'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.

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.