"Shine..."

{song clip}

Last night, I took Maren for a spin on her new scooter and I watched the day's last sun rays shine. 

This morning, Jake took Maren for a ride on her new scooter and he watched her get her first shiner.

Never a dull moment around here...

{PS: Many of you have let me know that you can't comment on my blog anymore due to a recent change with blogger. I'm so sorry! I'm trying to figure out how to fix it, but until then, feel free to comment on the blog's facebook page. You can find it by clicking here.}

"Mother Nature's Son..."

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Me: "Rhys seems to be grumpy no matter what we do today. Well, except when we are outside. He's always happy outside."

Maren: "Yeah."

Me: "Why do you think that is?"

Maren: "I think it's because it amazes him."

Me: "What does?"

Maren: "The outside."

Me: "What do you think amazes him about being outside?"

Maren: "He likes looking up and seeing things. Like the green leaves and the tree bark. And the blue sky with the big white clouds. He sees birds and butterflies. He sees all that stuff and it amazes him."

Me: "You know...I think you are exactly right. All those things are amazing."

"No ordinary love..."

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Three months ago today, my second child was born. Since I had been a parent for four years before his arrival, I expected to be a seasoned, confident mother with my son. And, in some ways, that has happened. I have skipped over many of the new parent blunders and anxieties. But, in other ways, I still feel very much like a new parent. With days full of adjustments, chaos and learning all about this little person I spend my days taking care of.

"Hey, who are you calling little?"

My first child was intense. Maren cried a lot. Slept very little. She hated the car, the stroller, wasn't interested in interacting with anyone but Jake or me and wanted to be held all.the.time. She was beautiful, clever and utterly exhausting.

"You better be bringing your A-game, Pops, because I am ready to rumble."

To parent her, I had to throw out everything I had ever learned or heard or even hoped about mothering a small child. I had to study Maren. Learn her. And chart a new course that would get us through her infancy. So, when I set out on this parenting journey for the second time, I expected to use the hard won strategies from Maren's baby days with Rhys. The trouble is...he isn't like her at all!

"She thought it was going to be that easy? Sucker!"
Rhys is mellow. He smiles and sleeps easily. He loves going for walks in the stroller. He likes to be held but is equally happy (sometimes more) to sit in a bouncy seat and observe. He enjoys his parents but doesn't mind being held by others. The only thing about his babyhood that resembles his sister's is his hatred of riding in the car, his off the charts growth and his love of sleeping by my side. Other than that, I've had to start all over. Studying him. Learning him. Finding our way.

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic. I'm easy like Sunday morning."

While pregnant, I remember worrying that there wouldn't be enough room in my heart to love a second child. It's a normal enough fear for many mothers transitioning from one to two children but it is such an alien thought to me now! As soon as I laid eyes on Rhys, my mind and heart were as full of love, worry, hope and fear for him as for his sister. I can no more imagine our life without his smile or his kissable cheeks than Maren's curious eyes or indefatigable energy. My worry about loving them both was completely unfounded. My worry about mothering both of my children at the same time, however, was right on target. For me, this hasn't been easy.

On the good days, I feel like I am clawing my way up the sheer, unforgiving face of motherhood - fingers bleeding, teeth clenched but still hanging on, determined and strong. On the bad days, I feel myself in an endless free fall - hair stuck to my tear streaked face and weighed down by guilt, resistance to change and the fear that my children will only remember the frenetic person I am right now rather than the one that takes the time to adore and enjoy them. Some days this makes me, a person not prone to crying, finish (or begin) the day in tears. Some days, even when I don't cry, I'm thisclose and am only saved by a handful of graham crackers, a well-timed hug or an early bedtime. Some days, I get so mixed up from wanting time to speed up or slow down or reverse entirely that my head swims. Some days, I am pretty sure my heart will shatter into a thousand pieces. And, some days, it does.

This emotional roller coaster feels so wrong. It makes me feel like I am failing. Like I'm just not "getting it". But, I'm starting to think that these feelings are...just normal. I'm starting to think that no matter how you do it, motherhood - new or not - is just one of the hardest damn things you will ever do. Like childbirth, it is full of tearful moments. Little losses of dignity. And the overwhelming fear during transition that you are just not.going.to.make.it. But, you survive these fits and starts. This stretching of your self. You bravely cast off your old lifestyle to welcome with trembling hands your new, terrifyingly glorious life. And, in the quiet of your mind, you marvel at the fragility and the durability of it all.

As a new mother of two, I've had to accept that the dinners I make are boring, that there is a pile of laundry constantly waiting to be folded, that some days (weeks?) we don't leave our neighborhood and that taking a 3 minute prison shower while singing to entertain my children is better than not washing at all. I've had to accept that my daughter is going call out for help on the potty the very moment my son falls asleep in my arms. Or that my son is going to cry to nurse or wake up from a nap the instant I sit down to read a book to my daughter. Or that both kids are going to meltdown when Jake and I try to have a conversation beyond the quick exchange about diapers or groceries or who fed the fish. Loving three people is easy. But, meeting all of their needs, at the same time, is not.

"Oh, Dad. You can talk to Mom when you are old. Just snuggle with me."

But, I have created two people. Grown them inside of me. Fed them from my body. Watched their little lives, so healthy and strong, unfold each day. And, that is no small thing. No wonder to be overlooked. No miracle to be overshadowed by a messy house or an ill-timed need.

I have made someone a sister. Someone a brother. Two people will share a childhood - and maybe a few expensive therapy bills - because of me. I have given two people a gift that no one else could: each other.

I am caring for young children. And, as much as I'd like to, I am not doing it right every day. No one in this house is getting as much of me as they want. Or as much as I want to give them. And I struggle with that. I wrestle with that. Sometimes, I get a roundhouse kick to the face by that. But, I know that I am starting to win more rounds with that than I lose. And I know that I am trying, with every beat of my heart, to be someone they can look up to, even when the chips are down. 
Especially, when the chips are down.

"Nobody better be givin' my mama any roundhouse kicks. I'll go all Chuck Norris on that fool!"

The extraordinary difficulty of the last three months will not last. Just as quickly as the tiny clothes my boy is outgrowing have been packed away, these tough moments will soon be distant, even funny, memories. And, with any luck, from them a lasting bond will emerge. I catch glimpses of it in Rhys' face, as it lights up when he sees Maren. Or when Maren bursts into tears because she is worried that brother is crying. Or when all four of us have a laugh together or quietly read stories together in bed. In split seconds, I am filled with the love that is here in this house. And, out of the corner of my eye, I have visions of the love that is yet to come. 

It is no ordinary love.

It is a love that makes me happy.

A love that makes me thankful.

Grateful for the gift these two have given me.

By breaking me down, they are building me into something better than I was before. 

Something bigger than I ever could have been without them.

These two have made me their mama.

"Standing still..."

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Friday was tough. Rhys spent much of the day grumbling in my arms as he tried (and failed) to nap. I spent much of the day tidying the house, folding diapers and getting dinner ready using one hand. And Maren spent much of the day playing quietly and mostly on her own. So, when Jake unexpectedly arrived home early from work, I passed him a recently fed baby and jumped into the car with my girl. Maren needed some bandaids.  I wanted to quick print this photo for an overdue thank you card. 

What's more adorable? The pink monogrammed doggie sleeping bag or Rhys' face at being stuffed inside it? It's a toss up.
And, more than bandaids and photos, we both just needed some time alone together. So, off we went to the drugstore.
As we drove down the road, she shouted for the red lights to turn green and squealed, "weeeee!" when we turned the corners or went over bumps. Without the baby in the car, I laughed and squealed along with her instead of shushing or asking her to keep her voice down. When we got out of the car, she slipped her small hand in mine and chatted with me about the sunny weather as we walked through the parking lot. Stepping inside, we were hit with a super cool blast of air conditioning and the best pop songs rained down on us from the store's overhead speakers. When this classic came on - a favorite of mine - I was so excited that I spun her around with one hand as I sang into the air microphone I was holding in the other.

Drugstores rock the big hair ballads and nothing else. And this is why they are so awesome.
Maren yelled, "Mom, stop it!", laughing so hard that her eyes squished shut and her head fell back, showing me all of her perfect little white baby teeth. When the song was over, we had a race down the aisles in search of character bandaids - a prized possession for any preschooler - and discovered that they were on sale, 2 for 1. Her eyes lit up like Christmas had come early as she picked out two boxes - one covered with princesses and one with fairies. Holding them tightly, she bounded toward the checkout line but got sidetracked when she spotted "fake hair" hanging alongside the hairbrushes and barrettes.  Seeing it caused her to break into such a great belly laugh that I began to laugh and a shopper in the aisle with us started laughing too. As she giggled, I told Maren that this is the only thing in the world that Daddy thinks is truly gross...so, of course, we decided that we had to stop to send him a photo of her touching it.

"Why does Daddy think this is gross? It is so soft and shiny and beautiful!"
We finally made our way to the counter to pay. She cheerfully said goodbye and thanked the clerk, who placed the bag full of bandaids into her eager little hands. Slinging it over her shoulder, she took my hand in hers and we walked back to the car. On the way home, we listened to a favorite song and bounced in our seats, waving our arms wildly as we sang along. When I pulled the car into our driveway, she jumped out and started to run inside to show Daddy her treasures. But I caught her and scooped her up, even though she is quite the big girl these days and doesn't need to be carried anymore. Walking up the sidewalk with her in my arms, I noticed how long her hair has grown. How heavy she is now. And how her legs, which once curled up so neatly into my belly as I held her, now dangle nearly to my knees. 
But for these last seconds of our 20 minute errand, our world was still standing still. 
She wasn't growing up. 
I wasn't too busy to notice. 
It was just her, being my adorable four year old. 
Me, being her adoring mommy. 
Us, being best friends.

I breathed her in.

Then gently set her down on the doorstep and turned the key in the lock.

She dashed through the door I held open.

And I watched her disappear in a blur of blond hair, blue eyes and bandaids.

My arms empty, but my heart full.

"Perhaps..."

{song clip}

maybe your eyes see the photographs, but you can't find the time to pick up your camera.

maybe you've been writing a blog post for 2 weeks.

maybe you've recently had to double check:

- your mom's phone number

- your OWN phone number

-what month it is

-whether or not you were wearing shorts...after walking to the end of the block

-whether or not you were still living in Oxford, upon hearing church bells chime

maybe a peacock wanders into your neighborhood, settles in a pine tree next to your bedroom window and now screams its strangled, hideous "HELLO" at 5am every godforsaken morning.

"Wait, what? You don't want to say hi at 5am? My bad."

maybe your daughter develops highly contagious fever blisters and you find yourself saying "wash your hands" or "don't touch that" so much that you are certain one or both of you are going to come out of the experience as Howard Hughes.

"Room for one more Howie? I've got my Lysol and white gloves all packed."

maybe three days after her fever blisters resolve, your daughter catches a cold and you add "blow your nose" or "don't wipe your nose on that" to your earlier hand washing reminders.

maybe as you try (and fail) to keep the sick kid and well kid apart, your husband uses the phrase "viral shedding" and you get so squirrely with anxiety that you are now pretty sure that at least you have become Howard Hughes.

"Oh, Mom. Who cares about those yucky illness causing biofilms all over us. Let us snuggle."

maybe your husband, away at TEDMED when the plague hits your kids, calls to share tales from his trip - his meetings with the high flyers in healthcare, the mind blowing talks he heard and the revolutionary projects he was asked to take part in - and the best you have to offer in return are stories of the blowout poop that filled an entire leg of the baby's sleep suit or the moment your daughter stuck a straw down her throat or how you thawed the giant container of chicken stock to freeze it into more manageable cubes with an ice tray.

"Richard, can I stay with you for a while? My place has become a nuthouse!"

maybe your daughter calls out for you in the middle of the night, in a pitiful voice thick with illness and tears, just as your son begins crying to nurse. maybe you leave your daughter, who sobs, "i just want you, mommy!" and go to your son, thankful that her grandmother is in bed with her but hating yourself just the same.

maybe there are days when your daughter pushes your buttons, shouts at you or ignores you altogether and you find yourself counting the days until she starts preschool like a prisoner scratching his term into a cell wall.

maybe, by 8 o'clock, if you are lucky enough that both kids are sleeping, all you want to do is eat a handful of graham cracker sticks and go to bed, even if that upsets your husband.

maybe you've started to wonder if you will ever make everyone happy at the same time.

maybe there's more. Like rushing the 8 week old to the ER (false alarm), your preschooler turning into the Exorcist at the egg hunt it took all day to arrange, the fresh set of stitches in your husband's face, the unexpected 5 thousand dollar medical bill from your son's birth, all three sets of parents coming to visit during the month when life seems to be coming completely unhinged...

"I came here to help out but....what the heck have I signed myself up for?"

maybe you are starting to wonder if the universe is just a big ole bully, hell bent on stuffing you headfirst into the karmic toilet.

"What's that? You woke up feeling hopeful? Time for another swirlie, chump."
image credit

But, perhaps that's not all.

perhaps you have discovered that your son loves when you sing Annie's Song and something about that makes you really, really happy.

"I surrender to John Denver."

perhaps you packed away the last of the maternity clothes and slipped on your favorite pair of jean shorts from Anthropologie.

perhaps you made your husband laugh so hard that he choked on his grapefruit juice, spraying it all over the kitchen. And that made you laugh. Which made your daughter laugh. And the baby in your arms smiled.

perhaps you and your daughter spent a precious half hour singing songs, coloring and chatting about everything and nothing. perhaps she told you she loved you and that this was they best day ever.

And it was.

perhaps you have made the effort during this crazy time to connect with friends - even if just by email or texts during late night nursing sessions - to share a laugh, hear their troubles or just say hi...and it has been so worth it.

perhaps your son, who has smiled every single day since he was born, has begun to laugh and shriek with happiness when you talk or sing to him and it never fails to make your heart soar.

"You people are crazy - how can I not laugh?"

perhaps your mom bought scented laundry detergent for you by mistake and, when you slipped into your freshly washed sheets that night, you remembered that you actually love scented laundry detergent.

perhaps you've had a few moments of being a mother, not just a caretaker, to both of your children at the same time.

"See Rhys, this is what I was talking about. Work, work, work. Not a moment's rest."

Perhaps your daughter brings you a banana when she gets herself one or picks you flowers or comes to snuggle in bed one morning and you realize that you two just might get through this.

You might be ok after all.

perhaps a friend gives you a cool iPhone app, so you can still enjoy taking photos. perhaps another records a favorite band's performance for you. perhaps another sends you text messages that crack you up on really crummy days. perhaps another drops off your favorite flowers.

perhaps your son loves being outside or going for walks and you remember that you do too.

"Let's get this nap wagon rolling lady!"

perhaps, you don't have as much time for crafts, activity books and outings but that doesn't mean your daughter has stopped learning from you.

perhaps you are actually teaching the most important lessons she will ever learn.

"I hear Mom say she has too much milk but I'm just not sure I have enough, Lambie."

perhaps you have decided not to kill the peacock.

perhaps you've decided to keep finding the gifts from the universe.

to smile and get on with it, in spite of and because of it all.

maybe this isn't just me.

perhaps this is you too.

and, if so, good luck out there.

"Closer to fine..."

{Song clip}
Just days after Rhys was born, my sister in law came to visit. Young, vibrant, beautiful and newly engaged, she no doubt arrived eager to see the joys of a family newly expanding. What we provided instead was a host of shenanigans so outrageous that she said at one point that she was - and I quote - "ready to go home and eat all of her birth control pills." 
True story.

"I love you big brother...but your family is totally insane."
Now, things have certainly improved from those chaotic early days. And Rhys is the easiest and sweetest baby I have ever laid eyes on - nothing like his big sister who was the most fussy, sleepless (but cutest) baby I have ever seen. But, an easy baby does not a happy family make. I envy couples that seem to effortlessly parent their children together. I envy kids that are besotted with their new sibling - as Maren is with Rhys - without totally turning against their parents - as she has with us...or mostly me. I envy people that say their new family unit harmonized easily and completely. Because, dear readers, no matter how easy a baby Rhys is - and he really is a peach - we older family members are, on good days, a bit out of tune and on bad days...well, we aren't even singing the same song.

"Look folks, I eat like a champ, I sleep through the night and I smile all day. I can't make this any easier, so get your act together!"
But, as a dear friend said to me recently, there are pockets of "just fine-ness" to be found, no matter how fleeting or how infrequent. Moments when things seem like they are getting closer to normal...or a new normal. And what can anyone do but hungrily capture those moments. Savor them. And greedily wait for more.

Maybe I shouldn't share these things. Honestly, I haven't posted in so long, maybe no one is reading anyway. But, whether anyone sees this or not, this is a true account. The real thing. And sometimes, real families aren't tied up with a neat little bow. Sometimes family life gets messy. Sometimes things fall apart. 
But, our kids are pretty darn cute.

And to quote one of my favorite movies, "we ain't Ozzy and Harriet", but we aren't all bad.

So, with any luck, maybe our family life won't serve as a birth control ad to young couples for too much longer.

"Always be my baby..."

{Song clip}
Last weekend...
My daddy taught the kids at Maren's birthday party to play ring toss while I tended to Rhys.
He greeted me with, "Hello beautiful" on the morning all my clothes felt either too big or too small.
He let my daughter "help" him install the rain gutters on our house.
And he tucked a blanket around my newborn son as he rocked him to sleep.

My mama arrived with decorations, games and supplies for Maren's birthday party because she knew I wasn't ready to shop with two kids.
She said, "Just let it all out, honey" when I called crying after my first full day alone with the kids.
She wrote me an email telling me all the things she loves about the way I mother my children.
She played with my daughter while I nursed my son.

Becoming a parent doesn't mean you stop needing your own parents.
Not one bit.

My mama's infectious laugh, the way she's always on my side when the chips are down, her generous and hardworking spirit.
The pride in my daddy's eyes when he looks at me, his strong hands cradling my kids or working on my house, his perpetually sunny outlook and rock solid heart.
I will always need those things. 
And so will my kids. 
Always.