Mr. Elephant

What's got curly gray hair, smells like a mixture of sour milk and saliva, and has a matted, flattened tail due to an overdose of love?  That would be the "man" of the hour in our sweet little kingdom-- a guy we like to call Mr. Elephant.

I always thought it was the cutest thing when kids  toted their "loveys" from place to place.  When my two little bald-headed trouble makers were born, I was crossing my fingers that one of them would find the stuffed animal of their dreams.

So, I got "lucky."  At about seven months, Corbin developed a deep, manly bond with a stuffed elephant (slightly ironic that my lean little man would love a stuffed image of the world's fattest land animal).  And then reality set in.  The grossness of a stuffed creature that is gnawed, spit up on, sneezed on, and snotted on day in and day out.  The anxiousness of having to carve out an hour of my day once a week to wash Monsieur Elephant without Corbin realizing it.  And the fear that haunts me at this moment . . . misplacing this smelly little monstrosity.

And now I sit.  Staring at the Ebay page.  My frugal, thrifty pride fights against the reality that a lost Mr. Elephant tragedy could have for our family.  But pay $10 for a second Mr. Elephant?  This stuffed little thing that I know was only a few dollars?  My finger hesitates over the button.

I cave.  Mr. Elephant II (or Dr. Elephant as we have decided to name him) will be arriving in 3-5 business days.  And I give a sigh of relief.  A future elephant-sized tragedy has been averted--peace on earth will continue.

Mr. Elephant's Christmas portrait:

It's hard to get a pic of Mr. Elephant where he doesn't look like a piece of mangled prey hanging from his predator's mouth.

A Year of Great Joy

When you’re pregnant with twins, you get a lot of sarcastic and negative one-liners:

 “Better you than me.”

“Good luck with that!”

“Oh, you poor thing.”

And of course, you also get a lot of colorful adjectives predicting what your first year with twins will look like:

“Sleepless.”

 “Crazy.”

“Hellish.”

After all the talk, the worry brought on by others, and the scary predictions, I can think of only one word when I reflect on this last year: joy.  From the moment my baby boys entered this world with two hearty screams for two very tiny babies to this present moment as they chatter away with each other in their cribs delaying their afternoon nap, this year has birthed a joy that I had yet to experience in my first 27 years. 

And yes, this year also flirted with craziness, sleeplessness, worry, and even a few times with utter desperation.  But when I stand back in reflection, those difficult moments fade next to the vibrant laughter, fun, and joy that I’ve experienced being a mama to my two little men. 

Thus, I sit here with misty eyes realizing this first year has come and gone for Hudson and Corbin.  Time has run away from me, and now I must say goodbye to a beautiful twelve months.  But God-willing, parenthood will continue for many years, and I can be assured there will be more joyful adventures ahead.   

November 25, 2010

Hudson Calvin born at 7:55 a.m., 5 pounds 2 ounces, 18 inches long

Corbin John born at 7:57 a.m., 3 pounds 1 ounce, 16.5 inches long

November 2011

Oh, how my boys have grown!

   

Blessings All Mine

A dear neighbor recently lent me a book written by Ann Voscamp entitled "One Thousand Gifts."  The book is about the author, who is a farmer's wife and the mom of six, and her journey as she dares herself to create a list of one thousand blessings in her life.  Throughout the book, she learns to find joy and give gratitude in the seemingly small and forgettable moments of life.

And so, I have taken this challenge on myself.  It hasn't been easy and I'm not very far on my list, but I'm determined to look at my life a bit deeper, even when feeling overrun by cleaning dirty bums, shaking bottles, picking up a sea of thrown peas and Cheerios, and scrubbing an endless amount of dishes.  (Boy, do I miss my dishwasher sometimes.)  And even in the beginning weeks of this little "experiment," I have been humbly reminded of the gems hidden within life's routines.

Here are just a few of the blessings that I have "rediscovered" the past few weeks:

Those still moments when the babies lay against my chest with sleepy, heavy eyes.

Sales and bargains--knowing God will provide.  You don't need to be rich.  (Hudson modeling one of Mommy's consignment sale purchases.)

 

Long weekends spent with the company of loved ones. (The boys with their Aunt Angie and Uncle Andrew.)

The boys' giggles as they play in their crib together.

Football and Frills

My life is full of contradictions.  I spent much of my childhood collecting Barbies, wearing dresses, and dreaming up names for my future daughters (guess I jinxed myself on that one); yet, I also spent many hours sorting through my Batman comic books, playing with my Hot wheels, and bawling my eyes out while watching Rudy (a contradiction in itself considering that it's a sports movie).  I don't have one athletic bone in my body (ex. I was one of two girls cut from JV basketball.  Ouch.)  Despite that and despite the fact that on most occasions I would much rather find myself in a theatre than at a sporting event, football has always fascinated me.

So this past week, excitement buzzed through our little cottage, as the football season commenced.  The nagging has ceased, and peace has returned; instead of glaring icicles at Ben for his endless viewing of ESPN, I'm right there beside him, eager for the games' highlights.  And unlike most loving  parents, we're not talking about our children after they've gone to bed.  We're discussing our fantasy football lineups.

So for a few moments on fall Sunday afternoons, I will put my femininity aside while I energetically cheer on my players, yell at the slackers who dare to call themselves football stars, and jump around like a fool when my favorite teams make a touchdown.  And then I will remember who I am and return to the couch, curl up in my pink fuzzy blanket, put on my furry lamb slippers, and continue watching the game. 

My two future football waterboys (sorry boys, football is too dangerous to play for my little men):

 Hudson's like his Mom--he's not afraid to cheer quite vocally.

 Hudson, for the umpteenth time, stop tackling Corbin!!!

Back-to-school! Not exactly . . .

This morning as I was still half asleep with two wide-eyed and bushy-tailed babies crawling around my feet, I kissed Ben goodbye and wished him good luck on his first day of classes. It was then that reality set in for me.  For the first time in 25 years, I am not headed back-to-school.  From prancing into preschool many moons ago to waddling into my own classroom last year with a warning for my new students: "I am pregnant and hormonal.  Don't make me angry."--I can't remember a time in my life before school.  Until now.

As strange as it sometimes is to look back on what my life used to be, this morning I began to realize that my day with two nine month old babies appears strangely similar to what I've done for the last six years . . . teaching middle schoolers. 

Case in point:

1. Lunchtime is like spending 25 minutes in a jungle.  Last year it involved weeding through a sea of kids and fighting over the use of a microwave with my 13 year old students.  Now it involves scarfing down a sandwich with one hand and picking up soggy half-chewed food with the other.

2. Dress code violations galore!  Last year boys with droopy drawers and girls with short skirts went running if they saw me in the hall with a warning slip.  This year I spend my day with two kids who I think purposefully mess up their clothes so that they can chill in their diapers. 

3. Nonstop noise.  Have you ever walked through a middle school hallway at 3:00?  Enough said.  Now instead of screechy laughs and squeals, my day sounds and looks like a kiddie casino. Apparently, toys that make annoying sounds and flash lights into baby's eyes are good for their development.

4. Grades.  The end of my day used to involve unleashing my red pen on a pile of papers.  Now it involves this conversation:
Ben: How were the boys today?
Lindsay: Pretty good.  I give Hudson a B+ and Corbin an A-.
Ben: Not bad.  But room for improvement.
Lindsay: Yeah, we're shooting for an A+ tomorrow.  If naptime goes better, it's possible.

This list could continue for pages and pages.  From foul odor to whining to short attention spans, I've realized today that my babies are either child prodigies or that most middle schoolers revert back to babyhood.  Unfortunately, I think the latter is probably the case. 

So, although the boys and I are not technically going back-to-school, for now, our home is our classroom.  The content is different, but the students are just a little smaller and a little balder. 

Deere Dudes and Beach Bums

Everyone knows that the best perk of being a teacher are those blessed 10 weeks every year called summer break.  Oh sure, many a teacher would deny that statement and claim that "making a difference" and "leading a child to a brighter tomorrow" is the best part of their often thankless job, but those teachers must just be allergic to the sun or have really annoying in-laws whom they dread visiting every August.

Such is not the case in this family of teachers, so the countdown to summer always begins quite early in our house.  After the hectic weeks of packing, moving, and unpacking came to an end, my three boys and I still had six weeks of summer left to enjoy with each other and our extended families. 

For our first big adventure we trekked up to Michigan where Hudson and Corbin, clad head to toe in "country gear," experienced several new firsts: ice cream (including chocolate!), a tractor ride (Is this a giant toy?), and Lake Michigan (brrrrr!!!). 

Corbin meets chocolate ice cream:

  Corbin's a John Deere man from the start:

One week and seven states later, our two little vagabonds found themselves in warmer, wavier, and sharkier waters--Bethany Beach, Delaware.  There they splashed to their hearts' content, and helped Ben and I realize that we must bid a sad farewell to our carefree tanning and beach reading days.  Overtired, sand eating, sun exposed babies apparently are not a recipe for a quiet respite from life.  Go figure.

Hudson trying to catch some rays and tan his bald head:

                   

Jimmy Buffet called.  He wants his shirts back.

And so after two big road trips and several shorter trips in between, our sweet summer days come to a close.  Ben has returned to work, and the boys are getting used to the fact that during the day only one person will be making funny faces and dancing around like an idiot for their entertaining pleasure.

And the countdown to June begins yet again . . .

From High Rises to Rolling Hills

As a little girl I was always quite content staying inside playing with Barbies rather than climbing trees and catching frogs.  And I certainly never begged for a pet--the only animals I liked were ones that were stuffed or on my plate.  So it was a family joke growing up that I would marry a country boy, move out of the suburbs and into a place where animals outpopulated the people, and have a house full of boys. 

Well, I guess the punchline of that joke is that it came true.

Last Saturday we said goodbye to Charlotte, our home of six years, and traveled northeast in our classy Budget truck packed to the gills with all of our earthly possessions.  And here we are . . . in the tiny village of Philomont, only an hour outside of Washington D.C. but with a culture and feel of decades past.  Our rental home for the next year-- a carriage house built in 1900 that sits nestled behind a bed and breakfast. 

Within four days I have already realized that the world turns quite differently here in Loudoun County, Virginia.   I have already had to accept that this new season of my life is one where my my previous 5 minute jaunt to Target would turn into a 30 minute drive, and one where I would be without a dishwasher and (gasp!) my closet.  'Tis true--no bedroom closets in this historic home, but thankfully in these modern times we have Ikea. Oh yes, and mailbox delivery doesn't come to these here parts, but thankfully we're right across the road from the Philomont General Store where we can pick up our mail from Laura, who has been postmaster there since 1964.  And if  I want to pick up some milk or ice cream while I'm there, I don't have to worry about carrying my purse--I can just put it on my tab.

Life has certainly changed quite drastically for us this past week, but the open spaces, fresh country air, and small town life reminds us of where we are.  Home. 


 The neighbors:

The sign was right.  The road is impassable.

The General Store.  Just put it on my tab!

Wish I could say this was our house.  Alas, this is the bed and breakfast.

And this is our carriage house.  Small, but quaint and lovely.

 Our dining room.

 Our loft master "suite."

My "closet."  Thank you, Ikea.

Goodbyes Are Never Easy

Six years is a long time, especially when you consider it's more than one-fifth of my life.  So when we made the difficult decision two weeks ago to move to Northwestern Virginia so that we could be closer to our families, I knew leaving Charlotte would be no easy task.  And so that's already proven true.  I've had several restless nights and bouts of doubt; yet, I feel a sense of excitement as we prepare to begin yet another adventure this year and also a feeling that Charlotte was always meant to be a temporary home.  But what a great temporary home it has been.

For the last six years we have found ourselves in the midst of a vibrant, growing city full of beautiful community.  It was here that we spent our carefree days as newlyweds, began our teaching careers, settled into our first home, felt the love and compassion of friends, and watched our family bloom from two to four.

And now as our lives have radically changed with the birth of Corbin and Hudson, so the place we live will change too.  Thus we will not only say goodbye to the Queen City, but also to sweet tea, wonderful hospitality, snow days for the threat of flurries, and a few (although not as many as I would have thought) Southern drawls.  But most importantly, we will bid farewell to a church that we have loved, friends who have cared and supported us, and a school that has been much more than just a job for Ben.

And so it goes--the story of our family will continue, but it will continue elsewhere, in a new city, in a new place, in a new home. Thanks for the memories, Charlotte.  Now it's time to make new memories . . .

A trip down memory lane:


Our first home

Ben's first day of teaching

First (and last) Nascar race:

Our first pro football game (Go Panthers!--well, not anymore)

Ben getting his Master's degree

My school family

Our church family

Our growing family

Great Is Thy Faithfulness

It was one year ago today that I sat on our stairs anxiously waiting for Ben to finish his online tutoring training.  And as I sat there, knees and hands shaking, I stared at that faded blue line surrounded by cheap plastic, and I imagined what it would be like to tell him I was pregnant.  I was going to run down the stairs, playfully show him the positive test, twirl around in his arms, and sit for hours daydreaming baby names and nursery ideas.

So sweet, so perfect, and so not reality.  Instead, I ran down the stairs, started bawling my eyes out much to Ben's concern.  I showed Ben the pregnancy test, which Ben thought was negative because I was sobbing and because he had no clue what a "positive" looked like.  Frustrated, I clarified it was positive to which he replied, "It's too early to test.  Don't get your hopes up."  I then explained that there's no such things as false positives, and we spent the next 15 minutes googling "pregnancy tests."

And just as that moment didn't play out as I had planned, much of the last year hasn't fallen neatly into place.  Maybe because I had yearned to be pregnant for so long, it never occurred to me that it might not be the most magnificent nine months of my life.  The cloud that I floated on in the beginning quickly dissipated with horrific nausea and "morning sickness," several bouts of unexplained bleeding, pre-term labor scares, and the ultrasound discovery that "Baby B" wasn't growing as he should.  Instead of glowing and showing off my baby bump for all the world to see, I spent many a day fighting off worry as I curled up on the coach with a plastic bag beside me.

So today as I reflect on the moments that have made up this year, I am reminded that there weren't the big bushels of lollipops and rays of sunshine which I had planned for.   Pregnancy was difficult, and my babies' first weeks of life were heart wrenching to watch.  Yet, as I write this, I am also reminiscent of the two beautiful, healthy five month old boys upstairs who are peacefully sleeping in their cribs.  Two precious sons who were wrapped in prayer and faith weeks before I ever saw that faded blue line.

And I am humbly reminded of God's faithfulness despite the hours I spent fighting, questioning, and begging Him for answers.  At times His faithfulness seemed like a joke with a cruel punchline, but here I joyfully am surrounded by baby chaos and smelling of spit-up, several years after the initial desire to have a child and one year after clinging on to that positive pregnancy test.

God has orchestrated this journey for Ben and me so differently than I would have imagined or wanted, but what a beautiful one it has been.

Great is Thy faithfulness! Great is Thy faithfulness!
Morning by morning new mercies I see;
All I have needed Thy hand hath provided -
Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me! 
            ~ Thomas Chisholm

 

The Dragon

I already revealed that for a few weeks we called Corbin our little "Benjamin Button."  Hudson's nickname is not much more endearing, although it is quite fitting.  We often call Hudson, "The Dragon."  Now I know, dragons often have a scary image and are known for breathing fire and for wreaking havoc.  And yes, that is part of their territory.   

But let's not forget, that dragons often have softer, sweeter sides too.  Just think of Donkey's girlfriend in Shrek.  She could be both feisty and sweet (as demonstrated above and below). 

Hudson is the same way--he so clearly has two moods.  When he's mad--everyone knows it, and you better WATCH OUT.  He screams, his face turns beat red, and he even gets beads of sweat on his upper lip.

And sometimes, he likes to be grumpy just for the sake of being grumpy.

And he doesn't breathe fire, but he does breathe spit up, which leaves us all taking for cover and screaming for back-up.

Lastly, just like dragons, our little Hudson can fly.  Or at least  he thinks he can fly.

As much as we tease Hudson for his spirited ways and love for drama, we wouldn't have him any other way.  Because although he can be pretty grumpy, he can also be pretty darn lovable and cute.  Everyone needs a little "dragon" in their lives, and we are blessed to have ours.  

Like Peas and Carrots

One of the things that has amazed Ben and me the most about having babies is that we can already begin seeing their personalities, even at 4 months.  And what is even more amazing is how different their little personalities are.  Not only do Hudson and Corbin look very little alike, but they act nothing alike.  Hudson is dramatic, to say the least.  Obviously, he gets this from his father.  (insert laugh and eye roll here)  Corbin is a lot more even and easy going.  Like his mother, of course . . . 

Case in point:
Corbin waiting to be fed:

 Hudson waiting to be fed:

But despite their differences, we hope that just like peas and carrots which are different on the outside and on the inside, together they'll equal a perfect pair.   And yes, I'm sure they'll have plenty of angry moments with one another which will be expressed by throwing mud, peeing on each other deliberately, and doing whatever else it is that boys do; however, we're not only looking forward to watching how they grow and develop individually but also together.

And by the way, despite their many differences, they do have one very important thing in common . . .