A New 'Do

Up until I sat down in the stylist's chair I didn't know if I'd go drastic or subtle (guess which one I chose?)...and I L-O-V-E it.  I have the world's thickest hair, or so says my friend that cuts my hair, so it feels great having the weight off my neck.  I was scared silly to go so short, as I haven't done this in years, but I was so ready for a change.  Goodbye I'm-too-tired-to-do-my-hair-(hey--you're lucky I got a shower today)-mommy-ponytail!  Whoo-hoo! 

And hel-LO hair products!

On a more serious note

God spoke to me twice last night in a way that was so clear, so moving, so precious, that I had to share with whoever will listen. I had to boast on His goodness and faithfulness to my hurting heart.
Some of you know that the past two years have been very difficult for us financially, mainly because we lost my income when I stopped teaching after Jack was born. That’s another story in itself, but we know without any doubt that God spoke to us at that point in our lives and that He meant for me to quit and stay home. So we have never questioned that decision as we’ve looked over our current financial position.
It’s a very long story, one that perhaps I’ll share in bits and pieces from time to time, but the general storyline has revolved around Eric searching for a career, for a job, for a passion, which as many people can relate to has been a long journey. We’ve had deep disappointments with jobs falling through that we thought God was leading us to, but we’ve also had numerous experiences of miraculous provision that have assured us that God is able to care for our needs, that He is faithful to provide our daily bread, and that we are not alone.
Recently, though, when another “perfect” job scenario fell through just days before Samantha’s birth, one that we thought would finally be our step out of financial woe (and by that I don’t mean a huge increase in salary, but rather just barely enough money to pay all of our monthly expenses without me having to work outside of my unpaid job as a mother, something we were so grateful for), I began to struggle again in my faith and falter in my trust and belief in God’s care over us.
I am embarrassed to admit that, because my head (and occasionally my heart) knows how often He has come through in times when I thought things were hopeless, times when money showed up out of nowhere, times when the numbers never added up on paper but somehow we made it through. So how could I ever go back to doubting Him?
I’ve realized that two of the major lies and doubts I have allowed to penetrate my heart and faith are these:
That God must not know our situation or how dire it is, and
That we must be insignificant to Him.
These lies also stem from watching other friends, some of them very dear to us, enjoy job promotion after promotion, other friends finding new jobs and “moving up,” other friends buying new homes, other friends buying their second homes, and so on. And I can honestly say that I generally battle the duel feelings of true rejoicing with those who rejoice as well as jealousy and self-pity that none of these things has come our way.
I struggle with these thoughts because I honestly do not desire great wealth; I have seen too often what great wealth can do to families and individuals and I would be vary of wishing that upon myself and our family. I just desire to be able to pay the bills each month without worrying and to buy groceries without having to spend so much mental effort debating what we can and can’t afford and worrying about our health as we buy “cheaper” food. I wish we could pay off our debts and live in a new way, practicing the new things we’ve learned about financial stewardship and about dependence on God for every penny that comes our way.
So sometimes I am tempted to wonder, “Does God not see my heart? Does He not see the numbers, and does He not know just how badly we need more income? Why would it not be His will for us (which I believe always has our best interest in mind whether physical or internal) to get a new job when the result of the situation is a financial sink hole? That’s not good stewardship, doesn’t He see?
Well, you know how you can think something and not realize the ridiculousness of that thought until you hash through it and sometimes, as I did last night, write it out?
Last night on my way home from Bible Study I was mulling over some of the things we discussed about God, and about our doubts, and about His promises to us. I lingered on this thought I’ve had about God not knowing, or not understanding, our situation, wondering if He knows the clock is ticking and we will have no savings left and no new income in a week or two, and the feeling of abandonment I’ve been fighting.
All of a sudden, I felt a very palpable awareness that He was talking to me as I was hit with this thought in my heart: Do I really, honestly believe, in my heart of hearts, that God does not know our situation? If I believe all the things about Him that I profess to believe, even the very basic things like His creation of the earth and humanity and His power to command the wind and the snow and the movement of the planets…if I believe what I learned when I was very young, that God sees everything and knows everything…then how on earth could I even begin to doubt whether He sees me? Of course He does.
This simple truth uplifted my heart and left me with much peace and encouragement as I continued on home. But later, as the night wore on, I still wrestled with my feelings of insignificance to Him, with feeling like the left out child who somehow was missing out, or had been looked over. As I laid in bed, unable to sleep, I found myself crying out to Him, admitting these selfish, self-pitying feelings. I poured out my heart to Him, told Him how distant and alone I felt in this situation, told Him my fears and my frustrations, my disappointments, and reminded Him of our needs, recognizing that He already knew them inside and out.
Then I asked Him something that I have asked for repeatedly in the past few years, which I felt a bit foolish for having to ask of Him yet again, but a question that He has never failed to answer me tenderly: I asked Him to give me some tangible, real understanding and confidence that He has not abandoned us, that He is with us, and that He is walking through this scary time with us.
Almost immediately after praying this, Samantha began to stir and I was distracted from my prayer as I turned my attention to her awful coughing and choking sounds. The poor thing has her first cold and has been having a horrible time with it, refusing to eat and struggling to breathe through her nose. She sucks her thumb while she sleeps so when she has trouble breathing through her nose, she can’t suck her thumb as she has to breathe through her mouth, and this disrupts her sleep in a major way.
All of the kids are sick actually, with bad colds. We are a bundle of germs and snot these days. Both Jack and Ellie fussed periodically last night as well, calling out for us, and crying about ouchies; I don’t worry about them in quite the same way I worry about Samantha, because I know they are able to turn over if they can’t breathe, or to call us if they needs us. But laying there listening to her cough and have such difficulty breathing I began to worry about her welfare, and fear that I might fall into too deep a sleep to hear her if she needed me, that she might choke and not be able to breathe. My mother heart cried out for her, in her tiny, dependent state, and I jumped from my bed, scooped her up out of the crib, and determined that I would sleep the whole night on the couch with her on my chest if it meant she would be close to me, that she would be near enough to me that my very body would breathe in rhythm with hers, making sure she didn’t falter, knowing that I was right there if she needed me.
As I was walking down the dark hallway, I suddenly stopped, and if you could have seen my face I’m sure it would have displayed a look of surprise and revelation; I stood there rooted and just began to cry. Still just moments after crying out to God for a sampling of His nearness to me, I was struck, or perhaps gifted, with a beautiful picture of His care. He spoke to me that rather than the “left-out” child, the one who was forgotten or left behind, as my selfish heart had feared, we were instead much like this sweet infant; we are in a precarious situation, one that is risky and scary and that requires us to be dependent on God for every morsel and penny of our survival. He allowed me to see that these precious friends of ours have not just been lucky, or that He has decided to bless them instead of us, but that they are our sisters and brothers and that perhaps they are like Jack and Ellie, also hurting and sick in many ways from the winds of this sinful, earthly life, but that they perhaps were not in a position of such utter dependence, that He had allowed them to grow a bit so that they could stand strong their own two feet with the resources He had provided and the spiritual lessons He had ministered to and taught them.
Then tenderly He spoke to me that we were not far from Him or forgotten as I had feared, but rather, that He was clinging us to His chest much as I stood there clinging my baby daughter to my heart, that He was breathing with us each breath we struggled for, that in our needy infant-like state He knows we need Him so near and available that He is on hand and on the look-out for dangers and ready to protect and fight for our well-being, and that in His nearness He is able to assess and address our needs swiftly, and finally, that He will never fall asleep on us, that He will not rest or close an eye or fail us by somehow missing our choking cries for help. As much as I was determined to stay near to Samantha even if it meant sacrificing much-needed sleep for myself, out of my love for her and concern for her well-being, how much more deeply was He determined to stay near to us, to scoop us up and hold us close to Him out of His vast love for us?
What salve for my aching heart. What peace for my fearing soul. What a tender answer to such a pitiful plea. What a wonderful God He is.
“Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you!”
Isaiah 49:14-16
(This next scripture came from my daily prayer group; thank you, Julie, for this as it just served to confirm what the Lord spoke to me last night!)
“Find rest, O my soul, in God alone; my hope comes from him. He alone is my rock and my salvation; he is my fortress, I will not be shaken. My salvation and my honor depend on God; he is my mighty rock, my refuge. Trust in him at all times, O people; pour out your hearts to him, for God is our refuge.” Psalm 62:5-8

The First (and Last) Time I Took a Toddler and an Infant to the Grocery Store By Myself

So I am a bad mom: I take my newborns out in public WAY before the recommended time.  I mean seriously, am I really supposed to not leave my house for six whole weeks?  I guess I could leave the kids with my nanny, let my housekeeper clean and do the laundry, and that way I'd be able to drive my Mercedes to the grocery store in childless peace.  Come on, people, why do you think we bought the minivan??

So one weekend when Samantha was about 3 weeks old, we were borderline desperate for groceries.  I knew I would end up in cardiac arrest if I took all three kids along, so I called my parents and begged them to come watch Jack and Ellie for an hour while I took Samantha with me to the store.  As I was about to leave, Jack completely melted down and wanted to come with me.  I figured, hey--he's three, he can walk, he likes the grocery store, he likes to help mommy, it'd only be TWO kids--no problem!  So into the car the three of us piled, leaving a very happy Ellie with two doting grandparents.

So things were going fairly well at the store; Samantha's car seat took up almost the entire cart basket, of course, and the massive diaper bag (but my oh-so-favorite one) took up the entire seat, so Jack and I had to tuck the groceries around Samantha's seat while she slept.  After a few aisles I looked down and noticed a few items in my cart that I had not put there.  Ahem.  But, no biggie--I was able to put them back and we were on our merry way.

But then Samantha started crying.  And not just crying, screaming bloody murder.  It took me about five minutes to get her untangled from the car seat straps, as newborns tend to pull all limbs to their body when they are screaming their heads off.  I finally got her out, and she settled down as I held her and tried to push the cart AND corral my wandering toddler.  What a sight that must have been.

Unfortunately one of the items on my list was "Father's Day cards," and not just for my dad or for Eric, but for my father-in-law as well (sorry Marc, we still haven't sent it!!).  It was NOT smart to even attempt this with a curious three-year-old, but I did anyway; stood there reading cards and trying to find the appropriate messages for the appropriate audiences...card for Eric from me, card for Eric from kids.  Card for Papa from kids, card for Dad from me.  Card for Eric's dad from Eric...and so on.  While I was frantically doing my perusing, Jack was pulling cards off the shelf, oohing and ahhing over this and that..."Oooh, Mommy, flowers/doggies/cake/ELMO!!" 

Not wanting to end up spending $80 for ripped or damaged greeting cards I finally decided to give up since I was spending more time putting Jack's cards BACK then I was looking for the ones I needed.  As I began replacing cards, I heard Jack say, "Uh-oh!" and turned around to find him pointing at the ceiling...he had pulled a couple balloons from the balloon case and let them go, sending them to certain slow death at the top of the warehouse-like ceiling.  Okay.  Time to leave the card aisle.  I was beginning to sweat and there was a spot in the middle of my back that was beginning to tingle from holding Samantha in one arm for so long...

We finished the rest of our shopping fairly uneventfully.  Jack only ran off once, he obeyed very well, and was even helpful (as much as a toddler can be).

But then came the check-out aisle.  Full of candy right at little people's height.  My Curious George began rearranging candy and trying to stick them in his pockets.  At this point I was still holding Samantha, trying to bend and retrieve all the items from the cart that were packed around her car seat, trying to keep the WIC items separated out, trying to keep my son from stealing candy, and beginning to sweat even more. 

Then came the "Uh-oh" and looking down I noticed Jack had opened one of those Bubble Tape containers, and as if in slow-mo I watched him take out the roll of gum and roll the entire thing out onto the floor with a big "Oooooooo!" 

"Jack!" I said.  "Now Mommy will have to pay for that because you opened it!  Please put it on the counter and keep your hands off the candy."  With his chubby little fingers he ran ahead and gathered up the string of gum, wadded it up into a big ball, and stuffed it back into the container.  Good Lord.

The other major headache about this grocery store is that it's a bag-your-own type place.  Which Jack loves.  And I hate.  So as I'm standing at the check-out trying to work out some problem with our WIC coupons, Jack was thrilled to pieces to be bagging groceries all by himself.   Not mention he got to push the button that makes the conveyor belt run, and consequently piled up all the groceries at the end.  I was starting to have a major headache and the throbbing in my back was almost all I could think about.  We finally figured out the problem with the coupons and I paid for our stuff and raced down to the end to stop Jack from loading the cans of corn and green beans on top of the bread and grapes. 

I have come to believe bagging groceries is an art.  Perhaps I'm just a little too Monica Gellar about it, but I am one of those people who sorts their groceries and puts them on the conveyor belt in a very specific, organized way:  all of the fresh foods together, frozen foods, dairy products, meats, boxed items, baby items, toiletries, and so on.  That way, they can be bagged together, so when I get home I'm not emptying bags that contain apples, tampons, baby wipes, and sandwich meat.  So after having to bag my own groceries for awhile now I have come to appreciate those who do it for a living and do it so well.

I know.  I'm crazy.  And if I had lower standards I'm sure the stress of Jack "helping" me bag wouldn't be so, well, stressful.  I think it's that he bags so fast.  And he puts two items in a bag and then opens up the next bag.  And he throws jars of baby food at the bottoms of bags and breaks them.  DEEP SIGH.  This is one of the most highly stressful parts of our grocery trips when Eric is with me.  So you can just imagine having to do it by myself.  (Sidenote: while bagging the groceries I discovered about four items that I apparently had paid for that I had not put in the cart myself, among them some Gerber snacks and some odd-flavored tuna pack.  Apparently I was so absent-minded while unloading the cart that I didn't notice until after I had paid for them...)

As I drove home from the store, my back aching and my eyes about to brim over with tears, I swore I would never do this again by myself.  No way, no how.  Too, too much.

I got home, unloaded groceries, and began recounting the experience to my parents.  I got towards the end of my story and as I shared with them the Bubble Tape disaster, I began searching through the bags looking for the gum so I could toss it out.  As I pulled it out, I stopped short and stared in horror.

In my hand was a brand-new, UNOPENED container of hot pink Bubble Tape.  But...wait...what?  How...noooo.  Jackson Thomas!!

And then I just started laughing uncontrollably.

Epilogue:

I have since taken all three kids to the store by myself and survived.  I know.  I should make a t-shirt.

Updates, Updates, Updates

So life with three is very, very hard.  I keep telling people that I don't think it's necessarily that I have three kids that makes it hard, it's that I have three kids under the age of three.  It's hard because they are all so little that they are all needy, and I can't meet all their needs at the same time.  In the early weeks I found myself approaching my days with the constant pessimistic thought, "Which kid will I let down today?" because that seemed to be what always happened.  Samantha was priority, with feeding her every two hours and rocking her when she cried, which meant my arms and hands were tied up much of the day, which in turn meant that any time she was asleep apart from my body I was usually holding or tending to one of the other children. 

Ellie is younger and has seemingly more immediate needs, and she also demands more attention from me than Jack does.  She thrives on social interaction and doesn't play real well by herself (unless she's into something she shouldn't be, why is that?).  Jack, on the other hand, will sit for long periods of time by himself, content to play with his trains or color or look at books or run around his diaper-bases in his own fantasy baseball world.  (Not to be confused with Daddy's Fantasy Baseball world.)  So I often found myself at the end of the day realizing I hadn't spent any focused time with Jack, and I battled a lot of guilt over this. 

If I tried hard to focus on each of the kids during the day, I never got ANY housework done.  If I tried too hard to keep up with the dishes and messes and laundry and such, I ended up neglecting at least one of the kids, and my body was also struggling to heal so I had to let go of the housework much of the time, which is fine in principle but in reality it makes an already sleep-deprived and weepy mom more irritated and testy when she's tripping over toys all day and there are no clothes to wear that don't bear a spit-up smell and there are ants all over the kitchen feasting on the crumbs that haven't been cleaned up and the dishes are piling up and there is no counter space left to prepare a meal...and so on.

BUT.  We are at the eight-week mark.  I was feeling pretty good around six weeks, and now the word I would use to describe our life is: stabilizing.  The infancy-induced fog is lifting, routines are forming well; Samantha is on a 3 to  31/2 hour schedule now and is sleeping 10pm-5am, and I'm going to try stretching her to 7am now that she's eight weeks old.  She is finally going down well for naps, with minimal fussing.  I think she's even found her thumb, which definitely aids in her learning to go to sleep on her own.  She's a very happy baby and we always know she is hungry/poopy/tired if she fusses because if she's not one of those three, she is cooing and smiling and sucking on her fingers...what a little gift! 

This sense of routine also helps the other kids, as there is more time with Mommy while Samantha is sleeping.  We've been going for a lot of walks with Daddy after dinner, which we all enjoy, and gives Eric and I time to talk without being interrupted by the kiddos. 

Ellie is in a very defiant stage so we are working through discipline decisions right now.  Trying to be consistent between the two of us, and trying to reevaluate as needed WHY we are making certain choices to be sure they are age-appropriate and suited to her current disobedience.  She is a spunky little thing who loves her sister to pieces and idolizes her brother.  She copies him all the time.  I swear they will soon be holding intelligible conversations because she is so far ahead--I think she'll catch up to Jack soon!  She's already using two word sentences, and has a huge vocabulary.  Some of my favorite words of hers are: duck (any animal is a "duck"), tee-too (thank you), peet (feet), hoh-choo ("hold you", meaning, "hold me!"), Beebee Da (Samantha), Mi Mi (Sammy), pah-ee (potty), preh-ee (pretty), mun-tee (monkey), Heh-dohhhh (hello--only used when talking on her play phone).  Tonight she about melted my heart when she came up to me whimpering and pointing to her foot, saying, "Mommy, ouchie peet!" in the sweetest little voice.  I felt so bad because she did have a big ouchie, but it was the cutest phrase and I kept trying to get her to say it again.  She gives the best hugs; there's something about tiny chubby arms wrapped tightly around your neck that will make your day, no matter how bad the day has been.  Especially when the fingers are covered in marker and smell like graham crackers.

Jack is his sweet self and has generally been doing well; he loves Samantha and is always remarking "So coot!" and loving on her.  Today when she woke up from her nap he went running in, climbed up on the side of her crib, and with a vibrant, "Heh-wow, Santha!" he began inviting her to come play with him, telling her all about his farm animals.  Warms my heart like you wouldn't believe.  We've had a few rough patches with him the past eight weeks as well.  He's had some regression with the potty training, which had us real stumped for awhile.  He started having more and more accidents and seemed to be almost choosing NOT to use the potty.  I've talked to a number of moms and most of them have told me this is a normal phase and just to be patient with him and wait it out.  So that's what we're doing.  He's also been having these horrible night terrors, where he wakes up very suddenly and is screaming and thrashing about and nothing we do or offer calms him down.  It's terrifying for us to watch; it's as if he's having an F-5 tantrum but for no particular reason, as he just emerged from sleep.  They last a long time--sometimes as long as an hour--where the entire time he's screaming, "No! No! Nooo!" and crying and stiffening every inch of his body and rolling around thrashing and kicking on the floor.  I can't take it after awhile and end up wrapping him in my arms while he continues on, but we think this actually ends up helping him calm down in the long run, being held.  Then as suddenly as it began it's over; he stops crying and asks for his ice water and blankie, then says, "All done" and "Bed."  It's bizarre; one time he even stopped screaming and said, "Mommy, hold you, hold you!" even though I'd been holding him for the past half hour.  It's exhausting when you add this in with the nighttime feedings...  But they seem to be less frequent now, maybe 2-3 times a week.  Again, I hear this happens to other kids and that it will "phase out" eventually.  I hope so because it is so awful to watch, you feel so helpless.

Life for me seems to be 1, maybe 2, steps forward, 3 or 4 steps back.  I feel like even with our budding routine I can't stay on top of anything.  I have an enormous list of people I owe thank you notes to, which I feel horrible about.  Laundry rarely sees the inside of a drawers, we're always picking out of baskets, and we're lucky if it's folded.  I can't keep up with email or blogging because the computer is in our bedroom/Samantha's room, so when she's asleep--i.e. my only possible "free time"--I can't do much on here without waking her.  And lame as it is, I am so exhausted that I am having trouble keeping up around the house, so whenever I make a little bit of progress it's hard to stay ahead, as my house never stays clean very long thanks to the little tykes we have roaming around.  (The other day I was making dinner and turned around to find the entirety of my tiny kitchen floor covered in cooking utensils and Ziploc bags.  Talk about a safety hazard, dodging meat tenderizers and pizza cutters while trying not to slip on the plastic baggies...while carrying a pan of hot noodles to the sink...)

While this is a frustrating way to live, I keep trying to tell myself again and again, many times a day even, "This is a phase.  This is a phase.  This is phase..." and then to just let it go, whatever the "it" might be that is causing me so much guilt and/or frustration.  A deep breath has become my friend and ally, the air-conditioner my sanity-saver.  The other thing I look forward to is my Women's Bible Study on Wednesday nights; I treat myself to a Starbuck's coffee on the way and take advantage of every second of time to be without kids and to hold intelligent, encouraging conversation with friends.  It definitely helps rejuvenate me...

I'm hoping to have time this week to post some anecdotes from the past two months, stories that have to be told due to the truly comedic content--a laugh at this tired Mom's expense, if you will.  Snapshots of life with three and the craziness that enfolds on a daily basis; for those of you who are almost there (Amanda, Anne)...well, I don't know whether to warn you or to encourage you to laugh while it's not YOU.  In any case, I'll try to only post one short story at a time as I know my tendency is to go on and on, as evidenced by this post.  One of these days I also hope to post some deeper thoughts, as I have had a few of those lately, too, that have been on my heart to share. 

It's late now.  We need to get to bed in order to get up early enough that we actually make it to church in time for the service, for once.  It's our new pastor's first Sunday, and I'm so excited!  (Eric's singing, too, which means we need to get there early, which is no small feat for our family!)  Thanks for reading and checking in with our family.  Goodnight!

Samantha Claire at 2 months