Nesting, Nesting, 1,2,3

Nesting around here is taking on different forms for each of us. I feel like I spend most of my time sitting around feeling pregnant and hot and eating lots of popsicles, pudding pops, and otter pops. When the occasional burst of energy hits I wash all the curtains in the house, reorganize closets, or prepare baby clothes.

Jake likes to hug and kiss my belly every day and tell the baby he loves her. (He asked if she could hear him. I, of course, reassured him that she can. After all, he is her only brother.)

Grace and Abby have caught on the baby-wearing trend and were recently seen caring for their "offspring" in this manner:

I don't know if we'll truly be ready when the baby comes. But we're enjoying the anticipation.

To the Moms at Storytime

I love taking my kids to story time at the library. Barring illness or major scheduling conflicts, we're there every week. I love librarians who work so hard to prepare worthwhile books, finger plays, songs, and art projects. And I love mom watching. There are a lot of awesome moms out there. But story time at the library this week touched my heart even more deeply than usual.

I saw a mom who I am casually acquainted with bring in her 19-month-old twins and her two older children. One of the twins has some special needs, so she signed the whole program for him...all while juggling her other children.

I saw a mom with an active little boy in a leg cast and a newborn try to help her son participate while still caring for her infant.

I saw another casual acquaintance who is the mother of a toddler and a special-needs 5-year-old son who can now walk with the assistance of a walker. Somehow she always manages to give her daughter love and attention while juggling the assorted needs of her son. I wonder if I would exhibit the patience, love, and grace she always manages.

I saw a former coworker helping her three little kids with the story time art project. Afterwards she took them to a park and read and snuggled with one of them on a bench while the others played. There's something heartwarming about a mom spending one-on-one time with a child.

As I watched one of these mothers leave the library with her little brood I smiled and called out after her, "You're doing a good job!" I wish I could hug every mother there and tell her the same thing.

Motherhood is consuming and exhausting with little moments of love, hope, and joy that make the sacrifices and fatigue completely worth it.

Watching mothers who are willing to dig deeper to find previously unknown levels of patience and love inspire me and fill me with hope for the world. As long as there are mothers who are willing to love and sacrifice, their children will light up the world with peace and love. And the world will be a brighter place because there was a dedicated mother there.

Life Is Good

Summer is here, it's hot, and I'm pregnant. This breaks down into previously unforeseen levels of popsicle consumption around our house.

Recently the kids brought their little plastic lawn chairs into the kitchen. And this is how I found Grace eating an otter pop one day this week.

Comfy chair. Cool house. Otter pop in your hands. Life is good.

Playing Jacks and Listening

Monday morning, approximately 10am: a knock at the door signaled the arrival of a neighborhood boy asking if he could play. We welcomed him in, and the usual chaos of a houseful of happily playing children ensued. A couple hours later I was fixing lunch when I heard him use the word "sexy" a couple times. I picked my jaw up off the floor and bit my tongue before barking out, "Excuse me, what did you just say?" in a harsh, demanding tone.

In my opinion, 6-year-old boys shouldn't know that word. I don't think he knew what he was saying. But I still don't want any of my kids exposed to that word for a long, long time. Call me archaic. I'm OK with that.

The next day I took the kids to play at a local museum that showcases life from an earlier era. It has a dugout for the kids to explore, an old "mine" for them to play in, a one-room school house, a quaint old country store, and a farm. My kids can spend hours pretending to milk cows, get eggs from the chicken coop, fish in the stream, play in the old kitchen or school room, or dig in the mine. I love the museum for its portrayal of a simpler lifestyle. The kids love it for all the hands-on exhibits.

So once they all got settled playing I looked for a place to sit down and doze (I mean, supervise the kids). I was feeling third-trimester tired and wishing I had a pillow and blanket to curl up somewhere, but that's not very socially acceptable at such facilities. Then Jake came up with a basket of kids toys from days gone by--jacks, a bean bag toss, etc. He wanted to play with me.

I was tired and my back was hurting, but I got up and played anyway. Perhaps because the language of neighborhood boys reminds me that my kids are growing up way too fast. Perhaps because all my kids have spring birthdays and as I watch them age another year, I feel time slipping through my fingers. Perhaps because I had recently attended Jake's kindergarten graduation and couldn't believe how the time had flown.

All too soon my children will be older, want less time around me, and spend less time listening to me. So while they are young I want to play with them when I'm too tired. I want to talk to them when they want to talk. I want to listen to them when they need me. I want to lay the groundwork now so maybe one day, when they've been exposed to things even worse than the word "sexy", they'll still be willing to listen.

Weeds Be Gone?

What happens when your husband is in school and too busy to tend your lawn and you are pregnant and too tired?

First, your husband decides to satiate his inner pyro and comes home from the hardware store with a blow torch.

Second, your kids don safety goggles and gleefully run outside to watch the display. (Neighbor boys stand by admiringly while other neighbors come out to see what is making so much noise.)

Third, your formerly weed-infested rock beds will never be the same.

A Little Thought on Optimism

People are funny sometimes. It seems from the moment we started telling people we were expecting a baby in August I was met with countless tales of how miserable it is to be pregnant in the summer. Sometimes I wonder why people feel compelled to share such dour sentiments.

Perhaps as a show of rebellion, when spring arrived and temperatures started warming up, I adopted a stubbornly sunny view of my situation. When people kept telling me how miserable I was going to be, I would say, "This is just one summer, and babies are forever."

We recently returned from a little weekend family camping trip, and this is what the forecast looked like back at home:

Please note the projected high of 110, with temperatures remaining in the triple digits as far as the eye can see. I grimly decided that surely it's not going to stay this hot all summer, and highs in the 80s are probably just around the corner.

Then I realized how stubbornly optimistic I was being and wished I could apply that trait to my kids' behavior.

"With just a little course correction this irritating bout of ingratitude is practically on its way out the door."

"No child potty trains forever. Surely mine won't be the exception."

"With lots of love (and some good, firm boundaries) this defiance will be just a passing phase."

"No kids are perfect. Why should mine be?"

Yep. No shortage of areas for me to start applying my stubborn optimism. 

I love this thought shared by Dr. Glenn Latham in his book Christlike Parenting (which if you haven't read, you really should): "What every parent must realize is that today is not forever."

And, of course, there's always that catchy little tune from everyone's favorite red-headed orphan, Annie--The Sun Will Come Out Tomorrow. 

Yes, this summer is hot, but soon our baby will be here and everything will be worth it.

Yes, my children are little works-in-progress. But so are their parents. 

And as long as I can keep remembering that, brighter days are always ahead. 

Journey to the Other Side of the Earth

Recently we made a grave error: we decided to indulge some childhood memories by showing our kids an episode of Reading Rainbow. We watched a nice little segment about the Magic School Bus traveling inside the earth. The next day Jake announced a plan to dig to the other side of the earth.

I got out the globe and showed him that digging to the other side of the earth would land him in the middle of the ocean. He remained undeterred.

I asked if he would like to check out a library book on what is in the center of the earth. He agreed.

"I'll start in our yard and dig out some weeds since you don't like them," he explained.

On second thought, perhaps I'll let him dig out a couple weed patches before checking out that library book.

Lessons from My Weeds

We are once again making feeble attempts to grow a garden. I started a little herb garden right outside my back door, and I love snipping bits of basil, rosemary, thyme, and parsley. Ahhh, the smell of fresh herbs is intoxicating.

I've been enjoying my herb garden enough that I've actually been taking special care to weed it regularly, rather than waiting till the weeds are two feet tall to fret about how to save any remaining plant life. These days I pluck up these little suckers as soon as they appear. It doesn't matter that I am huge and pregnant--I want to save my herbs.

Recently my kids were having some obedience issues, and it felt like everything I asked them to do bounced right off the walls on its path out the door--they sure weren't listening. Finally I snapped and started handing out more consequences. I tried to compensate for my new strictness by placing extra emphasis on praising and encouraging. But it didn't take more than a day or two to realize that I was on the wrong track, and I don't want our family to revolve around me doling out dictatorial consequences or threats. I needed to pluck out that little weed of a habit quickly before its roots got too deep. I had to save my plant life before the weeds overcame any local goodness.

So we held a little family night about obedience. We started by pretending to make cupcakes with no regard for a recipe and discovered (no surprise here) that we didn't end up with cupcakes. Recipes and rules both have to be followed if we want good results. We discussed scripture heroes (Moses, Noah, Nephi, etc.) and analyzed what would have happened if they hadn't obeyed God's commands. We ended by eating some real cupcakes (previously prepared) and talking about the importance of obedience, telling the kids how much we love them, and discussing how we could help them remember to be obedient before we get too grumpy about it.

Presto! Life got magically better after that. I didn't have to work nearly so hard to find actions and attributes to praise and encourage, either.

Sometimes a weed appears in my habits or behaviors, and it's better to pluck it out while its small. I can't think of much I value more than the plant life of our precious little family.

The Joys of Bubble Wrap

The doorbell rings.

 It is the mailman with two packages--one with wrapped birthday presents for the girls, and one with a new doll for Abby. I set aside the wrapped packages, and Abby quickly abandons the new doll in favor of the bubble wrap from the other package.

Soon all three kids are jumping off the couch onto the bubble wrap and beating the tar (I mean, bubbles) straight out of it.

Note to self: Forget Christmas shopping. Buy a roll of bubble wrap in September and relax for the next three months.