My Adelai

Dear Adelai,

You are turning 12 months old next week.  It honestly blows my mind that you are nearly one year old.  Feels like just yesterday that the ultrasound tech told me that you were a girl.  I had been coaching myself on how to respond if the tech told me you were a boy.  Because oh, how I wanted you.  I knew I was missing somebody and I knew I was missing something.  And I knew, walking into that ultrasound that if you had been a boy, I would have spent my whole life loving you just the same, yet missing something. 

When the technician said "It's a girl!",I instantaneously burst into tears.  Not the cute weepy tears, but the sobbing, snot filled tears.  I think I even immediately attacked the tech, saying "You aren't kidding me, are you? Are you sure?  How sure are you?" Then we had this incredibly awkward moment where she showed me your...ahem...body parts and I walked away from that appointment with absolute glee. 

I couldn't wait to see your beautiful face.

And when I saw your face, I loved you immediately - meaning, the moment that my eyes saw you, I loved you with every ounce of my heart.  It's the kind of love that transforms a mother's heart into something brand new.  As in, one hour before you were born, I thought I'd be overjoyed to see you.  The second you were born, I was overjoyed at the prospect of giving my life for you.  I was 100% willing to do whatever it took to guard you and nurture you and love you all the days of my life. 

You found your place quickly....right on my chest, burrowed under my chin. 

We spent the first 72 hours of your life just like this.

I was a bit concerned that you'd be crushed by your brothers.

But you really aren't.  You handle them with innate skill.  As if they are basically your entertainment, and if they happen to flip you around and drag you around the house (that only happened three times), you are just fine. 

You are a trooper.

So you came into our family like a breath of fresh air.  Previously I had been gravely outnumbered.  It looked grim.  I saw smelly boys with potty talk humor and many sport programs on TV in my future.  And I wondered how a baby girl would handle it.  But Chase, Justin, Mommy and Daddy all agree:

You are our princess.

So I loved you at sight, but the more I learn about you, the more I'm in love with you all over again.  Funny how that works.  I think one of my favorite things about you right now is your disposition.  You are literally so gentle.  All year long, you have learned things very early, yet held out to use your skill until you are 100% certain that it will work out.  Recently that applies mostly to walking.  We've all seen you walk.  In fact, both Daddy and I have seen you lift a stool up over your head while standing without support.  But nevertheless, you aren't 100% confident, so you aren't about to do it.  And it turns out you'll walk without a second thought when you are moving towards food.  (You love food.  Really a lot.  Like, more than anything.) But, for now, you book it old school by crawling.  You actually did that with crawling too.  You didn't crawl for the longest time, and then suddenly you just crawled across the house like it was no thing.  It's as if you have this thing you are working on, and it's in your back pocket until you've worked it out in your head.  And you won't budge until you are ready.

Right now, you race around the house like a pro with the walker.

And every time your brothers "toot" and consequently nearly die from laughter, I look at you and wonder if the boys laughing at "toots" might break your gentle little heart someday.  You honestly look offended already. 

And you are happy.  Everyone always tells me that you are so happy.  I love that about you.

My happy girl.

But my all time, most favorite thing about you is that you already know how to hug.  You come crawling over to me, out of the blue, pull your self up and lunge your body towards me.  Then, you rest your head on my shoulder and you talk.  Sometimes, you hug me so long that we dance to music and sing and you say "mama mama mama" the whole time. 

So, my sweet girl, Happy Birthday.  If you had anything to do in picking me as your mommy, I'm so thankful.  God's fingerprints are all over you and I can't wait to see all that He has planned for you.  It is my honor to be charged with raising you up into a gentle woman of God. 

And one more thing. 

Adie, I don't know everything.  Actually, if we are being honest, I pretty much know very little.  I know I will mess up a lot.  But it won't be because I didn't want to be perfect for you.  It really is because I really need Jesus every single day - all day long.  I hope you know that, as much as I'm head over heels in love with you, God loves you so much more. 

And Adelai? I pray for you every day.  I pray that 1) you will grow to love God with all your heart and 2) that you will grow to love God with all your heart, despite your imperfect mother.  And all I have to say about that is that, by the grace of God, we will get through this...you and me (and some other people too, like your daddy...but nonetheless...you and me.)

I love you with all my heart, Adie-girl.  Words will never tell you the full extent, but I'll spend my whole life trying to show you. 
Love,
Mommy

Family Movie Night

I love this age with my kids where we get to decide on traditions and establish the identity of our family.  Recently I've been focusing on showing Chase what it means to be a Garland.  This is actually pretty tough, since I don't really know what it means to be a Garland either.  But, nonetheless as a parent, life doesn't wait for you to figure it out before you are tasked with the responsibility of explaining it to your child. 

It's pretty crazy, when you think about it.  I'm the mom, yet the kids teach me all day long about the meaning of life.  All I'm really doing is teaching them that wiping your buns after you go to the potty is not optional, but rather mandatory.  Because that's what Garlands do. 

I guess when I think about all that the kids teaches me vs. all that I teach them, it's probably very accurate that I do chores and they are served meals.  It's sort of spot on. 

Of course, the world would not recognize that, but Jesus would.  I hope I remember this the next time I'm doing dishes for the 4th time that day.  They are baby rabbi, and I'm the student.  I should follow after them carefully....

Anyway, I digress.  (shocker?)

We have started a tradition a few months back called Family Movie Night.  We made a sign that says "Please Do Not Disturb. Garland Family Movie Night In Progress!".  Hand prints of all the family members are added to the sign as signatures and it's placed in the window by our door.  Chase makes extra effort to make sure that all the doors are locked and everybody who walks by our home hears through the window that they cannot come in. (Next month will be our lesson on hospitality.)

In our defense, we have decided that (via family vote), were somebody to actually come to the door and have to be turned away, we would invite them back in the morning for doughnuts and chocolate milk. 

It seems especially important that we discuss in advance who "The Garlands" are.  We go through a roll call (4 times) and determine that, in fact, we are all present (including God).  Then Adelai goes to bed and we take our designated spots on the couch to watch the movie.  Somehow, Chris scored an entire couch to himself while I cuddle under a blanket with the two boys.  I think I won that. 

I'm not sure what this will evolve to when they grow.  Probably a game night?  And surely, it will move from the Saturday night position to a different night where they are willing to choose us over fun....but I'm hoping that when the day arrives that the choice has to be made (family or friends???), we'll at least have a long standing tradition of picking our family full of friends. 

We are establishing a sense of belonging and esteem for these children, but truly it just comes back full circle.



     

Toughness

There are many words to describe my oldest boy.  Recently I've added some things like "limit-tester" and the like, but a few descriptors have remained constant the past few years. 

Here is a tentative list:

• Cautious
• Aware of all things that might go wrong
• self parent
• comfortable with both feet on the ground at all times
• easygoing in all things, except when he feels like his life is in danger..which is always.  Actually, let's not be dramatic. It's only, like 98% of the time.

The best way to describe Chase's disposition is probably by example.

Example #1: At family camp last year, we camped by a lake.  The boys were both in horrifying bathing suits....(in my defense, the picture on the swimsuit did not reveal that each child's...ahem...genitalia (?) ...would be outlined like spandex....except for worse than that.  Is there a worse than that? See below. I think you'll agree that yes...this is so much worse.)


You may take a few moments to collect yourself.

So how close did Chase, given the safest swimsuit of all time, come to swimming in the lake? (Which, by the way, was boxed out by the dock for children?)


This close.  And no closer.

Occasionally he would get into this blow up boat, or maybe a floater.  But NEVER when the water went above his knees.  (The boat was even worse....when it started to leave the sand and actually float, he nearly had a panic attack.) We were there for 2 days, and he never advanced further than his knee.  He even knelt down in the water to try and get his floater to touch the water "like the other kids".  But dare-devil, he is not.

He would be the perfect insurance auditor. 

Example #2 is simply that, whenever offered something that makes him nervous (bikes, scooters, really anything where his body is not 100% in his own control) he will tell people "I'm going to do that when I'm 5.  When I'm 5, I'll be ready."  Who needs to parent that kid?  Can you see why we were wholly unprepared for Justin, who at Family Camp, ran at a dead sprint on the deck towards the lake with full intent to jump in the water? 

Parenting Goal #145 for Chase:  Encourage him to realize life isn't scary.
Parenting Goal #1 for Justin:  Encourage him to realize that he should at least be somewhat scared of life, since he's going to break copious amounts of bones. 

So, all this to say that I had the most heartbreaking conversation with Chase last night.  He climbed up on my lap and with big solemn blue eyes,  began to tell me that his friend at school "is tougher than me". 

"Why do you think that, honey?" I asked.
"Well, (insert bully name here) yells at me and calls me bad names, and then (insert tough kid's name here) yells back at him and hits him in the head.  I never do that." he replied. 

He looked so sad.  Here is this moment.   As his mom, it's evident that part of the heart of Chase puts him out in the world wherein his giant heart and careful manner are both occasionally going to be viewed as weakness.  He's kind of right on that.  And he's perceived it which, in retrospect, shouldn't be shocking.

So I said "Chase, the real tough people in this world are the ones who have hurt feelings, but don't hurt back.  That's being tough.  That's real toughness.  And you're the toughest guy I know."
And then Chris the man added "and also they get hurt and don't cry."
(Child therapist Jessica and Man Chris then shared a glance wherein I gave him a piece of my mind and he informed me that I was turning his boy into a wussy girl.)

Then Chase looked at me and said in a very quiet tone, "Mommy?  Am I tougher than Justin?"
This completely broke my heart. 
And all I could say was "I love exactly how tough you are."  I'm crossing my fingers that this was enough. 

I just love this boy.  My hope is that you can teach toughness, but I know for sure you can't teach what Chase has.  He's full of empathy, brilliant, affectionate and he'll change this world. 

Nope, you can't teach that. 

On Testing of Parents

This is my son Chase. 



Since the day he was born, I've marveled at how easy of a child he is.  He goes to sleep when I tell him to, and he loves to cuddle.  When he was an only child, he would wake up at the crack of dawn and we'd bring him to our bed with his morning bottle.  He'd cuddle, drink the bottle and go back to sleep.  It was a good, stress free life.  The only difficult thing about Chase has been finding shirts that fit his long arms (they are freakishly long).  He often looks like he's wearing a 3/4 length sleeve, when he isn't.  (In my defense, that flippin shirt fit yesterday.)

And once, his feet grew so fast that when we finally went to buy him a new pair of shoes, the lady showed us how he had been curling up his feet to put on his shoes in anticipation of the limited space.  Oops.  He just should have said something.  First time parents just can't do everything right, you know?  It's not my fault.  He's gigantic.  As in, he skipped 2T/3T all together and went straight to 4T when he was just two years old.  Now his feet are 3/4 of the size of MY FEET.  This is going to get crazy, folks.  Prepare yourself. 

Oh, and when he ever got in trouble? (Which was never.)  He just flowed with it.  He didn't flip out and try to beat me up (like a certain other child living in our home named Justin), but he did the discipline and moved on.  Occasionally he tried to outwit us ("Mom? I only clean up at school. Not here." and "Why don't I play and you clean? Then we'll both be happy.  Right mom?"), but in general, he's an easygoing, loving child. 

Until last weekend. 

Cue four-year-old child suddenly noticing free will. 

And four seconds after he noticed free will, cue logical, reasonable mother having internal debates with unreasonable rageful mother who is taking a mental tally of her stretch marks and wondering how the offender would ever dare utter the phrase "no" to his victim.  Because CHASE GARLAND, I went through hell for you.  So this "no" that you speak of?  Choose wisely my son.  Because when Mommy starts to count 1-2-3, she really isn't counting an obscure, abstract thing.  She's counting war wounds on her stomach, wherein it appears that a cat was hanging off a cliff and attached itself to my body in a last ditch effort to save it's life.  And it failed. 

So this is my life this week. 
Me: Hey Chase?  Please stop putting your blanket onto Adelai and then laying on her.  That's dangerous.
Chase: Kay.
Me (20 seconds later, he's doing it AGAIN): Chase! Come talk to me. 
Chase: No.
Me (mouth drops to the ground.  Stunned, pause for 22 seconds and then): WHAT? 
Chase: No. 
Me: Are you joking?
Chase: No.

So I've just started to pick his (ginormous) body up off the ground and place him in his room until he's ready to behave.  And it's happened, oh, I don't know, 10 times today already.  In case you are wondering, it has nothing to do with a discipline technique.  Really, he either goes into his room, or he sees my head explode off of my body.  Because honestly?  I just don't see it coming.  My Chase?  My blue-eyed, blond haired cherub is turning into a person. 

And while my brain is turning into a hot mess, I sometimes picture the description of Jesus in Revelation, where His eyes are "like a flame of fire" (Rev 1:14).  And I realize that his flamy eyes are Holy, and my flamy eyes are rageful and unholy.  

In this moment, I'm pretty sure that Jesus' eyes are like a flame of fire because His children said "No". 

Even in my obsessive, desperate pursuit to know God as much as humanly possible, I still say "no" every day.  He must want to count all His stretch marks all day long....kinda like when He responded to Job's incessant complaining with a litany of "Really?  You're going to question Me?  Did you see the ostrich that I made?  I think not, little man.  I THINK NOT." 

Once again, I'm blown away by how He reveals Himself through the parent-child relationship.  I hope someday I stop saying No.   


 

Baptism

I was baptized today. 

And you know what?  I hesitated for awhile.  I'll just go ahead and let the cat out of the bag.  I was baptized as a baby and I hesitated for awhile because I thought that baptism was really about receiving the Holy Spirit and proclaiming your faith.  I did a mental tally each time I watched others, and I thought:

Been baptized?  check.
Have the Holy Spirit? check.
Proclaimed faith?  check.
Sobbed in front of the congregation several hundred times, thereby submerging myself in water on accident? check. 

So why did I have a tug in my heart that wanted to run into the water as fast as I could every time somebody was being baptized in front of me?  I still remember this moment last summer at the lake with Oasis when Pastor Keith asked if anybody else wanted to be baptized in the lake.  I was so conflicted.  I could feel simultaneous overwhelming urges to sprint to the water as well as hesitation that I was long past that.  Because isn't baptism step one?  And why would I ever need to be baptized again? 

Finally it dawned on me to ask.  (Genius, right?)

And basically Pastor Keith told me that the answer is ultimately complicated and well debated...but it came down to whether or not I felt called to do so.  And he mentioned something that stuck with me.  I won't try to put words into his mouth, but what came across to me is that baptism as a child is especially relevant if the person has remained faithful their whole life. 

And guess what?  That's not me.

While I had been baptized at 3 months old (1981..ouch), I had not been faithful until March 3rd, 2010.  Prior to that date, I would say that not many people had less faith than me.  Sure, I was a nice person and if somebody could make it into Heaven based on merit, well then I'd at least be a contender.  I never have killed anybody, I'm not a cheater, I turn bright red when I lie and while I had three speeding tickets before age 18, I couldn't help but sob uncontrollably each time I was pulled over if only for the horrible sense of being in trouble.  I even help suicidal people. 

Who needs faith with that resume'? 
But it turns out that God can intercede in your life without your permission.  And while He didn't have my attention prior to Justin's seizure, He sure came after the very heart of my soul.  He knocked me down, called me out and then comforted me in a way I've never been comforted before.

Now I hear Him loud and clear.  Any time I hesitate to wonder if God is really relevant, my mind goes back to the moment where I thought Justin was dying and it remains true that I am convinced: there is no moment in my life where anything is more important than glorifying the Creator.  I don't do it enough, but nonetheless, I'm convinced of that fact. 

I wondered if baptism would be a mistake.  I wondered if baptism would leave me disappointed that the heavens didn't open up as I came out of the water.  I wondered if I'd punch Keith in the face on accident freak out in front of hundreds of people as my face touched the water. 

I wondered a lot in an effort to control the whole event because that's my speciality. 

What happened was this: 
I was washed clean and I am new.  And it feels exactly like that.  And finally, as if that really wasn't enough?  I'm blessed to be apart of a church where they authentically rejoice in that.  And even better?  My boys were there to see me profess my love for the Lord. 

Doesn't get much better than that.  It was a good day.


Here is my short testimony from the baptism today: 

For the first 28 years and 360 days of my life, I sat proudly on the throne of my own life. Sometimes I even tried to sit on other people's thrones too.  I was the creator, the judge and jury, and worthy of much praise.  I thought I knew God, but I wasn't sure why He was all that relevant.  I figured that there were plenty of poor people in the world that needed Him badly.  Not me though.  Never me.  I was self righteous, self sufficient, self confident and if it didn't work for some reason, full of self pity. 

Then, my two year old boy suddenly stopped breathing and he didn't start again for 3 minutes.  God escorted me to the edge of the pit and showed me what life is really like when I'm on the throne.  It's dark, lonely, hopeless, scary and ultimately my seat on the throne is a facade.  My worst fears were not only out of my control, but also real.  When my son wasn't breathing, the person I had worshiped for all these years (myself) was completely worthless.

So I found my place in life.  It's face down on the floor in front of the Throne of Grace.  My Savior sits on the mercy seat and I have been given a new heart.  This heart can't get enough of the Word, worship or prayer. I'm dearly loved, remade and justified.  And I'm prone to wander, but His grip is faithful.  And sometimes I whine, but He is patient.  And other times I reminisce of the times when I was in charge, and He gently but firmly sets me straight. Now I can rest.

I'm so thankful that He came and got me.

And just in case your interested, the longer version is here.

The Dawn of the Personality

There is this moment when a baby makes the transition from blob-in-your-arms to terror-on-the-floor.  For the majority of their first year, babies are fairly black and white.  They are 1) easygoing or 2) not easygoing.  That's about it.  For the most part, barring any developmental challenges, they all smile, they all poo, they all laugh and they all melt your heart.  And you are sleep deprived, but you love the blob, so you are happy about it. 

Or you are drinking coffee by the gallon, so you're happy about that.  Either way, it's nice. 

Here's the way my blob started:


And here's what my blossoming wobbler looks like now:


 So I love her.  Oh my gosh, do I love her.  And she's turning into this little girl, and as she grows, I'm starting to see who she is.  And I'm already planning an entry for her birthday (end of April), so I'll do my best to contain myself here....but suffice it to say that being Adelai's mother has completed me.  Being a mommy to a girl is inexplicably full circle. 

She's now 11 months old, and we've entered the phase where limits have to be set.  It's pretty interesting when this happens, because it reveals so much.  The limits aren't anything horrible - the Garlands are easygoing and we basically have rules around not putting electrical stuff in your mouth, not playing with knives...you know, the basics.  And we do our best to not torture the animals, so we frown on putting thumbs into the eye sockets of the dog and cats.  But other than that?  The world is your oyster, Garland child.  Do some damage. 

When Chase hit this moment and we said "no, Chase", he slowly put the offending object down and looked at us....for like 10 minutes.  And his chin may have quivered a bit, but it was more a sense of pondering...as if he had a litany of retaliation, but his one word of "ball!" wasn't going to cut it.  So he remained pensive.  And 4 years later, he's still pensive and I'm waiting for the day when he unleashes all these ideas and I'll be hit with a wave of deep thoughts.  It's coming. 

When Justin was told no for the first time, he took the offending object and slammed it on the ground as hard as he could and then hit me.  Need I say more?  It's yet to change.  When we play baseball and he misses 3 balls in a row, he hits the bat on the ground and does a toddler version of cussing himself out.  Chris and I have to constantly help him to sooth himself.  He's got a hair trigger temper and he always has.  We are trying to learn how to patch holes in the wall now so that we can be prepared.  It's coming. 

So Adelai?  Today I came upon her putting part of the computer cord in her mouth.  And I swear, I just quietly said "Adelai, no..." from across the room.  And I'm not even joking, she turned around, made eye contact, dropped to the ground and burst into tears.  And it wasn't the kind of tears wherein the child can recover.  This was the kind of tears where life has ended, the soul has been mortally wounded and there is no hope for redemption.  She. Was. Devastated. 

I scooped her up in my arms and she layed her head on my shoulder (a rare moment these days since she's so interested in the world) and literally sobbed.  Snot on my shirt, tears running down her face...sobbed.  For two minutes.  And I kept saying "baby, it's okay! I love you. It's okay." But she just cried and cried and cried.  She eventually calmed down, but now the computer cord is like kryptonite and she won't come within 10 feet of it. 

It just cracks me up.  Maybe she inherited my terror of getting in trouble.  But then it seems Justin inherited my temper.  And it also seems Chase inherited my affection for thinking for hours.  So where is Chris in the genetics? 

They do seem to have a deep rooted love for doughnuts and chocolate milk.
 


I bet they will end up living in a van down by the ocean. 



The Opposite of Parental Joy

Being a parent?  Love it.  I really do. 

Something absolutely miraculous happens the moment you set eyes on that baby.  And it happens deeper every single time.  You look at this creature and realize that you'd literally jump in front of a bus for this little thing, and yet you don't even know if he or she likes chocolate.  Nothing matters.  This baby can do no wrong, and even if they do, you won't care.  It feels as if you can literally see the fingerprints of God all over this child. 

So here's the actual crux of the matter. 

Where do the fingerprints of God go when this amazing creature has explosive diarrhea all over his bed, and then comes to your bed and pukes all over your bed?  And then, this "blessing" has the audacity to look at you, look at the bed he's just massacred, and state in a particularly disgusted tone "Mommy, I don't think I want to sleep in your bed anymore."

That's right.  He really did say that. 

Just in case you are wondering how Chris and I handle that statement at 4:15am, both of us kind of laughed with a delirious quality to it, and said "well, that's completely understandable." 
Then he went to his bed and passed out (which had all new sheets on it already). 

So, a message to teenage Justin, from his mother:

Justin, if you are reading this, you vomited all over your father this weekend while he was sleeping.  And your father and I had to sleep in a smell which would be an easy win in the "worst smell ever" competition without any blankets because you had already pooped all over the other blankets in the house. 
And you gave me stretch marks when I was pregnant with you. 
And you jumped from high stuff to low stuff all the time, and I swear I gained a wrinkle and gray hair with each "trick" you did.  So now I look old.
So.  If I asked you to do the dishes, mow the lawn, pick up your sister, bring in the groceries, or take care of me when I'm old...by God, child, you better do it.  YOU BETTER DO IT.
And yes, that is a threat.  The phone number for DHS is (503) 378-6704. 
Love you.
Mommy