I Love You; Even On The Bad Days

Posted on August 1, 2015

Today was horrible. It was one of those days where you just feel like you can’t get ahead. Nothing you do is right for anyone; everyone is a little “off” and your two-year-old is extra two, if you know what I mean.

We had errands to run today in preparation for our family trip to Oregon. I decided to break  tradition and head to Target (I typically avoid that place like the plague because I’m pretty sure they do ritualistic voodoo magic on a daily basis that makes it so you enter into a trance when you walk through the doors and you buy everything you see instead of the hand lotion you went in for) to dig through their ‘dollar spot’ items to find toys for the kiddos to play with during our 13.5 hour road trip. (Heaven help us all)

Horrible happening number one:
I finally experienced one of my biggest mama fears and momentarily lost a child. Guess which one it was? Yeah, that’s right, Samuel sensed a rare moment of simulatenous weakness in both parents and bolted while we were deciding which sticker books to invest a dollar in.

It took him all of two minutes to slip past us.

We split up. We looked down every single one of the surrounding isles. We listened and thought we heard him three or four different times, but it was always someone else’s child. Finally, I told an employee and he asked me for a description and all of a sudden I had this horrible vision of needing to describe my child to the police because it had been two days and we still didn’t have him and that made my mind go completely blank and I couldn’t even remember what I’d dressed him in that morning.

I finally had to just tell him he was two and blond. So. Awesome. That’s a really great description of just about every child in Utah. Still waiting for my Mom of the Year award to arrive.

But then, huzzah! Someone answered his radio call and said they were pretty sure they’d found him, but that they couldn’t coax him out from under the clothing racks. We followed them to the opposite corner of the store where he’d apparently traveled in under two minutes. (how. just. how.) And there he was! My super naughty; beaming blond, who was absolutely bursting with pride and delight at the circumstances which found him surrounded by five to six Target employees who were all giving him love and attention.

Sigh.

Horrible happening number two:
Movie night.

Worst. Decision. Ever. I should have known it was bound to fail from the beginning. Why, oh why did we think it would be a good idea to blow up the air mattress and set up ‘camp’ and simultaneously eat popcorn?

First of all, the popcorn burned in random places throughout the bag. There was no reason for this. My theory is that sometimes God uses literary devices such as foreshadowing in our lives. So the burnt popcorn should have been a clue.

Second of all, I don’t know what you know about 2 and 4 year olds, but they really like to bounce. So. An air mattress. And popcorn.

Thirdly, no two-year-old will ever care about Katniss Everdeen. No matter how much popcorn you offer.

So, we’d settled into a full five minutes of the movie and we’d already told the children about 800 times that we’re not bouncing on the air mattress and we’d already picked up approximately 900 pieces of popcorn that had gone sailing through the air on accounta all the rebellious bouncing and whatnot.

So then Daddy really laid it down thick and told them both that he was about to just send them to bed. Well, that made Samuel cry, but the problem was that Samuel also had his mouth full of chewed up, nasty Oreo that he had been eating at the table, but in order to more quickly get back to his jumping, he’d crammed it into his mouth and clambered up the couch where he now sat, open-mouthed wailing about being told he couldn’t jump. So a big wad of chewed-up Oreo landed on my white ‘we-didn’t-anticipate-children-when-we-bought-it’ couch.

Not to worry! I just bought new fabric cleaner. So we sprayed a ton of that on there. But hang on, it wasn’t foamy. Why? Oh, just because the thing I’d thought was fabric cleaner when I bought it turned out to be fabric protectant instead. Awesome.

Miraculously, Dawn dish detergent did the trick, though, so we were back in business! Or so we thought.

Now Luke was sticky, so he took a chair over to the kitchen sink to wash his hands. While he was busy doing that, Shem and I settled back into the movie for about thirty seconds. Suddenly, we heard a panicked Samuel calling for us. In exasperation, we looked at each other and got ready to complain about not being able to actually sit down and watch the movie when we realized that Samuel’s panic was turning into screams of pain.

Horrible happening number 3:
We both jumped up as quickly as we could. Shem is a champ and got there first and I followed right behind to help assess the situation. Chaos reigned. Shem was so frustrated by this point, that he couldn’t even tell me what had happened. The movie was playing obnoxiously in the background and was creating this horrific background noise that added to the level of confusion and frustration. Shem took our very distraught Samuel to the sink and put his feet under cool water and still couldn’t tell me what happened.

I went to find the remote and turn the movie off and in the (relative) quiet that followed, I finally found out that Samuel had climbed up the chair that Luke had left at the sink; had climbed into the sink and had then turned the water on full blast hot and was burning his feet. He couldn’t figure out how to turn the water off or how to get down, so he was just stuck there with the steaming water scalding his toes.

I took the sobbing Samuel and continued to hold his toes in the cool water while I cuddled him and taught him about the hot water. Luckily, (and also not luckily, because Shem had gotten to him in about 1.3 seconds) his toes weren’t badly burned. It was a very temporary injury which was a tender mercy, because I don’t think my mama heart could have taken much more at that point.

So it was definitely bedtime.

We read stories and said prayers and sang songs and said goodnight and then

Horrible happening number 4:
Shem and I got into an enormous fight because of all the residual stress and mess and disappointment of the night.

It was the worst. I hate fighting with him more than I hate fighting with anyone, and that is saying a lot because I avoid conflict like I avoid drinking floaties in water.

It’s all better now. We talked and kissed (sort of, but not really because we had to speak on the phone while he drove to work) and made up and the day is over and now I get to go to bed. Which, let me tell you, is a very exciting prospect. But before I sleep, I just had to write this all down and get it all out there.

This is life. It’s messy and sometimes it’s ugly and tragic and horrible. Being a mom is the worst and the best all at the same time. Being married is hard and spectacular simultaneously. Some days are just perfect; sometimes everything works out. And some days you lose your kid, spill burnt popcorn all over the living room, don’t finish one single load of laundry, can’t finish ten minutes of a movie, barely save your child from melting his own feet off and end it all in tears because you lost your temper with the love of your life.

But it’s all wonderful. All of it. Even the burned popcorn and the singed toes. It’s all important. It all means something.

I had this moment tonight, while I was reading stories to my babies before bed, where they both laid their little heads on my shoulders and snuggled into me. So quiet and at peace with their world; no idea that this day had been kind of a disaster. And I just thought, “This is why I do this. I do all of this for these moments when the world sort of stops and I get to watch these little lives I’ve created do these spectacular things, or I get to settle in for a really good night-time snuggle, or I get to be the person the little one needs when he’s scaled his feet.”

I absolutely love it. I love this life. I love my husband and my babies.

I love them all; even on the bad days.

The Birds and the Bees and the Zoo

Posted on July 27, 2015

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We went to the zoo this weekend! I think it was the first time I’ve taken my kids to the zoo during the day. This last winter, we went to the Christmas event at the Salt Lake City zoo called “Zoo Lights” which was actually kind of awesome because all the nocturnal animals were partying it up since it was night time. But this time we had the bona fide zoo experience and it was pretty fantastic.

We were taking my youngest sister up to Idaho to stay with my brother and his wife for the week and we’d decided to spend the day with them while we were down there. So we found a cute, little zoo in Idaho Falls. It was the perfect size; not so crowded that you couldn’t get close enough to the enclosures to actually see the animals, and not so small that it only had birds and squirrels. (Shout out to CALM, in Bakersfield, CA. Look it up)

We did all kinds of fun, zoo things:

I put my head into the mouth of a lion.

We got to watch and smell the penguins being hand-fed some very dead fish.

The boys rode a tiger.

They also fed some goats, but I didn’t get a picture of that because I was too busy being super concerned that Samuel was playing in the sand that the goats were also pooping in.

And boy, howdy were the monkeys active that day! One of them came right up to the glass to check us out and pretty much scared the pants off of Samuel. (Okay, and maybe also me a little bit.)

But the highlight of our trip came in the form of a quick biology lesson for a crowd of probably 15 children to enjoy.

Samuel is kind of into lions lately, so I’d been looking forward to showing him real life lions. Towards the end of the day, we finally found the ‘big cats’ section of the zoo and rounded the corner to the lion pen. But just as I started to lift Samuel up to see over the wall, I noticed that the daddy lion was feeling kinda lonesome and so he thought it was high time he created some new little lion friends to join he and his lovely she-lion friend in captivity.

These are some of the conversations I heard:

“Mommy, what’s that lion doing?”
“He’s just… giving her a hug, honey. So… Let’s go.”

“What’s happening, mom?”
“Um. I think the girl lion is in the boy lion’s spot, so he’s trying to move her.”

“Dad, is that lion mad at the other lion?”
“…Yes.”

Luckily, I didn’t have to participate in any of these awkward conversations (and really, it’s probably lucky for the parents around me because I tend to be pretty blunt in these types of situations and apparently a sex-ed lesson wasn’t on the agenda that day) because both of my kids are too short to see over the wall without parental aid! Huzzah for the short gene!

I have never seen a lion enclosure clear out faster.

Lucky for us, the she-lion was NOT in the mood (maybe she’d had a long day.. or maybe she had a headache.. OR maybe she didn’t want to do the baby dance in front of a live audience. Sheesh. He-lions. Can’t live with ’em; can’t propagate the species without ’em.) so she basically threatened to rip the randy lion’s face off if he didn’t cease and diciest immediately and he took her pretty seriously. So we got to see the lions after all.

Samuel was happy. I was happy. The she-lion was happy. We were all pretty much happy! Except, of course, for the he-lion WHO by the way was also forced to stare at the Zebras right across from him all day long without ever being able to taste one.

Swimming Lessons Are a Tool of Satan

Posted on July 20, 2015

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Luke started swimming lessons today. And if you ask him about them, he will happily inform you that they were “so much fun!” and that he “can’t wait to go back and swim more tomorrow!”. Which is wonderful! Except for the parts where it’s horrifying.

Disclaimer: these are the first of any type of lesson or group sport or extra-curricular activity I’ve ever had a kid participate in. Luke and I are still journeying through so much uncharted territory together and every time he experiences a ‘first’, I’m experiencing his first right there with him. I thought I had this whole parenting thing down once I figured out how to go grocery shopping with two kids by myself. But then Satan was like, “JK. Swim lessons are coming. Good luck.”

So here’s how it all went down:

10:45- Run down our last minute check list: Diapers, wipes, snacks for the little one, towels, swimsuit and swim diapers in case Samuel is allowed in at some point, sunscreen. Done. Oh. It’s pouring rain? No problem. Samuel and I were actually hoping we’d be sitting beside a pool in just exactly this type of weather today! Swap sunscreen for umbrella. Bam.

11:00-Arrive. No parking available unless I have the driving skills of either Dale Earnhardt Jr. or my husband, which I don’t. Find street parking instead.

11:02- *Rain miraculously stops* Unload both children and all of our junk (sans sunscreen)

11:04- Look around for some sort of sign or person indicating where I should be going. Walk tentatively up to the door. See no sign. Have a vivid waking dream about knocking on the door and having a grumpy old man who is tired of seeing his house used for swimming lessons answer and bark at me that business isn’t conducted at his front door. Back away slowly. Find a sign that says “Pool”. Assume that I should follow that thing.

11:05- Walk into an enormous and very beautiful backyard. Don’t immediately see a pool, but hear children screaming in the background. Feel. Reassured?

11:05and a half- Screaming child gets louder and is very obviously experiencing some sort of distress while simultaneously splashing. Sense of foreboding increases.

11:06- Arrive at the pool! See 4 or 5 kids about Luke’s age. Walk through the gate and glance around at the adults; none of whom seem to be in charge. Spot a woman with a clipboard. Assume she’s probably official in some capacity. Receive no instruction from her, but proceed to assume that Luke can jump into the pool next to his class.

11:07- Luke starts to repeatedly dunk himself under the water because he’s so excited about his new-found ability to ‘dive’. Still no adult has talked to me or asked what my child’s name is. But I trust them all to keep him alive for the next 30 minutes…apparently.

11:08-Pull Samuel away from the pool edge. He’s not super happy about that and tells me, “Mama! I jump!” and I have to explain to him that he’s too young to die, etc.

11:09- Pull out the animal crackers. Wonder if they’ll kick me out for having food near the pool. Glance around for a sign that says “No food”. Don’t see one. Still have no contact with an adult.

11:15-Have the pants scared off me while Luke continues to insist that he has to go under the water every three seconds.

11:16- His teacher saves his life.

11:17- His teacher saves his life again. My faith in her increases.

11:18-His teacher is helping another kid so I’m watching mine like a hawk and having a vivid waking dream where I’m jumping in the pool to save his life in my salmon pink skinny jeans and driving home sopping wet.

11:19- Animal crackers are no longer a worthy distraction. The little one hops off my lap and starts throwing pool noodles around like some sort of wild animal. The grandma next to me gives a friendly chuckle which makes me feel better about my parenting skills. I then point the 2-year-old over to the swing set on the other side of the pool gate.

11:25- Luke practices floating on his back. I cheer loudly, give him a thumbs up and then realize I’m going to be a really embarrassing mom when he’s older. But for now he just beams at me. So all is good.

11:27- Samuel comes back from the swings and wants to “jump” again. I pull out the trusty animal crackers. He is appeased.

11:30- Free swim. The teacher hands Luke a pool noodle, folds it in half and shows him that it will help him float. His eyes sparkle at this new-found independence and I have a mini-heart attack because now he’s just swimming around the pool with nothing but a noodle between he and a watery grave and there are 5 additional 4-year-olds being watched by one teacher.  And now Samuel is bored.

11:35- Luke swims to the deep end. I call his name. He ignores me. I call his name again. He ignores me again. I quickly help Samuel take his shoes and socks off and tell him he can put his toes in the water. He agrees enthusiastically. We walk to the deep end and I ask Luke to please swim back over to his class and then re-fold his pool noodle which was barely keeping him afloat at this point because it had somehow become only one layer of noodle. He feels pretty cool about this whole ‘swimming with nothing but a noodle’ thing. I reassure him that he IS pretty cool for swimming with nothing but a noodle.

11:37- I hesitantly make the decision to let Samuel get into the water.

11:38- I instantly regret my decision when I notice how narrow the steps are. I really don’t want to live the reality of that day-dream where I’m in soaking wet, pink pants. But there’s no going back at this point; Samuel is way too thrilled about being in the water.

11:39- I now have two children in the water while I’m out of the water. Satan is laughing somewhere, I can feel it.

11:40- A nice old man who had been teaching the advanced swim class comes and offers to take Samuel for a swim. He loves it.

11:45- The instructor blows the whistle to indicate that free swim is over and everyone needs to get out.

11:45and a half- I feel like a survivor. Samuel is pretty distraught about having to get out so soon. Some of the adults comment on how much he must love swimming. That ice-breaker enables the lady with the clipboard and I to have our first actual conversation wherein I realize my checkbook had fallen out of my backpack earlier. But she wasn’t worried about it and said it’d be fine for me to pay next time.

12:00- We drive home. I listen to Luke chatter about how much fun he had and tell him how close he is to being able to swim without a floaty and he is genuinely thrilled.

…worth it! In yo’ face, Satan!

Motherhood: Battling the Unmaker

Posted on July 13, 2015

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Entropy:
Noun
1. Lack of order or predictability; gradual decline into disorder.
…or…
2. Toddlers.

I’ve been thinking about the principle of entropy a lot lately. My dad was the king of inventing games and then using those games to introduce his kids to highly advanced theories and scientific principles. We used to play a game called “Rock, Paper, Scissors, Screwdriver” where you basically pick anything in the entire world -theoretical principle, idea, person, place, thing, etc.- and then have a five to ten minutes debate about why your item of choice beats everyone else’s item of choice.

One time, my dad chose entropy. After he taught us what it was, we collectively banned it’s use. Because, hi. That’s cheating.

I started a really good book series a couple of weeks ago. Orson Scott Card’s, “Alvin Maker” series. I just finished Book One: Seventh Son. It’s wonderful and I highly recommend it. The ultimate Boss Level bad guy in that series is called the “Unmaker” which, in my imagination, is basically the equivalent of entropy. It desires to ‘unmake’ everything and turn it into nothing; disorder, chaos. Alvin Maker, if you couldn’t guess, is sort of his arch nemesis.

I relate to Alvin Maker.

Because my kids are tiny Unmakers.

Examples?

The laundry.
All I want to do is make clean clothes for everyone. And fold them and put them all neatly away. All the tiny Unmakers want to do is spread it all around on the floor, wad it all into tight little balls to see how wrinkly they can make it, and see how far they can throw each individual sock across the room. (Spoiler: It’s far.)

Dinner.Pretty straight forward…I’d like to make dinner. Preferably a dinner that my kids will actually eat, but at the least a meal that I can put in front of them to assuage myself of any potential blame that may come my way right before bed when they inform me that they’re both ‘starving’. The Unmakers? They want to “help”. I’m pretty sure that word is just their way of lulling me into complacency so that they can get up close and personal in order to more effectively destroy the entire kitchen.

Cleaning.My goal: to clean. Their goal: to make new messes while I’m busy cleaning up the decoy messes.

Bath Time.It seems so simple; I’d like to get the kids clean and keep the water in the bathtub. Theirs is more of a three step process. Step 1. Run around butt-neked. Step 2. Either a) stay dirty OR b) dump the entire bottle of baby soap on their heads in an attempt to ‘help’ -there’s that word again- get clean. Step 3. There are bonus points for every liter of water that ends up on the bathroom floor, apparently. Maybe it was a bad call for me to give them a bucket as a bath toy. *ponders*

So, you see…we are at odds my Unmakers and I. They are entropy. I am the attempt at creating order in the chaos. We wage daily battles. Sometimes I lose, sometimes they lose. Mostly, I take my victories while they’re asleep and then I wait for the wakeful state wherein they will promptly undo all I’ve done.

Occasionally I see glimpses of their potential as future Makers. They seem to be Makers-in-training as it were. The older Luke gets, the less entropic he becomes. (Entropic. It’s a word.) From time to time, I can enlist him to engage in battle against the lead Unmaker in our house, and from time to time he successfully resists the urge to get sucked into the alluring prospect of destruction. It’s a beautiful thing.

And I take comfort in the fact that in the end, I will ultimately emerge victorious. I mean, if you think about it…I Made the Unmakers for crying out loud. And I’m Making them INTO Makers. So you see, in the face of all that Making, there’s no way the Unmakers can succeed.

*Adopts this as a new daily mantra and repeats as needed*

#TheDress

I know that whole 'dress debacle' is old news at this point, but while it was a hot topic, I had this super profound realization and I meant to blog about it, but I've been sucked into Bones for the last couple of months which has rendered me useless at nap time. Lucky for you, however, I am currently sitting next to an enormous mountain of laundry that I need to fold and I thought I'd do that while watching Bones today. So naturally, I'm blogging instead.

So. You remember THE DRESS. Right? Black and blue... or white and gold? And when it first came out, I was absolutely convinced that it was some elaborate prank that half of the world was in on and that somehow I was in the half of the world that had missed the memo. Because clearly that dress was white and gold. Like. Clearly. So, I showed my husband and when he said, without hesitation, that it was white and gold I made up my mind about the whole thing and wrote it completely off as a prank. Until it happened. I was scrolling through my Facebook and yet another image of that darn dress popped up, but before I'd scrolled completely away from it my husband said, "Oh! There's one of it in black and blue."

..What..

It was the same image, you guys. THE SAME IMAGE.

I stared at him in disbelief and pointed to the picture again, "This dress? This dress right here you're telling me is black and blue?"

"Yeah. They've altered that one or something so it's black and blue."

"Babe. This is the same exact picture. Wait. You're telling me that when you look at this picture of a gold and white dress that it actually appears to be black and blue to you?"

"Stop. You're messing with me."

"YOU are messing with ME!!"

"Seriously babe, stop. Is this a joke or something...?"

I stared at him some more. My mouth was getting dry from all the hanging open it had been doing in the last few minutes. So I scrambled to find the first picture I'd shown him of the stupid dress.

"THIS dress...this one right here that is clearly white and gold...this dress you are telling me you see the colors black and blue??" I was starting to freak out a little bit because my husband is a horrible liar. The. Worst. Liar. And I knew he wasn't lying. He was actually seeing black and blue. And no matter how hard I stared at it, I could NOT figure out where anyone was seeing either one of those colors.

So he stared at the picture for a little while. "Woah. Babe. This is trippy. I CAN SEE BOTH."

It was then that I became really obsessed. Because I knew beyond a doubt that it was actually possible to see the colors black and blue and that the people who could see black and blue weren't all just in it for the attention or something...they could actually see those colors. AND I NEEDED TO BE ABLE TO SEE THOSE COLORS, YOU GUYS!

I watched countless numbers of youtube videos explaining the phenomenon. I read a dozen articles. I scrolled through hundreds of pictures of the dress and watched as people played with photo shop to change the colors and then finally...finally...that dang dress was black and blue. I can now officially see that thing in both white and gold AND black and blue and I can't even tell you how relieved I felt when that moment finally clicked.

And THAT is when I had a realization: life IS the dress. You guys. I'm serious. Life is the dress!!

You all have read those debates in comment sections of political bloggers, or on the Facebook pages of your friends and families where both parties involved are passionately positive that their point-of-view is the one that reflects the truth and they absolutely cannot begin to see how/why the members of the opposing school of thought could possibly not see what they are seeing. Sometimes, you've probably even felt like someone who has different ideologies than you must be joking and that there's no other explanation for their irrational opinions. And here's the thing: even though that dress is, in reality, black and blue...the important thing is that it legitimately can be seen both ways. And people who saw it white and gold weren't wrong...in that picture, the colors white and gold could be seen. And people who saw it black and blue weren't wrong because those colors are also visible. IT CAN BE SEEN BOTH WAYS.

I submit to you that almost every single issue can be seen in different lights because every single issue is being viewed through a different lens. We all see the world through filters of our experiences, struggles, triumphs, and growth and because each person has a different combination of those things, each person has a different lens through which they view the world. The world I see is not the same world as the one my husband sees. Though we tend to see things similarly; you just stick around for one of our arguments that is completely based in misunderstanding, and you'll get a fantastic glimpse into the ways that our lenses differ.

It's changed the way I think about politics. I'm not even lying. When a Facebook friend of mine posts something that initially makes me go, "Oh BROTHER. There's no way that people actually believe that." I try and take a step back and look at it from a different angle. Nine times out of ten, I can see the other side of the argument. I can understand where they're coming from. My respect for them increases and I can see it, too. Of course, I'm usually still pretty sure that I'm seeing the "right" colors...but just the fact that I can "see" their colors makes everything so much better.

Assume that people aren't ignorant! Assume that there are legitimately several ways to look at a problem. Try to look through their lens for a minute and honestly, I think you'll be surprised when you can legitimately see the white and gold.

So It Begins

Once upon a time, Shem and I got married. And riiiiight after we got married (surprise!) we found out we were expecting! Even though I was a little nervous and worried about how our baby would change our plans, I was beyond thrilled. I'd always, always, always wanted to be a mama and from the very beginning, I couldn't wait to meet my Luke.

But then, something happened that would scar me for years to come: right at the very beginning of my pregnancy, Shem and I were given callings at church to work with the three-year-old class in primary. (dun, dun, duuuuun... Sunbeams) It was then that I made a startling and terrifying discovery: I do not like three-year-olds. At all. And I'm sorry if you have a three-year-old who is super precious and awesome, I promise it's nothing personal and as SOON as they turn four (maybe five...) I'll like them again, but for now, I'm just not a fan. (Disclaimer: I have been known on occasion to like certain three-year-olds. Almost without fail, those ones have been girl ones. But if you have a three-year-old, just assume that he/she is probably an exception and I really love him/her. *butIreallyprobablydon't*)

So. This was a problem for the following reasons:

1. I had to figure out how to not hate church because for a two hour period every single Sunday, I had to figure out how to get a room full of THREE-YEAR-OLD children to sit still and be reverent and learn about Jesus. For two hours. While I was also puking intermittently because I was GROWING A FUTURE THREE-YEAR-OLD. Which brings us to number

2. I don't know if you people have made this connection yet or not, but in the very moment that I discovered that I didn't like three-year-olds, I also realized that the very precious life growing inside me would...in time...become a three-year-old.

Suddenly, life hit a fast-forward button and brought me here. To this place. Where I sit next to my three-year-old. Who is watching Caillou. Who is a perfect example of everything that is wrong with three-year-olds. Which is worrisome, because I'm pretty sure that Caillou is actually four. Will it ever end??

Okay, and granted, it's true that the fact that Luke is MY three-year-old makes just about everything better about our interactions, but it does not make it easier. In some ways, it makes it harder because. He lives with me. And I have to keep him alive. And psychologically undamaged. 24/7. As opposed to two hours once a week.

Slowly, ever so slowly, behaviors have begun making their terrifying appearance in our lives that suggest that he is everyday becoming more and more three and less and less two. Examples, you ask?

Yesterday, he decided green beans were the end of his life. Thirty minutes the battle raged on between Luke and Mama and...Luke won. How? How could a kid out-stubborn me, you ask? Oh, because he puked up all of his lunch. So we got to clean up barf after having already waged war for half and hour! And he STILL never ate the last green bean! Hooray!

Another example? Glad you asked.

Today, he decided it would be really funny to hide my phone between the couch cushions. "Luke, keep mama's phone on top of the couch, please." To which Luke responded by making purposeful eye contact with me, pausing for about a minute and then shoving the phone deeper into the cushions with an expression that clearly said, "You don't know me. You don't know my life." and I think he flipped me off with his eyes.

So that's my life now. Also, saving Samuel from traumatic experiences involving big brother's on top of him every five minutes. And saying 'no' so many times, it has stopped sounding like a word. And sighing Luke's name more times than I say Luke's name. It's good times!

BUT! We've had several break throughs over the last couple of days. I feel like I'm going to be a seasoned pro by the time we go through this stage with Samuel. Which is really a good thing because by the look of it, Samuel is going to be about fifty times as stubborn and strong-willed as Luke is.

Small victories:
-I'm getting the hang of the whole 'deep breath and count to ten' concept and I didn't raise my voice ONE time today. Which I really think made all the difference because Luke had a pretty excellent day today compared to previous days when I've lost it... Sigh. Good thing kids are so resilient because patience, unfortunately, takes practice.

-I tried a modified version of an idea my dad gave me to help him feel like trying a scary looking food wasn't so intimidating and it totally worked! He ate lunch AND dinner today and we barely had a fight over it. I was so excited, I almost cried. Because guys. The pasta literally was green because it was avocado sauce and broccoli. AND HE ATE IT!

-I've realized that I need to think about him more positively thanks to some ideas my mom gave me indirectly. So I've been working extra hard at pointing out all his wonderful qualities and making a big deal out of the things he does that are good. (And dang it, I'm telling you, there's never been a better three-year-old sharer. He's got that down. Mostly.)

-I read some articles that gave a lot of good ideas for how to talk to your toddler and remembered how important it is to give pre-schoolers choices so they can feel empowered in their world. I also got new ideas about how/when to offer choices. I feel like I have more tools in my belt now.

Luke is SUCH a good boy. Even as a three-year-old. He's just so smart and so capable and he's lots of fun to watch grow. I am head-over-heels for that kid and I'm excited to make it through this year alive and well. He's so responsive when I figure out what it is he needs and he's really pretty easy to figure out. I'm so grateful for the internet at times like these because after dedicating nap-time to doing research, I feel like he's exuding completely age-appropriate behaviors and that developmentally, he's right on track. And I have a deepened understanding as to the why behind his behaviors which helps me navigate through them.

Who knows? Maybe as I get to know what makes my three-year-old tick, I'll be better equipped to deal with other people's three-year-olds and it'll make me love them!

...maaaaaybe.

The Big Move

Well, friends. We've done it. We're here. We're settled. We officially live in Bountiful, Utah in our own little place and we are loving (almost) everything about it!

I can't tell you in language strong enough how glad I am that I'm not in the process of moving any more. My life isn't in boxes any more! We're not living in someone else's house! I don't have to lift heavy things every single day! If you need to borrow a stapler...wait for it..I CAN FIND THE STAPLER! Life. Is. Good.

Moving away from home has to have been one of the hardest things I've ever done in my life. (I know, right...cush life.) No, really, though...driving away from our home in Bakersfield, with all of our worldly possessions loaded in the back of a truck, was maybe the single hardest things I've ever had to make myself do. It physically hurt to push the gas pedal. And let me tell you: literally and figuratively, that drive has never been longer. Between an enormous moving truck that could barely push 75 mph, two kids two and under, and such a badly broken heart it's amazing I was functioning, that drive felt about seven months long. But then a miracle happened! We got to Bountiful, had a good night's rest and I have been happy and full of peace every since. I have no doubt that the Lord has been working in me and has granted me the peace I've had every single day since we've gotten here and I have no doubt that it's because Shem and I were called to move here. I don't know why, yet, but I know that this is where we're supposed to be.

Our family is very blessed to have such amazing and selfless people on both my side and Shem's. We couldn't have made this move a possibility without help on both ends and they all went above and beyond to help us get to this point. Shem's parents were so generous and let us stay with them for almost three months while Shem learned the ropes at his new job and we waited for a good place to open up.

That brings me to the next miracle: Our new place.

Let me just tell you...this apartment could not be more perfect. First of all, we didn't even have to look for a place, really. This place was recommended to us by my brother and sister-in-law who lived here fifteen years ago and loved it and told us that we should look into living here because they're really affordable (I'm talking super affordable, here, guys) so several weeks after moving here, we came by the complex and asked if there were any openings. There weren't, but we were told to fill out an application and bring it back and when something opened up, they'd give us a call. Eventually we got around to doing that and I think just a week or so later we got a call from the manager telling us we'd just missed an opening (whiiiiich turns out to be a good thing...wait for it) but that she had one opening up in a month/month and a half and would we like to put a deposit down on it?

Now, you have to understand. I am on the more "A" side of type "B"...so while I've got a lot of type "B" in me, I've got enough "A" that the idea of dropping some serious coinage on a deposit for a place we'd never seen (and wouldn't see until we moved in) should have sent me into a tailspin, but strangely enough, aside from a tiny little "...but what if it's crappy?" moment, I was totally calm about it. I just had a feeling that this was where we were supposed to be. AND had a feeling that the timing was going to be perfect even though I was really hoping we could have gotten into our own place sooner. So I decided to be patient about getting into a space of our own, and also take a tiny leap of faith and put money down to secure our spot.

And heavenly days am I glad I did. I can't even tell you how much I love living here.

1. Laundry room. There is a laundry room. I have a washer and dryer. DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW GLORIOUS THIS IS? I don't have to drag my laundry anywhere anymore. It's just. I can't get over it. The sound of my washer going in the background while I'm finishing up various chores around the house is like sweet, sweet music to me.

2. Neighbors. Virtually all of the people living here are young families or newlyweds. There's a three-year-old boy who lives directly across the hall from us. He loves guns. I'm pretty sure it was love at first sight for Luke. The first day we moved in, we met like three different neighbors. Everyone has been super friendly and welcoming and it's awesome. Basically.

3. Location. I can walk virtually anywhere. The grocery store is down the street. So are the gas station, the dollar store, books stores, clothing stores, and the recreation center where we take the kids swimming and Shem and I work out. But we're still tucked back enough that we're not right in the middle of all the crazy busy-ness. It feels like a neighborhood more than our old place did.

4. More traditional set-up inside. I liked our old place. There were so many good things about it. But it was a little bit of a quirky set up. It was kind of nice for having people over, but it didn't feel very homey. This place TOTALLY feels homey. I just love being here. I love how it's set up, I love how all our pictures look in the space, I love everything about the way it's been laid out. Though it's technically a smaller space, it FEELS bigger than our old place did.

5. Outside storage. We have TWO outside storage spaces for stuff we don't need to use all the time. Which is spectacular because that means all those tubs of baby clothes and holiday decor and camping stuff and tools and bikes and scooters are all out of the house. Huzzah!

6. Okay, guys, here it comes...the crazy, craziness that has made me feel like this was completely meant to be: we are in the EXACT SAME unit that my sister and brother-in-law lived in fifteen years ago. How crazy is that?? The timing had to be perfect in order for that to work out! I love the coincidence of it all!

Oh also, there's a pantry. And a walk-in closet for Shem and I. And pretty close to no cockroaches. (They spray the complex once every two months. Huzzah!) So, as you can see, this is basically the best place ever. And I love it.

I really do love living here in general. It's a really awesome city. And it's only fifteen minutes away from Salt Lake which is fabulous. I love Salt Lake. There are so many things to do there and it's this beautiful metropolis that I don't have to live in to enjoy it because Bountiful is so close. Things couldn't be better here.

Unless all my friends and family moved here. Then it'd be perfect.

I sure miss everyone there and I'm so grateful for Facebook. Trust me when I say I'm using it to stalk the crap out of everyone I love so that I can stay connected to you all.

Taking Stock/List Vomit

Over the last few days, I've found myself reevaluating my feelings about this blog. I've been afraid to post anything lately and I've been trying to figure out why that is. Okay, to be fair, I was working on a pretty cool little Easter post, but that got interrupted by the small ones. So maybe it's not entirely a matter of being afraid to post, per se, but still the point remains: I haven't been posting much. And part of the reason (the part I'd like to get over and will attempt to do through this post) is that I've become paralyzed by the amount of positive feed-back I've gotten when I've jotted down my thoughts surrounding a controversy or something really, super funny that happened to me.

I know that sounds backwards, but the problem has been that every time anything kind of funny happens or I get kind of opinionated about something, I think, "I could blog about that!" and then I immediately wonder if everyone will like it as much as they liked my previous posts. Well. That's a lot of things. Vain, self-centered, kind of stupid since only about 50 people ever read this blog, and a little cowardly. So I've taken a step back and thought about why I started this blog in the first place. Was it to garner the most comments I could? Was it to gain a large number of readers? No. Mostly, this blog was created to share my day-to-day life with friends and family who might find themselves interested. This blog is also something of a hobby for me. I've always enjoyed getting my thoughts out in written word (I've kept a journal since 2nd grade. I'm not exaggerating; I literally have 15 journals full of my past.) and doing it here allows me to also share my life with people which is something I'm very passionate about. (Life and people. Those are my two great loves)

I think somewhere in the back of my mind, I'd love to become a blogger and be paid for my musings, but that's going to take some serious research, soul-searching, and a level of creativity that  my brain probably doesn't have at the moment since so many of my brain cells have been dedicated to giving other humans life. SO. Conclusion: This blog is primarily a place for me and for my family and friends who so desire to read it. But I'm dropping the self-inflicted pressure and reclaiming this place! From this day forward, I vow to post primarily for my own enjoyment and not to get caught in the temptation of waiting to post until I have something "really good" in order to receive the most attention.

So, without further ado, I present one of my favorite entry-types: LIST VOMIT!

1. If I were to die in an unfortunate accident and become a ghost, doomed to wander the rooms of my home into eternity, I don't think I'd be very scary. I think I'd probably just hang out with whomever lived here and watch movies with them and stuff.

2. Samuel is now 10 months old and has been celebrating getting older by pulling himself up on EVERYTHING. He's very proud of himself.

3. He's also really obsessed with "What Does The Fox Say". He recognizes it the second it starts and the joy he experiences is actually maybe the cutest thing on the face of this earth. I need to record it sometime soon and post it because. Dang. That's some enthusiasm.

4. Luke is a ten-year-old in a two-year-old's body. He has recently started saying "Oh snaps!" and "What the heck?" with an impish grin because he thinks it makes him sound super cool. He wants to ride his scooter all day every day and watches Spiderman and the Avengers instead of Jake and the Neverland Pirates and Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood like a normal two-and-a-half-year-old. Sometimes I make him watch younger shows just to get a break from all the superheroes.

5. Every once in a while, I still experience a little tiny bit of PTSD from our car accident and have a teeny, tiny, 30-second panic attack that involves my becoming very sure that I'm going to forget what I'm experiencing as I'm driving somewhere and suddenly wake up in the hospital to be told I was in a horrific car accident. I used to get one every day, but they're getting fewer and further between the more that time goes by. It was really disturbing to wake up having forgotten the last two hours of my life. Really. Disturbing.

6. I'm getting healthy again! Slowly but surely. I took a little break from getting healthy aaaand...got a little bit unhealthy-er (are you shocked?) so this week I've gotten back off sugar and have been walking every day. Last night was raining, but it was also date night, so Shem and I got to go walk the mall together. Hooray for meeting goals!

7. It's going to be 97 degrees next Tuesday. Dear weather, thank you for providing me with another reason to be excited about moving to Utah.

8. You guys. I really love music. I mean, I REALLY do. I put on some classical music the other day while I was cleaning and. I just forgot how obsessed I am with that stuff. It's just so good. It made me want to go back and finish my music degree SO BADLY. So that's going to happen. Someday.

9. I took a break from Lord of the Rings to read Meg Meeker's book, "The Ten Habits of Happy Mothers" which I've decided is 'meh'. I mean, it's good, but you know how you sometimes read a book and you really connect with it? This one doesn't quite do that for me. I need to get back to Lord of the Rings because I AM DETERMINED TO FINISH THAT BOOK IN MY LIFETIME, YOU GUYS!

10. Today is Saturday, so to celebrate, we're going to make a fancy (healthy! -ish-) breakfast. Hooray!

OH! Bonus thing:
11. We've started a comment war on one of Michelle's Facebook posts that has now accumulated over 1,100 comments. All involved feel a sense of accomplishment.

Okay, that's it for now. I'm sure I'll be back at some point in the not-too-distant future.

An April Fool's Day Controversy and Why I Won't Take The Bait

Being as I pretty much adamantly hate controversy of any kind, and that I typically do all that I can to avoid it entirely, it's a little strange that I've decided my big blogging comeback should be so steeped in it. But I just can't take it anymore. I'm so beyond annoyed with this new-fangled 'campaign' slash 'agenda' that this past April Fools Day brought on that I have to get the thoughts out or I might implode. Literally. My body will be sucked into nothing and the only thing that will be left behind is a black hole of my aggravation which will devour everything in it's path. So ultimately, this blog entry will be doing the world a favor. You're welcome.

I've always been a border-line fan of April Fool's Day. I both enjoy being made to look foolish and making others look foolish. I find harmless, clever pranks highly entertaining, even when I'm at the receiving end. So you can imagine my dismay when I logged onto Facebook to find that several of my friends were posting a blog entry entitled "The Joke is Over" which is a very well-written entry responding to what the author believes is a very prevalent problem in social media: the posting of pregnancy announcements as April Fool's jokes.

I don't remember seeing this idea around last year. Maybe it was introduced prior to yesterday's festivities and I just happened to miss it, but from what I can remember, this is a new principal that many seem to be embracing this year. Several of my own Facebook friends got on the platform and stepped up to defend those amongst us who have suffered  infertility and child-loss and who are, undoubtedly, cowering in their homes, living in mortal fear of encountering this most offensive practical joke.

Okay. Disclaimer: OBVIOUSLY infertility and child-loss is no joke. I've already written about how much I fear experiencing those life trials. My heart experiences such an enormous amount of empathy for mothers who walk through these struggles, that I have literally been kept up at night, worrying and shedding tears on behalf of the people I've known who have known this type of loss. Therefore, the status update that would truly be in poor taste, would be one that purports to suffer these trials, only to reveal that (April Fools!) the author truly is expecting.

I won't mince words here: pretending you are pregnant on April Fool's Day is in no way an affront to those who cannot conceive. 

Let me say it in a different way, and I'll try and type slowly: It. Is. A. Joke.

Jokes can sometimes (virtually always, actually, depending on the listener) be offensive. But since when has our society taken the responsibility of other people's emotions into their own hands? Why is it our responsibility to molly-coddle and protect EVERYONE'S (completely varied) sensibilities?

We shouldn't talk about God in school. How would that make non-believers feel?
We shouldn't have Christmas trees in public. How could non-Christians possibly handle the attack?
Don't offer an expectant mother wishes that she will have an healthy child; that's an offense to those who aren't blessed with 'healthy' children.
And on that vain, if you use the word 'retarded', we're pretty sure there is a special circle of hell designed specifically for people like you.
OH! And please make sure your child brings enough allergy-free valentine's day treats to share with the entire class because we don't want anyone to have hurt feelings if they get fewer cards than the popular girl.

I mean, the list goes on and on and on and on...  If we are to ever truly achieve perfect kindness, we should simply never speak. Or have opinions. Or reward excellence. Or tell the truth. Or make a joke.  So... that sounds kind of boring. Also a little bit oppressive. But don't worry! I have a solution to the problem. Are you ready? Here it comes:

How about if we take ownership of OUR OWN SENSIBILITIES? 

Let me break this down for you in 2 easy steps:

1. If you don't like it, don't look at it. Example: If you don't like April Fools Jokes in social media, don't log onto social media on April 1st.

2. If it offends you, get over it. I know this one may seem kind of extreme, so let me give you a quick example from my own life: I was driving home the other day, listening to the comedy station on the radio (because I like the lolz). It just so happened that the routine that was playing was a very offensive and un-true attack on motherhood. The comedian asserted that mothers are ultimately lazy women who have taken 'the easy way out'. He claimed that the 'hard work' we are always alluding to is essentially just popping in a new DVD every few hours. (And why wouldn't we need a break after such an exhausting day? /sarc) I had two options: I could either whine and cry about how much he hurt my feel bads and undermined my entire life's work; or I could move forward, remaining confident in the knowledge of my reality and not give him power over me by allowing him to manipulate my emotions.

Why are we handing our power over like this? Why not, instead, claim control over our own emotions? Why are we allowing other's completely well-intentioned, harmless jokes to cause us such extreme distress that we have mommy-bloggers running to our aid and attacking those who post such an obviously politically incorrect prank?

Let's reclaim power over our feelings, shall we? Let's stop demanding that society take care of us. Let's take responsibility for our own lives and relish in the freedom that refusing to become offended will ultimately grant us.

And thus I have spoken.

It's Bin a Min

Apparently, I don't blog much any more. I'm not sure why I've been absent for so long. It used to be when something fantastic happened I'd think, "THAT is blogging material" and now I just think, "THAT was hilarious. ...is it nap time yet?" But realistically, I think I've just stopped blogging because I've started doing different things with my highly limited amount of free time. Here is a short list:

1. Call the Midwife. Michelle introduced me to this highly addictive and very grown-up show. I can't watch it while Luke is awake because he is crazy observant and super inquisitive and I'm really not ready for the conversation that would inevitably follow one of the tastefully handled, but all-too-realistic birth scenes.

2. Lord of the Rings. I have never finished the books. I feel like that makes me less of a bibliophile, so I've decided to remedy the situation. And I'm remembering WHY I've not finished it. I mean, there are some crazy good parts in that book and so many moments where I can't stop reading or biting my nails. And then there are the pages. And pages. And pages of descriptions of histories of locations and details about who settled what where and who fought what wars for which lands and what the lands look like and what they grow there and eat there and how the water sounds and if the sun is shining... But I will power through! If for no other reason, but that the scenes with the Black Riders are some of the most exciting bits of book I've ever read.

3. The Mormon Channel. I discovered this app and I'm kind of addicted. There are all kinds of amazing programs to listen to. You can pick from literally thousands of different shows or concerts or conferences. My favorite right now is a show called "Conversations" which is basically an interview with difference members of the church who offer a unique perspective; such as leaders or prominent church authors or performers. So. Good. I listen while I clean and pack and such.

4. Sorting through all of my stuff in preparation for The Big Move in June. Many of you probably know, my family and I are moving to the Beehive State after Samuel's first birthday (June 24th). So I've slowly begun the process of going through the collection of stuff that has been building up for the three years we've lived in this apartment. (Can you believe we've lived in this apartment for three years? I'm going to cry my eyes out when we leave. The vast majority of our marriage has been spent in this apartment; Luke and Samuel's entire lives; three different jobs for Shem; two for me. Dang.)

All that is to say that I've been doing different stuff lately. Not to mention the fact that before the miracle that has been crawling, I had a baby who had to be asleep in order for me to be able to blog because I either had to wear him and pace (which was convenient during Luke's naps because I could put on Call the Midwife and both he and I were extraordinarily happy) or hold him and nurse, neither of which are conducive to writing. Now, however, Samuel is currently very happily army-crawling his way around the living room, exploring every nook and cranny and trying to climb boxes and such. He is such a content baby now. Thank goodness for mobility!

So, hopefully circumstances will permit my return to the blogdom. Fingers crossed!

Hey, Do You Have My Cool? I Seem To Have Lost Mine.

So you guys. Here's a fun fact about yours truly: I HATE conflict. I hate it so much that I will be patient with you for an inordinate amount of time even if you're mean to me or call me names or insult me. I avoid confrontation at (almost) all costs. This is the story of today. When I didn't avoid it. Because I got so mad it made me feel like I had a little, angry alien baby fighting to get out of my stomach in order to strangle something.

So once upon a time, I got called out on my parenting by someone on facebook. Not once, not twice, not even three times. In fact, it was frequent enough that I kind of lost count. And got more and more annoyed about it. And finally, I snapped. Because my telling this person that "I feel good about the decisions I've made here" wasn't enough. They would not let it die. They continued to berate and quiz me on my knowledge of 'fill-in-chosen-parenting-style-here'. 

Here's how I decided to respond. If you should ever need one, this can be used as a form letter addressed to whoever it is in your life that feels like they should be raising your kids:

Dear Person Who Thinks They Have All The Answers,

Quite honestly, this is not about [fill-in-chosen-parenting-style-here] to me anymore; it's about the lack of confidence you seem to have in my ability to make informed decisions in regards to my children. I find it insulting that you feel the need to abrasively defend your point of view when I was never attacking your opinion; I was merely stating mine. It was fine for you to tell me what you believed about it at first, but when I countered by saying I'd made my mind up about this and felt in harmony with the Lord, it would have been nice for you to then just allow me to make my decision instead of continuing to challenge my choice.

This subject is not one that I'm as passionate about as you are, which results in my not being as thoroughly researched as you. I don't believe that because I haven't researched as much as you have in this area, that I am making an uninformed or unintelligent decision. There are many parenting methods out there that I choose not to practice even though 'research' has shown that it's the 'right' thing to do. I don't believe in absolutes. I believe that since every child and parent are different, results will vary regardless of whether or not you co-sleep or don't co-sleep or exclusively breast-feed or use formula or cry-it-out or don't. There is no one right way to parent.

The choice to [participate in 'fill-in-the-blank-parenting-style-here] is my choice to make. And I get to also choose HOW I make that choice. It's okay that you feel like I'm not in harmony with the will of the Lord because I haven't researched 'enough' or haven't landed on the same side as you have on this or other issues, but I just don't really want to hear about your disapproval. I am far too hard on myself in regards to parenting as it is and I don't need other people scrutinizing and disapproving of the decisions I make.

I know this comes across as being harsh and I feel badly about that; but I've sort of reached the end of my ability to stay patient. I was patient 2 and a half years ago when you messaged me with a ton of information about why I shouldn't circumcise my son when I didn't even know you and hadn't asked for your opinion about it. (By the way, I'd already reached my decision about that by the time I received your message so my 'limited' research at least allowed The Lord to inspire me with a decision that aligned with yours in that area.) I was patient again a few years later when you turned my 'I need encouragement about breastfeeding because I think my milk is making my baby sick' post into a lecture as to why formula will make my son unintelligent and/or suffer from a long list of possible side-effects. And I was patient again when you refuted my claim that my oldest was exclusively formula fed from 4 months old and hasn't suffered AT ALL by informing me that 'effects aren't always immediately seen' as though I now have something horrible to look forward to because I fed my firstborn formula.

I appreciate your passion. I think you are an amazing parent. I respect and admire the decisions you are making for your family and I have every confidence that you will do your best for your babies, even though I don't agree with everything you choose to do. I hold my tongue when you post articles about parenting which differ greatly from the way that I do things. Why? Because I don't think that the way I parent is automatically absolutely right for everyone! I believe that you will be inspired to do for your children what is best FOR YOUR CHILDREN. And I wish you believed the same, but it doesn't seem like you do.

I hope that you can believe that my babies are in good hands. I hope that you will know how much they are loved. I hope you know how seriously I take parenting and how desperately I want to do the best for my boys. But even if you forget all of that, or just choose not to believe it, I hope you will remember that when I do mess up, the Lord- who loves those babies infinitely more than you or I can comprehend- will make up the difference.

Twice As Good: Part 2

Being as this was supposed to be a blog post about life with two children, I decided it'd be fitting to do it in two parts. I'm really glad I made that decision because the first part was a little intense. But honestly, it was a really good snapshot of the first three months of my little Samuel's life. Today marks three months exactly since he made his way into this big world of ours and I swear to you people, it's like a magical switch has been flipped for the last week or so. This is not the same baby. Okay, yes, he still would prefer to be held over pretty much anything ever; and alright, he's not afraid to let you know when he's unhappy, but my word. This child is laughing already. He coos and gurgles and squirms with glee. He smiles so big at strangers that it makes virtually everyone who looks at him say, "Woah! He's a happy baby!" which makes me smile inside because liiiiittle do they know...

I'm so excited to get to know who this little one really is underneath all the pain and misery he was in for the first few months. Poor baby.

So. The great, amazing, awesome, wonderful bits of being a mama with two:

1. You LITERALLY have super powers.
Your kids will be the first to really, truly believe in these powers. Gradually, their belief will be enough to convince your husband. And finally one day you will realize it: You are magical. Your cuddles make their cries stop within seconds. (Even faster than daddy's do.)  You can somehow carry three bags, two kids and one car seat even though you only have two hands. You can turn things that are healthy but nasty into meals that taste unhealthy and delicious. Your kisses (apparently) have healing properties. You can have an entire conversation about something deep and meaningful with your husband while both children are hollering in the back seat. You know where everyone's everything is. And you can clean around five rooms in the five minutes that you have until the baby wants to be held again. It's all rather astounding.

2. You have all kinds of new realizations about how astounding your capacity to love is.
The minute you see that new baby's face, all of your fears about not being able to love a second baby as much as you loved your first just melt away. Because dang. You love that baby. And then you wonder how many babies you could love as hard as you love the two you have and you realize you have the potential to never stop loving these little people and it's kind of addicting so you start to understand why people want 10 or 11 of them. Then your kid pukes and you think, "No. Two's good".

3. You get to watch your oldest become a big sibling. 
Which is magical. I can't tell you how much you will feel like your heart is going to explode with happiness when you watch your first kid hold your second kid for the first time. Those feelings come again when your oldest tells the youngest he loves him, or gives him kisses when he's crying, or gets really excited when he wakes up from his nap and tells you to 'get him up, quick!' And again when you watch your new baby's face light up in pure joy when he sees his big brother come in the room. (Disclaimer: This happy part of having two also comes with a side helping of anxiety when you realize that the two-year-old loves the three-month-old SO much that he wants to squish him. So there's a mixed-bag of elation and terror when the two-year-old wants to hold the baby again)

4. You are kind of a baby expert now.
Everything that was overwhelming with your first is suddenly a no-brainer. You don't worry nearly as much about things as you did with the first. You've figured out newborns. Bathing, feeding, changing, dressing, doctors... all of that is logged away in your brain and you can pull any of it back out quicker than you'd ever imagine you could. You feel like you're the baby whisperer. You figure you could probably write a book about mothering by now. It's very empowering. Of course, your second baby will throw a wrench in everything by being a completely different human being who won't take a binky or stop crying for anything ever for what feels like the rest of your life. But the mechanics of it all? Cake.


I'm sure as the years progress and I continue watching my boys grow up together and learn more about who they are, I'll be able to add several numbers to that list. I'm so excited to watch them navigate this world. I love that they get to grow up together. As tricky as it sometimes is with two so close in age, I'm really grateful that they'll have each other as a built-in best friend as they get older. Yes, it can be overwhelming. Sure, you feel stretched to the limit (and sometimes beyond it). And most nights you do collapse into bed feeling like you've been run over by a mack truck and wondering how in the world two such tiny humans can be so completely exhausting. But in all honesty, it's all completely worth it. The ins and outs and ups and downs and goods and bads all mix together into this cohesive, beautiful chaos that you wouldn't trade for all the structure and predictability in the world. Being a mama of two is hard and wonderful. And it will change and grow you in ways you never thought it could.

Twice As Good-Part 1

*Disclaimer: This post is part one of a two-part post about my life as a mother of two. It is possibly the more morose of the posts, but I promise the next part will be more upbeat.*

Funny story: Today while my kids were taking a nap (at the same time - may the napping gods continue to smile upon me) I thought, "Hey. I should blog. It's been a while." So I went to get our laptop only to realize that Shem had taken it to my parent's house in an attempt to study sans distraction.  Curses. Ah well, I thought, the blog will have to wait for another day. About an hour after all that went down, I got a message from my friend Natalie, who suggested I write a blog entry about life with two children; the pros and the cons, the good, the bad and the ugly, etc. Well. Dang. That was quite the coincidence. But alas, the little one was up and crabby (stop the presses, I know.) and wasn't even hinting at maybe possibly being okay with my blogging instead of walking and bouncing him.

Which brings us to the here and now. Every once in a while I make the right decision in regards to my second-born. This was one of those times. I let him cry for about two minutes in his swing because I had a strong feeling that he was fussy because he was tired and -huzzah!- he fell asleep again. My oldest is still asleep. In all that time he never stirred. Because he is a miracle child. And takes three-hour long naps.

And that offers us an excellent segue into why I've hesitated to write a blog about life with two: Aside from the fact that I really have close to no 'down' time, I also feel somewhat unqualified to paint an accurate picture of what life with two kids truly looks like because my sweet, lovely little Samuel is so far from being a textbook baby. It doesn't feel like I'm a mother of two. It feels more like I'm a spit-up drenched, hot mess, 'hey, look, my outfit matches this time', walking-around-like-a-zombie, breathing-and-counting-to-ten-every-ten-seconds-so-I-don't-lose-my-marbles,  inadequate, unequal-to-her-tasks mama who maybe bit off a little more than she could chew with this whole 'hey, let's have more kids' idea she naively proposed to her husband a little less than a year ago.

In my version of life with two, the experience can be summed up in the moments wherein both children are screaming in the back seat of the car on the way to the grocery store. One upset because he's (almost literally) always upset and the other because his shoes are on. Or something sensible like that.

Or during the times when Samuel has just puked all over the outfit I just put him in while his big brother is happily painting the table a lovely shade of green with his avocados. Or dumping all of the water out of his bath onto the bathroom floor.

Or those times when Luke loves Samuel SO much that he squeezes him just a little too tight which makes the (finally) quiet infant start screaming. Again.

Or the times when I'm scouring every on-line article I can find on allergies in babies or 'fore-milk imbalances' or colic in an attempt to find an idea that I haven't explored yet.

Or when I REALLY want some ice cream but I can't because I'm trying everything I can think of to help my little one's tummy to settle.

Or those times when I just cry because I don't have anything else to try and my baby is hurting and I can't make it better and that's just about the worst feeling a mama can have.

We call Samuel our little 'investment'. We're putting in all of this time and energy and work and sacrifice because we know that in the end, he is worth it. In a way I think all children are sort of investments. If they didn't return to us, plus interest, the amount that they suck out during these early years, I don't think anyone would ever voluntarily have children. But they do! Even my grumpy little man does...and will...

I sometimes wistfully remember those days when it was 'just Luke'. Even though it didn't feel easy then, I look back on it an long for the times when we went for days and days without hearing a single newborn have a melt-down. I longingly remember the days when it was only one dirty diaper and one bath time and one fit being thrown in the grocery store. But honestly, I wouldn't trade this moment in my life for anything.

Every day I go to bed feeling like I've been stretched to my absolute limit and then... I wake up and do it all over again. There is nothing more fulfilling than stretching beyond what you think you can handle and then going even further. And then at the end of it all, you look back and realize you've grown in ways you couldn't have possibly imagined. You are super woman. You can do anything. You can conquer the whole world if you need to.

I'm not quite there yet, but I have faith that I will be soon. I know that when this moment comes to an end, I will look back and be amazed at everything I accomplished and how much I grew and changed. And I'm excited for that. I'm undoubtedly in the Refiner's fire right now. He's making me shiny and new and perfect. He's buffing out all of my rough edges by giving me these wonderful babies and allowing me to love them with more power then I've ever loved anything and simultaneously allowing it to be the hardest thing I've ever done in my life.

What a blessing it is to love the thing(s) that grow you.