Life lessons from a three year old

Christmas is my favorite time of the year. It's also my least favorite.

Wrap your head around that one.

I love it, I love it, I love it. But it makes me cuh-razy.

It's stressful for me. Gifts and gatherings and tight finances and crazy schedules make me want to scream. 

My kids can tell you. Well, the one that talks can. 

Lately I can feel myself spinning out of control. Snapping at small things. Heck, this morning I raised my voice at a Verizon call tech and called their policies ridiculous. Sorry, Verizon lady. 

Anyway, this afternoon at nap time Uriah was going insane. Crying because he wanted his pants off, but then when I took them off he cried because HE wanted to be the one to do it. Cried that the sound machine was on the wrong sound, then it was too loud, then he wanted it back. Yada, yada, yada. 

And I lost it.

Big time. 

Big, ugly, screaming, insane, lost it. 

 And then I slammed his door and left him crying and scared in his room. 

(Hold off on calling the authorities, there's a twist coming.)

I plopped down in the chair and felt terrible. Sick, even. How could I lose it like that on him? It's nap time and he was up late last night with no nap.. He is tired. And even if he wasn't, he is three years old. He isn't in control of his emotions and I am supposed to show him how to be. And I blew it. He needs discipline, not terror. He shouldn't cry himself to sleep after I scared the heck out of him. I could have handled it so much better. And my heart felt heavy. So, heavy. 

So I made a decision, to set the example. I asked Jesus to forgive me, then I got up, walked back in his room and knelt by his bed. I looked in his scared eyes and I told him I was sorry. I explained how I acted badly and should not have reacted that way. He made bad decisions, but so did I. And I asked him to forgive me. 

And he said yes. 

And I cried.

And he HELD ME. 

He held me. I cried and told him I love him. He said he loves me back, and he rubbed his hand up and down my back just like I do to him when he's hurt or when he is sad. 

I felt free. 

Forgiveness is freeing. 

I don't care what you believe, forgiveness is freeing. Whether it comes from your child or spouse or friend. You feel better when someone forgives you. 

But nothing compares to the forgiveness that comes from the only one who hasn't had to ask for it. I screw up. A lot. You wouldn't want to be my friend if you knew how much. (You may not want to be my friend anyway, ha) but I am so grateful to not have to be bogged down by the guilt that accompanies those actions. It is freeing. And beautiful.

Thank you, Jesus. For making me forgiven, and free. 

Pillow Talk

I love my children. If you're friends with me on facebook you may doubt that, seeing as most of my posts are just keepin it real on how life with boys really is.  It's loud. And dirty. And violent. Someone is always hitting his brother and crying that he pulled his hair in retaliation. It's rather exhausting. And frankly, I get annoyed by the people who always post things about their perfect children. No kid is perfect, and my children's imperfections make for good stories. 

I am so not always patient. Some nights I check out when Tobi gets home and I lose it when they don't behave the way I think they should. But I try to find the humor in every hiccup of our days because I know there are mamas of crazy little boys out there, aching to know that they aren't alone. Like I said, I try to keep it real.

Sometimes though, I have moments of weakness and I spend an evening soaking in every giggle. I notice how sweet the smoosh of a chubby baby cheek feels when you kiss it. So I kiss him three  more times. I immediately get up when a rowdy little boy bounds into the living room in the middle of the farewell season of Parenthood and says "I want you to put me to bed instead of daddy". 

And then two hours later when I peer into his bedroom to stare at his sleeping face, he grins at me with ninja turtles in his hands. Instead of ripping his toys away and yelling for him to go to sleep, I climb into the bed with him and tell him stories of when the headboard of his big boy bed was the crib he slept in as a baby. I tell him how I am so glad I get to be his mama, and how he is my best friend in the whole world. "And Ezra?" He asks. 

"And Ezra." 

I ask  if he will love me forever and ever, even when he's big enough to drive a car. 

"Yep. Hey look, this is my armpit."

This is my life. Beautiful moments, covered in spit, pee, fart noises and armpits. 

And I wouldn't change it for all the girly girls in the world. 

In the future I hope he learns that when a woman pours her heart out to you, you don't barely respond and then show her your armpit. 

Rainbow Baby

It rained on my wedding day.

I remember freaking out because I had always heard the wives tale "each raindrop is a tear you'll cry in your marriage." It couldn't rain. We were happy! It didn't rain long, but I remember my sister-in-law, Marianne saying something beautiful to me that day. Something to the effects of "After the rain, there comes a rainbow. And that's a symbol of God's promise. What a beautiful way to start your marriage." 

She probably doesn't even remember saying that. But I do. 

It's been two years since we lost our second baby. 

Last year, I didn't even acknowledge it. I had just had Ezra, and I was so preoccupied (and thankful) that I just let it pass. I feel guilty for not thinking of that baby as often as I should. I didn't have long to grieve it, because I was pregnant with Ezra so soon after.  

Don't get me wrong, I cried. And cried. And prayed. And cried. 

But then I had Ez. 

This year, I'm not sure what's different. Maybe life is a little slower ( doesn't feel like it)  but the past week has been hard for me. Which is probably why I'm blogging. I don't know why, but it's therapeutic. Probably because I will write things that I would never say. 

I've been writing this blog in my head since July 2nd, not knowing whether or not the publish button would ever be hit.  July 2nd came and my heart hurt. That's the day we found out I was pregnant.  Tobi announced the next day on Twitter (it was his birthday he can do what he wants) so I followed him. Uriah's cute little shirt popped up on my TimeHop app on the 3rd. "I am batman. Sidekick coming in March."

That sidekick never came. 

I've been wondering lately who that baby would have been.  Was it my girl I so wanted? Would it have had red hair too? 

I don't think I ever let myself go there.  I never really "what if"ed when it happened.. Here I am "what if"ing two years later. 

I guess everyone is different. 

I believe in God's divine timing. Like I said, this week has been difficult for me. I'm missing the baby I only knew for a few weeks inside me.  But, because God is good, I found out this week, this very hard week, that the baby conceived after a loss is called a rainbow baby.. 

A symbol of a promise.

My sweet Ezra. 

A promise from the only one who can heal a hurting heart. 

I haven't forgotten you.

And He still hasn't.

I'll never know here why my baby was taken. But I know God is good. And I know He keeps His promises. 

My Ezra couldn't be a better fit for us. He's been smiling his entire life, and anyone who has been around him will tell you how sweet he is. He knows when to crawl up and melt into my chest with a sweet cuddle. His laugh is contagious. He is tough enough to survive having Uriah as a brother. He thinks he is big, but not too big to give kisses on demand. 

He is my rainbow baby. 

A gift from God.

And he is so loved.

It rained on our wedding day and it's rained in our marriage. It will rain more , I am sure of it. 

But when it rains, we will look for our rainbow. For our sign that God isn't finished. For a sign he hasn't forgotten us. We will cling to our hope.  Hope in a God who is a consuming fire. Hope in a God who chases after us. Hope in a God who catches us when we fall, who binds up our wounds and who loves us. 

And we will thank Him. For who He is, and for what He's done. 

Warning: Images May Be Considered Graphic

Just kidding. This is about a stuffed turtle. 

I'm sure you all know of our unofficial third child, Ardo. If you don't, I don't know how you came across this blog... But I will be a good sport and explain it for you.

Uriah loves ninja turtles. Like, more than he loves his own mother. 

One day, about a year and a half ago, Riah spotted Ardo on a shelf at Target. Me, being the cheap mother that I am, let him ooh and ahh over it for a few minutes and then said "tell him bye" and we walked away. ( I'm very lucky that most of the time Uriah is content to say Bye and move along.. No fits. Most of the time.) 

Fast forward a few weeks and Riah got money from Tobi's grandmother and my Aunt for his second birthday.  We took him to Target, fought the urge to spend his money on diapers and let him pick out a toy. 

I don't even remember what he had in his hands when we walked by Ardo. He instantly changed his mind and I tried to talk Tobi and Riah out of it. (Tobi is just as bad as Uriah,  because he was just as obsessed as a little kid so he LOVES that Uriah is too.) 

"It is $20 for a stuffed turtle." 

They won. 

He has been Uriah's best friend ever since. 

Two weeks after he came home with us, he helped Riah adjust to being a big brother.

He went on a few family vacations.

He has to have medicine when he is sick.

He takes Selfies with Uriah.

And he even gets to sit at the table with us sometimes.

He is much thinner now, and Nana even had to sew his eyes back on last week. (Don't judge my lack of life skills) He's had a good run.

Now that you know who Ardo is and how he came about, I have to inform you.

He is dead.

Yesterday Tobi took Uriah to town and he came home with a new toy. ( Typical when they leave together)  That new toy was a nerf gun (ish) called the Power Popper.
And Uriah has been Power Poppin'  for the past 32 hours. Constantly.
This morning, while we were getting ready for church,  Riah came in and placed Ardo at the foot of our bed. He then unloaded ten rounds of nerf ammunition at his poor turtle.
He let out a "Got him! Shot him in the face!". Then suddenly, he was on the floor, hugging his turtle and whispering "I'm sorry, Ardo. I didn't mean to kill you."

Ummm... I'm concerned.
Can anyone recommend a good counselor?

This kid's imagination is one for the books.

Disclaimer: No real ninja turtles were harmed today. Ardo is now  just fine and sleeping with Uriah. Though, he's probably sleeping with one eye open if he's smart.

Birthday rambles

One year (and two days) ago I was laying in bed NOT sleeping. I was getting ready to have my second child the next morning and was completely panicking over how I was to love and raise another baby. How was it possible to love and treat them equally?l I knew the love would come. But I didn't understand how.

Fast forward a year.

Now, My baby is one.

How can that be? Just yesterday we were painting his nursery and decorating with cool rock and roll decor. 

He is so not rock and roll. We should have decorated Uriah's room in rock and roll. 

It never occurred to me that they would be different. Uriah was a little rocker, and always so big. He was so growny. 

Ezra is not. 

Ez didn't grow at a ridiculous pace like his brother. Ezra didn't meet all the milestones at the same exact moments that Riah did. (But he did beat a lot of them, and in true Ezra fashion he slept through the night at 13 days. Beating Uriah's record by one day.He is refusing to be in his brother's shadow!)

Uriah is content to play on his own (most of the time) and Ezra wants to be with you. No matter who "you" is.  Ezra wants your attention and Lord help us all, he is a social eater.

If you're eating, he's eating. 

I make all these comparisons to say,  it is impossible to love them equally.  They are not equal in every way.  I remember once when tobi's daddy said " We didn't love you kids equally, we loved you fairly."

That is so true. Uriah needs me in ways Ezra does not. Ezra needs me in ways Uriah does not. Each of them needs more love in different ways. It took me a bit to figure out that they are different children. 

I'm a slow learner.

I don't have to treat them equally.  One day I may spend more time loving on Ezra because he needs it. The next days Uriah may need extra cuddles and one more kiss. Some days he kisses me every time he leaves a room.  Some days E won't let me put him down. On those days I try to soak in the hugs.  Most days, riah would rather me do a puzzle with him or color where as Ezra would rather be tickled and smooched.  Some days it's the opposite. 

 I'm always learning. Each day my kids change and each day I am running behind them trying to catch up. 

Poor Uriah is my practice child. I feel like I have learned more about myself as a parent in the last year than I did the first two. I react to things differently with Ezra than I did with riah. 

Maybe it's because he's the baby. 

And I want him to be little forever. 

But he's not going to be..

He's growing every day, and I will take you on a journey of cuteness to prove it.

The first time we met.

His newborn pictures.

Happy (late) birthday sweet baby boy.  I can't believe how fast your first year went. You have been such a blessing to our family this year and we are so grateful that you are ours.  You have filled a void none of us knew existed.  I don't remember life without you, and I'm ok with that. I pray you always feel that you are loved fairly, and that you never feel pressured to be the exact same as your brother. You are your own little person and that's just how God made you. 

Be you. 

We love you more than you will ever comprehend, and  I am honored that God gave you to me. 

It's not a birthday without a blog.

People tell you all sorts of things when they learn you are going to have a child, or even once you have one.

Lay them on their back to sleep so they don't suffocate.
Lay them on their belly to sleep so they don't choke.
Don't sleep with them, they will suffocate and if they don't they will sleep with you until they move out.
Don't put them in their own bed they will have separation issues and grow up to be promiscuous.
Spank your kids so they don't turn out to be disrespectful brats.
Don't spank your kids, you'll hurt their feelings and damage their self worth.

People tell you all sorts of things about how to raise your kids
(I'm especially fond of when this advice comes from people without children.)
But no one ever tells you how much they change you.
They never tell you how you spend the last few minutes of your night walking to each bedroom and making sure your babies are sleeping and ok.
People never tell you how you spend naptime exhausted and stuffing your face with treats you don't want to share.
They also don't tell you how you spend one minute staring at your babies thinking they are the best thing you've ever seen and the next minute trying to remember that you love them because they are driving you insane.
Or how you secretly feel guilty every day that you're not doing good enough.

People do, however, tell you (and you don't believe them until it's too late.) that one day you will look at your kids and wonder where the time went.  I'm far from my children being grown, but my baby is three today and I can't for the life of me figure out where this year went.  This past year we welcomed a baby brother, got potty trained, learned how bribery works,  and grew like a dadgum weed.
And I don't know how it's already gone.
My baby isn't a baby anymore. He's not even a toddler.
 He's a preschooler.
A kid.

A very cute kid.

Every day I'm surprised at how grown he is. And every day I wonder when he got so big.
The boy's personality cannot be matched and he keeps us laughing. He can be so loving and caring, giving hugs and kisses one minute and practicing his manners and the next minute be shoving his brother down and throwing a fit. I hear three is a nightmare. Two wasn't easy. My home has never been messier, my nerves have never been as worn. I have never been so tired.
But my heart is so full.
Even on days when I can't handle motherhood.
And even on those days, I am so blessed to be his mother.
There's a lot of "dear Jesus please let us make it to bedtime" praying going on in this house. But there's a ton of "thank you Jesus for these wild boys" going on too.
I like to think it evens out.



Little boy, I can't believe I have had you for three years.
Maybe you will read these one day, maybe you won't. If you do, please know as often as I joke about sending you home with strangers that you are the light of our home and we are
so blessed to have you in it.
You are your own little person and I hope you never lose your willingness to be yourself.
But as much as we love you, tell me thank you for not killing you. Two nights ago I held your little feverish body and caught your vomit in my hand. Last night you hit me at least fifty times with a ninja turtle stick.  Seriously, buy me some flowers or something.

I love you, and I'm honored to get to watch you grow every day.

Happy birthday baby boy! Three looks good on you.