Dear Beckett

Beckett, I don't even know what has happened. Maybe I blinked for a fraction of a second too long, but when I opened my eyes, you became a big boy. Blake was a difficult baby. He had reflux and low muscle tone and so so much more that I can't even remember to list them all. But he was difficult. We were ALWAYS at the doctor. He was very demanding. But you? You were a gem. Such a sweet smiley baby. And then after that first year Blake started to become happier and you became a bit....more demanding. Kind of as if you were saying that you were tired of playing second fiddle. And so for the past three years you have been challenging. You are a willful determined intelligent energetic little sprite. You have brought me to my knees in exasperation and frustration. You aren't a bad boy, just challenging. You remind me a lot of myself, eek! But lately? Oh my gosh. You have become this hilarious sweet compassionate well mannered little boy. Everything is please and thank you. You listen to what I am saying and you obey me. You want to climb onto my lap for a cuddle. You tell me that I am the best mommy in the world! Of course you also say you are the best Beckett in the world too;) You have become this agreeable little person that I can't get enough of. I want to capture the very essence of you and paint my soul with it. You are awesome! And finally at just shy of one month past your fourth birthday, you are potty trained. It took less than a week. I am so proud of you Beck! So many people told me that age four is magical, just one month in and I'm a believer.

Happy 4th Birthday!

Four

It's almost midnight and that means my babies will be four. Four years old. That is big. That is one year away from kindergarten. Just one year. I never imagined myself to be the sentimental parent, the one who cries when cribs are taken down, car seats change to boosters or pull ups replacing diapers. But I do. Cry. A lot. I can't quite believe that my babies will be four. Certainly I know that the time has passed but I just have to wonder where it went. I can't even remember what it was like to hold their tiny little bodies. How they must have fit so perfectly into the crook of my arm. A place for each one of them. I wish I could go back into that moment where their giggles erupted into a thousand twinkles of light. Sprinkling me with illumination. I want to close my eyes and when I open them I want to see tiny baby hands with dimples wrapped around me. I want to feel those sweet open mouthed slobbery kisses dripping down my face. I want to put them into a tub full of bubbles and wrap them in a towel and inhale the scent that is all baby. I want what time has stolen.
And yet. If I were to go back, then I couldn't move forward. I wouldn't be able to watch them learn to jump with both feet. Put their heads under the water. Ride a bike. Swing from a big swing. Learn to identify their colors. Make friends. Follow directions. Make choices. Say their name. Say MY name. Grow up.
It's hard. This parenting business. It is so very hard. Every single day I am challenged. Every single day I question myself. I don't always do the right thing. I probably rarely do the right thing. But the boys don't hold it against me. They simply love me.
This past year has been hard. Discipline has been rough. I am alone during the day with two strong willed littles. I want them to assert their independence but yet have respect for me. I worry way too much about what others think about my parenting style. I become consumed with guilt if I spoke too loudly. When they take a nap, the majority of the time I lie down too because I'm exhausted. Sometimes I wonder if I said anything nice to them that day at all. Most of the time I feel as if I am telling them, NO, or I'm done. At the end of the day my patience is shot and I can't wait for them to be in their room, door closed. I even feel as if I say prayers with them half heartedly.
And they still aren't potty trained. I don't have the energy for it.
Yet. I wouldn't trade it. Some days are hard. Some days are just plain awful. But there are moments of absolute bliss that shine, making it worth it. These boys now have personalities. Unique adorable personalities. They are little people. And I am addicted to them. To their little voices. I have never heard an angel giggle but I would imagine that the voice of a toddler is pretty similar. I can be having a bad day, a bad moment and one of them will say something and I will stop. Aware of this grace that is my child. The child I fiught so hard to give life to.
Every day I need to be intentional with these greatest gifts. Every day I have the opportunity to start over in His grace. Every day I am blessed to be their momma.
Happy Birthday babies.

december 2014

random thoughts

I hate guns.  Everything about them.  I don't believe that any good comes from a gun.  The fact that I have two boys, one of whom loves guns scares the crap out of me.  How do I teach him to differentiate a fake gun from a real one?  What happens if he goes for a play date and finds a gun?  A real one? But he thinks its fake?  The consequences of that scenario start to overwhelm me and I become obsessed with all the "what ifs."
Lately I have been struggling with....everything.  The violence that is happening not just out in the world, but literally out our front door is disheartening at best.  I am not a fearful person.  In fact I am quite trusting, to the point of being naive. But every time I open my eyes, I want to close them back so quickly.  I don't like what I see .  I don't like what is happening in this world.  I don't like how it's making me fearful.  There are days I don't want to leave the house.  Terrified that I may be the victim of a random shooting.  And this fear is controlling me.  And the devil is winning.
I have been down on my knees, searching my heart for the truth.  I desperately need truth right now.  I believe that God knew from the moment of our creation when we would take our last breath.  I believe that.  But I have a very hard time, a VERY hard time reconciling that with random violence.  Did God know that those two innocent police men in New York were going to be gunned down execution style?  And if He did know that, then why couldn't He intervene?  Because I believe that God can intervene.  But He doesn't.  And I struggle with that.  I have no doubt in my mind that there is a picture bigger than I can imagine, that He has painted and perfected.  I'm sure that picture is beautiful.  But right now the world looks ugly to me.  I have such a hard time finding beauty outside of my own little bubble.  And I hate that.  I hate that the devil is trying to win by taking my fear and owning it as if it were a prize.  I want to be strong.  But mostly I want to be free.  From all this fear that is weighing me down and corroding my heart.  I want to be able to raise my boys to be wise in this world but to seek the beauty that lies in every heart.  And that is hard to do when I don't even want to open my eyes.

december 2, 2014

Surgery for Blake

Blake has to have surgery. It's nothing big. Really. It isn't. He has to have tubes put back in both ears. He doesn't have recurrent ear infections, but he does ALWAYS have fluid in his ears. And his tympanogram is ALWAYS flat. And his speech is still delayed.  His most recent visit with the audiologist confirmed hearing loss. Not significant, but present nonetheless. His little voice is quite nasally. He sounds kind of like a character from Charlie Brown. Clearly he speaks how he hears.  Put your hand over your mouth and try to talk. It's all muffled, right? That's how Blake hears everyday. So clearly I would be remiss as his parent to not provide him with the best opportunity to enhance his world. And he needs his tonsils and adenoids removed. No, he hasn't had recurrent strep infections. But he does have sleep apnea. He does have asthma. His adenoids are HUGE. He does have oral motor issues. At almost four he drools, as much as if he were a teething baby. He doesn't close his mouth. EVER. All of his shirts have drool on them, and now it bothers him. He's always wiping his chin on his sleeve. And now with the cold weather his little chin is so chapped. Everything he eats has to be cut up into "little bites." He eats only hard crunchy foods. He doesn't even eat macaroni and cheese. Really, he lives off cereal. And Kit Kats;) So all that combined made us realize that we needed to do the surgery. (Ok. I'm lying. All that convinced Chris that we needed to do the surgery). I don't want to do it. I have never heard anybody say that recovery from a tonsillectomy was easy. And I know there is no correlation between the two. Logically, I know this. Blake had surgery on December 12, 2012. Two weeks later we were brought to our knees when his platelet count was 3000 and he was diagnosed with ITP. Our world didn't change, it stopped. I don't think I can do that again. Go that route again. It was terrifying. And this is Blake. If anything can happen, it does. The poor child can't catch a break. Yet I'm going to send my sweet asthmatic who also bronchospasms with a history of bleeding disorder into the OR? Oh and wait....before he can even go to the OR he has to be cleared by his cardiologist for the small hole in his heart. Sounds like a great plan, huh?? Anyway surgery is scheduled for next week. It can't get here soon enough and yet I want time to stand still.