A needed reminder

There's a basket of clean laundry on the floor at my feet, a toppled pile of folded clothes next to it. There are dishes in the sink and toys on the floor and playdough crumbs drying on the kitchen table... but since all three littles are napping (two sweetly sleeping, one just resting) I'm pausing for a break myself, laptop on my lap. I'll get to work in a minute.

I click through my reader to one of my favorite blogs and soak up Ann's words. I see myself in them. They could have been mine, had I taken the time write with such thought and beauty:

I think how I want a crumbless, smudgeless, spotless house, a house with empty laundry baskets, empty sinks, empty garbage cans, with floors like mirrors and mirrors like water, and a pantry lined neat like books in the study and pies lining the counter like sweet children all in a row. I want the (seeming) perfection all day that only happens at night when the whirl slows to a still and the six children sleep, their books and their legos, their papers and their creations, all finding their resting places too. I want a father-in-law who walks in mid-spin and sees what I have done with a day, with a week, and smiles his satisfaction.

I want things seen.

These can be idols.

I've been struggling with this idolatry of late -- the desire to have things looking just so, all orderly and peaceful and right. And perhaps it is because so much of motherhood simply can't be measured that I've found myself focusing on the concrete accomplishments: the house all vacuumed, the packages all sent, the groceries all put away. I run the list of what I've done through my head, rattle it off when I recount my day to Jim. I judge my day against the list. I judge myself against the list. A long list must mean I'm doing my job well. That I'm a good wife and a good mother and keep a good home.

But it doesn't mean that. It doesn't mean that at all.

Because in my haste to reorganize the linen closet or to clean the carpets or to vary our meal-planning or to fight down the laundry, sometimes my littles get left behind. They get a moody, anxious mama who's forgotten what it's really all about. Ann writes:

The product is secondary…. Perhaps even pointless. It’s the prayers, the relationship, the love while doing the work, that hold the meaning, the merit.

I needed that reminder.

I pray that today I'll be here, where I am, doing the work I'm meant to do with love and with patience and with the knowledge that neither my family nor my God wants my self-righteous lists or my perceived accomplishments -- not my meals or my clean laundry or my (one day, hopefully) organized closets. They want so much more: conversation, presence, relationship. They want my heart.

They want me.

You can find Ann's post "priorities: things unseen" here. It's just one example of the reason she's one of my favorite bloggers...

the last light of summer

Even though it's technically autumn, our days have still felt like summer. It's been warm and sunny -- perfect weather for splashing in the pool. But we know that autumn is coming, so we snatched up the chance to enjoy the waning days of summer, joining Daddy for yet another picnic at school last week.

And, where there's Daddy, there's FUN.

So, while Indy lounged in the sunshine...

his sisters and his Daddy had a foot race.

Madeline did her best to keep up. (Two factors contributed to her poky-ness -- her age and those jeans. She's not used to wearing jeans.) She got there eventually. And she didn't seem to mind coming in last.

When they tired of running, they jumped. Off the picnic table. (The sort of fun that makes a Mama gasp. But no one got hurt. Thankfully.)

And eventually running and jumping gave way to spinning. I mean, that's what a Daddy is for, right?

Even Indy joined that fun.

(It occurred to me, belatedly, that you might be concerned that Indy was being spun about by his legs, too. Trust me, while Mama might be able to hold her breath for some picnic table-jumping, she couldn't watch truly crazy spinning with the baby without having a heart attack. Our boy is wrapped tightly in loving arms in this picture, more than happy with a tiny little spin!)

And though we're excited about fall and leaves and pumpkins and apples, we'll miss our summer evenings.

Our Own Superhero

Kathleen attends a dance class, which we've mentioned. Each week the class has a theme, and last week the teachers mentioned that this week's theme would be "Superheroes." Now, these themes aren't really a big deal. We discovered that the hard way -- when I raced home for a dinosaur toy for dinosaur week and then no one else brought a dinosaur at all. (It was a similar story with the beach towel for beach week.) Still, when I heard "Superhero Week," my mind began turning. And because I am a pathological overachiever stupid occasionally oblivious to the fact I have three small children always up for a crafting challenge, I set about planning a costume for Kathleen.

We had everything we needed. (A no cost project! What could be better?) We already had a leotard -- one we were fortunate enough to have received from a cousin. It needed a little something, though. An intial from leftover wool felt, perhaps? Yes, perfect.

It's a bird... it's a plane... it's Super Kathleen!

What else? A superhero needs a cape! When we'd settled on the red leotard I thought we might be able to use some of the yards and yards of patriotic material I have left over from seven years of making patriotic banners for Jim. Kathleen, though, had a different idea. She requested a rainbow cape. Concerned that it might look like she'd left a San Francisco political rally with a flag draped around her neck, I tried to come up with a slightly different sort of rainbow cape. After some negotiation, we settled on stars. (On a blue background. Left over from -- you guessed it -- banner-making.)

Rainbow stars. All of the rainbow, none of the political overtones.

Both of us were delighted with the results! We think she's a natural superhero. Of course, we've always known she would be!

If you're looking for Kathleen, she's out defending truth, justice, and the American way...

Incredible Indy

Little Indiana keeps growing at a truly incredible rate. Our admittedly unscientific weighing (with him and Daddy on the bathroom scale) puts him near twenty pounds already. It feels like we're forever tossing clothes into the "too-small" basket. And clothes aren't the only thing that Indy's been outgrowing. The other day I laid him to play under his play gym in the living room while I mopped the kitchen floor. After a while he began to fuss. I imagined that he was bored and so continued to talk to him while I finished my chores.

I felt more than a bit guilty when I discovered him like this:

He'd pulled the play gym right over on himself! Looks like we'd better add that to the "too small" pile...

Indy has gotten his first two teeth this month -- nice, sharp, shiny ones on the bottom. He has also, it seems, given up sleeping (at least sleeping for nice long stretches at night). We think the two are linked.

Still, though, Indy's a pretty happy little guy. Except when his sisters don't let him play tee ball with them.

Maybe next summer. Until he's more mobile, Indy will have to suffer his sisters' play like this -- all "cozied up" with all the blankets from the downstairs closet.

Although he's not quite mobile enough to escape yet, Indy is pretty mobile for a not-quite-five-month-old. He's mastered the fine art of rolling around. And he's got a funny little scooch, which he executes with his forehead on the ground. In fact, he rolls and scooches so much that we've actually had to buy some (breathable!) bumpers for the crib. The poor little guy kept getting his roly poly legs stuck in the railings!

The mobility's good for more than just getting stuck in a crib, thankfully. Indy's already discovering that he can go where he'd like.

For the past few days, the girls have been entertained with a "fort" under the dining room table, complete with string of paper lanterns. (Everyone's had a pretty miserable cold here, so we're taking fun where we can.) The fort has been wonderful for reading stories, working on puzzles, munching snacks, and all sorts of other play.

Yesterday Indy was lying on the floor while the girls and I cleaned up after a day's worth of play in the fort. We were returning puzzles and play food to their rightful homes when I noticed that Indy was missing. "Girls, what happened to your brother?" I asked.

We found him -- in the fort! He'd rolled and scooched his way inside while we worked.

That Indy is one incredible little guy!

The true story of a Tuesday night

I wrote this on Tuesday night, but I let it sit for a bit before publishing... I wanted to make sure it was really worth "putting it all out there." I think maybe it is.

I was thinking about it the other day and I realized that a casual reader of our blog could conclude that this circus runs pretty smoothly. One might believe that our children are well-behaved and articulate, that we parent with calm confidence, that our home is always neat and tidy. In short, one might be laboring under the illusion that I actually know what I'm doing.

Friends, I have one thing to say about that:

It couldn't be further from the truth.

In the interest of authenticity, I offer up the tale of this evening. Jim is in the city for a "welcoming the new PhD students" event, so I'm at home with the kids alone. I ask the girls what they want for dinner, and Madeline pipes up, "Mac cheese!" So, instead of cooking a real dinner, I break out a box of Annie's macaroni and cheese.

I sit the girls at their little table with their macaroni and cheese. (And some fruits and veggies, to assuage my mommy guilt. We did have some good bonding in the kitchen while the pasta cooked, though, eating sugar snap peas, carrots, mini bell peppers and hummus right out of the containers. I thought: these are definitely my kids.) While they eat, I call my sister and light the grill.

My sister and I are commiserating about teething infants when I put two chicken apple sausages on the grill and realize that Indy's been sleeping for quite some time. This third nap is supposed to be short -- like 45 minutes -- but he's been sleeping for well over an hour and a half. In the interest and hope of sleeping tonight, I dash upstairs and wake him.

I bring him downstairs and feed him quickly. The girls are still eating, though they need to be reminded to stay at the table more than once. I'm still talking to my sister as I plunk Indy into his Bumbo and clear the girls' dinner plates.

It's at this point that I remember I was going to feed them some protein and dash out to get the sausage. It's completely charred. I know I won't be able to convince the girls to eat it, so I toss one. Feeling guilty, I eat the other while I'm still standing in the kitchen. I think I read somewhere that charcoal's good for your digestive system. I hope that's true, because that's about all the sausage had to recommend it.

Kathleen reminds me that we bought chocolate ice cream at Trader Joe's today, and so I dish up some ice cream for the girls. I don't partake myself -- I'm feeling virtuous (read: concerned about wearing a bridesmaid's dress in three and a half weeks) and I'm looking forward to snacking on some tangy plain frozen yogurt and a few almonds once the kids are in bed. As I deliver the ice cream to the little table, Indy begins to fuss a bit. I assume that he's getting a bit bored of the "Kathleen and Madeline eating" show and transfer him to the exersaucer.

I return to the kitchen to put away the ice cream, sacrificing my virtue and my waistline for a couple spoonfuls of chocolatey goodness -- right from the container. Still chatting with my sister, I'm leaning against the counter and licking the spoon when I look down and realize that the front of my shirt is covered (covered) with a thick layer of baby poop.

Somehow I moved my four month old without even realizing he'd had an enormous diaper blowout. (All that reading about intentional parenting is really paying off, isn't?) There's a mess on my shirt, a mess in the Bumbo, and a mess in the exersaucer. And my sweet little boy? He's a wreck, but he's not even complaining.

I relay this news to my sister, concluding with, "So, I'm gonna go." She doesn't manage to stop laughing before I hang up. Just then, the girls announce that they are finished with ice cream. They are.

Photos of chocolate ice cream seemed worthwhile. Indy's diaper blowout? Not so much.

So am I.

I toss my slimy shirt onto the laundry pile on the washer and hustle everyone upstairs (after taking the pictures and not before Madeline manages to put her chocolate-y hands all over everything) and into the bath. Well, the girls go into the bathtub. Indy lies on a towel next to the sink while I lather him up with one of those environmentally irresponsible but seductively convenient disposable washcloths. When he's good and soapy, I rinse him in the tub with the girls. Once he's rinsed and dried and pajama-ed, I lie him in the hallway where he can see us and proceed to clean the girls. Poor Indy screams bloody murder the entire time: all through the washing and shampoo and rinsing and drying and lotioning and dressing.

When I do finally pick him up, he's not much comforted. We head downstairs anyway and make our way through two stories. Indy fusses on and off during the reading. His crying is briefly eclipsed by Madeline, who tripped over a mess of toys and into her little chair, but she recovers. I explain to the girls that I'm putting Indy to bed (they're to be quiet and to stay downstairs) and escape upstairs to settle the baby.

He's exhausted, so he quiets pretty quickly. But he startles when I'm forced to come to the landing to remind Madeline to be quiet (she's wailing about some perceived injustice which Kathleen denies). I've gotten him nice and calm and drowsy and am laying him in the crib when Kathleen flies into the room with a cut that requires a band-aid immediately.

I glare and back out of the room, hoping he'll still go to sleep. By the time I get downstairs and apply a band-aid to Kathleen's finger, it's clear that he's not sleeping. But at this point there's not much I can do for him, so he's left to fuss while I try to get the girls to bed.

We manage the normal bedtime routine -- with a detour for yet another band-aid for Kathleen's finger. I leave the girls and finally settle poor Indy. It's not until I'm making the bed in my room (with the sheets that should have been washed yesterday but were only washed today) that I realize I've completely forgotten to brush the girls' teeth. And I've never replaced the shirt that I left on the laundry pile. I've done all this in shorts and a jogging bra.

It's not my best night. Obviously. But there you have it: real life at the circus.

Now that I'm decently clad and everything's been picked up and the trash has been taken out, I'm thinking about that frozen yogurt.

But maybe I'll trade it in for a glass of cheap red wine.

Or maybe I'll just have both.

Scenes from the Circus: Overheard

Madeline, sitting on the potty before nap time, is reading her birthday card from her grandparents. She calls it a book and she insists on reading it to me. Herself.

"Read story, Mama? Read story?"

"Please," I respond, "please read it for me, Madeline."

She smiles and then recites rapid-fire, "Pretty flowers, doggie, ever, ever, ever!" With barely a breath, she says, "Again?"

And without waiting for an answer, she reads it again. "Pretty flowers, doggie, ever, ever, ever!"

"Again?"

And though I really, truly wanted to get her into her crib for naptime, I have to admit that I let her read the card five more times, just to hear "ever, ever, ever!"

:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::

The girls still want a dog. Badly.

Yesterday while riding in the car Kathleen told her Nan that she was getting a dog soon, and that she'd take it for walks. And feed it. And name it Lady.

I merely raised my eyebrows.

When they're not using the power of positive thinking to get themselves a dog, the girls seem to enjoy pretending that one or the other of them is, in fact, a dog. They call each other "Puppy." Madeline in particular will breeze through a room, asking, "Puppy? Where my puppy go?"

A few mornings ago the girls were playing in the backyard while I did chores in the house. I could see and hear them through the big living room window. At one point I looked up and saw Madeline trotting across the lawn with a frisbee hanging from her mouth.

"That's right, Puppy!" Kathleen called, "Bring it here, Puppy!"

Madeline ran right to her. Kathleen took the frisbee, patted Madeline's head, and then tossed the frisbee across the yard. Madeline took off after it.

Fetch. My daughters were playing fetch.

Maybe we do need a dog.

:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::

Kathleen and Indy have just woken from their naps. I'm on the sofa nursing the baby while Kathleen dances in the middle of the living room. She stops abruptly and announces, "I would like to move where we live again."

"Really?" I ask, "You mean like where we'd pack everything in boxes and leave this house and go someplace different? And live in new house, in a new place?"

She nods.

I'm surprised. When the post had been full of moving trucks earlier this summer, Kathleen had seemed concerned that we'd need to move again. I'd begun to worry about the drawbacks of being a transient Army brat. But maybe I don't need to. I'm curious about her train of thought.

"Where would you like to move this time?"

"Where they have monkeys!" She beams as she answers.

I look at her quizzically. "You mean the zoo? You'd like to live at the zoo?"

"No, Mama," she replies, drawing the first word into two lengthy syllables. "Not the zoo! Where they have monkeys!"

I'm not any less confused.

"It's so wonderful! It's so great!" She punctuates her proclamations with little hops, waving her arms for emphasis. She must sense my confusion because she continues, "Would you like to see?"

I nod and she runs to the end table and hands me this photograph.

Apparently our daughter wants to move to Gibraltar.

:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::

I'm on the sofa nursing the baby. (Again.) Kathleen and Madeline are pushing the doll stroller across the living room, laden with every toy purse they own. Each purse is stuffed to the gills with, well, stuff -- wooden food, lacing beads, bristle blocks, and who knows what else.

Kathleen looks up and notices me watching her.

"We're going to China," she announces. "See you later."

"Really?" I respond, interested in this new game, "What's in China?"

"Food." She says it as though it's obvious -- as though that's why everyone travels to China.

"Well, I suppose that's true," I concede. "What kind of food?"

Without hesitating, Kathleen answers, "Sticky rice. My child named Madeline needs sticky rice. So, we're going to China. Bye."

:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::

The baby's diaper is dirty. And I'm too lazy to carry him upstairs to change a diaper that I'll just carry downstairs to throw out, so I'm changing him on a makeshift changing station on the living room floor.

As I lay the little one on the changing mat, Madeline races to get the diaper and the wipes for me. She's quiet as I clean him up, but when I transfer Indy from the dirty diaper to the clean one, her eyes fly open and she starts jumping up and down.

"Mama! Mama!" she yells, "Indiana has a tail! Indiana has a tail!"

:: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: :: ::

wild about words

I'm not sure if we've mentioned it before, but Kathleen loves letters. She learned her letters and their sounds quite quickly, thanks not to Mama and Daddy's superior teaching skills, but to a DVD entitled "The Letter Factory." (It's annoying but, man, it works!) Once Kathleen could identify letters, she started noticing them everywhere. She'd point them out on street signs and billboards and packages at the commissary. She realized they were on Daddy's laptop. She wanted to "practice" letters, texting on Mama's cell phone.

Not long after that, she started trying to write letters. She'd be playing with sidewalk chalk paint in the backyard (a favorite activity around here) and she'd intermittently shout, "Look, Mama! An X!" or "I wrote a T!" Wanting to capitalize on her enthusiasm, we offered her a letter-writing workbook, which was an enormous success. (We love Kumon's workbooks!) Mostly, though, all we worked on was writing her name. And she can do that. Sort of. She gets all the letters, but generally runs out of room, so they're just sort of scattered across the page.

We hadn't realized just how much letter-writing and letter-reading Kathleen had absorbed until a few weeks ago. While Mama was out for a run, Kathleen and Madeline and Daddy were sitting at the table, coloring and studying.

"Look, Daddy!" Kathleen exclaimed, "I wrote cat!"

"Hmm," said Daddy, "That was a good try! It's almost "cat," but not quite. Here's how we write cat..."

And, with a little direction, Kathleen actually wrote cat.

Emboldened by her success, Kathleen moved onto the next logical word -- dog.

And after that there was no stopping her -- at least not with Daddy to help her spell! Here are tiger and hat.

And then, with the obvious influence of "The Little Mermaid," Ariel and (my personal favorite ) crab.

Watch out, folks! I think we have a writer on our hands!

refreshment in the form of a picnic

What's a Mama to do when the day's been hot, the children have been cranky, and supper sounds like so-much-work?

A picnic!

With a no-cook picnic packed in a shopping bag, we headed to meet Daddy for dinner al fresco. (Picnics on Stanford's campus are one of our new favorite things. Dinner or lunch --- both are entirely enjoyable. A highlight of our week, even. Perhaps sometime we'll try breakfast.)

It was a perfectly refreshing spot. Watching the water and the clouds made us feel calmer. And just as we arrived, the evening breeze picked up -- natural air-conditioning for our meal.

We parked ourselves -- all five of us -- on the edge of the fountain. There were people swimming in the fountain (ah, students), but we settled for dangling our feet while we munched on sugar snap peas, carrots, strawberries, raspberries, and rotisserie chicken. Indy didn't eat much of that stuff, but he did dip his feet, too.

We ate. The girls ran about. We splashed a bit more. And as the light began to fade, we left, satisfied with our supper, refreshed by the water, and pleased with the pleasant end to the day.

Our Two is now two!

We celebrated our sweet Madeline's second birthday this weekend! She'd been looking forward to her "bert-day part-ee" for some time. . . And there are few things that excite our girls like the news of a party, even if it's only a family party!

Madeline's birthday banner was meant to hang outside, but the wind wouldn't cooperate.

We marked the second anniversary of Madeline's arrival with a bubble party. Nan lent us her bubble machine (because a Nan has marvelous contraptions like bubble machines) and that, along with a variety of bubble wands, made our little backyard a bubble extravaganza for our three and their younger cousin!

Madeline raced right in!

Kathleen loved the biggest bubble wand.

And Indy seemed happy to watch the festivities.

Eventually, we moved indoors for supper and gifts. Madeline couldn't wait to begin reading her new Richard Scarry book.

All of the gifts made Madeline delighted. She wore her new, homemade "2" shirt (a bit of a family tradition) with pride . . . along with a new backpack. And although she could nearly fit inside that backpack, she wore it all evening.

Testing, testing. . . Is this thing on, people?

When we'd asked Madeline what kind of cake she'd like for her birthday, she replied without hestitation: BIG! We did our best to accommodate her request with a nice, double layer chocolate cake. (It was Mama's first foray into royal icing for the dots and lettering.)

Somehow, somewhere along the line, we'd promised Kathleen that we could have both cake and cupcakes at Madeline's birthday. So we made cupcakes, too. Blue ones, at Madeline's request.

And since we had two birthday cakes, we had two chances to blow out birthday candles. That turned out to be a good thing, because candle-blowing wasn't exactly Madeline's strength.

Could you tell? Kathleen finally blew them out for her! Try number two:

Success! Madeline was pretty darn proud.

We can hardly believe that our sweet second-born, our Maddie Beth, is two. We are so grateful to God for this little girl -- for her snuggles and spunk and vibrant personality.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Madeline! Hooray!

(If, by some chance, there weren't enough photographs in this post already, all the photos from Madeline's birthday can be found here!)

cheer, cheer...

Nan and Grandpa joined us this weekend to watch the first Notre Dame football game of the season. (They also celebrated another notable event with us, but we'll save that for later.)

We can hardly believe that it's time for football already. It feels like just a few weeks ago that summer stretched out in front of us, promising long lazy days and high adventure in equal proportions. Though we're loathe to bid farewell to summer, we've been looking forward to this aspect of fall. The girls have been practicing yelling "Go Irish!" for weeks. (You can hear them testing it out at the park as they slide down the big, twisty slide. Or when they're racing on the lawn. They're a little unclear on what it means, I suppose, but they yell it with gusto.) They couldn't wait to see Grandpa and show him that they were all ready...

And the season got off to the best sort of start -- a winning one! The girls had plenty of opportunities to yell "Go Irish!" and, even better, "Touchdown!"

Let's hope there's lots more of that this fall... But even if there's not, we know that Grandpa's girls will continue the tradition of cheering for the Irish. And perhaps one day, when they're practiced enough, they'll even be able to cheer the Irish in South Bend. For now, we do better with some cheering, some lunch, and then some naps. But maybe one day.

GO IRISH!

Of course, if that doesn't work, either . . . you might take a break for a snack.