Lessons from a Facebook Fast

On July 31st, I made a decision to step away from Facebook for a month. On September 1st, today, I went back in to have a look around with fresh and rested eyes.

I confess, I did log in a couple of times in August: to create an event, check to see if there was any posts regarding a bit of neighborhood excitement, and once or twice to make sure that a photo had been shared. But it was fewer than five times total, and never for longer than necessary. I would consider the month-long separation a definite success.

Here are some things I learned from the experience:

1. I am a productive person capable of balancing my life and appropriately managing my time.

2. I am perfectly capable of falling down internet click holes all on my own, without using Facebook as my starting point, thank you very much.

3. My family deserves and appreciates my undivided attention.

4. There are a lot of mountains on Facebook that maybe would be better off having stayed molehills.

5. I was surprised how rarely the temptation to log on actually arose. I credit my fortitude to God’s grace, because much of my previously Facebook-allotted time was spent reading scripture instead.

6. I didn’t miss anything important because people talk with me and inform me of what I need to know or the occasional funny thing to make me smile.

7. I am more optimistic and at peace about my own circumstances and the fate of the world having taken this time for introspection and separation from so much competing and unhealthy distraction.

8. It wasn’t all unicorns and rainbows. Sometimes I felt very lonely. Very isolated and distant. Though I reminded myself that those feelings don’t necessarily go away with constant online presence, just get pushed aside temporarily or change into different sorts of longings.

9. I think I may actually prefer the lonliness and isolation of real life to the lonliness and isolation hidden beneath the facade of connection presented by my Facebook feed.

10. I don’t want to fall back into social media addiction, so I plan to continue to limit my Facebook presence and interactions. And I feel pretty great about this decision.

Show Yourself: A Birth Story

On Thursday, October 16, 2014, I hit my estimated due date for the first time ever. My third pregnancy had been a little tougher on this slightly older body, but nothing this mama couldn’t handle with a little yoga and occasional visits with an awesome chiropractor. The massage at 38 weeks was pretty awesome, too. I was feeling fine on my due date, so I took Andrew to a play group. Everyone there and Michael’s school drop-off and pick-up was surprised to still see me coming around. My response was that I had to keep doing things other than sit at home and take note of how I wasn’t in labor.

Well, I’d been having contractions for pretty much the entirety of my third trimester, some even seemed regular and a little more “real” during this last week. They’d pick up in the evenings, but by the time I would get into bed, I would pass out just fine until whenever the bladder woke me. Thursday night, however, it was more than the bladder. I woke with the occasional surge, noticing that there were even a few times when it happened and I didn’t also have to get up to pee. But I slept fine around it all, and by Friday morning, again, nothing too intense or regular.

James didn’t work on Friday, so we ran some errands in the morning and did some household chores in the afternoon. I baked brownies. Contractions were happening, and every few squeezes, one would come on that was a little more crampy, a little more intense, a little more real. Before dinner, they were coming on stronger, and I felt the urge to, get this… color something. So I poked around online for something small and complicated to color in with my gel pens. I printed two copies, and Michael colored one, too. I told him I was doing it because of baby, so he also made his a gift for baby. He even taped a dime on the back, so excited to give baby his first money.

My father-in-law and his girlfriend grabbed a fish fry for everyone for dinner, and as we ate and afterward, the squeezes kind of slowed down, but still felt like actual labor was actually happening. So I called my midwife to let her know we may be seeing her soon and continued to color my picture as James took the big boys to bed, explaining how the other grownups would be around in case Mom and Dad had to go have a baby while they slept.

After I finished my coloring, about 9:30pm, I went to bed to try and get some sleep. I woke fairly regularly, about every hour or so, and then about 1 or 2am, couldn’t really doze at all anymore. I breathed through as best as I could, trying not to wake James or Andrew, sleeping beside me by that point in bed. Just before 3am, I got up to go to the bathroom and had a few contractions during that process, difference was, I couldn’t just breathe through them anymore, my voice needed to carry me.

So at about 3:00, I told James we should probably get dressed and head over to the birth center. I had hoped to make it at home until morning enough to hug the other boys goodbye, but I really needed space to move and moan as well as the extra support from my birth team at that point. So I called the midwife again, and we agreed to meet up at the birth center and prepare “The Nest,” one of my preferred birthing suites.

It felt like it took forever to dress myself in between contractions, but between James and I, we managed to gather what I had packed and prepared, and we finally made it out the door. I had a few contractions in the car, and we even managed to beat our midwife to the birth center, where the parking lot seemed pretty packed for nearly 4am. Turns out, there was another family there with the other midwife. Later into my labor at the birth center, I felt a sisterhood connection to this other mother, who I never saw, but heard moaning through her pains as I did mine. I learned later that her baby boy was born just an hour after ours.

We brought in our things and settled in. My midwives took my vitals, and they set us up with some water to drink and filled up the tub. My pains were strong and persistent as I sat on my birth ball, used the bathroom, rocked with James, ate a little snack. Between contractions, James and I complained to each other about how early in the morning it was, how nice it would be to have a baby before breakfast, stuff like that. Then I got in the tub for awhile. Contractions spaced out again in the water, but the intensity continued. It felt so good to float.

After awhile, I got sick of the tub, so I got out and did a lot of laboring between the toilet and the bed. As glamorous as it was absolutely not, it felt pretty good just to sit in the bathroom. When I would lie on the bed, again, things would kind of space out. After another couple of hours of moving around between bed, bathroom, ball and James and back again, some heavy sobbing and some wise cracks and jokes, I decided that I needed to go back in the tub. So the midwives came in and warmed it back up. I stripped nude (instead of getting back into my wet bathing suit), which they all said was a good sign of the progress being made.

My water still hadn’t broken, and I hadn’t been checked for dilation at all, by my own preference. I thought about asking to have the water bag broken because I figured that would help baby move down faster, but I ultimately decided to trust my body, thinking it could also be kind of amazing if it didn’t. So I got back in the tub and labored some more. The contractions were rough and really, really crampy. Between surges, I would shift positions. At one point, I said to the baby, “Alright, show yourself!” I was starting to feel like things were taking forever. I think we checked the clock and it was not even 8am, so not so much forever as a couple of hours, really. But with how much the contractions were making me rock and moan, I really wanted them to be doing more than I felt like they were.

But again, as I got comfortable in the tub, they spaced out a little bit. However, they must have actually gotten even more intense during this time because after a little while in the tub, one of my moans must have sounded rather pushy, because without us even paging anyone, all three midwives came into the room with their gloves and various towels and tools ready to greet a newborn. This was surprising to me because I knew I wasn’t that close, though I kind of did try a little bearing down during that contraction they must’ve heard. That baby’s head still felt nowhere near the door where I knew he needed to be. At least not in my mind or from what I could tell, physically, down lower.

Well, all the midwives came in and took their seats around the tub. As a contraction ended and I began to wait (a super long time) for the next one to come, I looked up at these expectant faces, feeling very exposed and awkward. I said to them, “So… how’s it going?” in my most casual conversational tone. And hey, at least it broke the ice, and we all had a good laugh as someone said, “We’re doing good, how’s it going with you?”

Again, the pains spread out, and I felt like the panda bear at the zoo. I tried to fill the space with talk of breakfast and how nice it would be to have a baby soon, and my water cup got a couple of refills. But I was also very aware of how naked I was and how many contractions I wasn’t having while on display. Luckily, I had a very intuitive and considerate birth team, who quietly slipped back out of the room when it must have become apparent to them that six extra eyes on me weren’t exactly helping to move things along.

I kept shifting position in the tub. Kept returnting to hands and knees or just kneeling. I cried. I cried and laughed at the same time. I cried again. I let my body and emotions lead me. I rode along. I tried to surrender. It didn’t take too many more contractions during this stage for me to get to a point where my change in vocal tones was obvious even to my husband during an extra long and intense contraction. He paged the midwives back before that one even ended, knowing that they would probably be needed for real very soon.

I knew I was pushing a little by that point. But there was something preventing me from giving it my all. I was holding back. I knew it. I was hesitating. I think I was waiting to feel like I felt with Andrew. I was waiting for my body just to take over. I didn’t realize (or want to admit) that this baby needed more active participation. I didn’t like the feeling in my bottom when I tried bearing down. It felt, for lack of any better terms, too much in my butt. And the crazy part is that by this point, it wasn’t even painful to push or ride the contractions, I just didn’t like how it felt. It felt wrong. It felt strange. It felt impossible, like there was no way that pushing to my butt was ever going to get that baby to emerge properly.

They had me try a reclining position in the tub, with my feet against the sides, completely spread open. They reminded me how to breathe and hold my breath to bear down and push through to my bottom. My midwife asked if I wanted her to check and make sure that I was fully dilated and all was a go, and I agreed. It was very painful in a way I don’t know that I want to remember or can really even describe. She invited me to feel for myself. And when I tried, I couldn’t really feel much of anything. Just that the baby’s head was too far away. “It’s too far away,” I said.

I changed positions because I didn’t like how I was feeling on my back with my knees spread so far apart. I got to my knees, leaning over the side where James sat cheering me on. I said many words about how strange it felt to push, how much I didn’t want to, begging for it to be over, for me to be done. Someone said, “Your baby will be in your arms before you know it,” and my response was, “Before I know it was too long ago already.”

Then there was the push. The strangest sensation I have ever felt in my life. It felt like birthing a baby, a head or a body or whatever. Something big and significant came out of me. But as it came out, there was a pop and a release. I’m sure my face was a mixture of confusion and horror, and I asked what just happened. Of course, it was the water finally breaking. Finally.

I’m not sure how fast it went then. I don’t know how many more contractions before I was feeling anxious and wrong again and needing something to change. Someone asked if I wanted to get out of the tub. That suggestion was easily the very best idea I had ever heard in my whole entire life, maybe even the history of the world. Yes. I absolutely needed to get out of the tub.

As I stood to get out of the tub, I had a huge contraction. I leaned over, pushed and squatted a little. The midwives moved around to the other side of the tub behind me, and in another contraction or two, I pushed out the most massive head that’s ever lived inside my body. They announced the head was out, and I said, “That was a big head.” Someone said that it wasn’t too big, just the perfect size. With the next push, the body burned its way out of me, too. And I reached down and lifted my baby up from the midwives’ hands. They helped me sit back on the bench in the tub, and I looked into that perfect little face. I touched his tiny hands and feet, made sure he was actually the boy I was told to expect.

I stood up again to get out of the tub for real, and everyone helped me get settled into the bed. I delivered the placenta, and my nether regions were assessed for damage. I decided to wait and see if I wanted a couple of stitches to repair a tear, got an ice pack to lie on, and we were left alone to rest and bond.

We named him Daniel Reece, and called to tell our parents about him. He hadn’t been weighed or measured yet, but the midwives had a hunch he would be heavier than he looked based on how “sturdy” he felt. He was born at 8:51am. We had some cuddle time, he nursed a little bit, James took some picures and a call from work, and then the midwives came back in to measure him and check him over. I passed on the stitches. My bottom had been through quite enough for the time being.

His head was huge at 36cm around. (“See, I knew that was a big head!”) He weighed 8lbs 14oz, way bigger than my other babies (Michael was 7lbs 15oz and Andrew was 7lbs 2oz). He was 21 inches long. And perfect in every way.

Mike and Linda picked up a couple of omelettes for us on their way to bring the big brothers and meet the newest addition to our family. Those boys absolutely adore their little baby brother. They are helpful and empathetic, and Andrew is especially fascinated and so curious about that little brother. (“That his belly button penis?” he asked when he noticed the still fresh umbilical cord.)

I am so proud of myself, my strong, supportive husband and my super big boys. I couldn’t be more grateful to my birth team and my family. This little guy was hard work, and I am truly blessed that my boys and I have been so cared for as I rest and heal and snuggle our new little miracle. As tough as this birth was, it was beautiful in its way, and I wouldn’t have changed a moment.

The Second Child: Some Notes on Two

I get distracted. By life. By stupid stuff. I’m trying to do better at putting down the phone with the Facebook and the Pinterest and the Etsy and focus more on the amazing young men I’m blessed enough to spend my days raising. They are both turning into such awesome little people. But it’s not easy sometimes. Especially being pregnant. And now, third-trimester exhausted by every little exertion pregnant.

But I have been meaning to write down, somewhere, the unique things about my current two-year-old, to whom I have unfortunately tapered off the monthly letters like his brother got up to two because he happened to be the first. At least I never was one to do baby books, because there would surely be a vast inequality in those as well.

But some of the things that Andrew is doing are things I’d like to remember. And just in case I don’t, here they are.

• He wants to be just like his brother in all things, including bad attitude moments and temper fits. He tries to cross his arms, which he can’t quite do yet, and he will say, “Humph!” just like Michael.
• He will come and ask for something, to play the tablet, the Wii, for a snack, etc. If the answer is, “no,” he will say, “Not talking you, Mommy!” and storm off to find the right answer elsewhere.
• He loves his boxer shorts. So much that he’d rather wear a diaper instead of briefs when all pairs are dirty. He calls them, “bocket shorts.”
• I don’t know if there is anyone else in this family who can make him laugh harder than his brother can.
• He loves the Lego Movie and Star Wars. When I think his brother at this age was more into Curious George, Elmo and Thomas. Andrew doesn’t really seem interested in monkeys or Muppets in quite the same way as other little ones. Because his brother’s so long over it all, of course.
• He is a climber and a jumper. Again, he watches his brother and will practice each move over and over until he gets it. Just like when he was a baby and working to crawl, stand and walk, he is tenacious about mastering those big-kid skills.
• He’s pretty good at playing soccer. 
• His use of utensils to eat is pretty impressive. Probably because he can’t stand to have food or anything remotely food-like on his fingers or hands.
• He is a wonderful imitator. He can put on Michael’s mannerisms like a costume, and it’s pretty amazing and amusing to see this little mini-version of your big kid strutting around.
• He is shy in new places unless his brother is being wild and crazy, then he will just do whatever it is Michael does. If he’s by himself, though, he is a lot more hesitant until he feels comfortable and confident enough to venture out on his own or hold a conversation. 
• With family and friends he knows, though, man he can be quite the chatterbox. Which is great to see because his mastery of language and use of new words is quite impressive at this age.
• Sometimes, he will just look in my eyes and smile. He says, “Mommy have brown eyes… and Andrew have brown eyes.” He knows the eye colors of Daddy and Michael, too, but he always seems happy that his brown eyes are like my brown eyes.

I’m so glad I get to hang out with him every day. And as much as I will miss my big kid when he starts first grade (!!!) in a couple of weeks, I am excited to have some more one-on-one time with my soon-to-be-middle child. He is wonderful and amazing, and I can’t imagine my life without his energy. Even if it occasionally reaches decibel levels I’d prefer to avoid.

I love you, buddy.

Nineteen Months

Dear Andrew,

Another month has just flown by. Your personality is just blooming, and you are so much fun to watch.

Speaking of watching, you see everything and are becoming quite an expert imitator. The object of most of your scrutiny is usually your brother, and you have managed to amuse us all with your mimicry of his style of play. You participate and hold your own during the bedtime introductions, and in no uncertain terms you express your own bedtime identity.

Your vocabulary is expanding by leaps and bounds, your pronunciation is improving and your inflection is often unmistakable these days. You have so many new words I don’t know where to start. You will repeat almost anything, and you are so excited to try new sounds, I can’t help going over and over them with you some days. Even your brother gets in on the action, telling you to say “spider,” “monkey,” “cookie,” or anything else with that certain phrasing that cracks you both up. You have started to greet people by saying, “Hi, cuckoo,” and I have no idea what you were originally trying to say, since it doesn’t really resemble the sounds of any of our names or titles. It’s so cute, though, that we have begun to greet you the same way just to hear it.

You know that the remote controls the television, and you ask for “Tie Go,” on television, because “Teen Titans Go” is one of M’s favorite shows. When we watch PBS, you always say, “Thank You” when they do. You count along with the shows and sing a little bit sometimes. When I put on the Big Block Singsong, you follow along. You sing aong with the Mystery Science Theater 3000 theme song, which is occasionally requested at bedtime. We’ve enjoyed a few awesome dance parties in the kitchen.

You like to dance and applaud. And honestly, what did I ever do without my own personal cheering section after finishing my bathroom business? Even in public, I just have to laugh, because my pride of you learning your way around the potty is both reflected and magnified in your eyes as you clap and shout, “Yay!” as I flush.

You are a good listener, and you understand a lot. I can trust you to follow me when we go places, like taking M to and picking him up from school.

Your ball throwing skills are improving, and your games are becoming more elaborate. You seem to understand the inflection of a joke, and you know when to laugh.

You spilled your water, and you try to grab it with your hand and put it back in your cup. That doesn’t work so well.

However, you have been getting so much better about Mommy leaving you. You give kisses and wave bye-bye to me just like other members of the family. I can see that you trust me to come back just like I always do.

As I was working on this post, I had it all written so beautifully for you, but when I returned to it to insert the adorable photos, half of it went missing. I am finally publishing it months later, with apologies that my frustration with technology caused me to put off writing more in a timely manner.

Love,
Mommy

Seventeen and Eighteen Months

Dear Andrew,

You are eighteen months old now. I’m so sorry that I haven’t taken the time to properly acknowledge seventeen. It’s totally my fault. The days are getting shorter in more ways than just the one, but trust me, we’ve been having an awesome time together!

When Michael started school, I looked forward to spending my days with you, just us. But I’m afraid that I didn’t do a very good job of giving you the time and attention you really needed at first. There were always lists of things to get done, and while I would often include you in my daily rounds of chores, sometimes you got shorted. I’m working on doing better, now that we’re more familiar with this new normal, though. And you do take it upon yourself to help me pay attention, too. Like when I do the dishes and you need some fun, you press yourself into my legs and shove your way through them and around and around.

We’ve begun taking an almost daily walk together. The weather has been cooperating beautifully lately, and it is one of your favorite things to do with me when we’re outside. In fact, if you realize that we’re not heading right to the car, you will reach for my hand when we hit the sidewalk and tug me in the direction you wish to go. Those first few weeks of school were kind of crazy, but now that we’ve settled into the new pattern of our days, I look forward to meandering around the block, picking up sticks and stones and noticing bushes and dogs and planes in the sky, almost as much as you do. You lead me. You hang onto my hand as you crouch down to examine a rock or a twig. Or hit a leaf with a stick or a rock. You’re enjoying the way the fallen leaves crunch underfoot or in your hands. And your favorite stop along our daily path is the sewer grate at the end of our alley. You could spend all day dropping stones, leaves or dirt down to see what happens when each object hits the water below.

You miss your brother when he’s at school. Nearly every time we leave the house, you ask for, “Ki-chael?” And you occasionally say the same thing when we’re just hanging around. And honestly, because of your grandma, I can’t always tell if you’re asking for Michael or a “cocktail,” which is just your way of asking for something to drink. It’s beginning to become clearer, now that you’re forming more and more words every day, and you have been doing very well repeating what you hear. Which means we’re getting closer to the point of needing to turn off certain media while you’re in a conscious state. You have always been an astute observer of your world, and you mimic us and your brother with sometimes surprising accuracy. The other day, he was bragging about his muscles, and you insisted that yours were just as amazing to behold. 

I’ve taken to making myself a smoothie for the main part of my lunch. It’s easy and quick, not to mention delicious. And lucky for me, your nap sometimes coincides with lunch, so I can enjoy my smoothie as I do whatever it is that’s on my list to do without your “helping” hands. Because you love smoothies. Which is great, because as I said, they are quick and easy and full of healthy deliciousness, but they are also very pink and messy, which you don’t seem to mind as much as I do.

You still get very upset anytime the vacuum comes out, so we’ve tried to make it so you can be out of the house when that needs to get done. Unfortunately, your aversion to it is one more reason that particular chore may not get done as much as it probably should. However, you do love to help with whatever else needs doing. You were beyond thrilled when I let you scrub the toilets. If I hand you the duster, you’ll follow my movements through the house exactly. You wipe the table. You sweep the floor. You push my grocery cart. You are just so enthusiastic about doing everything just like the big kids do. You would cook dinner yourself every night if I would just lift you up and let you get your hands on that spoon.

You have started to sing along with your Rock ‘n Roll Elmo, and you really seem to like music. You even dance and clap a little bit, and it’s quite fun to sit down and sing along with you. You also like to count and recite the alphabet. You can’t really say any of the actual numbers or letters, aside from maybe “a” or “c,” but you’ve got the right inflection, and it brings a big smile to your face when we figure out that you’re counting and we count along with you. You like to play ball, and your form is… interesting. It used to be the way you danced, and now has become the way you pitch. You lean way over to one side before letting the ball fly from your hand. sometimes you tip so much that you fall right to the floor. You always let us know right where you want us to be, too, whether it’s to receive your perfect pitch or to sit down for snuggles or a favorite show for screen time.

You sit on the potty every day at least once at bedtime and sometimes other times. And most nights, I can even get you to do your business there. It’s a great accomplishment for one your age, and lately, you have gotten as happy with your successful toilet visits as I am. You flush and clap your hands and shout, “Yay!” and run through the house naked as the day you were born. Maybe I shouldn’t write about that here, but since the potty has been a familiar thing to you pretty much your whole life, now that you’re starting to really understand the concept, cause and effect of things, it’s pretty neat to see how you’re making the routine your own.

You are still quite the daredevil and can’t resist the stairs. Any stairs. And you’ve taken to following your brother’s lead when he climbs the furniture. You can now officially reach (and pull your body onto) the kitchen counter. I had to remove one of the glass shelves from the entertainment center because you had hoisted your body onto the shelf below and knocked it off the supports with your head, thinking you could then use that shelf as a ladder to reach the very top, where the best toys, like picture frames and DVDs, are kept. You have been practicing your climbing on the playground at Michael’s school when we drop him off or pick him up. You can hold your own, now, even when the place is teaming with wild and crazy elementary students. You follow them up and over and around and through, and you will rage if any of the kids dare to offer a helping hand or stand in your way. You have no fear and seem to have no idea that you are still so much smaller than they are. You can do anything. You truly believe that, and it’s one of the many things I absolutely adore about you.

You finally say “mama” on a regular basis, although I’m not entirely sure you’ve connected it with me beyond the contents of my bra. When we sit down or I pick you up, you pat or point to my chest and say, “mama,” and I will nurse you because as much as I laugh about it or roll my eyes that all I am is a pair of breasts to you, I know it’s not true. And after all, it is a pretty sweet way to ask. And at least you say it more often for me now, which I never thought would happen. And even when you refused to say that very special word to me, I never doubted you knew exactly who I was and precisely where you belonged. Right there, curled up in close proximity to this mama’s heart.

Love,
Mama

School Kid

Tuesday morning, we sent our first born son off to full-day kindergarten. This is a huge deal in our house. Because aside from the two-hour, once-a-week Bible study class we’ve done, M has never before attended school. He has been hanging out with me or his dad every day for his whole life. He never even went to daycare.

I worried about and prayed for him as this week approached. I don’t remember my first day of kindergarten, but I do remember first grade. And I remember how being assigned a seat next to a boy in my class set me off crying. I’m sure it wasn’t only sitting next to a boy I didn’t want to sit near, but that all the emotion of such changes that come with starting school just spilled out of me at that precise moment. My first grade teacher knew exactly what to do and say to calm me down, like she could read my mind. I hoped for such care and kindness for my own boy as he began his journey through school. Because even if he doesn’t melt down this week or next, there may come a time when it just hits him like that, and I hope that his teachers will be the kind who get it.

Tuesday, he was nervous. The night before, he was both excited and scared. We tried not to talk too much about it because he’s kind of like his dad in that he doesn’t want to think too much about what worries him, especially if it’s unknown and out of his control. It was a fine line to walk, though, because like many five-year-olds, he also does better in new situations when he has some idea of what to expect. Because we ourselves didn’t know exactly what to expect, that part was a little harder.

So far, he loves school. And the adjustment has been pretty seamless for him so far. I can tell that there are some things he’s still working out about the new normal, though, because we’ve had a few tough times with him at home this week. And I expected that. The way he talks about school itself, though, I can see that he is enjoying himself there. After that first day, he’s happy to go there, happy to be there, and even a little not-so-happy to leave. He was not one of the kids who left class the last few days in tears. And I haven’t gotten any phone calls, yet, either. So that’s a bit of relief for me.

I, on the other hand, could never have prepared myself enough for this. This milestone of releasing my hold on my baby. I’ve been watching him grow into this amazing person. I’ve seen him get taller and stronger day by day. I’ve listened to his stories and participated in his games that have become more and more involved and elaborate. He is funny and kind and wild and wonderful. And even though building robots or pretending to be a thumper lion is not my personal idea of fun, it’s been so quiet around here without him asking me when I can come play, can I get his bike out, can we watch a movie.

But as much as I miss his presence and his energy around here, I know he’s right where he needs to be now. He is great with his little brother, but he needs to run around with kids his own speed and skill level. He’s eager to learn new things from someone that’s not me. I hate letting him go. It scares me that there will now be so many influences in his life that I can’t control and may never even know. And it’s hard for me to look back on our time at home together and believe that I always did my best, that I really prepared him for the world as much as I could have. I know I still have great influence here at home, but the dynamic has already began to shift, and I am continuing to hope and pray that he will do more good than bad, that he will show kindness and respect, and that he will be exposed to positive influences, encouragement and support.

The thing is, he’s already made me so very proud, and I can’t foresee any scenario in which he won’t always do just that.

Sixteen Months

Dear Andrew,

You are sixteen months old and taking it to the extreme. You are a ball of energy, rivaling even that of your big brother. You love to run and jump and laugh and tumble and do anything and everything that your little body of yours will let you do. You run fast. You love hard. You throw your emotions around the room. When you’re upset, you wail and thrash about. You fling yourself to the ground and if it doesn’t solve your problem once, you pick yourself up and try it again.

You want to do EVERYTHING that your brother does. And God love him, he’s really trying to not be annoyed by that. But you do tend to push him around and grab his things a bit too much for his liking. Most of the time, though, I love watching you watch him. You take in his every move, studying as much as you can with how fast he goes. And you launch yourself right after him. Whether it’s face planting off the arm of the couch (which I find much more hilarious than others in our household do) or tackling your daddy or jumping on the bed, you do what you can, a miniature, more awkward and fumbling shadow of our Michael. So we try to help him to be a good example for you.

You have so many more words now. There seems to be nothing that you won’t at least attempt to repeat. Well, except Mama, that is. I have managed to trick you into saying it by teasing M when he says “um-uh” and I repeat it and we laugh and laugh. You repeat it as “ma-ma,” and shriek with joy. Whatever. I’ll take it.

You say “Thank you” to ask for things. You pretend to talk on the phone starting with hello and ending with bye, pressing a finger to your palm like you’re ending a call. We’ve been enjoying the cool Wisconsin summer evenings by taking walks around our block, and you are eager to point things out to me and chatter away about it all. I feel like we are coming to understanding each other pretty well, even though I often wish I knew exactly what you were trying to express with all your sounds and syllables.

I love to see your blossoming understanding of people and words. You enjoy singing and dancing with your Rock-n-roll Elmo, and when he sings the alphabet song, I can almost see the light go on as you run to the kitchen and press the button for the Leapfrog magnetic alphabet thing we have on the fridge. You are so proud of yourself that you understand it’s the same song that can come from two different places. You understand potty time, which is now regularly part of our pre-bedtime routine. You know how it works and what’s expected of you, even if you don’t always entirely follow through with it all. And those are just a couple of small examples. I’ll have to remember to talk you through some other things to see if it helps.

And speaking of bedtime, you have come to know exactly what to expect. You sit with me on the couch after you and M are brushed and washed and pajama-ed. M will announce himself or have someone else introduce him, and he’ll come out and rile you up. We have to work on this part, I think, because sometimes he gets you a little too excited right before you’re supposed to sleep. Then you tend to take FOREVER to finally fall asleep. And since we still need to be there with you for that, it can be a little tough on your old mom and dad.

This month, I went to an interview and got a job. It’s a pretty good deal so far, because the shifts are short, and I’ve been able to work them pretty well into our current schedule without having to farm you and M out to whoever will have you. You have a great time with friends and family when I have to be apart from you, but when I’ve got you back in my arms again, I can tell that deep down, it freaks you out a little bit. I know how much you still need me, little one. Trust me, I know. And I want you to know that no matter how far away I go or how long I’m gone, you are part of my heart, too, and I will always return. Eagerly, gladly, enthusiastically to those little arms, reaching up, wide open for those hugs, that special embrace that keeps me smiling.

Love,
Mama

Coming to the Dark Side

At no time do I feel so old as when I attempt to learn something new about technology.

Two years ago, I got my very first texting plan and a phone with an actual keyboard on it. I know, welcome to the 2000s, right? At the time, pretty much everyone on my contacts list had already been texting for ages and were now relying on autocorrect and voice features. Hold on, there, guys, my phone still has buttons on it.

My husband got himself a sweet smartphone, and not long after that, he got himself a tablet for his birthday. He’s way more hip than me. The year previous, I was super excited for my plain old Kindle Touch. Because I like to read books, and that thing still reads like paper. And trust me, it even took some significant convincing and in-person comparison shopping to get me the Touch over the original version.

And last week, my husband had finally had enough of his phone forgetting that it was still a phone (not so “smart” if you ask me, but whatever), and he upgraded to a new one, since it was time to renew our contract anyway. Funny how that works out, isn’t it? Or maybe not. Anyway, we found that the old phone, even though it sometimes didn’t make sounds or randomly entered car-docking mode, which it technically isn’t even supposed to have, would still operate like a tablet using wi-fi even without being connected to the wireless phone network or 3G or whatever the heck they’re calling that everywhere available telecommunications feature nowadays.

So. Even though the idea was to use it on occasion to occupy one or more of the children when necessary, I kind of started playing with it and decided to adopt it for myself. And not just for playing Robot Unicorn Attack, either.

You see, for several months, I’ve been eyeing up and pricing new cameras. Both the fancy DSLR variety and the teeny point-and-shoot types. Because my ancient point-and-shoot is slow and broken and has a battery that can support a few videos and one or two flash photos and promptly dies. And because my DSLR still has a broken flash, doesn’t shoot video at all and is a little bit more limited than I’d like if I ever actually get serious about my photography.

But let’s get honest for a moment. Will I ever get serious about photography? Maybe. But now is definitely not the time. I have two small children and several other related and unrelated activities going on right now. I don’t have time to re-learn what I may have once known about f-stops and exposures. And I really don’t have time to sit on my computer and mess around in Photoshop for hours on end to get that one shot just right. So, for the most part, I’ve been satisfied with what comes right off the camera, but for those times when I’d like to play a little, enter James’ old smart-phone.

It shoots faster than my old point-and-shoot, but not quite as immediate as my DSLR. It takes video. The photo quality is at least better than the p&s if not also the DSLR. There are filter effects and photo editing tools available with a quick touch or swipe of the finger, and it’s tiny enough to sit comfortably and easily within reach in my purse or pocket. Everything I was looking for in one or two new cameras with wi-fi to boot.

The thing is, there’s a reason I’ve been resistant to the smartphone/camera for so long. And it has nothing to do with the technology itself, but everything to do with my own hubris.

Fifteen Months

Dear Andrew,

You are fifteen months old, and you are so awesome.

I’ve pretty much given up on you ever saying “Mama” with any frequency or reliability. And honestly, it doesn’t bother me anymore because it’s more like a joke now that we share. You try to say all sorts of new words like, “faster,” and “strawberry,” and you get increasingly excited when your brother tries to teach you new things to say because, hey, he’s talking to you and not yelling at you or snatching his stuff out of your hands. You are learning animal sounds and can bark when I ask you what the dog says. You can repeat a lot of the other animal sounds, too, once I clue you to what they are, but your default is the barking, no matter which animal I ask you about first.

You also like to sing and dance. Your dance is this tip sideways that sometimes results in you falling all the way over. Even so, you have a big cheese-ball smile on your face and occasionally applaud your own efforts. (This does not only happen while dancing, but any time you try something you didn’t know you could do.) And I love to listen to you talk or sing to yourself. It’s especially entertaining when you don’t realize that anyone is actually paying attention. You will wander around some days singing, “Yo-ah, yo-ah,” because of the song that Michael often requests at bedtime. It’s one of the few songs you recognize and try to imitate, but even if I just hum or “do-do-do” to myself, you’ll often repeat those various sounds, too.

You will climb or try to climb anything. You can’t resist stairs, and you’re really getting good at going up and down. You can climb onto the couch or the bed without any help at all anymore, and there are fewer and fewer “safe” spots where we can put things that we don’t want to fall into your curious little hands. You want to do anything that anyone bigger than you is doing, and even if you can’t quite make your body replicate the motions exactly, you throw yourself entirely into the activity and often fail with a flourish.

You love to help. You sweep and pull weeds (or other plants). You load the dishwasher at Grandma’s house, you pick up toys and you “sort” laundry. You are happy enough to be part of whatever mundane task we have to get done in a day, except vacuuming. That big old vacuum cleaner scares the pants off of you every time. If it even appears from within the closet, you run off screaming. You cry and need to be held even while I’m trying to suck the crumbs up off the carpet. And you’re not happy until that monster machine is locked back up behind closed doors again. Same goes for the food processor, the bread machine, the magic bullet. You’re even wary of the slow cooker, the rice maker and, most recently, the food dehydrator.

And speaking of running and screaming, your tantrums are getting more and more dramatic. You don’t deal well with disappointment at all, and denying you of the one thing you need to have happen right now at this moment will lead you to throwing yourself on the ground and writhing around in agony. You put your mouth to the floor (or the grass or the pavement), and you wail. And when that doesn’t work, you return to whoever offended you by denying your most reasonable request and repeat your gesture of desire. Some of the things that have set you off have included: offering you a bite of banana instead of a sip of coffee, not opening the bottle of glitter/glue/water we made to distract you and/or help your brother calm down when he has his own moments of rage so you can drink from it, putting away the scissors before you’ve had your turn and daring to cut your food into smaller pieces than the rest of us have on our plates.

For the most part, though, you are the happiest and most friendly baby, wait, toddler, that I could imagine being around at this moment. You always wave and say, “Hi,” to our neighbors, and you blow kisses and wave and say your version of “Bye,” when you or anyone else leaves or goes to bed. Your bliss at being alive and discovering all the world has to offer you is contagious and encouraging, especially during my bad days and hard moments. Because guess what? Even if you never, ever say the word, I can see in your eyes that you know your mama well. When you squeeze me tight and rest your head on my shoulder before running off and trying some other daring feat, when you run at me with your mouth closed and saying “mmmmm” in preparation for some big kisses, when you smile and laugh just because you caught my eye, I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that you love me. Completely. You love your family, friends and neighbors without reservation, and there are not enough words in the world to tell you exactly how much this unbridled affection means to us all.

Love,
The One Who Shall Not Be Named

Messy Art

This summer, I promised my son that he could take a class of his choosing through our local recreation department. Out of all the sports, sciences and other options, imagine my delight when he chose an art class.

The class was described as getting them creative and messy making art projects from “common household objects” that would “make great gifts.” So I was excited to see what the kids would use and what kind of compositional skills might begin to develop.

I get that the class is for young kids, but after three weeks of his attendance, I have to admit that I’m rather disappointed.

The class would be more accurately named, “Painting and Sticking.” So far, M has yet to bring home a project made from a “common household item.” Instead, he receives pre-cut and pre-drawn paper and paper-like materials and is expected to paint the right colors within the proper lines and stick the cut out construction paper together to create an established design.

Honestly, I haven’t seen much creativity encouraged yet at all. Although I did enjoy how my son interpreted the American flag. I understand that there’s not that much you can really do with 45-minutes, but I have to admit that I was expecting a little bit more. More than cartoon characters and sending the kids home having had lollipops or some other sweet and carrying packs of character-adorned stickers and dollar-store trinkets.

Maybe this is just what a kids’ art class involves. Especially one that doesn’t cost much offered through the local rec center. I suppose I’m glad, at least, that M’s having fun, and it’s not a struggle to get him out the door to go to class each week. And he gets to paint and glue things without me having to clean up after him, and that’s an activity I can definitely do without in my day. Even though I wish he was getting better fundamentals, at least he’s being exposed to something artistic and practicing with a few different materials.

Maybe next summer, I’ll have to save up to actually get him into an art class where he’ll learn some real art skills. Of course, maybe next year, he’ll prefer something more physical instead. I’d love for my kids to learn and enjoy art so that we can share those creative moments, but if I’ve got sporty guys, I guess I’ll grow to love those karate matches or soccer games, too.

I Drew a Tree

I am not a wilderness girl.

I am, however, a self-admitted hippie. I try to be green. I started composting, although it totally skeeves me out when I open up the bin and the fruit flies come swarming out, and I have yet to harvest any of it for actual use in helping things to grow. I do weird things like use cloth diapers and cloth menstrual pads, make my own deodorant and protect my kitchen from ants using black pepper. I helped M plant a few things in the garden on the side of our house thinking that maybe if it goes well, we’ll eat some fresh spinach or cucumbers later this summer.

My husband has family and the family has property in Upper Michigan. When we have discussed our retirement plans in the past, and he’d expressed interest in moving up there someday. And because I’ve become even more of a hippie than I even used to be, I had begun to seriously consider it. Wide open spaces. Beautiful views. Family history. Connection to our roots. Small towns where everyone knows you.

Then last weekend, we went there.

And even though I thought I was prepared–I packed long pants, long sleeves, lace-up shoes and plenty of socks and extra clothing for me and for the boys–I was woefully under-prepared, emotionally. Because along with the wide open spaces and beautiful views are the mosquitoes and the ticks. And something about tromping through mud and grass and animal poop just got to me. So much so that I pretty much used my 1-year-old as an excuse to stay in the van and take in the sights from behind our tinted windows.

The thing is, I really want to give my kids a love of the outdoors. I don’t want my hang-ups to paralyze them when it comes to exploring their world. My husband and father-in-law have such joyful memories of their experiences up north, I want to give my kids some of that same joy. Now that I’m back in my comfortable air-conditioned and relatively bug-free home, I wish I had been more adventurous, myself. I wish I’d walked around, dug out my camera and taken some shots of my beautiful family among the lush greenness and luminous lake views.

I didn’t want to be such a wet blanket, honestly. I wanted to go out and get muddy and bug-bitten and come home tired and dirty with happy memories. And I did bring home some good memories of quality family time spent at the hotel pool, at a couple of local restaurants and the home of a dear aunt and uncle. I drew a tree and got a lot of reading done. I really did try not to complain or freak out too much. And part of me thinks that maybe, had we spent more than just two days there, maybe I would’ve gotten over whatever it was that was blocking me and actually embraced the wilderness… at least a little bit more than I did.

But let’s be honest. If you really want me happy in the wild, take me to the beach.

Fourteen Months

Dear Andrew,

You are fourteen months old. You are talking so much these days. Sometimes we can even hear actual words. You point to things and say, “see,” with this upswing on the end that’s just adorable. And you make me laugh so hard when you say, “see,” as you’re grinning at me with your hand on your boy stuff. Yes. I see. Now put your pants on, kid.

You are always happy to see people. You wave and say, “hi.” You call everyone who lives with you, “Daddy.” Including me. The one whose name you used to know. The one whose name you used to use until you realized how hilarious it was to pop off the boob and grin up at me with your big smiling eyes and say, “Da-eee!”

You are getting better and better at climbing, and you will practice on stairs and chairs and tables and anything else you can at any opportunity. We have to watch you closely because you are so adventurous. You will keep going and going and going. And heaven help anyone who gets in your way. You will yell and squirm in such a way it really is scary trying to hold onto you without letting you slip away. You love to try new things, and I can see that you are determined to master whatever it is you put your mind to. You will move mountains one day, son. And I’m so excited to see what feat you will master next, even if it does make my heart stop a little bit watching your early attempts.

You love to play ball. Especially, dare I admit to the Internet, fetch. You and M will make endless runs down the hallway after some ball or another (you really enjoy the ones that light up when they bounce), laughing and squealing as you chase the balls and each other. You both bring he balls back, eager to go again. You also enjoy tossing the ball yourself, which you do with your left hand, I’ve noticed, and you like it when someone rolls or bounces the ball to you. As soon as you see the bigger ball come out, you sit down on the floor with your feet apart, ready to catch, and so happy to play and practice.

Another game that cracks me up every time, which you learned from your brother, of course, is to pretend you’re a puppy and crawl and pant and bark down the hallway, around the house or even outside. Your bark is just a little, “ah!” sound, and it’s just so cute. You’ve been walking so long, and nothing can slow you down that when you first got back down on all fours again, I didn’t quite know what was happening. Then you started “barking” at your brother, and I just laughed and laughed.

As part of our bedtime ritual, M likes to be “introduced” to someone as whatever character he is identifying as at the moment. So he or I or Daddy will step out to the living room with that information and announce, “Presenting…the most dangerous super dragon in the city!” or whatever it happens to be that day, and M will come down the hallway, often wearing a large fleece blanket around his neck as a cape, or wings or Jedi cloak or whatever, and he’ll play his part as he makes his way out to his adoring audience. You have come to know your part in this nightly performance, and you will wait on my lap for him to come out. Then you’ll get down eagerly and wiggle your way into the blanket as M tries to pull it away and you chase him around the room. I love bedtime for those giggles.

However, earlier this month, your dad and I were discussing how impressed we were that falling asleep on your own was coming more easily to you, and we dared to look forward to a night where you might sleep longer, be able to settle yourself without us in the room with you and things like that. And then you entered a new phase, the exact opposite of the direction we’d thought and hoped you were heading. You’ve been having trouble settling down to sleep with Daddy. You’ve been impossible to put down into your crib unless you are dead out cold asleep. And it wears me out. To be needed. Like this. So much. Every night.

But I’ll tell you a secret. Your sweet sleepy face and the way you cling to me in the dark is why I got into this motherhood thing in the first place. Even when my back aches, and I don’t feel sleepy enough to lie down beside you for the night, I remember how it seems like not more than five minutes ago you were born. I remember how fast you go during the day. How independent you already are, able to amuse yourself for a time without me. Testing your boundaries and abilities every minute of the day. You go go go. You climb. You run. And at the end of each day, you snuggle in. You have your place. And even at fourteen months old, you still fit snugly in my arms. You are welcome there. You are my baby, still, and no matter what kind of day we’ve had, I know what I mean in those moments before you fall asleep. I am your haven. I am your nest. I am your comfort. And you still need me a lot. For now. And I love it.

I love you,
Mommy

Two Wheels

I am so proud of my firstborn. He got a new bike from his grandpa a few months ago, one that actually fits him well enough for him to pedal comfortably, and he has worked really hard to ride it.

He started off on a Strider, and we probably didn’t take him out on it as much as we should have. We were living in our condo at the time, and he often wasn’t interested in riding, or when he was, there was often a reason we couldn’t take the bike out. We got out occasionally, though, and since his second birthday, he practiced. He got faster. He got better at picking up his feet and balancing. And balancing and going faster.

It was at a fourth-of-July get together when he was almost four that he got handed down a pedal bike from a friend. He rode it down the hill and started to try to figure out the pedaling. Because his older friend was riding around on his newer, bigger bike, M wanted to participate, too. And he did well that first time. I was really impressed. And very grateful that they let us take the little old bike home to practice some more.

The pedal bike sat around more than the Strider. Probably because I got pregnant and didn’t feel like doing much running after the speedy biker he was becoming. Again, he got out on the bike occasionally, but often preferred the Strider when the pedals confounded or frustrated him.

When we moved, his grandpa bought him a refurbished little Schwinn. It’s not so little to him, though, and the deal was that he’d get the bigger bike when he could finally master the pedaling on the little one. So for a few months, he’s been working really hard. And he has mastered the little bike, though now it is so small for him that he looks almost as silly on that one as I look on his “big” bike.

Last week, I finally got him a new helmet that actually fits his big-boy head, and we made an agreement that any time he wanted to go out and ride his little bike, he would at least sit on the big one and ride it if he wanted to try it. This became a compromise after he fell off the big one during one of his early attempts.

This week, he rides up and down the alley, gets going by himself and can turn the corner and go around the front of the house on the sidewalk. He sometimes stumbles a little bit pushing off to get started and after skidding to a stop, but he’s really getting the hang of it and I’m so thrilled for him.

I remember the exhilaration of riding my bike around the neighborhood. There’s that measure of freedom that comes with your first set of wheels. I’m not ready to let him cross the streets just yet, but our block has some space to pick up speed, a slight incline that’s great for getting your muscles warm pedaling up and the wind in your face barreling down. It makes me want to get a bike of my own again. To enjoy that with my boy. With my boys.

Because we lowered the seat and handlebars on the Strider again. And the little one’s head almost fits in the old small helmet. And he hopped right on, and he tries to push it with his feet. I bend down hold onto the handle bars with him, help him balance there. And he smiles really big and you can tell he’s just waiting to take off after his big brother. To fly away, too.

Bang Bang

Let’s talk about guns.

There’s a lot to say about guns. Gun control is one of those hot topics all over the news these days. People are afraid someone’s going to take their guns. Most of us in the country support some form of gun control, background checks, limits on magazine size, automatic weapons, etc.

But forget all that for a minute. Let’s talk about kids and toys that shoot (or pretend to shoot). My first kid didn’t know a thing about guns until he was maybe three. My second kid has been handling toy weapons since he could get himself into position to grab his brother’s things, maybe about four months old. Once the first kid started shooting me with his fingers at three years old, I realized there was not going to be a way to keep him from encountering, exploring and desiring guns and other weapons (see: lightsabers). Discussing this new fascination at the time with my husband, I concluded that I should just get used to it because that’s what boys do. Heck, even I played with squirt guns in my day.

But times have changed since I was a kid. And guns can be kind of a big deal, even when they’re fat green alien dart guns that are obviously toys. Some toy boxes do not include toy guns no matter how interested the child is to own some of their very own. And I understand that. There is so much violence in the world, why rush to introduce it to our children?

But will delaying the knowledge of guns and other weapons really protect our kids from the violence in the world? Won’t a weapons ban make weapons even more attractive, since they are forbidden? Or will my kid grow up to become a school shooter just because he pretends to be a samurai, a soldier or Boba Fett? Who can say?

We are a predominantly non-violent household. We don’t allow hitting or physical fighting. Though we do encourage rough-housing and wrestling and play fighting as long as personal boundaries and limits are respected. We have a trunk full of toy guns and lightsabers and swords and other such things. And as a parent, as much as I would like to avoid the violence, I think that play allows my kids to explore these dangerous realities of the world in a safe way, in a safe place.

My husband had toy guns growing up. He is not a violent person. He doesn’t own a gun at the moment, although he plans to go hunting with his dad this fall, which may inspire him to save up for his own rifle someday. We live with a subscriber to Guns & Ammo, and even though my five-year-old has asked to look through the magazine on occasion when we first moved in, recently, he barely notices when it comes in the mail.

There are guns in our home because my father-in-law is a hunter. They are locked away out of sight, unloaded, and separated from the ammunition. My husband was taught from an early age that guns are dangerous and useful. He was taught how to handle guns and how to respect the power of such a weapon. When our sons are old enough, they will most likely be taught the same things, after years of playing with the toys.

And after thinking about it for some time, I understand wanting to shield your child from the violence of the world. To keep the mere existence of such a powerful weapon under wraps for as long as humanly possible. Because when the bad guys have guns, real guns that can paralyze or kill you with a single twitch of a finger, the world can seem downright terrifying. And even many adults have a hard time coming to terms with this.

On the other hand, I think everyone processes things differently, children included. For as long as there have been kids, there has been pretend play that included wars, fighting, killing kinds of games. I think it helps them learn to handle power, victory, defeat. It’s not just about guns. It’s about strategy. It’s about cooperation. Cowboys and Indians. Cops and Robbers. Light Side against Dark Side. Good Guys vs. Bad Guys. Sometimes, a kid has to play the villain to understand his own inherent goodness. And that’s why I let my kids have guns. Because guns are just a small fraction of the toys we have around our house. We have balls and blocks and Legos and musical instruments and books, which they love just as much and often more than the weapons.

As a parent, I don’t see it as my job to shield my children from the realities of the wide world. Because if I do that, then I leave them vulnerable to those same realities by throwing them into the world without a reference point. While some kids will play guns and others will not, some at two or maybe not until ten or never. It’s my job to teach right from wrong. To help them be the good guys out there, whether they choose to own guns or not, that they know how to be responsible and conscious citizens of the world.

My kid is more than just his choice of prop. He is sweet and friendly. He is empathetic and constructive. I know, because I know him, and because of the way I am trying to bring him up, the values in our household, that the chances are really slim to none of him growing into the kind of aggression that would make the news. I am teaching my boys to be kind. To be helpers. And whether they have any interest in playing with or ultimately owning and using guns, crossbows or swords doesn’t change their hearts.

I respect my fellow parents’ wishes to keep my kids’ guns away from their kids as long as possible, though. I definitely identify with the struggle, and I believe it’s a good conversation to have. I appreciate that we can all be thoughtful and civilized about it.

So what do you think about kids and toy weapons? Do you let your children play with toy guns? Do you ban all weapons? Or just guns? What about sticks and rocks outside? What happens when they become swords, bombs and rifles? Do you stop it? Or do you just let them play? I’d love to hear more thoughts on this.

Encouraging Words

Dear Sara,

I know that your back is hurting from walking a small one to sleep for a half hour or more each night. I know that you can’t remember the last time you used the bathroom and you’re really feeling that need again about now. I know that you could probably use a snack.

I know that there is still so much to do. So many toys to put away. So many counters and a table to wipe down. Dishes to scrub. Laundry to walk downstairs, put in the washer, put in the dryer an hour later, bring upstairs after another hour, fold and put away… eventually.

Yes, the floors are filthy. The shelves and picture frames are lined with dust. The cabinets are unorganized to the point of dropping tupperware on your head each time you want to pack up leftovers. The recycling bags are overflowing, and you are unable to find the time to turn your back on your boys to take care of the mess, thinking that garbage, recycling, something, one thing should maybe fall on the shoulders of one of the other adults living with you. But it waits. For you. And you’ll finally do it, you’ll find a way. And you’ll be okay.

But listen to me. I see you doing so much, and my love, I hear your inner voice guilting you for not doing more, which pushes you to push yourself. You do so much some days that even though all your time is spent under the same roof as your little ones, you may end the day feeling like you barely even saw them.

Listen to me. You are doing a great job. Your babies are healthy and strong. They want to snuggle you because they love you. Because you are their world. They need you. They need you more than the dishes need you. They need you more than the vacuum cleaner needs you. They need you more than the toilets need you. And that won’t always be the case. Listen. You are doing a great job.

Every day, your boys are fed and happy and well-loved. Most days, not only are your boys fed and happy and well-loved, but also dressed, entertained, uninjured, bathed and back in pajamas again–AND the dishes are done, the refrigerator is full, the table is clean, the toys are put away and the hamper is empty. Some days, even the floors are vacuumed, things are dusted and even cabinets and mirrors and light switches are wiped down. And even if no one else in the house notices these things, I do.

I know how hard it is for you some days. I know that a lot is expected of you because you don’t “go” to work. And I also know that even if you’re not perfect, even if more of the mess is seen than the clean, you are a superhero. You are doing everything you can, and then you somehow find a way to do even more. You sometimes even manage a rare, guilt-free moment for yourself.

And I know how much you could complain, how often you fight the urge because you are afraid. Afraid of showing anything less than gratitude, which you do feel in spades every day. Afraid you’ll be pushed out the door for eight hours a day and a paycheck, which won’t even mean that you wouldn’t still have to do and be all the things at home, too.

I know how hard you work to embrace your duties and see each act as one of love for your family. I know how much you do love your work. How much you love making it look easy so people won’t call you a masochist for wanting to keep taking it on again every day and still long for more. I know that as fulfilling as it all is, it is not easy. I know that there are days you get bogged down. There are days you feel taken for granted. But trust me, you are a rock. You are a wonder. You are amazing. Your little boys and the big men around you are blessed more than they know.

I just thought you needed to hear that today. You are strong. You are loved. You are needed. And you are a gift. Thank you.

Love,
Yourself