Four

My dear, sweet Ava,

In some ways it seems so long ago that I first held you in my arms.  When I look at your little sister, I can scarcely believe that you were ever her size.  How amazing these past four years have been, my love!  How wonderful it's been to get to know your heart and see you becoming who God made you to be. 

In many ways, though, it has gone so fast.  How did you come to be four years old?  These years have flown, as I suppose years do.  They have been filled up to the brim with love and giggles and struggle and weariness and joy.  They have been full of you.  I am so delighted that you are mine. 

You are so beautiful, my love.  I adore your red curls, your dimpled cheeks, your soft hazel eyes, your freckled nose.  Sometimes your daddy and I look at each other and are truly intimidated.  And sometimes we are just scared.  We are going to have to get a big stick.

It's not only your physical beauty that stuns us, though.  Seeing who you are becoming, my dear, who God made you to be, is one of the greatest pleasures in my life.  You're beautiful.  I know he's not done with you yet, but I see His work in you and the ways he has already gifted you, and I'm in awe.  

You love people.  We returned to church after being gone for several weeks and you had to talk to everyone.  I don't think I exaggerate when I say that you talked to at least a hundred people that day.  You make friends wherever you go.  I love that about you.  You are also very creative, and I find you picking berries, making a picnic lunch, riding a train, or a whole host of other make-believe activities.  You love books.  You would let me read to you all day long if I could.  You also love for me to make up stories, which is sad, because I'm truly terrible at it.  I don't think you notice, though.  You are very verbal, and I find myself sending your Daddy text messages of the funny things you say.  I love to listen to you.

A few weeks ago, while you were on a date with your Daddy, you asked him why he was looking at the road.  "I'm driving, Ava," was his response.  "Oh," you said, "I'm looking at all the things God made."  When your daddy reminded you that all created things--the flowers, the sky, the stars--were made to reflect His glory, you said, "When I saw the flowers, I thinked of Jesus."  I pray that you always do, sweet girl.

These hints of how God is beginning to reveal himself to you bring me great joy.  You love bible stories and often ask me to tell them to you at home, in the car, in the doctor's office.  I often hear you telling them to your brother.  You also ask really good (sometimes really hard) questions.  Like when we had a 15-minute conversation about why God would send the Israelites into exile if he loved them and why he allows the people He loves to suffer.  Even so, there is a stubbornness in you that has been driving me to prayer.  Not last week you announced, "I'm hard hearted."  And you are. So am I.  You so often want to go your own way, to do your own thing.  I told your Daddy the other day that it's like your heart is running away from me.  You often ignore me or disregard me.  You think that you can do whatever you want as long as you have what seems, in your four-year-old mind, to be a good reason.  It breaks my heart.

Repentance is hard, but I keep calling you to it.  You don't like to admit that you are wrong.  I don't think you yet see your need for Jesus.  From time to time, you tell us that you will try to do the right things, that you will try to be perfect.  I hope you will see soon that you will fail at that. I pray for that, love, not because I want your heart broken, but because it already is.  I want you to see it, so you see His goodness in spite of your brokenness.  It is only when we see our inability to live up to God's standards that we see His grace as truly amazing.  It is amazing, Ava.  I pray that you would lean into it.  I pray that the weight of your sin and His grace towards you in spite of it would produce in you a deep and abiding love for Him.  In truth, I pray the same thing for myself.

I love you, Ava.  I pray for you constantly.  I pray that God would change your heart, and that I would be faithful to model and preach His great love to you.  I thank God for you always.  You are a gift.

Mama

Intercepted Battle Plan. Operation: Total Chaos

--Breakfast: Turn cereal bowl upside down. Throw on the floor.

--Feign interest in basket of toys. Dump whole basket. Walk away.

--Run around the house carrying a graham cracker, spreading crumbs as you go.

--Take diaper off brother. Sit him on potty with poopy bottom.

--Peel all papers off crayons. Break in half. Tear covers off coloring books. Spread papers all over the floor. Color on walls.

--Sneak upstairs. Pull every dress you own out of closet. Break several hangers in the process.

--Costume change!

--Pull covers and sheets off mommy's bed.

--Try on all mommy's shoes.

--Pull clean sheets and towels out of linen closet. Strew them about the upstairs.

--Dump laundry basket full of clean folded clothes.

--Open bin of hand-me-downs. Pull out clothes and shoes in search of the craziest outfit possible.

--Costume Change!

--Lunch: Throw bowl of spaghettios on the floor.

--Move the couch to the center of the living room. Pull cushions off.

--Pull DVDs out of the cabinet. Remove as many from cases as possible.

--Potty time: Take all clothes off. Throw on floor. Splash water while washing hands. Soak clothing. Unroll entire toilet paper roll.

--Costume change!

--Squeeze toddler toothpaste on counter. Lick clean.

--Pull all the books out of the cabinet. Hide in said cabinet.

--Dump Legos. Walk away nonchalantly.

--Costume change!

--Pull the butter out of the refrigerator. Attempt to butter own bread.

--Scream and demand to be held during dinner prep. Squeeze between mom and stove and pants her while she cooks.

--Potty time: Use potty. Do not flush. Attempt to clean potty with toilet brush. Splash about the bathroom.

--Pull out all dish towels. Spread across floor.

--Dinner. Use fingers to eat spaghetti. Spread through hair. Throw bowl on floor.

--Bathtime: Open baby wash. Submerge.

--Lap the house while Mom chases you with pjs.

--Dump out remainder of toys. Walk away.

--Smile irresistibly, giggle, and say "I love you, Mom." She'll still think it's worth it.

Three Months

My lovely little Genevieve,

You keep me hopping, little girl. Which is why your two-month post never materialized. I took your picture, though.

You're a pretty thing. You've started smiling a lot more in the last month too, which makes your sweet little face even prettier. Your smiles are so reliable; I look at you or talk to you and you smile and shriek and squirm. It's precious.

Your whole disposition is very sweet. Aside from hunger or loneliness, nothing much gets a rise out of you.. You love to be with us. Your happy place in the crook of Daddy's arm or on my chest, head tucked under my chin. You lay your head there, relax and sigh. It makes me sigh too. We call you our snuggle-up-a-gus.

You are a very laid back baby. Thus far, you have made your own schedule. You sleep and eat whenever and wherever it pleases you. You still don't nap much in your crib, but honestly, I'm ok with that most of the time. It makes it difficult to get things done, but I'm soaking up this time with you. Eventually, we might have to enforce a little more independence, but I'm not too inclined to the force the cuddliness out of you. I love it.

You're contentment at being held combined with your sweetness and general flexibility has made this transition to three not as hard as it could be. Don't get me wrong, love. It's hard. It's crazy 'round here. But we keep finding ourselves saying that God gave us the baby we needed. He has been merciful to us. You are such a sweet blessing.

You fit so perfectly into our family. Your siblings adore you, and you love to smile and coo at them. They are getting a kick out of watching you grow and change. I am too.

You are getting so big. You are long and chubby (75th percentile for both height and weight), which is kind of strange considering what a little peanut you were when you were born. You are also strong; you are getting better at tummy time every day. You even rolled over for the first time last week.

These months have gone both fast and slow, little love. They have been challenging and enjoyable. It's sometimes hard to make life work with three so little, but I am enjoying so much loving on you. My prayer for you has been that, as I cuddle you, hold you, soothe you, that you would know something of Jesus' love for you. I pray that you would eventually know Him. He loves you even more than I do. Which is a lot.

Mama

Prayers for Rebellious Bible Readers

Tonight I was angry.  Angry that my too-ambitious to do list hadn’t gotten done.  Angry that my kids insist on emptying every closet, drawer, and storage bin.  Angry that the little one wouldn’t let me put her down for five minutes today.  Angry that as hard I work every day, I always seem to be going backward.

The kids finally went to bed.  As usual, I took care of Genevieve, and Daniel put the older two down for the night.  While tidying up a bit downstairs, I told Daniel how frustrated I was.  He heard me out, and we both decided to go to bed.  Get up early and deal with the chaos. Daniel headed upstairs to get ready for bed.

“Psst!” I heard from upstairs.  “Come up here!” Daniel said.  I came upstairs to find that instead of sleeping, Ava and Timothy were huddled next to Ava’s night light, looking at our Family Bible.  Ava, in her almost-four-year-old lilt, was excitedly relaying her favorite stories to her brother, who was interjecting squeals of approval.   Pharaoh wouldn’t let God’s people go…God made the bush talk… Pharaoh’s army came to get them…This is Jericho.  It’s a big city… She hung a scarlet rope out her window…They did what God said, and that was good!

Nevermind that it was 9:45, that tomorrow is church (Easter no less).  We sat outside their door and laughed and soaked them in, as they soaked each other in.  Quickly, my anger and disappointment melted into gratitude and peace.  At the end of a frustrating day, when I felt like a failure, God gently reoriented my heart from my kingdom to the hearts of my children.  He reminded me that the things troubling me at that moment could never be as important as these young hearts eagerly pouring over His word. 

When it became clear that they weren’t going to sleep on their own any time soon, I went in and lay down next to Timothy.  As they finally settled and their breaths deepened, I thanked God for them with more earnestness than usual.  I thanked Him for giving us such precious wee-ones, who know and are amazed by so much of Him already.  These wee ones who make messes and chaos, who defy and disobey, but who love each other and us and are beginning to know and love their God. Sometimes they break my heart with their rebellion.  Often it feels as though their hearts are running from me and from God. In moments such as these, though, I see His pursuit of them.

And so I pray that the God of the stories would write them into the Great story of Redemption, that He would continue to pursue. I pray that He would enchant and break their young hearts, that they would want more of Him and see their need of Him.  And I pray that they would fall headlong into His grace. 

Goings on.

So we've been around.  But we've not been sitting down very often, and when we have, we've not been of the mind to write.  Many things have happened, and many pictures have been taken of those things happening, but mostly those things have remained unwritten of and those pictures have lived on my camera.  Life is full and good and chaotic.  We love it, but we are adjusting to life with three, and this is one of those spaces that suffered in the transition. 

But if you would like to know, here are some of the goings on of the past couple of months. 

--It didn't snow very often, but when it did... It was beautiful.  This might have been the prettiest snow I've ever seen.  I kept looking outside and saying, "Gosh, this snow is pretty." A constant reminder of how God makes all things new.

--We moved Timmy into a big boy bed, and then into Ava's room.  Within the course of a couple hours, Timmy climbed out of his crib at nap time and made himself a little bed on a spare mattress upstairs.  I figured he was trying to tell me something. I need to make him a headboard and figure out something to go over the bed, but overall, I'm really happy with it.  The kids seem to like being together too.  For now.  :)

--Timmy got tubes in his ears.  After a series of seven ear infections beginning around Thanksgiving, we decided to have tubes put in Timmy's ears.  He was in constant pain, and the infections had stopped responding to antibiotics.  We were also concerned that the constant fluid on his ears was hindering his speech.  We felt it was best to take that out of the equation.  So on March 5th, we went to Northwest Community Hospital for surgery. 

The worst part of the whole process was the anesthesia.  He was very inconsolable when he woke up, until we pulled out Elmo on YouTube.  Other than that, the recovery was very easy, and we are ear infection free since! 

--Genevieve started smiling. She's got a pretty one.  She also coos and squeals.  It's really cute.

--And sleeping! She mostly sleeps through the night now, which is such a relief for this weary mommy.  I may not get a moment's rest during the day, but I at least am getting some rest at night.  At least when I don't stay up blogging. ;)

--And sucking her thumb.  It may not be ideal later on, but for now I'm happy she can soothe herself.  Plus, it's kinda cute.

 --It got to be spring.  It came early.  Everything's blooming.  We don't always have to wear jackets.  It's like living in Texas. 

--We went to Texas.  A very dear friend of the family was very sick, so we took a trip to Texas to see her.  It was a hard trip in many ways.  It is always good to see family and dear friends, but it was under unfortunate circumstances.  We had to say goodbye to her, but were also reminded constantly that we'll one day again say hello to her again in paradise.  We grieved (and continue to grieve) with hope beside her family, and praise God that she is now whole with her Savior.  I'm sorry it happened, but I'm glad I was there.

--We had some fun! 

 "I think my tummy want some sushi."

Riding the little train at Firewheel together.

At the Dallas Arboretum with Nana:

That's all for now, I suppose.  See you in another couple months! (Just kidding... I hope,)

The Choices I Make

I've been thinking a lot lately about the choices I make as a mom.  I feel as though I'm always in triage mode--thousands of things to be done, some of them emergencies, some of them only slightly less urgent, some of them just important.  It often feels as though my children determine the course of my day. I flit from emergency to emergency, always a step behind.  Timmy don't hit your sister!  Ava don't hit him back!  Out of the refrigerator! Don't try to butter your own bread!  Use a spoon to eat your yogurt! Get down from there!  Sit at the table!  Don't color on the walls! Cushions back on the couches!  Often things fall apart all at once, one child with a blown-out diaper, one holding the implement of his sister's destruction, one screaming in pain and anger.  What is the order of operations here? I do not know.

Maybe I'm just bad at this.  So many people seem to handle it better.  I often I feel like people look at me and wonder, "Why can't she hold her stuff together?" Sometimes I look at myself and wonder the same.

I feel busy, overwhelmed much of the time, but I never seem to make much headway.  I clean the kitchen every day, but by the time dinner is done you wouldn't believe that.  I do laundry, but I find getting it folded and put away a nearly impossible task.  I can usually clean up one floor per day; if I attempt more my children get restless and begin to pull things apart more quickly than I can put them back together.  There are plenty of things that need to be done more often than I do them (mopping, cleaning bathrooms, for example).  I feel like I should be able to find time to do them.  But they remain undone.

And those are just the household tasks.  My parenting tasks are far more complex.  I constantly have to say no to one of my children because another child needs me more.  No I can't read another story to you, your brother is screaming.  I have to feed the baby, so you can't sit in my lap. I feel as though I miss so many of those little teachable moments because I'm pulled in three directions constantly.

And so the guilt sets in.  It cripples. It accuses.  When I choose to give my attention to something, I choose to neglect something else.  I have to.  I am finite.  A pastor I respect once noted to his own wife that only God gets His to do list done.  So true. And so, as a mom, I have to remind myself to do the most important things.  A good friend pointed out that, as a mom, you have to rely constantly on the Holy Spirit to know what those things are.

There are things that must be done in order for my family to be cared for and loved practically, and so I do not neglect them.  I make dinner, I do the laundry, I try to provide some semblance of order in our home.  They are important, and some of the many ways I love my family.  But I believe that the work I do shepherding my kids and making them feel secure in my love for them and God's love for them is far more important.  I'm trying to seize those moments when their hearts open up, even though discipline and instruction is exhausting and often inconvenient.  I'm trying to make myself say yes when Ava wants me to read to her, when Timmy wants me to play legos, when Genevieve is smiling and shrieking.  I'm trying to leave the task that I desperately want to finish, and to sit with them, to talk with them.  I'm trying to have fun with them.  I'm trying to say to them by my actions, "You are more important than this task."

I fail constantly.  I don't strike the right balance.  I need grace for that.  I believe that God pours it out, and fills in the gaps that I leave.  I try to preach that gospel to myself, and to be faithful in what I can. 

Two.

Dear Timothy,

At two, you are perhaps the quirkiest kid I've ever encountered. You are fierce in your affections, extreme in your reactions, meticulous in all your endeavors. Almost every day, we catch ourselves saying, "What a funny kid!"

You love to be helpful. I have never seen a two-year-old help more successfully. You are my sous chef in the kitchen, pulling a chair up to the counter so you can stir, peel, or add ingredients. Unloading the dishwasher might be your next favorite task. You carefully sort and stack the bowls, nest the spoons, hand me things to put away. Your daddy says he has this coming to him. He was (and still is) very helpful and extremely thorough. Maybe you'll be an engineer. It doesn't stretch the imagination.

You are very mechanical, and you love to put together train tracks and build lego towers. But you enjoy just as much knocking them down. You are quite diligent about it. There is never one stone left on another. One minute, you are so committed to order, the next you are kidzilla. I asked your daddy the other day what it was in the soul of the boy that says, "Destroy!" He told me it's the other side of the "Build!" coin. Yin and Yang, I guess. Dr. Jekkyl and Mr. Tim.

Speaking of, you are getting to be quite the rascal. I see that mischievous grin shoot across that little chubby face of yours, and I know I'm in for it. Most of the time, you seem to break the rules simply for the thrill of it. You have started to hit your older sister, but it rarely seems to be motivated by anger. The look on your face is pure mischief, a satisfaction in doing the very thing we've told you not to do.  As I said, we're in for it.

Despite your occasional brutality, you are most often sweet to your sisters, especially the little one.  We were almost certain that you would disapprove of her presence in our family, but you adored her from the time we brought her home.  There are moments in the day, most notably after naptime, that you assert that you are the baby and it is you that should be held, but most often you giggle and say, "Juh!"("Genevieve!")

 
Did I mention that you really don't talk?  It's kind of strange, really.  You make lots of noises, and I know you are trying to say words, but all you get are really the first sounds.  Your pediatrician isn't too concerned; he seems to think that if your older sister talked less you would probably talk more.  He said to expect an explosion of language in the next three months or so.  It's really almost hard for me to imagine a world in which you talk.  You communicate pretty darn well by pointing, grunting, and/or taking my hand and using it to accomplish whatever it is you wanted (on your birthday you were moving my arm toward the iPhone in an effort to make me grab it for you).  I told your daddy the other day that your muteness is part of your cuteness.  He just rolled his eyes.

 

You are such a delight, Tim-Tim.  It has been such fun to discover your personality, to get to know you over the past year.  I love all of the little quirks that make you unique.  You drive me crazy with your constant busyness, your penchant for taking things apart, your tendency to scream when you don't get your way.  But I love you just the same and I always will.

Happy Birthday, little man.

Mama