November 2 -- Going So Fast

We did a bit of catching up on Parenthood, and sometimes it's the words of a television character that hand you the lenses with which you should be viewing life.

Today I'm thankful for Zeek Braverman. "It just goes by so fast."

Called To Give Thanks -- November 1

While I'm not sure who reads this neglected little blog anymore or exactly sure how much longer I will be posting, I do know I want to use it as a space during this season of the year and season in my life to keep me accountable in fostering a grateful spirit within. It's the change in perspective I've been craving. 

I'm just a few days late, but the "Notes" app has proven a trusty companion in recording my thoughts in a pinch. 

Saturday afternoon snuggles met park weather. I spent the day with the two littles while the biggest fellow went to the air show. We didn't have much adventure to the day. There were still tears to be cried, bottles to be washed, and bottoms to be cleaned, but inside, the whisper to change my attitude became louder. And I don't want to ignore it. 

I don't have to; I get to. And for that I am so grateful. 

Happy Halloween!

It's been quite the blog hiatus! Nothing like bringing it back with this gem! 

W on Wednesday

Scene : The boys' bedroom about 8:15. J was already asleep, and Momma laid with W for a bit. The following whispers ensued.

W : Maybe we can play Paw Patrol tomorrow. I will be Chase. John will be Rocky. You can be Sky. And Abram will be Rubble.

M :  Ok. Sounds good.

And then it gets deep. Turns out our family has one girl and Paw Patrol has one girl.

W : Why do you think our family just has one girl.

M : Because that's how God made us.

W: Why does Paw Patrol just have one girl?

M : Hmmmm. I'm not sure. Why do you think?

W: Because that's how God made them.

And they wouldn't have anyone to make their food. And fly.

Apologies, future daughter-in-law. I'm working on it. This guy makes a mean pizza, and I just taught him my guacamole recipe. We are getting there.

Our New Normal

Normal means up early feeding the littlest tyke and remaining up as one after another opens their sleepy little eyes to take on another day. 

Normal means that life gets a bit mechanical:  feed this mouth, diaper that bottom, feed another mouth, sit down to play a game, wait...diaper another bottom,  convince someone to return to game after interest lost, repeat until lunch and nap time. 

Normal means deep breaths, patience lost, hugs all around, and focus on what went well each day. 

Normal means what it always has: embrace, do, make, create, and go.

As we agree to a play date here or a birthday there, I figuratively "huddle up" and tell myself that no matter if we all end up crying at some point, we are showing up.  

And today, we showed up.

We met friends at an indoor playground, and I am sure I had a wide-eyed "help me" face the entire time while aging years as seconds rolled by. But we showed up. And the kids had a blast. (And just a small shout-out to the mother who allowed her toddler to grab and put his germy mouth on A's precious bottle of pumped milk while I grabbed John--watch your kid, dang it!) But back to that showed up bit...

Thank you "big" boys for playing together while we waited for our friends. Thank you for eating when it was time to eat. Thank you for waiting patiently for a sub-par hot dog that took 15 minutes to come out to the table. Thank you for not throwing a fit. About anything. At any point. We just might venture out again. :) 

Thank you for your confidence, W, while running around with friends old and new. Thank you, J,  for finding my eyes and smiling proudly at me after you scaled the toddler zone and found the bubble.  You both me me prouder than you will ever know. 

And you, sweet A, thank you for patience with your bottle. A Ninja Turtle bandaid was needed at some point. Thank you for sleeping peacefully through perhaps the most crowded and chaotic visit we have had there yet. Thank you for no explosive diaper and for handling a nursing session with ease as we stayed longer than planned, had only a toddler germ-infested partial bottle left, and sat at a crowded table while I held one arm out for your brother to down my strawberry-banana smoothie. You are pretty much the sweetest thing.

Normal means we won't have such an excursion every day. Not even every week. But normal means when we do, we are going to show up. 

We Believe(d) That We Will Win!

World Cup 2014 will be one I will always remember. It's much like the one four years ago when we watched games while very pregnant with W and drinking Icees with reckless abandon.  Perhaps this tournament, if Abram had been born later, we just might have named him Jurgen. Ok, not really. His name had been chosen for a while now.

My mom made the boys matching shirts; we watched the hype videos. We were ready.  By the time the games began, John had his own version of the "I Believe" chant and didn't hesitate to bust out his go-to dance bounce and sing it whenever he saw an American flag. 'Atta boy!

We had pizza picnics in front of the t.v. and mini M&Ms shakers to cheer our team on and eat when we needed a distraction. We took out toys that were in hiding so Momma could watch the afternoon games. 

We believed our lucky shirts were helping our boys to victory. We pretended Dempsey was Superman and Howard was the Hulk.

We planted a seed (for future soccer players perhaps). We believed.
And while the team had some success and some heartbreak, our hearts filled with pride watching our guys hang with the world's best one memorable summer.

Handful of Sweet and A Heart Full of Love

It's no secret that preschoolers feel things in a bit way. The good news is that this applies to their compassion as well. 

We've instituted TAKOS Tuesday over here, and after finding a Ninja Turtle tattoo in a particular brand, bought it again in hopes to get another character. W hopped around with excitement as I prepared dinner and grabbed his little piece of happiness. Indeed, it was Donatello. Hooray!

I took it out of the packaging, grabbed a towel, and we counted to thirty together as I pressed it on his forearm.

Turns out, I didn't take that plastic strip off the back. Donatello was plastered firmly on it instead of my sweet boy's arm. We didn't have back-up.

After I promised we would grab another one next time at the store and applied a Cars tattoo we had lying around, I apologized again and told him I felt really bad.

W looked at me straight in the eye and said, "Do you need a hug?"

Yes. Why yes I did.  I hope he always knows that such small tokens of kindness go so far.

(Photo courtesy of Momma's Gonna Snap Photography)