Not Alone

It was a cold, blustery day. A typical fall morning that begins with a foreshadow of the snow to come and blossoms into a crisp, sun-warmed afternoon reminiscent of days gone by. A day that reminds me why this season holds my heart ransom to its ever-changing moods and blatant disregard for consistency. Safe and warm in the shelter of my home, I wrapped a sweater around me as my mind flittered in a most disorganized fashion over the coming days. Dreaming, planning, wondering what the week will bring and what surprises the days might hold. It is not to be however, for soon I hear... like a bear rustling in its cave after a long, lonely hibernation... the stirrings of my children. A fuss, a squeal, a song sung in the distance, a foot banged against the wall. And without a doubt, I know that the time for daydreaming has gone and the time for action has arrived. Sighing, I make my way to Caleb's bedroom. He beams up at me from his bed and sweetly sounds his "goot-moning mama!" As I make my way to Selah's room, he runs after me laughing in anticipation as he barges in with a cheery greeting and familiar attempts to climb into her crib. The squealing, the smiles, the pure joy of being alive fills my kids faces and I cannot help but be swept up by their sheer enthusiasm. And so my days oft begin.

My days are a colourful hodgepodge of fun and laughter, tears and sadness, and even monotony of a routine practised too diligently. Suffering through yet another tantrum, guessing over the interpretation of yet another cry... they are a daily ritual that I have become so accustomed to it hardly bears reason to comment. And yet they, these moments of perhaps drudgery to some, are what makes up the very substance to my days. And it is because of their vast significance to me that I find myself greeting my husband when he gets home and waylaying him with countless stories of the particular happenings in our household. A stranger on the road does not care that my daughter said a new word, or that my son told me he loved me. These small details can easily become 'information overload' for those who are our dear friends and family when told in a rambling fashion. And this brings me to recount the significance of marriage. At least part of the significance of marriage as it stands with me.

My husband is many things to me. But of all the mantles he may assume, my friend is the most prestigious position he holds. Our children are a product of both of us. He can get caught up in the story of Caleb's antics or Selah's tantrums alike and smile fondly at their stubbornness so familiar in our own lives. He can listen to what we ate that day or how many times they threw up that day, or how they fought that day and genuinely be disappointed that he was not there to share in the upheaval of it all! He is my partner and for this, I love him with all of my heart. Parenthood, friendship, these are not the things that hold us together. But they bind us together in a way that nothing else can. Being a mom is everything I ever imagined it would be and more. It fulfills me and completes me and makes me crazy some days! But without someone to share it with, without someone to care... let's just say it wouldn't be the same. Somehow it is worthwhile to go through the "screamfest" of a day, when I get to come home and lean on my best friend and we can laugh together and I know that I am not alone.

Simon: terrorized and adored.

A persistent meowing in the distance causes me to pause for a moment and consider: where is Simon? Simon is our kitten. He spends much of his time in the garage or outside where I can walk without him whining at my leg and where he is safe from the loving "attentions" of my children. When he spends time indoors, things invariably get messy.

He either "marks his territory" on our beds, or in some dark, hidden corner. Or perhaps the kids grab him by the hair or the tail rather than the body. Caleb is very taken with throwing him in the running bathwater. Which, to be honest, he (being the cat) actually doesn't mind so much... but makes a mess and a lot of work for me. And tonight, the meowing. Somewhere. It struck me as so odd because our little kitten can be very persistent and very noisy, and this sounded too far off to be normal. I knew he was in the house, so why wasn't he meowing at my feet as usual. Something in me, some instinct deep inside caused me to turn to my son and demand: "Where's Simon???" Sure enough, my son had decided to try out a new experiment: Putting the cat in my side-table drawer. The poor cat. I think if he had known what he was getting himself into, he would have run the other way when we walked into that house to pick him up. And yet, we wanted a pet so that our kids would learn to be gentle and loving and responsible (perhaps too much to ask at the tender ages of 1 and 2) and if nothing else, Simon does provide endless entertainment and is relatively good to the kids. He still comes and purrs at their leg and lets them pick him up. Either he is a glutton for punishment or he realizes that the few gentle "pats" from the kids may be the only affection he will receive that day. I don't have time to sit and pet him, so he has at least resigned himself to tolerate and even seek out the littlest ones in the house.

All I can say is that despite feeling sorry for him, I can't help but laugh at some of the crazy experiments my children preform. And even his placid reaction to what is heaped upon him is amusing. Hmmmm, maybe I will read my book with my poor, terrorized kitten on my lap. Perhaps it is the least I can do.

This too shall pass.

Sleep: a prospect that is becoming lost to me. I really shouldn't be complaining, because my kids do sleep better than most... but the combination of occasional teething sessions and my own personal "pregnant aversion" to rest is starting to catch up with me. The sad part is that it doesn't matter if I am falling asleep in my chair, the second I lay on my pillow I am uncomfortable and spend my time tossing and turning rather than sleeping as I so desire. So this morning, after a week of being unable to do so, I donned my neglected runners and stepped outside at the unearthly hour of 6am for my traditional morning walk. Has anyone noticed it is FREEZING out there????? The neighbourhood was covered in frost, the wind was biting and cold, and despite a hat and a hood over it, I shivered the whole time. I'll even admit to jogging, well attempting to. I realized pretty quickly that that would not be an option in my "advanced state of chub". However, instead of renewing my energy as usual, I came back so tired I could hardly walk. Even as I sit and type, my eyes feel like lead and I have an overwhelming desire to put myself out of my misery and succumb. But do I dare gamble with my night tonight? At this rate I should sleep like a baby, but if I have a nap I will most likely find myself in the same situation as nights gone by and the downward spiral will yet again continue.

So I battle with myself, trying to survive not until bedtime, but simply to naptime when my gears can stop if they so desire, and I can rest. And at the same time as I wish and hope and dream of my warm, cozy bed... I drink a gallon of coffee waiting for its reviving effects to take hold of me. Hmmmm, so far nothing on that front. The worst part is that if I don't do something, I will find myself sitting in a pew at church with a bobbing head of exhaustion. Something must be done.

As for our little family, Jonathan is finally home and the difference is astounding. Yesterday we went to the wildlife park again and instead of meltdowns, my kids were running in a state of pure joy from animal to animal. Unrestricted by strollers and a frazzled mama, Jonathan took one child while I focused my attentions on another and we simply let them be. By the end of the day the long-anticipated meltdowns began, but even those were manageable with daddy's "look" they calmed down much quicker than with mine. And I found myself in awe that I could leave my home and not come back in a state of defeat. For a moment, I struggled with self-pity. Wishing for what could not be: that my husband could be home more and we could just do this everyday. But I was quickly placated with the fond remembrance that with baby number three comes change. Another diaper to deal with, another mouth to feed, another scream to tolerate... and yet it also brings my dear partner in this crazed life home to us for three months of paternity leave. And I am content. Content to wait the 8 weeks before the chaos grows greater, and yet content to see that day come and be together as a family. 

My emotions vacillate with each passing minute, so perhaps tomorrow I will be anxious or even impatient. But for now, I drink my coffee, put my feet up, and rest in the knowledge that this is a season. And "it too shall pass".

Collaborative Chaos

Exhaustion, is this an emotion? I suppose not. More like a state of being. Well, be it what it may, I am exhausted. Jonathan has been gone since Sunday and being alone with the kids is starting to show a little wear and tear on my nerves. Yesterday I was under the misguided impression that going out to town would be a fun day with the kids. Instead it consisted of wal-mart meltdowns, shopping cart screaming, and restaurant madness. And after chasing the kids, trying to control the tantrums, and putting up with the normal "glares" of society, I was ready to come home and admit defeat. Only to wake up this morning and drag the kids to yet another "family adventure" to the local corn farm for a hayride. I'll admit the first half was fun, but after the previous day of missing naps, Selah chose to be un-cooperative and the rest was a simple case of survival. Her screams could have awakened the dead. And I was once again at the disadvantage. A million eyes watching me, no-where to go and deal with her, we just had to move on. Needless to say, the second that hayride reached the parking lot, we were out of there.

The funny thing is that I know that parents look at us with a mixture of sympathy, shock, and disgust that we have our kids so close together (I think they think we deserve it or something :) and I wish they could see my children at home. In their own habitat, they really are quite good. They play nicely, and sleep well, and smile and talk and putter and (wonder of wonders) even obey me. It is only when I attempt to leave its sanctuary that they "punish" me (or at least that's what it feels like). On the days that I drag them out because I am feeling anxious for a good visit, I don't blame them. I am being somewhat selfish, and I suppose I deserve it. But on the days when I do something for them, and plan and prepare and try so hard to give them a fun day... when those days turn on me, I come home and just want to cry. I know I shouldn't take it personally, but it is though I have carefully wrapped a present and they take one look at it and throw it back in my face with as much gusto as they can muster. I feel defeated, like a failure, and so disappointed as though it is my fault that they didn't have fun.

Maybe I should never leave my house! I joke that I shouldn't. If you look at our family 'track-record' it clearly proves that we were never meant to. But it only lasts a few days before I once again feel anxious to do something. So I leave in a state of denial, thinking maybe this time will be different. And you know, one time in ten it is different. We have a good day and it gives me a false hope for the future.

I suppose the reality is that I know it is easier to stay home, yet it will never hold me back. I can't sit in my house forever, I crave change... and get me stir-crazy enough and it really is worth it to put up with the tantrums, if only for a quick coffee and 5 minute conversation with someone over 2 feet tall! I guess on days like these, I need my dad to tell me to "buck up" and "stop feeling sorry for myself" because this is life. And it is crazy, and stressful, and it isn't easy... but how could you appreciate it otherwise????

Morning Monotony

Laying in my bed, my sleep was disturbed by a muffled cry in the distance. Far, far in the distance. Perhaps, I thought to myself, it would go away if I could only go back to sleep. But it was no use, I was awake, and the 'cry in the distance' was in fact only coming from the room next door. My children beckoned and another day was upon us. Groaning as I lugged my ever-increasing girth from the bed, I went to save my daughter from the melancholy of her room. Diaper changes, morning hugs, more diaper changes, a routine I know well. Selah and Caleb greeted each other in the normal fashion: squealing and laughing and occasionally screaming as the other invades their "personal boundary" of the day. And I yawned as my body defied the action I was forced to impose upon it. Ah yes, another day at the Spooners was now in full bloom...

As I prepared breakfast I tried to distract my son from the 3 minute wait that to him, seemed an eternity. Dancing, singing, and eventually pulling out the morning Flinstone Vitamin from its hiding place. Ah, there we go, a moment of silence as Caleb consumed his morning treat. And as I continue on with the drama of my day, I was interrupted once again by his insistent pull at my leg. "Yes, son" I say for what already seems like the millionth time, my patience beginning to wane. "Mama, dyo haf gut sweeeeep????" My sleep-deprived brain takes a minute to log in the information being thrown at it. Crazily searching for something by which to reference the gibberish that I should, by now, be able to interpret with ease. And all at once, it comes to me. My 2 year old son is asking if I had a good sleep! Wonder of wonders. "Yes Caleb!" I cried as I swooped him into my arms for a snuggle. "Did you have a good sleep too???" "Ya mama" he sweetly replied.

As I continued my morning preparations, my day seemed a little brighter. The monotony a little fresher. I was faced with a glimpse at the man that my little boy will one day become. And I can't help but fall a little bit more in love with this "job" of motherhood to which I have voluntarily been assigned. 

cookies, candies, and chocolate...

I call it a slump. After a peak of energy and busyness, the lull becomes nearly mesmerizing. I have been running to clean and organize and chase two little rugrats all over my house, and spend as much time as possible with Jonathan on his days off. And at the end of it all, I am exhausted. And the urge within me, as I look at my tornado of a home, is to crawl into bed with as much junk food as I can fit beside me and eat, drink, and be merry with my good friend the television. Some would judge this inevitable side-effect of pushing myself too hard for too long. But I revel in the simplicity and console myself with the weak excuse that "I deserve it." Hmmm, do I indeed? Yes, I am pregnant and feel like a whale. Yes, my feet hurt, my back aches, and lack of sleep makes my eyes feel like lead. But does the world simply stop for me just because of these things? No, if anything, it seems to spin out of control on a path that I must follow or be destroyed.

Kids beckon, cat calls, husband wants me to sit and relax with him (so that he doesn't feel too guilty about doing it himself I suppose), and house silently begs me to ceaselessly pick up after the growing destruction. And round and round it goes. I cannot simply raise my hands in defiance and yell, "quiet!" I cannot lock myself in my bedroom where time stands still... (well I could, but I can guarantee you that what I would find upon leaving would be a disaster indeed). No, I must go on. For without me, the running of this tumbleweed household would stop turning and instead lurch back and forth in a most disorganized fashion.

And it is because of this explicit "need" for me: mother and wife and homemaker, that I continue to move at my tireless pace. Even when I know the dishes can wait, I can't sit down and relax. It is becoming a part of me, etching itself into my being. And the urge is almost too strong to resist. For this, I am thankful, it has given me a new sense of purpose and pride in my home. And because of this, I cannot complain. I cannot sit and stew in my mound of junk food. First I must prepare my home for the next flurry of activity that will invade it again come morning. Who knows, maybe when I am done my "duties" I will find a spare moment to 'slump' as my nature suggests. Now if only I could get moving :)

Judging Joe

Judgement. An unavoidable enemy we face every day. I am greeted by its familiar stench every time I open my front door, or go to the store, or take my kids for a walk. It is an unfortunate reality of this world we live in, and we all find ourselves passing out a serving once in a while--whether it be justified or not.

Its presence has become a fact that I begrudgingly accept, however I am becoming increasingly aware of a certain group of people that seems to surpass the rest in the "critical examinations" they assign. Old people.

Almost every time we go out we are bombarded with a series of angry looks or condescending glares. And this is just the beginning. From here, it escalates to mutters or 'deceptively sweet' comments. Take today for example, when the kids are standing up barefoot: "Oh my, that can't be easy on his feet can it?" And from there, it continues its path of deterioration to the gossiping whispers that are somehow just loud enough for you to overhear: "Oh my, Marvin, that can't be good for his feet. Tsk tsk. Oh! He looks like he is going to fall over. Well in my day....."

I am officially FED-UP with the "sweet old person" facade that is painted on their faces as they publicly humiliate us and berate us as parents and families. Let me get something straight... in 'your day' children were perfect? In your day they never misbehaved? Or ran away from you? Or maybe you only had a few children instead of the two toddlers we have running circles around us. Or perhaps you lived on a farm where they didn't have the opportunity to wreak havoc on the delicate balance of a shopping cart and instead spent their days running with the cows?????!?!?!?! Whatever the reasoning, either they have forgotten the realities of parenthood, or time has drastically changed the culture in which we raise our newest generation. Give us a break! How are we supposed to survive as a family unit when we are criticized on every front and from every side? It makes me want to stay in the peace and quiet of my home where my kids can be kids without someone staring down their excitement!

And so, I beseech you, whether you be old or young... next time you see a young family struggling to just "get through" the shopping trip that is on everyones last nerves: reserve your judgement. For it is the very few and far between people who give you a kind smile, or pat your arm reassuringly as you struggle to grasp a flailing, screaming 2 year old that gives you the strength to do it all over again the next time. And strength is a gift that is often in too short a supply.

Our day in town: Take I

Well, today was a long day. My legs ache, I have a headache and don't feel well; and yet I am content. For the first time since moving, we went as a family to the wildlife park. And as a family, I mean with my usually absent husband in tow. It was wonderful. So relaxing and fun. I didn't have to lug a stroller by myself or hold a screaming child in my arms while dragging the other to the safety and privacy of our van. No, this time I had a second pair of eyes and hands, and it was heavenly. Selah had the rare opportunity to practise her walking outside, toddling all over the park and putting her mark on the world. No holding hands, no help, no strollers, she could do it "all by herself". How fast they grow! Caleb on the other hand didn't walk, no he ran! From one cage to the next "mama, mama, mama, look!" And I walked, arms unladened with the usual baggage, in awe of this little family that is mine. Time and time again, I watched my daughter fall on the pavement when she lost her balance. And yet despite my heart's ache to gather her up and protect her, she brushed me away and tried again... and again... and again, without a word she persevered. And once again, I was left on the sidelines to watch these little people who were so recently swaddled in my arms as they explored away from me. And despite my melancholy, I am content. This is my job--to teach my children independence and I am so proud of them!

After the wildlife park, things got a little sketchy. 

Load: blankies, check.

waters, check.

movie, check.

Drive.

Unload: appeasement snacks, check.

diaper bag, check.

waters, check.

Shop.

And repeat. Again, and again, and again.

And as I felt my blood pressure rising, and a headache start, and the panic begin to take hold... I had a momentary lapse in judgement...  And so it was that I found myself purchasing suckers. GIANT suckers. Anything to give us just one more stop without the meltdowns I have come to so greatly dread. And as we unloaded our tired, cranky children to the stroller for the umpteenth time (or so it felt) and they began to arch in defiance, I pulled these massive bits of sugar from my purse and proceeded to give one to each of them. And the most amazing thing happened.... they smiled! And they stopped crying! And they sat nicely for at least half of our shopping trip! People didn't stop and stare and glare at my screaming buggy as they usually do. No, instead they smiled at the cheeky little charmer sitting in the front seat grinning at everyone she saw. And the guilt that had so assailed me upon purchasing these "teeth killers" disappeared. 

After this stop, they really were at the end of their rope, and so were we. So we loaded them up and came home to the peace and quiet of our home. And that brings me here... listening to my son play in his room in a sugar-induced haze of energy, and knowing that everything is okay. As I said, I am content. It was a good day. We had fun, they had fun, and it is a trip to town that I won't soon forget. At least not with my blog to remember it by!

Just Survive until Bedtime...

The day dawned cold and crisp. No glorious sunshine awaited my sleep-deprived eyes, instead they were greeted with the gray-blue of a fall dawn and I could hardly wait to get out and enjoy it. Rolling over (a task which my growing abdomen greatly opposes), I groped to find the alarm clock, surprised to find that it was only 5:30. "What kind of person gets up at 5:30?" I questioned myself as I fluffed my pillow and attempted to fall back asleep. Only it was to no avail. The morning beckoned, and I could not stand idly by when there was so much to do. Getting ready as quietly as possible so as not to awaken my "super-sonic hearing children" I tiptoed down my squeaky hall determined to go out for a walk before they got up. I opened my door to freedom. Briskly putting one foot in front of another, I looked around me at the sheer silence and it was nearly overwhelming. What do I do with myself? I prayed, I thought, I planed, and I cut my walk short simply because I was bored and couldn't stand the silence. Shivering and feeling revived, I hopped into the shower, shocked that my house was still quiet and I was allowed the simple and yet mind-boggling freedom to perform this routine act--alone! And then, it began...

The eggs I make as an appeasement gift for my children (who are growing endlessly tired of eating cereal for breakfast), is thrown in my face. The house I have slaved over to clean, is destroyed in mere minutes. Caleb hangs onto my leg and cries, "Mommy sick", Selah follows me everywhere I go declaring my name in her whiniest voice, and I want to go back to bed. The diapers overflow with things to which I will not name, the cat I so vehemently insisted we have decides his litter box is too far and manages to fill my sons bed with his early morning offering, and the crying continues. Really, why did I get up? If you are thinking that my day proceeded to improve, you would be drastically wrong. Instead it was a sheer cliff to which we were fast approaching. A toilet drain going round and round of screaming, crying, pooping, runny noses, fevers, more screaming... By mid-afternoon, I had run squat out of ideas. No food was accepted, and yet they cried for food. No toy was good enough, no cuddle sufficient... they all ended in the same result: fussing, whining, crying. And I was at my limit. It is here that I insert my motto as a mother of children so closely tied in age... "just survive until bedtime." And survive I did. Because here I sit, in a house torn apart by both my children and myself in a desperate attempt to quiet them, in peace. And I am, indeed, alive. And as my swollen, aching self sits in denial and shock at the drastic change in pace, I realize that the freedom I strove for in the early morning hours of dawn are upon me once again. So I resign myself to another fateful day of sickness tomorrow, knowing that tonight is mine. And hoping desperately that the small tidbits of freedom I experience will give me the strength I need to face it all over again in the morning. Until next time!

Motherhood...

Motherhood... the state of being a mother. One that begins with conception and has no expiry, no end, no retirement. It is quite simple really, you have a child and you are immediately thrust into this world of "being" and without any introduction or nicely planned orientation, you are now a mother. Deal with it.

At first, I found it terrifying. Clabe was placed on my chest in a cold, sanitary hospital and I was told to make sure he ate. They wheeled me immediately to a room full of three other new moms, told my husband he couldn't stay, and left me... alone. I was so tired, so unsure of myself, and had no one there to either comfort me or tell me what to do. I was on my own now, welcome to the club.

But I did it. Each feeding, each diaper change, the constant guessing game of what to do. I just fit into this mold that somehow I knew had always been made for me and I loved every minute of it. Well, I suppose that is quite obvious by our getting prenant again two months after caleb was born. But the point is that this is me. This is what I live for. I may have other dreams and goals and ambitions in my life, but this one tops them all. Walking with Caleb and teaching him the names of different birds and trees and cars. Watching the studious expression on his face as he tries to soak in eerything at once. Listen to him call, "mama, mama, mama... look!" a hundred times a day or be silly just to make me smile. Or Selah, babbling in her crib, practising her words over and over. Or toddling around the house with a look of extreme satisfaction on her face. Or climb up a ladder and somehow make it over the other side while I look on in a mixture of terror and wonder at this little daredevil I have created... and it is during these moments that I know this is it. It is all I ever want in life. It isn't always easy, or even fun, but it is what I was made to do. And so it is that I wake up early ever morning, and go for a walk by myself, and breathe and pray that God will give me the strength, the patience, and the creativity to be the best mom I can this day.

Good morning!

I woke up this morning with what I will deem a "ride hangover". I feel dizzy, nauseous, and have a headache all from going on the darned octopus at the fair last night. My kids both received a panel of immunizations yesterday and have been whiny, and today I get to babysit Hannah (this would be my five-year-old sister for those of you who do not know her). Sigh. The coffee I am downing with increased desperation seems to have no effect upon my lack of patience and feeling of falling over. And so it is that I find myself in a state of melancholy. One which I have no particular urge to withdraw from. It is a windy, relatively cold day out and my body screams at me to hop in the bath with a good book. Mmmmmmm. If only I had one.

Needless to say, this has the beginnings of another "one of those days". They seem to be a much more common occurence lately. Monotonous, long, boring days in which I clean and look after my children and wish I was instead at the spa after a long day of shopping. :) Is that really so much to ask for? A day to myself? With about $1,000 in the bank at my disposal? Hmmm, perhaps not.

I always have things I 'could' be doing... all of which I come up with a million excuses not to. You know, the organizing that needs to be done, going through the lingering boxes that I have tried to pretend don't exist. Laundry is always an option I suppose. Curtains need sewing, but then I would have to make a mess and really I can't do that when the kids are awake. So I tidy, and eat, and play with the kids, and eat some more, and tidy the kitchen, and eat some more. Hmmmm. I think the scale is in the garbage from the last time I weighed in. Maybe I should do some yoga or something...

And so, my friends, if you have been wondering what has been going on in the lives of the Spooners of late, wonder no more. Are we settled? Completely. Are we into routine? If the monotony is setting in, than who could doubt it? Life goes on. And if you are wondering what has been happening with my little terrors of late... stay tuned for a creative "interlude" soon to come! Until next time...

Summer Update

Wow! I can hardly believe it has been two months since I last wrote. Crazy! We have obviously moved to Chase, and are loving it. It is really hard to get to know people here, I am looking forward to the fall when I can start attending playgroups and stuff. But we are closer to family, we are in a beautiful house, and we are a hop skip and a jump from private beach access... who could ask for anything more? Last night I went to a baby shower for one of the members' wives, and at least that gave me the opportunity to say hello and get my feet wet in the community.

I guess I haven't posted that I am pregnant too (although I am sure that most of you are aware of that by now). I am 20 weeks now, so I guess officially halfway. And, thats right, it means that selah and this next one will only be 16 months apart. Also crazy. Sometimes I think we aim to make our lives as difficult as possible :) But in reality, we are happy. Scared spitless, but happy. This is it, this is what we want to do with our lives. Have children, raise a family. Each new child we have is so unique and special and although after this we may decide to put the brakes on for a couple of years (for sanity's sake of course) we don't intend to stop anytime soon.

The other big news, in two weeks I have a one year old. In fact, I guess for the next month I will have two one year olds, how twisted is that?????? :) Selah turns one on the 27th, and Caleb turns two August 11th. I am so excited to watch them grow and change this next year, and yet sad to see this stage in their lives so rapidly dissapearing. Selah is saying words, standing on her own, and pretty close to walking. And Caleb is crazy. The baby stage is long past and now i am looking and a bona fide tyrant! Albeit a very cute one!

Other than all that, I guess life goes on as normal. I will try to update this more frequently, although I can't make any promises! Happy Summer!

My First Day off!

Well, I left both of my babies with Jonathan and trecked off to k-town on my own. I thought it would be hard for me to leave them, but it really wasn't. I enjoyed EVERY MINUTE of the day. I didn't really do anything. I mean, I shopped, went to the dentist and chiropractor, etc. But all without the expectation of having to be somewhere or do something or being out of time. No pressure. I have never had that before. Either my kids are pressuring me by screaming bloody murder, or my husband is pressuring me by being annoyed I want to look in yet another store, or time is pressuring me as we have to be somewhere pronto. This time the only one putting on the pressure was me, and it was heavenly. What a wonderful mother's day gift. I will be eternally excited about this holiday is every year promises to be as relaxing and enjoyable and this!

The big news? We move in two weeks from today! I can't believe it. I have my house to organize. Thank God that we have packers coming, but it would be horribly embarressing if they had to pack my house as it is now, a collossal disaster! Oy vey. The worst part is that I have NO desire to do anything. I am even starting to think that the embarresment would be worth it for me to not have to do anything. But I guess then it will make more work when things are packed in a disorganized fashion. Hopefully it all works out, and by that I mean hopefully I get my bum moving and clean. Sigh.

Other than that it is life as usual at the Spooners. The laundry is piled high, the kids are in need of a bath, Caleb continues to terrify his little sister, and I continue to shake my head in wonder of this chaos that is my life. Until next time!

A Modern Mother's Day at the Spooner's...

7am- woken up by the screech of a child in need...

GOAL: Let Jonathan sleep in a bit before you get him up.

8am- wake up Jonathan, he forgets to wish you a happy mothers day. Sigh, and the day of "appreciation and honor" begins.

8:30am- get ready for church.

9:00am- decide church is not going to happen unless you skip the shower today and try to cover your imperfections with a few layers of makeup.

9:15am- realize you are going to be late, and that the bags under your eyes are most definitely a permanent fixture.

10:00am- go to church, make your own row at the back where the kids will cause the least amount of disturbance.

10:30am- Caleb begins screaming when I ask for a prayer request, guess he doesn't like hearing mommy's voice on the speakers. Quickly finish speaking and try to calm him down.

10:35am- prayer begins, Caleb continues causing a collossal disturbance, send Timothy out with him to keep him quiet.

10:36am- hear Caleb's screeches carried through the sanctuary. Turn red in embarressment and a minor hint of pride as you realize that he is calling for his mama. Awww.

10:37am- call tim back in and hold Caleb throughout the remainder of the service, realizing that despite the days scattered beginnings, holding your almost 2-year-old in your arms as he whispers love and cuddling affection to you is, in fact, a wonderful way to feel honored and appreciated.

Happy Mother's Day!

Growing, Growing, Gone...

Today, as I contemplate my life over a sweet cup of coffee, I am dumbfounded by the fact that my son is no longer a baby but officially a little boy. We can have conversations, he understands practically everything I say to him, he walks and plays and says "I wub you mama". The tantrums that once consumed my life with dread and trepidation have diminished to mere emotional meltdowns once in a while (believe me though, they still fill me with fear and trepidation). The boy that once used to whack his sister or poke her in the eye to see what would happen has evolved to one who merely tries to sit on her or hug her so she can't move laughing the whole while (all right, not much of a step up, I'll admit, but hey, its something!). He smiles for the camera, eats his food even when he doesn't want to (with a little bit of gentle persuasion of course...) and jumps like a bunny rabbit all over the house. He drives his toy truck, builds puzzles with perfect ease (even managing to turn the shapes around so they fit), and tries to sing songs (with a pretty good hit on the key I must say, my little budding musician!!!!). And as I sit here, gushing over my big boy as only a mother can do, I feel an overwhelming urge to cry over the baby that is no more.

It is the paradox of motherhood, the drive to teach them how to be independant, and the superhuman need to pull them back and cherish and nuture them for the rest of their lives (give me a 22 year old throwing his dirty underwear on the floor for "mommy" to pick up, and I may be singing another tune!). And all of a sudden, I want to gather him up and hold him in my arms and tell him, "I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living my baby you'll be" sniff sniff, gushing mother indeed. :) Needless to say, my boy is growing up. And this just happened to be the time and the day for me to pour out my mothers heart for the baby that is no more. All I can say is...

Bring on the screams!

Outdoor Adventures

The sun is shining, the birds are chirping, the air is filled with the fresh smell of yesterday's rain, and spring is officially in the works. Looking back, spring is a beautiful time of year, but I always found it trying due to my allergies. And summer was far too hot. Fall was definitely my favorite season. And all of a sudden, that has all changed. Sun means going outside and running around at the park and going for walks and playing with the water hose; in summary... fun! My daughter squeals in excitement as she explores this new world for the first time, my son runs in gleeful abandonment and I sit back and thank God for the beauty all around me. Not just nature at its best, but the beauty of my children enjoying it. Who could ask for anything more?

It is amazing how having children changes you. I have never been much of an outdoor person, but who could deny a boy with his thumb in his mouth, his kee-kee bundled up in his hands, and his face an expression of sheer anticipation as he looks out the window, "ou-siiii mama??" "pak? wak? (park and walk)". I have even discovered the perfect way to avoid tantrums and running away from mama... the stroller. No, I don't confine my son to sitting, instead, we pack Selah up and Caleb pushes the bar at the bottom while I push the bar at the top. That way he is helping mama, he walks a whole lot faster then he does when he can stop and look at EVERYTHING that we go by, and he is safe from running around. Perfect indeed. I never go anywhere without the token fruit snack (the bribe for leaving the park without collapsing in a bundle of screaming tears) and off we go. Never far, my little guy tires out pretty quick. But each time we go to the park he gets a little braver, and I have to run a little faster to keep up with him. Caleb has always been very very cautious. He didn't crawl until he was sure he could do it. No flailing for him, no army crawl. He would wait and watch and then one day, he just did it... perfectly. Same with walking. Slow and steady, and very cautious. I must admit, it is a quality I admire as a mother because of course, I am cautious with my children. I don't mind that he doesn't want to climb walls and scale mountains, it means less chance of my heart stopping and we are all happy. Well, that is very quickly changing. He is not always cautious, only until he is comfortable, and then he goes from one extreme to the other. For example, he would never go down the slide except on my lap. So far so good. Now he goes up so fast and down so fast that I can barely run to the front to catch him again. And that is not the worst part. He goes to the tall metal twisty slide and climbs up, barely making it up without falling, and down he goes. Be still my beating heart! All this while Selah crawls and begins eating gravel. Oy vey.

In summary, I don't just "put up" with being outside for the sake of my children, I truly have begun to LOVE being outside with my children. When you are watching everything from the eyes of a child, who couldn't begin to enjoy the simple pleasures of the outdoors? And the best part? I think my allergies, which I have suffered from my WHOLE life (to the extent of being on an inhaler) are gone. I still sneeze here and there, but somehow being pregnant twice through the spring and being unable to take my usual cartload of drugs has helped me. Who would have thought? Maybe the drugs don't help us, maybe they just make it all worse? Anyways, I am sure I will still have my days, but maybe it is just God's way of helping me enjoy the outdoors even more. And who am I to complain?!?!?!?!

And now dear reader, I have to get ready, for this day is a gift I am not about to waste sitting on the computer! Happy travels!

My morning addiction

I have come to the drastic realization that I only write on my blog on mornings on which I have a coffee. And as I have been trying to cut caffeine from my daily diet, my blog has been sadly lacking. However, this morning I caved in (having just bought my favorite creamer, I couldn't resist) and made myself just a "small pot" to get me through the morning. Ah, I forgot how enjoyable a simple cup could be. To some people, coffee is just a "fix". They become addicted to the caffeine (don't worry, I was an addict to), and can't make their morning right without it. There is nothing wrong with this, however I have reached my own conclusion. After going through "caffeine withdrawl" for a couple days, I was cured. But the problem does not lie in the physical need, as it does for some, instead I realized that for me, I am completely emotionally addicted to this, life's little pleasure. Tea just doesn't cut it, trust me, I have tried. It has to be the drug-induced, teeth-staining, heart-stopping pot of black stuff or else my heart is just not in it. I don't do a whole lot for myself, who could with two mobile little munchkins under 2????? A shower is a rare-occurence, a shower in PEACE is almost non-existent. I don't wear makeup, I don't waste my time with my hair. I wear sweatpants and baggy shirts (it's a good thing my husband likes the frumpy look or else I would be feeling very sorry for him! :)) and stay locked in my house talking "baby talk" allllll day long! But this, my ritual cup of coffee, is for me. I can be racing after kids and have to heat it up 20 times, but it is so creamy and steamy, and each little sip, I feel a sense of indulgence. And with that indulgence, I am ready for my day. Who knew? So, dear reader, I am addicted to coffee. Not physically, at least not yet (this is my first cup in a week), but emotionally. Which I suppose is far, far worse. And I simply cannot bring myself to forgoe this one step of independance that I am allotted.

I was going to write an update on my family, but I think I will leave it at that. My thoughts on a cup of joe. What better to write about????

Information Overload

As a new parent, or at least I still consider myself a new parent, I am constantly buying and reading new literature on the greatest and latest "child rearing tecniques". I mean, I knew having kids wouldn't be a walk in the park, but there are days I feel at a complete loss! And I mean COMPLETE! Having written on this subject on a number of occassions, I won't bore you with the gory details, but the reality is that just when I get something under control, something new comes up that throws me for a loop. And so I read. Selah, being my second, is easy. Not that she is an easier baby than Caleb, but I guess it is not foreign territory to me anymore. I have an idea of what to do and it really is easier the second time around. Caleb, on the other hand, constantly has me jumping. There is no rest when I am wondering what happened to my sweet little boy and where this little terrorist has come from! Ahhhh! So, I resort to buying more books. "What to Expect in the Toddler Years," "See how they run," "To train up a child," Child rearing videos, magazines on parenting... etc. And then I ravage them for information on the terrible twos, and eighteen to twenty-four month olds, raising BOYS, whatever I can manage to get my hands on. Is it normal to be completely housbound due to my son's newfound ability to completely humiliate me in public????? Oy vey! And yet, I am learning. Each new book I read, each article I see, gives me new perspective as I constantly re-evaluate my parenting tecniques. The only problem, is that just when I decide on something, I read something else that changes my perspective once again. And I feel guilty, or someone looks at me with judgement in their eyes and I wonder to myself: "am I being too hard, too soft? What am I doing wrong here." And once again, it is back to the drawing board. Oh, the days when he was quiet, and cuddly, and stayed where I put him. Oh well, for now, I survive. One day at a time, one mistake at a time. Trying and trying and trying again until I find some method that works, if only for a time before I am once again forced to go back to the drawing board yet again. Here's to raising toddler boys!

Tired, oh so tired!

How are the Spooners? We are doing well. And by well, I mean SICKER THAN DOGS! I, miraculously, am fine, but the whole rest of the family seems to be under a cloud of incessant sickness that never ends. We found out the Caleb and Jonathan had the Norwalk Virus, which lasted over a week for both of them. Finally finished with that, we thought we were getting better when Selah spiked a fever (which she has had for three days now), no other symptoms though, so we innocently assumed that it was merely teething. The same day that Jonathan announces he is feeling better, he starts to cough... and now has a full-blown bronchial infection... Caleb is a WRECK and I don't know why, something is obviously still bothering him, although he has no fever and shouldn't be teething. Then, there is Selah. Yes, yes, the fever. Well I have been taking her out assuming that all is well, when this afternoon... hello! She is covered in bright red dots. Whoops! Where did those come from? Roseola, baby measles (possibly why my son is so fussy????).

I have no idea where we picked up all this sickness, we have hardly left the house, but somehow it is here and I am getting so tired of dealing with it. Well, at least I don't have it. I guess it could be worse. Other than that, we just plug along. This morning I am singing at an event (not really sure how that happened) before I rush back home to take care of my ailing family. Jonathan goes back to work, which I must admit, I am looking forward to a bit. Back to a semblance of routine. Now I just have to figure out why my son is getting up at 6am every morning and acting like a train wreck. Ahhh, to be back home where I have HELP on days like these! Until next time!

A Covert Operation

Silence. Ahhh, my mind floats and concentration evades me. Where am I? I don't care. All I know is that the house, yes I believe I am in a house, is quiet and peace prevails. Wait a minute, peace? My calm and blissfully ignorant state of mind is shattered as I come upon the rapid realization that something is elementally wrong with this picture. I have an 18 month old, nothing should ever be quiet. Frantically, I pull myself out of my hazed stupor and proceed to search high and low for my busy little boy. "Caleb!" I call out, nothing. I search his room, the toys sit in wild abandon, mocking my futile efforts. "Caleb, come to mommy!" The bathroom... perhaps he is playing with the toilet paper! Running in that direction, I come upon definite signs of his presence, but my son is nowhere to be seen. The toilet paper has mysteriously been emptyed off its roll and haphazardly discarded into the toilet; which upon closer examination, now has the appearance of being hopelessly clogged. Yup, he was here all right! I close the door behind me to ensure no more damage ensues and continue looking. Selah's room is next, but the door is still closed, and she is still sleeping. No signs of toddler trouble here. The living room is empty as well. Cautiously arriving at my last resort I slow my pace and very carefully peer into the depths of the kitchen... nothing? Wait, that cannot be! There is no where else in this little house for him to hide! And then I hear it... "crinkle, crinkle, crinkle," he has to be here somewhere. Upon closer examination, I see my little monkey... under the table. He has geniously discovered his "potty candy" from the bathroom, and retreated to his hideaway to devour it in utter secrecy. Aha! Carefully assuming my "stern mommy" face, I step into the kitchen with my hands on my hips. "Caleb, what are you doing?" I watch as my son goes absolutely still, obviously under the misconceived impression that if he doesn't move, I can't see him (has he been watching too much jurrasic park with daddy???). As I begin my descent to his level, my ingenious son quickly realizes his precarious situation, and hastily shoves the remaining stash into his mouth. From here, he looks up at me apologetically as he preforms the sign for 'sorry' in a most convincing manner. I, being the all-knowing mother, have seen this act one too many times and proceed to lovingly and strictly direct my son towards his appropriate punishment. Afterwards, he grins up at me and runs away, mouth still brimming with candy. I sit down on the couch with a sense of wonderment. For despite doing all the right things, I have the uncanny impression that my son has just won the: "Battle for the candy." Oh well, there's always next time right?

Family Life

Well, I figure an update is in order, considering I haven't written in about a month. One month, a short amount of time, and yet in the lives of young children, an eternity. For a good portion of this month, we were vacationing... which one might define as going to a new place or somewhere warm for a memorable family experience. We, the spooners, define it as going to visit family. Whoop-de-do. And yet, still memorable and enjoyable. We packed up on the 11th, and came home on the 21st. From there, we had one night to do laundry and repack before we went with Jess and Andy to the states. What fun! How is it that when considering going somewhere, my common sense goes out the window????? "We will stay in hotel for a couple of nights! Won't that be fun????" NO! HOTEL BAD.... NOT FUN! What was I thinking? Two kids in the same room as us, screaming and wailing from being in the car? Oy vey. Needless to say, it was actually not that bad. We went to Spokane and I was able to get most of the kids' summer clothes (albeit no cheaper than I would have here in Canada, but hey, it was something new) as well as cut off all my hair. All right, not all of it, but a good portion. I got a good visit in with my sister, and got to see a long-lost friend that I haven't seen in 6 years! All in all, a profitable trip. And if I am learning anything about children, it is this:
You can let them control your life. Never leave home. It really is easier that way. Stick to the routine. Everyone is happy. OR... you can do what you want to do. Make memories. You won't really remember the sweating, panicking, hopelessly trying to soothe and pacify... all you will remember is the picture... a smiling, happy family! Oh please, let this be true?!?!?!

Needless to say, we came home from all this travelling exhausted and... wait for it... sick (of course). Our house is now officially heaped with clothes, laundry, suitcases, and toys. But we are home. Home, home, home. Now all I need to do is get busy and find a place for all these new arrivals to the spooner household. Oh wait, there is not place for them! Hello mess, goodbye order. As for the kids, what can I say? Growing like weeds, cliche I know, but so true. My little girl has officially graduated from an infant, to a moving and groving baby. She has changed so much in the last month, I hardly recognize her. She used to play strange with ANYONE other than me, gone. She is the happiest baby on the block. Pass her off to complete strangers, and she has a grin for all of them! Is it wrong to be a little bit sad? She now has two teeth, nursing is a joke... all she wants to do is take me with her as she explores her whole new world. She is so close to crawling, can move forwards, backwards, and turn herself in every which direction... in other words, MOBILE! Sniff, when did this happen? Caleb, on the other hand, is my steady man. He tries any word you say, walks, runs, and his newest acheivement... jumping (he barely leaves the ground, but I swear the kid thinks he is flying!). He loves to dance, and if you have ever watched Elaine on Seinfeld's dance moves, you will know his style. Very similar. Don't ask where he learned to dance like that! He is our sicky right now. He has never had the flu before, and I must say, I am definitely more sympathetic with the flu than when he has a cold. I have changed his sheets and outfit 8 times in the last day and half. And now my husband has started. Vitamin C, here I come! He has all four of his eye teeth, FINALLY! Hallelujah!

Well, that is our family in a nutshell, for now that is. I would love to continue writing about the crazy events of our everyday life, however now that the kids are sleeping, my job begins. It is now or never... and the suitcases are in desperate need to be emptied. So, wishing you all a happy end to your week... Spooner out.

The ultimate parent

What a week! What a month really. Filled with screaming children, tantrums, spontaneous tears, whining, fussing, kids pulling at my legs, etc. etc. etc. And I am loathe to remind myself that this will be the next 2 (at least) years of my life. If there is anything my short experience at motherhood has taught me, it is that there is no right answer. Every child is different, every parent is different, and every situation is different. But this does not stop me from being overcome by the "mother guilt" every once in a while. Take my son for example, this teething thing is becoming the excuse of the century, and I now have no idea what to do. Is he really teething, or is he just over-tired, perhaps I put him to bed too early, or maybe he had a bad dream. Do I give him tylenol, or am I just over-drugging a kid that doesn't need it???? And round and round I go. Then there is my daughter, an even bigger enigma. I feed her, and feed her and feed her, and still she wants more. She is not gaining as much as she should and so I have doctors breathing down my neck to switch to formula. That is all fine and dandy for them, but my little girl wouldn't dream of letting a bottle or the wretched taste of formula anywhere NEAR her queenly little mouth. Oh dear, now what? I feed her solid food twice a day and try to rest and drink lots of fluid to increase my milk supply... it is an ongoing, continuous, constant case of nerves. Is she getting enough? What do I do? How can I increase my milk? etc. etc. etc.

Don't get me wrong, I love being a mother, and I suppose if it didn't come with challenges, I would get bored much to easily. But that doesn't stop me from being bombarded with the question I ask myself EVERY DAY..... what now?

My dear husband hears a squeak out of our children and the first adoring words out of his mouth are: "what do they want?" As if I would know. I must admit that I have been known to throw my hands up in the air, and walk away, adamately declaring, "I don't know, you deal with it." This is a wonderful approach to my temporary lack of sanity, until minutes later I hear my children still crying and my husband standing in the same spot as he has NO idea what do do. Sigh, mom is back on the job. I suppose I will never get to renounce my duties. I will always be the one with the "collossal answer", even when I feel as though there is no answer. And so it is that I find myself time and time again calling out to God for answers. It is with great regret that I admit that he is often my last resort, and because of that, I believe that I miss out on much wisdom. However, he is always faithful to me, and even if the answer to my question is "go with your gut" or "trust me" or simply "do nothing, wait" there is always an answer, if I simply seek it. And so,dear reader, I am not a perfect parent, FAR FROM IT! But I get my tips and tricks from the best parent there is, and it is through Him that I will press on to my goal.

Happy parenting!

Sleepless in the Spooner house...

The radio is blaring, or maybe it is a siren, I can't tell. I painstaikingly claw my way to consciousness, only to discover that it is Caleb's screaming and headbanging (yes, I said headbanging) that woke me. Laying in bed, I toss and turn, going through the "great debate" of what to do. Is he teething? Did he have a bad dream? Should I let him cry? What if he wakes Selah? Should I give him medicine? And on and on it goes. Finally deciding on a course of action, I crawl out of the warmth of my bed to confront this little powerhouse of a boy, my boy. Oy vey. From 12am-2am I drag myself out of bed no less than 20 times. Back and forth, back and forth. Only to have it start again at 6am when the motrin wears off. This pretty much describes my WEEK. One night, selah will sleep through it all, other nights it wakes her up. Take last night for example. Starting to get the picture of this whole "teething" thing. As soon as he woke up, I gave him motrin and took him to bed with me. After about 20 minutes (just long enough for the medicine to catch) I toted him back off to bed, and it worked!!!!! For a while anyways. He fell back asleep, selah woke up, I fed her and got her back to sleep, and.... you guessed it! Caleb woke up! A game of ping pong, in which I was forced to run from one end of the table to the other, this resulting in NO sleep at all. After a week of this, I feel worse than I did after Selah was born. And I thought the molars were bad! My son was joyfully awake and ready for the day at 5am, and no, he did not go back to bed (I even caved and gave him food in his bed, just to get a few more minutes of sleep). So here, I sit, awake half the night and up since 5, downing coffee as though my life depended on it. And yet, as I got Selah up for the day, I walked her out to where her brother was chowing down in his chair, explaining, "Yes, that's your brother. Brother was up half the night screaming like a maniac!" Of course, I say all of this in a sing song voice, and my adorable little son looks at her with his fake little grin on his face and nods his head dramatically... "yaaa selah, yaaa!" Oh my gosh, how can I be mad?????

So, choosing to take on an air of indifference to the nights in the Spooner Household, I am instead assaulted by the trials of the day. Spilling coffee all over, tripping on the mat, dropping food on the floor... yes, that's right, it is going to be another "one of those days". God help me. Literally.

Mental Recall

The Holidays... a time for rest and relaxation; fellowship with family and friends. A mental marker, if you will, of the passage of time. This marks our third Christmas as a married couple, our second with children, our first with Selah. It was mind boggling to watch our son, who was little more than a cheery presence last year, rip open gifts with the tenacity of a one-year-old. Screaming outrageously when our attentions were not focused on him, and participating in the festivities for the first time. My thoughts are so scattered right now, I hardly know where to begin. We spent Christmas alone this year, and I must admit, it was a very liberating experience. No people to visit, nothing pressing to do, just waking up and being together as a family. Forging our own traditions and making our own memories. Shortly after Christmas, we had Jonathan's brother and sister-in-law come out for almost a week. And I am more determined and excited than ever to move and be closer to the family that we hold so dear. For the first time in a long time, I had someone to visit with. The kids were happily occupied as they were busy observing their cousins theatrics! Everything was less of a chore and more of a opportunity to catch up, and watching them leave I was almost lost in a feeling of emptiness. Waking up in the morning was no longer as enjoyable, as I was greeted by the screeches of my boy as he adamantly proclaimed his needs and desires. There is no longer a pressing reason to clean my house, or even get dressed in the morning, other than my own sense of accomplishment and obligation. And as I sat there, feeling sorry for myself, I was struck anew by the realization that this is life. And the challenge is not living it day-by-day, rather it is in finding joy and satisfaction in the little things. And so it was, that I bathed my kids last night, side-by-side for the first time. And watched in wonder and sheer awe as Caleb crawled from his big bath, to sit with Selah in the baby bath. He helped wash her hair, give her his toys, and play with her feet as he has seen me do time and time again. And watching her grin at her big brother in complete adoration, I thought "this is it". This is the reason I get up in the morning. It doesn't matter if I do it alone, I do it for them. And I reap so much in the process!

So am I lonely and missing my family? Yes. But I persevere in the knowledge that one day I will be closer. Until then, I find fulfillment in the job that God has given me to do... and am rewarded by a smile or a kiss, or better yet... my children smiling and kissing each other. What more could I ask for????

Happy Holidays!