Miller began and ended the day playing Mary, mother of Jesus. Jesus was a pink girl baby doll, and Miller's outfit didn't look too authentic, but she played her part with zeal. At one point this morning, while Robert had taken a break from playing Joseph to play a waiter at Mariachi Grill (our favorite Mexican restaurant), Miller walked in the den with Jesus in her arms, sat down, and said:

"Sometimes Joseph stays at Sunday longer than I do. I came here to have some lunch. Can you please make me a chicken quesadilla?"

Later on, one of them said, though I can't remember which one, "Do you see my little Lord Jesus, asleep on the hay?" We're singing lots of Christmas songs around here....And in case you're wondering, Miller had me play the horse-y. At one point, I had Mary, Joseph, and the pink baby doll all loaded up. The old back ain't what it used to be, and I had to buck that crew off pretty quickly.

His song is in my soul

"The leader of the band is tired and his eyes are growing old
but his blood runs through my instrument and his song is in my soul.
My life has been a poor attempt to imitate the man -
I'm just a living legacy to the leader of the band."

It seems like I just wrote a birthday blog for Jeffy a few months ago, but a year has passed. For the man who would never want attention, I seem to be unable to resist giving it to him. Good 'ole Dan Fogelberg. I love this song. It has always reminded me of my dad, and I was thinking about it last night, and I wondered why it makes me think of him. He's no longer in a band, he's not tired, and his clear blue eyes look the same to me as they have all my life. Also, I don't play an instrument. (I played piano poorly as a child, and I only wish I played my prize possession: a Seagull guitar he bought me after college.) But I love music because he taught me to love it, and I do hope my life reflects the kind of father he is. I guess the song just reminds me of him because the writer loves his dad so much. Happy Birthday, Jeffy.

The other day, Margaret and I were the patients for Doctor Robert and Doctor/Nurse/Princess Ballerina with pink lipstick Miller. Robert held a stethoscope to my chest. "How do my lungs sound?" R: "No, that's the sound of your heart beeping." Millie examined next. I said, "Don't I have a cute baby?" She replied, "Yes, and she breathes pretty good, too." Whew.

Robert often grabs Margaret's hand, shakes it (a little too vigorously, of course), and says, "How to meet you! How to meet you!"

Yesterday as I tried to rouse him from his nap, I picked up one of Robert's hands and held it for a while. It's so big now. It's like he's turned into a giant overnight. His palms are almost leathery, reminders of what a tree climbing, dirt digging little guy he is. His proud report when I picked him up from school yesterday: "MOM! I stayed on GREEN today! I did not hit or push!!" New things added to his on-the-way-to-school talk: "Try your best to stay in your chair at lunchtime. Don't pour your drink on anyone else's lunch. Don't throw away anyone else's box drink straw." The list is getting too long for the poor sweetie. (See Nov 6th post) Yesterday I consolidated to: "Try your best to obey. Kind hands. Keep them to yourself. You can do it!" Lest anyone worry that his spirits could get down from all the talk of obedience, the truth is that, as my mom pointed out, he's very proud of himself when he "stays on green", but it doesn't really bother him when he "goes on yellow". Talking about all of this in terms of traffic lights is so darn hilarious to me. One detail of M & R's school that I love: If they get in big trouble (you guessed it - "go on red"), an OOPS note comes home that must be signed by the parent. I've only gotten one so far. The note says,

"I know the rules of my classroom, but today I chose not to": offense is checked.

But at the bottom, it goes on to say, "Tomorrow is a new day and God will help me obey my class rules. 'Great is His faithfulness; His lovingkindness begins afresh each day.'"

For a mom who herself receives many OOPS reports for her own poor choices and unwise behavior, the newness of the morning and the knowledge of His love is the music my ears love most.

My current OOPS report: Laura knows the rule of kindness toward her children, but today she chose not to:

be kind and patient while blogging, counting her flowery words about her kids as more important than her kids.

This moment is a new beginning. Great is His faithfulness!.............................................Proofreading..................still impatient................okay - THIS moment! Go!

Jesus and Coldplay

A little background: I was thinking this morning about a mistake I often make with my kids. I try to get them to understand things that are of utmost importance to me, my deepest thoughts, beliefs, hopes. I want to have great, teachable moments with them. Miller and Robert are too young to understand my semi-deep thoughts, but I press on, sometimes driving myself and, I'm sure, THEM, crazy.

A little more background: My poor kids don't get to listen to much kiddo music in the car. They listen to music Andrew and I enjoy, and though we've been through periods heavy on the Wiggles, M & R have, over time, truly become big fans of the music of Wilco, Patty Griffin, Red Mountain Church, Coldplay, Arcade Fire, Steve Green, with the occasional Beyonce thrown in. (Anyone see the Glee episode featuring "All the Single Ladies"? Awesome.)

A little more: Miller now sits in the third row of our car. She loves the fact that she sits back there, and wants people to know she sits back there. The other day, she tried to work it into a conversation she was interrupting between me and a friend: "Mom, why do I sit in the back seat now?" Just so the person would know about her valued spot in the rear. A huge disadvantage of her position - I can't hear her and she can't hear me. And though I can't hear her, she will barely raise her voice, which makes for many car rides with me yelling over and over - "I CAN'T HEAR YOU! I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" And her repeating her sentence at the exact same volume.

All of that background for this one little conversation, which I'm recording so I can remember how funny my life was and how annoying I was when my kids were young: This morning on the way to school, we were listening to one of our favorites, Steve Green, number 16 (they're very into the number of the song), entitled "My Redeemer Lives":

R: I want to listen to number 8.
L: I want to listen to this one. I love this song. This song says "My Redeemer Lives!" Do you know who our redeemer is?
M: JESUS! Do I get to sit in the front today?
R: This is how you make a redeemer. (Puts his fingers in the shape of a cross and holds it up.)
M: That's not a redeemer, Robert. That's a cross.
L: Yes, it's your turn to get in front. That's good, Bud! Jesus redeems us from our sins. That means he saves us from our sins because he died on the cross!
R: This is how you make two. (Puts two fingers next to each other and holds them up.) It's my turn to sit in front!
L: You're right, I forgot, it's your turn, Bud. Our redeemer lives. I love to think about how Jesus lives.
R: Do we have Coldplay?
M: WHAT DID YOU SAY?
L: I SAID I LOVE TO THINK ABOUT HOW JESUS LIVES!!
M: NO. WHAT DID ROBERT SAY?
L: HE ASKED IF WE HAVE COLDPLAY.
M: Do we have Coldplay?
L: ....No.
R: This is how you make seven. (Puts up a hand with five fingers and a hand with two.)

Another conversation we have going to school: (the names have been changed to protect the identity of the child Robert clobbered last week. Yes, it appears I'm raising the class bully.)
L: Bud, tell me about school today. What are you not going to do at school today?
R: I'm not going to hit any child. Or push or tackle. Or stand on my head in circle time. And if Johnnny says, "Let's go get Sammy!", I'll say, "NO. My mommy says I can't get Sammy."
L: I want you to be kind to your friends, and gentle, and show them love.
R: I'm STRONG.
L: I want you to try your best to be GENTLE. Do you understand? .......BUD, DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT MOMMY IS SAYING?
R: ...............Uh huh.
L: Say, "Yes, ma'am."
R: Yes ma'am.

I HATE teaching my children to say, "Ma'am and Sir", because they NEVER remember, and because it's socially unacceptable in Alabama for them to not say it, I'm constantly correcting them. Lately, I'm having to correct their grammar as well, because they both say things like, "Miller gots my crayon!" or "Do you gots any Iguanas?" (when we play Go Fish, animal version). Anyway, I wish I didn't have to spend time correcting things that aren't character issues. We have enough of those without adding the superficial things. (see above conversation). But, I live in the South, and I want them to sound polite and educated, right? YES, MA'AM.

Back to the Go Fish comment. It reminded me of one more funny conversation:
M: Do you gots any zebras?
L: Do you HAVE any zebras?
M: No.
L: No, Miller, it's - Do you HAVE any zebras?
M: No.

Deep Thoughts...by Miller Murray

Well...not so deep. Just hilarious to her mommy.

"Daddy is the best kisser. Mama is the best snuggler. Robert is the best...tackler." Amen, sissy. His teachers at 3K and the school principal agree that Robert is the best tackler.

The first week Margaret was home, Miller said to me: "Let me hold her. She's a lot more interested in me."

The last few weeks of pregnancy, the first few weeks with Margaret, the last few weeks with Margaret....OKAY, everyday since last June, my kids have watched too much television. Go Diego Go is a favorite, and I knew it was making a big impression when I heard Miller say to Robert the other day: "Ayuda me! Help!" (ayudar = to help, in espanol).

For Halloween, I bought Miller some $3 princess jewelry at Walgreen's to make her white dress-up dress extra special and princess-y. She loved her jewels, especially the earrings. Later that day, during a sweet moment with Miller and Margaret, I said, "Miller, it's so special to have a sister." Miller responded with, "It's also special to have some cute earrings."

Several days ago, Miller and I were playing like she was the mommy and I was the daughter. I got out of character for a minute and asked her to pick something up in her room. She stayed in character and said, "The doctor said I can't pick anything up yet, so I'm gonna need you to help by picking things up. Can you help me with that?" I guess she was pretending to be a post-partum mommy.

Speaking of post-partum, Miller also has some thoughts on my post-partum figure: "Do you have another baby in your belly? It's kind of big. Or is it just food?"

While thinking about Margaret attending her much-anticipated 5-year-old birthday party: "This sweetie is gonna love Chuck E. Cheese!"

My baby girl is now a tall, lanky, bike-riding, earring-wearing 5-year-old. Wow.

Perfection

ENOUGH!! I've been on a blogging hiatus for long enough. I've been thinking I couldn't write because I was too tired, had too many clothes to wash, or that my thoughts were too jumbled up and would come out like the incoherent sentences I utter from time to time these days; but, I think the main reason I don't write is PRESSURE. I feel pressure (from myself) for my first post-Margaret blog to somehow capture how wonderful she is. I want everyone who reads to have some idea what she looks like, smells like, feels like. I want you to know how much I adore her, how much joy she is already bringing our family. But I realized last night as I tried to write that blog that it's impossible. I can't communicate it. I'm not eloquent enough, and there just aren't words. Maybe I'll publish that blog sometime, but for now, just know that I'm in love with the new little baby at my house.

Speaking of being in love with Margaret, please see above picture. I'm not the only one. Miller Murray has been smitten since moment one, and much of my day is spent in the following conversation:

M: Can I hold her?
L: She's hungry right now.
M: Well can I hold her for just a minute?
L: She's really hungry, Millie. I'm about to feed her.
M: Well can I hug her and kiss her? Put her down here so I can see that sweet.
(not sweetie, SWEET - how cute is that?)

The only word that could describe Miller the first week was RELENTLESS (description courtesy of Janny). As in, relentless in her pursuit to be close to "that sweet". Her desire to help and hold has subsided only slightly, and though it's been a little much for me at times to have so much help, it really has been precious to see how she loves her. And for those who remember how much Miller was looking forward to holding Margaret standing up, she is definitely not allowed to, but will lean over, put her arms around her, and say, "It's almost like I'm holding her standing up." Her favorite thing to help with is bath time. Again, see picture. A friend commented on how indicative it was of newborn days that Miller was bathing Margaret next to a pan of old crusty cinnamon rolls.

I've worried since this baby's conception about how Robert would handle no longer being the baby. He's been a champ. He's never expressed any negative feelings toward her, and while he occasionally asks to hold her, he's been equally interested in wanting to assist me with the manual breast pump, putting breast pads on Margaret's head and saying she has a hat, and planting slobbery kisses on her head, then giggling because her hair's wet from his slobber. Could he be any more boy-ish? No. He really is sweet with her, in his own way, and calls her "sweetie" and "girl" when he's feeling extra tender.

The nitty gritty? Life's not perfect, even with my perfect baby. (Just kidding. Don't forget - I'm Presbyterian. Original sin and all that.) The first week home with three kids was so overwhelming I could hardly breathe. I cried a lot. I had urges to pack up Margaret and drive to the beach, leaving my sweet husband to raise my pre-schoolers for a while. Margaret didn't ever whine or talk back or pitch fits, didn't push my buttons, and I could pretend I was an awesome mom when it was just the two of us. I had moments of panic - I CAN'T RAISE THREE CHILDREN! WHAT AM I GOING TO DO??? Did I mention I cried? Then Robert got the flu, and what did I do? I cried. And I took Margaret and stayed in a friend's extra room for two nights. And I missed my family so much. And another friend reminded me that I had said I wished I could pack up Margaret and drive to the beach, and she laughed that I had gotten what I wanted, sort of. And I realized that I should probably stay and raise all my children, that if God had given me three, He certainly wouldn't leave me alone as I tried to figure out how in the heck to care for three, to love three and love them well, all at the same time. I feel like I'm writing in stream of consciousness, and it's because I'm tired, but I'm just going with it so I can be done with my blog hiatus.

Good to be back.

Buddy Holly, collections, and a helpful list

My dad punched the lenses out of some old, thick, black glasses for Miller, but Robert has really taken to them and wears them on errands at least once a week. He gets a lot of "Clark Kent" comments, but our family calls him "Buddy Holly". He usually doesn't mind when we call him that, but all bets are off on Sunday rides home from church, when Robert wails about anything and everything. (As opposed to rides TO church, when he wails about having to go to church. BTW - he loves his teachers and all his little friends. I can't figure out what the deal is, though lately he's been asking me to make sure he doesn't have "the grandmothers" instead of his usual teachers. He must have had a substitute one week.) Anyway, last Sunday he had on the glasses and Miller called him Buddy Holly. "DON'T CALL ME BUDDY HOLLY!!", he screamed, sobbing. She laughed and said quietly, "Okay...Buddy Holly."

The kids and I went to the Botanical Gardens to explore this afternoon. I've probably mentioned before that Miller LOVES to collect things, and could and does spend hours in our yard "making collections" in various containers. She collects grass, weeds, sticks, bugs, the occasional flower, acorns, etc., and carefully keeps them all separated until someone pours them out and almost drives her over the edge of insanity. I didn't bring any containers on our outing today, but she began collecting nonetheless, and didn't want to hold her collections.

"Here, mom, hold this", she said about a rotten berry of some kind.
Yuck, Millie, it's rotten and probably has worms crawling in it.
"That's okay. Hold it."
She stumbled onto some pine straw. A lot of pine straw. "This looks VERY mysterious. Hold it."
She then found a leaf. "This is SO beautiful. Look at this beautiful leaf. Hold it."

Robert was next, discovering a damp, yucky pine cone. "Hold it."
Miller interrupted, "I don't want that pine cone with my collection. Robert, put it in your pocket." I told her it could prick him in his pocket. "Robert, here bud, put it in your pocket." Okay, so she was more interested in the great outdoors than in being compassionate today. Sweet Bud didn't seem to mind, but he threw the pine cone to the side after about five seconds.

I've been wanting to compile a short list of things NOT to say to a pregnant women. All of these have been said to me, and in the last few weeks I've developed a system of answering that requires no thought and therefore never leaves me simply giving a dirty look or standing with my mouth hanging open. (Do people think I'm not aware that my belly defies what seems physically possible?) Well, it's not really a system. I just repeat back, verbatim, what the person said to me, but I add, "I FEEL" to the beginning of the sentence. Example: You look tired. "I FEEL tired." You look huge. "I FEEL huge." It's pure genius. Okay...the list:

"Oh my gosh!!! Are you sure you're not having triplets?"
"I don't think you can POSSIBLY get any bigger."
"You look really uncomfortable. I can see it in your face. Do you need to sit down?"
"You look like you're about to pop."
"WOW! You must be due any minute. "
"Are you due any day now? I thought so. You are REALLY big."

My c-section is scheduled for September 10th, and though I truly feel in my heart of hearts that I cannot survive being pregnant until then, I just bet I'll be kissing this precious baby's face on...September 10th. I absolutely cannot WAIT to hold her. Robert has told me several times lately that he has a baby in his tummy that is being born in five minutes.

There are so many wonderful kinds of trees for kids to climb, but my poor kiddos have to make due with this crepe myrtle in our front yard.

Official Warning

I knew I hit a low point this week when I actually said to Andrew, "I don't think you feel sorry enough for me." What kind of loser says that out loud? Especially to a man who is beyond sweet, beyond sympathetic, beyond concerned? (As much as he can be. We ladies know he'll never totally understand.) I'm starting to avoid talking to people, because I realize what all my conversations sound like, and it's embarrassing:

Others: How are you? How are you feeling?
Me: I feel okay. Well..I mean...I'm not sleeping, which makes the days hard. And my belly is so heavy. I feel like my uterus is about to fall out. I'm getting a little swollen. And you wouldn't believe the horrendous heartburn that kept me up all night last night. If you think about it, would you please pray that I can get some sleep? I can't make it 4 more weeks without sleeping.
Others: Okay.
Me: Also, none of my clothes fit. I wear the same thing every day because my shirts no longer cover my belly. Did I tell you I moved my kids in the room together and they won't go to sleep at night? They're driving me crazy.
Others (now trying to walk away): Oh. wow.
Me: Also, it's just so darn hot. It's so hot in my house.
Others: Okay, well....
Me: Also,...

This is seriously how I sound these days. I have to be the most complaining pregnant person of all time. If you see me on the street, RUN!!!

Bad Words

Robert has a new bad word - "mean 'ole stibio". It's causing quite a ruckus amongst the Murray children:

M: "Robert called me 'mean 'ole stibio!!'"
M: "Mom!! Robert called you a 'mean 'ole stibio!!'"
R: "Sissy call me 'mean 'ole stibio'"

Even last night, before he went to sleep, Robert smiled and recounted to me, "Today I call you 'mean 'ole stibio'".

I don't take much offense to this, partly because it's made-up, mainly b/c I've truly been a mean 'ole stibio lately. But, since it's name-calling, of course, I have to address it as such, even though it basically just makes me laugh. I guess I've been glad he's using this made-up phrase instead of some of the other words he's been exposed to lately - poo-poo head, big-fat poo-poo head, butt, and yesterday, weeny's. (I have no idea how to spell that one, but I'm sure the other 3-K mothers will be thrilled if he's using it when school starts.) He hears these from little guys a little bit older, and I have to remind myself that one day soon, he'll probably be teaching much worse words to those younger than he is, and I'll probably be hanging my head in shame as he tells his teachers he learned the d-word from his mommy. So many things slip out under my breath, and I'm just waiting for the day when my bad habits are exposed to the public.

This picture is really old, and unrelated, but I saw it today and just had to use it anyway.

Negotiations

Miller has always been a little negotiator, and as she grows older, her skills are advancing in this area, too. Janny makes 90% of my children's' clothes, and they're wonderful, and people always tell me how talented she is. Of course, I agree! But every once in a while, Janny likes to try her hand at EBay, and she occasionally is tempted to buy something..."even though I know it's a little tacky. I thought Miller would love it." Well, Miller loves tacky like I love sherbet, and this summer she's been thrilled with a long, purple gingham dress from EBay. Think Little House on the Prairie. Think a little too big. I truly hate the dress, and I'm not kidding when I say it's her favorite thing to wear. Every day:

M: "I want to wear my long, purple dress."
L: Not today. Pick something else.
M: "Okay...then I want to wear something long and purple."

It's sad to admit, but M & R love McDonald's, and Miller in particular loves eating out, period. We've had WAY too much fast food since I've been pregnant. Yesterday, we ran a few errands and finished around lunchtime. Miller said from the backseat, "Let's go get some chicken nuggets from McDonald's." I replied, "We can't eat out every day. Some days we just eat at home." She followed up with, "Do you want to pick it up and take it home, or just eat at the restaurant?"

In an effort to keep it real, in spite of funny quotes, cute new rooms, and adorable children, the past few days have been hard. I want to blame it on summertime, constant together-ness, being super pregnant, but when I look at my list of scapegoats, they're all things I would hope to be thankful for instead of excuses for my inability to cope with motherhood. I'm far from living out thankfulness for my wonderful life, and instead am turning into a complainer who resorts to two-year-old behavior in tough moments. I'll spare everyone the details. These are the days when I want to wallow, want to quit, want to somehow pay penance for the mountain of sin that rests on my shoulders. But I'm trying to make myself remember that it doesn't rest there, that Someone else bore it on His shoulders for me, that I have to repent, receive the forgiveness that's mine, and start again. My high school bible study teacher used to say all the time, "Every day is a new beginning." Thankfully, not just every day, but every minute can be a new beginning if I'll allow it to be.

I've been teaching my kids this song and teaching the verses to myself as well:

What can wash away my sin? Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
What can make me whole again? Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
Oh precious is the flow that makes me white as snow;
No other fount I know, nothing but the blood of Jesus.

They sound so cute when they sing it, except for today, when Robert pitched a monstrous fit because Miller joined in while he was wanting to sing it "MY BYSELF!!!"

They were both exhausted on Night Two of room sharing. Robert got out of bed once, and that was all they wrote....

Night One

After working for countless hours to turn old, banged up twin beds into cute, red, pottery-barn-ish beds, Jeffy made a big delivery yesterday to help make our two-kid home a three-kid home. After much thought and advice, I decided to move Miller and Robert into a room together, and let yet-to-be-named baby girl have a nursery. Tonight is the commencement of the room sharing, and so far....well, no one has even thought about sleeping, and we've seen them both about 55 times. Andrew and I decided not to give them any rules until we could see what kind of rules we needed. I'm now questioning our strategy.

M: "Robert keeps getting in my bed."
L: Well, is he just trying to snuggle you?
M: "No. He's banging me in the head with baby dolls."

Miller has come out so many times to tattle-tale on Robert, I guess he decided to come tattle on himself. He just appeared at the doorway and told me, "I'm talking....I'm talking."

All pioneers of room-sharing have told me to expect the first two weeks to be tough. Stay tuned...

"I'm a gymnastics girl" - RM

These are several pics of two of the big hits of Summer '09 - gymnastics and popsicles. Miller has taken her first little gymnastics class and has loved it, except that every week she tells me how hot and sweaty she is, which has never yet been the case after class. Some little girls from church, older than us, sent her some really fancy hand-me-down leotards. Robert did not miss out on trying them all on. Another day this week, he went with more of a ballet theme, but wanted to play outside in his tights, so I made him wear tennis shoes.

Hodge Podge Conversations

Anytime Robert is feeling tired, or unhappy, or slighted, or mad, (in other words, many, MANY times per day), he says:
"I'm not feeling very good." -or- "I'm not feeling very well."
The other day, after he had told me this for the 27th time, I said, "What doesn't feel good?
He replied, "My feelings."

One rainy afternoon this week, I took the kids to the McWane Science Center, a wonderful place in downtown Birmingham where in addition to a million fun things to do inside, we get to "park in the dark". (Miller Murray LOVES a parking deck, and this one even has a circular exit ramp. So exciting.) Robert was playing inside a little airplane, where he was sitting in one of two toddler-sized plastic chairs. I peeked in at him and he patted one and said, "Mama, come in here with me."
L: Bud, I don't think I can fit in that little chair.
R: "Fit."
"Try."

The three of us went to my OB check-up this week, and on the way, M & R had a myriad of questions about the baby, how long I'd be in the hospital, how she would get here, etc. After a couple of attempts at vague answers about her delivery (via C-section), I finally said, "Well, they'll make a little cut, and they'll pull her out of my tummy through that little cut....through a little hole.
M: "Will you be dead or alive when that happens?"
L: Alive.
M: "And then we'll have a little baby with a hat."
She's been very interested in the hospital hat placed on newborn babies.

A regular conversation about this baby:
M: "Can I hold her a lot?"
L: Yes.
Next questions, always:
M: "Standing up?"
L: Not at first.
M: "But later I can hold her standing up?"
L: We'll see.

Miller's favorite baby name at present: Flower
Robert's: anything ridiculous

This afternoon:
M: "What do policemen do?"
L: Well, they do lots of things to protect us, and serve us, like making sure we don't go too fast, or looking for robbers.
M: "What are robbers?"
L: People who steal something. Like maybe something from some one's house.
M: "Like their people?"
L: (Trying not to be scary) Well, maybe like a t.v. or computer or something like that.
M: And then the policemen would come and squirt the robbers with their guns?

A new development at our house - we've been getting birthday invitations for one child only. Miller loves to check the mail every day, is elated when she gets mail, and when she doesn't, complains, "I never get any mail." A few times over the past couple of months, an envelope has come that's addressed: Miller Murray (only) or Robert Murray (only). I brace myself for what's coming next. If it's an invitation for Miller, she immediately starts in, "Bud, I'm invited to this party for ----. You're not invited, Bud. Just me. I'm the only one who gets to go." Robert begins to cry, even if he's never heard the name of the birthday child before.

I tried to get a good pic of me and the kids with my pregnant belly this week, but none were so great. You can't tell in this picture, but my belly is incredibly round, and big, and heavy, and I get stares of sympathy? shock? (hard to tell for sure) everywhere I go. I went to a mattress store today looking for a twin set for our forthcoming big kid room, and the salesman expressed fear that I would go into labor in the store. Then he told me to lie down on the mattresses to test them out, as if anything would feel comfortable to me right now, as if I could get back up once I was down.

Dennis

I hate to call him a menace. He's not, but he sure is a mess. Have you ever noticed how things that are permissible, even cute, on a two-year-old, just don't seem to fly on a three-year-old? We had dinner guests tonight. A couple from our church who's raising support to be missionaries to the Czech Republic. They're normal people, of course, and, THANK GOD, have three grown sons of their own, but as I watched Robert pinch Mr. J., bop Mrs. J. over the head with his USA place mat, and tell Mr. J. something along the lines of, "I put a stinky on you", I found myself wanting to lay my head on my plate and close my eyes until dinner was over. These are only the highlights of bad behavior for the evening. Our guests stayed later than regulation bedtime, and by the time I rocked my little men-ess, he was so tired, so incredibly sweaty*, whole body, whole head, and so sweet. I hope others can see his sweetness through his mischievousness, but even if they can't, I'm glad I can.

*Our piece-of-crap air conditioner, coupled with our gas oven, tripled with my kids' habit of leaving the door open every time they walk out (as all kids do), had warmed our house to a comfy 80 degrees in time for company.

I took these pictures at the beach a few weeks ago. Pic 2 is a typical response from Robert when I ask him to smile for the camera, not quite as popular as his silly face (Pic 1), but close.

Miller's behavior tonight was much more socially acceptable, meaning she didn't try to scissor-kick anyone and tell them she was going to cut them. She did go on and on about her corn on the cob:

"I'm eating all this corn."
"I'm almost through with my corn."
"Look, Daddy, I'm almost through with all my corn."
"Look, mom."
"Somebody, look, I ate all this corn."
"I'm so glad I ate all this corn, b/c I wanted to eat all this corn."

This is truly only about 25% of what she said about the corn, and it only mattered b/c it was continually interrupting Mr. J.'s recounting of the path to one of the most significant decisions of his life.

It just occurred to me that I'm glad my mom didn't have a blog 30 years ago with which to record my performance at all social gatherings. =) I'm sure I was perfect.

Glory

In our church, the kids learn the catechism:

Q: Who made you? A: God
Q: What else did God make? A: All things
Q: Why did God make you and all things? A: For His own glory
etc.
etc.

I'm supposed to reinforce these questions and answers at home but never seem to get around to it. But apparently, Robert has been paying some attention.

The other day, we were looking at a picture in a Richard Scarry book of a mouse parachuting out of a plane. "What's dat mouse doing?" Robert asked. He pointed at the plane. "He needs dat...for his own glory."

This morning he walked in the bathroom and said, "Can I tee-tee on the potty? For my own glory." I don't know if it's glorious, Bud. It's just natural.

Robert's Free

When friends of mine learn they're having a boy, I always tell them something like, "Oh, you can't even imagine how much you're going to love him. There's nothing like a boy." I can't totally explain the statement, but this picture offers some kind of explanation. Robert adds so much flavor and fun and excitement and chaos to our family; he's rough, tough, snugly, tender, dirty, sweaty, sweet, stubborn, strong. The moment I want to wring his neck for tackling sissy or messing her things up for the umpteenth time, I see him stroking her hair and saying, "Sissy, are you okay?" At the end of long days full of tantrums and stand-offs, his silly faces, dance moves, or guitar kicks kill us with laughter. His propensity to talk about killing, fighting, and potty subjects is balanced by how often he says, "I wanna tell you a secret...I LOVE YOU." In a nutshell, he makes me crazy, and he brings me immeasurable joy.

I've been thinking about how unique he is lately, because he's three today, and because we've had some hard days with him in the past two weeks. After two really hard days with him, followed by two great days, the realization hit me again, as it has in the past, that I love my children more when they're lovable, and lovely. This knowledge hurts deeply, because I've understood more and more in the past few years how much I'm loved by my Father, though I'm so pitifully unworthy of His love. He pours it out on me no matter what, as much on the yuck days as on the days I think I'm great. I love my children most when they're easiest to love. Thank God He's their Father, too, and my shortcomings in love and mothering can never diminish the love they will experience from the ultimate Parent.

This morning, we sang Happy Birthday to him many times. He kept saying, "I'm free. I'm free." Sissy's response - "He keeps saying, "I'm free. Robert, can you say th- th-three?" No answer. He had a family party at Camp on Saturday, a family party at our house on Sunday, and got to take doughnuts to school this morning for one last bit of party-ing. Sissy had had enough of Robert's birthday by today. She cried when we picked up his doughnuts ("I NEVER get to have doughnuts!"...a regular Saturday ritual with her daddy) and has been super-emotional all day. My thought was that next year, we should just have one day of birthday for Robert. Janny insisted that, no, next year we should have three days of birthday for Millie. Once again, the winner for favorite gift: orange tic-tacs.

Happy Birthday, little Bud.

She's a...

SHE!!!!

The Rebel

Robert's been having a very hard time lately accepting my authority. If I ask him not to do something, or if I give him any instruction, he immediately launches into, "I don't WANT you to TELL me dat. I don't WANT you to SAY dat to me." If he's particularly upset, he'll keep repeating his sentence over and over, through angry tears. Today, I told him we weren't watching any more t.v. Not only was he upset that I was turning it off, he was upset that I TOLD HIM DAT. That I SAID DAT. I began trying for the umpteenth time to make him understand that I will always be telling him things, directing him in what's safe, important, best for him, etc., that I'm his mother, and he's my child, and I'm in charge of him, even though, in his almost-three-year-old fury, I know he can't begin to understand my reasoning or comprehend my purposes. Then, the following conversation took place:

L: "Robert, God's Word says, 'Children, obey your parents in the Lord, for this is right.'"
R: "It's NOT right."
L: "Robert, it IS right!"
R: "It's NOT right!"
L: "Yes, it is."
R: "It idn't."

This productive conversation went on for a while. This attitude of his is something that I need to and must deal with, but it also reminds me of another child who rebels against the authority of her Father, thinking she can possibly know what He's up to, sometimes shaking her fist through angry tears when she doesn't understand His purposes, which, unlike her own, are always good.

Robert still isn't potty trained, and sometimes when he has a poopy diaper, I say, "Come on bud. Let's go get fresh." The other day I walked into Miller's room, where they were playing, and noticed he was a little ripe. "Come on bud. Let's go get fresh." Miller quickly said, "Don't get him fresh in MY room."

Andrew

Today is my 8th wedding anniversary, and since I have no gift for my sweet husband, I thought I'd at least tell those who read the top 8 reasons he's the perfect husband for me:

1. He doesn't point out all my weaknesses as a mom
2. He'll rub my shoulders or feet whenever I ask him, not cheerfully, sometimes quite begrudgingly, but he does it (Hey - I didn't say he was perfect! Just perfect for me.)
3. He thinks I'm cute, even with SEVERAL extra pounds, even in maternity bathing suits, even at 9 months pregnant, and he's not particular about my hairdo, meaning it's fine with him if I have it long or chop it short
4. He knows when I secretly want junk food, like a soft drink or a Chick-Fil-A biscuit, even when I've told him I don't, and he goes ahead and buys it for me
5. If I'm sad, he doesn't try to say the right thing; he just hugs me and is quiet with me
6. He comes home early when he can, and always says he loves being here with us (although we both know that by Sunday night, he's looking forward to Monday morning)
7. He eats anything I cook and says it's great, even when it's gross
8. He loves my blog and never censors my stories, only helps me with typos

We went to the Galleria Chick-Fil-A with Miller and Robert tonight for our big celebration. It was fundraising night for their little school, so we ate french frith and ith cream and rode the carouself. All the children in line had a special animal picked out to ride. Robert raced ahead, loudly yelling, "I want the CHAIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" He and I had a big time riding the one bench on the carouself.

Date Night

Miller has been anticipating a date night with Andrew for over a week, and tonight was the big night. She was incredibly dirty from playing in the yard, so I told her to come in and get dressed, meaning that I would change her into a clean shirt for their dinner at Jim n' Nick's Bar-B-Q. She walked right in and said, "I want to wear my Easter dress." Of course I didn't go for that option (see picture), but I did let her pick another, less heirloom-ish, dress to wear. She walked back out to hear Robert saying, "Wheeeeeeeeere you going, Sissy?" She responded with a toss of her head, "a date." "IIIIIIIIIIIIII wanna go on a date!" So I told Robert I would take him on a date, to which he immediately replied, "I wanna wear my printh."

After Andrew and Miller left, I discovered that Robert really had no interest in a date with me. When I asked him where he wanted to go, he said, "Leth follow Daddy and Sissy." Then he cried and said he wanted to stay home. We finally agreed to go to Moe's - not the most romantic spot for a mommy and her printh, but a favorite of Robert's nonetheless. His kids' meal at Moe's includes a gigantic cookie, which he was scarfing up as daddy and sissy called to see if we wanted to meet up for dessert. I hesitated, as usual. Andrew said, "Oh, come on!", as usual. And as we drove the mile to Bruster's and I mentally went through what Robert had eaten that day, I almost drove the car off the road: Half a pop-tart, 1.5 Krispy Kreme doughnuts, 5 grapes, NO peanut butter sandwich (fell asleep during lunch), granola bar (not terrible), 2 slice-and-bake cookies (trying to be Betty Crocker-ish), one cheese quesadilla, tortilla chips, Moe's cookie, Bruster's ice cream. Holy cow. He's having trouble going to sleep right now. Hmmmm.

Miller had an exciting breakthrough last week. I was in the shower one morning when Robert got hurt or just upset, I can't remember which. Miller was clearly the nurse-on-duty. She had him lie down on some couch pillows that were strewn across the den, brought him his paci, then ran to the bathroom to announce to me, "Robert let me wipe his nose!!!" Oh! that he would let her have the honor every time. Every morning since the beginning of March? Feb?, Robert sneezes about 50 times before 10:00 a.m. And I'm sorry to be uncouth, but the amount of snot the little guy puts out could qualify him for a world record.

I also had a breakthough last week. I realized that shopping for maternity bathing suits is even worse than shopping for normal things. In a moment of either temporary insanity or really bad judgement, I took both kiddos to Target to look at their selection. I got the biggest dressing room, but with the shopping cart inside, there still wasn't much room. So there I was, squeezing my rapidly rounding body into a ridiculously small amount of fabric, trying to see if it was possible to stand in a position where my legs looked slightly smaller, etc., and Robert kept grabbing the back shoulder strap of each top I tried on and pulling as hard as he could, causing me to lose my balance and tumble from my perfect pose to the haphazard, bent-over position I will more likely be seen in while at a pool with this child.

Bad Weather and Bad Skin

The past two days have been dreary and depressing, with a few scattered thunderstorms. I'm a sunshine girl - happier when the weather's nice and gloomy when it's not - so multiple days of rain really get me down. Add to the weather the fact that Robert hasn't felt well, and we've had two LONG days. So here's my confession: I let my children watch the entire Sound of Music yesterday, all three hours, and that wasn't even all the t.v. we watched yesterday. Let me go see if DHR is at the door - they may be secretly monitoring this blog.....

Some have been surprised that Miller and Robert will watch this movie in its entirety, but they will, even the long music prelude and Captain Von McDreamy, I mean Trapp, lazily singing Edelweiss. Miller did get a little nervous toward the end yesterday, which she had never seen, and I tried to answer her questions honestly, which left her asking more questions. "Why didn't they want to be part of Germany?" How much was I supposed to tell a 4-year-old about the Nazi's?

Today's been better, with less t.v., and a little more creativity, on their part, not mine. I cleaned while they played, and at one point they both came to see me in full princess regalia, both with hair bows and dresses, with Robert telling me "We princetheth." Miller informed me that her princess name was Ava Grace, and Robert's was Maddie. When Miller later brought over a plain hair barrette for me to put in, Princeth Robert told me that boys don't wear barrettes. Among other things, Bud.

Now the sun is beginning to peek out. Hooray!

During this pregnancy, my skin has been ultra oily, and I've had many days of junior high school skin and several junior high school zits. I woke up with the biggest yet one day last week, and when I picked Robert up from school, I was trying to chit chat with another mom as we strolled out with our babies. Robert was pointing at my pimple and yelling at the top of his lungs: "WHAT'S DAT?? WHAT'S DAT?" When we got home, Miller noticed it too, and asked about it. It's a pimple, I told her. "Libba had a pimple one time. I cut it off with scissors, but it didn't hurt. Well...it hurt a little."

"Shirts and Shoes Required"

I like to seem like a girl who's in control. I try to come across to people like I have it together, and for most of my life I've been able to. Even after Miller was born, to those who didn't know me too well, I might could have come across as cool, calm, collected. That's the thing about a child like Miller. She looks neat, has a somewhat even temperament, and in public, the worst case scenario has, in the past, been a small tantrum (unlikely) or refusal to answer another adult's question (which kills me.) With a child like Miller, I can usually put on a play entitled, "I've got this motherhood thing down." Enter Robert, stage left. There's no show with this boy. I can have on my Sunday best, right shoes, right accessories, and all pride and dignity are out the window as I try to pick him up from a flailing fit on the floor. Or I can chase him through a public place, calling his name as he runs at warp speed and never looks back. Or, I can try to not show my undergarments to the world as he runs up and grabs either my pants or shirt and pretends like they're monkey bars. Sometimes I fear that everyone I know has seen my whole bra. Today, as we grabbed a quick lunch at Moe's, I realized that NO ONE thought I had the motherhood thing down. Robert was jumping up and down in the booth seat, no shoes, when I suddenly realized he had also removed his shirt. He started crying LOUDLY when his cookie ran out, and as I haphazardly gathered us up and scooted us out, dressing him as we went, I realized the title of my play is really "All I can down is another piece of humble pie".

Have I ever mentioned, though, how cute Robert looks without a shirt on? Since we live in Alabama, hopefully no Moe's patrons were too shocked.

SO HOT!

Everything is better when it's warm outside. After snow day this past Sunday, today was in the seventies, with a partly cloudy, beautiful, blue sky. I took my kids to the park, and after playing on the playground for a while, we headed out into the open field and they just ran and ran. It was just what we all needed. As we were leaving and headed for the car, I told them to remember this day, because weather this perfect doesn't come along often. Just as I was finishing my sentence, Miller started crying. "Mom, I'm SO hot. I'm SO hot!" Are you kidding, baby? We climb into the car. More crying. "It's too hot in here! It's SO hot!!" Miller, do you remember what Alabama summers are like? It's not that hot! And on and on we went, her in distress, and heatstroke, apparently, and me vainly trying to convince her that an 80 degree car wasn't all that bad.

For a child who never stops all day long, Robert's nighttime routine is worth noting. He quietly sits in his rocking chair and looks at books for about 30 minutes before he gets put to bed. It's amazing. Tonight when I went in to rock him (yes, I still rock him), it occurred to me that I probably won't keep rocking him once new baby comes. He'll transition to stories and singing in bed, and the rocker will have a new customer. What a sad thought! Though he's already huge and hangs off the end, snuggling with my bud in our chair at the end of the day is one of the best parts of the day. (Usually. Unless I get bonked in the head or catch an elbow in the ribs.) So I'm going to try to memorize just how he feels when he's cuddled against me, how soft his neck is on the back where I kiss it, how sweet and rough his little feet feel when I cup my hands around them, how his hair smells, sweet on bath nights and like a dirty puppy on dirty nights, how soft and slobbery his kisses are. Hmmm...maybe I just need to invest in a second rocker.

Snow Day

Along with every mom in Birmingham yesterday, I milked the snow day for all it was worth in terms of photo ops. The picture I wish I had was the expression on Miller's face when she saw the snow - wonder and shock and delight. Andrew saw Robert's reaction and said it was equally great. We made and ate snow ice cream for breakfast, a big hit with Miller, especially. As a deep south mom, I've never bought my children waterproof gloves (or any gloves, possibly), so our snow experience was dampened by freezing cold hands. We did march around a little, and Robert danced a little snow jig in enjoyment, after pitching 25 fits about his attire. We threw a few snowballs, and the kids built a snowman with their daddy, Bubba, and Chicky, who always drop by to make every experience more memorable and exciting.

There have been several occasions when it has kind of snowed over the past several years, but Saturday's snow was a real snow. It didn't last long, but the world was completely covered when we woke up. I drove to church alone later in the morning, and was as amazed as a child at the beauty of it, the way every itty bitty branch and every leaf of every tree was outlined in perfect, pure white. It started snowing harder during our service, and I was feeling warm and toasty and much like I was in the opening scene of Little Women (the movie), when our pastor, during his prayer, thanked God that "though our sins are like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow." Washed whiter than snow by His blood. What a crazy, mysterious, wondrous thing to believe. And every ounce of this sinner believes it.

We sang this song at J.J.'s funeral, and we sing it often at my church, and sang it yesterday. I remember talking with Andrew around the time of her home going that the lyrics could sound bizarre if they didn't mean something to you, but yesterday as the snow fell, and today as a little of it remains, and as Andrew's grandmother, Meow, arrived safely home in the arms of her savior last night, too, I just loved the words even more and felt like typing them out.

There is a fountain filled with blood
drawn from Immanuel's veins,
And sinners plunged beneath that flood
lose all their guilty stains.

The dying thief rejoiced to see
that fountain in his day,
And there may I though vile as he
wash all my sins away.

E'er since by faith I saw the stream
thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme
and shall be till I die.

When this poor lisping, stammering tongue
lies silent in the grave,
Then in a nobler, sweeter song
I'll sing thy power to save.

Miller just got out of bed for the third time to tell me she had another bad dream, and I know she hasn't fallen asleep for one second.

And the Oscar goes to...

This morning, when Robert started playing with his blue "gaton" (baton), Miller realized her pink one was missing. She had everyone looking high and low, and we couldn't find it anywhere. She kept wanting to crawl and look way under my bed, a dirty, dusty place I didn't want her creeping in her light pink leotard, but, of course, that's exactly where she found it. She was so proud as she pulled it out, and started into a five minute speech that could have ranked among the best Oscar acceptance speeches in history.

"Dad, I couldn't have done it without you."
"Thanks for helping, everyone."
"Thanks to my whole family for helping me. I couldn't have done it without you."
And so on...

Then, I'm not sure what changed her mind, but she transitioned into, "Dad, you couldn't find it... No one else could find it but me."


When do you know you've been talking about the economy too much? When your 4-year-old says to your 2-year-old: "Robert, don't mess up the blinds. If you did, we would have to replace them, and we can't replace them right now." That's verbatim.

Nausea, fatigue, and dental hygiene

I've not been blogging much lately, for the simple reason that I've been so nauseated and tired, I can hardly stand to do anything beyond the most basic duties of the day. The past couple of days, thankfully, some relief. The reason for nausea and fatigue? The best reason in the world - a baby. A little, tiny, smaller than peanut-sized life, with a strong, fast, heartbeat that I've seen twice now through the miracle of ultrasound. Is anyone gasping that I would write about something so personal, and so early, (only 10 weeks) on a blog?? Rest assured, not that many people read this blog. Besides, these musings will one day be for Miller and Robert, and this is a major Murray event. And how can I talk, or write, without mentioning this thing that occupies so much of my thoughts? I can't. What if she miscarries?, you may be thinking. If I did, if I do, I think I would have to write about that as well. I've seen a precious friend be quickly, painfully thrust from the hope and excitement of impending motherhood to the heartbreak of miscarriage in the past few weeks, and I know it's not a path I could walk alone. So there it is. God willing, I'll be a mother of three in September. I can't believe it.

While I was getting the kids something to eat earlier this week, Miller said, "Mom, I don't like most things you make." Tell it like it is, kiddo. Needless to say, this lessened my motivation for cooking, which was already quite low, to nil. I was pleased as punch last night when she told me she really liked my chicken (pork chops) and rice. A much needed shot in the arm, especially since Robert rarely takes one nibble of anything I cook. He looks things over, says, "I don't like dat", pushes his plate away, and asks for applesauce.

Another Millie quote from a couple of weeks ago. Andrew, Robert, Miller, and I were gazing out the front window, keeping watch for a neighborhood cat my kids are enthralled with, one that Robert affectionately calls, "white titty." Miller spotted it and said, "That cat looks very similar."

Similar to what? Andrew said, laughing.

Okay, the real nitty gritty. I took the kids to their 6-month dental checkup this week. To call it a horrendous experience would be an understatement. This is the Murrays at the dentist: Robert goes first. He screams, cries, kicks, and thrusts his body so hard, it's difficult for me and the hygienist to hold him, but we manage to get his teeth brushed and rinsed. Now for Miller. Miller makes such a scene that she causes all other children to start crying as well, and I get dirty looks from their mothers. After peeling her off my shoulder and getting her on the table, she screams, cries, kicks, and thrusts her body so hard, it's difficult for me, the hygienist, and a second hygienist holder-helper to hold her. She dry heaves because of the taste of the toothpaste, a paste I picked b/c it was called "pumice" and supposedly had no taste. You think this story's over? Now I'm over-the-top mad, frustrated, and sweaty, (too mad to care how the kids were feeling; aren't I sweet?)and we haven't even started the dental exam. Dr. Baker comes by to look at their teeth. Robert - same song, second verse. Miller - same song, second verse, except that even Robert is screaming this time during her exam because she's so seemingly traumatized. Whew. It's over. Wrong. Dr. Baker grimaces, sighs, and says, "She has 4 cavities that I can see, and I'm worried that more is going on in between her teeth.

EXCUSE ME??? DO 4-YEAR OLD'S GET CAVITIES???

I am shocked, horrified. I feel like a woman with no means or education, a woman who gives her children fun-dip and ring pops and lets them drink coke. And here's the stinker. I've been so careful what I feed them. (I promise!) I'm telling the dentist all these things, eyes welling up with tears (get a hold of yourself, mom!!), feeling brokenhearted that I've failed my baby girl, feeling my pride as a mom who takes care of her children smashed, still trying to listen as he mentions a SILVER CROWN that may have to go on her back molar - Miller P-Diddy Murray - and processing my options of trying to fill cavities in the mouth of a child who is so impossibly "anxious" (as Dr. Baker describes her) at the dentist. My best option seems to be putting her to sleep. I cried the rest of the day. That's the end of the story. Updates to come...

Millie stayed with Janny last weekend, all by herself, and Robert missed the heck out of her. This pic was reunion night.

Theology

One day recently after a hard rain, we had three really neat worms on our front walk.
L: "Did you know God made those interesting worms?"
R: "That worm BITE God!!"
(He's fully convinced that worms and frogs bite.)

Pretending to read out of a biography:
R: "Dis Bible"....lots of nonsense...."God HIT you."

I don't understand where this propensity to violence comes from, for either of my kids. (Remember Libba's bottom blowing up?) Does Mickey Mouse Clubhouse have some kind of covert message that's undetectable to adults?

Robert's role play suggestion to Janny last week: "I be Noah. You be God."

It's another cold, rainy day. Yesterday was warm and sunny, and the kids got to play outside for hours. This was altogether wonderful, except for the part where Robert pooped on the deck. Needless to say, still potty training. Still no potty pooping. Thankfully, I maintain my cool during any and all potty mishaps. =)

BFF

Miller cried after school today, and after a while of not being able to get to the bottom of it, she finally told me that a little girl in her class had said that Miller wasn't her friend. My eyes are welling up again just thinking about it. When she was looking up at me with tears pouring out of those sweet blue eyes, I thought about how this was only the first of many times that her little feelings will be hurt. And worse, there are sure to be as many times that another child will cry because of hurtful things Miller will say and do.

There are a million great things about having Miller and Robert so close together in age (and a million hard things), but I love that she always has little Bud to be her friend. I also love that in her relationship with him, she's able to see her own propensity to be unkind, and see what it means to be forgiven, and to forgive.

Because Andrew's out of town, my friend Rushton invited us for dinner. It was exciting as always. Robert found and threw (and smashed) a light bulb on her two-year-old's bedroom floor; Miller got to borrow and bring home yet another baby doll; Robert was offered a tractor to borrow, but pitched such a fit about not wanting the tractor, but a crane instead, that his mommy ended up saying he could borrow nada. Rushton, my most laid-back friend, let them play with play-doh on her carpet, and even made them each a slice-n-bake cookie with snowflake sprinkles on the side. M & R chewed gum on the way home, and that's as close to a perfect ending of a day as you can get with these two. I'd love to say they fell right asleep....

In the second picture, they were singing Jingle Bells. We can never quite shake the Christmas songs here until about September. Robert doesn't know the words, but sings it like this: "Jingle Bells, Da da da, da da da da da."

Makeup

To make sure Robert would take a good nap at Janny's house today, I put him in the baby bed to sleep. Janny keeps her makeup in the same room. I can't believe he knew where Bobbi Brown gel eyeliner should be applied...

Freezing

It's freezing here today, and I mean FREEZING. So cold that I'm rushing the kids when we get in the car, and rushing them inside when we get back home. Being inside all the time isn't so good for any of us, especially Robert, whose cabin fever turns into lots of hitting, yelling, and throwing his body across the room. (All behaviors which are pretty run-of-the-mill for him, but worse when he can't expend any energy running across the yard.) It's been one of those days that make me wonder - Is this what my kids will remember about me? Miller and Robert fought all morning, and I responded like a crazy mommy, yelling back at them, scolding, and being sarcastic, instead of patiently helping them figure out how to hibernate together. I hate days like this, and always want to slip down the slope into: Woe is me! I don't deserve these children! But then I have to remind myself: I don't deserve these children. They're a gift, a well-thought-out, fearfully, wonderfully made gift, created specifically for me to mother, though I'm a crazy mommy who can't make it one minute without the Gift-giver. And one of the greatest things about them is how they show me that I can't make it one minute without Him. At the brink of insanity on this cold day, my sweet pea, Miller, comes up and says, "I love you, Mama, more than you can imagine." And I was warmed all the way from head to toes. I told her I was sorry for being such a bear, and she said, "I forgive you. You should always be kind to me." What could be more painful than the gap between the mom you want to be and the mom you are? And I told her for the gagillionth time that I'll never be kind all the time, but that there's One who is always kind, and always tender.

They had some peaceful playtime together tonight, and acted out a pretend scenario in the laundry room/pantry in which - Robert was a fire-fighter; they hoarded books and balls; Robert kept trying to sneak out with my canned goods; and Miller informed me that I was the grandmother, and that I needed to carry a cane. I now hear Robert doing his new big-boy bed nightly routine. He gets right out, turns off his noise maker, turns on his lamp, and plays like it's the middle of the morning...

Some funny quotes from the last week:

Miller came in to get her goodnight kiss from Robert. His kisses are the sweetest, messiest, roughest kisses, and she said, "Thank you, slobber boy."

Today while I was making lunch in the kitchen, Miller told me the following:
"Libba makes a hot dog and cheese sandwich."
Really?
"Yes. It tastes like ham."
Hmmm.
"Guess what the main ingredient is?"
What?
"Cilantro."

Sunday night in the car (M): "Hey! I just said 'finger' and 'sticker'. That rhymes!"

Robert is really into chapstick and has been asking me quite often: "Where my chopstick?"

He had a double ear infection last week, along with a few days of fever, and said over and over during his illness: "I so sick." I thought it was the cutest, most pitiful little statement, and he liked my reaction, I guess. So in the days following, when he was much better, he kept using the line. Every time he acted up, he would simply say, "I so sick." And one night, when he was in trouble for getting out of his bed, he even pulled out, "I go hospital."