Lyla Bear

Maddy has been really quite good at keeping herself dry overnight for the past while. I wasn't sure that the day would actually come. That said however, in order to keep her dry we had to stop drinking beverages after about 7:00 and make sure that there was a visit to the potty one last time right before bed. That visit was quite often a fight. Scott made a deal with Maddy that if she was dry in bed for three weeks straight then we would go to the toy store.

As the day got closer they agreed upon a visit to Build-A-Bear. The night before I had this horrible thought - what if we wake up in the morning and she's "peeped" (in our house we poop and peep)??? Will I have the strength to start her all over? I prayed really hard that night that she would make it. Gratefully she did.

It was "Bearamy's" birthday that day so all the kids wore birthday hats to celebrate.

During the days leading up to the visit she went through many iterations of what kind of bear she would pick. A pink one, a red one, a white one with polka dots. I was surprised when she settled on the traditional brown.

Maddy now has a bear named "Lyla" who had to have a pink dress with sparkles, pink shoes with sparkles (dad talked her out of high heels), and satin panties to match. Lyla bear has a heart inside that Maddy rubbed on her arm, her knees, her nose and then kissed. I can't remember what all the actions were for - strength, love, some other cute things. They sure do make a grand production and it's quite wonderful.

Maddy's bear is named after her best friend at Miss Swendy's school. Do you ever wonder if the person who your child thinks of as their best friend also thinks of your child as their best friend? Am I weird for wondering?

Kairos

The other day I was at Target with Maddy looking for Christmas PJ's for everyone. I made the mistake many moons ago to let Maddy out of the cart (my advice? don't give in until your child is at least 10 because once you let them out, you will never get them back in) and on this particular trip she was hiding in the racks. I was watching a woman out of the corner of my eye as I tried to shepherd my daughter to racks that were a bit closer to what I wanted to look at so I could at least be in audio range of her even though I couldn't see her. I was flustered and frustrated that what was supposed to be a quick trip but was turning out (as usual) to be a huge ordeal. I could see that sly smile on her face, which is a cross between, "I've been there", "so glad I'm not you" and "can't you keep it together better?". Of course, then there was the inevitable thunk of a head hitting cement followed by screaming. I dropped everything where it was and fell to my knees. There I was, sticking with head in and rear out of a huge stand of puffy coats trying to extract my screaming child from the rack where she had backed over a low bar and fell, then spent the next 15 minutes holding her and trying to calm her all the while trying to one handed push the huge cart up front and complete my purchase(she of course had to have the cart with seats added on that make the cart 100% longer and 500% more difficult to maneuver - I continually delude myself into thinking that if I get the "fun"cart she might stay in it). I was exhausted and frustrated and felt all around defeated.


My co-worker sent me an email today that I had to share. It is long but I will assure you that this article is worth the time. It is one that I think I will refer to over and over during Maddy's lifetime.

Don't Carpe Diem


--Glennon Melton
Every time I'm out with my kids -- this seems to happen:




An older woman stops us, puts her hand over her heart and says something like, "Oh, Enjoy every moment. This time goes by so fast."


Everywhere I go, someone is telling me to seize the moment, raise my awareness, be happy, enjoy every second, etc, etc, etc.


I know that this message is right and good. But, I have finally allowed myself to admit that it just doesn't work for me. It bugs me. This CARPE DIEM message makes me paranoid and panicky. Especially during this phase of my life - while I'm raising young kids. Being told, in a million different ways to CARPE DIEM makes me worry that if I'm not in a constant state of intense gratitude and ecstasy, I'm doing something wrong.


I think parenting young children (and old ones, I've heard) is a little like climbing Mount Everest. Brave, adventurous souls try it because they've heard there's magic in the climb. They try because they believe that finishing, or even attempting the climb are impressive accomplishments. They try because during the climb, if they allow themselves to pause and lift their eyes and minds from the pain and drudgery, the views are breathtaking. They try because even though it hurts and it's hard, there are moments that make it worth the hard. These moments are so intense and unique that many people who reach the top start planning, almost immediately, to climb again. Even though any climber will tell you that most of the climb is treacherous, exhausting, killer. That they literally cried most of the way up.


And so I think that if there were people stationed, say, every thirty feet along Mount Everest yelling to the climbers -- "ARE YOU ENJOYING YOURSELF!? IF NOT, YOU SHOULD BE! ONE DAY YOU'LL BE SORRY YOU DIDN'T!" TRUST US!! IT'LL BE OVER TOO SOON! CARPE DIEM!" -- those well-meaning, nostalgic cheerleaders might be physically thrown from the mountain.


Now. I'm not suggesting that the sweet old ladies who tell me to ENJOY MYSELF be thrown from a mountain. These are wonderful ladies. Monkees, probably. But last week, a woman approached me in the Target line and said the following: "Sugar, I hope you are enjoying this. I loved every single second of parenting my two girls. Every single moment. These days go by so fast."


At that particular moment, Amma had arranged one of the new bras I was buying on top of her sweater and was sucking a lollipop that she must have found on the ground. She also had three shop-lifted clip-on neon feathers stuck in her hair. She looked exactly like a contestant from Toddlers and Tiaras. I couldn't find Chase anywhere, and Tish was grabbing the pen on the credit card swiper thing WHILE the woman in front of me was trying to use it. And so I just looked at the woman, smiled and said, "Thank you. Yes. Me too. I am enjoying every single moment. Especially this one. Yes. Thank you."


That's not exactly what I wanted to say, though.


There was a famous writer who, when asked if he loved writing, replied, "No. but I love having written." What I wanted to say to this sweet woman was, "Are you sure? Are you sure you don't mean you love having parented?"


I love having written. And I love having parented. My favorite part of each day is when the kids are put to sleep (to bed) and Craig and I sink into the couch to watch some quality TV, like Celebrity Wife Swap, and congratulate each other on a job well done. Or a job done, at least.


Every time I write a post like this, I get emails suggesting that I'm being negative. I have received this particular message four or five times -- G, if you can't handle the three you have, why do you want a fourth?


That one always stings, and I don't think it's quite fair. Parenting is hard. Just like lots of important jobs are hard. Why is it that the second a mother admits that it's hard, people feel the need to suggest that maybe she's not doing it right? Or that she certainly shouldn't add more to her load. Maybe the fact that it's so hard means she IS doing it right...in her own way...and she happens to be honest.


Craig is a software salesman. It's a hard job in this economy. And he comes home each day and talks a little bit about how hard it is. And I don't ever feel the need to suggest that he's not doing it right, or that he's negative for noticing that it's hard, or that maybe he shouldn't even consider taking on more responsibility. And I doubt anybody comes by his office to make sure he's ENJOYING HIMSELF. I doubt his boss peeks in his office and says: "This career stuff...it goes by so fast...ARE YOU ENJOYING EVERY MOMENT IN THERE, CRAIG???? CARPE DIEM, CRAIG!"


My point is this. I used to worry that not only was I failing to do a good enough job at parenting, but that I wasn't enjoying it enough. Double failure. I felt guilty because I wasn't in parental ecstasy every hour of every day and I wasn't MAKING THE MOST OF EVERY MOMENT like the mamas in the parenting magazines seemed to be doing. I felt guilty because honestly, I was tired and cranky and ready for the day to be over quite often. And because I knew that one day, I'd wake up and the kids would be gone, and I'd be the old lady in the grocery store with my hand over my heart. Would I be able to say I enjoyed every moment? No.


But the fact remains that I will be that nostalgic lady. I just hope to be one with a clear memory. And here's what I hope to say to the younger mama gritting her teeth in line:


"It's helluva hard, isn't it? You're a good mom, I can tell. And I like your kids, especially that one peeing in the corner. She's my favorite. Carry on, warrior. Six hours till bedtime." And hopefully, every once in a while, I'll add -- "Let me pick up that grocery bill for ya, sister. Go put those kids in the van and pull on up -- I'll have them bring your groceries out."


Anyway. Clearly, Carpe Diem doesn't work for me. I can't even carpe fifteen minutes in a row, so a whole diem is out of the question.


Here's what does work for me:


There are two different types of time. Chronos time is what we live in. It's regular time, it's one minute at a time, it's staring down the clock till bedtime time, it's ten excruciating minutes in the Target line time, it's four screaming minutes in time out time, it's two hours till daddy gets home time. Chronos is the hard, slow passing time we parents often live in.


Then there's Kairos time. Kairos is God's time. It's time outside of time. It's metaphysical time. It's those magical moments in which time stands still. I have a few of those moments each day. And I cherish them.


Like when I actually stop what I'm doing and really look at Tish. I notice how perfectly smooth and brownish her skin is. I notice the perfect curves of her teeny elf mouth and her asianish brown eyes, and I breathe in her soft Tishy smell. In these moments, I see that her mouth is moving but I can't hear her because all I can think is -- This is the first time I've really seen Tish all day, and my God -- she is so beautiful. Kairos.


Like when I'm stuck in chronos time in the grocery line and I'm haggard and annoyed and angry at the slow check-out clerk. And then I look at my cart and I'm transported out of chronos. And suddenly I notice the piles and piles of healthy food I'll feed my children to grow their bodies and minds and I remember that most of the world's mamas would kill for this opportunity. This chance to stand in a grocery line with enough money to pay. And I just stare at my cart. At the abundance. The bounty. Thank you, God. Kairos.


Or when I curl up in my cozy bed with Theo asleep at my feet and Craig asleep by my side and I listen to them both breathing. And for a moment, I think- how did a girl like me get so lucky? To go to bed each night surrounded by this breath, this love, this peace, this warmth? Kairos.


These kairos moments leave as fast as they come- but I mark them. I say the word kairos in my head each time I leave chronos. And at the end of the day, I don't remember exactly what my kairos moments were, but I remember I had them. And that makes the pain of the daily parenting climb worth it.


If I had a couple Kairos moments during the day, I call it a success.


Carpe a couple of Kairoses a day.


Good enough for me.

sleeping

I wish I could take a picture of my baby sleeping but I fear the flash would wake her up. There just is a peace and calm on her face as she sleeps. Her muscles are relaxed, her mouth slightly open, her eyes gently closed with eye lashes splayed on her cheeks. It is times like this that I wish I were a poet to better describe the feelings that fill my mind and heart as I contemplate her. She is beautiful. She is an angel. And then she wakes up!

first day of "school"

Today I dropped Maddy off at her first day of "school". She is now attending Miss Swendy's Day School (I'll post on that later) and when I drove away, I felt that tightness in my throat like I just might loose it. It was like the first day I left her with Katie when she was 6 weeks old. Seems silly that after dropping her at a sitter basically every day for 2 years this would affect me. Maybe it's a little bit that she's growing up and moving on. Perhaps it is that I'm feeling those empathy feelings of being scared - I'm worried about her feeling scared and alone . . .  Silly. I know that she will have a great time today. In fact, I'm jealous that Scott gets to pick her up from school and hear her first comments and feelings about her day.