.snug.button.

Let's See if I Can't Succeed at Avoiding the Grocery Store with All Three Kids

2012-04-01T17:06:00.002-04:00

Sadly, Adelaide had a 24-hour fever-and-throat bug, so she, Roxie, and I stayed home from church Friday night.

I stared into the fridge, then the cupboards, and scrounged up the following dinner for Adelaide and myself:

Adelaide - a who-knows-how-old Hot Pocket from the back recesses of the freezer, which she didn't touch
               - hummus, which she sucked off of crackers left soggy and uneaten
               - a cup of yogurt
               - Levi's juice boxes that we're supposed to have on hand for low blood sugars

Me - crackers and hummus
      - a yogurt

It was time for a proper grocery run, not just the regular ones where Jed or I have recently run into the store on the way home to pick up "just the basics."

So Saturday morning, Roxie and I loaded up and hit the town to knock out some errands. We managed Once Upon a Child, then I had to nurse Rox in the parking lot. I parked in the farthest row, but I am not exaggerating when I say that, while other cars remained quietly unoccupied in their spots the entire time, the spots to the direct left and right of me were like revolving doors with almost exclusively male drivers coming to pick up their wives/girlfriends/female companions from Once Upon a Child. If Roxie had been my first, I would've been mortified and stressed out. Fortunately, I no longer care.

Then we managed a Walmart run to spend a thousand dollars on diapers in all sizes and nursing essentials.

Then Roxie began to fall apart. I was 10 seconds from the grocery store. Should I push it and go in? Or should I just go home, put her down for a real nap, and head back to the store, which would put me back home just in time for dinner and night-nights?

Roxie was suddenly quiet in the car, so I took my chances. I decided to push it.

Weeeeeeeeell. She slept through 3/4 of the grocery trip, but when she awakened, whoa, Nelly. There was the quivering lip, the bright redness of the countenance, the spitting cough, the angry eyes, the sheer VOLUME of shrieking. I was swinging her from her carseat in one arm (I was not about to take her out of it when she was sleeping so well), and power walking through the store, pulling my cart behind me with the other. I have to say I got nothing but compassionate and knowing glances, but I still felt bad. Tiny or not, her super-tired-and-mad cry can be grating.

When I finally rounded the corner at top speed to the check-outs, there were only two lanes open, and they each had lines of people with full carts. All the sudden, the store kicked into mega-overdrive. Another cashier ran to place, flipped on her light, and waved a group of people her way. I started unloading my cart, one. item. at. a. time. with the one hand while I swung the carseat like no tomorrow with the other. One item on the belt. Another item on the belt. Swing, swing, shhhhh, shhhh. One more item. So the lady behind me finally offered to help and just started dumping armloads of my stuff up there. The lady in front of me was wheeling away and turned to offer any help. I smiled and said no, then I joked that I actually needed lots of help, and everyone in a 25-foot radius laughed, causing me to look up and realize that everyone in the store was staring at the lady with the screaming infant. That is, me.

So I laughed and shrugged and said, "All hands on deck," and the mood lightened, then a manager ran over to help bag my groceries, then another manager called out, "Jacob! Come help this lady to her car," then under her breath, "and unload the cart for her." So sweet!

But I was a touch mortified that I exuded that much neediness that I warranted the mobilization of an entire grocery staff and all manner of shoppers to get through this very basic errand.

As I was paying and thanking Yahweh that I didn't have Levi and Adelaide with me, a lady came running up, waving a tiny sock: "Is this yours?"

I knew that it was. I had noticed just after the screeching started that one tiny foot peeked out from under Roxie's blanket sans sock. I made a decision then as I huffed and puffed and swung and pulled my way to the lunch meat that the sock would be a casualty of this day's mission.

But after all was said and done, we had summer clothes for the girls, all the baby/toddler paraphernalia that was running low, real food, and both of Roxie's socks, the last of which might be the greatest miracle of all. Plus we had sunshine and warm temps the whole time, and we wouldn't be eating spoonfuls of hummus for dinner.

Regardless of the grocery store craziness, I returned home refreshed from the outing and with that wonderfully satisfied feeling of having gotten a ton done.

But would it have been the same with all three kids? I don't know, but let's not push it! We'll cross that bridge when we get to it, or if we can finagle our schedules just so, not at all. ;)

The Booger No Man-Burp Can Rival

2012-03-20T09:08:00.000-04:00

Look at your pinkie nail. Imagine something about 1/10 that size. If you're a guy, maybe 1/12. So small, right? Inconsequential really.

But so is a grain of sand. Tiny. Until it gets stuck in your eye, and then you're a fair way to being totally debilitated. And that makes it all the more frustrating. I mean, really; nothing that small should have such control over a civilized human being.

Especially in the middle of the night. And ESPECIALLY when it's a booger. An infant booger the size of 1/10 of your pinkie nail.

My kids tend toward gassiness in their infancy. The really painful, body-gyrating, spit-up inducing, wails of woe kind of gassiness. So about a third of of my current feedings with Roxie on any given day are me trying to calm her at the beginning of the feeding when the rush of first milk makes her gulp, getting air, and arch her back in anger that she's hungry but in too much pain to keep going. So we jostle and pat the back, jostle and pat the back. But eventually, the air comes up and out. Then she eats and we repeat the process when she's finished.

Barney from The Simpsons has
got nothin' on Rox.

And I defy any guy competing in some frat-house burp contest to produce a more manly, baritone resonance that lasts as long and with as much volume as that which Roxie's little body can produce. It's almost...a work of art. Plus she wins well deserved bragging rights, and we win the proud-parent status. The burp = winning.

The glorious thing is that most of our middle-of-the-night feedings go burp-free, because Roxie is mostly asleep and so very relaxed. But the episodes of jostle and pat the back do enter our nocturnal routine often enough. Till the burp, then sweet relief and then rest.

But there's one thing that I never encountered with Levi or Adelaide, and it's way worse than the gas: The Booger. And I blame this very dusty farmhouse and this very dry winter air. (No, a humidifier doesn't seem to help.) Almost every morning, and almost on-cue as the clock hits about 5:00 am, I begin to hear the grunting and frustration, the sounds of snot and booger being sucked up and shot back down, up, down, up, down, up, down, rapidly, while Roxie tries to fight it, struggles to breathe, makes it worse, struggles some more, then gets mad and wakes up demanding reprieve.

So I grab her quickly from the co-sleeper and grasp around for the bulb-syringe-nose-sucker-thingie that is awesome when successful. I squeeze the bulb, stick it in the nostril I *hope* is the offending nostril, and release the bulb. I pull it out, and as my sleepy-crazed self is not thinking straight enough to grab a tissue into which to squeeze out anything captured, I just shoot it randomly into the air, or onto my bed somewhere. Nothing. Nothing but shrieking wails from my imposed-upon child. I stick the bulb back in and realize that it's personal with this booger. I'm tired. Roxie is loud enough to possibly awaken my other children, and it's close enough to normal waking hours that they might not go back to sleep if awakened. The peace of our home is at stake. The sucker goes back in, and there might be a little more aggressive suctioning than is quite recommended for a person of her size. The sucker comes out, and I'm wildly firing it into the air or down toward my comforter, hoping to see a string of snot and a booger. Unlike the burps that almost always work themselves up and out, these boogers are elusive. There are times when I can tilt her wailing head back and peer deep down the nostril and spot the offender. "I seeeee you, you blasted booger." There it is, only about a quarter inch from my grasp, if that, stuck. One booger. Not even one quarter inch. 5 am. Yes.

About half the time, I emerge victorious as the booger emerges DEFEATED, shot onto my comforter where I gloat and glare at it and realize my daughter is beside herself in a frenzy and needs some maternal affectations after such a battle. And about half the time, all the intrusion, poking, sucking, wailing, and forceful infant breathing jostle the booger out of place up in the nostril and open the canal so that it no longer bothers her. By then, we're all so very awake and startled that sleep seems the last logical conclusion, but we get there.

Saline drops would help if I could remember to buy them. And one would think that I would, too, given the dramatic episodes, but I somehow manage forgetfulness.

So you see, when presented with the obvious choice of man-burp or tiny, tiny, itty-bitty infant booger, I'll take the man-burp every time. Because the man-burp makes us winners.

But The Booger...is Evil.

I'm a Great Mom

2012-03-16T12:32:00.001-04:00

Let's just address this "Mommy Guilt" thing once and for all.

We're inundated in our popular culture and media with the same debates: stay-at-home mom versus working mom, rigid schedules versus relaxed, nursing versus formula, yada yada yada. They're constantly coming to the same conclusions:

1. Studies show that this is best (followed next week by why that has its merits, too)
2. You're just fine if you do either one. We promise. Love yourself.

But the fact that they keep saying, "You're just fine! It's OK!" leaves this lingering uspoken thought that maybe it's not just fine. So we have to be assured, in different ways, from different angles, with each new magazine issue or news program. From whence does this unspoken thought come? From popular media who place it in our corporate imagination by CONSTANTLY addressing it!

(And am I just adding to it by writing about it here? Meh.)

Does it have to be this...

...or this?

NO!

Here's a trick I use with my kids. Most of us do, I'm sure. If they're about to encounter a new hurdle or concept, I plant in their minds the attitude I'd like them to have about it. It's new to them and most of the time, they don't know how everyone else perceives it. When Levi was about to turn 5 and therefore graduate out of the nursery at church, he was going to have to start sitting quietly with us through the preaching. We knew it would be an adjustment at the very least to simply make a change in his routine, much less take him out of an environment where he could make some noise and play with his friends into an environment where he'd have to stay relatively still and play in almost total silence.

But rather than focus on how hard it would be, we didn't even address that part. We built up lots of excitement starting a few months beforehand and talked about what a big boy he was and that he was graduating and was going to get to stay in the big church with us and some of his older friends. We bought him activity books for his birthday, but he couldn't use them until his first day of church, nursery-free. We gave him perspective, something to look forward to. And we managed to avoid any major traumatic meltdowns that I know would've arisen if we'd walked around on eggshells with him and said, "Son, we're sorry you won't get to play in nursery anymore, but it'll be OK! You'll be fine, even though it'll be hard, we promise!"

But that's the way our media treats us. They hone in on possible insecurities and feed them while telling us, "But it's OK!" Some of them are probably well intentioned, and others are no doubt calculated, because as long as they can keep the problem afloat, they can sell their product by talking about it. But WHEN did THEY become the experts on MY family?

So you know what? I'm over it! I have caught myself in this merry-go-round thought pattern of wondering if I'm doing major permanent harm to my kids, to becoming defensive with myself about it, to thinking everything's going pretty well, to wondering how horrible it would be if I got some kind of job or put Levi in public school for kindergarten, to apologizing profusely to friends for the meal of PBJs and Doritos I was feeding my kids, and so on. It was all very insidious, because I barely knew how pervasive it was in my day! I'm actually a really confident person. And yet, there was all this garbage floating around my mind, and I suddenly thought one day, "STOP!"

I hit the brakes on these thoughts that I realized were not my own. No, I am not a perfect mom.

But you better believe I'm a pretty great mom. With all my humanity and imperfections, the very fact that I care so much about the details should prove to myself that my kids are in good hands. I don't care if I end up working away from home one day. Or if my kids are home-schooled. Or aren't homeschooled. I don't care if I feed them a vegan diet. Or if they occasionally eat junk food or fast food. I know that every decision I make, that Jed and I make, is always with the intent of preserving their best interests. And our kids are loved. Like, so stinkin' LOVED.

Will everything turn out perfectly? Not a chance. And that's life. I'm a great mom, because I realize that and will no longer allow it to define me as lacking.

Will we look like that other family down the street that really excels where I do not? We never will. And that's life. We're the Finley family, and by the way, no other family that lacks where we excel will ever look like us. They'll look like them. I'm a great mom, because I'm happy to do my best for my kids.

Will I apply this revelation and suddenly be great at everything? Yeah, right. I'm a great mom, because I will not take my flaws personally but will address them as best I can for the benefit of everyone.

Unless you're a reprobate child abuser, I challenge you to buck the status quo, look in the mirror, and tell yourself, "I'm a great mom!"

Because great as I am (and did I mention I'm pretty great?), I know I'm not the only one.

Roxie: Delivery Highlights as Told in Random Quotes

2012-03-11T17:31:00.000-04:00

*Longest Post Ever Alert*

Roxie is two months old today, and that means I haven't posted to this blog in (checking my watch), oh yes, two months.

I spent the first month easing myself off of chairs and using my best Uncle Rico voice to declare that I "broke my coccyx." Then I got this zany, sleep-deprived idea to tell the story of Roxie's arrival using various applicable (sort of) quotes. Now, I'm not sure it's all that great of an idea, but it's been ruminating so long that I'll feel I've left something undone if I do not follow through. So here's how it all went down.

"I swear, you need a passport to come [up] here."

I delivered Roxie about 5 miles from the Canadian border, and it so happens that my OB is French Canadian and has a delightful French accent that I've come to understand. As she was not on call, the doctor who delivered Roxie was also French Canadian (and also now one of my favorite people), and his accent was less familiar to me. So when things came to a screeching halt in my labor, he was talking about an epidural, but all I heard was "eh-puh-dyuhr-AAAHL," and before I realized what he was talking about, it made an already exciting time that much more exciting as I played "Decipher the MD code in a foreign tongue" between contractions.

"I-I-I-I love technology-y-y. Noooot as much as you, you see. But I sti-i-i-ill love technology-y-y, always and forever-r-r."

With phones and Kindle Fire in hands, Jed and I were notifying certain folks whenever any major progress was made, including when I was about to push. Now, we did have a slightly good excuse for the TMI because a very small glitch about halfway through had us contacting the prayer brigade who was then very interested in updates. Even at 1 in the morning. So, as a laboring woman with all the hormones and emotions that go into it, when I would look over at Jed on his chair with phone in hand, totally absorbed, I knew that right there was a sign of the times. (Before you get the wrong idea, I'll be sure to clarify that Jed is the best labor coach on the planet, hands down.)

"She's running to stand - still."

I kind of hoped Roxie would come a day before her due date, which was January 11. The 10th was my granddaddy's birthday, and her middle name is my grandmother's, and I just thought it would be neat. I labored all day on the 10th, and by around 5pm, we realized it was the real deal, and it suddenly started to go into overdrive. We headed to the hospital, and as soon as we got settled, the engines really revved, and everything moved along quickly...like, maybe another two hours and we'll have a new kid. I like the idea of medication-free deliveries but have yet to follow through on that little dream. The intensity was enough for me to announce that an epidural, ten minutes ago please, would be just fine. I got the epidural from the weirdest anesthesiologist who had zero social skills, always slammed the door, and due to his job, had a plastic bag on his head. Not long after that, everything slowed down just a touch, so my MD ordered pitocin to give the engine a little kick-start. Then everything slowed down even more, and she seemed stuck in a weird angle that wouldn't budge (this is presumed to be from the ferocious nature of my water breaking, but why on earth would I actually say that and make you think about it?). She was still much higher up in my belly than she really ought to have been by then. They turned me on my side, her heart rate dropped drastically, they turned me back, the MD that I love began throwing out the possibility of a C-section, Jed and I had thumbs moving wildly on our phones to update the prayer brigade, then we asked medical personnel to leave the room please. Fast, slow, fast, slow...it was pretty strange. I figure she wanted to arrive right on time, so she just took a breather till after midnight.

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and supplication and with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God."

After the room cleared, we put our hands on my belly and thanked Yahweh for our sweet little daughter, and we blessed the delivery to resume smoothly and safely come what may, but we also prophesied that any impediment be removed. A few minutes later, the doctor came in and decided he'd try taking me off the pitocin to see if Roxie's heart rate would normalize and maybe she would descend. To him, it didn't seem likely. And then the engine revved again! Contractions picked back up in intensity and duration, and I could feel her descending like nothing had ever happened. In not time, Jed and I were in the room alone again, and I knew it sounded crazy. It was just too soon! But I knew she was ready. I was about to call the doctor in to check when he walked in of his own accord. I said, "I know you're not going to believe me, but I think it's time to push. Could you check?" He sort of chuckled, then checked, then raised his eyebrows and laughed again, giving directions to the nurse: "OK, let's have this baby!"

"Every baby is the sweetest and the best."

I pushed for about 3 seconds (OK, it was through two contractions, so maybe 7 minutes, but it seemed really fast!) and there she was, Roxie Evelyn, the sweetest and the best!

"The fair is a veritable smorgasbord."

The size of my cavernous appetite is no secret to most folks. At a camping trip after high school, some friends labeled me the Human Tapeworm (lovely, yes?) because I didn't stop eating and they didn't know where it all went. (Now I could show them where it went, but that's beside the point. Ahem.) Anyway, we went to the hospital around dinnertime, just before dinnertime that is, which is just poor form. One must eat for the marathon that is labor. I asked the nurse repeatedly for food, even though I knew the answer was a packet of crackers every so often. But all I really remember after the delivery was asking for, and eating, 30 pieces of toast, followed by 30 more pieces, followed by morning, finally!, when I could order a proper meal. I also remember my dear friends coming to visit the next night right as my dinner came, and impolite as it was, I didn't wait for them to leave before I stuffed my face. In fact, I'm not even sure I actually looked up at them. Delivering children really builds up the appetite. Not just mine, OK?

"Broke her coccyx."

After I stuffed my belly with breakfast (Roxie was born around 1 in the morning; it's hilarious that I actually don't remember the time. It might've been right after 2 am, but moving on.), I decided to get out of bed. The eh-puh-dyuhr-AAAHL had worn off, and all I knew was that something had gone awry with my tailbone. Seriously. All the regular culprits were not part of my labor experience, so none of us knows why that was the case. I just know that I've enjoyed quoting Uncle Rico for some time now, and I'm cracking up that it's the inspiration for this post that is just waaaaaaaaay longer than it should be!

"More cowbell."

Dear slightly-off, middle-of-the-night nurse with the loose, squeaky wheel on your rolling cart: FIX YOUR CART! Exhausted parents of newborns don't want you clanking into the room in the middle of the night for a routine check like we're all college students, wide awake, with nothing to do but be noisy and annoying. Kind as you are, you get no brownie points for anything but utter silence. (All those raging hormones make new moms a little wild-eyed, ya know.)

"Hey, Ace."
"Yeah, Dan?"
"You got any more of that gum?"

"That's none of your...business, and I'll thank you to stay out of my personal affairs."

Listen, one thing they never warn you about is just how many random people from random departments come into your hospital room after you give birth in order to give you information, take your information, make suggestions, ask if you have any suggestions, give you forms, take your forms, and so on. Our little family hospital was not sooo bad, but when I delivered Adelaide at the giant teaching/research institutional hospital in the city, it was all whack-a-doo. Jed said he kept waiting for the CostCo rep to come in to renew our membership. You feel a little like the world has been given license to get all up in your business. It was during one such visit that we made the Game Day switch on Roxie's name. The Social Security Administration worker ("Sure! Come on in! Come one, come all!) came in for the official name form, and Jed and I had been discussing making Roxie the first name instead of the intended middle name. My mom and dad both go by their middle names, and one of the only things my mom has ever been adamant about in life is what a pain it is on forms and explaining first-day roll calls. So she went from Evelyn Roxie to Roxie Evelyn. All while some stranger stood by and observed.

"Be careful, little ears, what you hear."

One of the visitors we didn't mind was my OB coming in to check how the delivery went. She is, as I said, French Canadian with very sharp facial features, particularly her cheekbones and jaw. She is also one of the tiniest people I've ever seen in real life. After she left, Jed said something I forever wish I could erase from my mind's eye: "She looks like Willem Dafoe."

That's right. Please ignore my total
incompetence at cutting/pasting.

Sooooo, that makes all my checkups pretty interesting.

"It's beginning to look a lot like...weather."

(I do not condone the watching of this movie, by the way!)

We were pretty set to leave the hospital on Day 2, but I was waiting for my lunch. THEN we could leave. AFTER lunch. But the snowstorm the weather guys were discussing and that we were taking lightly started to blow in with great gusto. By the time we left, with our newborn in the car, the roads were absolutely nasty. And one of a parent's worst fears happened. We started to spin out with traffic behind us and a box truck coming toward us. We spun into the other lane with on-coming traffic headed our way, straight for the ditch on the other side. But Jed, who is masterful in such conditions, and the grace of Yahweh, steadied us on the road, and Jed pulled the car back around so that it faced the right direction, and was in the right lane, and we drove .0023 miles an hour the rest of the way home.

Driving your newborn home is nerve-wracking anyway. They're just so very fragile. But we finally made it up the driveway and brought her in the front door to her excited siblings, and our lives are forever changed!

Carpe Nutellem

2012-02-09T12:45:00.002-05:00

I bet most of you have read the "Don't Carpe Diem" article written by Glennon Melton for the Huffington Post. For all you moms, parents for that matter, who can't quite measure up to the pressure to feel constantly elated about the duties of parenthood (please tell me that's all of us!), it's a funny read. It's touched a nerve, because it's been circulated about a million times within my circle of friends. I've realized in my current newborn-toddler-pre-K-er situation that there are a few key things I hope to carpe in any given week, let alone every diem. This newborn season is short but intense, so we take what we can get, and the list is as old as humanity: there's nothing new under the sun (except maybe green lights...and Nutella).

CARPE NUTELLEM

No explanation needed. Thank you, Italy. I don't know how many croissants we've gone through, but I've found the time needed to glop this onto one is negligible, even with a newborn in one arm.

CARPE WINKEM

Sleep. Wherever you can get it. Do it.

CARPE DE-FILTHEM

Even with my mom here, oh-so-graciously, in the fray to help us, this is a sight still slightly more elusive to me than I'd like to yet admit. If the water's still hot after all those loads of newborn-poo-that-doesn't-come-off laundry, all the better!

CARPE CUP-O'-JOE-EM

One might think it contradictory to CARPE WINKEM, but that is false. The end.

CARPE OPEN-ROADEM

There might be a pattern here from other posts. I like driving. I like being alone. But especially right now, the two or so times I've had to make an appointment, ALL BY MYSELF!, let's just say I carpe-ed the mess out of it.

CARPE GREEN-LIGHTEM

Anyone who's driven through town with a screaming newborn who dozes when the car's in motion then erupts when the car stops knows what this is all about. Red lights are the enemy.

CARPE SILENCIUM

Loud, knocking toys; toddler protests; baby wails; silly songs for kids: it's just everyday life, but apparently it can lead to overload. Because then there's walking down the stairs, kids are down for the night, and all there is for a brief moment is the slight roar of the fire. If the TV's on, I turn it off. Silence. Is. Golden. Ahhhhh.

(But mostly, CARPE NUTELLEM)

Top Ten Reasons Roxie Ought to Come Today

2012-01-10T12:43:00.000-05:00

Even though I absolutely have my wits about me and am totally calm and the actual due date isn't even until tomorrow and that means she could not come for another week and a half, here are the top ten reasons I think Roxie ought to make her debut, well, right now.

10. I've been having various bouts of contractions since New Year's Eve. That was 10 days ago...

(Ten. Days.)

9. We finally purchased the larger vehicle needed to fit all three children at the same time. I felt certain that she was just waiting for us to get that affair in order, but that was finalized last Friday, soooooo....

8. I am ready. (Thank you, Captain Obvious, I know. As if this post alone hadn't made it pretty clear.)

7. I completed my random nesting-lady to-do list, including waxing my mustache. What else could she be waiting on?

6. I encouraged Jed through completion of his Honey-Do list, including mounting the paper towel holder on the wall. Again, what else could she be waiting on?

5. There is a newborn-sized person inside my body. Currently. Isn't that enough?

4. January 10th is the day I've been gunning for since the beginning, because it was my Granddaddy's birthday. It has a nostalgic connection, aaaaand it'd be convenient to remember for that side of the family.

3. Last night was a full moon. Isn't that supposed to pull her out like it pulls the tides?

2. I finally packed my hospital bag. (Hopefully she's not just procrastinating like her mom.)

1. Tomorrow's the official due date, and I've been saying I think she'll come early. That leaves us with today, little girl!

Therefore, it really ought to start happening, just, any moment now. Just any moment. Aaaaany time...

In the meantime, I'll be in the living room, jumping around with Levi.

(And reminding myself that she is so very portable and well-fed where she is...no need to rush it. No need to rush it. No need to rush...)

He's Captured My Heart, and Today, He's FIVE!

2011-12-20T22:35:00.000-05:00

I can't pinpoint the day I fell madly in love with Levi.

It wasn't the day of his birth, though I loved him with a mama-bear passion. Twenty-two hours of grueling, induced, take-these-contractions-with-no-rest-in-between-and-like-it labor left me stunned in a hospital gown. (OK, the last hour was a rainbow-y dance in the sunshine, as the epidural I [finally] agreed to took effect.) But I was stunned nevertheless. And with a baby. A baby! Our first. Levi.

These past five years, he has proven to be thoughtfully inquisitive, thirsty for understanding, hilariously goofy, and a fine dancer. Keeping up with the pace of his memory and questions leaves me daily challenged, and remembering to nurture his soft-hearted love and sensitivity so that he will continue to turn that tenderness, and entrust it, to Yahweh is a pleasure I do not take for granted.

I listen to his creative jokes, watch him play his funny pretend games with his funny pretend workers (imaginary friends we've all grown to love: Binkin, Paunch, Kimper, Chimp, and Shama-Lama-Lingus, who all live currently on Pluto), try to give him honest answers to his constant questions, and watch him absorb wide-eyed any story we read or make up, and I think my heart will burst.

He is a strong little boy, full of life and willfulness, and while all kids are awesome, I have the distinct motherly privilege of being completely and uselessly biased into thinking he is the greatest little boy on the planet. (Just like every other mother's little boy; it's our special right).

I only now realized that I wrote
"Birthay." Nice one, Mom!

So sweet, sweet Mr. Levi (aka Schmevi, aka Bubba) Eliot Finley, happiest of birthdays to you today as you turn FIVE! Here's to your loose teeth and the one that's gone nearly horizontal today as you continued to mess with it, declaring, "I need the money." (What?) Here's to your practically politician-cultivated diplomacy and charm on the phone as you fielded your birthday calls all day, expressing great gratitude and grace with every caller. Here's to your cake-decorating skills, your magic tricks, your declarations about mouse poop, and your investigations on your new microscope. Your huge brown eyes and precious smile are a joy to me, and your lively nature give me incredible, new perspective on life and our heavenly Father. May you always know and love Him, walk according to His purpose for you, know peace, laugh at fear and inhibitions, inspire and bless others, and change the world.

I love you, sweet Bear! We are so proud of you!

Kids' Bliss Trains the Parents: Wait, What?

2011-12-04T23:46:00.006-05:00

Follow your bliss. Just follow it. Follow what? Your bliss. What is your bliss? I have no idea. The thing that brings you bliss? So bliss is the ultimate goal? No, your bliss is the ultimate goal. Nice. Follow that.

I heard of an interview in which Brad Pitt says he really just encourages his kids to follow their bliss. I may've vomited a little bit in my mouth. Little kids' bliss runs the gamut. Putting plastic chunks in their noses. Eating only cake for three days. Practicing kung fu on their friends' faces. Maybe, just maybe, they could use a little direction.

There's this proverb you probably already know: "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old, he will not depart from it" (Prov. 22:6). It sneaked into my thoughts a month or so ago, and then it started knocking around and making some noise that I couldn't ignore, and now it's pretty much stuck in my craw. I started picking out the tiniest morsels for rumination: What does it mean by "train," by "way," by "should," and by the conclusion that he'll not depart from it? Yeah, I know. If you find that intense, welcome to my world.

I figured there were three things crucial to deciphering all this. First, ask Yahweh. Duh. He's the one stirring it up; I'd be obtuse to not ask Him why. Second, investigate the original language for clues. And third, consider apple trees.

From Yahweh, I've been getting the idea of equipping children for successful adulthood in the most practical ways. I mean, even as specific as praying about His calling for their lives, for their careers, and beginning to develop those talents and capacities. I think a lot of parents do that. I see many families in which the kids follow in the path made available by their parents. You know, boys learning their dad's trade to continue the family business, or those families where the dad's a doctor, and all the kids are, too, or the dad's a minister, and all his sons are, too. But they are the exception, not the rule. It just happened that when I'd see the words of this proverb in my mind, the word "way" was being highlighted, as if the Father was saying, "This is more than just becoming a believer. I know the plans I have for your kid. Learn my heart, and buy up their childhood to help them in that path." Right now, Jed and I think it'd be cool to raise Levi to become a dentist, because they are respectable and make decent money, and they only work, like, Mon - Thurs from 9:00-3:30. Then in the summer, you call them up, and they defer you to their colleague dentist friends, because they're out of the office for a month. The only thing better would be practicing dentistry in Europe where they value the afternoon nap and possibly don't care much about their teeth.

I was raised to believe I could achieve anything and that the world was my oyster, and it was truly encouraging, but I realized as I stepped over the threshold into adulthood that maybe being prepared for the whole world was a little overwhelming and perhaps a little more specific direction would've been useful, too.

OK, so then there's the original language of the proverb. Clarke's Commentary on the Bible says, "The Hebrew of this clause is curious: חנך לנער על פי דרכו chanoch lannaar al pi darco, 'Initiate the child at the opening (the mouth) of his path.'" And, well, OK, if we're going to do this, then I'll revisit "initiate:" "to introduce into the knowledge of some art or subject" or "to set going" (dictionary.com). Interesting. Interesting that it would say the mouth of "his" path, eh? So we're onto something.

Barnes' Notes on the Bible say something similar about it:
"Train - Initiate, and so, educate.
The way he should go - Or, according to the tenor of his way, i. e., the path especially belonging to, especially fitted for, the individual's character. The proverb enjoins the closest possible study of each child's temperament and the adaptation of 'his way of life' to that." Again with the direction having to do very much with the individual purpose placed in that child.

I think as parents we so want to develop our children's characters, decision-making faculties, and faith so that they can be adults who plan and choose wisely. But then this whole can of worms opens up, and I realize, hey, why not? It would be a huge success as a parent to take that role of wisdom and covering and prayerful consideration and begin to shape our children in the most practical ways for the most successful life, according to the Father's plan for them. It's totally doable.

I'm avoiding too many details here, because I don't feel inclined to start arranging marriages between infants or discounting the preferences of my kids as they get older and start considering such things on their own. But there's something to all this.

Then there's the apple tree, and this is just an aside, more about the training part of it all. Left untended, an apple tree just grows up and out in all directions, stretching its limbs, being free to grow and be and do just what it wants. It also produces few apples and tiny apples. As far as contribution goes, it's pretty worthless.

A well-tended apple tree, on the other hand, has been trained. It's been literally trimmed and tied to posts and forced to grow into the most productive, gnarly shape ever, one that's loaded with big, delicious apples come harvest time. Training an apple tree into productivity requires attention, knowledge, foresight, and work. And so it goes with our kids.

Recently, in the news, have been stories about parents who are overly obsessed with gender and not "forcing" gender on their kids. (A little late for that since the dude's sperm determined it and literally created the kid with a gender. Can't be helped.) Anyone who knows me halfway knows that I think these people are flat-out idiots, and that's probably why I'm cramming the concept into this post.

But here's why. I advocate for parental authority in kids' lives. I am happy that so many families do so many things differently, and that's part of the flavor of each family. But kids should not be making serious life decisions for themselves when they're seven. They are not the ones in charge of grown-up thought at that time. They are playing pretend, learning, begging for someone to make sense of it all for them. Consider the following from the author of My Princess Boy: “When he said, ‘I am a princess,’ I said, ‘Boys aren’t princesses,’” Kilodavis recalled. “He said, ‘I’m a boy princess.’ He’s driving the agenda for who he is.” (Emphasis mine.)

I read this and figure that here is the case of a confused person letting their little kid follow his bliss. WHY....is he driving the agenda? Did I mention the kid was four? 4. FOUR. He's playing dress up. What on earth would cause a lucid brain to set a kid loose on any sort of identity path like that, treating it as an age-appropriate course for him to seriously explore based on his own agenda? That poor kid needs some help. Or just someone to laugh off all his silly incarnations as he goes through all the costumes in the house. Come on, parents, stop letting the current societal trends lull you into sacrificing your child's sanity. I'm not even getting into the whole gay/transgender argument here; I'm just saying that kids need direction and help making sense of who they are, not for you to take them seriously every time they say they want to be a frog-dinosaur. Most kids would be schizophrenic if we told them to just be all the things that creep into their imaginations. When they're FOUR.

This kid was two (yep) when his parents started letting him call the shots:

Poor little boy with a whim to pretend to be
a girl has a mom who therefore immediately grows out
his hair and buys him dresses... Methinks that might be
the recipe for creating, rather than abating,
confusion.

So yeah. Fluffy as it sounds for an adult to just follow your bliss, it becomes comical when it's the rule for children. We parents ought to be training away rather than letting our two-year-olds train us like a bunch of circus animals! How does it so easily get flipped around?

Yahweh's Real Good at Puzzles, Just Ask Levi

2011-11-14T12:46:00.006-05:00

Have you ever put together one of those thousand-piece puzzles? Makes you want to do a touchdown dance and force others to marvel at it. It can actually just be a 100-piecer, or even less, for me to feel that "I rock" feeling when the last piece is in place and I can see the whole picture. It's so satisfying to make sense of it all! At first, you're just staring at all the scattered little cardboard shapes with different colorations. It's madness. You pick one up, and it's utterly meaningless, a blob of gray with a squiggle of green across the top, or whatever it is. It only has meaning when it's connected into its rightful spot in the whole. Likewise, the whole lacks complete meaning if that one piece is left out.

Then you think about Yahweh working on the puzzle of our existences with a gazillion pieces, only it's one of those 3D puzzles (except, who am I kidding, you know His is, like, some weird version of 7D or something), and each piece is its own tiny 7D puzzle made up of tinier 7D puzzle pieces, and the whole thing morphs in time. My brain hurts just typing that.

(To follow a quick rabbit trail here, because I'm passionate about it and just canNOT help it, I'll add that this is part of why we must live circumspectly, aware of the bigger picture, which is His picture. And we must live according to His specific will for us and word to us. On any given day, we might encounter solitary circumstances that test our knowledge, our fortitude, our emotions [hello], or our will to stay the course. If we're just looking at the one, somewhat meaningless-on-its-own puzzle piece, we better not make any move until we've consulted with Him.)

*And somehow here, I get theological for just a bit, but it prefaces the very cool puzzle pieces of Yahweh's total, fabulous faithfulness to a little boy that you'll read below it all.*

So how does our fight with the insidious diabetes in Levi's life fit into the ol' grand scheme? Not to get overly theological, but I'll throw in that I don't buy the shade of Calvinism that embraces absolute predestination. Yahweh is relational, and while I'm not getting into it here, I know that He created us with the ability to choose. In Romans 8:29, it says that He foreknows (everything: our choices, our circumstances, us), and therefore He predestines certain other situations to match up with those choices and end up working out for our glory, making us Christ-like. And many of us know the Jeremiah verse that He has plans for us, to prosper us and give us a future and a hope. And actually, just a verse before that Romans reference, in verse 28, it states the popular teaching that He works all things together for the good of those who love Him. So we have a choice. But He's ever working with our choices on our behalf if His will is our goal.

Here's another little nugget to chew: I do not believe Yahweh gave Levi diabetes. I don't think Yahweh "gives us this cross to bear" trying to teach us something, although He will absolutely teach us through it. Sickness and death are not His will for us. Sin and its imperfect consequences are not His will for us. I believe, to condense it all very simply, that it is the result of the imperfect world we inherited and that it is an opportunity for us to rise in His strength and defeat it, until every enemy is underneath His feet. More on that bold statement some other time! (If you want to chase it down, here are some starters: Matt. 22:44, 1 Cor. 15:25, Heb. 2:8, and my favorite Heb. 10:13.)

Of course, Yahweh in His majestic, God-Of-The-Universe-I-Speak-And-Things-Appear-Ness knew that Levi, and we, had this battle coming in our life. As Levi's covering, it's more our battle at this point than his, which is exactly how I want it. And so Yahweh's lined up some inexplicably handy things in Levi's little repertoire to help us be successful as we walk it out with His help.

As we've implemented the protocol and adjustments required with this situation, I've begun to see some puzzle pieces fall into place that, before, seemed insignificant. But as the proverbial light has dawned, I've continued to find myself shaking my head at the grace and love of our God and His interest in all areas of our lives and, moreover, in our success there by His leading. There are only three that have been glaringly obvious so far, but they make such a difference.

Puzzle Piece Number One: Levi is a terrific adapter.
The day he was born, I was holding him and talking to him, and of all the sweetsy, cooing blubberings I could have mumbled and did mumble to him, I heard myself say, "You are such a great adapter." Adapter? He was a baby, not an electronic device. I'd known him maybe 30 minutes. And that's what I had to say. I knew it was the Holy Spirit and I knew I was prophesying to him about part of his anointing, what Yahweh had placed in him. Well, I've seen it play out through the various changes and adjustments that occur in a regular childhood, but never could I have fathomed a child who is more go-with-the-flow about the crazy things that we now have to do to him to combat diabetes. Each new member of the hospital staff that we meet seems to recognize it fairly quickly, especially as a comparison to other kids. Believe me, Levi is not always a go-with-the-flow personality, so this particular piece of the puzzle stands out all the more.

Puzzle Piece Number Two: Levi is a terrific eater.
Not only that, his eating habits in general perfectly match up with what is most convenient for his current battle. I was really careful from his infancy about what he ate and didn't eat, and about exposing him to a big variety of fruits, veggies, and flavors, trying to train his palate and habits for a healthy lifestyle. But I have begun to realize that much of his preferences are also just his nature beyond what I did. He loves salad, and if you put a meal before him that involves the usual starch and meat and veggies, he'll always go for the veggies first. And he's not a big snacker or grazer, which is hugely helpful in getting an accurate blood glucose reading every so often. Diet is obviously a big deal with handling diabetes, and where others have had a great hurdle of change to overcome, we've just kept on with what we've always done. We haven't had big fits and struggles. We haven't had to overhaul the whole family's outlook. We just already had the right piece for the puzzle.

Puzzle Piece Number Three: Levi has never thrown up.
In fact, he has hardly ever been sick. Apparently, sickness can really mess with blood sugar levels and can make management trickier. But throw up, well, it's a giant RED FLAG. It really messes with the inner balance of things, and if there's any throw up or even just nausea, the hospital wants to be called immediately. It can cause ketones (you don't want those at all) to appear in high numbers, and at the same time it can cause the blood sugar to go really low. The way to combat ketones is with more insulin. But with a low blood sugar, you must not give more insulin. So it's a seeming catch-22 that worries a lot of people. If Levi ever throws up, I know we'll manage it just fine. But having always marveled that he's throw-up-free, I now especially marvel at the fact that he's the only kid I know that's never done it and he's one that highly benefits from that predisposition. Thank. You. Yahweh.

These three seemingly insignificant or trite puzzle pieces have always stood out to Jed and me as singular to Levi. Now, we just shake our heads at how much grace comes wrapped up in these three puzzle pieces when they fit into the current grand scheme of Levi's life. We cannot live our day-to-day routines in tandem with all this and see it as coincidence. It's just too obvious. Too glorious. Too helpful and beneficial. Yahweh's grace is sufficient, to say the least!

It's Levi's life: Yahweh's masterpiece. He is worthy. Of our praise. Of our all.

RIP Confusing Mole

2011-11-06T22:04:00.001-05:00

DISCLAIMER! What follows is another post that might make some guys feel uncomfortable. Even some girls. I don't know how else to warn you except to say that for me to tell a very innocent story, I am required to use the word "nipple" far more than one would imagine necessary on the outset. But it involves honest conversations with a three-year-old about mostly things that are not actually nipples. Uncomfortable yet? If so, here's your chance to gracefully exit, no hard feelings!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Before kids, I had a tiny mole on my neck. But then, at some point late in my first pregnancy with Levi, I began to notice the mole get considerably bigger, but it still wasn't a big deal. My doc had told me that pregnancy hormones do that and not to worry. It stayed that way until my second pregnancy with Adelaide, into which it grew again and became quite formidable, for a mole. There are certain things that just don't bother me: scars, moles, freckles, slight blemishes of that sort. So this one didn't really bother me either, though it had sort of developed its own personality. See for yourself:

(And I purposely chose a picture/angle
that's not too imposing.)

We all know that with kids, no subject is off-limits. They have questions about life, and one of the unexpected pleasures (most of the time) of parenting is all the very straightforward explanations we get to dig up about poop, death, body parts, good-and-evil, you name it.

Levi was three when Adelaide was born, and he had lots of questions about nursing. I happily answered them in that delicate, tight-rope routine we all do to give understanding and also be age-appropriate, perhaps even inserting important teachings about privacy and such. I think it's right here that I can pinpoint the moment that I began to have feelings about my growing mole. It was during one such conversation when Levi pointed to it and asked, "How come you never feed Adelaide on that nipple?"

<Imagine tires screeching to a halt> Hold on, what???! I looked at him and blinked, then laughed really hard, then explained to him that it was just. a. mole. Not. a. nipple. This was a good time to fine-tune my nipple explanation from earlier. I proceeded to show him other much-more-normal-and-size-appropriate moles I had, which, looking back, must've been more confusing since none of them really looked like the weird neck-mole. But it seemed to work out.

"Oh," he said. No big deal. Nipple, mole, mole, nipple. Who cares?

No one cares. I didn't care. I, the confident-in-her-own-skin woman who doesn't lose sleep over wrinkles, weird feet, her crooked thumb, cellulite, and plenty of scars, thought it was just a hilarious story. I relayed the story to Jed and my sisters and girlfriends. But I have to admit, over time, it started to nag at me a little. I thought, "If Levi got so confused by it, who else might be distracted by it?" I worked with a sweet girl years ago who had a wart on her tongue (yep, a wart, on her tongue), and I refused to let it distract me, so much so that my attempts at not being distracted sometimes backfired and made me that much more distracted! I didn't want to subject everyone I knew to that same fate with my weird mole. But I'd forget about it for awhile, then think about it again, then whatever.

Then infants and small toddlers became obsessed with it. When I would pick them up, Adelaide and all her posse would pretty much ignore me and go looking for my mole to push like a button or try to yank out of its socket. Nice. And not altogether comfortable. I began to realize that, while I'd never had any "work done," I was ready to look into having this sucker removed.

The clencher came one happy afternoon that we had friends over and a couple of stray kittens wandered into our yard. They were tiny, obviously newly weaned, and starving. Someone had dumped them. I immediately scooped one up, and in nanoseconds, I kid you not, that kitten was trying to nurse on my mole!!

My first thought: "For the love of God! IT'S NOT A NIPPLE!!" Even God's innocent creation was mistaking it as such.

My second: "OK, I get it!!" I went swiftly to my neighbors' house and asked to borrow some cat food to get these kittens nourishment and keep my own dignity intact. I officially determined then that I'd have it removed. That was a year ago, but I am happy to say, for my own sanity and for the edification of those who must look at me from time to time, that last week, the mole went bye-bye. And for those of you who see me often, yes, it's for you that I've waited to share these stories till after it's gone so as not to make the distraction that much worse!

The day of the removal, the dermatologist gave me a funny alternative: "When this comes off, you'll probably have some minor scarring, just a little pucker like a tiny belly button." Not joking! The persistence of that spot to harbor some unusual body part was astonishing to me. And I love that Yahweh has a sense of humor!

Truthfully, though, if I must exchange one odd body part to camp on my neck for another, I'll happily trade a nipple for a tiny belly button. Remember? I don't mind scars. And at least it's not an arm or a foot. (It can always be worse.)

Right now, it's still healing and actually looks quite like I imagine a bullet wound might look. I have yet to see the full "belly button" effect, but I very much look forward to it.

But the very best part was Levi's reaction to its removal. After years of non-issue with that topic and what I'd thought was an understanding we'd reached, I came home from the doctor, and Levi said, "Hey Mom!! Did the doctor take that nipple off your neck?"

.................<Sigh>

I dropped my things on the counter, grabbed an apple, and finagled my big-bellied self into a chair. I smiled at Levi, thrilled to give what I hoped would be my last such attempt at clarifying. In T minus two weeks or so, we can trade these talks for ones about that crazy belly button that appeared where the nipple was.

Big Number 11--Travel!

2011-10-22T22:07:00.002-04:00

Me with my grandma in Colorado,
probably around '86 or so...

Travel! How could I forget it in my Finley Kid Education List? I have the travel bug and always have, and I come by it honest from my grandma Evelyn's heritage. They're adventurers and explorers and geographers by nature, and while I don't share my grandma's obsession with looking at maps just for the fun of it, I share almost all the rest (including a genuine love for [almost] every tree I meet, though I do not hug them, ha ha).

I always wanted to do the summer of hostels in Europe when I was younger and never did, but I did have incredible opportunities that my parents were so stellar to fund and encourage, and they've contributed much to who I am today. Very early on, my Aunt Josie or my grandparents would take me on road trips to Colorado, which first opened my eyes up to landscapes (deserts, mesas, mountains), cultures (Native Americans), and climates (cold) different than I'd experienced at home in North Texas.

Hawai'ian lu'au on the big island

Then, when I was around 9 or so, my mom started working for American Airlines, and Mom and Dad were so cool as to start adventuring around on weekend trips, and some longer, to various places of interest. We did the Pacific Northwest down into northern California, the Northeast from Maine down to Rhode Island, D. C., Hawai'i, Cancun, and lots of places in between.

Later on, they gave me the experiences of going overseas to visit Israel at one point and Italy at another.

Atop the Mt. of Olives, Jerusalem &
the Dome of the Rock behind me

What's cool about it, besides the great fun, is how eye-opening it is. Even just experiencing the physical input of terrain and climate tells you quite a bit about the people who live in a place. Then you start to experience architecture, history, and interaction, and many of your narrow beliefs from your little bubble of "home" start to become enriched, challenged, or obliterated. But they do not remain unchanged. I've never returned from a trip without having a broader understanding and appreciation for people and for God and His creation. He'll definitely use the experience to talk to us if we're listening.

Mark Twain said, "Travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry, and narrow-mindedness." I don't put tons of weight on everything Mark Twain thought, nor do I think travel is the only way to challenge one's thinking, but I like that quote nonetheless. I'm a lover of Truth. I think prejudice (according to the official dictionary definition) and narrow-mindedness are usually the result of ignorance rather than understanding. Travel helps with that. It doesn't make us less convicted about what's good and true. I think it provides opportunity to solidify our convictions about what's good and true. I've seen plenty of people who are suspicious of anything different that might challenge their convictions, but I don't think having convictions challenged makes a person less convicted. And when it comes to spiritual things, if we really, truly trust Yahweh, He'll be the first one to challenge our convictions, believe me!

The 1997 signing of the Balanced
Budget Agreement in D.C. That white hair
behind us is Newt Gingrich being
interviewed. When he was done,
they interviewed me! I zealously
solved all the world's problems.

So travel has definitely jarred me, given me a new appreciation for people's differences and an awareness that so many differences are not as scary as some would perceive them; they're just different approaches to the basic human issues we all face. I do not agree with everyone else, but I've had lots of unfair and debilitating preconceptions eradicated, and I'm glad. Those untruths were not helpful.

(Plus, beyond all the serious mumbo jumbo, did I mention that travel is sooooo fun?!)

Inside St. Peter's in Rome

When I moved to the Northeast, it was a much bigger adjustment and adventure than I would've expected since it's just another region in my native USA. The things I was used to buying from the grocery store shelves in Texas were not appearing on Boston's shelves. The accent was a bit unusual. The political and cultural vibe was different. I couldn't find a church quite like what I was after. But what I did find was that Yankees are, well, people. Of all things. And I had to face a ridiculous prejudice in myself that I didn't even know was there about the whole tired North/South thing that pervades part of the culture lingering in Texas. And if a Northerner went to Texas, they'd have they're minds broadened about the richness of Southern culture and that most Southerners are not stuck in some hillbilly rut.

Sort of like Frankfurt's airport;
Israel's "police" is their military.
Automatic weapons inspire fear,
for sure!

One cannot walk through Frankfurt, Germany's airport, with uniformed guards carrying semi-automatic weapons standing at their various posts, without getting a bit of understanding about the people there and what must influence them, giving some compassion for what might've been misunderstood just moments prior.

And I'd always thought that the Bible story about Sodom and Gomorrah where Lot's wife was turned into a pillar of salt was so weird. I was always like, "A pillar of...salt?" Then I went to where that had happened, right off the Dead Sea. And wouldn't you know it, because of all the mineral deposits there, there are actually pillars of salt everywhere. So Lot's wife just turned into the landscape. It made total sense then. It was the coolest connection that made me think differently about a lot of strange things in the Bible. I realized then that there are probably a lot more totally logical explanations out there for other stuff, too.

So, having run all over the place in my thoughts, it is a big priority to me for my kids to experience the shock and the big fun and the challenge that usually comes from the wonderful gift of travel.

Add it to the list!

To Be a Finley Kid...10 Things You'll Learn

2011-10-18T12:53:00.001-04:00

Here, for your looking-into-the-Finley's-life reading pleasure, is a short list (in random order) of the things we insist our kids must have learned at some point under our tutelage before we'll consider them totally, adequately equipped to enter adulthood. It's actually not all that brilliant, but it's our little list nonetheless, and gender is no exemption from completion of any item. Also note that knowing God is the paramount attribute we want our kids to have. It's not on the list 'cuz it's a given.

One...
How to perform basic cooking and maybe a few extra fancy culinary abilities just for good measure. This will include full competency in several basic recipes that, when taken together, cover a decent gamut of cooking knowledge.

Two...
How to do laundry, and do it well. If this one sounds obvious, you'd be surprised at how many people have to figure it all out in adulthood. I wouldn't know this from experience. Of course, I'm talking about other people (cough, shifty eyes).

Three...
Basic music theory and piano. If they also want to learn another instrument, so be it. But from mine and Jed's musical experience, there is no substitute for the foundation learned from piano. Plus, music is extremely mathematical and helps strengthen all kinds of cool areas in the brain. And it's fun to be able to pick up an instrument at a party and get everyone singing.

Four...
Basic outdoor survival skills. I have no idea what this means. I mean, I know what it means but not how to execute it. I feel like I could catch a fish and build a fire, um, if I had a fishing pole and matches. Clearly, we're not experts at all of these. I DO know how to clean a fish, which is pretty awesome, really. I like to think that I'm scrappy and resourceful, so I'll teach my kids that, and then I'll enlist the experts for all the rest.

Five...
How to shoot a gun. Yes, that's right. And with precision, too, so back off. ;)

Six...
Self-defense. I'm impressed with how much discipline is required in most formal fighting styles, and while this might be the least important one, to me, in the whole list, I'd love to see it through.

Seven...
How to be a member of a team. I want every one of our kids to be involved in some kind of sport at some point or another in their lives. Even though we plan to homeschool doesn't mean we'll put blankets over our children when in public and shield them from reality. Every so often, we'll drag our pasty selves out of the house and make some noise. Clearly, Adelaide will be getting that volleyball scholarship into some magnificent college, but for all of them, I want them to experience the character building that comes from teamwork and competition and pushing one's self.

Eight...
How to care for someone smaller or less able. The older ones will get a healthy dose of this with their younger siblings, but especially for our youngest, we'll go out of our way to find or create opportunities for them to be responsible and care for younger ones. Hopefully, this will help build selflessness and kindness among a slew of other things. And will make that first year with a first newborn less...uh...shocking.

Nine...
Bible proficiency. We live our lives by relationship with the Father first and foremost. The Bible is an extraordinary gift and tool that He's given to help support that relationship and teach us so much of the history and Truth and meaning that most matters to Yahweh. I want my kids to have thoughtfully read it through and had total license to open any discussion and ask any question on the matter.

Ten...
Money management. How to work and earn, how to tithe and offer, how to be generous, how to pay one's self and save, how to invest, how to spend, how to resist the siren song of unnecessary debt. In fact, by the time we're done with them, they will loathe debt.

There are more, I know (riding a horse, for whatever reason, plus manners, having a garden, and another huge one I just remembered and then forgot), but 10 is a nice "list number," and this covers some biggies. Are there any big ones to you that I'm leaving out? I'd love to hear what they are! One of the coolest things about families is how very different they all are. I'm most inspired by the really structured, disciplined families that run like well-oiled machines with every member knowing and playing its own helpful role. The reason, of course, is because that's not my greatest strength.

But if nothing else, our kids will be responsible, caring, musical adults who walk with Yahweh and who could win a fight if pushed to it. ;)

Weird Strangers Lurking

2011-07-01T22:46:00.000-04:00

These two thin towers have been following me around, and I've been totally oblivious to it. They're kind of like skinny columns, I guess, but flat rather than in 3D, totally equal to each other.

I just recently got this crazy longing to go some degree of blonde. If you think that's strange, it really is, but I'm all about it, reason be tossed to the winds. I haven't dyed my hair in years, and to choose the right shade for me can be tricky since all my features are so dark, but my Vermont skin is pretty pale. And my mom always says that my natural shade is the absolute best on me. I agree with her, but no matter. I'm feeling the blonde. Little did I know, though, these weird tower-line-guys were shaking their heads in disapproval. Are they working for my mom? For "What Not to Wear?" Whatever. I didn't even know they were there.

I also have a slight personal vendetta against artificial sweetener, though I know that many respectable people insist they are perfectly fine. However, on very rare occasions, I'll reach for a diet soda (normally if I want a soda, I just get the regular, delicious, full-sugar variety). I bought a Coke Zero the other day and ended up placing the nearly-full bottle in the fridge, because it just was pretty nasty. Meanwhile, the tower-line-guys applauded me for refusing the remainder of my beverage. I get it: I don't like artificial sweetener either.

Why do they care so much about my health and beauty choices? Well, I've been calling them tower-line-guys, but maybe they're girls.

I've recently been pushing myself to get more water. As I chug a bottle each morning to start my day on the right track, the tower-line-guys high-five each other and nod their encouragement in my direction.

If there was just one of them, I've come to find out, it would be a totally different story. If there's just one tower-line-guy, he (or she?) is much more forgiving about what I do. This one doesn't really care. But you get two, and look out! They're all up in your business!

So just who the heck are these...uh...line-guys? I say again that I had no idea they even existed until the one day I was just not feeling well. And you know how much they care about health and wellness. What are they? The lifestyle police? Personal trainers? So maybe I'm not in picture-perfect shape...back off! Then my friend made a suggestion to me about something that might make me feel better.

I was stunned at her suggestion. But it's how I met these line-guys. I followed her advice, waited a couple minutes, then suddenly turned around, and there they were!

Lines. Two of them. Grinning from ear to ear. And pink.

Yep. I'm pregnant!

(For more information, please see "On Giving Birth to My IUD.")

Writer Sabbatical, then More

2011-06-05T23:28:00.000-04:00

Total silence has settled over the past couple of weeks here, but I've not disappeared. Sorry for the lull!

I have been distracted by crazy stuff and keeping busy with life. Maybe I'll get into more of that later, but here's a quick update.

Adelaide's Four-Molar Race was triumphantly ended officially by the bottom-right molar after all. Then the Three-Molar Race swiftly took the torch and kept the wacky teething shenanigans going until it was brought to a confetti-filled extravanza when the bottom-left molar won. If you think this stuff is boring, come move in with us when the Two-Molar race revving in the wings decides to take off. The top two molars are positioning themselves even now.

Levi's been absolutely blind-siding me with his pure-minded observations on life and how he says "clickly" instead of "quickly." I can't believe I'll start homeschooling him in about 15 months; this reality is also blind-siding me.

And the big news unfolding is that it's time for me to start my first book. I just feel it and know it and am a tad wide-eyed as I face it. But I'm ready and am excited to jump into what I've always known was one day coming. There's a giant, shrieking grin inside me, trying to bust through all my cells as this reality sets in and as I try to evaluate my life and schedule to make changes that will accomodate this happy endeavor. For the longest time, it wasn't time. But now it's time. (*Shriek!*)

So my brief sabbatical from posting is finally broken even if only by a quick checking in, but thanks for stopping in to read, and here's to lots more writing to come, in whatever form it comes.

File Under: Things Never to Share Publicly

2011-05-22T21:40:00.001-04:00

...and yet, there's this little voice that tells me it must be shared.

After a week of gray days and fairly constant rain, the sunny warmth drew us outside for a walk this afternoon. Jed stayed home to finish his nap, so I pushed Adelaide along in her stroller and Levi skipped ahead and behind and all around. It was just going to be a 20-minute walk or so. No big deal.

But five minutes in, Levi stopped and exclaimed that he needed to go potty. Now, he's a boy, so when we can be pretty discreet, and when we're far away from an actual potty, I'll let him go in nature. We were near a beautiful, giant Christmas tree whose bottom branches formed a circle with about a 15-foot diameter. It stood on the yard-like strip of grass between the sidewalk and the condo carports on the other side. There was a void in its broad skirt of branches on a back portion of the tree, and I directed Levi to sort of enter inside the tree from that empty spot. No one was around. He went in and dropped his pants, which I thought somewhat odd, but didn't care. I told him to hurry and began looking around sort of nervously.

It's so rare to actually pass someone on this path, but don't you know, this day would be different. This day would give us a spectator. It was a guy, and he appeared to be in college, so I figured, "If anyone would understand, surely this dude would." As he approached, I glanced over at Levi to see if he was finished, and he was just standing there, pants around his ankles, arms to his sides. "What is he doing?" I thought with my nerves starting to constrict. No sooner had I thought the thought than, and just prepare yourselves for this, but two long poops fell from his behind. Onto the grass.

Just like a little horse. Out in a pasture. No concerns in the world. Just an animal doing whatever he wants. In public. For passersby. There's no shame. Only freedom and joy.

I quickly searched for a deep well into which I could jump head first, considered removing the drain grate from the street next to me and disappearing there, but instead, I looked right up at the guy, and smiled, "Excuse us."

Then I buried my head in my arms on the stroller pusher-bar and burst into uncontrollable laughter.

Awkward. The guy just smiled and kept going, oh so graciously and calmly.

When I looked back up at Levi, he was looking around at stuff and pulling up his pants. I decided if ever there was a "teachable moment," this had to be one, and I gave him the run-down about what is not and what is (sort of) acceptable in outdoor voiding etiquette. He genuinely seemed confused as to why that was the case, and I just gave my best explanation followed by, "Just don't do it." How could I have missed this important tidbit of distinction that first time he "went" in the trees? Things you just don't think about until you're staring it down in real time.

We made our circuit, and when we passed back by "The Spot" on our way home, Levi sauntered by, then ran back and shouted, "Hey, that's where I went poop!" Fortunately, no passersby. Unfortunately, I don't think I communicated the gravity of the situation.

I mean, what's worse? The dog owner who doesn't pick up after their dog, or the HUMAN owner who doesn't pick after their HUMAN? I left it there for two reasons: I had no means by which to tidily remove it, and it was hidden. OK, three reasons: it's good fertilizer, dang it.

How was I supposed to know I should've brought along one of those little plastic baggies?!

Anyway, I can assure you that now we both know better. No more free-little-pony-in-the-field for Levi.

And Then There Was Adelaide

2011-05-21T20:41:00.001-04:00

We knew her 18 months before she was conceived. We knew her name was Adelaide, a reference to the noble stature we are privileged and expected to assume as sons of God. We prayed for her and called for her, and our apostle had a dream about her until...there she was!

Mild-tempered, quick-minded, and full of giggles, she has made this year fun and fast. Starting with a fairly uneventful and, dare I say, easy labor (thanks, at the end, to the epidural I tried yet again to avoid until I changed my mind, ha!), this first year has pretty much followed suit (recurring thrush and teething episodes aside [and for which there was no epidural]).

She has ensured that she totally owns her daddy, has earned the affections of her big brother, and has also begun to learn to put that big brother in his place if necessary.

The dark, almost black eyes, the widest-mouth screams of protest, the head tossing from side to side as she crawls around excitedly, the bouncy dance done to Daddy's beat-boxing, the little head-butt nuzzles, and the various laughs from cackly to robust all speak of "Adelaide: Year One" in our memories.

Miss Adelaide Vivian, you are such a joy and a glory and a blessing to our family! Yahweh has great purpose for your life, and we bless you to know Him and to love Him, to love authority, obedience, and the total trusting yieldedness of being off the edge in the spirit. May you never be hindered by perceived limits as you take Him at His word.

We love you, sweet Bitty. Happy Birthday!

A Year Ago Today...

2011-05-20T11:31:00.000-04:00

...was my due date with Adelaide: May 20. I was as big as a house. Mom was in town, and we took Levi to the park to let him play and to get my mind off the whole impending-delivery thing that takes over one's thoughts.

I got my hair trimmed that day, and it was such a quick trim that my stylist took me back to the massage room and gave me a foot massage to relax the aches and maybe induce labor. I had told her that I was feeling "funny" that day. Something was happening. And she got a great tip.

At church that night, a friend said, "Oh, you're going into labor tonight. You have that different walk going on." (I think "different walk" equates to "funky duck waddle" or possibly "been-riding-a-horse-too-long mosey.") I told her I felt "funny" and that I had the same notion.

Lo and behold, I awoke that night at around 1:30 a.m. with mild, but consistent contractions.

Adelaide was on her way!

Can't believe it's been one day shy of a year that we met our little sweetheart.

Hi, I'm a Parent. What Was I Saying?

2011-05-18T12:08:00.001-04:00

Hey, parents. Remember when you were younger, when you didn't have kids, and when you were so brilliant and had it all together and wondered in hushed tones about the parents around you who seemed a bit frazzled, forgetful, crazy-eyed, and perhaps not altogether "there?"

I only ask because I have a certain, vague recollection of putting a strong brain to good use in reasonable, logical, useful ways, and often. I remembered stuff. But now that I have kids, I do strange things that do not compute. I forget mid-action what I'm even doing. It's because I'm actually doing 62 3/4 things at once, but which one was I doing just then? This is Hi-I'm-a-Parent Syndrome.

It really hit me a couple months ago when I was trying to finish my coffee, clean up breakfast, corral the kids, ponder a melody for a new song, call the pediatrician, and sweep the floor. I was sweeping when my flow was broken by the kids, and after I resolved the crisis, I (thought I) recalled what I was doing and proceeded to hold my coffee cup up to my ear and put my phone in my mouth. After I realized I can't make a phone call by chewing my phone (or, sadly, by listening to my coffee cup), I made the call and moved on to something else on my list.

Much later, I spotted the broom leaning against the wall by Jed's music station and remembered to finish sweeping.

There are also the little bits of insanity. The coffeemaker sits next to the microwave, and it's been more than once that I've removed the carafe, poured my cup of coffee, immediately considered what I needed to do next, opened the microwave door, and set the coffee carafe safely inside.

I was stirring the oatmeal on the stove this morning, emptying the dishwasher in between stirs. Adelaide loves the dishwasher and always seems to find the sharpest, most dangerous object on which to attach her affections. She also loves to climb, and will get inside the dishwasher the minute I turn my back. By now you know I can be rather slow in the morning, so I was keeping it to the oatmeal, the dishwasher, and Adelaide. Remove Adelaide, stir, stack some dishes in the cabinet, stir, remove Adelaide and soothe her protests while managing her recalcitrant little wiggles, and so forth. But somewhere along the lines, the Hi-I'm-a-Parent Syndrome overcame me, and I began to lose focus and start thinking about something else I would finish later. I remember keeping Adelaide out of trouble throughout, but it wasn't until the microwave timer I'd set for the oatmeal went off that it jolted me back to the present and I realized what I was doing. I had emptied the dishwasher, filled it with the few dirty dishes, then begun removing the dirty dishes I'd just put in there and putting them away.

I'm not sure it's the best use of my time to repeat everything I have to do, but with all the fun stuff we get to manage in our crazy, full, blessed lives, I guess it's not the worst thing to sometimes just totally forget what we

The Four-Molar Race

2011-05-16T11:52:00.000-04:00

What is it with some kids and teething? Levi's teeth just sort of showed up with minimal symptoms to indicate what was going on. I think I might remember maybe two or three times that we had to give him Tylenol because he seemed sort of uncomfortable. That's no big deal compared to the IV we have running into Adelaide's arm right now. (Before you get too upset, that's just hyperbole, but we are giving her much more, only at night, and only after days that have indicated she's in pretty substantial pain, which has been quite a lot lately.)

At around 12-14 months, kids start working on what they call the "First-Year Molars," which are their first molars. Molars, incidentally, seem to be the most painful teeth to cut through, probably because their surface is much broader and pushes up (or down) against a broader patch of gums. I've been able to see in Adelaide's mouth for about two weeks now that she has two very puffy spots in the molar region on the bottom of her mouth. But a week ago, I stuck my finger in her mouth to feel their progress when I felt two puffy spots in the molar region on the top half. And that's Adelaide for you. She has a mouth full of teeth already, which she started producing at just under 5 months, and of course, she would start her First-Year Molars at 11 months, and while they usually come in pairs, she would go ahead and get four going all at once. On the chart below, she has the teeth labeled 1 and 2, top and bottom, and now she's working on the ones labeled 4, top and bottom.

http://www.teething-babies.co.uk/teething-process/teething-chart.php

Why all the boring talk about teeth? Because, for some reason, teeth are all the rage at our house these days. And while kids are different about teething pain, parents are different about functioning on sleep loss. I have a lot to overcome when I have interrupted sleep. Adelaide interrupts my sleep. It's a sad combination!

So now I've initiated the Four-Molar Race. The last time Adelaide's teething troubles tormented me, I was on the phone with my mom and both my sisters in tears from lack of sleep and days spent soothing a cranky baby. This time, I feel as though the world is with me if I blog about it (even if it's not, of which I can remain blissfully ignorant). Of course, it's pretty much my mom and my sisters who read this blog, but that's fine! If you think this is a rather pathetic grasp at sympathy, I can only nod my head in shame.

However, this morning (and here's the great news!), after a long, long, so long night, I stuck my finger in Adelaide's mouth feeling certain I'd feel at least two fully emerged teeth. Surely, after all that turmoil and pain, her body had pushed them completely through. OK, I knew that wouldn't be the case, but what I did feel was her bottom-right molar, starting to poke through! I felt tooth! One small corner and part of a ridge. This is good news. Every little breakthrough motivates us to stay the course (As if I had a choice on this one; and of course, if I did, I'd still choose to stay the course...I like having teeth and feel like she does, too.)

So right now, the bottom-right molar is in the lead after just over two weeks. And I'd been thinking it'd be the bottom-left. (A mom's mental focus is not often the most fascinating thing to follow, clearly.)

On a final note, I joked while pregnant with Adelaide that if the adage "you are what you eat" applies to my growing baby, then I was well on my way to giving birth to Cap'n Crunch. I'm glad to have been wrong, but now I'm wondering if perhaps Adelaide is actually some sort of shark hybrid.

We won't know for sure until she starts growing her second row of teeth after she's gotten all these first ones out of the way...I'll keep you posted.

Ack! No sooner do I joke about something people should just avoid than I find out it does happen! (See below.) I apologize, Adelaide.

Meanwhile, we're off to the races! And yes, I'm glad she is growing so healthy and strong!

'Til We're All Wearing Fancy Hats

2011-04-29T23:10:00.001-04:00

If you haven't heard about the royal wedding between Prince William and the now Duchess of Cambridge, Kate, I don't know how to help you. After my day, I know more about it than I'd expected I would, but it's not because I set my alarm clock for the middle of the night and drudged downstairs at 3 a.m. to witness it live. The spark of youthful spontaneity and craziness still lingers in me, but my two children do not honor it by sleeping in the next day. And as my now-in-its-30s body would be just this side of comatose come normal wake-up time, leaving my children uncared for, I decided to drop into bed at my usual hour and remain asleep when 3 a.m. rolled around.

Nevertheless, today proved highly eventful, making up for any lost 3 a.m. excitement, while at the same time patting me on the back for making the wise decision about not stirring from my happy slumber at 3 a.m. Had I sabotaged my rest last night only to confront today, it might've turned out soooooo much differently. I needed my wits about me.

For the past few days, Levi's been mentioning a tummy ache, which I've just been half-watching and half-dismissing. He hardly ever gets sick, but yesterday when we were cutting out a pteranodon to hang from his ceiling, he suddenly grabbed his tummy and exclaimed, "Ow! Ow! Ow!" as he ran to the couch to curl up. I grabbed my phone and dialed the pediatrician. The doc said it looked like a basic bug and recommended the usual fluids and rest. Adelaide, all the while, just played. We walk to our doctor visits whenever we can, because they're so close, and after this one, Levi was feeling OK and it was sunny, so we took a bit of a longer route for some fresh air and exercise (that falls under "rest" ...sometimes). I pushed Adelaide along, and Levi and I pointed out all the high water and rushing streams from the recent thunderstorms. As we neared the "arrow buttons," as Levi calls the buttons you push at intersections to get the "Walk" signal, I noticed the dark clouds being blown our way from the blustery wind. We picked up the pace to no avail and ended up rushing through the sudden rain to a random line of condo carports for shelter. Levi, making the most of the situation, decided to perform a dance. Sorry it's sideways, but I thought it worth sharing:

As for Levi's tummy ache, let me add the most unusual fact. Levi has never thrown up. So in my 4 1/2 years of parenting bliss, he has never given me that "Yakking Child" experience, and I in no way cherish resentment at life for not giving it to me. I'll be just fine if we can successfully send him off to college and into adulthood totally vomit free.

So what was Adelaide up to all this time? She was hanging out, taking things in, enjoying the walk and the rain, just doing what we do. But underneath it all, she, my precious little princess, was working on giving me that "Yakking Child" experience. I had failed to tell her that it was something I didn't need for mommy validation. I know she would have kept it all to herself had I remembered that important Finley Household Rule. Sweet child. In all her going-with-the-flow ways, she somehow absorbed the same bug Levi has, but she expressed it much differently.

She's been working on her first-year molars, so when she woke up fussy this morning, I thought nothing of it. But the bitter, gagging tendrils of air that seized my nose when I opened her bedroom door told me a different story. It reeked of bile. Her crib was like a war zone of things splattered, things you don't want me to describe. Somewhere under all the various chunks of yesterday's meals (oh yeah, sorry) and other stuff from the other end, I found my baby, sobbing. Some of it was fresh, some of it was not, and I just looked at her miserable state and recognized the evidence of the "Yakking Child" experience. Had I been up at 3 a.m. to watch the royals, I might've heard her in there puking away. Again, good decision, mom.

Today was rainy all day and involved more of Levi's tummy aches, and a hundred nasty diaper changes and clothes changes for Adelaide. Obviously, the diarrhea reflex is triggered by fresh clothing. It started after I got her out of her crib this morning and completely scrubbed her clean, getting her into a fresh diaper and clothes. As soon as we got downstairs, I heard another diaper blow-out, one that managed to put both the pants and the shirt in quarantine. We repeated this cycle a few times until we basically put a sign in our yard that read "Quarantine," fending off innocent passersby. If I could've found Jed's extra tool belt, I would've been well served to just keep the room spray and hand sanitizer hanging on my person at all times.

Neither kid ate anything worth mentioning all day, and Adelaide began dirtying her diapers less frequently this evening, and after a bath for them both, bedtime seemed like it would be peaceful and welcomed by all. I marveled at the fact that I'd finally had the "Yakking Child" experience and had remained asleep at 3 a.m. like a brilliant sage. I put beautiful-smelling nighttime lotion on Adelaide, who was a bit fussy with fatigue but otherwise relaxed from her bath. Preventive baby powder, a fresh diaper, and cozy, clean clothes went on her, and I turned on her fan, turned off her light, and grabbed her warm bottle, settling into the glider. Her formula was the one thing she was sort of taking, although in smaller doses, so when she immediately pushed it away and fussed, I was a little confused. She started to writhe and squirm, so I sat her up. She turned right to me and burped a cute, little burp. I managed a smile just before her body lurched and she spewed a ferocious, powerful fount of vomit all over me, all over the chair behind me, all over the big, stuffed horse lying next to the chair. When it stopped, I sat stunned for 1/100 of a second before she spewed another violent torrent all over me and broke down into tears.

I just thought, "Yeah, OK, now you've had the 'Yakking Child' experience." So I prayed over her and prophesied that that whole spew got all the yuckies out, went through Round 2 of our cozy night-night routine, with the addition of removing furnishings from her room and changing my own clothes, and skipping the bottle, before putting her down exhausted.

What I've failed to mention thus far is that the rainy, sick day we've had has lended itself to movies for the kids and Royal Wedding coverage for me. And that's how I know way more about it than I think I otherwise would have at this point. History was made on both sides of the ocean for me today. Big wedding for them. Kid vomit for me. And I've realized two important things.

First, you're all right. The "Yakking Child" experience is not pleasant. I'm planning a Mama/Bubba date with Levi to formulate an immediate, workable plan we can execute together to keep him on the no-yak track. (Even though I feel fairly certain that's all he needs to do to start feeling better...no matter.)

Second, I am determined to wear a fancy hat every day forever.
Like these:

NOT THIS, ha ha!:

So the cat wasn't really in this hat, but it
might as well have been!

They are awesome. And also, I might become British. I love America, but I know for a fact that British children do not yak on their parents. They bring them tea and slippers. Right? And because I know I'm not the only one, I'm posting it here publicly, so that we all will stand together and bring the hat thing to this side of the pond. I will not let this kid vomit business be for naught! Who's with me?!

Easter-ous Festivous

2011-04-26T12:24:00.001-04:00

(We've already established over at God.Love.Family.Life that Easter activities have no special holy significance, nor do they have anything to do with the "now reality" of Yahshua's resurrection. We won't get into that here.)

So having gone over and over for my son that there is a HUGE distinction between holiday shenanigans and the holiness of what we live every day, we had so much fun on Easter! We did it up and got giddy about it just like we would for a family day set aside to go to Pizza Putt. Was I just another lemming as I went through Walmart perusing chocolate bunnies and mints? To the degree that I was pumping cash into the massive machine that is holiday consumption, I was aware of it and made the conscious decision to dive right in this year, lemming or not. By diving in, I mean a few dollars, though, so don't get the wrong idea. I had to fit it into my budget or it would've been a no-go. Sorry, kids. We don't go into debt for this stuff (says the woman who actually had a bag full of horrible, plastic Easter grass tucked away in my closet with the basket and plastic eggs we use every year)! (But, hey, at least I don't give him chalky, crumbly, old chocolate I bought on sale last year...Tempting as it may be.)

For the first year, Levi got an Easter basket of goodies from the "Easter Bunny" who he knows is not real, but we have a fun time pretending it (Last year, he just used the basket to collect eggs). His reactions last week were hilarious as I explained to him in excited tones the things that sometimes happen on Easter...things like egg hunts and baskets and...caaaaaandyyyy. When Saturday came and we were looking forward to the next day, Levi ran through the house screaming, "I LOVE EASTERRRRRRRR!" Jed and I were cracking up as he raced by his sister and began his "I'm excited" ritual of running laps around the kitchen, circle after circle after circle.

Sunday morning, when he came out of his room with puffy eyes and crazy hair, he gave me a big, sparkly smile and yawned out, "Happy EASTER, Mommy!" Finding his Elmo basket on the table downstairs was delight beyond compare until he spotted one of his dyed eggs peaking out from the corner under his work table. Total glee. I told him he better get after it, because those eggs were his breakfast!

We did breakfast (in a rush, despite my best efforts to get us all down there with plenty of time), then had an incredible time at our church gathering, then came home to our ham and saucy potatoes cooking (not quickly enough) in the crockpot. We made it through the al dente potatoes so we could get outside into the beautiful sunshine. Levi had more eggs to hunt: these were the plastic ones with you-can-only-guess-what inside. Actually, we did take the extra time to eat the fluffy strawberry Jell-O pie. This was the first year I'd made one of those, and I have to admit, we were a touch disappointed. Are we crazy? One more tradition we'll not embrace. One year when I was about 9, my mom made a coconut cake in the shape of a bunny, and if I'm feeling all Martha Stewart next year, maybe I'll give that a try. Sorry, Jell-O.

The especially good news is that none of the squirrels partook in Levi's egg hunt this year. Last year, the thieving marmots helped themselves. As if those neurotic bundles of energy need ANY more sugar!

We did get a few pictures of it all, then we took a walk and later that afternoon ran Levi at the playground until we could tell that the sugar energy was expended and he had reached exhaustion. Mission accomplished.

We Finleys hope that your celebration was full of cheer as ours was and that, while Easter is over, the resurrection power He intended for us all is ever-increasing in your life.

Mommy Euphoria

2011-04-22T15:12:00.000-04:00

There are certain moments in a mommy's life when glorious euphoria hits and your heart swells and all is right.

Here are a few such moments I've experienced recently:

Rocking Adelaide to sleep. We put her down slightly awake, and she can go to sleep on her own, but Jed and I have this thing where we just really love snuggling our kids at sleepy times, so we do it. When she's finally relaxed and just melted into your arms, all warm and content, there's no comparison. If we don't fall asleep ourselves, we leave the room slightly transfixed, walking on clouds.
Snuggling Levi to sleep. Same thing. He is such a strong, active little boy, but when he's sleepy and snuggly right after we've finished our bedtime stories and said our prayer, there's nothing like those little four-year-old nuzzles and his puffy lips and cheeks, which are grazed by his long eyelashes, as he dozes off.
Sibling love. When Adelaide is fussy and I can't get right to her, like on car trips, Levi will start talking sweetly to her or make goofy sounds and faces and hand her toys. She almost always stops crying and starts giggling, then sometimes she gives her deep belly laugh. She adores her funny older brother who takes such good care of her.
Lessons applied. Hearing Levi remember to say "please" and "thank you" without outside inducement, and watching him hold doors open for others or clean his dishes and napkin after a meal is satisfaction times a million.
Child-like faith. Hearing Levi talk to Yahweh or ask me questions about Him and Yahshua is the greatest satisfaction. And I'll hear Levi giving direction to his angels, as he hears us do, and singing worship songs while he plays with his toys. *Sigh* Love it!

Anything worthwhile is a challenge. Anything worth fighting for requires a fight. Parenting falls into those categories. But man, oh man: The rewards are sooooo rich! I'm ever grateful for the two mind-blowing gifts God has entrusted to us.

On Giving Birth to My IUD

2011-04-19T17:46:00.000-04:00

(WARNING! If you're a guy, you probably don't want to read this. I use terms for the female anatomy and talk about contraception. Consider yourself warned.)

I am so not consistent in my blog writing, but it seems when I write one, I get in a sort of zone and decide to post on my other blog. So here goes. I just wrote about my recent foray into abortion research (on my other blog), and coupled with the events of the last few days, I felt compelled to share the following highly female experience. Guys, seriously, bail out now.

Sometime yesterday, I went into labor! But imagine a look of absolute terror and confusion on my face, rather than the only-slightly-nervous elation of a pregnant woman. 'Cause I wasn't pregnant.

If you've had a baby naturally, all I need to say is "transition" and I send cold chills up and down your spine. Well, it wasn't quite that bad, but close. Throughout the day, I had terrible contraction-like cramps. They were on the level where my kids would try to get my attention, and I would be doubled over, doing my breathing exercises, trying to move around to a new position that might alleviate the pain. I had my right arm extended horizontally out beside me, pointed toward them with my hand in the upright, flat "talk to the hand" position. That was Mommy body language for "QUIET!" Getting through the pain was my sole point of focus.

OK, so I've just started doing abortion research, which I won't talk about here, but I also recently heard that IUDs (intrauterine devices, used as contraception) don't just keep a sperm and egg from meeting but also help keep such a joining from implanting into the uterus should such a joining occur. As one who has always held that life begins at conception and that "conception" happens when the sperm and egg meet, I realized I probably did not want an IUD after all.

Right around then, I started getting bad cramps every so often. Then the day before yesterday, they were bad and didn't really let up as much as usual. Then yesterday, oh, yesterday. It turns out that my cervix was trying to eject it, and a cervix is created to eject things (that is, children) by contracting (that is, labor). Talk about a confirmation: get it out, lady!

So, I kind of gave birth to my IUD. Joy. Actually, I went in to my doctor and had her finish the job and remove it, but all I'll ever really remember is the day my unpregnant body went into labor.

I mean, come on!

When Kids Act Like Kids: Shocking Travesty or Just Life, Dude?

2011-04-03T22:34:00.000-04:00

I didn't used to like kids. Or I didn't think I did. I didn't get them, so I just wasn't sure. And, of course, we all have these ideals of how kids should be or families should look, ad nauseam. I'm the youngest in my family and didn't really have much opportunity to understand little ones. I used to steer waaaaay clear of them, all due to ignorance and probably no small dose of selfishness. And then there's the worst offense ever: The giving of the opinion on other people's children when I'd not had children of my own, and certainly no experience with that family's circumstances (never to their faces; is that better or worse?). Nice. How obnoxious I was. So I do get it when people are uncomfortable around them. Totally. What I don't get is people who don't try to even pretend some semblance of kindness or, worse, people who are blatantly snobbish and rude. That does not bode well with Mrs. Finley, not one trifle.

My apostle at church has said that when his son was little, he always took note of how people would treat his boy. He said you can often tell a lot about a person by how they treat little kids. I couldn't agree more. Fortunately, even in my obnoxious, single, kidless, and kid-phobic days, I was still kind to them to the degree that I knew how. So I passed his test. Just barely, I presume. But I totally get it now. I'm so aware of how people treat not just my kids, but children, even the lively, willful ones (are there any who aren't?).

To wax philosophical, as I'm prone to do, the next generation is a treasure trove of possibility and potential and beautiful strength. We must sow as much as we can into them: as much love, as much wisdom, as much Truth, as much about the faithfulness of God, as much time as we can. Once kids enter the picture, our lives are no longer our own. They are, but they aren't. You parents know what I mean.

We know some people who absolutely adore our children and are such a blessing in their lives. They pray for them, they see the purpose of the Lord developing in them, and they find ways to speak life to them and enjoy them. I am so grateful for those people! They are true family, both natural and spiritual. With our spiritual family here in Vermont, it's truly the body of Christ at work when I see those particular people acting on our kids' behalf out of a true love. And that's how I feel about other kids in my life. I see them, hoping to gain understanding of their ages and personalities, and I relish them and want to find ways to affirm them and bless them in the same way that others have for my kids. Especially as someone with a ministry calling, I would be sort of an idiot if I didn't recognize the next generation bubbling over with life all around me, and the important and privileged role I have as an adult in their lives to make an impact.

But at the same time, I know that kids are kids. And with the case of my son, Levi, boys are boys! Seeing them in their full "kidness" is something I now absolutely adore. By the same token, I find more and more these days that I'm aware of anyone around me who would sneer their lips toward my kids or raise their eyebrows or ignore them or otherwise treat them like pariahs, just like my apostle was when his son was younger. More and more, I understand what he meant. You can indeed tell a lot about a person by the way he treats young children. And the Mama Bear in me comes out when those who should know better take issue with children who are acting like, well, children.

We're all on some part of the Learning Curve of Life, and we never peak or plateau. But if we adults can't get past our personal preferences that don't make room for crazy childhood antics, the next generation could be in trouble. Listen, most of you reading this know that I'm aaaall about discipline and training and having requirements. I'm not talking about that. I'm talking about when kids are just being kids, and some of them are more energetic than others. Suck it up. We're the grown-ups now. So maybe we can lighten up! Let kids be kids! And have some grace for the parents around you who still haven't figured out how to be perfect and for the kids who are being nothing more than curious, boundary-pushing, bouncy balls of happy energy. Something about loving one another, or something like that...

And it might be imperative that we love the kids in our lives and sow into the next generation even if they do like to run and jump and shout and remind you that life can still be lively every once in a great while.

The Saga of the Mello Yello and the Toilet Water: Part 2

2011-03-28T21:33:00.000-04:00

Remember my last post about Levi's incessant questioning as if he's holding a heat lamp down over my head and peering into my eyes. The Walmart soda cooler? The Mello Yello?

Mello Yello. Doesn't the name sound soothing? It sounds like a nighttime hot tea that makes you drowsy. If given the choice, based on moniker alone, between Coke, Sprite, Dr. Pepper, and Mello Yello for a preschooler; it seems like a no-brainer. Forget that it's laden with sugar and fizzy pop snappiness. It's mellow, for goodness' sake! Besides, I never see it around, have no idea what it is, other than its citrus flavor, and it seemed novel at the time.

Well...Sunday morning, just before our sound check, I was getting set up and changing some settings on the piano. I heard one of the guitarists behind me:

"Uh, so. I read your blog the other day about the Mello Yello?" It was a statement, but he ended it with a rising pitch as though he didn't quite understand me fully and needed more information.

"Oh, yeah?" I said, turning around on the piano bench.

"Um, yeah. Did you know that Mello Yello is Coca-Cola's version of Mt. Dew? It's got a TON of caffeine in it." His eyes were wide. He's a parent. He knows.

Holy Bad Mothering, Batman!

My eyes got huge. "Are you serious?" I said out loud.

"Are you a MORON?" I asked myself via inner monologue. "Good thing you displayed it for the world on the Internet." No, seriously, good thing. Sometimes we just need someone to tell us we're making a terrible, terrible mistake.

I quickly did a mental check to see if that day had ended very badly, then relief spread across my face. When we had gotten home from that Walmart trip, I noted in awe that Levi had gone straight to the refrigerator and put the Mello Yello in there, with only about an inch of liquid missing from the top. I remember marveling that he didn't drink more.

"Oh, wow," I said as the recollection dawned, and I told our guitarist how God totally had us covered and didn't let Levi finish it.

He laughed, "Well, I just kept wondering when Levi would come down from orbiting space, and I kept thinking, 'Does she know? Nah, surely she knows. Should I say something?'"

I was like, "Man, especially with stuff like that, and with me, always say something!!" For the sake of all that is lovely...

The Moral of the Story: Levi + Mello Yello = NOT MELLOW

And Also: Yahweh is awesome and has us covered even, and especially, when we're babbling baboons.

Now for Round 2 of the "Pee in the Toilet Water" parable.

My mom's in town! Yea! Sunday afternoon after church, she was playing with Levi in the living room, then she excused herself to go to the bathroom.

Levi caught her attention to relay something very important. "Grandmama, only pee in the toilet water, OK?"

She just raised her eyebrows, "OK."

We have standards, people.

(Yes, yes, you're right: clearly not with Mello Yello, but I promise, with everything else...?)