Right Now

Eleanor is a very well-dressed tiny girl.  She has quite a collection of cute girly things to wear.  Maybe I'm a little jealous of her wardrobe, but I won't say for sure.  And maybe, just maybe, she's my little dolly and I kinda like to dress her up in these adorable outfits. Maybe.  

Anyway, people have been so generous to her and I know she's gonna grow out of these tiny clothes really fast, so I think it's perfectly acceptable for her to wear them every day!

Obviously, I'm having a lot of trouble getting posts up on this poor, neglected blog of mine.  I have probably lost every last reader I had left.  All three of them.  I really should at least put up a photo every other day or so, except that I can't even get to that.

I admit to being a little, or a lot, overwhelmed.  But I guess that's to be expected.  I hope to get past it, but I don't really feel like I'll ever be on top of anything, ever again, unless I climb up Mount Laundry and sit there perhaps. (And I am very well aware that things are actually pretty good, and could be so much worse, but I'm pretty wimpy and whiny, too.  I actually have moments of heart-stopping terror when I think of horrible scenarios (I'm told that's part of being a mother) and I'm so thankful for God's goodness.)

I guess I'll post a part of an email I just wrote to my sister.  It's maybe a little gritty, and I would apologize, except I won't.  Sometimes gritty writing is very therapeutic.

 I know it's cliche and all, but I seriously am feeling trapped by being here with kids all the time.  24/7.  Yes, I have a fantastically helpful husband, but he's busy and stressed, too.  It takes so much energy and awareness to do this job, and I just feel like I don't have it.  I go on autopilot a lot, and autopilot is a killer.  Autopilot crashes into mountains and buildings and shit.  The crying, the screaming, the fighting, the requests, the hunger, the dirt, the spilled milk, the snot, the endless loops of frustration.  It's the same every day, it never gets better.  I feel like I'm at my limit.  Every day, I cry and say, "I can't do this.  I can't!"  I can't physically muster up the energy to settle every dispute, discipline every disobedience, wash the freaking poopy underpants, ET CETERA, AND be cheerful, teach, guide, direct...  How am I supposed to keep up with all the little kid needs AND teach Jonah and keep up with his insatiable desire to learn things?  How am I supposed to give the little guys the love and positive attention they need when I feel like I just discipline them all day and they frustrate and test me endlessly?

So I'm noticing that it's just when I'm crying that "I caaaaan't" and I'm feeling borderline abusive that I have the brilliant idea to say "screw it" to the dishes and the grime-coated floor and instead pop a bowl of popcorn and sit on a tablecloth on the floor with the little guys and read them books while we have a "popcorn picnic".  Just when I want to scream at Jonah for his endless requests for my attention and help, I have the idea to hand him a recipe for chocolate ice cream and let him go to it. 

My point is that the hard stuff drives solutions.  The hard stuff is what makes us do better.  Otherwise, we just get lazy. 

I find myself complaining about how hard things are lately.  Before Eleanor was born, i spent the entire pregnancy complaining about how hard it was, and that birth is waaaay too hard and I didn't want to do that.  And I still think that.  But of course I'm glad I did it.  And I try to remember that I'm not entitled to have things easy.  And then I whine that it isn't fair. But two of the sayings I've heard from Dad the most are "Life is hard."  and "Nobody ever said life is fair."   Sometimes, wisdom is simple.

And I'm so bad about wanting to be on to the next thing, that even when I'm sitting and holding my sweet, newborn baby because she just really wants me and won't be patient in her bouncy chair while I work for another minute, I'm thinking of what I will work on as soon as I can lay her down in her bed.  That should be a criminal offense, don't you think? But I do it all the time.  I feel so buried in work that I can't let it go to enjoy holding my baby.  Even while I've been writing this, Andrew brought me a book and I sat here with him in my lap, peacefully looking at a book (and I should be happy for moments of peace with that child!) and I got impatient because I wanted to finish this email instead. 

We human beings are mighty hard to please, is all I'm sayin'.

When will they just GROW UP already?  Why can't we get past this endless little kid intensity?  I can't stand this anymore!!!  That's what I think, more often than I care to admit.  You know how stupid that is, right?

Oh to learn to enjoy where I'm at, right now.  It's a tough lesson, for some reason.  It doesn't seem like it should be, being the pleasure-driving creatures that we are.  Every morning when I open my eyes, I pray about that. I pray that I can smile at my children more than I snap at them.  I pray that I can be thankful and cheerful.  I pray for help getting through today.

And God is good.  He is always faithful to provide beyond my wildest imaginings.  But that doesn't mean it's easy.  The hard stuff is still good stuff.

A Story in Which The Boys Clean Up

Right around naptime, I went in search of my little boys, who I could hear playing happily on the porch.  I found them.  They were making a mess. (Or so it appeared to me, but I'm just the Mom, so what do I know?)

There was dirt, yes, but also some mysterious white substance which Evan was rubbing all over his Tonka dump truck as well as his little brother's hair and face.  Evan couldn't seem to articulate to me just what he was doing, but from the smell of things, I realized that it was the bar of bathroom soap that was now mashed all over the truck, porch, and toddler.

I took a picture, scolded mildly (hey, at least the mess was outside) and proceeded to be distracted by a sweet little girl with a polka-dotted, be-strawberried butt.

I was soon undistracted when Andrew showed up crying and rubbing soap in his eyes.  Poor guy... I got him  cleaned up and shipped off to bed for a nap, then sat down to nurse the polka-dotted pink one.

As I sat there on the couch, I noticed Evan making many trips back and forth between the bathroom and the porch with a washcloth.  I interrupted his diligence to ask what he was doing.  "I gittin' a soap off."  Hmmm...

After a while, I went into the kitchen in time to see him bring the dump truck through the door.  "No, Evan, I told you that's an outside truck.  It's too dirty to bring in."

And I bet you can guess what comes next.

Right?

Yes, silly Mommy.

"It's clean!" he crowed.

Am I really that slow?  It really took me that long to figure out what he was doing?  I was mystified as to why he would think to grind the bathroom soap into every nook and cranny of his dump truck, until I remembered telling him the same thing about the dirty truck belonging outside earlier this morning.




(And this one sure is sweet, but I realize that it's really only a brief matter of time until this one is joining in the messy fun.)

The Pink One!

Welcome to the world, baby Eleanor Carolyn!

Born at home on May 21, 12:55am, 8lbs. 6oz.

We're so glad she's finally here!

(And we do a double take every time we say "she".)

Boys in Blue

We're still baby-waiting around here.  (AURGH!)  But enough about that.

With a "few extra minutes" before we had to leave for church this morning (ah-hahahaha!  "Few extra minutes!"  Get it? It's a joke.  The pastor's wife should never be late for church.  And today, she was.)  I decided to take advantage of my boys' being in their Sunday Best for a quick photoshoot.  

Yeah, you can imagine how easy that actually was.  

Actually, it was pretty good and I ended up with some cute shots in the bunch.  Good thing I'm a fervent follower of the "spray'n'pray" theory of photography.

My handsome guys...

About Andrew's Hat

We've had a week or more of warm, sunny, gorgeous days.  The little boys can't stand to stay in the house.  The doors are open and they're running in and out, digging in dirt and generally living it up.  It just doesn't get any better for my country boys.

Most of the time, they run out barefoot (and half-naked, as the case may be).  But Andrew is having a little trouble giving up some of the winter relics.  "Boo!  Boooooo!!"  he yells, even on the warmest days, begging for his boots and coat, because that is just What We Do Before Going Outside.

And that orange stocking cap.  It's adorable, really, and he seems to be very attached to it.  He keeps it on his head, no matter how hot he gets. I've offered him a baseball cap or a sunhat, but those simply won't do.  It has to be that orange hat.  Sometimes I'll see him take it off and wipe his brow, then he carries the hat around in his hand for a few minutes while his sweaty hair dries.  When we go someplace --the store, or maybe a friend's house-- he has to have it before we leave, and he keeps it with him the whole time, inside and out.

He's turning into a funny little toddler, and still just incredibly adorable.

Some serious new-mama-love

I have a very dear friend who visited me yesterday.  She's a mother of 9.  She's been around the block a few times.  And then some.

She came with her 6 youngest children (who entertained my children) and another friend for the purpose of getting some garden planting done for me.  They planted my cabbages, broccoli, cauliflower, onions and tomatoes-- work which would have taken me many days and a lot of back-pain misery to get done in my present state.  It was wonderful.  

I somehow failed to take pictures (doh!  What is wrong with me???) of all that, so I don't have anything to show you, but I keep looking out at my garden and sighing with happiness.  It's just wonderful.

I do have this to show you, however.  Besides all that work, and bringing lunch and supper for us all, she brought one of the most perfect baby gifts I have ever seen.

Really.

I was stunned at the thoughtful perfection.

Diapers and chocolate?  Amazing.

And He Turned 8

Jonah... my firstborn... the baby who made me a mommy... 

He had another birthday the other day!  Why does this keep happening?

We gave him a cap rifle as a gift the morning of his birthday and he carried it around all day (and every day since) and shot approximately 9,573 (give or take a few) caps over the course of the day.  He also cleaned it very meticulously between each round of caps.

He also requested a stegosaurus cake, and I humored his request to the best of my hilarious ability.

When he saw me mixing up the blue frosting, he said, "So... where's the other stuff?"

"What 'other stuff'?" I said.

"Mom.  Stegosauruses are brown."

Pardon my gaff.  Reality is not my strong point.

But he was thrilled nonetheless, and decided the a blue-green stegosaurus cake was pretty much the best ever.

I actually think it might look a little more like the love-child of a Smurf and and ROUS, but I kept that opinion to myself.

Jonah is at the age where a birthday is pretty much the epitome of  "good times" and besides counting the days for the last several weeks, he was dying to have friends over, even though I hardly have the energy for a party.  Nathan sweetly offered to make a campfire and oversee the roasting of hotdogs with some dear friends, and we all had a great time, without too much effort expended on my part.

And he blew out 8 candles... and that was that.  My baby is 8!