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...