In defense of Birthdays

Today we celebrated birthdays with two families and we were out of the house celebrating for nearly 7 hours! Needless to say, we returned home happy and utterly exhausted from our day.

After an early nap we left for the first birthday at a kid's gym 40 minutes north of our home. We've never taken the boys to a gymnastics center before so we were a bit out of our league for a few minutes. All the other babies and toddlers attacked the climbing units and floor mats with all the enthusiasm and confidence familiarity brings. Cubby gurgled and looked around in his usual contented way. The Bear looked completely suspicious of everyone and everything there. The shrieks of laughter and loud music only added to the chaos of working through a new place in his mind. We've learned that while the Bear is always congenial and happy to meet new faces, he must process new ideas and places slowly to himself before engaging them, there is just no use rushing him.

His senses were overwhelmed when we arrived. I set him down on the mat and he immediately wanted to be held again, it took a few minutes of inspecting the mats and the children before he released his hold on my neck. A few minutes passed before the gym teacher asked us all to sit on the mat with our children and prepare for introductions. She asked every child to say their name and then perform a trick of some kind. Babies were flipped backwards while the older kids ran to the uneven bars to show off their favorite moves. Eventually it was our turn. I introduced the Bear, who was sitting between my legs watching the others with a careful eye. She invited him over to her and after a bit of prompting he made his way to the middle of the circle. The teacher proceeded to flip him forward and he landed with a loud thump on the mat. His eyes were huge and his mouth opened in a little "oooooo" of disbelief. He walked back quickly and began to cry and point at the teacher as if to say, "Mommy, did you see what she did to me??"

Suffice to say, he became very suspicious of the teacher and of the entire class in general for the next half hour. He kept an eye on her at all times, on guard for any sudden threatening motion that signaled an unsolicited cartwheel or handspring awaited. Then miracle of miracles, plush footballs and a bubble machine were brought out. Grace and redemption were duly given by my toddler and he decided to extend his favor upon the Little Gym. He crawled over every mat and climbed each apparatus they had to offer. He walked across the balance beams and hung from every bar. Bubbles floated over his head as he ran around in a dizzy cloud of joy. He ate pizza and cake at the big kids table...ok ok, he smeared cake all over his pizza and then ate it. He loved it! The teacher commented on how quickly he picked up on different physical challenges, we noticed it as well. J and I continually talk about how we want to encourage our boys with the things they naturally excel in. We have met with our first out-of-home opportunity to encourage and I've decided to scour my neighborhood for a preschooler gym. Keep that toddler active, engaged, and motivated to move! I'm going to rewrite his weekly activity schedule as soon as we find a gym (Yes, they both have a detailed schedule down to the minute for every day of the week. And yes, I will stick to the schedule no matter how many children I have). Cubby, by the way, also had a marvelous time. He ate his body weight in watermelon and giggled at every bubble that floated past his little nose. He even attacked a mat or two of his own now that he is almost crawling.

After the gym party, we traveled 45 minutes to the next party for my little cousin who is not so little anymore. :*( She is turning into the loveliest person imaginable with a wonderful combination of spunk, sweetness and concern for others. I was in 8th grade when she came into the world, and it has seemed infinitely brighter ever since. She turned 11 years old today and I wish her all the curiosity and discovery life can bring her. I can wish that because she is blessed with common sense. I doubt anyone wished that for me on my 11th birthday because it would have been tantamount to wishing for my death since I was bereft of any sensible thought until the age of 20. Ok...24. At any rate, Happy Birthday R, may curiosity race through your mind and discovery open at your fingertips as you continue to explore the world in this, your eleventh year of life.

Birthdays are such glorious things. I recently saw a google ad for a cancer research society that claimed to be in the "birthday business," on account of the lives they fought hard to save. How wonderful! A science foundation that wishes to honor life and celebrate it. The ad brought tears to my eyes. Even more so in an age when we quickly forgo the basic civil right of something so simple as a birthday for countless millions in the name of science. My priest back home in Chicago has noted that the plight of the unborn is our generation's Civil Rights Movement. I agree whole heartedly.

We've stolen billions of birthdays. Trillions of bubbles and giggles. We've shelved the grass stains and pool parties. We have lost the plate of upset cake and the last whisp of smoke curling out from that first birthday candle. Gone is the camera click from two beaming parents and that beautiful child that was once a bundle of cells longing to burst forward into a tumbling pile of limbs and curls. Brilliant society that we are, we have reduced ourselves to stealing birthdays. That same priest gave a most enlightened sermon on embryonic stem cell research. Before you roll your eyes at the priest that lectures on political topics, go to the site and hear the sermon. Refreshingly well-researched, it was both eye opening and heart breaking. He gave all of the PC, "I'll agree with anything trendy just so I don't offend you" variant something to think about. Are you a defender of birthdays?

The new week looms before me and I have some serious organization projects to tackle. Streamlining is bliss. A cup of tea and a bowl filled with rising dough are the only other things that keep my day going. I wish I could hit the hay now but a pile of mending awaits (they really should not put buttons on any item of clothing for toddlers). Good thing Camelot is on Netflix instant watch this month! Happy Birthday and goodnight.

The jealousy bug

The Bear has been bitten.

It must have happened in his sleep. This morning he woke up with a sudden awareness that Cubby took some of his Mommy's attention. And the Bear did not like this discovery, at all!

On most days, the Bear shoots off to his library right after breakfast and spends the morning zooming around the living room or hiding in his kitchen cabinet with a few toys. Today he spent every five minutes walking up to me and wanting a hug or a kiss, or needing me to comment on whatever toy he was holding. Whenever I had to nurse Cubby, the Bear's lip would start to pout! He would toddle over to the couch and pull himself up next to me and stay until I finished nursing. What happened to the "I don't need my Mommy while I play" phase? Out the window, I suppose. The jealousy bug has arrived!

With all your might!

"Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with you all your soul and with all your strength."

"These commandments that I give to you today are to be upon your hearts."

"Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you sit at home and when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up."

"Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates."

Deuteronomy 6:5-9

Impress them upon your children. Follow the leader all over again. Tie them on my wrists and bind them on my forehead, visible commandments seen in my life. Specifically, commandments my children can see in my life.

These thoughts were running through my head today as I began my first homeschooling session for a young boy in 9th grade English. We started our day by reading Ecclesiastes 9:10.

"Whatever your hand finds to do, do it with all your might, for in the grave, where you are going, there is neither working nor planning nor knowledge nor wisdom."

We talked about the English language, the power of words, and the effort we give to our studies even though they may not be our favorite. Do it with all your might! As we reviewed the syllabus I designed for this class I said to him, "I'll be working right along side you. It will be our toil and not just yours. Our hands will work with all their might."

Practice what you preach, sister, my mind warned me. I put so much effort into planning his curriculum and I also put a lot of effort into the boys' daily schedule. I do this because I want the work of our hands to mean something. My day as a stay at home mother has to mean something every day, contributing to the end goal of raising my children to be compssionate, responsible adults. I don't need to be perfect, but finding value in even the simplest thing is important to me. The verse in Ecclesiastes doesn't say, "All important work your hands find" it says, "Whatever your hands find to do." Well, in my day, my hands find my children. I hold them, care for them, kiss them, guide them, cook for them, clean for them, soothe them...I have busy hands.

My hands have the opportunity, the calling, to impress God's commandments upon my children. I often ask myself how I can do this effectively for a 20 month old and a seven month old. Toddlers do not work with a syllabus and I can't just read commandments to my children at the moment. But I can act in grace and in love. I can impress the attributes of Jesus on my children by extending the mercy and grace He has shown me on them. Christianity is a beautiful thing. Relationship with Christ is a wondrous thing. Especially since I really suck at being a Christian sometimes. Maybe that is why I am already practicing the art of apologizing to my children, and recognizing my faults to them and professing my wrongs out loud. After all, follow the leader is a concept that starts in all things good and bad.

So my day started with two verses that encouraged me to impress God's love upon my children, making it visible on my person and in my actions, and working my hands with purpose. I have a lot of fears when it comes to my children. Surrendering them to God is never easy. Satan knows my weakness, he preys on my mind with fear. Fear is an ugly thing. It is a destroyer of life and freedom in Christ. If I let my fear take over, the doors of our home could very well be bolted shut against life. How terrible for my sons and for me! This fall I am making a personal spiritual effort to work my hands toward removing fear from my life. This is not a resolution! Its a prayer for spiritual guidance in my life, it is a daily act of meditating on binding grace to my thoughts and tying acts of freedom and joy to my hands. Fear has no power over me when the love of Christ is written on my doorway. Fear has no power over my children when I can walk through that doorway and teach them to wander the world beyond with purpose and might!

R&R...&R...&R

There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home.

Maybe American Airlines should hand each of their customers a pair of sparkly red magic shoes to get them home on time, Lord knows the airplanes they own don't do the job.

I'll be posting my letter to said airline in a few days for your viewing pleasure. In the meantime, a few thoughts from each portion of our vacation.

Again, again to Lake Michigan

We loved seeing our family in Michigan. It was a beautiful trip! Seven kids under the age of six in one house by Lake Michigan. Beautiful chaos, I call it. My nieces and nephews are shooting up like reeds. The growth and development of the past year were quite evident from the moment we saw each one. How we miss those cheeky grins and funny voices. Narnia is quite the rage with them at the moment. My in-laws bought a toy sword and shield for each child and we proceeded to have an all out battle for the land of Narnia in the backyard. The evil adults were vanquished within an hour and the children (That is: Peter, Susan, Edmund (who also wanted to be Peter) and Lucy) were soon demanding another battle to prove themselves over again. This game lasted the entire week. On our last night together I baked a Turkish Delight Narnia cake for the kids. Of course, I mentioned that Mr. Tumnus himself gave me the recipe, a fawn favorite. They ate both the story and the cake right up!

My little ones really enjoyed being near the water. Our campground came equipped with a playground right on the Lake Michigan shore. Cubby loved sitting in the swing and staring out into the lake. The Bear loved playing in the sand and was very eager to create/destroy sandcastles. He also enjoyed the seagulls, which received a daily verbal assault from him with the words, "DUCK DUCK DUCK DUCK DUCK," screamed at a very high decibel with accompanying high speed chase. I also enjoyed the lake once I realized that my toddler enjoyed being buried in sand from the waist down. This greatly heightened my ability to keep an eye on him, keep him entertained, and allow myself a bit of time for much needed R&R.

My hubby and I met each other six years ago on Lake Michigan. We jumped in the freezing water together and played in the sand dunes during our fantastic Honduras Project Team retreat. Now we came back with our two boys, and together we walked the shores that started our life together.

Come on, Feel the Illinoise

After a great week in Michigan we traveled back to Chicago for a visit with my sister. The car ride was smooth minus one projectile vomit/ highway roadside clean up courtesy of the Bear. Bass Pro Shops is officially my new favorite pit stop. We used the facilities, changed diapers, ate a quick snack, nursed the baby and kept the toddler infinitely entertained with the store's massive fish tank and ATV collection. Florida really ought to build a Bass Pro into every service area as a God-send for parents with small children or adults with severe fishing fetishes.

We loved seeing my lil' sis in her new place with her husband. We've gone from bugs and barbies (albeit with shaved heads) to kitchen aids and home businesses. Her creative capabilities are visible throughout the house. She has a flair for decorating and photography, and makes a mean batch of red velvet cupcakes. The Bear especially enjoyed this part of the vacation since we do not own a television and Big Bird was on demand at Tia's house.

Going back to Wheaton changes each time for us. The school administration left a bad taste in our mouths at the time of my graduation. I lived my senior year in complete fear of another student that had assaulted me on campus. The administration tried to cover up the crime and the student continued to stalk and harass me. Needless to say, it was a very painful and terrifying year. At times I wished never to see Wheaton again. But we went to the campus and were amazed by all of the changes that had taken place. New buildings, renovated facilities, fresh landscape, everything looked beautiful. I was also relieved to hear that the two student Deans responsible for that final year were replaced! Wonderful news for the campus and for the safety of its women.

After viewing the campus we ate at our favorite local spots and caught up with old friends. We took a small journey to the grave of our beloved JWF, who passed away last year. Our grief was great when we saw the stone with his name etched on it. We still cannot believe that he is gone and that his widow and children are left behind without him. We saw her on Sunday and then spent a few bittersweet moments with her. This couple ministered to us greatly during our premarital counseling. We love them greatly, and miss JF dearly.

One of the highlights of our trip for me was getting to spend Saturday morning with my sister and her husband. We ate breakfast at my all time favorite cafe (Egg'lectic, whoop whoop!) and walked over to the Downtown Wheaton French Market. I bought some tea-stained ribbon and a beautiful copy of a vintage book edited by Red Skelton. The candy alley in Wheaton was a favorite haunt during my college days. We took the boys there and bought the Bear his first lollipop, red for the benefit of sticky stain evidence in pictures.

I love that despite the horrors of my final year, this trip helped me begin to redeem some of the good memories I lost and build new ones with my children. Now that the bulk of my emotional recovery is behind me I am looking forward to the restoration of former joys that vanished after the initial trauma. I feel like one of those historic buildings covered in scaffolding, about to unveil a long forgotten mosaic. Funny how one afternoon of walking around with your children and watching them discover your past life can do more healing work than three years of soul searching.

So we did get the R&R we so desperately needed...well, come to think of it, the initials should be R&R&R&R.

Rest. Relaxation. Restoration. Relatives. All in all, vacation success.

Vacation Time

I love vacations. Who doesn't? I LOVE vacations. Anything remotely involving or including vacations, I love! Even Vacation Bible School, or as my lil' sis used to say, "Shakin' Bible School," I love it! The ability to unleash that free spirit upon the world and discover something new, ah, perfection. But oh, how to travel now when the free spirit is weighed down by a heavy diaper bag and not one, but two car seats!

This is the first year that I am hesitant about going on vacation. I love the idea of seeing my in-laws and all my oober cute nieces and nephews. I don't love the idea of flying cross-country twice with two babies and then spending seven days trying to readjust schedules while trying to calm said babies out of their hysteria.

I hate flying. Hate it, hate it, hate it. There is something extremely unnatural about leaving the ground in a tuna fish can on wheels by hurtling your body and belongings thousands of miles into the air at a ridiculous speed. I am not afraid of death, but I really prefer not to experience any kind of terrifying plunging sensation via a ball of fire before I meet my maker

I also despise airplane bathrooms, especially when flying with babies. Have you ever tried to change a massive poop diaper on an airplane? You have two options.

#1 Change it in the small closet they insist is a bathroom, with no changing table or other flat surface that is not occupied by a shallow bowl with space age suction power and alien blue water. This means you have to put your small baby or squirming toddler on your propped up knee and balance him there, flamingo-style while you change the diaper.

#2 You can change the diaper in your seat with two very upset people on either side of you.

Yeah. The last time the Bear pooped at my parent's house, my Dad said, "Can somebody take care of this please? It smells like the end of the world!"

Letting him stay in the dirty diaper for a three hour flight is NOT an option. I have to change him. Do I let him come in contact with all the disgusting airplane bathroom germs or do I offend everyone in a 7 row radius by changing him on my lap? And what to do with it afterwards? Puke bag does not equal diaper genie, it is a fact.

I also really can't handle that occasional control-freak-stewardess we seem to run across at least once a year when we travel back and forth for visits. You know the tight-lipped, tuck your bag in UNDER your feet, excuse me but your seat has one inch left to go before it's in the FULL upright position, NO the two hundred foot plunge we just took is completely normal, fascist flight dictator in the form of a frumpy stu?

Yes, her. I don't do well with those. Especially when they start getting uppity about not breast-feeding babies on flights. Oh lady. If I just endured half a flight with a cranky toddler, a massive poop diaper, sore arms from wrestling seven pieces of baby gear out of the car and onto the plane, and my baby starts crying for my milk and you give me attitude about it? I know I can't yell at you because in the cruel world of air law you have an unfair amount of authority, but I WILL get my toddler to puke on you and I will STILL breast feed my baby. What are you going to do? Confiscate my boob?

After the flight, there is a three hour car trip and then a crazy five day adventure with the in-laws. We will have seven kids under the age of six in one house. If I bring a lot of migraine medication and a very small bottle of tequila, I think I can survive.

In all honesty, I can't wait to get my arms around all those little kiddos. I miss them all the time. The Bear is going to learn all sorts of things from them this week and I know J has missed them all terribly. So this Mom is going to cope with the two long flights, the frumpy stu, and the crazy house and schedule. Because after all the sunburns, mosquito bites, grass stains, marshmellow goo, tickle fights and endless baby wipes, I'll cry when we say good-bye and I will think about them all year long until we meet again.

I've wrangled a few new tricks for baby gear and easy travel. I will experiment with all these new gadgets and report when I get back for any Momma's following my blog. I thrive on organization and schedules. It's annoying, I know, but I love having everything in order. Oddly enough, I also love it when my kids get messy. Go figure. If my kid isn't covered from head to toe in food after eating or in dirt after playing outside then I am not happy!

I hope that this week is a messy one with some semblance of an organized schedule.

Vacation time, here we come!

Follow the Leader

We've started playing a new game at our house.

Mommy jumps.

The Bear jumps.

Mommy coughs.

The Bear coughs.

So on and so on. He giggles and claps after four or five times and asks for more ("mas, mas mas!").

In the midst of our terrible colds and aching misery, my beautiful little toddler wants to play follow the leader for over an hour. My head is throbbing and all I can think of is "hot tea and Anne of Green Gables," but as I've said before, Mommies don't get sick days. After an hour of follow the leader, I tucked the Bear in for a nap with some chamomile tea, Curious George tucked safely in his arms. He waved bye-bye and blew me a kiss.

I walked out of his room and realized that follow the leader is just the beginning. My toddler is a tiny sponge waiting to soak in the world. His sparkly blue eyes are watching my every move and that sneaky mind is taking in every action of my day. It hit me all at once....to quote the Bear.... "Uh-Ooooo."

I know most people like to start out their year with a New Year's Resolution, preferably one they can break by March, or perhaps take self-inventory during the Lent season; but I have never really been one for resolutions or self-inventory. I grow, I learn, I adapt, and overall change comes slowly for me and not from some check list I make during a holiday. I am a hot-headed spitfire, bone for bone like my great grandmother, Ana. She earned a nickname for that sudden hot rush of temper, loosely translated it means "a pot of milk boiling over suddenly". In recent years, I've inherited that nickname and on most days I am proud of it. Mostly because the majority of the time, that temper flares when I see an injustice of some kind. Anyone bigger and stronger being cruel to someone that is weaker or smaller, I don't even have to think twice about stepping in and saying something. Huge guy beating a small defenseless dog? I will walk in there at my full height of 5'2 and give him what for! I like that spunky, justice seeking side of myself. One day I hope to teach my sons how to be gentleman and how to protect those that are being abused. But I have my habits and tendencies that are not so great, things I would rather they not know about.

I made a checklist while I was pregnant entitled "Things to Teach My Children." But there is NO WAY I can ask my children to be kind and polite to adults when I am sitting in my car, stewing in anger and calling Obama a dumb-ass socialist con artist. Even if its true, there isn't one ounce of kindness or respect for this fellow human being who also happens to be leading our country at the moment (God help us). Am I willing to set aside that part of my temper in order to demonstrate kindness and grace? I hope so. The only person I could ever tolerate hearing my kids bad mouth is Castro, and that goes without saying since he is the devil incarnate. But I digress...

I want my sons to be passionate about life and about what they believe in. I hope they discover what they love early on in life so that they can pursue it to their heart's content. I would like to teach them how to help the poor and how to protect all life, from unborn children to the lost smelly dog that no one loves. But they are watching me! I need to do all of these things too! I need to help the plight of the unborn child as much as I can. I need to smile at the homeless man under the bridge and show compassion rather than irritation or annoyance. I need to pursue my writing with joy and excitement. A hundred and one things are on my list and I can feel the Bear's little blue eyes watching me while the pressure mounts.

WHEW!

Don't worry. I didn't have a panic attack. I had a sweet revelation instead.

I'm growing and learning right along with my kids. I am learning how to be a responsible adult and how to be a loving parent. I can't expect to learn it all overnight. Maybe this is the single greatest breakthrough as a parent that I can have and I am glad its happening now and not towards the end. As soon as he is old enough to understand, I'll say to the Bear, "I am learning just like you. Let's learn together and let's do it with respect and understanding."

My kids aren't stupid. If I want them to be responsible, thoughtful humans then I need to treat them as though they are capable of these things. There is no way that I am looking at the next twenty years of my life as some sort of power struggle. There will be no "parents vs. children" in my home, it would cheat us out of the privilege of growing together.

My list doesn't look so bad anymore. Especially since now it has a new name-- "Things We Want to Learn Together." This doesn't solve all the problems but it alleviates the pressure I'm feeling from all the little eyes watching me.

And so life goes on. We are playing follow the leader. Cubby is learning to crawl, the Bear is learning how to use the potty and I am learning polite synonyms for "disgusting socialist low-life." After all, I still have a few years before he totally understands what I am saying, right?

Thoughts on Family and Place, aided by Theraflu

I love reading historical fiction. Once my kids are tucked away and my hubby is fast asleep, I love pulling out a good book and curling up with it for hours. Sometimes I read until 2 or 3 in the morning. One of my few talents is speed reading, so when I pick up a book I usually don't put it down for a good two hours and I have finished it completely.

As a little girl, I would wait in the darkness of my room each night, until I knew my parents were either in bed or in the living room watching a movie. I would take out my flashlight and hide under the covers with a new book. It didn't take long for that little tent to dissolve around me as I lost myself on an island filled with pirates and hidden treasure or entered a little parlor in New England with my four favorite sisters. My mind would race with the literary worlds I entered, I would become part of the story to such a degree that once I finished a book my heart would still be racing and I would often fall asleep dreaming of the place I had read of. I finished most children's books, like Nancy Drew or The Boxcar Children in forty-five minutes or an hour. Soon I started looking for something bigger to chew. It didn't take long before I found J.M Barrie, Charles Dickens, Louis May Alcott, Mark Twain and the like. I fell in love with characters. I thought about them all day, especially those that had to endure extreme trials, like Nicholas Nickleby and Smike.

Not much has changed since then. I still read as I did back then. My whole mind engages the page and I lose all sense of the real world around me. I love historical fiction in particular because of the lost world it preserves. I cry throughout Margaret Mitchell's Gone With The Wind and Jane Austen's Persuasion. I marvel at the extremity of life in Moby Dick. How many intricacies of life have been lost through modernization? The same daily rituals repeated for a hundred years, lost in the turn of one century. It takes my breath away. Whole families and whole traditions, lost from routine but preserved for our imaginations.

Books about family are especially important to me. Books about places with families that have lived there for centuries, touch my heart. How many generations stay in one place these days? More often then not, children are always growing up and moving away, searching for something bigger and better.

I am always grateful that my grandparents were brave enough to sail away from an island corrupted with the evil of socialism. But not a day passes that I don't dream of the land that is part of my blood. Can we ever fully know ourselves without the land we belong to? That questions is foremost in mind at all times. Place and belonging. Family and land. "Home is where the heart is." I love seeing that phrase stitched on little country crafts. If I could stitch one it would say, "Land is where my soul is."

This past Sunday I went to the beach with J, the boys, and my parents. The same beach I would ramble on as a child and the same beach we baptized our boys on. I watched my eldest son splash in the water with complete joy and abandon. My father leaned over him and showed him the clumps of floating seaweed and said, "this is where the little shrimp live." He took one out and shook it to see if any small shrimp would fall out. I remembered how many times he had done that with me. Dripping salt water from my every pore, sticky swimsuit clinging around my brown skin, and waiting breathlessly as my Dad shook out the seaweed and then watching for those small shrimp to fall back into the ocean.

Even if it is only for a time, I am strangely fulfilled to see a cycle of life repeat itself in those little childhood rituals. My family can slowly welcome the new generation with old habits and traditions, introduce them to this place we have belonged to for fifty years, and perhaps my children will make new imprints for their own children to see one day. This is a new history I would live to read. A new time I long to write about and preserve.

Fern

How long does it take to fall in love?

Sometimes, just a few seconds.

Carrot. Bread. Fern.

Last night Cubby had his first meal, carrots and breast milk puree, while he sat on top of the dining room table in his bumbo. J built our dining room table as a wedding gift for us. When I say built, I don't mean assembled something he purchased at IKEA. I mean that he purposefully picked out specific pieces of lumber, cut them, sanded each one, and fitted every single section and built a beautiful piece of furniture out of love. I love that are children are literally growing up around a table that he lovingly built with his own hands. Since I breast fed both boys, we decided that J would give them their first taste of solid food. Last night he fed Cubby and we took great pictures of those first reactions. I went to bed feeling tremendously blessed. We have our health and we have each other. We are building memories in our little bungalow that we will carry with us forever. It is such a sweet and simple time in life. 

Yesterday I started baking a sour dough loaf for our neighbor as a thank you gift. He is a a cute viejito, I love his straw hat and his brown wrinkly face. He is always working outside on some project. And it seems that when all his own projects are done he comes over to see if we have any projects that he can work on. He helped J wire some electrical units outside and promised to help with a few other projects we have coming up soon.  The time and energy it takes to bake this type of loaf is rather consuming. But its the most heartfelt, home made thank you I can create. The Bear helped me mix the dough and knead a few times. I love watching him imitate the action he sees me do so often. He punches and rolls and pats. When he's done he looks up at me with his big blue eyes and smiles. 

I wanted to have something of our normal routine before our lives potentially changed forever. That potential change is currently sitting in her cage by the kitchen. 

We've always wanted a big dog. We have also decided to start rescuing pets instead of buying them...well, that is to say, I told J I wanted to rescue pets and he looked at me like I was crazy. 

Our friends found a sweet labrador pup roaming the streets that needed a good home. She is a beautiful, sweet, clumsy, ball of golden kisses and curious sniffles.  I named her Fern, after my favorite animal rescuer of all time, Fern Arable, from Charlotte's Web. I love the name Fern. She is spunky and cute enough to pull if off.  We really don't need another dog right now. But she needs a home and we have been blessed with one. 

Welcome home, Fern. 

Kicks Ok

Huge lightning storms pass over the bungalow almost every day. Sometimes the flash of light and the cracking rumble of thunder is simultaneous, and our little home quakes with each strike. That ear-splitting, heart pounding bolt is so loud at times that even I get a bit squirmy. I've taught the Bear to "oh" and "ah" every time a thunderstorm comes. Even when the big ones are cracking away outside, the Bear stays put, crayon in hand, focused on his Winnie the Pooh coloring book and only looks up for a moment to say, "wooow." 

I wish Cubby could be as relaxed. As soon as the storms start up, his bottom lip pops out. After two or three bolts he is in a full-fledged wail.  Poor little guy...

The day before Godzilla attacked our backyard, I was in the boys room folding clothes. Cubby was in his crib and the Bear was playing on the floor with his trucks. 5 minutes into laundry duty, I heard the first peal of thunder coming off the ocean in our direction. I glanced over at the crib and sure enough, the lip pout was in place.  By the second flash of lightning his chin began to quiver. I started to put down the bed sheets I was folding to rush over and comfort him, when someone beat me to it. A very small someone. 

The Bear toddled over, stuck his hand through the crib slats and touched Cubby's face very carefully. "Kicks ok," he said.  He said it a few times, patting his face all the while, just like I do when I pick him up and say, "oh baby, it's ok, Mommy is here."

 Cubby stopped crying right away, sniffed a few times and lay still as he stared at his big brother. They watched each other for a few more moments before the Bear rushed off to play with his trucks again. Amazingly, every time the thunder struck he would remember to stand up, rush over and say, "kicks ok."

Today I am baking and cleaning. I am playing with my baby boys and laughing a lot with my handsome hubby. I am working on my book and organizing my desk. I am making three meals and nursing a baby. I am watching my little toddler begin to show evidence of his character as a kind and compassionate person, as a loving and protective big brother.