J-O-Y, Down in My Heart, Deep, Deep Down in My Heart
This past month, let alone this past week, has been a time of milestones for everyone. Sunday Jack rolled over to his back for the first time, at just one day shy of 6 weeks. Tuesday Madalyn shed her diaper and we found her on the potty. Wednesday she found success- (and all of it without our prompting.) Wednesday was also the day Shaun started a new job, and Wednesday evening was when Evan began to fight his first battle with Strep Throat with a fever of 104.8.
Me? I seem to just ride around on the coat tails of everyone else, and believe me, that ride is quite enough to occupy a person's time and energy. At times the ride is wild, like I'm just trying to endure those 8 seconds on a rodeo bull. It's definitely one of those seasons when you feel like you've just gotten your feet on the ground when the buzzer sounds again- deep breath, and- off you go for another round of it.
Madalyn's talking like a big girl all of the sudden. "Get it, get it, please" has turned into "Will you get that for me? Will you get that for me, mommy?" Other common "Madalyn phrases" such as oh, lookatdat!, I didit!, lookatme, oh mygoodness!, oh mygosh!, and oh wow, are slowly being injected into lengthier sentences, though she still combines certain words into one and has a unique rhythm to the way she talks with LOTS of inflection. But she is also speaking in the third person as much as Elmo; "Is that for Mednin?" And I is my. ("No, my do it," when she's exerting her independence.)
My heart leaps and sinks at once when I listen to these changes because it's exciting on one hand, to watch her grow up, but also heart-breaking. I need to find that proverbial brick that my grandmother used to always say she'd put on my head to keep me from growing.
For all of her fiestiness, she's surprisingly polite. Everything is "oh thank you mommy" and "I'm sorry, I'm sorry mommy." I often have no idea what offense she thinks she's committed. She's also quick to bestow a "bless you" when you sneeze and an "are you okay, mommy" when you stub your toe. This makes her VERY hard to discipline because she really knows how to work you, how to turn on the shine. The other day I was shaking my finger at her in reproach and she puckered up her lips and kissed my wagging finger, "I'm sorry, mommy."
At night, she'll get out of her bed and gallop into our room with her blankie between her legs saying, Lookatme! I'm on my biCYcle, with a real emphasis on that "CY." We're supposed to be stern and send her to bed with a frown, right? Well not me. How can you resist laughing at that sight? And for Shaun I become part of the disciplinary problem in that moment because I can't muffle it.
About a week after Jack's birth I was sitting alone with her on the couch and wondered how she was adjusting to everything. She seemed fine enough.
"Did you know you're my only girl?" I asked her. "Evan's a boy and Jack's a boy, but you're a girl. And I am so glad I have you. I love you so much."
The first few sentences she didn't respond, and just when I thought she had no idea what I was trying to communicate to her, a little voice spoke with utter sincerity from under my hug; "Thank you. Thank you much, mommy!"
She's also showing a new side in her play. She carries naked baby dolls around a lot. We have clothed ones. She doesn't like those.
But when I see her walking around with that naked baby tucked under her arm, I smile. I smile big because I got so much joy playing with my baby dolls when I was little- mixing flour and water for formula, rubbing real suntan lotion on them and feeding them Lite Bright pieces as vitamins- that I've always secretly hoped she would enjoy that sort of play, too.
Last night she tucked a plastic Woody doll (Toy Story) in beside her on her pillow and snug under her comforter telling him to lie down, shhh, and go to sleep. And when I recently brought out a box of toys that had been packed up for a year, she was immediately drawn to the Little People that Evan never so much as glanced at. She immediately told me that the Mary figure from the nativity Little People was the mommy and went on to assign every person a part in the family.
Also last night, while Jack slept and Shaun took Evan to an after-hours clinic, she sat on the porch with me and played pretend. It was the first time I'd seen her use her imagination all on her own- without Evan's orchestrating.
They often watch an interactive show on television called "Little Einsteins" where the characters ask you to clap and sing to help them accomplish certain tasks. Last night she told me to sit down on the porch, "get in your chair, mommy," was the exact command, I believe, and we sat in lawn chairs and clapped our legs like the little Einsteins in their rocket.
"Pat your legs, mommy. Pat! Pat, pat, pat, pat," she'd chant excitedly, (just like they do on the show to make the rocket take off,) "Blast off!" she'd yell, "We did it!!"
Then she'd look through the screen from her chair, her chubby legs barely reaching the edge of the seat, and point out things as though we were looking through the windshield of her rocket; "There's a bird, do you see the bird? Do you hear it? I'm scared, are you scared, mommy?" and we sang the "dubbadubba" silly song they sing on the show to overcome their fears while shaking our hands.
See, Madalyn's our tv addict. So not only was this a special one-on-one moment, but also a great relief for me. I'm glad to know that she has an imagination and can use it. After so many months of Evan entertaining her I was beginning to wonder if this part of her brain was developing properly- or if it even existed.
Madalyn is to tv-watching as Evan is to nose-picking.
That's right. That kid in the class that everyone steers clear from? That kid that is rumored to have lice and poor hygiene because of this habitual action? That Peanuts Gang "Pig Pen" stereotype?That's our son.
We've tried- (how we've tried!)- to get him to stop, but he doesn't even realize it's there, his finger. It's like it has a mind of its own and has taken up residence in his nose. I'm sure when his teacher gets word this morning that he has Strep, it will come as no surprise; 'well of course the kid has Strep- his nose is the classroom Petri dish,' she'll be thinking.
And we've been trying to use this new opportunity to make it stop, telling him that's how he got sick. It's not working.
As far as Evan's verbal skills, very little "baby" remains, and our conversation abilities have reached a whole new level. Only certain phrases show that he learned to talk just 3 years ago, like when instead of asking why can't I? he says why's it because I can't? which really makes perfect sense. It's just the longer route.
He's also developed a fixation on the shape of my mouth, and when I'm upset with him he'll say "why's your mouth turned upside down? I don't want your mouth to turn upside down!"
He's still very into imaginary play and when I got out the old box of toys I previously mentioned, he went after the doctor's kit and construction tools and has fixed every broken thing in our house with his hammer. (Even some not-broken things have undergone repair.)
At night we sing Jesus Loves Me before bed and this month he's changed the verse to "Yes, Jesus loves me- right now- today- all the time- yes, Jesus loves me..." How can I describe how I love that, how it makes me feel to hear him sing that? Warm. Calm and warm.
And just now he came in the room, lifted my shirt and said "your tummy's getting really little, isn't it," bless- his- heart. (Nevermind that "really little" means I no longer look like a hippopotamus since the baby's out, I'll take it just the same.)
Evan's still really captivated with his younger brother and has a hard time keeping his hands off of him. He's also doing well in school and is getting the hang of the rules and routine. Wednesday I told him he could have cake for a snack if he was good at school. When I picked him up he ran to meet me at the classroom door asking, "can I have cake now?" Then he turned to Miss Eva and began to tell her all about the Kentucky Butter Cake he made with me and how if he was good he would get some. I tried to explain what he was saying, fill in the gaps for her, but Miss Eva said "Ohhh yes, we know. He's talked about the cake all day."
(What? And she didn't find it every bit as charming the 198th time?)
He's still enthralled with the processes of things, which probably explains his love for baking cake. He loves to talk about seeds and plants and how they grow. He loves to talk about seasons and what follows what, and what activities we do those times of the year. This morning he asked me if winter was when it was Christmas, when it gets cold outside and the holly berries turn red and we get the tree out and "put the plug in" and have a kids meal and then hot chocolate and then get out the "onmints."
You know how you go through all this effort to make special memories for your kids and then wonder if they even will remember it? I don't think I have to worry about that with Evan. In fact, I think I should worry that he remembers too much. For example, I don't remember having given him a frozen tv dinner that night, but oh-ho he does. He also, apparently, remembers we had a fake tree. And wouldn't you agree that it has a way of sucking the nostalgia right out of the memory when he sandwiches the image of a frozen kids meal between hot chocolate and ornaments like that?
Right now, I'm filled with pity for him, though. He doesn't ask for much when he's sick. He doesn't even act very needy. Madalyn gets downright demanding when sick- and so do I- but he just sort of turns into himself and becomes a quietly suffering introvert.
A few moments ago he made his way from the couch, moving noiselessly behind me on his way to our bed, and is now asleep there. All without a word of complaint. He's burning up, and his throat must be killing him, from what the doctors said, but only once has he complained... when he pulled his top lip over his teeth like he does when he's trying not to cry and said, "I don't want to feel this way."
As much as I wish hot chocolate for breakfast makes it all worth it to him, I know that it doesn't.
I keep telling my friends that with all the change and recent curve balls, I couldn't have handled a difficult baby. Well God is good, and Jack is a jewel. Sleeping 6-7 hours at night and smiling now, too- always a wide open smile like Madalyn did. He not only has a soft spot, but he is one. One word comes to mind when I think of Jack: joy.
That's the note I find myself landing on as I sit and hammer life out today... in the midst of the chaos and changes and exhaustion, one word still trumps the others: joy.
