Home Again

We spent Easter mostly on the road. Left our house at 7:40 (it was supposed to be 7:00, but Gracie waking up at 4:00 again meant that we all overslept), met Mom, Lis, and David at Cracker Barrel at 9:30, and by 11:30 Carl had left for Chicago; Lis and David were on their way back to Buffalo; and Mom, the littles, and I were coming up north for the week.

The girls tumbled out of the car, ready to play outside, just about as soon as we pulled into the driveway. They spent nearly all day yesterday outside, reveling in the sunshine and freedom to run. I sat on the porch with a book, doing some reveling myself, and ended the day with a sunburn. In April. In northern New York, of all places!

It's raining today (surprise, surprise), but Joy and I have appointments to get our hair cut this afternoon anyway, so a rainy day isn't too much of a problem. It'll probably be easier to get them in the car and to the hairdresser than if it was beautiful sunshine out!

Aside from Grace not sleeping well at night (which means I don't sleep well either, since we're all three in the same room), we're having a marvelous time. Which means there probably won't be much blogging this week.

We'll be too busy having fun. For a change.

Season of Joy

This top picture was taken by my dad (through the glass, hence the blurriness) the first time we took Joy skating. I think her feet were actually on the ice twice. Of those two times, only once were said feet moving.

Oh, and she also refused to let Uncle David carry her at all. Only Mamma or Auntie Lis. Our arms were sore by the time we were done!

That was in early November. This bottom picture was taken (by me, on the ice with her, hence the no blurriness) this past Saturday, our final trip to the rink until next season.

The white on the front of her vest? From falling. On purpose. And getting herself back up again. She hops in place, sometimes falling, sometimes actually staying on her feet. She strokes, not just steps, across the ice. She loves to glide with me pulling her fast. She likes to go fast by herself. She tried sculling on Saturday (we need single-bladed skates for that - her feet went out just fine, but they don't go in so well with the double blades!), and she also tried skating backward. That also doesn't go so well with the double blades; she ended up just turning 'round and 'round in small circles. "Back spin!" I crowed triumphantly (back spins - or any spin, really - having always been my nemesis).

I'm not going to lie. I love that she loves this sport that means so much to me. But I would be thrilled even if these were two pictures of tennis, or baseball, or ballet, or gymnastics, or anything that showed such a remarkable growth and achievement in five months. To go from being too scared to even put her feet on the ice, to showing off for the camera, and not being scared of anything ice-related ...

Well. I had a few moments on Saturday where my throat tightened and my eyes pricked. It was one of those times where the parenting thing was actually really, really great.

These warmer months, we'll spend at the park learning how to kick a soccer ball. Come next fall, though, armed with single-bladed skates, we'll head back to the rink.

I can't wait to see how she takes off then!

Speaking of taking off ...

She really loves to hop!

(And if, next year, she decides she'd rather do something else, I'm good with that, too. Just so you're not concerned.)

Passover Thoughts

Today marks the start of Passover, the Jewish celebration of God's salvation of their people from Egypt, and more specifically from the angel of death that struck down the first-born of all the Egyptians, and passed over the Israelites because of the blood of the lamb on their doorways.

Exodus 12 details the instructions to the Israelites for keeping Passover.

Jesus Christ was sacrificed for our sins during the Passover festival (Matthew 26:2). He was the Lamb without blemish, whose blood shed for us causes the Lord to pass over our sins (John 1:29). He is the bread of life, in whom there is no leaven of sin (John 6:4, 31-35). I haven't the time to list all the Passover elements right now, but even a quick Google (!) search will give you an idea of how Christ fulfills each one.

As Christians, we are under no obligation to celebrate Passover in the way the Jews did. When Christ died and rose again, he fulfilled all the prophecies, all the laws, and all the feasts and festivals. All pointed to him. We celebrate Christ now, in our everyday life and through the Lord's Supper, through baptism, through group and individual worship, through prayer and praise.

Having said that, there is no harm in looking at him through the Passover. Carl and I are hoping, when the girls are old enough to have an understanding of what we are doing, to do a Seder feast, where we take each element and, through Scripture, show how it pointed to Christ. I participated in one such when I was a kid, and while what I mainly remember is being completely grossed out by the fact that I had to eat horseradish, I also do remember being fascinated by seeing how everything came together in Christ. It helps, sometimes, to have that reminder.

So, whether you choose to celebrate Passover or not, I hope you are able this week to think about Christ our sacrifice, and to dwell on what our Savior has done for us. In him we live and move and have our being!

For from him and through him and to him are all things. To him be the glory forever. Amen.

Potty-Training Update

A brief scene from any day this past week:

Grace: "Yay!"

Mamma: "Hm, mm - wait, what? Grace, did you say yay? Do you have to go potty?"

Grace: "No. No, no. Nononononono."

Mamma: "No? Are you sure?'

Grace: "Yay!"

Mamma (Now completely confused, because yay is what Grace has been saying whenever she has to go): "Well, which is it?"

Grace: "AUGHHHHHHHHHHHHH."

Mamma: "Okay then, potty time."

Grace (on the potty): "AUGHHHHHHHH - yay! - AUGHHHHHHH - yay! Augh."

Joy (hovering in the background): "She's doing it all in the potty! That's a great job, Grace! Big girl! Wow!"

Grace: "AUGHHHHH. YAY."

Mamma: "All done? Good job! See, that wasn't so bad. Would you like a treat?"

Grace (sounding less like Santa Claus and more like a maniacal dictator giving a deep, eerie chuckle): "Ho, ho ho."

End scene.

I hate potty-training. But I love this kid. She cracks me up every single day.

First-Borns

Poor Joy.

As I am now in the throes of potty-training Grace (her idea, I swear - I would have put it off for at least four more months, if not six. If not twelve), I am realizing anew how lousy first-borns have it.

As a second- (and final) born, I never believed all that hype about first-borns suffering through so much. Yeah right. They get to do everything first, and by the time you're old enough to do it, it's no longer cool.

However, as a mom, I'm now seeing the downside to doing everything first. You have to suffer through your parents' uncertainties and stress. "No, she stopped nursing a month early, we have to give her formula or she'll be stunted! No matter that she hates it, force it down!" Potty-training involved many tears, screams, frustrations, and trauma with Joy. As I'm sure many of you remember from my desperate posts back then. We're still struggling with consistently doing bowel movements in the potty (I know, TMI), even all these months later.

Grace? I'm more along the lines of, "oh look, you peed on the floor again. Oh well. You'll get it eventually."

As a result (well, ok, and due to her personality), she's already starting to get the hang of going in the potty. We started this on Monday. Admittedly, she still screams every time she has to pee, and makes a HUGE song-and-dance over actually going in the potty, but she's getting there.

It probably also helps that I'm much more generous with treats this time around. "You only got half down your legs, and a trickle went in the potty! Yay, you get a treat!"

Poor Joy. But in case you're feeling too badly for her, know that whenever Grace gets an animal cracker for sitting on the potty, I give Joy one too. Just because.

So maybe first-borns don't have it too bad, after all. Plus, she will be able to get her ears pierced a whole year and a half before Grace.

Hmph. Darn older sisters. They get all the fun.

Larks at Parks

This weekend finally felt like spring. It was in the mid-sixties, sunny, with a bit of a breeze but not a cold one. Perfect.

Saturday, we were going to run our weekly errands, get me the pair of Birkenstocks Carl promised me for my birthday, and then visit the park. The first store that we visited for the Birkenstocks was closed. As in, had been out of business for a year. Not that they'd bothered to update their website or anything ...

So we changed our plans and visited the other semi-local store, all the while wishing we lived in California or Arizona or someplace where Birks are popular and common. Since this store was about a half-hour drive, we decided to check out the park in the middle of town while we were there, so we wouldn't miss out on our playtime.

This store was open, and carried Birkenstocks, but not my size, and they didn't think they could order them in my size, and they were in general so snooty and unhelpful that we didn't really feel inclined to give them our business anyway. So the entire shoe-shopping expedition was a bust.

The park, though, was great.

We've been going out for walks ever since early March, and Carl and the girls have made it to the park once or twice, but this was the first really nice weather trip, where they could run and play to their heart's content without worrying about mud or patches of snow or getting bogged down because they are still wearing boots and coats, hats and gloves.

It was glorious.

&&&&&

We decided to be true Sabbatarians on Sunday, and stayed home from church to rest. It proved to be so effective that we were able to make it out to our usual park in the afternoon, where the girls (and Carl) had great fun with balls.

This was the first time Joy really took to kicking the ball, and it was great fun for Carl to see her loving a sport that he enjoyed so much when he was younger. Kind of like how great it was for me to see her take off on ice skates. We don't plan to push the girls into any sports, so long as they are able to find some way to stay active as they grow, but it really is great to see them enjoying something that has meaning to us, too.

Joy's not so good at stopping the ball when it comes to her, but she's actually a pretty decent kicker! Grace is still more interested in picking the ball up and carrying it around with her, but I'm sure eventually she'll learn.

All in all, it was a wonderful weekend. Especially when I found an online size chart to measure my feet, and discovered that I could order Birkenstocks directly from the company w/o it costing anything for shipping, AND with free returns if they don't fit. Hurray!

Today is cloudy but supposed to get into the seventies, which is pretty well unheard of in April. I'll take it, though! I do so love me some spring.

These Mothering Days

Joy is currently cuddled in the big recliner with her soft white blankie, Bo the hippo, orange milk, and a bowl of Cheerios, while watching a Beatrix Potter video.

Grace is tearing around the house, stopping long enough to take handfuls of Joy’s Cheerios and drop them into her own bowl, and scatter a few on the floor like so much largesse before going back to bang on the toy piano, run the little car up and down the stairs, and otherwise spread chaos.

Both girls are sick with spring colds.

So am I, actually, and mine has been made worse by “sleeping” in the recliner two nights ago. Grace had enough mucus build-up that she started coughing it up in her sleep, so I brought her down to sleep on the couch so she wouldn’t wake Joy up, and I curled up in the recliner so I could help her if she woke up again hacking out junk.

It was not a comfortable night.

On the bright side, despite being sick and exhausted, I have been keeping my temper and patience with the girls (for the most part). The house, which I have been keeping immaculate lately, is now falling to wrack and ruin, but out of the two I would rather be a serene wife and mother than a perfect housekeeper. I have been struggling with my patience (or rather, impatience) for months, and seeing that I have been maintaining some level of sanity at this point in time gives me hope that eventually, when the girls are older and hopefully not waking up at 5:30 every morning, or are at least old enough to take care of themselves for an hour until I’m up if they are still waking up that early, I’ll be the fun, Lorelai Gilmore-type mom who is able to enjoy my kids and enjoy spending time with them like I’ve always wanted.

Because, to be perfectly honest? Being a mom is so not fun right now. And I know that life is not all about having fun, but the thought of drudgery for the next sixteen years just made me want to weep. And the thought of being relieved to see my girls grow up and move out? Made me want to weep even more.

I see status updates from my mother-friends on Facebook all the time that say things like “I love being a mother so much” or “I would never want to do anything else” and it makes me feel so horribly guilty, because I don’t love being a mother, not always, and there are lots of things I would rather do.

But two nights ago, after my almost-two-year-old hacked up mucus all over my pajamas, and then proceeded to fall soundly asleep on my chest, weighing so much more than she did when she was a baby, to the point where drawing a deep breath eventually became impossible, and then later, when I felt it was safe enough for her to sleep by herself and I tried to figure out why I used to think, when I was a teenager, that recliners were comfortable for sleep, I realized that I didn’t feel resentful or frustrated. Even knowing that I was losing a full night’s sleep and would still have to take care of the girls the next day.

Instead, I felt calm. At peace, even. And I realized, thankfully, that I don’t hate being a mother. I don’t like the drudgery of day-in, day-out, lonely and solitary child-rearing, knowing that around every corner somebody is ready to judge me, and around every other corner somebody else is ready to ignore my very existence. That, I hate. I hate feeling trapped.

I don’t necessarily love being a mother, in the abstract. But I love my children, my Joy and my Grace. And that is enough.

(And, truth be told, I also really love the fact that in a couple of weeks I will be spending a week with my parents, and my grandmother for part of the time, and will have lots and lots of love help, and support. I think stay-at-home parents in general would have an easier time of it with a wider support group!)

(Oh, and now Grace has shoved Joy’s flower girl basket from last summer on her head and is wearing it like a hat. This girl does not slow down for anything, not sickness nor lack of sleep nor Mamma’s weariness!)

Joy in the Rain

The girls and I are planning a trip to Mom and Dad's at the end of this month. Carl will be heading out to Chicago to look at schools, and rather than stay here for a week with no car, husband, or anything, we are heading home!

In preparation for the trip, I ordered Joy some rain gear. It's usually nice up north by the end of April, but seeing as how every time we visited last year, we hit nasty unseasonable weather (snow on Mother's Day, anyone?), I decided to be prepared for wet and mud.

Joy helped me order the things (she picked out exactly everything she wanted - I would have gone for different colored boots, but she insisted on the blue), and waited so impatiently for them to come in the mail.

They came in separate packages, but I hid them all as they came, so that I could give them to her all at once. The last piece of the ensemble arrived on Saturday, and she had so much fun trying them all out inside. When we found out it was supposed to rain all day on Monday, one little girl, at least, was very excited.

She had the best time jumping and splashing in the puddles. And I had the best time watching her have fun!

I could not get over how grown-up she looked at times out there, even when she was in the throes of childish glee. Joy has always had a mature face - the kind where, even as a baby we could see how she would look when she was older - but at times I caught my breath with just how old she seemed. My baby is growing up!

And yes, Mamma got new boots too. Can't let my girls have all the fun! (Gracie has boots and a raincoat, too, if you're concerned, but she doesn't like the rain, so we came out to play while she was napping.) It does not take much to make a child happy, really, does it?

The rain is falling all around,

It falls on field and tree,

It falls on the umbrellas here,

And on the ships at sea. 

-RL Stevenson

To My Sister, On Her Birthday

It's hard to believe, these days, that we used to fight as kids. I can only reconcile it to how close we are now - and were all through our teen years - by attributing it to peer pressure. Sisters weren't supposed to like each other, so I was a pest and Lis was superior.

Even then, though, I mostly remember the times of closeness: playing paper dolls in her bedroom, listening to "forbidden" pop music on the radio, quickly muffling it if Mom came by; Lis dressing up to portray the horrible, hideous Old Woman of the Woods my friend Leah and I made up when we were kids; staying up too late at night giggling together in bed; those awful one-minute bedtime stories she used to insist on reading to me while I would throw my pillow at her; going out and about places just us after she got her license; when I finally started listening to her fashion advice (!) (for the record, Lis, I am not planning on letting either of my girls dress for public the way Mom let me, so you don't have to worry about that); when she came swooping over to defend me from the bullies at skating lessons; the many, many boys who befriended me in hopes of catching her eye ...

Thanks for being my best friend ever since we were kids, Sis. And thanks for the two-hour phone conversations we still have these days, for letting me vent about everything. Thanks also for pushing me when I need it, and giving me a metaphorical slap upside the head when I need it, the way only a sister can! Love you, and hopefully we'll get to hang out together again soon! Do you suppose the boys would let us go shopping?

Happy Birthday!