Glorious, Fabulous Summer

I don't particularly want to start blogging again.
Strike that. Try again:
I really want to start blogging again.
Starting is hard.

Fall and winter were gluttonous.
Spring was stressful.
And now, it's summer. Glorious, fabulous summer.

We've been at the beach more than home. We've been crabbing and fishing and kayaking and boating. Chris and I took Carolena for her first trip to "the" waterslide. We've had days and days on the beach playing in the surf and building castles in the sand.

Nils has been out of diapers and done with naps for sometime - so parenthood around here has gotten considerably easier. Time at home has been spent listening to audio books and playing in the backyard. We've been to the splashpad and the library and spent an enormous amount of time piled into my bed eating popcorn and reading through piles of books.

I spent this morning in Carolena and Nils' pop-up salon where they gave me a new hairstyle involving as many bows as fit on my head and then did my makeup. After approximately twenty-seven layers of various shades of lipstick were applied, I was given a bracelet. At the end I was told the total cost came to "$3" - I wonder if I could write a positive Yelp review for them and get a free treatment next time.

Friday Morning Ramblings

It will come as a surprise to no one that I've been cleaning out our house. As per the usual. Where does all of this stuff come from?!

The good news is that I want to only have interesting things (as opposed to boring old Target crap) so when I arrived home with a stack of beautiful hand-sewn linens from my grandmother I put the old Target set I never use (because I've never liked it much) straight into my Goodwill pile.

The kids and I spent the afternoon yesterday cleaning out Carolena's room (again). That kid. Geeze, Louise. Suffice to say her bookshelf is now in her closet (she's been begging me to move it there) so that she can snuggle up next to it in a pile of big stuffed animals. She calls it her reading nook. I think if it lasts she'll need a light in there to actually read by, but I'm hoping to make her a much better reading nook in the future. We also made all of the stuffed animals go on the other side of the closet. The plan she and I came up with is that the two messiest things (books and stuffed animals) can just be shoved in there and the doors closed. Here's hoping.

We also went through her costumes and *gasp* she picked out a bunch for her younger cousin. What?! So, watch out Hols - we've got some fun coming your way. Glitz and tulle. It's right up your alley. Kelly should go through it first and tuck some fancy leotards away for Christmas gifts.

On the Nils' homefront he and I have been talking about diapers and underwear and all that jazz. It dawned on me that when Nils is out of diapers I'll be... done done done! Done with diapers. So, yeah. He doesn't seem ready yet but I remembered that there are things he'll need to work on now like pulling up and down his own pants. All this is to say, now I keep finding a naked little guy in the house who says to me, "Me need new diaper." Hm. A step in the right direction nonetheless?

Yesterday I kept thinking about how strange it is that my grandmother and her family lived during the Great Depression and had next to nothing. Her mother filled a rocking chair with worn out clothes. Here I am with a constant box going of things to get rid of because "too much stuff!" cluttering our house is the bane of my existence.

Laura Ingalls had a corn husk that she played with as a baby doll. We purge toys before birthdays and Christmas knowing that more are going to come into our home. I can't get over the weirdness (and wrongness?) of that.

Some best friends are coming to visit this morning. We see them about twice a year so the occasion called for a loaf of brioche. I need to pull the dough from the fridge and let it rest so I can bake it. What's better than brioche?! Well, caramel rolls made from brioche but as I didn't go to boot camp this morning I think its probably best I not add more butter to brioche.

Our next door neighbors moved yesterday and in the next few weeks we're watching for "a family of three with a kid around Nils' age" to move in. We're pretty anxious and excited to see what they're like. Carolena (on her own accord) told me she thinks when they move in we should bring them "something like a cake or muffins or something like that." I agree.

Futureman, call me every five minutes. You know who you are.

Each New Phase

One day when Carolena was still just a little munchkin in her crib I went into her room to find her standing naked from the waist down holding a diaper in her hand. "Hi Mommy. Poop" she said while casually extending the foul diaper in my direction.

With each new phase that my children enter I can choose to be sad or excited. Nils has outgrown the infant swings and bouncers. Carolena no longer uses her old standby, "What you doin' here?!" to get my attention every five minutes (or seconds) as she did a year or so ago. Shoes and clothes and toys are outgrown. I can choose to cling to these things, tucking them away where moth and rust destroy. There is a certain temptation in that: the temptation to cling to their infancies and childhoods. But, it's not how I want to live. I choose to do my best to live my life in the present. To live with my arms open wide, allowing things to flow in and out. I choose to give these things away, knowing that other babies can enjoy them. I choose to celebrate the wonder that my children are growing each day. I give thanks that they are healthy and strong and moving forward. Because, let's face it, they are moving forward whether or not I'm moving along with them.

This morning Carolena came into the living room and announced to me that she had wet through her nighttime diaper. "Well," I replied, "why don't you take it off and get dressed for school then?" She agreed that this would be the best course of action and went on her merry way. Later in the day I found the saturated diaper not in the trashcan but rather in her bed.

Each new phase brings new challenges. Or perhaps... more of the same?

On the Fourth Day of Christmas My True Love Gave to Me... Xanax?

Nothing says "Fourth Day of Christmas" like a clergy spouse standing in the rain mere steps from the narthex while the service has already started, yelling "I don't care that your raincoat isn't buttoned!" at her child while trying to balance two bags of canned goods, an umbrella, a diaper bag, and a baby in her arms. People around here are tired and we've been to church a lot this week. Thank God for the two men who came out to grab the bags and the umbrella.

But really, in a strange way, isn't that what community is all about?

Some people claim that they don't need to go to church on Sunday mornings because they worship God on their own. I think that's a cop-out. Get your lazy butt out of bed, put on real clothes, and find a community to worship with. Because community is not about the "show" of being in church. And, guess what, community doesn't have to be perfect. In fact, none are.

Having a community means having a group of people there to catch you when you are flailing and rejoice with you when you are soaring. It means having a group of people to surround you as you go through the ups and downs of life. It means having familiar faces to greet you when you are having a morning in which people are tired and yelling at one another. It means that I will see those same beautiful faces next Sunday, when we are (hopefully) more with it and not yelling at one another outside of the church doors.

One day over the summer Chris and I attended a party at which we were the youngest people by about thirty years. And you know what? That was one of the most fun parties I've been to in a long time. Or ever. If we didn't have a church community would we even know people of all ages? Or would we just hang out with other parents in our general age group? I can just picture that now: all parties with children screaming and smearing pizza sauce onto things while the adults zone out in tiredness drinking beer and talking about potty training. Actually, scratch that, when was the last time people in our age group even had a party? We'd all rather put kids into bed and crash on our own couches watching reruns of Friends. Am I right or am I right? Right? Right? Right?

I am thankful that I have a group of people who know me and I know them. They've seen my daughter learn to walk. They've seen her throw tantrums in church, eat more than her fair share of donuts, and sing like an adorable little angel on Christmas Eve. They've seen me wallow in the misery of pregnancy and celebrated with us when our son was born. They've seen Nils as a small nugget riding in my papoose grow into a wild man crawling as fast as possible down the aisle to get to the front and see Daddy.

Yes, I am thankful for community. Nothing could replace the beauty of having a church community to live life with.

...and to help grab the bags when people are getting rained on and just need to get into the building.

One Hand in My Pocket

If you are cruising along and Alanis Morissette's One Hand in My Pocket comes on the radio you know one of two things must be true: either (a) you are in a Delorian and have just crossed the space/time continuum back into 1990something OR (b) you live close enough to Houston to listen to any of their radio stations which all seem to believe that Alanis and Ace of Base have withstood the test of time.

I got one hand in my pocket and the other one is... doing a blind finger sweep to pull things out of Nils' mouth while I screech, "That's not food! What's in there?" Usually it's not food. Sometimes it's candy, in which case he sobs and I give it back. I believe it's the second child's privilege to eat floor candy.

I got one hand in my pocket and the other one is wiping a small child's rear end. And then the floor covered in urine.

I got one hand in my pocket and the other one is making dinner while a baby holds onto my legs and yells. Does he want anything? No, not in particular. Unless what he wants is to hold onto my legs and yell at me while I make dinner. In which case, score one for Nils!

I got one hand in my pocket... and it just found some stale goldfish and old shriveled pieces of gnawed on apple slices in there. Damn, I was hoping it was going to be cash.

TGIF

Judging by the casual "we got this" attitudes of the McDoncald's employees, I think it's safe to assume that kids pee in the playplace regularly. Perhaps daily?

I didn't say anything to the kid busily prancing in the growing puddle. I mean, really, what else could it have been? My child was calling from up above, "Mommy! I tee teed in the slide!" Plus, his parent was already pushing him out of it. Parent Peepee will probably try to convince themselves it was Sprite. Until it's their turn to run screaming from the building with a baby under one arm, dragging a kid with soaking pants to the car.

Back on the home front Carolena got snuggled into Christmas pjams and we watched Annie trailers online. Daddy came home early and we all piled into Mommy & Daddy's bed to talk about our days and make plans for the evening.

And that was when Carolena fell off the bed and got what will probably turn out to be a sizeable shiner for Christmas.

Hurry Christmas, hurry fast, we've been good but it can't last.

Clergy Spouse Confessions

Life on this side of the church can be strange. Beautiful. But strange. Especially when it comes to the laundry.

Recently I washed what I would estimate to be 30,000 white tablecloths belonging to our church. Is that my job? No. Was I happy to do it? Sure. I'm a mom. What's a few more loads of laundry? Like a few more drops to Niagara. Plus, I like helping out in ways that require little more than dumping things into the washing machine, dryer, and then sending them out the door with my hubby. That's easy cheesey. Yumm... cheese...

The laundry around here can get weird though. It seems common place now to search black shirt collars for forgotten collar studs abandoned by their wearer and sure to rip holes in my bed sheets (true story - the hole was totally round like a crop circle).

Black shirts fade to gray and yet continue to fall out of my dryer warm and ready to be hung. No need for ironing work shirts around here.

Albs are a different story. When I head toward our laundry room and see a large white ghost hanging out nearby it I know it's time for the oxiclean. Ring around the collar (eeww - tmi), port wine stains (yummm... wine...), and candle drippings are just a few of the things that can grace the alb. Have you ever ironed a huge tablecloth that has a hood and billowing sleeves? Yes? Great, then you're ready to be part of a clergy family.

Our laundry is never ending. If I were to write one of those online quizzes titled something like, "Are you ready to be a Mom?" one of the questions would be, "To what degree is your sanity based on the amount of laundry you do?" and if people answer in such a way that demonstrates a strong correlation between amount of laundry looming and sanity, I'll recommend they get a goldfish instead.

Things the Book Won't Tell You

There are a million books out there on potty training. I'm sure they are all full of useful information like reminding parents about patience and rewarding good behavior and blah blah blah. Here is what the books will fail to tell you:

Potty training is a nightmare. A big poopy urine smelling nightmare.

Your child will relieve herself where ever she damn well pleases and then may or may not tell you where it was that she peed. You will only later discover these spots around the house when you do things like innocently lie down on the carpet in order to watch some tv. You'll tuck in the kiddos, grab a snack, and settle down for Shark Tank, when *WHAM!* just like that you're breathing in the sickly smell of someone else's day old urine soaked into the carpet.

Your child will lie.
They will lie all of the time.
"Why are your pants wet?" you'll ask. To which she'll reply, "I don't know."
"Did you teetee in them?" you'll prompt. "No" she'll insist.
She will then throw a huge screaming in your face trying to rip your eyes out of their sockets type tantrum insisting that her pants are just wet for no reason.

Your kid will poop in her pants on purpose.
Is it because she likes to? Is it because she knows it annoys you? Is it one small step in her giant harebrained scheme to slowly drive you insane?
Your kid will poop in her pants on purpose and then laugh about it. She'll tell you, "I think it's funny."

It is decidedly not funny.

The books won't tell you that your bathroom will start to resemble a men's convenience store restroom. No matter how many Clorox wipes you buy, you will feel like Britney Spears that time she walked barefoot into the gas station bathroom each and every time you go into yours.

So, there you have it. Happy toilet training! From our house to yours: good luck suckers!

Happy Mothers' Day

Last week my mother came to town to help us out during what was admittedly a stressful week. My mom watched our kiddos, helped with the laundry, and I even found one of Carolena's costumes was mended. She endured the sleepless nights that we have come to know as life. She ate leftovers with us and graciously took Carolena to school so that I could take a nap.

And then on Thursday she went to my sisters house 45 minutes across Houston where she did more of the same and watched as everyone in that household succumbed to a stomach bug on Friday morning.

That's when I called her, barely able to speak, and mumbled into the phone something like, "migraine. can't get out of bed. help." and she returned to my house.

Saturday morning she awoke to a small child sticking two fingers in her face and announcing, "I pooped." There was indeed poop. There was poop on her fingers, poop in her nighttime diaper, poop on her bedding. I am not sure if a monkey snuck into Carolena's room that night or not but there was even poop on the wall.

You can still see the tire marks my mom's jeep left as she took her full cup of coffee and sped away to the beach.

Lucky.

These are the events that led to Kelly and me on the phone last night talking about Sir Ernest Shackleton (because, duh, how can you ever not talk about him) and about how both of us realized this week that motherhood is never ending. My mom might not change our diapers anymore, but she still endures our sicknesses, our tears, and even our tantrums. Perhaps we should have reconsidered taking my mom to a college bar (Fitzwilly's) for mother's day one year.

Mom, next time you come to town I will serve you wine and cheese. We can find some time to watch chick flicks. We'll eat popcorn and escape to Goodwill. And I promise to not be the one to wake you up with poop on my fingers.

Well, at least not my own poop.

Always Look on the Bright Side of Life

Always look on the bright side of life... do do do do do do do
Always look on the light side of life...

There are times in life when the Chris Hadfield perspective is the way to go. Last week in Kroger artichokes were in the markdown bin. Two for a dollar... what?! I bought all of them (six) and ate two by myself as an appetizer that night. Win! I ate the last four the next night. Yes, four. Win! The Redbox gave me two free movies the same day. Win! We had pizza for dinner. Win! I watched a Christian Bale movie (American Hustle. Bales still got it.*) and drank wine while working on arts and crafts. Win! I didn't spill any of my red wine on the white project I was working on. Major Win!

*In my mind I'm yelling, "Bales still got it!" in the same vein as when Buster yells, "Mom's still got it!" on Arrested Development. hahha... I love that guy.


I've always been a strong supporter of the Chris Hadfield outlook on life.

So, for today:
When my mom mentioned that the smell we've been obsessing over smelled like "The Treasure House" we finally decided it has to be human urine (Carolena.... we're looking at you on this one babe). Chris steamed the carpet and a company is coming to clean our furniture and stain guard it today. Win!...?

Nils slept all night the last two nights (errr... rather... none of us went to soothe him). So, win!

It's 930 in the morning and so far caffeine weening is going well. Win! Yes, it's early, but we're taking the wins where we can get them around here.

This fall has been nuts. I'm dubbing today "reboot day." The furniture is getting cleaned, the huge pile of stuff to get rid of that is threatening to take over my room is getting shipped out of the house. We're rebooting around here. Win.

W.O.W.

Words of Wisdom
By Carolena

Every time Mommy asks you to tell someone "your news" scream out as loud as you can, "I poop on the potty now!" All of the adults will suppress giggles and commend you on your accomplishment. Mommy will probably remind you of some other boring more current "news" that she expected you to share. Hmph. Mommies. What do they know about news?

Poop on the potty. But poop in your panties as often as you feel like it. Mommy will wash them anyway, and it's good to keep her on her toes.

Sometimes, just every so often, push your younger sibling down. Wait until the prime moment when he is crawling or cruising by and then BAM! knock that guy over. Send him rolling. Do this just often enough to remind everyone of who the real boss is around here.