In the dark

My little son stirred in his sleep tonight. I heard him let out a few little cries, and went in to see if he was waking. He had gone to bed with flushed cheeks... from fever or teeth or perhaps just chapped from winter's harsh wind.

Like so many mothers before me, and so many to come, I laid my hand against his forehead in search of clues to his discomfort. Content with the feel of it, my hand travelled to cheek and then chest, hoping to comfort him back to deep sleep.

Under thin pajamas and the tiny arc of his ribs, I could feel the steady thumping of his heart against my hand. A single organ, working tirelessly, without pause, to fulfill its solitary duty of pumping life through an unimaginable network of veins and arteries, keeping my child alive.

In that instant, the simultaneous terror and miracle of life was before me. With one hand still on my sleeping child, the other sought out the swell of my belly, feeling for the stirrings of another child I have yet to meet. Another child with beating heart - miraculously alive within me and already terrifyingly precious, yet still unknown.

With all I think I know and believe I have learned, with every formative experience of my youth and adulthood, it is truly this gift of Motherhood that has acted as a revelation to me of the true mystery and immensity of life; as though a heavy curtain were peeled back, revealing a night-sky full of glittering stars.

Mid-year Recital

Is there anything that strikes more fear in the hearts of parents and children alike than recitals? 

I remember enduring years of practicing, and performance nerves from my own childhood, and now I watch as my daughter goes through the same anxiety-ridden process. 

What I have discovered though, is that being a parent doesn't make it any easier.  Now I'm still nervous but with absolutely no control.  The nerves come from hoping that my child has practiced enough, is confidant and feels good about their performance, and will have the skills to move on if they make a mistake or two.  Trying to instill them with the right amount of zealousness and pride, without becoming a crazed lunatic of a mother, and brow-beating them into musical submission. It's all a little much. 

And then there is the recital itself.  

Which usually means trying to keep my other kids quiet while we are regaled with sonata's and minuets by mini-prodigies.  I wish.  More like "Twinkle Twinkle" six times over by clumsy and nervous little kids.   

And honestly, you know it has to be confessed, the only kid I'm really interested in watching perform is my own.  Sorry. 

This year though, Thyra's piano teacher got it right.   Recital at his parent's home.  Not too many kids.  One song each, and the best part?  A potluck supper following.   Now that is music to my ears. 

                              

Waiting her turn

The odds are.

Seriously I'm a basket-case. There is this new friend in my life called Anxiety. I lived most of my life being aware of her but never having actually made her acquaintance. Now that I know her up close and personal, I can tell you this: she is largely overrated with an immense deficiency in the personality department.

Our more recent get-together was a prolonged lunch where H1N1 was the topic du-jour, and with high hopes of evading her manipulative clutches for a short while, I decided to brave the line-ups and vaccinate my kids and myself. (I'm high-risk btw, being asthmatic.) All this after much debate, research and back-and-forth-hand-wringing changes of mind.

Well vaccinations be darned, Ms. Anxiety has successfully chased away any chance of my former BFF, the shy Miss. Peace-of-mind swinging by for even a coffee, and has inserted herself uninvited into my life yet again.

Since having my vaccine I have been having all sorts of tingling and weirdness. Gasp. It must be the dreaded Guillain-Barre Syndrome right? GBS is an extremely rare (as in one in a million) but possible reaction to vaccinations. I should have bought a lottery ticket instead.

But oh wait... tingling and numbness, even in your face, can also be symptoms of anxiety.

So either I have beat incredible odds and have some rare, incurable, potentially fatal condition... OR... I'm actually teetering on the crazy side of panic and need some deep breathing and psychiatric intervention stat.

Dichotomy

Today being a mom is hard because:

I’m tired. The floor is always dirty, even a millisecond after I just finish cleaning it.  I cannot keep my children out of the fireplace where they like to shovel ashes and soot in to their mouths as fast as possible, and then leave black handprints on every surface. Naps were not even close to long enough. I should really get my dishwasher fixed.  I have to work at my PAID job later.  Tooth number 7 and 8 are starting to surface in Kashton’s mouth.  He screams like a banshee when I leave the room.  He refuses to eat anything unless it is sweet or a carbohydrate.  I’m worried about H1N1 but still don’t want to vaccinate.  I don’t know what to make for supper but should probably leave something here for my husband to eat and feed our children.

Today being a mom is easy because:

The boys weren’t up until 9 this morning. Kashie says “hi hi hi” anytime anyone comes in the room, dogs included.  Even though my bath was interrupted by a waking baby, we finished it together. I dread the ordeal putting my boys to sleep can be, but it usually turns into my favorite part of the day.  I love how Malachi just backs into my lap with a Little Critter book and orders, “read CRITT-ERRR story”.   We had pancakes for breakfast which is a meal I am guaranteed not to have to fight to get everyone to eat.

A totally normal day of highs and lows, bitter and sweet, exhaustion and exhilaration.

Absentee

Between working and birthday parties and strep throat, who has time for children? (And even moreso, blogs!)

Employee of the week.

My children are driving me nutso today. They are clingy and whiny and getting a shower in seems like an impossible task when I cannot leave the room for a minute without wailing and gnashing of teeth. The laundry baskets are ripe and overflowing, the floors are sticky, beds un-made and cupboards bare. All of this because I am tired and the left-upper quadrant of my body is chronically in pain.

If this is a little snapshot of life now, what on earth is going to happen next week when I start back at work after two years? I know it's only part-time, but right now I'm wondering if I was insane when I decided working was a great idea.

All of this because I couldn't give up my free staff account and visa and some measly dental benefits. Why am I so attached to a job I basically hate?

I think I have some issues with letting go.

I was a working mom before, but I'm too old for that and not single enough. I know it will be fine and probably even better than fine. Somehow a little organization and a busy schedule often work their magic in getting the rest of my life sorted out... it's kinda counter-intuitive I know, but that's just the way it works.

My children will be fine too... a little surprised perhaps at the sudden disappearance of their weary mother, but fine nonetheless.

And realizing now that the weekend is going to actually mean something now that I'll be working Saturdays, I'm going to sign off and attempt to make the most of the chaos that is my life.

Happy Weekend!!

The care and feeding of a brand new Mother.

The stork has been busy this year. There are so many new babies this year... a bumper crop I'd say! With all of the new wee ones comes some new moms too. And yes, dads as well, but this post is not specifically about them.

I am writing this post because after countless conversations with many new moms, I think there are some fundamental policies that should be strictly adhered to once that little baby has made the transition from snug uterine home to its mother's arms.

They are as follows:

Phone before showing up at the hospital (if hospital policy even permits you to visit at all). The same goes for visiting at home. The new family may want a nesting-in period by themselves, or may want to show off their precious bundle at every opportunity. Find out.

Dads, have something prepared for your wife and baby ahead of time. Pick out something for the baby all on your own and find a little something to show your wife how proud you are of all her hard work to grow and birth YOUR child. Having a baby is a momentous occasion, and a cause to celebrate. Act like it. Buy flowers, balloons, a special keepsake, decorate the house for the big arrival home, let her know you are as excited as she is about this transition into parenthood.

Don't show up empty-handed. Gifts for baby are lovely, gifts for mom - wonderful too, but really what every new mom wants is something far more simple. FOOD. Bring casseroles, stews, lasagnas, muffins, loaves, whatever yummy item you can think up or pick up. Especially if there are other children to feed. Dad will also appreciate this. Feel free to leave them on the doorstep.

When visiting, respect visiting hours and don't out stay your welcome. A quick visit is appreciated in those early days especially. Don't forget to wash your hands before handling the newborn. Don't expect to be fed and catered to. Find out what you can do to help. Dishes need washing? Laundry to be thrown in? A quick sweep or vacuum? Make yourself useful.

Avoid making any other comment about the appearance or behaviour of the new offspring that might not be well-received. New moms are tired, hormonal and viciously proud of the little life they have just produced. They only want to hear about how beautiful their baby is and not how he reminds you of your balding and overweight second cousin.

When the baby cries and you are holding her, give her back. Or ask if mom would like the baby. Some moms may be fine with you trying to comfort their newborn, but most of them just want the baby back to soothe themselves. There is nothing more upsetting and uncomfortable for a new mother than to see her crying baby in the arms of someone else unless she is tired and overwhelmed, in which case help her out by all means... just request permission first.

Compliment her on the baby's name. You don't have to love it or even like it. She does and that is what matters.

Respect that mom may do things differently than you. She may or may not breastfeed. She may or may not co-sleep. Whatever it is, let her figure it out with her partner and child on her own. If she wants advice, she'll ask for it.

Don't assume its easier for you to drop in and see baby. Maybe mom loathes the idea of guests when her floors are unwashed and laundry is piled high. Perhaps she would like the outing. Find out first what is easier for her and then be accommodating.

Just because you have had 8 children does not make you an expert of anyone else's children other than your own. Ok, after 8 children you probably are quite adept at mothering, but really every new mom wants to feel like she is the expert of her own baby. I'm sure there are lots of things you could do better and more efficiently, but unless she is endangering the health and well-being of little Bobby, bite your tongue unless you are complimenting her on what a good job she is doing.

While you're at it, compliment her on how good she looks. Post-partum weightloss is NEVER a suitable topic of conversation unless you are praising her appearance.

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What other tips do you have for the care and feeding of a new mom? Was there anything well-intentioned family or friends did or said that drove you nuts? Or that you really appreciated? I'd like to hear all your stories from the early days of mothering and things that helped or hindered your progress.

To be a mother

like Hannah.

Can't stop thinking about her lately.

If you asked me how I prioritized my life I would say:

God first
Family second
everything else after that

but I know too often my actions reflect the opposite.

Hannah never let her love for Samuel supersede her love for God. She kept the vows she made even though it meant squashing her natural desires as a mother. In doing so, she became an example to her son of sacrifice and obedience, which is later evident in Samuel's own relationship with God.

I love the thought of her making her son a little coat and bringing it to him every year. Doing what she could as a mother, without taking her son out of his place. It can't have been easy.

It makes me wonder if I make it easy for my children to love God. To know and serve Him, without hindering in any way.

I hope to be a mother like Hannah.

Wisdom for Mothers

The days are long, but the years are short.

Let sleeping children lie

Take away the Parthenon, the Sistine Chapel and the Canadian Rockies. Do away with the great Pyramids of Egypt, the African Savannah and the Mona Lisa. For I would gladly trade every marvel of ancient or modern architecture, celebrated works of art and earthly splendor for the unparalleled wonder and joy that fills a mother's heart at the sight of her children sleeping.

Ok. This might be a bit of a stretch, but seriously is it a bad sign when I would give up ever seeing another scenic sight again for the picturesque view of my children.... ASLEEP? (And preferably at the same time, if that's not asking for too much!)

Malachi and his trusty Doo

Kashton in the Amby Hammock

Ahhh, the life. Things are good when you

can fall asleep in the swing on a nice

spring day!

Cart Brown

After we found out that we were expecting a second boy so soon after the birth of our first son, I spent a lot of time dreaming about what it would be like to have two little guys. 

Brothers.

One of the images that popped up quite frequently in my mind was that of them sitting side by side in a grocery cart as I did my errands. Well about a month ago, Kashton was finally old enough and strong enough to do just that. 

I was not disappointed.  

My little imagined scenario was even cuter than I had anticipated.  Over the last month, the thrill of seeing them sit side by side as we meander up and down the aisles has not worn off. 

Kashton looks thrilled from his perch and likes to sit right up and hang on tight, bouncing away and grinning at everyone. 

Malachi slips right into older-brother mode, patting his little sibling on the head, feeding him treats that he can't eat and holding his hand.

It's all a little too much for me.  I know they are my children and I'm biologically inclined to think they are as delectable of morsels as the contents of the cart, but the sight of these two, together, MY boys, is really a sight to behold.

Kashton gets his first taste of cart.

(so that's what those covers are for!)

(I'm learning)

My Mother taught me

when you don't have anything nice to say not to say anything at all.  

(hence the lack of posting of late)

Memories

Did everyone have a wonderful Mother's Day?  

I spent mine sick with sick little boys, so there is nothing much to say except how fitting it seemed to spend Mother's Day in the throes of motherly duty....

Last year we spent Mother's Day in Hawaii at the Dole Pineapple Plantation and on the North Shore, eating luscious shrimp from  the famed Giovanni's Shrimp truck.  It will be hard to top that for a few years. 

Hope you were all spoiled!

Ladies Man

My little heart-breaker has been a smooching machine lately.

There is something so wonderful about seeing your child act lovingly to others. To know that they are capable of affection and empathy.

But while I think it's terribly cute to see him lean in tenderly to kiss a friend or cousin, what really tugs at my heart-strings is when he stands behind me, wraps his little arms around my neck, leans over and gives me a big smack on the cheek or lips. Totally unprompted, totally unrequested and totally rewarding.

Inspite of all the times I fail as a mother, my little son LOVES me.

Time travel

then

now

Life is going by too fast.   I was warned by many who had trod this path before, that the early years of life with 2 children born so close together would pass by in a blur.  I think these words were meant to comfort, but instead I took them as a warning.  

Today I was reminded of them, and of my resolute determination to 

enjoy. every. minute. 

Kashie is 6 months old today.  That seems impossible, and thinking back to those beginning days, I sadly concede that much of the time between then and now has indeed gone by much too fast.  I have been guilty of wasting precious opportunities to revel in the fleeting stages of babyhood, and of wishing away the present moment in hopes of easier, brighter days ahead.   Exactly what I didn't want to do.  

I stay home with my children, largely because I am extremely jealous and possessive of their childhood.  I want to be the one who gets to soak up every minute of their growing up, instead of hearing about it from a caregiver and missing moments, tender, sweet, exhausting, hilarious, trying, or whatever they may be. 

But just because I am here at home, does not guarantee I am HERE with them, NOW. 

And that would be a tragic shame if I missed IT even whilst being bodily present. 

This is not where I originally meant to go with this post, but perhaps I am a wee bit melancholy that I will never be the mother to a newborn ever again.  All of those amazing and wondrous "firsts" that happen in the first few months will be mine to experience in memory only.  

So we will move forward, like everyone must... facing the future in anticipation of all that lies ahead and remembering the past fondly and somewhat wistfully.  

And as the baby of our family grows oh-so-quickly,  a small part of me will hope that the next six months go a little slower, even if I know they won't. 

Self on loan

A mother's body is not her own. 

In youth she may proudly possess it for a time, without the understanding it is not hers to keep but that she is only the guardian of a gift. 

For from the moment life begins unfurling within her womb, sinew and limb and beating-heart are willingly surrendered.

In her mind, firing neurons create uncharted pathways, devoted solely for the first time to the formation of unselfish thought.

From her eyes, tears, like precious gems mined from the depths of a mother's love, are spilled in joy and sometimes fear.

On her back she carries the weighty burden of responsibility so that her little one may skip care-free through childhood's short days.

Her shoulders while firm enough to bear the storms of childish emotion,  still soften to pillow weary heads and soak up tiny sobs.

At her breasts, new life is suckled and there love is nourished and coaxed, like tender buds, into full bloom.

From the strength of her arms, a fortress is molded, a contoured haven of warm comfort and protection where safety reigns.

Her hands steady at the helm, toil unceasingly, yet are ready to play, caress or correct in love's sweetest labour.

The pillars of her legs provide steady reassurance, an unwavering foundation to cling to or hide behind, and the true symbol of motherhood, a lap to cuddle into.

But perhaps. of every part of a mother's body that is loaned to her child, it is her heart that will never truly belong to her again .  

For there it exists, beating outside of herself, in the living breathing flesh that is her child.

We're all in this together...

Both kids are napping, (which makes me feel like I won the lottery), so I'd better type fast. In other words, please excuse all spelling and grammatical errors.

The other day, I was explaining to a friend a philosophy I have on coping with the trials of motherhood, and really life in general when she announced that said philosophy was something she had in fact learned from me. I was surprised, taken-aback, and I have to confess, a little flattered.

Someone learned something from ME? Who woulda thunk?

It got me to thinking though, that having a network of friends, all experiencing the same thing at the same time is a blessing I often take for granted. I realized that I too have learned so much from the women in my life who are struggling through the daily grind of parenting, just as I am.

Some things I have learned from them are:

*nap when the baby naps. (no really, this will preserve your sanity.)
*perfection is not possible and thank goodness for that.
*if you have a sense of humour people will still want to visit you even if your house is a mess and all you have to feed them from is a can of soup.
*all of us have post-baby insecurities about our bodies, regardless of what we started with.
*you can never read too many books to your kids.
*retail therapy is a bonafide way of chasing away the blues.
*every mom needs a break once in awhile irrelevant of her super-mom status.
*its ok to ask for help.
*even though we have different ideas and ways of parenting, our kids are all very loved.
*no one has a perfect husband or marriage or house or life..... even if you think they do.
*any sacrifice required to stay home with my kids will be worth it in the long run. (So long new shoes, sandy beaches and regular salon appointments).
*a praying mother and a safe example are the best gifts I can give my children.
*a little dirt isn't going to kill anyone.... even if its ingested. (Same goes for dog food and bugs)

I'm sure there's so much more, but the house is still silent, and I might actually get a shower in if I'm lucky, or finally get to drink that coffee I've re-heated 5 times already today.

faces only a mother could love

Before there were two, I wondered how I could possibly love another child.

Malachi was a no-brainer. It had been nine years, since I had been a mother to a newborn, and he was a boy. Both the difference in age and gender from my firstborn assured me I'd adore him as much as I do my eldest. As expected, once he came I fell promptly in love. Head over heels. A smitten kitten. Totally enamoured was I with my new son in all his glorious babyness.

And at the height of my rapture, just over 4 months into this courtship, a little thunderbolt (known as the BFP in some circles I frequent) sent me tumbling from cloud nine back down to earth where I was dished a big face-full of reality.

I was pregnant.

Unexpectedly to say the least. Furthermore, I knew (and I mean KNEW) down deep in the bottom of whatever part of a mother's body manufactures intuition, that I would have another boy. I knew this before I was even pregnant with Malachi, that children, once they came, would be of the male persuasion, and that there would be 2 in succession. Perhaps it was just that the thought of any girl having to follow up her sister's goody-two-shoes-perfect-princess act was unthinkable. Whatever it was... I knew we were having another boy. And sure enough the ultrasound confirmed what was truth in my own mind. Thyra and Malachi were going to have a baby brother. We were going to be parents to another son.

That's when the fear started to creep in. And the guilt.

I had a girl. The Daughter. The very best kind of daughter who still amazes me every day with her awesomeness.

I had a boy. First Son. A wonderful, snuggly baby boy who truly filled me up with unspeakable joy.

What the heck could this surprise addition do for us that hadn't been crossed off the list already by his older siblings?

I wondered how I would love him. How my heart could possibly stretch anymore to accomodate another little soul. I worried about how growing up playing second fiddle to his barely older brother would affect him in his adulthood. I envisioned hours of therapy and tell-all books (Second son: A Chronicle of Emotional Neglect) which would prove necessary for his wounded psyche to heal.

Everytime I realized at the end of a busy day, in which First Son occupied every waking moment, that I hadn't even thought about my gestating infant I was wracked with guilt.

The endless hours poring over fetal development timelines, and pregnancy books, counting down until obstetrical visits and researching designer baby gear were a thing of the past. The methodical counting of First Son's days in utero (of the "I-am -23-weeks-4-days-11 hours- pregnant sort) were totally abandoned this go-round. I fell terribly behind on scheduled lab appointments, forgot to count fetal movements, and went to bed most days (once the telltale nausea eased it's death grip in the 2nd trimester), forgetting I was even the grower of new life.

Eeep. What kind of mother could I possibly be to Second Son if I was this negligent already?

All of this guilt and fear for nothing.

Second Son finally made his way into the world and drove away every worry and doubt I'd had. I was in love again. And it was just as blissful this time as it had ever been.

But then I discovered the biggest fallacy of parenthood.

YOU DON'T LOVE THEM THE SAME.

Sure maybe if your heart can be portioned up like pie the pieces work out equally. A third for you, a third for you, and a third for you. Perhaps what I'm trying to say though is that the pieces come served on different plates. Maybe one piece is warmed up, and one comes a la mode or with a dollop of whipped cream.

Are ya following me here?

I would not trade any of my children for the other. My heart belongs to them all equally, but I do not love them in the same way.... because they are not the same children. They have different personalities and different insecurities and different talents and different struggles. They are cute and strange and wearisome in their own bizarre and wondrous ways.

And what I have discovered is that a mother's love is like breastmilk. It miraculously changes to suit the specific needs of your child at that moment in time. The love I am serving up to First Son as he somehow manages to turn dinnertime into yet another comedic variety-hour, is not the same love I am serving up to Second Son as he giggles shyly at me nuzzling his neck. The parts of myself that I recognize in one of my children is totally absent, for better or for worse, in the other. I relate to them differently, I appreciate them in different ways, and I love them with every fibre of my being.

But I don't love them the same. And I am totally ok with that.

She's back!

I have a little obsession.

Her name is NieNie aka Stephanie Nielson. I met her in October, accidentally. Bored one night, with a newborn at my breast, I followed a link from a link from a link, and ended up in the loveliest of places. A kaleidoscope of motherhood, marriage, family and inspired living. Its brilliant colours and patterns made real by the clear voice of a kindred soul.

I stayed up late into the night, and spent the better part of the next day soaking up every ounce of the NieNie Dialogues. I learned that weeks earlier, Stephanie and her beloved Mr. Nielson had been in a terrible plane crash, and were recovering from their injuries and burns in an Arizona hospital. Devastating enough to think of any stranger in this type of experience, but as I read through every archived post, I began to fully understand what Stephanie meant to her readers, and brought to everyone who knew and loved her.

I knew then, that to lose her voice, in all its warmth, passion, femininity, and yes, sometimes even humorously flawed human-ness, would be a real tragedy.

In my desperation to absorb all things Nie, I began to read the blog of her sister, CJane, who along with 3 of the Nielson's 4 children, inherited the responsibility of Nie's blog, and keeping her quickly growing fan base up to date on her and Mr. Nielson's recovery.

As the months progressed, and the Nielson's healed, CJane won me over in her own right. What is it about these sisters that has me hooked?

They are mothers, like me.

Wives, like me.

They center their lives around their faith, like me

Women, like me.

Passionate about their children, their homes, their marriages, their shoes (oh, what lovely shoes!), like me.

But somehow they are not like me at all. They are who I'd like to be. Resplendent in their womanhood, somehow they transcend the mundanities of life. They share a unique talent for celebrating all the little shiny moments that are too often dulled by dirty floors, drowned out by crying babies, and lost under heaps of laundry.

In doing so, they have inspired me to look for little gems throughout my day. Little nuggets of vibrancy in my oh-so-normal existence.

And today, I am celebrating, because Nie is back!

For all the Mamas

This post is for all the mamas who have known the deep dark sorrow of losing a child.

This is for the moms who have had their dreams dashed or postponed by early miscarriages, and faced the exhausting reality of having to try again and have had to come to terms with the very real loss of a baby they have only imagined.

This is for the mamas whose babies have come before they were ready for whatever reason, and for the mamas who endured childbirth only to have fleeting moments to hold their precious babes, before they were gone.

This is for the mommies who have inexhaustibly loved and cared for sick children, and then had to let them go... long before they ever dreamed they would.

This is for all the mothers who have had children young or old taken suddenly, by tragedy or accident or unfortunate mishap and have been left with a gaping hole.

I have held my kids closer in the face of your grief. I have been made so aware of how lucky I am to have escaped the immense sorrow each one of you have met. I am heartbroken for you. I have thought of and prayed for each of you. I have shed tears imagining your pain.

Specifically this is for Jaana, Michelle, Meagan, Lori, Renita, Margaret and Jen, but it is also for every mother that has grieved a child. In secret or openly. Recently or in the distant past. You are cared for.