sunday night musings

It's 11:15pm. I can't sleep. Which is weird because I LOVE SLEEP, and I can never seem to get enough of it. Except apparently tonight. I like to go to bed by 10 (shut up and stop laughing--I have two tiny children who wake up before God and a full-time job that runs me into the ground). My alarm is going to go off in six hours, and I'd love to be sleeping right now. But I don't think Matt appreciates the tossing and turning, so here I am. Although I don't really appreciate the snoring, but it is what it is.

I hosted book club this evening. I took a shower and shaved in a record seven minutes before people got here. I have about a dozen gashes in my legs. I was running low on time because I was busy cramming into closets all of the evidence of human life in my house, like receipts and mail and laundry and cartoon crab tattoos. Isn't it funny how we do that? Shave our legs and hide our dirty laundry (both physical and metaphorical) when our friends come over? Like it would shock them to know that we have a box of envelopes? But I will say this--I may never pull that crap out of the Target bag in the linen closet because my house looks so pretty without it. Although that may not go over well with the IRS, because I still need to do my taxes, and my W2 is in there.

We are painting. Not right now--Matt is snoring and I'm typing. But we're in the process of painting our little dwelling. I'm in love. It's tricky because we've got the little people, so most of the work happens after a long day of work and parenting and the kids are in bed, so we're pretty tired and a little snippy. But I'm doing the nesting my heart has been crying out for since I got married, and that feminine and domestic part of me is heaving a big sigh of relief and satisfaction. The kids' room is dreamy, and I'm aching to finish it. Do you think Ikea is open right now?

A few themes have been emerging in 2012. One is kind of a limp to some invisible finish line (June, maybe?). That's the Monday through Friday Theme. Survival. Then there's the Weekend Theme. A weekly falling in love with my family and my life. On the weekends I sit on the floor cheering Emma on as she drunkenly makes her way across the room somehow while Matt and Ben wear superhero capes and we all have dance parties. We sit on blankets in the front yard having tea parties. We walk/ride bikes around the block and to the park. We have breakfast at Ruby's, then go home and play/read independently while Emma naps. Then we go to Target and Sprouts, then have a picnic deli lunch on the tables outside while we talk about our favorite parts of the day. We cuddle and laugh and play and I have hundreds of little moments when I think my heart might burst because I'm so crazy nuts in love with our life together. How important do you think the work thing really is? Because the four of us together...it's kind of amazing.

My eyes are getting heavy. Time to sleep. Good night, Internet. Good night, weekend. Lord, beer me strength for the next five days.

Nerdy Breakfast

This is apparently what nerds talk about at the breakfast table with their children...

Ben (talking about the Backyardigans): Pablo starts with P. Tyrone starts with T. Austin starts with...
Me: That one's tricky. Austin starts with au. It's called a digraph.
Ben: What's a digraph?
Me: Two letters that work together to make a sound. Like th and ch and au.
Ben: What about ab?
Me: Not exactly.
Ben: Can we watch Soccer Monster?
Me: Sure.

Hitting the Reset Button

I think I’m going to do something crazy. And I haven’t told Matt about it (hey babe! surprise!). So I think I’m going to go halfsies on Lent and give up TV from now until Easter. I know, I know. SUCH a sacrifice. But seriously. I don’t actually watch a lot of TV. But it’s my go-to Mental Break Hour each evening. After the kids go to bed I collapse on the couch with my knitting and my remote. I usually turn it off by 9:00ish, so I really only watch an hour, two at the most, each evening. But I want to kind of create some space for quiet for the next couple of weeks. Maybe read. I know you probably won’t believe me, but I haven’t been much of a reader lately. And when I say lately I mean since Emma’s birth eight months ago. My brain is just toast, and reading puts me to sleep. True story. I’ve made it half way through the last three book club books. Yikes. But I’m hosting it this time, and it’s this weekend. So I need to turn off the TV and read. And pray. And parent. And spend real time with Matt, not just sit next to him on the couch watching Mad Men (OMG, how good was the season premiere?!?!?!). Or whatever.

Anyway, I have some goals for the next few weeks. More reading. More knitting. More pictures (I’ve been slacking lately. And those two little ones are growing so freaking fast, so I need to document it.). More play time. More walks. More time with God. I want to set aside time to work with Ben on school-y things. I want to actually put together Emma’s baby book (yeah...I haven’t even bought it yet...). Or our wedding album. And start our garden. And do crafts and nature-y things with Ben. And ride bikes. Maybe I should get one. Yeah...I need a bike.

Now there’s this idyllic montage running through my head. With a sunset bike ride, flying a kite on the beach, planting in the garden, reading, knitting, playing scrabble...probably pretty unrealistic. But it’s my montage, so let me have it.

It’s kind of been a long week, though (yes it’s only Wednesday morning). And I’m pretty tired. And Downton Abby Season Two will be arriving in the mail from Netflix in a couple of days. Maybe I’ll just watch a little TV. You know, to prep my mind and body for all the reading and scrabble and kite flying.

Dang it. Oh well. Here’s to being a grown-up in a first world country where I have the luxury of making these choices. Cheers.

The Gospel According to Benjamin

So B and I had this heavy theological conversation on the way to church this morning:

Me: what do you think you'll learn about today?
B: Jesus.
Me: What do you know about Jesus?
B: Stuff.
Me: Where does Jesus live?
B: In the Bible.
Me: What does he do?
B: He gives people stuff.

And this is what we discussed on the way home...

Me: What did you learn about today?
B: Jonah.
Me: What happened to Jonah?
B: He had a big dream about a fish and he died.

Saving Daylight

I used to love "Fall Back" and hate "Spring Forward." Of course, now that I think about it, the joke was on me, because as a teenager/adult who did not have to work on Sunday, the time was irrelevant--I could sleep as late as I wanted. But at least the thought that I could sleep an extra hour was lovely, and the thought of losing an hour of sleep was devastating, even if the gains and losses were only perceived.

But now I am here to tell you that once you have kids, the gains and losses are not perceived, they are staggeringly real, and mostly losses. Small children cannot tell time, and even if they could, they could not care less what time they are "supposed" to get up. In fact, I think somewhere inside those tiny heads they are deviously plotting ways to rob us of sleep, probably so they can laugh at our drunken attempts to stumble through the day in our sleep-deprived states. Yes, I have a very lofty view of my children's intelligence and propensity for malice and manipulation. Or it's the sleep-deprivation talking. Hard to say.

I have, however, noticed a shift in my perception of the time changes. I have grown to hate "Fall Back" and marginally like "Spring Forward". Just hear me out. The time change does not extend nighttime sleep--it extends the daytime. Because they're still gonna wake up after having slept for ____ hours. Which means that in the fall they will wake up at 5am instead of 6, but you still have to put them to bed at 7:30, which means they've got an extra hour of awake time. Then the sun sets at like 4:30, which means they have to be inside after that, which means three hours indoors in the evening. Then they continue to wake up at 5:00 every morning, and it takes you two months to get them to "sleep in" until 6:00 again. NO THANK YOU. To ALL of it.

On the flip side, in the spring they "sleep in" until 7 instead of 6, and you still get to put them to bed at 7:30, which means one less hour of awake time. (And the next day they "sleep in" again, which means you have extra quiet alone time to drink warm coffee and blog.) Then the sun sets at 7:00, which means after dinner you can go for a bike ride.

Yes please.

When You Were Three

Dear Benjamin,

Hi. I wanted to write you a letter to tell you about all of the wonderful things you are and do these days. So often we as parents think we will remember all of the sweet and funny little things our children do and say, but the reality is that we don't. I can easily remember the big, hard things, like the jaundice, the colic, and the pneumonia. And I wish that I could so easily remember the small, good things. But over time they fade. So I'm writing this down for you so that you will always know--you were really awesome when you were three.

And it's so much more than just the usual. You have favorite toys, favorite games, favorite shows and movies. You have likes and dislikes. But it's the other things that make you who you are.

You are so intelligent and curious. You are thoughtful and rational and always asking why. But you also have an amazing faith. Your intelligence often astounds me. You remember everything you see and hear. You can read a book or see a movie and remember its tiny details months later. You crave information and understanding. And this part of you--sure, you'll probably be a great student. And I hope that the little OCD in you will not make that too much of a source of frustration for you. But this smart and curious part of you--it's what makes me know that whatever you say or feel, you mean it. You don't speak without fully knowing and being convinced of what you're saying. For better or worse, you speak and act with conviction. Sometimes it's not such a good thing. It makes you obstinate and strong-willed. But you'll make a great leader some day.

I want you to know that when you were three, you were the most interesting combination of temperaments I've ever seen. You have so much joy and excitement. Sure, most of the time you're getting excited about things like Disneyland and the park. But sometimes you get crazy excited about some strange and cool things. Like waffles. And sometimes your excitement melts my soul. Like yesterday. I asked you if you wanted to bring your Bible to church, and you started jumping up and down with this huge grin on your face, begging to bring your Bible so you could "tell everyone about all the stories of God's people." In general, you are just so filled with joy. Your smile could light a stadium, and you give it so freely.

If your passion extends through your joy, it also makes your anger a little more pronounced as well. For the most part you are one of the most well-behaved three-year-olds I've ever known. But you have your moments. And man do they make my skin crawl.

But here is what I love about you: in the heat of the moment, you often are easy to talk to. When you're angry you say "I'm angry." When I ask you why, you tell me. When your feelings are hurt, you say, "You hurt my feelings." And you're honest about why. And in the midst of the anger and the hurt, you deal with it. You might yell and storm around the room, but you talk it out as you do. I hope you keep that ability to express yourself honestly and work through your emotions.

I also love that while you break the rules and take things too far, you feel sad about the bad things that you do. It breaks your heart when you hurt people, physically or emotionally. You are quick to say sorry and try to make things right, and you genuinely feel bad. Your love and compassion win over your impulsiveness and temper, and that sweet and tender heart of yours always shines through. I pray that that will always be true of you.

About that sweet and tender heart--you are such a love. You're a boy, to be sure. You love to play rough, wrestle, and make fake guns with your hands (another one of those things that makes my skin crawl...I will never understand boys). But at the end of the day you are so sensitive and loving, and after playing hard and aggressively, all you want is to cuddle. And if your angry words sometimes break my heart, your sweet words give me life and breath. Every morning you poke your head out of your bedroom door and then run to me with a giant smile and outstretched arms. You tell me I look like a beautiful princess, you comfort Emma when she cries, you convince Daddy to buy us flowers at the store, and you pray for your friends and family. And this sweet heart, dear Benjamin, is what I most fervently pray will always be who you are. That you treat your wife with the same kindness and love that you treat Emma and I. And that you never stop praying for, and hugging, your friends and family.

That's what you were like when you were three. I could go on forever about your creativity, proclivity for costumes and pretending, love of cake pops, and uncanny ability to play independently and lose yourself in your world. But mostly you're just a funny and intelligent and passionate and sweet little Man. You're pretty amazing.

love, Mommy

Supermodel

Ben has really been into whispering lately. It’s pretty dang cute. So last week he whispers in my ear, “Mommy, I think I need to go to the zoo tomorrow.” Not want, need. Love it. But I’m also kind of sad because we just let our zoo memberships expire, and there’s no way in Hades we’re spending 3 hours round trip in the car to pay up the butthole to see some elephants. Luckily for us, there’s a tiny little zoo that costs $2 at my favorite park, which is only 20 minutes away. And luckily for us, he’s 3, so if we work this right he may not be disappointed that said zoo contains none of his favorite zoo animals. It’s a local animal rescue zoo, so pretty much there’s a couple of bears, some snakes, and a few donkeys. But there’s a goat petting zoo, so maybe that will tide him over. Plus the park has a train. So I’m thinking we’ll be able to pull this off with minimal disappointment. I was right. He had a blast. We got off to a dubious start when both kids fell asleep in the car on the way there. But during the walk to the zoo he perked up and got excited.

He had a brief moment or two where he wondered where all the animals were. But that was over once he got to pet a snake. We had to drag him away from the snake so we could get to the train in time to ride it and be home for naps.

While Ben went to the bathroom halfway through our walk from the zoo to the train, Emma and I took some pictures. Man, this girl is cute (and THANK YOU Lindsay for the adorable dress).

We got an extra bonus with this adventure because we unknowingly stumbled upon the railroad’s 16th anniversary party. We actually never ended up riding the train (mostly because the line was out of control). Instead we just ran around the little party area, thankfully avoiding the bounce houses (B loves them, but he almost always gets hurt).

On our way out, a woman asked Ben if he would pose for a picture for the website if she gave him ice cream. What a stupid question. Of course he wants ice cream. Of course I wouldn’t have bought one for him so close to his nap, so this is the only way that would have happened. Also, this lady has no idea what she’s in for trying to get Ben to pose for a picture. There’s a good reason we don’t have many pictures of Ben these days. The child doesn’t pose for anything. So the next five minutes was pretty funny. She offered him a Big Stick, which he gladly accepted. Then she asked him to stand there, hold his opened popsicle at waist-level, and smile. That’s funny. You want to hand a three-year-old a popsicle then ask him to just hold it and smile and not eat it. But he really tried. She told him to hold it in front of his belly button. That put the forbidden fruit about three inches from his mouth. So he held it by his belly button, put his chin to his chest, and stuck out his tongue, trying to lick it without moving it. Hysterical. She kept insisting that he not try to eat it. Ben would hold it, smile for a millisecond, then once again try to lick it while holding it at his waist. Like he was trying to sneak a taste and still follow directions. I was trying to get him to follow her instructions, but at the same time wondering what this woman’s drug of choice was to lead her to believe she could give a three-year-old an ice cream and have him not eat it. I also wondered why she couldn’t just get a picture of him eating the ice cream. Or one of him trying to eat it at waist-level? She got a couple dozen of those pictures, but I guess she really wanted one of him just smiling about the ice cream he wasn’t allowed to eat. So I’m laughing, and getting annoyed with this lady who’s never met a child, and trying to get Ben to do it so we could go. I really wanted to take a picture, but I didn’t want to be rude and steal her job. Eventually Matt started acting like an idiot to make him laugh, which worked. She got her shot. Ben finally got to eat his Big Stick (which, by the way, seriously?!?!? Big Stick?!?!? Who created these things, a bunch of drunk frat guys daring each other to see how far they could take their phallic dessert?). We got home in time for a nap which, predictably, he did not take because he was all doped up on sugar.

Adventure.