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!!!