assessments

My birthday was last Saturday.  Judging by the mountain of clean but unfolded laundry, someone seems to think she's still the Birthday Girl with a "get out of folding laundry because it's your birthday" pass.  Today is my lovely friend Katie's birthday as well as that of my beloved's grandfather and our cousin.  Another cousin's birthday earlier was this week, so I'm thinking the laundry folding can wait another day in honor of all the festivities.

Birthdays have a way of serving as a checkpoint or annual review of sorts.  Here's mine in a nutshell, with plenty left out but enough both to work at and build upon...

Things I thought I would be better at by now:

• getting kids to sleep 
• staying calm in the face of a temper tantrum or prolonged fussing
• going to bed

Things I'm pretty good at (surprisingly):

• using silliness or humor to convey instructions or cut through kvetching 
• laundry stain-fighting (knock on wood)

Things I am getting better at:

• getting things done -- not everything and not all the time, but more often, even if I have to chip away at whatever it is a little bit at a time
• winnowing down the number of things at which I am multitasking so that I can complete at least some of them before starting new ones
• getting dinner on the table
• staying on top of the laundry (sort of) 
• estimating the amount of time tasks actually take to accomplish
• arriving some place on time (or at least closer to it)

Things I'm not so good at (still):

• going to bed 
• making decisions

For my birthday buddies and me I pray that by God's grace, the year ahead may bring continued growth and understanding, peace and fortitude for the journey still to come, and laughter to bridge the expanse between expectations and reality.   Sleep would be good, too.

helpers

Since having children, I've often wondered how mamas who sewed finished any projects. Until very recently, the last time I sewed anything was when I was expecting the younger lad (more than five years ago). I made a few baby blankets--two girly ones, because I was *sure* he was a girl (I'm so glad I was wrong and that he is who he is) and one just in case the "wee babe" (as I referred to the bambino in utero, though he was the least "wee" of the four, weighing more than nine and a half pounds at birth) was a boy.  That blue waffle-weave blanket with chocolate brown trim got a lot of use. The two floral, ruffle-edged blankets would have to wait -- not really all that long, as it turned out -- for the lasses to come along.  They still use those blankets.

In the past couple of months I've gotten the sewing machine out for some "quick" projects. It's been a lot of fun. I set up my work space near the bambini's play space, which gives me a chance to work on projects little bits at a time (which is, by the way, how I get pretty much anything done) while keeping tabs on the bambini (and receiving trays of play food tea party treats and other pretend play fun).  I've been able to carve out some longer stretches of time to work solo on these projects as well, which is a recent and still novel-to-me phenomenon.

Working at the sewing machine in the midst of the bambini does attract their interest, so I've tried to explain what the various parts of the machine and let them help me as they can. The elder lad helped his grandmother sew baby blankets when the younger lass was on the way (when we referred to her as "Quattro", since we didn't know her gender either). He's manned the foot pedal of my machine (while reading the sewing machine manual and probably imagining he's driving a Mack truck) a few times recently in the construction of some nap mat covers for his younger siblings who nap (do they?) at school. The younger lad is fascinated by the machine, especially the needle-threading mechanism and bobbin winder. He'd love to take the whole thing apart and reassemble it (into a robot, I'm sure). For now, he's happy pushing the "u-turn" button that sends the fabric back under the needle for a little back stitching to secure the stitches.

Of course, little hands in front of where I'm trying to work are not always easy to see around (or safe, for that matter, but I keep close tabs on that). Why do I let them help me? For one thing, it's something constructive to do together (and you know how I feel about that).  For another, it shows them a side of me they don't know very well.  For yet another, I'm hoping one day the elder lad will be able to sew the patches on his Scout uniform himself.  Maybe someday my machine will jam or otherwise break down.  By then the younger lad might be my go-to guy to get it up and running again. 

Yes: plenty of times I'd like to be able to just sew it myself without little hands reaching in to "help."  By taking the time to teach them certain age-appropriate aspects of the job I'm doing, I'm hoping to honor their desire to be helpful as well as a part of what I'm doing so as to help them learn an array of life skills (including patience with and a respect for their mother and her creative inclinations) with which to serve the people around them now and in the days and years to come. 

Godsends

Following yesterday's post about taking necessary measures to ensure the overall health of a primary caregiver, I wish to backtrack even farther to two (almost three now) Sundays ago.  St. Paul is writing to the Corinthians, explaining the source of his strength in spite of some uphill battles he's fighting.  That source is the Lord's grace. 

"...My grace is sufficient for you, for power is made perfect in weakness."

--2 Cor 12:9

Were I to tally the number of times I felt unequal to the task of caring for four closely-spaced children, I think the number might be astronomical.  However could I, one person with two hands, meet all the simultaneous needs when flying solo?  Even trusting that the Lord wouldn't allow for circumstances that he and I couldn't handle together, the plain truth remains that I haven't grown any more limbs along with the multiple children to corral and hold, though I did have recourse to a third arm for a long time when each of our bambini was an infant. Plenty of times I considered it a Godsend.

As much as I may want to be everything to everyone, that's not realistic -- or even reasonable.  I'm just one person -- a sinful, imperfect one at that.  The young lives entrusted to my care need much more than I as one person can give them, but the Lord knows that and -- I trust -- makes up the difference between my hard-working best effort toward meeting the various needs and completing the fulfillment of those needs by his many conduits of grace. 

When I step back to take a long view, I am reminded that many people who the world would consider "weak" have accomplished amazing things by God's grace.  I'm not trying to be counted among them, but I do draw a lot of inspiration and reassurance from knowing that such has been the case.  May it be so in our circumstances as well.

While it may seem lofty, naïve, or flat-out foolish to believe that the strength I need to fulfill my God-given duties would come in the form of some nebulous and invisible Grace (big "G"), I've experienced it myself, I've seen it in action, and that's enough for me.

like riding a bike

A few times now recently I have warmed the bench of the piano at the Catholic parish where I had served as music and liturgy director before the elder lad arrived on the scene.  Going back to play the piano is at once easy yet challenging, comfortable yet awkward, as not only am I not exactly in practice like I was when I was playing several masses in one weekend, but also time has marched on for the people of that parish just as it has for my family and me.  Some things are as ever. Some things are a lot different.  In many ways, it's like riding a bike: it all comes back quickly once I settle down and get going.

Few things allow me a more direct route to that place of prayer in action like playing the piano at Mass.  It truly is a blessing and honor to be able to use this gift from God at his service.  Balancing serving him by playing at mass with serving him by serving my young family at home is something I'm still trying to discern and navigate.  I always envisioned my children nearby as I played the piano, either at home or church, somehow finding it completely normal for me to be doing that while they were doing something else.  It hasn't worked out that way.  Maybe the time for that is just now beginning, or maybe it has yet to arrive, or maybe the eventual solution will be somewhere in between...

help yourself

Somewhere in the mix of not being a cruise director yet still being present to the littles, there is this idea of cultivating in each of them the art of doing things for oneself.  This takes patient instruction and coaching.*

*she says as one lass flails on the floor upset about having to share a couple of toys while the other tugs on Mama's pant leg demanding to be held while the lads are chasing each other through the kitchen with blunt objects rather than completing some age-appropriate task such as making one's bed or clearing one's cup and plate after lunch, and the collective emotional temperature gets higher and higher...

I have to write about such pie-in-the-sky ideals to keep sight of the long view I try to take, especially when it seems everyone is all out of sorts, with siblings going feral on each other and Mama close to wit's end to try to restore some sense of peace and positive vibe (or endure, at the very least). This does happen, believe it or not, more often than I would like. We all have our moments.

From the beginning, the idea of mothering has a daunting, breath-stealing, overwhelming idea for me to imagine myself being successful executing. Taking a proactive approach to everything from the day's routine to the tending of infants and young children has been my way of trying to do what sometimes seems impossible.

In terms of logistics and efficiency, sometimes it is simply easier to do things for the bambini that they (at least some) can now do themselves because not so long ago we had multiple very young children in need of diapering, feeding, clothing, and just about everything else. Engaging everyone in activities fell right in with these other needs. Given the temperaments of our children and the resulting dynamics, this proactive approach has been necessary.

Now as the bambini are getting a little older, they are finding more opportunities for self-directed exploration and entertainment as well as lending more practical help with household duties like emptying the dishwasher and putting laundry away. They are still very young, but there's a lot they can contribute to the family's functioning well being.  They can also do a lot more for themselves, though they don't always want to, and they play together a lot of the time, though they don't always get along very well.  They still need close supervision, but they don't always need me right next to them, though they don't always agree with me on that point.

Along the way I may have inadvertently deferred their growth in self-sufficiency out of a sincere desire to do something constructive mixed with a little bit of fear of the resulting chaos that comes from a lack of direction/sleep/attention/growing food/whatever. I was doing the best I knew to do at the time, and the experience I have gleaned from that informs the way I manage things nowadays, which may or may not be the same as how I did them in those freaky early days of motherhood.  As we all grow up a little more each day as a family we're each figuring out how to take care of ourselves.  It's all part of the journey, isn't it?  

a work in progress

Sometimes I think this motherhood business is, aside from that whole tending to and helping form the immortal souls of our children thing, one continual lesson in time management.  In fact, I might go so far as to say that after putting someone else's needs (or several someones') before one's own, time management might be the next lesson learned -- or at least taught -- in Mom School.  I wouldn't exactly call myself an eager student of this exercise in self-discipline, but nonetheless I am still enrolled and sticking with it.

Over the past six months I've adopted a couple of strategies to better manage time and domestic responsibilities.  For example, I now consider the time between our arrival home from school until the time we have dinner together as my "kitchen hour," a term and concept I learned from The Happiest Mom.   After school snacks are dished up; water bottles and reusable lunch containers are washed; folders with school paperwork and things that need my signature/attention/action are assessed; the dishwasher is unloaded; and dinner preparations are undertaken.  All of this an attempt to get dinner served sooner rather than later, since we only have a little while between my beloved arrives home from work until Lights Out and want to make the most of it.   

Another area I've been working diligently on is laundry -- specifically, the folding and stowing of laundry.   The sight of an overloaded "clean" laundry basket (denoted as such with labels on the handles and separate from the baskets we use to collect clothes that need to be washed) with clean clothes spilling over it and all around is so very discouraging that I usually keep right on walking past it.  If I can keep it to one or two loads of clean laundry to fold at a time, that's far more manageable.  The bambini are responsible for putting their laundry away.  They each have their own ways of fulfilling this task.  The elder lad employs his big rig.  The younger lad makes his arms into a forklift to carry his clothes.  The elder lass hugs all her clothes to her body and flits to the closet on tiptoe.  The younger lass -- of course -- makes sure we know which clothes are hers: "I shirt."

And then there is the subject of bedtime -- as in mine.  I'm still the most obstinate sleep fighter in this household, staying up later than I ought to most of the time. In the past several months I've been working to change that.  In the past week, I haven't done so well to that end.

All of these concessions, studies, and strides in time management are done in the name of a more smoothly-running household thanks to the comfort of routine and clear expectations for all.  Although I am still trying to figure out how -- or whether -- to fit in little (or not so little) projects here and there, the effort is paying off as each of these salad days draws to its conclusion.

Thank you, Lord, for this day and for all your many gifts and blessings...

the long view

In the midst of extreme close-ups and rapid fire attention-seeking maneuvers from multiple children, I try to detach myself in a way so as to take a long view.

Where is this all going?  What am I supposed to be learning from these people at this moment?  How is that going to affect what happens tomorrow?  Or next year?  Or ten years from now?   Or how our bambini ultimately come to treat themselves and those around them?

Finding that sweet spot of grace that is staying in the moment yet keeping it all in perspective is one of those holy grails of parenting -- of life, really, isn't it? 

Years from now there will be memories of family life both exhilarating and heart-wrenching that will stick out in my mind, as I'm sure there will be in each of our bambini's memories.  I pray the overall picture will be suffused with peace and the sure knowledge that Christ has been with us at every moment.

minor victories: happy hour edition

I would love to say that I wrote my ticket to a (relatively) peaceful final few minutes of dinner preparation -- all too often the pinnacle of happy hour, but it wasn't my doing.  It wasn't like I ceremoniously set forth the box of recyclable paper that I'd been squirreling away for just this purpose so that the lads could hone their fine motor skills with scissors and scraps of paper.  I didn't have the wherewithal to do that after a few too many reminders to "use kind words and gentle hands" for one afternoon.

In fact, I had stashed all that junk mail and already-read church bulletins in a paper sack (under the sink, because it's next to the trash bin and therefore handy at the time of disposal -- key to actually separating out the recyclables and not just tossing them in with the trash), which the elder lad had discovered and decided to "sort" -- another early childhood skill that he took upon himself to refine.

The younger lad had been biding his time until his fourth birthday so he could start using scissors himself (because his mama -- following the advisory on the scissors packaging -- had said he had to wait until he was four like his brother had to undertake such an activity).  When his brother got out the signature orange-handled child-sized scissors and commenced the cutting of paper into bits that often elicits reminders to "leave no trace" (as in, "clean up after yourself"), the younger lad asked for his own green-handled ones.

And in a moment of clarity, I saw it: the win-win-win situation:

Lads happily (and safely) snipping, scraps going back into the box they came from (for the most part), Mama getting dinner on the table, lasses charming their daddy with giggles and grins even before he took off his jacket.

Bon appetit.

the salad days

My beloved sometimes refers to this season of our family life as "the salad days."  He means it like Nicholas Cage's character in the movie Raising Arizona does -- the happy days -- but every time he says it I always wonder about dessert.

To be sure, these days of early childhood are probably the simplest our family life will be for a while to come in terms of schedules and interpersonal matters both within the family and with those we encounter when we venture out in the world, until at least the bambini are grown and on their own.  They're definitely the sweetest, especially when Mama receives "96,000 kisses" from the younger lad.  There are some considerable logistical considerations of having four young children, however, three of whom still very much dependent on adults to tend to their physical and emotional needs, that are all-consuming -- at least for Mama.

Though the expression "salad days" is also defined as "a period of youthful inexperience"  (along the same vein as someone who might be called "green" or inexperienced), I can think of another term for it, at least in my case: survival mode.

I've heard mothers who've "been there" and "done that" caring for multiple young children refer to the weeks and months after the arrival of the newest child one as those in which everyone is in "survival mode".  This means our expectations are such that we're not trying to mount ambitious projects or take on other things -- our focus is on taking care of each other and getting through the day with a minimum of fisticuffs, bonks, sniffles, and droughts of drinkable yogurt.
 
I've been told things *do* get easier as the bambini get older and a little more self-sufficient (at least logistically), but then there are new issues to be addressed -- often much weightier, at least emotionally, if maybe not so physically taxing, and there are other kinds of logistics to wade through.

Each day is a gift.  We have no promise of tomorrow.  Instead of just surviving, we aim to thrive.  These days that means baking cookies, reading books, and changing diapers.  The days of getting in a car and driving away without first buckling four car seats are coming, though.  As sweet as these days are (for the most part), God willing they'll keep getting better...

opposite day

In the eerie quiet of a house with three simultaneously-sleeping children while the elder lad is at school, I have an opportunity of unknown length to ruminate on the events that transpired yesterday, which included a trip to Target, a fun outing with a family we are getting to know from the elder lad's school, and a gathering of moms from the Kindergarten class (hence the napping children today, for which I am most grateful).

The trouble is, amidst the many highs and lows of the day, what stands out is what's missing:

Coffee filters. We have none.

At this point in the narrative, my dear friend Simply's jaw likely drops in horror as she's reading.  Today her eldest lad turns 16, and while I hate the thought of marring this day with such a disturbing notion as a house without coffee filters, I know she'll laugh knowing I typed "draw jops" first and thought it looked normal the first eight or 10 times I read through what I'd written.  Sorry to put a damper on your Mama Day, Simply. Love you and your lad!

In spite of reminding myself not to forget the filters as I unloaded the bambini into the cold shopping cart and trucked inside as fast as I could *and* having taken a picture of the exact ones we needed to fit our drip coffee maker, I neglected to write the item on my shopping list, and here is where it all goes downhill.

By the time the 22-month-old lass had fallen asleep sitting up in the seat of the shopping cart (first child of mine to ever do such a thing outside of my sling or the "baby bucket" car seat) and I had had some near misses with the shopping cart and the heels of my three year old lad who insisted on walking "with" me *and* I had nabbed some slacks that I thought I could wear to the moms' gathering that evening (wrong), the coffee filters had fallen out of that primacy of place that is the single driving thought propelling me through Target (well, that and "must get this finished *as soon as possible*").

This doesn't mean, however, that we got nothing. Quite the contrary. We got a gift for the birthday party the elder lad is invited to tomorrow that the younger lad would love to go to as well but for which the whole siblings-invited issue is rather murky; a Lego truck Christmas gift that will be a surprise to only one lad (as the other discovered it after he escaped from the cart); the afore-mentioned ill-fitting slacks; sundry dairy items (including a ridiculous amount of yogurt); some molasses for another batch of our most recent cookie success -- chocolate ginger with chocolate chips (among other things) -- for our new friends; and the list goes on...

except for coffee filters
(and contact lens solution, which *was* on the list but overlooked somehow)

So while I may feel like bellowing this deeply-rued fact, I am instead going to employ a tactic I ought to use more often with my bambini: I'm going to whisper.

We have no coffee filters.

This explains a lot.

the eye of the storm

Kind of a tough day here:

The 21-month-old lass is running a low grade fever and has needed extra "Mommy-O" attention.  In the final minutes of dinner preparation, the younger lad took a header off the sofa during a jumping episode (still against house rules) and hit his jaw with a sickening whack on the corner of the coffee table.  He's OK, if a little puffy and sore.  All the emotional residue of a day filled with fussiness converged at the table, when the eldest and youngest bambini had reached their limits and let the stress they felt be known in their respective ways.

Had we not made it to school Mass this morning, I think the course of the day would've been much different.  The graces poured out upon me there sustained me as I tried to manage the rest of the day in a triage situation.

Since the lass had not been able to sleep during siesta time today, both because she fell asleep on the way home from school Mass rather than at siesta time and because she felt so crummy, she hit the hay early even as her three-month-old sister lamented some tummy trouble of her own.  With one lass asleep, I was able to snuggle the elder lad for bedtime prayers, whose snuggling requests are often fulfilled after his sisters have gone to bed.

Truly the grace of God infused this challenge-filled day from beginning to end.  He got us out the door and on the road to Mass at a time when I am often still trying to get myself together (not to mention everyone else).  He held me up as I held both lasses and corralled the younger lad during Mass.  And he kept my head in the game, so to speak, throughout the long day with no pause for resetting myself.  It is for this last gift I am most grateful (though I am for all of them).  It was the difference between me hitting a wall and me having the grace to go on, the peace that surpasses all understanding.

Yes, I know the Grace is there for the asking, even if I'm not at Mass when I ask for it.  Going to Mass and receiving the Eucharist opened the door, though, and helped order my thoughts and heart in such a way as to receive that Grace.

I have wanted to make weekly school Mass part of our regular routine but been daunted by the logistical considerations.  Experiencing the surge of spiritual nourishment from having gone (even if I didn't catch every word of the readings or lose myself in prayer because I was trying to keep the younger lad's truck-vrooming noises in check those last few minutes of Mass) helped confirm the desires my heart has continued to express to put forth every effort to make it to that weekly liturgy.

The elder lad asked if we'd come back to Mass again.  I told him we will.

And now I'll go finish my dinner...

not Super Mommy

Some well-meaning people when marveling at my posse of children have made the declaration "wow!  You must be Super Mommy!"

Hardly.
(but thanks for the vote of confidence)

Sometimes I lose my temper, I grow weary of caterwauling and shenanigans, and I'm not too keen on the idea of constructing a complicated Lego truck while also trying to manage a toddler who thinks she's as big as her brothers and a baby who'd like some nursing, please.  I would love to be more present in my elder lad's Kindergarten classroom, but I have an obligation to the little ones at home.  I can't be everywhere at once.

I was late to "Muffins with Mom" this morning.  I was behind from the moment I got up this morning, and my timely departure for school was adversely affected.  As I drove I imagined the lad waiting for me, seeing the other moms coming in and hugging their children, and wondering where I was.  I called the school to let them know I was en route (and to please pass that reassurance along to my lad, which they did), but I know that didn't really make up for my tardiness.

Once I got there, he (and the other moms) seemed relieved.  If he was upset that I was late, he did not let on.  Instead, he read me the book he had made for me entitled "My Magnificent Mom" and introduced me (again) and his baby sister to his "school mates".  (The middle two children went to the park with my mother and sister.)  As I looked around the room I spotted a drawing on the wall he'd done of us, his family. I've been asking him for just such a thing.  I think it's part of his "home sweet home" center.  I plan to break up some of the expanse of bare walls around here with it once it comes home.

After school the bambini successfully lobbied to play on the playground.  We do this at least once a week.  It's been a good way for me to meet some of the other moms.  As I stood near the play structure surveying the scene and drifting in and out of the conversation a few moms were having behind me, my eyes landed on the figure of a child lying face down on the ground on the opposite side of the structure not so very far from me, but out of arm's reach.  It was my child -- my younger lad, who had misplaced his foot on a spiraling ladder-type apparatus and fallen about five feet.  He'd been all over that structure lots of times before and is an able climber, so his fall was a sorry surprise to me. He was not injured but understandably shaken.  Of course I rushed right over, as did a friend of mine who'd seen him fall.  She spoke of seeing other children do the same thing before -- not to minimize the incident but to commiserate with me in a way.  After checking him over and hugging him close, we walked back to the car and went home.

I know I can't protect my children from every hurt, be they physical or emotional, though I try my utmost to do so.  I hadn't foreseen such an accident happening or else I wouldn't have let him climb up there.

As these most recent cases in point illustrate, I'm not Super Mommy.  Meeting the needs of these little ones can be an exhausting, emotionally draining endeavor.  I am humbled to be entrusted with their care and honored to give it.  I'm not perfect, but I'm not giving up.

leaving a legacy

When they're grown and on their own...

Will they remember the silly songs I'd make up to give instructions -- or the irritated tone in my voice when instructions I'd given went unheeded?

Will the image of my face in their mind's eyes be one of me smiling at them or frowning?

Will they think of the countless hours happily spent snuggling them either awake or to sleep (and lots of other times, too) -- or the times when they asked me to snuggle them and I was busy doing something else like packing lunches?

If they scrape a knee or cut a finger, will they be able to bandage up themselves up as well as Dr. Mom (or Dad)?

Will they remember all the time we spent playing, reading, coloring, baking, and dancing -- or the times they asked me to do those things with them and I couldn't or wouldn't for whatever reason (cleaning, for example)?

When one of their siblings calls for a chat (here's hoping they'll do that), will they laugh about something funny that was said or seen -- or will they lament together some shortfall of attention or affection?

Will they come to realize by their own experiences that my mistakes and failings were those of a person trying to figure things out and do the best she could at that moment with what she had to work with?

Will they treat themselves and others with kindness, respect, and compassion? 

When they catch the aroma of coffee wafting through the air, will they wonder if the barista is making my favorite beverage?

Will they remember where the chocolate is hidden?

Will they take ownership of the faith they've been given, seeking God's will for their lives?

Lord, I pray you will make up the difference between what my bambini need from me and what I'm able to give them in the moments of their needs.  Please heal the unintended hurts and clear up any confusion I may have inadvertently caused.  Bless them with the peace that only you can give.  Hold each of them close all the days of their lives.

Amen.

inquiring minds want to know

To all those who've stopped dead in their tracks at the store or library this week at the sight of us and have risked asking me if these bambini are all mine, commented that I have some good helpers, or observed that my hands are full only to get a quick glance and one word answer -- if that,

It's not that I don't want to be conversational, you see.  It's that I'm trying to get through this excursion without anyone falling out of the cart, having to go down the toy truck aisle again, or getting run over by the five year old insistent upon driving the cart or stroller containing his brother and sister all by himself.  Thanks for your understanding.

flying solo

For as challenging as the fourth pregnancy was for me, the wee raven-haired lass has shown herself to be a sweet-natured, fairly easy-going young lady.  She pretty much has to be, doesn't she?

My beloved returned to work today following a week's "staycation."  Our parents have likewise returned to their work-a-day routines.  Thus, with much humility and deep gratitude (and I'm sure thanks to much grace and a barrage of prayers on our behalf), this first full day of Mama and bambini flying solo went fairly well.  Sure, it had its ups and downs, but I've come to expect and weather those with the knowledge that comes only with hard-earned experience that, given a chance (and a prayer), the tempest will pass if I get out of the way.

The same experience -- all five years of it -- tempers my relief at the relative success of this day with the knowledge that not every day will go as well.  At such times, I pray both for mercy and for God's grace to make up the difference between what the bambini need and what I'm able to provide at that moment. 

Yes: the workload has increased.  Curiously, it seems our dishwasher is running all the time now along with the washing machine.  This baffles me, because the raven-haired lass dirties no dishes.

And yes: I'm pretty tired.  But seeing the raven-haired lass's three older siblings doting on her in their various ways gives me hope for the days to come, not to mention a collective lifelong legacy of laughter and looking out for each other.

normal (whatever that is)

As we try to get back to normal, or rather find a new normal, striking a balance between allowing myself to rest and heal from the younger lass's birth and wanting to be right back to "normal" with the older bambini is proving to be the biggest challenge.  Overdoing now could spell trouble down the road, and I don't want that.  There's just a lot to be done, and I know all too well how much more manageable the tasks are with multiple hands working to accomplish them.

I so appreciate the continued tender loving care we've been receiving from our loved ones.  My beloved is likewise working overtime to pick up the slack left by my sitting idle in my comfies and spectacles.  I am torn between wanting to rest and sleep and wanting to be as ever for my young children, who still depend so heavily on Mama taking care of them.  This time of transition is already confusing and challenging enough for them.  While it's good for them to learn to receive loving care from someone other than me, it's also essential for them to know I'm still here for them.

In less than two weeks the elder lad will start kindergarten, and we will once again redefine our "normal".  In the in-between, all I know to do is do our best to stick to the basic daily routine we've had for a while now, and make the most of the blessing of each moment together.  We'll work our way back to normal -- whatever that is...

grace to go on

So often now I struggle with the sheer physical demands upon me, carrying a near full-term baby within me and often schlepping a 20+ pound toddler.  I try to meet the lass's repeated and insistent requests to "hold me" as much as I can, as well as those of the younger lad, who has been asking me hold him a lot too.  I can't really carry him very far, but I do try to oblige his need for closeness by sitting and reading with him or something along those lines.  The elder lad now sets up his car mat and cars on the dining room table (such as it is -- two folding tables pushed together to form a near square) so I can sit and play more easily with him.  He doesn't ask me to carry him, but when I sit down next to him to read or watch TV, he lays his head on my shoulder and snuggles close. It seems they all sense Quattro's imminent arrival and are bulking up on the "mama lovin'".

Sometimes I feel so weak under the literal and figurative weight.  This frustrates me, and I am inclined to be irritated about it.  While I make it a point never to pray for patience (as the only way one develops patience is by practice -- know what I'm sayin'? -- and I already get a lot of that), I *do* pray -- a lot -- for wisdom, fortitude, understanding, compassion, and help in guarding against irritability.

Here's the amazing thing: just when I doubt if I will pass this endurance test, the grace to go on is there.  Just when everyone starts to melt down (including me), I am given the means to filter through any whining or fussing and the vision to see the various needs that are presenting themselves.  If such fussing is coming from one of the bambini, I ask for the need to be stated simply and respectfully (and in an age-appropriate manner) and then promptly meet the need as best I can.  If it's coming from me, I try to identify its cause and address that so I can get back to attending to everything else.  While it doesn't always go quite this well, it has been happening enough for me to recognize what is actually at work here (and it's not my doing):

Grace (big G).

My fervent and frequent prayer is for the Grace to do right by these children, my beloved, and all the people in my midst.  I'm not able to do that all on my own.  I can sense the prayers being offered for me and us, and I know they are heard -- and answered.

Thank you for yours.

nesting: the fourth time around

The two-year anniversary of our moving to this house happens to coincide with Quattro's expected arrival window in late July.  When we moved in around the beginning of August, I was about halfway through my pregnancy with the lass.  I wasn't really in a position to be schlepping boxes around, and most of the grunt work was handled by my beloved and other family members (with our deepest gratitude).

Being as we are in the "life with young children" mode, our decorating scheme could easily be described as, um, sparse, and we still have lots of unfurnished space. It actually works out well for children moving at full tilt.  While I would love to hang pictures and adorn our living space, I consider these bambini the most interesting and compelling artwork we could behold and have fewer worries about things getting broken or banged up.   

Having said that, there are some things around here that I want to get done before Quattro arrives -- things that might qualify as "nesting", but aren't as interesting or creative as decorating a room.  It's more like culling through clutter, trying to deal with things that have accumulated, making room for the next chapter of babyhood by putting away or getting rid of things that aren't being used, and addressing such things as school supplies and uniforms that will be needed shortly after Quattro's arrival.  It's not the cute side of nesting -- but it's necessary.  I figure if I do a little bit each day (or as I can), I'll call that progress...

ready or not

I've been checking things off my list to be ready for Easter (baskets, correspondence, ingredients for celebratory meals, and such) and my beloved's birthday on Monday.  I'm happy to say I'm pretty much ready (except for the table full of laundry that awaits folding and the packing for our overnight trip tomorrow to visit my parents and sister for the holiday, but I'll get to those). 

The thing is, I'm not convinced that I'm spiritually ready for the events of this weekend -- for Easter morning.  I'm not sure if I lived Lent as well as I should have, or if I have helped my bambini do so.  They know we have been in the season of Lent and generally of it being a season of repentance, that tomorrow -- Good Friday -- we will mark the Lord's passion and death, and that Sunday is Easter (about which they are very excited).  We have scaled back on many of the perks and pleasantries in an effort to allow Christ to enter more fully in, and we have made this reason known to our bambini.  There is that nagging question in my mind, though, as to whether it has been enough.  Is it ever?

This being after sundown on Holy Thursday, we have entered into the Triduum, meaning Three Days, commemorating the Last Supper, Good Friday of the Lord's Passion, and Easter (including the Easter Vigil celebrated after sundown on Holy Saturday).  Lent has ended; we have arrived at the holiest of holy days.  

I pray for the grace to be open to receiving the graces poured out in abundance these final days leading up to Easter, for for either a release from self-doubt and/or a renewed sense of focus and accomplishment in living the liturgical year -- especially these holiest days and seasons -- in a very real way, and for a heart open and ready to rejoice Sunday morning. 

proper party priorities

The culmination of birthday festivities for our three-year-old younger lad came in the form of a family gathering at our "skruction" site (translation: "construction site.").  We are grateful for all the family who were able to be with us today, and missed the ones who weren't able to make the trip.

Planning and executing a child's birthday party is -- like many other things relating to parenthood -- a balancing act.  I try not to overextend myself with party plans and projects, since the surest way to communicate celebration and birthday excitement is by being present to the one whose birthday it is.  While I might have lots of ideas and grandiose plans for everything I want to do for a birthday party, in the end it's A. not about me and B. all subject to being able to balance getting the things done with quality interaction with the one being celebrated (for some party preparations, these two things can be reconciled with each other quite happily by doing them together).

Getting the house ready for company and decorated festively, the cake baked and decorated, and the menu set are all ways of showing the honoree love, but I try not to get so caught up in those things that I miss moments like the one that happened in the midst of the party when the younger lad and I excused ourselves to freshen up.  He threw his arms around me and said "I love you, Mama."  Or stepping away from the food preparations to take in the sight of the birthday lad and his brother back in the dirt pile, the younger lad with a balloon tied to his back belt loop to serve as his T-Rex tail.    Or visiting with family we hadn't seen in a while.  

We are very blessed to have lots of help pulling off these birthday celebrations.  Each one offers unique gifts and talents to address some aspect of the details -- decorations, menu, house-keeping... This helps tremendously, and I'm so grateful for the loving help offered and given.  

We've had a lot of fun celebrating the younger lad's third birthday, and we're so grateful for the many blessings and great joy we know because of his being an irreplaceable part of our family.  That's the whole reason we celebrate.