And After A Long Time...All Of Us

Can you hear the Monty Python's Flying Circus theme song? The end is coming and instead of the awaited foot it's......me. I bet you (whoever you are) thought I was never going to post again. In truth, I post so infrequently that each time I attempt it, I have to try at my username and password three or four times before I get it right. So, to reward you, I will post all these lovely pictures!

Pictures, ha! The only reason I even have these pictures is because my brother Miles took them when he was with us for Thanksgiving and then e-mailed them to me. For that matter, the only reason I even had Thanksgiving was because Miles came over from Knoxville to fix it for us. Oh, the ambition was there, but, in retrospect, I think if it had been left up to me, we would have had the green bean salad that I fixed and nothing more. Perry and Daisy take a lot of comfort from blankets. Or, for that matter, anything blanketesque--like a paper napkin or a shred of (clean) toilet paper they have managed to snag while I had my head turned. But what's even more like a blanket is my skirt or apron (yes, I wear an apron while I cook--I make too much of a mess when I cook not to don one). Anyhow, the babies like to grab ahold of either of these two things and suck, Perry on his thumb and Daisy on her fingers. They stand in the kitchen doorway and wait for me to light in front of the sink or the stove--then they pounce upon me like a mosquito would, so that I don't even know they've attached themselves to me. Until I take flight again and nearly trip over their soft little bodies and hopefully manage to keep hot particles of food off of them. And so, green bean salad was all that I fixed and left, by virtue of a lack of time, the rest to Miles: turkey, dressing, mashed potatoes, sweet potato casserole, creamed pearl onions, butternut squash gratin, pumpkin pie and pecan pie. David was actually able to take Wednesday and Thursday off and keep Perry and Daisy happy while I attempted to cook. But then there was Calvin, who seemed to need to nurse every time I turned around to start something new. And yet, by the end of the day I felt I had missed the entire day with them. What good was Thanksgiving if the main things I'm thankful for, my family, were distant from me all day? Any older moms out there who wish to offer any advice, I'd love to hear it. Maybe I can employ it next year, or if I'm really crazy, for Christmas if I attempt to cook Christmas Dinner.

New Things

One of the things I love about a growing family is the addition of things along with the people. I don’t mean twenty-five thousand versions of the newest toy or baby gadget, but the simpler things.

Today I did the laundry for the first time in about a month or so. Since we had been living with my in-laws when Calvin was born I hadn’t done much laundry (or at least not the whole family’s laundry) since his triumphant entry into the world. I was so overjoyed to be able to add another little person’s stack to the crowd. And then this evening we celebrated a first for Daisy. She brushed her teeth.

Yes, she is a little old for this to be her first experience with dental hygiene, but I have a reasonably good excuse. She didn’t cut her first tooth until she was 14 or 15 months old. And what about the last four months? Well, we’ve been pretty busy. We were making the three-hour trip down to Ft. Lauderdale from Frostproof once a month for a while. Each trip was a visit with the mid-wife and a stay overnight with my in-laws. Well, then we had to start going every two weeks. And then we had to just move in with down there until Calvin was born. So you see, it was just a little hectic. I use the same excuse for not having Perry potty-trained yet.

Anyhow, Daisy did wonderfully—at brushing her teeth, I mean. I let her pick out her toothbrush from a package of four brightly colored brushes David bought the other day. Daisy chose pink—she’s such a little girl! She walked all the way from the kitchen to the bathroom saying “awh” and resting the toothbrush on her protruding little tongue. Then she sat on the toilet seat and let me brush her teeth and watched Perry as I helped him. She was having so much fun she didn’t want to stop.

The warm reminder of this event hit me this evening when I went to put something away in the bathroom and I saw Daisy’s little toothbrush resting next to Perry’s. I look forward to the day when I have the entire kitchen table filled with stacks of everyone’s clothes and the day that we have to bring a second or, Lord willing, even a third cup into the bathroom to hold all the children’s toothbrushes.

The Odd People Living in my House

Did you know that I I live with Wess Stafford? Or that my son's name is Howard Dayton? Yes, that's the same Wess Stafford who is the president of Compassion International. And the Howard Dayton of Crown Financial.

Ok, so these two men don't really live in my house. But when Perry hears them on the radio in the mornings, he comes up to me and repeats their greetings. "Hi, mommy, I'm Wess Stafford! I'm Wess Stafford" or "This is Howard Dayton!" He'll usually look at me and pat my leg while he repeats this a few times, until he's sure I understand.

Daisy, I've decided, is a strong willed child. David has been saying so for a while now but it's only this week that I've decided I think I agree with him. The funny thing is that when I mentioned it to my mom and my mother-in-law, they both responded as though this was common knowledge and had been for quite some time now. Where have I been? I live with this little girl and yet I couldn't see it until now! Maybe it's just that I didn't want to see it...

I don't want to label her as thought she now has some syndrome I have to fix or fight against. It's just so amazing how determined she is. But I know her determination could make her very useful to God as she gets older. The trick is...the trick is what, exactly? I want to say I'll figure it out as I go along, but I'm afraid I won't--that I'll never quite figure out how best to parent her and will have ruined her unique opportunity in the world. But Perry is unique too, and so this fear extends to him as well. It's just that I feel more capable of parenting him. Though maybe not this week...

He is beginning to test me, and I'm afraid he's winning. Praise God I'm married to David and that he is able to counterbalance me and show me how I need to handle Perry. Perry has been doing disobedient things over and over again even though I've told him to stop. David heard me telling Perry, for the millionth time yesterday, not to throw something and came out of the bedroom to see if he could help. I told David the entire incident and he asked, "Well, did you spank him?" I hadn't. It's not that I'm anti-spanking, just that I forget! But you can see the difference. When David tells Perry to do something, he does it. I'm praying that I'll catch on before Perry wins entirely and I've lost the war for his disposition altogether.

This and That

That's David and Daisy. See how much she's grown? She's standing up while holding onto things now. I think it won't be long until she's walking. She's more fun every day. There are more and more things you can do with her. She likes to roll a ball. She'll wave bye-bye. She has started giving kisses. She likes looking at books. And she likes throwing her little body around on the bed and giggling.

David keeps nagging at me to write something on this blog. He said if I went in now and did it, he'd clean up the kitchen. Can't argue with a deal like that!

Perry is saying so many words. If I tell him to ask for something nicely, he'll say "May I have xyz please" just like a good little boy. And today he asked for something without first whining for it in two-year-old speak first. I think we've got a break-through! However, we are still struggling with the potty training. To tell you the truth, I'm just too lazy to pursue it like I should. I started out one day sitting him on the potty every 15 minutes. My mother-in-law, before she knew how I was going about it, said that Perry seemed ready for potty training and that she only thought it would take him three weeks or so. Well, after that first day, I was so exhausted! The idea of sitting him on the potty every 15 minutes for three weeks was just too much for me. Now I think I was probably going about it the wrong way. My friend Kaycie suggested sitting him on the potty every time I changed his diaper. I told David that this was the new rule in the house (and then he told me that his new rule was that I would change all Perry's diapers). In actuality, though, I've only done this probably twice in the span of three days. I know I've got to do better or else I'm going to end up with three in diapers.

And yes, I said three. For those of you that don't know by now, we're expecting our third baby in July. We're so excited! Gosh I love babies. My uncle Oliver, who just had his first baby the other day, asked me how I could keep having them-knowing the roller-coaster of pregnancy and birth that he just went through. I told him, and this is what I firmly believe, that children are such great blessings that the troubles of pregnancy and childbirth (and all the other hiccups down the path of parenting) are so tiny compared to a lifetime with these little gifts from God. Does that sound silly? I think I used to think so, before I had children. Whenever someone mentioned children as a gift from God I think I used to picture little packages--like the ones you get on Christmas or your birthday. But now I understand. Children are a gift like going to the beach is a gift. Like a great meal is a gift. Like spending time with family is a gift. It's the feeling that you get to be a part of Life. And, in the case of children, God has chosen you for this task. I often hear people say discouraging things about raising children. They talk about going crazy with the little ones they have and don't understand why David and I have chosen to have more (and "so close together" too!). But, just like God has made children a blessing, He has also made me capable of mothering them. Why is it in our society that we see women as capable of pursuing any and every career outside the home while we have made mothering something she is incapable of? Do you think I'm wrong? I don't consider giving birth and shipping your baby off to daycare where you pay someone else to "mother" them just another form of mothering. You think I sit at home every day and eat bon-bons and watch soap operas? Think again. I work every day. The only difference is that I don't get paid for it and I don't get any recognition from my boss or co-workers. But I'm not complaining. On the contrary, I find my work very fulfilling. I just want you to know...

I don't think I'll send an e-mail update on this blog. I don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Those that want to read it may, but I won't advertise it. I'm entitled to my opinion, but I don't want to shove it in anyone's face. As I was saying to my mother the other day, I haven't found that happy medium between being supportive and being pushy with my views. Consequently I tend to keep my mouth shut. But I guess this time I just needed to vent. Thanks for allowing me this venue.

This Week in Babyland

Perry found the playing cards with Santa Claus drinking a coke by the Christmas Tree with the children. He looked at it closely, and then said, “Drinking beer. Drinking beer.” That, I’m sure, will give you insight into what we do and do not drink in our house.

Ok, this next one was a couple of weeks ago, but I’ll tell it anyway because I haven’t yet and it’s so funny… Perry was supposed to be eating a chicken drumstick. We told him to eat his chicken. He picked it up, looked at it and said “Chicken. Brock, brock. Cute chicken. Awww. Cute. Eye, eye (and for this he pointed to the hip joint).” Then he took a huge bite out of it. David and I just looked at each other with humored and horrified faces. Hey, if he eats it, right?

Today we found a rubber band in Daisy’s diaper. And yes, we’re sure it didn’t just fall in there. She had eaten it.

Giving Our Children More Than We Had

Whether we admit it to ourselves or not, at least some part of our parenting philosophy stems from a desire to give our children what we did not receive when we were young. In my case, I’m not lamenting material things. I couldn't care less about not having a zillion Barbie dolls or about always getting wise to the “current” clothing fad just when everyone else was moving onto the next one. Despite our loving families’ attempts to lavish our children with toys and clothes, David and I are really simplistic people. We feel like the more stuff we own, the more our stuff owns us (and believe me, we’ve moved enough times to feel this acutely). No, what I really feel I want to give my children are opportunities. And by opportunities I don’t mean activities like gymnastics class, violin lessons and underwater basket-weaving classes (though that may come in handy some day!). I guess what I really want them to have are chances to discover who they are–-who God has created them to be—so that they can confidently go out there and be that specific Perry and that specific Daisy.

Example from my own life:

When I was in elementary school, the teacher got the whole class together and asked each student in turn what subject they really liked the most. She wrote it on the blackboard and then, next to it, wrote a list of careers that child might want to pursue. Students that liked science were told that they would make excellent doctors and those that liked math, engineers…that sort of thing. When the teacher came to me, I told her that I loved handwriting. She was dumbfounded. With a big smile I anticipated her response. “What can I do with handwriting?” I asked her. “Well, you…you can’t do anything with handwriting.” She said. I was crushed.

At another point in my childhood I was in girl scouts and the leader was asking all of us what we wanted to be when we grew up. I told her that I wanted to join the circus. “But what do you want to do?” I didn’t know what to answer so I just “changed my mind” and told her what the other girls did “I mean, I want to be a ballerina.” That seemed to satisfy her, though on a practicality scale, I think they both probably fall equally as low.

I’m not complaining about my life. These past 2 years, 3 in January, that I have been a wife, and shortly after that a mother, have been the happiest of my life. I wouldn’t trade them for P.T. Barnum himself. But for my kids, I want them to reach for the stars, even if I know they will fall short. Right now Perry likes to listen to stories, and sometimes he likes to “read” or “sing” them to himself. I pray that I will always be able to come up with encouraging and creative ways for him to express his gifts and abilities. And Daisy, well, if she wants to fallow me around the house and whine until I pick her up, but be happy and contented as long as she is loved and snuggled; I am happy to accommodate her for as long as this is her life’s desire.

Mommy Time

Did anyone warn you when you signed up to be a mommy that you’d be giving up some personal time? I guess I shouldn’t say “some” personal time. I’m not complaining about the middle of the night when you thought you’d actually get some sleep. I remember when Perry was first born. I had read that babies got up in the middle of the night to nurse—but for some reason I didn’t connect that with me having to actually get up out of bed while my husband lay fast asleep and oblivious to my middle of the night exertions. I trekked all the way upstairs, trying to stay awake while little Perry nursed himself back to sleep. I learned better with Daisy and she stayed in our room. I was really only concerned that we’d wake David up and since he slept so blissfully through Perry’s night feedings, I thought he probably could through Daisy’s as well. He did. But really, both my children only wanted to wake up and nurse during the night until they were 8 weeks old. So this is really overlookable.

I’m not really complaining about my lack of personal time while I’m trying to cook, either. I mean, I used to enjoy cooking. To savor the experience. To try out new recipes from posh chefs. To taste-test every-so-often and add a little pinch of the this and a little pinch of that until I had prepared a meal delightful to all the senses (for more info on my former cooking neuroses visit my brother’s blog, http://dinnerandamoviewiththenomadchef.blogspot.com/. He’s only slightly worse than myself). Cooking now is like running a marathon—I try to see if I can prepare a somewhat edible meal in less time than my previous attempt . Every member of the house is hungry, including myself—which make me really grumpy. Perry clings to my leg and whines “See, see” which means that he wants me to pick him up so that he can see what I’m doing. But mind you, I’m stir-frying veggies over a hot skillet. The last thing I want to do is to pick him up and dangle him over the steam. Daisy wiggles/crawls herself into the kitchen and does her little whiney cry. Every time I walk past her to get a knife out of the drawer or something from the fridge, she turns to face me, tries to wiggle/crawl over to my new location, and cries louder. Wow, reading over this, it seems like this is a big thing to complain about. But they don’t do this every evening. Some days are just better than others.

Right now my biggest pet peeve revolves around not, as far as they babies are concerned, being allowed to have private bathroom privileges. Almost every time I go into the bathroom and, um, sit down, Perry comes in after me with a big smile and starts to play with all the magazines in the magazine rack on the floor. He pulls them out, points to the people and wants me to read to him. Daisy eventually wanders in, in her own chubby, wiggly way, and whines at me to pick her up. Let me remind you her that I’m sitting on the toilet! Not only would it be nice to have a little bit of privacy for privacy’s sake, but how about just a moment to think and regroup.

David says I bring it on myself. After all, I’m the one that leaves the door to the bathroom ajar. And you know, sitting here writing it all out I can see that he does indeed have a point. But, see, Perry’s got the sonar that when any door of the house is shut, he can sense it. He immediately runs over and tries to open it, and when that doesn’t work, he cries and bangs on it until someone opens it for him. So even if I were to shut the door, I wouldn’t really be having any private moments anyway.

“How on earth are you able to write this blog, then” you ask, “if you don’t even have any free time to yourself in which to think clearly let alone formulate grammatically correct sentences?” Well, the babies are napping now. And you know what? I miss them.

It is Monday morning. 8:40am. I go in with the babies to wake David up. I plop them down onto the bed to snuggle him awake and I sit in front of the computer to check my e-mail.

"Have you posted on your blog lately?" David asks.

"No."

"You should."

"When?" (with sarcasm) "There's no time when I'm free that you're not on the computer.

"Right now."

"Right now?! With Daisy crying because she'd rather get down on the floor and play and Perry roaming around the room looking for things to break? Yeah, this is a perfect time."

"Just two lines. You can write just two lines. You're getting to be as bad as your Uncle Oliver."

Oliver hasn't updated his blog in who knows how long. I take the opportunity. Daisy stopped crying. Perry really hasn't broken anything...yet.

Anecdotes

I had given Perry some meatballs earlier today and when he finished them I took him out of his seat and left his bowl on the table. Then I went out to do the laundry. When I came back in, he had put the bowl with the left-over meatballs on the floor. He was squatting beside it and in front of Daisy (now 6 months)--trying to give her a bite off of his little plastic fork and saying "meatball" over and over again. Daisy just licked her lips. In his mind I guess this wasn't very new. For quite some time now he's been trying to stick a pacifier in her mouth. And he frequently tries to stick his own fingers in there. So why not food? Never before has she so enjoyed what he's given her. It was so cute! I stopped him and told him that it was very sweet of him, but that she was too little for his meatballs. Then I told Daisy that her brother must love her so much to share his yummy food with her. She smiled and laughed--I think she can tell he loves her.

I often tell Perry to go talk or sing to Daisy when she gets upset. And he usually succeeds in cheering her up. While washing dishes today I heard Perry laughing and I peeked my head around the corner into the living room. I could see him lying on his side next to Daisy on the blanket that lay on the floor, smiling and talking to her. The other day I was sitting on the sofa burping her and Perry was sitting next to me. Like her age dictates, she was sticking her tongue out. Perry thought this was hilarious. So he started sticking his tongue out at her, with intermittent laughs.

I guess this is all to answer the question I hear so often: "How is Perry doing with his younger sister?"

Now when he's been separated from her, he looks forward to seeing her again. Like when he wakes up from his nap or when she wakes up from her's, or when he's been visiting my in-laws down the street. He longingly calls out her name now just as often as he calls for "Mommy" or "Daddy." It's heart-warming to see him start to show love for her, and to see her genuinely return his love the only way she can--with a smile and a giggle.

A BLOG!?!

I'm sure that's what David will say when I tell him that I've started my own blog. He's got his own, and has had it for a year or so (http://www.davesisland.blogspot.com/). His questioning won't be out of hypocrisy, just puzzled humor.

When he first started his blog I laughed. "That's so stupid!" I said. "The average net surfer isn't going to want to read about you. Some day in the not so distant future, when we've done away with all other forms of media, some scientist who's been working on a cure for cancer for years and years and years will finally find it and want to post his discovery on the internet but he won't be able to. It will be full. Full of people's silly personal blogs. There just won't be any more room." So who's the hypocrite now?

Perhaps my reasons for starting this blog will be justification enough?

My hope is that I'll be able to keep this up-to-date with information about my family, and particularly about my children Perry and Daisy, so that my family will be able to see/read how we are doing. Since I married a Nomad, you never know when we'll be moving next and which members of our local family will find themselves suddenly separated from our babies and will be very interested in this blog.