File Under: Things Never to Share Publicly

...and yet, there's this little voice that tells me it must be shared.

After a week of gray days and fairly constant rain, the sunny warmth drew us outside for a walk this afternoon.  Jed stayed home to finish his nap, so I pushed Adelaide along in her stroller and Levi skipped ahead and behind and all around.  It was just going to be a 20-minute walk or so.  No big deal.

But five minutes in, Levi stopped and exclaimed that he needed to go potty.  Now, he's a boy, so when we can be pretty discreet, and when we're far away from an actual potty, I'll let him go in nature.  We were near a beautiful, giant Christmas tree whose bottom branches formed a circle with about a 15-foot diameter.  It stood on the yard-like strip of grass between the sidewalk and the condo carports on the other side.  There was a void in its broad skirt of branches on a back portion of the tree, and I directed Levi to sort of enter inside the tree from that empty spot.  No one was around.  He went in and dropped his pants, which I thought somewhat odd, but didn't care.  I told him to hurry and began looking around sort of nervously.

It's so rare to actually pass someone on this path, but don't you know, this day would be different.  This day would give us a spectator.   It was a guy, and he appeared to be in college, so I figured, "If anyone would understand, surely this dude would."  As he approached, I glanced over at Levi to see if he was finished, and he was just standing there, pants around his ankles, arms to his sides.  "What is he doing?"  I thought with my nerves starting to constrict.  No sooner had I thought the thought than, and just prepare yourselves for this, but two long poops fell from his behind.  Onto the grass. 

Just like a little horse.  Out in a pasture.  No concerns in the world.  Just an animal doing whatever he wants.  In public.  For passersby.  There's no shame.  Only freedom and joy.

I quickly searched for a deep well into which I could jump head first, considered removing the drain grate from the street next to me and disappearing there, but instead, I looked right up at the guy, and smiled, "Excuse us."

Then I buried my head in my arms on the stroller pusher-bar and burst into uncontrollable laughter. 

Awkward.  The guy just smiled and kept going, oh so graciously and calmly.

When I looked back up at Levi, he was looking around at stuff and pulling up his pants.  I decided if ever there was a "teachable moment," this had to be one, and I gave him the run-down about what is not and what is (sort of) acceptable in outdoor voiding etiquette.  He genuinely seemed confused as to why that was the case, and I just gave my best explanation followed by, "Just don't do it."  How could I have missed this important tidbit of distinction that first time he "went" in the trees?  Things you just don't think about until you're staring it down in real time.

We made our circuit, and when we passed back by "The Spot" on our way home, Levi sauntered by, then ran back and shouted, "Hey, that's where I went poop!"  Fortunately, no passersby.  Unfortunately, I don't think I communicated the gravity of the situation.

I mean, what's worse?  The dog owner who doesn't pick up after their dog, or the HUMAN owner who doesn't pick after their HUMAN?  I left it there for two reasons:  I had no means by which to tidily remove it, and it was hidden.  OK, three reasons:  it's good fertilizer, dang it.

How was I supposed to know I should've brought along one of those little plastic baggies?! 

Anyway, I can assure you that now we both know better.  No more free-little-pony-in-the-field for Levi.

And Then There Was Adelaide

We knew her 18 months before she was conceived.  We knew her name was Adelaide, a reference to the noble stature we are privileged and expected to assume as sons of God.  We prayed for her and called for her, and our apostle had a dream about her until...there she was!

Mild-tempered, quick-minded, and full of giggles, she has made this year fun and fast.  Starting with a fairly uneventful and, dare I say, easy labor (thanks, at the end, to the epidural I tried yet again to avoid until I changed my mind, ha!), this first year has pretty much followed suit (recurring thrush and teething episodes aside [and for which there was no epidural]).

She has ensured that she totally owns her daddy, has earned the affections of her big brother, and has also begun to learn to put that big brother in his place if necessary.

The dark, almost black eyes, the widest-mouth screams of protest, the head tossing from side to side as she crawls around excitedly, the bouncy dance done to Daddy's beat-boxing, the little head-butt nuzzles, and the various laughs from cackly to robust all speak of "Adelaide: Year One" in our memories.

Miss Adelaide Vivian, you are such a joy and a glory and a blessing to our family!  Yahweh has great purpose for your life, and we bless you to know Him and to love Him, to love authority, obedience, and the total trusting yieldedness of being off the edge in the spirit.  May you never be hindered by perceived limits as you take Him at His word.

We love you, sweet Bitty.  Happy Birthday!

A Year Ago Today...

...was my due date with Adelaide:  May 20.  I was as big as a house.  Mom was in town, and we took Levi to the park to let him play and to get my mind off the whole impending-delivery thing that takes over one's thoughts.

I got my hair trimmed that day, and it was such a quick trim that my stylist took me back to the massage room and gave me a foot massage to relax the aches and maybe induce labor.  I had told her that I was feeling "funny" that day.  Something was happening.  And she got a great tip.

At church that night, a friend said, "Oh, you're going into labor tonight.  You have that different walk going on."  (I think "different walk" equates to "funky duck waddle" or possibly "been-riding-a-horse-too-long mosey.")  I told her I felt "funny" and that I had the same notion.

Lo and behold, I awoke that night at around 1:30 a.m. with mild, but consistent contractions. 

Adelaide was on her way! 

Can't believe it's been one day shy of a year that we met our little sweetheart.

Hi, I'm a Parent. What Was I Saying?

Hey, parents.  Remember when you were younger, when you didn't have kids, and when you were so brilliant and had it all together and wondered in hushed tones about the parents around you who seemed a bit frazzled, forgetful, crazy-eyed, and perhaps not altogether "there?"

I only ask because I have a certain, vague recollection of putting a strong brain to good use in reasonable, logical, useful ways, and often.  I remembered stuff.  But now that I have kids, I do strange things that do not compute.  I forget mid-action what I'm even doing.  It's because I'm actually doing 62 3/4 things at once, but which one was I doing just then?  This is Hi-I'm-a-Parent Syndrome.

It really hit me a couple months ago when I was trying to finish my coffee, clean up breakfast, corral the kids, ponder a melody for a new song, call the pediatrician, and sweep the floor.  I was sweeping when my flow was broken by the kids, and after I resolved the crisis, I (thought I) recalled what I was doing and proceeded to hold my coffee cup up to my ear and put my phone in my mouth.  After I realized I can't make a phone call by chewing my phone (or, sadly, by listening to my coffee cup), I made the call and moved on to something else on my list.

Much later, I spotted the broom leaning against the wall by Jed's music station and remembered to finish sweeping.

There are also the little bits of insanity.  The coffeemaker sits next to the microwave, and it's been more than once that I've removed the carafe, poured my cup of coffee, immediately considered what I needed to do next, opened the microwave door, and set the coffee carafe safely inside. 

I was stirring the oatmeal on the stove this morning, emptying the dishwasher in between stirs.  Adelaide loves the dishwasher and always seems to find the sharpest, most dangerous object on which to attach her affections.  She also loves to climb, and will get inside the dishwasher the minute I turn my back.  By now you know I can be rather slow in the morning, so I was keeping it to the oatmeal, the dishwasher, and Adelaide.  Remove Adelaide, stir, stack some dishes in the cabinet, stir, remove Adelaide and soothe her protests while managing her recalcitrant little wiggles, and so forth.  But somewhere along the lines, the Hi-I'm-a-Parent Syndrome overcame me, and I began to lose focus and start thinking about something else I would finish later.  I remember keeping Adelaide out of trouble throughout, but it wasn't until the microwave timer I'd set for the oatmeal went off that it jolted me back to the present and I realized what I was doing.  I had emptied the dishwasher, filled it with the few dirty dishes, then begun removing the dirty dishes I'd just put in there and putting them away.

I'm not sure it's the best use of my time to repeat everything I have to do, but with all the fun stuff we get to manage in our crazy, full, blessed lives, I guess it's not the worst thing to sometimes just totally forget what we

The Four-Molar Race

What is it with some kids and teething?  Levi's teeth just sort of showed up with minimal symptoms to indicate what was going on.  I think I might remember maybe two or three times that we had to give him Tylenol because he seemed sort of uncomfortable.  That's no big deal compared to the IV we have running into Adelaide's arm right now.  (Before you get too upset, that's just hyperbole, but we are giving her much more, only at night, and only after days that have indicated she's in pretty substantial pain, which has been quite a lot lately.) 

At around 12-14 months, kids start working on what they call the "First-Year Molars," which are their first molars.  Molars, incidentally, seem to be the most painful teeth to cut through, probably because their surface is much broader and pushes up (or down) against a broader patch of gums.  I've been able to see in Adelaide's mouth for about two weeks now that she has two very puffy spots in the molar region on the bottom of her mouth.  But a week ago, I stuck my finger in her mouth to feel their progress when I felt two puffy spots in the molar region on the top half.  And that's Adelaide for you.  She has a mouth full of teeth already, which she started producing at just under 5 months, and of course, she would start her First-Year Molars at 11 months, and while they usually come in pairs, she would go ahead and get four going all at once.  On the chart below, she has the teeth labeled 1 and 2, top and bottom, and now she's working on the ones labeled 4, top and bottom.


http://www.teething-babies.co.uk/teething-process/teething-chart.php

Why all the boring talk about teeth?  Because, for some reason, teeth are all the rage at our house these days.  And while kids are different about teething pain, parents are different about functioning on sleep loss.  I have a lot to overcome when I have interrupted sleep.  Adelaide interrupts my sleep.  It's a sad combination! 

So now I've initiated the Four-Molar Race.  The last time Adelaide's teething troubles tormented me, I was on the phone with my mom and both my sisters in tears from lack of sleep and days spent soothing a cranky baby.  This time, I feel as though the world is with me if I blog about it (even if it's not, of which I can remain blissfully ignorant).  Of course, it's pretty much my mom and my sisters who read this blog, but that's fine!  If you think this is a rather pathetic grasp at sympathy, I can only nod my head in shame.

However, this morning (and here's the great news!), after a long, long, so long night, I stuck my finger in Adelaide's mouth feeling certain I'd feel at least two fully emerged teeth.  Surely, after all that turmoil and pain, her body had pushed them completely through.  OK, I knew that wouldn't be the case, but what I did feel was her bottom-right molar, starting to poke through!  I felt tooth!  One small corner and part of a ridge.  This is good news.  Every little breakthrough motivates us to stay the course (As if I had a choice on this one; and of course, if I did, I'd still choose to stay the course...I like having teeth and feel like she does, too.)

So right now, the bottom-right molar is in the lead after just over two weeks.  And I'd been thinking it'd be the bottom-left.  (A mom's mental focus is not often the most fascinating thing to follow, clearly.)

On a final note, I joked while pregnant with Adelaide that if the adage "you are what you eat" applies to my growing baby, then I was well on my way to giving birth to Cap'n Crunch.  I'm glad to have been wrong, but now I'm wondering if perhaps Adelaide is actually some sort of shark hybrid.


We won't know for sure until she starts growing her second row of teeth after she's gotten all these first ones out of the way...I'll keep you posted.

Ack!  No sooner do I joke about something people should just avoid than I find out it does happen!  (See below.)  I apologize, Adelaide. 

Meanwhile, we're off to the races!  And yes, I'm glad she is growing so healthy and strong! 

'Til We're All Wearing Fancy Hats

If you haven't heard about the royal wedding between Prince William and the now Duchess of Cambridge, Kate, I don't know how to help you.  After my day, I know more about it than I'd expected I would, but it's not because I set my alarm clock for the middle of the night and drudged downstairs at 3 a.m. to witness it live.  The spark of youthful spontaneity and craziness still lingers in me, but my two children do not honor it by sleeping in the next day.  And as my now-in-its-30s body would be just this side of comatose come normal wake-up time, leaving my children uncared for, I decided to drop into bed at my usual hour and remain asleep when 3 a.m. rolled around.

Nevertheless, today proved highly eventful, making up for any lost 3 a.m. excitement, while at the same time patting me on the back for making the wise decision about not stirring from my happy slumber at 3 a.m.  Had I sabotaged my rest last night only to confront today, it might've turned out soooooo much differently.  I needed my wits about me.

For the past few days, Levi's been mentioning a tummy ache, which I've just been half-watching and half-dismissing.  He hardly ever gets sick, but yesterday when we were cutting out a pteranodon to hang from his ceiling, he suddenly grabbed his tummy and exclaimed, "Ow! Ow! Ow!" as he ran to the couch to curl up.  I grabbed my phone and dialed the pediatrician.  The doc said it looked like a basic bug and recommended the usual fluids and rest.  Adelaide, all the while, just played.  We walk to our doctor visits whenever we can, because they're so close, and after this one, Levi was feeling OK and it was sunny, so we took a bit of a longer route for some fresh air and exercise (that falls under "rest" ...sometimes).  I pushed Adelaide along, and Levi and I pointed out all the high water and rushing streams from the recent thunderstorms.  As we neared the "arrow buttons," as Levi calls the buttons you push at intersections to get the "Walk" signal, I noticed the dark clouds being blown our way from the blustery wind.  We picked up the pace to no avail and ended up rushing through the sudden rain to a random line of condo carports for shelter.  Levi, making the most of the situation, decided to perform a dance.  Sorry it's sideways, but I thought it worth sharing:

As for Levi's tummy ache, let me add the most unusual fact.  Levi has never thrown up.  So in my 4 1/2 years of parenting bliss, he has never given me that "Yakking Child" experience, and I in no way cherish resentment at life for not giving it to me.  I'll be just fine if we can successfully send him off to college and into adulthood totally vomit free.

So what was Adelaide up to all this time?  She was hanging out, taking things in, enjoying the walk and the rain, just doing what we do.  But underneath it all, she, my precious little princess, was working on giving me that "Yakking Child" experience.  I had failed to tell her that it was something I didn't need for mommy validation.  I know she would have kept it all to herself had I remembered that important Finley Household Rule.  Sweet child.  In all her going-with-the-flow ways, she somehow absorbed the same bug Levi has, but she expressed it much differently. 

She's been working on her first-year molars, so when she woke up fussy this morning, I thought nothing of it.  But the bitter, gagging tendrils of air that seized my nose when I opened her bedroom door told me a different story.  It reeked of bile.  Her crib was like a war zone of things splattered, things you don't want me to describe.  Somewhere under all the various chunks of yesterday's meals (oh yeah, sorry) and other stuff from the other end, I found my baby, sobbing.  Some of it was fresh, some of it was not, and I just looked at her miserable state and recognized the evidence of the "Yakking Child" experience.  Had I been up at 3 a.m. to watch the royals, I might've heard her in there puking away.  Again, good decision, mom.

Today was rainy all day and involved more of Levi's tummy aches, and a hundred nasty diaper changes and clothes changes for Adelaide.  Obviously, the diarrhea reflex is triggered by fresh clothing. It started after I got her out of her crib this morning and completely scrubbed her clean, getting her into a fresh diaper and clothes.  As soon as we got downstairs, I heard another diaper blow-out, one that managed to put both the pants and the shirt in quarantine.  We repeated this cycle a few times until we basically put a sign in our yard that read "Quarantine," fending off innocent passersby.  If I could've found Jed's extra tool belt, I would've been well served to just keep the room spray and hand sanitizer hanging on my person at all times. 

Neither kid ate anything worth mentioning all day, and Adelaide began dirtying her diapers less frequently this evening, and after a bath for them both, bedtime seemed like it would be peaceful and welcomed by all.  I marveled at the fact that I'd finally had the "Yakking Child" experience and had remained asleep at 3 a.m. like a brilliant sage.  I put beautiful-smelling nighttime lotion on Adelaide, who was a bit fussy with fatigue but otherwise relaxed from her bath.  Preventive baby powder, a fresh diaper, and cozy, clean clothes went on her, and I turned on her fan, turned off her light, and grabbed her warm bottle, settling into the glider.  Her formula was the one thing she was sort of taking, although in smaller doses, so when she immediately pushed it away and fussed, I was a little confused.  She started to writhe and squirm, so I sat her up.  She turned right to me and burped a cute, little burp.  I managed a smile just before her body lurched and she spewed a ferocious, powerful fount of vomit all over me, all over the chair behind me, all over the big, stuffed horse lying next to the chair.  When it stopped, I sat stunned for 1/100 of a second before she spewed another violent torrent all over me and broke down into tears. 

I just thought, "Yeah, OK, now you've had the 'Yakking Child' experience."  So I prayed over her and prophesied that that whole spew got all the yuckies out, went through Round 2 of our cozy night-night routine, with the addition of removing furnishings from her room and changing my own clothes, and skipping the bottle, before putting her down exhausted. 

What I've failed to mention thus far is that the rainy, sick day we've had has lended itself to movies for the kids and Royal Wedding coverage for me.  And that's how I know way more about it than I think I otherwise would have at this point.  History was made on both sides of the ocean for me today.  Big wedding for them.  Kid vomit for me.  And I've realized two important things. 

First, you're all right.  The "Yakking Child" experience is not pleasant.  I'm planning a Mama/Bubba date with Levi to formulate an immediate, workable plan we can execute together to keep him on the no-yak track.  (Even though I feel fairly certain that's all he needs to do to start feeling better...no matter.)

Second, I am determined to wear a fancy hat every day forever.
Like these:
 













NOT THIS, ha ha!:

So the cat wasn't really in this hat, but it
might as well have been!

They are awesome.  And also, I might become British.  I love America, but I know for a fact that British children do not yak on their parents.  They bring them tea and slippers.  Right?  And because I know I'm not the only one, I'm posting it here publicly, so that we all will stand together and bring the hat thing to this side of the pond.  I will not let this kid vomit business be for naught!  Who's with me?!

Easter-ous Festivous

(We've already established over at God.Love.Family.Life that Easter activities have no special holy significance, nor do they have anything to do with the "now reality" of Yahshua's resurrection.  We won't get into that here.) 

So having gone over and over for my son that there is a HUGE distinction between holiday shenanigans and the holiness of what we live every day, we had so much fun on Easter!  We did it up and got giddy about it just like we would for a family day set aside to go to Pizza Putt.  Was I just another lemming as I went through Walmart perusing chocolate bunnies and mints?  To the degree that I was pumping cash into the massive machine that is holiday consumption, I was aware of it and made the conscious decision to dive right in this year, lemming or not.  By diving in, I mean a few dollars, though, so don't get the wrong idea.  I had to fit it into my budget or it would've been a no-go.  Sorry, kids.  We don't go into debt for this stuff (says the woman who actually had a bag full of horrible, plastic Easter grass tucked away in my closet with the basket and plastic eggs we use every year)!  (But, hey, at least I don't give him chalky, crumbly, old chocolate I bought on sale last year...Tempting as it may be.) 

For the first year, Levi got an Easter basket of goodies from the "Easter Bunny" who he knows is not real, but we have a fun time pretending it (Last year, he just used the basket to collect eggs).  His reactions last week were hilarious as I explained to him in excited tones the things that sometimes happen on Easter...things like egg hunts and baskets and...caaaaaandyyyy.  When Saturday came and we were looking forward to the next day, Levi ran through the house screaming, "I LOVE EASTERRRRRRRR!"  Jed and I were cracking up as he raced by his sister and began his "I'm excited" ritual of running laps around the kitchen, circle after circle after circle.

Sunday morning, when he came out of his room with puffy eyes and crazy hair, he gave me a big, sparkly smile and yawned out, "Happy EASTER, Mommy!"  Finding his Elmo basket on the table downstairs was delight beyond compare until he spotted one of his dyed eggs peaking out from the corner under his work table.  Total glee.  I told him he better get after it, because those eggs were his breakfast!

We did breakfast (in a rush, despite my best efforts to get us all down there with plenty of time), then had an incredible time at our church gathering, then came home to our ham and saucy potatoes cooking (not quickly enough) in the crockpot.  We made it through the al dente potatoes so we could get outside into the beautiful sunshine.  Levi had more eggs to hunt: these were the plastic ones with you-can-only-guess-what inside.  Actually, we did take the extra time to eat the fluffy strawberry Jell-O pie.  This was the first year I'd made one of those, and I have to admit, we were a touch disappointed.  Are we crazy?  One more tradition we'll not embrace.  One year when I was about 9, my mom made a coconut cake in the shape of a bunny, and if I'm feeling all Martha Stewart next year, maybe I'll give that a try.  Sorry, Jell-O.

The especially good news is that none of the squirrels partook in Levi's egg hunt this year.  Last year, the thieving marmots helped themselves.  As if those neurotic bundles of energy need ANY more sugar!

We did get a few pictures of it all, then we took a walk and later that afternoon ran Levi at the playground until we could tell that the sugar energy was expended and he had reached exhaustion.  Mission accomplished.

We Finleys hope that your celebration was full of cheer as ours was and that, while Easter is over, the resurrection power He intended for us all is ever-increasing in your life.