Potty Training

Last night at bedtime I brought up the subject of reverting to diapers with Green Bean. He thought I was joking, smiled and laughed, "No, Mommy, I don't wear diapers!" When he realized I was serious he began to protest in earnest.

He has been potty trained for nine months, with occasional bed-wettings sporadically occurring. But every night for at least a week he has soaked his sheets around midnight, waking us up with wailing, forcing us out of our comfortable warmth to change sheets, change undies, change pajamas. The night before last I vowed it was the last time. Pull-ups would surely not be more expensive than all the extra laundry we were doing. A talk with my mom convinced me it might not be a bad idea. Bed-wetting runs in the family, and may last until he's 6 or 7 or older. That's a lot of midnight sheet-changing. And I truly don't think it's a behavioral issue. Green Bean sleeps deeply, and doesn't always realize what's happening until it's too late. I've been careful, amidst my midnight grumblings, not to scold or blame him, although I think my frustration has been clear.

But I did wonder if it might be something he could control. The night before last only his pajamas were wet, not his sheets, as if he had stood up out of bed before wetting. He has a fear of fire alarms that keeps him from going down in our basement by himself, and at night sometimes keeps him in bed when he would like to get up and come to us. Was that keeping him from coming out to use the potty at night, too?

I explained to Green Bean that the diaper was just for the night, just so he wouldn't have wet sheets or wet pajamas if he peed, but he absolutely hated the idea. I wasn't surprised, but I thought he could adjust. My Hero pulled him into his lap and explained gently again, that we knew he didn't try to wet the bed, but sometimes when he's sleeping it happens, and wearing a diaper was just to give Mommy a break from changing sheets, undies, and pajamas every night. "I won't have wet undies tonight," he kept promising. It broke my heart to see the anguish in his eyes at the idea of wearing a diaper.

"What do you think about giving him another chance?" I asked My Hero. "Maybe he'll want to wear his big boy undies strongly enough to keep himself dry at night." "It's up to you," My Hero said, even though it's both of us who wake up to change sheets and pajamas in the night. We decided to give it a try, and I explained to Green Bean that when he woke up at night needing to go potty he should jump out of bed, come get Mommy, and I'd help him go to the bathroom. And that if he wet his bed again, he'd have to wear a diaper the next night.

Ten after midnight last night I heard his door open, jumped out of bed to meet him in the hall, and helped him use the potty. "My undies are dry. I don't need a diaper." He said as he relieved himself.

That's right, little man. Maybe reverting to diapers is even scarier to this boy than fire alarms.

thank You for...

64. Baby leaves bursting from buds on the fingertips of each branch of our maple.

65. Lilies coming up in the patches of ground where I planted them in full bloom last year. My first taste of the miracle of perennials.

66. Progress...a patch of brambles slowly giving way to cleared ground as I prepare to expand my garden.

67. A fire pit, designed, dug, and built by My Hero on his own initiative. A work of pride and skill. A place to burn the branches we clear from our yard.

68. Snuggling on the couch with a fever-hot forehead pressed against my cheek, reading library books to the three year old who would rather do nothing else.

69. Noticing every day new words forming in toddler boy's mouth, coming out unexpectedly.

70. The two month long face to face sit down lecture from my Heavenly Father as I read His gospels... His chastisement to me for not bearing fruit like a kingdom daughter should. Hope, that since He cares enough to deal with me about this, He plans to change me, teach me, form me.

71. Health, energy, strength to be a mom and wife again, as the little girl inside me assures me of her own health and strength with every kick.

72. Friends. A group of couples to care for and pray for, to help and be helped by, meeting weekly to learn and challenge each other, to honestly lay bare our struggles.

73. Sons who are brothers. Learning give and take. Learning compromise. Learning to outfox the other. Learning that together is more fun than alone.

Green Bean's Repertoir

During my months of feeling ill, Green Bean acquired several new skills:

1. He learned how to empty the dishwasher. Yes he did. Three years old. He up and decided one morning that he wanted to empty the dishwasher, and since I had no motivation or desire to do it myself, I gave him permission, and watched him a little skeptically from my reclining position on the couch. I expected he'd put some of the easier dishes away and leave the rest for me. But he eagerly dragged a barstool to the counter, loaded our heavy dinner plates onto the counter, climbed up, and put them where they belonged in the high cupboard. He reached down from his perch on the counter to take our glasses, one by one, from the top rack of the dishwasher and put them ("Carefully! carefully, buddy!") in the high cupboard as well. He had to ask me where a few miscillaneous items belonged, but most of the job he did entirely without aid. I was amazed. And thrilled. He emptied the dishwasher for me in that manner many a morning I did not feel inclined to do it myself. The thrill has worn off now, and the chore is mine once again, but since I'm feeling better, I'm okay with that. Still, in a year or two I know I can assign the job to him and know he's fully capable of doing it himself.

2. He learned to help his little brother down from his high chair. Peanut Butter has a dangerous habit of climbing out of his high chair and hanging off the side when he's finished eating. From that position he fusses loudly for me to help him the rest of the way down. It was a habit I tried very hard to break him of, but I was not consistent enough, or firm enough, or something, because he never gave it up, and now it's a regular habit. Soon he'll graduate to a shorter, safer high chair that doesn't pretend to keep him in one spot, but is open for him to climb in and out of on his own. Anyway, a couple of days my nausea, which usually just made me feel lousy and unmotivated, knocked me off my feet so powerfully that I couldn't even drag myself around. One morning we got home from a visit to our library and I collapsed in a chair feeling dizzy and faint and horribly sick. I must've put Peanut Butter in the high chair for a snack before I collapsed, because I remember him deciding he was done, and I lay in the chair unable to move. "Green Bean, can you help Peanut Butter down?" I asked him desperately. He thought for a minute, then ran over to one of our kitchen chairs, pushed it under Peanut Butter's dangling feet, and Peanut Butter climbed down on his own. Yes. I have a smart one. Since then he has often helped Peanut Butter down from his high chair in that same way. Also, as an aside to all the concerned adults reading this blog, I did call for help on those occasions. One time My Hero came home from work early to help, and another time my mom came and took the boys to her house for the rest of the day and all the next and let me just sleep, sleep, sleep.

3. He learned how to be sympathetic. My months of nausea kicked off with a family flu season right before Christmas. Green Bean hasn't been one to vomit much, but he did several times with this one, and so did Peanut Butter, then My Hero, and finally, early Christmas morning, I woke up with the dreaded virus. So Green Bean was familiar with the vomiting over the toilet process when I was dealing with morning sickness all through January, and he would stand beside me as I threw up and pat my back and say, "Oh, sweetheart..." in a dear, sweet voice. It truly was a comfort. And neither boy seemed to mind the grossness or the smell...they'd watch with curiosity whenever I allowed them to.

Can good come from a time of misery and dullness? Yes. Yes, it can.

Hope

It has come...it's here! The magical time called "the second trimester." I really wasn't sure this pregnancy would bring a happy second trimester. But I have felt normal for over a week, not counting the second day after I tried not taking my medication... I'm still downing half a vitamin B6 tablet, half a sleeping pill, because that combination mysteriously combats nausea, but I wouldn't be surprised if in a week or two, when I dare try again to do without them, my nausea will be gone. I can't describe the relief, satisfaction, and pleasure that comes with feeling good after months of not. Today I washed the floors, vacuumed, did three loads of laundry, played 3 games of UNO with my three year old Green Bean, read two books to him, played hide and seek with both little boys, fed them breakfast, snack, and lunch, was cheerful and involved with them, getting their "help" with all the tasks I was doing, and now they're napping, the house is tidy, and after I put them down for a nap I went outside with our new mailbox and the power drill, took the old mailbox off the post, and screwed the new mailbox on. Then shoveled even WIDER around the mailbox to be as sure as I possibly could that the plowman could see our box clearly and not smash it this time, and since I didn't hear any noise on the monitor to indicate that my dear little ones were waking up, I also shoveled a path through our 6 feet of snow to the utility box for our faithful meter reader and a path to our oil pipe for the next oil tank replenishment (a job we've been woefully neglectful of this winter, much to the chagrin of the good people who have to wade through unshoveled snow just to do their jobs.) And lo, the boys are still sleeping.

All this crowing about such a happy, productive day is probably throwing a jynx on this afternoon, where all will undoubtedly crumble into disorder and chaos. But after months of those things, such a morning is almost beyond belief. I just have to brag a little. (=

And to think, it's not even spring. Though it is quite warm outside. 43 degrees. Not exactly swimsuit weather, but I didn't need a hat and scarf while I was shoveling...I might have even done with a lighter jacket. I'm thinking about taking the little guys outside to enjoy the warmth this afternoon. They have a great time outside in the snow with their shovels when the weather's warm enough. I heard a rumor that six more storms are progressing my way, but I don't care. Spring is coming, no matter how much more snow comes ahead of it. I don't even care that spring this year will consist of flooding and mud. Well, I do a little, but that will pass, too. Good health brings bountiful optimism.

Homecoming

I'm not sure where to pick up after such a long absence. These last few months have been long and hard and discouraging, but I'm beginning to feel stirrings of hope.

Our pastor spoke today about presenting our lives as living sacrifices to God, that being our true act of worship. I was so grateful for those words. They admonished me and gave me direction. I feel as though these past few months have been wasted, just survived. I didn't want it to be that way, but I didn't know how to spend them well, since most of the time I just felt awful, and was waiting for the next normal moment to try to catch up on some of the things I'd let slide for so long. Like dishes, laundry, cleaning. I feel as though I'm learning how to live life well, except for when I'm sick. Then I find it hard to take my eyes off myself and my misery long enough to offer true worship to God, gratitude for all He's given. Partly because I feel like such a failure that I'd rather do a crossword puzzle than think about my life and how I'm living it. Dismally. Just surviving. Dreaming of spring and longing for days of energy and health and joy.

We spent a week in Florida, My Hero, my two boys, and I, and it was a break from the monotony, from the unclean house and the chaos created by two boys whose mama isn't keeping up with them. I felt good most of the time, and the warm breezes and gentle sun were healing, and the relaxed time of living with friends and enjoying their company and being part of their world for a week was refreshing. We came home to a driveway shoveled and plowed by family and friends, and supper on the table from my grandparents. We keep getting snow and more snow, but no matter what, "We're nearer to spring than we were in September."

I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December
A magical thing
And sweet to remember.

"We are nearer to Spring
Than we were in September,"
I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December.

Oliver Herford

Eventually the white blanket, no matter how thick, covering our garden beds will have to melt, and after the flooding has eased and the mud has dried, we'll have green grass to walk in and sit in and play in, warm, fresh air drifting through the stale rooms of our house, and the sounds of spring making music in our hearts. Who can feel nauseous when the world is so?

Truthfully, I am feeling better, though not well enough to go off my medication. I tried not taking it the day after I returned home from Florida, but clearly, it makes an enormous difference in how I'm feeling, so I'll keep on it for now. Yesterday I felt nearly normal all day, and made progress catching up on cleaning, and my spirits lifted. My aspirations soar so much higher than I'm capable of really doing, though. I dream of the kind of spring cleaning I'd like to do in every room of the house, but honestly, that would be difficult to accomplish in the best of health with two little boys to care for and life carrying on in its usual way.

I want to think less about me and my troubles, and more about Jesus. What makes Him pleased, what He expects of me, what He's given me to do or be today. That's what it means to be a living sacrifice. That's how I can worship Him. Not by trying to be someone I've made up in my own mind, not even by trying to be perfect and do everything right, but by being His, bending my ear to hear what He's telling me, being ready to follow Him in anything He asks, even if it doesn't match what I think I should be doing.

The magic sandwich

Life has changed for me dramatically since my Christmas flu. The gentle, nagging nausea of the weeks before Christmas changed to a harsh, debilitating bitterness in my stomach that was only relieved by lying down and sleeping. Constant nausea. A third child on the way. And I'm quite decided that this is the last. As far as it is up to me. I used to say four, but I have since come to realize that I'm not the personality that would enjoy the bigger numbers...more chaos, more messes, more responsibility. And My Hero has never wanted lots of kids. He's always said three, at the most. Now we're in agreement. I'm not sure why the nausea has been so much worse this time than the last two pregnancies, but the "morning sickness" has seemed to get progressively worse with each. It feels as though my body is telling me, "Enough, already!" I'm happy about this pregnancy in that we wanted it, it was planned, and I know a third child will bring us untold joy. I know in my mind. My emotions at this point in the pregnancy keep griping to me that this is a ridiculous hardship I could've chosen to avoid. It's hard to imagine a soft, sweet, warm darling child in my arms when I'm doubled over the toilet.

We have found something that brings temporary relief from the nausea, however, in a most unexpected place. I told my grandparents the news a few days ago, and my sweet grammie called me that evening offering to take the two boys while My Hero and I went out to supper. She even offered a McDonald's coupon, buy one sandwich, get one free. I was so touched by her thoughtfulness that I accepted her offer, though I felt terrible and couldn't imagine being able to keep down a MacDonald's burger. My Hero suggested Subway instead, and that sounded more appealing to me, though I wasn't overly hopeful that any food would stay put in my stomach and digest as it should. I ordered my favorite, a six-inch Italian BMT on Parmesan oregano bread with provolone cheese, lettuce, tomatoes, pickles, salt, pepper, oil, and vinegar. My Hero and I chatted quietly about his job, what had happened in his day, future goals and plans. As we talked I nibbled. It was oh, so tasty. When I had eaten the whole sandwich, my stomach felt warm and satisfied. The nausea was gone. We went home, picked up the kids, put them to bed, and watched a movie together before going to bed fairly early ourselves. The whole evening I felt normal, which, after weeks of misery, is such a delightful way to feel.

I hoped maybe the change would last indefinitely, but the next morning I awoke feeling dreadful again.

So yesterday after church we stopped at Subway on my way home from church. I drilled My Hero several times to make sure he knew exactly what to order. I was feeling sick, and exhausted after a morning getting ready for church, practicing with our worship team before church, then helping lead worship during the service. By the time church was over I felt like I had nothing left for energy to get me through the rest of the day. My Hero came out with my sandwich and the strong, spicy, vinegary smell filled the car, sending me into transports of delight. We put the boys down for their naps, sat down to watch Prisonbreak, Season 2 that a friend from church lent us, and I munched away. The same warm, satisfied feeling replaced the bitterness and nausea of the morning. I don't know what it is about that particular sandwich, but it works magic. All afternoon I felt amazing. By evening it began to wear off, but My Hero and I both decided it was worth shelling out $4 a day for that feeling of health to keep my going for hours at a time. He'll be stopping by a Subway on his way home from work tonight.

As an aside: Prisonbreak? Incredibly good. Addictive. So, so good. I'm on the edge of my seat all the time. I love watching how Michael Scofield works out his plans and finds solutions for the situations he faces. Unexpected twists, and realistic foils to the best laid plans. I can't say enough good things about this series. And I didn't think I'd like it.

The nausea is also why my blogging has ground to a halt. Mornings are no longer my favorite time of day. I tried to keep dragging myself out of bed for that sacred hour, but would end up falling asleep on the floor, without energy or desire to drag myself to the computer and post about my life. I hate regressing back to life before my routine, and hopefully as time goes by the sickness will lessen and I can reform a workable routine for the next nine months of my life. I want to get back to working out as soon as possible, because while you're not advised to begin a new workout routine while you're pregnant, you are encouraged to keep going with your current work-out as long as it's comfortable, which, with Peanut Butter, was up to the last few weeks. Ha ha. I remember how light and free I felt when I resumed the workout a few weeks after delivery. I felt like I was floating through the exercises, light as a balloon.

Most naptimes have been spent napping. Today has been a better day than most, and I'm using the time to blog, but most days by the time the boys go down, I'm collapsing into my soft sheets for an hour of rest.

I've found the severity of the nausea shocking and depressing. How can I drag myself through three months of this? IF it ends in three months like it did with the first two. A friend of mine is 5 or 6 months along and still feeling miserable. I keep picturing the boy in a story I read long ago who was given a ball with a string in it, and every time he wanted to hurry up a part of his life that was slow or boring or unpleasant, he could just pull the string and he'd be on to the next phase of life. At the end of his life he realized he'd skipped a good portion and missed out on over half of his life, making it very very short. I don't want to count these next few months as worthless, just days to be endured, hopeful for better ones ahead. But that's where I'm struggling. I wake up and think about what things I can do to make the day pass more quickly. By afternoon I'm relieved that I have just a few more hours to endure before My Hero is home, and then a few more hours until the little ones are in bed and I can go to bed. How do I learn to value these days? To make them worthwhile? To be grateful for them? True, these days will pass and be a distant memory, but they won't pass quickly, and I'm in them for a purpose. I think I will focus on being thankful. I still have so much to be thankful for, and if I don't feel much gratitude about the new life inside of me yet, I can be grateful for naptime, the peace and quiet and rest, for soft sheets to crawl into, for a fridge and freezer and cupboards full of convenience foods that save me from endless hours cooking supper. For two little boys that fill my days with joy, even when I'm so tired. For a husband that is compassionate and understanding and willing to buy me a magic sandwich on his way home from work. For the magic sandwich.

Sickness at Christmas Time, Continued...

Christmas Day was not at all what I had imagined or hoped for or anticipated. In fact, it was quite the opposite. I came down with the stomach bug that had hit the rest of my little family earlier, and spent Christmas Day feeling weak and miserable. I missed out on my favorite day of the year, and it was a sad, sad day.

The good news is that My Hero and Green Bean and Peanut Butter were all well, and full of energy and happiness, and able to enjoy the days' festivities. And My Hero came home from Christmas with my parents and siblings and the whole big riotous party that opening presents with all of them is, and filled me in on all the highlights in such a way that I felt like I'd been there.

Our two little boys had a wonderful day, and came home full of sugar and needing bedtime desperately. Then Peanut Butter woke up a couple of hours later to throw up the contents of his little tummy. A stomach still sensitive from recent illness was no match for all the sweet treats his grandpa and great-grandpa let him ingest.

The saddest part of this Christmas season for me was missing out on visiting with my out-of-town siblings. My sister and brother-in-law from Chicago arrived on Friday, the day Peanut Butter introduced the illness to our family. The party that we scheduled on Saturday evening specifically so my sister and her husband could attend was cancelled. The plan to hold it at my best friend's place instead of ours ground to a halt when her little baby girl began vomiting.

Saturday evening Green Bean was hit hard with the same illness. Just as Peanut Butter was recovering, really. Sunday morning My Hero stayed home with the boys while I went to participate in the Christmas Sunday morning service at church. My Hero was responsible for the video and words on the screen during the service, and I was part of the worship team, including a special piece two other ladies and I had been practicing for months. We decided he was more easily replaced than I was, and I ended up running MediaShout during part of the service while the visual team's understudy ran it during the music. The service was amazing, and I was so glad I didn't have to miss it. I came home to a husband laying on the floor and two boys wreaking havoc around him. He came down with the stomach bug, and spent Sunday and Monday recovering. Monday evening Peanut Butter and I attended the family Christmas Eve party, hopeful that in the morning we would all be well enough to participate in all of the festivities of Christmas Day. I thought surely if I was going to come down with it, I already would have.

Alas. Life is full of disappointments. Thankfully I slept much of the day, which felt nice, and spent some time being cheered by this:

A book I saw in a bookstore a month or so ago and decided to spend the last of my birthday money on. It's by the author of The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, a book gifted me by a dear friend with impeccable taste for literature, which proved to be an absolute delicacy from start to finish.

It didn't let me down. This author has such a fun, imaginative style, and I love the way her characters have many sides to them, not just "good" or "bad".

It was a perfect read for a Christmas Day stuck in bed.

My sister and her husband leave tomorrow, so I essentially missed their whole visit, other than seeing them at church and the family Christmas Eve party. Not entirely though. My parents in law flew in yesterday to stay for 6 days, and they encouraged me to take the evening and spend some time with my sister while they took care of the boys and put them to bed. So after supper I went to my parents' house, and we played Bang!, a new game my sister got for Christmas based on a genre of Italian western shows, played much in the style of Mafia. It was a very fun evening spent shooting each other off.

My older brother and his new wife drove in from Connecticut Sunday morning in time for church, so I saw them then and at the Christmas Eve party, but missed all other interaction with them, which was crushing. I was so so looking forward to getting to spend time with them with just our family, playing games, etc. Apparently Christmas evening they had a rip-roaring good time playing Bang! as a family. But they were gone, back to Connecticut, before I was feeling well.

All in all, I'm already looking forward to next Christmas. Surely we can't be sick two Christmases in a row... And telling myself to treasure all the times with family I don't miss out on, and I really am so thankful that I have a family I love so dearly that it kills me to miss Christmas with them.