Stuff happens

Thomas suddenly stopped nursing a few weeks ago.  He has no regrets. For the first time in 8 years,  my body is supporting only one human.  Wow. :-/

Thomas is using his newfound spare time to try out sentences. Typical sentences are "No, no, Mom." Or "Yellow boots." Or "Want cookie!" But my favorite so far is "I love you, Mom.  I love you, Mom. I love you, Mom."

Samuel is finishing up first grade with a push to improve spelling (or,  START spelling) and write sentences. We got a new math book at a thrift store and added that in,  too. Right away I saw we were way behind in math.  So much panicking! After two days working in that book I looked again for the grade level and saw it said "Grade 3". Ok. Everyone can sit down.

Natalie has started her own library.  She has about 50 titles. They are usually pink and sparkly.

I have been working a few hours a week at the library and loving the brain time and the tiny cash.

Steve and I got new phones the other day and now we are in over our heads.  This is serious technology.

You have been interrupted.

Dear Carol,

I remember you! You're that girl who used to play the piano so nicely. You knew the chocolate chip cookie recipe by heart and baked often. You had a bit of an athletic streak (nothing major) and exercised regularly. You ran a book club and you read when you wanted. You had friends! A career!

No? That's not you? You're being modest. Sure it is.

Oh but yes, I do see you there, in the kitchen, surrounded by dirty dishes, near a basket of clean laundry that came off the clothesline days ago, and paused in front of the oven that you started preheating an hour ago. And I hear your children squabbling, asking for food, and barraging you with the complaints of the chronically needy. Somewhere in the distance, a cat is puking on the carpet. You're not feeling very much like yourself.

You have been interrupted.

You are interrupted throughout the day in every task. You've been writing this post in installments for hours! But what I actually mean is that YOU have been interrupted. You.

You are not able to carry on as if you're not now the mother of three small children. Because you are! You have those little ones! And they need you so much - for almost everything. You feel trapped. Caught by those lovely little creatures who can't bear to leave you out of their sight.

You are in the trenches of motherhood. The trenches feel endlessly long and no one is ever sure if or when they will emerge. And, should you outlast the trenches, will you remember the way things used to be? Will you be able to regain those proficiencies? Will you be you?

I know how you feel. It's actually normal! Though I know that doesn't make you feel any better. These kids that you've been blessed with - you do understand that it's a blessing - do require your love and leadership. And your patience. They are very hungry little people, aren't they? And they all seem to need to poop at precisely the same time. You hate that! When they're not on the potty, they're asking you to play with them or or fighting with each other. You are very busy, and the free, independent Carol has been interrupted.

But I promise you, these children will continue to grow. They will become independent and you will be so proud of them. You'll be proud of yourself for the lives you've launched. You'll treasure your memories, even the ones from the trenches. Most likely, you will be unable to feel like the Carol you used to be. But that's because you'll find you've been enriched. Enhanced. Upgraded to a Carol who loves better and lives harder. You'll be fine, my dear. Hang in there.

Love,
Carol

Developments

Thomas doesn't saw "ownt" anymore when he wants something. He either breathes expressively, calls my name ("Mom? Mom? Mom?") or just cries.

Natalie wants to play with Ripple all the time.

Samuel can read at a second grade level.

Thomas has 9 teeth.

Natalie sang a prayer this morning, including the lines "Make me bigger, when You can. Make my birthdays be longer. Give me more friends..."

Samuel likes to climb trees. Usually with the help of a ladder... But he'll go up high.

Thomas seems to have outgrown his egg and peanut butter sensitivities.

Natalie dresses herself very nicely. Sometimes backwards. Usually in shorts. Almost always in pink and purple.

Samuel is a Minecraft ace.

Thomas gives dual kisses again. Kiss Mom... Kiss Dad. Kiss Mom... Kiss Dad.

Natalie is very difficult at dinner time. Her appetite magically dies if dinner is anything but pizza or pancakes.

Samuel can hardly button his pants. He's busting into size 8 now.

Slow to Speak

My boyfriend, Thomas, is growing up. Of course, that happens. He won't give me any kisses at the moment. He's started to defy me every now and then. And he is no longer agreeable about eating his veggies.

Ah, but he's my last baby. He's perfect. It doesn't bother me a bit to get up and feed him in the night. He's my preferred bed partner (no snoring, though his perpendicular sleeping is often inconvenient). Sometimes he crawls over to me in the night to lay across my midsection. We are very bonded.

He doesn't say many words, though. I'm not sure if it's time to be concerned, but I'm taking note. He says a handful of words, but never says them all in the same day. Here's what he's got:

Hair: "How"
Nose: "No"
Mouth: "Mao"
Cat: "Mao"
Mom: "Maaaaa"
Hello: "Hi-yo"
Bye: "Bye-bye"
Uh oh: "Uh ho"

Thomas is very responsive to full sentences, like "Do you want something to eat?" He prefers to grunt his response. Yes sounds something like "Eh!" and no is approximately "Mmmp!"

Are you hungry? "Eh!"
Want a fresh diapie? "Eh!"
Where's the Mao? "Mao? Mao? Mao?"
Can I have a kiss? "Mmmp!"
Please kiss your Mama! "Mmmp!"
Whatever.

I kiss him anyway. 💓

Lest We Forget

We moved in July.

After years of saying "We need to move to the country. Let's make a plan to get out of here." ... we actually did it.

We met with our realtor, who said we needed to do some painting, some decluttering, and put in a new driveway. We did it. We worked so very, very, very hard to perfect our house so we could capitalize on its value and launch out of it.

The stager came in, twisting furniture, moving lamps, complimenting my style (she was probably just being polite). 

It was so beautiful. Every room felt just the way I wanted it to. Leaving suddenly felt unimagineable.

But far way, on a hill in Michigan, waited an old farmhouse. It needed a new roof, gallons of paint, and general love. It needed kids! Pets. Energy.

So on July 23, after a severe storm knocked out power to our whole neighborhood, a crew of close friends came over to help us load up the big yellow moving truck. Mom and Dad were there. Jake and Britney. Sarah and Marc. Peder and Melisa. Heather and Aron. They Worked. So. Hard. It was 99 outside, with 99% humidity. The sun never fell behind clouds. We had no power, no A/C, and no break from the heat. In the house, it was nearly as hot as outside. When the baby needed a nap, we turned on the van, ran the A/C to cool it down, and Heather held him while he slept.

Everybody worked without a single complaint. They didn't stop smiling, even when the sweat was actually running down their arms in rivulets. A gesture would fling droplets. Brushing up against a door left a wet streak. We were all disgusting and whatever is worse than that.

But the biggest thing I felt was love. My friends showed just how kind and true they were. I actually hadn't known. My default belief is always to think that I like people more than they like me. I can hardly believe people like me, to this day. It is something to work on. These friends showed me then, at what felt like their last opportunity, that they love me, and they love us. It was precious. Once again, leaving felt unimageinable.

But the house was under contract. The next day, it wouldn't be ours. And another one in Michigan was waiting for our signature. The grounds were waiting for children. The rooms were waiting to be ours. Sixty acres (60!) wanted to know what was next for them. That thing we had been saying for so long ... "We need to move to the country..." It was happening. Beyond measure.

The drive took two days. We slept in Iowa. We drove some more. We would have extended it into a third day except for the belief that a calf had escaped from my parents' fields. We pushed it and made it home around 1 a.m.

After two weeks at my parents' house, we finally moved into our own. Every day, something else happens here to make it more our house, and our home. It's noisy. It's energetic! It's huge. It's a blessing so big, I can hardly take it in. We expected to move to a few acres; maybe 10. In a small house. Not this - this huge Victorian farmhouse on a very large piece of property. This is a dream that I can actually see when I'm awake. A blessing I can now study in great detail. I hope I never stop seeing the beauty here. I hope I never forget how much I craved being home in my neck of the woods, next to my parents. And I hope I never forget that there are real friends in Kansas City, who love me the way I am. Enormous blessings in both places.

Lest we forget.

Thomas.

I don't have the right words for this.

I'm in awe of my red baby.

He thrills me and delights me and sometimes I still can't believe he's mine.

He is kind. He locks eyes with me, studies my smile, then offers a gentle and deeply intuitive smile back. I can see that it comes from his heart, and not from some giddy impulse.

When I was pregnant with him, two different, unrelated medical professionals told me that he was, and would be, a VERY nice boy. How could they know?

One was a high-risk doctor who carefully studied Thomas via ultrasound. He said "This is a very good boy. I'm telling you now - he's a very good boy inside the womb and he'll be a very good boy outside, too." The other was my chiropractor, who always reads or feels the energy from my body. As she was adjusting me and seeing how my body was responding, she placed her hands on my belly and blurted "Oh, he is such a NICE BOY!! He's a VERY nice boy!"

I don't know. They're just people. But my Thomas is all that they said.

Granted, he's 8 months old. Not a teenager. But he's not fussy. He's not moody. He loves all of us, but particularly​ me. He's happy to play by himself or with my other children - though if he catches sight of me, he'll ask me to come get him. He's big, so I can't hold him as much as he wants, so I often hold him in bed after he's fallen asleep, letting the pillows do the hard work of lifting him up.

I try to take him everywhere I go. We have a great time together almost every time. Once, he got hungry and fussed in Costco. Another time I had to cut a thrifting run short because he got hungry. But that's it. We go places, me and my toy.

He loves food! He still nurses regularly and I had been feeding him a variety of solid foods until March 26, when he had a bad day and blood began appearing in his diapers. Since then we've figured out that he's allergic to something I/we had been eating. I'm on a very restricted diet now - no dairy, soy, wheat, peanuts, tomatoes, citrus or strawberries. He eats only oats, rice, and apple juice. His diapers are a lot better. Still a little green and slimy, but much less blood. I'll wait until he's 1 before testing dairy in his diet or mine.

We truly hope his hair stays red. ❤️ His hair is such a bright orange-red. It's rare, and it feels like everything about this baby is rare. What a blessing. It feels like we won the lottery.

I can't put it into the best words, but I can say:
He's such a gift.
He dazzles me.
He makes my heart squeeze with the sensation of being over-full.
I am so grateful!

ARE YOU KIDDING ME

In the privacy of my bedroom, I tooted. It definitely had an odor and I was glad I was alone. I didn't foresee having guests, but as it turned out, Natalie opened my door and tried to come in. I met her at the door. I didn't know what to say.

"I tooted in here and it doesn't smell good," I said, crouching down to talk quietly to her.  It was very embarrassing to admit, but I didn't want to bar her from the room without explanation.

She smiled. She edged closer into the room. And she sniffed.

"It stinks in here," she said.

Sam appeared, strange smile on his face, nose in the air. He has excellent hearing and he was excited to smell a Mom toot. He didn't back away until his mission was accomplished.

Are you kidding me?! How humiliating! There goes everything.