Sleep: Friend or Enemy?

Last night I only got a few hours of sleep due to the sniffles. My 3-month-old son has a little cold, but even "little colds" can turn into nightmares in the middle of the night. With the dry Denver air, liquid snot quickly becomes something more akin to cement, and breathing becomes difficult for him, scary for me to listen to. But alas, we made it through another night. After a night like that, daylight seems to reveal both relief and despair. Even after my rather large mug of java, I was still a bit of a grump.

What I don't like about sleep is not just how I feel (tired, lethargic, headachy) or what it brings out in me (grumpiness, short temper), but how it drains the joy out of life. I love being a mom, and I wouldn't ever trade my kids for anything in the whole world. But I find it hard to play my part on days like this. I do the bare minimum to get by so we will all survive the day. No lullabyes for my baby, no exaggerated exclamations for my preschooler's antics, no extra effort to extract giggles and smiles, no creative ideas for playtime, no effort to make balanced meals (or even to enforce eating). Just survival. Period.

It hasn't been a bad day, but I certainly hope tomorrow brings improvement, at least in ME. It's too bad that sleep has to be such a factor in whether or not that will actually happen. I love my sleep, but I hate that I'm so dependent on it for whether or not I'll be a good mommy. It's my best friend when I get it, and my worst enemy when I don't.

Does it ever end???

Looking back on this week, I think the only day that I did NOT do laundry was yesterday. It seems like every day I'm doing at least one load, if not two or three. Now, how on earth does such a tiny little being as my nearly-3-month-old son generate so much extra laundry???

Hovering Hen

When I became a mother nearly three and a half years ago, I realized I would be raising my children in the world, but I didn't realize how hard it would be to protect them from it.

Lately I've been resisting the urge to hover over my sweet daughter when we play out in our condo courtyard. I see that the other two girls (ages 4 1/2 and 5) aren't being nice to her. She doesn't always realize it, thinking they are running from her as if they were playing tag. Or when they are bossy and she is innocently compliant. As a 3-year-old, she doesn't understand manipulation or false compliments. She doesn't understand why the command her to walk when she really just wants to run.

She doesn't understand, but I do.

I understand that they are making sport of my daughter. I understand that she wants so badly to play with them and doesn't know why they won't. I understand how sensitive she is and that she often teeters on the edge of an emotional breakdown if she grasps even a little of what is happening. I understand that it would be all too easy for me to interfere and tell those girls to be nice to her and demand that they include her, but that it wouldn't really solve the problem and she would still need to learn to deal with them on her own. I understand that she could easily follow their example and act the same way to a younger girl someday.

And it breaks my heart for her.

I want those girls to see who she is. That she is sweet and fun and has the most wonderful giggle when she lets it loose. That she is too young to know how to exclude other kids and she really just wants everyone to have fun together. That even though they sometimes make her cry, she still gets excited to see them and calls them her friends.

Those are the times that I want to take her away and shield her under my wing, like a mother hen protects her chicks before they are ready to withstand the cruel elements of the world. I want to scoop her up and wisk her away to a place where her tender heart can't be damaged. I want to say to her, "Come with me! I will play with you! I won't run from you! I love you!"

As I learn to trust God with her life, which is a daily struggle for me, I wonder how often He feels the same way about me. I search my surroundings for someone to approve of me, to love me, to make me feel good about myself, and I don't always come away with what I wish. I wonder if He wants to interfere to protect me, but I know that He watches as I learn to do it on my own. But He is always there, telling me, "Come to me! I know who you are and what you are worth! I can give you what I know you need! I will always be here for you and won't abandon you! I love you!"

Wherefore art thou, Internet?

Ugh. It's been a WHOLE WEEK since we've had internet service in our home. I've been going crazy, feeling disconnected from my family, my friends, and the whole world. I knew that I depend a great deal on the web, but realizing after a WHOLE WEEK exactly how dependent is kind of embarrassing. (Did I mention it's been a WHOLE WEEK???)

I rarely go outside without checking the temperature...online. (And yes, this time of year in Denver it changes that much from hour to hour.)
I have thrown away all my phonebooks because I just look up phone numbers and store information...online.
We watch missed episodes of The Office...online.
We even Google all our arguments -- not that we have that many. :)
And the worst of all is that Lucy has been sorely missing her reward time on PBSkids.org... and so have I!

Well, after hours on the phone with our provider and seeing if anyone in our neighborhood had an open wireless connection we could briefly 'borrow' and a weekend trip to John's office so I could hop on my email and see what I was missing, I'm back. And it is goooooood.

A scrapbooker by any other name...

As a full-time mom (and I mean FULL-time) I've been trying to figure out what sort of hobby I can participate in that will be fulfilling and yet not suck too much time out of my life which I can't afford. Running some ideas by my husband and some friends, I've heard a few times, "Well, aren't you a scrapbooker?"

Let me make this clear right now: I am not a scrapbooker. You see, I find a marked distinction between "being a scrapbooker" and "scrapbooking."

Let me explain. To me a scrapbookER is one who has a closet or armoire full of paper, stickers, scissors, ribbon, grommets, stencils, markers, and a plethora of other materials of which I don't know the proper use of. She is one who gets together with others for the purpose of sharing materials and ideas to make a single picture into a piece of art. I admire her. I sometimes wish I had the creativity to be in such a class, but alas, I am NOT a scrapbooker. However, I do enjoy scrapbookING. And what is the difference, you ask? I find pretty 12x12 paper to go with a few photos, I glue them on the page and sometimes add a title, date, caption, or description, then I slide it into an album beyond the reach of my 3-year-old's fingerprints. For me it is not an on-going hobby. I often cram it all into a week or two each year. I gather pictures, ticket stubs, and other flat memerobilia, then in a frenzy I spend every moment of my kids' naptime and every free evening hour throwing the pages together, just to get it done and off my conscience!

Does that sound like a hobby to you? It's more of a guilt-laden activity, doing it to get it done to preserve the posterity of our precious memories. Though I must say it does work as a creative outlet for me during a time in life where coloring inside the lines seems to be what I do most often.

I'm currently in the midst of a scrapbooking week, and I have to say that it feels good to get it done. Soon I'll be able to put my few supplies back in the shoebox and wait until next year when I get the itch again. Honestly, I have to say I enjoy the challenge of fitting the pictures on the page just right, and I definitely enjoy when others look at my albums and say "You did a nice job." Maybe this time I won't put the box away. Maybe I'll expand my supplies and embelishments on my next album. Maybe it will become a more-than-once-a-year event... Nah!

Where it hurts

I never cease to be amazed at how God meets us where we are exactly when we need it. There are thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of men and women around the world reading the exact same words that I am this week in the Bible Study Fellowship (BSF) study notes, and yet they reach right out and grab ME. There are a few particular thoughts from this week's study that I read yesterday and am praying will continue to resonate throughout this week, month, year....

We are studying the book of Matthew this year, and in our 4th week we are still at the beginning, taking a fresh look at the birth of Jesus. What, you say, could possibly be new about his birth story? We are all quite familiar with it. We hear it every Christmas. But these thoughts helped me relate it to the identity struggles I'm facing right now:

"If Jesus, the Lord of Glory, was willing to be known as the son of a carpenter in an obscure town, are you willing to do some service for Him, however hidden and humble that service might be?"

"Are you willing to do your work today, realizing that just as Jesus showed all carpenters how the Son of God pleased God as a carpenter, so you as 'homemaker' or 'engineer' live today to show the people around you how the Son of God within you lives the homemaker's or engineer's life to the glory of God?"

"Do not say, 'I cannot do this in my circumstances.' God has put you there, and with God nothing is impossible. This is God's will for you; and if it is God's will, it is workable if you will cooperate with Him and let Him work it out through you..."

Wow, that really hits me where it hurts.

Who are these kids?

My dear friend Jen came over this morning with her son Gavin who is 18 days younger than Josiah. Because of the massive volume of family traffic we've had come through our home since Joey's birth, I've only been able to see Jen one time since Gavin was born. It was a wonderfully refreshing visit, and so beautifully comforting to be sharing this newborn time in life with one of my closest friends.

We sat and talked, alternating who was nursing, burping, and changing our sons. Then we laid them on the floor beside each other and watched them wiggle and coo and fuss and fidget, and I couldn't help but have visions of the years to come. I joked that they had no choice but to be friends, remembering how I played with my mom's best friend's kids all through our growing up years, whether we liked it or not (and we usually liked it). But I couldn't help but see these two wiggly babies and envision them as toddlers, running after each other or perhaps fighting over a treasured toy. I couldn't help but see them as school children tossing a ball to each other in one of our backyards. I couldn't help but see them as young men, sharing stories of pranks they pulled in college and talking about music and movies, and maybe even girls (tee hee).

I can't even count how many people have said the very same phrase: "Enjoy this time; they grow up so fast." And while the hours or individual days can sometimes feel like they drag on, it really does pass so quickly. I work hard to cherish this time and enjoy this phase in each of my kids' lives, and I often find myself having to stop wishing for the next new phase and take a deep breath to make the most of the moment I'm living in. But part of me is so excited and eager to see what God will do with them and who they will become as they grow. What will their interests be: trucks, dinosaurs, baseball? Will they go to college, beauty school, or become an auto mechanic? Will they live near us as they grow, or be a missionary in Africa?

Ah, I'd better put my imagination to rest before I get ahead of myself. Time to go change that diaper...

No More Nuggets!

Lucy didn't finish her dinner last night. She barely touched it, in fact. She was complaining that her tummy hurt, and that usually means she's gassy, but something in the way she was saying it made me second-guess that theory this time. Against our usual policy, I let her leave the table having eaten only about a quarter of a slice of cucumber, convincing Daddy that we shouldn't force it this time.

Call it mother's intuition, call it a hunch or a gut feeling (no pun intended), I just had a bad feeling about how the night would go.

Let me say a little more about our day. We stopped on the way home from church to pick up a few items from Wendy's dollar menu. Lucy had the chicken nuggets and finished 4 out of 5 of them, with the incentive that for each nugget she finished she got a whole french fry. Good stuff, huh? Well, after putting her to bed, still complaining of an aching tummy, we found ourselves rushing into her room just after 10 PM to, you guessed it, chicken nuggets all over the bed and a Lucy whose tummy didn't hurt anymore. Ugh.

I was SO grateful for that "intuition" that told me something was different about how she said her tummy hurt. Something told me not to force her to finish her dinner (or even to start it, for that matter). Instead of a couple of half-digested nuggets, we would have been dealing with a plate-full of lazagna. Double UGH!

The last time we encountered this scenario, when I was about 8 months pregnant, Lucy had eaten chicken nuggets for dinner. It doesn't take a sleuth to see the connection here. We have already virtually eliminated hot dogs from her diet for the same pattern, and now we're looking at processed chicken, too. The real deal -- all white meat chicken strips -- doesn't present a problem, but maybe there's something more in that processed, pressed and pre-formed meat that doesn't jive with her system. I don't blame her!

So, farewell nuggets! You won't be seeing the like's of my little girl's tastebuds for quite some time!