Waking up.

This is not intended to be humorous. There's your warning.
I've been praying for a few years that God would wake me up again. I think I've written about this before. "Wake up baby" etc.... But I've been praying and longing that my spirit would FEEL deeply, that I would be moved to action, that I would react to things with opinion and energy, that apathy would be foreign to me again. It's been strange to feel like a very significant part of your spirit is sleeping. I don't like it and honestly, just haven't felt like myself for a while.
However, if I pause for even a few moments (and I AM right now. Which means my children are asleep peacefully. Beautiful gifts) and reflect over even the last 6 months, it is painful and powerful to attest to the events and catastrophes that are stirring me again. Truthfully, these should move anyone to tears, or laughing, or something . . .. some reaction that attests to a living being behind it.
I don't want to write about some of these things, and I know you won't like reading them . . . in a much different way than you distaste reading about the details of rotavirus . . . but for the sake of accurately documenting our lives - the outside parts and the inside soulish parts - I will include them.
1. Some of my old college friends lost their second child in a year in a horrible, tragic way. Losing a child is always horrible and tragic, but this is especially so. Losing children is absolutely unparalleled in the ways of grief and shock and confusion. It is hellish. I don't really know what this is like, as my spoonfuls of these emotions grossly pale to what I know these dear parents and extended family have endured. Even so, my own response to their tragedy has been gripping, sobering, confusing, etc...
2. I had another baby. Sweet Vera Elizabeth. And she is . . . . oh she is. Content but still energetic, a tiny bit shy, beautiful and cuddly. Can't get enough of her. Add her sweetness to his royal rowdy. Sort of a crazy house sometimes.
3. My sister, Mel, and family moved to Rajpur India less than 2 weeks after Vera's birth for an indefinite length of time. They are about rescuing, rebuilding, becoming the in-between for the poor and those who have means for them not to be poor. They work with lepers and recovering addicts and street kids and create business for local artisans (who also happen to be lepers and recovering addicts and street kids). I have their web address as a link on my page if you want to know more. But I miss them. Skype is great, but I miss being together and watching my son wrestle hers. I miss hugging her skinny lanky self. But I LOVE what they are doing, love living it through them.
4. A homeless man drowned in the river by our house this summer. I drove home one day to happen upon half of the emergency vehicles and all of the news reporters and many of the locals surrounding the scene. Both kids asleep in the back, I circled three times and witnessed them pulling the body out. It was terrible. And he hadn't been in the water for just a few hours. I still can't get over it. It made me feel so lonely for some reason. Did anyone miss you, Mr. Homeless? Why did the neighbors act like it wasn't that big of a deal? You are a big deal, Mr. Homeless. You were a human being no less than I am. Every time I now go by the scene I get quiet. I've noticed that I try to look your homeless friends in the eyes more. Try to have conversations with them like I might have with my friends. Scold myself for making judgments or giving in to fear. Even if I can't really give them a home and a fresh start, I can give them some dignity and a smile and a conversation.
5. My brother and his wife Holly had another baby, Isaac Michael. Warrick's new wrestle-me-play-trucks-forget-the-dolls buddy. So exciting, so amazing.
6. A friend of my brother, who also happens to be a Bhutanese refugee and a Hindi, told him recently that he believes that Jesus is who He claims to be . . . the Son of God. And that He wants to know Jesus and be like Him. This is a very very big deal. We don't really get the oppressive nature of some of the other world religions, and what individuals risk should they abandon their cultural "religion". Knowing what little I do, I know this statement and the actions that have followed are of landslide quality.
7. Some of my other college friends are currently facing a huge injustice. It seems, on paper at least, that they will lose their adopted daughter who is now 2 1/2 years old. They've been in legal battles for her for at least 2 of those years. They have done everything right but because of the "law" and the tiny lies of some of the people involved, the adoption may be reversed. Reversed isn't the right word . . . I don't know what is . . . . "horrible", "irrational", "inhumane". When should it ever be "lawful" to rip a healthy family apart? I can't get into this right now as it's too soon . . . too heavy right now. How do you explain these things to a child? Can hardly stomach it.
8. WSU hosted their annual "Frostbite" Classic Regatta this past weekend. We had a picnic and watched the "boat races". I couldn't help myself. My old competitive, never-give-up girl swelled out of me and I found myself loudly cheering on perfect strangers. Kids in boats who were hoping the finish line was just 2 strokes away. 2700 meters of tearing pain. I remember. My heart rate was racing with them. I've come to realize that it doesn't matter how in or out of shape I may be, I will still always be a competitor. I just am. Warrick even mimicked my cheering. "Do it! Do it!" From my, "You can do it You're almost there!" Today, there was a peaceful man leisurely (if you can say leisurely about rowing) stroking his way down the river, clearly not racing, and Warrick hung out sideways from his stroller and screamed, "DO IT! DO IT!" I loved it.
These are just the first 8 that came to mind. I could have written a lengthy entry about each one, but the days are full and I don't want to forget. I apologize for the ping-ponging of emotion and lack of transition. I AM waking up and it is good. Even though some of these things are truly horrific, I'm grateful that in it, our Sweet Jesus is raising my stilled soul again.

My cute niece, Whitley Woo.

Good friend Emmi.

My cute mom.

Aunt Amber went to school with Warrick one day.

Gma with Whit

Vera. Nearly 5 months.

I won't tell you what happened shortly after this photo.

Seriously? It's my birthday for crying out loud! Muffins??!! Give me some chocolate cake!

Yeah, I know. Not flattering. Just funny.

The crane that daddy built (with scraps and a fishing reel)

From 5 months to 90 years. Gma Ginny, Nana, me and the lovely Vera.

Breakfast with daddy

Quiet house sitting Mama.

Been almost a month. . . . for good reason, I will add.

But before I do, I will pause and enjoy this quiet house. It is a rare treat these days.

All was well and good, we were managing quite well with two small children - had a system and a plan and even managed to make relatively healthy dinners for us.

THEN, something very evil happened.

Warrick got rotovirus. Maybe from the giraffe at the zoo. We don't know. Many children in the US are routinely vaccinated against it, but need to receive it very young in order for it to be effective. Warrick was born in Australia. We delayed his immunizations. We missed the window. No big deal. Never heard of rotovirus. Must not be that bad.

Not true.

Spent the day at the zoo with Aunter Val and Whit and Jay. Great fun. Sunday morning Warrick is particularly whiney and then throws up a little. Maybe a fluke, get dressed for church, all are loaded and ready to pull away and HUGE PUKE into the car seat. Delicious. Not a fluke. Not going to church. Begins the onset of a 6 day drama. Starts with puking, obviously, and then turns to, I hate even typing this word, diarrhea.

Again, if you are easily grossed out, you will want to stop reading right now. Lots of parts of my life are not gross, but it seems I am compelled to write about icky things. Sorry. There are lots of other blogs about food and decorating if you need to stick to clean stuff.

Rotovirus diarrhea is not like your regular stuff. I will liken it to an elephant urinating. Like a large valve has been opened and substantial amounts of fluid simply spray out. It was uncontainable. I don't know why, but Huggies did not take rotovirus into consideration in the laboratory. Their products get a big fat zero from me on this one.

I will not use the word "leaking" because that is not what happened. "Pouring" is much more accurate. So much so, that if I was careful, I could remove the diaper and carry the fluid in the diaper pouch to the toilet and pour it in. True. I'm not exaggerating. I did many many loads of laundry and used many many clorox bleach wipes. At one point, I changed 4 of these in a short 20 minutes.

Enough of that. It was so sad. He didn't even stand up for two days in a row and didn't eat for 5. He lost 3 lbs. His face was sunken and sad. We made a trip to the ER on recommendation from our Pediatrician. He was okay. On the edge of dehydration, but okay. He couldn't go down the stairs because his legs were so weak and he got scared, "Momma hold you!" (interpretation: Momma, carry me.)

So, he's fine now. Actually the next Sunday, he managed to climb out of his crib. Just when you think your child needs more rest . . . . Brett and I couldn't figure out why he was talking incessantly during his nap time. We sat downstairs on the couches listening for nearly an hour (and studying, etc.). Then I realized he was saying, "I got you. I got you." (interpretation: I'm in a precarious situation and am afraid and could use a little help please)

Definitely. Balancing horizontally on the top rail of your crib for an hour is certainly precarious.

Impressive too, I might add.

So the next week he decides he's not napping.

And this particular week I decide I'm crazy.

This particular week I don't make dinner.

Don't clean my house

Don't do laundry.

Don't shower often enough.

Don't make phone calls.

This particular week I listen to my 2 year old hollering and banging on his door and waking his little sister.

This week, our disciplinary tactics go through an overhaul.

I DO, though, have someone in my hands almost all day long. Bless them.

From 3.5 hour naps to nothin.

Wow.

Those of you working professionals who don't think this is life shattering are ignorant, by the way.



Fast forward to today.

We are playing trains and I build a rockin' track with two bridges and a turn around loop. We play for half an hour. James makes several rescues when Percy and Rosie drive off the tracks. Bob the Builder's cement mixer even tries it out.

I say, "Warrick, in 5 minutes we will go upstairs quietly and take a nap. If you do not bang on your door or get out of bed or cry out loudly, you will get a special treat" (pronounced, SPAY - shull teat). If you disobey . . . . . . I can't add sound effects here, it's unfortunate . . . it's the opening measures of a spooky classical piano song. Can't remember the title or composer. Whatever.

Anyway, can you believe it? He goes upstairs, crawls into his twin bed (we moved the crib to our room so Vera can sleep in it. You don't put your small child to sleep in the same room with the larger child when he is still screaming with enthusiam, "TACKLE BABY!" on a daily basis) and he even gets under the covers and tightly closes his eyes. Thank you Jesus. What a sweet gift.

I love obedient children. I love my disobedient ones too, but life is so much more peaceful, cheerful, restful when we obey.

Cringe. How convicting . . . .



A couple of other intersting tidbits to finish.



1. Vera has been giggling and laughing ALOT. It's contagious, obviously.

2. Warrick is becoming quite skilled in the driving of his John Deere tractor from Grandpa O. and Uncle Kevin. I fear we may be accused of child labor should onlookers misinterpret . . . the child size tractor almost exactly matches the REAL John Deere mower tractor.

Today, he steps on the foot pedal while holding onto the handlebars with one hand and the back of the seat with the other. Bumping along sideways standing . . . he says, "Mama! Like trash truck!" Comparing it to the boys we wave at every Monday morning who ride on the back of the trucks. Yes, sweet son, it is very much like a trash truck.

I really enjoy this season of interesting and usually very accurate comparisons.

3. Vera was an adorable strawberry for Halloween and Warrick was a dragon/dinosaurish creature. Too much cute.

4. Last night, Warrick was hugging his new friend Miles, who is also a big hugger (finally . . . I'm so glad there is another one). They fell to the ground in a hug and Miles now tries to escape the grasp. Brett tries to pull Warrick off Miles and accidentally lifts them both. Clarification. Brett lifts Warrick who will not release Miles and so Miles is lifted by Warrick. Miles is 3 and a half. Warrick is not. Brett shook Miles out of Warrick's man-tangle onto the couch. Thankfully, Miles' sweet mother threw her head back and guffawed. I so wish I had it on video.

Wheels and friends

My Wichita friends!

One of Warrick's favorite buddies, "Char-char"

"Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness!" Seriously, that's what he said when Grandpa Olson pulled the blanket off. Thank you Uncle Kev and Grandpa!

Monster truck cake

Close encounters

A few weeks ago I took my two children on a walk. We live right by the Arkansas River - in fact, if I were to go running, I could run in a straight line and cross the Arkansas or the Little Arkansas River 3 times before I ran a mile. It's cool. However, there are some not so cool things about living so close to a river and the wilder side of nature.





On this particular walk, I was headed to the tennis club.


1. No, I do not play tennis. If you saw me play, it would give you absolutely no evidence that I am actually fairly athletic. But, they have really fun stairs and small stone walls and stray tennis balls by the tennis club and Warrick really enjoys hopping around and discovering things. This day, as I stopped my stroller at the top of the stairs and began to unbuckle the wiggling little man, I caught some movement VERY near us. Literally three feet from Warrick's feet was a raccoon. A small one, and we would find out, a not very healthy one either. Hence, the mid day rendezvous.


A quick strap back in, a wide passing, and on to the next set of not-quite-as-cool stairs. I repeated several times,"No, Sonny, that is not a kitty cat." in efforts of curbing his curiousity and to counter his "TOUCH IT!" We stayed far enough away to be safe, but close enough to watch, as we ate our crackers, his dragging and staggering. It was actually quite sad. Combination drunk and very top heavy. It wasn't top heavy, but it's movements would make you think that it's head was 80% of it's weight and kept tipping it over. Yuck. It had not even made it across the sidewalk when we left 15 minutes later.


2. But again, last week at dusk I went out to lock the car. The clicker doesn't work and the driver's side door locker button doesn't work either and so that's why I often forget to lock it. I was carrying Vera in a wrap and as I walked back up to the house, I was met by yet another raccoon who appeared to be making it's way to our recycling bin. On our porch, in the light, and not afraid of me. Stare down. Seriously. You need to leave. This is my house. This is too close.


3. And yet again, Brett was enjoying his quiet moments in the wee hours and had the privilege of listening to Ranger Rick the Third rummage around in our recycling bin. I have made great strides in cleaning the recyclables since I caught Warrick eating a black bean from a can on the porch. My only comfort was that it could not be more than 2 weeks old and he didn't cut himself on the can. Regardless, the raccoons seem to be able to make a meal of it.

4. Several of you have asked about our ant problem. They are gone. All of them. I'm not sure what happened, heavy rains perhaps, but they altogether disappeared. It was truly nothing we did or didn't do because we had given up entirely. If you are prone to gagging, do not read this next sentence. Here is how entirely we had given up: One morning as I was pouring my soy milk into the food processor to make my habitual morning smoothie I saw three ants float to the surface. Without one iota of hesitation, I poured in the blueberries and threw my pinch of spinach in over them and pushed 'on'. This is how you three will meet your end. You will become part of my sustenance for today. For probably 30 seconds you will fuel me.

Okay, you sensitivos . . . that's over.

5. Walking my children down our stairs (errr, ladder) in the morning and released the air that was causing my discomfort half way down. Warrick has never noticed before, and although he talks incessantly, he has never even indicated that he can smell anything. He does bend to flowers as we pass them and sniff, because that's what I do, but that's been the extent of it. He surprises me with this:


"TINKY MAMA!" scrunching his face and covering his nose with his big little boy hands. And laughing. At me. It's true.


I asked Brett if he taught him to say that. No, he hadn't. Lovely.

I am thankful this happened at home and know that I can never again ask my son if he needs his diaper changed (when he doesn't) in the grocery store as my cover. End of an era.


Confirmed by the following: Last one, I promise.


6. We're at the park. He notices, shortly after I do and realize what could very well happen and does, a very large man or boy on the swings. I don't know how old he was because this sweet individual had some obvious mental limitations. Today, it protected him from embarrassment by my son. I will only be factual because I do not want to sound cruel. That is not my heart at all and I truly believe that very very often our sweet Lord allows us to be blinded to things about ourselves so that we are not utterly discouraged.



And other times, for which I am humbly thankful (and also annoyed), He exposes things so that we are prompted to change, to cooperate with His perfect and gentle (and not so gentle if you are prone to resist . . . . yours truly ) leadings. Only God can reserve this power to totally rewrite who we have become and make something beautifully new. Oh . . . the Sweet Redemption.


This blissfully large person was exposing a considerable amount of his stomach below his shirt. Warrick stared and stared and stared and then said "TUMMY!" "TUMMY!" "TUMMY!" His interest for the playground equipment and the other children entirely disappeared as he stood, paralyzed, continuing to yell, "TUMMY!"

Do you know that I actually sat down to write this about my son? About my close encounters with him and who he is now? What I enjoy about him . . . . why I laugh with him . . . the ways he is unique . . . . that will happen another day. Well . . . maybe today, if the kids both keep sleeping . . . .

My boy

This is for me and Brett.

And for Warrick, for later, when he wants to know what he was like as a child.

I know that every parent thinks their kid is the greatest. I'm no exception. I really like my kids. I really enjoy them and still get that same silly giddy every once in a while that I used to feel before a date. Well, before a date with my husband. I've thrown up before dates (and on them) because I was so uncomfortably nervous. It's a very attractive way to get a guy's attention.


So, Warrick turned 2 yesterday. People have been thinking he was 3 already. He's in the 97% for height, not surprisingly. He talks alot. He calms himself down at night by talking to himself, reviewing the things of the day. "Bike ride. Fun. Char-Char. Dustin. Daddad. Miss Teacher."


A couple weekends ago, we had a party for him in the park. His little friends came. We had brunch and Brett and I made a monster truck. Funny that moms usually get the credit for these things, when in reality, I'm usually just the idea behind the work horse. Plus, Brett is much more versed in truck body designs than I. We made it of brownies, cause I thought they might be more maleable if I needed to curve the windshield more, etc....


An aside. I am keeping my concerns about my son's interest in motorcycles (motormichaels) and monster trucks at bay - hoping it is a phase. If it is not something that passes, we may have to make dramatic changes in our health insurance plans, our community of friends and our propensity to take risks and enjoy loud environments. Mercy....


Turns out, I'd never frosted a vertical surface before and found very quickly that I should have read directions. There is a reason the label says, in all caps, "Frost when icing is COOL." Whatever . . . . anyway, he ate it and I enjoyed using marshmellows for lights and chocolate donuts for the giant wheels. Brett had the ingenious idea of using an upside down casserole pyrex dish beneath it, to give the illusion of lift.


I am thankful that Warrick knew what it was.


Enough about that . . . I want to remember Warrick . . . who he is right now. I know that he will change and I will forget - will live only in the present. That someday he'll have body hair and want to hang out with his friends and not me. That singing the alphabet won't be fun anymore. Some things, I'm sure won't change. He'll probably want to play in the dirt for many more years, will still like trucks, still poke his sister. Still throw his clothes on the floor.

Warrick, I really enjoy you. You are funny and silly, even though you don't like to dance - got that from your dad. You are celebrating your ability to do things by your self these days, saying, "NO mama, Self." You know 17 letters of the alphabet by recognition and several words that begin with some of the letters. Thanks to your dad. You like to swim and are not afraid to put your whole face in the water. Last week you started hitting whiffle balls with a plastic bat. You left a welt on my left thigh and my neck. When you miss, you throw the bat on the ground and bend over, with your head on the ground and your bum high in the air and whine as if you are a complete failure. You are not a complete failure, by the way, and I'm not letting you respond like that. "Don't give up! Try again!" It seems you've inherited high expectations of yourself and a healthy dose of competitiveness - double whammy mom and dad.
You love all things with wheels and like to lay on the floor and closely watch the "wheels moving!"
You love your little sister and giggle at her little noises. You've really turned a corner with your gentleness towards her and understand very well what appropriate behavior towards her looks like. "Hold her baby!" and "Tackle her baby!" which, thankfully means, "mom, lay the baby on my tummy." and not "I'm going to smash her". You laugh, but that is what you used to do just one month ago. You do still steal her "night" even when she's crying, although sometimes you do emphatically shove it in her mouth too. If you find one lying around you'll sneak off with it for a quick moment of dreaminess. If you know I've seen you, you immediately begin the negotiation, "Few minutes. One more minute." Begging with your eyes and being oh so convincing.
You love Veggie Tales.
You love the story of Daniel and Noah.
You poop on the toilet very consistently now and tell us when you need to go.
You are in love with our neighbor, Jen. I think she's in love with you too. She bought you a firetruck for your birthday and got you a cubs shirt when she went to Chicago. I'm nervous for the day when you can really open doors because I know you'll eagerly let yourself in next door.
I caught you straddling the top of your crib the other day saying, "get down!"
You talk about your friends, even when they aren't around and love your aunties.
You learned to gallop like a horsie the other day and are very very proud of yourself.
You are still sparkly and enjoy connecting with people, even strangers. You have been like this since you were tiny - wiggling to get people's attention while your eyes were glued to them. I remember several times when you actually made grown adults blush as they were uncomfortable with the intensity of your stare. You have also made many lonely people smile - people that sometimes really get overlooked. Like the baggers at the grocery store and the guy that empties our trash into the truck in our alley every Monday. He looks for you now and waves.
Lots of people love you. Your Sunday school teachers told me they were dreading your third birthday when you would move upstairs to big kid church. "We like all our kids, but some just have a special place in our hearts. Warrick's one of them."
You love going on bike rides with your dad.
You love to "drive car!" I let you sit in the driver's seat and push all the buttons and turn the dials. I can't believe that only once have I woke to a dead battery because you left the lights on.
Your current mantra is not surprising, "Go outside now. Go outside now. Go outside NNNOOOOOWWWWW!"
You like to cuddle, but not for too long and would definitely prefer a tackle and a tickle. You do really like pillows.
You've become quite a picky eater and mostly just can't be bothered to sit still long enough to finish a decent meal. You do however, without fail, love your avocado. You told me the other day "Don't like it cheese yogurt." Hmmm, that's why you don't eat it well. You also said, as we were packing up to go to small group the other night. "Don't like it Wyatt's house. Stay home." We asked if you liked Wyatt and without hesitation said, "yeah!"
This morning, you told Katie that she was "Too big bottom" and walked around behind her pointing at her backside. Thankfully, Katie is very slender and understood that you were saying she wouldn't fit in our stroller.
For the first time in a long time, you did not get a timeout at the YMCA on Monday for hitting and pushing. I was so proud.
You still say, "BAD BAD BUG."
You like to "shoot hoops" with dad.
I caught you Wednesday morning with a worm in your mouth. In the house, while you were still in your pajamas and before any of us had been outside. Not an earthworm. The gross white ones with black heads and poky little claw feet. Wanted to throw up. Where, pray tell, did you find it?
I hope you always are convinced of and always legitimately feel loved and liked and enjoyed by your dad and me. You are the source of so much of our laughter and joy. We thank God for letting us have you in our family.

What you really wanted

1st day of preschool!

All figured out

Just when I think I've got this whole parenting two babies thing down, something ridiculous happens.

Monday I thought it reasonable to make a trip to the YMCA for my Body Design class - not the Turbo Kick . . . it's for the birds - and Body Design went smoothly (minus the crippling, burning sensation in my butt because of an impossible band exercise). Had a lovely afternoon with Vera and some good down time while both of the kids slept. Then, I thought I would venture to the grocery store with both of them, four WIC checks to cash and a multitude of coupons. All a good thing, except that it means more to put in a cart that is already full of children. To alleviate the loaded cart, I put Vera in her Sleepy Wrap - this long strip of fabric that secures her to me and allows her to face out.

Poor decision number one: Allow son to take "Digger" into the store.
Poor decision number two: Allow ambition and confidence to supersede rationale

By the time we made it to the milk, I could barely steer the cart it was so heavy. By the time we made it to the milk, I had retrieved the Digger more than once. It's a really cool toy. Don't worry, I don't slave to my son and pick it up and then foolishly give it back to him again and again. However, I did tire of his yelling "DIGGER!" when I had taken it away. By the time we made it to the milk, I was beginning to wonder how on earth I would get all of this, kids included, into my car.

It's not very easy to unload your grocery cart when you have a child strapped to the front of you. It's also not very easy when your son can reach things in the cart (because it was so insanely full) and is "helping" unload. It's also not easy, all other factors aside, when you have WIC checks and all your WIC items are under the massive pile and you have to organize it carefully and can't have help unloading because you're the only one who knows how things need to be organized. I'm not complaining. Thank you gov't for temporary assistance and thank you tax payers. So . . . yes, I'm a high maintenance shopper, but I saved as much as I spent and I'm proud of that.

By the way, at this point, I had given Warrick back his Digger. At one point another child came to me and asked if it was his. Apparently he had thrown it back into the aisles of food from the check out lane.

Pause: A significant rumble in Vera's pants

I check for the damage, pulling her away from me. Nothing. Praise Jesus.

Continue to unload. Warrick is now legitimately helping unload things onto the conveyor belt, including his Digger. I see it last, sigh, under the pile of 88 cent frozen veggies bags.

Pause: More rumbling. More checking. More nothing. More praising Jesus.

Another interesting factor, "Prince" is my check out guy. He's great, but he's usually stocking bread and he usually says, "Have a blessed day." with his flashy silver teeth. I asked him why once, and he indicated that Someone else should get the credit for the good things that happen to you during your day. I agreed. Today, after our complicated and about to be disgusting passage through the check out, I did not get a "have a blessed day." I had, in fact, obviously overwhelmed the guy. I still consider myself blessed.

(Another interesting factor. My receipt said, "Your cashier today was Bobby." )

Pause: More rumbling. still in the clear.

Continue to unload and organize. Yes, plastic is fine for the rest. The tails of my wrap brush my legs. Vera must have spit up a bit . . . . no . . . . ??. Again, more wetness. But no evidence of spit up. And then I see it.

You learn quickly as a new parent that when babies poop, it has impressive velocity behind it. Enough to spray you mid diaper change, enough to erupt up their backs when the exit is blocked by their own weight while in a car seat. In this particular situation, the exit was blocked, AND the back and front were blocked too. Vera pooped and pooped and pooped. All those rumbles had substance to them, and it all poured out the sides onto my leg, but mostly onto the floor.

I did not purchase butternut squash soup on Monday, but you would have thought that I did and then spilled it on the floor. Gross. Gross. Gross. I was already having trouble enough staying on top of the drama. Now I'm cleaning their floors with Digger thrower beginning his melt down and Poopster still strapped and still spilling her waste. I tuck the tails of the wrap around her squishy thighs to contain it, and continue to mop up the mess. Gross.

Usually I do not ask for help to my car, but today I did.

Here is what I am thankful for. My mom bought me a really cool yellow shirt from Old Navy this past weekend. It escaped completely unscathed. We saved lots of money. I have two cool kids. Angel was willing to help me to my car.

Here is what I am kicking myself for: Allowing my son to take his really cool toy to the grocery store when there is plenty, I repeat, plenty of other stimulation to be had.

As I was about to leave, I realize that the Digger is nowhere to be found.

"Did you see a small yellow Digger toy without a SKU go through?"

"I don't know."

"You would know . . . it wouldn't have beeped and it's really cool, the shovels are magnetic and it has big eyes on it. You didn't see it?"

"I don't know. I probably pushed it through and it's in one of the bags."

To bagger: "Did you pack a Digger?"

"What?"

"A little yellow Digger toy, two shovels, really cool?"

"I don't remember."

"Are you sure?"

" I don't know."

Alas, the Digger is gone. Probably flew through the air unnoticed and landed in the gum or slid under the magazine rack. I am genuinely sad about it. I kind of liked playing with the digger too. It even accidentally picked up one of Warrick's spoons once.

So, here is me asking for advice about two things:

1. How do you clothe/diaper/wear your child in a way that will prevent eruptions?

2. Is it customary these days to tip your bagger when they help you unload your groceries into your car?

Pigs and Spinach

This will be short. I promise. Just thought I might include a peek into our zoo experience and a clever piece of advice.

Zoo. Warrick is not so much interested in the animals as he is in the golf carts of the landscapers, other people's strollers and the disabled motorized scooters you can rent from the zoo. A chimp even tried to kiss him through the glass and he still was more enthralled with wheeled vehicles. I thought he was going to steal away in a golf cart while it's driver was bent over in weeds just in front of it. That probably wouldn't constitute "stealing" away, as I'm sure he would have bumped her onto her noggin and then drove over her. She would have been quite aware of the encounter.

We did, however, get to see some large pigs doing it. Yes, they were having sex in the middle of the day for all of our sweet children to see. I could barely stop laughing and staring. I'm not a freaky sex addict, just thought it was interesting and am glad I, nor my husband have hooves. That's all. Warrick was staring too, by the way, and I just kept saying "he's learning to dance, Sonny!"

Okay . . . Clever bit of advice about spinach: My son doesn't really enjoy bananas or blueberries plain. Odd, because they tend to be the feed-your-kid-this-since-he-won't-eat-squash foods. Anyway, you can make an incredible smoothie with milk, old-fashioned oats, a frozen banana, a half cup(ish) of frozen blueberries and a grab of spinach. Very yummy. I have had this every morning (nearly) for the last year and am not sick of it. Two power foods, grains, protein (I use soy milk because cow's milk rips me up).

**** Do not freeze bananas with the peel still on unless you are looking for more reasons to be angry. It will take you half the morning to peel it. $20 bucks you'll give up and throw it away first.

Also, if you want some healthy "ice cream", a frozen banana with some peanut butter and chocolate syrup and a bit of milk will make your kids oh so happy. And healthy.

AND, our food processor trumps a blender every day of the week. We ruined 3 blenders in 3 years and have resorted to gma Myrtle's food processor that Brett rescued from her abandoned home. Works like a champ when you wrap a towel around the top. You don't have to . . . but you'll get sprayed if you don't.

theolson4

This makes me crazy. I change our name to reflect the number of people in our family and then it takes away all my friends. I don't have any links to their blogs anymore and of course, like phone numbers and addresses, I don't have any one of them memorized, except my sister's website. Maddening.

The brunt of motherhood with small children has made me a bit crazy today. I understand now why my mother never used to close the door of the bathroom when she was in it, why she didn't buy new clothes or shoes for herself hardly ever, why she didn't linger in the shower and why she made do with lipstick that required a q-tip to extract the remains. I'm certainly not saying my mother is crazy, although she would say that 3 children in 2.5 years made her crazy for a while. You read that corrrectly. 14.5 months between me and my sister and 16 months between her and my brother. That's a lot. 3 babies. She prayed through tears that I would understand peeing on the potty because she thought 3 kids in diapers would push her over the edge. God had mercy and heard her prayer and I'm potty trained to this very day. But seriously, she did so many of these things and countless more, so she could buy new shoes for us, or fun new hair things or give us richer experiences. Sacrifice here, sacrifice there. All for her kids. AND, she didn't really have time to give herself a second thought.

Anyway, I resorted to kicking wheeled vehicles today and throwing things that ought not be thrown down the basement stairs just because an obstacle course for a house had made me angry as hell. Ironically, it was after church. I'm always crazier after church these days. And when it's hot.

On that note, I understand better why many mothers cut their hair. In fact, it surprises me that I haven't cut my hair short yet. My hairdresser, Jo, still tells me every time that I'm in her top three thickest haired clients. I feel like I'm wearing winter hat and scarf in this crazy weather. Stress levels escalate exponentially when my hair is down because it gets caught on stuff or grabbed or blinds me and then I step on another Thomas and friends rail car or knock over my son.

And yet another thing . . . I'm not trying to be vain when I say this, but I've always been in pretty good physical shape. Always loved sports and being competitive and always feel much better when I'm fit as a fiddle - I guess that goes without saying. Whatever . . . . I started running a few weeks ago and was in sheer celebration that I could move again. Run again. After Warrick was born, I was unable to run until he was 10 months old because of a pelvic injury. My generous God spared me from the same injury with the birth of my daughter and I am thrilled to be moving fairly well. Until 2 weeks ago when my knees started giving me crazy trouble. Brought my running to a halt. So, I thought I might try some new avenues to curb my discouragement and to keep progressing back into shape. Take some classes, I thought. "body design." Check.... Sheesh, can't lift the same weight I used to be able to. "Turbo Kick" hmmmm, sounds like a video game. You wouldn't believe how uncoordinated I felt and looked. This is true . . . at one point, I was actually facing the back of the room while all the other matching outfit, tight black pants petite girls were hopping in time and facing the front. It felt like an overly dramatized stupid comedy scene in a dumb movie. Weird also, because I actually used to have the reputation for kind of being able to dance. At weddings, people used to rely on me to get things going. I guess that doesn't necessarily mean you have rhythm, it might just mean you're willing to put yourself out there. AND, I've never thought of myself as a big person, but I definitely was bigger than most of the cheerleading squad at the video game. Check. Will not take Turbo Kick again. Good bye days of being star pupil in physical activities.

Hello motherhood.
Hello unmeasurable accomplishments
Hello rewriting identity
Hello messy house
Hello sacrifice
Hello crazy.

Apologies to any who were not looking for a vent session.

One quick question . . . is it unacceptable to tape a pacifier to your child's face so she will stay asleep? I understand why you wouldn't tie it on, but what about tape?

My sister and me

Warrick 22 months, Vera 2 months

What happens between decent pictures

He thinks this is funny!

"you just throw yourself over the edge and then start running, Whit . . . . like this!"

Emmie, Izzy, Whitley Woo, Harri, Lincoln, Raegan, Warrick and Vera

Feeding the exotic carp with food uncle Kev bought me

First time on a boat!

Faster Grandpa!

Where exactly would you like to go?

I like Uncle Kev, it's just that this suit is too tight

Regardless, aren't I the cutest?

a peaceful and premature smile before the tackle

"cool dudes" with bedhead

A visit from Aunt Lisa, and cousins Tyler and Casey