All Things New

For many people, the transition from one year to the next is a really big deal. They celebrate the holiday with New Year's parties, dropped balls in Times Square, black-eyed peas, a day off from work, and endless resolutions to make a fresh start in the coming months. Lots of folks find January 1st to be the perfect time to reflect on the past and move forward with purpose.

For me, however, New Year's Day never really feels that significant. We're still saddled with all the problems of the previous year. The weather is still gray and we're still buried under mountains of snow and ice. We wear the same heavy sweaters and breathe the same dry, stale, recycled indoor air most of the time. A new number on the calendar just doesn't thrill me in the midst of winter's tedious monotony.

In my life, the "new year" really begins in March. When those first bulbs peek tentatively our of the cold ground. When we finally throw open the windows and breathe in the warm, fresh air. When I leave my down coat in the closet and walk outside in a t-shirt for the first time in months.

Since I've become a mother, I think I feel the relief of spring even more acutely. After months of trying to keep my boys busy inside and endless hours of arduous bundling and un-bundling them in coats, hats, boots, and mittens for even the shortest trip outside our door, just watching them run out to our backyard in short-sleeves and bare feet feels like indulgent luxury. Both Jonah and Eli were born in the spring, so maybe their entry into the world at this lovely time of year has indelibly reinforced my own feelings of this season as one of birth and life.

In the spring, every new morning brings a surprise for all of us: a new flower peeking out of our garden, birds building a nest in the backyard tree, neighbors finally emerging from their homes after so many months of seclusion. And ever on a deeper level, I'm feeling a shift to a new season of life for our little family. Eli's second birthday a few weeks ago means I'm no longer the mother of a baby, which I find simulaneously thrilling and heartbreaking. I'm noticing that the boys are growing increasingly independent; now, they'll entertain each other in the backyard for impressive chunks of time, unheard of last fall. Jonah and Eli dug in the garden with me this afternoon, and I was shocked to find them both truly helpful. Jonah will be finishing up preschool in the next couple of months, moving on to kindergarten in the fall. He stays up late on Tuesdays with me now to watch American Idol; we snuggle up on the couch and dissect every performance like buddies, so grown up is he. And all around me, the growth of the natural world reflects the budding emergence of these amazing little men. Even in the midst of the fickle Colorado springtime weather (65 one day, a foot of snow the next), the buds on the trees and the boys in my house persist in their plucky new growth. I breathe in the warm air, and thank God for spring.

Happy New Year 2010!

Beautiful Boy: A letter to Eli on his 2nd birthday

Eli at just 6 months old... my how you've grown!

Several months ago, I posted a letter I wrote to Jonah as he was starting preschool. I wanted to capture a particular moment in time in Jonah's life as well as my own, a snapshot of who we both were at that moment of our mother/child journey. I received lots of encouraging feedback about that post, but several people wondered about when Eli might have his own letter, too. I figure that his 2nd birthday is as good a time as any to attempt to wrap my pen (or keybard, as it may be) around my unique and wonderful youngest boy.

To my amazing Eli,

It was just two years ago this morning that you made your grand entrance into this world, already looking robust and powerful, not much like a typical newborn at all. Even then, I knew you had such a strong spirit, just brimming with life and all its potential. In those early days, I struggled so much in my role as your mother, constantly mourning the fact that I just didn't have more hands, more hours in the day, and a bigger lap to keep both you and Jonah happy. I recalled the hours of entranced gazing at each other that Jonah and I had experienced when he was so tiny, but as an overwhelmed new mom of two, I was heartbreakingly aware that you and missed out on many of those quiet moments. The middle of the night feedings were our time... just you and me and the glorious moonlight shining in the windows, completely at peace. I think I treasured to those quiet moments with you all the more, knowing just how fleeting they would be.

At less than three months, you discovered that you could roll over on your own, and nothing has stopped you from your fierce explorations in the days since. You are child who is into everything! Your little hands just MUST reach out to touch it all, from the contents of all the kitchen cupboards to the pigtails of poor unsuspecting little girls. You climb everything you can, you hate to be carried these days, and you rarely walk; this little man needs to run! You insisted on feeding yourself at only 10 months old, urging to me grab the stain remover and just prepare for disaster - on your clothes, on the walls, on the floor. You love all things gooey or messy or disgusting. Last summer, you sauntered up to your dad in the back yard with a little brown dog turd in your hand and proudly proclaimed, "Poop!". You couldn't have looked happier.

You adore music, and I've quickly learned that with you, the proper musical accompaniment can quickly diffuse even the most difficult of situations. You play a mean air guitar, and you dance, well, like the lip-biting little white man that you are. For the past few months, you have been fully obsessed with Ziggy Marley's "Give a Little Love". You'll beg, "More, love!" over and over and you zealously belt out all you can with your caveman speech skills: "Give... love. Have... hope. Make... world... better. Try... more. Harder... b'fore. Do... t'gether.... Sing it!". You little voice is amazingly sweet, particularly for such a boisterous little man. I wish I could just bottle it up and play it back when the world seems hard, because that voice is just pure joy, plain and simple.

You are fiercely independent, much more so than your older brother. For Jonah in his first few years of life, I was the center of the universe... Jonah wanted all mommy, only feeling truly safe when I was within his sight. But you, my little E, are so different. You are brave and bold and rarely clingy. For you, I am a more of a harbor, a safe place to return when the big kids are mean or Mr. Noodle on Sesame Street scares you (and oddly, he does!)... you come back to me for a few snuggles and a bit of reassurance, but then you're off again, ready for your next adventure. You stride into Jonah's preschool with such comical confidence when we pick him up each day. You give high fives and say hello to all the teachers and students and parents by name as if you were a tiny principal greeting the school, and then you sign yourself in with a picture on the bulletin board by Jonah's classroom door. One mother commented to me one day, "That child is a FORCE to be reckoned with!". You certainly are.

As you grow, I have a feeling you will challenge me in more ways than I can imagine. I know that finding appropriate outlets for all those big feelings and big plans is sometimes difficult for you, and I promise to do the best that I can to help you safely embrace all this wildness in a way that nurtures your bold spirit and doesn't shut you down. You are just so full of life, and you are teaching me more than I ever realized I needed to know.

So go explore, little one. I'll be here when you need me, with all the love this heart can hold.

Coming Clean

Tonight was a typical bath night in our house. Although they usually put up a pretty good fight about getting in the tub, once they are plopped into that warm, bubbly water, these little guys could not be happier. Eli sings to himself. Jonah tells "stories" with his bath toys. They pour and splash and slide around on their bellies. They laugh and squirt and make bubble beards and they almost never ask to get out. And yes, they do get clean, but for these little dudes, cleanliness is clearly NOT the main event; this party is all about the FUN.

As I watched Jonah and Eli splashing and swimming and singing in the bathtub tonight, I was struck with a sudden sense that, well, I can't imagine approaching my daily bathing with such zeal. First, to be honest, I don't remember that last time I actually made time for a bath. It's strictly showers here. And sure, I enjoy a good shower as much as anyone, but I don't just PLAY in there. I don't tell stories to myself or squirt myself with a toy fish or splash around just for the fun of it, and I don't remember the last time I laughed in midst of my daily shower. I am oh-so-utilitarian. I get in there to get myself clean, maybe shave my legs if it's a good day, and get out of there and on to the next thing.

At what point did I begin lose my children's incredible capacity for joy in the most mundane of daily tasks? When did the faucet cease to be something looked on with wide-eyed wonder? I'm not sure, and I fear that, if I'm really honest, I am most likely contributing to the loss of this playfulness in my little guys. I rush them around. I warn them not to splash so hard that they make a mess. I often set to work cleaning the toilet or the bathroom sink while they play in the tub, subtly and silently teaching them that there are MUCH more important things to do than giggle and float in a warm soup of Mr. Bubble.

But maybe with the help of my soaking wet boys, I'm slowly unlearning all those "rules" that convince me that every moment needs to be productive, that for adults, silly time is "wasted" time. I'm discovering that despite my grown-up agenda of toilet-cleaning and bill-paying and errand running, more often than not, a squeaky rubber duck and a shampoo mohawk in the bathtub is just what the doctor ordered.

The Good Night

One final lullabye

One last kiss

Curious George tucked in tight

I switch on the motorcycle nightlight

And quietly close your door.

I stand for a moment in the hallway as I listen to your hushed giggles

and I contemplate an evening's possibilities:  

read a book

eat a dessert with much, too much sugar for you

call a friend

pray

drink a glass of wine

argue with your dad

pay some bills 

make love to your dad

clean the bathroom

watch a movie with foul language

practice yoga

take a long, hot bath

tidy the house of the very toys that will find their way back underfoot again tomorrow

write

All of these have lurked in the corner all day, watching me

And waiting impatiently for the few and precious hours

when you finally sleep.  

But later, as I pass your room again

I tiptoe inside, adjust your blankets, and lean down to breathe you in.

Almost

just almost

hoping you will wake.  

The Age of the Informed Parent (or, 500 Ways to Mess Up Your Kid Before He Turns Five)

We Gen X moms and dads have more parenting resources at our disposal than any parents in the history of the world.   If we're confused about where and how to put our babies to sleep, we can choose from a dizzying array of books, magazine articles, and websites stressing the dire importance of sleeping with your baby in your bed, NOT sleeping with your baby in your bed, rocking to sleep, nursing your baby to sleep, "crying it out", parent-led scheduling, child-led scheduling, swaddling, and NEVER, ever, letting a baby sleep on her stomach.  We know more about the complexities of breastfeeding, the dangers of BPA, and the intricacies of choosing the "right" preschools than our parents ever did.  So really, we should have this parenting thing all figured out, right?

Heavens, no.  We're more clueless, and anxious, than ever.  

As a self-proclaimed parenting book addict, I'll fully admit that all of the information overload has two main effects:

First, the guilt factor.  Now, I'm very aware that TV is not good for little people.  Numerous studies connect excessive childhood television viewing to increased rates of ADD, autism, learning disabilities, obesity, and just plain laziness.  I've done the reading and I believe all this, I really do.  I've never even owned a Baby Einstein DVD.  But here's the thing:  sometimes, a mama just needs a few minutes to make dinner, or sneak in a shower, or take an important phone call without her little boys smacking each other with toy golf clubs or "decorating" the walls with bright red tempera paint.  So yeah, my guys watch a little TV just about every day.  But really, as I'm turning on the tube for them, I often just wish I didn't know all that junk about how bad TV is;  I'm just trying to survive another day.  

Next, I think modern parents are often nearly paralyzed by all the scare tactics and endless options.  At a playdate this morning, we moms stood around the kitchen watching our toddlers romp in the adjoining room.  The topic of conversation revolved around how to best sweeten our foods without causing our children irreparable harm.  High fructose corn syrup?  Unthinkable.  Refined sugar?  Of course not.   Organic cane sugar, agave nectar, honey, blackstrap molasses?  Maybe, although one mother had recently read that agave nectar, sweetener of choice for many a health-conscious mommy, caused a whole host of problems.  What's an over-informed parent to do?  Eventually, we all just faded into a hopeless silence and munched our muffins.  

With all of the parenting possibilities out there, it's often too easy to forget that there's very rarely one "right" answer for every child, or every parent.  Even a quick assessment of my own two boys make that concept undeniably clear.  Instead of the endless array of books and magazines, I could often just use a good dose of grace for myself, a reminder that I'm doing the best I can for my little guys, and ultimately, that must be enough.  Yes.

There's gotta be a book out there to back that up, right?  

Little People to the Rescue

It's been a tough week. Not the garbage disposal isn't working right kind of tought week, or the annoying parking ticket on your windshield kind of tough week, or the "my kid is kinda whiny and frustrating" kind of a tough week, but the kind of week that makes you want to just curl up in a ball and only come out to eat pints of Ben and Jerry's Chubby Hubby ice cream. Tragedy in our extended family and some heavily emotional job/life decisions have made it a week full of endless late-night discussions, plenty of grown-up tears, and more prayers than we've prayed in a long, long time. This is life-changer stuff. 

But in the midst of all this heaviness, on the days when I've been most tempted to tend toward despair, one look at Eli with a grin covered in chocolate pudding or Jonah sharing his silliest knock-knock jokes offers me a much-needed respite from the larger struggles. One recent day, I was feeling particularly down when Jonah, upon learning that our local grocery store was open all night long, exclaimed, "I see... so wombats and King Soopers are both nocturnal!". It wasn't hard for me to find a deep laugh, laughter that made my heart feel just a bit lighter.  These little guys just keep doing their daily thing: we visit the geese at Golden Ponds, we bake brownies, we snuggle up before bed and read Curious George. We visit the the library, we run errands, we build Storm Trooper helments out of cardboard boxes.  My little boys have very little knowledge of the chaos swirling around them.  And although I'm sometimes envious of their oblivion, spending my days with them allows me, if only for brief moments, to be a little oblivious, too. Life with small children just doesn't allow for curling up in a ball; there are just too many diapers to be changed, PJ&Js to make, and games of Candyland to be played, and for that, I couldn't be more grateful.  

A Little Wisdom from Nick, the Volvo Guy

I really am outdoorsy, I swear.  

In our pre-kiddo days, I backpacked for weeks on end, rock climbed some incredible routes, traveled across glaciers, and summited some breath-taking peaks.  I have the scars and the ridiculous amount of gear in my garage to prove it.  Even in my last months of pre-parenthood, Steve and I joked that our oldest son Jonah was the world's tiniest backpacker because I guided a 5-day backpacking trip at seven weeks pregnant.  I vowed that none of this would change when the baby actually arrived.  

And then I met our real-life child... who, unlike my original visions, was not always stoked to accompany Stephen and I on our many adventures.   Our first inkling of this challenge developed when, at six weeks old, we took Jonah on his first rock climbing outing.  Our plan was simply that one of us would wear our sweet sleeping child in his front carrier while belaying on the ground, and the other would climb blissfully above.  Sounds easy enough, right?  

Wrong.  Wrong.  Wrong.  Jonah got hot, wouldn't sleep, and most of all, hated standing still while strapped to one of us;  the kid needed movement.  Each time one of us would attempt to climb, he wailed.  We were all miserable, and we eventually packed up and went home.  On our way down, other climbers stared and whispered, "What are they doing out here with that little baby?".  The simple answer was, we were just trying to maintain some sense of our prior selves, and we were attempting to figure out how to include this tiny new member of our family in the mix.  

And we're still working on it.  Over the past four years, our quest to maintain our outdoor lifestyle has definitely had it's ups and downs.  Jonah's first camping trip ended with so much endless screaming in the wee hours of the morning that we literally just tore down our campsite and came home, much to the relief of the sleepless neighbors in our campground.  I've developed a deep confusion about how little boys who literally don't sit still all day long at home can whine that they are exhausted to the point of death after just 50 feet.  Twenty-two month old Eli often refuses to ride in the backpack on our hikes recently,  meaning that it can easily take us what seems like HOURS to simply move a few feet forward as he examines every leaf, flower, bug, and footprint.

But that slower pace isn't always such a bad thing, is it?  We decided to by some flora and fauna books and make the most of our snail speed.  By now, we've had some incredible experiences with our little guys outside:  some picture-perfect camping trips, some great days teaching Jonah how to rock climb, and some wide-eyed hikes as Eli grins in amazement at the mountains before him.  Steve and I are learning to embrace the idea that our excursions with our boys are often nothing more than a chance to be together as a family and a chance to be outdoors;  any other accomplishments together are just icing on the cake.  

An easy hike in Sunshine Canyon last summer included all the usual whining and fussing and rescuing Eli from hurling himself down a rocky hill.  By the time we returned to the car, we were all weary and hungry, and once again, Steve and I were questioning why we even bother.  

But then we noticed a note on our windshield.  Here's what it said:  

"I noticed your lovely family, and I wanted to share how awesomely beautiful it is to see a family together in nature.  Thanks for the beautiful memory.  Much love and blessings upon you all!"   - Nick, the guy in the Volvo

We smiled, thankful to this stranger, Nick, for reminding us that, even with all its challenges, sharing this big world with our little guys is a beautiful thing.