Egg Sandwiches

As Miller's carefully constructed egg sandwich was falling apart this morning, and I was reminding her that egg sandwiches always seem to fall apart, she was inspired to think of what things will be like at the end of history when all things on earth are redeemed and made new:

M: I bet egg sandwiches won't fall apart in heaven.
And I bet Robert won't ever have to go on yellow.
And there will be no sicknesses. And no throw-up-ing.

Robert also gave me a little more insight into his poopy pull-up from last night.
WARNING: STOP READING IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH, OR IF YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW THE FULL TRUTH ABOUT THE INCLINATIONS OF LITTLE BOYS!!!

R: Last night, I didn't know poo poo was going to come out. It came out in pieces. And I tried to push it back up, but I cou-int.

Nice....

Share! Dadgummit!

I often get frustrated with my kids because they're not good at sharing. Has Robert found a great toy to play with? Hey! Miller wanted it too! At the exact same moment! Has Miller found a stick in the yard, or a piece of a broken plastic shovel, or an acorn? Darn it! Robert wanted that stick! He wanted that piece of plastic! Miller, will you give Robert a turn with that stick? NO!!!! Even when one remembers to ask nicely (M: "R, please can I see that stick?"), the other almost always responds with an adamant "NO!" I couldn't possibly count the number of times these scenarios occur each HOUR at my house. And I don't understand them. I'm perplexed. I'm thinking, and sometimes, (regrettably) saying - Who cares about that silly stick? Why do you even want that stick? I act like I can't even imagine that kind of greed and selfishness. Who am I kidding?

Last week I ate a pack of peanut butter crackers in the shower. IN THE SHOWER. Why? I didn't want to share them with my kids. I love to eat packages of Toasty peanut butter crackers. I could eat a pack for each of my three meals. I love to eat all six crackers, and if they came in packages of 10, I could eat all 10. My kids love them, too, and every time I open a pack, they come running up, "Can I have a cracker? Can I have another one?" Sometime I only get to eat one or two. If one could see into my heart at these moments, and see how hard it is for me to share my crackers.... The other day, I lost my cool. It's hard to tell these stories, (though, don't think for a minute that I put my worst stories on this blog!) but this is what went down. Robert came running up and asked for a cracker, and I said something like: NO!! Why are you always trying to get my crackers??!! I'm hungry!! I never get enough of my crackers!! Get away!! Robert replied, "God wants us to share." "CRAP! Who taught you that??" Just kidding. That wasn't my actual response. I did end up sharing, but I snuck a pack into the shower a little while later.

It was a humbling moment, and I was thinking - Sharing IS hard, when you value the thing you're being asked to share. And though I don't value an acorn, Robert and Miller truly might. So from now on, I know I'll be perfectly patient all the time when they don't share. =) I once heard someone say that insight doesn't lead to change. How true! How true in my life.

Here's a picture of what I ate in the shower today. No one was here to take my Frosted Flakes, but I needed to take a shower and I needed to eat, and I only had twenty minutes. This pic illustrates the total lack of discretionary time in my life these days. Notice the dirty tub. Notice the bath toys that have not been picked up. I'm operating at maximum capacity, and it's not pretty, and it's hard. It's hard to let go of my house being clean, or at least picked up, of wearing mascara, of having clothes folded and beds made, of talking to friends, of going to the bathroom alone...Just kidding! I've not gone to the bathroom alone in years. (I was also going to write - "of having wonderful, hot meals on the table" as a joke, but most who read this know I never cooked much in the first place =)) Life was already busy, but having a third has meant that some things are literally out the window. But please see above pics for the great rewards of my life who are infinitely better than a clean, calm house.

Speaking of not having a clean house, after being potty trained for many, many months, Robert has decided TO HECK with pooping on the potty. That little rascal is feeling free to do his business anywhere he pleases, and it bothers him not at all that mommy is losing her mind over it. Tonight while cleaning him up in the bathroom, his only response was to tell me:

"MOMMY. Don't say 'Dadgummit'. Say, 'This is ri-DIC-ulous.'"

Another area where I'm falling behind these days is teaching my kids ANYTHING. Miller is picking up my slack. The other day she pretended to read Robert the story of the good samaritan from a little picture book she made at school. When she finished, she tested him on the main points of the story.

M: Robert, do we hit?
R: No.
M: Do we push?
R: No.
M: Robert...do we..STOLE??
R: No.

I had parent-teacher conferences this week at school, and Robert's teachers asked me if he was willing to recite his memory verses for me at home. I don't know what I said, but I was thinking that I was only vaguely aware that he was learning memory verses, that I didn't know what they were, and that I had failed to ask him about them for months. (Being a straight-A type of girl myself, I didn't admit this to his teachers for fear of a bad grade in mommy-ing.) This afternoon when I DID ask him about it, he proudly said his verse: "CALL TO ME AND I WILL ANSWER YOU!!! Jeremiah Firty Free....Free!!!" (Jeremiah 33:3). He will, sweet Robert.

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.