Shiner

The Sunday before Christmas, Ava and a friend were playing around after church and she somehow fell into a half wall. She's still sporting this beauty:
I forget about it, but the people around us sure do notice. "Oh my. What happened to her eye?" It doesn't make us seem less like child abusers when we answer: "She fell into a wall."

But she's still the prettiest girl I know.

Christmas Conversations

This morning, as I busied myself changing Ava's diaper, she made a request: "Sing the Christmas song." I've been singing "Away in a Manger" to her every night, and she wanted to hear it. I sang all three verses, including this one:

Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask thee to stay
Close by me forever and love me I pray
Bless all the dear children in thy tender care
And take us to heaven to live with thee there.

As I put her pants back on, she asked me, "Are we going to heaven?" A little taken aback by the question, I gave her my gut response: "I hope so." Thinking it over, I decided it was incomplete: "Ava, we need to believe in Jesus and trust him in love him with all of our hearts." Still incomplete, but better. She replied: "I obey him!"

What a blessing to get to have these discussions with my dear little girl. And what a blessing too that she seems to be absorbing truths about God. The Christmas season has aroused her natural curiosity and given us more opportunities than normal to talk about the things of God. We got her a little nativity set of her own last year, and we have been acting out the story while reading "The Animal's Christmas Eve." This morning, I came over to find all of the characters huddled around baby Jesus. "They go to baby Jesus!" she exclaimed. She seems to know that it is about Him.

That's baby Jesus under the huddle.

As I think of it, I pray that she, too, would come to him. That some day, she would press into him, love him, seek him. It is my daily prayer. Every time I discipline her, every time I see stubbornness or selfishness or rebellion in her actions, I pray that God would grab hold of her heart. I pray that she would be obedient from the heart.

Parenting, more than anything, has taught me what it means to "pray without ceasing." I am beginning to find that dependence and prayer are postures of the heart. A pastor I respect once remarked: "When we lose the illusion of control, then we become men and women of prayer." I am finding that when my circumstances seem out of control, I have two choices: paralyzing fear or trust. I am learning that prayer helps me entrust myself and my kids to God. (In regard to that, this has been very helpful counsel).

And truth be told, I'm afraid that she won't seek God. I want so much to be able to make her believe or to give her joy in Christ, but the reality is that I can't. I might, if I'm lucky, be able to control her external actions for a while, but the Holy Spirit is the only one who can drive the rebelliousness from her heart. He is the only one who can give her a new heart. The Spirit blows where it wills, Jesus tells us in regard to the new birth.

So I entrust her to him, and I try to be faithful. Faithful to pray, to answer the questions, to call her to repentance, to preach the gospel to her. And I trust, with eager expectation, that he will accomplish the work in her life that I am powerless to accomplish on my own strength.

Eight Months

I'm running a little late, but it's been busy. You keep me busy.

I'm enjoying you so much, little man. You are the sweetest, least cuddly baby I know. You see me from across the room, giggle, and commence dragging yourself across the floor toward me, latching onto my ankle and fussing. Assuming you want to be picked up, I lift you to my hip. You promptly twist and wiggle, until I end up holding you under my arm like a football. I don't get it, but it's funny. And exhausting.

I weighed you the other day and you were twenty-four pounds. Twenty-four. Your sister wasn't anywhere near that until she was twice your age. I have such a hard time keeping up with your size: 6 months! no 9 months! no 12! I try to buy your clothes big, only to find that whatever I bought is already to small. I put a new 12 month outfit in my diaper bag for our plane trip last week only to discover (when you blew out your diaper and I needed it) that it was TOO SMALL. Your chubby little arms had no chance of getting in the sleeves. I didn't even try your legs. We ended up walking around DFW airport with only a diaper.

You are still pretty hard to handle. When you throw your weight around, I have a really hard time keeping hold of you. I'm not looking forward to our 8+ hours on a plane to-and-from Hawaii in a month. Or trying to change your diaper when you're 2 and stubborn and strong.

You are getting around so well now. You're still working on crawling--I've seen you take a few "crawl steps" when you're not thinking about it. You've just recently figured out how to sit up and pull up on your own. You're a little lacking in the balance department though. Hardwood floors are going to be not much fun for the next couple of months.

You are definitely a mama's boy. That will have to change eventually, but since you're only eight months old, I guess we'll allow it. You're also beginning to have some separation anxiety; it's made it hard to leave you with anyone. You are almost always screaming when I return. I feel bad for you and bad for the baby-sitter.

But it's good to be loved. It makes me marvel at God's grace in giving you to me and the grace you have for me. Every time you giggle at me, smile when I come into your view, reach for me, I think, I don't deserve this love. I am not the mama to you that I should be. I'm selfish, often lazy. But after a long overnight battle, after I don't notice that they've been paging me to the nursery at church, after I put myself first (again), you smile at me. You giggle. You love me. I hold you and all is forgiven. It makes me want to be better.

Thank you, my sweet sweet boy, for your love. I love you too. I plead for more patience, Tim. I am not the mama I should be, but God is working on me. I trust that he will work on you too. I'm looking forward to seeing His hand work on your beautiful little soul.

Mama

Thankful

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.

~James 1:17


I am blessed.

First Haircut

On Motherhood

I read an article in the Wall Street Journal entitled "Mother Madness"about a week ago. It's subtitle read: "Spend every moment with your child? Make your own baby food and use cloth diapers? Erica Jong wonders how motherhood became such a prison for modern women." Since that pretty much describes my life, I was naturally a bit defensive. "A prison?! I love my kids! How dare she suggest...." You get the picture.

It was a rather complex article, lambasting attachment, green, and helicopter parenting, defending her decision to pursue a career which often took her away from her daughter, and encouraging communal mothering. But the thrust of the article stressed that society places guilt on mothers for not parenting a certain way. It seemed to me (and I may be wrong) that her "Do the best you can. There are no rules" stance was a way to justify her own choices as a mother and in essence, to ask "what about me?"

It is not my intention to vilify her. I don't think it's helpful. To begin with, I don't expect the world to do parenting the way I am called to do parenting. It is good for society and for families when people love their kids selflessly, but aside from the gospel, it really doesn't make much sense. I am happy when people do it anyway, but I don't think it's worth getting mad at the world for being the world.

What surprised me, though, after my initial reaction, was that I could sympathize with some of her article. While I obviously do not agree with her response--I think it's quite selfish, and it saddens me--there are times that I feel trapped. Not that there's not more than enough joy and laughter and hilarity to remind me of why it's worth it. But it's emptying work. And really only at the cross can we look at that and see it as a good thing.

Today I have read stories, played playdoh, danced to kids music, tickled both of my children. I have stepped in spit up, cleaned up one of Ava's "accidents", fished poop out of the bathtub, been mauled by my seven-month-old. I washed cloth diapers, cleaned the kitchen, gave Ava a bath, picked up toys, made dinner. All on probably four or five hours of broken sleep.

Being a mom is hard, but it is important work. I sometimes have to remind myself that kids don't come out of the box acting like adults. Ava throws fits; Timmy screams intermittently through the night. They are kids, and they have been given to me to steward and shepherd. I have the opportunity to love them sacrificially and to show them grace. I cannot do it perfectly as Jesus does. I don't feel that I have yet had the self beat out of me. But by laying my life down, by not holding fast to my rights, my desires for myself, I am pointing to the One who

being in very nature God,
did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage;
rather, he made himself nothing
by taking the very nature of a servant,
being made in human likeness.
And being found in appearance as a man,
he humbled himself
by becoming obedient to death—
even death on a cross! (Philippians 2:6-8)

Seven Months

This will be a little scatter-brained. Because I'm tired. It's your fault.

You turned seven months on Friday. I guess six months seemed more momentous at the time, though this has been a pretty big month for you. You are dragging your (not so little) body all over the place, necessitating multiple lint rollings every day. When you see something you want, you go for it. I often find you under Daddy's desk, trying to pull at the cords. You're getting up on all fours now and rocking, but you haven't really tried to take your first crawl steps. I'm guessing it will be in the next few weeks (or hours--you seem to like to reach major milestones just after I've blogged).

You've been a little less content this month. While you are a happy, happy baby who loves a good giggle, your noises have tended toward frustration of late. I think it's just that you are very close to crawling, and it bothers you that you can't do it quite yet. Soon, my little love, soon.

You stopped sleeping through the night around the beginning of the month. I gotta admit I miss it. It's a sweet blessing though, to cuddle with you in the wee hours. It's the only time you'll sit still enough. Getting out of bed is the hard part.

Two of your bottom teeth just cut through. I think that's why you stopped sleeping. This too shall pass. I have to remind myself that this is only a season.

It's been a month of changes: new foods, new teeth, new mobility. There have been some growing pains; that's just part of it. I am, however, totally in love you with you, little man. You are so fun to cuddle, nuzzle, and giggle with. But there you are again, calling for me. So I have to go.

Love you--

Mama

Halloween

We took Ava trick-or-treating for the first time tonight. She was a little timid, but a big fan of the candy. As was her brother, actually.

Timmy getting into the candy. Don't worry, he didn't ingest any. But he tried.

My little fairy.

Ava's friend, Bella. Tutus are apparently the thing this year.

Me and my little Timmy Bear.

Goebberts

It's October, and that means it's time for pumpkin patches. And as pumpkin patches goes, nobody does it better than Goebberts. If you live in the northwest suburbs of Chicago, it is required that you visit at least once in the fall. I know. Everyone was there the day we went. We managed to get some nice pictures though. Enjoy.

The patch.

This was way too big for her. But she insisted.

Family Portrait

My boys.

Dear friends.

Dear Ava,

You are two and a half today.

It's amazes me when I see your brother struggling to crawl to think of how far you've come. You've already grown and changed so much. There are some things I miss about that age: you, snuggling into my chest; you, trying out new noises; you, being all simple. But I love so much seeing who you are becoming.

I love hearing your thoughts (they're funny), seeing you move the chair around the house to get whatever you want whenever you want it, singing with you, dancing with you, cooking with you, giggling with you. I like teaching you things (except to use the potty. That stinks). Most of all, I love getting to know you. You are beautiful, my dear. I love your spirit.

Speaking of spirit--you are a handful. Always into something, always dramatic, always ready to throw down if you don't get your way. I believe this is, in part, due to the fact that you are two and a half. I have to keep reminding myself of that. But I believe that your personality, in general, is bent a little more toward stubbornness and, well, passion. One of the funniest things you do at the moment is tell yourself to "BREAVE! *gasp* BREAVE! *gasp* BREAVE!" when you are throwing a fit. It's downright hilarious, dear. I try not to laugh, but sometimes it's really hard.

Some moments you are more challenging than others, of course. It's part of this thing. But you are so, so enjoyable, my love. You love people. You love to talk. You charm everyone. We really wonder where you came from. We know the answer, of course. From a wonderful and gracious heavenly father. He knew that we would love your antics, your fiery red curls, your fiery personality. He gave you to us, entrusted you to us. And my prayer these days is that we would be faithful. That He would do the work in your heart, that He would soften it, redeem it, and all for His glory and your good.

I love you little girl. Even when you're throwing fits. Even when I'm changing the umpteenth poopy diaper. Even if you break my heart. I love you forever.

Mama.

Chain-o-Lakes

The weather has been beautiful here. Cooler weather and fall color has been teasing us for a few weeks. I love it. It's cool enough for long sleeve shirts, but not so cool as to drive us indoors. It necessitated a partial day off for Daniel last Friday, and we went to Chain-o-Lakes state park. Here's the pics:

With her Daddy.

With their mommy.

It was all yellow.

And little boys too

Thank Heaven...

...for little girls.

Six Months

A very merry half-birthday to you, my dear Timothy. These last six months of knowing you have filled me with overwhelming joy for the riches of God's blessings. It's hard work, having you. It takes me to the end of myself. But I'm pretty sure that's a good thing.

You are so much like your sister. You look like her, laugh like her, squirm like her, and fight sleep like her. You have your differences too. You are huge. I know I say this every month, but really, are your bones made of lead? And you are strong. It constantly amazes me that I have a good hundred pounds on you and yet have a really hard time keeping hold of you. As much as your mommy hates it, you will probably be a football player.

You are grabbing everything: hair, neck flesh, ears, glasses, plates, and more. When you want something, there is really no keeping you from getting hold of it. It's really pretty exhausting. You just started scooting yourself all over the place. I don't think I've ever seen a more determined child. I'm sure the twos will be fun.

Naptime is still a bit of a challenge. I have a hard time getting you to go to sleep because you'd much rather play peek-a-boo from behind the bumper pad. And I would much rather play peek-a-boo and be giggled at than make you go to sleep. Your delight at seeing me gives me so much joy.

We just started you on solid food yesterday. Man, were you ready. You were in your walker while we ate our dinner. Every time I lifted the fork to my mouth, you screamed at me. I immediately got out the rice cereal. You were so enthusiastic, you refused to wait for me to put the spoon in your mouth. You nearly grabbed it out of my hand. Somehow, I don't think you are going to be getting smaller any time soon. You make me laugh.


Your sweet coos, giggles and smiles add so much joy to my life. I love you, and I'm looking forward to watching you grow. May God grant me grace to parent you well, show you grace, and point you to Jesus.

I love you, Tim-Tim.

Mama

I'm not cool

I'm not. I got called a nerd a lot in school. I never got invited to a single party in high school or college (God's grace, I believe). I was always kind of a goodie-two-shoes, teacher's pet, make-everyone-happy kind of girl.

And now: no body piercings, no tattoos. I still wear boot cut jeans and t-shirts most of the time. I don't play a musical instrument, and I'm not particularly creative. I don't listen to indie music (unless someone points me to something good), and I kinda don't like my Mac. I stutter when I'm nervous and am pretty shy by nature. I'm a stay at home mom. I drive a minivan (and I like it, which I believe seals the deal). I'm most definitely not a hipster.

I go to a church full of really cool people. Scores of (really good) musicians, an artist, photographers, graphic designers, a pro-football player, a counselor, and at least two people employed by Apple. They wear skinny jeans and black glasses and have fohawks and facial hair. They are spontaneously funny and sound pretty natural when they say things like, "that's how I roll." All of them cooler than me.

But you know what I love about our church? It doesn't matter. I believe it is the first time in my life when I haven't felt excluded because I'm a dork. I fit in. You know why? Because I love Jesus, and I love the gospel. It's changed my life. We have that in common. They let me be a part of a weird team. It's beautiful.

Paul describes the church as a body. We don't function well if we are all eyes and no ears, all hands and no feet. We are designed to be different, to complement each other, and to be used by the Spirit in different ways. If we follow his metaphor, I'm probably the nose that's a little stuffed up. I'm so grateful that though I may be "less presentable" (or at least less cool), I'm still invited into community with those who are more so.

"Ava with the Crazy Hair!"

Slide + Static Electricity + Red Curly Hair =

Five Months

How is it even possible that you are five months old?

I keep finding myself amazed at all the things you are doing--rolling all over the place, reaching out and grabbing things, putting everything in your mouth. I remember impatiently watching your sister when she was your age. Do something. When will you be mobile? When will you play with toys? When will you sleep? Those were some of the longest months of my life. These are just flying by. I keep saying You're already mobile? You are already playing with toys? You already sleep (mostly)? I suppose that I now have another child to distract me from your every developmental step.

Let's see... other than growing up way too fast (Did I mention that when they weighed you a month ago you were almost 20 pounds?), you are a delight. I am really enjoying you. You are hard not to enjoy. Your squeals and laughter and joy at seeing me or your sister or anyone really are fantastic. Really. You have your father's outlook on life: happy go lucky, always in good humor. I love that. You are everything that a baby should be. Even when you're screaming at me.

I love you, little boy.

Mama

Fun-ny

One of the joys of Ava's age is getting to finally talk with her. It's been fun to begin to hear about what happens in her little head--to see her imagination, her sense of humor.

Last night, I lay in bed beside her, and she told me about the daddy date she and Daniel had. She told me they ate chicken, built a castle out of mega blocks, and rode the bus. Of course, what they really did was go to Home Depot and Starbucks. I suppose we'll have to work on truthfulness soon.

Other conversations we've had lately:

Daniel: "When did you get so big?"
Ava: "Sleeping. I was sleeping."

and

Ava: "I got chips!"
Daniel: "And where did you get chips?"
Ava: "From Africa!"

last night at dinner:

Daniel: "Where's your heart, Ava?"
Ava (lifting up her shirt): "Right here in my belly."
Daniel (laughing): "I don't think I want to correct that right now."

and this morning:

Me (cutting a kiwi): "I think these are better than the last kiwis I got."
Ava (sing-songy voice): "Kiwi I GO-OTTT!"
Ava: "best kiwi EVER."

This kid cracks me up. And when she does, she always giggles to herself and asks, "Is it funny, Mama?" Yes my dear one. Yes, it's funny.

Two of my Favorites

Hey, it worked for us...

Missouri

Daniel's parents went to Alaska a few weeks ago, and very generously offered my family the use their house while they were gone (thanks Richard and Debbie!). Daniel and I met my parents and my brother's family in mid-Missouri for a few days of relaxing, swimming, playing on the farm, mini-golf, Central Dairy, outlet mall shopping, and more. We also got to catch up with Daniel's college roommate, Dan (whose wife and little girl I hadn't met), and Grandma Margie (who hadn't met Timmy).

Here are a few of the pictures. I'll link to my brother's later. They are better, I'm sure, and he took more, I'm sure. I don't take as many pictures with a baby in my arms, I've discovered!

Fresh Texas Peaches from Hamm's, cooked up with brown sugar, served over (gluten-free!) pancakes. Oh. my.

Redheads

State Capitol

My brother's family.

The cousins. Can you find my brother in this pic?

Timmy and Uncle Dustin.

Riding the train with Dad at the St. Louis Zoo.

Butterfly Pavilion

Sophie, Dan's daughter

Meeting Grandma Margie for the first time.

Snug as a bug.

Butterflies in Grandma Margie and Aunt Gail's garden (I like butterflies).

Walking on the Katy Trail with Grandpa Richard (welcome home!)

Among other things,

this stage is:

• something new every day.
• bright eyes and giggles in the morning.
  
• hearing Ava speak in full sentences and sing Jesus loves me.
• discovery
• crayons and sidewalk chalk.
• "Mama, play please!"
  
• poopiness soaking in every sink, crumbs on the floor, spit up stains on the hardwood, dirty dishes in the sink, piles of laundry, and not remembering the last time I cleaned the bathroom.
• running through the house with a naked (boy!) infant trying to find a diaper.
• not being able to get it all done.
• hiding things from my toddler (and myself)
• Ava mimicking everything I do
• poop. lots of poop.
• unbounded love as I watch my toddler sleep.
• scolding. spanking. loving. praying.
• crazy, protective, fierce love
• joy
• madness
• guilt
  
• often feeling like my chest is tied in knots.
• weakness. impatience.
• "MaMUH!"
  
• sometimes wanting to escape (or at least have a facebook break)
• trying not to care too much when she tears apart my mega block creations.
  
• baby giggles.
• cuddling and reading in the wee (or not so wee) hours.
• Ava screaming while I put Timmy down for a nap. Ava getting hurt while Timmy is screaming from hunger. Ava mischievously grinning as she tears something apart while I nurse.
• hanging onto Jesus (or rather, him hanging onto me)
  
• pacifier dependence (oh, well).
• collapsing on the sofa at 10 o'clock for a little old school Dick Van Dyke with my love.
• trying to learn to forget myself.
• Sanctification.

Guess Who

Take a stab. Who's who?

(so I figure you can tell, if only from the improvement in camera, but don't they look alike?)

Eighteen Pounds, Eleven Ounces

And all in the thighs.

And I know he'll probably kill me for this when he's older. Mwahahaha.