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.

Natalie's Near-Truths

My Natalie likes to make people happy.

She discovered that words can make people happy and diffuse tough situations.

Yesterday, when she demonstrated that she could put her shirt on by herself - which both excited and saddened me - she said "I can do it myself."

"You don't need me?!" I asked, and she heard some sadness in my voice.

She pulled the shirt over her head and stuck her right arm through the right sleeve.

"Well," she said, "you can help me with this one." She let me guide her left arm through the left sleeve.

Today, shenanigans in the living room earned her a small swat on the bum. She came into the kitchen, where I was, and looked at me in a way that told me something was wrong.

"What happened?" I asked. "Are you hurt?"

"No," she said. "Daddy pank my bum."

"Oh. Did you do something bad?" I asked.

"No," she said. "Daddy did." Expertly ignoring her own misbehavior, she pinned the cause of her distress on her father. Which, from her point of view, was probably accurate.

Natalie is not a liar - she's too young to really grasp the importance of truth. However... She flexes reality until it serves her well. She'll say whatever she thinks is the right answer for me to hear.

Not long ago, she had a red spot on her lip where I'd seen her picking at her skin.

"What happened to your lip?" I asked. "Were you picking at it?"

"No, I think Sam was," she said.

When I told her Sam was probably never picking at her lips, she said nothing. No need to defend herself. A quick answer to deflect correction was​ the obvious choice! No matter if Mom wasn't fooled.

She's a resilient little girl. I adore her and I learn a lot from her. And I have no doubt she will be an excellent, honest woman.

Needs

Let's talk about needs.

Needs are exhausting.

I need to make lunch.

BUT at the same time:
Samuel needs a drink of water. Thomas needs me to hold him. Natalie needs to sit on the counter. Samuel needs a turkey sandwich. Natalie needs to taste what I'm preparing. Samuel needs me to guess what. Thomas needs a nibble of food. Natalie needs to know what's in this cabinet. Samuel needs to know if it is cold outside. Natalie​ needs the pink plate. Samuel needs to kiss my hip. I step on him - SHIT! Someone needs me to answer the phone. Howie needs a kitty treat, certain he'll find one if he laces between my ankles. I step on him - DAMMIT. Samuel needs to know if he can also have pretzels. Natalie needs to tell me she loves me. Samuel needs to tell me he loves me 5,000. Thomas needs me to adjust my grip before he falls.

I need to take deep breaths. (I forget to.) I need to not yell. (I yell.) I need to make lunch. (I can't.)  I need to make lunch!!! I JUST NEED TO MAKE LUNCH; IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK???

I send them to the table. They creep back into the kitchen. I begin to wave arms haphazardly. "Enough! No! I can't!" I wave in all directions to encompass all things. Just in case they've thought of something else.

"No! Get out! Go to Samuel's room and do not come down until I call you!"

I need to make lunch.

SHIIIT.

They see me rolling

Thomas rolled over on my birthday. Three times, from tummy to back. I think it was my birthday present from him. He is my favorite new toy. ❤️

Here's Thomas!

Thomas was born on August 25, the grand finale to a miserable pregnancy that I hated from the start. Though I loved the baby, my mind and body just couldn't stand being pregnant.

The puking was erratic. The SPD began breaking my pelvis at week 16. That lead to back, hip and leg pain and made any kind of exercise impossible. I became allergic to strange things, like pizza. By 30 weeks I began to fantasize about having an emergency C-section. A week or so later I was diagnosed with polyhydramnios - too much amniotic fluid. This enabled me to freak out about all the additional ways I might lose my baby. Could the placenta detach? Could he get strangled by his cord? Could he JUST DIE???! I panicked. Polyhydramnios made my tummy huge and so cumbersome. Rolling over was a joke. Picking up dropped items was for fools. Once it hit the floor, it stayed there until Steve came.

I spent my third trimester sitting on the loveseat. I. Just. Couldn't.

My midwife told me to prepare myself to go overdue - can you BELIEVE her?? - but there was no way I could do that. I tried not to slay her with my eyes. I was certain he'd be out by August 15 and that I'd be able to watch the Rio Olympics while in labor. What a fantastic distraction!

Pretty much on cue, I had bloody show on Saturday, August 13. See? I was right. I told my mom, and she debated beginning her 14-hour drive. She stayed home that night. The next morning I had larger clots, cramping and back pain. Mom hit the road.

By that evening, everything had stopped.

My midwife, Lindsey, was off Monday, buy she asked me to go in to the office that morning. The midwife on duty said I hadn't dilated more and, even worse, that my baby was sideways! What! She immediately scheduled me for an ECV - external cephalic version - to put the baby in head down position. That was supposed to happen three days. Since an ECV can be painful, the plan was to give me an epidural first. After I recovered, they'd send me home to await a spontaneous labor.

Now, I'm not dumb. Of there's an epidural, there needs to be a baby. Ain't no pregnant Carol going to the hospital and getting an epidural without getting a baby. No. They'd have to make it happen. Besides, with all that water, there wasn't any guarantee that my baby wouldn't just revert back to laying sideways.

I was torn - secretly relieved that my wait was over but sad to lose any control over my labor. Plus, my least favorite midwife was going to be the one to deliver my baby that day. Ehhh.

Mom was downright mad. She hated all the interventions and the sudden change in plans. Still on the road, she insisted I call my (fantastic) chiropractor. As soon as Mom pulled in the drive, she and I went to the chiro. Dr. Jessica used the Webster technique to inspire the baby to move. It was painless. I felt the baby move into the head down position as I climbed back into my van to go home.

On Wednesday, an ultrasound confirmed what I'd felt - he was head down! But he was also 10.5 pounds, the technician said.

But where was the labor? I went back to the chiropractor to have her push all the pressure points that can provoke labor. I had hours of contractions that night, but they stopped. Two days later, I went again to my chiropractor with the same demand. I had false labor again that night. And another night. I walked with Mom in the mornings. I'd hear her take phone calls in her room from coworkers. "No baby yet," she'd say, and I'd cringe. How could this be happening? It was a unique anguish - to have had enough signs of labor to get my mother to leave her home and her job but then... Nothing. No baby yet. I felt I'd made a big mistake.

Finally, I woke in the night to potty at 2 a.m. on August 24. I was leaking fluid. It was unmistakably amniotic fluid. I was ecstatic. Contractions came. I sat on the birthing ball. At 4 a.m. I woke my mother. At 5 a.m. I called my midwife. At 7 a.m. everything stopped. I went back to bed.

I went to my regularly scheduled doctor appointment at 11 a.m., having erratic but frequent contractions. My midwife said I was dilated to a 3 and 80℅ effaced. Yay! An ultrasound revealed that the baby was head down. Yay! A bulging sac of water was under his head, getting squeezed with each contraction. Because of the polyhydramnios and the risk that the baby could trap the cord under his head, they wanted my water to break in the hospital. That way they could monitor his heart rate and avert disaster if it came. Lindsey declared me in labor and sent me to the hospital. My contractions became much more painful.

Throughout my pregnancy, Lindsey promised third babies come quickly and this would be a speedy labor. I fully believed her. Why not?

After three hours of laboring in the hospital, in and out of the tub, I let the attending midwife, Jamie, break my water. My labor intensified again and moved into my back. That was excruciating. Three hours later, midwife-in-training Marie checked me and said...

"She's a 3, and 80% effaced."

Nothing could have been more discouraging. All those hours of labor?! WITH NO CHANGE???!

I gave in. I demanded an epidural, and fast. I got one, and the pain left. My body shook on and off for hours. I had to receive fluids to keep my blood pressure up. Eventually I was a 4, then a 6, then I hung around at 8 for a while. It was dark outside. Nurses changed shifts. I ate Tums like crazy and sipped water. So thirsty!

At 11 p.m. my body was finally ready to push the baby out. Of course, another laboring mom was already pushing at that time, so the midwives were not available. I waited thirty minutes.

When my turn came, I pushed with all my might and felt no change at all. Again and again... Nothing. And again. Suddenly I stopped mid-push because it felt like there was air in my tummy. I thought I might burp? Within minutes I was puking, rejecting all my Tums and precious sips of water.

"Don't worry," my midwife said. "That's very effective pushing."

Finally the baby was crowning. FINALLY!!! Jamie said he had red hair. Not possible! I was sure she was wrong. We worked carefully then to push out his head without causing any tearing. When his head came out I was watching in the mirror. It. Was. Huge.

Thomas was born at 12:30 in the morning. I cried and rejoiced. During my miserable pregnancy, I'd decided that the first hour after he was born would belong solely to me. I didn't want him washed or weighed or wrapped. I just wanted him. They allowed me to hold him for 2.5 hours while my epidural wore off. Even Steve didn't ask for a turn. When I offered to share the baby, he said no - I should keep holding him.

It was heaven.

When I let them take him, he weighed in at 9 pounds, 9.9 ounces. He was 20 1/2 inches long. And yes, his hair was red.

And that's the story of how nine terrible months ended with 22 hours of labor and gave me the cutest, happiest red-headed baby the world could imagine. I LOVE him.

The very little girl

At one of Natalie's last doctor appointments, she was measured.

"She's very little," said the doctor. "She's in the 93rd percentile. That means if you put her in a row of 100 kids born on her birthday, 93 of them would be bigger than her."

Of course I knew what that meant. I didn't know she was quite that little, especially since she has such a big personality and she's so physical with her big brother.

She beats him up. Kind of - we don't allow the kids to hurt each other, but we do allow wrestling. Natalie wins. She will stand behind him on the bed and tackle him, driving his face down into the covers. He laughs and sits back up. She repositions and piles him back into the bed. On repeat.

One time I was in the bathroom next to my bedroom when they started to wrestle on my bed.

"Be careful," I said. "No kids getting hurt."

"Okayy," they said in unison. Then I heard a giggle out of Natalie.

"Yeah, you gettin' hurt!" she said, and tackled Sam again.

I just don't like it when it's someone else's birthday

Yesterday our little Natalie turned two. It was a big deal - to everyone except her. Adorably innocent, she didn't know what a birthday was and had no idea how old she was (though that part might run in the family). She waited patiently to open her presents. She was thrilled with her alphabet outfit from Grandma Tractor and gasped when she saw her new Cabbage Patch Kid. She's precious and very funny and we all had a sweet day.

Except for big brother, who couldn't appreciate what we were appreciating. None of the gifts were for him? It wasn't his birthday? Can't he just have a balloon? Or a new toy? Why is it not his birthday? What am I getting him for his birthday? Such moanings were ringing in my ears all day. I'm sure it's hard to be 4 and to know what birthdays are and to see a big stack of presents that are ALL for someone else. (Though he later learned there was one hidden up there for him, it did little to satisfy his inner turmoil.) But his persistence was exhausting.

Natalie has turned into one of the most charming little things I've ever seen. She's strong, sweet, funny, loving and provokes her brother all day. She'll spend 30 minutes playing in running water at the kitchen sink - "Need wash my hands," she'll say. "Need soap, Mom. My hand, right here." She prefers to wear a shiny blue cape and run around as "SuperNat". She likes to color, breaking at least one crayon each time. And she loves food. Candy in particular. We have a vintage cloth book called something like My Pocket Book with a variety of real pockets sewn into each page. I showed her how to use the book by putting buttons, candy and tiny things in the pockets. She never forgot about the candy. Now she brings me that book almost every day. "Need candy, Mom." What's a mom to do? I give her candy. Annie's organic fruit gummies. It's still a dose of diabetes, but it's ORGANIC diabetes.

In other news, we are getting ready to welcome a third tiny person to our family in August. I'm delightfully nauseated as I write this, eating a KIND bar at 12:30 a.m. to stave off the pukes. Pregnancy is pretty awful. Though, since this is likely my last pregnancy, I made the decision today to try to enjoy it. That should be easier next trimester. I still get random flashes of jealousy when I see men engaged in their daily doings. Men, who can never get pregnant. Men, who can never fathom the long-term disability of pregnancy. Men, who don't understand why when their pregnant wife asks them to buy PHILADELPHIA CREAM CHEESE AND ONLY PHILADELPHIA CREAM CHEESE they must not bat an eye at the price or notice the off-brand offerings. We are not eating that. Forget about it.

Sam knows about the new baby and is anxiously awaiting his/her arrival. Today he made the baby a large collection of tiny pink balls of Play Doh. He considered it his work and took it seriously. He thinks they will really please the baby. He was not impressed when I stuck some of them on the frame of my glasses.

This is life and we are living it. Rather nauseously, and often at decibels believed to be humanly impossible. Please come over.

The nightly naked

Baby girl has a pretty erratic schedule but one thing is regular these days: the nightly naked. That's when she squawks and complains about her clothes at night, pulling on them and shrieking until you finally help her remove them. She spends the last few hours of each day wearing only a diaper. Thankfully, her diapers have Mickey Mouse on them these days, so there's no reason to not love them (from her perspective). She never complains about being cold. Just don't you dare try to put a shirt on her!

Three books Sam is working on

I believe my boy could be a budding author. He's got a sparkling imagination and a trillion things to say. Here are three book titles I foresee in his future:

500 Reasons I Can't Do What You're Asking - A non-comprehensive list of entirely valid excuses for disobedience.

I'll Take What She's Got - A study on jealousy. That pink comb didn't mean a thing to me until sister picked it up, but it means everything now!!!

Let's Talk About Volcanoes (All The Time) - How hot is lava? Why is it so hot? What is lava made from? What are volcanoes made of? Why do they erupt? What would happen if you ate lava? Do volcanoes belch? What does belch mean? All this and more.

I'm pretty sure he was doing research for his 500 Reasons book in church today when I asked him to take a nap. Here's what that conversation was like:

Me: Lay down now and take a nap.

Sam: But I don't want to take a nap.

Me: It's nap time. So lay down and take a nap.

Sam: I'm not tired, so I can't sleep.

Me: Lay down, close your eyes, and sleep.

Sam: I don't have enough energy to sleep.

Me: Take a nap anyway. It is nap time.

Sam: But the lights are on and I can't sleep with the lights on.

Me: Close your eyes and sleep.

He fell asleep a few minutes later, getting in a 30-minute nap before church ended. His eyes flew open when noise woke him after the final prayer, and he quickly announced "I didn't sleep. I wasn't tired so I didn't sleep."

Sure. Sure.

Bestseller material! Pre-order your copy today!

Notes on Natalie

My funny little princess is nearly 19 months old and she is amazing! She began speaking in sentences at the end of July - sweet little sentences like "I need hep!" or "Where go?" Yesterday she said "I duhdee" - I'm thirsty. Today Natalie saw Sam hiding under his bed covers and said "I tee you, Tam." It made Sam and I laugh.

Natalie loves Elmo - so much that she even rescues dirty diapers from the trash if she spots an Elmo on them. That's just what everyone needs.

I love to squeeze her. I pick her up and hug her tight, saying "Squeeeeze her! Squeeze her!" I did that yesterday and, for the first time, she squeezed me back. As tight as she could! It was precious. I think I will always remember how that felt.

Poor baby has been struggling with constipation since Thanksgiving 2014. We have taken her to the doctor several times, and they advise it is common. We keep her on miralax and give her fruits, veggies and foods that have as much fiber as she can stand. But let's face it, she's 19 months old and she wants cheese. We can be very thankful that she still likes blueberries and watermelon.

I took the kids on a trip to Michigan for two weeks, beginning at the end of July. Natalie was a wild animal on the airplane rides. We met a very kind stranger - a father to four daughters - on the way home who helped with her. 

In Michigan, Sam and Natalie got a lot of outdoor time. We went to the lake four times and I learned that Natalie is not a fan of large bodies of water. She clings like a monkey. Oddly, Sam was far braver in the water than she was. I'd have lost a lot of money on that bet.

We found a giant Elmo in the thrift store in Newberry. It was 50 cents and nearly as tall as her. It was ours immediately. Sometimes Natalie lays on him like a pillow.

Grandma and Grandpa Tractor loved our visit. They were wonderful, doting grandparents. I treasured having my children on what will always feel like my true home. Auntie Becca and Uncle Bill were there briefly, too, and we had a big family reunion with people from my father's side. That was special.

In other news, Natalie is just beautiful. She's very funny and very smart. She seems small for her age. Her hair is getting long and curls at the end. She has ten teeth - six on top, including two molars, and four on the bottom with just one molar there. She still loves her tummy, though she doesn't touch it as often as she once did. I often find myself staring at her...I just adore her!

A strange line of questioning

"Momma, do lines last forever?" Sam asked.

I thought this a very strange question. Wanting to be patient and kind, I thought for a second, and then said, "They might. If a line is drawn with a pen, it lasts forever. But a line drawn with a pencil can be erased, so it doesn't last forever."

I was pretty impressed with my coherent answer. I mean, there are so many kinds of lines. Lines on a highway. Contrails in the sky. Checkout lines at the store. Wrinkle lines on my face. And I picked one good kind of lines, and gave a good answer. Rock it, Mom.

But Sam looked worried. 

"A pen lasts forever?" he asked.

"Yes, a line from a pen can last forever."

"Is this a pen?" He asked, holding up one of my pens.

"Yes, that is a pen," I said.

"Are you sure it isn't a pencil?" he asked.

By now, I am quite suspicious.

"Sam, did you draw a line somewhere with that pen?" I asked.

He shook his head, no.

"Are you sure? I think you might have. Was it an accident? Did you draw a line somewhere by accident?" 

"No," he said.

Steve is listening by now. I mouthed to Steve "I think he drew on something and he's afraid he'll get in trouble."

I searched the walls and furniture, but I could find no errant lines.

"Are you sure you didn't draw a line somewhere?" Steve said. "It's ok, if you tell me. You won't get in trouble."

Sam maintained his innocence. I kept up the search for ink, and then I noticed Sam was leaning quite intently against the arm of the couch. I forcibly moved him and noticed a two-inch line of ink on side of the couch. He was horrified, and very nervous. 

It felt good to extend mercy instead of scolding and punishing. The ink came out with just a wet washcloth. The couch has been treated with some stain preventer. Aside from hot pink nail polish, nothing has been able to stain our couch.

"Next time, tell us," we said. 

Though I am sure I never want to hear him say "Mom, does marker last forever?"

 

Gig-a-boo

Gig-a-boo! [giggle]

Gig-a-boo! [giggle]

Ah! I get it! My baby is playing peek-a-boo! She's so funny! She is thrilled that I know what she's doing. She understands so many words and complex sentences, and has a long list of words she manages to say. But sometimes I still don't know what I'm hearing.

"See it see it?!" is how she asks what something is. Then I tell her, and she gives me a quick, grave nod of understanding. It's one of my favorite things that I've ever seen. 

For example:

"See it see it?!" she'll say, tapping the door to my shower.

"Shower," I respond. And she waits. "You'd get wet in there." She nods - a deep nod that nearly makes her chin touch her chest. It. Is. So. Cute!!!

WHAT I REALLY WANT FOR MOTHER'S DAY

OK, listen up. I'm going to be very frank here.

I want a whole bunch of stuff for Mother's Day and I want it in this order.

First, I want to sleep in and wake up when I feel like it. Just once. Just for Mother's Day. Just please.

Then, I want to use the bathroom by myself, and get in the shower and be clean. I want to emerge when I feel like it. Not because anyone has pooped or anyone is crying or anyone can't find their blue caterpillar toy.

Third, I do not want my kids to be sick. Ever again. But if we could start with not being sick on Mother's Day, we'll go with that.

Fourth, I want $100 and a solo trip to Barnes & Noble. Solo. This is non-negotiable. I want everyone to understand that Barnes & Noble is situated in the mall. If I wander from book heaven into the mall and come back with an ice cream, or a tank top, or a pair of aqua loafers, but none of it is for you, this is fine. Nobody panic. I'm still Mom and I still love you.

Please allot approximately four hours for these tasks. During this time, I do not want to hear ANY WHINING AT ALL. And no crying. And please for the love of humanity, nobody fall down and get hurt. Please send your requests for food, drinks, or that toy that sister has, straight to Daddy. He will be happy to assist you.

After these terms have been met, I want you, my dear children, to know that I am totally grateful. I love you LIKE CRAZY and would sever my own appendages, run into a burning house, or apprehend a team of schoolyard bullies to keep you safe, make you happy, and ensure we have many, many more Mother's Days to spend together. I count my children as my greatest blessings and would never want to live a day without them.

But I think four hours is reasonable.

Songs about love

Right now, Sam is playing a song on the piano he says is called " I Love You, but Some People Don't Love You, but They Might Love You Anyway." It sounds like chaos.