Thanksgiving Day in a Non-traditional Way

Our non-traditional Thanksgiving Day sack lunch picnic. I have so much to be grateful for in my life, including the fact that my parents will arrive here tonight (and we will feast tomorrow). I don't think I have ever been so excited to see them before! I might be 32 years old and have 5 kids, but I'll never be too grown up to want my mommy.  Especially at the end of a long year. To my family and friends, far and wide, Happy Thanksgiving from Lookout Mountain! I am grateful for you!

Vignettes

While trying to get out the door to preschool, Max and I get into a "discussion" about wearing his coat. He insists that his jacket is a better choice. It has been freakishly cold (in the negatives) and snowy and I insist that his coat is not only a better choice, but the only choice. Frustrated with me, he gets his coat on and laments, "It's just...it's just that this coat makes me look fat."

 

Immediately following family scriptures and prayer at night, the kids take turns "wheel barrowing" from our bedroom to their beds. Finn cannot be left out and lies face down on the carpet every time just waiting for Dan to come pick up his legs. He hasn't made it to his bed (or even out of our bedroom) yet. But someday I'm sure he will.

Luke has really started to enjoy reading. Right now, the Toad and Frog books are some of his favorites.

Like I said, the past week has been crazy cold. I watched the temp drop as I drove the kids to school one morning and wondered as it went from 4 to 3 to 2 to 1, if my new van's display could show negatives. The answer was obviously, yes.

Finn's obsession with football (and basketball to a slightly smaller degree) has become troublesome. You might say it affects his ability to live a normal life. His first word every morning is football.  And each morning he expects to wake up and lay on the couch with a bottle and watch football. He refuses to wear any shirt except one of three, which we rotate between washes-the football one, the basketball one, and the BYU one (which he equates with football). This is the face of a child forced to watch Max and Ruby instead of football.

Ava continues to ride and love it. She has learned so much and come so far in such a short time.

Meanwhile, Jack keeps growing and turned two months old. All my other babies slept through the night between 8-10 weeks, but given his propensity for tummy issues, I don't forsee him following suit. It's ok though, he is cute enough to make up for it.

The Gang's All Here

I have mentioned a few times before that after I had Finn I felt like I should have another baby. Along with those feelings were a lot of thoughts about how I was so happy this was not my last newborn. I was enjoying Finn so much that I just couldn't imagine not doing it again.  And I told myself, next time, what I felt like would be the last time, I would soak up every single second.  I would enjoy the heck fire out of that baby.  That I would savor every moment, kind of like how I was savoring Finn at that time.

Enter Jack.  He's here and I truly feel like our family is complete. My plan was to savor him, to soak up all of these moments into my heart and never let them go.  But my poor Jack.  He's got reflux like most of my other babies.  But he has something none of the others ever did, colic.

It's not the cry-incessantly-for-no-apparent-reason-for-hours-on-end kind.  It's the my-tummy-hurts-so-bad-and-I-have-crazy-cramps kind.

He does cry a lot, but only when he's hurting.  As soon as whatever it is passes on, he's quiet again. The evenings and nights are his worst times. The main way this colic affects our lives is that he cannot sleep.  The rocking and bouncing and patting seem to ease him when he's feeling bad, and I give him gripe water every evening. But in the dead of night, when he's twisting and writhing in his bed, it might be helpful if I stood and bounced him, but after 6 weeks averaging 3-4 broken hours of sleep a night, I am toasted. And the standing bounce is a pipe dream....

Ahhh dreams...I used to have those.

But anyways, instead, I try everything I can without getting out of bed, literally falling asleep sitting up and feeling so lucky that he's still safe in my arms because of the boppy pillow when I wake up from terrible neck cramps or because he's crying again.  He can't eat much at a time, whether it's the reflux or his tummy, I don't know.  But in any case, he needs to eat often.  But when you give a mouse a cookie, his tummy will start hurting and cramping all over again.

So the point of all of that whining was to explain why I have found it very difficult to "soak this up" and "savor each moment".  These moments are so hard.  And I'm not going to lie, I feel a little cheated. I think to myself,

I wanted to love this! 

I love Jack, no doubt about it.  He's a sweet slice of heaven and I don't know how I lived all this time without him, which means it's not fun watching him cry and squeal in pain.  I don't love that. It's hard to savor this. And I wanted to savor this so bad.

Maybe this is Heavenly Father's way of really cementing the fact that we are done having babies. He knew if I enjoyed it too much I would want another, which would only stir a revolt by my husband.

Here's the thing though, the past six weeks have been hard.  I have never been more tired in my whole, whole life.  But that experience I had down there, the How Firm a Foundation post, was not a lie nor a figment of my imagination.  God knows just who I am and has literally sustained me and given me strength that I do not have.

In bed at night, while I'm watching the hours tick by as I try desperately to soothe the sweet little sack of potatoes that I love, I think,

There is no way I am going to be able to get up tomorrow.  There is no way.

But in the morning, I get up.  And I function.  Not perfectly, but I function.  And while I still feel exhaustion, I get through the days.  I can't usually manage a nap unless the stars align (jack doesn't really nap too well either).  I get to the evening and I can feel each system shutting down individually and we try to get the kids in bed before I'm a pile on the floor. But we do it.

And I know that I didn't make it through the day on my own accord.

The other very beautiful thing about this hard time has been the way my eyes have opened to the handiwork of God.  The smallest, simplest things that have probably been happening all along, but that I've always walked by without noticing.

 I've seen them now.  And I feel so lucky for that.

 Whether it's the desperate desire of a little boy to score a soccer goal before the season is over, and the fact that he did and his dad was lucky enough to catch it on video so I could see it when they got home, to the time the baby actually didn't cry when it was imperative that I be able to hold and console another child who really needed her mom, to the thoughts of comfort and insight that come into my mind, despite the sleep deprivation.

Small things, inconsequential to most, but not to me and not to Him. I felt so loved this past month.

There were only a handful of days that we didn't have someone here with us.

And I have come to a conclusion:

I can never love a person as much I love those who love my children.

Chandra came.  Among other things, she pulled out the tooth that was dangling by a thread, she put together Ava's new dresser, she changed diapers and held my baby.

Leah came. Among other things, she cleaned my kitchen, took her fair share of turns with a screaming baby, and swept the floor.

Then my friend Val came.  Among other things, she played on the trampoline with the kids, chased Finn around the park, and kept the baby while I slept.

Then Grandma Linda and Grandpa Don came.  Among other things, they helped us rake leaves, got the kids new books, and bought us dinner.

And when it was all over, I knew that they were all a part of God's grand scheme to take care of us.  I felt so loved and so did my kids.



I've always felt that a new baby brings a whole lot of love to our home.

Saying I'm happy to be a mother is an understatement.  And to watch the love develop between these children of mine is amazing.  The relationships and associations we have on this earth are no accident.

It's like there have been a thousand little blessings just poured on top of me like sand. Heavenly Father lets me know with each one that He sees us and loves us. I know He always has, and He always will, the only difference lies in my ability to see them.

I'm anxious for the baby to outgrow his colic, but I'm hoping desperately to hold onto the ability to see God's hand in my life so abundantly.

Luke's 7 Year Pictures

When we lived in Texas, the end of June was way too hot to take Luke's birthday pictures.  So I put it off until things cooled down.  In reality, I put it off until Max's birthday approached and I remembered that I never took Luke's, so his pictures were always carefully taken around pumpkins and fall decor in the background.

Old habits die hard, I guess.  It's nice in Colorado during the summer.  But Luke's pictures got put off again, just like always.  I finally took them on November 1. In a way, maybe it's good because it still remains a yearly glimpse.  Now I just have to get Max's in before winter hits.  The snow falling this morning isn't making me feel too confident about that.

But here's Luke in his toothless, beautiful, 7 year old glory...

Obviously he needs new jeans. 

For some reason this one reminds me of a freshly hatched chick.

And this one looks exactly like pictures of me when I was younger.

I think I should sell his face to magazines to pay for his college fund.

And this one just flat out cracks me up.

To make him smile, I asked him who was the prettiest girl in first grade.  His reply? "Miss Lere," his teacher.  

Then I asked him who was prettier, Miss Lere or Mommy?  He laughed for a minute and then said, "Mommy."

Don't tell anyone one but I think he's my favorite, at least for today.