Sweet Winston -- 4 years old

{Easter 2013}

Winston the four year old.  What a kid!  Winston turned four on March 12, 2013, though we just went to the doctor for his four-year appointment last week (April 29, 2013).  

Here are his stats:

Height:  42 3/4" (95%)

Weight:  40.8lb (85%)

How did I end up with such tall children?!

Winston is such a great boy.  He loves, loves, loves school.  He would go every day, all day if I let him.  He loves his teachers.  He loves his friends there, too, especially his friend Owen.  Owen and Winston have playdates every Tuesday after school, alternating between our house and Owen's.  It's been so much fun for Winston, and a major perk for me (and Kahra, Owen's mom).  Those two have really grown in their personalities and abilities to play together and work things out.  They really care about one another; they're "best buddies" or "best friends."  

{playing air guitar in the car}

Winston really loves Primary at church.  He joined the Sunbeams this year.  He loves singing time and the "big class" (sharing time).  His teachers are John and Jana (Fullmer) Wright.  They are stellar teachers.  He loves them, and I know they love him too.  Winston has given the scripture during sharing time {2.17.13}.  He also sang during sacrament meeting on Easter.  He's getting so grown up.  I still can hardly believe it when he walks into Primary.  

{breakfast 'toons}

W wakes up about 7:00 each morning to join Dave in the bathroom as he gets ready.  I think W really just wants some quiet time with his daddy's iPhone before he goes to work.  It makes me smile to hear them talk in the bathroom so early in the morning.  Once Dave leaves for work, W will watch some PBS Kids until it's time to get ready for school and/or get ready for the day.  Yes, I usually get out of bed after W has already been up for quite a while (bad mom alert).  

Naps are hit and miss these days (gah!).  This boy NEEDS a nap, yet they are hard to come by.  Thankfully, if we can get through the awful 4:00-5:00 each afternoon when he falls apart, then he will usually go to bed quickly and without a fuss by about 7:15.  No naps are rough.  I hate it.  There, I said it.  

Winston's obsession with Thomas the Train is waning.  However, he still loves baseball, hockey, and now, soccer.  He started soccer lessons at Vetta Sports about a month ago.  It's shocking, but he's just a natural athlete.  Very agile.  Quick to catch on.  It's pretty amazing to watch him, especially since I lack any sort of athletic/competitive bone in my body.  He loves to run and play and shout "Goal!" when he scores.  

Some funny and sweet things W has said or done in the last few months:

W:  What do astronauts eat?

Me:  I don't know.  What?

W:  Christmas lights!  (Hahahah!)

{1.2.2013}

"I wish I was big like my daddy.  Then I can go to work and have a watch and a tie."  {1.23.13}

"It's kind of boring when we don't have Lizzie." (said in the car while Lizzie was at home with D) {1.24.13}

He still will brush his face with my hair when we snuggle before he goes to bed at night.

Me:  What did you learn today at school?

W:  We learned about how cows make milk.

Me:  How do cows make milk?

W:  They have those little downy things on their bottoms and that's where they make milk.

{3.1.13}

"Mom, does it make you sad that I'm four now?"  {3.12.13}

"I don't want to be a missionary.  I want to be a prophet!"  {3.18.13}

"Mommy, is the baby in your belly making you sick again?" {3.2013}

{lunch date}

W:  Mom, I need some more water.  Can I get a refill?

Me:  Yeah, I'll get it.

W:  Mom, I'm four.  I can do hard things.

{3.23.2013}

{sensitive boy, getting all teary-eyed watching "The Fox and the Hound"}

Oh this boy.  He has such a sweet spot in my heart, it just hurts.  He makes me so happy, and sometimes so frustrated.  He pushes my buttons until I boil over, but knows how to read me when I avoid feelings that I don't want to face.  He is so strong.  And strong-willed.  He is smart; so smart!  He is sensitive.  He is passionate.  He is scattered.  He is fun.  He is the best little boy I know who is teaching me how to love and how to truly listen.  

Thank you W.  I love you to the rocket ships and airplanes and back.  

W singing

Today when we were driving home from church, W started singing the song that was playing. The chorus goes like this:

"Be strong. Be strong with me. We can help each other make it back home. Hold on. Hold with to the standards and the truth that we know. We can help each other remember what we were sent here to be. Be strong. Be strong with me."

It made me think if he and Lizzie growing up and the challenges they will face. It frightens me to even think about it. I hope they will help each other. I hope they will encourage each other for good. I hope they will, together, hold on to what they know is right.

A Pat on the Back and a Lump in My Throat

Today was one of those days.  I didn't sleep well last night (read:  I didn't sleep at all last night) and was awakened by Lizzie having an in-depth discussion with her stuffed elephant, and W ringing his bike bell and marching around the house.  Eight a.m. came way too early; it may as well have been the middle of the night.

Within minutes of rousing myself and getting the kids fed and bathed, W and L were in an all-out brawl over L's new cowboy boots.  W tried in vain to squeeze his foot comfortably in the well of the boot.  L proudly snatched the boots away and slid them on with ease.  W was devastated those boots -- those cowboy "partner" boots! -- couldn't be his.  And the meltdown began.

Wailing.  Crying.  Stomping.  Pushing sister.  Slamming doors.  The whole nine yards.  I held him like a little baby and he cried his eyes out; nothing could solve this monumental problem.  No amount of soothing, distraction, or plans of finding a pair of his own boots someday could pull W off this cowboy ledge.  And then, like that, he was over it.  Well, about 10 minutes later he was over it.  But it was fine.  He was fine.  Life would go on.  Crisis averted.

I lazily pulled myself together for the day.  I had to make a quick trip to the store, then head to the car repair shop to wait with my two children in the (smoky) customer lounge for about an hour for my windshield wiper to be fixed.  This situation could be a total disaster, but I figured we could do it.  I bypassed a morning shower, figuring I wouldn't see anyone at the store or said repair shop, and loaded the kids in the car with some treats, the iPad and a pep talk.

A phone call on the way to the store divulged some sad, sad news about one of my young women at church.  Total downer of the day.  I tried to wrap up the phone call in the car, but the children were growing restless in the backseat, so we ventured inside, one kid in the cart, one hanging off the side, and my phone sandwiched between my shoulder and my ear.

We had only rounded the corner into the store when we spotted W's best friend from school.  What a nice surprise, right?  But alas, soon my bed-head pony tail became the least of my worries.  W spotted his buddy's special "Jake and the Neverland Pirates" prize in his buddy's cart, at which point our quick trip exploded.  Of course W wanted the toy just like his friend did.  But it wasn't a toy we were going to get today.  It was a big toy.  Something to be rewarded with.  Not a matchbox car or dollar bin find.  A big toy, and W wanted it.  And just like those cowboy boots, it couldn't be his.

For the proceeding 15 minutes while we were in the store, W screamed, kicked, threatened, cried, blocked the cart with his body, punched, blubbered, screamed some more, "asked nicely," and then screamed some more.  No doubt, he could be heard through the entire store.  I considered leaving, but I was there!  I had to get just a few things.  I was not going to be defeated by this almost-four-old little boy (read: little $#!+).  Just like this morning, no amount of soothing, distraction, or plans for a future toy for his birthday or completed chart could talk this boy down.  And he was letting me have it.

We waited our turn in the checkout line (why are there 20 lanes and only two or three open at a time?!) and W's fire was still going.  He hung on me, rolled between the cart and the chair, hit me and hung on me some more as he continued his screaming rant.

Somehow -- somehow! -- I was as cool as a cucumber through the whole thing.  Not insensitive or even ignorant of what was happening.  Just calm.  Anytime he addressed me as Mom, I responded as usual with a "Yes?," which was unfortunately always followed by more screaming.  But by some miracle, I never lost it.  I was keenly aware of all of the people we passed through the store (including another friend of mine -- that's two people when I never see any) who were likely thinking, "Just give the boy a toy."  Yet I never noticed anyone sternly staring at me or throwing quick judgement.  On the contrary.

As we were (finally!) checking out, the woman behind me sympathetically smiled.  "You're doing the right thing," she assured. "We've all been there.  Stay strong."  I was kind of taken aback; I didn't really  know what to say.  I sheepishly smiled and said thanks as I detached W from my mid-section and tried to put him back in cart.  I pulled away from the checkout and W took off in the opposite direction.  I gently told him it was time to go, which brought him screaming back to me, dodging people in the crowded checkout area.  As I turned ahead to go out, another woman, pushing her own cart with a small child in it, pat me on the shoulder and said, "Can I just tell you you're doing a good job?"  Her eyes were sincere.  There was no judgement or pity, just camaraderie and support.  The lump in my throat swelled and I couldn't say anything back.  I mouthed a thank-you and headed for those big, red automatic doors.

We proceeded through the parking lot just as we did the store:  screaming and kicking child, stoic-faced mother, and confused little girl who just wanted her graham crackers.  The woman in the checkout line took my cart back to the cart coral after after I unloaded the contents in my car.  And sad little W kept on screaming.  Again, I don't think this woman felt bad for me; I think she just felt empathy.

I got in the car and heaved a big sigh, blinked hard and wiped away the tears that had escaped.  I told Winston I was so glad that I loved him as much as I do.  Then I thanked God for those women who gave me the pep talk I really needed today.  I'm certainly not perfect, but I can do this and I can do a good job at it.

I have no idea who these women are, and it doesn't matter.  They've been there.  They've done this.  They've felt the same way a mother feels when her feelings of love are conflicted between limits and acquiescence.  I am so glad I don't have to do this alone.  I am so lucky to have a good mom, mother-in-law, sisters, friends and kind strangers in the store to learn from and do this with me.

About 20 minutes after pulling away from the store, we arrived at that gritty repair shop and prepared to wait.  Maybe it was seeing the look-alike Mater as we pulled into the parking lot, but Winston was back to his kind, happy, funny self.  We waited -- happily -- in the customer lounge without even a complaint.  He was fine.  I was fine.  Life was going on.  And we were happy.

Lizzy rolled off the chair the other day.
Shame on me for propping her up there!
I just had to vacuum underneath her.
And then vacuum the whole rest of the kitchen....while I was on a roll.
Shame on me!
When I finally did turn off the vacuum to check on her, she wasn't there.
That's when my heart stopped.
It's a sickening feeling.
The sight of her wedged between the ottoman and chair.
Her head inches, no, centimeters away from the brick fireplace.
I snatched her up.  So fast.
Seeing her breathing.
No blood.
Not even tears.
Just a little scared (thinking, what in the world just happened to me?!  where is that lady?!).
The first words to come out:  Thank you!
Thank you for keeping her safe.
Thank you!
Thank you for protecting her.
Thank you!
It made me a little choked up.
I am grateful.

I don't think there's such a thing as single parenthood.
Thankfully.

Quoted: Parent with faith

{via everyday i write the book}

Reminder

Yesterday I kept tripping over things.  Probably 6+ times throughout the day I found myself literally stumbling over trucks, books, shoes, rugs (that have been in the same spot for years), and thinking how in the world I missed that!  I was also bumping into the bathroom vanity, bookcase, etc.  I couldn't get a break, and I couldn't figure it out either.  I was dumbfounded.

I know my eyesight takes a turn for the worse when I'm pregnant, but surely not this much.

Then I remembered.  I looked down and saw this.  Oh yeah.

We're on the home stretch; that "time to get enormous" home stretch.  My feet are invisible.  I am endlessly out of breath.  My hips feel like they're being unhinged from my body.  And quite honestly, I am huge.  Pregnancy is beautiful, though, right?  

I admit I'm not a major proponent of the pregnant belly shot.  I stick with the only-for-documentation-purposes self portrait.  And in this shot particularly, my arm is as unappealing as a shot from the front could have been.  Whatever.   Yet the more this little girl kicks and gets excited, the more I feel like, "What the heck, this is worth it."  With a side of anxiety, too, of course.  

And the truth is, I am so thankful to be having another little one soon.  I'm reminded all too often how lucky I am to be a mom, to be pregnant, to have a healthy child and soon-to-be infant.  I'm reminded all too often of the many who have never and may never live these same experiences, despite their endless tries and deepest hopes.  And my heart sincerely hurts for them.  

Why am I a lucky one?  I don't know.  But I do know I shouldn't complain about the stretch marks, zero sleep (even before she gets here) and utter failure of my current wardrobe.  Instead, I am thankful.  It is a blessing to be running into furniture, tripping over toys and heaving myself out of bed each morning, for these are just reminders of how fortunate I am to be in the position I am.  

Beyond fortunate.  

Time out

Some of those parenting books suggest a time out be given to help correct poor behavior or calm a crazed child.  Typically, I have found, the suggested allotment of time is one minute per year old.

Yesterday morning, after a mind-blowing hour and 45 minutes of pure chaos, meltdowns, items thrown and my hand slammed shut in the dishwasher door, I put myself in a time out.  Mind you, he'd only been awake for about one hour and 46 minutes.  And no, I didn't commit any of the aforementioned actions.

I should  have been allotted about 27 minutes and 59 seconds.  Perhaps I got gipped.  However, the five or so minutes I shut myself in my bedroom (and listened to the little devil whom I love have at it) were just the thing I needed to correct my behavior -- I cried it out -- and calm my crazed nerves.  Poor parenting?  Well, perhaps that isn't what the parenting authors had in mind.  

Regardless, the timing couldn't be more perfect.  As of today, I get 28 minutes next time.

courtesy:  Time Out, 2005 (book cover photograph) copyright of Julie Blackmon, courtesy Radius Books 

Thankful: A choice

Today a friend of mine mentioned a conversation she had with a woman from our church.  The woman from church felt conflicted about some feedback she had received about the fact that she was a working mom.  She has one elementary-aged child at home and another one on the way.  Apparently some women had given her a hard time about why in the world she would work outside of her home when she has young kids.  The comments they shared were laced with criticism and came from uninformed points-of view.  Rightfully so, it was feedback this woman really didn't appreciate.  You see, this particular woman is from a foreign country where woman have just recently been given the opportunity to work.  The equal-rights movement has just come full circle in her country to include professional woman.  To her, it is an honor and duty for her to be able to work, for now, she finally has a choice.

Wow!  Talk about a different perspective.

Some people might roll their eyes and think, "Of course those women from that church are judgmental and blah blah blah."  But I think this is an issue all woman are faced with and very likely have their own opinions about.  When it comes to a woman's family, her sense of self and her ability to choose, it's a sensitive topic.

Regardless of what you or I or anyone else might say, I am thankful that I have a choice.  It was a choice I made a long time ago.  Long before I had children, was married, or even knew my husband.  I made the choice that I wanted to put my professional life on hold while I stayed home to raise my children.  It is my choice, and a choice I still feel good about.  I am thankful I have the ability to make this choice.  Not just the freedom to do so, but that D supports me in this choice and is able to support our family through his professional work.  I realize this is not a choice all women have, for whatever reason.  I admire the women who support their families financially and still find time to come home, fix dinner, run a household, AND teach, love, finish school assignments and spend quality time with their kids.  It's a ton of work!

Whatever a woman chooses, I am not one to judge.  I support a woman's right to share her abilities, talents and skills in the capacities she so chooses.  I am thankful I have that choice.  I am thankful I have support in that choice.  I am thankful that I feel fulfillment and growth in this choice I've made.  Sure, there are days where I'd really love to don something different than jeans and a T, go to a meeting, make big decisions and, at the end of the day, get a paycheck.  But I have made a choice.  My meetings are different.  My decisions are for a smaller audience.  And my paycheck?  Well, I'm taking stock options in my "company."