Play the guitar Reagan

Some days you just don't want to play air guitar.

I can't stop watching this. 

Grant is okay. 

He has a bruise under his armpit but it won't hinder his dreams of being band leader.

Real Sportsmanship

Tonight I had been putting off playing catch with Lincoln. Had to make dinner. Had to chat with a friend. Had to clean up dinner...blah, blah, blah. So, I finally got that urgent feeling of inadequacy. That feeling you get when your kid is old enough to remember how you blew him or her off. When you realize they aren't two and incapable of remembering what they had for breakfast. I guess guilt and pride can be good motivators.

That, and I heard him throwing the baseball on the roof. Which was annoying.

So, I headed out to play catch. Something I think I've done maybe three or four times my whole life. He kept giving me  pointers. Which was annoying.

We had been playing for about 15 minutes. Him grinning ear to ear. Me having to run after the ball. Which was annoying. 

When...I heard a little kid saying, "Eh? Eh?"

That's Amharic for, "Hey, I know I'm too little and wimpy to play. But I really think I'd be an asset to your team."

Reagan had been standing there watching us play. Managed to put on Lincoln's batting glove...and stood patiently waiting to be included.

    



 

   

And, yes. I've pretty much given up on braids this past month. This is what her hair has looked like a lot lately. I try to fluff it up when we go out...but a majority of the time she has bed-head fro.

Don't judge me.

I'll get it right someday.

So, Lincoln and I included her in a little triangle of catch. 'Course she was no good at it. She was happily oblivious. Now, SHE was grinning ear to ear. And, if it seemed like Lincoln or I weren't throwing the ball to her often enough...she would emphatically pat her belly and say, "Eh! Eh!" Din-Din! Mah-Maaaah!"

So we played. And...it wasn't very annoying.

It was more...cute.

Precious.

Nice.

While we were outside...some other kid had a bathroom emergency and I had to go be the maid.

When I came out awhile later...they were still playing.

I know it's just catch. 

And, I know that families should love each other. So, I'm not sure I can put into words how good this makes me feel.

My son loves his sister. He loves her a lot. He includes her. She wants to be included. 

We are family. 

Sometimes that hits me randomly and hard. It's mind boggling.

 I get so caught up in the mechanics of having kids. The failures. The getting from point a., to point b. The feelings of inadequacy. Just being plain dog tired and sometimes depressed. Racking my brain on how to work better as a family. To have a home that isn't so chaotic. I start looking for validation ANYWHERE but home. When you are a stay at home mom...yeah sure, you know your job is important. But it's also just A dimension of who you are. I think being a mother will be one of the biggest investments and pouring out of self I will ever take part in. Still...still...it's not ALL of me. It's hard. And, it can seem WAY too big of a job.

 Yet, sometimes, if I would just get up...

Move. 

Play. 

Watch. 

Be humbled.

It would be so much more fun.

My tank was filled to the brim by my children tonight. It cost nothing. It was free. 

Waiting for me. 

I almost missed it...

It's hard for me to imagine...

But there are things in my life that are better than medication (I think). 

Better than organization (again--perhaps). 

Better than chocolate (just slightly).

Better than a nap (usually).

Better than calm.

Those things are...little glimpses of love in its most naked form. 

Oh sure. 

I see PLENTY of ugly, selfish, angry, tattley, lazy..."normal," behaviors, too. Sometimes by looking in the mirror. Sometimes acted out by little people.

But on days like today...they are a drop in the bucket.

Happy Birthday

 TWO

(A bazillion pictures to honor Miss. Ray. We love you babe!)

 Referral

 3mo.

                                                                        

                               9 mo.?                                

                         13 mo.,Ethiopia, May 2010                          

                                                             

Lousiana, May 2010

                                                                          

June, 2010

 (Reagan had just gotten in trouble for something, and Lincoln was trying to comfort her by sharing music. One of my favorite pictures. Her sad little tear, and him helping her the best way he could.)

July, 2010

  August, 2010

September, 2010

October, 2010

November, 2010

 December, 2010

January, 2011

February, 2011

March, 2011

Six Banana Peels

Someday...

When you are recovering from a really intense THIRTY minute workout.

I mean, *phew.*

You get the kids on the bus.

You feed the babies...

And you think, "Wow. I'm really tired. That's pathetic. I shouldn't be tired from thirty minutes on an elliptical. But...I am really tired."

When you look  at the dirty kitchen you should be cleaning and children you should be dressing, and think again, "I am really tired."

When the t.v. that is mounted to the wall starts beckoning you with promises of free babysitting. When it promises you that your children will be so entertained by whatever it is spewking out--they won't think to cause havok. When it tempts you with thoughts of sleeping past six a.m. for the first time in a month.

Do the right thing and say, "GET BEHIND ME SATAN!!"

Or you may or may not wake up from THE most blissful slumber by the little voice of your son saying, "Mom. I so, so sorry. I so, so, so, sorry. I was haynding from da turtain rod...and it fell. It fell ALL da way down. I pulled it from da wall. I so sorry. So, so, so sorry."

You may or may not run out into the living room really ticked off, only to find the curtain rod was indeed pulled, "...all da way down." And you may or may not find your daughter covered in not one...not two...but three very expensive, goopy hair products. You may find that she found it necessary to cover her entire face, portions of her legs, her hands, and her arms. But not a drop in her hair. As that was the only part of her body she couldn't reach with precision. You may find that goop on carpet, on the couch, and on her sister's coloring books.

And finally, you may decide that no, you will not take any pictures of the event, because...you are too angry.  And they aren't even cute. Little punks. Little deviant, destructive, disastrous children. Why do they have to act so...so...so much their age?

Is it so wrong to leave a 22-month-old and a three-and-a-half-year-old alone for almost two hours? Unattended, and only supervised in that you groggily remember saying yes, they could have more bananas and to please put the peels in the trash can. You were present in body...but your spirit was far away. Dreaming of a clean house, swimming in a triathlon and beating EVERYONE, and finally getting to pick your husband up from the airport for R&R.

Not that any of this happened to me.

I would never be such a delinquent parent.

And, IF I were...I suspect that this would teach me a lesson or two...

(By the way. I found SIX banana peels in the trash can this morning. SIX.)

What a difference 278 days make

 A few days ago, Lincoln had stayed up late to do his homework. While I kept him company, I started going through home videos. I came across this first one of Reagan. She had been home for six days. I can't get over how hurt and withdrawn she seemed. I had forgotten what her cry had sounded like. That apathetic, "Uh. Uh. Uh. Uh."

 When we first met our daughter, we had no context of who she was. What she looked like when she was truly happy. What she looked like when she was truly sad.

Now I know.

At the time, I was thankful that six days later (after arriving in the U.S.), she seemed happier. She wasn't sick, she didn't have a fever, or that oozing sore on her mouth. She opened up more and more every day. The other kids loved her. I was just glad to be home.

But now I watch this video and it sucks the air out of my lungs. It hurts my heart. I knew that she'd be grieving. I just didn't know what that would look like.  

This is what it looked like. 

 

I know it might not seem like much. 

But it's the difference between confusion, pain, hopelessness and heartache. 

And, confidence, determination, intimacy and happiness.

It's the difference between a smile brought on by fleeting entertainment. And one brought on by trust and joy.

She was hurting.

I remember now, how she would withdraw and stare off into nothing. How she would turn away. I remember that deep, pitted, scared feeling...that maybe something was really, really wrong. That maybe it was something I couldn't help her with.

___________________________________________

And then here's today. A friend of mine had posted the Katy Perry cover of, "Fireworks," on her facebook page. Grant asked me to, "beedio" him dancing to the, "moon, moon, moon song." Sorry it's so long. Grant doesn't even dance very much. What I couldn't stop smiling at is Reagan. 

    

Sometimes we need a reminder of how far we've come.

I know that with all my children...we are in a lifelong journey together. 

I know it's not over.

But to quote Confucius, "The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."

If I haven't lost you already with my insane amount of cheesiness, don't worry. I'm done. :)

I'm just happy.

Exhibit A

I'd like to title this, "Why we were late for church today."

Reagan's sportin' a bed head fro.

You can tell who was the mastermind by the guilt on his face.

This one is blurry, but Grant's face kills me.

Bobby Brown shadows and blush...

Every single lipstick, eyeshadow, lotion, foundation, gloss, mascara...that could be, was opened. You obviously can't see it, but most of the powder and chunks of lipstick ended up on the floor underneath. When I found them, Grant was furiously trying to get all the lids back on the containers. Like I wouldn't notice...

Not even sure what to do about this. Our vacuum's motor went out a few weeks ago. This is when they moved into the living room and got into Kennedy's makeup. It's some kind of creamy blush.

First attempt at washing it off. Reagan wasn't sure if they were still in trouble or not...

Third or fourth scrubbing. Grant knew he was free and clear.

 

I know they are cute and all...but please consider that while they were out joyriding around the house with makeup: Three Bobby Brown longwear gel eyeliners were sent to the graveyard, four tubes of lipstick were ruined, two mascaras, multiple shadows were turned to powder, the carpet was ruined, and two sections of wood trim were stained.  I wish I could sue them for damages. Little punks.

Okay. I'm sure the carpet and trim could probably be cleaned. So, in that case I'd like to sue them for pain and suffering.

This is why I can't have nice things, shouldn't wear makeup, and should just skip showering all together. 



Come to think of it, bad things always happen when I'm in the bathroom.