The fewest parades

Typically the third, fourth, fifth child in a family gets the fewest parades.  Benjamin is no exception.  I haven't taken nearly as many photos of him as of the other two.  I haven't spent nearly as much money on new toys, clothes, gadgets for Benjamin.  I haven't blogged adoringly about his facial expressions, the smell of his breastfed poopy diapers, or the nightly terror I have of being woken by a crying baby who can't breathe through his nose (he's got a cold right now...it's exhausting for everyone).  All those little details of his babyhood aren't being forgotten though.  And Benjamin is not being neglected.

Every day Luke and Seamus take turns holding Benjamin.  A few days ago Luke admitted to me that he loves Benjamin better than he loves Seamus.  "I love him more because he's newer.  And because he lets me hold him.  Someday I will carry him around like you do."  Today Luke decided he was strong enough to pick the baby up and stood beside the couch picking Benjamin up and putting him down, picking him up and putting him down, for a full ten minutes.  Later in the day I came in from the neighbor's house and Luke came leaping up to me grinning and shouting, "Benjamin spit up on me for the very first time!  All over me!  I'm not even lying!" 

I have also felt protective of my time with Benjamin.  I don't resent waking up nights with him at all because I get him all to myself in the middle of the night.  In the afternoon, during quiet time, I often skip a nap in favor of snuggling with the sleeping baby - what sane person with three kids, one of them a newborn, skips a nap?!  I've even taken to sharing my special alone time in the shower with the wee one, just to be skin to skin with the warm little bundle.

Derek and Luke nearly arm wrestled to decide who would feed Benjamin a bottle the other night, and Seamus is constantly stroking Benjamin's head and whispering things like, "You're a sweetheart Benjamin Harvey", in his ear.  We often find jam or chocolate or bread crumbs on Benjamin's head because Seamus just can't keep his hands off Benji's soft little noggin.  The first thing Seamus says to me in the morning is, "You're a good girl, Mom. But Benjamin's a good boy and you're not a boy but I'm a boy and Luke's a boy and Daddy's a boy, but you're a girl and Benjamin Harvey is a boy like me."  Luke refused to go to church last week without Benjamin.  "I want to have him with me at church.  I want everyone to know he's my new brother!"

Benjamin may not be getting a parade with a full marching band and majorettes.  But he's got his own little fan club, and we play kazoos that rock the casbah.

For the Record

My kids are not all bad.  In fact, they are sometimes, truly, little angels.  Last week I had to go get some blood drawn (just the standard stuff during pregnancy).  The doctor told me to go over the lunch hour because (his exact words!), "It's usually dead over the lunch hour.  You can just walk in and out."  As a result of this advice, and since I had recruited babysitters two other times last week, I decided to take the kids with me. 

We had our normal morning lessons, piano practice, and then everyone got dressed and we jumped in the car.  We stopped by the clinic in howling winds and darted into the building clutching our jackets around our throats.  There was standing room only in the waiting room.  Perhaps it wasn't yet the lunch hour?  It was only 11:15.  I gave my doctor the benefit of the doubt and took the kids back out to the car, through the gale, over to WBS where we killed a little time visiting Derek and eating candy from the receptionist.

11:45, back to the clinic!  There were now exactly three empty seats, in the most boring waiting room in the world.  Not a single magazine or side table, and the only two microscopic windows covered by people sitting and waiting.  I sighed and decided I was not coming back another day.  Despite the fact that I had not prepared for a long wait, I had gone to all the trouble of getting everyone out of the house in inclement weather, and I absolutely positively HATE needles.  If I made it to the lab, the last thing I should do was leave again...chances are I could come up with at least ten more excuses not to have blood drawn by tomorrow.  So we took a number (76), and sat.

And sat.

And sat.

And the kids ate their pocketed candy from the receptionist.

And we sat.

And the kids wrote on the crumpled church bulletin I dug out of the bottom of my purse.

And we sat.

And the kids counted all the light bulbs in the ceiling.

And we sat.

And intermittently the children asked, "Is it our turn yet?" (we had come when the sign said they were treating number 62 - so we had a little lesson in counting).

And we sat.

And we sat.

For an hour and forty-five minutes!! With no books, no toys, no crayons, no snacks - straight through the lunch hour!  And my two boys did not bicker.  They did not whine.  They were as patient as Job.  When our number was finally called they quietly walked back to the cubicle with me and sat on the wall to watch the nurse draw my blood.  They were pretty fascinated and sat like statues, with great big eyes.  The nurse commented, "I didn't even know their were children in the waiting room!  They are so good!"

And they are!  But the reason they get three times the credit for being good, is because they were good when it really counted.  They were polite, patient, quiet and sweet at a time when it was a serious challenge for even an adult to remain remotely civil.

I took them out for happy meals after to celebrate. 

In Need of a Boost?

I know I am.  Today has been the Monday of horror-movies fame.  Children arising early and grumpy from an interrupted night sleep to scream and complain and talk back and whine and hurt themselves and others all day.  At last they are both quiet in their beds...sleeping?  I don't care to risk looking in to confirm.

A day like today makes me feel like a bad parent.  I know there are hundreds of ways I could improve as a parent, but I truly feel like I give it my best shot everyday. Somehow, every time I feel a strategy is finally working, the children change and the strategy is no longer useful!  I can't change often enough to keep up with them and it's exhausting, trying.  Am I looking at parenting from the wrong perspective?  Perhaps I'm not meant to keep up with them?  Bah!  I want to feel sorry for myself for a little while: eat some chocolate, drink some wine, watch a movie.  Then you can give me advice :)  Lord knows I will take any advice I can get most days.

I really just need a smile. If you do too, keep reading:  We all Say.

L: Tomorrow morning, at dinner, can we split a pepsi?

S: Gang-goo Mommy (Thank-you).

L: That lunch can sure stuff a four year-old up!


Me: I always overeat when someone's screaming!

Me: Teaching the boys to clean up after themselves is such a big job that sometimes, to give myself a break, I clean up after them myself!

L: It's my hat, so I get to rule it!

(to demonstrate a pattern of Seamus's)
S: Yeah! Cowboy comin'!
S: Yeah! Stawbewwies (strawberries).
S: Yeah! Yinus good dog. (Linus)

(holding up 3 fingers) 
L: I'm on my fourth muffin!

L: I wish Seamus was born on June 26th so we would have the same birthday and he could go to preschool with me.  We would be twins and be best friends!

L: Seamus, superheroes don't have puppies!
Me: Why not?
L: Because superheroes have to leave their house everyday and the puppies would get into mischief!

D: We need to get you dressed little man.
L: No!
D: Why not?
L: I can't run as fast with clothes on!

Merry Christmas!

Although it doesn't make me proud, I'm going to tell the true story of this Christmas morning, so that we will remember what having kids is really like (it's not all as cute as the photos I post!), and so that those of you who read this will know that my life isn't all lollipops and twinkle lights.  This Christmas morning started out with the lighting of the Christmas candle, the reading of the Christmas story, a poem and a prayer.  It was lovely, and I really imagined that Christmas morning would be topped off with a jolly opening of presents, a family meal around the table, and a movie from somebody's stocking.  Well, as soon as the stockings were opened there arose shouts of, "But I wanted that!" and "I don't like this candy, I want a different candy!"  And I am sad to say, those shouts were from my very own son.  As you can imagine, gift opening was put on hold, a very angry four-year-old was sent to his room, and everyone heaved a big sigh.  This idea of a "perfect" Christmas morning is, apparently, not attainable until our children learn a very important lesson about gratefulness, thankfulness, graciousness, and humility.

So we very literally pushed the pause button on gifts, I attended to the pancakes, and Derek went downstairs and had a chat with Luke.  Seamus was just wandering around in his new hat, eating a caramel, totally oblivious to the challenges that accompany the rather arduous task of maturing gracefully.  Eventually Luke decided he was ready to be gracious, maybe if he didn't like the caramels he could still say thank-you and then give them to someone who appreciated them (don't worry, he discovered he liked them; we are in a phase where anything "new" or "different" is automatically labeled "bad"), he even began to understand that the What of the gift is not as important as the Why...I hope.

And so Luke decided he wanted to hand out the presents to his family, Seamus decided that collecting the paper and putting it in a box was more fun than opening presents, and eventually (much later than planned, and after much hungry crying from Seamus) we ate pancakes.  Seamus ate five.

I cannot know that my son learned exactly what I hoped to teach him.  But all we can do is try to explain, and live like we believe it.  Giving is wonderful, receiving is delightful, and giving and receiving graciously is truly a skill worth the effort of learning (and teaching). 

One of the lessons I have been struggling with lately is that Luke is his own person, very separate from me.  For the longest time he was part of me, then for a while he was an adorable accessory, now he is most certainly his own person - developing thoughts and ideas with no input from me.  I would have thought this would be obvious, but after so many years of, "Say buh-bye! Say Gramma! Go potty?" it's hard to wrap my mind around the fact that this little person will decide if he needs to go potty on his own.  He will call out what he's thinking during the church service when the moderator asks what she thought was a rhetorical question.  He will wear nothing but gitch around the house all day and ask for a knife to cut his pancakes at breakfast.  He will be himself, and I can only hope now that we will love each other enough that he will continue to want to be like me...and I can set a good example.

Merry Christmas!  May your Christmas enlighten your family relationships, as ours is doing, and promises to continue to do.

Beans beans, the magical fruit

I have had a pretty rough couple of days.  Luke is into mischief and my tolerance level is very low...which is a recipe for disaster.  If you can believe it, this little bean escapade was actually intentional!  Yesterday and today I planned fun activities for us all to do together, that didn't include getting dressed, leaving the house, baking something, or anything having to do with christmas preparations.  It was just what we needed.  I need to remember that messes are sometimes fun, that playing is more important than checking things off the to-do list, and that most of the time Luke is driving me crazy, he's not trying to drive me crazy - he's just trying to have a good time...and I need to get in the spirit and stop being such an old fuddy duddy (thank-you Doris Day).  I'd show you what we did yesterday only we decided to give them as Christmas gifts, so it's going to be a surprise! 

Splash, Dash, Rabadash

Around here there's a little bit of this going on, and a little bit of that, and also we're reading The Horse and His Boy (hence Rabadash).  Oh, and I made Hollandaise sauce for the first time ever and it turned out pretty good.  Also, the weather is really warm (around zero Celsius) and Luke has been playing in the sandbox and stomping in the melting icey gutters...icey is a word.  Icey.  I must be spelling it wrong, it looks wrong!  The baby is getting around, and when I see him in funny places I sing to myself (and sometimes to the entire room - appreciative audience or no) "I get a-ROUND!"  There's also a little bit of insecurity and flailing happening in my parenting...why's my kid out of control sometimes? why do I feel like I need him to be "in control"?  back and forth with myself - is this normal?!  I could use a mentor.  Or book suggestions, friends?  Or, sigh, a vacation.  HA!  That's a good one.

There's also a lot of fun things happening, like paper airplanes and a tea party and ice skating and playing with Grandma and Papa and playing outside in the gorgeous weather and reading chapter books and watching long sunsets get later and later each day and taking photos and journaling and writing funny words on the fridge and shower walls; so it's not all bad.  Just sometimes confusing.  Like when my kid falls in a heap on the grocery store floor screaming, "I want the green wrapper candy for Grandma!!!"  W-H-A-T-?  Oh well.  I suppose it's a phase.  But I see that the way I handle this phase will also be the way I handle the later phases. . . like puberty.  What am I gonna do then, huh?  I gotta get a grip!  Parenting is so darn hard.  They don't tell you that in the manual they give you at the hospital.  But the googly oogly sweet wet kisses that you kind of think are gross before you have kids. . .those are way better than you ever imagined.  So, in the end, (I know I am being totally cliche) it's worth it.