Repentance

I am not guilty of many sins that our society would deem outrageous.  I don’t drink.  I don’t steal stuff, I tell the truth too much of the time and I live a rather boring life of laundry and dishes and chasing after three children that I adore.  I spend my money on groceries.  I don’t do drugs.  I’m boring.  I haven’t killed anyone and I am at least 48% sweet, 45% sass and 7% inconsistent.  And I try to take care of people who don’t get cared for very often.  I even attend church all the time.  I don't have any felonies.  In the top 10 worst things I ever did list, #7 is when I intentionally failed a history test in 6th grade so that I would fit in with the cool (and apparently stupid) kids.  So scandalous.   

Hand me my mocha and my girl scout badges and lets move on. 


Except that in the last 36 hours, I've come to realize that I really have so much to be ashamed of.  So much. 


A 6 year old member of our church family is battling brain cancer.  My heart just breaks for this family…the kind of broken heart where you sit in a dark room and sob.  This beautiful little boy has had five brain surgeries and this is his third relapse.  All I can really think about is how unfair this is....and how undeserving this family is of this brokenness. 

And I think about the part where God changed my life in three and a half minutes as I thought Justin was dying during his absence seizure.  It took three and a half minutes of believing that I was losing my little boy before I gave up every ounce of belief that I had any contributions to offer and promptly got off of my throne.  Three and a half minutes got me to a place where I waved the white flag of surrender and begged for the Lord to take over everything I have.  Three and a half minutes.  Even now, any time I have the smallest hint of desire to follow my own impulses, the face of my baby turning blue whips me into shape in a mere moment.  Three minutes of staring at my worst nightmare, and my life changed from top to bottom. 

So I think of sweet Louise, a mom who loves her children with a heart of gold.  She is no different than me.  As I think about her experiences, I am struck by the cold hard truth that there is no reason that she is in her spot, and I am in my spot.  I have three healthy kids.  I’ve never received a glimmer of bad news with my children.  Even the moments where I thought Justin was dying resulted in a doctor looking me in the face and imploring me to believe that my baby was okay.  I’ve never wondered at the health of my kids.  I’ve never miscarried.  I’ve never wondered if I was going to miscarry.  From the moment that I heard their heartbeats to this moment that I'm sitting here typing, I've only had wonderful happy news.  And one thing that I know for sure is that I don't deserve this. 

I lived a good solid 10 years of my adult life with my back to God.  My sister recently reminded me of a time where I literally said "Why does this world have to be about God? Why can't it just be about me loving my family?" I snubbed Him and considered Him irrelevant.  I wanted Him, but only if He would do everything that I wanted Him to do.  And I'd take Him, as long as He didn't ask me to do stuff that I didn't want to do. 

But that's not the worst part. 

I understand today that the moment where I sit up from my kneeled position at the throne of God and ask for anything at all on my behalf, I've taken His blessing for granted.  Because how can I stop thanking Him for the health of my babies?  How can I complain that I don't have money for gas, or I'm not 100% sure where the grocery money is going to come from?  How do I grumble under my breath about laundry or get frustrated at how difficult it is to keep up with my housework when I'm working 30 hours a week?  How is it that I have such fleeting gratitude that I get flustered with my seizure disorder?  It's horrifying, really....to realize that the most important aspect of my life has been shielded for absolutely no reason at all, except grace. 

I think the more I understand grace, the more debilitating it becomes.  I don't mean debilitating in the sense that it's bad, but more in the sense that I can't hardly breath.  He is so good and I deserve so much less.  He shields me from so much, when I deserve total exposure. 

And it gets worse. 

Not only have I taken it all for granted, but to think that He sent His Son to die. God the Father experienced such remarkable pain in order to reconcile us to Him. 

I just didn't deserve that.  And if He struck me with lightening every time I forgot that I didn't deserve it, I'd die 1000 times a day.  My default is entitlement to everything good. 

I guess my point is this.  I have so much to repent for.  Sometimes I get all focused on the 10 commandments that I just forget the whole point.  If I would just see that He has rained blessing upon blessing onto me, I wouldn't have time to do anything except for throw everything to the ground and sob in worship.  At that point, it's probably not very difficult to not covet what others have...to not lust...to not lie, steal, curse, idolize or worship a different God.  At some point I feel like you would end up yelling "Oh Father, please don't give me anything else.  Your blessing is too rich....I can't stand anymore grace. I will be ruined."

That's where I am today.  Brokenhearted and overwhelmed with the grace.  Up until yesterday, I read the Bible and thought of the wealthy people as ridiculous.
Now I know they were talking about me.

 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Christ, just as He chose us in Him before the foundation of the world, that we would be holy and blameless before Him. In love He predestined us to adoption as sons through Jesus Christ to Himself, according to the kind intention of His will, to the praise of the glory of His grace, which He freely bestowed on us in the Beloved. In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our trespasses, according to the riches of His grace which He lavished on us. -Ephesians 1: 3-8

Conspiracy Theory

I have been on a mission for 17 months to get my daughter to say my name as her first word. 

It's true.  I worked with moderate effort to get my boys to say Mama, but both said "ball" clear as day way before they ever uttered the name of the woman who carried them for 40 weeks and then had them cut out of her body.  But I'm not bitter.  I'm awesome like that.  Totally graceful, totally not self centered.  A real mom.  I just want them to be happy, healthy and great contributors to society. 

And I also want them to remember that I am the most important person in their life.  Is that so much to ask?

So with Adie, I realized that I needed to step up the effort.  And I bumped it up several notches.  But she has been speechless for 17 frickin months.  Much to my dismay, she has created an entire language of grunting and squeals that every person understands.  Do you know how many times you have to say MAMA in 17 months when you feel like her first word could come any day? 

By the way, she has been saying "Hiiiiiii" upon greeting people for about 2 months, but I refuse to acknowledge that.  Clearly it was a fluke.  That would be a stupid first word, so it's not a contender. 

And Chris? He pretends he doesn't care at all.  He never says his name, and relies on me to introduce Dada to the mix.  Big mistake, Mister.  Because secretly?  When you are gone?  I call you "That One Guy" and "The Biological Contributor To Your Genetics".  Gotcha.  I did say I was on a mission, didn't I?

So my dream came true.  She has been saying mamammama for awhile, but finally a few weeks ago, I heard her yell "Mama! Mama!" when she wanted out of her crib.  And it has become consistent and I have lept for joy every time.  She probably thinks that "Mama" is the word to say when you want the tall lady to stop everything, scream and clap her hands furiously with a big smile on her face. 

And suddenly Chris is not feelin it.  His mouth dropped and he feigned pessimism.  "I didn't hear mama at all" and then "she thinks everything is called mama" and then "I can't friggin believe that she can say mama and NOT DADA". 

So he's gone into overdrive and I've caught him enrolling Adie into DADA boot camp.  Too bad she's so stubborn that she just stares at him.  I bet she is thinking "Why is Biological Contributor To My Genetics saying "dada" all the time?"

We also happen to play a lovely game in the Garland house where "No Nose" has to change poopy diapers.  Who ever touches their nose last after someone yells "No Nose changes diaper!" has to chase her down, pin her down, and engage in 5 minutes of a poopy wrestling match with a 17 month old who squeals like a pig. 

This morning, I promptly yelled "no nose!" and laid my head on my pillow, victorious. 
"No way!" I heard.  "She can make her own choices now.  Adie?  Do you want MAMA or dada to change your diaper?"  Chris said, ever so smugly. 

I thought I had been duped.  So screwed.

"DA." She yelled.
Both of our mouths dropped.
"Did she just say Da?" Chris asked, clearly flabbergasted.
"Yep." I said, totally delighted in my daughter. 
"This is a conspiracy.  A Garland Woman Conspiracy." He said, totally defeated twice over as he stood up to do the duty. 

That's my girl.  Nice try, That One Guy.  Nice try. 


 

Derivatives and Jesus

Confession time.  I am obsessed with the Bible.

Obsessed. 

And just in case one might thing I am bragging about this, I'd submit to you that I feel a bit crazy about it.  I'm to the point where I'm sitting in front of the TV, trying to relax and I can't stop thinking about the mysteries of the Bible.  Where once I was able to fully engage in Desperate Housewives, I can't even sit through the first 15 minutes because I can't wait to open the Book. 

I have had a serious affection for reading since I was very young.  I can remember reading two books a day during the summers at my grandparent's house.  College killed off all of the reading joy I could muster, so I really thought I would never read with passion again. 

But then.....as I started to investigate God, I realized that the Bible is one giant wonderful book of everything I've ever loved about....everything.  It's mystery and romance and adventure and scary and happy all at the same time.  And you can't read it just once.  The more I read it, the more joy I feel.  I think I will read this book a thousand times and I'll never be bored.  Almost always, I am thinking about this Book. I wish I was exaggerating.  Today, I was sitting in a psych room with a patient and literally wondering how many times Christ will be referenced in Jeremiah.  Jeremiah is the last part of the Bible that is uncovered territory for me.  I can barely sit here to type this....I'm that excited. 

So why am I disclosing my spazzy nature? Again?  On my blog?  For the 185th time?

Because once again, my family is affected. 
Today at bed time, I was reading the children's Bible to Chase and we read several stories in the Old Testament and then he wanted to read one about Jesus.  As I flipped past the page separating the Old and New Testaments, I quickly told Chase that there are two parts of the Bible.   It went something like this:

Me:  "So Chase, there are two sections of the Bible.  One is called the Old Testament, and the other is the New Testament.  The Old Testament is about the time before Jesus, and the New Testament is when Jesus enters the scene."
Chase: "Okay."
Me: "well, wait.  Jesus is really in both books.  In fact the whole thing is about Jesus, but the New Testament is when Jesus in human form enters the story.  He's everywhere in the Old Testament.  Really it's all about Him."
Chase: "Okay."
Me: "Really we need Jesus starting from the very beginning with Adam and Eve and it all leads up to the cross."

So at this time, I glanced over at Chris who was stifling laughter and smiling. 

Chris: "I can see why you end up talking to the children about the birds and the bees all the time."
Me: "What? I was just telling him about the Bible, right?"
Chris: "Right.  And will you be covering derivatives when you go over counting money next time?"

I start to laugh because it's so funny and so true and the boys start to giggle hysterically...because who knows why?  I think they just like it when mommy and daddy laugh. 

Then Justin said "Jesus is born in 10 minutes!" and promptly rolled off the bed in hysterics.
From under a pillow, he yells "I just joked!"

Thank you God for my ridiculous blessings. 

Rafting without Dying

Yesterday Chris and I went rafting with a group from Oasis for a family event.  We definitely didn't bring our children though.  If you have met Chase for 32 seconds, you know that bringing Chase on a raft down the smallest of rapids would be akin to strapping him to a dentist chair and ripping out a molar without anesthesia.  Had we brought Justin, he would have jumped off the raft for fun.  So we left them and Adelai with two wonderful girls and went on an adventure. 

I floated the river once or twice in my childhood, and it has remained one of my most favorite memories.  Something about leaving the world behind and sitting on a raft or tube, surrounded by nature and slowly riding down the river just speaks to me. 

Now if you know me, or have read my blog for any time at all, you might feel like you have just experienced a shocking change.  Jess likes something on water?  Whaaaa? 

First and foremost, let's get some perspective.  Two weeks ago I sat in the Urgent Care center for 3 hours (even though I had an appointment and had showed up 10 minutes early) and was happy to read my book in peace and quiet.  I love to sit in waiting areas and just relax; I'll leave my children for any reason at all.  So it's not like my bar is high right now.  Are there screaming children on the raft?  No?  Alright I'm in.  It's going down a waterfall?  I'm going to give that some thought....while I'm on the raft. 

The other shocking contribution that I'd like to submit to you is that I can be on a raft for 3 hours in rapids and come out with 100% dry hair.  I have certainly rode on an inter tube behind a boat and come out with a dry face.  When you have the level of panic that I can attain with water next to my nose, you develop some type of magical ability to remain dry in the most challenging of circumstance.  In retrospect, I might have preferred a different magical ability....like the ability to do 14 loads of laundry a day without noticing.  But I guess this one will do.

So Chris and I got on a raft.  We were joined by a remarkable young girl from the youth group.  Poor girl.  She was so sweet.  She had no idea what she was walking in to.  Because this sweet girl sat between Chris and I as we attempted to navigate the river together....in the context of a 7 year old marriage with 3 children.  We may or not have had additional baggage on the raft.  There the girl was, so innocent and so unaware.  She really was wonderful and it was a joy to get to know her better. 
But she may never be the same.

To provide some context to this trip, you need to know that Chris and I rented a kayak in Maui in January of this year.  I sat in the front (just like this trip) and Chris sat in the back.  We could not pull it together.  In the effort to obtain a unified front, we argued about who was responsible for steering the thing.  Chris was emphatic that it was my job, and I was emphatic that no matter how much effort I gave, I could not make the boat go a direction.  He thought I wasn't trying hard, I thought he was flat out wrong and we ended up nowhere.  In a hurry.  That day in Maui, I thought we would float out into the Pacific Ocean and I would never drink a Mai Tai again.  The horror.  We never did come to agreement, and only after we stumbled upon a current did we actually return to shore. 

So really, this was effort #2, 7 months later.  See? 
Baggage. 

Right away, I can't figure out how to sit comfortably.  I've been given a paddle and explicitly told that I can't lose this paddle.  I've also been told that I need to direct the raft, but I can barely even reach the water while I'm sitting in the raft so I climb up onto the top of the raft at the front where there is a handle and I can reach the water.  Kind of a precarious spot to be, if I do say so myself.  But, if there is anybody to rely on keeping my face dry, I've got like a 88% success rate, so I'm pretty confident. 

And I'm totally sucking at directing the raft.  We hit several rapids right away going sideways or backwards.  But, if I can say anything about this trip, regardless of how the directions went, it was so seriously fun that even in those moments where I thought I might die, I was smiling and laughing.  So fun. 

The scenery was gorgeous.  The people were wonderful.  And for the life of me, no matter how hard I paddled, I couldn't figure it out.  At some point I started to wonder if I was more stupid than I could have ever imagined.  I thought hard about where to paddle to turn the boat, but no matter how much effort I put it, it never worked out. 

At one point, from the back of the raft, Chris said "Jess, it's not hard.  Just put your paddle to the left if you want to turn right like this (as the raft turned 360 degrees immediately in a circle), and to the right if you want to turn left."
"But Chris, when I do that it doesn't work.  See?" (I then tried to turn the raft and it actually spun in circle if I paddled as hard as I could with a fervent pace).
"See honey?  There you go.  Do that." 
"Chris, I think you are the director guy and I'm just for show in the front.  Like an ornament of beauty."
"Nope, you are definitely the steering guy."

So we hit another rapid sideways.  This was a doozy.  Remember when I told you about my precarious seat?  Well somewhere in the middle of the rapid, I fell backwards into the lap of the girl with my feet over my head and was stuck there for the whole rapid. (A precarious spot, indeed!)  I even hit my mouth with the handle of the paddle and thought I had given myself a fat lip. Eventually the girl helped me up and both of us are laughing so hard that it's difficult to breath.  I yell for Chris to paddle because we are headed for a tree and a rock, and then I grab my paddle to direct us.  Surprise surprise, it doesn't work.  Suddenly there is a jolt on the raft and I hear Chris yell "don't worry, I'm back!"

"Where were you?"
"What? I fell off the raft! You didn't know?"
"Nope?"
"Yep, I fell back head first into the rapids and had to swim to catch up to you girls."

This is definitely a moment where you look around at your surroundings and wonder if the pastor's wife just told you an outright lie when she said that "Nobody dies today" as encouragement that this trip wouldn't be life threatening.  Chris just fell ass buns over tea kettle without anybody noticing at all, and I hit myself exceptionally hard with a paddle in the face as my feet flipped over my head.  I'm no expert on death, but one begins to reconsider the safety part when you sense the sudden lunge of a 200lb man onto your raft who, prior to that moment was not known to be even missing at all. 

What's more, we quickly found ourselves between packs of rafts floating all by ourselves.
And the bottom of the raft seemed quite thin, as evidenced by the moment where my knee smashed remarkably hard into a big rock.  But I thought that was all normal until we floated up to a place where the group had reconvened. 

They all seemed to look at our raft with a measure of surprise and concern. 

Because our raft had lost a lot of air.  A lot.  And it turns out that there was a visible hole in the back where Chris was sitting.  But do you know what's amazing about Oasis?  I didn't realize this until I was standing on the bank of the river, but I never expected anybody to care about my raft.  They quickly realized that our raft was a mess, but I would have never expected that they would have concerned themselves with it.  I know that makes me a bit weird in retrospect, but I think I've lived a lot of my life as a person who doesn't anticipate that anybody else will assume care of my problem.  But here was Oasis, all involved in the problem and before I knew it, the raft had air again.  It kind of reminds me about how life was before Oasis.  We didn't have any air, and we didn't even know until they showed up. 

And while we were on the bank of the river, I clarified that the back paddle was the steering guy and the front paddle was the power guy. 

And this is where the girl came in quite nicely. 
Because what's the first thing that Chris said in response to that news?
"Right, that's what I said."
My mouth drops to the ground.
"NO IT'S NOT!"
"Yes, I said you are the engine and I'm the driving person."
I can't pick up my mouth. 

So this lovely young girl is 12 years old.  I really like her, and it takes me a few nano-seconds before I decide that, despite her age and her innocence, winning a disagreement in a marriage is so much more important than anything else in the whole world.  So I invite her into the center of a 7 year old marriage and essentially demand that she pick a winner.  Both of us are staring at her expectantly, except that Chris has a smile on his face that full on reveals that he knows he is totally wrong.  But we've played chicken with the girl, and she is now being stared at by two adults.  She can't look away, and quickly reveals that I'm the winner.  I knew I liked that girl. 

So we were back on the raft and one thing became quite clear.  Rafting with air is so much easier than rafting without air.  And it's even easier when the person who is able to direct the boat actually directs the boat, and the other person just vigorously paddles.  Chris and I could definitely work on communication though, as several times when he was changing the direction of the boat, he would yell from behind "sweetheart, we are going that direction now." 
"Which direction?"
"That direction."
"I need more information".
"We are going towards that rock."
"What rock?"
"The one on that side."

The rest of the trip was riddled with me and Chris accidentally hitting the girl with our paddles.  Multiple times....totally by accident.  She really was a trooper. 

I also hit myself with the paddle in my mouth one more time.  Nobody could see the swelling part, which is actually much worse because when you smack yourself in the face, it's kind of nice when someone can actually validate your sense of shame and dismay by acknowledging the pain instead of look at you like you've lost your mind. 

When it was all over, I couldn't wait to do it again. 

Moral of the story:  It's really important to properly identify the driver of the raft.  And air is pretty darn important.  And finally, there are certainly people out there who genuinely care about the state of your raft and will take it upon themselves, without asking, to help you.  If you find those people, keep those people.

And always bring a 12 year old girl wherever you go so that she can tell you the winner of the argument.  That was very convenient. 

Chase turns 5

My Dear Sweet Chase,

You are five years old, and to give you an idea about your life in the past year, I'm writing this birthday letter to you on August 16th, a full 3 weeks after your official birthday.  But to be fair, when you were born, I was in labor with you for 3 full days and then had the wonderful experience of a Cesarean section that I could feel the whole time.  So, my lovely wonderful son, I think you can flippin wait for just a few weeks.  I'm just sayin.  And if there is a theme for the completion of your fourth year, it has been "Hold on Chase, I need just a few moments."  This is the year that you settled into being an extra big brother.  You started school, you met God, and you grew a foot. 

So you are five.  When did that happen?  I have the sense that I was marveling at you at birth, and then something shiny went by and when I looked back at you, you were 4 feet tall.  You are so much less baby, and so much more a person.  Your very own person.  Potentially the most amazing part of being your mom is watching you grow and learning about who you are.  I was there when you kicked for the first time in my tummy, and now I'm here watching you figure out the world.  I think I stop you twice a day (at least) to tell you how much I love being your mommy.  One of my most favorite parts about you is that you receive love with a total open heart.  You stop every single time, look at me in the face and say "Thanks mommy" with such sincerity, as if it's the first time I've ever said it to you.  You just soak up love.  And then, as if that isn't just amazing, you hand it back out as if it isn't that big of a deal.  You love people so well. 

You are seriously excited to be 5.

And if ever a boy could be called a tender hearted warrior, it would be you.  You started preschool this year, and immediately you were faced with the challenge of entering a classroom where everybody already knew each other.  You made quick friends with a boy who didn't want you to play with anybody else.  You guys were attached at the hip and inseparable for over two months.  But you started to have reservations.  You wanted to play with other kids too, and he became quite possessive of you.  You sometimes would come to me and tell me that you wanted to play with other kids, but your friend wouldn't let you and you seemed honestly distressed by this.  Your daddy and I encouraged you to play with all sorts of children, but we held back and let you sort it out.  And you did, Chase.  You did it so well.  At parent-teacher conferences, your teacher Megan told me that you had stood in a group of boys in front of your friend and announced "(Insert friend's name here), my heart wants to play with everybody" as you made a sweeping motion with your arms towards the whole group.  And that day, you lost your friend.  This friend continued to struggle and eventually left the school.  You told me several times that you were sad for him, but you also were quite clear that you wanted no part in turning other friends away.  Have I mentioned that I just adore your heart? 

This was your very first day of school.

Another part of you that just blows me away is your ability to be an amazing big brother.  You have a shadow in the bodily form of Justin.  He is constantly seeking to do exactly what you do and be exactly where you are.  In the above picture, your brother grabbed a backpack and wanted to be included in your picture as he was well aware that you were having a special moment.  You and I usually share a look, wherein you silently state "Seriously mom?" and I silently reply "Dude, I know.  Just entertain him and I'll make it up to you.  Swear." And you relent, and you make sure that Justin feels included.  Even though Justin drives you nuts sometimes, you also love being brothers with him.  You can't stand the idea of not sleeping in the same room with him.  You can certainly play by yourself, but you are a social kid and clearly prefer to play with your brother. 

You boys are tight. 

You've had to deal with some physical aggression from your brother, but make no mistake.  You take it for awhile, but if he pushes you far enough, you can throw down.  That has been intriguing to watch, because you definitely have to be shoved in that direction.  Your spirit is gentle, and you resist....right up until you don't.  Then, watch out folks.

You have brought me such joy every day of your life.

Another thing I noticed about you this past year is that you became more bold.  You have been a fairly reserved kid for most of your years thus far.  You often set limits for yourself with caution.  For example, this past year you had nothing to do with water.  You told me that you were planning to get your "swimmer's license" when you turn 6.  Once or twice, your daddy and I tried to push you past your comfort level but we quickly realized that it was 100% unsuccessful and traumatizing for everyone involved.  What I did notice was that as soon as we backed off (.....alright, more like 4 months after we backed off), you started to get more confident.  You have a time frame in mind, and you are unwavering.

Now you are jumping for the sky.

Believe it or not, this was a big improvement this year.

This past year you might have noticed a lot of changes in our family.  We started going to church every Sunday.  We started to read the Bible during lunch, and we focused more on the real purpose for Christmas and Easter.  I think I might have given you whiplash this year.  Whereas the year before, we had talked a bunch about Santa and the Easter Bunny, you suddenly got a totally crazy response from your mommy who nearly had heart attacks every time these were mentioned.  But you took my sudden zeal in stride.  Not only did you tolerate the 180 degree turn from your mommy, but you soaked it up like a sponge.  You remembered stuff that I said (even stuff I said that I then forgot) and you connected stuff together that I never even told you in the first place.  You became an evangelical at your school (which initially freaked me out), you learned intricate and amazing detail about the Garden of Gethsemane, the trial and Calvary (in one day) that you spouted off with perfect accuracy at a family get together a month later, and you remind me all the time to read you the Bible.  In short, while the Holy Spirit is convicting to pursue the Lord with reckless abandon, so are you.  Any time I hesitate, there your beautiful face is, looking expectantly as if praying with you is the same as brushing your teeth or eating lunch.

I could not love you more.

Sometimes I feel so guilty for how blessed I am.  In the Bible, it often says things like "But what things were gain to me, those I counted loss for Christ" (Phil 3:7) and describes the first as last in the Kingdom of God. As your mom, I often picture myself standing in the back of the crowd with a smile.  I belong in the back.  When you have received the blessings that I have received, I will joyfully be last.  I picture myself standing in front of God with tears streaming down my eyes because I was so blessed on this planet to be your mommy that all I can do is say (if I can even speak) Thank You.  And what can you possibly ask for when you have Chase as your son? 

I think ultimately, Chase, you drive me to stand still and want nothing.  Since the day I saw your face, I couldn't remember a single thing that had been important to me.  And in the past year, as I have come to understand the full weight of the blessings I have received, I know that I should never want again. 

Happy Birthday (3 weeks ago) Chase.  I'm excited for year 5.  You break new ground every day in this house, and while you are breaking in a newbie set of parents, I know you'll be gentle. 

Love Always,

Mommy

Sick Mommy

I've been sick for about 48 hours.  I'll spare you the details, but essentially I'm out of commission.  Over the last year, I've had chronic pain, but whereas my body was begging for a break, my mind and my mommy-ness were fully intact and fully able to rise above the pain to be a pain in the ass rear end of my family. 

But this is different. 

I'm pretty sure that my house could be on fire right now, and I'd probably stay on this couch and at least consider the pros and cons of getting up before making a commitment to action. 

I have noticed a few things in the past couple days:

1. Even when a mom is sick, there is no number to call in for a sick day.  WHAT IS UP WITH THAT.
2. The kids ate fruit snacks for breakfast. And dinner.  Don't worry - they didn't starve.  They all ate at least 3 packages.
3. Adelai's hands can get seriously filthy.
4. Somehow, despite the lack of effort from mom, the kids look happier. (Probably directly related to #2?)  
5. Being sick allows an opportunity to see the empathy developing in children.  Rarely does the mom get that perspective.  When Justin heard that I was sick, he said all the things he had heard me say to him just a few days earlier....("Mommy, it's okay. You'll feel better soon. You'll be okay. Love you Mommy.")  And then, he looked at me with the biggest brown eyes ever and said, with the pure heart of a three year old, "Mommy, do you want me to take you to the doctah on my scootah?" 
6. I almost let Chris take Adelai to daycare today without a visual check.  On the way out the door, I realized she was dressed in a skirt and a dress.  Together.  At the same time.  And he was offended that I found this to be a problem. 
7. It is possible to miscommunicate with a man about the purpose for a bath.  It is not enough to say "how about a bath?" as an idea to prepare a fussy toddler for bed time.  You actually have to say "with soap" to clarify that it is a "cleaning bath".  Unfortunately I did not understand there was a possibility for a non "cleaning bath". 
8. My ideas of how to take care of myself have seriously eroded over the course of motherhood.  Drinking a 24 oz iced coffee to make all things better?  Bad idea. 

So I don't really have anything funny or witty to say here.  I just wanted to point out that when a mother becomes sick, the world needs, by necessity, to come to a complete halt until a mother can hold down her iced coffee. 

Otherwise, your dirty toddler wearing a dress and a skirt will eat packages and packages of fruit snacks and finish her day in a tub of water, sans soap. 

Mommy is sick! Hooray!

I Love Not Camping

Chris and I took a 4-year-old, a 3-year-old and a 1-year-old camping.  Because we are brain damaged. 

You might be asking yourself....How could Chris and Jess possibly consider this to be a good idea? Well for the record, I did not ever think this was going to go well.  But our church goes every year, and we most definitely didn't want to miss out on the fun. 

We did go camping last year and it has been a point of contention in our marriage.  Last year, I looked at the forecast and noted that it was going to be about 50 degrees at night and we didn't have any adult sleeping bags.  I asked Chris for a sleeping bag, and at that time, Chris said "What?  No, we don't need to buy a sleeping bag.  I'll just bring blankets.  It's only going to get down to 50 degrees.  No problem."  And then unbeknown to me, Chris brought an afghan.  Two afghans.  And as I was laying there covered in sweat shirt and pants huddled under that ridiculous blanket, I distinctly remember glaring at Chris and saying "I freakin knew 50 degrees was cold." to which he replied "Oh.  I just realized I've never camped sober.  Turns out 50 degrees is cold.  Who knew?"  

Imagine how well that went over. 

So this year, I was emphatic.  Bring a sleeping bag.  Non-negotiable.  And I was very anxious about keeping Adelai warm.  I planned for long underwear, and two pairs of pajamas to wear.  And I got a sleeping bag, but Chris decided to just bring the down comforter from our bed for himself.  The boys had new sleeping bags that they were very excited about, and I had made lots of snacks for the children. 

In our life, warm + lots of food = a chance at happiness.  I was hopeful.  But do you see that my only concern was warmth?  And food?  As if that's all you need? 

So naive.  So ridiculously not outdoorsy.  So caught off guard.
Did you know it can rain when you camp?
Because I did not.

It started raining at 8pm on Friday night.  I had just put Adelai in her pack and play to go to sleep.  I should have seen this disaster coming, because when I put her down, she looked at me as if I had completely lost my mind.  Sleep in this tent in this crib?  Mommy, do you not remember that I sleep in my crib in the house with the heater? Have you completely lost your mind?

Then she pooped through two of the three layers of pajamas that I had put her in.  Awesome. We got her cleaned up and down to just one layer of clothing, and I laid down with the three kids in the tent.  They briefly played an intriguing game of Adie throwing her toy and the boys attempting to trick me by stealthily picking up the toy for her before settling down.  The rain kept increasing in intensity and I marveled at how romantic it was to sleep in a tent with the four loves of my life. 
For 90 seconds I marveled at that. 

Chris joined us and appeared remarkably surprised that I had taken the whole sleeping bag. Apparently he had some vision of us sharing the sleeping bag and the down comforter together.  I laughed so loud that it startled the kids.  That was not happening.  So, he wrapped himself in the comforter which just happened to be littered with dried up fruit snacks.  It looked that splotches of stains all over the comforter, except that they were sticky.  Interestingly, at some point you just stop wondering where the stains/sticky stuff/boogers come from after the third kid.  Suddenly you just accept what you see.  Expensive down comforter littered with sticky goo?  Naturally.  Chris made comments to support his decision of no sleeping bag again, saying things like "Wow, it's kind of hot in this blanket.  I'm sweating" and "I'm really glad that I didn't have a sleeping bag because this is so comfortable, like I'm being hugged." 
It continued to absolutely down pour on our tent.  I again marveled at how this tent was able to hold back the water.  The five of us slept for about two hours.  And then.....Adelai woke up.  I don't know what time it was, but I think it was about 1 in the morning.  She woke up screaming as if offended that she had been left in this circumstance.  I was immediately concerned that she might wake up other campers, so I broke my rule of allowing her to soothe herself and I scooped her up and made the infamous "shhhhhh!" sound that is gifted to a mother the day that they take their child home.  You get the "shhhh!" and the tired, worn out, beaten up body as a reward for your sacrifice. 

And then it happened.  She looked at me and smiled a huge smile.  She might as well have said "good morning, Mommy! I'm ready for my sippy, eggs and toast."

I would rather meet a bear in the woods than see my 1 year old daughter awake for the day at 1:30am. 

I picked up her toy bear that she was sleeping with, which had been flung onto the ground.  One of the legs was dripping wet, as if somebody had dunked it in the lake and then brought it back.  I checked all around her bed for wetness, but it was dry.  Then I stood up in the middle of the tent and found myself standing bare feet in oh, I don't know, an inch of water. 

I must have stood there for at least one minute, trying to understand how my feet could possibly be wet.  I'm inside a tent....and my feet...they have water on them.  How can this be? This isn't right.  This is wrong, isn't it? 

Then I groped around in the dark to further evaluate this crazy fact, and lo and behold, everything on the ground was drenched.  And because this is the way my life goes, that included all of Adelai's clothes, my shoes, her baby, her blanket and my joy. 

So I shook Chris awake, who realized that somehow his whole back was wet despite sleeping on his side, (where is the freaking water coming from?!?) and he started to rock her while standing.  She enjoyed this immensely and cooed with him, clapping her hands because clearly she was so proud of him.   Then we brought her to our air mattress, where she smacked us in the face for fun and threw her sippy cup into the lake of water in the center of our tent.  Every time we tried to lay her down on the pillow, she made a sound reminiscent of a squealing pig being attacked by another squealing pig. 

Our pillows became wet from the magic water coming into the tent from somewhere as it just down poured for the entire night.  Somewhere around 3am as we were wrestling with this baby trying to keep her quiet, she lunged across my face and became totally still.  It seemed like maybe she had just gone to sleep instantly.  Can you imagine this for a moment?  I'm laying there, praying that this baby will pass out suddenly so that I know God loves me.  Then, she lunges across my face and stops moving.  Her breathing becomes even and she is quiet.  And I'm thrilled beyond imagination, but a bit hung up on the fact that my head is at a 90 degree angle with 20lbs pushing down on it.  And while her diaper is fresh, the part where her diapered buns are smashed up against my face is a little concerning.  I wonder to myself how long I can keep this, and after three tortured minutes, determine that I can't do it.  So I move her as gently as possible, and she sits straight up and is ready for the day, part II.  Chris turns to me and says "Really?  You couldn't hold that?"

About 30 minutes later, she laid down on Chris' pillow while he was moving around the tent trying to find the water.  Again, she went completely quiet and stopped moving.  If you have ever been around a young baby, you might recognize this move.  It's called the "freeze-stop-breathing-never-move-again-or-you'll-wake-the-baby" move.  It seemed to work, except then Chris didn't have anywhere to sleep.  I was okay with that, but he was not. 

So after a couple minutes of the freeze game, Chris gently tried to climb behind me (Adie on one side, me in the middle and that would press Chris up against the tent wall).  And then he whispers "my blanket is wet so I need to use the sleeping bag too". So he was reaching for the zipper as I was making sarcastic comments, saying  "Really?  Your down comforter didn't work camping?  So shocking."  Maybe it was because I had been awake for so long, but this absolutely cracked me up.  I started laughing so hard that I couldn't contain it.  And then I was laughing because I wasn't supposed to be laughing.  Then Chris started laughing and....the baby woke up. 
So now it's been hours and I realize that if nothing changes, I'm not going to get any sleep and that puts me at risk for seizures.  So I say "honey, maybe you should take her to the car so that she can scream it out and go to sleep." I anticipated that he would look offended that I'm sending him out into the rain to an inhumane sentence of listening to her cry in a confined space.  But he looked almost gleeful. 

"You mean like put her in the car and close and lock the door and come back to bed?"
"What?"
"That's what you mean, right?"
"No.  Not at all.  And just to clarify, I'm also not asking you to put her in a boat and shove her out to the middle of Triangle Lake either."
"Oooh, now that's a good idea."

So they went out to the car at about 4:15am, and Adelai didn't sleep until 6:15am.  I immediately fell asleep to the sound of continued down pour of rain and had a lovely dream.  I dreamt that I woke up in the day light, peeked my head out of the tent and the whole church had packed up everything and gone home.  One might guess that I would have been offended, but instead I jumped for joy and yelled "we're outta here!"

The boys woke me up at 7:15 and informed me that their shoes were dripping wet, the towels were soaked and all of our jackets and sweatshirts had been outside.  And no, the camp had not packed up to leave, much to my chagrin. 

So, here is what I know about camping.  The children love it to death and can't wait to do it again.  The parents of teenagers seem to love it because they never see their kids for the entire weekend.  The teenagers love it because they get to see each other all weekend long and have fun.  And the parents of young children?  They have a diagnosable mental illness. 

I very much want to finish by stating that the next camping trip will be over my dead body.  However, in reality, I love Oasis so much that I consider them to be particularly irresistible.  So I'll go.  And the best I can hope for is that my children won't remember the constant look of shock and horror on the face of their mother.

Moral of the story?  I love not camping. 


Her face says everything you need to know about camping.