A borrowed post on parenting

This is a post from: The Actual Pastor (http://www.stevewiens.com/2013/03/12/to-parents-of-small-children-let-me-be-the-one-who-says-it-out-loud/)
I just loved this, especially--You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out a way for your children to eat as healthy as your friend’s children do. She’s obviously using a bizarre and probably illegal form of hypnotism. 
Ha ha! That made me laugh because it is too true for me! And I enjoyed the message of this post--it's okay to admit that being a parent is tough because it is. I can't find the exact quote right now, but it goes something like this: I'm not a failure as a mother, I'm just having a bad moment. We all have bad moments and we all have good moments. Having bad moments doesn't make us a failure, it just makes us human. And children can be very humbling. Any time that I feel like I might be getting the hang of this mother thing, the boys like to throw out something new.

For example, the other day we were at the planetarium and Sam was having a complete melt-down because he wanted to go to this other place. I knew that he would love the planetarium if he would just give it a chance, but he was beyond reasoning. So there I was just inside the doors of the planetarium with Mark and Cole in the double stroller and Sam screaming and crying that he didn't want to be there. I knelt down next to Sam and very calmly told him that he had two choices--we could turn around right then, get back in the car, and go home OR we could give the planetarium a try. Then I quickly pointed out  a couple of cool things. I told him to take a deep breath, count to four, and decide. What I really wanted to do was pull my hair out, spank the kid, and retreat. But it actually worked. He calmed down, chose the planetarium and ended up having a great time. As we were waiting for a little video to start, this man came up to me and told me that he and his friend had been in the lobby during our little melt-down. He said that he worked as a flight attendant and has seen a lot in his profession. He then complimented me on how I handled the situation, saying that I handled it "just right" and that he could tell that I am a good mom. I had two thoughts, I wanted to cry and hug that man because I never feel like that and two, I want to recognize the good and compliment the parents that I see as I'm out and about. I was on cloud nine! He made my day.

Fast forward two days later. I'm at a store. Sam is having another melt-down because he really wants me to buy him this expensive toy. I explain to him that it costs money and that we don't have the money to buy the toy at that time. I try to give him choices. I try the count to four idea. I try reasoning, positive consequences (aka bribing), negative consequences (aka threats)...nothing works. I end up just ignoring him as he screams, face turning purple, for the entire 15-20 minutes it takes me to hurry and finish my shopping. I'm glad my flight attendant friend wasn't there that day.

Ups and downs. It's life. It's motherhood.

Anyway, on to the post:

To parents of small children: Let me be the one who says it out loud

March 12, 2013 — 1,008 Comments

I am in a season of my life right now where I feel bone tired almost all of the time. Ragged, how-am-I-going-to-make-it-to-the-end-of-the-day, eyes burning exhausted.

I have three boys ages 5 and under. I’m not complaining about that. Well, maybe I am a little bit. But I know that there are people who would give anything for a house full of laughter & chaos. I was that person for years and years; the pain of infertility is stabbing and throbbing and constant. I remember allowing hope to rise and then seeing it crash all around me, month after month, for seven years. I am working on another post about infertility that will come at a later date.

But right now, in my actual life, I have three boys ages five and under. There are many moments where they are utterly delightful, like last week when Isaac told my sister-in-law that “My daddy has hair all over.” Or when Elijah put a green washcloth over his chin and cheeks, and proudly declared,“Daddy! I have a beard just like you!” Or when Ben sneaks downstairs in the morning before the other boys do, smiles at me, and says, “Daddy and Ben time.”

But there are also many moments when I have no idea how I’m going to make it until their bedtime. The constant demands, the needs, and the fighting are fingernails across the chalkboard every single day.  

One of my children is for sure going to be the next Steve Jobs. I now have immense empathy for his parents. He has a precise vision of what he wants — exactly that way and no other way. Sometimes it’s the way his plate needs to be centered exactly to his chair, or how his socks go on, or exactly how the picture of the pink dolphin needs to look – with brave eyes, not sad eyes, daddy! He is a laser beam, and he is not satisfied until it’s exactly right.

I have to confess that sometimes the sound of his screaming drives me to hide in the pantry. And I will neither confirm nor deny that while in there, I compulsively eat chips and/or dark chocolate. 

There are people who say this to me:

“You should enjoy every moment now! They grow up so fast!”

I usually smile and give some sort of guffaw, but inside, I secretly want to hold them under water. Just for a minute or so. Just until they panic a little.

If you have friends with small children — especially if your children are now teenagers or if they’re grown – please vow to me right now that you will never say this to them. Not because it’s not true, but because it really, really doesn’t help.

We know it’s true that they grow up too fast. But feeling like I have to enjoy every moment doesn’t feel like a gift, it feels like one more thing that is impossible to do, and right now, that list is way too long. Not every moment is enjoyable as a parent; it wasn’t for you, and it isn’t for me. You just have obviously forgotten. I can forgive you for that. But if you tell me to enjoy every moment one more time, I will need to break up with you.

If you are a parent of small children, you know that there are moments of spectacular delight, and you can’t believe you get to be around these little people. But let me be the one who says the following things out loud:

You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out a way for your children to eat as healthy as your friend’s children do. She’s obviously using a bizarre and probably illegal form of hypnotism.

You are not a terrible parent if you yell at your kids sometimes. You have little dictators living in your house. If someone else talked to you like that, they’d be put in prison.

You are not a terrible parent if you can’t figure out how to calmly give them appropriate consequences in real time for every single act of terrorism that they so creatively devise.

You are not a terrible parent if you’d rather be at work.

You are not a terrible parent if you just can’t wait for them to go to bed.

You are not a terrible parent if the sound of their voices sometimes makes you want to drink and never stop.

You’re not a terrible parent.

You’re an actual parent with limits. You cannot do it all. We all need to admit that one of the casualties specific to our information saturated culture is that we have sky-scraper standards for parenting, where we feel like we’re failing horribly if we feed our children chicken nuggets and we let them watch TV in the morning.

One of the reasons we are so exhausted is that we are oversaturated with information about the kind of parents we should be.

So maybe it’s time to stop reading the blogs that tell you how to raise the next President who knows how to read when she’s three and who cooks, not only eats, her vegetables. Maybe it’s time to embrace being the kind of parent who says sorry when you yell. Who models what it’s like to take time for yourself. Who asks God to help you to be a better version of the person that you actually are, not for more strength to be an ideal parent.

So the next time you see your friends with small children with that foggy and desperate look in their eyes, order them a pizza and send it to their house that night. Volunteer to take their kids for a few hours so they can be alone in their own house and have sex when they’re not so tired, for heaven’s sake. Put your hand on their shoulder, look them in the eyes, and tell them that they’re doing a good job. Just don’t freak out if they start weeping uncontrollably. Most of the time, we feel like we’re botching the whole deal and our kids will turn into horrible criminals who hate us and will never want to be around us when they’re older.

You’re bone tired. I’m not sure when it’s going to get better. Today might be a good day or it might be the day that you lost it in a way that surprised even yourself.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

You’re not alone. 

Mommy Similes

In honor of Mother's Day this month, I've decided to share some thoughts and insights into just what it means to be a mother. I'm going to try to post one mommy simile each day until the 14th.  'Try' is the key word because, well, I am a mom and never know what each day may bring. So here it goes:

May 1
Being a mom is like working for disaster clean-up. You know those people that come in after a disaster with their gloves and masks and clean things up and fix things to make an area livable again; those people that deal with some terrible and gross stuff; those people that you're thankful for but also question how they do it...that's a mom, except for without the gloves and mask. A mom faces every disaster from permanent marker on the walls, sofa, and hardwood floor to the three P's (poop, pee, and puke) without flinching (or with a little flinching but not when anyone is looking). I have walked into a room after my sons, my sweet Tasmanian Devils, have been in there for only 15 minutes, and it looks like a hurricane or tornado ripped through their room. I don't know how they do it, but I do know that my job is disaster clean-up. It's a never ending job, but I do have some help occasionally. My dog knows that when I say, "Clean-up on aisle two," the boys are done eating, and it's time for him to clean up the floor around the table. The slobber just adds a shiny luster, right?

Whenever a mother hears the sound of retching, automatically her hand shoots forward, ready to catch whatever is about to come forth. I don't know what causes a mother to do this...maybe a brain defect...because the normal reaction is to clear out (my husband holds the record for potential vomit situation exit strategies). Whenever one of my children gets sick, and it's never in a bucket or proper location, I often think of the Japanese workers at the nuclear plant in Japan after the big earthquake there a couple of years ago. Everyone was afraid that the plant was going to blow, but a few people had to stay behind to manage things. I admire their bravery and self-sacrifice. I wonder if they had much of a choice. When it comes to toxic fumes, bodily discharges of any kind, anything disgusting...a mother often stands alone. She is the epitome of bravery and self-sacrifice, because sometimes you really don't want to deal with a mess, but someone has to do it, and that someone is usually you, the mom.

And the next time that you visit me, and my house is far from spotless...in fact, it may look like a disaster just struck...please understand that being a mom is like working for disaster clean-up and being a mom of three young sons means a natural disaster every five minutes. The minute I get the twelve matchbox cars that have been jammed into my vacuum out (true story, my son loves jamming things into any holes or openings that he comes across), I will begin my disaster clean-up straight away!

Two quotes that I love:

"Cleaning up with children around is like shoveling during a blizzard."

Jerry Seinfeld - "A two-year old is kind of like having a blender, but you don't have a top for it."

Lost in Translation

Sometimes as a parent, I feel like I'm doing a pretty good job. And then there's the other 99% of the time. For example, a little before Christmas I came across this great idea for teaching children about charity and giving. This mom helps her children choose five toys that they no longer play with. They put these toys in a bag and leave it out on Christmas Eve for Santa to take to children who don't have any toys. Santa then leaves new toys. I thought Sam was old enough to understand the concept of giving, so one day I sat down with him and explained to him that there are poor boys and girls out there who don't have any toys at all to play with. "Wouldn't that be sad to not have any toys at all?" I asked. Sam agreed. I then explained that we have lots and lots of toys, some that we don't even play with anymore. I suggested that we choose a few toys that we don't play with anymore and leave them for Santa to take to those poor children who don't have anything. I also told him that I was sure Santa was going to be bringing him some new toys. Sam suddenly started to cry. At first, I thought he was crying out of compassion for the poor children who have nothing. My heart was saying, "Awwwww..." until Sam wailed out, "Don't give my toys away! Don't let the poor boys and girls get my toys!" It took me an hour to calm him down. That night he actually woke up in the middle of the night screaming, "Not the poor boys and girls!" Apparently my message was lost in translation.

The other day I had a hankering for brownies, and so I made some. When Nic got home from some church meetings, he asked for a brownie. I told him to help himself and to cover them up for me when he was done. As he was covering the brownies with some aluminum foil, Sam came into the kitchen and cried out, "No! Don't give them to the neighbors!" Nic about fell over laughing. Yet another lesson lost in translation.

An excerpt from The Red Tape Letters

The Red Tape Letters

By Jolene Jenkins

“Love is of all passions the strongest, for it attacks simultaneously the head, the heart, and the senses.”

--Lao Tzu

“Better to have lost and loved than never to have loved at all.”

--Ernest Hemingway

“The heart wants what it wants. There’s no logic to these things. You meet someone and you fall in love and that’s that.”

--Woody Allen

“All is fair in love and war.”

--Proverb

“Love is a battlefield.”

--Pat Benetar

To

C.S. Lewis

Preface

I HAVE no intention of explaining how these letters came into my possession.

There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall concerning love. One is apathy or a lack of desire, passion, or emotion about love. To go about in life with an indifference toward love endangers a person to not fully experience life and all that it has to offer. The other error is to believe, and to feel an excessive and unhealthy obsession with love or an object or subject of love. They themselves are equally pleased by both errors and hail puppy love or true love with the same delight. The sort of script used in this book can be very easily obtained by anyone who has once learned the knack; but disposed and excitable people or people who are prone to use excessive amounts of glitter, exclamation points, or clichés who might make a bad use of it shall not learn it from me.

Readers are advised to remember that a cupid is often blinded by love. Not everything that Amore, affectionately known as Uncle Ray, should be assumed to be true or right in every circumstance or for every individual. I have made no attempt to identify any of the human beings mentioned in these letters; but I think it very unlikely that the portraits, say of the patient’s mother, are entirely accurate.

In conclusion, I ought to add that no effort has been made to clear up the chronology of the letters. Not because of laziness on my part, but in order to preserve the authenticity of the letters. When dealing with love, time can be lengthy or short, depending on the phase of love, and terrestrial time seems to have no bearing on a cupid. What was going on in the world, except in so far as it happens now and then to impinge upon the relationship status of one human being, was obviously of no interest to Uncle Ray.

Jolene Jenkins

February 14, 2013

I

MY DEAR AMORINI,

            I note what you say about guiding our patient’s Internet browsing and taking care that he doesn’t see a good deal of his happy bachelor friend. But are you not being a trifle naïve? It sounds as if you supposed that argument was the way to convince him to fall in love. That might have been so if he had lived a few centuries earlier. At that time the human still knew pretty well what love was and what it was not; and love was thought of in a favorable manner. They still connected love with unselfishness, commitment, matrimony, and children. They connected love with doing, with action, and were prepared to alter their way of life in order to commit to their love. But what with the media, The Bachelor reality show, Taylor Swift break-up songs, and other such weapons, society has largely altered that. Your man has been accustomed, ever since he was a boy, to have a dozen incompatible philosophies concerning love dancing about together inside his head. He doesn’t think of love and commitment primarily as “good” or “bad”, but as “idealized” or “sappy”, “outworn” or “too contemporary”, “conventional” or “ruthless”. Jargon, not argument, is your best ally in helping him consider love. Don’t waste time trying to make him think love will bring him happiness! Make him think love is fun, or profitable, or popular—that it is the philosophy of the future. That’s the sort of thing he cares about.

A Baby Story Episode 3

This baby story officially begins on October 12, 2012, but there were many things that happened before that day. As I mentioned in another post, I was not feeling well the last part of my pregnancy. For about the last month or so, I was miserable. I was humongous! I couldn't eat very much, I couldn't stand up for more than ten minutes without getting dizzy, I could hardly move, and I was just plain uncomfortable. I was measuring four centimeters bigger than either of my other pregnancies. Normally, my tummy measured the same as the week of my pregnancy, so at week 35 I would measure 35 cm. But with this pregnancy at week 37, I was measuring 43 cm. I was all tummy. Nic liked to joke that I was losing my super spy sneaking abilities because my stomach would arrive 15 minutes before the rest of me. At my 37 week appointment, my doctor was a little concerned and so he scheduled me for an ultrasound on the next Monday. This was on a Wednesday and my doctor really didn't think I was going to make it until Monday. I was getting more and more dilated and effaced and I was having contractions all day and night, and he kept saying, "If you're still pregnant..." 

Well, much to my dismay, I made it until Monday.

Monday morning I went in and did the ultrasound. I wasn't too excited about it because supposedly I was supposed to drink 30 ounces of water for the ultrasound. My bladder was not at its best, and I could hardly drink a half glass of water without needing to go to the bathroom, so I was a little skeptical about 30 ounces. Let's just say I did my best (around 10 ounces)! The ultrasound was really neat because we've never done an ultrasound when I was so far along. You could actually tell that it was a baby! We got to see little Pumpkin's face and everything. Nic had been teasing me that the original ultrasound was wrong and that I was going to be surprised with a girl, but I was able to reaffirm that I was indeed having a boy. And we reaffirmed that the baby was Nic's kid because we have a picture of the baby flipping us off. It was a fun little pre-meeting with our little boy. From the ultrasound, we learned that the baby's head and chest were measuring big and the baby was estimated to be around 8 lbs 10 oz. We also learned that I had a lot of amniotic fluid. All the joking that I did that Mark had installed an Olympic-sized pool when he was in my tummy, came back to get me. My doctor called me shortly after the ultrasound. He was concerned with the baby's size. I wasn't quite 38 weeks along, and the doctor was worried that Pumpkin could get up to 9 lbs by the time I gave birth. Dr. Smith also worried about the large amount of fluid that I had. Apparently my body was acting like I was diabetic, but all blood tests came back normal. Dr. Smith said that because of all the fluid, if my water broke, it would be like a dam breaking, and could cause some problems like flushing out the umbilical cord or rupturing my placenta. Because of the big baby factor, my history of having some difficulties with the other two babies, and all the fluid, my doctor told me to consider a c-section.

I then proceeded to freak out over the next few hours. I was so miserable and so done being pregnant, but I was also terrified about having the baby. I wanted to do what was best for the baby. We don't know if it was birth trauma that caused Mark's brain bleed (we'll probably never know what caused it), but that was something weighing heavily in the back of our minds. After much trepidation, we decided to do it. We were scheduled for that Friday.  Again, the doctor didn't think I would make it. At my check-up on Wednesday I was dilated to a high three and 70% effaced. But again, we were dealing with one of my boys, and they are as stubborn as their daddy!

Thursday night I had contractions all night but no baby. There were a couple of times that I really thought it was time to head to the hospital, but then every thing would calm down. Early Friday morning we headed to the hospital to finally meet our little Pumpkin. Here I am in all my huge glory:

I have to say, I was really, really nervous! The nurse that first started prepping me for surgery was at the end of her shift, and not the kindest nurse out there, but oh well. We were about to have a baby! I was so done with being pregnant and uncomfortable and so excited to meet my little guy that it didn't matter. The worst part of everything was the IV. The nurse tried three times to do the IV but couldn't do it. According to her, my veins were really small and difficult. She called in another nurse to try who also failed. By that point, just seeing them come at me with that needle would make me cry. I don't like needles anyway and really didn't like being a pin cushion. Eventually, they called in the head nurse who got it on the first try. She couldn't see what all the bother was about. I think from here on out, I will request experts right from the get go.
The nurse who ended up being my delivery nurse was super nice. She took good care of us and was really sweet. The anesthesiologist came in and explained things to us. At first, I was intimidated by him because initially he was all business. We told him how I had passed out previously from my epidural and so he was really intent on that not happening again. I was shaking so bad when I got the epidural. It's actually not that bad (not as bad as the IV, that's for sure!), but I always get so scared. But it's always surprising how fast it takes affect.

My doctor came and spoke with us, Nic got suited up, and then it was time. I was laughing because the nurse asked Nic if he had eaten anything yet. He told her he was fine, and she proceeded to tell him that he was going to eat some crackers or something because she wasn't going to deal with a fainting daddy.
Here's my doctor who delivered all three of my babies:

And here's my sexy husband, suited up and ready.

The procedure actually went really quickly, something like twenty minutes or so. My doctor had another doctor assisting him, and that doctor said something like, "Wow! She has a lot of fluid!" And the nurse said, she has never had to get a second bag for the fluid before me. I was like a queen-size water bed! The nice thing was that I lost thirty pounds in twenty minutes. =)
At one point, I almost passed out. For some reason, when I'm pregnant, I am really sensitive to laying on my back. Pregnant women aren't supposed to anyway because it cuts off circulation and what not, but even a minute or two on my back, and I will get sick and black out. I think when the doctor was trying to draw the line for cutting, he needed me to be flat on my back, and suddenly the room was spinning. The anesthesiologist was right in my face almost the whole time encouraging me and keeping me focused. The c-section is the weirdest thing. They put up a curtain so that you can't see what's going on (I don't know whether or not it would freak me out to see my insides), but Nic was able to watch the whole procedure. He said it was interesting but hard at the same time to think that the person that they were cutting open was his wife. I could feel things but it didn't hurt. It just felt like pressure here and there, and I could feel things being moved around. Oh, they just moved my liver...It was such a weird feeling!
Apparently, the doctor still had to use the vacuum a little. My babies just like to nestle high up right in my rib cage. But Pumpkin finally made his big debut. I was so excited to meet him finally. He was perfect and handsome right from the start. The hardest thing was that I wasn't able to hold him right away, but Nic brought him over and introduced us.

We got to hang out in the recovery room for a little while which was a nice little time to get acquainted with our new little guy. I feel bad because my mom had been at the hospital the whole time and was waiting anxiously in my hospital room. It seemed to be taking a long time and she hadn't heard anything and was getting really worried. But she was very relieved and happy to finally meet her new little grandson.

Nic's parents arrived just as Nic and baby Pumpkin were heading to the room so they got to meet him in the hallway and help escort him to his room. Pretty soon Grandpa Dee, Nanny, and the brothers arrived to meet the newest addition to the family. Sam was really excited about this new baby, which surprised me because he wasn't too excited when Mark came along. Mark was too sure about the baby at all. Whenever he got close to the baby, he tried to give him a good brotherly bonk!

Mark with his new little brother--notice Nanny is holding Mark's hand to keep him from hitting the baby!

Sam with his newest little brother. He wanted to hold the baby and has been fascinated with him from the start.

To make the meeting a little better, the baby brought gifts for his brothers. Sam and Mark both got big brother back-packs filled with toys, books, and treats. They also all got matching brother shirts that mommy made for them. This seemed to help them like the little guy a little more.
Sam's shirt said: Biggest Brother--So good...they gave me another!
Mark's shirt said: Big Brother--Recently Promoted
And the baby's shirt said: Little Brother--Newest Addition

I love these pictures of Nic and the boys. They really capture life at our house these days! In one picture Mark is picking on Sam, in another he's eating a pen. And then you have Sam being a character, and Sam playing on the I-phone!

Mark especially liked the giant drawers in my hospital room.

After a three day stay at the hospital, it was time to go home. Before we went home, our last nurse had to remove my staples on my incision. I was a little nervous. All of our nurses the entire time were super nice and good at what they did. They all took good care of us. We even had the nurse who was my delivery nurse with Mark one day. However, my last nurse was very nice and excited about everything, but she seemed a little dotty. So when she came into the room with a pair of pliers, I was a little nervous (scared for my life). But it went alright, and I didn't die, so kudos to her! =)

As usual, the only thing that delayed us from going home was deciding on a name for our new little guy. We started the three name tradition with Sam, decided to keep it going with Mark, and so had to come up with three names for this new baby boy. Once again, we plastered the white board in the room with name ideas. Nic and the baby had a couple of interviews to try and decide on what his name should be. After a few hours of deliberation, Nicholas Cole Christopher was ready to go home. Nic was excited to share a first name with our little pumpkin. Christopher is the name of one of Nic's really good friends, and Cole was just a good western name that we liked. In fact, Cole wasn't even on any of our early lists of name ideas, but this baby just seemed to be a Cole, and that's what he goes by now.

Here's Cole's first kitchen sink bath at home. He was a little nervous at first, but discovered that a nice warm bath was quite nice. Maybe he will end up being my little swimmer, since he spent the first nine months of his life swimming around in my tummy swimming pool. And I know that they say that babies don't smile at first, that it's just gas, but I don't believe it. This little guy has been smiling since he was just a few days old. Sometimes it's just great big goofy smiles, and sometimes little smirks.

My sweet little miracle--Nicholas Cole Christopher. Welcome to the world, sweet baby!

Updates

Let's see if I can catch up a little here...
Mark
Mark is now the big boy. He's really starting to hit some big milestones. I was starting to wonder if he was ever going to go mobile.He wouldn't stand on his legs, and he would get angry when you put him on his knees. He would roll around a bit, and I was impressed with how quickly he could get around by spinning around on his behind.  But for the most part, he was perfectly content to be carted around. However, it has been getting harder and harder for mommy to carry him. Then about a month ago, he started getting frustrated that he couldn't get around and go where he wanted to. And then about two weeks ago, he just decided to crawl. He didn't really practice a lot; he just started to crawl one afternoon. Now he is all over the place. I am constantly trying to childproof the house, but then I've got the anti-childproofer, Sam, who is constantly leaving little things like pennies where Mark can get them (despite our many discussions on the matter). I'm not sure how well the house is going to hold up. I couldn't keep up with Hurricane Sam, and now I have Tornado Mark as well. Mark is just as talented as his brother at destroying a clean room. I am outnumbered, so if you should come by my house don't worry if it takes me a minute to get to the door...I just have to unbury myself from the chaos!

I don't know if I ever mentioned that Mark ended up getting a shunt last December. It was something that we were trying to avoid, but the swelling on his brain kept increasing, so it had to be done. And I have to say, that it has made all the difference. Basically the shunt is a tube that runs from the ventricles between his brain halves down into his stomach cavity and drains extra fluid from the head into the stomach where it's just absorbed by the body. While he may not need it for his entire life, it's something that he will probably have for the rest of his life. It's just easier to leave it in, and there's extra coils of tube in his stomach that should supposedly unroll as he grows. Isn't medical technology incredible!? Mark has a little bump on top of his head, but for the most part, you would never know he has the shunt. It was night and day when he got the shunt. He immediately became more interactive and he started putting on weight and looking so much more healthy.

Now he only has to do his regular pediatrician visits and see his neuro-surgeon once a year. His neurologist was so impressed that she said we don't have to come back unless there are any problems. We also have an early intervention specialist, Melinda, who comes to the house once a month to work with Mark. She helps us monitor his progress and helps us to set goals for him. For example, last month our goal was to work on getting Mark used to being on his knees. She was so impressed when she came this past week to see him crawling all around. Mark loves to show off for her too! The doctors told us that the brain is a complicated thing, and we may never see any issues from Mark's early struggles or something may pop up one day. You just never know. But for now, Mark is perfectly normal. He's a smart kid, full of personality, and very interactive. In fact, I think he's going to really give us a run for our money! He's cute, and he knows it.

Mark doesn't talk much yet. He says "dadda" (he's a total daddy's boy) and "uh-oh" and just this week he's started doing the sign for more. But he loves to make sounds and interact with people. He loves to make silly sounds. And he's always watching his big brother and trying to copy him. That could be trouble! =)

Sam
Sam is almost three and such a smart cookie. He knows his alphabet and can count to twenty. He is a mini-Nic in so many ways. Not only does he look like daddy, but he seems to be mechanically inclined and loves numbers just like his dad. He loves to take things apart to see how they work and is so curious about everything which sometimes/often gets him in trouble. But it's fun to discover the wonder of the world with him.

Sam is a very verbal child. You have to watch what you say around him. Luckily, he hasn't picked up some of daddy's vocab, but does say things like, "heck yeah!" and "time out! Two minutes!" from mom. We have a list of 'yucky' words like "stupid", "hate", "go away", and "oh my gosh". Sam has tasted soap once for continually using yucky words despite warnings. Now he lectures others when they use yucky words. He's gotten after Grandma M and Aunt Holly for saying "oh my gosh" and has threatened them with time out and soap.

He's also a technology junky. He knows how to work the iPhone better than most adults. He can get on the iPhone and on the TV, find Netflix, find the show he wants to watch, and then watch it. He has a bunch of educational games on the iPhone that he likes to play, and if you aren't careful, he knows how to get more games. I just learned that he got on my sister's phone and bought $6.00 worth of apps. My iPhone used to have a picture of Mark on the sleep screen and a picture of Sam on the home screen. Well, Sam got on there and changed it so there's now two pictures of him.

A funny story, over labor day weekend, my parents went on a vacation with my aunt and uncle to Mt. Rushmore. Well, early Sunday morning, a little before 7 a.m., I was taking a shower when Sam came into the bathroom and told me that he called grandma and grandpa. Sure enough, he had my cellphone and was talking to grandpa. He called my parents all on his own and woke them up. He told them I was in the shower and even let them talk to Mark who was still in his crib, supposedly sleeping. It was their favorite wake up call ever!

One of my favorite things is to spy on Sam when he's playing or during what I call his "bath confessional". Sometimes when he's taking a bath, he'll act out the entire day with his toys. I get to find out things I didn't know he did that day and I get to hear what I sound like all day. It's quite interesting some days! Sam is very imaginative and likes to come up with stories. He'll take characters and story ideas from his favorite TV shows and combine these things with his life. He loves role play. He'll tell me, "I'm mom. You're Sam." And then proceed to act the part. It's super cute.

Sam can be a real stinker with his trouble making and tantrums, but he's also such a sweet kid. He gives plenty of hugs and kisses, and my favorite thing is that he tells us that he loves us now. The other day, I wasn't feeling well and was lying in bed crying. Sam crawled up onto my bed and hugged me. He kept patting my head and saying, "Don't cry, mommy. It's okay. I'm right here. I love you." He's such a tender heart!

The rest of us
Nic is doing well, though he's extremely busy. From work to church to trying to take care of us,I don't think the poor guy gets much sleep. We're still trying to find that perfect balance with everything. I think Nic feels guilty about the time he spends away from the family, but he works really hard to be with us as much as he can. He's been coming home at lunch time lately whenever he can get away to help me with the boys and spend some time with us. I love that Nic is a dad that interacts with his boys. He plays with them, reads stories with them, talks with them. As his dad said the other day, "For all the time he spent saying he didn't want kids, he sure loves those kids. He's a good dad." 

I have about four more weeks left of this pregnancy, and, honestly, I'm just in survival mode. I haven't really been sick or anything, but this pregnancy has kicked my tooshy. A big factor, is that my body wasn't fully recovered from my last pregnancy (Mark and the baby will be barely 14 months apart). I am constantly exhausted. I can't really stand for much longer than 10-15 minutes without getting dizzy and sick. I'm also a lot bigger with this one than my other two pregnancies. I've gained twenty pounds so far which I know isn't much, but is double what I gained with my other pregnancies, and I'm about 3 centimeters bigger. It's not a huge difference, but it feels like a lot on an already tired body. I feel bad that I'm not as active with the boys right now, but I keep telling myself that it's just a short moment in the scheme of things and that the boys are doing okay. I'm lucky to have two boys that can play on their own and keep themselves entertained while mommy rests. I also feel bad because I feel like I'm more whiny these days, and I don't mean to be. I am truly blessed to have this new miracle coming into my life. Some one pointed out the other day that we're getting our invitro paid back now because we're having our third baby and we did three rounds of invitro. Maybe. All I know is that in the past three years, I've gone from wondering if I could ever have children to being the mother of three little ones (soon). And I know that there are so many out there struggling to have babies. It's all in the Lord's timing. We just have to trust in Him, whether it's infertility or surviving three boys under three or whatever it might be. And I'm slowly learning to leave the hard stuff to Him, and to just enjoy what life gives me.

So that's about it. We've had a fun summer filled with adventures. There are so many stories to tell, but it's so hard to find the time and energy to record it all. As usual, I will try to do better! It very likely, however, that the next time you hear from me will be to report the arrival of little Pumpkin.

Happy Birthday, Mark-o Polo!

Today my baby is officially one year old. It has been an adventurous and amazing year so far, and it only gets better each day. I love this little guy! He's such a character and a perfect part of our eternal family.
 Here's a look back over the past wonderful year with my sweet angel, Mark.

August 2011

 September 2011

 October 2011

 November 2011

 December 2011

 January 2012

 February 2012

 March 2012

 April 2012

 May 2012

 June 2012

July 2012

August 2012