Remember these things

The next stage

2018-05-11T19:02:00.000-07:00

We found out last week that Will got on track four for Kindergarten at Sycamore Creek. It's the track we wanted at the school we've heard so many great things about. And it's the same track as his preschool and church buddy David Aaron. His first full day will be August 3. Everything is lining up perfectly.

Except for this pit in my stomach.

I woke up at 4am this morning with an ache in my chest from the anticipation of missing my boy once he's in school all day. The ache welled into tears when I got alone after preschool drop-off this morning. And I've been off and on like that all day. (At least it's fair to say I'm not procrastinating on processing it.) Last night an already-elementary-school-seasoned friend told me bluntly that I'm going to hate it. (Gotta love those honest friends.) He'll be gone all day, get home tired and cranky, and then have homework, supper, and bed, she said.

Motherhood is a funny thing. You pour your heart and soul into this little person, you painstakingly get him right where he's supposed to be, and then he breaks your heart by doing exactly what you want him to do: Growing up.

Today I let myself linger in this motherhood paradox, caught between happiness and sadness at the prospect of everything going exactly as planned.

I know the Lord will continue to remind me these next few months of the sweet thoughts He reminded me of today as I felt all the feelings:

Will is not mine; he is His.

Growth is a blessing (and one I'm humbly aware some don't get to experience).

My Bible reading today was from Numbers 33. (I must admit, when I turned there, so eager for a word from the Lord this morning, my heart sank low. What could Numbers 33 have for me? Turns out, more than I thought.) The chapter is about the stages in Israel's journey out of Egypt. It says that the Lord commanded Moses to record all of the stages of Israel's journey, and then the chapter goes on to do just that, line after line. So many moves. So many changes.

Sending my baby to Kindergarten is another stage in the journey of being his mom. The Lord is at the lead, and He will move us along, change after change.

I'm trusting Him with all my aching, grateful heart.

Just a couple bit

2018-03-14T18:56:00.000-07:00

I've decided two is my favorite age. Subtract the potty training and the picky eating and the tantrums over broken cookies, and it's total bliss. The post-nap-time snuggles, the mommy obsession, the miniature little person in adorable clothes, and the language. Oh, the language! My favorite!

A few of John's endearing phrases so I don't forget:

teetee (pacy)
couple bit (little bit)
too too rain (choo choo train)
His single ongoing conversation with Daddy: "Daddy, lawn mower? with trailer? blower? weed wacker?"
booty-butt
not me spend enough time with you yet (when he's trying to get more snuggles and avoid bedtime)

And a few other John icons at two years old: wearing either snow or rain boots every day, no matter what, because he can put them on himself; his puppy and pacy; his obsession with treats; his favorite color pink; the slowest eater we've ever met; his affinity for snuggling and for his mama!

Is it obvious I pick my battles? Bathing suit and snow boots, anyone?

Sweet, shy John at his preschool Christmas musical wouldn't
let go of Mrs. Bekah's leg the whole time.

Daddy's birthday cake. Also pictured: John, the sprinkle-eater

Sweet Christmastime

2018-03-13T18:28:00.000-07:00

Sweet Christmas 2017

Here's five!

2018-03-12T17:32:00.001-07:00

So Will turned five... six months ago. I'm obviously too busy keeping up with him to post about it!
I cried on his birthday, which is unusual for me. Something about five feels like a big deal. He'll never be more mine than he currently is, and big things happen at five (ahem... kindergarten), which tangibly mark the beginning of him leaving my nest. Mother tears over the passage of time are a weird mix of sadness, gratitude, and sentimentality--an apt description of me on September 15!

Will is fun and full of energy and ideas. He loves to cook and go fishing. He'll proudly tell you his favorite food is shrimp!

Here's five!

Our beloved Richard!

Precious preschool class. Gracie, Grace, Will, Kate, Hadley, Ella Shae, Virginia

A kid-sized cart at the grocery store is Christmas for my kids

Always inventing!

A heavenly Jesus Loves Me

2017-10-17T18:34:00.003-07:00

On October 15, my wonderful Grandma went to be with the Lord. She was 100 years old.

There are so many things about her I never want to forget:
the way she clasped her hands, dropped her jaw, and exclaimed "oh Susan" every time she saw me;
her sweet, humble apologies for the quiet but pesky cough that she never could get rid of (and that truly never bothered anyone but her);
the fact that at 95 she was still making us lunch when we came to visit -- usually ham rolls, potato chips, Sprite, and chocolate chip cookies;
her remarkably consistent way of sending birthday cards to her grandkids and then great-grandkids;
her Valentines cards with a five-dollar-bill inside, and when I called to thank her, she always laughed and said she knew five dollars wouldn't buy much these days, but I should go buy a hamburger or something;
the amazing grandparents' journal that she hand-wrote four times for each of her grandchildren, including pictures from when she was a child;
how special she made me feel to be her only granddaughter;
her ability to understand technology even at 100 years old: we FaceTimed on many occasions so she could see the kids;
the split-level house on Lincolnwood Drive that she and Grandpa lived in before Greenspring;
shopping with mom every year for their Christmas presents: a new sweater for Grandma and a flannel shirt for Grandpa;
their after-Christmas visits to Raleigh and how Grandma brought a tin of her forgotten cookies every time. She knew how much I liked those cookies, so one year she brought me my own tin of them, and I literally put it under my bed so that I--and only I--could enjoy every last crumb. Oh to have another one of those cookies.

I've always known I was special to still have living grandparents in my 30s. I've always felt proud of my grandparents' marriage and legacy. Recently it hit me afresh how fortunate I was to still have a mother figure on this earth, having lost my mother five years ago and my other grandmother many years before that. Now that Grandma is gone, I feel a deep, true sense of mother-less-ness, an island that thankfully won't always be my home, but while I'm here, it stings with lonely sadness.

She was wonderful in every way. Adorable even in a hospital bed. Drew and I got to see her two weeks before she died. The stroke had stolen her capacity for speech, and she was frail and mostly asleep in that giant hospital bed. But when each of us leaned down near her face and spoke to her, she opened her eyes, reached for our face, and coo-ed the most wonderful sounding coo, an internal groan that spoke of her love for us even more than if she had used words. I'm pretty sure Grandpa got the loudest coo, and rightfully so. Before we left her room, Uncle Bill asked if she wanted us to sing Jesus Loves Me again. She nodded, and we gathered in a circle around her bed, holding hands, and singing. All the while, Grandma directed us like a choir director with her pointer finger, perfectly on beat. I'll never sing that song the same again.

I am happy she had such a wonderful, long and healthy life. In fact, for the past two days, I've been telling myself that I can't be sad because of it. There's not the often-accompanying injustice to Grandma's death that there are to so many other deaths that happen either too soon or with too much suffering. She was 100. She was loved and she loved well. She wasn't too plagued by the common failures of her flesh as she aged. Yes, in this life she fared very well. I always think of the many Bible verses that link obedience to God with a long satisfying life. It's not a rule or a promise, but it was true for Grandma.

But even the most "appropriate" death feels anything but appropriate when it happens. Today, I mourn death's power to separate us from our loved ones--even if it is (thankfully) just temporary. I mourn the loss of my wonderful Grandma, because even 100 years wasn't long enough.

At her 100th birthday party in August

Grandma and me

The Lincolnwood house

The great wait

2017-10-11T16:59:00.000-07:00

A friend recently shared a quote with me that I keep thinking about: "The need is your call."

Since March, Ryan and I have been attending meetings and filling out paperwork for Christian Adoption Services, the agency we're using to adopt our third child.

Our reasons for adopting are many, and typical of me at least, they might sound more practical than revolutionary.

First and foremost, we believe Scripture and what we know about Jesus affirms our decision to adopt.

Jesus loves children. Jesus tells us to love children and to care for orphans. Jesus has given the Thomsens more than we need, with the intent that we share with those in need.

Since March, I've also learned that when everything in your life is bent toward something--your resources, your time, your desires, your faith, Scripture, your husband--it's unnatural to go the other direction. So that's where we find ourselves: taking the next, natural step on this narrow path of faith we call life. (That's not to mention a close friend who is blazing the trail with the same adoption agency and has proved invaluable to me, five-year-old Will who prays for a baby brother or sister, and Christian friends who affirm that adoption seems right for us.)

Last Wednesday, we turned in the last of the paperwork and officially embarked on this very strange pregnancy otherwise known as adoption. A pregnancy that, for us, could last a week or nine months or longer. Instead of birth pains, we'll have waiting pains. Instead of my water breaking, we're going to get a phone call.

If you're reading this, we probably know each other, and that gives you permission to remind me later of the things I'm about to say: When I'm not lassoing my thoughts as I should, I dream up situations that worry me. Of course I do. What if I don't bond with the baby? What if the baby has an illness? What if the birth mom changes her mind? What if the birth father comes around after the fact? Basically, What if it's not easy?

Here's what you can repeat to me later in a text or email or straight to my face: I have eternity to be comfortable. I can reserve convenience for later. For now, I'm trusting I'll feel the Lord's pleasure during the newborn baby days and during the identity-crisis teenage days, and during every day of parenting three children in between. And I'm also trusting and hoping that none of you have to get in my face later because our new baby will in fact be a great fit in our family--in ways I've thought to pray about and ways I haven't.

Our church just finished a sermon series on sharing our faith. I, like most other Christians I know, struggle with following Christ's command to make disciples of the nations. While it's not our only motivation to adopt, Ryan and I are excited about the opportunities that adoption will afford us to share the gospel with people in the grocery line, at the gym, and on the playground. The simple truth is that we are adopted, too.

And that's really the beauty of it all. Jesus inherited a disease-ridden, wayward child when He adopted me. I hope recognition of this and gratitude for it will help me as we embark on this minuscule model of a much greater reality.

And then of course there's the sentiment I expressed at the beginning of this post: Need. If there are babies that need loving families, who's going to do it if we don't?

Practical? Maybe.

But when practicality lines up with Scripture lines up with desire lines up with circumstance, there's no way to go but forward.

And so for now, we wait.

And jump when the phone rings.

Sun beams

2017-07-25T12:24:00.002-07:00

California for Grams' 95th birthday, Hilton Head, pool trips, and of course, naked trips down the slide. Ahhhhhhh. Another summer.

Notice Mom beaming in

Backyard fire training

2017-07-25T12:03:00.000-07:00

Saturday, May 6, marked the grand culmination in our-several-month-long relationship with the Durham Fire Department, as they burned down the old house in our backyard for practice. Practice for them. Old, moldy house permanently gone for us. For months prior to the big day, we'd catch glimpses of fire trucks heading down our driveway to prepare the scene. Talk about a four year old's dream. Sunday morning Will woke up and said, "I want to do that again!" Unfortunately, buddy, that's not a normal Saturday activity. It was truly an unforgettable day.

The whole thing took about 5 hours to burn. We had lots of friends and bystanders.

Over the months of preparation, we befriended two firefighters in particular,
Will and Tyler (or they befriended us). One afternoon, we heard the doorbell
and found this surprise at the door for Will. So sweet.

Will and Will

Snow boots and shorts

2017-05-14T11:05:00.000-07:00

Remember these things.

The kids yelling for waffles in the morning and then fighting over who gets to push the buttons on the toaster.
"More milk, please" and "can I have my own coffee?" (After all, "I just want to do what I see you do, Mom," says Will.)
John's iconic come-here finger and then patting the floor for me to sit.
The sound of John yelling for "Whoa" (Will) and asking for him every time he wakes up.
John gathering up all three puppies from his bed before he'll let me lift him out. And his favorite blue puppy with the indented tail from so much love.
Finding rocks in the bottom of the washing machine and leaving a stick on the hood of the car at church so we can take it home with us.
Will asking to cook something, his cake concoctions and carrot slices and salads that he insists we all eat.
My feeling of apprehension every time Will says, "Ohhh, I have an idea!"
The sound of the power wheels tractors on a warm day.
John yelling "truck" from the back seat persistently louder until I acknowledge it, too.
Cereal snacks, the orange fish spoon from the cereal box, the bowls with the built-in straws.
Snow boots with shorts and hair that sticks up.
John's prayer at dinner: "Daddy. Amen."
"Five minutes" of Curious George before bed, and "will you check?" as I leave Will's room. "And bring water?"
Our 3 am snuggle habit.
Seeing "glitter" on the side of the road (instead of litter) and "gullets" for his toy gun. Too cute to correct.
Tiny pieces of torn-up paper trash all over the house, spillings from Will's garbage trucks.
"What can I do to earn a dollar, mom?"
Fake burps, even from the two year old!

...the mundane life of a mom with little boys. I know I'll yearn for it when they're big. Oh, to remember these things!

Mother's Day 2017

John's birthday bun

2017-05-08T18:53:00.002-07:00

I've commented for two years now about how much I loved having an April baby. I love the beginning of warm weather, the flowers, springtime, and Easter. We had an Easter-egg hunt for John's second birthday, and to me, it was full of what birthday parties should be: no major frills, just good fun with family and friends-who-are-family. A happy time.

He blew out his candles on a hamburger bun so he didn't spread potential sick
germs on the cake. Bless his heart, he had a sick winter!

Easter

Now that he's two, he thinks it's okay to pull his pants down
and take his diaper off whenever and wherever he gets the urge.
Boys!

Will's homemade pinatas

2017-05-08T18:38:00.001-07:00

I'd like credit for Will's genetics, but I don't deserve it. He is untiring, optimistic, creative, inventive, imaginative, determined, and incredibly thoughtful. Sounds an awful lot like his wonderful dad. (And maybe he's been watching a little too much Curious George!)

Creative way to feed the birds

Decorating

Creating a town for the birds

Homemade pinatas

I walked into the room one day, and he had paused the tv on this screen
and was drawing the scene on paper....

ta-da

"Look, mom, I made a snowman"

I received gifts like these every day the two weeks
before Mother's Day. Inside were folded pieces of paper.
He said he noticed the bookmarks in my Bible looked worn out
so I needed new ones.

"Let's pretend it's Christmas! I'll make a tree with ornaments
and presents around it."

Keep it up, little boy!

We three kings

2017-05-08T18:22:00.002-07:00

I can see how Christmases are all going to run together in my head when I look back years from now. Wonderful things, but nothing necessarily unique. If I had to pick one thing to remember Christmas 2016 by, I'd pick this:

Will singing "We three kings" in a trio during his preschool musical. It was just one verse, but we practiced and practiced, and I might have bribed him with a "shooter" if he sang as loud and proud on stage as he did for me at home. He got up there and nervously swayed back and forth, but he sang loudly and clearly (and earned his shooter). I'll never forget it.

Will, PJ, and Trent. We three kings trio.
(Here he is in mid-swing)

The promised shooter

Christmas 2016, we loved ya!

Ain't life grand?

2017-01-11T10:07:00.001-08:00

Bless the child born to the mother unprepared for snow.

The first snow/ice storm of 2017 hit us early and hard this year. I didn't want to believe the warnings, and so I ignored them. Thank goodness for friends with kids (albeit girls--hence John's snow bibs above).

But before the snow storm of 2017, I left a lot of good 2016 memories undocumented. And so, here's a round-up of Will's 4th birthday, Great Grandpa's 100th birthday (whoa!), Halloween, Thanksgiving, and some sprinklings in between.

"I'm 4 and it feels so good!"

She's 99 and he's 100. Will heard me call them "Great Grandpa and Grandma,"
and later he must have translated "great" to "happy" in his head because he now calls them
"Happy Grandma and Happy Grandpa." It's perfect, and I'll never correct him.

Notice who's driving

The 2nd annual boys camping trip with friends

How grateful I am that Ryan has become such good friends
with my two best friends' husbands from college

Will never cared for stuffed animals. John, now that's another story.

When Grandpa and Mati come to visit, there's lots to smile about.

...ice cream being one of them.

The fair

Sweet friends whose mothers hope they'll marry. This is Hadley.

Sweetest of friends, Graham Laney, at his 4th birthday party.

Those arms can manage some pumpkins.

John has a signature worried look that we (unfortunately)
see often. With Ryan and Will in the mix, there always seems
to be something legit to be worried about. Honestly, I don't blame the little
fella. This was him watching Ryan cut down an old telephone pole
with a chain saw. I'm with ya, buddy.

Halloween 2016

In October, we had the quonset hut in the backyard taken down.
Will is in this photo. Wearing camo. Almost impossible to spot.

Life with my boys is this good.

Thanksgiving 2016

Our beloved Mimi

Christmas pictures will be next! Before those, though, I just need to leave this right here.

Ain't life grand?

I said shit in front of my kids

2016-09-23T10:57:00.000-07:00

"You're within the one-hour departure window. I'm sorry, I can't check your bags. You've missed your flight."

[Insert expletive in front of the children.]

Seattle, Washington. Day five. Two kids. One hotel room. Beautiful wedding. But, two kids. One hotel room. Day FIVE.

"Go stand in the 'Assistance' line over there to rebook your flight," said the airport lady who I wanted to punch. And it wasn't even her fault, but I still wanted to punch her.

"We will run. We will leave our bags here. Heck, we will leave these kids here with you. PLEASE let us get on the plane!"

She said no, and I said shit.

And went and stood in the Assistance line with people flying with tubas.

Kids, toddlers, boys: They don't do lines. So Ryan waited while I followed and corralled and excused-me'd, and pretty much Lost. My. Mind in the busy Seattle airport.

Turns out, we just did a dry run, as our flight got rebooked for the same time. The next day.

Fun.

Minus Whitney and Derek's beautiful wedding, I spent the first four days of the trip inside the hotel room because, well, the baby has to nap. And he's exhausted from travelling, and Seattle, your 5pm is really his 8pm, so... "It's 4pm? Oh! Gotta go!"

Anyone who knows me knows I don't do hotels the same way kids don't do lines. It's a weird, totally nonsensical, impractical, irrational germ-thing. But if I see you downstairs at the breakfast buffet and your hair looks greasy, I'm convinced you slept on my pillow last night and now my face is touching your hair grease. And the bed bugs. I truly can't elaborate further or I may not finish this post.

I don't do hotels.

(But my kids do, and that makes my blood pressure even higher. "Please don't roll around on the carpet." "Oh please don't play with the shower drain." "Please, please don't snuggle up with that communal blanket!")

So when Day 5 was not Trip Over Day, I lost my cool for a momentary, public, out loud, four-letter-word. Sigh. (That wasn't the word.)

In all seriousness, God's goodness oozed all over us the entire trip, and especially those last 24 hours. He allowed us to rebook our lodging, our rental car, and our flight within moments. We drove back from the airport, put John down for a nap, and afterwards enjoyed an afternoon ~~corralling kids~~ sightseeing in Seattle.

Not even a month later, I can say it was totally worth it.

And really mean it:

Will and I rode the ferris wheel overlooking the city. Very high, Very amazing. Very worth it.

Lasting good

2016-09-21T19:37:00.001-07:00

Last week, Will turned four and threw his pacy in the pond in our backyard. Today, I moved too-small clothes out of both boys' drawers and replaced them with the next size up. John started Mother's Morning Out at BayLeaf, and Will now goes to preschool three days a week. Will's adorable vocabulary now sounds more like adult vocabulary: "I didn't realize that, Mom." "Actually, I'd like milk instead." And his little brain is thinking bigger stuff, too: "Why do leaves swirl when they fall off the tree?" "What do kangaroos eat?" "If a tree burns down, how will the squirrels find a new home?" And, these days, John does more than grunt and scream for what he wants. He points and he nods and he says "hot" and "treat" like they're going out of style.

Today, as I was folding John's 12-month clothes to put them in the bag for the attic, I got to thinking: Why does change, particularly my kids growing up, carry with it such a sting of sadness? It's actually totally impractical to feel sad about them growing up because I obviously would never want the alternative. So why do I feel sad?

For a while now, I've noticed when I give Will a treat, he usually always asks: "Will you get more of these for us?" Or when we go somewhere fun, "Can we come back here?" His concern about the lasting nature of his enjoyment always strikes me. He can't enjoy the present until he knows it's going to last. Once I nod, he happily carries on.

We all want good things to last.

Mom confession: I haven't corrected Will when he asks if I'll "do him a favorite (favor)," or if I'll let him push that "bunt (button)," or if he can ride the "ebelator" at the mall.

I want those little bits of adorable goodness to last as long as they can.

Of course I hope and trust the next phase will be as good as this one, but like all things future on this earth, that's unknown.

Just like Will with a bag of M&Ms, at every good phase of my life, I want to be assured. "Lord, can we do this again? Can this goodness last?"

Truth is, Lord willing, my kids are going to grow -- past toddler-sized clothes, mispronounced words, sloshing in mud puddles, obsessions with garbage trucks, even past snuggles and kisses. But thanks be to a gracious God who reminds me today that it's not them I should be clinging to for lasting, unchanging goodness in my life. That's only going to come from Him. The One who never changes. The One whose goodness is truly eternal. To look for it elsewhere will definitely leave me sad, at best.

I pray He'll write these baby phases on my heart in permanent marker, I pray the next phase will bring as much happiness and adorableness as this one. And I pray that the God who never changes will give me contentment and joy with every changing phase of my (and my kids') lives.

(And p.s., For those of you reading this who are thinking, "Man, she just needs to have another baby," -- because I know someone is thinking that -- I said I wanted to stay here. Not go back there. Smile, smile, wink, wink. Love ya, mean it.)

Who wouldn't want to freeze this adorableness:

That is MY kitchen from when I was a kid. Perfect condition for 30 years.
No lie: Will shattered one of the cabinets within 30 minutes. See below.

#boys

Practicing to be in Uncle Derek's wedding

Will's first day of preschool. 3-year-old class.

John's first day of Mother's Morning Out.

Throwing pacy in the pond b/c 4 year olds don't have pacys.
Lord, help us.

Honestly, I don't know why more people don't think to wear
goggles in the bath.

John's first haircut. June 2016

Just a typical afternoon at the Thomsen house

A California dream

2016-06-13T18:30:00.004-07:00

Between the pickled pigs feet inside and the naked bikers outside, the sawdust covering the floor of Philippe's restaurant in downtown Los Angeles was an afterthought.

California. Only California.

Last Friday, Ryan and I boarded a plane, landed in CA, blinked twice, and headed back home. Between blinks, we saw Scott and Micala tie the knot in an occasion as stunningly beautiful as Scott and Micala themselves. Lest the weekend take the honor of the most beautiful and classy experience we've ever had, we managed to squeeze in breakfast at Philippe's, complete with that unexpected spectacle of naked people on bikes. Talk about a pendulum swing.

Although Monday has me rubbing my eyes, questioning whether the whole weekend really happened, or if I just had a good dream, seeing the Thomsen clan is always worth the time change. How boring my life would be without these trips, without these wonderful people I call family.

As a side note, Grandma likes pickled pig feet. I like Grandma. Does that mean I have to like pickled pigs feet?

Here's to the next CA trip! (Next time maybe a little longer, and I'll be sure to bring my bike.)

If you've ever seen a funnier picture, I want to know.
Photo cred to my favorite, Walter.

Typically, I like her taste in everything...

Meanwhile at the ranch...

...a big thanks to Jan, Richard, my dad, and Cathy for giving
the kids a better time than they ever have with us!

You is important

2016-06-13T18:30:00.003-07:00

John,
You is smart, you is kind, you is important.
Don't let my blog tell you otherwise.
Love,
Mom

First walked at 14 months
First word: Hi
Favorite food: fruit pouches; trail mix
Loves: being held, sweets, crawling on Will's tractor, his crib, his blue puppy, his pacy, cell phones, taking baths and showers
Hates: being put down, missing a nap, having a cell phone moved out of his reach

John with Brian, our Sunday school teacher since we've been
married. Obviously has the magic touch!

Heart melter

2016-01-23T18:31:00.001-08:00

I was putting clean socks in Will's drawer when I turned my head and saw him standing up. Not Will. John. John the baby.

The first time around, I anticipated moments like this like a third grader waiting for the recess bell to ring. Camera poised, enthusiasm seeping, never missing a moment -- however small that moment may have been.

But this time, to be honest, I'm just glad I was in the same room when it happened.

Late to recess, but at least I made it outside?

I love this boy more than words can say, and I've already apologized more than once to his future self for not recording the first time he coughed.

He's nine months now, and his favorite things are food and his blue puppy. Will and I are tied for third. (Daddy will trump us all once John takes his first lawn mower ride, so I'm enjoying my status for now.) He's crawling, pulling up on everything he can find, popping out a new tooth every time he wakes up (so it seems), refusing the bottle for real food, napping better than his brother ever did, and growing up faster than I wish he would. If I had the option of a pause button, I'd use it now. He won the "happy award" in church nursery last week for talking to the characters on his exersaucer, refusing sleep, but keeping his baby peers happily entertained.

Someone please give me a pause button.

These pictures pick up where these left off. Here's little John from five to nine months old (September to December 2015).

Heart, cue melting.

Love you, Johnnycat!

Will's turn

2015-10-19T12:16:00.001-07:00

All of the John posts are getting to Will.

From Day 1, Will has loved "baby John." Some toddlers ignore their new sibling. Let's just say Will does the opposite. In other words, it's a wonder John still has both of his eyeballs. John makes noise, and Will makes more noise. If it was possible for my active toddler to become more active, it happened when John came on the scene. I wouldn't have it any other way, and I love their little relationship already.

Here's Brother Will's 2015 Summer.

Preschool teacher Ms. Shannon on his last day of school.

I have no caption for this.

Hilton Head with Dad, Drew, and Graham

R.O.R. (Regular Old Redneck)

Accepting the gold medal for freestyle in the 2015 Summer Olympics
(That's what it looks like, right?!)

Watching the deer from his bedroom window

I fear I have created a monster. He is OCD about his toys. They must be
"parked." They must be in line. And if one is out of order, I will be called
into the room at night to fix it.

Goodbye, sweet summertime!

John's first summer

2015-09-25T12:14:00.000-07:00

June, July, and August 2015. How can he occupy such a small place in this world but hold such a huge place in my heart!? The wonderful conundrum of motherhood!

John says 'was up'

Really, mom?

Really?

This may or may not have happened one morning when I was trying to
get out of the house.

Annnnd, my almost-three year old is the one with the pacy.

Conducting his orchestra

Oh, baby John, we love you!

John, little sprout!

2015-08-31T08:34:00.000-07:00

Documenting the second child's babyhood, although very important to me, never seems to make it to the top of my to-do list these days. Will had a post for every month his first year. Needless to say, John's posts will be fewer. (But don't worry, buddy, the love in my heart isn't measured by blog posts! Blame your brother!)

Here's the little bundle himself his first two months:
(See birth pics here.)

First bath. He hated it!

Ever seen anything sweeter!?

He spent his first eight weeks in this contraption. Usually
on me, but he let Jan wear him, too.
He took the whole "4th trimester" thing very seriously!

More documenting to come! Sweet Johnny John!

Family of four

2015-08-25T17:37:00.000-07:00

We had family photos taken back in April when John was two weeks old, just like we did when Will was born.

Loving easy

2015-07-25T17:56:00.000-07:00

I love easy.

No, really. I really love easy.

A pack of nabs, wrinkle-free clothes, crock pots, auto-draft, evites.

And sleeping in. Oh, and staying home. And letting somebody else. You know what I mean. Just letting somebody else.

Who's with me?

About three months ago, my love affair with easy took a downturn. Don't get me wrong. I'm still infatuated with easy. Daily I fight for easy.

But I've realized therein is my problem.

Precious baby John joined the Thomsen ranks behind two-year-old brother Will back in April, and easy took a vacation. A long one. In fact, I'm not sure if easy is coming back.

Now again, let me disclaim this entire post: If it sounds like complaining, forgive me. I don't intend it to. If it sounds ungrateful, or selfish, or whatever the adjective is, go ahead and think it. If it sounds like true confessions of a woman whose profession (motherhood) is challenging her beyond her wildest imagination, then hear me out. We're tracking.

We took a three-day family vacation to Hilton Head this week. After crawling back up into the front seat at midnight on the drive home from consoling John in the inferno, straight-jacket, torture-chair contraption otherwise known as a car seat (his words, not mine), I bemoaned to Ryan:

I don't think I'm cut out for newborns. I do everything I know to do. I've switched formulas five times, I've put the pacy back a thousand, I've bounced, I've rocked, I've walked, I've swayed, I've worn, I've strolled, I've burped, I've swaddled, I've vacuumed, I've darkened, I've medicated, I've read, I've literally typed "Does it get easier?" into Google, I've cried, I've thrown my hands up. Meanwhile, friends on Facebook are posting their home made dinner menus for the week, pictures of their kids reading during home school and other pictures of their newborns napping in strollers at the pool. (Babies do that?)

Does anyone else have this problem but me?

Newborns are unpredictable. I don't like unpredictable. Newborns are just impossible to figure out!

Newborns aren't easy.

In his usual cool, unintentionally insightful way, Ryan responded, "But don't you like a challenge?"

I mulled over his comment the rest of the drive home.

The next day (the day after vacation, which by the way, I hereby declare to be Dooms Day), Will put grass in the lawnmower's gas tank, John cried, Will spilled his apple juice (three times?), John cried, Will pooped and stuck his hand in his diaper, John cried, Will climbed out of his crib, onto the window sill, and broke the blinds in his bedroom when he was supposed to be napping. And John cried.

Later that night, I crawled into my bed, got out my Bible (was that dust on it?), and joined John in his favorite past time.

I only had a few minutes, but in the quiet, the sweet Holy Spirit met with me:

Stop loving easy.

Stop craving comfort. Stop waiting for each day to "get better." Stop complaining about the job being hard. (And stop being surprised when it is.) Stop wondering when it will end. Stop striving for convenience.

Work hard, with love and gratitude, and stop loving easy.

It was like I got hit in the head with a two by four, except much better. The Holy Spirit enlightened my heart to a sweet reality. I was convicted (still am), but it felt wonderful.

Ending my love affair with easy means I get to begin one with rewarding. I get to meet strength and perseverance coming from a place I know isn't me.

The day after the day after vacation (Redemption Day), John seemed to cry a little less. Or maybe it was just because I quit expecting him not to.

Perspective changes everything.

By the power of the One who never once loved easy (the Cross, hello), I'm putting an end to my love affair. May I love rewarding, may I love persevering, may I love His presence at work in me, but may I never settle for loving easy again.

They're worth it.

Honcrete mixer!!!!

2015-07-08T09:46:00.000-07:00

Toddler language. It's a beautiful, hilarious thing.

Lest I ever forget Will's unique twist on the English language, I'm recording some of his more famous sayings in this post.

Man, I'm going to miss these one day.

my-new-it -- I'll do it (there's a reason this one is first)
logurt -- yogurt
birthday cake -- all pastries
check you -- the must-say words before leaving his room at naps and night. Means "check on me"
new peeti -- his beloved green pacy
crarrots -- carrots (for feeding the horses)
burberry juice -- cranberry juice
two-hands-cup -- a non-sippy cup
tractor holding -- what's the tractor holding? (whether in the car or on TV, this phrase is repeated multiple times every day)
honcrete mixer!!!! -- concrete mixer; yelled with much enthusiasm in the car every time we see one
I don't wanna like this -- I don't like this
ebelator -- elevator

Will's favorite things at 2 and 1/2:

Baby John
His electric john deere tractor
Oatmeal
Cereal
Watching "new dump trucks" (YouTube videos of real-live dump trucks)
Treats (blame mommy)
Feeding the horses
Swinging
"Gampa" coming over
Playing with trucks in the dirt

Baby John post up next!

Baby John

2015-06-05T11:39:00.000-07:00

I am filled with the spirits of affection, as my mother used to say.

John Daniel Thomsen was born April 11 at 5:27 pm, weighing 7.13 pounds.

I had heard countless times that second babies usually come quicker than the first. John was no exception, and it turns out this is the first of many things he has done differently from his brother.

John was due April 7, and whoever told me the cruelest thing doctors do is give pregnant women a due date was right. My mental calendar ran out on the 7th. For those next four days, I was certain every hiccup was the beginning of labor. I was afraid to call anyone for fear of it being mistaken as The Call. I packed my hospital bag fuller and fuller.

Mild contractions did finally begin Friday night, but I was too afraid of crying wolf to say anything. (Maybe if I kept quiet they'd really start!) I slept through the night, and by 9 am on Saturday the contractions were painful but still ten minutes apart. Will was at Grandma's, so I bounced on the exercise ball, tried to watch a movie, and mentally determined that I would not call the doctor until the contractions were closer. This was after all my second time at this -- I knew the ropes.

By around 2 pm, the contractions quickly picked up speed. I called the doctor on call, and he said I could come on to the hospital and get checked. (I remember thinking this last time, but there ought to be a siren or a flag or something you hang out your car window when you're headed to the hospital in labor. Red lights and labor pains don't mix.)

We got to Rex and were in a room by 3:30. As planned, the first thing I did was ask for the epidural. And could she rush it?

We need to check you first, said Peggy the nurse. I bet you're 9cm.

To which I said, No way. Other women get to the hospital at 9cm. Not me. Just get me my epidural, and we'll all be fine.

Wouldn't you know, I was 9cm.

I've never felt such a feeling of pride and horror at the same time.

I can still have the epidural, right?!

Dear nurse Peggy rushed like her pants were on fire to get me the blessed epidural. The anesthesiologist walked in the room, did his job, and I waited for the relief.

And waited.

Peggy put an ice pack on my leg: Do you feel this?

Oh how I wished I didn't.

Dear nurse Peggy called the anesthesiologist back, and the moment he darkened the door, baby John started making his way. I can still see that doctor out of the corner of my eye make a 180 degree turn and leave the room. No use for him anymore.

I seriously have to do this without pain meds!?!

Oh dear nurse Peggy and Dr. Alvarez. Doctors and nurses, for all of their medical skills and knowledge, are first and foremost cheerleaders. Or they should be. Those two were.

A few moments into it, the thought hit me: I don't have a choice. I have to do this. Let's just get it over with!

And fifteen minutes later, John was born.

My cup overflows.

[More pics:]

Dr. Alvarez

Nurse Peggy

April 11, 2015: The day my second baby was born
and my first baby became big.

John's "gifts" to Will

Hospitals have great dirt

Proof John has endured much abuse from his brother since Day 1...

...and a lot of love...

...a whole lot of love.