Mommy Euphoria

There are certain moments in a mommy's life when glorious euphoria hits and your heart swells and all is right.

Here are a few such moments I've experienced recently:

• Rocking Adelaide to sleep.  We put her down slightly awake, and she can go to sleep on her own, but Jed and I have this thing where we just really love snuggling our kids at sleepy times, so we do it.  When she's finally relaxed and just melted into your arms, all warm and content, there's no comparison.  If we don't fall asleep ourselves, we leave the room slightly transfixed, walking on clouds.
• Snuggling Levi to sleep.  Same thing.  He is such a strong, active little boy, but when he's sleepy and snuggly right after we've finished our bedtime stories and said our prayer, there's nothing like those little four-year-old nuzzles and his puffy lips and cheeks, which are grazed by his long eyelashes, as he dozes off.
• Sibling love.  When Adelaide is fussy and I can't get right to her, like on car trips, Levi will start talking sweetly to her or make goofy sounds and faces and hand her toys.  She almost always stops crying and starts giggling, then sometimes she gives her deep belly laugh.  She adores her funny older brother who takes such good care of her.
• Lessons applied.  Hearing Levi remember to say "please" and "thank you" without outside inducement, and watching him hold doors open for others or clean his dishes and napkin after a meal is satisfaction times a million.
• Child-like faith.  Hearing Levi talk to Yahweh or ask me questions about Him and Yahshua is the greatest satisfaction.  And I'll hear Levi giving direction to his angels, as he hears us do, and singing worship songs while he plays with his toys.  *Sigh*  Love it!

Anything worthwhile is a challenge.  Anything worth fighting for requires a fight.  Parenting falls into those categories.  But man, oh man:  The rewards are sooooo rich!  I'm ever grateful for the two mind-blowing gifts God has entrusted to us. 

On Giving Birth to My IUD

(WARNING!  If you're a guy, you probably don't want to read this. I use terms for the female anatomy and talk about contraception. Consider yourself warned.)

I am so not consistent in my blog writing, but it seems when I write one, I get in a sort of zone and decide to post on my other blog.  So here goes.  I just wrote about my recent foray into abortion research (on my other blog), and coupled with the events of the last few days, I felt compelled to share the following highly female experience.  Guys, seriously, bail out now.

Sometime yesterday, I went into labor!  But imagine a look of absolute terror and confusion on my face, rather than the only-slightly-nervous elation of a pregnant woman.  'Cause I wasn't pregnant.

If you've had a baby naturally, all I need to say is "transition" and I send cold chills up and down your spine.  Well, it wasn't quite that bad, but close.  Throughout the day, I had terrible contraction-like cramps.  They were on the level where my kids would try to get my attention, and I would be doubled over, doing my breathing exercises, trying to move around to a new position that might alleviate the pain.  I had my right arm extended horizontally out beside me, pointed toward them with my hand in the upright, flat "talk to the hand" position.  That was Mommy body language for "QUIET!"  Getting through the pain was my sole point of focus.

OK, so I've just started doing abortion research, which I won't talk about here, but I also recently heard that IUDs (intrauterine devices, used as contraception) don't just keep a sperm and egg from meeting but also help keep such a joining from implanting into the uterus should such a joining occur.  As one who has always held that life begins at conception and that "conception" happens when the sperm and egg meet, I realized I probably did not want an IUD after all. 

Right around then, I started getting bad cramps every so often.  Then the day before yesterday, they were bad and didn't really let up as much as usual.  Then yesterday, oh, yesterday.  It turns out that my cervix was trying to eject it, and a cervix is created to eject things (that is, children) by contracting (that is, labor).  Talk about a confirmation:  get it out, lady!

So, I kind of gave birth to my IUD.  Joy.  Actually, I went in to my doctor and had her finish the job and remove it, but all I'll ever really remember is the day my unpregnant body went into labor. 

I mean, come on!

When Kids Act Like Kids: Shocking Travesty or Just Life, Dude?

I didn't used to like kids.  Or I didn't think I did.  I didn't get them, so I just wasn't sure.  And, of course, we all have these ideals of how kids should be or families should look, ad nauseam.  I'm the youngest in my family and didn't really have much opportunity to understand little ones.  I used to steer waaaaay clear of them, all due to ignorance and probably no small dose of selfishness.  And then there's the worst offense ever:  The giving of the opinion on other people's children when I'd not had children of my own, and certainly no experience with that family's circumstances (never to their faces; is that better or worse?).  Nice.  How obnoxious I was.  So I do get it when people are uncomfortable around them.  Totally.  What I don't get is people who don't try to even pretend some semblance of kindness or, worse, people who are blatantly snobbish and rude.  That does not bode well with Mrs. Finley, not one trifle.

My apostle at church has said that when his son was little, he always took note of how people would treat his boy.  He said you can often tell a lot about a person by how they treat little kids.  I couldn't agree more.  Fortunately, even in my obnoxious, single, kidless, and kid-phobic days, I was still kind to them to the degree that I knew how.  So I passed his test.  Just barely, I presume.  But I totally get it now.  I'm so aware of how people treat not just my kids, but children, even the lively, willful ones (are there any who aren't?).

To wax philosophical, as I'm prone to do, the next generation is a treasure trove of possibility and potential and beautiful strength.  We must sow as much as we can into them: as much love, as much wisdom, as much Truth, as much about the faithfulness of God, as much time as we can.  Once kids enter the picture, our lives are no longer our own.  They are, but they aren't.  You parents know what I mean. 

We know some people who absolutely adore our children and are such a blessing in their lives.  They pray for them, they see the purpose of the Lord developing in them, and they find ways to speak life to them and enjoy them.  I am so grateful for those people!  They are true family, both natural and spiritual.  With our spiritual family here in Vermont, it's truly the body of Christ at work when I see those particular people acting on our kids' behalf out of a true love.  And that's how I feel about other kids in my life.  I see them, hoping to gain understanding of their ages and personalities, and I relish them and want to find ways to affirm them and bless them in the same way that others have for my kids.  Especially as someone with a ministry calling, I would be sort of an idiot if I didn't recognize the next generation bubbling over with life all around me, and the important and privileged role I have as an adult in their lives to make an impact. 

But at the same time, I know that kids are kids.  And with the case of my son, Levi, boys are boys!  Seeing them in their full "kidness" is something I now absolutely adore.  By the same token, I find more and more these days that I'm aware of anyone around me who would sneer their lips toward my kids or raise their eyebrows or ignore them or otherwise treat them like pariahs, just like my apostle was when his son was younger.  More and more, I understand what he meant.  You can indeed tell a lot about a person by the way he treats young children.  And the Mama Bear in me comes out when those who should know better take issue with children who are acting like, well, children. 

We're all on some part of the Learning Curve of Life, and we never peak or plateau.  But if we adults can't get past our personal preferences that don't make room for crazy childhood antics, the next generation could be in trouble.  Listen, most of you reading this know that I'm aaaall about discipline and training and having requirements.  I'm not talking about that.  I'm talking about when kids are just being kids, and some of them are more energetic than others.  Suck it up.  We're the grown-ups now.  So maybe we can lighten up!  Let kids be kids!  And have some grace for the parents around you who still haven't figured out how to be perfect and for the kids who are being nothing more than curious, boundary-pushing, bouncy balls of happy energy.  Something about loving one another, or something like that... 

And it might be imperative that we love the kids in our lives and sow into the next generation even if they do like to run and jump and shout and remind you that life can still be lively every once in a great while.

The Saga of the Mello Yello and the Toilet Water: Part 2

Remember my last post about Levi's incessant questioning as if he's holding a heat lamp down over my head and peering into my eyes.  The Walmart soda cooler?  The  Mello Yello?   

Mello Yello.  Doesn't the name sound soothing?  It sounds like a nighttime hot tea that makes you drowsy.  If given the choice, based on moniker alone, between Coke, Sprite, Dr. Pepper, and Mello Yello for a preschooler; it seems like a no-brainer.  Forget that it's laden with sugar and fizzy pop snappiness.  It's mellow, for goodness' sake!  Besides, I never see it around, have no idea what it is, other than its citrus flavor, and it seemed novel at the time. 

Well...Sunday morning, just before our sound check, I was getting set up and changing some settings on the piano.  I heard one of the guitarists behind me:

"Uh, so.  I read your blog the other day about the Mello Yello?"  It was a statement, but he ended it with a rising pitch as though he didn't quite understand me fully and needed more information.

"Oh, yeah?"  I said, turning around on the piano bench. 

"Um, yeah.  Did you know that Mello Yello is Coca-Cola's version of Mt. Dew?  It's got a TON of caffeine in it."  His eyes were wide.  He's a parent.  He knows.

Holy Bad Mothering, Batman! 

My eyes got huge.  "Are you serious?"  I said out loud.

"Are you a MORON?" I asked myself via inner monologue.  "Good thing you displayed it for the world on the Internet."  No, seriously, good thing.  Sometimes we just need someone to tell us we're making a terrible, terrible mistake.

I quickly did a mental check to see if that day had ended very badly, then relief spread across my face.  When we had gotten home from that Walmart trip, I noted in awe that Levi had gone straight to the refrigerator and put the Mello Yello in there, with only about an inch of liquid missing from the top.  I remember marveling that he didn't drink more. 

"Oh, wow,"  I said as the recollection dawned, and I told our guitarist how God totally had us covered and didn't let Levi finish it.

He laughed, "Well, I just kept wondering when Levi would come down from orbiting space, and I kept thinking, 'Does she know?  Nah, surely she knows.  Should I say something?'"

I was like, "Man, especially with stuff like that, and with me, always say something!!"  For the sake of all that is lovely...

The Moral of the Story:  Levi + Mello Yello = NOT MELLOW

And Also:  Yahweh is awesome and has us covered even, and especially, when we're babbling baboons.

Now for Round 2 of the "Pee in the Toilet Water" parable.

My mom's in town!  Yea!  Sunday afternoon after church, she was playing with Levi in the living room, then she excused herself to go to the bathroom. 

Levi caught her attention to relay something very important.  "Grandmama, only pee in the toilet water, OK?"

She just raised her eyebrows, "OK."

We have standards, people.

(Yes, yes, you're right: clearly not with Mello Yello, but I promise, with everything else...?)

Pee in the Trashcan and All Those Questions

I just needed to make a quick trip to Walmart.  Both Levi and Adelaide were happy and well behaved, but Adelaide and Mommy were both starting to get a little tired.  I was pushing us all to get this one last errand finished.  Well, except the actual last errand of returning our library books.   I was focused, weaving around endcaps and through stands full of children's clothing, picking up speed when I hit the main aisle to the other side of the store for my stain-remover spray.  I hadn't bothered to write my list, because it was short, but keeping one's mind on task is challenging when a small person of the precocious variety is skipping all around you, demanding answers to rapid-fire questions.

Some of them are annoyingly simple.

"Levi, you know why people wear hats in the winter." 

Some of them are annoyingly hard.

"Uuuuuum, well, we'll have to look up squids on the computer when we get home to find that out, Snug."

It is fascinating to me how alive to the world Levi is.  A four-year-old has aptly conquered some of the basics of life and is suddenly mentally able to do a touch of critical thinking and piecing together that astounds me to watch.  It is a thrill.  It makes me so proud.  It makes me newly appreciative of the simple intricacies of everyday life.  And sometimes, it would try to drive me to madness.  All this assimilating is highly dependent on Mommy being always at the ready (and I mean always) like some submissive, professorial old man with a beard and glasses following behind the kid in an intimidated cower and providing quick solutions to every new conundrum.

"Mommy, can I get an orange soda?" he interrupted one question with this new one when he spotted the cooler at the checkout.  Normally, it's just one more question in the barrell, receiving the expected "no."  But today:

"Sure!"  I said, knowing it was not the best use of money, a terrible habit to start, and more sugar than was quite right, but that I was fully intent on getting a Coke for myself.  I opened the cooler door, grabbed my Coke, and looked down at Levi, waiting for him to get his Sunkist.  

"What's in that bottle?"  He was pointing at a Mello Yello.

"It's like Spr---"

"What's that?" pointing at something new.

"Which one--?"

"Oh, I want this one!" pointing at Coke Zero (I was opening my mouth to speak...) "No, this one!" (this time pointing at the Dr. Pepper)

We'd been standing there with the door gaping, letting aaaall the cold out and getting looks from Vermonty hippies who couldn't decide if they hated me more for ruining the earth with that open door or for putting poison into my little angel in the form of high fructose corn syrup.

"No, those have caffeine, son, and we have to close this door.  You can get Sprite or Sunkist.  What's it gonna be?"

"Can I get this one?"  He was pointing again at the Mello Yello.  I guarantee you that though I didn't finish the word "Sprite" when he asked me about the Mello Yello before, he processed the connection still the same. 

"Yep, it's like Sprite; grab it, son."

"Is it like Sprite?" 

"Yes, it's lemony like Sprite. Closing this door now..."

Grabbing it, "Mmm, yum, I like Sprite!"

He's king of the Repeat You Question: 
"Levi, I'm going to go put Adelaide down."
"Are you going to put Adelaide down?"
(Sigh. Really?)

-OR-

"Levi, look!  That's a beaver dam!"
"Is that a beaver dam?"

But I digress.

So, we hustled through the checkout, maneuvered through the cold wind to the car, got everyone situated (Levi was talking the whole time, and as is custom, I just shut his door after strapping him into his seat.  He doesn't care, and I have the slight, awful satisfaction of just slamming a door in his face), gave Levi his drink, took a deep breath (as, surely, he would be silent to drink his drink for at least one whole minute), when...

"Is this drink like Sprite?" 
(Are you kidding me?)
"Yep, it's lemony like Sprite, baby.  Try it.  It's called Mello Yello."
"What?!"
"Mello Yello."
"Mello Yello?"
"Uh-huh."
"Why is it called Mello Yello?"
"Son, I don't know."  (Relaxing my shoulders)  "Probably because it's kind of yellow, and it's lemony."
"IS it called Mello Yello?"
"Yes."
Finishing his first drink, "Mmmm!  Yep, it IS Sprite!"
"Noooooo, it's Mello Yello.  It tastes like Sprite."  Now I was the one getting persnickity about details, but we'd started down this road, and the teacher-mom in me who values listening skills was not about to let this go without us all having a thorough working knowledge of Mello Yello and its relationship to Sprite.

All day, every day, folks!  We have these types of conversations one after the other on various and sundry topics of interest and no interest at all.  The thing is, Levi needs repetition right now.  Repetition is how this age group typically processes.  It is constant, though, so I've learned this:  If I need quiet to concentrate on a task at hand, and the professorial old man needs to vacate for a bit, I just tell Levi flat-out, "No questions, dude.  Mama's gotta think!"

When we got home, I had to go to the bathroom so badly, as is typical.  (There is a point to that odd confession, I promise.)  I rushed through the front door, clunked Adelaide's carseat down on the floor, and hustled into the bathroom, only to realize too late that there was pee all over the toilet, and now, all over me.  Levi.  Then, I noticed something odd about the little trash can on the floor.  This one hadn't been emptied in months, because we so rarely use it.  Until now.  It had finally gotten full enough to go out in Monday's trash and now sat with no trash in it.  Apparently, the clean canvas must have been too much for my creative little monkey to resist, because there was a puddle of pee at the bottom.  Lovely.

I never in a million years would've fathomed that I, one who enjoys solitude at regular intervals, would live with a person who harassed me with questions all. day. long. and who peed all over the bathroom.  And in the trashcan.  But here we are!  And it turns out that he is the coolest little man on the planet.  The conversations we have are some of the best, even when they're reminders that we may not(!!) pee all over the place and must, in fact, only aim for the toilet water. 

"For the toilet water?"
"Yes, Levi, just the toilet water..."

Coming to Terms with My New Love for (Cough) Daylight Savings Time

Have I gone completely mad?  How could I possibly love you, Daylight Savings Time?  I have always loathed you!  What would possess me to sigh a sigh of relief at your instigation?  You are, after all, a thief and a robber.  You stole my hour, but truly, thank you.

Jed and I are not ashamed to admit that we use fans and lightblock window coverings if that's what it takes for our kids to sleep and for us to get some rest.  Levi trained us to do this, and I won't get into the particulars, but I promise that I began with the greatest intentions of placing my babies out in the yard under full sun for their naps to train them to sleep through distractions with squinted eyelids and annoying noises clanging all around.  But as we grew desperate and clung to the edge of sanity with our fingernails, we decided to espouse the general "whatever it takes" when getting our kids to just sleep already.

Also, and this is both cool and alarming, but also, our latitude on the globe makes our winter days very short (meaning long nights where it's easy for us all to go to bed at 7 pm and sleep till 10 am like a family of grizzly bears) and our summer days loooong (as in, we're all yukking it up and playing games with the sun high in the sky, thinking about what's for dinner till the oven clock clocks us over the head for not noticing that it's 9 pm).  We rush the kids to bed, blink, then groggily battle Levi off of trying to wake us at 5 am when the sun is, again, high in the sky, streaming in happily whilst birds pretend it's a good time to sing cheerily.  Though the singing is beautiful, the timing is actually terrible, birds. 

So I thank you, Daylight Savings Time.  As our days have cycled back to growing longer, Levi has started to come into my room long before the clock has a 7 in the first position, and that has started, in its turn, to make me panic.  When you stole my hour, you traded me for something that I found highly worth it.  The hour of morning darkness you gave back to me definitely makes up for your insidious ways.  For now, things are sort of back to normal.  Meanwhile, the days will still keep getting longer (by June 21, my exaggeration above about long days will not really be that much of an exaggeration), and since there are no other opportunities to barter for more early morning darkness, I really just might have to put up the super heavy duty lightblock curtains in that boy's room. 

So shock of all shocks, I have grown fond of a sworn enemy.  I've found perhaps the one person other than the golf lobbyists who isn't totally put out by Daylight Savings Time this year.  And the fact that it's me makes me skeptical, not sure I even know myself anymore, a litte untrusting of what I might come up with next.

Today, Daylight Savings Time.  Tomorrow, who even knows?  Maybe I'll start using tanning beds and keeping frogs in the house.  Oh, no, wait, I do still have some limits firmly intact.  Whew!

So THAT'S Why Levi and Kelly Ripa Have the Same Body

A somewhat stream-of-consciousness post of musings on diet with regard to preschoolers and celebrities and, oddly, the similarities therein...

It begins with our Saturday morning yummy-breakfast ritual:  I put a little milk and a couple drops of almond extract into the raw eggs before I whisked them up and started dunking in bread for our French toast.  We had been talking about it all week:  French toast on Saturday while Jed takes our drummer out for breakfast.

I only had enough eggs to make three pieces, but I've been trying to cut back on lesser healthy foods, and Adelaide would only eat a little, leaving almost two pieces for Levi, who assured me he was very hungry.

"Very hungry" is quite relative, as Levi finished just ONE piece before announcing he was now "very full" and wanted a Fruit by the Foot.  Not gonna happen.  And how could he be full?  One piece does not satiate "very hungry," people!  (My cavernous appetite gets confused easily by those with a nonexistent one.)  When offered more French toast, though, he declined and decided on a piece of gum and play time.  So the French toast tally was

Mom: 1 piece, rather than the usual 15
Levi: 1 piece, however bizarre it might seem to me, albeit totally in keeping with his normal appetite
Adelaide:  just over 1/4 of a piece, atta girl!  She loved it.

So here's the point.  Levi eats like a bird!  He also loves healthy stuff.  One time, he asked for gummy bears, and it was just before lunch, so I said "no." 
"OK, then can I have some lettuce?"  he followed. 
"Um, yeah.  You can have some lettuce."  I blinked my eyes blankly before prepareing him a salad, which he devoured.

But that's when he does eat, which is actually very little.  Eating is somewhat of a distraction in his very busy schedule, and while he likes it just fine, he takes a few bites, then is ready to get back to more important matters.  This is why we can only buy pants with the inner elastic belt that we immediately cinch up several notches on both sides before even attempting to put them on him.  Like his dad, that one.

From http://www.usmagazine.com/
healthylifestyle/photos/bony-bikini-bodies-
2010211/6476

The thing is, he eats mints and mint gum like crazy.  We sort of put a cap on it, but he eats a lot.  It triggered something in my memory.  I read a few years ago in a magazine about a photo shoot with Kelly Ripa.  It stated that the shoot lasted about 8 hours, and while they had catering, she only had Altoids and water the whole day.  That's the Levi Diet!  No wonder she and he have the same wiry, lean body!  She has joked before that she has the body of a little boy, so I don't feel badly writing this.  I also am not actually saying that such a diet is a healthy, viable option, in case you're getting worried.  Just connecting the dots.  Celebrities must eat like small children to look the way they do.

An online Kids' Health site states that boys between 4 and 8 need between 1400 and 2000 calories a day, depending on activity level.  I'd wager that Levi is on the high end of activity and the low end of calories.  I saw this calorie recommendation and realized it's about the same for me.  And all this while, I'd been eating like a WWF wrestler.  Darn.  So maybe I should follow the Levi diet...eating exactly what he does.  (That's if I want to end up looking like a little boy... hmmm...) 

Of course, mints, juice, and running the equivalent of 5,000 miles a day, with the occasional lettuce and a Fruit by the Foot might work for Levi and Kelly Ripa, but I'm not quite sure it's for me.  Back to being reasonable...