in a Selfish phase... but not really

Some days, I feel like a great mommy! Like tonight... the dishes are done, the cloth diapers are soaking, the boys both went to sleep without screaming, I made myself a cup of tea and I actually wore real clothes today! (I mean like shoes and socks and everything!) Mama win!

And then somedays, D refuses to help clean up, and screams "No!" at me all day long, and then he spills his milk on the floor and I scream at my toddler for being clumsy and he cries and then I cry and then B cries because everybody is crying and that stresses out his little 10 month old heart.

That's right... I scream at my 2 year old for spilling his milk... and I make him cry.

Mama Fail.

We do live in Kentucky now...

Usually on those I-make-everybody-cry days, I have no coping skills. I am stressed, I am nervous, I am burnt out. I don't have the ability to stop myself and say, "It's okay. We'll clean it up." All I can think is, "You did that on purpose to defy me! AHHHHHH!" Not a rational thought by any stretch of the imagination. And I have come to realize that, most of the time, those are the days where I haven't thought about myself at all. Yes, you read that sentence right... on the days where I take no time for myself... no 30 minutes of morning Yoga, no lingering at the breakfast table to finish my cup of coffee, no admiring myself in the mirror while I try out a new eyeshadow... those are the days where I am the worst kind of mommy. The days where I've tried to only be a mommy, I'm the worst mommy. 

Monday night, at Women's Communion, our fabulous speaker, LE said, "You can't pour from an empty cup." 

So so true. Often, lovely women and devoted friends and family have filled my cup for me... the 6 weeks following my c-sections, for example. I am literally not able to do anything but sit and nurse a baby. So other people have to gather, take care, clean my house, feed my family and fill my cup. But most of the time, I need to be responsible for making sure my cup is being filled. I'm just now starting to figure out what that means...

Growing up in a Christian denomination that leaned toward legalism, I've always interpreted that phrase as reading your Bible and praying. "You want to be filled up? Do more devotions. Spend more time with Jesus. Getting bored with all that? Here are 17 verses taken totally out of context and vaguely related to perseverance." And then, once you were filled, you better be headed out to the mission field so that you can pour yourself out because "to whom much is given much will be expected." (Another oft quoted Bible verse taken totally out of context and used to "encourage" young Christians struggling with their faith lives.) 

But I've learned a fancy new term... Self-Care. Which, surprisingly, means taking care of yourself. And, being the brilliant scientist that I am, I am learning that if you don't take care of yourself, then you can't take care of other people. WHAT? I know. 

 

So here I am... doing Yoga, drinking decaf coffee (thank you, anxiety), and trying new eyeshadows. And being a better mommy because I'm selfishly (but not actually selfishly) taking time for myself. 

*And yes, somedays people are sick and no sleeping is happening and we have run out of coffee. And on those days I am grateful for Netflix. Because sometimes, Netflix makes me a better Mommy.*

in Conversation: things you shouldn't say to a mom of two kids... or any person... ever.

Not the post that I was intending to write this week. However, after an... let's say, interesting conversation in the cafeteria at lunch today, I decided it was time to look back at all the comments that were flung in my direction after announcing that I was pregnant with my second child only 9 months after giving birth to my first.

While still pregnant...

"Wow... Congratulations, I guess." Then, in a whisper, away from Michael... "You're happy about this, right?"

"Don't you think it's rude to get pregnant so fast when your (insert distant relative here) struggles with infertility?"

"How many babies are you planning on having?"

"Did you lose all the baby weight from the first one, yet?"

"You must really like sex a lot."

and my personal favorite... "You're pregnant again? What do you want your own reality TV show?"



The first time we brought B to church...

"I didn't know you were pregnant! I just thought you hadn't lost the baby weight."

"Does D like him? or has he tried to hurt the baby, yet?"

"He looks JUST like his brother."

"He looks NOTHING like his brother."

"Two boys? It's time to start trying for that girl!"

"Are you guys finished or do you want another one?"

"You must really like sex A LOT."

and an oldie but a goodie... "You had another baby already? What do you want your own reality TV show?"

In public with two kiddos...

"You really have your hands full."

"Are they BOTH yours?"

"My daughter/cousin/sister-in-law/best-friend-from-kindergarten had two kids close together like that... She said it was the hardest thing ever."

"Your boys are so cute! Do they look like their Dad?"

"Both of your boys are so cute, I could just steal one of them!"

"You're going to wait to have more kids... right?"

and still... "Two kids, 17 months apart? What do you want your own reality TV show?"

and from the cafeteria today... "I recognized your boys, but last time you didn't have any makeup on, your hair was kind of messy and you were in jogging pants. You looked really tired. That's why I didn't recognize you this time!"


Next time you see me in public and I look like a hot mess but both of my boys are alive and I'm still speaking to my husband... please consider the fact that it has probably taken every ounce of energy I have to just get out of the door without forgetting a snack/bottle/diaper/Thomas the Train engine.
        ...And my husband has probably asked me to "Get out and meet some people" in this new community that he so desperately wants to be a part of but is having a hard time finding the space in his schedule what with all the working/studying/fathering/husbanding.
        ...And it's probably such short notice that the best I could do was to change two diapers, make sure everyone has socks, change the baby's outfit again after he spit up/drooled/pooped all over himself, and hope to God that nobody will notice that I haven't showered in three days.
        ...And if you still feel the need to speak to me after the initial, "Hi, how are you? My name is____," (and please speak to me after the initial "Hi, how are you, my name is ___."); maybe you could just ask if I'm reading anything exciting right now. Chances are, there is a book open on my Kindle that I truly intend on finishing before my boys reach puberty.

...and maybe stand downwind... just in case. :)

in Transition: part 2 (our moving story)

Mike started school in September 2014, when I was a few months pregnant with B. At the time, we decided it would be a terrible idea to try to move. (And it would have been.) But this summer, when Mike and I looked at each other the first week of August and said, "We think we should move to Wilmore," we figured it would take a miracle of God to make it happen. After all, we needed an apartment in student housing, approval from Mike's company to work remotely, and, perhaps our biggest hurdle, we needed to sell our house in Ohio... quickly.

Three weeks later, we had an apartment, approval and our house on the market.

5 weeks later, it was sold.

Our house in Ohio... the day it went on the market. 

And we started packing a moving van.

D with our friend, Harry.

All the Grandparents came to help pack and hold kiddos. 

Packed up and ready to go!

Seriously... we needed lots and LOTS of help!
(Thank you also to the Daltons, the Wellers, and Danny R.)

We also had our car packed tight... with a baby gate in a car carrier strapped to our luggage rack. Mike drove the truck... I drove the heavily loaded car with both boys. We took our last family picture in front of the house, prayed for our travels, kissed grandparents goodbye and set off for our new adventure. 

And then things got crazy.

30 miles outside of Columbus, something in the car went KATHUNK, then rattled against the back window. I called Michael, "Something's wrong with the car top carrier! Help! Meet me at the next exit!!" Then another noise, WABOOSH! Kathunk, thunk, thunk, thunk.... Still on the phone with Michael... "Okay, the whole carrier just came loose... I've got to pull over... I don't know what to do....!" Heart beating, shaking, trying to drive carefully and not freak out the boys... I look in the rearview mirror and, miraculously, see the image of my mom's van! Still on the phone, "It's my mom! My mom is behind me! Oh my gosh... just keep going, Michael. it'll be okay!" I pulled off to the side of the highway, she pulled off behind me, and we moved the whole carrier into the back of her van. We discovered that the ratchet strap had come loose... the strap that held a 200 lb couch without slipping last weekend, popped and unrolled when holding down a baby gate. So yeah.

Thinking that that was our "crazy story" for the trip, I set off again with both boys still calmly sitting in the backseat looking at books/chewing whatever he could get his hands on.

20 miles later, just North of Cincinnati, B started screaming. I pulled over and executed Mommy-power-move-#3:quick diaper change in the backseat. Back on the road, half an hour later, B was still screaming as we crossed the bridge over the Ohio River and hit Kentucky. I pulled over and gave him a bottle in the parking lot of a mall, threw a snack at the toddler, then got back on the road. Our 3 hour trip now passing the 4 hour mark. 5 miles past the exit, B started screaming... again. Unfortunately, this is the part of I75 where there is nothing but hills, trees and trucks for 30 miles. There is nothing I can do. B is screaming, D is singing (loudly so he can be heard over his brother) and I am just trying to get us to Wilmore safely!

We started approaching the Owenton/Corinth exit... and I prayed. "Jesus, whatever darkness is trying to prevent us from reaching Wilmore, I tell it to go now in Jesus name." From the backseat, the toddler says, "Bye Bye," and the screaming baby falls fast asleep. Silence and peace for the first time in 4 hours. and I ugly cried for the remaining hour it took us to reach our new front door.

Later, when Mike and I had the chance to talk about it, I found out that he had faced some spiritual oppression as well... the man who never has a panic attack, had three on the drive down. The man who is not afraid of bridges, barely made it over the Ohio for fear of driving off the road. And when he reached the Kentucky border, it lifted.

We began our adventure here in Wilmore by fighting a battle. A battle that, we have since learned, is not unusual for families moving to be a part of the Asbury community. A battle that we want to be continually aware of and prepared for... a battle that we are training to help others be prepared for... Lord help us.

in Transition

Yeah, it's been awhile since I've been able to sit down and write... or think.. or feel... or do anything besides chase my kiddos. Seriously... now that B is never where I want him to be crawling, he and D like to go in opposite directions as often as possible. But more on him later (insert mommy guilt about not giving him equal time on the blog.)

Anyway...  I've had a baby, sold a house and moved to Kentucky since the last time I stopped by to vomit my thoughts onto paper the screen. That's a lot.

I mean a lot, a lot.

Yeah, I had a panic attack as soon as we turned onto our road coming back from Christmas holidays. (but more on that later as well.)

My very wise sister said to me, "Of course you had a panic attack! You've been through so much transition your body doesn't know how to handle it!" She was right.

So here I am again. Trying to find something that connects me to who I was before.. before I was a wife, before I was a mommy, before I was Katie. Something that was true about me then, and is still true about me now. (Yeah, yeah, I know I'm still a child of God and all that... we'll get to Him later.)

So please bear with me as I reconstruct some things that have happened the past few days, weeks, months, years... I have lots of stories to tell and I've decided that I'm going to find the time to tell them. Even if it's 9:30 on a Thursday night and I'm about to close down Starbucks. :)

in Recovery

a quick update on our Little Man...

It's been almost 6 months since his heart surgery... and our Little Man is doing great! He is active, growing, in constant motion and he is ALWAYS making us laugh. In fact, he is quite a handful to keep up with sometimes since his favorite game is chase, which he usually gets me to play by crawling/walking into a part of the house that he knows is off-limits. Then, as soon as I start to follow him, he laughs hysterically then crawls as fast as he possibly can in the opposite direction! 

His heart surgery was a complete success! He was supposed to have a few different follow-ups in the months following his surgery, but after his first one, the cardiologist said he was doing so well that they cancelled the rest of the appointments and said, "We don't need to see you until next year." Woohoo!! 

It's been amazing to see the transformation... when I thought he looked so good and so healthy in the few weeks before his surgery, it's been quite eye-opening to go back and look at the difference in before and after pictures.

One week after...

One week before...

He had definitely chunked up before... but his height! As soon as they fixed his heart, he started to spread out and shoot up! His Daddy is tall so we always expected a little something more but oh my goodness! At this point, he still has my short legs, but his 12 month shirts no longer fit his long arms or his broad shoulders. And people at church who haven't seen him in awhile always comment, "This can't be the same little guy!" We feel very blessed, and this Thanksgiving, we have marveled at where he was last year and where he is now. We are truly Thankful for the health and heart of our Little Man. 

in the Still of the Night

I used to think "Night Duty" was the absolute worst thing about being a parent. But 2 things have changed my mind... my Mom and my son.

In our family, my first three siblings and I had the amazing and unique opportunity to watch our parents become "new" parents. My youngest sister, W, was adopted well after the rest of us had left the nest. And she was adopted at an age where my parents missed her infant years. But my Mom still pulled "night duty" with her.  Even though she is now 18 and is well on her way to becoming just as mature and grown up as the rest of us (ahem), she was still a normal teenager. Whenever Mom was up in the middle of the night because of W's terrible "teenagery" things like cast parties, school dances and Youth Group overnights, I never heard her complain. She would always say, "I didn't get to be up with W in the middle of the night when she was a baby. So I have the privilege of doing it now."

The second thing that is changing my mind about night duty is this hospital stay... It's kind of like being new parents again. The first night in the ICU, he was taking 2 ounces of formula every two hours. The second night, in the step-down unit, a nurse would come in every 3 or 4 hours to take vitals, draw blood, give pain medicine or adjust his oxygen tube. and each time, D would cry out. It's not the sweet, high-pitched, desperate cry of a newborn. It's a pitiful wail, full of confusion, breath and "Mama Mama."

He says "Mama" when he's happy, babbles it when working his legs in his excersaucer, sings it out over the baby monitor while he wildly flaps in his crib. But he also weeps it as he is poked and tested and re-bandaged. Every time the hospital room door handle "kathunks" and a nurse walks in, I am up holding his hand, wiping his crocodile tears, calling him my Big Brave Boy. (M is with me and, of course, he does his Daddy Duty... like carrying D to get a chest x-ray at 5:00 every morning.)

Our first day in the step down unit, 24 hours after surgery, was a rough one as the effects of anesthesia had started to take a toll; and that first night was a busy one... nurses, vitals, alarms, heart monitors, pulse ox traces. It was in the wee small hours of the morning, D's pain meds were starting to wane and he had pulled out another IV... and he cried, "Mama. Mama." I opened my aching eyes, groaned my way off the vinyl couch, tried not to fall over my husband sleeping on the trundle bed, and stumbled over the cold floor to look over the side of the crib... "Mama's here, Baby."

and he smiled.
not an, "I just got out of surgery so I'll give you a tight lipped sign of recognition" smile.
a real smile.
a D smile.

The smile that has made pouting, old men in the grocery store stop what they are doing and lean down to make silly faces into the stroller. The smile that has made a crying woman at the pharmacy say, "You just made my day," while managing a wobbly smile. The smile that made the nurses on our floor practically kick me out of the room this morning to go have breakfast so they could finally get some cuddles from him while they showed him off at the nurses' station.

and that first smile was all for me.
because I'm the mama and I was on Night Duty.

in the Waiting Room, part 2

There are things that should make you cry... a funeral, a broken arm, Saving Private Ryan.

and then there are things that shouldn't make you cry... changing a dirty diaper, dishes, people talking at a graduation ceremony. And yet, all three of these things have sent me over the edge these past two weeks, weeping for hours. It's fairly obvious that I am stressed out about D's surgery... and since it's only two days away, the stress levels are skyrocketing.

So, we left the house. We started the dishwasher, put another load in the washing machine, and Little Man and I escaped to a coffee shop. I'm drinking a smoothie and he's smiling at me. Right now, I don't care that we're missing an afternoon nap. I don't care that my house needs vacuuming and that the cat is probably plotting revenge on our entire family since we left her alone... again... after being gone all weekend. Sometimes you just have to run away.

My Little Man, smiling at Garden Cafe. 

We're two days away from surgery... less than 48 hours... so our fear is increasing and our stress levels are soaring. Last Friday, we met with the surgeon and he seems competent and confident. We met with nurses who assured us that on the scale of 1 to Oh Dear God!, D's heart surgery is right in between life-threatening and oh-he'll-grow-out-of-it. So he's more serious than not serious and not as serious as super serious.

So we pray. and we pray. and we pray some more. And we want God to reassure us, to tell us why, to promise us that D will be okay. But He doesn't. We ask God to give us a glimpse of D's future, to explain His purposes, to tell us how He will use this. But He won't. We pray for God to heal, to restore proper pulse ox levels, to give surprising reports from the doctors. But He hasn't.

When D has appointments, we always dress him in shirts that say,
"Mommy's Little Hero," "Daddy's All-star," "Little Champ," etc.  

He has shown us that He hears us. M and I pray for D every night before bed. We've prayed for God to heal him from "the top of his head to the bottom of his feet." We've prayed for God to "cover him with the breastplate of righteousness." and we sing "Jesus loves me... little ones to Him belong, they are weak but He is strong." When we've taken him forward for prayer at church, people have asked God to heal D from "the top of his head to the bottom of his feet, " to "cover him with the breastplate of righteousness" and they've asked us to sing Jesus Loves Me over him. Each of those moments has felt like Jesus saying, "I hear you. I am with you every night when you pray over D."

and God has healed a part of D's heart... he used to have a hole between the upper chambers of his heart. It has closed which has given the surgeon the option of rerouting the left superior vena cava externally. (In his words, "if God gives you a tunnel, you use it. But if he hasn't, then it's better not to make one.")

and God has shown us one good thing that has already come from this... I can't say too much, you'll just have to ask my sister. ;)

But when we ask God why He didn't complete the healing, or why D has had to suffer to bring good things to other people, or why all of this had to happen in the first place; God says "I'm building D's testimony. It's his story. I hear you and I'm with you. That's enough."

and we're trying to let it be. Since the day David was born, we have prayed that God would use him to build His kingdom. But that's scary because we don't get to specify how or when or where. We don't get to specify the terms of D's life... and God never promises us safety... only that He will be with us.

 So I'm scared for Thursday... we love our Little Man so much that's it's hard to think about the possibility of losing him. And it would be much easier if we had a faith that believed that God only let good things happen to His children. But we don't. and He doesn't. So we will trust God when He says "I hear you and I am with you" and we will continue to believe that God is diligent in His goodness, in spite of our fear.