I'll be on the other end
to hear you when you call,
angel you were born to fly
and if you get too high
I'll catch you when you fall 
I'll catch you when you fall
~Nickel Creek

I had the opportunity to help chaperone Zoe's class field trip to the local fire station the other day.

Confession: I might have been more excited than she was about this opportunity. She wasn't embarrassed that I was coming or anything, as I imagine she will be in another five years. It's just that in the last month or so I'd been trying to find my way into her classroom without edging into helicopter parent land, and this opportunity finally struck. As soon as that note came home with a call for chaperones, I had it filled out and returned to her backpack within seconds.

It's a strange adjustment to go from having tabs on exactly what one's child is doing 24/7 to suddenly having thirty hours per week that are something of a black hole. I mean, I know generally what she is up to: learning to write ABCs, twice per day recesses, lunch at 11 a.m., the occasional birthday party for a classmate. I soak up everything my daughter is willing to tell me about how those thirty hours are filled, and then I ask even more about it. Which friends did you play with? What letters did you learn today? Which books did your teacher read today? Were there any students missing today? What was something particularly kind that you saw happen? Was anyone doing anything unkind?

It Doesn't Have to Be This

It's 7:39 am, which is not that early in the grand scheme of things. In some interesting twist of the clock, my older children chose to sleep in just a little later than usual.

The baby was up at 4 o'clock for her morning feed, but she is the easiest kid on my radar these days. Eat, poop, coo, snuggle, sleep and start the cycle over. This third iteration of motherhood means that I have babies down to something of a loose science, an expected rhythm.

It's her four-and- a-half year old sister, struggling with jealousy and growing pains, and her two-and- a-half year old brother, learning to use the potty on his own, who leave me and my husband spent. The unpredictable extra bit of sleep they need in the morning is generally welcome; one less minute in which our minds are engaged in anticipating the next fire that may need to be put out.

But of course today, as Murphy's Law would have it, we actually have some plans which will require our eyes to fixate on the clock a little more than usual. Early rising may actually have been helpful so as to avoid the ticking time bomb known as rushing your kids out the door.

Fly On the Wall

This morning, in the hallway, Joel bursts into tears after accidentally biting his finger (being two is rough in terms of unintentional self injury). Phoebe, laying on the carpeted floor is startled by the sudden loud noise of his crying and begins to slowly push her bottom lip into a pout - it's so sad to watch but it's also one of those cute baby things that makes you smile. Joel, being comforted by Mark notices that Phoebe is beginning to cry and mumbles some muffled words through his own tears, and runs to the living room. He grabs Phoebe's little cat doll (he always seems to keep track of exactly where it is), and as he runs back I finally understand what he was saying - "Phoebe's doll! Phoebe's doll!" he shouts repeatedly until he lays it down next to her and then collapses again into Mark to continue his cry. Mark and I "awwwwww!" to each other and cheer him on for his empathy. The cherry on top to this moment was Zoë, who heard the commotion and also came running with a small stuffed McDonald's happy meal toy that Joel has recently grown attached to in order to help comfort him.

Sharing The Load

This post is published in full at The Village Magazine blog. Thanks for reading!

The first time he prepared my coffee was on the morning of our five year wedding anniversary. Our daughter was two, our son had just been born a few weeks earlier, it was nearing the end of the fall semester - one of the more overwhelming times on the academic calendar to which our family is beholden. We had no plans to celebrate until later that month, no gifts for each other, but his simple act of kindness was gift enough that morning for this sleep-deprived mother: a hot, steaming cup of creamy coffee perfection, waiting for me right at the table.

The best mornings now start when he gets my coffee ready. It's "my" coffee for several reasons, the most obvious being that he doesn't drink coffee - abhors the taste, hesitates to kiss me after I've had my cup. But he knows how much it's like a warm hug to me in the morning, to hold that cup in my hands as the day begins.

It was purely an act of love for him to learn the process: boil the water, grind the beans, measure it out, let it steep for no more than 5 minutes, pour, add cream. And it's an act of love each time he prepares it for me and there's a hot cup ready and waiting like a love note in the morning. It doesn't happen every morning, and I'm glad for that - I have a habit of taking things for granted. This isn’t one...

You can read the rest of this post here at The Village Magazine blog.

To Three or Not to Three: A Two-Kid Family Dilemma

This post was originally published on Parent.co. You can read the entire post here.

“I just realized­ this is the first summer I will not be either pregnant or breastfeeding since 2011!” I text my friends.

I don’t remember what made me think of it, but it’s a groundbreaking revelation for me. Every one of the past four summers I have been growing a baby inside or outside my body, with my body. My daughter is now three-and-a-half, my son is eighteen months. It certainly doesn’t feel like it’s been four years of this, but it’s been four years of this. An amazing four years, a beautiful four years, a privileged four years. But four freakin’ years.

This is the first summer, in other words, where I will actually not be sharing my body with a tiny person for the purpose of nourishing their physical bodies.

I tell my husband about this revelation as he eats breakfast.

“Oh, we can fix that,” he quips. I laugh and give him a “deer ­in­ the ­headlights” look. Not what I was getting at, but we’ve been in negotiations about this recently...

You can read the rest of this post here. Thanks!

Letter to Joel + Bumble Bee Tickling Rhymes

Dear Joel,

Sometimes I want just an entire day to stare at your face, to kiss your soft cheeks, tousle your hair, chase you and your sister around the house, tackle you with tickles and rock you to sleep. Actually, when I think of it, most of our days are made up of moments like this - they're just mixed in with moments of tantrums, whining, slips and falls and many, many tears. I can't have one without the other at this stage, but that's ok. I'll take the pain and growing moments with the delightful ones.

You got your hair cut a couple months ago. It was much needed, as your hair had fallen well over your eyes and was getting full of food at dinner time. I was ready and not yet ready to say goodbye to the baby hair, but when I could see your eyes clearly again without having to sweep your hair to one side, I saw how much expression I had been missing out on, too.

You have so many new words, and I sense that this summer will be one of vocabulary explosion as it was for your sister the summer before you were born.

"Wawa" - specifically water, but useful to refer to any liquid drink that you are pointing to, be it milk or orange juice.

"Ah-poo" - specifically apples, but useful to refer to any fruit that you are pointing to, from bananas to strawberries and, much to my chagrin, even Welch's fruit snacks.

"Mama" - you've had this one for a while, but it's particularly delightful to hear when I appear after an absence from you and you turn to me, arms wide open and stumble-running, inflection changing from high to low between first syllable and last, as if sighing out an entire feeling of peace - "Mama is here, all is well."

"Dah-dee" - you've also had this one for a while, equally as delightful. I'll admit it stung a smidge when you first started calling out for Daddy through cries and tears after a tumble or a bump, especially when I was already holding you. I think, however, it was sweet to realize that you were just imitating your older sister's cry out for Daddy after such events. She also used to cry for me, and then when you were born, she and Daddy grew much closer as it became more difficult to hold two little independent, wiggly bodies in my lap. Still, most days, your preference is still Mama.

"Diddy" - your word for your sister, Zoe. Not to be confused with "Dah-dee", a distinction we, as your immediate family members, can usually make but others cannot. Perhaps because we occasionally call her "Sissy", which I'll admit is easier for the toddler tongue to imitate than the buzz of the "Z" that starts your sister's name. Particularly sweet on the mornings, most mornings, when you wake up earlier than she and must wait around for her slumber to lift, making do with boring old Mom or Dad until the most exciting member of our tribe awakes.

"Nah" - snack, particularly one you have spotted with your little eye or when you come running upon hearing the crinkle of plastic being opened.

"Bee" - blankie, a recently developed comfort object. Thankfully, it can be any "bee" and not a particular one. When you go down for nap or night night, this is your favorite thing to grab as we rock and snuggle.

"Nigh-nigh" - you eagerly head toward nap time and night time, as long as you are sufficiently tired (not difficult when you have your older sister running you ragged all day). The other night, you even kind of asked for it when you stepped down from your chair after dinner, laying your head on the seat. "Nigh-nigh" you sighed, and it was clear you were more than ready. You know when we talk pajamas and brushing teeth and giving night night hugs and kisses that one of your most treasured times of day is coming - snuggle time. My little introvert baby.

"Side!" - always with an exclamation point when you hear that it might happen, always with many tears and gnashing of teeth when it becomes apparent that it will not be happening. Outside is your favorite place, and I am so glad that we are now at the point where I can send you out on your own and watch from the kitchen window, or charge your older sister with keeping an eye on you (she's more than happy to be in charge of you, though I usually try to keep her focused on being your friend and sister, not your keeper).

"Ahp! Ahp!" - when you need to be lifted to our bed, or a couch, or a chair, or up into our arms. As with your sister, this is used interchangeably with "Dow" (down) - the point is, you want whichever position you are not in currently.

"Nnnnnnno!" - your sister told me the other day "Mama, Joel is practicing saying 'no'," as indeed you were. Always the long emphasis on the end, often with an added push away of whatever object or physical touch is being offered to you.

"Bah-bah" - bumble bee. Your grandma introduced me to some precious tickling rhymes that my grandfather, the impish jokester, had used with her growing up, and your dad and I have adopted them and added to them. We get you and your sister while laid out on the bed, while sitting on the couch, or whenever we need to distract you from something, particularly a path leading toward Whinesville. You have recently started tickling us, using your pointed finger to represent the Bumble Bee in the rhyme, circling your arm to make it fly toward its destination. A few examples of the rhymes:

Bumble bee, bumble bee, come from the farm 
to sting little Joel right under the arm!

Bumble bee, bumble bee, come from Quebec 
to sting little Zoe right in the neck!

Bumble bee, bumble bee, from Winnipeg 
come to sting Joel right in the leg!

Bumble bee, bumble bee, come from the jelly 
to sting little Zoe right in the belly!

Bumble bee, bumble bee, come from a rose 
to sting little Joel right in the toes!

Turns out that some Canadian cities make for good tickling rhymes - who knew?

I love that I get to be a mama for a second time. You and your sister and your Dad are such gifts to me from a God who loves beyond comprehension. These days are hard and full and good and I know I will miss them. I already miss them, some days, when you and your sister are asleep and I want to just breathe you in for a little bit.

Love you forever,

Mama

Unsolicited tears.

This is the face of a mom (and daughter) who'd prefer your unsolicited encouragement before your unsolicited advice. Otherwise, you may receive our gift of tears.

I need your unsolicited encouragement over your unsolicited advice.

That’s what I wish I had said to the man. Why does it always take a week and a half to arrive at what you wish you had said?

It had started like this: my husband, two young children and I had just finished a good, but long, week at a summer family camp - the last installment of our many good, but long, summer activities. I was ready to jump back into the welcoming arms of the school year routine, sleep in my own bed, use my own bathroom, heck, even cook in my own kitchen again.

All the families boarded and were settling into seats on the ferry that would take us back to the mainland. We were all, perhaps, feeling the bittersweetness of leaving such a beloved place of rest where there was limited electricity and no cell phone service - a rare world of stillness and undistracted presence with each other and God. We would try to carry the beauty of that back to the mainland with us, for at least a few hours.

Be My Village

Me (the curly top), my sister and my mom c. 1989

"I got it," my husband said slowly as he ended the call. We both smiled and hugged each other tightly. It was his first offer for a college teaching position after getting his PhD a few months earlier. In an economy that was still in a holding pattern after suffering a severe blow several years earlier, it was welcome news.

We'd also received some welcome news a few weeks prior to that: our first baby was on her way. I was teaching high school Spanish at the time, and while I was certain that I loved my particular job more than I had any other up until that point, I also knew I'd want to be home with my baby longer than the maximum 12 weeks of maternity leave that I'd be able to get as a teacher.

The only news that was a bit unwelcome at the time was this: my husband's new job required us to move three time zones away to Southern California - far from the MidWest towns each of us had grown up in, and far from our parents who still lived in those hometowns. It was even opposite the East Coast where my husband's sister had lived for over ten years.

adventure and miracles

Today, we said "yes" to a long train ride to a place we'd never been before. We said yes to an adventure that required us to get up earlier, to not know every possible scenario or every possible outcome, to give up quite a bit of the façade of control, to enter unprepared. We said, I said, "even if we want to go home at noon, we can't." Like any good commitment, it felt brave and absolutely crazy. Absolutely crazy-brave. 

thankful

I'm not going to lie. There are days that go by where I do forget to thank God for these precious gifts (at least, consciously). When I am shell-shocked from the pure difficulty that is keeping two tiny humans alive and mostly happy. The hard days full of tantrums, tears, hangry screams and, more recently, guilt that I am not picking up the second child or talking to him enough or feeding him enough or

parenting in fear

"Running directly at the herd is a ploy to generate panic" David Attenborough's voice comes through the Netflixed first episode of Planet Earth. As I watch the 3 million strong herd of caribou being split apart by a handful of white-haired wolves, I think of a video a friend posted earlier this week. "The herd breaks up, and now it's easier to target an individual." The wolves are particularly after the young.

cry and rest

102.2. At least that hot, according to the forehead strip thermometer. He's feverish, but not terribly fussy as long as he is being held and bounced. At one point he is being held and bounced by Mark, and Zoe is close and yells something too loudly, and his face wrinkles up into the shocked-and-surprised whimper face that can't help but melt your heart to buttery softness. Come here, sweet boy.

Joel Buddy: Month 4

Dear Joel,

Technically we are already half way through your 4th month already...and I'm guessing any/all letters I write to you won't be incredibly different in terms of timing. Guilt trip and get over it on my part. You, sweet son, have been my easy-breezy, go with the flow, not yet sleeping through the night but consistently sleeping from 8pm - 3:30am every night, knows mama's voice, smiley, giggly happy baby. Which is why, last week, we probably felt comfortable enough to go outdoor camping in a tent with you and your sister! Yosemite, we came, we saw, we conquered with two babies in tow, and many helping friend hands! Your favorite places are the diaper changing table and snuggled up with just about anyone. We can consistently get you to sleep by wrapping you up tightly in a swaddle and then bouncing you on the exercise ball that Mama originally purchased to use during labor...but never did. You have this amazing swath of mohawk hair that started out sticking straight up but has recently started to flop over into the shape of a wave. People comment on it all the time. I tried brushing it down the other day, just to see what it would do, and it stayed down for all of about two minutes. So, wild hair it is! I'm wondering if, perhaps, you'll be my curly child?

I love getting smiles out of you, and so does your sister. She usually gets better ones than I do, though. You know her voice just about as well as you know mine, and unless you are hungry, her voice seems to be just about as calming as my own. You have had the advantage of being able to sleep in mommy and daddy's room since we brought you home - since neither you nor your sister are consistently sleeping through the night (still!), we aren't trying you in a room together just yet, so that we can put out one fire at a time. I like it because it means that when you wake up at your 3:30 time I can just pull you into bed with me while you nurse, and then put you back.

And now, son, you have just woken up from your nap with loud shouts and calls for attention...and promises of smiles. So, farewell, screen. I have a boy to make smile.

Love,
Mama

here comes fall

Arriving at the dinner hour tired from lack of sleep, not helped by an anxious attempt at napping this afternoon to try and rally from the previous night's worth of interrupted sleep. But my head is swirling with anxious thoughts, particularly how quickly Zoe is growing up, and how very little I've written in her baby book (plenty on facebook, I know, but I want to be able to hand her a book someday), and how all too quickly I won't be here to witness *all* of her life. Depressing? Yes. Probably because these thoughts are actually connected with depression that comes and goes during different seasons.

I explain it to Mark after picking him up from his first teaching day, which he feels disappointment over. I state how I "made it through" today, and I think in some ways we both feel that. Something in verbalizing how anxious I am about how fast Zoe is growing up brings tears, and as they fall he hugs, and then as is usual, Zoe wants in on the family hug too, all smiles. It helps that she doesn't yet carry many burdens on her shoulders - her smile genuinely bright, without wearied eyes, not trying to gloss over anything hiding behind it. She pushes finger into my face, naming various things - "cheek...eye...wet". Yes, that aptly describes the state of my face right now, sweet pea. Wet with tears from some of the deep, overwhelming thoughts that sometimes invade my mind and that sometimes I am afraid to face. And yet when I see your face, sweet one, smiling brightly without reserve, I can smile genuinely back, through the tears. You bring so much joy to me and your dad, just because you exist.

so, your toddler refuses to wear Band-Aids

So, your toddler refuses to wear Band-Aids. But she really needs one on her knee for the scab that starts to get busted open every time she climbs up on the stool to see whatever you are up to at the counter. She gets excited about things involving Elmo, even though you've really only let her watch Elmo YouTube clips a handful of times (because you could only hold onto that whole "no screens until 2 years old thing" before you realized that your sanity was also an important part of this mothering equation, and a 15 minute break is not selfish). But you don't have any cool kid Band-Aids with Sesame Street characters on them, and you kinda refuse to spend the money to go get them because you already have the world's largest box of Band-Aids that will take years to get through. So what do you do? Improvise. Get her excited about Elmo being on her Band-Aid by pulling out those colorful Sharpies and drawing something that looks more akin to a creepy red cloud with eyes and an orange nose, but that she readily accepts as Elmo because you keep telling her it is. Then, after you apply the Band-Aid, make as if Elmo-on-her-knee is talking directly to her, and she can say "hi!" back. And then, when she notices that you have an "ouchie" on your leg, be all prepared to apply the same tactics to your own Band-Aid. Stand tall and proud as you sport another poorly-drawn version of something that's supposed to be Elmo, because now you and she have creepy matching "Elmo" Band-Aids at her request, and how many more years will it be before scabs are gone and she doesn't need a stool to get to counter height (if she's even interested in seeing what you're doing) and she wants to do anything but match with you?

the restful moments

Only moments before, "Mommy, eyes. Mommy, nose. Mommy, mouf. Mommy, Gamma. Mommy, Jesus. Mommy, hold you. Mommy eyes" as she pokes and prods at my own face, I try by close-eyed example to convince her that a nap would really be a good thing. At the same time, behind my closed eyes, trying to stay awake long enough to retain the motivation I had to get a bunch of things checked off of my to-do list before we tried laying her down for a nap. And then, the moment. She is still, and silent, and the breaths come rhythmically. I know I can safely open my own eyes again because the sandman has stolen her away for what will turn out to be a few brief hours. And yet, I don't want to get up right away - snuggling here in this hard-earned moment is sweet. So, before I get up, there we lay, my arm around her, hers around my neck, sweetly stealing some minutes in today that are restful for both of us.

11 month letter

Hi sweet girl! I'm a couple days late on this one, but we are now in the "home stretch" of your first year on this earth - you are 11 months and 2 days old and learning even more things. You are more and more independent every day. I was telling someone not too long ago that even though you are crawling we haven't done much baby-proofing in the house, partially because you love to follow us from room to room so we always have an eye on you. But even that has changed a little - the other day I went from your room to the kitchen, expecting that as usual you'd come crawling after me, either laughing wondering what adventure was next, or pouting in protest (with that cute little blubbery-pout thing you do with your lips) that we were leaving your favorite space in the house...but you didn't follow. At least, not right away. I had to wander all the way back to your room to find you playing with some of the stuffed animals. It was bittersweet! You know what I love? Just watching you explore everything and everyone around you, learning more about your God-given abilities every day. Just this last week you have started pulling yourself to a standing position on just about everything - stools, chairs, the crib, the tub, Mama, Dada. We had to giggle a little bit, though, when we realized you didn't know exactly how to get yourself back down to the ground, and you grew frustrated and made those frustrated baby noises (not quite crying, but definitely cries of distress) until we would rescue you and help you plop back down onto your bum, only to watch you climb to standing one more time and start the cycle again. Today, though, I got to witness you for the first time learn how to lower yourself back down without my assistance. And then do it again, differently. And then again! You had grown brave enough to let go and try something that you felt a little unsure of at first. I hope you keep doing that for the rest of your life - trying things when you don't feel perfectly certain of the outcome, when it might even be a little scary. I haven't lived on this earth that long, but I promise, you'll learn so much about God and about yourself in those times, and about how much you are loved! Do you know it? I hope you do! I really, really want that to get through to you, just as I think God really, really wants it to get through to me (and you!). Zoe, I don't love you perfectly (as God does!), but don't ever doubt that I love you.

Love,
Mama

P.S. If you ever do doubt that you are loved, though, it's ok to talk to God and to talk to people about it. Really! We will listen to everything you have to say and will remind you as many times as it takes that you are so loved.