Different as night and day

Before I had children, it never really occurred to me that the personalities of my kids might be vastly different than my own personality. Our personalities might actually clash, even. The truth is, I never thought about my future children's personalities at all. But if I had, I probably would have concluded that they would be similar to my own, or at the very least, their father's.

Only recently have I begun to think that perhaps some of my current struggles with Owen are due to just how different he and I are. Of course, there's the obvious — he's a boy, I'm a girl. He's three, I'm thirty...something. But there's more.

I'm pretty sure that as a child, I did not play the way that Owen plays. Again, I have to take into account that he's a boy, so his preferred toys are things like cars and action figures, whereas mine were baby dolls and Barbies. I liked to cradle those babies, and comb their hair, and dress them up, and (perhaps this is a little TMI) pretend to breast-feed them like I saw my mom and aunts doing with their babies. Owen, on the other hand, loves to crash everything (and I mean everything) into the couch, the walls, other toys, the legs of adults standing nearby, etc. And he's SO LOUD! And, something I find particularly disgusting, he spits a lot, on account of all of his crashing and bashing sound effects.

Ok, so you say he's a boy, that's how boys play. You're probably right. But some boys are also into quietly sitting still to read books, or color and draw, or even watch an age-appropriate movie or television show. I know I liked to do all of those things as a kid. Not Owen. Well, to be honest, he will sit for a few select shows (the 20-minute Disney variety, that is) and, depending on his mood (and how many times he's already seen it), some movies, too. But he is not one who enjoys coloring or art projects, much to my great disappointment. I used to LOVE to color as a kid and was really hoping to share in that activity with my son. I recently moved his little table and chairs out from his bedroom into the living room and put some crayons and coloring books out for him to access whenever he wants. (This was a big leap of faith and I'm still waiting for the day that I find the walls covered in scribbles!) But I was hoping that having easy access to those materials might inspire him to make use of them more often. Instead, he just likes to walk around the house with the bucket filled with crayons and dump them out from time to time.

And speaking of destruction, this child has a nasty way of breaking just about all of his toys in some fashion or another. I distinctly remember being a very careful child. I hate when things break. I take great pride in keeping my possessions neat and tidy. I can recall my mom saying that she didn't have to replace my shoes, for example, nearly as often as my siblings' because I just wasn't hard on stuff. Even to this day, I'm hesitant to lend anything out to anybody because I worry that they won't take as good of care of it as I would. So that's all probably a sign, sadly, that I'm more materialistic than others, which I guess isn't something to boast about.

But Owen on the other hand, is just so rough with things. Here are two examples just from this morning of things that he's destroyed.

Poor, decapitated Jessie. All the other toys are cowering in fear, I'm sure.

Remnants of a small notebook I had given him to draw in. (See, I told you he's not much of an artist!) This was done while I showered today.

And here's one that I happened to photograph last week that's just gross.

Yes, those are raw chicken trimmings that Owen pulled out of the kitchen garbage (among other trash) trying to find a toy that I told him his dad had thrown away (because it, too, was broken).

I think I might start to photograph all of the broken items he brings me just to document how destructive he is. Perhaps we'll all look back on it someday and laugh. Perhaps.

I love my son dearly. (I hope that is evident on this blog.) All of the above is in no way meant to rag on him and I am certainly not seeking advice or calling out for pity here. And it should be noted that there are LOTS of positive ways in which he and I differ. (He wakes up in the morning beaming with enthusiasm, whereas I am grouchy until I get a shower or, these days, at least a cup of coffee.) I just wanted to take a moment to share the realization that I had recently about why he and I have been butting heads so much. I truly think it's because our personalities are so different. But I think I'll keep him anyway!

Preschool Prayers

I recently made a list of the "things I wish I had time to do" since I feel like I just don't have enough hours in the day to do it all. The list looks something like this:

• Exercise (and lose this baby weight)
• Blog — capture, in writing, all the thoughts that flood my head every day (maybe I should journal?)
• Read — stacks of books and magazines I hope to get to someday
• Study the Bible / daily devotion time
• Spend quality time with Ryan — date nights?
• Small household projects — kitchen valance, growth chart (more on that later!), organize closets, basement, etc.

There's more, but you get the idea. So, all this is to say that I appreciate those who still check in on my little blog here from time to time. I realize that since I post so sporadically, it's likely that most of my followers (do I have any of those?) have given up on me, but I assure you, I think about stuff I want to share on here ALLTHETIME! Unfortunately, sitting down to do so doesn't happen nearly as often.

SOOOOO, I have a ton of things I want to talk about, but think that I will focus this post on what is currently banging around in my head (and heart) — Owen's first experience with preschool this week.

All summer long, I've fretted mostly about how Owen will manage to use the toilets at school without any assistance (he still struggles to pull his pants back up after the job is done). And I also thought a little about how he doesn't like to sit still or pay attention to most things for very long, but that is one of the major reasons why I decided to enroll him in the 3-year-old program — in hopes that he will get better about that. Mostly, though, I was just excited about getting a few hours twice a week to myself! And that's pretty much where my concerns ended, until three days ago.

We attended the open house at Owen's school, held the evening before his first day, this past Monday. The idea was just to introduce the kids to their classroom and (I thought) their teacher, too. The school we chose just hired a new 3-year-old preschool teacher only a couple weeks ago, so she is new. (New to this school, but not new to teaching preschool.) I will not use this platform to spread negativity about any individual, but let's just say, I was completely underwhelmed by our first meeting with her.

That night, I sat down with the paperwork that was sent home with us and tried to fill out the "getting to know you" form that asked questions such as, "what are your child's strengths/weaknesses?" and "what do you hope your child will learn this year academically/socially?" I had a tough time filling out that form. As I read through it initially, my head flooded with examples of Owen's weaknesses. But when I put pen to paper, I stopped to really think about how I wanted to answer that question. It was important to me that I listed just as many strengths as weaknesses. I didn't want my negativity to show through on this form and end up influencing his teacher's opinion of him right off the bat. So I enlisted Ryan's help. In the end, I shared that Owen has tremendous language skills, he learns new concepts quickly, asks great questions, plays well with others (keep this one in mind for later), is sweet and very funny, and loves music. However, I also explained that he struggles with focus, can be quite wild at times, tends to be a "copycat" of other kids, and is often difficult to discipline. That all seemed accurate and fair. And the night only ended in a few tears. (I'm telling you, that form was extremely hard for me to complete! Why in the world did they give that to us the night before his first day???)

So, Tuesday morning, I dropped Owen off with excitement and optimism. He seemed in good spirits and he smiled for all my pictures, so things were going well, I thought.

I thoroughly enjoyed my time at home while Nora napped and I baked banana bread and read from my book (one of my checklist items above! Woo hoo!) And I prayed for him while he was away. I prayed that he would be good and that God would guard his little heart (from fear, from embarrassment, from getting hurt).

When I picked him up, I casually asked his teacher how he did, not really having given any thought at all to what her answer would be. In hindsight, I think I just assumed I would get the same report I usually get when I pick him up from Sunday school or other nursery programs like MOPS — "he did fine." Instead, I heard something like this: "Well, he had some struggles today." Oh, like what? "Well, there was some hitting." As in, he was hitting? "Yes." Oh. "But it's just the first day." Yes, I suppose so. Was there more than that? "Well, yes. He didn't really do very well following directions either." Ok. And in the chaos of all the other parents waiting to sign out their own kids, that was pretty much the abrupt end of our conversation. I felt like an inflated balloon that had been pricked by a pin and all the air rushed out at once until I was a wrinkled, broken mess on the floor. That's how I felt. The huddled mess on the floor didn't actually come until later that day.

The more I thought about what happened, the more upset I got. I certainly don't deny that any of what the teacher said was true. (I'm well aware of my son's poor behavioral tendencies.) I think I let myself get hung up, instead, on his teacher's defeated tone of voice and unhappy facial expressions as she shared her report — which, incidentally, didn't include one single positive thing about Owen's three hours with her. I started to question whether this teacher was a good fit for Owen. Should I enroll him instead in the other preschool that I had my eye on last spring? Would they have teachers that were more enthusiastic and optimistic about kids with poor behavior on the first day?

I still actually don't know the answer to that. I'm considering the other school. But I wanted to give him (and his teacher) another try. So, today was day two of Owen's school career. Unfortunately, when I dropped him off, I discovered that his teacher was out today due to a family illness and he had a substitute. So, I wasn't able to reassess the attitude of his teacher or talk to her anymore about what happened on Tuesday. That was disappointing.

When I picked him up today and asked again how he did, the teacher's aid said, "he did better today." She also went on to say, though, that he scratched a little girl on the playground because she was headed up the ladder and he wanted to go up ahead of her. Ok, so that's better? He only scratched someone today? And that's better? Just how bad was he the other day??? A friend of mine was there to pick up her son right after me and I overheard the aid report, "he did great!" about little C. And my heart shriveled up. Right there, I felt immense jealousy that my friend's son has received two good reports and Owen has received two bad ones. In fact, all the other reports I overheard were positive. Is my kid the only troublemaker in class? How did all these other parents do such a great job prepping their 3-year-olds for the classroom and how (oh, HOW!) did I fail so miserably?

More questions flood my head today. Is Owen not ready for school yet? Does he need another year at home to mature? But would keeping him home help him with his socialization issues or would being in a classroom with other kids help him more? Should we try this other school? Is that really going to be any better? Can I honestly blame my concerns on the teacher's less-than-enthusiastic attitude? Isn't it really that I'm worried Owen is the only one in the class that causes his teachers (and classmates) headaches? And that they'll label him the "problem child?" And truly — if I'm really honest with myself — aren't I actually worried that either, A.) I am doing a horrible job parenting (and disciplining) this child, or B.) there might be something wrong with him? High functioning autism? ADHD?

Worry. Fear. Anxiety. What does God say about these things? This...this, is what he says:

"When anxiety was great within me, your consultation brought joy to my soul." (Psalm 94:19)

"Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you." (1 Peter 5:7)

"He will have no fear of bad news; his heart is steadfast, trusting in the Lord." (Psalm 112:7)

"Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God." (Philippians 4:6)

"When I am afraid, I will trust in you. In God, whose word I praise, in God I trust; I will not be afraid." (Psalm 56:3-4)

"I sought the Lord, and he answered me; he delivered me from all my fears." (Psalm 34:4)

And one of my personal favorite verses: "Show me your ways, O Lord, teach me your paths; guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long." (Psalm 25:4-5)

So I'm praying now. I'm praying hard for the Lord to reveal to me some answers. Praying that he will continue to hold Owen in his loving care and help me decipher the right paths for him here on earth. Praying for wisdom to know how to parent and discipline this child and for the strength and real faith to place my full trust in Him.

I don't know yet what the future holds for Owen or where (or IF!) he will be attending school next week. But I'm confident that God will reveal the right choices in time, so long as I seek Him.

Show me your ways, O Lord, teach me your paths; guide me in your truth and teach me, for you are God my Savior, and my hope is in you all day long.

To all my mom (and mom-to-be) readers

At 3 weeks in, I'm glad to say that the "baby blues" seem to have missed me this time around.  But I can still remember vividly the first few weeks and months of Owen's life as being a very dark time for me. I just stumbled across the article below and it struck such a cord that I had to share. It really put into words the indescribable emotions that I recall feeling when I first became a mother and then provides a gentle, but positive reminder that...things will get better! Definitely worth a read...

Postpartum Depression: What They Don't Tell You

I surrender

Have you ever had one of those days where you just want to trade in your life for some other life? Throw in the towel and go hide in the closet? Have you ever felt up to your eyeballs in bodily waste? No? Is that just me? Was that just my sucky day?

Here's a recap...

Just before my shower this morning, I discovered several long, brown streaks on the carpet (at least four of them in two different rooms), which I soon realized was the result of the dog dragging his behind to rid himself of the dingleberries on his fur. Awesome sauce. I gave him a quick "butt bath" and removed said dingleberries with my bare hands and promptly scheduled him an appointment for a hair cut. (Oh, and scrubbed my hands raw.)

Then, I took Owen to see his Papa for his birthday today. We had some fun, but when Owen fell asleep on Papa's lap in the recliner, I decided it would be better to move him to the couch so he could take a bit more of a proper nap. Unfortunately, he woke up in the process — screaming mad — and refused to go back to sleep despite our best attempts. He did fall asleep on the drive home then (for all of 20 minutes), but was explicably crabby for the remainder of the day. Owen without his nap = NO fun! Just try explaining that to him, though.

Ryan left work early this afternoon because he wasn't feeling well (which is something he never does!), and had been in bed resting since Owen and I arrived home. That is, until he decided to visit Urgent Care this evening, where he learned that he has a fever of 103 and tested positive for both strep throat AND bronchitis. Oh, and is "extremely contagious." Extra awesome sauce!

I am quickly learning that my patience is probably going to be the biggest barrier to the whole potty training endeavor with Owen. Although we haven't been formally training since several weeks ago (when Owen got sick), we do indulge his frequent requests to "go pee on potty," which — before you go getting all excited — is just because he's learned that he gets some kind of "treat" when he does so. (In hindsight, offering a reward for each and every pee was probably a mistake.) At any rate, he also insists on "helping" dump the pee in the potty into the toilet and tonight, spilled it all over the toilet...that I just washed, no less. Ugh.

While in the bathroom, I realized that there is still a pair of poop-stained Buzz Lightyear underpants from yesterday, sitting in a plastic bag, waiting to be washed. Forgot about those, so they're probably gonners.

And while I'm riding the "woe-is-me" whaaaah-mbulence, I'll just throw in there that the dishwasher still hasn't been unloaded from last night's run, and I have some kind of crazy-painful chapped lip thing that has been going on for over a week now that I'm pretty sure is either some kind of allergic reaction to something or worse, but I'm too embarrassed to call the doctor with a complaint of "chapped lips." Oh, and because it's the kind of awesome mom I am today, I wanted to just sit Owen in front of the TV for the last half-hour before his bath tonight, but our living room TV decided to crap out on me and refused to turn itself on. Cool beans.

So, here I sit, lamenting my crummy day on the computer, rather than unloading that dishwasher or cleaning up the dog poop on the floor. (How do I even do that, anyway???) 


But I just read a friend's post on Facebook that said, "today was a VERY bad mommy day. Here's to hoping tomorrow is better." I immediately responded with, "Ditto that," sensing a familiar attitude of defeat. But another friend had these much more inspiring words to share: "finish each day and be done with it. you have done what you could. some blunders and absurdities have crept in; forget them as soon as you can. tomorrow is a new day. you shall begin it serenely and with too high a spirit to be encumbered with your old nonsense," which apparently is a quote from Emmerson. 


Love it. I needed that.

If you don't have anything nice to say...

First off, let me just say that I have very good intentions of writing a Christmas recap post one day very soon (maybe even later today...), but in the meantime, I just had to jot this one down.

True to the notion that Owen teaches me just as much (if not more) than I teach him on a daily basis — something I have observed over the past two and half years — I realized today that I need to keep my verbal road rage in check...and fast.

Shortly after leaving the library this morning (I won't even go into the humiliating tantrum state in which we actually exited the building), I received a phone call from Ryan (on my new iPhone...woot!)

(Ok, this post is already starting to exceed the maximum number of allowable parenthetic statements, so I apologize in advance for that.)

Anyways, I received a phone call and while answering it, I nearly missed a stop sign, causing me to slam on my brakes to avoid running through a four-way intersection, which, thankfully was empty in all three other directions. I think I said something like, "whoa!" as I did it and then answered, "hello." Owen, on the other hand, responded to the abrupt stop with — and I quote, "Are you kidding me?"

I immediately asked Ryan to hold on and I turned around to ask Owen to repeat what he just said. (I wasn't sure that I had heard it correctly.) He wouldn't repeat it, but just smiled at me with a huge grin and giggled a little — which, incidentally, made me completely forget how angry I was with him only moments before for the major library exiting meltdown.

But I am fairly certain that that is what he said. Mostly because on our way to the library, I got stuck behind a semi-truck that, in addition to being in all the wrong lanes (i.e., going straight in more than one turn-only lane), was going sooooooooo slow! And I'm pretty sure I may have said something like (ok, exactly) what Owen said now. "Are you kidding me?" After that earlier incident, Owen spent the rest of the drive talking about "passing the truck" and "Mommy drive really fast," and "I don't want to do that again," -type statements. Needless to say, it obviously left an impression on him. And one that I'm not proud of.

I am grateful, though, that the only thing I said was, "Are you kidding me?" I have been known to say worse. And after Ryan and I finished laughing hysterically at our little imitator, it occurred to me how grateful  I am for the reminder to keep my anger, and especially my comments, in check. Stat. Thanks for that one, little buddy. Lesson learned.

Loving this stage

Yesterday afternoon, Owen threw a bit of a tantrum when I took his daddy's guitar away from him, out of fear that he would destroy it. He protested by throwing his body on the ground and kicking his legs wildly. The tantrum didn't last long and I responded to it by not responding — I just walked away and ignored it. But it occurred to me in that moment that he really doesn't throw tantrums like that very often anymore. And that, my friends, is a fabulous thing! You'll recall in this post, only 3 and a half short months ago, that I feared my sweet little toddler might be gone for good, replaced by a terrible tantrum monster with a very short fuse.

Since yesterday's a-ha moment, I've started paying more attention to all the wonderful qualities Owen does currently possess and thought I'd take a moment to document them here. I like to use this blog as a diary of sorts to record certain milestones as they occur in Owen's life (I can't tell you how many times my sister Jackie and I have referred back to old posts to remind ourselves what Owen was doing at her baby, Brody's age). Plus, I am just so over the moon about how FUN Owen is these days that I thought I'd brag on him a little bit.

Despite my intense fear of stairs, we have started teaching Owen to "walk" up and down them instead of insisting that he always crawl. Remarkably, he's taken to this very well. He seems to understand that he needs to hold on to the railing or someone's hand in order to feel steady enough to proceed, so so far, he's remained fairly cautious and has had tremendous success. I am still quite nervous about this new practice, though, and — whereas I allowed him to freely go up and down our newly carpeted basement steps on his own when he was crawling them — I now insist on one of us supervising the process. But, so far, so good.

His vocabulary, which has always been fairly remarkable for his age, is pretty solid now. He's gotten very good at communicating his needs to us on his own (which probably has something to do with the reduction in tantrums!) One phrase that just cracks me up whenever he says it is, "I take a nap." Sometimes it's because he's telling me he's tired, but more often, I think he just pays attention to what's happening around him and if something happens that is typical of his pre-nap routine (like the rolling of credits at the end of Yo Gabba Gabba, or even changing his diaper), he assumes that it must mean it's nap time.

He's also much calmer when changing his diaper these days. Where he used to get upset and flail around (hitting and kicking had become a major problem for a while), he seems to understand that it's just part of life and there's no reason to fight it. I've also started changing him on the living room floor (I keep a towel handy in there for easy access) instead of always taking him to the changing table in his room. Not making him leave the room where other people are or where he was having fun playing or watching TV seems to have helped in that respect, too. Incidentally, for those wondering, we have not done much else as far as potty training because I'm pretty certain he's just not ready yet (despite my high hopes in this post). But I'm not too concerned; all in good time!

He still goes down great both at nap time and bed time. Thankfully, the days of 1-2 hours worth of chatting to himself before settling to sleep seem to be over for now. But the duration of naps has been reduced a bit. I used to be able to count on 1 1/2 hours at a minimum, but up to a 3-hour break in my day. Lately, he's been pretty consistently only napping for his former minimum, 1 1/2 hours. Just so long as he doesn't start going even less than this (or dropping naps entirely...gasp!), I can deal. And he's still in his crib (we don't even own a toddler bed yet) because he has yet to make any legitimate attempts at climbing out and he actually seems to really enjoy the confines of his cozy little space. So who are we to fight that? I'll let him stay in the crib as long as he wants I think, though I'd like to have a bed picked out (if not purchased) soon so that in the event that we need to make the switch quickly (i.e., he channels his inner monkey and figures out some way to climb out), we will be prepared.

And finally, the most exciting thing in my life right now (yes, I'm that lame) is the fact that O is starting to show more and more signs of focused play. By that, I mean that he will actually focus on and play with certain things for a much longer duration than he ever has in the past. Up until now, he's been like a crazy pinball, ping-ponging from one toy/book/drawer/electric device/sharp object to another. (Side note: I recently heard about a comedian that made the claim that toddlers spend their days looking for death and I'm here to tell you, that is the sad truth!) Of course, he still does this — his attention span is that of a 2-year-old, after all. But more and more, he is beginning to get interested in actually playing with toys as they are intended to be played with. Here's a couple of videos to show you what I mean.

Ok, so he's using his sippy cup instead of cars, but the fact that he's sitting here intently playing with this thing is actually pretty huge. (And he does use cars, too, on occasion.)

I don't know why my voice sounds so obnoxious in this video (I guess because it was taken on my crummy cell phone?), but it was SO fun seeing him scoot his trucks around after I showed him how to do it. We called the bar stools "bridges" that the trucks had to drive under, which he thought was pretty clever.

Ok, so these videos are not all that exciting, but if you only knew how I've longed for the days when I could have two (TWO!) moments to myself where I don't have to worry about him hurting himself, you would understand and appreciate how momentous this is!

Someone told me once that the half-years (i.e., age 1 1/2, age 2 1/2, etc.) are actually harder than the beginning and end of the years (i.e., age 2, age 3, etc.) So far, that seems to be pretty accurate. 18-months was tough. So far, 2-years-old is shaping up to be SUPER fun!

Modern Marvels (the Mommy Edition)

Thanks to everyone for the positive feedback on yesterday's post. It seems I touched a nerve that other mothers can relate to, though I did not set out to spark any sort of controversy. I only really intended to comment on how I could get so excited about some small achievement to then turn around (only about an hour later) and be so let down by a small set-back (hence the title, "highs and lows"). But then I just started rambling on about all my personal fears and insecurities and, in hindsight, maybe should have deleted it all, but opted to go ahead and post it. Whatev. My life is an open book.

However, I would like to recognize that Owen specifically requested to color this afternoon, so I happily obliged. He did a pretty good job, too, although while I wasn't looking, this happened.

It got me thinking..."What in the world did our mothers do before the invention of this guy?"

Mr. Clean, you and your Magic Eraser are my heroes!

Here's the (admittedly less than mind-blowing) "after" shot.

And while I'm on the subject, I also recently asked myself how in the world I ever managed my entire adult life without a handheld vacuum??? I received one from Ryan for Mother's Day (wait, wait, don't boo...I requested it!), but hadn't even taken it out of the package until a week or so ago. (I wasn't sure if I really wanted to keep it or not. Yeah, I'm a hem-hawer like that.) Anyway, I charged that baby up and 24-hours later, I'm spot cleaning like a champ! Graham cracker crumbs in the car seat? No problem. Cheerios in the high chair? Check. Sand tracked in from outside? Got it!

I am in love!

Highs and Lows

Much like Midwestern seasonal weather extremes (can I get an "enough already!" to this oppressive heat and humidity?), my days with a toddler come loaded with some high highs and some low lows.

Take this morning, for example.

Wait, let me back up a bit. During Owen's 2-year doctor visit a couple weeks ago, I expressed some concern that he seemed to show zero interest in participating in any activities that required him to sit still and concentrate for any length of time — like coloring and doing puzzles. I'm pretty sure the doc responded with something to the effect of "some kids are more physical, some are more intellectual." As disappointed as I was in the thought that my little guy is not as "intellectual" as I think he should be, I accepted the fact that all kids develop at different stages and he will eventually get to the puzzle stage.

(Side note: I have a very bad habit of comparing Owen to other children within his same general age range, which always results in me feeling frustrated and concerned. I need to remind myself [a lot!] that he is unique — which is not the same thing as deficient — and to just cool it and be patient!)

Anyway, back to this morning... We had a little time to kill before we needed to leave for our morning activity (more on that below), so I took the opportunity to just sit down on the floor with him and read a couple Dr. Suess books (my favorites!) After a couple of stories, he pulled out a wooden puzzle that happens to be mixed in among his books, so I dug around in the book drawer and took out all six corresponding puzzle pieces. I set them all face up and then, one by one, I asked him where each one fit (it was pretty simple to figure out because an identical picture of the puzzle piece was visible in each of the open spots).

He correctly pointed out each one and then — low and behold! — he fit each one in its proper place! I made a VERY big deal each time he got one right (think loud cheering, high fives, and lots of "great jobs!") I tried to get him to complete it a second time, but he was more interested in clapping the wooden puzzle pieces together, so I took that as my cue to just quit while I was ahead. Anyway, I was so thrilled with the progress he made!

Then it was time to leave for our morning outing — Toddler Games at the YMCA. The description for this class, designed for kids aged 18 months – 3 years, said: "This is a chance for something new each week. Activities may include Kickball,  Simon Says, Parachute Games,  and many more fun games." That sounds like something he would really enjoy!

I was a little hesitant to sign him up (and pay for) the full 5-week session, though, because, well, let's just say that Owen does not exactly enjoy going to the Y. We actually hadn't been there since this past winter when we stopped going because he would have a major fit every time we left him in the nursery. Now that he's older and some time has passed, I thought it might be OK to try it out again a couple days ago, but again, he had a major meltdown (I'm talking, red in the face, snot out the nose, screaming as if he were terrified!), so we ended up leaving only 9 short minutes after checking him in. Bleh.

Anyway, back to the Toddler Games. In this class, the parents stay in the room — although we are not supposed to play with the kids, we're just there to watch — so I thought he might do OK. Yeah, not so much. He clung to me with all his might and refused to even look at, let alone go with, the instructors. The 30-minute class consisted of the kids walking/running around the track (I had to hold O's hand and practically drag him), followed by a simple golf lesson where each child took turns hitting a golf ball off a tee with little plastic clubs (O enjoyed swinging and banging his club onto the floor and walls much more than allowing the instructors to help him actually hit the ball), and finally another lap around the track (this time Owen actually started to run with one of the leaders, but as soon as he looked behind him and saw that I wasn't with him, he turned around and ran back toward me.)

So much for my proud moment of only an hour or so before that. Hmmmph.

I should mention that Owen did appear to be the youngest child in the class, although the next in age was only a couple months older, and the class is supposed to be designed for kids even younger than him! Regardless, it is frustrating when yours is the only kid in the group who just doesn't seem to "get" it. And this is not the first time I've felt this way.

So, here it is: I worry that he's developing at a slower pace than other children his age. And yes, I do worry about what the other parents are thinking (I'm not proud of that, but I'm being honest here). I try not to do either of those things. I try to just let him be. I try to believe that he is perfectly normal and will grow up just fine. I try to trust in God, who loves him even more than I do.

But today, I'm struggling. I want him to be healthy. I want him to be good. I want him to be "normal." I'm hopeful that he is/will be. But I still worry that he won't.

Whew. This post turned into a bit more of a mother's confession of worry/guilt/doubt/fear than what I originally set out for it to be. But I think I'll publish it anyway — for the sake of documenting this crazy journey I'm on, if nothing else.

In the meantime, here's a couple cute shots of Owen at the local firehouse yesterday.

Holding hands and giggling up a storm with his buddy Evie.

Sitting in the firetruck. He would not allow the fireman on the other side

to help him out. Instead he cried, and ran to me.

One thing I am thankful for is that I am Owen's safe place. He has a safe place. And it is me. That, despite everything else, is such a blessing for which I am eternally grateful!

With a joyful heart

This is my sweet slice of heaven, right here on earth.

Ok, I don't have any concept of how amazing heaven will really be — it will probably blow this scene right out of the water. But this picture depicts so much of what is good and beautiful in my life. As I sit on my deck on this gorgeous, calm (except for the barking dog next door) morning, I am overlooking the following wonderful objects:

• Owen's swimming suit, drying on the chair across from me. He and I have had a lot of fun between our neighborhood pool and the tiny, plastic baby pool in our own backyard this summer. I wish I would have taken a picture of the scene as we left it yesterday afternoon — purple plastic baby pool, overflowing with water; garden hose laying in the grass nearby; plastic slide with its end in the water; red wagon, dripping from the hose-down it received by its young owner; lawn chair with various gardening materials (i.e., potting soil, gloves, plants, etc.) — indicating a perfect afternoon. That is, Owen happily splashing, sliding, and wielding the hose, and me potting a few plants and getting a little afternoon sun.
• The baby monitor, silent — indicating a sleeping babe and a moment of peace and quiet for this momma.
• One of several freshly potted plants — a result of yesterday's aforementioned perfect afternoon. This one, although not a flower like the others, is such a fun variety of plant. It's called "corkscrew rush" and I love its crazy grass spirals. (You can also see one pictured here in my "good-bye" gift to a friend.)
• A cup of coffee, which is one indulgent pleasure that I am fortunate to enjoy at least once a day. And on especially relaxing days, I will have a second cup, often mid-afternoon, which always feels particularly gratifying and sweet!
• My laptop, with my new favorite shot of the boy as the screen background. (Isn't he adorable???) And, although you can't probably read it, the post-it below the keyboard says, "...The only thing that counts is faith expressing itself through love. — Galatians 5:6" This is my new favorite scripture verse, of which I could write an entire post on its own, but I won't. Just ponder that one for now. It's fantastic!
• Finally, my Bible, which doesn't always get the first-thing-in-the-morning billing that it received today, but does get read just about every day now, which is something relatively new and wonderful in my life, per the past year. 

Currently, that Bible is open to a devotional that actually inspired me to write this post. The title is "Lighten Up," and it's about being spontaneous and flexible, and putting some fun into our days, and those of our children. One line, in particular, caught my attention. It says, "These days are filled with opportunities to make memories."

Lately, I have been thinking a lot about the memories that Owen will have of his mommy and his childhood. You might argue that at (almost!) two years old, he's still too young to form any lasting, lifelong memories. Regardless, I want to make sure that he has mostly good ones to pull from as he makes his way through life. It's something I try to remind myself of when I start feeling extra cranky and less-than excited about his messes and wild screaming. Those messes and jubilant (usually!) screams are measures of his joy! I need to let him have his fun! This is his childhood — the only one he will ever have — and he deserves a remarkable one! One that involves me, not as a nagging, grouchy, yelling caretaker, but as a loving, merry, lighthearted playmate!

Go, eat your food with gladness, and drink your wine with a joyful heart, for it is now that God favors what you do.

- Ecclesiastes 9:7

Well, that baby monitor is silent no more, so I'm off to get that amazing child out of bed and then we're headed to the pool again. Cheers, to summer! And cheers to JOY!

This gross life

WARNING: If you are easily disgusted, or just don't care to hear about the particulars of my absolutely gross life over the past 24 hours, stop reading now.

I hesitate to post this on the interwebs, but there have just been too many really gross things that have happened in my life in less than 24 hours to NOT document this somewhere. And since this is my only method of journaling...here you go. I promise there are no pictures in this post!

First, a brief bit of background. Where we live, we have a septic system, which means (among other things) that I am not allowed to flush certain personal items that I always used to flush. I think you know what I mean here, right? These items instead need to go in the trash can, as much as it grosses me out to do so. Also, my dog, Kinnick, has a history of getting into items with a certain odor (i.e., laundry baskets, trash cans, etc.) when no one is home. I do my best to remember to put things out of his reach when I leave the house, but, it doesn't always happen.

So, last night, he got into the bathroom trash can and – let's just say – he ate most of the absolutely disgusting contents while we were out. He also left a a mess in his wake (blood-stained carpet and other debris) for us to clean up. Yuck #1.

(On a side note, my mom has a friend who's family dog ended up dying as a result of eating tampons – there, I just said it – tampons! Apparently the strings got all tangled up in her intestines and they had to put her down. Oy vey!)

Now, this morning, when Ryan went to get Owen up and out of his crib, Owen greeted him by holding his hands out as if to say, "wipe my hands, please," which he often does when he has a mess on them. It became immediately clear to Ryan that the "mess" on his hands was his own poop. He had apparently stuck his hands down his diaper and then touched God-only-knows what else. While Ryan changed and bathed Owen, I removed and washed his sheets and stuffed animals and disinfected all other surfaces within reach of the crib. Yuck #2.

Shortly after this little episode, Kinnick proceeded to puke on the back deck. This, on its own, would not actually be a big deal since my dog pukes rather frequently. But knowing what he had ingested just last night, and adding it to all the other grossness that had just happened, I was starting to feel overwhelmed. So, yuck #3.

And finally (I hope!), Kinnick just came in the house from going potty outside with a little surprise stuck to his fur. (You get this one, too, right?) So, I just finished bathing him (actually, giving him what I call a "butt bath") and there you have yuck #4.

Enough already. It's hard enough to recognize the good work I am trying to do by running this household, especially when stuff like this happens. I am reminded of the verse that hangs over my washing machine (which is currently spin cycling all of O's stuffed animals) that says, "Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men..." (Colossians 3:23) Ok Lord, this is for you, I guess! Can't wait to find out the meaning of this one!

Oh, and wasn't the world supposed to come to an end today? What a shame that this is how I spent my final hours on earth. Maybe I'll find the meaning sooner than I thought. (Wink!)

Terrible Twos - Be Gone!

Where, oh where, has my sweet, silly, giggly little boy gone? Occasionally I still see glimpses of him, but it seems that more often, I spend my days with a strange, new child who throws tantrum, after tantrum, after tantrum. This morning, before Owen woke up, I decided I was going to count just how many meltdowns he had today, but by lunch time I had already lost count. (By my best estimate, it was somewhere around 7 or 8, and he had only been awake for 4 and a half hours!)

We've all heard the phrase, "terrible twos," but I don't think I ever really realized just exactly what that looks like. OH.MY.GOODNESS! This morning, after a group Easter egg hunt, Owen got very upset when another child took the ball that he was playing with and I was unable to console him. He even started swinging at me, intentionally trying to hit me. It was at that point I decided to just leave. Humiliated and sure that the other moms (who I have tremendous respect for) were silently judging me, I did my best to contain his flailing arms and legs while I got his coat on, gathered our stuff, and all but ran out the door.

Sometimes (like in this video I captured today), he gets so upset that he resorts to hurting himself, usually by banging his head against whatever is close by.

For the most part, I try to lie him down in a safe place where he can't hurt himself and just ignore the fit, and often, that works – he usually calms down and gets back up a short while later. But the frequency of the tantrums (it seems he has more and more of them every day) and the embarrassment when they happen in public has got me at my wits end.

Out of desperation, I just typed "toddler tantrums" into Google and the very first entry that popped up was this link to AskDrSears.com. I don't know that I'm necessarily a huge fan of the Dr. Sears approach to parenting, but there were some good messages in this. Here are a few things that jumped out at me during my initial review, although I intend to go back and thoroughly study this subject as if my very life depended on it.

• Tantrums often come in two flavors: manipulative tantrums and frustration tantrums. If you feel that your child is using tantrums as a tool to get his own way (manipulative), give him verbal cues and use body language that says that you don't do tantrums. (In other words, ignore it, I believe.) Frustration tantrums, on the other hand, require empathy.

• You are neither responsible for his tantrums nor for stopping them. The "goodness" of your baby is not a reflection on your parenting ability.

• Temper tantrums in public places are embarrassing. Your first thought is likely to be, "what will people think of me as a parent?"

• Some toddlers' behaviors push parents' anger buttons a lot, and some parents have very sensitive buttons. The combination of the tantrum-prone child and a parent with a short fuse is at risk for major conflicts.

Uh oh. This last bullet really strikes a cord with me. I know that I have a quick temper. And I know that I need to get it in check – fast! It does no one any good for me to react to Owen's fits by throwing one of my own. And I am making myself completely vulnerable and transparent here by admitting that I often do just that. I know it's wrong. I'm working on it. I need God's grace (more than my own will, I'm positive) to overcome this personal weak point.

Here's another snippet on the subject (from here): Know your anger tolerance. If you lose patience easily when your child throws a tantrum, know when to walk away. Count to ten (or more!) so that you can gather your thoughts and react calmly. Remember, your son is simply acting his age. You aren't responsible for his tantrum, nor for stopping it. When a toddler loses control, he should at least be able to count on the adults to stay in control.

Ok, so here's my prayer, God.

First off, thank you, VERY dearly for blessing me with this child. I trust that you chose me to be his mother because you love me and know that I am doing the very best I can. But I need your help. Please help me to remain calm, focused, and loving during this dear child's trying moments. Help me to understand that he is simply lacking the verbal capacity to communicate his desires and help me to do my best to help him choose a more appropriate way to express himself. Help me to distinguish between a manipulative tantrum and a frustration tantrum and to react accordingly. Help me to remember to count to 10 when I feel my anger rising and my patience waning. Help me to be creative and think quickly on my feet when something simple and unexpected sets him off. And above all, help me to lean on you when I just don't know what else to do. Amen.

One of those days

Don't judge. I know I look terrible in this photo. I generally look terrible in most photos, which is why you don't see many of me on here, but this one is exceptionally terrible. And that's why I'm posting it. You see, I seem to be having "one of those days" today. Let me explain.

After staying up for some time last night with a very upset, and clearly not-feeling-well toddler, I took Owen to see the doctor this morning. He does NOT like the doctor's office. He doesn't like the nurse. He doesn't like the scale. He doesn't like their toys. He doesn't like the stethoscope, thermometer, or ear viewer thingy. He screams and cries the entire time he is in there, regardless of the reason. Our poor pediatrician has yet to see the sweet, fun, charming little guy that I get to spend my days with. Instead, he sees Sir Temper Tantrum – every time! Anyway, turns out my poor babe has a double ear infection, so at least we now know how to treat him. Which brings me to the photo above.

I grabbed the bottle of amoxicillin I picked up at the pharmacy out of the bag by the lid, which apparently didn't get screwed on correctly after giving him the first dose, thus the bottle fell, bounced off the counter, and the contents shot straight up in the air, landing directly on my face and in my hair. (Oh, a little bit landed on the counter, too.)

What is a girl to do? I just stood there for a minute, unsure of whether to laugh or cry, looked at myself in the bathroom mirror, and decided to snap a photo of this silly, disgusting mess. (Oh, and blog about it.)

So, here I sit, with sticky and rained-on flat hair (did I mention that I had to carry Owen out to the car in a torrential downpour?), smelling of cherry (the flavor they added to "make the medicine go down"), which, fortunately, isn't pink - it's white. All the while, Owen, who fell asleep for about 20 minutes in the car on the way home, is in his crib refusing to take any more of a nap than that.

Ugh. I'm done for the day. Hopefully things turn around for the weekend, but for now, I'm off to go wash my face. Later.

It's potty time?

Anxiety set in as I approached the very familiar baby aisles in Wal-Mart this evening because I was about to enter a whole new world – one I am still completely uninformed about. Dun. Dun. Duuuuuhn! I bought Owen his first potty chair tonight. Potty training was not even on my radar only a few short days ago, but then a series of events this week led me to this moment.

On Monday, I discovered two other boys very close to Owen's age (one slightly older, one slightly younger) at our weekly library meet-up who are already working on potty training and I started to wonder, "Am I dropping the ball here? Is this something I need to start thinking about with Owen?" I probably would have just dismissed that thought and reminded myself not to compare my child with others his age, except for the fact that Owen has been telling me, "poo poo," usually while touching his diaper area, a lot lately. I always peek to see if he has, in fact, pooped, and he never has. But I've started noticing that shortly after telling me this, he later does poop. So, I began to wonder if maybe he was letting me know that he felt the need to go poop, which, I think, is a sign that a child might be ready to start potty training. OMG. I was not prepared for this – AT ALL!

Yesterday I took his diaper off and tried to sit him on the toilet (holding him, of course, so he wouldn't fall in), but he did NOT like that. He basically screamed and cried, so I took him down. Then tonight, I decided to go ahead and buy him a potty his own size. As we perused the potty chair aisle, Owen spotted an "Eh Oh" (Elmo) chair, so that's the one we took home. It has a button you can push and Elmo will give your child words of encouragement, like "Elmo is so proud of you," and "It's fun to use the potty." We played around with it a little bit and I got him to sit on it with his pants up. But when we tried it with pants (and diaper) off, he again cried.

So, maybe he's not quite ready yet. But when he is, Elmo will be waiting...

18 months (warning: long post)

Here are Owen's latest stats from his 18-month check-up a couple weeks ago.

Height: 32 1/4 inches (44th percentile)

Weight: 26 lb., 12 oz. (60th percentile)

Head Circumference: 48.3 cm (63rd percentile)

Pretty average! (Although I think he's pretty extraordinary!) Here are some of his latest accomplishments:

New words creep up every day, so it's getting hard to document them all, but here are a few I have noted recently:

• "Chee" (i.e., "cheese") - mostly accompanied by a great big grin for a photo!
• "Chaya" (i.e., "chair") - he LOVES climbing into all chairs, particularly those that are kid-sized. I've been thinking about getting him one of those adorable leather wingback chairs for his next birthday.
• "Baa" (i.e., "bath") - which he now really loves! He tries to climb in the tub whenever we're in the bathroom. He does still HATE having water poured over his head, though.
• "Beh" (i.e., "bread") - a favorite at dinner time.
• "Chewww" (i.e., "Cheerios") - a staple in our house.
• "Awtaaa!" (i.e., "Awesome!") - a la DJ Lance on Yo Gabba Gabba! ("Listening and dancing to music is...Awesome!")
• "Ppp-ppp" (i.e., "poo poo") - I thought he might be an early adaptor to potty training since he seemed to recognize when his pants were dirty by repeating me when I asked him if he had poo poo. Turns out, he says it when he toots, too! He actually has no idea what it means, I'm afraid.

The other day, he handed me his book, Tickle Monster, and then lifted up his shirt to reveal his tummy (ready to be tickled!) and slowly started backing away from me. We never actually make it all the way through this book, but he sure is fun to tickle anyway!

Lately, I find Owen "reading" books to himself. He likes to sit and flip the pages back and forth and spout off a bunch of gibberish that I have to assume is his way of "reading." It is SO cute! I haven't captured it on video yet, but I'm working on it.

And speaking of video, here's a funny (albeit kinda gross) one I took of him tonight, enjoying his after-dinner dessert, butterscotch pudding with bananas. We are working on perfecting his use of utensils, but we've got a long way to go!

Quite the domestic gentleman, Owen watches Mommy doing lots of things that he likes to try, too. Like wiping down stuff. Give the boy a paper towel and he will go to town wiping down all sorts of surfaces – like the carpet, the cabinets, the piano bench, his toys, etc.

Here, we see him "reorganizing" the kitchen utensil bucket. This is a new favorite pastime that I like to make use of to occupy him while I'm cooking dinner.

Putting items inside something and then taking them out (repeatedly) continues to be a favorite hobby for Owen. Tonight, he discovered a deck of playing cards in a little tin box. Oh, boy!

As I've mentioned before in a previous post, I have pretty much stopped reading all the emails and books updating me on what milestones my child should have reached by now and what new activities I should be working on with him. However, I do still receive these emails and occasionally I will glance at one. Last week I discovered that (gasp!), Owen should be proficient in his crayon coloring skills by now. (That is to say that he should be moving beyond drawing random lines and begin drawing "discernible shapes.") I felt a little ashamed to admit that I had really never even given him crayons to practice with up until now. I did try once or twice, but the crayons always went right into his mouth, so I figured he just wasn't ready yet. Anyway, I've been trying a lot harder this past week and, although he still prefers to eat the crayons than draw with them, he does ask me to color ("cuh, cuh"), and will occasionally make a few random scribbles on the page. Hardly the level that babycenter tells me he should be at, but I can't blame him for that. Maybe I ought to go back to reading those emails, huh?

Or maybe I don't really need the extra stress.

I had been debating for a while whether or not to document on this blog what I'm about to say. (And I actually decided to go ahead with it some weeks ago, but just kept forgetting. Plus, most people who read this know anyway.) Here goes...

On our anniversary (New Year's Eve), we were over at my parents house, picking up Owen after his sleep-over with Grandma and Papa. After changing his diaper upstairs, I let him start down the steps, which is something he's been doing (by sliding down on his tummy) for some time now. He sort of got off at a weird angle and, as I bent down to try to straighten him out (I was still in front of him at the top of the stairs, about to make my way to the step below him), he just started tumbling down, down, dowwwwwwn the stairs. (Boy, this is really hard to type out because I've been trying to avoid replaying it in my head ever since.) My parents live in a two-story house, so this was a full flight (probably 16 steps, or something like that) and I watched in complete horror as my little baby tumbled sideways over, and over, and over, and over, and over, until he abruptly stopped (with a bounce or two to the head) on the vinyl-floored landing below. And then it was over.

I (the only one who witnessed the terrifying event) remember weird details about it - like how I kept thinking in my head, "stop, stop, STOP!," but just kept saying screaming, "oh my God, ohmyGod, OHMYGOD!" And how I was reaching out, wanting my go-go gadget arms to magically extend far enough so I could grab him. As it was, I somehow ended up at the bottom of the stairs (still don't remember getting there), freaking out in a way I have never freaked out before. I thought for sure there must be blood gushing out of his skull and he was never going to be my same sweet little boy. I insisted that he go to the ER, although I, myself, was in no condition to drive him. After a LOT of consoling (me) and urging (Ryan) to take him to the hospital, we all got in the car and went. By the time we left, Owen was no longer crying and actually seemed fine. He played with the toys in the waiting room and, although he did not like being examined by the nurses or doctor, he behaved quite normally the whole time. Long story short, he was fine. Nary a scratch or bump on him (save for one small bruise on his leg).

I, on the other hand, am not the same. Immediately afterward, I went through a brief period of shame, remorse, and complete self-loathing. I was embarrassed to tell anyone about it, I did NOT want to talk about it with those that did know about it, and I was convinced that I should not be responsible for the care of this child. I cried out to God, feeling guilty, unworthy, and scared. I had long talks with Ryan, my mom, and God. Then, nearly two weeks later, I (tentatively) shared the story with a group of other mom friends and, low and behold, learned that several of them also experienced a child falling down the stairs (or some other similar accident). They all reacted to my story with lots of "pshhh, that's nothing" type of comments. It made me feel TONS better. I know that I am human, flawed, and will always make mistakes while raising this child. But I feel redemption in knowing that I do the very best I can, and am immensely grateful that Owen was completely unharmed (and will likely never remember any of it!)

But I am not the same. I feel more cautious now, particularly about potential falls. I have a hard time taking my eyes off of him at play dates and I can't get the image of him toppling down those stairs out of my head. I have nightmares about it, actually. But maybe that's good. Maybe I needed a reminder to be vigilant about keeping after him. He is so delicate and precious. But so daring and FAST!

Dear Lord, please watch over Owen and keep him out of harm's way. And please provide his mama with the wisdom to protect him to the best of my ability and the strength to handle the bumps and bruises along the way.