Happy Birthdays and Sad Goodbyes

Today is my mother's birthday (and the culmination of Mia's eighth week- but more on that, tomorrow). With the craziness that is my life now, we both knew that we wouldn't be able to speak for long on the day of, or actually plan anything together, but I'd hoped to make a quick phone call and celebrate in a small but special way with her over the weekend.

Through the usual fog that surrounds me in the first several hours of the morning/early afternoon, I didn't even register what day it was. When I saw my mother's number show up on my cell phone, I remembered, but her tone and voice were not at all as I expected to hear them. She sounded tired, haggard. Like she'd been crying.

It turned out that my paternal grandfather passed away this morning, and she was calling to pass the sad news on to me. I have fond memories of the joyful, playful, giant of a man that he was in his younger days, back when visits were often and eagerly-anticipated. Having seen very little of him in my teenage and adult life, and finding it hard to relate the reality of the changed man that he was in his older age to the way that I saw him as a child, I am still struggling with the emotions that his death has set in flux within me.

I last saw him just shy of a year ago, an unexpected visit in tragic circumstances: the death of his son, my uncle, my father's brother. My family was blessed to enjoy a couple of lucid hours with him before our departure, in which he got a chance to see his great-grandchildren, Abby and Michael. Mia will sadly never have the same opportunity, now.

As we ended our brief phone call, my mother and I, I hesitated before finally pushing forward in my decision to wish her a happy birthday. It felt forced, and sounded foreign in the midst of our shared grief, but I didn't want to let it go unsaid. Having left things the way I did, though, it still feels like it was.

Tom and I wanted to do something special to make up for it, but we needed Abby's cooperation. She's a great little singer, but not so keen to do it on command. Over dinner, we talked her up on the notion of making a little video for Mima, and she seemed intrigued, but I knew it would be no easy task. Smart as she is, Abby still has a hard time understanding that videos must be made before they can be watched.

There were four attempts in all. The highlight of the first was Abby's amused expression and coy little murmur that, "Mommy can sing it," as I tried to whisper-sing/encourage in the background. In the second, she was more aggressive. "No! I don't want to sing it!" In the third, I tried to pique her interest with the forward-facing camera. She was definitely more involved that time, but only in the making of silly faces, while I did all of the singing.

I'd given up at that point, and begun to nurse Mia, when Abby declared that she was going to sing, after all. Of course, my one-handed, fumbling attempt at getting the camera out quickly interrupted Mia and set her crying, and it was at this point that Abby began. I still couldn't reach the record button right away, so getting a perfect video was an impossibility from the start, but I figured I'd go with it and see what happened.

The result was- well- amusing, at least. Here's to you, Mima. I hope that your birthday was as happy as it could have been.

My thoughts and prayers are with you, Grandpa. May you find eternal peace in the loving arms of God.

Breaking Mad

My sweet Abigail is precocious, crazy-intelligent, creative, adorable, amazing...

... and so, so difficult, at times.

I find myself struggling daily, not only with the ways in which her stubbornness and headstrong resistance to my attempts at discipline are blocked at every turn, but also with the poor way in which I handle it, emotionally.

It's worst on the days when I'm feeling down, because a low mood always equals virtually no patience, and an overabundance of anger. The anger makes me so ashamed; it bursts out at often unexpected times, causing me to feel guilty, and just self-hating enough to further feed the hidden flame for the next round.

The terrible cycle has always left me feeling like the very worst of myself, but no more so than now, when it affects the way that I interact with my children. I start to shut myself down, perhaps in some misguided attempt to stem the flow of rage, and I can't seem to connect at all for a time. Sadly, this disconnect happens most often with Abigail, because her level of self-awareness makes it harder for me not to chalk her behavior up to "just being a baby," though I really do need to cut her much more slack than I'm inclined to.

It kills me inside, especially lately, when there have been so many trying days in a row that I have hardly any time to recover from my internal limbo.

Beautiful genius that she is, however, Abigail has found just the cure.

Yesterday, after a time-out chock-full of screeching, screaming, and angry tears, she rushed forward upon her release, arms outstretched, to wrap herself around me. I was shocked, and humbled. However, as I forced a physical response- a receiving arm, the soft stroke of my hand- that self-hatred began grow again within me when I realized that I was having difficulty fighting through my residual annoyance to cherish the moment.

Today, we had one last time-out in the evening, even more dramatic than the day before, and once again all she wanted when it was over was to be wrapped up in my arms. Immediately, my own tears broke through, at first of sheer mortification at my failure as a person and mother in continuing to nurse my negative feelings. However, as I pressed her body against me, folded her legs into my lap, twirled her silky-fine hair in my fingers, I could almost see the barrier that I so stubbornly created rend apart before my eyes. Then she said, "I love you, Mommy. So much."

I threw my heart back open, and laid her within it. And as I held her there, my senseless anger dissolved into peace, and overwhelming love.

She broke me, in the best of ways.

Egg-cellence and Abigail

Tom has been on an omelette-making kick for the last few weeks, in an attempt to get more protein into all of our diets. I don't know how he manages, but every morning he's been whipping one up for Abby and Michael, for me, and finally, for himself.

Abby, however, has been becoming rather disinterested with the selection (unless it's in the form of stolen bites off of someone else's plate. She did seem to enjoy the boiled egg that Tom made for her yesterday, though, so he offered it again this morning.

Despite having requested egg when asked what she wanted, her answer to his offer was a resounding "no." They went back and forth a bit, until Tom finally brought two eggs out and placed them in front of her, and she wolfed them down with gusto.

Fast-forward to this afternoon, when Tom came in from outside with the delicate pieces of a broken Robin's egg spread across his palm. Excitedly, he said to Abby, "Look! What do you think this is?" She didn't recognize it, so he explained that it had been an egg, and a baby bird had hatched from it. Then he asked, "What should we do with it?"

"We have to put it together," she said.

As Tom and I chuckled, she added. "I want to eat those eggs."


***

If that wasn't enough Abby fun for you...


Overheard yesterday as she was baby-talking to her little sis: "You came home from the hospital and you were so naked. You're a tiny little baby."


As Tom was leaving the room this evening after putting her to bed: "Where are you going Daddy?"

"Daddy is going to bed," he answered.

"Daddy has to take out the trash," she corrected.

Realizing that it was, indeed, trash night (I suppose she must have overheard us talking about it earlier) he said, "Yes. And then, Daddy is going to bed."

Blogging Burdens and Playdate Pictures

This blogging thing is getting tough- I can't deny it. Though I've managed to weather it through power outages, most illnesses, pregnancy, and poorly-to-barely sleeping babies, I've been facing my greatest challenges of late. I have a laptop that's glitchy about its internet connectivity, a terrible WiFi connection half the time, and a newborn whose new norm is to require approximately two hours to work down to sleep in the exact block of time that I've traditionally set aside for working on blog posts.

There have been a few nights now that I've come through the ordeal too exhausted to do anything but sleep, and each night that comes brings that same temptation to just skip it. Even if I'm not up for dozing right away, there is plenty of cleaning to do (ha!- like I'd ever have the energy), there are TV shows to catch up on with Tom, other ways to waste time on the computer, or (and here's a concept) some time available for adult conversation sans the usual daytime intrusions and interruptions.

I press on all the same, carried by the momentum that I've so carefully nurtured (and spent many a night worried that the omission of just one blog post might destroy), and by the pride in what I've built here and wish to continue to build. Though I can't promise much quality or consistency until I can have my evenings back again, I can promise determination. I'll manage whatever I am able, whenever I am able.

As for tonight, it's a good thing I've got pictures, because this unfortunate, out-of-season cold that I'm now battling has got me feeling too foggy-headed to do much more than write around them.

In fact, I've been sitting on these since Thursday, since I've been hard-pressed to find the time or energy to edit them until now. I took all three children to the last playdate, for which many water activities were planned. Fun as it sounded, the water element added a whole new layer of complexity to the normally arduous process of carting multiple children around. Extra clothing was required; special diapers; outfit changes.

Ultimately, Abby only really had eyes for the sandbox.

Michael seemed intrigued by the water table at first, but- sadly- was quickly scared away by the excited splashing of his older playmates.

 Poor little guy. I've really got to get him out more.

He wasn't particularly drawn to the sandbox or climbing equipment, either, perhaps feeling overwhelmed by the large presence of older children in both places.

Abby, however, kept herself quite occupied (and well-coated) amidst the sand.

 Eventually, Michael found a pastime of his own: seeking out unclaimed food around the patio.

I know that kids and dirt are supposed to be well-acquainted, but I do like to see my kids get most of their food from places other than the ground, so I collected some snacks for him in a new, clean cup, gave him a sippy of water and placed him on a comfy lawn chair to munch away.

He looked like a little prince on his throne.

In the end, the outfit changes proved worthwhile, since Abby discovered the water table at the last minute, and her clothes had to be removed to shake the sand out, anyway.

Mia slept through all of the commotion in the wrap, but woke up just in time to demand my attention as I attempted to dress and feed her siblings. It's a good thing that we went back inside to do so about midway through the playdate, since juggling all of the various needs of my children made the task of readying them to go home take about 45 minutes of constant work.

I think I'll be spending the next three days mentally preparing myself for next week's outing. That is, if I have any mental energy to spare...

Still Soda

On Friday night, Tom and I opted to do the lazy thing and get Chick-Fil-A for dinner. As we settled Abby in her booster with a bowl of leftover rice and mixed veggies and some chicken nuggets, she began to eagerly talk about dessert, and how she was looking forward to having some.

I thought it a bit odd, since we hardly ever have dessert, and when we do it's usually in the presence of company after she's gone to bed. I wondered what made her think of it, but brushed it off as the product of her wandering toddler mind.

Some minutes later, however, she mentioned it again, this time to ask for it. "Want to taste some of your dessert," she said. Suddenly, it hit me. The last two times we'd gotten CFA, Tom and I had ordered shakes, from which we'd shared sips with Abby, clarifying that it was dessert, and therefore she must eat some of her dinner beforehand and have only a little bit (we try to avoid crazy toddler sugar rushes if at all possible, especially late in the day).

This time, though, we'd each ordered a soda, which unfortunately comes in a virtually identical cup, because I've cut out dairy and Tom felt bad getting something that I couldn't have. As Abby looked at me expectantly, I found myself feeling terrible for unintentionally getting her hopes up. Sheepishly, I had to admit to her, "Abby, it's not a milkshake. It's just soda."

"Soda?" she repeated, rather unbelieving.

I nudged Tom. "Show her," I said. He lifted the top of his cup and tilted it towards her. "See, Abby? Soda. And soda is for grown-ups."

She looked to me, and I did the same, internally flinching for a possible outcry. Abby took it all in quite calmly and returned to her meal.

About a minute later, looking quite determined, she ordered Tom, "Want to see the soda again."

Tom and I exchanged amused, and slightly frightened, looks, and repeated our show-and-tell session.

"See, Abby?" I said. "Still soda."

"Still soda," she confirmed, quite professionally, with the slightest nod of her cute little chin.

Blessedly, dinner went on rather peacefully after that.

Free Time? What's That?

I feel like I could start every day with the description, "long and exhausting," but today really was particularly so. The two oldest were up early, and I dragged all three out to a playdate which shifted our schedule around to such a degree that we had no organized lunch, only one nap for Michael, and no real naps for Abby.

Add to that a potty training success in the afternoon (we timed her sitting session just right to catch some pee) followed by a total meltdown with the realization that candy treats didn't come automatically from asking to sit back down on the potty right after getting up off of it. Then I found myself having to gauge the sincerity of the requests that followed: actual need vs. misguided grab for sweets. In the end, I sat her down twice more in the space of thirty minutes, leaving her poor sister screaming and subject to her brother's flailing arms and intrusive hands in my attempts to work quickly, and (as I had suspected would be the case) got nothing for my efforts. Nor did Abby.

That whole ordeal left me feeling like I must be doing it all wrong. Heck, I probably am. But I can't give treats for every attempt, right? I'd end up with a chocolate-covered toddler virtually glued to her potty seat all day...

Dinnertime was fraught with overtired toddler and cranky newborn fussing, crying, and screaming, and I was chomping at the bit to get bedtime started by the time it was all done. But it's not over 'til it's over. And it still ain't over.

I started Mia's routine before 8:00. Diaper change, swaddle, nursing, low lights in the bedroom. I've tried twice since then to get her situated in her sleeper after finally getting her to sleep. No dice. Tom tried twice more. Just before the fourth transfer from bed to sleeper, we both took a moment to admire her peaceful form. So sweet. So beautiful.

So cutting into the precious "me" time that I have left.

As she began screaming in her sleeper for the fourth time, Tom finally scooped her up, tired as he is after his late-night grocery run, to walk her around so that I could manage a post tonight.

It's not like I'm not used to it at this point. I am. And it's not like I didn't expect it when I became a mom. I did. But the funny thing about sacrifice is that, while you'd think it would get easier to handle over time, it sometimes gets harder instead.

As the sun begins to set (ever later) in the sky each night, my dreams are few: to get the dishes done, to blog, to decompress for just a few moments before drifting off into what passes for sleep these days. However, add a stubborn newborn to the mix and even those meager hopes are dashed more times than not.

She's so worth it- she really is.

It's so difficult, all the same.

All Kinds of Moon

Ever since I replaced my old Windows 7 phone, I've been giving it to the kids to play with. This has been mostly effective at keeping their tiny paws off of my Kindle Fire and current phone. Mostly, Abby has been using it to scroll through the variety of pictures stored within, so I didn't give much thought to what it might still be capable of doing. Never having had a smartphone prior to that one, I was used to seeing my old phones convert into little more than a paperweight after deactivation.

Not so with this one. It still allows access to all features but phone calls; still accesses the internet. Once I realized that, I turned off the WiFi, but Tom turned it back on this afternoon to show Abby a neat new trick.

He opened up the Bing browser, pressed on the voice function, and said, "Moon." Then he scrolled over to Images and brought up lots of pictures. Abby looked over with awe. "All kinds of moon!" she exclaimed.

After they had browsed for a bit, Tom tried a different entry. "Birthday cake."

Creepily, despite making two separate efforts to say it clearly, both times his attempts brought back search results for "naked."

Moving on, he tried "monkey" next, which provided tons of entertainment while he was around, and endless frustration for Abby once she was left on her own, because she kept hitting the back button and exiting out of the search results screen, thus losing her precious monkey pictures.

Eventually, she tired of it, and Michael had a turn of pushing random buttons and taking pictures of nothing.

Before I knew it, I started getting updates on my new phone that people were "liking" my new Facebook profile picture (which I never changed). It seems that Michael had managed to "Facebook-hack" me again. I still have no clue how to alter my account profile on that phone, myself (whatever he did changed my picture not only for Facebook, but for the phone, and Windows Live, as well), but Michael's now done it twice. As a result, I've even got a new picture up for the login screen on my laptop, since it runs on Windows 8.

Needless to say, I'll be making sure to leave the WiFi switched off on my old phone in the future. Of course, that tactic will only work for so long as it takes my genius children to figure out how to turn it back on...

***

No potty progress today, since Abby switched up her schedule, and I was unable to plan a good time to sit her on it and ensure success. It didn't bother her one whit- she never even asked about her candy treat. As I predicted, she doesn't really understand what happened the last two times, so we have a ways to go before she can really tell me how to help her get it done. I guess those new Hello Kitty panties that her Nana bought her will be neatly folded away for awhile longer.

Michael had a second tough day of teething, complete with a low-grade fever, but he is almost done with his lower two molars and has had partial breakthrough on both of his upper. If we can just make it through the canines, hopefully we can get at least a year of peace before the last, awful round.