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.

"Shhhhhhooooo"=Airplane

I am proud to say that my talented husband is officially touring. Elias and I delivered him and the band to PDX early Monday morning and we won't see him again until November 22. I'm thankful for two things right now: 1) Elias and I took an airplane trip to see family in S. California just a couple weeks ago, so he's familiar with the concept, 2) Elias was there to see Daddy go to the airplane. Now every day when Elias wakes up in the morning, and again when he wakes up from his nap, and again when we sit down to dinner and again when I'm tucking him in bed and he asks for his daddy, I can tell him that Daddy left on the airplane and we will go get him from the airplane when it's time. Sounds complex for a 17-month-old to wrap his mind around, but it seems to appease him most days. Now when he asks for Daddy, I can say "where is Daddy?" and he replies, "shhhhoooooo" which, for those unfamiliar with Elias-speak, is code for "airplane."

I have wonderful people who love me checking in on me with the "how are you doing?"s and the "do you need any help?"s and so far my "pretty good!"s and "no, I think we got it"s are the honest truth. I do intentional things to make time move as quickly as possible and hopefully that works for the full three weeks of husband absenteeism. I'm used to going it alone and independence has never been a sorrowful (or lonely) thing for me; what I was not prepared for was how to help my toddler "miss" someone. And not just "someone," but his very favorite "someone." He breaks my heart a little bit every morning when he calls for daddy from his crib and then has to settle for me--again.

The bright side, however, is that Logan is doing what he loves and he's serving God and people in a specific way that not many are called to do. He is so uniquely and perfectly gifted for it, too, that I can't imagine him in any other capacity. Not that he wouldn't be successful: he's one of those obnoxious folks who is good at everything they try, but I don't think anything else would fit him quite as perfectly. So, if you haven't ever had the pleasure of a Logan Martin concert, jump on his site and check out the rest of the tour dates (and a preview of one of the songs from the NEW RECORD), and if you want a laugh or to feel involved (as I SO desperately do) check out the band's video blog. And if you see him before I do, tell him that his two biggest fans couldn't be more proud of him, and we can't wait to see him.

Tour Dates

The Logan Martin Band video blog