The Eclectic Dabbler

My side of the family was together in Florida last month for my sister’s wedding. Here is our family picture taken by my sister’s wedding photographer:

All of us together! Doesn’t happen very often, so it’s certainly worth noting!

The photographer, Erin Nicole, did a great job! Check out more of her pictures at her website here.

I’m not sure what spawned all the talk about death and heaven, but naturally for these discussions, Mara picked the day when Daniel almost called out of work because I have been so sick. Maybe she was worried after overhearing our conversation that I might not make it.

It always goes this way for me: moderate cold turns into terrible cough, sleepless nights, no voice. . . If I do talk, my cough is much worse. Laying down makes it worse, and basically unless there is warm liquid on my throat, I am coughing incessantly. So I drink soup and hot tea, recline on the hugest pile of pillows I can assemble, and pray for either sleep–or morning–to come quickly. Sometimes I cough for weeks before it goes away. Sometimes it turns into bronchitis or a sinus infection.

Of course, use of medications, even over-the-counter, is limited while breastfeeding, but I finally broke down and took Sudafed Saturday night when my ear and all the way down my jaw hurt so badly I thought we were going to have to drive to the nearest Minute Clinic as soon as they opened on Sunday.

Anyway, Daniel and I had a lengthy conversation Monday morning over whether he should stay home to help with the kids or not.

I was conflicted: Part of me thought that it’s pretty crazy to make my husband call out of work, because I’m sick, so he has to watch the kids. I mean, you just gut it out. There are hard days.

But then, I have had little to no sleep since Friday. I’m coughing all night long and most of the day. I do want to recover.  But it’s impossible to “not talk” with three kids, three and under. You are constantly instructing or correcting or answering questions or mediating. . . And then to that, add Mara’s vociferousness.

First, she told me that Tosta and Donna Eiselind are dead. . . Wow, she killed off her imaginary sisters! That’s an interesting twist. Hmmm. I’ll be curious to see if they are still dead tomorrow. A lot of her story-lines carry on for days, but this one seems so. . . irreversible.

Then I wondered, Does she even know what “dead” means?

Who’s to say?

In any case, she started asking questions about heaven:

“How will we get up to heaven, Mom? Because the sky is really high!”

“What are we going to do in heaven?” [We will get to see Jesus and God. We will worship God.]

“How long will we stay there?” [Forever.]

“Oh.” She looked disappointed, as if maybe that interfered with her other plans. “Because I really wanted to be with my family.”

“Will our whole family there? Will Daddy be there? Will Micah? and Carissa?”

“Will you? Because I want to be with my Mommy!”

“Will Grandma Bunton be there? Because I want to see her too.”

She doesn’t really understand yet. . .

Tonight as I shared her questions with Daniel we were reminded again to earnestly pray for our little ones that the eyes of their hearts will be opened; that God will reveal Himself to them and draw them to Himself; and that they will accept the forgiveness Christ offers as they trust in His work on the cross to pay for their sin.

Because we really want to see them in heaven too!

I have a love/hate relationship with the book Love You Forever.

I wasn’t familiar with this book before having children, but it was listed fourth on the 2001 Publishers Weekly All-Time Best selling Children’s Books list for paperbacks at 6.97 million copies (this doesn’t include the 1 million hardcover copies).

Amazon.com describes the book this way:

The mother sings to her sleeping baby: “I’ll love you forever / I’ll like you for always / As long as I’m living / My baby you’ll be.” She still sings the same song when her baby has turned into a fractious 2-year-old, a slovenly 9-year-old, and then a raucous teen. So far so ordinary–but this is one persistent lady. When her son grows up and leaves home, she takes to driving across town with a ladder on the car roof, climbing through her grown son’s window, and rocking the sleeping man in the same way. Then, inevitably, the day comes when she’s too old and sick to hold him, and the roles are at last reversed.

So: The part I “hate” about this book is the psycho mom “driving across town with a ladder on the car roof, climbing through the window, and rocking the sleeping man.”

I’m imagining here: My mother-in-law lives across town from her grown son, and if she ever did that even once (and, of course, I want to be perfectly clear: she wouldn’t!–I’m just sayin’), my husband would be getting a restraining order!

To me, this segment of the book crosses the line of endearing and borders on the insane. I mean, there are places for people like that. While you read the book, you have to wonder if the son doesn’t turn out “fractious”, “slovenly,” and “raucous” because of the mom who coddles him all his life!

Then there’s the part I love, which I suppose all mothers can relate to on some level. The truth is I can’t even read this book without getting teary at the end, when the son comes back to hold his aging mother and sing her the same song she sang to him all those years.

My son Micah turned two years old today.

He’s been sick and grumpy all week (I would be grumpy too if my eyes were alternately oozing–or glued shut). We’ve all been sick. I’ve been sick and incredibly tired. We haven’t gone out much with everyone sick, so it seems like Micah’s been getting into everything. He’s also been more demanding–even defiant this week, which is wearisome.

This morning, for example, we already had three little episodes before 9 AM. It was quiet for a minute, which of course left me wondering, “What is he doing?”

Just then I saw him pull Love You Forever off the shelf and walk toward me, holding the book up over his face where I could see the title.

“Couch?” he called. “Couch?” (His way of saying: “Come sit on the couch and read it to me!”)

I couldn’t resist. He needs more one-on-one time time, I thought. I had verbally edited this book when I read it to Mara, and as I sat down to read it to Micah for the first time, I was wondering which parts I should leave out for him.

As usual, on the very first page, I was drawn personally into the story, reminiscing about the time, just two short years ago, when Micah was my new (very little) baby.

I snuggled him on the couch while I read: “A mother held her new baby and very slowly rocked him back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. And while she held him, she sang: ‘I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always, As long as I’m living my baby you’ll be.’”

I turned the page. The picture there showed a little boy with a big smile, sitting in a bathroom, unrolling the toilet paper, pulling off sections and throwing them in the toilet.

Largely oblivious to the picture, I continued reading, struck by the parallel to my son’s current stage of life, as I read: “The baby grew. He grew and he grew and he grew. He grew until he was two years old, and he ran all around the house. . .”

At this point, my two-year-old had a huge–majorly huge–mischievous grin on his face. So much so, that I was nearly convinced he believed this book was written either about–or for–him! Before I could answer my own question of which parts of the story I shouldn’t read to this child (he certainly doesn’t need any more ideas!), Micah hurled himself off the couch, and announced, “Theeeee End!”

As he scampered off, I looked back down at the book: “. . . Sometimes his mother would say, ‘This kid is driving me CRAZY!’ But at night time when that two-year-old was quiet, she opened the door to his room . . . [and] sang . . . ‘I’ll love you forever. . .’”

Again, with the tears. I just can’t read stuff like this!

I’ll love you forever, Mic, I thought.

I know. I’m pathetic.

And I don’t know why I was surprised less than an hour later when I found him–yes, my two-year-old–standing at the toilet, the paper unrolled on the floor, throwing pieces in, and flushing over and over and over and over. Did I mention he kept flushing?. . . In retrospect, I’m sure that must have looked really fun in the book! (Add “Tacitly encourages aberrant behavior” to my “hate” column.)

What was I thinking reading that book to him?

But tonight. . .

. . . when my two-year-old birthday boy was quiet, I opened the door to his room. . .

‘I’ll love you forever,’ Micah!

Happy 2nd Birthday!

Sometimes I don’t feel like I’m cut out for life with toddlers. Especially when the toddlers randomly ask questions like, “What is the ‘American dream’?”

How would you explain that (on a three-year-old level)?

So I begin rambling, hoping something I say will make sense to her on some level and hoping that whatever makes sense to her actually relates to the American Dream.

“Well, first of all, in America you get to choose. You can decide if you want to be a doctor . . .  or a trashman . . . or work on computers . . .” I’m trying to think of professions she can relate to here.

“In some countries you don’t get to choose,” I told her. “They just tell you what you’re going to be. They will say, ‘Mara, you’re going to be a trashman.’” I was hoping that was not the profession she had in mind. “But!–in America, you get to choose. . . ”

Although that was not the end of my American Dream explanation, I stopped, because all of sudden, her whole face lit up.

I thought for sure she had decided to be a princess–or Emily Elizabeth–or Tosta or Donna Eiseland (her imaginary sisters).

But she surprised me: “I get to choose being a mother!” she exclaimed. “I just . . . want to be a mother.”

My heart melted. I wanted to capture for all time this memory: the softness of her sparkling eyes at that moment, her voice full of meaning, and her smile–the sweetest smile. Ever.

I was about to cry, but I held the tears back. (She’s asked me to explain the “happy tears” concept before too.–She doesn’t get it.)

So I just kissed her on the forehead and said, “You made my day, Mara!”

Then she exclaimed again, “Tomorrow I’m going to make Daddy’s day if I tell him that I want to be a mother. I would just LOVE to be a mother! . . . Annnd if you choose to be a trashman? that will make MY day! . . . ” This left me wondering what on earth she thought of my mothering skills, until she changed her mind: “I would like Micah to be the trashman. Micah, do you choose to be a trashman?”

Thankfully he didn’t. He just stared at her blankly, and characteristicly Mara continued, “I would love to be a food-er mom!”

“What’s a food-er mom?” I asked.

“Youuuu know! I would give us food.” She looked a little sheepish because I was laughing. “I would serve us food for dinner! I would be a server-mom!” she kept trying to explain.

By this point I was laughing pretty hard.

————

“I get to choose being a mother! I just want to be a mother.”

Me too, sweetheart. Me too.

And in that moment, I realized–I’m living my American Dream.

Some moments are not worth an entire post. But I still want to remember. Occasionally I’ll write these posts and jot down little random memories. . .

• My sweet Carissa “talking up a storm” when Daddy came home from the Phillies game Monday night! All you have to do is glance her way. If she catches your eye, she’ll give you the biggest smile and then chatter away! I guess both of our girls are going to be talkers! Micah did not coo or “talk” nearly as much as the girls! . . . Wow, it took me back in time to a different life, back in South Carolina, when we had another little girl (Mara) about the same age. Suddenly I was remembering what it was like to leave the workforce after about a decade of work. I was thinking of Daniel’s job there and the crazy schedule he had then, mornings together as a family of three at Starbucks, our old church (1999-2007), southern spring (which starts at the end of February) . . .

• The news helicopters were hovering for a couple hours because a bus lost its brakes, while taking our exit off the interstate less than a mile away. The bus flipped on its side, and the back of the bus was torn off. Over a dozen people were injured, but thankfully no one was killed.

• Micah has started walking out the front door into the entryway saying, “Work! Work!” He pretends he’s leaving for work. Wow, he copies everything Daniel does. He wants to wear sunglasses all the time because “Dadda. Lah-lah [glasses].”
• I was pushing Mara & Micah in the double stroller down Allegheny with Carissa in the Baby Bjorn, as we walked back from the park. Mara was spontaneously singing, “Soli Deo Gloria! To God alone be glorrry! To God alone be glorrry! Singing Soli Deo Gloria! To God alone be glory! To God alone be glory in Jesus Christ!” I realize that she’s too young to really understand what she’s singing. But what struck me was the sad realization of how very out-of-place it seemed to hear that song right there. That God’s glory (or songs about it) seem so very far from anyone’s mind. I wondered if anyone had ever sung praise to God there or even contemplated His glory. And I was again reminded: that’s why we chose to live here.
• From a John Piper message I listened to this week: “Indestructible joy breaks in from the future as a sustaining power in the present. If it’s not working that way for you, you’ve got some deep heart-work to do. Get on your knees this afternoon. . . ” Thank God for that sustaining power! and the indestructible joy for the future!
• Carissa had her two-month checkup. She’s 12 lbs. 6 ozs. (75-80% for weight); 24 inches long (95% for height); and her head is 15-3/4 inches (95%). Finally we have a child whose head size is proportional to the rest of her body! (And maybe a taller child?! I would be so happy for her! I always wanted to be tall! . . . We shall see!)
• The kids are loving to use the chalkboard/white erase board from IKEA. In fact, on Tuesday Mara started writing “A”s and “H”s on the chalkboard.
• While Daniel was at the Phillies game, I finally de-cluttered the table in the living room and took it down to the basement for Daniel to use as a computer desk. I also got the hutch in the dining room de-cluttered. I am soo behind on my house since bedrest, baby, recovery, my sister’s wedding. . . Now I’m working furiously on it! and the progress is definitely encouraging.
• I made a meal with a box of Suddenly Salad that was on sale for $1. I added leftover ham (chopped); a carrot (grated); a tomato (diced); 1/2 cucumber (chopped); some grated cheese and ranch dressing. And Daniel said it was good.
• Arlen Specter was defeated in the Democratic primary this week. And while I’m trying to avoid political commentary on this blog, that was certainly newsworthy.
• I talked to my sister on the phone today for the first time since her wedding. They’re settling in to their new apartment in Alexandria, Virginia. We’re hoping they will visit often, since you never know (in the military) how long you will be stationed somewhere or when or if you will ever be that close to family again.