Phoebe Turns Four

 This blog has seen Jonah and snippets of his hilarious, precocious little mind. It has seen Max, who is the very definition of rough and tumble. Iris has been spoken of once or twice, though it's been so long since I've posted anything that a reader wouldn't know much about her sweet complacency and constant, tender affection. There is another, however; one more little girl who is not included in any of these stories of our day to day life because she is not here to be a part of them. She came and went like a shooting star, leaving nothing behind but murmurings of how pretty she was.

Phoebe has a birthday coming up, which is the special occasion that demands attention to be brought to her. She would be turning four years old on Saturday! My, how time flies.

We have one of our own on the other side. She is gone, but every day I am struck by her presence in the family still. Max, for example, never met her. Max is the "rainbow baby", as they call it, but he talks about Phoebe more than anyone else in the family. He knows about her from tales told by Jonah and a picture on the wall. Oh, Paul and I answer questions very openly about her, but for the most part the kids have kept the memory alive among themselves and on their own. Honestly, I probably wouldn't have thought to tell Max about her until he was a little older (he just turned 3) when I deemed him capable of understanding. But he has latched onto the parts he does understand and holds them very close to his heart indeed.

A few months ago as we were driving down 81 in the evening, I pointed out a spectacular sunset to the kids. Max's response? "I flew up there and painted that with God and Phoebe!"
Every night we say a few prayers with the kids, and I always give them a minute to say whatever they feel they need to say to God. Every night, Max says the same thing:"God, I want Phoebe back." He also told me one day in a very "ah-ha" kind of moment, "Mom! We could just go to Heaven and bring Phoebe home with us in our car!"
He knows there is another member of the gang and he really, really loves Jonah and Iris so I guess that must be confusing and thought provoking to a 3 year old.

Jonah talks about Phoebe, too. If he ever says anything about our family as a whole, he includes her. It's really sweet! We adults go through our different stages of feeling loss - sometimes I don't want to think about it, and most of the time I don't like to talk about it -  but for kids so young it simply is what it is. Strange for a person so young to be acquainted with death the way Jonah is. He was not quite two when she was born and died and it was quite an ordeal. Our old family dog, Maggie, passed away recently, and Jonah was not in the least bit put down by it. He saw my tears and reminded me that everyone dies, no biggie, we'll see each other again.

April feels a certain way and I like it. Birds, new life, green creeping back into the grass - it is seething with memories of a time when I thought my heart would stop beating in my chest and the world would stop turning. Ya know something, it feels good to feel things so strongly! It's heavy and light, intimidating and welcoming. It's familiar by now, and it's all good. We are glad we had Phoebe for awhile and we're glad to have her in the unconventional way that we have her now.

So, happiest of birthdays to sweet little Phoebe! April 11th four years ago was a truly amazing day, and April 12th four years ago equally so when we lost her. We are remembering and celebrating. <3

As Long as It's Epic

Mothers, you know the Sort of Day of which I write. The sort of day that begins...well, doesn't really begin actually, you just sort of "blur" into the day from the night since you don't wake up if you were not asleep in the first place. A blur of someone being scared of the dark; someone else having an unfathomable explosion in and out of their diaper; someone else, the smallest, having a stuffy nose and needing extra TLC throughout the blur, including (but not limited to) an upright parent to sleep upon. Oh, and the geriatric dog, (mustn't forget her!), no longer able to hold through an entire night but politely whimpering by the door at 3 AM until someone pauses from their child comforting and lets her out. Finally the sun comes up, and that Sort of Day has begun.

I am delighted to be able to say that I have recently discovered that I love that Sort of Day. Always have, always will! This post is about how I arrived at this remarkable discovery.

Blur having ended by an hour or so, hubby kissed and sent to work with hot coffee, I sat on the couch with two sets of large brown eyes peering over my shoulders as I set out to plan meals for the week and write a grocery list. I rocked the baby with my left foot, shooed the dog away from her with my right. Feeling rather smug at having come this far with so much patience I decided I may as well conduct my grocery shopping like the Super Girl I surely must be. Bravely, jaws a-set,  I wrote things on that list I knew could only be purchased (within the budget) at the various discount stores scattered across town. I did what Paul calls "a round of diaper changes"*, bundled everyone in coats and hats, and we set out into the wilderness. Mind you, even that sounds simple but in fact it is not. We have three kids, all of whom still require some sort of car seat, and getting them to fit in the back of a Hyundai is an acquired skill. I have not yet fully acquired that skill.

Stop #1: The Bakery Thrift Store. We can get 3 bags of bagels or healthy bread for $4. Super good deal, right? I unleash Max first in order to be able to extract Iris's car seat from the depths of the vehicle. Max darts to a frozen mud puddle on the edge on the parking lot. Jonah can't get out because his coat is caught on the door handle. It is 20 degrees out and 2 month old Iris has a cough. Super Girl comes through, sweeping everyone into the bread store with nary a frown nor tear. Once inside, Max makes a mad dash to the "Employees Only" back room; Jonah reaches for expired Christmas Cranberry Bagels, explaining in thorough detail why they are the best option for us today; I plop Iris down in a corner grinning benevolently to the cashier and chirping "Back in a sec!" as I scramble after Maxcito; and the delivery guy and woman stocking the shelves glare at the parade with astonished horror.

Stop # 5: By now, our car is filled with delicious, healthy foods that I bought for under $100, but I hobble through Food Lion for the last things we need - things that cannot be found at any of the discount stores. By this time I am convinced that keeping the two boys contained is in everyone's best interest. So...they perch tightly strapped in one of those shopping carts that have a car in front, but tragically no spot for an infant seat. Hence, I find myself pushing this remarkably cumbersome cart with one hand and lugging an infant seat with the other. Cursing, ohhhhh cursing and cursing the imbecile who didn't think to invent a shopping cart for more kids! It was then 5pm, and though I have mastered the art of navigating grocery stores, we have been out since just after lunch. My nap deprived toddler reaches other worldly heights with his shrieks and screams. He receives pitied looks from strangers and I, having been abandoned by Super Girl several stops ago, attempt some brilliant, sassy remark in effort to show these folks why they should never give a naughty toddler reason to feel justified in his misbehavior....it comes out a low, rumbling growl, something like, "Quit being a b***y  f*** b**** and mind your own business!!" Sigh. Lame.


The husband who had left in the morning to a playful slap on the rear from Super Girl is greeted by a wild eyed mother of three teetering on the verge of insanity. Heroically, he sent me to my room without a word, but with a large glass of wine and a book. I slammed the door, locked it, and tried to tune out what sounded like a tsunami/tornado/circus collision coming from my kitchen.
An hour later a battle-weary Paul joined me in recovery.

Late that night I went downstairs for a midnight snack, and there it was. Twas left by Paul...(I envisioned him there in the kitchen, determined not to be wasteful of such an important parental necessity, but being clawed at by, not 3, but dozens of crazy children, doing the best he could in that moment of desperation...).Twas a lil poke from God, a reminder that He was watching and laughing all the time...it was just what I needed to gather the pieces of myself up off the floor, to reunite with Super Girl,  and to do it with a chuckle and a sigh. It made me realize that that Sort of Day is, by it's very nature, an Epic Adventure, and I have always loved Epic Adventures. In the incredible exhaustion that results from that Sort of Day, it was hilarious.

The wine bottle. It was corked with a pacifier.







*This is a mild exaggeration, as there are only two in diapers.

Attempted Temper Tantrum

Jonah has been such an easy kid. No terrible twos for him. His third year is almost complete, and while my friends talk of how difficult threes can be, this one has been complacent all along. (Never fear, and don't be jelly, Max is enough trouble to make up for both of them....)

Last night I served my family a meal that did not meet Jonah's approval. "I will not eat beans! You know I do NOT like beans, mom! Give me something else! How dare you cook beans!" Yadda yadda. This went on for some time, and as a rule of thumb I don't pay much heed to whether or not he "likes" what I cook - if it is on the table, why then, it is what we are all eating. Finally his frustration climaxed and he hollered in a fiery voice, (one that he did not get from his daddy...),

                                               "YOU ARE A BAD MOM!"

Everybody gasped.

Everybody turned.

Jonah met our horrified stares with a set jaw, and determination was written on his small face, anger in his large brown eyes.

Determined though he was, it melted in half a second.....then within another second his expression twisted into one of deep pain, sorrow, and a heavy dose of guilt.  By and by, he began to wail; a wail that rose higher and louder just like a siren at a fire house. His eyes unable to meet mine, he ran to me and hugged me, tears streaming down like pouring rain. Sobbing. Gasping for air, even. "Jonah! Jonah! Tell me whats wrong?" (Sob, sob.) "Jojo, what is it? Do you feel sorry for what you said?"
Suddenly he set his jaw hard again, determined all over again. He shook his head no.
Melt again, pained expression again, wail again.
I let him wipe all his tears and yes, probably snot too, all over my shirt and waited for him to calm down, all the while Paul glancing over at me with something like confused and startled sympathy. At last the crying died down to sniffling. "Do you want to tell me anything, Jojo?" (Sniffle). "You feel bad about what you said to me?" Long, very long silence....finally he whispered painfully, "Will you forgive me?"

Long after we had all moved on and the episode was clearly a thing of the past, Jonah stopped what he was doing every now and then and said remorsefully, "I just feel so...so sorry for you, mommy!"


Here's hoping that this lasts til his teen years!!! ( : 

Lovely

   Jonah can be an extremely mushy kid. I am pretty sure he tells me half a million times per day that he loves me. Oh no - I'm not complaining! Just sayin', is all. When he is very happy or content he becomes particularly amorous. For example, he is very likely to say he loves me if he is happily munching chocolate M&Ms and watching his favorite super hero cartoon. Hence, the stage was set for some real sap at on the onset of this story.

     We were making soup. As do most kids, this one loves helping in the kitchen. He had pulled up a chair next to the stove and was gleefully stirring as I chopped the veggies. It is unfortunate that in order for this story to make any sense I have to announce to the entire world that I had been in a spat with my husband earlier that day....but alas, it is necessary. So yea, we'd been in a little spat.

Jonah stirred, I chopped, and I said to him,
"Hey Jojo, I'm sorry about getting in that little fight with dad. That was naughty and I'm very sorry."

"Ah, mom, you don't need to say sorry for that!"

"Well, I would prefer to say it. I got angry and didn't behave very nicely."

Jonah kept stirring and chuckled, shaking his head the way an old granny does when she understands something that she knows her young grandchild cannot.
 "You", he said,"are a lovely, lovely girl."

I knew it was risky business to hold fast to my ground when such a compliment was at stake, but good mothering demanded it, so I replied,

"Thank you, Jonah, but it just wasn't lovely to be like that."

Jonah: "Mom! Sometimes even lovely people get angry!"

Me (stubborn...): "Well, it is not lovely to be naughty!"

Jonah, sighing, "Ok, yea. But you are lovely because you are sorry."


And I remembered that less than four short years ago I gave birth to this wise old owl and my mind was boggled.

THE END

Coffee Date with the Kids

It's really a strange and startling moment when a mother realizes that her first kid is old enough to be a perfectly fulfilling coffee date, capable of stimulating and intelligent conversation. That moment happened to me yesterday, after I had already sat down with my kids to kill time before a morning appointment.

Lets back up 20 minutes. It's an hour drive to Front Royal, where Jonah (3) has his cello lesson every week. By the time we pulled into town, Max (almost 1) needed his morning diaper change....like, really bad. Shew! Now for those lucky souls who have had the grand opportunity to change Max's diaper, you already know that he does not like it one bit. He thrashes around wildly, screaming, hitting, kicking.....all this when there is poo involved and you potentially have a major crisis on your hands. Sometimes literally on your hands. Ew. Sorry....

So, at the coffee shop where in as little as five or six short years ago I sat snickering with my friends about so and so being pregnant with her 4th in 5 years, swearing up and down that I would adhere to my teen ambitions of running wild forever pickin' my banjo and never, ever, absoultely never would I be seen living the life of a stay at home mom.....t'was that very coffee shop that resounded loudly with the blood curdling cries of my own child and occasional bad words from me, stress building quickly and temper rising from the bottom of my mom jeans to the tippy top of my head, which was unkempt, as I had forgotten to brush my hair in the frazzled morning rush to get everyone out the door.
Finished with the diaper at last, the three of us exited the bathroom, all smiles, nodding hello to aquaintences and friends, pretending that surely it must have been some other person screaming madly, covering the John Mayer or whatever blahness was helping all those relaxed people to relax even more. I ordered a coffee for myself, raspberry nector tea for jonah, and a scone for us all to share. I set up a high chair and sat down, happy to have a coffee after a long morning without. Across from me sat my tow headed little boy with a Carhardt coat, torn pants tucked into clunky boots - on the wrong feet. He sipped his hot tea thoughtfully, and the cup looked huge in his little hands. He was silent through the diaper changing episode, but now that Max sat happily stuffing scone into his mouth, he said what needed to be said; a gentle reprimand:

"Mom, you know something: ALL babies scream and cry sometimes, but NOT all moms get stressed out about it."

Insightful as always. Steady and level headed like his dad.*Sigh*. It seems this kid always knows what to say to me and when to say it. He, being the one with me and Max constantly, knows better than anyone else how stressful it can be to get through colic, teething, etc; the things of the first year. That morning, like many mornings, I half heartedly wished I could pursuade myself to put them in daycare and do something that made *me* feel useful and intelligent. Change out of the mom jeans, ya know? Ever attentive to my feelings, Jojo perhaps caught onto my secret longings, for later in the conversation he told me fondly,

"My favorite thing about you is loving you, and my second favorite thing about you is that you never go away."

And just like that, I knew it was worth whatever it took. <3

A Blog is Born

Hello! This day I have created a new blog designated to the wild adventures of motherhood. The idea came from a friend who suggested I create a blog designated to the hilarious things my kids say... (well, kid singular for the moment, as Max is not quite beyond the drooling/babbling stage.) What a day and age we live in, I thought. I can literally brag to the entire world about how funny and smart my kids are! In actuality, it serves several purposes apart from that though. Such as keeping me from going insane when all I need is a little escape from these charming children. Or, seriousness aside, keeping a record of these things that make me laugh so much throughout the day. Anyways, happy reading!