Just a moment ago, my husband and I heard a rather blood-curdling scream coming from our 3 year-old twins' bedroom. They were supposed to be going to sleep. Daddy ran up the stairs and burst into the room in time to hear our son say, "She scratched me!"
My husband looked at our daughter, whose bed is across the room from her brother's, and said, "How did you scratch him from your bed?"
Our daughter didn't skip a beat when she very confusedly said, "I didn't scratch him with my bed."
I love my kids' language skills!
Showing posts with label Parenting. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Parenting. Show all posts
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
Cornyhorn
The twins were lying down to take their naps when there was a brief discussion about a pink pony one of them received for Christmas. My son was feeling sad and I held the pink pony up to his face and pretended it was licking him. He began to feel better, so I turned my attention to my daughter. As I was tucking her in, she said, "Mama, I thought it was a cornyhorn." I chuckled and smiled so big that I nearly teared up. She did the same and I gave her sugars. I said, "Do you mean unicorn?" We chuckled together for a few moments and the moment passed. I don't know how many more of those I have, but I don't want to miss any of them.
Sunday, September 30, 2012
Toddler Epiphanies
Lisse says to Daddy.
"Daddy, I have a idea!"
Daddy, totally riveted, waits for an impressive piece of knowledge.
Lisse. . . "Your head belongs to your face!"
Sometime later. . .
Lisse runs face first into the hutch.
"Ouch!" (Rubbing her head.) "Daddy, I keep getting owies!"
Daddy. . . "Well, your head belongs to your face."
I will never get tired of observing 3 year-olds using language. LOL
"Daddy, I have a idea!"
Daddy, totally riveted, waits for an impressive piece of knowledge.
Lisse. . . "Your head belongs to your face!"
Sometime later. . .
Lisse runs face first into the hutch.
"Ouch!" (Rubbing her head.) "Daddy, I keep getting owies!"
Daddy. . . "Well, your head belongs to your face."
I will never get tired of observing 3 year-olds using language. LOL
Friday, September 21, 2012
Late Night Sugars
I have to admit that once the kids go to bed at night I really enjoy having time to myself. Invariably though, the quiet never lasts for long as I hear the creak of the floor and the pitter-patter of little feet on the ceiling. There have been too many times I've hollered up the stairs, "Get in your bed!" Not long ago, I decided to stop whatever was so important (dishes, e-mail, laundry, movie watching, etc.) and trudge back up the stairs to address why they were yet again out of their beds after lights out. Tonight was one such occasion, and here is how it went. . .
Pitter-patter, creak, creak. . . up the stairs, I'm barely in the door of their mostly dark room and I hear a little voice softly say, "Hi, Mama." I knelt by his bed and as he lay back on his pillow, he said, "I check Sissa and she is sleeping."
"Why did you need to check Sissa," I asked?
"I need sugars."
"Oh, okay." He swung his little feet to the floor and crept over to her bed. I rested my hand on her in the dark and could feel him reach down with his little hands to find her face. The slightest smack of his lips was all I could hear as he gently gave her sugars on her left cheek before climbing back into his bed.
I leaned over and held him in an easy hug, whispering in his ear how much I love him. "Can I give you sugars, Bubba?"
"Yes."
"Can you go night night now?"
"Yes."
Moments later I am now back at my computer and the house is calm and quiet again. For now they may argue and fight over this toy or that or disagree feverishly about whether or not to watch Dora or Octonauts, but one day I will share this story with his sister and she will know how much he has always loved her. And never again will I pass up an opportunity to share those late night moments with my kids. These days will too soon pass.
Pitter-patter, creak, creak. . . up the stairs, I'm barely in the door of their mostly dark room and I hear a little voice softly say, "Hi, Mama." I knelt by his bed and as he lay back on his pillow, he said, "I check Sissa and she is sleeping."
"Why did you need to check Sissa," I asked?
"I need sugars."
"Oh, okay." He swung his little feet to the floor and crept over to her bed. I rested my hand on her in the dark and could feel him reach down with his little hands to find her face. The slightest smack of his lips was all I could hear as he gently gave her sugars on her left cheek before climbing back into his bed.
I leaned over and held him in an easy hug, whispering in his ear how much I love him. "Can I give you sugars, Bubba?"
"Yes."
"Can you go night night now?"
"Yes."
Moments later I am now back at my computer and the house is calm and quiet again. For now they may argue and fight over this toy or that or disagree feverishly about whether or not to watch Dora or Octonauts, but one day I will share this story with his sister and she will know how much he has always loved her. And never again will I pass up an opportunity to share those late night moments with my kids. These days will too soon pass.
Saturday, September 15, 2012
What Matters Today & Tomorrow
What Matters Today
doing my dishes, over and over
washing, folding, and putting away the clothes
dropping off and picking up my son from silversmithing class
checking my e-mail
cooking meals...and planning more
walking the dogs
grocery shopping
cleaning the house
paying bills
organizing next week's school schedule
telling them to stop talking and eat their food, stop arguing. . .
What Matters Tomorrow
watching Blues Clues
stopping to pet all the dogs at the park
strumming the threads of the spider web
watching the creek flow under the bridge
running under the red "magnets" (arches) at the park
stopping to admire the bamboo. . . and talk about pandas
wiping his runny nose, again and again
taking time for hugs and sugars to stave off a tantrum
celebrating with my son as he shows me his first silver creations
not making mountains out of molehills
telling them about Jesus
Sunday, September 9, 2012
Caught Longing
They sat staring out at the rain, cradling double-handled cups of their afternoon snack in their hands. Grapes, they love grapes. You would think it was a cold winter day, though it was more than 80 degrees outside. In between mouthfuls they alternated between chasing one another around the house and pleading to go outside. By the time the rain relented, dinner was nearly finished cooking. This is how it goes with time. . . it simply gets away, often while we are consumed with the minutia of life. They do not have a monopoly on longing, but on this day theirs is all that matters.
How could I not have engaged their little dreams. My sister reminded me of a time not so long ago when I threw-off my bonds of dullness and traipsed through the rain with my oldest son, just because we could. We were soaked to the bone and loved every rain-drenched minute of it.
I can't get so caught in the routine
that I don't allow myself to get caught up in the moment.
The photo is my reminder.
Lest you think otherwise, this is what lay on the other side of those little hoods. . . that mischievous little grin melts my heart.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Flemmies, Soank Ateckers, and Yestermornings
I absolutely love the things my kids say. Over the years I have tried to document funny words or phrases as they've spilled out of their mouths. When they are using their English they are as serious as a heart attack, completely sure of themselves.
When my 12 year-old was about 3, he wrapped a chubby little arm around each of our necks (me and my husband) and pulling us close announced, "I love my flemmy." Flemmy has been a part of our flemmy language for nearly ten years now. More than any other word he ever said, that one will stay with us.
Each of the kids has contributed to our family speak. My 3 year-old daughter routinely talks about things that happened "yestermorning." I love it! It is her way of talking about anything that is past tense. It's adorable. In her honor, I have taken to referring to past events as having occurred yesterevening as well. :)
None of the kids ever really runs out of a word to share. Accordingly, my current 3 year-old son will talk your ear off. He actively grows his vocabulary each day. When he spouts off a sentence, he will sometimes get half-way and turn to me searching for the word to describe what he's talking about. He'll pause, smile at me, and say, "Mama, I don't know that word." That is of course my cue to fill in his blank. He then uses his new word repeatedly to reinforce his learning.
Recently, he has become quite interested in fire. It all began one night when he noticed a tiny green light shining down from his ceiling. "Wha's dat dreen yight, Mama?" I can hear him saying it. :) I told him it was the smoke detector. He tried so hard to repeat those words, but they simply would not roll off his tongue. For at least two weeks now he has been talking about smoke, fire, choking, and staying safe. No less than twice a day he talks with us about the "soank atecker" and how it will keep him safe from the fire.
Two nights ago Daddy pushed the test button so he could hear how loud it is. Now he's more interested than ever. We daily reassure him (and his twin sister, since she has not-so-spontaneously developed a like interest) that the soank atecker won't choke him and that Mama and Daddy will run to get him if it makes a loud beep.
Someday this conversation will pass. He will absorb this knowledge like all the rest.
Someday he won't look to me to fill in the words for him.
Someday he won't need me to reassure him that I'll rescue him from the fire.
Someday all the kids will says words I will have to look up in my dictionary.
Until then, I'm so happy to talk about flemmies, soank ateckers, and yestermornings. I just smile, hug their little necks, and tell them how smart (and cute) they are. :)
The smoke detector just happened to go off while I was cooking dinner the day after I wrote this blog. It was fun to capture the essence of the soank atecker. :)
When my 12 year-old was about 3, he wrapped a chubby little arm around each of our necks (me and my husband) and pulling us close announced, "I love my flemmy." Flemmy has been a part of our flemmy language for nearly ten years now. More than any other word he ever said, that one will stay with us.
Each of the kids has contributed to our family speak. My 3 year-old daughter routinely talks about things that happened "yestermorning." I love it! It is her way of talking about anything that is past tense. It's adorable. In her honor, I have taken to referring to past events as having occurred yesterevening as well. :)
None of the kids ever really runs out of a word to share. Accordingly, my current 3 year-old son will talk your ear off. He actively grows his vocabulary each day. When he spouts off a sentence, he will sometimes get half-way and turn to me searching for the word to describe what he's talking about. He'll pause, smile at me, and say, "Mama, I don't know that word." That is of course my cue to fill in his blank. He then uses his new word repeatedly to reinforce his learning.
Recently, he has become quite interested in fire. It all began one night when he noticed a tiny green light shining down from his ceiling. "Wha's dat dreen yight, Mama?" I can hear him saying it. :) I told him it was the smoke detector. He tried so hard to repeat those words, but they simply would not roll off his tongue. For at least two weeks now he has been talking about smoke, fire, choking, and staying safe. No less than twice a day he talks with us about the "soank atecker" and how it will keep him safe from the fire.
Two nights ago Daddy pushed the test button so he could hear how loud it is. Now he's more interested than ever. We daily reassure him (and his twin sister, since she has not-so-spontaneously developed a like interest) that the soank atecker won't choke him and that Mama and Daddy will run to get him if it makes a loud beep.
Someday this conversation will pass. He will absorb this knowledge like all the rest.
Someday he won't look to me to fill in the words for him.
Someday he won't need me to reassure him that I'll rescue him from the fire.
Someday all the kids will says words I will have to look up in my dictionary.
Until then, I'm so happy to talk about flemmies, soank ateckers, and yestermornings. I just smile, hug their little necks, and tell them how smart (and cute) they are. :)
The smoke detector just happened to go off while I was cooking dinner the day after I wrote this blog. It was fun to capture the essence of the soank atecker. :)
Friday, August 17, 2012
Proximity Alarms a.k.a. Twins
With any amount of observation it is easy to see plethora examples of yin and yang in our environments. My son's strong set of magnets for example. He can place one on top of the table, the other underneath, and move them around with no interference from the wood in between. I tend to think of my twins in similar terms.
So often they are joined at the hip. While they aren't identical, their existence seems to extend and revolve around one another. What he does, she does, and vice versa. How we have been able to get around having two of everything must truly be God's grace. That's not to say that things run smoothly all the time. On the contrary, our peaceful, productive days are often punctuated by explosions of three year-old fierce competition. Such was the case this morning.
More often than not now, the twins are able to work together toward common purposes or play goals. It's been a beautiful thing to behold - two lovely little toddlers stretching their creativity and minds. We have been hearing a steady stream of "Let's do it, Sissa!" and "Help me, Tarter!" (The twins are named Lisse and Karter, but you'd never know it.) Occasionally, we still have a day when their magnetism toward one another is more like a proximity alarm. Today, no matter what they've been engaged in, whether individually or cooperatively, the closer they came to one another, the louder the screams became.
It cracked me up to think of them both as proximity alarms. I thought these became disabled sometime after the separation anxiety stage of infanthood. Now if we can just get them to the stage where they are more like proximity sensors without the alarm. :)
So often they are joined at the hip. While they aren't identical, their existence seems to extend and revolve around one another. What he does, she does, and vice versa. How we have been able to get around having two of everything must truly be God's grace. That's not to say that things run smoothly all the time. On the contrary, our peaceful, productive days are often punctuated by explosions of three year-old fierce competition. Such was the case this morning.
More often than not now, the twins are able to work together toward common purposes or play goals. It's been a beautiful thing to behold - two lovely little toddlers stretching their creativity and minds. We have been hearing a steady stream of "Let's do it, Sissa!" and "Help me, Tarter!" (The twins are named Lisse and Karter, but you'd never know it.) Occasionally, we still have a day when their magnetism toward one another is more like a proximity alarm. Today, no matter what they've been engaged in, whether individually or cooperatively, the closer they came to one another, the louder the screams became.
It cracked me up to think of them both as proximity alarms. I thought these became disabled sometime after the separation anxiety stage of infanthood. Now if we can just get them to the stage where they are more like proximity sensors without the alarm. :)
Wednesday, August 15, 2012
Accountable Kids is a Big Hit
Over the summer I attended my first homeschool convention, HEAV (Homeschool Educators Association of Virginia). Little did I know that after seven years of homeschooling, I was in for a real treat - a time of refreshing and rejuvenation. Those three days were amazing and have helped me renovate and organize my homeschool life. I grew so many brain cells! One product I was blessed to stumble upon is Accountable Kids. I didn't realize until using this system exactly how much I needed it. There is no way I could have imagined how much it would positively impact our family life.
According to developers Traci and Scott Heaton and their website (www.accountablekids.com):
Accountable Kids is a unique parenting program designed to teach accountability and responsibility in the home. It is a back-to-basics system which includes essential parenting principles and concrete stepping stones that strengthen relationships and build a foundation for success; an ideal program for ADHD natural treatment therapy. Children learn to balance choices and consequences in a fun, productive manner. They experience the joy of being a vital, contributing member of the family and develop confidence and self-worth. The Accountable Kids program includes a book, Quick Start DVD, Progress Board, 50 Reminder Cards, 3 blank Reminder Cards, 10 Tickets, 10 Bonus Bucks, 3 Special Date Cards, 4 Best Behavior Cards, and 2 Privilege Passes, and 2 sticker sheets. The Accountable Kids program provides everything parents need to maximize efforts and bring structure and harmony into the home.
Steps of the Program
Step One: Children learn to take care of personal responsibilities without constant direction. They learn work ethics, time management, and responsibility. Children earn Tickets by completing basic chores. Tickets can then be used for activities or privileges. Tickets provide parents the ability to discipline without losing control or physical contact. Basic values are encouraged and reinforced with the Best Behavior Card.
Step Two: The Privilege Pass is introduced to eliminate specific negative behaviors. This process empowers children to predict consequences, follow rules, and redirect themselves towards positive behaviors. A Special Date Card is added to allow children to work for future rewards and enhance parent/child relationships.
Step Three: Completing basic chores provides basic privileges, but not the extras. Children earn Bonus Bucks for completing extra chores. This gives them the ability to make decisions about purchases. They experience the advantages of saving and learn to manage resources for the future.
Step four: The Family Forum presents an opportunity to discuss goals, problems, challenges, and accomplishments. It provides an opportunity to monitor progress and encourage positive behaviors. Quiet Time is introduced to refresh and recharge children and parents. It encourages the use of imagination, self-discipline, and self-entertainment.
My Personal Experience with Accountable Kids
When preparing the peg boards for our 3 year-old twins, I enlisted the help of my 12 year-old son. We decided to go the natural route and he took them into the backyard to burn their names into the wood using the sun and a magnifying glass. They turned out quite nicely.
I sat down to watch the video with high hopes and found that it did not disappoint. The Heatons presented the program in such a simple way that setting it up in our home was a cinch. I was able to set up their boards and chores after watching the first 12 minutes of the video. Armed with the information presented in the DVD, I had my husband mount their peg boards in the diningroom, low enough for the kids to reach them and placed all their chore cards on the basic chores and extra chores pegs. After watching the entire video, I headed to bed with a clear idea of what the next day would bring. I drifted off to sleep with the possibilities alive in my head.
The next morning, I sprung out of bed and bounced into their room with a fresh perspective, ready to help them get dressed, make beds, etc. We hardly made it downstairs before Karter saw his board and said, "Mama, you put these cards on here for me while I was sleeping?" He was already excitedly pulling them from the pegs to inspect the photos on each card. I had them both pull cards from their start peg and flip them onto the finish peg for getting dressed and making their beds. We then moved on to breakfast and our morning chores. Before we knew it, all their morning chores were completed and we flipped the rest of the cards over onto the finish peg. I explained to them that they had earned a "ticket" for completing all their morning chores. You would have thought I had given them a surprise ice cream when I handed them their tickets. After explaining to them that they get to "spend" their tickets on fun things like watching a 30 minute kid show, they were ecstatic and settled in to spend their first ticket on an episode of Dora the Explorer.
Admittedly, I had become one of those parents who was too ready to plop their toddler in front of a television so that I could get something done. I was thankful for the distraction so that I could perform my she-Tazmanian Devil whirlwind around the house doing all the chores that I have now set out to teach my children to do along side me.
Throughout the first day, they spent tickets on two shows, blowing bubbles in the front yard, and making chalk drawings on the driveway. We were able to accomplish all the chores on their "go" peg and then some. I felt productive and peaceful and didn't have to mediate arguments as usual. The day flew by! I was amazed at how positively the day had progressed. This type of day has been the norm each time we actively use Accountable Kids. There have been days we haven't used the program and I have overwhelmingly found that our days are more hectic, less productive, and much more stressful, mostly because the kids have too much time on their hands, which leads to more conflict between them. Following the cards I've set up for each of them keeps us flowing through the day with a steady stream of productivity, fun, interaction, and calm down time that we all share. I think they sleep better too because they are more active throughout the day.
The program has been so effective with our younger kids that we have also decided to use it with our 12 year-old son. He doesn't even have his board yet and he is already excited about the possibilities, particularly his earning potential by doing extra chores and earning bonus bucks. We have already laid out with him the benefits he can realize by being more responsible within the family. He has already benefited from the concept of the best behavior card. During a recent visit to our home, his best friend left crumbs on the table after eating a sandwich. My son instructed his friend to clean up the crumbs and showed him an easy way to accomplish this. I stood back and soaked it all up. I took a "Best Behavior Card" and handed it to him, explaining how proud I was of his behavior. Once I outlined for him how we will use this card, he was even more excited to use the program.
On a scale of 1-5, with 5 being the highest mark, I give Accountable Kids a high five in terms of easy of use, flexibility within and across families, and effectiveness in establishing routines and discipline. I look forward to the positive difference this will continue to make within my family as we use the program to enhance our communication and increase the harmony within our home. I'm so thankful to have found Accountable Kids.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Caution: Slippery When Wet
In February 2009 I was approximately 4.5 months pregnant with the twins. It had been a long time coming - 6.5 years to be exact. Koen was then 9 years-old.
On that day we were walking through the community center on our base. We eventually came upon a "Caution: Wet Floor" sign where maintenance had just mopped. Koen said, "Be careful, Mama." He then reached out and wrapped one arm around my waist, while placing his other hand on my pregnant belly. As we carefully crossed the wet floor, he closely watched every step I took. I was chuckling at the cuteness and sincerity of his concern when I asked him if he was worried about me falling. He said he wasn't worried about me, but that he had waited a long time to be a brother and didn't want his siblings to get hurt!
Oh, the heart of my son! All I could do was smile.
On that day we were walking through the community center on our base. We eventually came upon a "Caution: Wet Floor" sign where maintenance had just mopped. Koen said, "Be careful, Mama." He then reached out and wrapped one arm around my waist, while placing his other hand on my pregnant belly. As we carefully crossed the wet floor, he closely watched every step I took. I was chuckling at the cuteness and sincerity of his concern when I asked him if he was worried about me falling. He said he wasn't worried about me, but that he had waited a long time to be a brother and didn't want his siblings to get hurt!
Oh, the heart of my son! All I could do was smile.
Thursday, February 17, 2011
My Son's Mature Moment
As a home school family, we're always looking for new and exciting educational opportunities, not just for our kids but for the whole family as well. Living in the area we are currently located has blessed us with access to an amazing home school support group. They are very active and provide activities such as P.E., a spelling bee, a science fair, a history fair, field trips, dance, and the list could go on. Recently, we've been attending a weekly co-op where my son Koen has been studying Bible history and (if you can believe it) cake decorating. He loves it!
This week, we headed off to co-op with the twins. It happened that I was teaching a Japanese culture class to elementary students this week and the twins would be in the nursery. With Koen's help, we got the twins into the nursery and they began playing under his watchful eye. I only had a few minutes before needing to set up my classroom. I asked Koen to stay with them while I was in the next room setting up for my class. I told him that there would soon be another mom come in who would be watching the kids and to please stay with them until then. He was happy to stay and play with his brother and sister. He loves that too!
Soon after I stepped out, another mom stepped in to watch over the nursery kids. Moments later a second mom arrived to help. The first mom told Koen it was okay for him to go to class and they would take care of the twins. Koen, being the young man he is, looked around the room and took stock of his surroundings before responding, "Well, there are five kids and only two adults. That's not a very good ratio, so I think I'll stay until one more adult comes." The other mom was slightly stunned at his response and thankfully shared it with me later on. It was a blessing to hear another parent comment on the maturity of my 11 year-old. That was a proud Mama moment! My son is such a cool person! :)
This week, we headed off to co-op with the twins. It happened that I was teaching a Japanese culture class to elementary students this week and the twins would be in the nursery. With Koen's help, we got the twins into the nursery and they began playing under his watchful eye. I only had a few minutes before needing to set up my classroom. I asked Koen to stay with them while I was in the next room setting up for my class. I told him that there would soon be another mom come in who would be watching the kids and to please stay with them until then. He was happy to stay and play with his brother and sister. He loves that too!
Soon after I stepped out, another mom stepped in to watch over the nursery kids. Moments later a second mom arrived to help. The first mom told Koen it was okay for him to go to class and they would take care of the twins. Koen, being the young man he is, looked around the room and took stock of his surroundings before responding, "Well, there are five kids and only two adults. That's not a very good ratio, so I think I'll stay until one more adult comes." The other mom was slightly stunned at his response and thankfully shared it with me later on. It was a blessing to hear another parent comment on the maturity of my 11 year-old. That was a proud Mama moment! My son is such a cool person! :)
Friday, December 3, 2010
A Funny Thing Happened On the Way to Getting Pregnant: Our IVF Experience
Today was the day my sister and brother-in-law have been waiting for a long time. As I laid in bed this morning I began to ponder what the appropriate outfit is to wear on the occasion of becoming a surrogate for your sister, using her eggs and her husband's sperm. It's not like I needed to don lingerie (though I didn't honestly think of that one until we were nearly to the clinic). I started to wear jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt, then thought better of it. That would have been way too casual. I eventually opted for slimming black jeans and a pinkish cashmere sweater. Someday these things might matter. LOL
When I finished dressing myself, I reached for the card I'd bought Val. A week ago I'd visited Hallmark looking for the perfect card that says "I'm ready to loan you my body for nine months - and I'm actually happy about it." Not surprisingly, it doesn't appear there are cards that fit that category. Pouring through the store, I finally found the one. It was yellow with some black writing on the front that says, "NICE." The inside sports the words, "Way to go!" The whole thing is accompanied by the song Whomp!(There it is!) by a group named Tag Team. Something about it seemed right as I was busting a gut in the middle of the store. The only real problem was I couldn't decide whether to give the card to Val or to Aaron. Of course I knew I would have to come up with my own version of a Hallmark mushy card to say all the other heartfelt things I wanted to say. So I stood in my bathroom and wrote a letter to my little sister. I think I effectively conveyed how much I love her.
Looking in the mirror I realized that I needed to accessorize my sweater. I reached for a necklace that was given to me by a close friend as I left Japan. It's two silver circles resting on top of one another holding a single pearl in the lower curve. I stared at it thinking how much it looked like an egg in a womb. Perfect! My friend Tomoko would be so pleased to know I wore it today. I threw on my pearl earrings and the ensemble was complete. It's been a long time since I thought that hard about what to wear. I'm really not that into my clothes. My life is pretty simple and doesn't normally call for special wardrobe consideration. Today was just...well, different.
Val, Aaron, and I paused for a short time in the kitchen to take some photos before she and I headed out the door. We wanted to document the occasion. Whether we become pregnant or not, it was still a momentous day.
On our long drive we joked about it being a covert operation. I could imagine her talking into her wrist like the Secret Service saying, "The package is delivered." I told her I suddenly felt like I was in protective custody. In essence I guess that was true. Had we recorded the conversation, we would have a great addition to a baby book. I wish I could recall all the details. The most important part is that we spent nearly an hour laughing together and having a good time. There were times she was actually laughing and crying at the same time, but that was partly due to the pain she was in.
Unfortunately, Val was uncomfortable during the whole drive, just as she has been since Tuesday. The stimulation of her ovaries left her with Ovarian Hyperstimulation Syndrome. It is a painful condition that can be quite serious. In fact, an ultrasound today revealed that her ovaries are so large they are rubbing against each other. It's called "kissing ovaries". Hopefully her symptoms will subside within a week from now. For now she's not very mobile and is moving very slowly. She has a positive attitude though and has been an inspiration through the whole IVF process. No matter what she's encountered she has done so with grace.
When we arrived at the Jones Institute, we were placed in a pre-op area and changed into our designated OR garb. We cracked out our cameras and took tons of photos of each other and the staff. It was a fun time even while we waited. The laughter continued right up to the moment they rolled me back into the OR.
After the nurses situated me on the table, Dr. Sergio Oehninger (our doctor) and the embryologist doctor both came in. Within a few moments the embryologist walked out and flashed the eggs, as viewed through a microscope, up onto a large screen. We had less than a minute to admire them, during which Val took a nice photo.
The doctor walked back in shortly afterward and with movements as careful as if he were disarming a bomb, he handed the pipette to Dr. O. who then threaded the pipette through my cervix as we watched on the ultrasound screen. I could see the white line of the long tube moving up into my uterus. Suddenly there was a puff that shot out the end of the tube and Dr. O said something like, "There they go." The entire procedure lasted roughly two minutes or less.
Dr. O stepped out and came back in carrying a certificate for Valerie, as well as the petri dish that held the eggs. He gave it to her saying, "This is their first cradle." It was pretty neat and of course brought a smile to Val's face. Once I was transferred to another bed, they rolled me out. Valerie was walking behind me when a nurse named Donna said something to her that stopped me mentally in my tracks. She turned to look at Val and said, "Come on, Mom." I said, "Wow, Val. I think that's the first time you've ever been called Mom." We were both tickled. Suddenly I think she felt pregnant. I know I did a little. That was a memorable moment for her.
As usual, we were barely in the post-op area when my phone rang and it was Mom calling to see how things were going. Her timing is always spot on! She definitely has a sixth sense about her when it comes to her kids. We told her we were done and she shared a funny story. Apparently she had just spoken with an older lady and told her she was a grandmother again today. They lady asked the obvious next question, "Was it a boy or a girl?," to which Mom replied, "We don't know yet - they were just implanted." LOL Imagine the confusion on that woman's face. I'm sure Mom went on to explain.
I think our family became a little more like glue today. We spoke with Mom, Dad, and our brother Ross. They were all so excited. It's great to feel their hopeful anticipation. It's amazing to think that in 11 days we may have another family member or members on the way. We all can't wait!
Monday, October 25, 2010
I Don't Care . . . I Like Me!
On a trying day not long ago, I found myself standing face-to-face with my 10 year-old son. To be honest it felt slightly like a Mexican stand-off. Let me recount those moments . . .
We'd had a very difficult morning that involved lots of driving, baby tears and screams, long periods of waiting at a doctor's appointment, and one of our dogs biting the vet. Without further detail, one can imagine the lovely day we were having. During one slight, but desperately needed lull in our day, my son went to our van to retrieve one of his precious Beanie Babies. He's been a collector of sorts for years. Each is special in it's own way and he can recall the details of how each of them have come to join his little "Beanie" family.
Standing in front of the vet's office watching him play with this particular stuffed animal created a stir in me. It was a white umbrella bird with a pink crown of hair that stands up like Don King's. All I could think was here was my 10 year-old son, playing with a very feminine-looking bird out in public. I decided to say something to him. Though I can't recall my exact words, they were an appeal to his masculine side and an attempt to get him to put the bird back in the van. Taking it from his hands, I told him most boys wouldn't be playing with a white and pink bird in public.
My highly introspective son stood there a moment contemplating what I'd said, all the while staring at the bird. After a long pause, he reached for bird saying, "I don't care what people think. I like me." His words left me speechless. In a flash, I was ashamed and thought back to a book I'd read in college called "Real Boys". The premise of this book is that boys suffer low self-esteem and other problems as a result of societal expectations related to masculinity. (That's a HUGE nutshell.) I realized I had just tried to lay on my son what society had brainwashed me with as a child - boys should be tough, act tough, and shun creativity and anything remotely feminine. Wow, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!
Anyone who knows my son knows he is very creative, loves to read, and though he loves to swim, he isn't really an athlete. He's compassionate, loving, sentimental, and a sometimes philosopher. Occasionally, he brings me breakfast in bed or makes a cute homemade note for me. He loves board games and cries when he sees injustice or hurt animals. Truly, he is a wonderful young man and I am so blessed to have him in my life. So why in the world would I want to change him? Put simply, I don't and I won't. I don't want to regurgitate onto my son any dysfunctional societal attitudes regarding his masculinity. Let him have his pink-haired Beanie Baby bird - and let me learn again that the best thing I can do for him is give him Godly guidance and love and encourage the person God is turning him into. I'm so proud of my son. One of my favorite quotes applies so well to what I think of my him today. “Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.” ~ Dr. Suess
Sometimes as a parent I get it wrong. It's so important when I'm having a less than stellar parenting moment that I'm wise enough to reevaluate my position and courageous enough to change my stance if necessary. I can't be dogmatic. As much as I'd like to be, I'm not always right. Changing my mind or allowing it to be changed by my son is nothing to be afraid of. It doesn't make me a weaker Mom. It refines me.
At times I turn dialogue with my son into a monologue. Better to listen to him tell me who he is than to tell him who is going to be. Who am I to think that he has nothing to teach me? The truth is that I learn from him everyday. What if I spent more time actually hearing what my son has to say? What if all parents did the same?
We'd had a very difficult morning that involved lots of driving, baby tears and screams, long periods of waiting at a doctor's appointment, and one of our dogs biting the vet. Without further detail, one can imagine the lovely day we were having. During one slight, but desperately needed lull in our day, my son went to our van to retrieve one of his precious Beanie Babies. He's been a collector of sorts for years. Each is special in it's own way and he can recall the details of how each of them have come to join his little "Beanie" family.
Standing in front of the vet's office watching him play with this particular stuffed animal created a stir in me. It was a white umbrella bird with a pink crown of hair that stands up like Don King's. All I could think was here was my 10 year-old son, playing with a very feminine-looking bird out in public. I decided to say something to him. Though I can't recall my exact words, they were an appeal to his masculine side and an attempt to get him to put the bird back in the van. Taking it from his hands, I told him most boys wouldn't be playing with a white and pink bird in public.
My highly introspective son stood there a moment contemplating what I'd said, all the while staring at the bird. After a long pause, he reached for bird saying, "I don't care what people think. I like me." His words left me speechless. In a flash, I was ashamed and thought back to a book I'd read in college called "Real Boys". The premise of this book is that boys suffer low self-esteem and other problems as a result of societal expectations related to masculinity. (That's a HUGE nutshell.) I realized I had just tried to lay on my son what society had brainwashed me with as a child - boys should be tough, act tough, and shun creativity and anything remotely feminine. Wow, that's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!
Anyone who knows my son knows he is very creative, loves to read, and though he loves to swim, he isn't really an athlete. He's compassionate, loving, sentimental, and a sometimes philosopher. Occasionally, he brings me breakfast in bed or makes a cute homemade note for me. He loves board games and cries when he sees injustice or hurt animals. Truly, he is a wonderful young man and I am so blessed to have him in my life. So why in the world would I want to change him? Put simply, I don't and I won't. I don't want to regurgitate onto my son any dysfunctional societal attitudes regarding his masculinity. Let him have his pink-haired Beanie Baby bird - and let me learn again that the best thing I can do for him is give him Godly guidance and love and encourage the person God is turning him into. I'm so proud of my son. One of my favorite quotes applies so well to what I think of my him today. “Today you are You, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than You.” ~ Dr. Suess
Sometimes as a parent I get it wrong. It's so important when I'm having a less than stellar parenting moment that I'm wise enough to reevaluate my position and courageous enough to change my stance if necessary. I can't be dogmatic. As much as I'd like to be, I'm not always right. Changing my mind or allowing it to be changed by my son is nothing to be afraid of. It doesn't make me a weaker Mom. It refines me.
At times I turn dialogue with my son into a monologue. Better to listen to him tell me who he is than to tell him who is going to be. Who am I to think that he has nothing to teach me? The truth is that I learn from him everyday. What if I spent more time actually hearing what my son has to say? What if all parents did the same?
Monday, October 4, 2010
Surrogacy: The Hope of Giving Birth to My Niece or Nephew
On September 30, 2010, my sister Valerie, her husband Aaron, and I had an appointment at the Jones Institute for Reproductive Medicine. After years of trying to conceive and suffering a heart-wrenching number of unexplained miscarriages, they decided to take me up on my offer to be a surrogate for them. We headed to our appointment in torrential rain, feeling uncertain what the clinic would say about my suitability because of my age or medical history, including my recent bilateral mastectomy and upcoming reconstructive surgery. All our apprehensiveness would turn out to be unfounded.
After filling out tons of paperwork, consulting with the doctors, and both Valerie and I having ultrasounds, her for her ovaries and me for my uterus, we were given the green light. It turned out to be much easier than I thought. There will be lots of coordinating of schedules along the way, trips back and forth from Florida for both Aaron and Valerie, and probably some nail-biting, but we now have a time frame. In fact, we were certain they would have a reason to make us wait and were surprised when I was given my first prescription to be started the very next day! That night I headed out to the Wal-Mart pharmacy to turn in my prescription. We couldn't believe it. The transfer should be sometime around Thanksgiving, using her egg and his sperm.
On October 1, 2010, I zipped over to the pharmacy to pick up my meds, then crossed the parking lot and stopped in front of the pet store. I sat in my van with the first pill in my hand. Feeling overwhelmed by the emotional events of the previous two days, which included losing my beloved Shiba Kenji, being worried sick trying to find our Papillon Dexter, then the elation at finding him, I had to take a moment to pause and just breathe. The event I was about to mark was huge - so much bigger than me in that moment. The last nine months of my life had been wrapped up in one big exclamation point. Funny, nine months is the length of time most people associate with a pregnancy.
Holding that little, white, Progesterone pill in my hand represented the hopes and dreams of so many people, starting with my sister. It also guaranteed that the next year of my life would be no less emotional than the last. I could say that the next year will be wrapped up in a huge question mark. That thought didn't frighten me. I'm a Navy wife and therefore accustomed to question marks. :) One thing was certain, God is in control and will either use me to make my sister a mom or not. There I was, alone to ponder the enormity of the decision we'd all made together, my family and hers. I was thankful for those quiet moments. I prayed and gave the whole process to the Lord to make of it what He wills. Of course I also put in my personal request to finally become an aunt. :) How amazing just to think of having the opportunity to bring my niece or nephew into the world.
After praying, I threw back my water bottle and popped the pill in my mouth, thinking, "Here we go!"
After filling out tons of paperwork, consulting with the doctors, and both Valerie and I having ultrasounds, her for her ovaries and me for my uterus, we were given the green light. It turned out to be much easier than I thought. There will be lots of coordinating of schedules along the way, trips back and forth from Florida for both Aaron and Valerie, and probably some nail-biting, but we now have a time frame. In fact, we were certain they would have a reason to make us wait and were surprised when I was given my first prescription to be started the very next day! That night I headed out to the Wal-Mart pharmacy to turn in my prescription. We couldn't believe it. The transfer should be sometime around Thanksgiving, using her egg and his sperm.
On October 1, 2010, I zipped over to the pharmacy to pick up my meds, then crossed the parking lot and stopped in front of the pet store. I sat in my van with the first pill in my hand. Feeling overwhelmed by the emotional events of the previous two days, which included losing my beloved Shiba Kenji, being worried sick trying to find our Papillon Dexter, then the elation at finding him, I had to take a moment to pause and just breathe. The event I was about to mark was huge - so much bigger than me in that moment. The last nine months of my life had been wrapped up in one big exclamation point. Funny, nine months is the length of time most people associate with a pregnancy.
Holding that little, white, Progesterone pill in my hand represented the hopes and dreams of so many people, starting with my sister. It also guaranteed that the next year of my life would be no less emotional than the last. I could say that the next year will be wrapped up in a huge question mark. That thought didn't frighten me. I'm a Navy wife and therefore accustomed to question marks. :) One thing was certain, God is in control and will either use me to make my sister a mom or not. There I was, alone to ponder the enormity of the decision we'd all made together, my family and hers. I was thankful for those quiet moments. I prayed and gave the whole process to the Lord to make of it what He wills. Of course I also put in my personal request to finally become an aunt. :) How amazing just to think of having the opportunity to bring my niece or nephew into the world.
After praying, I threw back my water bottle and popped the pill in my mouth, thinking, "Here we go!"
Sunday, September 26, 2010
Don't Tell Me to Come Out of the Closet
When I was a little girl, I used to spend a lot of time in my step-mom’s closet. What took me there was as varied as the imaginings of a child. One day might have found me crying over an argument with a friend, while the next day I’d have been pondering my adolescence or maybe even “What do I want to be when I grow up?” No matter the reason, one thing was certain – Dad would always join me there if tears were involved.
There were several reasons I chose that particular closet of all the places in the house. First, it was a place I knew no one would come and interrupt me. There was simply no reason for anyone to knock on that door and ask if they could come in, like the bathroom. Second, it was large enough that it didn’t make me claustrophobic and I could conceal myself behind the hanging clothes at the farthest recesses of the closet. Lastly, and perhaps most importantly - I could turn off the lights and vanish. I spent many hours like that, wishing I could disappear. This was my haven; a place of refuge from the storms that brewed in my life, both real and imagined.
Dad and I like to joke about the times we spent in that closet, bonding. Sometimes we even moved a fan in to get some circulation going. It could get pretty stuffy. He gave me fatherly advice and listened when I cried. In many ways I grew up in there. I can’t recall the exact words of wisdom that emanated from that room and though there’s no doubt they helped to mold and shape me as I stumbled through adolescence, more important was the fact that Dad took the time I needed to see me through it. Thank God for Dad. (Of course thanks to Mom too. What she and I shared wasn’t a closet, and will be addressed in a later writing.) Thank God too for a place I could go to figure things out - away from my siblings and the other craziness of life.
Speaking of craziness. Today I was nearly a crazy woman. At first glance it’s going to be difficult to see how this day and the days of my closet adolescence are connected, but it’ll soon be clear.
We headed out to Virginia Beach to buy Koen’s Boy Scout uniform, looking forward to having lunch together at our favorite place, Chipotle. Everything was going smoothly until we pulled out of our driveway, and the tears began to flow. Karter and Lisse cried inconsolably for the first hour we were out. Here is where I will tell the story slightly in high gear so as not to mentally wear the reader out. I wound up sitting on the floor of the van between the front and middle seats feeding them their lunch while we were stuck in traffic. With me turned around backwards and on the floorboard, hence not navigating, Arie dislodged us from the traffic, only for me to realize he was going the wrong way on the interstate. After lunch, Koen spilled an entire soda on the floor of the van. Then we were off to the Boy Scout store where they didn’t have one item of clothing in Koen’s size after we drove nearly 1.5 hours one way to buy his uniform. We then made our way to run another errand, during which time my normally wonderful husband morphed into a jerk. Out of respect for my husband I’ll spare these details. We were sitting in a parking lot while Arie looked for directions to our final stop when I decided to get out of the car and walk over to a Starbucks. I needed a few moments alone and I was annoyed with Arie, so the thought of a frappuccino was consoling.
I was slightly steaming as I stood in the store contemplating the notion that I’d somehow got back at Arie by not offering to get him a Starbucks. If you know Arie, you know this would be a major letdown for him. I felt justified, even triumphant, and finally peaceful just getting away from the stress that was in the van. As the glow was just building in me, either from the triumph or from my previously noted steaming, I got a text message and photo from Arie. He said, and I’m quoting here, “:( I’m sorry I was a..."
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I about died laughing! After chuckling at Arie’s photo and feeling like he had sufficiently apologized, I texted him back with an offer to buy him Starbucks. He responded with a request for an iced coffee and I patiently waited in line not realizing the horror that had begun unfolding in the van. Yep, it only got worse from there, just when I thought things were looking up.
I crossed the parking noticing that Arie was no longer in the front seat. As I opened the door he said something like “you have no idea…” Lisse, who had not pooped at all the previous day during our trip to Busch Gardens had had massive diarrhea while sitting in her car seat and blew out her diaper. Arie said he actually heard it. He might have even gone on mumbling something incoherent about a geyser afterward, but Koen distracted me with a request to go in the grocery store for something to drink. I think he was partly trying to get away from the smell. Climbing out of the van, Koen inadvertently kicked over my mocha frappuccino, spilling it on my floor mat. I could tell he felt horrible for spilling another drink, so after my initial ARE YOU KIDDING ME? reaction, I dialed myself back and told him to let it go and that it was okay. I handed him my wallet and sent him off for his drink.
Upon pulling out the mat to clean it, I unveiled a soggy floorboard indicating a possible problem with our a/c leaking under the carpet. Then Arie, while cleaning up Lisse, began to laugh hysterically. I turned thinking I was about to witness my husband’s nervous breakdown when I heard him say, “She’s peeing!” He could barely get the words out of his mouth from laughing so hard. Whatever parts of her clothing that weren’t covered by poop were at that point soaked in urine, as was a portion of the carpet where it had run off the pad.
The next thing I knew, Koen was opening the back hatch with no drink in his hand and he was crying. When I asked what was wrong and why he had no drink he said, “I can’t do anything right today.” I consoled him and had him repeat after me saying, “Today is the day from hell.” I thought I said it as calmly as I could and though I was giving him permission to say his first ever 4-letter word the day seemed to warrant it. His lips parted into a strained smile that said “I don’t really want you to make me smile while I’m trying to feel sorry for myself.” Once I told him about Lisse peeing on the floor we both fell into each other laughing. I told him, “I KNOW! IT’S A HEAVENLY CONSPIRACY! All the drama,” I said, “must be a heavenly conspiracy to keep us from going home.” Maybe God was keeping us out of some sort of trouble by stalling us with so many distractions.
There are detailed portions of the story I have left out, like Karter almost ripping the signal arm off the steering column, Arie missing our exit (again), and Lisse biting me, but you get the gist I’m sure. It really WAS the day from hell. At the time I could only imagine that short of an auto accident, an acute medical condition (each of us was already having an acute mental condition), or a death in the family, nothing could have made the day more stressful. I said as much to Arie, then thought better of it and acknowledged it could have indeed been much worse.
Speeding as fast as we could safely get away with, we bee-lined for home. After more screaming, all three kids finally fell asleep, leaving me and Arie with some much needed quiet time. For a time we sat silent or maybe I should say shell-shocked before I inquired, “How’s pizza for dinner? I’m not cooking.” Arie asked if I meant the frozen from the store variety. “I said I’m NOT cooking,” shooting him a playful, yet serious look while he laughed.
We eventually made it home, fed and bathed the kids and played until they were exhausted from repeatedly climbing onto the couch only to be dragged off again each time. After one last bottle and teeth cleaning, they went down without so much as a whimper. Here is where I was thanking God again.
After lying Karter in his bed I stepped into the bathroom to brush my teeth and carry on my nightly routine, which includes stepping into my closet so that my electric toothbrush doesn’t wake the baby if it rattles against my teeth. (He’s sometimes a very light sleeper.) I stepped in and out of my closet a few times before pausing inside. With the door pulled shut and the light on, I looked around and pondered the quietness of the space. Actually, it was more like I was soaking up the peace. I began having flashbacks of my childhood days in the closet and what it meant to me then. It occurred to me that at that very moment I was doing exactly what I did as a kid – taking refuge from the storm that was my day.
Thankfully, nowadays I have better coping skills than when I was a kid. However, admittedly there are still days when I step back into my closet, shut the door, turn off the light, and hope no one comes looking for me. Having kids can drive parents to get creative with their hiding spots. Sometimes you just can’t get away from all the noise, sometimes you don’t want to, but during those inevitable times when life gets to be too much or too loud - there’s always the closet. :)
There were several reasons I chose that particular closet of all the places in the house. First, it was a place I knew no one would come and interrupt me. There was simply no reason for anyone to knock on that door and ask if they could come in, like the bathroom. Second, it was large enough that it didn’t make me claustrophobic and I could conceal myself behind the hanging clothes at the farthest recesses of the closet. Lastly, and perhaps most importantly - I could turn off the lights and vanish. I spent many hours like that, wishing I could disappear. This was my haven; a place of refuge from the storms that brewed in my life, both real and imagined.
Dad and I like to joke about the times we spent in that closet, bonding. Sometimes we even moved a fan in to get some circulation going. It could get pretty stuffy. He gave me fatherly advice and listened when I cried. In many ways I grew up in there. I can’t recall the exact words of wisdom that emanated from that room and though there’s no doubt they helped to mold and shape me as I stumbled through adolescence, more important was the fact that Dad took the time I needed to see me through it. Thank God for Dad. (Of course thanks to Mom too. What she and I shared wasn’t a closet, and will be addressed in a later writing.) Thank God too for a place I could go to figure things out - away from my siblings and the other craziness of life.
Speaking of craziness. Today I was nearly a crazy woman. At first glance it’s going to be difficult to see how this day and the days of my closet adolescence are connected, but it’ll soon be clear.
We headed out to Virginia Beach to buy Koen’s Boy Scout uniform, looking forward to having lunch together at our favorite place, Chipotle. Everything was going smoothly until we pulled out of our driveway, and the tears began to flow. Karter and Lisse cried inconsolably for the first hour we were out. Here is where I will tell the story slightly in high gear so as not to mentally wear the reader out. I wound up sitting on the floor of the van between the front and middle seats feeding them their lunch while we were stuck in traffic. With me turned around backwards and on the floorboard, hence not navigating, Arie dislodged us from the traffic, only for me to realize he was going the wrong way on the interstate. After lunch, Koen spilled an entire soda on the floor of the van. Then we were off to the Boy Scout store where they didn’t have one item of clothing in Koen’s size after we drove nearly 1.5 hours one way to buy his uniform. We then made our way to run another errand, during which time my normally wonderful husband morphed into a jerk. Out of respect for my husband I’ll spare these details. We were sitting in a parking lot while Arie looked for directions to our final stop when I decided to get out of the car and walk over to a Starbucks. I needed a few moments alone and I was annoyed with Arie, so the thought of a frappuccino was consoling.
I was slightly steaming as I stood in the store contemplating the notion that I’d somehow got back at Arie by not offering to get him a Starbucks. If you know Arie, you know this would be a major letdown for him. I felt justified, even triumphant, and finally peaceful just getting away from the stress that was in the van. As the glow was just building in me, either from the triumph or from my previously noted steaming, I got a text message and photo from Arie. He said, and I’m quoting here, “:( I’m sorry I was a..."
.jpg)
I about died laughing! After chuckling at Arie’s photo and feeling like he had sufficiently apologized, I texted him back with an offer to buy him Starbucks. He responded with a request for an iced coffee and I patiently waited in line not realizing the horror that had begun unfolding in the van. Yep, it only got worse from there, just when I thought things were looking up.
I crossed the parking noticing that Arie was no longer in the front seat. As I opened the door he said something like “you have no idea…” Lisse, who had not pooped at all the previous day during our trip to Busch Gardens had had massive diarrhea while sitting in her car seat and blew out her diaper. Arie said he actually heard it. He might have even gone on mumbling something incoherent about a geyser afterward, but Koen distracted me with a request to go in the grocery store for something to drink. I think he was partly trying to get away from the smell. Climbing out of the van, Koen inadvertently kicked over my mocha frappuccino, spilling it on my floor mat. I could tell he felt horrible for spilling another drink, so after my initial ARE YOU KIDDING ME? reaction, I dialed myself back and told him to let it go and that it was okay. I handed him my wallet and sent him off for his drink.
Upon pulling out the mat to clean it, I unveiled a soggy floorboard indicating a possible problem with our a/c leaking under the carpet. Then Arie, while cleaning up Lisse, began to laugh hysterically. I turned thinking I was about to witness my husband’s nervous breakdown when I heard him say, “She’s peeing!” He could barely get the words out of his mouth from laughing so hard. Whatever parts of her clothing that weren’t covered by poop were at that point soaked in urine, as was a portion of the carpet where it had run off the pad.
The next thing I knew, Koen was opening the back hatch with no drink in his hand and he was crying. When I asked what was wrong and why he had no drink he said, “I can’t do anything right today.” I consoled him and had him repeat after me saying, “Today is the day from hell.” I thought I said it as calmly as I could and though I was giving him permission to say his first ever 4-letter word the day seemed to warrant it. His lips parted into a strained smile that said “I don’t really want you to make me smile while I’m trying to feel sorry for myself.” Once I told him about Lisse peeing on the floor we both fell into each other laughing. I told him, “I KNOW! IT’S A HEAVENLY CONSPIRACY! All the drama,” I said, “must be a heavenly conspiracy to keep us from going home.” Maybe God was keeping us out of some sort of trouble by stalling us with so many distractions.
There are detailed portions of the story I have left out, like Karter almost ripping the signal arm off the steering column, Arie missing our exit (again), and Lisse biting me, but you get the gist I’m sure. It really WAS the day from hell. At the time I could only imagine that short of an auto accident, an acute medical condition (each of us was already having an acute mental condition), or a death in the family, nothing could have made the day more stressful. I said as much to Arie, then thought better of it and acknowledged it could have indeed been much worse.
Speeding as fast as we could safely get away with, we bee-lined for home. After more screaming, all three kids finally fell asleep, leaving me and Arie with some much needed quiet time. For a time we sat silent or maybe I should say shell-shocked before I inquired, “How’s pizza for dinner? I’m not cooking.” Arie asked if I meant the frozen from the store variety. “I said I’m NOT cooking,” shooting him a playful, yet serious look while he laughed.
We eventually made it home, fed and bathed the kids and played until they were exhausted from repeatedly climbing onto the couch only to be dragged off again each time. After one last bottle and teeth cleaning, they went down without so much as a whimper. Here is where I was thanking God again.
After lying Karter in his bed I stepped into the bathroom to brush my teeth and carry on my nightly routine, which includes stepping into my closet so that my electric toothbrush doesn’t wake the baby if it rattles against my teeth. (He’s sometimes a very light sleeper.) I stepped in and out of my closet a few times before pausing inside. With the door pulled shut and the light on, I looked around and pondered the quietness of the space. Actually, it was more like I was soaking up the peace. I began having flashbacks of my childhood days in the closet and what it meant to me then. It occurred to me that at that very moment I was doing exactly what I did as a kid – taking refuge from the storm that was my day.
Thankfully, nowadays I have better coping skills than when I was a kid. However, admittedly there are still days when I step back into my closet, shut the door, turn off the light, and hope no one comes looking for me. Having kids can drive parents to get creative with their hiding spots. Sometimes you just can’t get away from all the noise, sometimes you don’t want to, but during those inevitable times when life gets to be too much or too loud - there’s always the closet. :)
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Dainty Wipes
Anyone who has ever fed a baby knows that the clean-up can be tricky. Those sweet, little boogers can turn their heads like owls! You grab a moist cloth and the chase for the sticky mouth is on. Our babies are no different.
We have learned with Lisse that she is especially an owlet, only it's like she's an owl-banshee hybrid. The moment we come close to wiping that goo off her face, she begins pivoting maneuvers. It's like she can do both a 360 degree rotation, as well as touch the back of her head to the middle of her shoulder blades! You can imagine that getting all the offending organic material off her face is nearly impossible under these circumstances. In steps a little creative parenting...
First, to throw her off I soften and sweeten my voice. Next, I gently move my hand toward her face and begin dabbing in a very lady-like fashion at the corners of her mouth, all the while almost cooing the words "dainty wipe, dainty wipe". She gets it. She's secure in the knowledge that I'm not going to drag some rough, wet cloth across her face, making her feel like I'm trying to reposition her lips, cheeks, and nose. Suddenly she becomes completely motionless and compliant allowing the cleaning to commence. Historically I only have her in that state for a few moments, so I know my movements must be altogether gentle, stealthy, and efficient. I think I may have it down to about three to five seconds now depending on what she ate for that meal.
This morning, the babies had their breakfast and were settled comfortably in their play area while Arie and I made our own morning meal. Amazingly we were able to make coffee, toast, and omelets with hardly a peep out of the kids. We couldn't believe how quiet the house was. We sat down at the kitchen table and Arie said our breakfast prayer. He asked God to bless the food give us a peaceful day. I think God was listening since we sat in pure, quiet tranquility and had our whole meal. No little munchkins running around our legs stretching their necks up like little birds waiting for a bite of our eggs, or trying to wriggle their way onto our laps. It was heavenly! I suddenly couldn't recall the last moment we had like that in our own home.
Since we were having toast and jam, Arie asked me if I would like my napkin wet or dry. Before I could say "dry", I inadvertently rested my arm in a sticky spot on the table - go figure. I said, "uh wet", as he glanced at me and chuckled at my raised, sticky arm.
At the end of breakfast, I reached for my wet paper towel to clean my face. In a burst of inspiration I dabbed at the corners of my mouth. I nearly felt like pumping my fist in the air in a show of solidarity with Lisse. The moist cloth and soft strokes around my mouth felt not only good, but refreshing - the sort of refreshing that comes with that hot, moist towel they give you when you're blessed enough to ride in first class. I wondered if that felt so nice, how then must it feel to have that same towel drug across your face at speeds of 20 mph and five pounds of pressure per square inch. So I tried it on myself. Wow, no wonder babies hate that! If I were Lisse I'd be a owlet banshee too!
Arie thought I was being a little silly until I tried both methods on him. First I tried the dainty wipe and he didn't flinch. When I switched to the "regular" method, he turned into an owl minus the banshee. (Losing the banshee does come with maturity, so that part didn't surprise me.) He was sold on the dainty wipe too! Without saying it, I think we both resolved to be more "dainty" when cleaning the babies faces.
If Lisse could talk she would probably say, "Thanks! It's about time you put yourself in my shoes." How many other ways should we be doing that as parents? I already taste all the food I feed them before I give them a bite, but I'm sure there are ways I'm not relating to them. I've gotta ponder that one a little more.
*Author's notes: While contemplating the word hybrid, I nearly said she "was hybred", thinking I was using the past tense. Then it occurred to me that perhaps that wasn't a word since I've never heard it used in that way. You may be interested to know that hybrid is not a verb and therefore doesn't have a past tense. So, only use it as a noun or adjective.
In the event that you may think I have a hefty grasp on the English language, let me just say I also had to look up the term for a baby owl. Who'd have thought owlet? In a moment of digression, let me also say that in Japanese, a baby dragonfly is called a yago, whereas the adult form is called a tonbo. When asked by the principal what Americans call a baby dragonfly in English, I paused before saying unassuredly, "baby dragonfly"? Yeah, that was an intelligent moment! For the record and in case you're interested the correct term is nymph. You really never know when you might be called on to discuss nymphs. You have to cut me some slack on this one. How many English speakers are fluent in baby animal names?
Lastly, when determining which word most closely described the sound Lisse makes, I recall hearing as a kid that someone was "screaming like a wild banshee Indian". If you know me, you know I'm sensitive to stereotypes and would never want to use derogatory language in reference to a race of people. However, all of this got me to thinking about what exactly a banshee is. Here is the dictionary's definition:
"–noun (in Irish folklore) a spirit in the form of a wailing woman who appears to or is heard by members of a family as a sign that one of them is about to die." Having said that and lest you think badly of me for referring to my sweet little girl's sound as banshee...if you've heard it, you understand. LOL
We have learned with Lisse that she is especially an owlet, only it's like she's an owl-banshee hybrid. The moment we come close to wiping that goo off her face, she begins pivoting maneuvers. It's like she can do both a 360 degree rotation, as well as touch the back of her head to the middle of her shoulder blades! You can imagine that getting all the offending organic material off her face is nearly impossible under these circumstances. In steps a little creative parenting...
First, to throw her off I soften and sweeten my voice. Next, I gently move my hand toward her face and begin dabbing in a very lady-like fashion at the corners of her mouth, all the while almost cooing the words "dainty wipe, dainty wipe". She gets it. She's secure in the knowledge that I'm not going to drag some rough, wet cloth across her face, making her feel like I'm trying to reposition her lips, cheeks, and nose. Suddenly she becomes completely motionless and compliant allowing the cleaning to commence. Historically I only have her in that state for a few moments, so I know my movements must be altogether gentle, stealthy, and efficient. I think I may have it down to about three to five seconds now depending on what she ate for that meal.
This morning, the babies had their breakfast and were settled comfortably in their play area while Arie and I made our own morning meal. Amazingly we were able to make coffee, toast, and omelets with hardly a peep out of the kids. We couldn't believe how quiet the house was. We sat down at the kitchen table and Arie said our breakfast prayer. He asked God to bless the food give us a peaceful day. I think God was listening since we sat in pure, quiet tranquility and had our whole meal. No little munchkins running around our legs stretching their necks up like little birds waiting for a bite of our eggs, or trying to wriggle their way onto our laps. It was heavenly! I suddenly couldn't recall the last moment we had like that in our own home.
Since we were having toast and jam, Arie asked me if I would like my napkin wet or dry. Before I could say "dry", I inadvertently rested my arm in a sticky spot on the table - go figure. I said, "uh wet", as he glanced at me and chuckled at my raised, sticky arm.
At the end of breakfast, I reached for my wet paper towel to clean my face. In a burst of inspiration I dabbed at the corners of my mouth. I nearly felt like pumping my fist in the air in a show of solidarity with Lisse. The moist cloth and soft strokes around my mouth felt not only good, but refreshing - the sort of refreshing that comes with that hot, moist towel they give you when you're blessed enough to ride in first class. I wondered if that felt so nice, how then must it feel to have that same towel drug across your face at speeds of 20 mph and five pounds of pressure per square inch. So I tried it on myself. Wow, no wonder babies hate that! If I were Lisse I'd be a owlet banshee too!
Arie thought I was being a little silly until I tried both methods on him. First I tried the dainty wipe and he didn't flinch. When I switched to the "regular" method, he turned into an owl minus the banshee. (Losing the banshee does come with maturity, so that part didn't surprise me.) He was sold on the dainty wipe too! Without saying it, I think we both resolved to be more "dainty" when cleaning the babies faces.
If Lisse could talk she would probably say, "Thanks! It's about time you put yourself in my shoes." How many other ways should we be doing that as parents? I already taste all the food I feed them before I give them a bite, but I'm sure there are ways I'm not relating to them. I've gotta ponder that one a little more.
*Author's notes: While contemplating the word hybrid, I nearly said she "was hybred", thinking I was using the past tense. Then it occurred to me that perhaps that wasn't a word since I've never heard it used in that way. You may be interested to know that hybrid is not a verb and therefore doesn't have a past tense. So, only use it as a noun or adjective.
In the event that you may think I have a hefty grasp on the English language, let me just say I also had to look up the term for a baby owl. Who'd have thought owlet? In a moment of digression, let me also say that in Japanese, a baby dragonfly is called a yago, whereas the adult form is called a tonbo. When asked by the principal what Americans call a baby dragonfly in English, I paused before saying unassuredly, "baby dragonfly"? Yeah, that was an intelligent moment! For the record and in case you're interested the correct term is nymph. You really never know when you might be called on to discuss nymphs. You have to cut me some slack on this one. How many English speakers are fluent in baby animal names?
Lastly, when determining which word most closely described the sound Lisse makes, I recall hearing as a kid that someone was "screaming like a wild banshee Indian". If you know me, you know I'm sensitive to stereotypes and would never want to use derogatory language in reference to a race of people. However, all of this got me to thinking about what exactly a banshee is. Here is the dictionary's definition:
"–noun (in Irish folklore) a spirit in the form of a wailing woman who appears to or is heard by members of a family as a sign that one of them is about to die." Having said that and lest you think badly of me for referring to my sweet little girl's sound as banshee...if you've heard it, you understand. LOL
Wednesday, July 21, 2010
Daddy & the Pickle
Children take things so literally when they're young. Their use of language in general can often be hilarious. In fact, once Koen learned the meaning of the word illegal, he was stopped in his tracks on the first occasion I told him that something he had done was illegal. Of course, I was joking, but he didn't know it and became very concerned that he was in trouble. It has since turned into the family joke that something a person is doing or wants to do is "illegal". I guess you sort of have to be there.
I recall once when Koen was a little boy how much we enjoyed chuckling as he learned about English idioms. The first one that comes to mind occurred when he was about 2.5 and we were living in Hawaii. He was playing with Daddy and found himself in a predicament. I don't recall the exact situation, but it was probably something like Daddy tied his sleeves in a knot and he couldn't put his arms through. Not that this has been a common occurrence (wink wink).
Finally, Daddy commented to Koen, "You're in a pickle now, huh"? At that point, Koen came running to me, crying, and yelling, "MAMA, MAMA! HELP ME! DADDY TURNED ME INTO A PICKLE"! Arie and I both nearly wet ourselves!
I recall once when Koen was a little boy how much we enjoyed chuckling as he learned about English idioms. The first one that comes to mind occurred when he was about 2.5 and we were living in Hawaii. He was playing with Daddy and found himself in a predicament. I don't recall the exact situation, but it was probably something like Daddy tied his sleeves in a knot and he couldn't put his arms through. Not that this has been a common occurrence (wink wink).
Finally, Daddy commented to Koen, "You're in a pickle now, huh"? At that point, Koen came running to me, crying, and yelling, "MAMA, MAMA! HELP ME! DADDY TURNED ME INTO A PICKLE"! Arie and I both nearly wet ourselves!
Putting Out Fires...a.k.a. Twin Issues
We’ve been on a mission lately to resolve some issues we’ve had with the twins. It all started with napping, but we’ve learned so many things along the way.
At first we were having some difficulty in putting the babies down for the evening in the same room. The problem was that Karter goes to sleep easily, but Lisse makes lots of noise and cries enough to wake him up again. It was becoming a vicious cycle. We decided to try moving his bed into another room to resolve the problem. Voila! Karter was sleeping quickly and lengthy. Lisse on the other hand was still having issues going to sleep.
This brings us to issue number two: Lisse not going to sleep. We began rocking her to sleep in the living room rocker, then lying her down in her bed. No sooner would her head hit the pillow then she would bolt back up crying. This too was a vicious cycle. It killed our backs to stand at her bedside and continue rocking her until she was literally snoring. Only then could we lay her down and be certain that she wouldn’t come back up.
Let me just say that during the day I have no problems putting her down. Of course this was a learning process as well and at one time involved too many tears. Now she takes her bottle, sits with me for a couple minutes while I talk softly to her, then we stroll to her room and I rub her pillow and say, “pillow”. She recently even leaned toward her bed! Normally she’s crying when I leave the room and quiet within a few minutes and asleep in less than five. How perplexing it was then that for bedtime Lisse became an entirely different creature. Then it dawned on me...it’s the light. She can’t go to sleep in a dark room. I wouldn’t necessarily characterize it as being afraid of the dark, but accustomed to a norm of going to sleep in a brighter room. The first night we turned on the lamp, we went into the kitchen and listened to her cry mildly and intermittently. We stood in the kitchen and prayed to God that He would put her to sleep, giving her and us some much needed rest. Again, voila! Suddenly she’s as easy to put down at night as she is during the day.
Now on to crisis number...I don’t even know what! Two days ago, Karter didn’t want his afternoon or evening bottle. Both times he pushed them away after barely a sip. Him not taking the afternoon bottle didn’t particularly bother me, but once he skipped the evening one I became concerned. If you know Karter, you know this is very out of character for him.
In the middle of the night he awoke and would not go back to sleep the way he normally does. Usually I can put his pacifier back in his mouth, rub his back, and he quickly goes back to sleep. Not last night! He seemed wide awake. I tried for a few minutes to cradle him to no avail. Okay, so maybe now he was finally wanting a bottle? Arie jaunted to the kitchen and back, determined to get him a bottle made quickly before his crying escalated. When I first put the bottle to his lips he had the same reaction, one sip before pushing it away. The second time I put it to his lips, it was like the seas had parted and he devoured the whole thing! Whew! Arie was able to go back to sleep, Karter passed-out again quickly and went back down with no problem, then I was out as well.
Act two...Karter wakes again at about 4:30 to 5 am. I’m not sure since I couldn’t see the clock. I cradled and snuggled and again he was needing a bottle. At that point, Arie was going to be up in 30 minutes getting ready for work and I was trying not to disturb his last minutes of sleep. I jogged once more to the kitchen, rushing to make a bottle and get back. As I turned from the sink, shaking the bottle, I was met at the corner of the fridge by Arie asking what I was doing. Uh...yeah, he was obviously still asleep and actually doesn’t even remembering meeting me in the kitchen. Together we rushed back to Karter, I lifted him from his bed and administered said bottle hoping he would not turn it down. Again, he downed the bottle in record time. Having made that particular bottle myself, it finally occurred to me what the problem has been all along. In my haste to make the bottle, I hadn’t taken the time to let the water warm-up. Apparently, here in lies the problem...Karter no longer likes warm bottles. This has proven true with each bottle since. Crisis averted!
Many of the last week’s nights have been spent sleeping on Lisse’s bedroom floor, propped in my bed holding Karter, or sitting on my bathroom floor rocking him and trying desperately not to wake Arie. Now with both babies current issues understood and under control, I’m hoping to spend my first good night of sleep in more than a week in my own bed. I keep telling myself that this is only temporary. Like all things it too will pass. I know eventually I’ll look back and long for these times. Reminding myself of that helps me cope during the times when my back is killing me and I’m feeling overwhelmed by all the needs of those around me for whom I’m responsible. I even think of Nadia Suleman (Octomom) and her brood. I can’t even imagine being in her shoes! Anytime I think of her it’s easy to be thankful for my situation.
Man am I looking forward to having a good night’s sleep!
At first we were having some difficulty in putting the babies down for the evening in the same room. The problem was that Karter goes to sleep easily, but Lisse makes lots of noise and cries enough to wake him up again. It was becoming a vicious cycle. We decided to try moving his bed into another room to resolve the problem. Voila! Karter was sleeping quickly and lengthy. Lisse on the other hand was still having issues going to sleep.
This brings us to issue number two: Lisse not going to sleep. We began rocking her to sleep in the living room rocker, then lying her down in her bed. No sooner would her head hit the pillow then she would bolt back up crying. This too was a vicious cycle. It killed our backs to stand at her bedside and continue rocking her until she was literally snoring. Only then could we lay her down and be certain that she wouldn’t come back up.
Let me just say that during the day I have no problems putting her down. Of course this was a learning process as well and at one time involved too many tears. Now she takes her bottle, sits with me for a couple minutes while I talk softly to her, then we stroll to her room and I rub her pillow and say, “pillow”. She recently even leaned toward her bed! Normally she’s crying when I leave the room and quiet within a few minutes and asleep in less than five. How perplexing it was then that for bedtime Lisse became an entirely different creature. Then it dawned on me...it’s the light. She can’t go to sleep in a dark room. I wouldn’t necessarily characterize it as being afraid of the dark, but accustomed to a norm of going to sleep in a brighter room. The first night we turned on the lamp, we went into the kitchen and listened to her cry mildly and intermittently. We stood in the kitchen and prayed to God that He would put her to sleep, giving her and us some much needed rest. Again, voila! Suddenly she’s as easy to put down at night as she is during the day.
Now on to crisis number...I don’t even know what! Two days ago, Karter didn’t want his afternoon or evening bottle. Both times he pushed them away after barely a sip. Him not taking the afternoon bottle didn’t particularly bother me, but once he skipped the evening one I became concerned. If you know Karter, you know this is very out of character for him.
In the middle of the night he awoke and would not go back to sleep the way he normally does. Usually I can put his pacifier back in his mouth, rub his back, and he quickly goes back to sleep. Not last night! He seemed wide awake. I tried for a few minutes to cradle him to no avail. Okay, so maybe now he was finally wanting a bottle? Arie jaunted to the kitchen and back, determined to get him a bottle made quickly before his crying escalated. When I first put the bottle to his lips he had the same reaction, one sip before pushing it away. The second time I put it to his lips, it was like the seas had parted and he devoured the whole thing! Whew! Arie was able to go back to sleep, Karter passed-out again quickly and went back down with no problem, then I was out as well.
Act two...Karter wakes again at about 4:30 to 5 am. I’m not sure since I couldn’t see the clock. I cradled and snuggled and again he was needing a bottle. At that point, Arie was going to be up in 30 minutes getting ready for work and I was trying not to disturb his last minutes of sleep. I jogged once more to the kitchen, rushing to make a bottle and get back. As I turned from the sink, shaking the bottle, I was met at the corner of the fridge by Arie asking what I was doing. Uh...yeah, he was obviously still asleep and actually doesn’t even remembering meeting me in the kitchen. Together we rushed back to Karter, I lifted him from his bed and administered said bottle hoping he would not turn it down. Again, he downed the bottle in record time. Having made that particular bottle myself, it finally occurred to me what the problem has been all along. In my haste to make the bottle, I hadn’t taken the time to let the water warm-up. Apparently, here in lies the problem...Karter no longer likes warm bottles. This has proven true with each bottle since. Crisis averted!
Many of the last week’s nights have been spent sleeping on Lisse’s bedroom floor, propped in my bed holding Karter, or sitting on my bathroom floor rocking him and trying desperately not to wake Arie. Now with both babies current issues understood and under control, I’m hoping to spend my first good night of sleep in more than a week in my own bed. I keep telling myself that this is only temporary. Like all things it too will pass. I know eventually I’ll look back and long for these times. Reminding myself of that helps me cope during the times when my back is killing me and I’m feeling overwhelmed by all the needs of those around me for whom I’m responsible. I even think of Nadia Suleman (Octomom) and her brood. I can’t even imagine being in her shoes! Anytime I think of her it’s easy to be thankful for my situation.
Man am I looking forward to having a good night’s sleep!
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Little Girls and Red Roses
Today I witnessed the look of wonder emanate from my one-year old daughter's face as she gazed upon a dozen red roses for the first time in her brief life. I was struck by her innocence and as she studied them, grinning from ear-to-ear with her four little teeth gleaming. I could tell she loved them and would have given anything to read her thoughts at that moment.
I told Arie that she was looking at them with awe and wonder and he quickly glanced over to catch her expressions. His "awe" reaction led me to ponder the future relationship between them.
I recall the first dozen roses my daddy sent me. I was 18 and going through a very difficult time of my life. He sent my beautiful roses to the grocery store where I worked and I proudly displayed them atop my register. The whole day employees and customers alike commented on them. With each acknowledgment of my gift, I was given yet another gift...a reminder that on that day my dad was my biggest fan and greatest love!
I still have the card he attached to the roses that day and occasionally I bring it out to remind myself of two things: Dad's love for me, and God's, for the card read, "Keep your chin up. God loves you and so do I." I'm 38 and I'll never forget those words of encouragement as they linger with me from 20 years ago.
It is my fervent hope and prayer that Lisse is gifted through her daddy in a way such as this. A quote hangs on my bathroom wall that comes to mind when reflecting on this: "Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away." That is where I was left 20 years ago, breathless in the moment...
Sunday, May 31, 2009
9 Year-Old's View of Perseverance
On May 30, 2009, I went to the pool with my 9.5 year-old son. He was beyond excited to take his swimming test so that he could earn an orange bracelet entitling him to swim anywhere in the pool without a parental escort. He is definitely coming into his own.
He took his test, passing all three parts easily. This in and of itself is enough to write a paper on perseverance considering its years in the making. However, this is not our story.
Upon securing his bracelet on his arm, he headed for the pool. The moment he stepped to the water slide, a lifeguard blew the whistle calling for a pool break.
During the pool break, another lifeguard walked over to the pool, picked up a water basketball, and began to shoot hoops. The ball would miss and be blown back to the edge by the considerable wind blowing that day. Each time, the young man would pick it up and try again. This repeated perhaps 7 times, each time ending in a missed basket. Eventually, the young man walked away.
My son Koen turned to look and said, "Did he quit?" I said, "Yes." Koen followed with, "That's too bad." I asked him why he thought it was too bad, to which he replied, "His next shot might have been the big one - perseverance is really important, you know."
I sat with a stunned smile on my face. What a moment! My son had finally shown me his understanding of the word perseverance. I'm hopeful for what his future holds. I know he won't be a quitter, that he will push through the difficulties of life knowing with full confidence that he'll get to the other side and be better for it. Again, for him and for me, what a moment.
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