I'm really enjoying the Christmas season this year. It's been much better than last year. Not that I didn't enjoy last year, but Brielle was a newborn and I was so sleep deprived that I barely even remember it. That zombie walking around on Christmas morning covered in spit-up and unable to remember what she'd bought for anybody, getting on Google to see if it was possible to die from lack of sleep? That was me.
I'm much more alive and mentally stable this year. And I have loved, loved, loved doing fun Christmas activities as a family--decorating Christmas cookies, making home-made hot chocolate, snuggling on the couch to watch Christmas movies, driving around to see the lights, playing with our interactive nativity set... I wish my zombie self from last year could see it and be encouraged. (Although my zombie self would be more likely to throw a toaster at me than be encouraged.)
Over the weekend, we went to our church's Christmas party and got to see Perrin play the part of a shepherd in the program. I was a little worried--we had practiced singing "Away in a Manger" earlier that day in preparation for him singing it on stage with the other kids, and he kept strategically adding the word "booty" to convenient pauses in the song. (Kids seem to have a sixth sense when it comes to mortifying their parents.) It turns out I didn't really need to worry--he didn't end up singing at all when the time came. He just stomped his feet as loudly as possible while the other kids sang. Oh well... could have been worse.
Isn't he a cute little shepherd? Thank goodness no one gave him a shepherd's staff.
My dear baby girl,
I can't believe you're a year old! (Yes, I'm a few weeks late in writing this letter. You and your brother keep me very busy.) It's so bittersweet to see you transitioning from an infant to a toddler. It's hard for me to even use the word toddler to describe you because it just feels too grown up! But you really are growing up--into a lively, funny, smiley, cuddly, beautiful, intelligent little girl. This past year has definitely delivered some tough moments and sleepless nights, but we've also had the joy of celebrating your many firsts--first smiles, first laughs, first words (including your favorite word, duck!), and most recently, first steps.
We love watching your personality blossom. You're curious about everything (including the bathroom trash can, which you insist on dumping out whenever possible). You love to read books and point at the pictures (you enthusiastically classify every animal as a dog or a duck). No one in the world gets as much joy out of taking off their socks as you do, and I love the cheesy grin you give me when you hold them up in triumph.
I love watching you and Perrin interact. I know he makes you mad sometimes when he steals your toys or plays too rough. But he's your very first friend, and he'll most likely be your friend for longer than anyone else in the world. I hope you'll always be as quick to forgive him as you are right now.
My sweet girl, I have so many hopes and dreams for you. But just know that nothing could bring me more joy than to see you growing up to love Jesus with your whole heart. You may go through some rough spots of doubt and confusion, just as I did. And I'll tell you the story of how faithful God was to me in spite of it all. I'm confident He'll pull you through to the other side too, no matter what you're facing. And don't forget that you have two loving parents who are praying for you and loving you every single day.
I love you, baby (toddler) girl! One year down, and hopefully many, many more that we get to spend together and celebrate your beautiful life! I'm so thankful to have you as my daughter!
A little boy in Perrin's class at Mother's Day Out brought his hamster for show and tell a few weeks ago. Perrin is STILL talking about that hamster three weeks later. He's been begging me to get him one. I've told him no several times. Sorry, kid... I know exactly who would end up cleaning hamster poop every week and frantically searching the house for Fuzzy when you "accidentally" let him loose. For about half a second, I vaguely wondered if I should get him something really small and simple to care for, like a fish, to teach him about animals and responsibility. Then the saner version of my brain remembered that he is only three. He's more likely to take the fish on a wagon ride than to learn proper animal care.
So after fruitlessly trying to convince me that he needs a pet of his own, he finally decided to take matters into his own hands. He caught a moth, stuck it in a jar, and named it Uncle. (Don't ask me... I thought it was weird too). Then he decided the moth needed some food, so he plunked a piece of dog food in there with it (and was visibly disappointed when the moth didn't gobble it down. Ungrateful moth.) We kept Uncle for a couple of days, and he seemed miraculously healthy. But I was trying to think of a way to get Perrin on board with setting Uncle free in the backyard because I knew he wouldn't last much longer in the jar.
I went in Perrin's room yesterday and found the jar sitting on his train table, empty. "Perrin, where's Uncle?" I asked. "
Oh, I squished him," he said, very matter-of-fact.
Rest in peace, Uncle. I'm sorry you had to endure the trauma of being the first pet of a very unsympathetic three-year-old.
Yesterday we had the joy of attending a very beautiful and meaningful wedding. We brought the kids along for this one and had been feeling pretty apprehensive all week about what it would be like to bring a three-year-old and an almost one-year-old to a wedding. I wasn't really too worried about Brielle--she's generally content as long as I don't dare to leave her (EVER. With ANYONE. Not even for a millisecond. Need to pee? Too bad.) But Perrin has a tendency to pick very inconvenient times to act a teensy bit... oh, how to describe it?... demon-possessed. Plus the wedding was at 1:00, which is prime nap time for both kids. So I couldn't help but feel that we were setting ourselves up for failure. But what do you do when practically everyone you know will be at the wedding, leaving no one for babysitting? You prepare the best you can and pray for God to have mercy.
So I packed my purse that morning. I had to remove unimportant junk like the check book and car keys to make room for essentials: an iPad, cheerios, three rubber ducks, Easter eggs, a teething ring, fruit snacks, sippy cups, a train, a truck, and a partridge in a pear tree.
We got there in plenty of time to pick a spot that would allow us to make a quick getaway if needed. Perrin informed me he needed to go to the bathroom, so I went in search of the restrooms while Trey claimed our seats. Perrin wanted to go into the stall alone, so I waited outside the door for him. He was taking a really long time, so I peeked under the door and saw that he had unrolled two entire rolls of toilet paper onto the floor. The toilet paper was sitting in a giant heap. I groaned, demanded that he unlock the door, and began cleaning up the mess. See if I let him go to the bathroom alone ever again.
We FINALLY made it out of the bathroom just in time for the wedding to start. Perrin found his cousin Brandon and the two boys sat with my parents and started quietly playing games on the iPad, which pretty much kept them occupied for the entire wedding. (Thank you, technology. I don't know what I would do without you.) So that just left us with Brielle to keep occupied and quiet.
She dug through my purse and played with the toys some. Then she lunged forward and began pulling the arm hair of the stranger sitting in front of me (who did not seem terribly amused. Sorry, sir.) The pastor officiating the wedding began telling the story of the couple and how it all started back in 1990 when they were born, only a day apart from each other but 2000 miles away. Brielle chose that moment to contribute a hearty "Yeah!" The few people around us chuckled. (Side note: We are attending weddings of people born in the 90s. I officially feel old).
We made it through the ceremony and into the reception without further incidences. I could tell Perrin was getting a little restless, so I got him some grapes and a small slice of wedding cake. He devoured the cake and pretty quickly realized that there was more yummy food nearby. The good thing about having lots of friends and family around is that everyone kind of helps watch the kids and keep them in line. The bad thing is that everyone assumes that someone else is watching the kids. At one point I was holding Bri and Trey and I were chatting with some friends when I suddenly realized Perrin wasn't sitting at the table anymore. I found him at the food table, snatching baklava and chocolate peanut clusters and shoving them in his cheeks like a guilty squirrel. After we cleaned him up and stopped by the bride and groom to say a quick congratulations, we decided it was time to get the kids home. We were probably about ten minutes too late in our estimate of how long they could last--Perrin came completely unglued on our way out to the car. The excitement, sugar, and lack of sleep had caught up to him at last. He and Brielle both took good naps that afternoon.
So what did I learn from all of this? 1. If you take kids to a wedding, come very prepared. Just dump the toy box into your purse and it'll all be good. 2. When a three-year-old wants to be independent and go to the bathroom all by himself, just say no. Remember that slogan from our elementary school drug education days? It's good for toddlers too. Just say no. 3. If the desserts on the food table seem to be disappearing rather quickly, there's a good chance that there's a sneaky little boy somewhere nearby who needs his mommy to pay closer attention. But cut her some slack--her baby girl has probably dipped her hand into her brother's leftover wedding cake and is smearing it into her hair at that exact moment. True story.
Today was one of those days that makes me feel really jealous that Trey gets to leave the house for 8 hours every Monday through Friday. Most of the time I'm incredibly grateful that I get to be home with the kids. And most of the time I really enjoy it.
And then there are days like today. Perrin started the morning by painting himself with yogurt. When I insisted that he take a bath, he threw a temper tantrum that lasted nearly an hour (no kidding. An HOUR. Of screaming. My eye is twitching just thinking about it.)
Once he was clean and the sniffles finally subsided, he spilled milk all over my carpet--no biggie, it happens--but then at some point while I was distracted, he managed to glue a piece of paper to our dining room table. Then he flushed an entire roll of toilet paper down the toilet. I managed to fish some of it out with the toilet plunger before it all disappeared down the hole, but the toilet was definitely making some gurgly noises this afternoon. Then Perrin found my Kindle and promptly destroyed my expensive leather cover with built-in light by breaking off the metal contacts (this is actually the second time he's broken one of these... you'd think I'd find a way to keep it away from him, but honestly, this kid is so resourceful that nothing is truly out of reach).
By the time Trey came home, I was seething. "Take. Your. Son. NOW." Trey, being an intelligent and observant man, could tell that I was a teensy bit upset. He let me lock myself in our bedroom for 30 minutes while he and the boy had a little chat and my blood pressure returned to somewhat normal.
Perrin came up to me later with his sweetest little voice and said, "Sorry Mama. You forgive me?" The truth is, I was still angry. I was exhausted. And I had a choice about how I was going to respond--I could do what I felt like doing and lock myself away for the rest of the night. Or I could do what I knew I needed to do, and what I knew Perrin needed me to do, and give him a hug and tell him I love him no matter what. I chose the latter.
I tucked Perrin into bed a few minutes ago. Perrin looked up at me with wide, innocent eyes and said, "I want to pick dandelions tomorrow and bring them to you." My heart melted. What an angel.
Trey turned 30 over the weekend, so in honor of this landmark birthday we dropped the kids off with my parents early Friday morning and spent Friday and Saturday in Branson. We shopped and had lunch at the promenade, nearly drowned each other in the lazy river at an indoor water park (we were definitely not acting our age), saw a magic show, and rode a few roller coasters at Silver Dollar City. Every time we sat down to eat, we just marveled at how nice it was to actually get to EAT and not refill sippy cups or mash up more banana or clean up spills or convince Perrin that spaghetti is not a finger food. It was our first night child-free since before Brielle was born. (And what did we talk about the entire time? Yep--the kids.)
Even with all the fun and celebration, Trey was feeling a little bummed about turning 30. But I get the feeling the 30s might be some of the best years of our life. We're in a good place--we own a home, we have two terrific kids, we both have good jobs that we enjoy (and that allow me to be home with the kids). God has surrounded us with supportive family and friends and a church where we truly feel at home. We have everything we need and a whole lot more.
This is so dorky, but I keep thinking of a phrase from the movie 13 Going on 30 (which, dorky or not, is a really good movie in my opinion): "Thirty, flirty, and thriving." C'mon Trey, let's be thirty, flirty, and thriving!
Or how about something a little more spiritual: "Wisdom is with the aged, and understanding in length of days" (Job 12:12). See, we're getting wiser! Actually, I don't feel nearly as smart as I thought I was back in high school. Hmm... maybe that's a sign of wisdom after all.
One more: "Even to your old age I am he, and to gray hairs I will carry you. I have made, and I will bear; I will carry and will save" (Isaiah 46:4). Trey, you can just insert "bald head" in place of "gray hairs" and you'll get the gist. :)
Kidding! ...sort of.
This blog post is probably going to come across a wee bit self-congratulatory. Fair warning. I'm just feeling really excited because I DID IT!!! I ran an entire 5k without stopping! I know people run 5ks all the time (and my mom and sister both have a marathon under their belts, which makes it hard to feel good about a measly 5k), but I have to stress that I am NOT a runner. My sport growing up was softball, where the farthest you ever have to run is around the bases, and only if you happen to get a home run (so, yeah, I didn't do a lot of base running).
The Color Me Rad 5k was a good race for a newbie like me. It was a casual atmosphere and as far as I could tell very few people actually attempted to run the whole thing. That could have had something to do with the fact that it's June in Arkansas--automatically not the best racing conditions. Or it could have had something to do with the massive hills we had to go up and down. (Okay, okay, they weren't massive. But when you're in the middle of running up them, they might as well be Everest.)
To add to the fun, we got blasted with colorful chalky stuff (yes, that is the official term) every five minutes or so. Here's a picture of me and Trey post race:
Don't we look rad?
I used to say that I would only run if a serial killer was chasing me (not just your garden-variety murderer, mind you. It takes a lot to motivate me to move much faster than 2MPH.) But after this experience I feel like I would maybe possibly do a race again sometime. No serial killers necessary.
