out, and without words, I knew that it was time. Time to go. My task was complete.

As I reached for his hand, I knew that I had to ask, so I did "I just have one question."

He nodded and smiled, as if he knew what I was going to ask.

"Is it a girl or a boy?"

"Girl"

I took one last look at myself before I looked away.

And it was then, that I woke up.

When I woke this morning, I reached for my glasses so I could see exactly where I was. The dream had been so vivid that I felt for sure, I must be in the hospital, finally coming to after what must have been a near death experience. But there I lay, in my own bed, awake after a very vivid dream.

What strikes me most about last night's dream is not the content of it, although it isn't every day that you stand over yourself watching a passerby give you CPR. What strikes me most is how much peace I felt with leaving. I've often prayed that I'd be able to live a full life to watch my children grow up, to see them live out what we can only hope will be a normal and happy life. To one day hold grandchildren and know what it's like to have a head full of wisdom from all those life experiences. I cling to hopes and prayers that I'm living like I should, leaving a legacy of good. Trying with all my might to put the things I should at the top of my to-do list. You know...the stuff that really matters. I regularly contemplate on whether or not my family knows just how much I love them. Do my actions speak in such a way that even though I tell my children that I love them, that I never have to say it, because they know. Does my husband go to sleep at night or reflect on our marriage and know that every other beat of my heart speaks his name? Do my parents, my sisters, my friends all know it too?

I'm not sure we can ever say it enough. There's even a point of saying it so much that we risk it losing the intensity with which we mean it.

But in my dream...in the moment before I walked away, there was peace. There was no worry that I didn't leave things left undone, because when it's my time, it's my time. And in my Maker's huge and wonderful plan, He'll take me when He feels like I'm done.

I'm sure I'll go back to contemplation at some point when this dream becomes a distant memory, but for now, I feel safe and content in knowing without even so much as a shadow of a doubt, that when I do pass on, there will be good and I hope all that anyone remembers is a smile and great love.

Waving flags

When we first found out about baby #3, I could say with all honesty that I really didn't have a preference for gender. If it was a boy, that would be fantastic because we're good with boys. We are well familiar with the...ahem science...of little boys. We barely bat an eye when Hayden or Sebastian does something that causes others to say "Did you know your son is....?" We can chalk up the strange and rowdy behavior that makes no sense, to the fact that they're boys and that's just what boys do. Boys keep life interesting and certainly know how to keep a Momma on her toes.

If it was a girl, well, although foreign, it sure would be neat to see how the other half live. Little girls are sweet and pink and frilly and from the strict standpoint of sewing and fabric, girl fabrics are fun!!!!

But truthfully, I really didn't care. I remember with both of the boys, I wanted a girl so bad I could taste it. In all honesty, when I found out that Sebastian was a boy, I sort of wanted to cry. That sounds horrible, I know, but that was the reality of my emotion at the time. Now, moving forward, I look at Sebastian and I cannot imagine if he were a girl. He was meant for our family, just as Hayden was. The way our family has been crafted by the Lord Himself is nothing but perfection and it's just the way it was meant to be. It's the first time in my life that I finally got it and could say with pure honesty that God would give us exactly what He needed us to have.

But then, last night, we took a little family trip to Babies 'R Us looking at a new car seat for Sebastian. I wish I could play back for you the exchange between two little boys over all things pink. I tried to interject with a blue and brown teddy bear, with a "Look at this boys! Isn't this cute?!" But I was totally dismissed and they went straight back to pink.

"Hayden, do you really want a sister?" I asked.
"YES! Yes, yes!" He answered practically jumping up and down. "Lord, please, please, please make the baby in Mommy's tummy a girl!"

And just like that my heart started to burn pink. My heart ached like it did millions of times before, wishing and praying that we might have the chance to....dare I say it?....have a daughter?

But not for the reasons I ever wanted it before. All for them. For these boys that are dreaming with every fiber of their being that they'd get a sister.

Beyond that, I know that God will continue to craft our family as it was meant to be and regardless of what's cooking in my belly at the moment, it'll be perfect in more ways than I could ever imagine.

And hopefully, I'll find my peace again, but for now, I suppose I am waving a pink flag over on the blue team.