we survived.

WHHHEWWW.

Here it is: Friday, the last final push before daddy gets home tonight after five long and tiring days.

Of course my kid gets sick while I'm parenting alone. Of course he does.

In these last five days, I've been puked on twice, hit and screamed at multiple times by overtired children, eaten five brownies, went for four runs to clear my head, and treated myself to Starbucks twice. We've made pizza with friends, went to soccer practice, resorted to wandering grocery store aisles to feel human, jumped on the trampoline to shake our sillies out, and bunked slumber-party-style together in one room. We ... more specifically I ... have lost it once at around 5 am after being up for 3 hours with a screamer. Not my proudest or most favorite moment. Not even. 

But, here we are.

Friday.

There are those intimidating things in life like caring for two children alone for week, half of which the car was in the shop, and half of which I had a puker/non-sleeper. And then at the (almost) end of it all, you look back on that big ole' intimidating thing THAT YOU JUST ROCKED and you give yourself a high five or a double shot espresso and you admit that it was ugly at times, but you did that thing you were so scared to do. 

I am woman, hear me R O A R.

Happy International Women's Day, chicas!

love & belonging.

I've been listening to Ted Talks a lot recently while I workout at the gym. A talk by researcher and social worker Brene Brown really struck a chord with me. 

I wish I could come here and spill out words from my heart, but the reality is, there is a 16 month old throwing a temper tantrum at my feet, dirty dishes in the sink, and toys strewn all over the house. I need to go to the gym, run errands, and today Solomon is bringing two friends over to play. Then I get to play cab driver going back and forth to soccer practice, dropping off friends, picking up Mr. P. This is the reality of life. It's not "busy-ness" necessarily, it's two small children. One of which is cutting molars and thinks the world may end.

Brene Brown says, toward the end of her talk, the following... Profound words about the next generation.

And we perfect, most dangerously, our children. Let me tell you what we think about children. They're hardwired for struggle when they get here. And when you hold those perfect little babies in your hand, our job is not to say, "Look at her, she's perfect. My job is just to keep her perfect --make sure she makes the tennis team by fifth grade and Yale by seventh grade." That's not our job. Our job is to look and say, "You know what? You're imperfect, and you're wired for struggle, but you are worthy of love and belonging." That's our job. Show me a generation of kids raised like that, and we'll end the problems I think that we see today. 

In order for connection to happen, we have to allow ourselves to be seen, really seen.

This is good stuff. If you have about 15 minutes, go over and watch the talk. It's worth it, I promise.  It's so good I wanted to embed the video here, but of course that's not working and I'm thisclosetopullingmyhairout. So you'll have to just go on over to Ted Talks to watch it.

xox

dear daughter.

Dear daughter,

This feels awkward, this writing to an imaginary being. But, I just can't seem to get you out of my head. Every time I see a pink tutu pinned on pinterest, or I stumble upon dollhouse designs or mary jane crocs, I think of you. Each time another friend announces they are expecting a baby girl, I genuinely smile for them, but somewhere deep inside, I miss you more.

This is probably the only letter I will ever write to you, and as awkward as it is, I must do it. I have to tell you all the things I've held in my heart for ages. Then I know I have to let you go.

First of all, let's just get this out in the open: tampons are where it's at. The key is in the angle; I know you can do it.  Ah yes, I can see you rolling your eyes, but honestly, friends are more important than boys in junior high. So, sit with the girls at lunch, plan slumber parties, go for bike rides after school, do each others' nails. You will have plenty of time for boys when you are older, believe me.

Envy will suck the life out of you. It will rob you of joy and confidence. It's not worth your energy; instead dwell on what you love about yourself.

You are so beautiful. You are perfect just the way you are. I will never stop loving you.

Did you know that you can be anything you want to be? You don't have to be a nurse; you can be a doctor. You don't have to be a receptionist; you can be a lawyer. You don't have to be an assistant; you can be a director. I know all of these are good things, but just remember there is no box that constrains you.

Someday, when you become a mother (if you choose to do so), for a time you will feel like you lost yourself. Allow yourself to grieve if you must. But, don't despair... you will be back... and better than you ever were before. More than anything, children teach us selflessness, sacrifice, and we finally understand that the world is so far beyond ourselves.

In my head I know that having a daughter is so much more than pedicure dates and shopping for prom dresses and planning your wedding. All of those things I will miss, and the dull ache is certainly there. But, in my heart I just want to know what you would look like... would you have my eyes, my freckles?  Would you be shy or bold?  Would you need braces?  Would you go through that awkward tween stage like I did, so unsure of yourself? What would you want to be when you grow up? Because I know you would change the world. 

Dear daughter, I have to let you go now.  I am happy with my boys, and I will surely teach them with all that I am how to love & respect a lady.  And, who knows, maybe someday I will end up with a daughter after all.  I'm already looking forward to it. 

Love,

destined to be a boy mom.

small moments.

When Solomon was a baby, I daydreamed about the day he would be old enough to read books that I found interesting. (no offense, Pat the Bunny)

About six months ago we bought him his first longer storybook, Peter Pan. Mr. P & I took turns reading him sections of it each night before bed. He did enjoy it, but it wasn't as magical as I had imagined. I didn't want to force it, so we took a break and went back to Curious George and Skippy Jon Jones and The Gruffalo.

During our last visit to the library (we go every few weeks to get 10 new books for the boys) I spotted C.S. Lewis' The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe. I decided we would give a longer book another shot. I couldn't wait to snuggle up in Solo's bed with him in the dim light of his bedside lamp, and introduce him to the magic of Narnia. 

HE LOVED IT.

So much that we read it over and over for about a week. He made his lego guys into "Peter the Knight of Narnia" and he made believe that his horses were white unicorns. He asked over and over to see "Mr. Tumnus, the Faun." My heart was so happy watching him get lost in the magic.

A couple days before Valentine's day, Mr. P and I went out to dinner together. I needed to stop at the store before picking up the boys from the sitter's to buy a new iron. We perused the DVD aisle and spotted Disney's version of The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe. Mr. P and I looked at each other... Nah, he's too young, we both decided.

But, as we continued on to pick out an iron, neither of us could get Narnia out of our heads. We went back and put the movie in our cart... a Valentine's gift for Solo, we both justified.

On Saturday morning we ate breakfast in bed as we watched the movie for the first time, all of us wrapped up in blankets on the bed. Solomon was absolutely captivated by the whimsical and magical world of Narnia. Amidst the lack of sleep, sicknesses, temper tantrums, and all of the trials of parenting, sharing these small moments with my kids reminds me that I would do it all again in a heartbeat. 

“Aslan is a lion- the Lion, the great Lion."    "Ooh" said Susan.   "I'd thought he was a man.  Is he quite safe?   I shall feel rather nervous about meeting a lion."  

..."Safe?" said Mr Beaver ... "Who said anything about safe? 'Course he isn't safe. But he's good. He's the King, I tell you.”

just write

a day in the life.

As I was catching up on a few blogs this morning, I came across The Tiny Twig's "A day in the life" post. I don't know about you, but I always think it's fun to peek into someone else's life. It's interesting to see how others juggle their different responsibilities and make everything come together.

A typical day for me begins around 6:30 a.m. with Rainer crawling on top of me (we are co-sleeping these days.) Depending on when he last nursed, I will either nurse him or get right up to start the day. Since we are weaning, it's usually the latter. After his diaper change we'll go into the kitchen to get lunches set out, make the coffee, and set up breakfast. Rainer usually waddles around playing with random spices from the pantry or the magnets on the fridge.

Solomon is up around 7:00, and I set him up with a show on the iPad while he eats his breakfast. During this time I load the car with his school bag, the stroller, blankets and water bottles. At about 7:20 we are brushing teeth and putting shoes on while the car warms up. We try to be out the door around 7:30 so we beat most of the school traffic. School is a six minute drive, and it's also where Mr. P works, so I usually drop him off along with Solo. Sometimes he has to go in early, in which case I have the lovely task of finding a parking spot so I can walk Solo to his classroom myself, with a 20 pound toddler in tow. :)

After Solo is at school, I drive a few blocks and park the car by the running path. With Rainer bundled up in the stroller with some sort of breakfast-y snack, we go for a short run.

Unless Rainer falls asleep in the stroller, I usually run just about 25-30 minutes. This is my time to listen to whatever audiobook I'm currently on, or if I'm not in the mood for that, worship music. I love the fresh morning air and the time to clear my head. While I stretch, Rainer plays happily in the car, smiling and squealing at all the morning joggers & walkers.

We are usually home between 8:30 and 9. I quickly make our breakfast, and while Rainer eats I am usually checking email and social media. I'll also take that time to do the dishes, make beds, tidy up around the house, and throw in a load of laundry. After Rainer is cleaned up, I get him dressed and let him play for awhile. Between 9:30 and 10 it's time for his morning nap.

He's a fighter so it can take a bit to settle him down to sleep. Once he's asleep I sneak out of his room to take a shower and get ready for the day. I'll water our grass and plants, do a little outside maintenance, and with any spare time, I write a blog post and dink around on the computer.

After Rainer's nap we play for about an hour. (on Thursdays we go to a park with a play group) At noon, I start getting us ready to pick up Solomon from school. On the days I feel like walking (25 minutes each way) I set up Rainer in the stroller with a few toys and a rice cake, and we are out the door by 12:10. If I have errands to run, or I just don't feel like walking, we take the car. 

Rainer LOVES going to school to pick up big brother. He loves exploring the hallways and playing outside Solomon's classroom if we arrive early. On the way home, I ask Solo questions about his day. Some days he happily babbles on, and sometimes he politely says, "Mommy, I don't want to talk."  If we don't have any errands to run we are usually home by 1.

We unload the car, go potty, Solomon changes into comfy play clothes, and I prepare lunch. After lunch Solomon plays with legos, cars, or draws while I clean up Rainer and wash the lunch dishes. We chat and play for about an hour, and at 2:30 Rainer is ready for his afternoon nap. I always look forward to his afternoon nap so I can finally have some one-on-one time with Solomon (such a rarity these days). We usually play with legos or a board game or puzzle on the floor, taking advantage of no tiny hands to mess everything up.

When Rainer is up after about an hour, we have a snack and get ready for whatever afternoon activity is planned. Mondays and Wednesdays Solomon has soccer practice from 4:30-5:30 (a 10 minute walk from our house). Tuesdays we go to a play group and Thursdays he has an hour of speech therapy back at school. On Fridays we will usually go to the library, the park or to the swimming pool.

Mr. P gets home around 5:30 most days, and I finish getting dinner ready (preparing dinner is a day-long process: chop a carrot at noon, set out ingredients at 2, make the salad at 3, etc!) At around 6 we are at the table eating, talking about our days, telling each other what we appreciate about the other (a family tradition), coaxing the boys to eat more, you know the drill!

At 6:45 the shower is running, and we trade off who gives the boys their shower and who puts their jammies on. By 7 showers are done, teeth brushed, and the boys are running around the house or wrestling on the beds, expending the last of their energy.

We also trade off (fight over) who puts Solomon to bed and who puts Rainer to bed. The boys are both asleep around 7:30, and if Mr. P & I have managed to stay awake ourselves, we will watch a TV show or just sit on the couch and talk. Before I go to bed myself, I try to make sure lunches are packed for the following day, clothes are set out, toys are picked up, and the kitchen is clean.  Emphasis on "try."

By 9:30 I'm snuggled up in bed reading or looking at pictures on instagram, praying to God my children sleep all night. 

the chase.

What is it about being chased, anyway?

Both Solo & Rainer burst with glee whenever one of us has that glimmer in our eye that says "Imma gonna get you!"

It's the foolproof way to make them giggle & snap them out of any funk they might have been in. It's an intrinsic desire to be pursued, to be wanted, to play hard to get. Even my not-quite-one-year old gets it. And loves it.

Last night Solo started chasing Rainer (yes, he's walking... wishing he could run, but not quite there yet) and the squeals of delight were contagious.

Why is being chased so great?

I don't think it's the rush of adrenaline, although that does make it fun.

It's the fleeting feeling of power, and then of someone delighting in touching you at the end of it all.

Solo went through a hitting phase awhile back. Whenever he would hit one of us we'd say, Buddy do you need a hug? and we'd scoop him up into a big bear hug. Funny enough, it was usually just the attention he wanted & needed. Then one day he said out of the blue, "Right, mommy, when we hit then we get a hug?"

Um.

Well, not exactly.

It's so fascinating, as a mom of boys, the craving for physical touch and how that expresses itself in funny ways. Sure, sometimes Solo says "I wanna snuggle," and we do.

But, more often than not, he growls & puts on a superhero mask & begs to wrestle. Or he taunts me to chase him around the house, which inevitably ends with us in a pile of snuggles on the bed.

There are many ways to get there, but in the end the thrill of the chase is really the touch after we are caught by someone we love. 

just write

i'm a boy mom.

So we bought the boys a trampoline. It was "loosely" Rainer's first birthday present. But, let's be honest... It was also their Christmas & 2013 birthday presents combined.

I had visions of leisurely afternoons lounging on a blanket in the grass watching Solo jump for hours. I imagined the boys holding hands together & bouncing to the tune of Ring Around the Rosy...

Sure, I'd jump from time to time, but mostly I'd just watch, cold beverage in hand.

When the last of the little guests left the day of the party, Solo wasted no time in replacing his tiny jumping buddies with larger versions... Namely, me.

"Mommy, jump with me!"

"Mommy, let's jump!"

"Mommy, tell me what to do!"

"Mommy, chase me! Mommy, throw me! Mommy let's be dolphins! Frogs! Superheroes!"

So, now I wasn't just playing nonstop with my children (ah! the nerve!) I was playing nonstop with them ON A TRAMPOLINE. Where my one year old was flopping all around very much to his dismay.

Until one day.

Solo was wearing his favorite shorts. Only with a twist... Commando. He discovered that wearing these particular shorts without the under garment meant when he jumped high enough, the shorts promptly fell to his ankles.

Which, of course, when you are a four-year-old boy, this is the most hysterical thing to have ever happened. Ever.

And, funny enough, now he's perfectly content to jump by himself. As long as he is "swimming free" beneath those favorite shorts of his.

Yes, I'm a boy mom. It has its perks.

at bedtime.

Did you hear that?

That enormous heave of a sigh that echoed off the plateau of Guadalajara, through the canyons of Northern Mexico and into the U.S.?

Holy. Crap.

Mr. P is working late tonight & I just executed bedtime by myself. The "process" took over an hour. And that's without baths (no way was I going there).

So, it basically consisted of me attempting to nurse Rainer in the side-lying position in Solo's bed as discreetly & calmly as possible, while creating a peaceful atmosphere for bedtime stories and Solo's sleepiness to follow. However, Rainer took a late nap and, to put it lightly, he had a little excessive energy.
'Sleepy-calm-nursing' was more accurately slurp-grunt-fling body-roll over-scoot off the bed-giggle-snort-make Solo laugh-sorta-nursing.

Thus, the hour-long kid-wrangling act. During which I had a few moments I'm so NOT proud of.

After apologizing & asking Solo to forgive me for my harsh words and quick temper, he snuggled up into the warm spot where my neck meets my collarbone and he exhaled. It was a long day. He left for school with Mr. P at 7:15 a.m. and went to a birthday party afterwards with a classmate, not getting dropped off at home until 5:00 p.m. (He's too big for his own good.)

Why is it I miss him so terribly and the void of his absence engulfs me, yet I lash out in frustration with such ease in the moments it takes him to unknowingly turn his pajama shirt inside out? Or when he provokes just a few extra giggles from his baby brother? Why am I fixated on the clock and "the thing" I want to do as soon as his eyelids close during the time I should be most present ?

Mr. P has a work trip coming up. I'll have a few more nights to fail miserably at this. (hold me.)

Or.

Or a few more nights to do this thing differently. To be present. To be patient. To run that last lap with perseverance and focus. To give my boys my undivided attention as their eyelids grow heavy and their breathing soft and steady.

The tucking-in-bedtime-story days are numbered, after all.

four.

Four is awesome.

I'd heard it often; people encouraged me; it was the light at the end of the three-year-old-tunnel-of-doom. (Let's just say the age of three is not a walk in the park.)

Solo makes me chuckle DAILY. Multiple times a day. He's a riot, this boy. Things that come out of his mouth on the regular:

"Mommy, let's just lay on the futon and enjoy the rain, ok?"

"Mommy, I really want to just relax right here."

"Wow. Look at that motorcycle. I can't believe it."

"You are NOT gonna believe this. Wow. Just wow."

"A long, long. long. long time ago when I was two...."

"Right, mommy, we love each other, right?"

"Actually, I want to sit on the couch and eat breakfast."  (I adore the way he says "actually")

His smile is contagious. He is so bright & full of life & energy. He loves his daddy and his little brother (okay, and me) something fierce and holds nothing back.

Just this morning he burst into tears when I said it was time for Rainer's morning nap. Sometimes I think about if we had decided on Solo as our one & only. The love and joy our lives, his life, would have missed is astronomical.

This little boy. This four-year-old-boy brings so many gifts.

Love you Solito.

beginning again.

Freshly sharpened pencils. Crisp sheets of colored paper. Clean lunchboxes. New clothes and shoes. Nervous side glances and squeezes from small hands in doorways. 

My heart, once again, walking away from me. 

sleepy eyes at 7:45a.m.!

First days of school.

we surprised Solomon at pick-up with a matchy matchy lil' bro!

the groove.

The house is too quiet.

Baby is napping. Big boy is at school. It's so quiet I can hear the hum of Rainer's sound machine, even with his door closed.

I sense an odd feeling. I think we are transitioning into a new phase of life, with a 4 year old and an almost 10 month old, the grueling days of marathon parenting just *may* be behind us. I don't want to go as far as to say this phase will be easy or comfortable, because, really. We all know that there's not much "easy" about parenting.

So, what is the word I'm looking for?

Nice.

Calm.

Manageable.

The sleepless nights are much fewer and farther between. The baby spit up and screaming are an extremely rare occurrence. The boys adore each other and even play together, in the most precious ways. Rainer takes predictable naps, we have a bedtime routine, dinners are becoming more enjoyable, and we've even figured out how to fit in regular exercise & dates as a couple.

We've hit our groove.

I don't want to speak too soon, but I've gotta admit, it's nice.

We are so utterly thankful.

{Just Write}

on growing up.

So, he's been four a measly week, and so much has changed already. It's like those big shards of rock salt rubbing deep into my wounds. All traces of 'little' are gone.

Last night I asked for a hug, a huge hug, and he jumped up into my arms and wrapped his legs tight around my middle. Those legs, that were once soft and stubby, now wrap entirely around me. Where did the time go? I remember the soft and stubbiness, but what about all the in between that led to these long & lanky limbs?

I want everything to just stop for a bit. It's going too fast.

The other day Mr. P gave Solo a shower and washed his hair. As we got Rainer ready for bed, we let Solo sit and watch a TV show. The way the light landed on his damp hair made it glow. The layers of hair fell in such a lovely way onto his forehead, and Mr. P ran his fingers through it, looking wistfully at me, "You know, someday a girl he loves will run her fingers through his hair just like this."

No. nononononono. Nooo. Not yet.

Somehow the change from 3 to 4 has been the most drastic so far. I was so ready for this, (the emotional upheaval that was 3 was welcome to leave long ago) but also 3 was definitely the last year of "littleness." Now it's just big boy through and through, and I'm not so sure I recognize this kid who closes the door to use the bathroom, and can put his socks on all by himself. Yet, in the same breath, my love for him just multiplies with each year, like I never thought it would, or could.

It's been 10 days now since he last sucked his thumb. On August 1st, the eve of his fourth birthday, we went for it.  Again. We'd been down this road before. Lectures from the dentist, incentives, prizes. But, he was never ready until now. Simple as that.

The first 2-3 days or so were extremely rough. Watching his little heart and mind and body struggle against the urge to do something that he so naturally had done every single day for almost four years broke my momma heart. But, it wasn't me, it was HIM. He had made up his mind to stop, and as hard as it was, he wasn't giving up. Laying beside him in bed as he tossed and turned, heaving sighs of frustration, and ultimately laying on top of his hands to fall asleep, I choked back tears. The intensity of his independence in those moments overwhelmed me. He is 100% his own person.

And a breathtakingly wonderful one at that.

dear rainer,

You are nine and a half months old.
There is so much I want to freeze in time & tattoo on my memory, so that I can always access who "you" are at this exact moment in time.

You are a momma's boy, through and through. I cannot even tell you how much this heals my deepest wounds. I'm sorry that I need you to need me like that, but I thank you for being the vessel to heal me.

You have two perfect bottom teeth. They are adorable little squares, exact and straight.  When you smile you scrunch up your nose & usually make hilarious grunting noises. You are inhibited in your expression of all emotions. I can learn so much from you in that sense. You are our spirited one.

The other day you threw your first temper tantrum. You know what you want, and with all the focus and strength you have in your little 19 pound frame you go for it.  With everything. Whether it's a power cord, a marker, or my arms in the middle of the night, you don't easily give up. I know someday I will love you even more than I do now for that.

When you get excited you start hee-ing and haw-ing and flapping your arms wildly. I need to start saving up now for your trips to Italy.

You love bananas, blueberries, rice cakes, carrots and cheerios. You could do without spinach, but we know what's best for you.

Every day you are getting stronger and more independent. It really shouldn't surprise me, but it does. Thus, the dilemma of a mommy - the loving and the letting go. It's already tearing me apart in the most beautiful and gut-wrenching ways.
I love you, always.

a lake does a body good.

see that pic up there?

Let me tell you the story behind it.  Grab a cup of tea, put your feet up and get comfy. You're about to join me in rural Mexico.

The other day we had reservations for a cabin at Santa Maria del Oro, deposit paid & receipt in hand, it was 8:00a.m. and our desired departure was in an hour. As Mr. P showered and packed his clothes, I rushed around the house, list in hand, stuffing diapers, clothes, towels and sunscreen into a carry-on roller, setting out oatmeal and honey, making sure I had enough coffee ground, and stocking the nooks and crannies of the car with plentiful snacks. (ranging from Puffs to homemade "trail mix") 

We left on time, gas tank full, car weighed down, WeeSing playlist bumpin'. The trip was uneventful... unless you count me squatting to pee on the pavement next to the four lane highway a significant "event."

But you guys. This lake? Is breathtaking. Pre-kids it was probably Mr. P & my favorite getaway spot. We hadn't dared the adventure with our boys yet, and it was time. So there we found ourselves gasping yet again when the lake finally came into view. Even Solo stopped mid-sentence when he laid eyes on it for the first time.

After taking in the view we drove down the winding road to the lakefront in search of our cabin. Solo was doubtful that there really was a road that would lead us to the water, but he complied.

Our cabin was... how do I put this... DISGUSTING.

Dirty, old, nasty. Even Solo was grossed out. He kept walking around on his tippy toes so his feet wouldn't touch the grubby tile floors. Over and over we had to reassure him that we would just stay one night. No, we weren't going to live here. Yes, we still have our other house. Honestly, a few hours in, we started to wonder if this was all a bad idea. Could we really survive a night in a grody cabin with two small boys dependent on us for their livelihood?!?

really, mom? this was the best you could do?

Thank goodness the view redeemed ... well ... EVERYTHING.

Needless to say, we survived the night. & what followed the next morning was magical.

We set out for a early morning walk after a breakfast of oatmeal and fresh strawberries. Solo sped ahead on his "Gravel Blaster" (bike) and I carried Rainer on my shoulders. We walked down to the dock to find it quiet, calm and completely empty. Of course. At 9:00 a.m. Mexican campers are still sound asleep.

I knew that something had to happen for this trip to step it up a notch. To be memorable. To be magical. Thankfully I had my swim suit bottoms on underneath my skirt. I grabbed Solo (well, first I fished the junebug out of Rainer's mouth and hollered at Mr. P to get the camera ready) and peeled off his t-shirt, threw my skirt on the dock ramp and told him we were jumping in. (He had yet to go in the water at this point) His first reaction was, Cool!  But in a quick 2.5 seconds that changed to NO FREAKIN WAY, MOM. 

So, I did what any loving mother would do. I picked him up and hurled us both into the lake.

The rest is history.

feelings of failings.

I hate hate hate comparing myself to others. And yet, I do it incessantly, like an addiction. It reached an all-time high somewhere around 7th grade, tapered off, and then skyrocketed when I became a mom.

The insecurity, the feeling less-than, the self-doubt, the self-loathing, the fear.

I hate it all.

And, yet.

<Sigh>

Lately there has been another explosion of pregnancy announcements... on Facebook, on Twitter, on blogs. I knew that the inevitable sting would accompany these as soon as we sealed the deal that Rainer would be our last baby. I expected a little jealousy, a twinge of sadness, maybe even regret.

But the gut-wrenching feelings of FAILURE hit me in the face like a ton of bricks. Unexpectedly.

For some reason it hurts even worse that these recent pregnancy announcements are all moms due to have their 2nd or 3rd baby LESS than 18 months after the prior one.

I think to myself (lies),

"It's so easy for them."

"It's not fair. I wanted kids close in age. I wanted a big family."

"I failed. I don't cut it as a mom."

"Motherhood isn't supposed to be such an ordeal. I am not good at this."

As I write this, I know I probably shouldn't even hit publish. How dare I think these thoughts, feel these feelings. There are mothers and families dealing with infant loss, infertility, grief that doesn't even touch what I'm experiencing. I have two beautiful sons. I have so much.

And, yet.

Ignoring it doesn't seem right either.

The fact of the matter is, I suffered Postpartum Depression. An unlucky twist of fate. I'd like to say I'm over it. It's gone & done with. But, now, as my baby turns four years old, the wounds it inflicted still ache. It's no longer an urgent pain, sharp and forceful, but more of a residual burning sensation, underneath the skin.

It's like pockets of wounds have left been open, unbeknownst to me, all this time. And with each reminder of what I didn't or can't have, bold air blows fresh on these wounds, and they flare up again.

Rest.

This week rest has been forced upon me. I didn't realize it, but I do think I was pushing myself too hard. I have started running a lot more, plus doing the level 3 of 30 day shred (& let's be honest, it's pretty intense). On Wednesday I was at a friend's house with both my kids all day helping with her toddler while she recovers from surgery. I did a Costco run for both of us, then stayed up preparing for Solo's birthday party.

On Thursday we celebrated Solomon with almost six hours of play -- me wearing Rainer in the ergo for his naps. Thursday night after the party my body felt sore and tired so I opted to go to bed early instead of out to dinner with friends. My night resulted in lots of tossing & turning, restless sleep.

Friday morning I awoke to a very sore back. I didn't have plans for the day except to be home with both boys. Mr. P left for work at around 7:30, and over the next half hour my back cramped up so badly that I was forced to collapse on the floor, unable to move and with difficulty breathing.

My sweet Solo brought me my cell phone, a cup of water, and fanned me with his sticker book. He made sure Rainer didn't fall off the step in the living room and gave him new toys. I called Mr. P and he was home within 10 minutes.

The pain was so intense I was in tears. I hated that Solo had to see me in such a mess. And at the same time I am immensely proud of how he handled the situation.

In a nutshell the rest of the day included a sitter for the boys while Mr. P took me to urgent care, where we spent about three hours. Turns out it was just a really intense muscle spasm, which was treated with a steroid injection of some sort and muscle relaxants for the rest of this week.

Sometimes we need rest so badly it takes something drastic for our body to force it upon us. Yesterday I took a nap in the afternoon while Mr. P watched the boys. It was probably my third nap since Rainer was born. I simply don't allow my mind and body a break during the day.

Today Mr P arranged for the babysitter to come back and be with the boys so I can rest and he can go to the office to catch up on the work he missed. Normally I would pitch a fit and never allow myself this kind of a break. But something tells me this whole ordeal is supposed to teach me something about humility.

Sometimes I do need to accept help and sometimes I do deserve a break.

So I put the baby down for his morning nap, left Solo playing with play dough on the floor with the sitter, and I'm sipping a caramel macchiato with my feet up and a pedicure appointment in 15 minutes.

Can I get an amen?

all in a week's work.

This week of mothering was filled with high-highs and low-lows.

Rainer is *thisclose* to crawling. It's soo cute. His little bum up in the air, his nose wrinkled with determination, his tiny biceps flexing... ok, not really. It's definitely a mommy-high watching your babies learn and grow and develop.

And then he ate a dead moth. So that was a low point. I should clarify, I did manage to fish it out of his mouth so he didn't actually ingest it. So that's a good thing.

I had the privilege of some one-on-one time with Solo practicing his pedal bike skills. I know I shouldn't brag, but my 3 year old, almost 4 year old, has got SKILLS. Have I mentioned he rides a bike without training wheels? I have? Oh, sorry.

For awhile now he's been good with the pedaling part, turning, and stopping. This weekend I taught him how to start on his own - without a push from mommy & daddy. He looks down at the pedals and asks himself "which pedal is higher?" Then he puts his foot on that pedal, with the other foot still stabilizing on the ground, and he takes off! It was SUCH a high, watching my firstborn master the last step of bike riding, a skill he will have for a lifetime.

And then he got sick. Like, 103.6* (37.9) fever-sick. I should have known when he said he was "really cold" at the park when it was actually about 90 ever-loving-degrees out. I just chuckled to myself and thought, "sheesh, he really is a Mexican."

There is nothing that compares to holding your sick baby. It's an awful, helpless feeling. And it's even worse when he cries out for his daddy and nothing you do seems to console him. In those moments I flash back to when he was a baby, and I was so sick with PPD. The sense of loss I feel is painful. I know most kids want their mommies when they are sick, but mine does not. Because when he needed me most I was not there. And that hurts.

This morning Solo is feeling better, and he went to school. Today is their father's day picnic. Right now he is probably sharing the cinnamon rolls and fresh mango juice with his daddy that I packed for their special time together.

& that makes me smile.

parenthood.

the funny thing, I've found, about parenting is that the majority of us are grossly underqualified. we are entrusted with these fragile beings, humans, who depend on us for everything. yet we have no formal training beyond our instincts. and as they grow, their dependence on us lessens gradually, yet the decisions we are responsible for making seem to become increasingly more difficult.

it's no longer what brand of diaper cream will clear up this rash? or do we, or do we not, give vitamin d drops versus simply lay our naked baby in the sun every morning?

"Solomon shows difficulty pronouncing the following phonemes.....

He has difficulty pronouncing these phoneme blends.....

He has difficulty pronouncing polysyllabic words.

Speech therapy is recommended in order to correct the sounds that he does not articulate correctly. This could help avoid possible problems with academic achievement such as with emergent reading and writing and his verbal expression interacting with others."

My baby is growing up.

He'll be four years old in TWO months.

He has speech delays. He has allergies. He's learning to swim. He rides a bike without training wheels. He wants long hair. He loves Lightening McQueen and insists on a Batman themed birthday party.

He's learning things constantly that we are not teaching him. Like the word for race in Spanish. and that a witch turns people into rocks.

(we are not happy about all the things he learns at recess.)

He transforms sticks into guns. He uses spatulas and cheese graters as a drum set. He loves to wrestle and run and dance. He builds trains out of boxes and tealight candles and dishes. He colors inside the lines. He knows the way to school and back home. He can tell you his birthday. He makes Rainer laugh like no one else can.

In a few more blinks of the eye, the letter home won't be about his speech development, but about his reading skills, his driver's ed class, his career inventory results, his college admissions placement. and I'm quite certain I will never really feel like an adult.

This growing up stuff; it never ends. And in the way only another parent can understand, it hurts. It hurts so good.

~~~~~~

Pour your heart out.

inexplicable.

God, you've blessed me.

I woke up with my sick baby 4 times last night, one of which included crying for almost an hour.

I'm so lucky.

My 3 year old still has coughing attacks, and we're not sure of all his food allergies, and it's often he doesn't sleep through the night. His tantrums are fierce and his mood swings unpredictable, but his hugs are gold and his kisses magic.

I'm so incredibly, inexplicably lucky.

Two boys, two perfect and beautiful boys, with their distinct personalities and needs and demands, with their growing love and attachment to one another that literally takes my breath away daily... Them. Entrusted. To me.

I'm so tired. So beat down-exhausted-haven't slept through the night in well over a year-drained. But, if I can look past the weariness and the daily nonstop demands - and today I CHOOSE to look past them - I see that what I have is incredible in ways even I can't wrap my mind around.

That I was chosen to be their mom, that they need me (which so often I complain about their need for me), their silky smooth skin and gummy smiles and contagious laughter and sparkling eyes.... given to me at a cost that sometimes feels unbearably & endlessly hard ...

and yet,

I'm so so unbelievably, undeniably lucky.

My God, how you've blessed me.

~~~~

My words today are born of the grief I feel for Diana and her heavy loss; a loss that my mind cannot fathom, explain, or understand.

It is good.

The initial adjustment "home" after visits in the states with family is hard. Sad. Lonely.
But then we eventually snap out of it and lean harder into one another and recognize the beauty in this little life we have here. Far away from our families, yes, but together here we are nonetheless.
And there's lots of beauty in that.
It's going to sound cheesy but whatevs. You guys? My kids are bringing me so much joy lately. Like bursting, overflowing, delicious amounts of joy.
So many people told me it would happen, but it's not until I experienced for myself watching my boys play together that I could truly understand how happy and light it would make my heart.
So happy.
They adore each other. It's basically the cutest thing I've ever witnessed. Solo tickles Rainer and he squeals. Rainer practically tips himself over head first trying to watch everything his big brother does across the room.
Solo squeezes his chunky thighs, tousles his hair, and asks to see his butt because "it's so cute!!"
I love them.
The bond I feel with Rainer lately is something I treasure more than words can express. I could kiss and hug him a million times a day and it would never be enough. He is so fun. SO FUN. Yes, I'm saying this about a baby!
The other day Solo exclaimed, "it's so fun having a baby!!!" I love seeing life through his eyes. And it IS so fun.
(that last picture is a "piece of cloud" according to Solo. & how lucky are we that it landed in our house?!)
We spent the weekend doing a whole lot of nothing. Just being. And that's exactly what we needed to feel refreshed after an emotional week transitioning back.

How was your weekend?