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.

Raindrop

My darling girl is awakening. The first weeks of life on the outside she has been almost entirely introspective. Quiet, serious, learning to live and breath, aware only of her own comfort or discomfort. Last night she was crying when I held her, so I laid her on the floor and she quieted, then spent the next forty-five minutes looking around and kicking her legs as though she was suddenly aware there was more to life than just herself. This morning she woke at 6 AM to eat, and after her little tummy was full I laid her on the floor again and sat and talked with her, and as I looked her in the eyes, she looked into mine and smiled. And then did it again. It's like the birth of a relationship, this beginning of interaction between us.

Even while I regret that these days of innocence and dependency are short, I'm impatient for the days ahead, the unveiling of her personality, the knowing of her.

ashamed

I've begun to listen to myself during the days. I've heard a lot of harshness, impatience, griping. Would I talk to Christopher Robin that way if others were around? Would I let myself be so impatient with Peanut Butter if someone outside my family was watching? Would I show my frustration so nakedly, let it fill my voice with gravel?

This is my life. Am I who I want to be? If I had to watch a video of myself living out my day, could I bear to watch?

I'm a fallen creature, full of sin, and selfishness oozes out of my unguarded moments.

Lord, change me. Help me hear myself, and when I do, may my tone be tempered by love, the love only You can give, so my home will be full of peace and my kids can see You in me.

Moments like these make you realize how great life is...

Is there anything better than sitting on the couch with your baby girl in your arms with your two little boys happily chattering to each other as they spread blankets on the floor and play together while your husband sits nearby organizing the cluttered desk drawer?

I'm just saying.

Link & Logs

Christopher Robin received a set of Lincoln Logs from my parents for his birthday.
Today he asked if the plastic parts, the windows and doors, were the links.
Link & Logs

A small boy's perspective

"Tuttles finds dead mice and leaves them on our deck." Christopher Robin informed my mom.

Yes. Our cat hunts all night long for the dead ones.

gifts...

74. The big miracles. Like the miracle of a brand new life created, gifted to a family, tiny, fragile, dependent, and so very precious.

75. A little girl nestled in the crook of my leg, sleepy breathing punctuated by little shudders and sighs of lungs newly put to use.

76. Two weeks paid time off for the proud Daddy. Two weeks together as a complete family. Two weeks of strengthened bonds between Daddy and sons, renewed friendship between My Hero and me.

77. "Ksheww! I shot the tiger that was going to eat my little baby sister!" Christopher Robin practicing his new role as protective big brother.

78. The deep, subdued colors of morning before the sunrise.

79. The strength and alertness to get out of bed before the others, after months of not doing so, and begin the day with a heart to heart with the High King.

80. Small moments of quiet and stillness to stop and drink in the beauty of a darling baby girl... my last new baby, unless God changes our minds somehow.

81. Peanut Butter's pathetic "Gammie Gampa" after about the eighth spanking of the day his first full day home with us after spending 3 days at my parents' house while we were in the hospital. Apparently Grammie and Grampa didn't treat him to many spankings. And he prefers life with them.

82. Peanut Butter pronouncing his little baby sister's name in a high pitched squeal with a sugar-sweet smile. And the kisses he showers her with.

83. That he has a form of touching her, those kisses, that isn't too rough for comfort.

84. My dad's recipe for porridge, hot in the bowl each morning.

85. Parents-in-law, flying out to visit in the middle of a busy farm season, to see their new granddaughter.

86. Kids' bedtime...toys put away, teeth brushed, poems read, prayers said, then quiet. Well, after an hour and a half of reading books and talking to each other in their room, then, finally...quiet.

87. Christopher Robin, "reading" the story of Jesus' birth, his favorite, pretty much word for word, from memory.

88. Christopher Robin, quoting a poem that we read often at bedtime, spontaneously from memory for the benefit of his little brother. That he's memorizing poetry without even trying.

89. Twins, boy and girl, strong and healthy, born to dear friends in Florida about a month before our little girl...the fun of finally having kids the same age.

90. Now I am free from sin, my old master, and I have become slave to my new master, righteousness. Romans 6:18 Now I must choose to be a slave of righteousness so that I will become holy. 6:19