Well, poop.

Almost four years ago, I was expecting my first child. With that came certain expectations–in all honesty, I wanted a girl. I wanted a dainty, precious, tender-hearted sweet girl who would sleep on a schedule, never get into anything dirty, play with dolls, and paint nails. God has a sense of humor, and at times it seems a little twisted to me. Four years and two boys later there is nothing dainty about our house, and there is LOTS. OF. DIRT. See this precious face….would you guess that this face has to be washed EVERY night because it’s usually covered in dirt, snot, food, and who knows what else?

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That sweet face, well, he ate poop. The hubby and I were sanding and cleaning off the siding on the house in an effort to get ready to sell (whole other post), and the boys were playing at their sand table. I glanced to do a check and make sure they were still getting along somewhat peacefully. I was puzzled when I noticed H was chewing something with a rather disgusted look on his face. Immediate panic set in when I crammed my fish-hook finger in his mouth to scrape out what he was chewing…poop. Dang dog poop. In four years we’ve had our fair share of poop encounters, but this was the grossest to me…my child was eating poop. I debated googling what to do, but figured that would just end in the assumption that he was going to die from it, so cringing, I broke out the water hose, did my best to scrape any remains of feces out of his precious mouth, and let him guzzle water.

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Thank you God for your sense of humor, precious boys who eat dirt and poop, but thank you most of all for letting them survive it! Also, if my little guy ever argues with me about trying a new food, I’m going to remind him that he was willing to try dog poop, so he sure as heck can try anything!

 

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Three Point Five {on my baby being three and a half}

T I M E   F L I E S

Last night, he walked out of the garage to follow his daddy and “help” mow. I reminded him about staying off the street because of “fast cars,” and he immediately replied “I’ll be fine” with a thumbs up. I laughed on the outside, but mostly in an effort to avoid crying.

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Everyday he says something clever, new, and I am amazed at what a spectacular young man God has given us. I worry (waaaaaaaaaay too much) that the influences of the outside world, other people, and media will harm him, but I MUST remember that our Heavenly Father loves him infinitely more than I can even begin to imagine.

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He admires his Daddy, me, and by the Grace of God, we’ll do our best to show him Christ’s love and help him learn that his greatest calling is to glorify God, love Him and love others.

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Having him look at me with his 3 and half year old wisdom and say “I’ll be fine,” was a heavenly reminder that God is in control and the plans He has for my little man are greater than any I can think of.

DSC_6775He is a fierce lover (and sometimes fighter), passionate, assertive, creative, intuitive, and just plain fun! I can’t wait to see what the rest of “three” is like!

Brownie Baking {also known as the time I realized my baby isn’t a baby}

So, my hubby took some fun pictures of C licking the brownie bowl. (Sorry, Betty Crocker, I know you have a note on the back of your box saying never to consume raw brownie batter, but c’mon! In my world, 87% of the reason I make brownies is so I can lick the bowl and/or spoon.) Anyway, when I uploaded these images, I may have gotten a little teary. My baby is not a baby, and I’ve known this for a while, but now he doesn’t even look like a toddler! He is a boy! A small man-child!

Random side-note: we have been ruined and can no longer make brownies without adding Reese’s peanut butter chips.

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My Chill Boy {16 Months}

An ode to 16 months…

Climbing, whining, teething, clinging.

Smiles, Brown Bear, Brown Bear,  brothers laughing, chasing…thuds, screaming!

“Puppy!” “Doggy!” “Izzy!” belly laughs.

Applesauce pouches, pasta, FRUIT, goldfish crackers, Momma’s milk.

Raspberries on my belly, gap-toothed grins, chasing bubbles.

“Nana” “Papa” “lalalala” “Dadda,” dimpled cheeks.

Squirmy, running, exploring, spinning, ear-tugging.

Water play, eating dirt, dirt in hair, running in rain, chin-quivering grins.

Sweet snuggles, lap-sitting, airplane-watching,

up

and

down

up

and

down

stairs, couches, steps, beds.

Bouncing, bouncing, Momma’s songs….lean to the left, itsy bitsy spider, VEGGIE TALES.

Climbing, whining, teething, clinging.

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My sweet chill boy (when you’re not teething),

I love you so! You bring us such joy and laughter. Your big brother loves to play (and sometimes torture) you. Your daddy loves to make you laugh, and I count you as one of God’s greatest gifts.

You are a treasure, worth more than anything under the sun or the moon.

Love, Momma

 

Epic Parenting Quote #2

cowAhh, bedtime routines with a three-year old Master Negotiator. {Seriously, the thought has already crossed my mind that when he grows up, he’ll be the guy on the phone with someone talking them through a hostage situation.} The hubby and I joke about Stall Tactics, but it’s only a joke to keep from losing our mind. Our Negotiator’s favorite Stall Tactics include pooping, reading about Jesus, and my personal favorite, praying…hard to say no to that one. Of course, he’s always suddenly starving or thirsty even though he’s turned away half his dinner. He also is more eager to read at bedtime than any other time as well.

When I saw this post from Glennon at Momastery, I couldn’t help but relate! It’s possible that someday I’ll miss all the interruptions and not having to convince a Master Negotiator that there isn’t a monster or cow in his room (btw, he mooed quietly before crying to me about a cow scaring him), but for now, I’d just like him to go to sleep without hearing 371 different Stall Tactics.

Three is HARD

Someone should’ve warned me just how difficult a three-year-old can be. I’ve always heard about the “terrible twos,” perhaps I’m looking back with rose-colored glasses, but in our house, 2 didn’t seem all that terrible. Sure there were tantrums, the whole potty-training bit, and general neediness, but that was nothing compared to 3. When did this adorable, intelligent, energetic baby become such a demanding, constantly negotiating, very opinionated child? One minute he’s strangling his baby brother and the next he’s saying, “I love you mama” in an aren’t-I-so-sweet-and-innocent voice.

This morning was especially hard. Dadda had to be at a powerlifting meet by 6:30, which meant everyone was awake extra early–like 5:45 AM. (In my honest, accurate opinion, if the sun is not up, then I shouldn’t be either.) Curious George was not the babysitter I hoped for, so anything more than 10 minutes for shower, make-up, etc. was out of the question for this momma. Both boys needed to be held and cuddled, and it’s times like this that I wonder why God didn’t give parents more arms.  Sadly, when both are crying and having meltdowns, I tend to have less patience (and since it was 6:15 AM on a Friday, I had zero patience) with my three year old. I know I should be more understanding….he was INSISTENT on wearing his basketball pants. (Again, I needed a warning that my 3 year old boy would have such strong opinions about his wardrobe.) Unfortunately, someone is behind on laundry and the basketball pants aren’t clean which caused an even bigger melt down, and it was all down hill from there. After lots of tears, the forceful putting on of pants, we loaded up and headed to school. I felt a wave of relief when I dropped the boys off, followed by immediate guilt.

Sure, three is hard. But three is also very entertaining, imaginative, inquisitive, and just plain fun. I love his constant questions, his playful imagination, his need for social interaction and the great outdoors. I love that he wants to read books over and over and play “school.” I love how he {sometimes} want to play with his younger brother (this of course is short-lived because the next minute he’s pushing or choking him).  I’m certain every age will be hard, but I don’t want to waste the time I’m given with them. I don’t want to react in anger or not have any patience just because it’s still dark outside on a Friday morning. My boys are not inconveniences. They are precious gifts. I can only pray that God’s grace will be sufficient, that His power and strength will be evident in  my NUMEROUS weaknesses.

On another note, I’ve discovered that I tend to accompany apologies with food…like, “I’m sorry this morning is rough. Want to grab a donut before school?” Pretty sure my boys will be in therapy someday for emotional eating…

On my baby turning 3

Well today my first born is three years old. I’m going in a corner to cry now.

Actually, I’ve already cried. The hardest days to go to work are birthdays and those in-between are they sick or not days. I always have grand ideas–lots of balloons in the floor of his room for when he wakes up, candles in some pancakes, rent a fun new movie, cuddle and enjoy the day. Instead, I’m monitoring computer screens, teenagers, and researching political propaganda resources for teachers. (Today didn’t help that I overslept. Staying up until 1 am no longer works for me.)

On a positive note, my baby is 3! He’s potty-trained, can feed himself, be left alone in a room or bath tub (for the most part), and he’s one of the greatest sources of joy in my life. We have hard days, but he puts so many smiles on my face. I told him a couple days ago that he was going to be THREE. He said, “No, Momma, I not three, I Cannon.” 🙂 I love my smart boy. The best part of my day so far was when he came to grab my leg and asked, “hold me, momma?” He’s getting pretty big to hold, but I plan on saying yes to that question as long as possible. No matter how late I am.

Happy 3rd birthday to my red-headed, ever-moving, passionate, full-of-life baby!

Sun comes up.

In t-minus 17 minutes, I’m heading off with the baby sis to another wedding weekend. This time though, I’m leaving my babies BOTH behind for TWO nights. EEK! I’m praying little man does okay, and they aren’t both awake too much in the night crying for momma and daddy. I just wanted to jot a quick note of something my almost-three-year-old (going on 16 sometimes) said on our way to church last night. It was already dark, and I’d been in a funk–stressed over packing, planning, etc. for the weekend. I think our little ones pick up on waaaaaay more than we realize. Out of the blue, he said, “‘S’okay, Momma, sun comes up.” I teared up hearing his little voice encourage me. He was right. I needed to stop worrying, put aside my anxiousness, and remember that Christ’s mercies are new every morning. From everlasting to everlasting. “Sun comes up.”