A Giant Piece of Humble Pie

I've said before that February is my transition month. And it's proven year after year- so much so that if you look in the proverbial dictionary of my life at the word February, it has a one word definition: change. This year, I'm expecting the same. I'm preparing myself for the worst and hoping (fingers, toes and arms crossed) for the best. Sometimes change is refreshing- its arranging the furniture, getting a new job, changing your hair color, moving into a new house, getting married. But, in my experience of many a February, the type of change that happens in this frigid month is not the refreshing type. The February Change that I've experienced is usually sad, sometimes frustrating, often leaving me feeling shaken up and lost. This year, I'm determined. This February will be different. There will be plenty of change; but it will be the good kind of change. It will be the kind of change that beckons slower days, being more appreciative of what I have, more time for myself, more time for Kade. Change that involves more church, less stress, eating better, taking care of myself.

I found myself getting the February jitters last week. I was becoming increasingly frustrated with how things are right now. I needed a change. I felt like I was ready for a change but God wasn't giving it to me. Let's stop right there for a minute and recognize how absolutely ridiculous that statement is. Like God is supposed to give us exactly what we want, exactly what we're ready for, when we think we're ready for it. Ladies and gentlemen of the blog world, that is not how it works. Let me rain on your parade for a moment with this reminder: IT'S NOT ABOUT US. I prayed, hard. Why aren't You giving me what I want? I'm ready to move on. Let me move on. OH boy was I humbled. God answered, wait. Be still and know that I am God. Ouch. I sat, completely and utterly shocked. I pulled myself up and began wiping the Humble Pie from my face.

There is nothing great and new and exciting on the horizon for me as per right now. My mission right now is this: stay still, stay focused, love your baby, be healthy, be whole, be well. And that is the grand, master plan. After all, it did come from The Master Himself.

 Kade is an artist. Paint, play dough, chalk.. it keeps him going for hours.

***

Lately, certain surroundings leave me raw around the edges. Bridal showers, baby showers, Mission farewells. They seem a giant reminder of where I am right now and the fact that I am staying here. I am so elated for my friends and family. My heart fills to the brim with joy and excitement for them and everything that is splaying out before them.  And at the same time, there is a dull ache. A little, uninvited pang of this could be you but it isn't. Yes, that hurts. But I'm shoving past it.

Kade is overwhelming me. I'm in disbelief at how quickly he's learning and growing. He's finally doing all the "catching up" the doctors promised he would. Like lightening speed he's picking up new words and behaviors. And last week I had to buy him new pants for the first time in six months. He actually outgrew them, an odd concept for me to grasp considering it's a rare occurrence in Kade's life. This makes me happy. This makes me squirm with pride. He is smart. He is wonderful. He is mine.

Little niece. 

I swear I'll get better at this. 

Falling Back

This big white box glares at me, discontented. Did you forget about me? No, of course not.

The thing with writing is that it requires heart and inspiration to be real. Writing is a profession for introverts who want to tell you a story without giving you eye-contact. Writing, for me, requires cup after cup of coffee, banging of a backspace key and little distraction. It's a challenge- one that leaves me with crossed legs, tingling on a wooden chair and a migraine. Wise words: if you're staring at a blank piece of paper (or a glaring white box) and nothing comes to you, get up and do something else. If I forced the words out, they wouldn't be sincere. They would be just that; forced. I knew the noise would return soon enough- I just had to sit back and suffer through the silence for a short time. Sometimes, you have to shove the things you love into the backseat. Sometimes a writer becomes exhausted and frustrated- my words are manipulated. You aren't understanding a word of it.  Unforunately, a writer sometimes throws in the towel. She throws her hands in the air with an exasperated I Freaking Give Up No One Listens Anyway. Recently, a beloved friend of mine turned to me during one of my adult sized temper tantrums and said, simply, "Get over it." And it struck me. He's absolutely right. It's time to get over it. To pull myself onto this yellow wooden chair, shake the tingles from my stiff legs and continue banging keys, cracked knuckles stinging at each backspace tap. tap. tap.
***
And now, there is the mighty task of catching up. Of trying to relay information from the past several months of our lives into your brains- to set the scene for our current position- to pick up where we left off, if you will. I'm not sure where to begin such a tremendous task so I will give you a short overview-

Kade and I spent our summer at the Daycare. Ten hours a day I pull hair into pig tails, do piourettes in the gym, build lego castles and practice sign language. I sometimes catch myself signing to grown adults and have said, "I have to go potty" to my boyfriend. My hands are stained with "washable" paint and there is paste in my hair on a daily basis. Glitter sticks, relentless, to my scalp. Kade has adjusted well to the Daycare life- he finally takes regular naps there and when he see's me through the window he grins and waves his little fingers. Hi my mama.

 

At home, we're getting settled. A new place with little of my personality leaves me longing for my old, original place. Fall beckoned me to decorate, hang leaves in the windows, eat tomato soup out of carved pumpkins- I needed tradition, a halloween CD and a candle that smelled like home sweet home. We've been here since September but it doesn't quite feel like home. This causes Mama to feel a bit lost. I'm a homebody with a certain longing for comfort that I can't seem to obtain in our current apartment. I'll be working on that.

The past few months have been full of growth- literally. Kade is actually getting taller and judging by the immense amount of food he's been eating, another growth spurt is underway. But with this literal growth, a spiritual and sentimental growth is occuring as well. Gaining more respect for myself as a mother, being more intuitive to my needs as well as those of my family. I'm realizing even more so the importance of patience, kindness, faith, respect. Blessings are falling hard on my head, leaving metaphorical goose eggs the size of Texas. I've been sitting on the sidelines, keeping to myself, focusing on my tiny family unit and watching as things unravel around me. I'm realizing the mistakes that others make and how the mistakes I've allowed other to influence me to make. I'm watching intently as those who I always thought so wonderful and brave show their lesser side... It's uncomfortable but an important lesson. Things and people are not always what they seem. I'm becoming a stronger person- 'clothed in strength and dignity' (proverbs 30) and am raising the bar on how I allow people to treat me. It's important.

Christmas was warm and wonderful but sad also. I bid farewell to Kyden (My missionary, a long story that would require another blog post entirely) and tucked myself into the enveloped creases of my family traditions and eggnog cocktails, forcing myself to be happy its Christmas for Petes sake pull it together. There was a baby who tore paper from Thomas Tank Engines, there were family parties with good food and lots of laughs and glass after glass of wine. There was reflection, there was a pang of sadness for the absence of our grandpa, there was celebration- for we still have each other.  And following, a new year, off to a rocky start of illness and hospital visits.

There are hard things now. Kade is currently hospitalized with RSV, asthma, possible phenomena. What's more is that I'm not overly stressed about it. I've fallen into a hospital routine- I know the medical jargon, can rattle off terms, His CBC? His white cells need to be over 1,000 and his BMP?  Will you start a drip for that potassium? His iron is low.  This is life with a heart baby and it's exhausting and it's meant for strong mamas only. Sometimes, you get tired of being strong. But your baby needs you to be, so you truck on.

Thankfully, I am blessed with family. I am blessed with a small circle of supportive friends who offer help, each unique to them. My pastor is here to visit and offer prayer, Aaron will bring me food, walk around the hospital with me when I'm feeling cooped up, Tracy is offering a legit latte and my mama is the queen of snacks and shower breaks. This is where I find my sanity- remembering that I am loved, that a group of genuine people encircle me.

The blog is back- it's a rocky start but it's here. Cheers to that. And this blog is important, this blog is my outlet.. how could I forget that? Through all the frustration, the "writers block," the excuses, I have to swallow my pride and admit that I'm a writer. That's what I am.

Now if you'll excuse me,
a cuddly and very sick little toddler awaits my Super Mom snuggling powers.

Fingerprints

There are certain people in life who embed themselves in your memory.. they nestle into the crooks of your thoughts and make sound homes in the deep chambers of your heart. Maybe you haven't seen them in years, but there they are: quiet in the back of your mind. You wonder how they are, what they've had to go through without you, if they're happy, if you'll ever see them again. And you realize that they'll always be there, etched into your memory, your past. There are certain people who, it seems, are a part of your chemistry.. hidden there, in the curve of your fingerprints. They're a part of you; a part of who you are and the decisions you made and the feelings you once felt.

There are people in my life who I'm so overwhelmingly comfortable with. We pick up where we left off, have intense conversations about nothing at all, drink nauseating amounts of coffee, put together the pieces of each of our memories like a puzzle. I wear sweat pants and talk about food and admit that I'm lucky to have them, because there were times when I didn't deserve them. And all these words.. they melt from my mouth, sloppy and hot. They're not eloquent. It's incredible, after you've kept your thoughts inside for so long, harbored them in the furthest corner.. once they come out, they're not what you expected them to be. They're not at all soothing, reassuring or even intellectual. You come off as nonchalant, sometimes even bitter. They're so rusty, so meaningless and ugly.. You can only hope that they understand your sincerity. Hopefully they understand that you missed them, that they're an irreplaceable part of your personality, a memory that flutters softly against your skull on a cool summer morning.

Kade will have these people- people who make a huge impact on his life and then are gone in an instant. People who betray him, who break his heart, people who take him for granted and of course, people who cherish him and admire him. When this thought first struck me, that he would inevitably be hurt by others, it made my stomach flip flop. How could I prepare him for the heartache? I want him to have life long friends.. friends he grows up with, goes to summer camp with, graduates high school with, goes off to college with. I've always craved that connection with my peers- a tight string that thread us together as one unit, a reassurance that we had each others backs. Kade may not get this- like me he may move often, be quarky, go through many awkward phases. But one thing, I realized, will always be a constant in his life: Me. I will always be his mother, his confident, his best friend. The friend he grows up with, who see's him off to summer camp, who sits in the front row at graduation waving and blowing kisses, who squeezes tightly before seeing him off to college. I can't protect him from life- hardships are sure to come his way. But I can hold his hand through them, be the ever present rock that keeps him steady.  I can be that person, bending with the graceful curve of his fingertips, but he won't ever have to miss me.

 

 

Happiness and Discouragement

Life is fleeting. Lately, the most blessed, heavenly moments of mine have been so unexpected, I've had metaphorical goose eggs on my head, throbbing where the happiness hit me. I'm afraid to admit that I've been caught up in the mundane duties of being a human being. Every night around five o'clock, you can find me in the cozy, unairconditioned quarters of my 1993 Toyota. In the 90 degree weather, I sit in a traffic jam and fan myself with whatever may be in my passenger seat at the time: a twix wrapper, junk mail, a size 4 diaper. And I find myself thinking, there has got to be another route. Today, an especially congested one on the I-15 route, I got to thinking about my life. All the things I need to be taught, need to teach, to pour out or be poured into, and I began to stress. I began to think, there has got to be another route.There are forks in roads, traffic lights, traffic jams, all funneling us into a certain place. Be it happiness, boredom, depression. Whatever the case, like a traffic jam, we feel like we have no control over the situation. Our precious lives being the situation that grows more complicated each fleeting moment. (There's that word again). But the thing is, we do have control. Taking control of our minds, our emotions, essentially our souls, is the foundation to pure bliss. So, when the next exit approached, I changed lanes and veered off the freeway. I found myself roaming through neighborhoods, approaching a stop sign or dead end and turning right or left, whichever I thought would get me home. Nothing looked familiar, no landmarks beckoned me their way, just rambler after rambler, green grass, yellow grass, crooked mailboxes. I started doubting- You should have stayed on the path you KNEW! And then- there it was. A tree, rather, half a tree that was so vividly familiar to me. The top had been cut down to avoid power lines, the reaching branches strong, new leaves sprouting from the sawed  limbs. I turned left, and there was a house, also so vividly familiar. When I was in the fifth grade, my best friend lived right here. Right in this front yard, with the red mailbox and the strawberries growing rapidly against the steps, I learned how to jump rope. I pulled over, mesmerized. I thought about how good God was, always guiding me. I kicked myself for being doubtful- of course I'd make it home. I've lived in Utah my entire life, something would become familiar.
The point I'm trying to get across here is that life becomes alarmingly unfamiliar; we become frightened and we doubt. Especially when we decide we're sick and darn tired of the way things are going and choose something new, something foreign. But always, a familiarity will form, and blossom amongst the thicket.
These moments in life, these fleeting moments, are my oxygen.

 

 

***

Discouragement is my middle name these last weeks.. I work hard, come home exhausted, and small comments set me off. I'm like a ticking bomb, agitated, sensitive, emotional. Kade brings me back to my center, of course, but when even my keen sense to his wants and needs is judged, I become a big fat wreck. I'm trying, hard. I really am. But those fleeting moments of happiness are just that: fleeting. Being Kades mom is the one thing I'm confident about; knowing the ins and outs of his intricate personality. A jab at that confidence and I'm left feeling empty- what else do I have but motherhood? Sometimes I wish there were instructions: How not to piss your family off or make them feel burdened by your decision to be a young mother. But there isn't. So instead, we pray. Pray that they'll be understanding, a little more patient. Pray that the mistakes I'm making aren't huge, life impacting ones. Pray that relationships won't be strained by the lessons (whatever they are) that I apparently still have to learn. But that's just it: I'm still learning. One step at a time, baby.

Sit back and relax

It's been a long time away from this place- a place of release and understanding. I suppose the stresses of every day life, numbing routine, distract me from sitting down and letting it all out. The thoughts that have piled up in my head over the last few weeks sit patiently awaiting my not-so-graceful plop into this wooden yellow chair. Cracked hands bang out the words that have been eagerly anticipating release from the mixed-up depths of my head. But, here I am: sore to the dickens from a late night of dancing, pushing my over-grown bangs out of my eyeballs and wondering to myself whether there's any Easter candy left... It's better late than never, this whole writing thing. The thing is, I just haven't freaking felt like it. When I get off work, I pick Kade up, fix up a quick and easy dinner and hit the pillow literally moments after laying Kade down for bed. This weekend was Mommy time. There's a time for work, there's a time for Kade and there's a time (though not as often) for Mom. My time was spent on a dance floor, clearly evident by the way I'm arched over the keyboard. My body just doesn't work the way it used to, you know, pre-baby.

I could write an entire post on how I fell in love with a pair of bright red-orange overalls today. While Kade napped with Nana, I ventured to our local hand-me-down store and roamed the aisles for some new summer digs for my baby. Because he's such a petite little thing, it can be frustrating finding something that fits his length and width. He was blessed (and cursed) with his fathers long torso and short legs. Here I sat, on the floor of the Kid-to-Kid, defeated. But then; It was one of those moments when you come to the conclusion that an angel was watching out for you. The Osh Kosh Angel put them in my arms and from them, a chorus sang, take me home, love me, button me upon your baby. No, but seriously, I think bright red-orange overalls should be a staple in every childs wardrobe. Kade's personality seems to blossom in them. Maybe I'm partial to Osh Kosh, Because by  gosh, I practically lived in them as a child as well.

 

***

Mothering is a crash course in self-discovery. You have to find new ways to be you. Moms, in their motherly instinct, are artists. Combining ideas and resources in personalized, creative ways. But we are also scientists, testing a hypothesis we think will work for us as mothers. We tweak it again and again until the creative and scientific processes merge into something that works for us and our kids- a way to other that is uniquely our own.

 

When God thought of Mother, he must have laughed satisfaction and framed it quickly- so rich, so deep, so divine, so full of soul, power, and beauty was the conception. 
- Henry Ward Beecher

There are two things I've had to remind myself constantly as a mother. The first, that I am wonderfully made. When God knitted me together in my mother's womb, he knew that I would one day also be a mother. Yes, I would mother: at a particular time, in a particular situation, and, most importantly, with a particular child. When he promises that he will take care of everything I need, he isn't excluding what I need to mother my child well. God's generosity is endless; he's given me all I need to be a great mom to Kade. The second, simply, is that I was made specifically to match Kade's needs.

 

As a young mom, I can be conscientious about knowing and following the rules. Never drive with an infant in the front seat, never give in to tantrums, never let toddler sleep in parental bed, never allow children to watch cartoons.. The rules have ruled the way I mother. How well I follow them and how well Kade responds to me following them, leaves me trying to determine how successful I am as a mother. Don't get me wrong, rules are important. But there are two problems with this approach: 1, the list keeps growing and changing. One day I'm a good mom, the next I'm a bad mom. 2, Kade isn't always going to respond to the rules the way he's "supposed to." He's his own unique little soul, not a cookie cut out.

Ladies and gents, I have discovered a better approach. Instead of focusing on rules, I'm going to focus on the end result, a pretty picture of what I want Kade to be like when he turns into a big people. I want to influence his heart, soul, body, and mind. In my mind, I'm developing this big picture filled with the things I deem most important; things like faith, family, fun, respect, security, integrity, learning and independence. Back to moms being artists: I am a sketcher, a mother focused on filling that big picture with the intentional daily actions, activities, and attitudes that will result in a masterpiece.


And so, here we are. I'm frazzled and sore. But in the next room, my freshly bathed baby is snuggled with his lovey, fast asleep. I just threw those overalls in the wash because by george, I want him to wear them as much as he can, always on hand. Tomorrow, we'll wake up in the wee hours so I can go to work, a sad departure, but I'll be singing "see you soon, baby" the whole way to the sitter. And when I pick him up in the evening, I'll take him in my arms, spin around and giggle as he kisses my cheeks, My mama! We'll go on a walk before bed, because it's been a few days and we're both itching for the soothing movement of Mommy Baby walk time. The way I see it, each little moment is a pocketful of opportunity to teach him how to be a strong, loving person. I'm holding on to each moment for dear life.

***
As weekends go, this one was busy: filled with family, the perfecting of The Newspaper Hat, fat boy after fat boy and beautiful weather. Time for Kade, time for friends, time for relaxing and for working hard. As usual, it's all about balance, baby.

 

And now? Back to the real world: 

Healthy Heart Celebration

Tomorrow, April 12, marks one year since Kade received open heart surgery. It's incredibly humbling to think about- where would we be now if things hadn't worked out the way that they did? I can't bear the thought that things might have turned down a tragic road but have to remind myself always of the truth. We could have lost him. But the fantastic reality of this sad beginning is the incredibly happy new beginning. Tomorrow, we celebrate one year with a healthy heart. One year of progress, growth, strength. Last year, I found it hard to show any emotion toward the situation. I didn't shed a tear until they actually took him back to the operating room and that wasn't because of the surgery, but because he was so frightened and confused. I was holding my ground, showing a tough but nurturing exterior so that those around me, Kade especially, would feel confident in the procedure. The truth is, I was a nervous wreck, mulling over different outcomes in my head, wringing the statistics in my hands until they were raw. So today, a year later, it seems all the emotions I had bottled were released- like the cork of a wine bottle on a cruise ship. Meaning, there are tears, but they are such happy, warm, celebratory tears. They are tears of gratefulness,  tears of humility. There is a sadness there, but only a dull pang, over cast dramatically by the relief and encouragement I feel. Through Kade, I think all of us learned a little bit about courage. I expected him to be brave; he's a brave little soul. But I didn't expect him to be quite as brave as he was and continues to be. He's a little flame of hope, a blinding light of courage.

***

Of course, Easter happened since the last time I updated my blog. A time of reflection, faith, gratefulness for the incredible sacrifice given so that we could live-  Easter is life. It was beautiful, sunny and filled to the overflowing brim with family, hugs, and church services.
The way an Easter should be.

My little niece seriously just melts me. I call her Lou Lou. 

 

These cupcakes will forever go down in family history. My sisser and I, we're a hoot. 

 

 

Note: Kade was extremely cranky on Easter, hence the sparsity of his smiley face in this pictures.

***

I knew the day would come when Kade would have to move into a toddler bed. I just never guessed the time would be so soon. But it happened- he climbed from his crib and bumped his head. It didn't only happen once, but three times. I couldn't figure out how he was doing it- so toddler bed it was. I'm so impressed with how well he sleeps in it! With the exeption of a few rough nights, he stays tucked in snug and doesn't wander out in the wee hours. Also, that quilt on his bed is one I recently made. It's got an old vintage look to it that I love and is my inspiration to his new room decor.

Gotcha

My heart is drumming out a steady rhythm; so hard against my chest that it aches. But, it's the good kind of ache. Like the feeling you get on the first day of autumn, when the air is crisp and smells vaguely of smoke- like the end and the beginning of something all at once. And I guess that's what transition is, the end and the beginning. I write a lot about ebb and flow, beginning and ending, new chapters, old books... Because life is full of these incredible metamorphoses. We're meant to change immensely. For some of us, we become unrecognizable even to ourselves. People we've spent most of our lives in close contact with may whisper amongst themselves. I never knew she had it in her. I imagine that's what people think of me. I was a wildly emotional, unstable, shy little person just a few odd years ago. Today, I'm wildly happy. I'm stable, even in unstable situations. I'm outgoing when I need to be and calm appropriately. Of course, that little girl is still there. And she comes out sometimes, sometimes welcomed. This is the edge I dangle from; a teeter totter between insecurity and humble confidence. A friend of mine describes me as the "gotcha" type. Meaning, as I understand it, that I'm  quick to adjust to situations. If you call with news that will change the fabrication of the next week of my life, my likely response (although not verbatim) will be gotcha. On the outside I'm calm, reposed, in charge. On the inside, a volcano is erupting. I'm ready to push the big red SURVIVE button and switch into automatic gear. A constant routine gets me through it painlessly, a smile gets me through it happily, and God gets me through it gracefully.

A prime example: I was recently presented with an incredible opportunity to work at a terrific daycare just a short drive from my home. You'll be teaching the two year olds. Cue my "gotcha" attitude; I switch into high gear, put a giant smile on my face and look at all the incredible things these new little pals of mine will teach me. Never mind the fact that I'm so nervous I'm shaking and I wonder what on earth I was thinking. If you had a voice as soft as mine, you'd understand. They don't hear me. But there's a lesson there, even. Speak loudly and clearly, mean what you say, carry through.

***

Kade has developed his own little language. He doesn't talk much- quiet like his Mama. But when he does speak, it comes out in long strings of babbles. The one I hear most often sounds remarkably like "scrub a dub dub" repeated over and over. I try to hide my grin when he waddles up, so serious mama? scrubadubadubadubadubpicup? He's trying so hard to communicate, an encouraging reminder that he's learning and that when I push him Kade, use your words, he understands me.

I think I speak his language.

 

 

Breakfast has been a special time at our place these last few days. We're trying to eat healthier, try lots of new foods, spend more time at the table with just us two. After breakfast, if it's nice out, we go out on the patio. I finish my coffee, Kade roams about the yard chasing the cat and "mowing the lawn" with a toy lawn mower. It's such a refreshing way to start our day. It certainly puts us in a good modd and sets the scene for lots of adventure.

 

Another EyeLash picture. I can't help it. Just look at them! 

Notice how the cat is flinching. Poor Parker is picked on. 

***

This post is sort of all over the place, a testament that life is never as organized as we think it should be. When the words come, I type them. No more backspace key banging for me, no sir.