Sometimes It's Sad When You Get What You Want

*Sigh* My son is officially now more little boy than baby. I know he's 21-months-old. I know I shouldn't be referring to him as "the baby" anymore. But tonight solidified it.

We were eating dinner at Olive Garden as a family. It was before Jackson's normal dinner time. So I ordered soup instead of salad so he could have a few bites. I figured that, along with some bread, would at least keep him entertained and quiet while hubby & I ate.

I put a few bites worth of broth, chicken, and gnocchi into a smaller bowl and handed him a spoon. (Often at meals at home, I have to give him a utensil to hold and "make believe eat" with so that he'll cooperate and eat the bites I offer him.) Well, he sat there tonight in his little high chair, holding his spoon all by himself, scooping up bite after bite. He had soup all down his chin and shirt. But he managed to successfully even get several pieces of chicken and gnocchi into his mouth. He actually fed himself enough that he didn't eat again tonight!

I am absolutely shocked that he fed himself an entire meal without assistance. It was such a strange sensation for me - so proud of this new first for him, yet somewhat sad to see him needing me a little less. I'm impressed at his coordination and patience. And he was so thrilled with himself. He looked like the cutest little mess I've ever seen! I did throw a bib into the diaper bag once we got home. After all, if he's going to start feeding himself, meal times will rapidly deteriorate into messy times once more.

It seems like the strange end of something (his infancy) and a new adventure into more freedom and independence for both of us. I'd almost forgotten what it is to eat an entire meal while it's all hot without having to deal with a child screaming because I'm taking too long between HIS bites. It just amazes me how quickly they develop. I mean, he's been practicing for a while. But he just all of the sudden seemed to "get" it. He didn't try to use his bare fingers. I didn't worry he was going to break, spill, knock over, or throw the bowl. He just...did it.

I didn't expect to spoon feed him forever. Just maybe another day or two...or maybe a few more months. I guess it means we're doing our jobs as parents. I mean, he's supposed to be developing new skills and gaining confidence and independence. But sometimes it's sad to get what you want...

Our Job as Parents

We automatically think of certain tasks when we think of the job of parents - changing diapers, feeding, disciplining, keeping said child alive for another day. While those and other tasks are certainly part of it, I challenge that notion. No one assumes a parent's job is complete when the child is potty trained or off to kindergarten. But I think people often forget that being a parent is a life-long commitment. It doesn't end when a child turns 18, or moves out, or even gets married.

I consider my job as a parent to raise my child to be a person I want to be friends with once they're an adult. (My job, however, is not to be their friend in the mean time.) Here's the thing, though. Once my kid IS an adult, my job is to get to know him for who he is at that point in time, not who he once was.

Just because my child likes The Wiggles now doesn't mean that's what he'll like when he's 16 or 35. Seems like a silly example, but I think it makes a point. By all means, take photos of your two-year-old dressed as Thomas the Train. Give her birthday parties with a Disney Princess theme. And feel free to remind them of all the fun and silliness that ensued when they were younger (especially once they're a teen!) But don't assume that because a kid likes Bob the Builder, they'll go into construction. Maybe they will. But probably not.

Hold fast to the memories,write down their "isms," but allow them the freedom to grow and explore. I used to be afraid to ride my bike on the street because it might hurt if I fall. Yesterday, I played football. Guess what? I fell. It didn't hurt. And it was great fun! Fear didn't stay with me forever and I'm grateful my parents don't assume I'm still fearful. My brother decided to take up golf in his 30s. My parents didn't think he was strange or it was a passing phase because he'd never expressed interest in it as a youth. Instead, my dad bought a set of clubs and decided to take up golf in his 50s, so he'd have another activity he could share with his son. (By the way, my parents are rockin' awesome...)

I've encountered too many sad situations in which adult children struggle with their parents because the parents fail to see the amazing adults their "little tykes" have become. Rather, they cling too tightly to yesterday instead of enjoying a new relationship with another adult for whom they have the honor and privilege of taking some level of credit!

I hope I can raise my knucklehead to be an adult I will enjoy spending time with as an adult. I hope I cherish the sweet quirks of his childhood. I hope I can let go enough to let him find his way into manhood. I hope I don't get such tunnel-vision that I fail to see the that man. I hope I will accept that wonderful man as a friend. I hope I show him enough courage and instill in him enough faith that he still trusts me. I hope he'll still come to me and his dad for advice, guidance, sharing joyful news, and to use as a sounding board. I hope he tolerates me and his dad enough to let us do the same. And I hope I can be a good enough mother-in-law that my kid and kid-in-law still want to spend time with me as well.

'Til Death

Do you ever have those times where you feel so inspired to do something creative (i.e. write) but don't feel any specific idea or direction? When that would befall me while painting, I would just start putting paint to canvas, paint for a while, step back to see what was unfolding, and then be deliberate from there. Well, guess what...that's what's in my silly brain right now. The muse has descended but remained mute.

Not real sure why, but I was thinking about my weddings with Lino (we got married once in Kansas City by ourselves and once on the beach in Southern California with both sides of our families.) When you marry after being widowed and the pastor is asking you to say your vows, the phrase, "Until death do us part" can be a little rattling. I said it twice to Lino with confidence. I'm in this for the long haul. But there's also a stabbing moment that I almost choked on the words. Not because I'm not wholly committed, but because the thought of having to say good-bye to another husband because of death scares the bejeebers out of me.

I don't want my heart ripped out like that again. I don't want to have those heart-wrenching conversations again. I don't want to cry during and after such an event like that again. I want to not have to hurt again. I guess what I'm saying is...I get to go first this time. Not that I want to hurt anyone else by leaving them. And I know God got me through the first one and he'll get me through anything else Satan decides to heap on me.

God did an amazing thing the day after Nathan died. He took a heart that shattered into thousands of pieces. And He painstakingly, carefully, and lovingly began to put those tiny pieces back together. This heart will never be the same again. It bears the scars of love. It will always bear the scars and I wear the scars as battle wounds, with pride knowing they're well-earned from a marriage and life well-lived and well-loved. But God made this heart beat again. I believe it beats stronger now. (I'm pretty sure God used some reinforced barb on it.) It is now so strong that it can still love and appreciate Nathan, deeply love Lino, and has enough room for another crazy guy - my Jackson. (Not to mention, the rest of my INCREDIBLE family and friends.)

Yes, I know God could repair this heart should it crumble again. (After all, I'm not Humpty Dumpty and God's better than some silly king's men and horses.) But I'd just as soon never find out. I want a love, a marriage, and a life that I don't have to stay in alone again.

Yes, I said "Until death do us part." And yes, I meant it. And no, I don't want to face the alternative of divorce. I guess I'd just as soon have Christ return in about 45 years, so neither of us has to die but we get lots of love and laughter together in the mean time.

Blessed Beyond Measure

I am feeling so grateful and blessed right now. I know there are a lot of parents that do not have the option to stay at home with children. And I know there are a lot of parents who choose to work because it's what's best for their family. I do not judge. But I LOVE having the freedom to stay at home. Yes, it means sacrifices. Yes it means giving up things (expensive dates, going to the movies, constant adult interaction, the challenge of a satisfying job with a great company, shopping without fretting too much about money.)

But oh, the rewards of today! I got to bake in the middle of the day while my son slept. I made whoopie pies for book club tonight! Then I played with my boy. We played with the shape sorter, the cookie monster, the telephone. We read books and practiced putting books back on the shelf (which he actually thinks is great fun.) We took a walk. Together. Outside in light jackets in January. And he actually walked for a good deal of it before requesting to be carried. We stomped and played with our shadows. We touched a very prickly Blue Spruce. We watched as the dry leaves rattled down the street. We listened to the wind (which was VERY blustery) as it sang through the chimes.

I was just thinking, if I worked outside the home, I would have missed out on a beautiful day with a beautiful boy. It could have been dark or too cold when I got home. I could have been too busy with getting dinner ready to bake or play with my guy.

I am so grateful to have a husband who's willing to forgo the material things a second income could buy. I am so blessed to have a man who's willing to go to work every day in order to provide a nice house, vehicle, food, and other necessities (as well as plenty of niceties.) I am thrilled he actually wants me to stay home and play with and raise our child. I love that we're on the same page. I like that he's happy for me on days we get to be silly together. I love that he comes home to me every night. And I'm blessed that, with all that, he LOVES having time with his little man by themselves. Not only does he "let" me go to things like a book club and have adult time, he ASKS for me to "go away" so they can have that same, precious, goofy, silly time I get all the time.

Life doesn't always turn out the way we plan. We've all been through something. But I'm so glad life didn't turn out the way I planned. Because I am blessed beyond measure.

The Dichotomy of Parental Love

I love my husband, my brother, my friends, my cousins, my nephews, my grandmother, my aunts and uncles, and yes, my parents. And I love my son. But having my son gives me new appreciation (and pity!) for my parents.

You see, I have an easy kid. And I'm sure I was not one, at least, not all the time. And for as easy as my kid is, sometimes he drives me nutso! I struggle to understand my own love for him. I mean, I always love him. And I usually like him. But there are some days, I just can't wait for hubby to get home and let me take a break, even for five minutes. I'll run an errand, meet a friend for coffee, go to the grocery store, or just sit on my duff. And it's a wonderful, well-needed break. Then I start to miss him.

It's silly, I know. I think to myself, "I can get in and out of the grocery really fast without having to keep him entertained or let him flirt with every person we see. I don't have to try to feed him a cookie while pushing the shopping cart, keeping him from eating the bag of frozen peas, emptying my wallet, and pulling things off the shelf. This is gonna be great!" But I miss him when he's not there. He's great fun to shop with (most of the time.) And I think sometimes I miss him because he's basically an excuse, a free pass, to be silly. If I run around WalMart or shove the cart ahead of me, then chase it down the aisle without a giggling child in said cart, I'm pretty sure everyone else would think I was crazy. (Well, not ALL the people at WalMart would judge. )

Somehow, having my son frees me to be even more me than ever before. And I think that's why its somewhat of a dichotomy. I love him even though he sometimes makes me nuts. Turns out, I love me, but I often drive myself nuts as well. So, to my parents and my child I say, "Sorry!"

Diapers (exciting, right?)

Squeak. That's what my darling husband sometimes calls me. He says that's the sound my wallet makes on the rare occasion it's actually opened. I counter by telling him, "it's your money I'm not spending." He's a kind man who has never once made me feel like it's "his" money because he works outside the home. He actually admits that I have the harder job. But I feel (self-imposed) like I "earn my keep" by watching our money and not spending it unnecessarily. So if I can save a buck or two here and there, I absolutely do. I try not to buy food we won't eat, use coupons and sales when available. You know, normal stuff.

For the first almost two years of our son's life, I've bought Pampers. Our growing boy recently went up a size again and is now wearing size 5s. Here's the fun thing about diapers...the price is the same regardless of which size you buy. But the bigger the size, the fewer diapers you get. The net result is that they are more expensive as the child gets bigger. In my desire to be economical (SQUEAK!,) I decided I'd give the off-brand (Sam's Club's Simply Right) a shot. The box was $5 cheaper and included about 40 extra diapers. Yep, LOTS cheaper overall. I've used their wipes for months and love them. I've bought and used generic in lots of products and had few complaints. So I thought I'd give them a shot.

The first couple of mornings, Jackson woke up literally wet from his belly down to his toes. Wet on the outside of his clothes. I mean, the poor boy was just soaked. I chalked it up at first to him being in between sizes. I thought maybe he was just not quite big enough for the new diapers. I thought we'd "tough it out" for a week or two. He had a few blow-outs (sorry for the TMI.) Even when the diapers contained the "deposits," they were difficult to roll up and took up lots of space.

I thought, "I'll just use up the rest of this box, then switch back to my brand." I went to the closet to get more diapers (I keep them in a drawer in the changing table.) I have never been so disappointed to see so many diapers left in a box! I called up Sam's Club, since the box said they stand behind their diapers. They actually accepted the remainder of the box back in exchange for a full refund (which I used to buy a fantastic box of Pampers.)

I was very impressed with Sam's for their response. But I'll say this - I now know without a doubt that when buy Pampers, it's not for a name brand. It's for the amazing quality. I've never been so happy to blow an extra $5 for so many fewer diapers before in my life! My wallet opened too fast to squeak on that purchase. It was more like a WOOSH!

Balancing pro-active with paranoid

I have a happy son. I mean, HAPPY. Like, he'll giggle at absolutely nothing and everything. So when he's out of sorts, I am at my wit's end. The past two times he's turned into a pistol, I've taken him to the doctor and, low and behold, he's had an ear infection (yay!) (Not that I'm glad he was sick, but I was glad to know he wasn't just acting like a jerk...)

Three ear infections in three months, though, is not a "yay." Not to mention the fact that he's 21-months-old and not talking. Couple that with my own history of lousy hearing, I made an appointment with an Ear, Nose, and Throat doctor.

As a first-time mom, I struggle with decisions regarding my child-s well-being. I don't want to be a hypochondriac. I don't want to be paranoid, over-the-top, or generally overbearing. Neither do I want to be apathetic and not give my son every advantage and chance to succeed in life.

I chose, in this situation, to go proactive instead of reactive. I signed my kiddo up for early intervention to help him catch up developmentally (with the speech issue) and have decided to go forward with tubes in his ears instead of waiting to see if it improves on his own. Only time will tell if one or both of these was the right decision. But boy do I ever wish there was an easy, obvious answer. You know, like in the FAQ and troubleshooting section of the manual that didn't come with him...

Best thing I can do for my kid

I know it's cliche to say, but I believe it with all my heart. The best thing my husband and I can do for our son is love one another. We have just about the happiest kid you're likely to encounter. I'm not saying we "made" him this laid back, happy, content child. I'm not saying anyone with a child that has more challenges in personality is to blame. And I'm sure as heck not gonna say this sweet boy doesn't test my patience at times (and don't worry...I know it's gonna get worse!) But I know this...Jackson LOVES it when Mommy & Daddy kiss.

He likes being chased and tickled. He likes running at us full speed and being swept into a hug. He likes dancing on his own two feet and in our arms. He likes blocks and balls. But he loves kisses.

He loves putting his hand against the storm door for a kiss from Daddy on the other side when we send Daddy off to work in the morning. He loves getting his palm kissed by Mommy. He giggles when Mommy kisses Daddy's cheek. Or when Mommy & Daddy kiss him on each side, then kiss each other.

And that giggle, that smile, just reminds me time and again how important love is between parents. I know it doesn't always work out. And that doesn't mean a child cannot grow up to be an amazing, loving, caring, well-adjusted person in healthy relationships. But for us, I know my kiddo loves living in a house of love. I know that having it (relatively) drama-free makes him happy. I think he feels safe in a calm and peaceful home. I see him react when we do have tiffs and spats or even the rare fight. But I am pretty sure he always knows that, at the end of the day, Mom & Dad are both there when he goes to bed. And I think he goes to bed knowing we'll both be there, loving and kissing him, and one another, when the next day starts all over again.

(Yep...we got a date night tonight. Just reminds me how lucky I am. And how lucky my kid is, too.)

The floors

Every time I feed my child, I'm once again reminded why I hate vacuuming and mopping. Jackson helped me vacuum this morning. (He screams bloody murder if I try to vacuum while he's napping. I don't know if its the noise or what. But he loves to help, so I must now do it when he's awake.) By "help," I mean he followed along behind, trying to take it from me, scooting it back and forth, then yelling when I tried to do a different section or actually pick up particles with the vacuum. Once he contented himself with getting it periodically and allowing me to do some as well, we managed to finish. Then I let him play with it some.

Fast forward an hour to lunch. First, the high chair tray broke. So I thought, no biggie as long as he's still strapped in, he's safe. True. HE'S safe. My freshly vacuumed kitchen floor...not so much. He's learning to be independent, which is a good and natural thing that I'm sure I'll appreciate when I don't have to spoon feed a 15-year-old. But the learning process is a challenge. The trick I've developed for trying to promote independence, actual consumption of food, and reduce the sticky quality of my house is to allow him to hold one utensil while I use another. It works pretty well, most of the time. He "feeds" himself (though he usually gets very little out of the bowl and onto the spoon) while I do.

Yeah, it turns out that tray is pretty necessary. There was rice, vegetables, and sauce all over him, the chair, and (you guessed it!) the floor. I know it's a silly thing to worry about. I can vacuum again. I can mop again. I know I'm supposed to enjoy all the cute little things my little boy does because he won't be little for long. And I do. Usually. But flinging food just irks me. And if that makes me a cranky mommy, c'es la vie. It just frustrates me and reduces my inclination to vacuum.

I'm not a stellar housekeeper. I try to keep up on the important chores while still playing with, teaching, and taking care of my son. I try not to let things pile up or get too out of control. But vacuuming is such an aggrevation when I know that between the kiddo, the hubby, and the self, it's going to need it again in about, oh, 10 minutes...

The beginning

Well, here goes nothing. I decided to take up blogging again for a few reasons. The first is that I love to write. I enjoy expressing myself in written form. I like telling stories and this is a way to tell them without having to wear out my loved ones ears (or patience!) Plus it's adult interaction, in a way. Putting myself out there and (hopefully!) getting feedback or dialogue is healthy for me. The second reason is, whether vain or not, I think my life (because of my friends and family, not due to self) is amusing and interesting. Thirdly, I'm trying to navigate this new adventure of parenthood and a second marriage. I tend to do better if I write it down, can reflect on it, and analyze it. If others can learn from my missteps or successes, YAY! Lastly, to challenge myself and fight off the sometimes-mundane boredness that can plague a "housewife." So, yeah, I gave myself a job. We'll see what happens.

So, here's my life in a nutshell so you can get to know me (if you don't already.) I was born in Nashville in 1978. I had an amazing upbringing with two Godly parents who are still married, still like each other, and still love each other. I have one brother (who is now happily married to an awesome lady and has two very cool boys.) Shortly after high school, I fell in love, married an awesome guy, moved to Kansas City, had a wonderful 10 1/2 year marriage and an enjoyable life in Middle America. Then tragedy struck. That awesome guy got cancer, bravely lived for less than four months post diagnosis, passed very peacefully, and I found myself a 30-year-old widow. Alone in a city without family but surrounded by friends, I pressed on with life, through God, who gives me more than I deserve and sustains me beyond measure. God blessed me again with a second incredible man (my now-husband) and a rocking-awesome little boy.

This blog will consist of my likes, dislikes, discoveries (good and bad) of various products as a mommy and wife, and general adventures with my new fantastic spouse and new fantastic son, as well as my fantastic friends and family.

I guess I'll start this first blog with one of my first memories after bringing Jackson home from the hospital after his birth. He was a few days old. His birth had been uneventful (not to be interpreted as easy, just not complicated.) The only issue he had was jaundice, which lasted about a week and was treated with a bili-blanket. So, my mom had returned to Nashville and my sweet son was crying in the middle of the night. I got up to feed him. I, like most new moms, hadn't slept much and was still trying to figure out this small helpless creature completely reliant upon me, and who did not include any instructions. I tried feeding him, but he didn't seem to want to eat. So, I tried changing him (he disdained being even remotely wet!) Still, he screamed. I tried feeding him again. I rocked. I walked. I stood and swayed. I shushed. I swaddled. Nothing was going to soothe this child, it seemed. So, I did the only thing left I could think to - I sat down and cried with him. My poor husband walked in to find us both bawling our eyes out. And I didn't even apologize. I just explained it was the only thing left to do. He kindly took the baby, I went back to bed and collapsed into an exhausted sleep. I can only assume the kid eventually quit crying and went back to sleep as well.

But I did learn a few things that night. It's ok for kids to cry. It's ok for mommies to cry. Neither's gonna break or die from it. It's ok for daddies to have to step up. It's ok to ask for help. It doesn't mean you're weak or failing. And it's ok to not have all the answers, to make it up as you go. You can make all the plans in the world. Just know that they're going to be changed. Kids, spouses, and even selves, don't act according to plan. And that's just fine.

Twenty months later, I've got one of the happiest kids I've ever encountered who sleeps well and doesn't cry unless something's wrong. But he's about to turn two, so I'm sure that will change soon. And that's ok too. That's why there are ear plugs...