New human=New normal

Someone asked me the other day if things are getting "back to normal yet?"  They were referring to our adjustment to being a family of 5 now, and they asked with the expectation that I say "yes."  As though it has been long enough (Lincoln is 2 months old, by the way) and I should have my household back in order by now.  I did that thing where I freeze momentarily, stuck between the thing I want to say and the thing I probably should say.  I probably should have said something generic like "we're working it out," or "it's certainly an adjustment."  What was rattling around in my brain was this:

I just brought a new human into the world! He wasn't here...now he is! There is an entirely new human being living in my house now and we're all trying to figure out how that's gonna change things around here.  I don't expect to EVER be "back to normal!"  That "normal" is gone and now we're having to find and create a new one.  That's gonna take some time!

New babies change everything! Your first one changes your perspectives on everything ever.  Every one after that changes the way that you do life as a family.  There's always so much empty talk about sibling regression once a new sibling arrives.  Those things are real, at least in my house.  Potty trained before the arrival of a new sibling=wetting the bed every night for weeks after his/her arrival.  Sleeping through the night for months before a new sibling=waking and screaming constantly after his/her arrival.  But these reactions are more than just things we complain about to our friends over coffee.  These "regressions" are how these poor kids are coping with the way their worlds have changed dramatically, literally over night.  We literally bring a new person into their homes who screams, demands our attention, gets away with everything they don't and whose very presence requires new expectations of them and new rules to follow.  New routines, new schedules, new, new, new, new, new! It's overwhelming for us as parents, as adults.  How and why do we expect anything more than what we get from our older children?  And why do we feel, as mothers, like we have to have everything together so soon after producing life?

No matter who you are, or how many times you've done it, bringing a new baby home is hard.  It's exhausting physically and emotionally--for everyone in the household.  And there is no statute of limitations on the adjustment period.  It's as long as it needs to be, and there's no speeding it up.

...I guess maybe that should be my response next time someone asks how we're doing...

Back in the Game!

...and she's back! My laptop met certain demise at the hands of my very ill husband (who shoved it off the bed onto our hardwood floors in his sick delirium) and I in no way had the will to publish from the public library...or any other public venue...so I wound up on an involuntary blogging hiatus.  Until now.  My beautiful, faithful (until dropped) MacBook Pro is finally home where she belongs, begging me to write.  So write I shall.  Or maybe its my whirling thought-life and inherent need to create that's doing the begging.  At any rate, I'm thankful that she's fixed and that I get to utilize my favorite outlet again.  Even if I'm the only one who ever reads this blog (as I'm certain anyone who read it before has long since given up on me), its worth it.

Life has been full in the months since I last was able to post.  In fact, it hardly seems to be the same life at all.  My husband has nearly stopped traveling altogether since he took a job as a worship pastor at a local church.  We also relocated to be closer to said church--and because we had a sudden desire to consume less and save more which made the decision to downsize our home and our lifetime's worth of stuff quite easy to make.  Oh, and we have since made, carried, delivered and brought home a whole other child!  You were spared the drama of "what's the gender?" and "holy cow, how far along are you, you are so huge!" this time around.  Suffice it to say that both were present.  Let it be no surprise that our third BOY was brought home six weeks ago and this mama is thrilled.  He's perfect.  Of course.  Even when he's screaming at 4:00am.  I suppose I owe him a blog post, as per his brothers' posts.  That shall follow.

I'm sure anecdotes from these past months will find their way to these pages, but for now, consider this the high-speed update.  Let's go from here, shall we?

In Limbo

We're living in limbo lately and I'm tolerating it surprisingly well, no thanks to any steely resolve of my own, but thanks to the bigger idea that I'm not the only one steering this ship. There's a shift on the horizon in Logan's vocation, which will in turn, shift our lives entirely. The only problem is that we're unsure about what that shift looks like. There's a stirring in him that says to put down roots in a body of Christ again. To worship, write music with, and shepherd a central body over the grander Church Body for a while. This is huge. It started with a quiet desire in our separate hearts, caught some fire at his first admission to me, and has been kindled by the movements of God in the direction our life is taking. But that's all we know. We know that we'll land somewhere, but the where and the when haven't become clear yet...so we wait in limbo. This could drive me insane (and depending on the day, sometimes it does), but for the most part I am content. I know that in the meantime we'll be provided for and sustained emotionally and financially, so I sit on my hands and try not to disengage or lose myself to restlessness. I'm giving it my best effort to stay present in our here-and-now, rather than moving on before I know where to move on to.

The peace in my spirit is overwhelming and I'm enormously thankful for it. Sometimes I feel like maybe the "normal" thing to do is to worry, so maybe I should try that for a while for the sake of something to do...but that doesn't feel right either...so I get comfortable back in limbo again. The strangest thing is that I have no complaint, other than I have nothing to complain about or celebrate about. LIMBO. Just...waiting...

I wrote this many months ago, before we found our new church home via a job offer from a church here in our home town.  There were several offers actually, all at once, but the more we pursued them, the more this one appeared to be home.  I like reading this post, which I left as a draft until now seeing as how we weren't sharing that particular life-change with many people at that time, because it's part of this bigger story that we're still writing and experiencing.  I find great joy and hope in where I've been, even when the "where I've been" was hard.  It reminds me that's there's always light, even when I can't see it yet.  

What I was getting at

I discovered this gem floating around on Facebook. I'm so glad I did. This is what my "erica to Erica" blog was getting at, I just didn't know it yet. I suppose, without this beautifully written article, I would not have known it for another many years.

Please read, enjoy, and be encouraged.

To the Mother with Only One Child

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

I had the immense privilege of being given the gift of wonder and imagination in my home as I grew up. I'm certain it's because of that freedom that my parents gifted my brothers and I that I revel in all things festive. Christmas is filed under magic, joy, giving, sparkle, music, tradition and abundance in my childhood memory-banks and as I'm getting older and now have the privilege of creating memories for my children, I'm unrelentingly thankful that I have those files to pull from.

Elias is two and his everyday life is full of discovery and wonder because of the very nature of a two-year-old soul. This makes for a very magical Christmas season as we're introducing him to new family traditions and festivities. He's learning bits and pieces of the original Christmas story as well, and happily chatters about the "Jesus house," (stable) he learned about in his storybook bible. Another thing that's warming my heart lately.

This is Maddox's first Christmas--special and celebratory in a whole other way. We're still 21 days away from Christmas morning (of course we're counting) and we've already had an incredibly special month.

Brotherly love by the choo-choo at Christmas Knoll Tree Farm

Hot cocoa!

Bundled up and ready to go!

The boys helping decorate the house.

Halloween 2011

For Halloween 2011 we had a little bumblebee (look familiar?) and a penguin. Elias has a penguin super beanie that has flippers that act as a scarf extension that he loves, so we made him a little white penguin chest and orange flipper feet to go with it and called it good! I love any excuse to wear a costume so Halloween is one of my favorite holidays. I'm so excited that my kids are getting excited about it too! This year was like Intro to Halloween 101. I'm excited for Halloween 201 next year!

I could not get this kid to hold still long enough for photos once costumes were on. These are the nudie, pre-costume shots.

I may not ever get actual photos of them...they're too fast and too mobile! I settle for candids.

Maddox Martin, you make me gush!

Nine months! Would it be redundant to say again that this is going by way too fast? Just thought the world should have a look at my littlest as of late.

erica to Erica

I ran into a friend of the "other" erica's yesterday. This is the only way I know how to categorize my life before motherhood. The "other" me. This is the only thing that seems appropriate because that girl and the one that types on this keyboard now are vastly different people who happen to share the same name and a similar (barely) shell. Sometimes it throws me when I'm comparing other erica to current Erica that other erica existed a short 30 months ago...oh how quickly life can alter a person!

Life, the maturation process that we each are embarked on, can make two people who have moved from parallel to perpendicular paths feel derailed and untethered when they suddenly intersect. That is how I felt when I ran into a friend of erica's yesterday. Actually, we kind of literally ran into one another when Elias ran into her shopping cart in the grocery store. There were the usual, "look how big your kids are now!" and "how are you doing?" and then there was this, "so...you stay home with them now." An observation, not a question. Suddenly I'm conscious of my dirty hair stuffed under a beanie and my splotchy face, sans makeup, and my 4-year-old sweater, and my jeans that are the wrong size now. Of course she knows I'm a stay-at-home mom now. There's no hiding it today.

"Yeah!" I said, way too brightly. I prattled on about the privilege of vocational motherhood and why I'm passionate about it, feeling the heat rise in my ears as I try desperately to control my 2-year-old by holding onto the hood of his sweatshirt. Finally, when Elias starts running tiny circles so the hood bunches in my grip and he goes careening into the paths of annoyed shoppers, she states graciously (and was that pity on her face?) that she'll "let me go," and we part ways.

Yuck! I wanted to yell after her that I'm a better person now, even if I do look like I just climbed out of a garbage disposal! I wanted to convince her that the cracker crumbs that never leave the bottom of my purse do not define my state of being. I desperately wanted to articulate to this girl that my world has been changed for the better because two of the most incredible little spirits on the planet were given to me for safekeeping for a while. I wanted her to envy me the way I envied her in that moment. That moment where she stood a single, working girl, in her super-cute platform shoes and perfectly flat-ironed hair. With her pink iPhone cover and her snot-free shirt.

After that wave of awkward, misplaced jealousy, I came to this conclusion: erica was her; Erica isn't erica anymore. Meaning, that while I do miss elements of life as erica, there is no going back. I would never want to go back. Aside from the obvious absence of my boys, I would never want to go back in time as earlier versions of myself in any form because that's not living. I have a new respect for aging as I have come to respect this newly new me, because I figure if I can feel this transformed in a matter of 30 months, then I'm gonna be a damn fine person in 30 years. Circumstance, Elias, Maddox, Logan, family, friends, tragedy, blessing, experience, the Creator and created will all see to that, right? I'm excited to keep discovering new Ericas.

...if only erica's friend knew what she's missing...

I pray that something (if not children) is transforming her into a better version of herself the way that my kids are perpetually transforming me. Maybe if I wasn't so hung up on how out of place our old relationship felt in my new life scenario I could have asked her about hers. Turns out Erica still has a lot of transforming to do.

Coming to September

The season is changing again and I'm unprepared as usual. With each shift I find myself wondering where the time went and this season is no different. August was a major month in the Martin house this year; it marked the 6-month birthday for Maddox, who is an utter joy, it brought a Martin family reunion, and the beginning to Logan's longest tour yet.

My baby is 6 months old! Nearly 7, now, and seeing the way that he has settled into this family is a joy that I can't even articulate correctly. It's as though he were meant to be in our family all along, even before he was a light-blue "+" sign on my bathroom counter, he was somehow supposed to be part of our family and no one else would have fit the way he does. There was a Maddox-shaped void in our family that was unrecognizable and unnoticed until he came and filled it. He's quick to laugh, always bright-eyed, patient, determined, constantly moving, working on two little teeth, and trying to sit up. He has enormous chubby thighs and the most perfect little toes I've ever seen--in fact, the nurse who did his footprints in the hospital took 20 photo-copies and shoved them in my bag, making me promise to distribute them to everyone because she too thought they were perfect.

The Martin family reunion was also a first camping trip for this little family, and I'd call it a success. I'm certain Elias thought he'd found heaven. Outside all day, every day, for four days. Little boy perfection. That is until we tried to bathe him in a shower stall. Mistake. Won't happen again. I kept waiting for authorities to bang on the door, demanding the tortured screams be explained. Overall it was wonderful getting to know extended family and introducing the boys to canoe rides, sleeping outside, campfire time and cousins. Elias is still calling most kids he meets "cousin!" and I was regretful to wash the campfire smell out of our belongings when we returned. A close to one of our first family-of-four memories before saying goodbye to Logan for 18 long days.

I'm writing from somewhere in the middle of Logan's east-coast tour and have nothing of substance to say about that, except that it's hard. It's hard to see how Elias misses his Daddy and it's hard making the life-shift that's required when he's on such a lengthy trip. Both myself and my boys (mostly Elias for now) have to mentally move into another way of doing life--the single-parent way where days are a series of carefully crafted schedules to reduce the amount of stress in our home. The nap-time dance, the feeding-time dance, the bath-time dance--trying to meet the unique individual needs of each of my kids at the same time. Every day that I do it alone I wonder in amazement how true full-time single-parents do it. How do they go a lifetime without a partner in the most difficult job I know? I'm thankful for the support system I have in friends and family...without them I would be reduced to a puddle of nerves in the wake of my little ones' demands and my children would be even worse for wear. So for now, each day is a new day and we just keep moving and wishing the time would pass at lightning speed rather than tortoise speed as it often seems to do when one is waiting. Waiting to hear Elias' belly laugh as he wrestles with Daddy in the other room, waiting to hear Logan over the baby monitor in the morning, meaning I'm granted some extra sleep, waiting for this space in my bed to be warm again, waiting for a yummy meal off the grill, waiting for a decompression partner at the end of the day. Waiting for my partner. I'm so proud of the music he makes and the people's lives he touches, but mostly, tonight, I just want him back!

So, to those of you who are sleeping next to your loved-one tonight, enjoy! To those who are single-parents: you're my hero, keep up the good, tough, endearing, important work that you do. And to those who are missing someone or watching the sand in an hour glass for some other reason, won't you please share your time-passing secrets with me?

And the Greatest of These is Love

I used to think of adoption strictly as a means to a family for infertile couples. When I was younger it would confuse me when I would find out about families with both biological and adopted children. How very narrow-minded of me. I view adoption now as a beautiful act of hope, faith and love. I would go so far as to say, that for me, I may even consider it a responsibility. I have been so blessed with so much, that I can't think of a reason why I shouldn't take an orphaned child into my home and heart. I can think of plenty of reasons why that could be hard. But none that negate the fact that world-wide there are millions of children that have been orphaned by death, drug-use, neglect, disaster, abuse...the list goes on...and they're living without anyone who loves them. I live in America (that alone means I have opportunity to offer), I have a house with four bedrooms, and most importantly I have love to give. Sure, adopting, especially out-of-country is expensive; so are cars, and houses, and weddings and big-screen TVs. None of those things are American taboo. Sure, orphaned children arrive with baggage; doesn't that mean they need our love even more? Where do "damaged" children belong, if not in a loving home?

Adopting a child is not in my near future. We still see more biological kids in our future and it's not lost on us that that is a gift of it's own. Right now I only know that my outlook on adoption is changing and evolving. I'm educating myself and I'm preparing my heart for when the right time to bring our next son or daughter home from war-torn Uganda, disaster-impacted Haiti, disease-ridden Rwanda, or the foster home around the corner comes around. If it were right for my family: if my kids were older, if we were more financially secure, if, if, if...I'd bring a child home tomorrow. I look forward to the day that I run out of excuses and my "ifs" turn to "whens" which turn to "nows."

Growing a Gardener

It's happening slowly, like when a super hero is first given their powers in a Marvel comic, but it's definitely happening. I'm becoming a gardening addict. I, Erica D. Martin, killer of most things green, impatient, flighty and irresponsible, am in fact gardening. There is something so satisfying about growing food to nourish my family with! I went outside today, bowl in hand, to pick the ripe raspberries off our bushes. I started out with a 3:1 ratio of raspberries into the bowl, raspberries into my mouth. I came inside, with the entire bush picked clean, with nothing in my bowl and everything in my stomach. I adore growing things in the ground and watching them come to life and bear fruit. It's beautiful, and I've never really understood that before! It makes my heart and my stomach happy. What things fill you up these days?

Toys to Mozambique

Logan has recently partnered with an incredible organization that is changing the world. Food for the Hungry is touching the lives of our world's most neglected and most forgotten and they've let us partner with them in changing the world--thus being changed in the process. As Logan travels and shares his music, he also shares Food for the Hungry's vision of eradicating world hunger through supporting entire communities with clean water, shelter, education, and so much more. He offers concert goers a chance to sponsor a child. A chance to, for a dollar a day, support an entire community of people and send a message to an impoverished child that they are worth something. That someone, somewhere is thinking of them. Loving them, both emotionally and tangibly. Our family recently chose a child to sponsor to ensure that we were walking what we were teaching and experiencing and participating in the changes and the vision that FH is making and casting.

I need my boys to know about our world. About the injustice that they're charged with facing and fixing in the name of Jesus if they choose to follow Him. I want them to grow up with the largest world-view I can offer them. So, I took the picture of the little six-year-old boy from Mozambique that our family is now supporting to try and explain "child sponsorship" in two-year-old language to Elias. I told him how there are kids who live far away that don't have clean water to drink, or snacks all the time, or toys. I told him some of those kids don't have mommies and daddies and they don't have houses like us. I told him how God loves them like He loves him. My precious Elias studied that photo of the little African boy and said astutely, "Sad." True. He does look heart-wrenchingly sad. I recapped what I had just said about him not having everything that Elias does. "No toys?!" Elias exclaimed in disbelief. He hopped off the couch, toting the picture with him and heading for the door, saying, "I go. I go. Give toys, wa-wa, yummies. Make happy! Make happy! I go! I go! I go on plane! Make happy!"

My mommy heart grew and nearly exploded. I was shocked and impressed that he had understood, but more importantly, the answer was so easy for him. He heard of an injustice that his sweet little soul just had to make right and he was certain he could do it. He wasn't bogged down with the cost of plane tickets or the dangers of going into a place like Mozambique. He didn't mentally defer the responsibility of being change to someone else. He just knew that a boy without food or water, or toys for goodness sake, needed help. So he set out toward my front door at age two with nothing but a sad photo of a little boy he's never met, to ensure that that little boy knew love. Tears pour down my face now as I type this because the child-like faith that we're all called to as adults was raw and real in my living room. It convicted me that day. And the compassion and fearlessness in my little boy inspired me. Thank God for my kids, in all the ways that they challenge and inspire me every day of their young lives.

We are only limited by our own lack of faith and imagination. Children are champions of both. It reminds me (with a huge, metaphorical slap in the face) that there's a reason we're told to have "faith like a child." Oh, the things we could accomplish if we all had faith that size! I'm storing that moment with Elias up in my heart and locking it down with all the force I have because I don't ever want to forget his words; because every time I'm challenged to be the hands and feet of Jesus in this world, before He returns to make all things right, I want to hear my son saying "I go! I go!" I will go. Will you?

If you are interested in finding out more about FH and/or child sponsorship, please visit their site: www.fh.org.

All Aboard the Dinosaur Train!...and Happy Birthday, Elias.

Elias is 2! Both in year and attitude. He is fascinated by the PBS Kids show, Dinosaur Train and chose that as his party theme when given multiple options. So, Dinosaur Train it was! We kept this little shindig small, with just his cousins, grandparents and best little buddies Caleb and Samaria. He told me for about a month that his birthday needed "Cake! Presents! Balloons! Sam at my house!" Thanks to fickle Oregon weather, we didn't get to have the party outside like I had hoped and planned (cold, wind, rain on June 18th? Really, Oregon?) so we had to go to plan...C, I think it was, and make due inside. The good news is that I was able to deliver cake, presents, balloons (Dinosaur Train themed nonetheless...thank you, eBay) and Sam at his house (thanks Kara!).

Cupcakes integrated with the Dinosaur Train=perfect (and easy) Dinosaur Train Cake.

How lucky am I that I have such a talented and creative husband who is fully invested in my children's lives...to the point that he happily comes alongside his crazy, birthday-party-obsessed wife to create fabulous cakes (and so much more) for our kids.

You should know 2 things: 1) He looks exhausted and ill because he is a horrific allergy sufferer like his Daddy, 2) For some inexplicable reason he chose to use the dinosaur topper off his cupcake as a utensil to eat the cupcake with.

Once the cupcakes were devoured, the train was free to be played with with his buddy, Sam.

The kids got dinosaur masks in their goodie bags and cousin Bryce was kind enough to model one.

Good Morning, Baltimore

I never thought I'd be a public nurser. Those moms who casually pull their shirts up in public and latch their squirming children to their chests nonchalantly, like it's as socially acceptable as holding their hand always left me turning away shocked, even after I had nursed my first child for a full year. No, I'm still not one of those moms. I draw the line at full exposure; but, life has forced me to tote my awkward and uncomfortable nursing wrap around with me wherever I go and feed poor baby Maddox wherever we happen to be when hunger strikes. My first little man, Elias had the luxury of a perfectly planned eating schedule that was carefully crafted to happen in the quiet of our home 90% of the time. As the second-born, Maddox does everything according to his family's schedule, and we are a family on the go.

I had a quasi-out-of-body experience when we were in Baltimore, MD last week, traveling with Logan. He was outside on the phone with our bank, dealing with a financial crisis (note: DO NOT use the photo deposit app for the iPhone through Chase Bank if you want to see your funds in the near future) which left me alone with our two children in an unfamiliar city--the youngest of which was screaming for food. I scooted up to the nearest friendly building, an enormous Barnes & Noble near the harbor. After finding no success in locating a ramp, I pulled Elias out of the stroller, threw it to the ground and lugged my children inside, out of the wind. I had half-hoped someone would steel it: Baltimore, while a fantastic city, is not stroller friendly...and umbrella strollers make me walk like a hunchback anyway (do they not make them for people over 5'5"?). Unfortunately, Logan witnessed my tantrum and rescued my abandoned stroller. Once inside I hauled the boys upstairs to the children's section, the one place I thought I might be safe from glaring onlookers, as Maddox was exercising his right to be heard. Hallelujah! A Thomas the Train set was set up in the cars and trains section: in my memory it was glowing in a heavenly light. Yes! Something to occupy Elias, and even a chair for me to sit in! I plopped down with some quick instructions about not running away to Elias and fed Maddox. Only five minutes into his meal, right as I began to think, "hey, I have this under control," Elias said "uh-oh." It's never good when Elias says "uh-oh." Uh-oh is "I dropped the whole roll of toilet paper in the toilet," or "I just poured your cup of milk into this drawer," or "I poked the baby's eye and now he's screaming in pain." That day, in that moment, it was "I just peed my pants and now there's a yellow river flowing beneath Thomas the Train's tracks right here in Barnes & Noble." This is where I seemed to step outside of myself and see myself sitting there, incapacitated by nursing while my oldest son tracked urine all over the children's section of a public bookstore that was all the way across the country from my home. And I laughed. I literally laughed out loud at the fact that there was a time before I had children, that I thought that parenting would be a breeze. How ironic that I remembered that in a lowest-of-low moment. My funds were frozen in some kind of internet black hole, my oldest son was scurrying around in sopping wet pants, my youngest had just screamed his lungs out to the entirety of downtown Baltimore and was now attached to my chest, rendering me helpless to fix any of the aforementioned issues.

The end of that story simply goes that Logan eventually came to rescue me and we worked out our financial issues before having to head back home, but that was not the end of my public nursing exploits. I would later find myself nursing at the table over lunch in a restaurant, in an exhibit at the National Aquarium, on airplanes, and next to a strange man who smelled like garlic in an over-crowded Chicago airport during a 3-hour flight delay. I imagine that won't be my last war story either.

Life is messy, isn't it? Life with kids is messy. Life on the road is messy...and beautiful. I'm so thankful that we get to travel with our kids. I'm so thankful that at the end of the day I laid next to my husband and partner in life and listened to our two beautiful children sleeping. I'm so thankful to have experiences and stories that make up who I am and who I am becoming. And I'm so thankful that I will never see any of those Baltimore Barnes & Noble patrons ever again!

Welcome to the World, Maddox Joseph

Maddox Joseph arrived February 10 at 10:14pm. Weighing in at 9 lbs, 1 oz and 21.5in long, he was nearly a duplicate of his big brother...except for his facial features, body build and all around personality. They aren't kidding when they say that your kids will be totally different. Somehow, we know even now, that our boys are polar opposites. How simple life would be if Maddox would just do everything the way that Elias did as an infant--then maybe we'd actually know what we're doing as parents. Evidently there's some kind of cosmic lesson we're all to learn from each of our children respectively, so they don't seem to do anything the same. Why would they ever want us to feel like accomplished parents rather than adults reduced to exhausted and floundering emotional wrecks (all right, I won't speak for Logan on that one--perhaps "emotional wreck" is only a label I've earned). At any rate, Maddox has arrived and he's beautiful, unique and flourishing. He's growing like a weed and we're getting to know him every day...and night...ALL night occasionally. :)

For those who are curious, Maddox means "leader of men," and Joseph was my paternal grandfather's name, who, unfortunately won't meet Maddox in this life. Sometimes, though, I think Maddox looks a bit like him. He was a sweet man, whom I wish I had had around a bit longer.

So, world, meet Maddox, the newest light of my life.

Goodbye & Hello, baby

It has happened--my due date is near. I don't know where all nine months of my pregnancy went, but suddenly I have a hospital bag (mostly packed) and an infant car seat (not installed but available) sitting on my landing. I'm due February 9, I'm refusing to carry that long, but with a husband out of town until January 31, I can only hope to be slightly early. I've politely told God and my unborn child that if his appearance could be February 2 that would be ideal for me.

In all the excitement and anticipation of having another baby everything has been a push to be "ready" for him: all necessary equipment purchased or borrowed, moving Elias out of his crib to make space for the next little one, finishing house projects, etcetera...and now with most of my "to do" list scratched off, I was hit with a deep form of panicked sadness. Suddenly the birth of another baby in my house, in my life, in my heart meant somehow that I get less of Elias. Perhaps that's not entirely true, but it's my feeling and my fear for now. Somehow, during the passing of these nine months my first baby has become a little boy. He's talking back to me and playing monster trucks. He's potty trained and sleeping in a big boy bed (ok, this is still a transition, but nevertheless...). He's testing boundaries and pushing his independence...and I'm praying that I didn't miss the transition to this place in my mad rush to be "ready." When he took my finger in his sweet little hand to walk downstairs to bed last night I felt irreparably torn: how do I share? I don't know how to share myself with another one who needs me just as much. I can't shake the feeling that sharing me with another child equals missing out on things with Elias. He's been my only focus and the reason I do everything I do every day for the last 21 months. The fear in this change has never been so palpable for me as it is now, in these final days of our one on one time. I'm desperately trying to absorb every moment we spend together these days, even when he has me exhausted and frustrated. I want to take mental pictures of who he is right now and hold onto him forever because I feel (perhaps illogically) as though I'm saying goodbye to him in welcoming his brother. I don't even have a nice wrap-up for these thoughts and fears because I'm still very much wrestling with them. So, this is me, signing off from my place of illogical fear and looming unpredictable change. Thanks for hearing my crazed mother's heart.

Merry Christmas!

Free greeting generated with Smilebox

Our Soggy, Soggy Christmas

Oregonians have some kind of aversion to umbrellas. Ironic considering the annual rainfall amount. We all seem to fear that if caught under an umbrella we'll be scoffed at and labeled "out-of-towners." The funny thing is that that's probably a logical fear. Somehow, at some point in time it became part of the Oregonian culture (especially northern Oregon) to brave wind, rain and sleet with nothing but a haphazard hood; and do it proudly without complaint. No matter the weather, it never occurs to me to grab an umbrella; in fact, here's a confession: I don't own one. I live in Salem, Oregon where we get an average of 150 days of rain a year and I don't even own an umbrella.

It's been exceptionally wet here lately and it has left us with nothing to do but go on with life as though it weren't raining miserably at all. We kept waiting for a "dry" day (and by this we never even meant "dry" in the literal sense, we just meant not deafening downpours) to do things like hang Christmas lights and visit the Christmas display at the zoo. "Dry" has yet to come, so we did what any good Oregonian would do and we hung our Christmas lights in a sideways downpour. Elias, clad in rain boots and a ski jacket, came with us. Yes, I let my son play outside during a rainstorm. Yes, he wound up face first in the gutter and came up sputtering with a smile, "Wawa!" (we're currently praying against parasites, or anything else he may have contracted from a face-full of gutter water). Yes, I questioned my parenting choice multiple times during our soggy escapade, but he was thrilled to puddle stomp and completely oblivious to the cold. Wise or poor choice, I'm still not sure, but I do know that there's no avoiding having rain as a Christmas tradition along with our tree and Christmas lights as long as we call Salem "home."

Side note: As I write this, my television is flashing images of a tornado that just hit about 30 miles from my house. I was in no way exaggerating when I said our weather has been insane lately! A tornado in Oregon...who knew?

30-Pound Linebacker

Elias and I went to the library today for story time, a sweet 30 minutes of toddlers bouncing off of one another like particles in a microwave through stories and songs with hand motions. Elias always tries to climb into the story-teller's lap--he's always rejected. Too many kids, not enough laps. The "event" of this morning, however, did not happen during story time. It happened afterward in the activity room. The theme this month is "Things that Go"--an entire room full of cars, airplanes, helicopters, cars, and cars...it's my son's dream space.

A little necessary backstory: I worry about my son. I worry because in all his little classrooms: at church and at our mommy group, he's the biggest kid in his class, hands down. He is usually about four inches taller and packing a good amount more girth than every other child his age, so he seems to have acquired a bit of a giant's complex. He rules the room with an iron fist. He takes toys from smaller more unsuspecting children and they wisely don't fight back. Most stand in shock and move on after some consideration, only the brave (or excessively tir

ed) dare to cry in his wake. I've found myself sadistically hoping that he'd try something like that on an older, bigger kid so that maybe some kid justice could prevail and he'd be taught a lesson the natural way. I hope this because no amount of chastising from me has steeped his giant's complex. So, as terrible as it sounds, I've been lying in wait for the moment that a two

or three-year-old teaches my son what I have been unable to: bullying is not nice! I thought my moment had come today. I was wrong.

Elias was happily playing with some match-box cars on a table with a pretty elaborate road set up on it. He was, of course, playing with the red car because all red cars are Lightning McQueen from Pixar's Cars. He'd been successfully fending other kids off of the fake McQueen for over 20 minutes when a bigger, older kid approached to dethrone him. Big Older Kid had another thing coming. Big Older Kid snatched the car from Elias and turned to run only to be fully tackled from behind, arms wrapped around him in a vice, and taken to the ground like a trained linebacker. One Tarzan-like yell and my son took down a three-year-old little boy who was a whole head taller than him.

I fear that had I not wrenched him off of Big Older Kid, he may have stood on top of him beating his chest and declaring himself King of the Mountain...or the playroom. All hyperbole aside, mothers gasped and froze who witnessed my child attack and destroy the McQueen thief and I have no idea what I did or said to Elias, I only know that we left. Right then and there. We were out, fast as Lightning McQueen himself.

So now what? Kid justice failed and my son still thinks he runs the world. He seems only to know Elias justice, no matter what I do. On the way home I was suddenly reminded of the prayers I prayed over him when he was in the womb: for strength, and leadership, and fearlessness. Today, I can't for the life of me remember if I added any clauses in that included wisdom or compassion. Strike one, Mom.

Halfway home I turned around and my heavy-eyed little boy blew me a kiss and smiled impishly from his carseat. Another calculated move. Well executed, son. You still have my heart, even if you have gotten us banned from the library playroom.

Lost and not-yet Found

My son has hidden his tennis shoes. He's done a fine job of it too, because they have been unfindable for four days now. I'm a relatively intelligent adult and I have no idea where he's placed them. I'm beginning to understand that this may have been entirely intentional. I saw him go downstairs with them one day and come back up without them. I assumed that he'd "put them to bed" because this is what he does with most everything else. He hurls things like stuffed animals, race cars, sippy cups and all articles of clothing from his top drawer over the side of his crib, laying them to rest in heaps like a tiny junkyard--thereby "putting them to bed." His shoes never went to bed. They didn't go to the book bin, or the stuffed animal box, or his dresser, or my dresser, or the bathtub, or the dryer, or the creepy closet under my stairs that smells like a nursing home no matter what I do. I've exhausted all his hiding places and come to realize that he's evolving and adapting his schemes like the velociraptors from Jurassic Park. Every time I think I'm ahead, he one-ups me. Some days it's all I can do not to be eaten alive.

Joke's on you, Elias. Now you're stuck wearing Converse AllStars in the pouring down rain. Extra socks? Check.