The Most Wonderful Time of the Year!

Like so many of you, I love Christmas and all the fun, out-of the-ordinary moments it brings.  And now that our boys have reached the ripe old age of three, we've been able to start delving into some beloved traditions.  Here's a glimpse at how we've been gearing up for the 25th of December.

~Visit with Santa~ The boys had a "riveting" visit with Santa.  After about 15 seconds, Hudson and Santa's conversation reached a stalemate while Corbin sat in awe and wonder at how long he had to sit there until he got his free candy cane. 

(Picture courtesy of my dad who happily ignored Santa's elves when they said, "No outside photography."  I always knew he was a frugally fabulous rebel at heart).

~Gingerbread house making~ It always looks so darling when people post those precious pics of their kids' gingerbread houses and cookies online, doesn't it?  So, I thought we'd create the same "magic."  So using my Ikea gingerbread kit, the boys and I created this house, turned teepee, turned slum.  (And yes, that is chocolate icing--I didn't have any white icing, and by golly, Martha Stewart doesn't live here so homemade`icing wasn't happening.)  Initially, I blamed this gingerbread mess on Ikea (Stupid furniture makers--stop designing 300 sq ft. homes and learn to make some better ginger walls and roofs!).  But then I saw my sister's gingerbread house.  Using the same kit.  Looks like I'll be photoshopping my kids into her pic. 

 

 (Okay, slight exaggeration on the grandness of my sister's gingerbread house, but you get the idea.)

~First nativity~ Now that the boys are able to understand and verbalize more, I bought them a Little People's nativity so that we could focus on the true meaning of Christmas.  The boys haven't taken to it in the way that I envisioned.  At this writing, Mother Mary has been MIA for a week, and apparently the angel and Joseph are fed up waiting for her to "freshen up" after giving birth and have decided to take a prolonged nap.

 

 ~Messiah~ Ben and I somehow managed to trick my parents into watching not one, not two, but all three kids for five hours so that we could eat a meal free of bribing, aimless wandering, and whining.  Let's just say we both sprinted to the car after shutting their front door.  The real highlight of the evening was after the meal when we went to the Naval Academy Chapel to watch the Messiah.  It is confirmed: we like sheep. 

~Frosty the Snowman and other beloved tales~ It's hard to top the Messiah, but Frosty does a pretty good job considering all the nostalgia that he conjures up.  Although as much as the boys love listening to the music of those Christmas classics, the song "What Does the Fox Say" still wins top prize in this house. 

 

~A crafty project worth keeping! (due to the fact it was under the direction of an adult other than myself)~ So the gingerbread house didn't look so hot, but a reindeer created from my boys' hands and foot--finally, a keeper! 

 

We've had fun moments, and moments that went in totally wrong directions, and lots of exhausting moments so far this Christmas season.  But I've been reminded of the same lesson that was taught in one of my favorite books, The Best Christmas Pageant Ever.  That first Christmas was a bit messy, and a bit hairy at times, and definitely didn't go according to "plan."  But oftentimes, there is beauty and meaning in all the messiness.

So Merry Christmas, from our wild, busy, and chaotic family! 

"This baby would be like that bright star shining in the sky that night.  A Light to light up the whole world.  Chasing away darkness.  Helping people to see.  And the darker the night got, the brighter the star would shine." ~from The Jesus Storybook Bible by Sally Lloyd-Jones

Precious photo taken just moments before Jovie spit up on Hudson and he dropped her like a hot potato.

Potty of Woes

Over the last three years, I have prided myself on being able to keep calm, stay cool, and go with the flow even with double baby duty, terrible twos times two, and babies who like to make too early of debuts.  But about three months ago, I was pushed over the edge of easygoingness.  And I fell flat on my face and am still trying to climb back up. 
The culprit . . .

The Potty.

I had plans.  Grand plans of potty training my two boys in a weekend.  A few horrible days and then POOF!  I'd go from three in diapers to just one!  The savings!  The ease!  Glorious! 

Naive, naive, woman I was. 

Within four hours of potty training boot camp, Ben and I looked at each other amidst the swirl of the washing machine, the low roar of the dryer, and the new batch of soiled underwear and towels anxiously in wait for their return to cleanliness.  Our sunken, bloodshot eyes said it all--"One of these kids is going to have to get booted out of potty bootcamp.  Two trainers.  Too much."

With that, I dug the diapers back out, slapped one on Hudson, and breathed a sigh of relief.  The sigh quickly turned into a scream when I noticed Corbin marking his terrritory around the dining room table.  Relief doesn't last long in these parts.

By the end of the weekend, we thought most of our work was done with Corbin.  We'd had successes and even initiations of both the yellow and brown variety.  We even had dry Pull-Ups at nap and bedtimes.  What a bright lad!  We celebrated and put our feet up.

There is a very fine line between naivete and stupidity.

Our mission was not accomplished.  The yellow kept making its way into the pot, but the brown.  Oh, the brown!  Woe, woe is me.

Nearly three months later, I am starting to see a faint light at the end of this tunnel.  We're getting there, we're close, I feel it!  And then I remember that we're getting there with our one boy.  There's ANOTHER one, the SAME age, still mostly in DIAPERS.  The madness! 

If there's any silver lining to this "adventure," it's that I've learned quite a few poignant lessons through all of this.  Here are a few:

1. When telling your child to go potty in your backyard woods, clarify that you want them to pee.  And at the first sign of a squat, run!  Or you too will be using a leaf and a stick to clean up a very unexpected mess.

2. If your vaccum won't pick up that raisin on the floor, think twice before picking it up with your bare hand.
  
3. Point.  It.  Down.  The three most important words for any mother of young  boys . . .

I could write for days about our potty training undertakings, but I have a squatting child in the corner.  Ready, set, GO! 

The sugar-induced smiles of children who've been bribed by many an M & M.

True Joy

People often ask me how we came up with the name Jovie, and the question always makes me hesitate.  I usually respond that I heard it somewhere years ago and have since always loved the name.  Thankfully, that answer usually suffices, unless my loving 17 year-old sister is nearby when the question is asked.  She will happily barge her way into the conversation and exclaim, "Jovie is the name of an elf!"  

This, of course, is entirely false.  Jovie is not the name of an elf.  It's the name of an elf's girlfriend.  Actually, the girlfriend of a human raised by elves.   

Okay, true confession: I first heard heard the name when watching Will Ferrell's Christmas classic, Elf.  If you've seen the movie (and if you haven't, shame on you--cutest movie ever!), Jovie is the tough, sassy girl who ends up finding happiness again as she falls in love with Buddy the Elf. 

Ben and I watch Elf every Christmas season, and we both really liked the name of the character.  However, when I wanted to use it for our daughter, Ben hesitated.  Neither of us had ever heard that name outside of the movie, and Ben didn't want a made-up name for his little girl.  But after hearing of another "real-life" Jovie and then discovering that its meaning is "joyful," Ben happily agreed to the name.  

We never really considered the meanings of the boys' names when deciding what we should call them. But the meaning of her name seemed to fit given the joy we experienced even amongst the stress and anxiety of Jovie's circumstances at birth.  

As we celebrated Jovie's baptism yesterday, Ben wrote a blessing for her just as he did for our boys.  And our prayer for Jovie comes back to that simple yet poignant meaning of her name: joy.  

Ben's words for his daughter:    

Jovie, you have brought much joy already to this family, bringing your joy even before we initially expected.  Even amongst the trials of your first weeks of life, God has bestowed his grace on our family.

For your blessing we’ve chosen Psalm 40: 16, “But may all who seek you rejoice and be glad in you; may those who love your salvation say continually, ‘Great is the Lord!’”

We already see your joyful and happy personality, but always remember that true joy is only found in the Lord God.  It is our prayer that you come to know the Lord and seek after the Him, even at a young age.  Jovie, God bless you with the true joy found in him and in his goodness and salvation.  May you glorify God, spreading the joy of the Lord and proclaiming with all the saints, “Great is the Lord!”

The Many Faces of Travel

With the celebration of Labor Day, summer as we know it is officially over (well, I guess it was over 9 days ago, but everything is delayed by at least a week when you have a potty training 2 year old,  a "I'm still in diapers because Mommy is overwhelmed training the other kid" 2 year old, and a baby.)  A few weeks before Ben met his new group of toga-loving Latin students, we ended our summer with a bang (or more like a very slow hum) and drove 11 hours to visit family in Michigan.

For most of the trip, I sat in the middle row of seats so that I could continuously throw goldfish into the boys' mouths.  The fishies have an amazing ability to drown out all whining.  In between my goldfish throws, I began noticing that Jovie had a lot to say about our 11 hour drive.  Below is her commentary during our jaunt to the Midwest.

Ahhh .  . . we've been on the road for about three minutes.  I think it's time for a nap.

Snug as a bug in a rug.  I think I'll try to win the world record for longest nap ever.

What is that noise disrupting my beauty rest?  Ugh!  It's those two.  Again.  Seriously?  Putting stickers all over yourself and laughing hysterically is so infantile. 

 Haha.  They got in trouble.  Duh, boys.  Stickers aren't supposed to go in your hair.  Babies.

 Wow, that was quite a meal.  I'm feeling pretty full.

Hmmmm . . . maybe I over did it a bit.  Should have skipped that last ounce of milk.

Seriously, Mom--I'm gonna blow!

Much better.  Sorry, boys for the spit-up.  But look on the bright side.  At least it landed mostly on your stickers.

Someone's not amused . . .

Lessons My Boys Have Learned

These last few months have been a bit crazy for all of us, including Hudson and Corbin who have endured a lot of shuffling to grandparents, friends' houses, and tedious road trips to the hospital.  Here are some lessons they have unintentionally learned as a result:

1. Hospitals aren't always bad.  We went to the hospital one day to pick up Ben who had been visiting Jovie in the NICU.  When the boys found out they weren't going inside the waiting room, they burst into tears.  "Hospital!!!  I wanna go hospital!"  From the myriad of puzzles and books in the waiting room, to the fun lights and beeps in the NICU, to my hospital room that overlooked a construction site (tractors, and dozers, and dirt, oh my!), the boys rarely complained about entering the hospital. 

(The boys enjoying the train set at the Ronald McDonald House outside of Fairfax Hospital)

2.  Mommies have sad days too.  I prided myself on keeping my cool through this whole ordeal.  But the week before Jovie came home, I started unraveling and getting sick to my stomach every time I would call the NICU to check on Jovie for fear that she would have a setback lengthening her stay.  The boys saw me crying quite a lot that week and on the verge of falling apart.  As much as I wish I could have shielded them from that, I think they learned a practical lesson: Sometimes life is hard--even for Mommys and Daddys.

(I find it hard to believe how far Jovie has come in the last 3 months--this picture seems like a lifetime ago!)

3. Breast milk is best.  Until recently, I was pumping seven times a day because Jovie was still having some trouble mastering nursing after mostly being fed with a feeding tube and bottle while in the NICU.  So, Hudson and Corbin became very well acquainted with The Pump.  From them walking around with the cups on their chest to coming up to me while pumping and saying, "Come on milk.  Don't be shy," all thoughts of modesty have been thrown out the window.  One afternoon we received a package in the mail, and I excitedly told the boys, "Let's open it and see what's inside!"  When I tore open the box, I realized it was my new pump and thought the boys would be sorely disappointed.  Instantly they knew what it was, and Corbin screamed, "Oh boy!  Making milk!"  They then proceeded to spend the next 10 minutes putting all of the parts together.  Inappropriate--possibly.  Funny--definitely.

(Holy milk!  A freezerful of milk is one of the few benefits of having a baby that starts off drinking less than an ounce of milk a day.)

4. Babies are fun.  Correction: Playing with babies' toys is fun; actual babies do little more than a battery operated stuffed animal.  Other than giving Jovie a good morning and a good night kiss, or getting a little irritated if I'm feeding Jovie when they NEED attention, the boys basically ignore her.  However, they have gotten much joy out of turning her swing on full power, wrestling under her playmat, and climbing in her crib.

(This Kodak moment lasted all of two seconds before poor Jovie had to be pulled to safety.)

(Jovie and Hudson bonding while watching "Daniel Tiger's Neighborhood")

Hudson and Corbin have had a non-traditional education these last few months.  I am hoping that this ordeal has shaped my two-year-olds somehow for the better.  Although, I do think Ben and I will strongly deter them from a career in lactation consulting.  

Baby Steps, A Blog Post by Miss Jovie

Big things have been happening since Mommy's last blog post.  I am now at a hospital closer to home, and I got to take my very first ambulance ride, well first ambulance ride outside of utero that is.  Daddy said the ambulance that they transported me in was the very biggest one he's ever seen.  Pretty ironic since I was still less than 3 pounds at that point. 

I love my new hospital.  There's only a few other babies in there, so I'm not disturbed by noisy neighbors any more.  The nurses at my old hospital said I was feisty and sassy.  Duh--I was trying to do my best to get kicked out because I knew how desperately my parents wanted me closer to home.  Now the nurses say I'm a sweet pea and super lovable.  I hardly cry anymore, but maybe I'll start back again when I decide it's time to go home.  The feisty thing worked last time, so what's another shot at it?

They tell me that I'm just under 3 1/2 pounds.  If you're not impressed, you should be. That means I've gained over 50% of my birth weight in 5 weeks.  You try doing that.  Actually, don't--it wouldn't be pretty.

 Although I still have my feeding tube, I am starting to practice nursing and taking bottles at every mealtime.  I am a fabulously fast eater, and my burping always makes Daddy proud.  I can't wait to get the feeding tube out of my nose--the orange is clashing with my outfits and is not a very desirable accessory.

Speaking of accessories, I will now reveal my biggest milestone in the last 3 weeks.  Mommy found preemie headbands that fit my sweet little head!   Because no matter how young or how small, every girl needs to learn the art of accesorizing well.  Success.

Don't let my chubby cheeks fool you.  I'm still the size of a doll baby!

Third Time is the Charm

This is my third attempt to write April's blog post.  And it's May 8, so needless to say, life has gotten in the way. 

Attempt #1: At first I was planning to write about the truth behind pregnancy photos.  You know, those photos women get when they're pregnant with their glowing gorgeous bellies--they sure make pregnancy look like a glamorous ordeal.  I decided to take some photos of what "real" pregnancy looked like.  Here are some of my pics:

Hemorrhoids.  Need I say more.

Nausea.  My archnemesis. 

I'm pretty bummed that blog didn't work out because I was feeling quite witty about the whole topic.  But, the day I went to write the blog . .  . my water broke.  I was exactly 26 weeks pregnant.

Attempt #2: Despite my water breaking, I didn't have contractions and no immediate signs of infection.  Most people assume that when your water breaks, you have 24 hours to have a baby.  Not the case, especially when you're far from being term.  The catch is you are stuck on hospital bedrest because they need to keep a close watch on you and your baby at all times.  The doctors told me I had a 75% chance of having the baby within the first seven days after my water broke.  If I could make it seven days, then there was a good chance I could stay pregnant several more weeks.  If all looked good, they would even wait until I was 36 weeks to deliver.  I made it seven days, and my body and the baby were still cooperating.  At that time I decided my new blog post should be about how to spend time when you're stuck in bed with only bathroom privileges.  I was going to write about knitting and making friends with whatever breathing person entered my room.  But eight days after my water broke, I started showing signs of an infection . . .  

Hudson and me while I was on bedrest. 

Attempt #3: The nurse discovered my temperature and pulse rate were both elevated at 6 pm on April 23.  By 6:20 the doctors came in and told me they would deliver the baby as soon as I was prepped for my c-section--with or without my husband being there.  Ben was at home an hour and a half away.   I called Ben.  "Now is not the time to be cheap.  Take the toll road!  And speed.  Like a lot.  This is the best excuse you'll ever have," I urged him over the phone.

Ben made it to the hospital.  With 20 minutes to spare.  I've never asked him how fast he drove.  All I know is that he made the trip in less than an hour.

At 8:23 pm our little Jovie, weighing in at 2 pounds 4 ounces, entered this world with the sweetest whimper I've ever heard.  After hearing that cry, Ben and I looked at each other with tear-filled eyes and breathed a sigh of relief.

Jovie is now two weeks old and doing remarkably well.  She still has a lot of little milestones to hit before we can take her home, but in about six or seven weeks, the doctors expect her to be bundled up in her car seat in our cool vanmobile, making the trip home. 

So, it's taken three tries to birth this blog post.  April has housed a lot of chaos, worry, and tears.  But as much as I want to erase many of the memories from this past month, there's one tiny little bundle accessorized in pink with a fighting spirit that has made it all worth while.     

Farewell, My Faithful Steed

It was nine years ago that my parents bought me a '98 Nissan Altima from our next-door neighbor.  It has been my one and only car.  My Calvin College sticker still clings to the back windshield--one of the last visible signs of my youth.  For the last couple of years, my car has housed two carseats, spilled sippy cups, dirty diapers, and a sea of crushed goldfish, and yet I felt somewhat prideful that I was still young enough to be driving my first car.  When you get married a month after you graduate from college and a week after you turn 22, you don't have many big reminders of life before "I do."  This was one of my final links, and now it's time to hand over the keys.

My car has traveled many roads.  It kept this Maryland girl safe as I fishtailed down snowy Michigan roads headed for my student teaching gig.  It heard my grumbles and usage of a few choice words at Midwesterners for their ability to open school in the midst of a blizzard and their inability to handle a 90 degree summer day.  One May its trunk carried textbooks and backpacks, twin sheets, and a myriad of college wear.  And a month later, it was packed to the gills again, this time clutching dishes, towels, queen sheets, and wedding presents.  Its steering wheel felt my sweaty hands as I embarked on my first day of teaching.  Its radio belted music on carefree summer days as Ben and  I journeyed down the eastern part of the country.  And on a cold December day when we brought our tiny boys home from the hospital, its cramped backseat cradled two babies with me wedged in between because I feared they wouldn't make the two mile trek home.

At the end of the day, it's just a car--a bunch of metal, and plastic, and a sprinkling of rust.  Yet, it's been in my life from college, to my newlywed days, to the beginning of motherhood.  It has driven me through many memories.  Never a main character, but always there.

But today will be the last day it's there, at least there for me.  It's time to say goodbye, hand over the keys, warn the new owner of the sun visors that randomly fall while you're driving and the power locks that are most certainly possessed.  Time for me to convince myself that driving a mini-van can be a very cool thing.  And time to watch Old Faithful drive off into the sunset to new journeys and new memories.    

Don't worry--it's not a dead body.  Just me taking a nap.

Superhero Ben to My Rescue!

I love Batman.  Like seriously, have loved the whole Batman enterprise from when I was a wee toddler dancing my diapered rear with the beat of the 60s TV theme song, to my adolescence when I excitedly pulled my Batman comic from the mailbox each month, and to my 21st birthday when I received two AMAZING presents--an engagement ring and a Barbie Batgirl doll.  Seriously.  Coolest Barbie ever.  And I still have hopes of getting the tattoo I have dreamed of since I was a small lass--a bat signal.  (Or maybe I already have that said tattoo.  Can't say either way.  My mother reads this blog, and she might disown me.)

I've been thinking a lot about Batman and superheroes lately.  And I've been thinking a lot about Ben.  Maybe it's because it's February, the month of love, and maybe I'm wearing rose-colored glasses.  Whatever the reason, it has occured to me in the last few weeks that Ben is incredibly ordinary.  And incredibly superheroish at the same time.

See if you agree:

1. All superheroes wear tights or some embarrassing costume--Ben doesn't wear tights, per se.  But when he runs, he wears entirely too short of shorts.

2. Superheroes can move FAST--Ben runs in his short shorts.  And he runs quite fast in them.  Sometimes a few snarly villains can catch him in a race, but not many.

3. Every superhero has at least one archnemesis--Ben is a teacher in an upper-middle class school district.  Can you say helicopter moms galore?  The archnemesis of many teachers . . .

4. Most superheroes have some kind of weakness, krytonite you could say--Ben can't go to Target for more than five minutes without getting woozy and ill.  So tragic.  It's like all his power is sucked out, and we're left with a deflated Ben.  In short shorts. 

5. Every superhero feels compassion and hurts when he can't save the helpless--A few hours after I wrote my last blog post, I had to be rushed to the hospital for excuricating pain.  It turns out my right ovary twisted and would have to be removed later that evening with emergency surgery.  Needless to say, that was not a good day.  But there were two things about that day that I will never forget.  One was when I saw our baby girl on the ultrasound screen and knew she was okay.  And the second was Ben's face.  I was lying on the hospital bed, curled up, writhing in pain and moaning for pain meds.  I looked up at Ben, and there he stood with moist eyes and a look of such anguish that I've never seen before.  I knew in that instant I wasn't alone in all of this.  My pain was his.  And I can honestly say, that was one of the most beautiful moments of our marriage so far.      

Admittedly, he doesn't fly, he doesn't sneak out at night to battle the Joker or Lex Luther, and he doesn't star in blockbuster hits.  But he has loved me like every little girl dreams of, he has prayed for me day after day, he has taken care of me when I'm nauseated and miserable, and he has held my hand during the good and the ugly.

What more could you ask for from a superhero?  Happy belated Valentine's Day, Ben--my superhero yesterday, today, and till the end!  I love you, short shorts and all!

Gratitude in the Midst of Miserable

A week before Thanksgiving, we found out that we would be expecting our third child come mid-July.  Over the last eight weeks in the midst of our joy and excitement, I have been reminded of two things about pregnancy.

I don't enjoy it.  I had convinced myself that the nausea and so-called "morning sickness" (Who came up with that misleading term?  Must have been a man.) would be better this go around with just one little boy or girl chillin' in there.  False.  I am a miserable person to live with at the moment, and it's a testament to Ben's character that he hasn't run to the hills to live in the woods.  Well, maybe he tried to do that and found himself back home.  If you've ever battled with all-day nausea, you know what I'm talking about.  And if you were never sick when you were pregnant, then I hope you had fussy babies that kept you up all night.  Sorry, that was rude.  Did I mention that mood swings are also an issue for me at the moment?  My only consolation is knowing that Duchess Kate has had a rough go of it too.  Because if princesses get sick when they're pregnant, then I think it's safe to say that I, too, am part princess.  Interpret that how you will.

The second reminder is something that I thank God for every day--"Lord, Thank you for making me feel so miserable.  Thank you for allowing me to have this problem, for this reason."  Because on a bitter morning last April, I returned from a heartbreaking doctor's appointment.  And I knew the chances of us having another child were slim.  I cried a lot of tears that day and in the days to follow.  But if you had told me that in less than a year I would be feeling this sick, this horrible for this very reason, the tears still would have been there.  But they would have lost some of their sting.

I will never forget the journey we've been on for any of our children.  Nor, do I think we should.  It's part of our story, and part of our children's.  And yet, as much as our hearts are full of joy and anticipation, how can I forget those who still wait?  Those who wait for a healthy pregnancy, wait for another child, and those who wait for their very first child.  Couples with stories so much harder and more difficult than I can even imagine.  No, my heart doesn't forget our story or the stories of those whose wait continues.  And the prayers of my heart never cease.

"Weeping may endure for a night, 

But joy comes in the morning."

  ~Psalm 30:5 b