When the Wind Wolf-Whistled (Ostensibly at Me)

I used to think that people were taking poetic license when they talked about the wind having voices. Then we moved to Oklahoma. Here the wind is a tangible presence. It's more than just the occasional errant breeze blowing the hair into your face; it's its own person, its own personality. And honestly, most of the time the Oklahoman wind neither slumbers nor sleeps. It has angry days, like the one where it smashed my Mexican dolphin wind-chimes into tiny glass shards. It has insistent, pestering days where its stubbornness makes walking with the double stroller twice the workout (and forget about running). It has comforting days when its consistency sounds like the ocean waves I miss in the middle of a land-locked state. The last few days though, our wind has been on a bit of a mental breakdown. It has growled, shrieked, whistled, pounded, hooted (no lie), and pretty much pulled out all the stops to give us a rip-roaring good show. I have to say, it almost makes me wonder if the wind's girlfriend broke up with him. He shows all the signs of trying to get over a lost love. Minus eating several pints of ice cream and crying in front of the TV while watching a chick-flick. 

A New Heart-Book

The boys and I stopped by the library today on a whim. It had been a while. It's been a while since I've engaged in much other than nursing, changing diapers, and surviving. But life begins again, and with it, the true necessities begin to take their rightful place. True necessities like books.

Little Man was jonesing for a Bob the Builder book. My disappointment in his literary acumen is unparalleled. You know, you try and try to provide your children with the finest things in life, and then you find them joyously rolling around in the pig sty of Bob the Builder. I allowed him one Bob book (against my better judgement), and then picked out four others that I would actually enjoy reading to him. And yes, I did have a great time reading Dr. Seuss's There's a Wocket in my Pocket. Except that now I'm just waiting for a Bofa to show up on my sofa (or a Zower in my shower, for that matter). My favourite pick though, happened to be If You Listen by Charlotte Zolotow. And, incredibly enough, Little Man miraculously (and thankfully) prefers it over the inane Bob the Builder book he brought home. The lucky truth is that I almost left without the Zolotow book. I already had four books for L.M., and was heading out the door when it caught my eye, and I grabbed it without really paying attention to what it was about.

When we got home, L.M. poked through the stack of books while Tiny (yes, that's what I've decided to dub the baby for this blog's use) napped and I did a quick clean of the bathrooms. Then we sat down to read. And L.M. immediately picked up If You Listen for the simple reason that it had a train on the back cover, and he's a little obsessed right now. And so we began. The timing of this book couldn't have been more fortuitous. It's about a little girl asking her mother how she knows her father loves her when he has been gone for a long time and she can't hear his voice or feel his hugs or see his face. The mother responds by telling her that it's a type of listening, the way you listen for a far away sound when you can't see the source of origin (it's much more poetic in the book). So L.M. is sitting there looking for trains in the book, and I'm just feeling the unconscionable need to tear up as my mind is racing ahead to the deployment when Big Man will be gone for long months and I will be left telling my own children how much Daddy loves them when they can neither see nor hear him. And then I noticed that in almost every illustration there was a picture of the father hidden. I have yet to go look through and see if he shows up on every page, but his outline was in the stars on one page and hidden in a cloud on another, and I just absolutely loved it! Somehow so did Little Man, which brings us to now.

Little Man requested a re-read before naptime, and I happily obliged him. I curled up with Tiny and L.M. on the toddler bed and read it while trying to find more Secretly Hidden Fathers, and then I grabbed the book to come out to blog about it. But L.M. wouldn't have it. He sobbed until I agreed to leave it on his dresser. Who'd have thought? Guess I picked a winner.

In Which I Happily Become a Lemming and then Unhappily a Goose

Incidentally, the lemming part is completely irrelevant to the following story since it only involves me putting out the recycling since everyone else did and it then actually being picked up. The excitement of a suburban housewife... although does a military base count as a suburb?

Anyway, this afternoon I set out to bake some cinnamon bread for the sole reason that I promised our neighbor gold bars or the worth of up to half my kingdom in exchange for watching Trigger and Oswald while we were out of state. Considering that I own neither gold bars nor anything that would equate a kingdom, I thought cinnamon bread was my next best bet (naturally accompanied by a batch of homemade chocolate almond biscotti, which will not be shared with her husband who informed me that no one really likes biscotti--philistine!). So while Little Man was napping serenely, Tiny and I took a brief foray into the world of baking. Unfortunately for me, Tiny happens to be very distracting, and I was dumping out the dough onto the counter to start kneading (and wondering why it looked so odd) when I realized that I had left out the 2 cups of water the recipe called for. Yes. Really. So, to a chorus of "Tiny, your mother is such a goose" I proceeded to cover the entire kitchen with bread dough in an attempt to get the water to goosh in. Yes. Really. My prayers are with the bread that is currently rising on the oven, but my faith is smaller than a mustard seed.

I was glad, however, that I had the right son for my baking buddy. Sure, Tiny laughed gleefully at my misfortune and gurgled pleasantly as I transformed our kitchen into a floury, watery mess, but Little's favourite word right now is "dorkwad", and I'm not sure my fragile self-esteem could've held up to such truthful criticism.

Final note, I wanted to take a picture of the craziness as it was occurring, but sadly I am not followed around by a professional film crew and was unwilling to contaminate my camera with what I hope will be dough. I did, however, get this shot of us after I got things mostly cleaned up. Tiny is giving me his best look of sympathetic scorn.

Rejoining the Land of the Living

Let's be honest: I fell off the face of the earth. I've discovered that having a new baby, plus a toddler, plus an endless stream of guests followed by an impromptu pre-deployment trip to see family just does that to me. But things are starting to settle in again now. It helps that Tiny has been regularly sleeping through the night for a few weeks now, and that the spring cleaning was mostly finished while my sister was here, and that I'm actually starting to feel more like I'm purposefully living each day instead of just trying to survive until I can sleep again. So yes, here I am again. And I hope to be writing more regularly over the next few months. This is more of a possibility since I'm not having to take a nap every day. Just most days. So on the non-nap days, you may be graced by my presence.

In the meantime, I am here, enjoying my last few weeks with the Man before he heads off to training, cherishing every moment of him and the boys, tolerating the pets most days, and enjoying things like lemonade and wind-chimes and freshly cut grass. And that is all the current excitement. More to come, hopefully soon...

Christmas Favourite

One of my favourite Christmas presents this year was Ann Voskamp's book One Thousand Gifts, given to me courtesy of my oldest sister and her family. I have to admit, I knew in advance that she was getting it for me for Christmas and when it arrived, it was really hard to wrap it and put it under the tree instead of starting in on it immediately. But I did. And began reading it on Christmas day while Little Man played with his new toys and the hubs investigated his stack of Christmas reading.

Let me just say: One Thousand Gifts is possibly the best book I read in 2011 (though technically I finished it in 2012). It was both encouraging and challenging, and the fact that it is still impacting the way I think and pray two months later (when I finally found the time to blog about it) says something. In it, Voskamp explores the theological ramifications of "eucharisteo" from which we get the word "eucharist" or communion. "Eucharisteo", which is built from the words "charis" (grace) and "chara" (joy), is the act of giving thanks. Essentially, Voskamp shares her personal journey as she strives to find joy in the daily purposeful giving of thanks for the many graces God gives. The struggle, though, is to see the grace of God even in the suffering of the world. It is a hard lesson to learn. But one worth learning.

Consequently, I am now trying to count my own one thousand gifts as I seek to see the hand of God in the day to day. I'm closing in on 300 that I've actually written down (many more that I've counted during the day when my hands are full of newborn baby instead of a pen and paper). I want to see God's grace in the sleepless nights, in the hundreds of poopy diapers, in the tantrums of a two year old whose world has gotten turned upside down (even if he adores his little brother). I'm learning, but the progress is slow.

And on that note, my blogging time has run out. Read the book. It's worth it.

Picture Post--I realize these don't happen very often...

I'm pretty sure the doctor was still sewing me up at this point... Welcome to the world, Tiny!

Yes. My boys are the most precious thing ever. And I'm not lying when I say the kiss was spontaneous. Mostly.

He is enamored. And I am loving watching him experience all this for the first time.

Learning to blow out birthday candles is so much fun. He may have had a little help.

Littles is going to open his own lawn care business. I wish he would start in his own back yard though. What was once a summertime dust bowl has become a winter jungle. How is that possible?

One week old and already getting chubby.

Being a superhero is exhausting. Sometimes, at the end of a long day, you just need to kick up your feet on the coffee table, steal your mom's water bottle, and take a load off.

Neni is enjoying all the little boy love. I am enjoying having someone else clean and cook. Littles is enjoying having a live in playmate. Win, win, win.

The Advent of Tiny

I decided to write a quick blog post about Tiny's arrival before I drifted off into some much desired sleep, but now that I'm writing I realize that all of the pictures are on the Man's computer not mine. And I'm (obviously) too lazy to do anything about that. So, pictures to come soon. In the meantime, Tiny got here Friday night at 9.34pm. He weighed in at 8lbs 9 oz (and I had the audacity to complain to the nurses that he wasn't over 9lbs) and was 20 inches long. And he's doing great. We're doing great. The whole family. It was incredibly wonderful having the Man here for the birth (he was a fantastic coach), and Little Man is loving his new brother, and Tiny is eating and sleeping like a champ, and I am, on the whole, incandescently happy.

There is just so much to be thankful for in this moment. Big things, like having my mother here to help out and the obvious fact that the Man is NOT deployed this go round, but little things too, like the way Tiny curls his toes and how Littles has suddenly discovered blowing bubbles in his sippy cup and the fact that my Bible props up perfectly on the breast pump. And I will never get over the heart breakingly beautiful moment when the doctor had to take Tiny out of the room briefly and Littles teared up and started crying that his brother was going somewhere without him. I have been blessed with two incredible boys and their one amazing father, and I am thankful--because I know that I don't deserve any of this, and the One who gave it to me is good.

For now, that's all.