Trust no bae(by)

Most people know that I am easily scared. 

I have to "halfway" watch suspensful movies and TV to let myself be distracted so I don't lose my mind. This was one of Tobi's favorite things he found out when we got married. (I'm sure he knew before, but marriage provided him unlimited access to scare me in any way he deemed fit.)

It ranged from "innocently" following me outside to the laundry room, to convincing me with refrigerator magnets that our house was haunted.

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. 

Now, he has taken my sweet children, and turned them against me too. 

This morning, after brushing my teeth, I exited the bathroom into what I assumed was a safe zone.

Unbeknownst to me, there was a two year old laying in wait, ready to pounce on his mother's weakness. 

Before I even had time to notice him, he shouted "BANG!!"

And SHOT ME. 

In my own home. 

Ok, so it was a nerf gun. I still screamed like a little girl. 

And he LAUGHED.

My once precious baby, scared his mama and laughed hysterically. 

I don't even know what to do with that.

I am unsure how a two year old knows how to play a prank like this, but I'm a little afraid of what it means for his future. 

A Letter To My First Son

Uriah, Ironman, Wolverine, Batman, Captain America, "bow and arrow guy", or whoever you are today,

Today is your fourth birthday. I woke up like most mornings, with your feet in my ribs...much like the day you were born, just now you are about forty pounds heavier and beside me instead of in my stomach.We complain about you landing in our bed in the early morning hours but I secretly love waking up to you rubbing your hand on my cheek or patting my back.On this morning, before my eyes even open, my heart is breaking. And at the same time it is overflowing with joy. Motherhood is a complex thing. Absolutely torturous and absolutely breathtaking. It's full of staring at sleeping babies and running out of the nursery the second the baby begins to stir. It's full of kissing booboos and wishing fevers away, while longing to keep the sick snuggles. It's a mixture of correcting an ugly mouth, yet laughing later because its so funny to hear you call someone an "iriot" instead of idiot. It's a mixture of being really impressed you can put 17 animal crackers in your mouth at once, but forbidding you from doing that because I don't want you to choke to death. It includes being so proud you and your brother are playing nicely, wearing capes inside a fort you made. It also includes turning into a total momster and freaking out that the fort is made of my couch cushions and my living room is turned upside down. It's loving watching your imagination grow and you having the freedom to play, but hating my house being destroyed all the time. It's spending four hours making a superhero cake because you asked for it for your birthday. It's loving getting to curl up and read you a book (that we've read a hundred times) but also really wanting to hurry and put you to bed. It's wanting to move to an island without telling anyone where I went, but also missing you like crazy when you're gone for two hours. It's full of contradictions but always, always full of love. It's longing to watch you grow into who you are meant to be, yet wishing with everything I have that I could freeze time and keep you small forever.

You are growing bigger and taller each day.
Sometimes, I look at you and see how big you are like its the first time I have noticed. And just when I don't think I can handle it, you crawl in my lap and say "Mama, I'm a baby".
Sometimes, I hold you down and beg you to be my baby while you laugh and laugh and yell "I'm a big boy!"
Maybe you're conflicted too about your growing up. Maybe you just humor me and know I need you to be small a while longer.

You've been my best friend for four years, and I cannot even remember life before you. You are learning all the time, and sometimes you shock me with the things you know. You tell us stories about your friends, and teachers, and about the things you've learned about Jesus. I pray daily that God calls you to Himself at an early age, and that your dad and I can be godly examples to you. We fail. A lot. But God's grace never does. Just when we think we haven't taught you enough, clarified that the bible isn't a story book like Llama Llama, you blindside me with bedtime statements like "Mama, did you know that Jesus can live in our hearts?"

The truth is, God does not need me. Or your daddy. Or your teachers. Or anyone to tell you enough about him. He can call you to Himself without the help of anyone. It is a privilege to get to teach you about Him. I am not worthy to do so, but somehow He lets me. Maybe He puts me here to correct you when you think you're bigger than you are. Like at Easter when you told me that Jesus didn't have to die on the cross because you would save Him. You're a little obsessed with super heroes. Your dad and I will keep teaching you, and we will pray that God will open your heart and that it will click and that you will understand. Until then, we will keep talking, keep telling you who the real super hero is. And He loves you so much more than we ever could. And we love you a lot. I hope you always feel it. 

 Happy Birthday, to the first son I ever loved. Happy birthday to the boy who will roll in the grass but will not paint your hands to make your mama an art project. I hope you always hold strong on the things you oppose. But hopefully, you'll move on from painted hands to more important things. I pray your strong will turns you into an excellent leader. Happy birthday to the kid who keeps us laughing, because you change your name every day. Happy birthday, to the kid who taught me just how big love could grow. 

Happy birthday to my sweet boy, each day I spend with you fills me with much joy. And frustration. There's another contradiction for you.

Love, 

Mom

 

 

Who Says Boys Are Nicer?

It's no secret that I wanted girls. 

The gut-wrenching pain when I see baby girl clothes has gone, and I am finally loving being a mama to wild little men. Many people told me when I would express my desire for a baby girl to stick giant bows on, that I should be thankful for my boys..because boys are nicer to their mothers. 

 I'd like to take you on a little journey of our household, to see just how nice boys can be.

This morning, as I was getting dressed for work, Uriah was playing the I-don't-love-you-I-love-daddy game. When Daddy is home, Mama is invisible (until someone gets hurt then suddenly they can see me again). I usually play along, telling them it's okay to love Daddy too. Sometimes I pretend to be sad and secretly enjoy that they aren't driving me crazy. 

During this morning's shenanigans I asked Uriah if he thought I was pretty. I got a resounding "NO!". We giggled, and I offered him a piece of advice. "Son, when a girl asks if she's pretty, you always say yes. Even if she's not. You always say yes." I then went on through naming all of his peers that are girls and saying each time, "if she asks if she looks pretty, you say YES."

We went along, and a few minutes later I asked him again how I looked. Same answer. I pretended to cry, and he patted me on the back, saying "It's okay Mama, I love you. I do love you."

"But I want you to say I'm pretty!"

"Well, your hair is pretty. Your hair is, but not your face."

I've said it before, and I'll say it again.. this man cub needs a lot of work.

I'll be spending the next twenty years writing my apology letter to my future daughter-in-law. 

There's always hope for Ezra.