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!

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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.