The littlest helper

We had rice tonight. Again.  Which always seems to be on the menu with this gluten free diet.  Every time I steam rice and eat with my three kids under 6, I make myself promise we will not do it again for at least 3 weeks.  The end result is hardly in the mouth, but MOSTLY on everyone's bare feet, mashed into butt cracks and stuck to hair and under chins and chairs.
And definitely MOSTLY NOT on the plates.

You have one of two options at this point.
Clean by picking up each piece individually, basically with tweezers
OR wait til dry and, in the morning, sweep up.

Truly, I have no idea how people do it with chopsticks, but at the end of dinner, this is what the table and floor looks like:

Don't EVER get a table with deep rustic grooves in it, NO matter how cool it looks.

Fortunately, I have a little helper who is always willing to clean up the mess.  I put her right to work. 

 

So this entry really isn't about rice, it's about my little helper.

My babiest girl is turning two years old in two days.   

And about 1000 days ago, she was given a very BIG assignment, an assignment only the God of the Universe could have given to the 

littlest helper.  

And OH, she has risen to the occasion.

She is JOY. 

She is Unbridled PASSION. 

She is teacher.

She inspires, encourages, plays with, and enthusiastically loves her older sister in a very BIG way.  

And with her screaming demands, come bold streaks of courage where she takes June's hand and leads her through the steps of life.

And this littlest sister pushes her BIG sister to do more, to be more.

To come out, to dig deep in her soul and smother her with kindness.

And...to just plain smother her.


To wrestle with her birth order number.
To find a brave new place where I haven't gone,
and triumphantly stay there for a while.

Happy Birthday my littlest Charlotte Rose-Marie!

Tears

I have this good friend.  She's the kind of friend who you can just drop in on, go on random walks with, tell secrets to, drink raspberry wine with...sometimes at 11:00 in the morning. We text back and forth all day long, laughing and giggling, sharing triumphs and woes.  She's the kind who saves her expensive jeans for me because she thinks I might be able to squeeze my butt in them. How flattering.  God knew I needed her right now.  Maybe she needs me. 
I don't know.

And the blows keep coming to her. Blows after blows after blows.  It never ends for her and her family.  It's not even like she can see a window, or a glimpse of goodness, of blessings.  She just gets hit down, hit down again and again.  I listen, and I feel like I say the same things over and over again, all the while begging God for mercy for them because I can't whisper one more time, "I can't even imagine. I'm praying for you.  I love you."

And so when I don't understand, when I don't see the why, when I know in my head that God only gives us what we can handle, I have a hard time transferring this notion to my heart of hearts, embracing the fact that God is allowing this trial at this moment for them.  She has made no decisions to cause it.  She is just trying to live her life raising two boys, and nurturing a husband who is thirsty for normalcy.

She is a hero because she chooses to laugh during the day at the ridiculousness of it all.  She is a hero because she believes that God will heal her son completely, wholly, fully.  She is a hero because she opens up her home in the midst of chaos, flailing wide her gaping heart, telling the truth, being brutally honest.  She is a hero because she made me prophesy and promise that her second son would be born into this world with zero complications.  I did.  I promised.

I love you friend.  Your tears are being collected, I promise.

"You keep track of all my sorrows.  You have collected all my tears in your bottle.  You have recorded each one in your book."  Ps 56:8

Without her

He pressed down firmly on the home-made play-dough with his teeny 6-year-old hands, making creations, bending and twisting, begging me with his eyes to help.  The almost-two-year old stared and took it all in, tentatively reaching for hot-off-the-oven dough.  It was the first time she had ever met the squishy stuff.  It was long overdue but today was her lucky day because her first sister was at school and Mommy was feeling creative.

And they molded and stretched and pounded with ease of movement,
sharing utensils and giggling.

Freedom.  For them. For me.

No one had to yell "June...NO!"
Nobody had to get their finger half-bitten off by reaching their fingers into her mouth to swoop out the swiped playdough.
No one had to snatch the tools from her for fear she would  destroy them with her teeth. 

Not one of us had to keep an eye on her so she didn't steal away to the bathroom and suck down all the toothpaste or eat the toilet paper or the plant or the magazine.  Especially the new Martha Stewart one.  You know the one with all those delightful, colorful macaroons.

It was easy. It was give and take. It was pure joy and delight.

And for an hour I played with my two children and wished it was them.
Always.
Only them.

All was at peace as I took in the sight of them.

And then we bundled up in warm cozy jackets and walked outside.  Just the three of us.  James reached over and wrapped his big hands in Char's bitty hands and mentioned they were freezing cold and they sat there hand in hand in hand in hand as I strolled home with the boy too big for the double stroller.  And it was pure sweetness.  Charlotte commented on ducks and dogs and James was utterly amazed that she was saying words and pointing and connecting and smiling and looking us in the eye. Because he had never experienced this before.  This new sibling kind of love that he could never share with his first sister.  Not yet.

And his first sister is about to get off the bus.  This sister who we need to love.  Who I know has been good for us, just as we have been good for her.  We are learning to love each other. Still. To connect. To care for. To communicate with. And just with every hard thing in life, it takes time to sort it all out. But sort it out we will.

And even though I wished for a moment that it was just the two of them taking up all the space in this house, in this heart, in these thoughts, 
reality sets in and I realize

I could not imagine my life without her.

This mystery-girl.

She is good for all of us.

My friend sent me this today. 

Ecclesiastes 5:19, 20 
"Moreover, when God gives someone wealth and possessions, and the ability to enjoy them, to accept their lot and be happy in their toil—this is a gift of God. They seldom reflect on the days of their life, because God keeps them occupied with gladness of heart."

Weight

My husband and I spent three hours on Saturday making June a weighted blanket. Weighted blankets are used to give sensory input to people who have low-sensory systems and are sensory-seeking because of it.  It can also help with restless legs and make a child or adult feel more calm and snug.  June sandwiches herself between her tent and bed every night, making her legs numb and cold.  We were hoping to help her find a similar sensation through a weighted blanket.  I believe we were successful.  Online, these blankets are anywhere from $130-$200.  Here's what we did.

We sewed two pieces of 40" X 70" flannel together (opposite sides) on three sides.

We turned it right side out and sewed 5 inch columns down the quilt vertically.  Next we had to figure out how many pounds our blanket should weigh.

The formula is .10 X the child's body weight + add a pound (we added an extra pound because we were making a slightly larger blanket).

We needed a 6 pound blanket.  We used poly beads (found on ebay) and Rich figured out we needed about 1/4 cup of beads for each pocket.  We poured beads down each column, then sewed horizontal stripes after each pouring.  You can imagine how tricky this got toward the end, moving a near 6-pound blanket and smoothing back beads that were creeping their way out of the pockets.

Rich smoothing beads down. June doing her usual pilates moves.

Three hours later, we folded the top over and sewed it shut.  I must say that it looks pretty cute!  Also, I am happy to report that June has slept two nights with it soundly and has taken one nap in the stroller with it.  She is also enjoying it while reading books or watching TV.

I'm thinking it was worth it.
So she can sleep feeling weight on her shoulders.

And I wonder...

How many nights do I fall asleep with the weight of the world on my shoulders?  No weighted blanket needed.


"I praise you Father, Lord of Heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children.  Yes, Father, for this was your good pleasure....Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."  Matthew 11:25-26, 28-30.


On a lighter note, take a look at what we've been up to:

June shows empathy (for the first time) when her sister goes to time-out 

for stealing her toy.

Charlotte throws a T.T. because she can hardly stand being in time-out.

June actually watches the toy train without destroying the track. Big success!!

Charlotte dresses herself up every day (note upside-down coat) and says "Bye bye!" 

We had 9 inches of snow a week ago, resulting in several days of missed school

And tons of fun!!

75 cents

We've been fighting over 75 cents.  My husband and I.  It seems to be the theme for the last decade.  And I'm tired and I want to curl up in this super cozy blankie and surf itunes for relaxing songs that I might like. 

My son lost his second front tooth the other day.  You know what that means.  Lisp while talking, super cute face, and eating apples again...all pointing to the inevitability of growing up.  He informed me that all his friends in his class get a buck under their pillow and he only gets 25 cents.  He's not sure why the tooth fairy keeps jipping him.  So, I tell him that I think the tooth fairy knows he has everything he needs and make up lame excuses, but, he's not buying it because we both know his friends are middle-class rich and have an over-abundance of everything they need as well. 

Well the big morning finally happened where he was brave enough to pull it out with his own two unsteady hands.  We treated it like a newborn baby all day, and then away it went under his pillow for the fairy.  I was all set to slip $1 under his pillow when my husband asked why the inflation.  I stopped in my tracks, not feeling like fighting.  He said we're setting him up for a keepng-up-with-the-joneses attitude and I'm thinking, I've already disappointed him at least 10 times today.  I said "no" to the $80 sneakers, the yoghurt-covered raisins and the movie, what's 75 cents?

So, I put the measly quarter under his pillow.

Morning came quickly with a small whimper as I acted happy for him and he burst into tears because of his huge disappointment. 

I don't know why I'm telling this story.  Maybe I want you to be on my side. 

I'm thinking the disappointment will come in time.  I don't think I need to create scenarios so he can learn to be disappointed.  I know a mean kid will call him buck teeth.  I know he'll feel left out one day when he finds out he didn't get invited to a birthday party.  I know some girl will break his little heart.  For now, I'd like to spoil him a bit and give him $1 for each tooth that falls out, because I'll only get to do that 16 more times.


And then it was like a mirror was put up to my face and I was looking at all my dollar hopes and dollar dreams.  I tried to let go of the nagging feeling that I was putting my hope in things to come, not being thankful for each moment and realizing that there are quarters out there for me to gather.  There is Heaven this side of Earth. 

But I'm too busy doing the dishes, trying to get rid of stuff because it's past Christmas and the materialism is choking me.  Too busy fixing a hair bow, making lunches and worrying about whether or not we're going to sell which house. Too busy sorting and folding the clothes because we have been blessed with too many...while my children pull on my shirt and whisper, "Come look at the sunset",  and "Come play dollies",  and "Come look at the tree branches as they blow and sway".

Really, truly, I am about to move to a tiny house on a plot of 100 acres, where there is a rolling river and tall trees.  We'll bring wooden blocks, a couple of dolls, a few books, a deck of cards and a bag of clothes.  My husband even looks like a lumberjack lately.  

 May your day be filled with quarters from our God above, and maybe, just maybe you can put them together in a basket to make a few dollars. 

18 seconds

This afternoon I got a phone call from a friend that made me cry.  The good tears. My friend Rachael phoned to tell me A REALLY important something.  She just saw me yesterday and so I knew it must be a DIRE emergency for her to be calling me at 3:50 pm today.  She started right in, "Did you see the video?  June is walking!!"  I said, "What? What are you talking about?"  She continued, "I'm sitting right here in the waiting room in the therapy building and I just saw June walk by me! Like down the hall...with no one holding her hand...like she's been doing it for years!!" I gasped and clung to the chair.  Was this really happening?  Rachael of all people was delivering this news. Rachael, who has a daughter much like mine, who knows full well the anticipation and the waiting for the miracle of walking to occur.  We both cried.

My mind started reeling.  My 4 and a half year old baby's life started flashing before my eyes like in one of those Hallmark commercials sort of way.  I thought of those first agonizing motions she made to crawl, I thought of the first time she looked into my eyes, the first and only time she said the word "more".  I thought of her perched on the table, perched on the piano listening to notes and vibrations penetrate her core, and then, even last night snuggled up beside me so tightly because we both had insomnia.

I would no longer be introducing my daughter and getting strange looks that my four year old was in the stroller and my one year old was crossing the street all by herself, leading the way.  I would no longer say, "This is June and she doesn't walk or talk yet, but she's working real hard to do it real soon."  I might, just MIGHT, by Winter be able to tred through snow and stand and look up at the Connecticut Winter sky as snow flakes fall on our eyelashes and in our mouths and we giggle that cute June-bug giggle.  And maybe, just maybe June bug will twirl.  By Christmas. 

When June got home from therapy, I peeked out the upstairs window and watched her get out of the car and wobble her way into the house...with some guidance.  I grabbed my kids and we all raced down the stairs 100 miles an hour and greeted her at the door with kisses and hugs.  She must have known her secret was out because she smiled her impish grin and then of course I had to get my camera and we had to go exploring in the yard and the sidewalk, because I had to see for myself...all 18 seconds of it.

And that was a good day.  I have that good feeling and I am thanking God, and singing Hallelujahs and sort of floating around...that kind of feeling when you think you might be in love, or you first find out you are pregnant (for the first time), or you are about to take a trip to an island.  I would like to thank Kayla, June's attendant for having the ingenious idea to put a belt on her in the therapy office one week ago today.  And of course, I am forever indebted to Kat who has encouraged her to walk as much as possible with holding her hand and loving her like her own.  June has been blessed beyond measure with teachers and therapists from CHKD, Early Intervention, and Norfolk Public Schools.  You guys rock!

Steps

I had the privilege of watching a little 4 year old boy this week who stole my heart in about two hours and who decided to break it the third night. He came down with croup in the middle of the night and I swear I was watching my own child there, gasping for breath, praying over him that he would somehow make it to morning.  It was frightening at times.  Croup is a weird thing.  It gets really bad at night and then by morning, your kid is bouncing around and smiling, acting mostly normal, all except for the nasty barking cough which will again, become too much to bear the next night, filling up lungs and shrinking airways. 

Isn't that how it is?  We dance in these circular waves of existence, acting like things are fine at times, and refusing, or pushing down emotion, stuffing and compacting old and new trash, and then when we take a second to rest, we're choking, gasping for air, asking God to take away the pain because we can't breathe, can't sleep.

It's hard to balance your life perfectly.  Having it all equal out into 8 perfect apple-pie sections where we spend the right time in the right place, with each child, husband, friend, and God...having the right amount of time set aside for cleaning bathrooms, dusting shelves, baking bread, running 3 miles, reading some non-fiction, researching the latest obsession on google, emailing a teacher, socializing, being hospitable, being crafty, adventurous and daring, blogging, and baring your soul to one another. 

This got me thinking about how simple June's life is, how simple it will always be.  She will always be searching for the beautiful in the landscape...the lines, the contrasting color.  She is generally content when her basic need of being fed, clothed and toileted is met.  She could live in a yurt and in fact, would want to.  She will most likely never have an over-crowded life, too much to think about or time-manage.  She will forever take pleasure in the little loves of nature like the wind blowing, or the trees swaying, or water splashing.  She will take her time learning to talk, learning to walk. 

My little June certainly teaches me something almost daily, and tonight as we practiced walking with her new "belt" on, I saw her face light up with joy as we praised her for her accomplishments, every little step a little closer to the real steps that she will take one day soon. 

We ended the night in a living room huddle.  The clock kept ticking away and we kept prolonging the bed-time ritual.  I almost never do that, but tonight, it felt good to watch June walk in circles with her belt on, face beaming.  Tonight, I read a magazine while the kiddos played on Daddy, taking deep, strong, healthy breaths and hearty laughs.  Tonight, I made pumpkin pancakes and eggs for dinner, because a green veggie and chicken (again) seemed too boring.  Tonight, I let the dishes rest in the sink while I reflected on the day.  Tonight, I spent extra time reading to June bug the story of the Velveteen Rabbit...because she was listening.  With all my family snoring upstairs, tonight I will join them.