Prophecies, Progress, and One Identity-Stealing Transformer

I'd love to take you back to this moment, as I wrote this when Hayes was just ten days old:

A second child is a heart-breaking miracle, a treasure mindful of time.  He is precious because his parents have learned the meaning of cherish.

Okay, so maybe the postpartum hormones were a-swirlin' that day; I know it's a tad on the dramatic side. But I've been revisiting that thought over and over again.  It's almost like my own personal memory verse that became something of a self-fulfilling prophecy for Hayes and me.

I would lie if I told you it isn't hard when Koby and I attend Hayes's pediatric check-ups; we sit there and say "No" for about five minutes straight as the nurse keeps asking all the questions she's bound to ask about his development.  "Is he walking?" "Is he crawling?" "Is he pulling up on furniture?" "Is he babbling?" "Does he play hide and seek?" "Will he look for missing objects?" .... Please, please stop, we think.

I would lie if I told you it isn't hard when we see kids Hayes' age running and laughing and talking.  Because it is.  It's not a resentful, pitiful feeling.  But it's a hard one.

BUT.  Our little treasure mindful of time keeps reminding us that HE progresses on his own time, and it transforms the ordinarily mundane into the explosively joyful.

Yesterday, Hayes grabbed my face and looked into my eyes.  He just ran his slobbery, pudgy hand all over my face, looking at me and studying me in a completely new way.  

For any other mother, if her 16 month old did that, it would probably be answered with - Look little man, here are your 10,000 toys.  Could you please pinch and play with them instead of Mommy's cheeks and hair?  I know and say this because that is exactly what I would have felt when Knox was ALWAYS UP IN MY GRILL about a year or so ago.

But when Hayes did it - purposefully reached for and held my face - it made my heart race and flutter.  CHERISHED moment.

Here's a video of Hayes in his Little Room.  The Little Room is an Active Learning therapy tool we've been able to use thanks to our wonderful VI teacher.  He's laying on a Resonance Board; the Little Room is the torture-chamber apparatus that appears to be encasing him.  This was his first time in the Little Room, and not coincidentally, this is the most he'd ever interacted visually-physically with ANYTHING.  (I've since moved some of the objects around - I didn't like how close those spiky dish scrubbers were to his face/eyes, and I let some of the higher-hanging objects down a bit.  It is recommended to establish places for the objects -and then not move them- for memory encouragement.  And obviously, children should be monitored the entire time while they're in the LR.  Don't mind the other, non-monitored child destroying the living room in the background.)  For more information on Little Rooms, Resonance Boards, and Active Learning, check out these links:

This Link
or This Pinterest Board
or This Link


Heartfelt outpouring over - I have to go attend to Knox, who is refusing to believe me that the toy he is holding is. in. fact. a Transformer, and not a Yellow Batman.  

** Update: I later apologized and said, "Okay, you're right.  It is Batman.  How silly of me."  To which Knox replied, "Good job, Mommy."  These guys teach me lessons all the time.**

Hope Ambassador

A few months ago I posted an original design of mine that was given as a gift to a couple getting married in South Dakota.  I don't know them, but my in-laws do; the bride is from the States, and the groom is from Haiti.  They met while the bride was on a medical mission trip to Haiti.  To me, the quote was lovely and fitting for their marriage.  Here it is if you don't feel like clicking over (and also, I misquoted the phrase in the artwork and it is k i l l i n g me):

“Differences of habit and language are nothing at all if our aims are identical and our hearts are open.”

― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire

Maybe you were blessed with a spouse who is a lot like you.  Maybe you're surrounded by friends and family who are like your little clones, replicating your personality and beliefs.

Koby and I were not.  Koby and I were blessed with spouses who challenge and counter nearly every point of our personalities.  We are not alike.  Even though we come from very similar upbringings, even though we were raised in the same church, even though we have the same eye, hair, and skin color,

sometimes it feels as if WE may as well speak different languages.  (Married people, can ya feel me?)

Here are some things we've had different opinions about lately or ever: the Dallas Cowboys, the appropriate amount of red meat one should consume, the extent to which the Founding Fathers have been deified, best teaching practice, the environment, Miley Cyrus, the appropriate way to voice political beliefs, where to put the second Direct Tv receiver, bedtime rituals in general, how often Knox should brush his teeth, the extent to which Knox should be clothed when he goes to bed, where to put the soap in the shower, appropriate topics in public . . .

Most are trivial.  Some are not.  Sometimes our different natures work incredibly in our advantage; when Koby is stressed, I remain calm, and vice versa.  Sometimes our disagreements leave us laughing, sometimes they jar us off course and we spend a few angry minutes cooling off in separate rooms before we can realign our marital compass.

But 'we' work.  (And please know, it takes work, as I think any marriage should.)  And I think Mrs. Rowling was on to something when she noted that differences matter not when you're supportively working together towards the same goal.

Today I took Hayes to his neurology check up.  The doctor was very pleased with his strength and progress, but he was concerned about some of the cognitive (mental) delays that Hayes is still showing.  For example, the fact that he isn't supporting himself with his arms while sitting or catching himself when he topples over isn't solely related to his vision impairment.  (Completely blind babies should be able to sit unassisted by 12 months.)

It's worrisome to think about Hayes having some degree of cognitive impairment (mental retardation), but it's not something that was out of my scope of considered possibilities.  It's not something fun, to have the doctor echo what rattles around in your brain in your weaker, doubting moments.

But it's irrelevant to worry because I left the appointment with yet another "We'll just have to wait and see," because that's exactly what we'll have to do.  The realm of possibilities is thankfully and frustratingly endless when it comes to Hayes and his condition - but couldn't the same be said for every child?

And I've realized that God has given me an incredible weapon and force to combat worry and anxiety about Hayes AND to empower our son to achieve at the best of his ability - and that is that I've been blessed with a different habit-ed, different language-speaking, open-hearted, aim-identical husband in Koby.

God can work through our marriage to give Hayes (and Knox!) the BEST possible life, whatever that may entail.

Hayes's AWESOME first birthday was this past Saturday (if you haven't read Koby's birthday post for Hayes yet, check it out), and at the party, I was struck (for the jillionth time) by something else.  God blessed Koby, Knox, Hayes and me with different habit-ed, different language-speaking, open-hearted, aim-identical hope ambassadors in the form of family and friends.

How have I been so incredibly blessed to have so many people who make it a point to strive for the best lives for my own children?

Finally, I want to end with a wonderful verse that gives me comfort and reminds me that not only do we have hope for eternity, but that we've also have hope for the present day, and it has the power to permeate and radiate in our lives now.

But in your hearts revere Christ as Lord. Always be prepared to give an answer to everyone who asks you to give the reason for the hope that you have. But do this with gentleness and respect . . .

- 1 Peter 3:15

Word to The Mother

To engage the reader in your setting, try writing using all five of your senses.

I suggest this to my kids and get pretty interesting results.  My favorite quote thus far has been,

"Whoosh!  I smell old people."

Gems like that make grading personal narratives on a Saturday morning interesting.

I'm going to take my own advice and try to set up for you the thing that is MOTHERHOOD.  (Because all of us twenty-somethings are the first ones to go through it and we really need to let the rest of you know what it's like...)

Motherhood smells like puke and melted crayons.

Motherhood sounds like the devastating cry of a morning alarm clock when you've gotten up four times in the night to check on congested children and supply juice or hugs as needed.

Motherhood tastes like cold dinner and leftovers.

Motherhood looks like a messy house, smashed lipsticks, piles of laundry, dirty dishes, spit up stains, more laundry, and the waiting room at the doctor's office.

Motherhood feels like cradling a twenty pound infant with your left arm, carrying a five pound umbrella stroller in your right, climbing bleachers to the top to watch a football game while coaxing a toddler to follow you, only to have that toddler puke on you when you've all sat down with your things.  (Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely because this very thing happened tonight.)

And at times, motherhood feels thankless.  Whether you're a stay-at-home mother or a working mom, in equal measure people will judge you for your decisions and make thoughtless -or even snide- remarks.  You'll feel defensive, sometimes even around your friends and family, because of the choices you make for your children.  

but

Motherhood also smells like clean babies, dried off after a bath and wrapped up in soft, fluffy towels in your lap.

Motherhood sounds like a first "I love you" or a "Mama!" in the night, when only you are able to comfort your scared little one.  It sounds like laughter in the backyard and new, invented words that will be spoken in your family from now on.

Motherhood tastes like Oreo kisses and a glass of red wine because you're not pregnant anymore.

Motherhood looks like family pictures with round, happy faces, Teddy Grahams in your pockets, pacifiers in your purse, and confidence in your eyes.

Motherhood feels like...

Motherhood feels like...

Motherhood feels like this:

You can follow me on Instagram.

it feels like moments of complete, whole, thorough, down-to-your-bones bliss and satisfaction.  Moments of bliss and satisfaction in between the moments of puke. 

And I want to encourage mothers to cut themselves, and each other, some slack.  I thought the whole 'Mommy Wars' thing was a myth, or at least some small thing hyped up and over-dramatized by people who really needed something to talk about (and it probably is, a little bit), but I can tell that we all feel attacked and defensive at times, whether it's because of criticism from other moms who don't parent the way we do, family members, or by people who aren't parents at all.

It gets a bit disgusting, the petty and back-handed way parents and non-parents (so.... people) condescend to or about each other because of things like organic food, breast milk, formula, McDonald's, careers, staying at home, cloth diapers, corporal punishment, disposable diapers, immunizations, daycare, and something called 'sleep training', which is... I'm still not quite sure what, even two kids later.  And it (the delusions of superiority) really goes both ways.  I hope we remember amidst all the decisions we constantly and consciously make for our children that we are also at times unconsciously modeling for them how to treat, speak about and to others who are different from us.  

Peers with kids: I know this is our reality now and I am so glad that we are all -hopefully- trying to make educated and best-possible choices for our children, but let's remember that we aren't the first mothers (parents) on the planet.  We haven't got it all figured out, we're not the ones experiencing this wonderful and terrifying responsibility for the first time, and maybe, just maybe, we all have a chance at being superb mothers (parents), even if we don't all do it the same way.

First Amendment Writes

As a sixth grade English teacher,  I spend a considerable amount of time introducing and stressing the importance and power of choosing the perfect, tailored word or words to communicate one's ideas or feelings.  The power of words is astounding - it amazes me, encourages me, cuts me to the quick, inspires me, and comforts me daily.

And so, in that same spirit of challenge, I would like to amend and redress something I said in a post a few months (or what feels like a lifetime) earlier.

When Koby and I first found out that our son Hayes has a neurological condition that affects his eyesight (called Optic Nerve Hypoplasia), I wrote this regarding my anxious feelings prior to the diagnosis:

 I was afraid there was something we'd be discovering about Hayes from the moment I held him for the first time.

Let's talk about inference.  From the tone of that statement, you, the reader, would probably infer that I was anticipating 'discovering' negative things.  Learning negative things.  Experiencing negative things.

And you'd be right.

Despite my optimism there existed underlying fear as, together, our family faced the unknown.  I don't think the subconscious negativity was exactly harmful: in fact, I think it sprang from pure ignorance.  As we genuinely didn't know what to expect, I focused on the upsetting discoveries we'd be likely to encounter.

Let me tell you about Hayes and discoveries.

Hayes began therapy through Early Childhood Intervention in May.  Since then, he's had weekly sessions from a wonderful occupational therapist, monthly visits from a speech therapist, bi-weekly check-ups with a vision specialist (through the Clay-Jack Co-op), monthly visits with an ECI case manager, and spent occasional time with a coordinator from Division for Blind Services, who also secured an iPad for him and keeps us abreast of new technology, toys, books, resources, and get-togethers for families like ours.

In May, I sat with the ECI ladies and our vision therapist and we set some motor skills goals for Hayes, who also has what's called hypotonia, meaning low muscle tone.  Hayes' first goal (set when he was six months old in May) was to raise his head when lying on his stomach and change position or turn his head to face people or objects at least five times daily.

As we sat in that room and put those words to paper, I remember thinking Will this ever really happen?  I looked at my son, and I hate to admit to you that I doubted him.  Our reality at that time was that our six month old son wasn't rolling over and still didn't visually track objects well, or indeed seem interested in things much at all because of his crossed eyes (strabismus).  To me, that goal may as well have been to build Hayes a rocket ship using paper clips and bubble gum and fly him to Venus by his first birthday.  It seemed equally hard that day.  I couldn't get past our reality.

Hayes had the strabismus corrective surgery in July and it went 'perfectly' according to plan, according to the surgeon, who is also our ophthalmologist.  Around that time (and perhaps because of the surgery and its effects) Hayes was catapulted into a time of advancement.  He began rolling over, he began tracking.  It was awesome.

He plateaued for what felt like eons, but was actually a few weeks.  Teeth sprang from his gums in the nick of time to reassure me that nothing too alarming was happening with his hormones.  His genetics test results came back and found only one very small loss of material on one something of a chromosome, meaning that he's got no known 'syndrome'.  (Obviously we haven't been to that appointment yet because that's as specific as I can get and I'm not even exactly sure what I've just said.)

And then, y'all, the best thing happened.  Hayes met his goal.  He was rolling over, holding his head up steadily, and changing positions to look at things and listen.  In early September, we set a new goal.

In May, I looked at my son and thought Are we crazy to be this hopeful? and within three months, we were beginning to plan for new goals.

And so, my amendment is this: while some discoveries have tested our foundation, some have solidified and strengthened it.  I regret that I felt that way about the discoveries I'd make with Hayes, but I know so much more now.  I am learning and discovering a new kind of hope and perseverance, and my eleven month old son is my teacher.

Dear Knox - An Open Letter

Dear Knox,

It's four days before your second birthday and I wanted to write you a letter.

A letter of thanks, a letter to paint a picture of this time that we might be able to revisit some day in the future, a letter of admission, frustration, and hope.

Thank you for being such a good big brother.  You've been an encouragement and a source of laughter to your Dad and me during hard times - you kept me from nervousness in the waiting room during Hayes' recent surgery and your voluntary acts of love and possessive care towards Hayes continually surprise and please me.  Admittedly, I completely underestimated your capacity for 'big brotherhood' when your life changed at 15 months of age - you won't remember your life before Hayes but nevertheless, I think you've taken on this role naturally and easily.  You have it different than most siblings: you watch while your brother has many visitors who come to play with him and bring him toys because of a condition you can't understand yet, and you don't get too jealous or act out too much, and we appreciate that.

You're a great playmate and I'm excited about the years to come when I'll hear you and Hayes giggling from a closed room- I'm sure it will make my heart race to wonder what chaos and destruction you've both caused within, but I'm looking forward to it.  Right now you're playing in a fort that Dad made for you, narrating his and your every move, and calling it 'MY FORK'.  You're so intelligent and creative it's disarming.  And I'm not just saying that because I'm your mom.  It's true.

But you're also coming upon a hard age, and I'll admit most days there are times (moments, minutes, hours) of frustration.  You're recently overcoming tonsillitis and I don't mind telling you that we called you The Minion for a few days during that episode of illness.  When you were a little baby I can remember holding you and looking at your face and being COMPLETELY unable to imagine us ever disagreeing.  About anything.  Now we disagree on everything.  I give you the wrong color cup 90% of the time.  I am incorrect about your wishes for what should be done in the toilet.  Sometimes I sit on the couch wrong or stand in the kitchen wrong or sing at the wrong times.

If you can't tell (and I hope you can't, but I've got a sneaking suspicion toddlers can sense these things), I have essentially no idea what I'm doing.  I probably should have read the books or something.  On a daily basis it feels like I'm throwing up a Hail Mary in the game of Mommyhood.  Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't.  There are days it's like my only playbook is the list of things I said I'd never do.  I'm ashamed to admit that I told you I'd give you money the other day if you'd just sit on the toilet.  You're not even two.  You've eaten at McDonald's about 600 more times than the zero times I'd always haughtily told people we'd ever go... so there's that.  You scream "NO" in public, you are loud in church, you watch more television than I'll readily admit, and there are times I'm sure I'm doing every thing the wrong way.

We'll get through it.  There will be other times when we look back at this letter and wish we were still fighting over the color of your drinking cup or whether or not I will let you run on the wet porch, instead of the flying skateboard I won't let you buy or the friends I think are 'the wrong sort'.  We'll get through that, too.  My greatest hope is that eventually we'll look back and laugh at the fact that we ever argued at all.

Toddlerhood is volatile, an unpredictable time of extremes.  Your vocal chords are at this point capable of the sweetest sounds - there is nothing so treasured as how small and soft your voice can be in the morning when you're telling me you want to visit the park because it's fun, or during your nightly prayers, or the gut-wrenching, heartstring-yanking way you'll call out for Daddy or me in the night... AND YET you can also manipulate those chords to whine and scream and yell like a Green Street Hooligan.  I guess you're just becoming yourself - it's thrilling and slightly terrifying to watch.  How much influence and control do I really have?  How much has been in you since birth and how much have you learned because of your surroundings?  Even now, what am I doing or not doing that could possibly benefit or cripple your future self?  What proverbial baggage am I packing that you'll carry in relationships to come?

Whether or not it's been a day that's seen me sitting on your chest and pinning your arms to your sides to pry antibiotics into your screeching mouth, bribes of Sour Patch kids to go in the toilet, or arguments about whether or not you can watch your 72nd episode of Curious George, I sleep better at night because I think you can feel the love Koby and I have for you.  Sometimes that love comes in the form of discipline, and sometimes it's in the form of just trying over and over again despite lots of failure, but it's there and real and big, so just know that.  When you're two, when you're 15,  when you're 37 and forever.  It will always be there.

Love from
Mom

MRI Results

I took the call at work today.

See, I THOUGHT it was a call from Cook Childrens anyway... I conveniently left my school-issued iPad there when we had our MRI appointment last Friday.  That's right.

So I took the call in class, my twelve three-to-five-year-old children waiting (not so) patiently and (not so) quietly as my aide struggled to give them their lunches without my help, and I was startled to hear that the person on the other end of the line was ready to give me MRI test results for Hayes Andrews.

Let's pause for a moment and think about that job.  And I thought mine was hard.

He went on to let me know that the optic nerve looked good - no significant underdevelopment at all.  In fact, he kept going on about it so much I made him stop and I asked, "So.... he does have optic nerve hypoplasia, right?"  He does.  But the optic nerve ISN'T super small.  Which is good news.

Great news.

Miraculous news.

My baby can see.

He did report on another finding, however.  Hayes' corpus callosum appears to be smaller than normal.  In my "OHMYGOSHHEPROBABLYWON'TBEBLIND" euphoria, I didn't stop and ask for the exact comparison between Hayes' corpus callosum and the average 5 month old baby's.  But I don't regret it.  It was a good call, a good moment, an answered prayer.  Correction: answered prayers.  Because I know Hayes Andrews has been lifted up by countless people over the last few weeks and our family is incredibly grateful and humbled.

But anyway.  If you haven't tabbed over and Googled 'corpus callosum' yet, here's what you're missing.

The corpus callosum is a big band of fibers connecting the right and left hemispheres of the brain.  Essentially, they help the two halves 'talk' to each other.  The two halves being able to communicate like this is vital for every action the body needs - from basic movement to critical thinking skills.  Disorders of the corpus callosum can range from complete agenesis (absence) to partial development to abnormal development.  These disorders can affect motor skills, critical thinking skills, social adeptness and other things.

I'm praising God today because I feel like we've been blessed.  I told my mom while we were at the appointment for Hayes' MRI that I had a peace about Hayes, and I meant it.  The peace doesn't mean I'm not taking this seriously, it doesn't mean that I don't acknowledge that what we're dealing with is a 'big deal'.  I've just realized that nothing a doctor tells me can utterly devastate me because NO ONE knows my son more than my Lord.  Humans can't even write all there is to know about optic nerve hypoplasia.  I'm guessing now that not one doctor on this Earth could tell me precisely what caused my son's optic nerve and corpus callosum to develop in the ways they did.  But God can.  Not one doctor can tell me where my son will be in six months.  But my God can. 

There isn't a human on this planet who can look at a picture of my son's brain (amazing though it is that we can acquire one) and tell me where he will be at ten years old or what he will have accomplished.  But my God can.

Hayes Brandon was designed by the Creator with a purpose and he was delicately, intricately, beautifully and wonderfully made by a loving Father.  No one, despite their degrees or accolades or accomplishments, will be able to tell me beyond a shadow of a doubt, anything about his future.  No one can rule out what he may or may not be.

My God is a Healer and maybe he won't heal Hayes, but he's healing me.

This blog will not become a site dedicated to optic nerve hypoplasia.  It won't become a site about the intricacies of the corpus callosum.  Because my life isn't just about that, and neither is Hayes'.  Hayes is more than the way his brain developed.  Frankly, it would be exhausting and selfish to let the magnitude of this condition overwhelm me daily.  It's not my job to worry today about whether or not Hayes will be able to hit a ball off a tee or drive a girl to the Prom.  Today I'm thinking about whether or not it's been four hours since he last ate, if his feet are cold, if Knox got enough to eat at dinner and whether or not Koby felt like I appreciated all he did for me today.  So if my next post is a petty one about, say, the evils of cell phone carrier companies, you'll know that I'm not neglecting or ignoring the fact that my son has a brain disorder.  I'm just still a human being. 

This is Friday Night

This week has been rough.

Nothing's gone wrong, per se.  Aside from my children conspiring against Koby and me and planning our demise due to lack of sleep, we're fine. 

I've just realized that I'm one knee scrape away from a meltdown.

Knox and Hayes are both well (ish) but I've come to notice that my holding-it-together-ness can be broken apart at the tiniest cough, a sight of phlegm, or indeed, a knee scrape.  Earlier this week I thought Knox MAY have had the beginning of a staph infection (turned out to be a little knot leftover from his antibiotic shot a few weeks ago) and I actually thought I might lose my mind over it.  Seconds before finding the panic-inducing bump I was a normal, functioning female.  Post lump, my heart was beating fast and I was near Biblical mourning status.  Tearing of clothing, sprinkling of ashes, weeping and gnashing of teeth.  The works.  (I recovered in about 15 minutes after remembering the shot.  Awesome.  Didn't feel stupid at all.)

Hayes has been having some party time with his friend Nebulizer again to ward off any lung infections that might cause him to re-reschedule his MRI.  In similar panicky fashion, every time he coughs I see him as a five year old who hasn't been able to have his MRI yet because he can't go six full weeks without getting sick.  (Though he's currently listening to Ride of the Valkyries and kicking like a maniac, so I'd say he's fine.)

So, Hayes update:

MRI : rescheduled for April 19 due to Hayes' recent RSV.
ECI evaluation: April 16. (Explanation to follow.)

Keep prayin', y'all.

And he's five months old.  Hayes is getting stronger every day and is holding his head up more frequently and steadily.  He's still not sitting well but I know he'll keep making progress at his own pace.  The ladies at the daycare where I work love watching him get excited about the toys they put across his crib for him to see - they thing he's making progress too.  He's making better eye contact and his Lovie swears he's a little trickster and I agree!  He still loves to look at lights.  Next week he'll be evaluated by some professionals from the North Texas Rehabilitation Center for Early Childhood Intervention services.  I'm really excited to learn about the exercises, therapy, etc. that we'll be able to get for Hayes. 

But I really struggled with frustration this week because of related issues.  As a teacher who's sat in her fair share of ARD meetings (pardon my teacher-speak), I know firsthand that one would be hard-pressed to find a fiercer love than that of a parent.  Parents will be downright asses about their kids.  All is fair in love and free appropriate public education.  (Teachers, laugh with me.)  But really, I get it.  As a logical human, I know that Hayes Brandon Andrews, Texan, age 5 months, is not a likely priority to any other person not related to him.  I know that.

But I was still frustrated when I felt like I had to repeatedly call to make sure his paperwork was being sped along to its final destination to acquire these services.  These services that will HELP MY BABY BE ABLE TO SEE AND USE HIS MUSCLES, I emphasized in my mind.  I kept fighting this outrageous anger as I imagined someone neglecting his case information.  I realized that I, one who hates to be the 'squeaky wheel', am completely capable of being the 'full-scale tire blowout on the interstate while doing 75 in a 2000 Ford Explorer with Firestone tires' when it comes to my kids.  And I know that this side of crazy is lurking in any mother, in any parent, at any time.  My crazy just seems to be bobbing a bit closer to the surface these days.

Like I said, one knee scrape this side of a meltdown. 

We have another child too, we didn't forget.  His name is Knox and he is something else.  Things he's doing lately that I love or will love to remember (parents, you know what I mean):

• When I kiss him all over his face he giggles and says "Moooooore??".  We do this over and over and over again.  Often.
• When he would like to direct my path, he gets behind me (or anyone so silly as to be sitting when they should be doing his bidding) and pushes on my back with all his strength and says "Pooooooosh" (push)
• He loves to say "No, don't" and "Stop it"
• He calls strawberries 'strawbies' or 'chobbies' and the look of pure joy and ecstatic anticipation on his face as I hold one in front of his eyes is worth digging up the yard and planting a ginormous strawberry patch.
• He sported the very closest hairstyle to a mullet he'll ever have today as (in my temporary insanity to get him to sleep) I gave him a haircut last night before bedtime.  Knox hates the clippers, so it was short-lived, but I think I may have cut down his nighttime sweating to a mere gallon last night from that alteration alone.
• He has been off and on about the switch from crib to bed.  Very quickly he developed the at first cute, but then very annoying habit of standing by his bedroom door on the inside and saying "Knockkkkkk, knockkkk" when he wants out.
• He loves to pray.
• He is moody.  Or maybe just a toddler.

I won't make this a sap fest and keep going but I want to talk about Knox, too.  He's stepping up to the plate the best any (almost) twenty-one month old can.  He takes care of Hayes when he sees a need - often doing so in the most intuitive way, anticipating his brother's needs in advance.  Sometimes so far in advance that he'll shove a pacifier or bottle in Hayes' mouth while he's still sleeping, but whatever.  I love it because he sees his brother when he looks at Hayes, end of story.  He sees his baby, who needs milk and pacifiers and comfort and Knox wants to play with him.  He doesn't know that Hayes is behind on his gross motor skills.  He doesn't know that his brother can't read his facial expressions.  And yet he sees Hayes in his truest form - a baby brother needing to be loved, needing attention, needing care and Knox wants to give him all those things.  And fist bumps.

Here is Knox, with the unfinished haircut I gave him, talking about his unfinished haircut while getting a bath.

Real Thoughts

Here is why it is amazing to be a Christian:

God's way is best.

He is the ultimate Designer, Planner.  His ways are so much higher than our ways.

I set out this holiday season to bless others and found that in the blessing I received something equal, or even greater than whatever I was trying to give.

My friend Sarah emailed me a few weeks ago with an invitation to do Blessingmas 2012 with her, and I decided to accept.  I baked for some of our neighbors, but before I could even walk the goodies over (slight malfunction with the oven... alright, I got sucked into YouTube sitcom bloopers and burned a batch of cookies), my neighbors blessed me. 

On Wednesday, Knox dug a half-eaten Snickers out of the bottom of a Christmas gift bag and took a bite.  This is significant because my son is allergic to peanuts.  Diligent though I have been to ban peanuts from entering my home or car, though I have been a new paranoid monster mommy at church potlucks and childrens' birthday parties, I forgot about the candy from our office gift exchange and forgot to pick it up or throw it away before Knox got home.  (I'll probably still be guilt-ridden, talking about this incident in therapy, years on down the road.) 

Since Knox was diagnosed with a peanut allergy, it's like we've been waiting for that moment.  And there it was.  My head said "This is it" and I sort of started to panic.  I'm probably making it sound a lot more dramatic than it was.  Knox's body's reaction probably hovers somewhere in between 'mild' and 'severe' at this point in time, and definitely nowhere near 'life-threatening'.  (Though in some cases reactions progress with each exposure, which is why if we could afford it and they didn't have a shelf life of about two seconds I would buy Epi-pens and give them to every person Knox might ever meet.)  Still, we called 911 at the outset because we weren't sure what we'd be dealing with.

Koby (thankfully and reassuringly infinitely calmer than I was in this situation) stood in the front yard holding a blotchy-faced and confused Knox, I was on the phone with the 911-receptionist and running in and out of the house, wielding an Epi-pen like it was the antidote in The Temple of Doom, our dogs raced up and down the fence line, sensing our anxiety and barking their heads off, and Hayes screamed on the couch, his dinner having been interrupted by our mini-crisis.  It felt like a spanning of generations, but it all took place in the space of less than two minutes. 

And from down the road strolled our elderly neighbor.  She calmly walked through our gate and asked if she could help with the baby.  Covered in peanut-puke, I gave her Hayes and his bottle and dazedly asked her how she knew we needed help. 

"I heard your address on the scanner and came over to see if I could help with one of the babies."

Sometimes it's uncomfortable to help other people - we don't want to get in the way, we don't want to intrude, we don't even know the person needing help, or sometimes we just don't even think of helping at all.  I'm saying 'we' - I mean 'I'.  But I am so glad our neighbor wasn't hindered as I have been, by pride or fear.  She immediately saw a need, she walked over to our house and she sat on our couch and she gave Hayes the rest of his bottle. And the inside of my house became as peaceful as it could have been in those moments. 

Suddenly, the cookies I'd dropped on the counter when I heard Koby say "Why does Knox have a Snickers?" seemed like a really small and insignificant thing to give a neighbor. 

I wrote a lot more in their card than I probably would have if I had not burned the cookies and been able to deliver them on Tuesday, like planned.  I set out to bless my neighbors with refined sugar, but before I got the chance, my neighbors showed me "love thy neighbor".  And I am thankful that this is the way my God teaches me to be, and that my family has been blessed because of it.

I also (with a little bit of Pinspiration - not sure I have an original thought left in me) concocted a plan to bless Koby by doing an actual Twelve Days of Christmas.  But with more Sour Patch Kids and less exotic fowl.

... it's been harder than I thought.

And not because I had to come up with 78 gifts with which to present him, though admittedly that was hard-bordering-on-impossible. 

It's been hard because we're married, and things come up.  The logistics have been a nightmare.  Factor in sick kids, emergency 911 calls, long days at work, out of town basketball games, early morning practices, traveling for family, new babies and sleepless nights.  And then remember that we are indeed married, and some days I don't really feel like giving him small, thoughtful gifts.  Some days I don't want to give him small, thoughtful gifts so much as throw them at his head.  (Full disclosure, no shame.)

But, I am a stubborn person and in those moments I told myself, "I've committed to this, and I will finish it."  And each day (tomorrow is day nine), regardless of whether I felt like giving him his gift at the outset, I've gone to bed glad that I did.  Each day, through the act of giving God blessed me with a feeling of peace that I might have been lacking before.  And each day Koby gracefully and gratefully accepted my gifts, even if I had been a raging butt-face a few hours beforehand.  (Full disclosure, no shame.)

I hope you can see the metaphor for marriage here without me cheesing out totally and writing it.

This Christmas I have felt more of the spirit of the holidays than ever before - both the secular (how fun is it to actually wrap toys for your own kids at Christmas?!) and the spiritual.  Even in the midst of a broken world in a time when it literally sickens me to hear the news, I see that neighbors still help each other and I can reflect on the love of my family each night before I go to bed, and so I feel and see glimpses of God's Kingdom here on Earth.  I hope you see them too.

Because it feels good. 

Cherish

'That it will never come again
Is what makes life so sweet...'
Emily Dickinson

I am getting greedy.

Greedily, ravenously, urgently, I am attempting to soak up and bottle every newborn moment with Hayes.  He came early and I am thrilled about it - three extra days to spend with his strangely fuzzy head and pointy little nose.

A first child is a bewildering wonder: an adventure and a mystery.  He is glory because he is new.  A second child is a heart-breaking miracle, a treasure mindful of time.  He is precious because his parents have learned the meaning of cherish.

I am terrified that in a blinking moment Hayes and Knox will be in elementary school, driving, graduated, gone.

Stop, time.

Ready or Not

Hello blog readers, I'm writing to you poised on the brink of what I am sure will go down as two of the best months of my life.  (I definitely don't feel like I'm over-selling this.)

I'm writing, of course, about 

MUH.

TER.

NUH.

TEE.

LEEVE.

While our second son's debut may have fallen at quite possibly the most inconvenient time for Koby (as his football team is battling for a district championship placement and looking towards the playoffs AND his one true love [yeah, that would be deer season, not yours truly] opens in a few days), somehow, my six weeks of maternity leave will be miraculously stretched over a period of two months because of some well-placed holiday breaks.  Soooooo basically I won't be working from November 5 to January 7.  And I can't get fired for it.

If you are reading this real-time, then you know that I have posted in the afternoon on a work day (and if you are reading this real-time, I'm pretty jealous of your job) and you know that I am probably not posting this from work.  That is because I've taken today and the next two days off as I could probably go into active labor at any moment.  (And no, I definitely don't feel like I'm over-dramatizing this either.)

At my appointment this past Monday my doctor asked me my thoughts on scheduling another induction based on my progress so far and considering that we live about an hour and forty-five minutes from the hospital.  I think my exact words were "When can we do it?" and involved some clapping.  So we are all scheduled for a November 5th birthday, unless Hayes decides he prefers another one sooner.

And now we are playing the waiting game, and I'm trying not to time every contraction and to move as very little as possible.  I'm calling it some self-prescribed bed rest... that involves watching a one year old.  And still preparing the house for a new-born (more on that later).  For obvious reasons, Koby and I would really prefer NOT to have Hayes on the side of the highway in our car and so we're reasonably a little nervous about making it to the hospital in time, seeing as I'm already out of the 'early labor' stage and my dr. anticipates a much quicker labor this go around.  (As opposed to the 17-ish hours with Knox.)  So I'm selfishly asking for your prayers - prayers of thanksgiving that we aren't trying to prevent pre-term labor, that we aren't worried about getting to the hospital in the middle of a hurricane like so many parents on the East coast, and prayers that Hayes STAY PUT at least until Saturday, when we'll head to Abilene to stay for the weekend.

In other news, I'm preparing to be Mom times two, and it's already been an interesting mix of "I'm going to do so much better this time" and "Wow, I'm still really unprepared".  You know how people say that with each subsequent kid, their efforts to be 'perfect' parents seem to diminish (or at least become more realistic)?  Well, I kind of feel like the opposite of that parent, disregarding any notions of trying to be 'perfect'.  And the reason is because I am just 100% less ignorant a parent than I was the first time.  Maybe you're one of those girls who popped out of her own mom knowing instinctively how to care for a baby, and if you are, then feel free to laugh at me a lot, but I am not one of those females.  I am still convinced that I'm going to be a better mom to newborn Hayes, sheerly because I have a tiny inkling of knowing (sort of) what to do.

Example.  I breast-fed Knox for awhile, but by the time he was two months old he was already somewhat on a formula regimen and we were also traveling quite a bit and messing with his schedule, perks of being a coaching family.  I remember the awkward times at football games, as I tried in the blustering West Texas wind to measure and pour powdered formula into bottles while holding baby Knox, using the tin formula can I'd brought in my diaper bag and the teeny tiny scoop that comes with each container.  If you even remotely know what I'm talking about, you know how much of an idiot I am, especially considering that I think I did this for nearly the entire football season.

You see, I didn't know these existed.  

For about $6 I could have avoided being the T-Rex arm mommy at the football games, wasting money in the form of formula powder blowing all over the place.  It can be chalked up to nothing but ignorance in its purest form.  One of my friends and fellow teachers/coach's wife kept telling me that they ('they' meaning people who tried to mix bottles on the go once and decided people didn't have to live like this) made 'spinners' she used to carry in her diaper bag that helped her make the bottles at the games, but I kept privately thinking she was crazy.  ("I don't need someone to help me swirl the formula together, I need something to help me pour it in!"  She was, of course, referring to the spinning lid.  Once again, I'm an idiot.)

And so for Hayes, I won't be the mom who doesn't know about formula dispensers.  I also won't be the mom who doesn't know that feeding a one year old an entire box of raisins will give him diarrhea.  (Sorry, Knox.)  I mean, I understand that 'you live, you learn' and obviously, every mom is going to learn from her mistakes as a first-timer, but are every one else's so very elementary? I work in a nursery where two of the babies still taking formula are sons of first time mommies, and they knew about formula dispensers.  Is there a class I missed?

On the other hand, the other part of my brain that isn't all like "I totally (sort of) know what I'm doing now" keeps forgetting that we are essentially starting all over.  Seriously, if Koby hadn't reminded me that we had to put Knox's old carseat back in the car for Hayes to come home in, I may have forgotten. And then, it took me another whole day to remember to readjust the straps and to put in the tiny-baby attachment so he won't bobble around in there like a pinball.  Then, I packed all our bags a few days ago (finally) and surprisingly remembered outfits for Hayes to wear home, taking some from the 0-3 months clothes I've already set aside in bins in the nursery closet.  What I failed to remember is that Hayes would also be coming to live with us after leaving the hospital, so instead of putting all the 0-3 months clothes back in the bin, I should have put them in the dresser.  A mistake which I rectified today.  Am I doomed to be a first-timer twice???

Ah well.  I am so excited to meet Hayes.  I can't believe he's almost here and I am SO excited to welcome him into our family and for Knox to begin his role as big brother.  And I am so grateful that I get to have two whole months of maternity leave to soak up his newborn baby-ness - something I didn't even get with only-child Knox, as I went back to work four weeks after he was born.  

CHANGE

I've been doing some research and come up with a few surefire tips for successful parenting.

1.  Don't 'save' clothes.  Kids grow fast.

I just found an entire suitcase full of clothes  (literally, the clothes were stashed in the suitcase: things got a little last-minute when we were packing and leaving Colorado City) for Knox that he could have been wearing all summer.  Don't even get me started on the outfits (in the plural) I was 'saving' for Easter this past March, only to discover at Easter time this year he was too chubby to fit into any of them.

2.  In the event that you did save clothes and missed out on taking cute pictures for Instagram of your child wearing said clothing, get pregnant with another child of the same gender ASAP and remedy the situation.

Bingo.

In reality, I haven't been doing research.  You may or may not have noticed, but I haven't blogged since July.  I'd blame this on a variety of reasons, but the biggest one is me.  I've been lazy, felt ill-footed, felt too behind to catch you all up, felt tired.

Even though we've been in our new town since June, I realized last week that some days I still have that feeling of 'temporary-ness' at this time of our lives.  Temporarity?  Temporariness?  (Oh, that is a word?  No angry red squiggles showed up under that last one.  Interesting.)  You know, the feeling you have when you're living out of a suitcase on a vacation for which you didn't quite pack enough clothes?  I don't know why I have that feeling sometimes, or why it comes and goes, but I think it's the fusion of a few factors like: my baby (yes, Knox is still my baby, shut up) growing too fast, being in the third trimester of pregnancy, which really just feels like waiting (as opposed to feeling like nausea), and being at a new job while still feeling disoriented because it's different than my old job.  It's all irrelevant, anyway, since things (should be) in an eternal state of shift... it's just that I feel ultra-aware of it these days.

I think I realized the out-of-sync feeling enough to name it when I got lost for my third time on the way to Walmart last week.  I was frustrated by the fact that THINGS CHANGE.  It irritated me.  In that moment, a small part of me missed every town I'd ever lived in where I could find the nearest Walmart without accidentally ending up outside the city limits.  I missed familiarity, I missed my job and my classroom,  I missed the days when Knox was little(r) and I had energy to play with him every day after school, I missed our too-small old house, and even dumb things like my Jeep that was red, a season that wasn't scorching summer and our even smaller, smellier first house.

Having a lot of time to mull this over, as I had driven quite out of my way, the less-dramatic-and-pitiful part of my brain starting telling me obvious things.  Without change, Knox wouldn't be walking (read: running like the bulls of Pamplona) and so visibly learning, I'd always be pregnant (please restrain yourself from making the obvious joke here), or I'd never be pregnant, Hayes wouldn't be growing and kicking and getting ready to complete our family, Koby would still be working in the oil field somewhere and we would all be infinitely unhappy.  Thank God for change.  The smarter part of my brain also told me that it was highly likely that the next time I complained about a new standardized test I'd have to give my students or broke out in hives over the cost of baby formula that I'd probably refer back to September of 2012 and miss those familiar days.  And so the smarter part of my brain told me to enjoy the proverbial smaller, smellier house* that we will miss later, NOW.

*I am quite satisfied with both the odor and size of our house.

So speaking of changes and enjoying all things while they still fit, so to speak, here is WHAT KNOX CAN DO NOW!  (I feel like this should be a recurring segment.)

Walk, squat, spin, climb, throw, run, more signs (eat, milk, more, all done), animals noises and faces (snake, tiger, cow, cat, lizard), change contacts and other things on my phone, car noises, pick out outfits (namely, instruct me on clothing he does NOT want to wear/remove), interesting and impressive spitting/spit bubble techniques, burp like a 40 year old Budweiser drinker

THINGS I AM CONVINCED KNOX CAN DO

Smell graham crackers on my breath, hear the rustle of food packaging while in the deepest of sleeps and/or at 50+ feet away, find hidden objects that a Bloodhound couldn't track, understand things like "No", "Sit down" and "Don't you dare"

So, readers, know that in my silence we have NOT been having problems with the pregnancy (I think some were worried) nor have I been doing anything awesomely productive like actually mentally preparing myself for the arrival of our new baby IN 52(ish) DAYS... I've just been struggling in a place of change: watching it maternally, feeling it physically, geographically, professionally, and spiritually, and while strangely noting that it's almost too much to relay, occasionally feeling frustrated or sad that it has to happen (did you ever cry about a tiny sock?), but ironically waiting for more change in order to share it.  And waiting is stupid, as I pointed out to you in surefire parenting tip number one.

I think we should end with a picture of the world's cutest kid.

First Birthday

It's two days after Knox's first birthday and the day after his party, which naturally means that today I am looking for all of the odd objects I need that I cleaned hid in closets and under the beds before guests arrived yesterday afternoon.

What a day.  What a year.

It's hard to believe that a year ago we were meeting Knox for the first time, finally bringing him home and getting adjusted to the swelling of our family's numbers and what that looked like in our daily lives.  He was s o s m a l l.  I didn't quite appreciate how small he was then.  I mean that, have you picked him up lately?

Back in the days when you didn't dare look at Knox without having a burp rag handy.  

To me, Knox is a fascinating person and I am amazed daily that I have been blessed by God to be his mother.

I can't identify a greater joy than seeing Knox smile first thing as he wakes up in the morning, receiving one of his 'kisses' (he's a fan of open-mouth), or watching him take delight in anything from a rogue Cheerio discovered on the floor to being chased and tickled by his daddy.

I feel silly trying to write this blog entry - I feel silly trying to write something that can possibly sum up what this year has been for Koby and me.  I could tell you baby milestones (though I'm missing the monthly installment pictures... I dropped the ball around months 6-7, cool), I could tell you Knox's funny habits and the "I can't believe I did that" moments that have already happened in our fresh journey into parenthood, but I think it will just be enough (but not really enough at all) to say that it has been joyous and better than anything I can imagine.

Though tempting, I won't take you on a month-by-month picture tour of Knox's first year (though I tried at the party, but somehow the 700 or so picture slideshow wouldn't fit on the blank discs I had: I know everyone was really sad we couldn't watch that for the duration of the two hour party) and so we'll just fast-forward to yesterday.  BIRTHDAY.  PARTY.

Knox was his usual pleasant self.  Is it weird to say I'm proud of his little personality?  He will play with anyone, sit with anyone, talk with anyone and he brings joy wherever he goes - restaurants, Walmarts - the kid draws a crowd.  Of course, he had no idea what was going on as we opened present after present, forced him to take friendships with other babies 'to the next level', and insisted that he eat obscene amounts of blue sugar, but he endured it all with the same sweet temperament that he shows me every day.

With Aunt Melissa before the party.  Probably one of my favorite pictures.  Reeeeeeally wish the trash can wasn't in it.

Knox's first birthday cake and coincidentally, my first time to try and decorate a cake.  

Check out my balloon wall.

Knox and Poppa.

Knox and the Poppy-formerly-known-as-PaPa.  Poppy helped Knox open his first few presents.

Baby crocs to match Daddy's.

Knox didn't really understand the present-unwrapping portion of the party.  

"OHHHMAGAHHH is that cake?"

"Mom says I get cake."

Knox will eat bugs, trash, rocks, paper, and feathers, but I had to assure him that this blue stuff was indeed edible.

And thus began the tamest first birthday cake ceremony ever witnessed.  Knox is what you might call a 'food-lover', and he obviously doesn't believe in wasting cake by doing silly things like throwing it or smearing it all over his outfit.  These are classic signs of the amateur.

Aunts.

Sweet Kynleigh.

Knox likes to "fake share".  This is a game he plays where he'll offer food with a smile, then eat it himself.  Occasionally he will actually give the food to the other party, although this person might not appreciate his generous gesture of pre-wetting the food so it goes down easier.

Great-Grandmother Smith.

Great grandparents Gram and Pop and the hobby horse Gram made for Knox using Poppy's old jeans.

Baby Wyatt!!!!!

Forced hug.  Beckett came away from the exchange with some tasty blue icing and was a little more eager to repeat the experience than Knox was.  The other pictures even blurrier (word?) because I am laughing too hard to keep the camera still.  

Nana and Knox.

We didn't even try to make Knox look at the camera for this one.

The first birthday was surreal because like Beckett's mom, I am just really thrilled with myself that I have fed, cleaned, and nurtured a life for a year.  This is an accomplishment for someone who cannot keep potted cacti alive.  Both Koby and I entered into our new roles with startlingly little knowledge about babies, experience with babies, and honestly, interest in babies.  I am now 'that girl', that MOM.  I took pictures of my nekked baby in a bucket.  I drive a station wagon.  I used an iTunes gift card to buy Yo Gabba Gabba songs.  I carry a diaper bag instead of a purse... even when Knox is somewhere else.  I call diapers 'diapies' and poop 'shooey booey'.  Knox has changed our lives, and maybe we're less cool (yes I'll drag Koby right down with me), but our lives are infinitely fuller.  It's not even a comparison, not even worth considering a trade.

Anyway, so in addition to trying to wrap my mind around all of that, I also felt an immense sense of happiness and fulfillment in the love we felt yesterday at Knox's party.  Lots of friends and family were there to love on Knox and share in our celebration.  People were willing to travel (some very far!) to see my baby and smile and laugh with us for a few hours.  It's humbling and it makes us feel grateful that Knox already has so many wonderful people who care about him.  Grateful.  Just so, so grateful.

Here's to another year and to walking very, very soon!