in the changing of seasons: a final post

 June 26, 2008. 

The day I wrote my first post on this blog. I was sitting in a hotel room in New York, prepping to fly to London. As the flight took off the next day, I thought, "That's it. It's over. I've ruined my whole life and I'm going to die somewhere in Africa, alone and abandoned." (I've always leaned towards the dramatic.) 

And the truth is, I did ruin my whole life. For weeks, I had been taking most of my stuff to the local Goodwill. I made so many trips that at one point, the intake guy commented, "Are you getting a divorce? You're here everyday with tons of stuff." 

"Nope. Just selling my house, giving away everything that won't fit in two suitcases, leaving my dog behind and moving to a different country. You know, totally normal."

I ruined my "house in the suburbs, little red sports car, single woman with a dog" life. 

I ruined my "culturally-specific, privileged majority, America is the Best" life.

I even ruined my "western interpretation, American Bible" life.

But the reality is, God told me to get on that airplane. I was scared, nervous, afraid... and fully convinced that God had told me to do it and He was going to figure it out. I was totally naive about what I needed to survive in another country. I didn't know that I packed the wrong books and the wrong shoes. I didn't realize that I would need a sweatshirt for the beach at night and a manual-charging flashlight for the rolling power outages. I showed up with the wrong things and the wrong ideas about what life in Tanzania would be like. But God was faithful. He helped me make friends and learn the Swahili words for green pepper and pineapple and figure out how to make coffee over a gas burner. He helped me listen and learn, realizing that He does, indeed, speak every language and that pieces of His Spirit can be found in every culture all over the world. 

God did, indeed, ruin my life.  

And I am forever grateful for it. 

14 years later, I am about to get on another airplane. 

This Saturday, Hubby and I are headed to Tirana, Albania for a vision trip. We get to meet with the team living there, explore some historical parts of the country, figure out if we can feed our food-allergy family with the groceries available, and tour the school where our children could attend. If all goes well... I guess even if it doesn't go particularly well... if the team thinks God is in this and if we think God is in this, then we will start making many trips to our local thrift store, getting rid of anything that won't fit in two suitcases per person. 

(But this time, we don't have any pets to leave behind... much to the relief of my parents. wink. )

Our family has all the big feelings right now. Our oldest keeps having stomach aches, "I'm just so nervous" he keeps saying. So we made sure our Google Homes were set up so he can video call us or leave us messages anytime he wants. Our youngest says she is "big, giant sad" because she will miss us and also "a little nervous... and also maybe a little scared of the dark." Middle assured us, three times during our hour long family meeting, that he won't miss us because of all the fun things he will get to do and all the fun people he is looking forward to hanging out with... "Did you hear that Mom? I'm not going to miss you. Did you write it down on the prayer list? Well don't... because I'm not... going to miss you." (If you see him, please ask if he needs an extra hug. He is apparently (not) going to miss us an awful lot.) ;) 

And I have been a wreck. 

It's SO MUCH easier to follow God onto an airplane and let Him ruin your life when it's just your life He's ruining. When you are asking your husband and children to do the same, it's a whole different level of life ruination. 

And I pray that they will, one day, also be forever grateful for it. 

Since I started this blog to chronicle all the ways God ruined MY life when He called me to be a cross-cultural witness in Tanzania, and, as a family, we are embarking on a journey to let God ruin OUR lives, I think it's time for a change. This will be the final post on "in Times of Spring." Thank you for following along on this wild ride of change and unexpected miracles. It started as a way to tell the story of a single girl following a faithful God. And it's ending, full of faithfulness, heart break, miracles and unexpected joys. We pray our new stories will be just as full. 

If you'd like to follow along, we will continue blogging our story here at theschlattfamily.blogspot.com. 

in a pit... with a toddler... on a snowy day.

So I find myself in the unenviable position of living in a pit of despair. 

It sounds dramatic, I know. 

But I have never been a person who is known to be lacking in drama so there you go. 

I want to blame it on the weather... because February. Grey, rain, more grey, more rain. 

But I can't.

I have to blame it on my toddler. 

If you have never experienced daily interactions with a two year old, it goes a little something like this...

Don't eat that. 

Don't put your finger in there. 

Please don't put that in your mouth. 

Stop hitting your brother. 

Don't climb that. 

Don't sit on that. 

Don't use that to climb that to sit on that. 

Please stay in bed. 

Please go to sleep.

Please go back to sleep. 

Please go back to bed. 

I love you, too. 

and then you do it again the next day. and again the next day. and again the next day. 

If insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results, then parenting a toddler is borderline psychosis... knowing you will not get a different result but still doing the same thing over and over again. Because if you stop saying "Don't eat that, don't put your finger in there, please stop hitting your brother," then somebody is going to get poisoned and you're going to end up at the Emergency Room and ain't nobody got time for that! (Plus, you know, you love the kid. So there's that...) 

And, in the midst of all this just-trying-to-keep-your-toddler-alive, you have to plan healthy, home-cooked meals because vegetables are important, and have age-appropriate development activities so the kid won't be too dumb, and read at least 12 books a day so the kid will be an early reader, and limit screen time so they won't grow up to be a lazy ass, and make sure you give them plenty of eye contact and hugs so they won't become a serial killer. 

And, oh yes, essential oils. 

And it's easy to buy a plaque from Hobby Lobby that says, "Excuse the mess, we're making memories" or "My only goal is to keep the tiny Humans alive," but eventually someone has to cook dinner and do the dishes. Because, eventually, you do run out of forks. (And your kids look at you weird when you make them eat eggs with a spoon. I heard that somewhere...) And in the three minute time span that it takes you to put away the food from dinner, your unsupervised toddler will decide to get out of bed create chaos. And when you discover that she has un-planted everything that you planted in new pots just the day before, you will scream and use the words "Just wait until your Daddy gets home!!" Then you will put her in the pack n play and go downstairs and clean the kitchen. 

So yes, life with a toddler, specifically a 2 almost 3 year old, is monotonous and frustrating and can lead to a pit of despair. 

But there's also this... the pink wind spinner that she insisted on buying when she asked to go to the craft store the other day...

So even on the greyest day, we have a bright pink, happy spot in our garden. 

And there's this...

When she puts on her Princess Anna dress and a Superhero mask to play Batman and Robin with her brothers... 

And there's this...

When she dances with her Daddy in the kitchen and her joy lights up a room. 

Life with a toddler is not easy. But strong women do change the world. They just have to survive the toddler years... :)

in His own words (part 2)

(This is the blog post where I'll get to the point about God changing things... I hope. It's early... like the sun-hasn't-even-made-that-little-pink-strip-in-the-sky early.So hopefully, the kids will stay asleep and I can finish this.)

Last year, Mike gave me the day off for my birthday. Well, sort of the day off... I was still nursing so the baby had to come with me, but one kid is easier than three, right? It was a beautiful, late August day; the kind where the mornings are starting to get a little cool and damp and the sun is starting to sleep just a little bit longer, so the kids are also starting to sleep just a little bit longer. The baby and I went for a walk on an trail here in Lexington that leads you past old farmhouses and homesteads. And there's a waterfall. And a reservoir. And it was beautiful and peaceful and we nursed in a prairie under a grove of trees. (No, we really did that... the place was amazing.)

So we finished our lovely hike in this gorgeous place, and it was only 10:30 in the morning... and I couldn't think of anything else to do. 

Because without my kids, I'm a non-person. I am not anything. I have no hobbies, no talents. (Well, I watched a lot of Stargate SG-1 and the Great British Baking Show while I was nursing, but I don't think those count.) Right now, all of my energy is pointed towards keeping three tiny humans alive, and without them, I can't think of anything to do. If there is a quiet moment, I simply wait for the next minute that they'll need me. Because somebody ALWAYS needs me. 

So on my birthday, when I have the day off, and I don't need to think about the children (except the one who is with me and smiles a lot, despite the fact that she gives the camera a, "Why are you photographing me?" face every time we try to get her on "film"), I can't think of anything to do. Standing in the parking lot, turning in circles, feeling like a failure, because I can't think of one thing I would like to do that doesn't involve my children.

So I went to Target to buy diapers. 

And I ran into a friend... who was out shopping with her kids, and she said, "Yeah, that's where we are right now. It would take 4 days to get out of Mom mode. So really, you need a week off, and we don't get that right now. And it sucks."

And I thought, "You know? She's right."So I went to Mellow Mushroom for lunch because they are the ONLY pizza place that will use Vegan Cheese and they also have an amazing hummus that they make with fresh basil. (Yum.) And then I went home. 

Happy Birthday to me.

Now here's the God part... God gave me three gifts on my birthday. Three birthday presents that He just handed to me, even though I didn't pray for them, I wasn't looking for them, and I wasn't "eagerly anticipating" them. He just gave them to me.

Side note: and that's kind of a big deal to me right now because my main love language used to be physical touch but with three small children who have no concept of personal space, my main love language is now "get off me!" (My poor husband... I literally had a panic attack one night in bed when he reached for my hand and I screamed at him, "Really? I can't have one minute of no one touching me? REALLY?" Sorry, honey.) Due to this lack of space around me, my main love language has switched to gifts. (Again, sorry honey. I used to ask for "a walk in the woods, holding your hand," and this year, for our anniversary, I was all "(sob, sniff) And you didn't buy me anything!... You blew it, man!"

So gifts. That's how I know someone loves me. And God gave me three birthday presents. See? Kind of a big deal for me. :) 

Gift 1: The day before my birthday, I was in Joann Fabrics with the kids and a woman handed me 2 yards of dinosaur-printed flannel that the 4-year-old had been admiring. She had purchased it for me because, "Any mom who can handle three small children as well as you are is obviously a great mom." (Seriously, an angel dressed as an old woman with big hoop earrings.)

Gift 2: Running into an encouraging friend at Target who told me that I wasn't crazy, I was just a busy momma.

Gift 3: When I got home, there was a stalk of fresh basil waiting for me. (Okay, so this one I did ask for... sort-of.  While I was eating the amazing hummus at Mellow Mushroom, in my head I thought, "I would love some to have some fresh basil at home.") When Mike had taken the boys to play at the park in our Community Garden, one of our neighbors was there weeding her garden plot. She snipped off a stalk of her own basil and handed it to Mike, "Take this to your wife for her birthday." So there was this pile of gorgeous, earthy smelling basil leaves waiting for me when I got home.

And I didn't realize any of this... until the next day in church. And we're standing there, singing... and suddenly it hits me... God gave me three presents for my birthday! And then my toddler hit me as he was trying to climb into the chair backwards and then he knocked over my travel mug full of coffee and the baby, who was in the Ergo on my front, started whimpering. 

And 10 minutes later, I cried and I prayed, "God, I can't even say "Thank you." You do this amazing thing for me, and I don't even have one minute that I can say "Thank you" and worship you for how awesome you are." And God responded, 

"I know. You can't reach for me right now because your hands are full. But I can reach for you."

And then I sat down and ugly cried. Because He's right. My whole life I had been taught that if I wanted to be close to God, then I needed to make it happen. I needed to pray. I needed to sing. I needed to read my Bible, or have a "quiet time" or take a walk in the woods to really get close to God's creation and His presence. But here was God, in all of his amazing, wonderfulness saying, Here I am, getting close to you.

And that's when I realized what the Holy Spirit was all about. Sure, he provides healing. Sure, he helps us make good choices. Sure, he convicts us when we sin. But his whole point, the reason that Jesus went back to Heaven after his resurrection, was so the Holy Spirit could come and be the presence of God on Earth. The Holy Spirit is here so that God can be close to us. 

So why did I feel like I had to try so hard to do it on my own?!!???

So then what is the point of reading your Bible, writing in a journal, having a quiet time, taking a walk to enjoy God's creation? Because God didn't tell me that all of those things were pointless... He said I didn't have time for them NOW. So if the point of those activities wasn't personal holiness or "coming closer to God" what is the point of doing them???

A few months back, our Pastor gave an amazing sermon that answered that question. In this sermon, he cited two psychological studies that were researching pairs of people working on a challenging task. Both studies concluded that doing something together, in a non-stressful environment, prepares you to work together when faced with a challenge. He used these studies to unpack the verses of Romans 8:1-18, namely how to live life by the Spirit. His suggestion was that the point of reading your Bible, quiet times, etc. was to provide that non-stressful hobby which you and the Holy Spirit can participate in, so when times of struggle come, you can more easily cooperate with Him. 

So when finding a quiet time to have a "quiet time" was stressing me out, God was like, "Stop it. I'm right here." So now we find other "non-stressful hobbies" to do together... like coloring pages that have bible verses on them which I can color while my children are coloring. Or sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee, thanking God for my porch and coffee, while my children spray each other with a hose. Or making full use of the church nursery and kids programs when all three of our children agree to go so that I can worship and listen to the sermon without distraction. And these seem to be enough for right now. 

When I can get some time to myself, I usually take my Bible. 

Sometimes I read it. Sometimes I don't. 

But I'm trusting that if God has something important to tell me, He'll tell me. 

Because right now, I have children who enjoy playing "Dino-wrestling Jamboree" and they need me to referee. :) 

in His own Words (part 1)

Last year, in this post, I wrote about realizing that I was mad at God. And at the end, I promised that I would write again to explain where He and I are right now. And I never did. So now I am.

Once upon a time, I became a Christian.
I grew up in an evangelical home.
I was baptized at the age of 5.
I went to church every Sunday. (well, my siblings will tell you about the time I refused to go to church and my parents and I had a very dramatic standoff involving me sitting in my pajamas in the church parking lot... but MOSTLY I went to church every Sunday.)

And I gotta tell you, I loved Jesus. Like, I was excited to go to church. (most of the time ;) ) I liked reading my Bible. I was that kid who won awards for memorizing Bible verses. I gathered prayer requests from my bunk mates at summer camp. I wore the "I ♥ Jesus" t-shirt to school. (No, like I really did that. It looked like this:

When I was in 5th grade, I wrote an essay about how I wanted to be a Missionary when I grew up. I took French in High School because I had heard that Bible-believing Christians were a tiny minority in France and I wanted to go there and tell people about Jesus. (That's a true story.)

So, I liked being a Christian. I liked hanging out with Jesus. I wanted to be close to Him and do the things that He did. (Okay, yes, I did have a WWJD bracelet... but it wasn't because it was cool, it was because I actually read the book "In His Steps" that the whole trend was based on... like, I found my mom's 1960-something copy of the old book first published in 1896... So like, I was legit with my old book copy and everything... (ahem.)

The types of churches that my family attended were pretty... tame churches, for lack of a better description. People loved Jesus, and prayed for healing and sent out missionaries and raised their hands in worship, but the Holy Spirit wasn't really talked about. He was kind of like the weird uncle that people love to hear stories about (Did you hear how Mrs. Church Lady had cancer and people prayed for her and she went to the doctor and the doctor was like, "Whoa, no more tumor! Jesus is cool!") but nobody really wants around because he's going to say something awkward at Thanksgiving dinner. So, in the denominations that my family attended, the way to be close to Jesus was to:
1. read your Bible
2. have a quiet time (it should be everyday, but at the very least every other day)
3. write in a journal
4. go to church.

We even had our own "memes" about it... before there were memes... when you would just wear a clever saying on a shirt or put a sticker on your guitar case. (I'm pretty sure guitar-case stickers were the meme generators of the late 90s.)

  

Oh wait, that's something else...

Then, I got to Tanzania and I started working with a Pentecostal church...where EVERYBODY raises their hands, and people speak in tongues and healing happens IN SERVICE on SUNDAY morning! (What?) And the Holy Spirit is like the cool kid that everybody wants to be friends with even if they've never really met him. ("Oh, HS? Yeah, I know him. I was praying the other day and like 40 people just fell on their faces and like worshipped and there was healing and deliverance and stuff. It was awesome." ) And suddenly, the way to be close to Jesus was to hang out with the Holy Spirit, and pray for people, and use your gifts in worship... and speak in tongues.

But, here's the thing... I don't speak in tongues. (At least, not in the usual way... ) And my own life story involves God NOT healing me, no matter how much we prayed/worshipped/shouted at Him. (I mean, He had something else in mind... like a marriage and a family and stuff. But whatever.) So even though I was surrounded by "Holy Spirit People," I still didn't really know HOW to think about, let alone interact with the Holy Spirit. So staying close to Jesus now meant asking the Holy Spirit to help me read the Bible, pray about it, Hallelujah. But it was still MY job to stay close to Jesus.. My job to "move with the Spirit" (WTF?) to find God's will for my life... MY job to cooperate with whatever God wanted to do, whenever He wanted to do it.

And then God made me a mother... to two high energy boys and a little girl who NEVER stops moving! (like literally, never. Even in the womb it was like, Who's having a party in there?)

And now, I can't even go to the bathroom by myself. So finding time to pray? I can "lift up" a few things while I do the dishes, maybe... (But I'd rather watch old episodes of Stargate SG-1 just so I can hear an adult talk to me.) And reading my Bible? It's great, except if a kid sees me reading a book, he's going to be like, "Hey Mom, can you read me Curious George?" And I'm going to be like, "No, I'm reading my Bible." And he's going to be like, "Oh, I'll get my bible and you can read to me, too." And then he's going to go into his room and find his Bible and drop it on the floor and wake up his brother who is going to cry and come downstairs and insist that I snuggle him and then ask me to change his poopy diaper. And then the baby will start to cry while I'm changing the diaper because she also needs a new diaper and some breakfast. And I'm going to be so glad that I got up early to have some quiet time!!!

And when I finally get some time away on my own, I would love to WANT to go to Starbucks and sit with my cup of coffee and my Bible and read for hours and feel totally fulfilled. But I don't! When I get a break, I don't want to study!!

So last year, I told God, "Sorry. I can not find the time to sit quietly with you. I've tried. I've tried to involve my kids, or get up early or go to bed late. But none of it works. And I know if I feel far from you, "I'm the one who moved" so it's my job to find my way back. But I just can't right now. So, I'll see you when my kids turn 18."


And I thought that was it, you know? "God, I'll see ya in 18 years."

And then God spoke.
And He changed things.
He changed everything.
And He made me realize how much of HIM I was actually missing.

(But now my children are awake... well, they were already awake and I made them watch Daniel Tiger so I could finish this... well, they were awake watching Daniel Tiger last week when I finished this post and now they're getting ready to wake up again while I rewrite the last two sentences. So, I'll have to make this a two part blog. Stay tuned for the exciting continuation... or don't, or whatever. Because I'm sure you've got stuff to do also. ;)

in the family way... the post that I didn't write last year.

It's been over a year since I wrote a blog post. I was going along there pretty consistently for awhile but then something happened... something very unexpected, very wonderful and very unplanned. We got pregnant. And then lots of things happened... sickness... and school... and Hebrew... and new doctors... and new friends... and a daughter.

And now there are 5 of us.

It's not a great photo... but it's us:
Sleep deprived, sweaty, upset and in love. 

And it took me awhile to figure out what I wanted to say about all this... and then I didn't know if I was allowed to say it... and then God put me on the spot one day during church.

Our Pastor was teaching on something from the Bible that had great impact to our lives and was filled with important and enlightening truths... or something (church these days =  comforting a baby and shushing a toddler). In the middle of all this exposition and encouragement, he asked us to to take a moment to be silent, then tell God whatever we wanted to tell him. So I did:

"God, I'm mad at you."

Wait, what?
Oh no, so that's in there.
Dang it.

And then I remembered about three c-sections in less than 4 years, a husband who is working and in school full-time, three kids 3 and under, SO MANY DIAPERS, never a moment alone, never losing the baby weight because there are always more babies... and, most importantly, how we were trying NOT to get pregnant.

So I realized that I WAS mad at God.

And then I felt terrible!! Because so many friends, family, strangers on Facebook have been disappointed in their pursuit of trying to start a family. There are so many women who have cried and cursed God as another fruitless month goes by. And here I am, drowning under so many blessings and angry about the timing. It seemed foolish. It seemed ridiculous. It seemed selfish.

But there you are... I was mad at God last year when we found out that we were pregnant. So I didn't write about being "in the family way" like I did for my other kiddos.

So here you go Baby Girl, this one's for you.


Last year, I got pregnant.

And then we found out that we were having a girl!

So we rearranged our house and gave away lots of boy clothes and figured out how to put three kids in one bedroom. Then we had a c-section.

And now we have a daughter!!!

And she is gorgeous and wonderful and smart and a true blessing and light to our lives!


And yes, she is adored by her brothers. :)

 


And God and I? Well, we're working it out. But that's another post for another time. (Hopefully, next week. But kids are crazy and who knows what could happen between now and then.)

inspired

My D is only 34 months old. But he faces fear like a CHAMPION! Seriously... this kid is legend (wait-for-it) dary! If there is something that he is afraid of, (or a thing of which he is afraid?) he screams this ear-splitting, high-pitched wail and stomps his feet while he turns in a circle, then runs in the opposite direction as fast as he can. Seriously...he even makes his brother cry.

But that's not the amazing part.

This is.

D insists... cries, stamps his foot, throws a fit until I turn the car around... on returning to the site of his flight and facing the thing which scared him. Seriously. This 2 and a half year old insists on facing his fears.

For example: Dogs scare D. (We lived next door to an untrained pit bull for the first 18 months of D's life. We had to instill a healthy fear of dogs in order to keep him safe.) Most of our family has small dogs. He has learned how to handle those... from a safe distance, while they're in a cage. But big dogs? No way, no how. He trembles. He screams. He shakes. And if one sneaks up on him at the park while he is climbing a rock and looking the other way... the whole community will hear his high-pitched panic. (Sorry about last Thursday everyone. ;) But he insists on facing the dog. He insists on trying to pet the dog. If he sees a plastic version of "Spot the Dog" at Target, he will first run away in fear. Then, he will traverse the aisles, his toddler size 9 converse plodding methodically behind Mommy keeping time to the rhythm of his mind, thinking about it. And after we find the diapers we are looking for, and after we use the self-checkout, and as we are walking to the car... he will stop. And he will stand. And he will square his shoulders and squeeze his fists together and say, "Mommy, I need to pet the doddie (doggie)." And he will turn around and march back in before his mother has a chance to say, "No, wait, stop." And he will get about 10 feet into the store, start to lose his nerve, bring both hands to his mouth and growl (causing his mother extreme concern when she finally catches up with him after using diaper boxes as a barrier to part the sea of humanity that washes through Target's automatic door.) Then he'll straighten up, literally square his shoulders and march his toddler legs right up to the doggy. And after a few more minutes of consideration, he will reach out his hand and pet that doggy! And the whole time he will wear a T-shirt that says, NOT ironically, "Tiny but Tough."

and his mother will drop the diaper boxes, find her phone, capture the moment digitally, write a blog post and cry. Because that's how she wants to be.

in Resignation

From: Mrs. Schlatt
Personal Assistant/Mother to Mr. D and Mr. B
Schlatt Industries
Dining Room Table

To: Misters D and B
Schlatt Industries
Bedroom #2
Crib 1 and Crib 2

Re: Letter of Resignation

Dear Sirs,
         This letter is to inform you of my resignation, effective 2 weeks from today. I have done my best to fulfill the duties of the job for which I was hired, but it has come to my attention that your requirements/demands far exceed the obligations of my original contract. I have tried to inform you of this incongruity (begging, pleading, bribing, disciplining) but neither of you seems willing to negotiate/listen to me. As a result, I will be resigning my position in 2 weeks time.
         Mr. D and Mr. B, you have employed my services as a personal chef and nutritionist since you both first joined the company. I have done my best to supply you with nutritious meals, feeding you whenever you are hungry, changing my own diet to suit your nutrition needs and even going so far as to give you both food from own plate and body. However, Mr. B, you still INSIST on eating old food off the floor and digging things out of the trash can when I am not looking. Last night, you peeled a farmer sticker off of a puzzle and ate his head!

        Mr. D, you are no better. You throw an absolute fit when I limit your sweet intake or give you water instead of the coffee that I am drinking. You also insist on eating whatever Mr. B is eating. Even if I have prepared an enchilada casserole, you still insist on eating cold, mashed green beans. I'm sorry but I can no longer serve in this capacity.
        Sirs, it is in my original job description that I must keep the house neat and tidy, your laundry clean and ready to wear and the dishes clean. I have attempted to fulfill these duties to the best of my ability. However, you have thwarted my efforts at every step! If I am vacuuming, Mr. B, you scream and insist on being held. If I am sweeping the kitchen, Mr. D, you insist on using your small broom to "help," when in reality, you are just scattering the dirt pile. (Mr. B, you then attempt to eat whatever I have managed to collect in the dustpan.) If I am attempting to wash the dishes, Mr. B, you climb into the dishwasher and try to pull out all the silverware and drink the dirty water that is collecting on the dishwasher door.

        When I finally manage, with much effort, to fold a load of laundry, you both cause a distraction (i.e. Mr. D hitting Mr. B in the face or Mr. B grabbing a toy away from Mr. D) then sneak over to the laundry basket and scatter the clothes. I'm sorry, sirs, but I can no longer serve as your housekeeper.
         Finally, sirs, I don't know if you realize but a full time job is typically 40 work hours a week. In dire circumstances, an employer may sometimes require 50 or 60 hours to meet a deadline or complete a project. Mr. D and Mr. B, you both require me to work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week! I get no vacation and no downtime. Sometimes, you even require me to work through my coffee breaks! There have also been numerous times where you both insist that I work all night long! This is far and above what any employer should require of an employee. My health is suffering as a result... I do not get enough sleep, I am living under more stress and worry than ever before, and having a healthy meal plan or a workout schedule seems impossible. I can no longer work under such extreme conditions.
      I don't know if either of you realize but I am overqualified for this job. I have two degrees that allow me to teach people far older than either of you. I spent a good amount of money for 5 years of college and now, you expect me to clean dirty diapers and wipe both of your noses/hands/bottoms. This is not an appropriate use of my talents. I'm sure that I will be able to find a job where I can use my degrees, where they treat me appropriately and where I am able to use my brain for solving complex problems, instead of reading the same mind-numbing Curious George book for the 12th week in a row!
     In short, Sirs, I no longer have the mental capacity to fulfill the job requirements that you insist upon. I will be retaining my position as mother, but resigning as personal chef, nanny and housekeeper. Thank you both for your time.

                                                                                                Sincerely,
                                                                                                        Your Mother

     PS: No fair learning to say Mama, Daddy and Da'id. No fair squealing with delight when we walk in the room. No fair tucking your head under my chin whenever I pick you up. My resolve will stay strong....

     PPS: Sigh. I cannot withstand the cuteness...

From: Mrs. Schlatt
Personal Assistant/Mother to Mr. D and Mr. B
Schlatt Industries
Dining Room Table

To: Misters D and B
Schlatt Industries
Bedroom #2
Crib 1 and Crib 2

Re: No longer resigning.

Dear Sirs,
     Please disregard my letter of resignation. Feeding you, caring for you, picking up after you... all small prices to pay for the privilege of watching you grow.

     Dinner will be ready soon... and please stop kicking your brother in the face.

                                                                                                Sincerely,
                                                                                                        Mom

in Celebration!

It's already been a year... a whole year.

It's so hard to believe that our Little Man is now, officially a year old! Our surprise baby, who has never allowed himself to be ignored, is cruising on the furniture, babbling to his Daddy and insisting on using a plate at the dinner table. (Seriously, if you don't give this kid a fork and spoon he will scream his head off!)

He loves reading...

all things music...

and wrestling with his big brother! (well, he tolerates it anyway. ;) 

 

  

But most of all... he LOVES to cuddle!

 

His life has not been the easiest... he was conceived when his brother was still recovering from heart surgery, carried during Daddy's first year of seminary and born a month before finals. His first few months were filled with stress and turmoil as Mommy battled postpartum depression and Daddy prepped the house for showings.

He has bravely survived surgery...

and moving to a new house and state.

But this spunky little guy has always made himself known and has a heart for adventure! His favorite place is outside... he longingly stands by windows and doors. He will escape given the least little opportunity. And watch those stairs! This kid is fast, fast, FAST! Before he could even fully crawl, he had climbed the staircase, terrifying both his parents who thought they had a few more weeks before needing to put up the baby gate. 

 

He is an introvert: he and Daddy both needed a nap after his birthday party, and he would rather spend the afternoon running his trucks than playing with his brother. (Much to his brother's dismay.) But once he has decided he loves you, you are his. He has a claim on your heart. (Just ask his Papa who has become B's special person. :)

 He jumps up and down when Daddy comes home, he shouts and coos when his brother wakes up and toddles over to peer through the crib slats, and he goes full flap, wiggling every body part he has discovered when Mommy walks in the room.

He is our cheeky monkey and we love him dearly!

Happy 1st Birthday, Little Man! 

(I'm sorry this post is two weeks late. I've apologized a lot your first year of life. Don't worry, we'll help pay for therapy in the future if you need it. ;)