How We're {Really} Doing

A friend recently asked, “Can you believe it’s been 6 months?!”

Yes. Yes, I can believe it. 

For us, it has been a long, hard 6 months. Perhaps because it feels like we have been awake for most of it.

Having a baby is exhausting. Having a baby and a toddler and a preschooler is, well, even after searching the thesaurus I cannot find a word that adequately describes our level of fatigue.

Some people decide that having one child is what’s best for their family. Other families thrive with five. I think our optimal number was two.

Going from 0 to 1 child completely kicked my butt. Then I seemed to get the hang of it and going from 1 to 2 wasn’t nearly as difficult as I'd anticipated. In fact, I was doing pretty well with two. They were fed, clothed and bathed on a regular basis. I made my own baby food, played educational games with them and all the toys were sorted by category in their own picture-labeled bins.

And then number 3 came along. After the newness wore off and my Vicodin prescription ran out, I looked around at the wreckage that used to be my home and thought what. have. we. done???

(Incidentally, the boys couldn't be happier about their new sister, especially the fact that Mommy found it a little difficult to supervise them every minute of the day. They celebrated by creating a giant Cheese-It slip 'n slide in the kitchen. One-year-old Henry marked the occasion by eating his sister's umbilical cord.)

Needless to say, we’ve lowered our parenting standards just a tad.

Good-bye home-cooked, organic meals; dinner tonight is soup from a can! Kids, meet your new babysitter: his name is Television! Who needs to bathe every day? Not this family! Weekly baths sound good to me!

And I don’t feel guilty about it. (Ok, that’s a lie. I feel guilty constantly. It’s what we moms do best.)

If one more elderly lady approaches me in the grocery store and tells me to enjoy every minute of motherhood because it goes so fast, she is going to get a swift karate chop to the throat. (Ok, I wouldn't do that, but I will call her a meddling old hag…in my mind. So there.)

The other phrase I hear constantly whenever we go out in public is, “Wow, you’ve sure got your hands full.” Yes, I have a baby strapped to my chest and 2 bickering children crammed in the cart with barely enough room to fit anything else except maybe a tube of toothpaste and an apple. I do have my hands full, but this statement always strikes me as odd. As my most favorite comedian Jim Gaffigan says, "That's like me going up to a guy in a wheelchair and saying, 'Looks like you're not doing much dancing lately.'"

I normally muster half a smile and respond with “Yeah.” My friend Kaylyn suggested I come back with, “Yes, and my heart is full also.” (I tried it once. I was met with a blank stare.)

One time all 5 of us were at Lowe’s (taking up 2 carts) and a very refined gentleman sporting ripped jeans and a mullet felt it was his duty to weigh in with his enlightening opinion, “Well, y’all just don’t know when to stop now, do ya?  Y’all do know where babies come from, riiight? I can getcha a book on it!” (In this situation Kaylyn says the appropriate response would be for me to place my arm around my husband and remark, “Well, look at this stud! Can you blame me?”)

Yes, it has been a difficult transition and friends often ask me how I’m doing. I'm never quite sure how to respond.

Do I go with overly optimistic? Oh, we are doing wonderful! We are just so grateful for our 3 little blessings and I am so incredibly fortunate that I get to be with them EVERY SINGLE MINUTE OF THE DAY!!” (Maybe not. With that degree of cheeriness I might be the one getting karate chopped in the throat.)

How about slightly hysterical? I HAVEN’T SLEPT OR SHOWERED IN 3 DAYS *sob, sob* I HAVE DRIED POOP ON MY SHIRT AND SPIT UP IN MY HAIR *sob* AND ALL I’VE EATEN TODAY ARE SOME STALE GOLDFISH I FOUND IN MY CUPHOLDER!!

The reality is a combination of the two.  I normally just tell people, “We’re doing good.” And you know? We really are.

It’s been a learning curve and one of the most important things I’ve learned is that I can’t do it all. And I can’t do it on my own. It takes the proverbial village.

My dear, sweet husband, often after putting in 10+ hours at work, comes home and dives right in to the household duties. He will do bath time, bed time, dishes, laundry or whatever else is needed. As Jack says, “Daddy’s a BEAST!”

Friends have delivered meals to our doorstep and family members have pitched in every way possible and WE. ARE. SO. GRATEFUL.

And there’s Jesus. He’s helped too.

I’ve done a lot of praying over the past few months. At first, my prayers went like this:

God, puh-leeease make her go to sleep!

Lord, if you would just make them all stop screaming for 5 minutes, I promise to only let them watch Christian videos!

Really, God?? Projectile poop?!? That’s actually a thing!?!?!

Then, one morning, somewhere around month 4, I was feeling particularly desperate. Lord, I’m not expecting it to be easy, but is it always going to feel like so…much…work?? Am I going to have to give myself a pep-talk to get out of bed every day for the next 18 years??

And then it dawned on me. Instead of asking God to make my life easier, why not ask him to help me love the life I have?

Because, after all, there is a whole lot to love.

A verse immediately came to mind, “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances.” I Thess. 5:16-18

And I have been dwelling in those words.

I’m noticing the smiles instead of the stains. I’m thankful for the falls and the fights because I have the privilege to help them back up and point them to Him. The sleep deprivation hardly even bothers me any more (totally kidding, it still sucks).

When our biggest problem in life is the chaos created by our 3 beautiful, healthy children, we really can't complain.

There are still (many) moments like this:

Can't a momma get a potty break??

But I’m choosing to focus on the ones like this:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6_MQ8nYDcac

So how have we been doing?

It’s been a long 6 months. It’s been a hard 6 months. It’s been a fantastic 6 months.

FOUR: When Your Baby is No Longer a Baby

My boy turned four this summer.

Today I watched him write his name. He slowly, painstakingly scratched out each letter, his tongue poking out in concentration. J…A…backwards C…crooked K.  

And I marveled.

This was the newborn who peered at me with squinty eyes, his little head bobbing as he stretched to see my face. “I’m your Momma,” I whispered when we were finally alone in that hospital room, convincing myself more than telling him. He blinked at me, his tiny brow furrowed. I was expecting to experience a spiritual moment in which we would instantly bond and choir of angels would chorus in unison, but instead I felt…nothing. This could be anybody’s baby. He doesn’t feel like mine. Who is this little stranger peering suspiciously at me?

And now he is four and he is writing.

Today I listened to him tell me all about preschool and how he played pirates with his friends and sang a song about a cat who wore shoes and ate a popcorn snack while wearing a silly hat and how it’s not ok to hit people unless someone is trying to kill you.

And I laughed.

This was the baby who cried at night when he was supposed to be sleeping and I cried too because I just didn’t know what to do. He cried when other people spoke to him while we were out in public and I worried and fretted because I thought he was an anti-social hermit baby. Sometimes he cried during the day no matter the amount of rocking or patting or cajoling I would do and I would yell, “Just tell me what you want!!!”

And now he is four and he is communicating. And he is so funny.

Today I watched him run. He started at the top of the driveway and raced to the bottom, head down, fists clenched, feet flying. He ran like his daddy runs: with strength and a purpose. “How fast did I go, Mommy?” he asked, circling around me to take another pass.

And I couldn’t answer for the knot starting to form in my throat.

This was the toddler who, on this very driveway, brought me little autumnal gifts as I sat soaking in the last warmth of summer. “Mama!” he declared as he proudly presented me with a large yellow maple leaf. Next, he ambled over with a smooth round walnut. My pile of presents grew and my heart swelled as I watched my little blonde boy examine the dirt for the perfect specimen to bring his mother.

And now he is four and he is running.

His chubby cheeks have been replaced by a mischievous little boy grin. He is long and lean and surefooted. He pours his own drinks, puts on his own clothes and writes his own name.

Tonight, as I was tucking him in, I discovered something in his drawer of “special treasures.” It was a love note I had quickly scribbled on a napkin and stuck in his lunch box one morning, almost as an afterthought. “I didn’t use it, Mommy, cause I didn’t want it to get dirty. I'm keeping it forever.”

The little stranger that made me a mother has grown into a boy I love more than life itself.

I miss the baby that is no more and I cannot wait to watch the man he becomes, but today, I am holding tight to four.

My boy is four.

$ Our Pricey Sofa $

When I was pregnant with our first child, John and I went couch shopping one Sunday afternoon. We soon came across a gorgeous sectional sofa that would fit perfectly in our new home. It was a bit pricey, but hey, it’s an investment piece, right? (And by "a bit pricey" I mean I am way too embarrassed to ever tell you what it actually cost.)

“Are we sure this is the couch we want?” I asked John. “You know how hard kids are on furniture.”

“Yes,” replied my wise spouse, “because we will teach our children to respect our things.”

Of course that logic seemed perfectly rational to me at the time. Four years later our sofa has been the victim of everything from forgotten popsicles to toddler scribbles and, on one occasion, an entire bottle of balsamic vinaigrette.

Oh, but when the sofa was new and our first little baby was not yet mobile, back when we thought we had this whole parenting thing under control, we had rules to ensure our sectional stayed looking pristine. Shoes were not allowed on the sofa. Eating was not allowed on the sofa. My husband even came up with a rule that we should rotate our seating positions so that each cushion received equal wear. (Yeah. I’m not the only perfectionist in the family.)

We actually bought a warranty to protect our investment and, let me tell you, I used the heck out of that thing. Until the last time I called and they gave me some crap about the overall condition of the sofa being too poor to qualify for the warranty service anymore. Jerks. (Not that I'm still mad about it or anything.)

But I digress.

Here is how we used the sofa before we had children: 

Sitting.

Here is how we now use our sofa:

Cuddling

Hide and seeking

Fort making

Team cheering

Spaceman launching

Baby napping

Cartoon watching

Cave exploring

Mountain climbing?

Our pricey sofa is currently covered in tiny fingerprints, smudges and even some crusty slime droplets. Goldfish crackers and superhero action figures can be found smashed between the cushions and John and I are now much more concerned with dodging little boy acrobatics than rotating our seating positions. 

Yes, our pricey sofa is no longer pristine.

But you know what? I think I like it better this way.

"I totally respect the furniture, Dad!"

The Great Chick-Fil-A Slime Disaster

MOO!

Every Tuesday night Chick-Fil-A has Family Night. My husband works late every Tuesday night, so every Tuesday night the kids and I can be found at our local Chick-Fil-A. Sometimes we even go when it's not Tuesday. In fact, I often find myself starting stories with, "This one time, at Chick-Fil-A..."

I'm not joking when I say they know us by name. Like, every employee knows each of our names. 

(By the way, did you know that Chick-Fil-A offers a service called "Mommy Valet"? You can actually take your carfull of kids through the drive-thru, order and request the Mommy Valet service. When you pay at the window they will ask you if you need a highchair, placemats, condiments, etc, and when you finally herd all your little ones inside, the employees will have your table all set up for you! Amazing!)

So this one time, at Chick-Fil-A, it was Family Night. We LOVE Family Night. On Family Night they always have some sort of theme or craft like Superhero Night or Pirate Night or Glue-A-Bunch-Of-Crap-On-Construction-Paper-Which-Will-End-Up-Crumpled-On-The-Floor-Of-The-Minivan Night. The boys LOVE the activities and I LOVE the fact that I get 10 minutes alone with my Cobb Salad while they complete said activity. On this particular family night it happened to be Make-Your-Own-Slime-Night (the theme could have had something to do with science, but I wasn't exactly paying attention. I was with my salad).

As the boys gleefully rushed back to our table with their little cups of slime, I knew this could only end in one of 2 ways:

1) I put the little cups in my bag for safekeeping until they somehow "get lost" in the trash can OR

2) I can spend the next week picking dry crusted slime out of my carpet and off of the furniture. 

I decided to go with option 1. 

Of course, the minute we returned home they remembered their little treasures and cried, "Where is our sliiiime? Can we play with our slliiiime now, Mommy?"

Drat! My plan is foiled!! But I WILL NOT succumb to option 2!! 

"Alright, boys, you may play with your slime, but you can only play with it outside! DO NOT bring it inside! Now, where do we play with it?? Outside, that's right."

For a few brief minutes that night our normally chaotic house was peaceful. I could hear the boys giggling as they stretched and poked their slime outside on the porch. I sat just inside the door nursing the baby and checking Facebook just being present in the moment. 

Look at this serene family atmosphere you've created, Momma! You are really getting the hang of this mother-of-3 thing. I mean, before you know it, you're going to be writing an advice blog for other mothers!

Of course, in parenting, the second you begin to think that you have it even a tiny bit figured out, your child will be right there to prove you wrong. So, so wrong.

"NNNOOOOO!" wailed Jack from the porch. He burst through the door in hysterics. 

“I (sob) PUT IT (sob) IN MY HAIR (sob) AND IT’S GETTING IN MY EYYYYYYYYYEEES!”

I watched in horror as my son frantically pawed at his greasy head, sending tiny beads of blue slime, as if in slow motion, soaring through the family room. I confess, at that moment I was less concerned about the possibility of Jack going blind and more agitated about how to clean the slime-droplet-coated carpet.

What's a Momma to do? She takes a picture.

A bath, one haircut and a professional carpet cleaning later, our home is now slime-free.

Tonight marks one month since the Great Chick-Fil-A Slime Disaster. So, to celebrate our recovery, we went to Family Night at Chick-Fil-A.

And, I kid you not, as we walked in I noticed a little sign informing patrons of the Family Night activity.

It said “Make Your Own Silly Putty!”

If Spiderman Ever Needs a Day Off...

This is Aunt Boo.

She has big muscles cause she does this all day:

And this:

Naturally, Jack wants in on the action.

Luckily, Aunt Boo is a good teacher.

He's starting to get the "hang" of it! (You're welcome for that amazing pun.)

I think his Spidey Sense is tingling...

Rock City: My Kind of Hiking

I’m an “indoorsy” kinda girl. Lucky for me, my husband tends to avoid excessive amounts of nature as well. We’ve never been camping or rock climbing. We generally opt out of activities that cause one to get dirty and bug-bitten. The most outdoorsy thing we do is eat dinner on our screened in porch.

A few weeks ago, on a trip to Nini and Pop’s, my mother suggested a family hiking trip one morning. Understandably, I was not enthused. Nini, being rather indoorsy herself, explained that Rock City is a paved walking path you can easily hike in flip flops and a cute top. Plus, you can take your Starbucks.

Yes, amongst the trees and ancient rock formations and all the nature stands a lone Starbucks.

One mocha light Frappuccino, please! This is my kind of hiking.

 Rock City, located on top of Lookout Mountain in Georgia, combines the perfect amount of kitsch and charm as you hike the (paved!) woodland path through enchanted gardens and caverns. Lovers Leap, the pinnacle of the hike, offers a breathtaking panoramic view of seven states.

Jack & Nini on top of Lover's Leap

7 States: TN, KY, VA, NC, SC, GA, AL

Sweet Henry was enthralled. He poked his head in every cavern and investigated each crack in the rocks. He chased butterflies, squealed at the 100-foot waterfall and bounced along the swinging  bridge.

Jack, on the other hand, may be taking after his parents. When I asked him if he had a good time at Rock City he promptly replied, “Yes, but it’s not as fun as the mall.”

Here are a few more photos from our "hike":

Spending time with my grandparents.
I am blessed that my children are so close to their great-grandparents!

My Little Love's Language

This is my Little Love.

He doesn't say a lot, but it's evident he has an older brother when his limited vocabulary includes words like "burp," "Spiderman" and "McDonald's."

He doesn't say a lot, but when he does speak, it is a language all his own.

"Back-a-bee" somehow means "pacifier"

"Shay-she" is his word for "blanket"

"Cah-co" obviously translates to "ice cream sandwich." (Yes, my 20-month-old cannot say his own name, but you’d better believe he’ll communicate for McDonald’s and ice cream sandwiches.)

I'm not fluent in Henry, but I know enough to get around. 

Tonight my little love, lashes drooping, crawled into my lap with shay-she in hand. "Mama! Back-a-bee?"

"Yes, Sweetie, here is your paci."

He snuggled into my shoulder for a minute, then sat straight up. He popped out his beloved paci, pointed to his lips and exclaimed, "Mama! Moo!"

"Umm...A cow says 'Moo'?"

"Mama!" he insisted, pressing his lips with more intensity, "Moo! Moooooo!"

"You want a kiss?"

"Ya! Ya! Ya!"

I happily obliged and before he replaced the paci he gave me a little grin and said, "La la lu!" 

La la lu too, Sweet Boy. La la lu too.