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Saturday, May 24, 2008

Horror


We let our kids watch Silence of the Lambs with us.










Or that's what it appears like in that photo, doesn't it?

Really, I went through a car wash with them in the car. Oh, the horror!

Note to Self: Get car washed more often...

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

You Can Find a New Way





I love Cat Stevens. The lyrics to this song couldn't be better for what I want for our kids. At least, I hope that we can teach them to care less about what others think and more about what they want to do and who they want to be. I want them to be their own, unique, creative, individual selves. I want them to spend little time and effort on meeting others' expectations. I want them to spend more of their time loving who they are and being satisfied with what they offer.

They say, on the subject of teaching kids, that modeling is way more effective than talking.

Shoot.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Excitement



I think, out of all the things we miss about our former home, we miss the experiences that good ol' GR offered our kids. Here, there is no children's museum, or zoo, or butterfly garden, or playgroups, or nature center.
There is lots and lots (and lots) of nature. We can go on long walks, and we can play on the swing set that someone so graciously donated. But there isn't a ton of variety. We're trying to find some creative activities now that it is nicer out.
Here is what we came up with:
Ice cream at the local ice cream place (Homemade ice cream. Really GOOD ice cream!)
Blessing of the Bikes (I'm serious when I say there were HUNDREDS of bikes in our town this weekend, all waiting for Sunday, when they would get blessed by the local priest. Is this funny to you guys?)
The Local Fish Farm (You pay THEM to feed their fish. $1/cup)
and the School Playground (that sports dirty diapers and leftover fast food items, just in case you wanted either, I guess.)

The kids had a riot.
As for K and I, we are learning the art of creative entertainment. I guess that's not a bad thing, is it?

Pastors' Kids Say...



B: I wanna be your king, S!
Z: I wanna be your king too, S!
S: There can only be ONE king.
Z: Um, okay, then I wanna be the PASTOR of the king.

Wednesday, May 14, 2008

Mylora



S has an older friend, a sister-in-law of MY sister-in-law. She met her at some family gathering once, probably a birthday party for my nephews or something.

The woman grabbed up that "sweet little thang" the very first time she met her, and held her close. She hugged and rocked her the rest of the afternoon.

S had a hangnail that day. A hangnail!
And she showed Lora, and Lora fixed it with a sympathetic kiss, Neosporin, and a princess Band-aid.

S was in her glory.

Lora asked her to come back some day soon, and they would dress up all "beautiful-like", do their "hair up all pretty", and eat lots and lots of candy.

Ever since then, Lora has not been anyone else's friend.
S claimed her as her own.

In fact, now Lora is known as Mylora, because that is all we ever hear her called:

"My Lora" this, and "My Lora" that.

Recently, Mylora gave S "a special bag for a special girl". This special (plastic grocery) bag contained:
Pon poms, a princess/cheerleader dress, a wand, a bejeweled crown, elegant "glass" slippers, earrings, and a necklace.

Our girl is no longer a girl.

She is a princess. Do not call her by any other name. A princess. Or, if you prefer, a beautiful princess will do.

S has been donning this beautiful attire, gracefully (?) gliding (tripping and falling) about her castle (the living room), calling out orders (yup, orders) to her faithful (not very) subjects (her brothers).

She is more beautiful ("I am so pretty, mama!") and more confident ("Everyone likes me, don't they, mama?!") than I have seen her in her life.

Thank you, Mylora. You are nice.

Monday, May 12, 2008

Beads, Buttons....No Luck


I am constantly on the lookout for activities that will build Z's fine motor skills. The kids have squeezed colored water from one glass to another with eye droppers, they've dug through rice to find various shapes and sizes of buttons, and recently they've been doing Perler Beads.
I love that it keeps TWO of my kids distracted for hours. Today, B and S played for almost an hour, placing tiny beads onto the bases and making cool designs.
The problem: Z is not interested in any of these things. He humors me for about five minutes, and he is very officially done. He's off to play by himself until his brother and sister are less distracted by the ridiculously boring activities that mama bought for "them". I know that he doesn't like those types of things, because those types of activities are hard for him, but it seems like the boy could give me more than five minutes!
I guess I am still on the lookout for things that will build Z's fine motor skills.

Edited to add: Unfortunately for Z, he "accidentally" broke S's Perler Bead shape this afternoon, so he spent WAY longer than he would have liked making a new shape to replace the broken one, while S and B played outside. Sometimes his desire to tease comes in quite handy.

Saturday, May 10, 2008

Then

The other night, I walked into the bedroom, and there was K.

Waiting.

No, just kidding. Actually, he was there, but he wasn't waiting for me. I've been sick, again, and he knows not to wait while I'm sick and (feeling-fat-and-dealing-with-blue-stretch-marks) pregnant.

So, he was reading a poetry book by e.e. cummings, and it reminded me of the time before he was even aware that I liked him.
I was all sorts of attracted to the fact that K wrote poetry, and he capitalized his letters similar to my favorite author, which means he capitalized almost no words at all.

Then, I liked that he would sing his own made-up songs to me, even though he didn't sing very good (at all). It was cute that he tried.

And I loved that he was not obnoxious. He didn't call me all the time. And he wasn't always asking me to do stuff. He let me bug him on my terms. I liked that.

And he was fun. I called him once, at 1130pm. I told him we should go to the pier some time. He said, "How 'bout now?" And we were off.
Spontaneous.
I liked that too.

I liked that he would humor me, and bring me to D&W after every one of our dates. I would run in, get a 10 cent chocolate-covered cinnamon roll, and then he would take me home. I was happy.

And I liked that he was really smart. And now he is smarter than that. I like that. Except, now, in comparison, I sometimes feel really dumb.

I liked that he dressed cute. And I didn't even help him pick out clothes back then. (How come he doesn't know how to match stuff now?)

I liked that we talked about everything. And I felt comfortable with him. Sometimes, he would wake me up from a nap, (I didn't get much sleep when we were dating, because I had to get up at 430 every day for work and we usually didn't get back from the bakery run until 12 or 1 am. Hence, the naps...) and I would have no makeup and and crap breath, and he still thought I was cute.

I liked that he waited until I told him I wanted to kiss him before I had even a clue that he would consider dating me.

I liked that he asked the director of the ministry we were involved with if it was okay to ask me on an a date, and I liked that he asked my dad if he could marry me before he surprised and asked me.

I liked that boy, that K. I still do.

Thursday, May 08, 2008

Cleaning

It was 930am, and the kids had already had breakfast, and they were dressed and ready for the day. The kitchen was cleaned up.

S was swiffering the floor with that spray cleaner kind of thing. I was happily basking in the feeling of calm that occurs when everything is going as expected.

I hear, in my ear, but not yet necesarily in my brain, (you tend to tune out three preschool-aged kids at certain times of the day), a conversation that just doesn't seem to make sense. I thought I heard the words, "juice" and "good", and yet, I'm quite certain we have no such juice in the house.

I turn from the sink to witness S happily spraying "juice" into the boys' cups. One is taking a "sip"; one is saying, "Thanks, S. Mmmmm!"
"STOP!", I yell, "That is NOT juice. That is floor cleaner!*"
And although they tell me it was good, I just don't really believe them.

Tuesday, May 06, 2008

Neonates


Presently, I have a class to finish up. I should be doing that right now. I have a paper to finish by tomorrow. But...
I am sick of thinking academically...
I am being distracted by other kinds of thinking, like:
1. I just told K today that I was worried about not feeling the baby move, and now, at this very moment, the baby is kicking me right under the ribs. I am surprised s/he is already that high, but I don't care. I felt our baby move! For the first time, at 23 weeks!
2. I re-met a mom who was in neonatal with us. She had a little boy. I am 23 weeks right now, and I'm thinking N was born at around 25. (Is that right, mama?)
Neonatal babies are not cute. They look like plucked chickens, or aliens or baby hamsters. Maybe some of them look like wrinkly pug puppies. I remember thinking my kids were cute at the time.

I was wrong.

But N was seriously cute. He looked like a normal baby. Except you could almost fit him in your palm.

And his mom was funny. I needed her humor when I had to spend 8 hours a day hearing, "Your son may have brain damage. He probably won't be able to walk on his own." "Your daughter is on the highest oxygen we can give her. There is nothing else we can do." "Your son has sepsis, we think. We're going to have to do a spinal tap."

We needed laughter, and N's mom gave it to us often. She was serious too, which is what made us able to accept her humor so easily. That, and the fact that her own baby was going through issues similar to our own wee neonates.

We kept each other sane. If our kids weren't doing well, at least M's was doing ok that day. There was hope.

We kept in touch through Christmas cards. It took us a few years to recover from the hurricane of it all.

Then, in the last few months, we started talking about getting our kids together. We've both been talking to our kids about the miracles that occurred in each of their incubators, while they lay, unaware, hooked up to their many tubes and tanks.

We emailed. She emailed me a few times while her students were doing individual projects. (She is a teacher). She sent me pictures of her sons. I forwarded them to my sister, who regularly asks how her oldest, N, was doing.)

After receiving the forward, my sister read the name on the photos. M's first and LAST name, and suddenly she made a connection:

M is my niece's teacher. My sister and I laughed about the fact that M was emailing me while teaching my niece (because my sister and I would be doing the same thing), and then we decided to get together at her school. I finally got to see M again, and while it has been almost five years, it feels like I really know her.

Those times, in neonatal, change a person, and when you re-meet someone who went through that horrible roller coaster with you, there will always be a connection that you won't quite have anywhere else. An understanding.

A "Hey, you were there too."

It was good to see her.