Manic Little Man Feet

I don't know what it is like living with someone who is bipolar, but I imagine it is not too unlike living with a two-year-old. Thankfully, we caught him in his manic state for your entertainment. I have a dancing drummer in the making. Wahoo!

 

 

Happy birthday to my Little Man, my Baby Buddy, Mr. Noah!

Stuck

There are some dear friends of ours who are going through a hard time in their lives and marriage. They are both wonderful, amazing people, and this seems to have come out of left field (although we are very outside the situation). It is a solemn reminder that no marriage is invincible. As Justin and I prayed for them, for reconciliation, and for God to make the wrongs right, we were reminded to pray for one another and our small family too. This was our dinner prayer, and as it ended and Justin headed for the tuna (alas, yes, I am serving tuna for dinner. We will all turn into cats... and then I'll be allergic to myself.), I warned him, "You're stuck with me, though, okay? I'm not going anywhere."

The Husband laughed, gave me a hug, and told me, "I was just about to say, 'Poor girl, you're stuck with me.'" We are stuck with one another. Which I am pretty okay with.

We are facing a hard ten months ahead. Due to the greed and selfishness of a select few and a host of political issues that I don't fully understand, Justin's school is closing. The doors shut at the close of business May 31st, 2015. My husband has a year and a half of classes that he still needs to take, so the faculty very graciously came up with a plan to squeeze it all in before then. It will be a hideous ten months. The volume of material to read/learn, the time in class, and the completion of clinical hours means he will be a ghost around our home, and for added fun, not able to work. We will be living on my income. We have already decided to cancel all gifts for each other, we are getting rid of every little extra, and we are trying to find ways to work more now.

As we head into this time I am beyond thankful to be stuck with such an amazing man. For him, because we see the Light at the end of the tunnel, I can do this. With God's power we will outlast. I am so excited to see the other side as we prepare for ministry and service on the mission field. I am excited to see the man my husband becomes, how my children grow, how I change. When it all ends, I am excited to sleep in sometimes, and have ESPN so we can watch Ute games and baseball!

It's not just the end I am looking forward to, however. That is the hope. But I know the next ten months are life too. In the next year there will be laughter I wouldn't trade for the world, and tears that break me down. There will be family, and friends, and work, and play. There will be Christmas with a Charlie Brown tree and two beautiful shining faces, glowing in its twinkling light. When we first decided this was the road we would take, I had in mind to squeeze my eyes shut, plunge on, and hope it all came out all right in the end. However, I realize there is too much to see in ten months. I will not spend the next year blind. I will spend it stuck. And happily, happily so.

Grace and Giggles

It's hard being almost two.

I cannot count the number of times I have told Noah this in the midst of a crisis over the last few weeks. His head is at counter height, his feet walk without his brain guiding, baby sister borrows without asking, and sometimes we have squash for dinner. It's a rough life. And he's sure we know about it.

At a family gathering a few weeks ago after an altercation involving a glass door and a dog bell, my sweet little boy hauled off and slapped me across the face. In shock, I grabbed his hand and motioned to my husband that it was time to go... NOW. It was time to go somewhere with fewer witnesses. And no death penalty for murder one.

When we got home, settled every one down and got the kids in bed, I went back to my Dobson literature. I'm not saying his words are inspired; I do not believe he speaks gospel... but he is pretty close. Concerning the terrible two's he said, "I am a firm believer in the judicious use of grace (and humor) in parent-child relationships. In a world in which children are often pushed to grow up too fast, too soon, their spirits can dry out like prunes beneath the constant gaze of critical eyes. It is refreshing to see parents temper their inclination for harshness with a measure of "unmerited favor." There is always room for more loving forgiveness within our homes. Likewise, there's nothing that rejuvenates the parched, delicate spirits of children faster than when a lighthearted spirit pervades the home and regular laughter fills its halls." (Dr. James Dobson, Family Talk, Solid Answers.)

I knew this. I honestly think we know much more than we would admit. Often, forgetfulness, business, and failure to really think about the problems presented to us makes us believe we do not know. So whether forgetful or unthinking, I managed to forget that it is kind of hard being two. The world gets very big very fast. Time suddenly exists, and it refuses to wait or hurry. There are wonders and disasters, learning to fear and learning to love. There are icky foods that mommy says are good, dreaded baths, and early bedtimes. As I teach my Little Man kindness, maybe he could use a little demonstration. Mommy, can you be kind, understanding, firm but loving, gentle and cautious, and loads and loads of fun?

It is an impossible task, this raising a little man and lady. Knowing when to discipline is not easy (and yes, I do think, in the future, hitting requires discipline... maybe not death, but discipline). Knowing when to show mercy, when to offer grace, and when to laugh and laugh is not simple. It has been easier though with these thoughts in my head. My children are a wonder, and they are learning day by day how to be more wonderful. More than concerned for the terrible two’s I am excited to see what this Little Man becomes when he is not so little anymore.

Summer pics

Last post was a lot of jabbering, so this post will be more pictury, just to shake things up. Justin is playing in a softball tournament with his work. Here are his loyal fans paying so much attention (yes, that's his game going on behind us).

I cannot tell you how difficult it is to take a group selfie, when one member of the groups has arms too short to hold the camera far enough away to squeeze all our selfies in, one member is grouching because he is not allowed to lick the camera, and one keeps counting blades of grass with her big toe. It's like trying to take a selfie in a mental institution.

And before we move on, I feel I should apologize for Little Man's 'Luke Skywalkert/Aunt Beru' haircut. I am aware it's not his best look. He still wears it better than Mark Hamill though.

This is Baby Girl, and Big Little Man at Lagoon... speaking of not our best look ever..

My kids have a polar magnetization to water. They are part water monkey... (is that a real thing?)

August Showers Bring Great Glowers

It all depends on your perspective.

After a flight to New Zealand, whereon I ceased to exist for the span of one day (and why does that always happen on Saturday?), got pelted by a Thor-grade thunder storm, took a 2:00am detour to Fiji, and finally landed in Auckland exhausted, starving, and brimming with excitement for the adventures ahead, all I really wanted out of life was a shower. ... and maybe a kiwi. ... the fruit, not the other kind. ... I mean seriously, who would land after such a traumatic plane ride and want to snuggle up to ... a rare, flightless, soda straw beaked bird? ... and not the other, other kind either.

(It just now occurs to me that you have to understand New Zealand slang to think that joke was at all funny. Sorry.)

After our brief NewZea orientation (wherein the kiwi joke was explained to us [if you're really curious I can attach a power point presentation outlining the nuance of meanings, which infuses humor into all previous phraseology]), we went to the Marae. If you've never experienced a Maori greeting and welcome onto the Marae, it is beautiful, moving, haunting, and warm, a curious juxtaposition of forgotten worlds and those to come (except with sloppier sneakers, because I swear, it NEVER stops raining in New Zealand). My need for a shower was lost in feelings of awe and honor, family and community, fear and food. However, once we had been through the welcome ceremony, a huge meal, singing and dancing together, and a philosophical lesson from the story-teller, my shower craving had returned. A short-circuit in my brain was processing all information in a binary of 'shower' / 'bed.' (For example, when asked my name it would come out: -shower-shower-bed-shower-bed-bed-bed-shower.)

So for the first time in three days (well, four according to the calendar, but that pesky oblivion doesn't count), shampoo and razor in hand I stepped into a shower. Allow me to set the scene: Outdoors, top half of a wooden crate set over a drain, dingy tile walls, 'that's a curtain?!' shower curtain, COLD water - adjust - COLDER water. And Jethro. Jethro is the wee froggy who lives under the wooden crate. And Roland. Roland is an enormous unfolding spider who lives on the shower wall... with about 50 of his buddies. I was having a Cirith Ungol, Forbidden Forest shower.

In all honesty, I found it most entertaining. It was an adventure. Abi's love adventure! Of course there were spiders in the freezing shower, that's how adventures work. How else would you know you were on an adventure if there weren't creepies in the dirty hole where you are supposed to get clean? Adventures require frogs in the shower. They serve the same function as parakeets in the coal mines. If the frog passes out, it's time to go. With all the balance of a ninja, you angle your back out of the freezing spray, and your leg crooked in front of you so you can manage to shave slice your legs with the utterly chilly razor. It was fun!

Flash forward to last night. Finally, I gave up on getting my sweet baby to go to sleep. After a very hard week, I peeled off my clothes, swept back the 'that's what a curtain is supposed to look like' shower curtain, and stared into the eyes of a very broken faucet. So here's a sentence I hope none of you ever have to write: my dog ate my shower. He jumped in and either smacked or bit the water gusher part and broke off the little bits that make it shoot from the top. (That is my advanced plumbing vocabulary coming into play. Sorry, if I left any of you behind with my elevated, PVC diction.)

Justin was doing homework. I think at this point, that should be a given. Despondently, I gathered my shampoo and razor (and a few other necessities), wrapped a towel around me and trudged downstairs to use the other shower. Allow me to set the scene: Indoors, clean white, 'you can't see me' door, COLD water - adjust - COLDER water - adjust oppositely - warm water, and only a few unsightly insect corpses. All in all, from a neutral perspective, better.

But it wasn't better. It was all worsely all over. It was one of the more wrathful showers I can recall in my brief history. I seethed at the small space, cursed that I had to use all my ballet training to shave my legs, and grumped at the innocent deadlings swirling down the drain. When it was all over I swung the door open. BAD IDEA. BRRRR COLD! I snatched my towel from the floor. Oh, did I mention the shower kind of leaks? How silly of me to leave that glorious detail out! So my towel was wet and probably about 32.5 degrees Fahrenheit. And so without a stitch of clothing on, hair dripping wet, and eyes blazing red I stormed away, leaving the offending shower to sulk in its steaminess.

It's all about context. I will endure most anything in the name of adventure. I will endure it with the joy encouraged in New Testament letters. Sans adventure, there is very little I will tolerate.

Frozen

The latest lapse in blogging is brought to you by the stomach flu, unemployment, and the numbers 9-1-1. I don't feel like expanding on any of those topics. Rather, let's just move on, you and I. (At this point I don't particularly expect any 'you's' to be left.)

And despite the title of this blog, there will be no snow queens or talking snowmen roving about in it. Hence, if you were reading in hopes of Disney magic, alas, there will be none. Only Noah magic.

Noah is a ham. A real ham. Cover him in pineapple, and you could serve him for the holidays. Let's not, but you could. He has locomotives of energy, trucks of charisma, and toasters of crazy ('cause how else would you measure crazy?). Typically, to wind down before bed, he runs full speed from one couch to the other throwing himself head first into the cushions, before charging back to his point of origin and repeating the process. (And I will sadly include that he doesn't always land on the couch. Sometimes his beautiful block is hurtled headlong into carpet and/or load-bearing wall.) When we are driving in the car, he chats our ears off about this, that, and what the monkey says - oo, oo, oo, ee, ee, ee. When, in the throes of frustration, he cannot remove the lid from his beloved bubble wand, he screams, a hearty, masculine, baby shriek that shakes the rafters. Then he grins and eats the bubbles. He is a ham.

Until people arrive. It is no wonder that with Justin for a father and me for a mother, the poor lad is terminally shy. He never had a chance. When approached by someone he doesn't know or doesn't spend a lot of time around, my Little Man freezes solid. He will not move a muscle. It is honestly somewhat concerning. He'll stay there for a long, long time. Frozen. I don't know how his little muscles do it. He can be stuck with his arm straight out, and I am sure all the blood will have drained out of it pooling in his little sneakers, and still the lad will not budge. He is going to kick trash at freeze tag and red light/green light when he goes to school.

His next action will either be to move only his eyeballs, peering up through long lashes and a shaggy mane to see if his foe is gone or seems less scary on second glance, or to melt into a puddle of silent tears. It is a toss up as to which action will occur, and sometimes one follows the other. That's super funsies.

He would make an excellent figurehead. The Good Ship Noah, sailing the seven seas, led into gale and adventure by a curiously lifelike figurehead of the most adorable, frozen little scalawag every seen.