about books

We took an outing to the library this evening. I intended it to be a late afternoon trip, but by the time I finished gathering sap and baking the bread and cleaning up the flour and dishes from breadmaking and then getting socks and shoes and sweatshirts (yes, sweatshirts today instead of coats!), we pulled out of the driveway at almost 5:00. And since the library is nearby, we pulled into the nearly deserted library parking lot a few minutes before 5:00, and it suddenly occurred to me that today is Friday, and the library closes early on Friday evenings. I warned the kids that we may have to just drop the books off without time to browse for new ones, but when we got to the door I was relieved to see that the library didn't close until 6:00. We spent the next forty minutes in the comfortable familiarity of the children's area downstairs, choosing books, playing with toys, and coloring pictures.

I let each boy choose three books, and Christopher Robin chose a board book for Raindrop, too. And I found three of my own choosing for them, so our library book bag was full, which is somewhat illogical because we'll be on vacation for most of the next two weeks, and won't be bringing the books with us.

Not entirely illogical, though. We spent the evening after supper reading library books. I let the boys take turns choosing which books to read, and Peanut Butter, each time he was given the choice, chose the board book we'd checked out for Raindrop. Thankfully it was short and simple, so I didn't mind reading it over and over. It was a fairly good evening, though Raindrop was fussy and I had to read loudly over her fussing most of the time.

The kids were in bed before 8:00, which meant that we had time to read a chapter from The Adventures of Little Joe Otter in which one of the otter children lost his toe. He had ignored his father's warning and got his toe caught in a trap; his only choice was to jerk himself away, leaving his toe behind, or lose his life when the trapper came back. Christopher Robin's eyes were wide with horror as I read the story, but I was wishing Peanut Butter was following the story a little more closely. He's the one of my children who would ignore his father's warnings, but he's only three, and from the way he was standing on his head on his bed and chattering with Raindrop I could tell the moral of the story was entirely lost on him.

Tonight I'm thankful for books. For stories, for pages, for pictures. For adventures journeyed together, exotic lands experienced simultaneously, each absorbing at our unique levels, each living the stories in our own imaginations all at once. I remember life's brevity, and I drink deeply of this evening of togetherness in books.

how to help him be tough...

Peanut Butter's wails drown out all other household noise. He has fallen down...again. "What is it this time?" I ask him. "Me 'eg!" "Your leg? Do you need me to kiss it?" "Nigh! (yes)" I bend near and kiss the leg nearest me. "Mmm-mm!" He shakes his head and points to his other leg. I sigh and kiss that one. A few minutes later there's another tumble, and the deafening wails begin again. I am convinced that it's not reasonable for him to expect me to drop everything and come to his comfort every few minutes. Many times nothing really soothes him except if I were to give him maybe 10 minutes of holding and snuggling. How can I do that time and time again and still get anything done? I shake my head each time there's a new call for my comfort and sympathy. He has to learn to get up and brush himself off, I tell myself. How do I teach him to be tough?

And then I read this and realize that maybe the antidote to all the wailing is to be proactive and meet his need for touch. Peanut Butter, my little boy who spent his first year of life sleeping, being held, and wailing to be held. Maybe his thirst for touch is deeper than most's, and he finds so many reasons to need holding and comforting each day in order to help meet that need. Maybe I need to be more willing to supply it, and more generous in giving it of my own will so he doesn't have to ask for it all the time. Maybe if his heart is full, he can more easily learn to get up and brush himself off.

he's learning to talk

His eyes are bursting with a story locked inside. He looks at me with wide intensity, and his body fights against the barriers of unlearned speech. "Mama! Brrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmm! Bampa!!"
"Grandpa took you for a ride on the tractor??" I ask.
"Dah!!" He nods excitedly, relief and joy that his story is told.

I wonder how much more Peanut Butter wants to say...details he would add if he knew how to articulate them. Maybe, since he's all boy, he wouldn't elaborate if he could; the bare facts are all he cares to discuss. But his enthusiasm and body language are eloquent about the passions that stir him. Tractors. Motorcycles. Horses, cows, pigs, and chickens. And puppies.

He's 22 months, and just these days his vocabulary is exploding. Yesterday he learned "moose" at the wildlife park we visited. "Can you say, 'moose'?" I asked. He shook his head. "Mmm-mm." But a few minutes later he was saying it. "Mooosh. Mooosh." I talk to him like I do to Christopher Robin, and he understands it all. But his mouth doesn't know how to make the sounds. He's frustrated by the barrier to his communication, and he's slowly, painfully learning to scale the wall of vocabulary so he can tell what's on his mind. Just nouns now. Lots and lots of sound effects help him tell his stories. And pointing. But the joy he feels when I understand propels him to keep learning.

Sometimes, unexpectedly, a new word will come out clear and intelligible, unintentionally. Then I won't hear it again. It's like his subconscious knows more about how speech is done than his conscious mind. He doesn't know how to make himself form a word, even though he can.

I'm guessing speech therapy would speed the process a little, but I'm not concerned enough for that. He's learning so quickly now I'm content to battle it out together, him and me, and Daddy and Christopher Robin, too.

For months Christopher Robin has entertained himself by asking, "Can you say, 'vacuum', Peanut Butter?"
"Gacume."
"Yes! Good job!! You said, 'vacuum'! Can you say, 'calculator?'"
"Mmm-mm."
"Can you say, 'calculator', Peanut Butter?"
"Mmm-mm."

He knows his limits.

For a long time I've wondered what he will sound like when he talks to me. I'm starting to know.

Together

My boys have started doing lots of things together.

scraping up hailstones on our deck after a storm

reading books


playing with the dryer knobs


putting toys away


playing with trains


"sleeping" in Mommy and Daddy's bed after getting bathed and dressed for church


riding their tricycle

I've always hoped that my two boys would grow up being friends. I guess that explains the delight I feel when I see them having fun together, or even when one wakes up before the other after nap time and starts acting lonely, then lights up when the other stumbles groggily out a little while later. There's plenty of competition and screams of ill will and looks of satisfaction when the other one is disciplined, but I love that they're growing up together...that their earliest years are full of times spent together. My hope is that they'll always be close friends...that their growing up years will form a bond between them that they value and nourish even if their life paths lead them far away from each other in miles.

Big Boy Beds

"I don't want a new bed," Christopher Robin insisted on our way home from the furniture store a month ago, van loaded with large boxes of new bunk bed pieces.

"Don't worry," I assured him. "It's not time to change beds yet." The unfinished wood would have to be assembled first, and then coated with three coats of polyurethane, and that would take us a little while.

After "helping" us put the beds together, and several mornings spent playing in the basement with Peanut Butter while My Hero and I sanded and wiped and polyed, Christopher Robin found the idea of sleeping in a bed up high, accessed only by ladder, exciting. He impatiently asked when it would be ready.

Still, last night as he and Daddy ceremoniously carried his toddler bed out of the bedroom, after his new bed was carried upstairs and assembled in its place, he again told My Hero, "I don't want a new bed." Even though he did. He wasn't ready to be rid of his old bed. It is a darling little bed, and he probably would have stayed in it at least a few more years if we had the space for two beds and a crib in the kids' room. Or at least would have passed it on to Peanut Butter when he moved to a twin bed, to free up the crib for their little sister. But we decided we weren't ready to move any of the kids to a bedroom in the basement yet, so they'll share a room for a year or two, the three of them, and putting the boys in bunk beds was the only way that could happen in their little room.

Once the old bed was removed and the boys had a few minutes to climb the ladder and play on the bed "up top," it was clear the excitement and novelty would make the transition and relatively painless one.

Relatively painless. The biggest adjustment is actually for Peanut Butter, who has been used rolling around to sleep against any of the four walls of the crib. Suddenly his rolling around tumbles him off the side of the bed. Cushions on the floor don't eliminate the rudeness of awakening to falling on the floor in the middle of a sleepy dream. Twice last night I heard the thump, and twice I tucked him, whimpering, safely into his bed, close to the wall, far from the edge. Our bodies learn, after a while, to stay away from the edge, but until then I expect a few more tumbles.

Just the usual, everyday problems...

During bathtime last night Christopher Robin informed me that he and Peanut Butter were drinking water from the tub faucet to wash the hair out of their mouths. I watched them rinse their tongues in the falling water, and then asked him why there was hair in their mouths.

"Oh, there just is," he said with a shrug. "I licked Tuttles."

Tuttles, our cat.

Potty Training

Last night at bedtime I brought up the subject of reverting to diapers with Christopher Robin. 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. Christopher Robin 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 Christopher Robin 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 Christopher Robin 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.

Christopher Robin's Repertoir

During my months of feeling ill, Christopher Robin 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. "Christopher Robin, 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. Christopher Robin 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 Christopher Robin 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.

The Ordeal

When I heard the thud I didn't know it was any different from a hundred other bumps and falls he has throughout the day. When I heard the intensity of his cry and saw him writhing, I knew he was hurt badly. I picked him up quickly and blood streamed in his eyes from the gash in his forehead. As the bleeding slowed, we saw clearly that we would be making a trip to the emergency room that evening for some stitches.

Christopher Robin and Peanut Butter had been playing happily together. Christopher Robin had a plastic sword and a plastic golf club, and he was using the two to chase and "capture" Peanut Butter, knocking him to the floor and landing on top of him. Rough play, but accompanied by laughter and giggles from both of them. Such play is refreshing to watch after endless hours of competing and fighting over toys and complaining about each other. I should have known it would end badly. Such fun, rough play rarely finds reason to stop until someone gets hurt. The final chase and capture knocked Peanut Butter into a jutting corner wall, forehead and wall colliding, tender skin giving way.

We packed the boys in the car, and decided to drop Christopher Robin off at my parents' house on the way, if they'd have him. They willingly took him in and sympathetically wished us well. They experienced the ordeal of taking a toddler for stitches numerous times when I was young...my forehead bears the scars. I'm not terribly coordinated, and apparently when I was young I did foolish things like run with my hands in my pockets. Christopher Robin has inherited my lack of grace, though, while Peanut Butter has been sturdy on his legs since he first pulled himself up. Yet Peanut Butter has had two significant injuries, while Christopher Robin, in spite of hundreds of bumps and bruises, has never been seriously hurt. I wonder if it's coincidence, or if it's because of Peanut Butter's strength and intensity about things. Christopher Robin sort of flops about, while Peanut Butter is all drive.

Peanut Butter is so strong in his opinions and so determined to have things his way that the nurses struggled mightily to swaddle him in the sheet that traps his arms and legs and holds him still. He was so angry about the treatment he was getting, that I had handed him over to strangers, STRANGERS, people he has always been absolutely opposed to, and they were insisting that he not move, that his furious wails began long before he felt any pain. His anger turned to fear and confusion when they shone a bright light in his eyes, and the shots of anesthesia, that actually were terribly painful, turned his crying to tears of the betrayed. That was certainly the hardest part for me to bear. After the pain was gone and the stitching began he sunk into resigned, exhausted whimpering. The whole ordeal lasted no longer than ten minutes, but I longed with my whole being to have him back in my arms, snuggling him close, knowing it was all over.

I always wonder how such an ordeal can fade so quickly in his memory. Why doesn't he hold it against me? Why doesn't it erode his trust, that I willingly took him through this ordeal, let strangers hold him down and hurt him. Probably, truthfully, it has eroded his trust somewhat. I won't be able to take him back into the hospital to have the stitches removed with the same ease we took him the first time. He knows what I'm capable of, that I won't protect him from the things those people in blue decided to do to him. When he's older, I can explain it all to him. For now, he accepts that I'm his mama, and his attachment to me is far stronger than any ten minute betrayal could wear through.

They gave me the option to leave during the stitching, looked at me like they expected that I should, but I knew I could handle it. My Hero was sitting in the chair behind me, and I was standing with my hand on Peanut Butter's small round shoulder. As the doctor pulled tight the second stitch, though, the familiar black edges began to frame my vision, and my stomach felt tight and uncomfortable. I fought it for a minute; it frustrates me that my head can take it all in with calmness, but my body reacts in a way I can't control. Then I switched places with My Hero before I fainted. By the time they finished the third stitch and completed the job, I was fine, and so glad to hold my sweaty, tear drenched baby boy.

The gash looks much better pulled together in a neat, straight line. It's healing nicely. Christopher Robin is fascinated by the idea of stitches. He had a wonderful time at Grammie and Grampa's, but he often brings up the subject of Peanut Butter going to the hospital to get stitches, and asks question after question about it. I'm so glad he wasn't there to be scarred by the wails. If it's ever his turn to go, he has nothing to associate it with yet, unless he can tell just by looking at it that it would hurt. And I really don't think he can.

The other detail that was important to the story from my perspective is that I had just bought a new sweater and little brown corderoy pants for Peanut Butter that day, and had put them on him to make sure they fit. I envisioned him wearing them to Christmas parties, and was pleased how well they fit when I tried them on him. I left them on him for a few minutes while he played, and one of my first thoughts when his forehead was gushing blood was (how terrible am I??) to protect his new sweater. I even considered changing his clothes before going to the hospital, but I had never done this before, and the bleeding stopped so quickly I was afraid the wound would start to scab if we didn't get him there right away, and then they'd have to break it open to pull the skin together. That didn't happen, but it probably would have been messier to try to change his clothes than to keep him in them. When we returned home from the hospital I was relieved to find that the drop of blood on his sweater washed out nicely, as did the drops of blood on our light gray carpet. I really don't think such things should even register on my mind when a tragedy happens, but alas...some things are clearly just too important to me.

Here's the little boy 24 hours after the incident:

Pockets

My boy has found his pockets. I now have to remember to check not just my husband's pants pockets before I throw them in the washer. Green Beans pants could hold any kind of precious object, or just something that will affect the state of the whole load of laundry, like a tissue or (horrors) a pen.

Early one morning after Green Bean woke up, he dragged a stool over to the Christmas tree so he could watch the automated Bambi ornament spin, and then he asked to get dressed. That was odd. He had never paid any attention to when he changes from pajamas to day clothes before. And we almost always wait until after breakfast. Mystified, I told him he would have to wait until after Peanut Butter woke up, because to go in the bedroom while Peanut Butter was sleeping would certainly wake him. Then Green Bean's reasoning became clear; "I want pants with pockets," he said.

Green Bean's favorite item to pocket is his daddy's cell phone. That way he has it on him at all times, and he loves to go around the house taking pictures with it. He has figured out that by pushing "Okay" twice he can take a picture of anything, and his photography skills have dramatically improved with practice. The phone's photo gallery first was filled with lots of black, blank pictures, because he paid no attention to lighting and got too close to the object he was trying to capture. But now the gallery is filled with colors and random snapshots of family members doing ordinary daily things. My Hero is glad he spends so much time taking pictures instead of pushing all sorts of buttons that change the entries in his "phone book" from, say, "Dad's cell" to "Dad's cellffffffhhh". It's risky to let him play with our cell phone, you say? Yes, it is. But Green Bean knows never to push the green button, and he obeys. He has pushed it once or twice, whether accidentally or on purpose, and the cell phone is taken away for a while, but he loves playing with it too much to make that mistake often.

Other things he has put in his pocket:
-a small purple stone given to him by the kind lady who does "Story Time" at the library
-all of our pens ("They won't all fit," I predicted. Why do I say things like that? He continued sticking them in one by one until they were all in there.)
-all of our chopsticks, which stick out of his pocket in the same manner as the pens
-my hair elastic
-a penny

He reminds me of Tom Sawyer and all the boys in that book by Mark Twain. It's a boy thing to do, fill one's pockets with treasures. And he's my boy.

Explaining God

I feel weak and foolish in my attempts to teach my children about God. I hesitate, not wanting to oversimplify, to cheapen the truth, yet wondering how much a three year old can grasp of the interaction between us and God. How do I describe someone he can't see, but Who is always here? "Where's Jesus?" he asks. "He's here with us. He's everywhere." Does that melt into meaninglessness in his mind? "God made us, He made everything." Is that also a comment he shrugs off, because he can't see God, or sense Him with any of his senses? Does he understand that we're talking to the King of the Universe when we pray with him before bed? Or does it strike him as a mere recounting of our day, and other words he doesn't understand.

I know in time his understanding will broaden, and I think it's important to begin to teach him now, but I really am concerned that these phrases that are over his head...he'll just form a habit of tuning them out...not trying to understand.

Like I did. I'd read the stories printed on the Sunday School bulletins, but skip over the verses at the end. I'd read the stories printed by Christian children's publishers, but skip the morals at the end. I even felt a little guilty, knowing that was supposed to be the most important part, but the truth was, I'd heard it all before and it bored me.

I suppose there's no way to totally avoid that behavior. And I think the truest and best antidote is to keep our love for God as much an action as possible. Not just holding off the opening of gifts until we've read the Christmas story, but finding ways to give gifts of ourselves to needy people. Putting our faith into action as much as possible, to stir up the questions and make them want to know why we do what we do, and how God has called us to live so differently.

I want Green Bean and Peanut Butter to know that the reason they must treat each other with kindness, gentleness, and respect is because that's what makes God happy. But I don't want them to equate God with a supernatural judge who watches over their actions and smiles at the good and frowns at the bad.

We began a Jesse Tree this Christmas, and once again, it feels a little over Green Bean's head (Peanut Butter doesn't even slow his spinning steps long enough to notice what we're doing, and it's certainly well beyond anything he's interested in). I attempt to simplify the stories, explain them in his words after I read them from scripture. I still feel like it's so far from anything he sees or knows that he can't be getting it very well. But he points to one of the ornaments and asks me to read about it again. So I flip to the passage and read it. He likes me to read to him from the Bible, and asks me to quite often. That's something. And now he picks up my Bible and "reads" it himself. It must sound like a bunch of gibberish when I read to him, because when he reads it his stories are just words from the world he knows. "And I ride my firetruck, and play with numbers and letters, and go over there, and my coloring books, and Peanut Butter cries, and..." On and on. Only last time he read, he added "The Lord" to his sentences. "The Lord is happy we color in our coloring books..."

I pray. And hope they both see, as they grow, a genuine love for our Creator in my own heart, and in my actions. Little by little, he'll grasp it. And the ultimate choice belongs to his own heart. Who will he serve. I will pray, and live, and do all I can, but all-knowing, all-loving God will direct his life, order the circumstances that shape his perspective, and draw him to Himself.

1,000 gifts

18. A day that goes well...full of love and joy and finished tasks.

19. A suitcase unpacked and clothes put away...a clean bedroom.

20. The end of several days of crankiness and endless hours of LOUD crying. Cheery tones, sparkling, laughing eyes of mischief, a wide grin.

21. Learning something new. "These my thumbs, Mommy?" as Green Bean walks around fists in the air, thumbs wriggling around on top.

22. Butternut squash baked whole, skin browned and glossy, coming out of the oven.

23. Picky eater hungry enough for supper that he impatiently awaits the chicken and mashed potatoes, cleaning his plate without need for prodding.

24. My Hero's inability to fathom that if he just tried the squash, Green Bean would still not like My Hero's favorite vegetable of all time cooked just right. Pathetic protests that, "I don't like squash!" as he reluctantly accepts one spoonful into his mouth, grimaces and swallows it down, shakes his head in recoiling disgust. My Hero's disbelief.

25. New CD of children's songs from Grandma and Grampa. Song #1 played over and over by a three year old who can be taught how to work the CD player remote on his own. "Five Little Monkeys Jumping on the Bed" repeated, repeated, repeated.

26. This example of listening that showed me clearly that I have selective hearing for God's commands.

27. A warm, fluffy bathrobe for cold mornings and evenings.

28. Green Bean bringing me my slippers unbidden, and the look of joy on his face from my gratitude.

29. "Time for a rough time with me, Daddy?" as My Hero is preparing for a long day's sleep after working all night. "Yes, it's time for a rough time," as he grabs Green Bean and throws him on the bed, growling and shaking him amidst Green Bean's squeals and laughter.

30. The hour of quiet in the morning before anyone else is awake, reading holy words, communing with the High King, reflecting on life, planning the day.

31. Warm coffee releasing fog's clenching fingers from my mind and thoughts.

32. Purring kitten rubbing my feet, jumping on my shoulders, sniffing my coffee.

33. A fresh new day. Although after yesterday's successes and delights, I'm quite sure there's no way this one could measure up.

We're home again

I'm back! After a week or nearly two of vacation, I'm putting huge amounts of effort into getting back into our routine. Dragging myself out of bed a few minutes ago was one of the hardest things I've done in a while. Every limb and finger is stiff and heavy in protest.

Highlights of our trip:

1. The 20 1/2 hour drive to Illinois. It was our first time driving since we've had kids, and I knew it might get ugly. However, some friends of ours from our small group offered us the use of their minivan with a built in DVD player, and let me tell you, friends, that is the way to travel with toddlers. Green Bean and Peanut Butter rarely watch videos, but since they were going to be strapped down for 20+ hours at a time, I figured we might as well try it and see if it helped the time go by more quickly. We could tell the DVDs were working their magic by the fact that the two minutes it took to switch DVDs were punctuated with moans and whines and fussing.

2. Baby Newton. We ordered it from Netflix before we left. A couple of friends of ours lent us large amounts of kids' videos...Baby Einstein ones, and Veggie Tales, and some Disney. After several Veggie Tales videos we put Baby Newton in...and both boys were instantly riveted. They even laughed out loud at one part. Clearly the videos are designed for kids their age, because My Hero and I couldn't really see the appeal. (I know all the words to the crayon song by heart now, though.) We tried to keep a variety of videos going for the rest of the trip, but most of the time Green Bean just wanted "Nut Flix." Even the other Baby Einstein videos we had were far less preferred than the Netflix. Thank you, Baby Newton.

"Sometimes, when I wanna have some fun,

I draw a picture with crayons

To show everyone..."

3. Grandma and Grampa. Of course. They were so wonderful with the boys. We arrived on Wednesday, and my brother-in-law's wedding was Saturday. So the first few days of our visit were a flurry of preparations and activity. Then Sunday, after the wedding was over and the guests had gone (besides us), Grandma took the boys and spent the day with them while My Hero and I went into Chicago to visit my sister and her husband. Grandpa took Green Bean with him to his pumpkin stand to "help" him, and took him on his combine as he harvested corn, and fascinated both boys with all the farm equipment and produce.

4. Being on the farm in the fall. My Hero's parents live in Illinois; mine live in New England. We'll never be close to both of them at the same time, so we're always torn. We've been longing to visit Illinois during the summer or fall (we take a yearly trip to visit every January, as soon after Christmas as My Hero can be spared from his job), and just haven't been able to afford it. Which is why we chose to drive this time. We were actually really glad that My Hero's brother and fiancee decided to make their wedding date an October day. There's something about fall in Illinois that's warm and beautiful...it's as if harvest time in Illinois is more celebrated than in New England, in spite of our beautiful foliage. I felt it each year we lived there, and again this time during our visit.

5. Picking pumpkins. My in-laws have a pumpkin stand in town, and acres and acres of pumpkins that supply it. My Hero and I volunteered to help pick several times...it's fun work! On Friday, the day before the wedding, we manned the pumpkin stand while my father-in-law built an archway of cornstalks and got the stand ready for the wedding. It was an outdoor wedding held right at the pumpkin stand, with bales of straw as seats for the guests. It was a unique and beautiful setting. The stand was already beautifully decorated with corn stalks and pumpkins, gourds and Indian corn. It was a casual wedding, with the bride and groom in jeans, and since both my brother-in-law and his new wife are artsy, they pulled it off with creativity and class.

6. Friends. Tuesday evening was spent with friends. Two couples our age that we hated to leave when we moved to New England. We spend an evening together each time we visit, and it's so much fun.

Also my dear friend and college roommate lives in Chicago, and we hadn't seen each other in probably four years. We recently were back in touch, and it turns out she lives about a mile away from my sister and brother-in-law. So I got to visit her in her apartment for a little while on Sunday. We could've spent hours catching up, I think. Her life seems so glamorous next to mine sometimes. Living in Chicago. Travelling to the ends of the earth every few years. Single and free. It was fun to enter her world for a few minutes.

7. Something I never anticipated, had no inkling would happen...we brought a kitten home with us. I should've known after my post of a few weeks ago about not owning pets and not wanting to that it would all change on me. The farm has a small colony of barn cats, and my sister-in-law's friend found a stray on his doorstep last week and brought it to live on the farm. The stray was a small kitten who spent the next few days rubbing against our legs whenever we were outside, tripping Green Bean up with his friendliness, mewing pitifully. Wednesday as we were packing to leave I joked to My Hero about bringing the kitten home with us. My Hero responded that if we ever did, this one would be the one. I was shocked that he showed any hint of inclination, and after that my heart tugged me towards making the arrangements. A cat is independent, I told myself. Doesn't cost a lot of money. Some, though...he'll need to be fixed. And he'll need cat food. And a litter box. And shots. And probably worm pills.

What made us decide was his personality. He purrs and cuddles anyone who picks him up. He lets Peanut Butter scoop him up in his non-gentle arms and carry him around. He's super tolerant of rough handling by two small boys, and he's a beautiful little kitty.

We named him Tuttles, and he's ours. He survived the 22 hour car ride home by sleeping in one lap after another, and uses the litter box without fail. To be perfectly honest, he did spend several hours of the night prowling all over the van and mewing loudly, making it hard to fall asleep and waking the boys. But I think over all he handled the trip extremely well for a kitten.

Two Reasons I'm Thankful

He still has two teeth! His gums have cleared from dark purple and red and white to an almost uniform pink, and his tooth is right where it should be. Miraculous. Thank you for the reassuring words, you who commented. You're right...if he did lose the tooth he'd have an adorable one tooth smile and I'd have a story to tell. (=

His breath smelled awful for a few days. It smelled exactly like my own mouth smelled when I had my wisdom teeth pulled. The smell of blood, I guess. My Hero said he remembers the smell from when he had his own wisdom teeth out, AND when I had mine out, since that was an event we went through together the first year we were married. He helped me change the gauze they packed in my mouth, and he nearly passed out. He loves me truly.

Julie from Using My Words wrote a wonderful post about how she and her husband met and hooked up. It got me thinking about the early days with My Hero.

We met in college sophomore year. Apparently we'd been in several classes together before, but the moment I met him is clear in my memory one morning at the end of developmental psychology class. Out of the blue, the guy beside me looked up as we were leaving and said, "I like your sweater." And smiled. The comment caught me up short, because he talked to me, and I didn't know him. I spent the next few days noticing him around campus and wondering who he was. We started talking to each other before, during, after class. He offered me a ride to the airport for my flight home for spring break. Normally I took the El (Chicago's public transportation), and there's nothing quite like maneuvering through the streets and around the crowded El cars with a bulky suitcase. I gladly accepted, and then cringed as I anticipated it. I have an unfortunate disability when it comes to making small talk with people I don't know well, and I knew the drive from campus to Ohare could be long and awkward. It wasn't. Conversation flowed around topics of all kinds, comfortably. We arrived at the airport and he offered to wait for my flight with me. I accepted because this was something unexpectedly good going on.

He's still my favorite person to just "be" with. He's comfortable and fun and funny. He's so different from me, but we click.

I had barely turned 23 and he was still 22 when we married, and looking back I realise how little I still knew about him then. We'd been dating for a couple of years, but he could've been a real loser. One of those people you hear about that are wonderful until the wedding day, then the chase is over and they slump back into being the self-centered boors they preferred to be. Not My Hero. He's still surprising me with ways he finds to put me first, with how hard he works to keep our marriage strong.

Committing for life to someone is a risk. I realise that more now than I ever did then. I breath words of thankfulness to God for his surprising grace, and I wonder how much my parents' prayers for me affected my choices.

Don't. Bump. The. Tooth.

I have a painful achy feeling just above my lungs. My nerves are raw, and I can't relax.

Peanut Butter, my sweet little 14 month old boy, tipped the kitchen chair he was standing on over backwards and knocked his upper front tooth almost out. As in, it was hanging so loose that it looked like it was twice as long as his other tooth. I pushed it back in, but it bled a lot and he sobbed for a long time in my arms as I walked around the livingroom / kitchen area holding a cold washcloth to his mouth.

This was Monday evening.

As soon as Peanut Butter had calmed down enough for me to hold him with one arm, I searched the internet for medical / dental advice for a toddler who has knocked a tooth loose. I decided it wasn't an emergency room emergency, and that I would just keep an eye on him, and that there's a chance the roots will take hold again and he won't loose it. I don't expect that to happen. But I'm still on pins and needles lest he bump it again and knock it all the way out.

Tuesday morning Peanut Butter had made it through the night just fine, but his mouth was clearly tender. I knew I should avoid hard foods like apples, but I wasn't sure about the coffee cake I had made for breakfast, so I called the medical advice line available as part of our health insurance package. The kind nurse on the other end of the line asked me questions about his condition and advised soft foods. "Like what?" I asked. "Like pudding, jello...oatmeal." Okay. Oatmeal. That's a breakfast food, one we eat a lot. I can't imagine putting my little guy on a diet of pudding and jello for days on end. He'd never want to switch back. So he had oatmeal for breakfast, mashed potato for lunch, cottage cheese and mandarine oranges for a snack (in which I was reminded that Peanut Butter, who eats almost anything, cannot abide cottage cheese), squash and broccoli cheese soup for supper, and yogurt for a bedtime snack. Those foods are the extent of the soft foods I've managed to scrounge from my cupboards and refrigerator, but they're not a bad variety.

I just can't relax about his loose tooth. The idea that he may get to keep his baby tooth and not have a gap in his mouth for the next 4 or 5 years if I can just keep him from damaging it further is a terrible responsibility on my shoulders, honestly. I know it's not the end of the world if his tooth does fall out, and I know it'll probably happen anyway, but just knowing I may be able to prevent it if I'm just vigilent enough to prevent further falls and bumps... well, it's exhausting.

And that's not my only worry. I worry that his mouth will get infected and I won't recognize it until it's serious. I'm not normally a worrier, and I know I need a change in perspective, but I can't seem to shake this constant feeling of stress that's blanketing my days.

I'm reluctant to take him in to be seen by a pediatrician because I'm afraid it'll be unnecessary trauma for him and unnecessary expense for us, just to be told to "keep an eye on it." I guess in a day or two, depending on if it's better or worse, I'll have a better idea of whether or not to have his mouth examined by a professional.

Sometimes being a mother is a terrible responsibility. I feel like I should know what to do, but I'm so afraid of making a mistake.

Family Dynamics

5. Describe the dynamics in your immediate family...how do you and your husband and kids all work together, what are the personalities, do your kids relate or remind you more of either you or your husband, and so forth?

My Hero and I are a team. That's our goal anyway. We forget and start pulling in opposite directions sometimes, or start competing against each other instead of together. But our goal, our mindset, is that we're in this life together, and we're going to win, together.

It's common knowledge that having kids brings new challenges to a marriage, but Green Bean's arrival was such an adventure... even though it was a difficult year as My Hero worked terribly long hours at two jobs for a while, the excitement and challenges of having a child and watching him grow and change was mutually enthralling.

We agreed on the timing of child #2 and soon Peanut Butter was growing inside me. His arrival was welcome, but the first nine months were far more difficult than we ever expected. He was such a tiny little peanut, smaller at birth than Green Bean was, but so LOUD. He was opinionated, terribly opinionated for someone so entirely dependent on others for his every whim. And one of his strongest opinions, beginning when he was just one month old, was that no one was worthy of holding him besides his mama. No one. Not Daddy. Not Grammie.

That made his first year of life exhausting for us. I'd leave the two boys with My Hero some evenings when I had other obligations, but I'd come home to a husband on the edge of breakdown and a howling baby who would instantly quiet and snuggle into my shoulder when I took him. I couldn't leave him in the church nursery, though I tried week after week. He wouldn't settle down after a while like most children will when their parents are no longer in sight; he'd keep the nursery a room of LOUDness and misery until I came to relieve the poor nursery workers. I felt guilty leaving him with anyone...not because I was worried about Peanut Butter, but because I knew how miserable and desperate his caregivers would be with a screaming child who couldn't be appeased. It was a long year.

Peanut Butter has gradually changed, allowing more and more people into his sphere of interaction. My Hero, my 13 year old brother, my mom, certain nursery workers...as he learned to crawl and then walk his world opened up and he was more independent and the boundaries grew. Now he's fine in the nursery every week, I leave him with my mom regularly without hitches, and he'll reach out to be held by certain other people he knows and loves. He still dislikes strangers holding or touching him, and I suspect it's a permanent part of his personality, but he's no longer tied to me, and My Hero and I can breath again.

We feel like we made it through a time of difficulty and testing, and it certainly plays into why we're hesitant about when to consider adding a third child. My eternal optimism says that number three will be a happy, laid back child who demands little and adds supreme amounts of joy, because birth order books say that the third tends to have a more relaxed personality. My realistic husband knows there are no guarantees.

Green Bean and Peanut Butter, ages 3 and 1, are starting to play together more and more. Green Bean seems to love his little brother, though Peanut Butter disorders his orderly play. Green Bean needs to be with people, at least in the same room, and Peanut Butter counts as people now. He'll holler for Peanut Butter to come into the bedroom with him to play so he won't be alone.

Peanut Butter marches to his own beat. I read an article about people being either emotional transmitters or emotional receivers, how some people set the mood, and others are affected by the moods of people around them. Green Bean is a receiver, Peanut Butter is a transmitter. Green Bean will be howling in anger on his bed, and Peanut Butter will walk in and smile happily at him, making cheerful yips and gurgles, oblivious to his brothers' pain. But when Peanut Butter is upset, the whole house cringes and begins to share his anguish.

My Hero is a transmitter, and I am a receiver. When I finally understood this, I realised why I could never seem to set the mood in our home. I've heard several times that the wife has the power to set the tone of life at home, and that it's important to keep a good attitude. But I could never figure out how. I know I really do set the tone for the day when it's just the kids and me...if I have a plan and keep us all going doing fun and productive things we're likely to have a good day. Likewise when My Hero is home and I do all I can to keep the day running smoothly, it definitely helps. But when My Hero is in a bad mood, there's not much I can do, aside from sliding into a worse mood, to bring him out of it. Trying used to frustrate me to no end. Now I just accept it. He's not a receiver. To be fair, I think My Hero struggles with pulling me out of a bad mood, too. When I know that's what he's trying to do I feel obstinate.

My Hero is the spender, I'm the saver. But he's so balanced. We have goals for our money, and he's willing to curb his lifestyle to get there. When I met him he was driving a Mustang. It wasn't his dream car...he LOVES cars, thinks about them, admires them, and always has a dream car in mind. In college it was the Audi TT, not a super expensive car, but beyond his reach at the time. I tell him that by the time we can afford another car, the 2001 Audi TT should be in our price range. But I don't think we could fit car seats in the back. After we married he sold his Mustang for something that wouldn't have such high insurance rates, and we currently own two Escorts over 5 years old. Talk about sacrifice.

My Hero has the big picture perspective, and I'm the details person.

My Hero is good at driving and knowing where he's going and trying out new ways to get there. I'm good at reading a map.

I think Green Bean has a lot of my traits...he inherited my (lack of) coordination, my appreciation for orderliness, my sensitive conscience. He's like My Hero in his need to have people around.

Peanut Butter is stronger, more independent, more like My Hero. He's unconcerned about following the rules, he has inherent common sense, he has a good sense of balance and is sturdy on his legs, and he is determined to try anything he sees Green Bean do.

The original question is one that's hard to exhaust, but it's a subject I love to think about and analyse.

Thank you, Julie, for the interview questions, and I hope I haven't bored you to tears with my post-length answers to each of them.

How Do You Measure

I was outside this crisp fall morning working on my stone retaining wall in front of our house, with the two boys playing in the yard, when Green Bean fell and hurt his finger. I picked him up and held him, stopping to soak in the feeling of holding his long slender body in my lap, dreading the day he outgrows that kind of treatment, when he reached down and picked up the tape measure I'd been using.

He stretched it out in front of my shoulders. "I measure you, Mommy."

"Oh. How wide am I?" Content that this is no actual measurement being taken.

"Um... 4 pounds."

"Okay, that's not so bad."

"I 4 pounded you."

You have to record conversations like this, because they don't stay in the memory forever, and they're impossible to recreate. I remember being a motivated colorer of coloring books as a child (my siblings and I were ever competing for who could stay in the lines best), as we got to get a new one only after we'd finished the one we currently owned. I'd developed into an expert colorer, so it was with fascination that my mom brought out a coloring book I had used as a toddler. I couldn't believe those scribbles were made by my very own hands, so long ago that no memory of them remained in my mind.

I think that will be Green Bean's feeling when he reads conversations he once had with me.

The Love of Money

Green Bean earned his first commission two days ago. My Hero is leading Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University this fall, and last week Dave Ramsey talked about teaching your kids to handle money with wisdom. He recommends giving 3-5 year olds a clear container and as they earn dollars for doing small tasks, wadding up the bills and stuffing them in the jar so they can see the money pile up. Then taking an occasional trip to "Toys 'R' Them" to spend it.

Well, My Hero and I don't feel like our budget could sqeeze dollar bills out right now to support a new toy fund, and we want it to be a consistent, daily habit of cleaning up toys before bed and earning some money, so Green Bean earns a nickel each time he helps me clean up the toys before bed. I cleaned and took the label off a small glass spice jar, so it will fill up in a month or two. And we'll probably just take Green Bean to the $.88 isle in Wal-Mart now and then to choose his toy. Or the DOLLAR STORE...that would be so much better...a whole store to choose from! Start small, and we can always up his pay as he grows. We have lots of big dreams for My Hero's next big raise. (=

We explained the idea to Green Bean on Saturday morning and gave him the jar. He really wanted a nickel to put in it, but I told him he'd get one later. Then in the evening I reminded him of the jar for the nickel, and told him it was time to pick up the toys in his bedroom so he could earn that little silver disc. He helped, and when I gave him the nickel he was PROUD. He put it in the jar and shook it and took the top on and off and played with it, and really seemed to value it more because he'd earned it.

We did the same thing last evening, and he earned his second nickel. He held his jar with his two nickels and said, "Me weally wuv my nickels." I warned him that the love of money is the root of all kinds of evil, purely for My Hero's benefit, so he could look at me and shake his head and roll his eyes. Since at this point Green Bean has no idea that his two nickels could buy him... um, what could $.10 buy, anyway? I can't come up with one thing. We'll introduce the idea of spending the money once he's saved up a little more.

Huh?

Green Bean finds a black fold-up mirror in my purse and it's now his cell phone. All his conversations are alike.

"Hello? Oh. Me doing well. And you? Oh, okay. Bye."

I didn't even realize I said, "I'm doing well, and you?" all that often, but apparently I do enough that he's caught on. Another phrase he picked up, presumably from me, is the question, "What's wong?" Only he uses it essentially in any situation whatsoever, as if it meant, "What's up?" It's one of those questions that drives me up the wall, at least when I'm asked it 32 times a day, so I've resorted to answering it with a parry right back to him, "What's wrong with YOU?"

It hasn't deterred him AT ALL from using it. He also says, "Huh?" after almost everything I say, compelling me to repeat myself. I can't seem to break him of that habit, either. He informed my mom a few weeks ago that "Mommy not weally like it when I go like that, 'huh?'" So he knows how I feel about it, but I think as long as it elicits a response from me (and I can't seem to help myself...it's automatic to repeat myself when asked, and I can't seem to maintain a conscious effort to NOT respond long enough to make him realize his "Huh?" is inneffective) he'll keep using it. Probably it's a benefit to his linguistic development or something. He gets to hear everything twice and really GET what I'm saying.

Overall, though, I love his developing conversational skills. I love hearing a surprising new phrase, a way of using words he's never mastered before, come out of my three year old's mouth in an unexpected way. It's a random sprinkling of amusement and pleasure in out-of-the-blue moments of my day.

Lessons Relearned

Wet undies for the second time this morning.

Note to self: When I see him holding himself, take him directly to the potty.

2 minutes after going potty, he's holding himself again.

Maybe I was wrong. He just went.

Wet undies for the third time this morning.

NOTE TO SELF: WHEN I SEE HIM HOLDING HIMSELF, TAKE HIM DIRECTLY TO THE POTTY