Third time's the charm: a promotion

Since we've been married, Jim has been promoted three times.  The first time, when we'd been married only a few months, he was promoted (to first lieutenant!  we were such babies!) in front of a squadron formation in the motor pool.  I was there, and I got to pin him, and I turned beet red when the squadron commander instructed Jim to kiss me in front of all the soldiers.  The second time, Jim was deployed to Iraq.  In due time, I got digital photographs of his commander pinning him with his captain's bars.

But the third time's the charm!  And so this time, we decided to have a proper little celebration.  Last week we invited Jim's colleagues from school, our friends from church, and our family to witness Jim's promotion to major.

We gathered in a small library in Jim's department at Stanford.   Even though the day was rainy and miserable, lots of people came to celebrate with us.

Our dear friend John flew in from Hawaii to promote Jim.  We were thrilled to see him, and he did an amazing job.  He explained about Jim's career and awards and he thoughtfully brought some Hawaii with him -- books for the children and gorgeous lei for Jim and me.

being pinned

Like most things at the circus, the ceremony didn't go exactly as planned.  First, John David started wailing, and I had to step out for a bit.  And then, during the reading of the orders, Madeline suddenly needed to be part of what was going on.

Instead of "attention to orders," we're paying attention to Madeline, 

who manages to get what she wants...

After the orders were read, John re-administered the oath to Jim.

Jim had roses for me and sweet bouquets for his "big girls."  They were thrilled.  In fact, they still are.  They love looking at their flowers, which are in mason jars on the china hutch.

Once the "official proceedings" were completed, Jim let the girls change out his epaulets.  They took their job very seriously.

We rounded out our celebrating with dinner at nearby Chicago-style pizzeria.  What better way to celebrate than with delicious, deep dish pizza?   We loved the chance to eat and visit with our family and close friends.

We're proud of you, Daddy!  And we had lots of fun celebrating you and your accomplishments.

Edited to add:  My camera has been missing (who knows where?!) for more than two weeks.  A big thank you to my sweet sister Caroline for all these photographs!  Without them, we'd have no record of the day...

The meal that made me SuperMom (at least according to a four-year-old)

I normally try to make (and stick to!) a menu plan for the week.  But when Jim's away, I often fall off the "plan."  Some days are a bit too crazy for the actual chopping, mixing, or whatever.  And some days the meal just seems like a lot of effort for folks who think peanut butter and honey sandwiches are the best meal of all time.

I had one of those days last week.  Jim was at school late, prepping for the crisis simulation! final for one of his classes.  (The course instructors made sort of a big deal about how intense this 48 hour exercise would be, and so I always think of it in italics: crisis simulation!  Incidentally, Jim didn't think that the exercise quite lived up to the hype.  Of course, that might be because it was a final exam and not, you know, war, which is about the only thing that Jim really sees as a crisis.)  I'd been working on projects all day (a new bookshelf in the girls' room, sorting clothes -- fun stuff like that) and dinner snuck up on me.  I hadn't defrosted any meat, so my "planned" meal couldn't happen.  I was about to whip up my favorite fall-back meal (scrambled eggs) when inspiration struck.  Blogger Simply Modern Mom had been hosting an Over-Used Recipe Swap (a genius idea if I've ever heard one), in which she invited her readers to offer up the recipes they'd, well, over-used on their own families.  I'd stopped by earlier in the week and noticed a featured recipe for Swedish pancakes.  It seemed like the perfect solution -- ingredients in the pantry, quickly and easily made, a definite treat, and not a meal we'd make when Dad's home!

And, in fact, the Swedish pancakes were a hit.  After the girls helped me mix up the batter, I cooked a few pancakes, and then set them up at the table while I kept cooking.  The girls ate them almost as fast as I could cook them!  As I scurried from the kitchen to deliver each pancake (rolled up with a bit of strawberry preserves) hot off the pan, Kathleen would cheer, "You're SuperMom!"

It made my day.  (Well, that or when she said after supper, "Thanks for that new thing you made, Mom. It was de-wicious!")  And it got me to thinking that perhaps one of my friends might be facing down an unplanned dinner hour and might want to try Swedish pancakes, too.

On the other hand, if you've got your own SuperMom meal up your sleeve, I'd love it if you'd share that.  Post title aside, I need all the help I can get!

I love these people

Not today.  A healthier day.

All three little people have colds right now (again) -- runny noses and crusty eyes and sore throats.  They are weepy and clingy and cross.  But in some ways, that makes it easier. 

Easier to prioritize, anyway. 

What has to be done?  A few loads of laundry.  A few simple meals (yogurt with honey, peanut butter and jelly, a dinner that simmered all day in the crockpot).  And really, not much else.

Letting go of all the shoulds and oughts that often fill our days, we spent today sprawled on the living room floor.  We played with puzzles.  We read stories.  We colored.  (Kathleen draws people!  Recognizable people!  With eyes and a smiley mouth and a belly button!)  We sang.  We snuggled under blankets.  We pretended to be princesses and doctors and mothers and babies and chefs and horses and kittens.

We ran no errands.  I scrubbed no bathrooms.  I mopped no floors.  I changed no sheets.  I barely managed to straighten up after each meal.  I accomplished nothing of note.  Nothing, that is, but this:  I was with them.  And I remembered that even at their weepiest, whiniest, and most miserable, spending my day with them is a blessing.  And a joy.   I love these people.

on boys -- or, more accurately, on my boy

I'm often asked whether I find it different, raising a boy.  Since I do have  two girls, I suppose it's only natural that people would ask how my boy is different.

Quite honestly, I don't know what to tell people.

I believe that little boys and little girls are different.  Decidedly different.  But I also believe that each of  my children is different.  Decidedly different.

For example, Kathleen and Madeline have distinctly different personalities, preferences, and habits.  Kathleen has slept through the night (quite soundly) since she was a baby.  Madeline still wakes frequently,  needing reassurance to fall back to sleep.  Kathleen is shy around strangers.  Madeline thrives in settings with lots of new people.  Kathleen loves cake; Madeline wants ice cream.  Kathleen devours hamburgers; Madeline wolfs down french fries.  When  presented with frozen peas and carrots, Kathleen will take the carrots and Madeline will eat the peas.  (Convenient, no?)

John David is decidedly different from his sisters.

But is the difference John David's gender?  Or is it that he's John David, and not Kathleen or Madeline?  I find myself biting my lip and grasping at words.

Mostly what I want to say is, "Yes. Raising a boy is different.  But I don't have quite enough data to make that statement with a reasonable level of certainty.  Could you check back with me when I've got a couple more boys?  And maybe another girl?"

(Not that we'll necessarily have that many children.  I'm just saying:  I'd need a much larger sample size for clarity.  Really.)

So, while I'm not ready to write a treatise on the difference between little boys and  little girls, I'm more than happy to share some of the things that make my experience raising John David, well, different.

: :  For starters, the kid is big.  BIG.  At ten months old, he's 26 pounds.  That's far, far larger than either of the girls.  Of course, he started out bigger.  But, still.  That's the size of most two-year-olds.  We were out of infant tylenol this evening and just gave him a dose of children's tylenol instead.  He qualifies as a child!

: :  So far, John David's not showing much interest in walking.  He crawls with frightening speed.  He pulls up, he cruises (while hanging onto furniture), but he doesn't really try to stand unassisted (except for when we trick him into it, and then he lowers himself into a sit) and he's not particularly enamored of walking while hanging onto people.  The girls both walked by 9.5 months, so John David's running a bit behind our curve.  We've heard that boys are generally slower to develop gross motor skills, though, so that makes sense.  And we're not worried about it.  But I won't lie, friends;  I'll be super-relieved when he walks, if only because I'm tired of listening to him wail because I won't let him crawl in the tanbark at the park or on the rain-soaked lawn or what-have-you.

: :  He's a pickier eater.  The girls generally ate what we gave them, particularly by the time we hit the table food stage, which is where John David is now.  They just liked food.  But if John David isn't interested in what we're offering, he's not going to eat it.  At all.  Even if he's hungry.  We're not making mealtime fights or anything, but there have been a couple days that I've thought, "Oh, he's just not hungry," and taken him out of the highchair at breakfast.  And then he's been miserable and cranky until lunchtime.  I'm a bit slow,  but I've recently realized that he plays by banging on the pantry door those days.  Nice.  Of course, when he cares to, he can eat.  A lot.

: :  In the injustice department:  he's got more hair and better eyelashes.  Really.  In her first birthday photo, Madeline was practically bald.  Kathleen, too.

When they're older, the girls will be jealous.  (I mean, I am.  I need gobs of Maybelline's Great Lash to look like that.  And if I rub my eyes, I look like a raccoon instead.)

: :  John David's favorite places to play are the places he's not allowed:  in the laundry room, where we keep the trash; in the pantry, chewing on the bag of onions; in the kitchen cupboards with the breakable serving ware; in the bathroom, where he favors splashing in toilet water and eating the toilet paper.  (We now have a collection of rolls of toilet paper that are gnawed on the edges.  We can't very well put those out for guests!)  I know that the girls were attracted to the things we didn't want them to have, but I honestly don't remember them being this interested in all that is declared off-limits.

: :  This one I'm almost afraid to write: for the last few months, we've been leaving John David in the nursery at church.  He prefers his Mama (he's smart!), but he seems to do okay with other people, too.  That took a lot longer with our girls.  (Though it might be that I didn't even try to leave them in the nursery until they were older.)

: :  The girls have each had stuffed animal loveys, but John David loves his soft, white blanket from Nan and Grandpa.  We don't have a back-up.  Heaven help us if we lose it.

: :  He's stubborn.  Really, really stubborn.  When there was a break in the rain a few days ago, I let the girls play in the muddy backyard.  (We all needed a break.)  But because it was muddy, I couldn't let John David loose out there.  Instead, I set up the baby gate so that I could hear the girls outside (and see them out the big living room window) and I played with John David in the living room.  It might be more accurate to say that I tried to play with John David.  He spent the better part of an hour and a half wailing or whining because I'm not nearly as interesting as his sisters.  Despite my best attempts to distract him, he just wanted out.  OUT!

: :  In what I'm sure is just the beginning of a life-long love affair with big, noisy machines, John David is fascinated by the vaccuum.  He loves it.  When he sees me pull it out of the closet, he squeals and comes racing towards it.  Vaccuuming when he's not in the pack 'n play is a challenge because he's always trying to tackle the vaccuum, and I'm afraid I'll somehow suck him up into the vaccuum bag.  This is entirely different from the girls, who still hate the vaccuum.  When they were babies, they'd wail at the mere sight of it.  I have a distinct memory of a pre-verbal Kathleen on our condo's lanai (balcony) with her father, signing "no" furiously while I vaccuumed inside.  Even now the girls tend to race away to "hide" when they see or hear (mostly hear) the vaccuum.

: :  And finally, John David is tough.  Now, all three of our children are rather rough-and-tumble.  They play hard.  Sometimes they fall.  Sometimes they run right into things.  And while sometimes there's some whining about it, frequently they just get up and keep going.  One of my particular favorites is the way you'll ask Kathleen, "Are you all right?"  and she'll respond with a pained "No," without ever stopping what she's doing.  John David has this trait in spades.  Today his foot had a run-in with a gallon of paint...more the can than the paint, to be honest.  And though he's now sporting some nasty bruises, he hardly seems bothered.    He did cry at the time, but with a little snuggling and a little mama's milk, he was recovered in minutes, much more interested in what his sisters were doing than in nursing.  Even the pediatric nurse commented about it when she gave him some vaccinations a few months back -- "I've never seen a baby so tough!"  Predictably, his father was quite pleased.

He is, after all, a boy.

still laughing

It was a long February.  (It never ceases to amaze me that the shortest month of the year can feel so. very. long.)

We didn't suffer any catastrophes at the circus, just the slight complications of everyday life.  Little people with colds.  Big people with papers and tests.  Little people waking in the night.  Big people who wanted to sleep through the night.  Big people with colds.  Little people with more colds.  And new teeth.  Temper tantrums -- some from the kids.  Lots and lots and lots of rain.

We've been weary, friends.  Nothing earth-shattering, just the compounded tiredness that (we're coming to believe) comes with parenting a rather young circus.

But March is here now, and though it's still raining, we've hope for spring and for sleep and for sunshine  -- each in its own time, of course.  And even in our exhaustion, we've found plenty of reasons to laugh.  Our little people are good for that.  Maybe not for sleeping, but definitely for laughing!

: :  We're cruising the aisles at Target, two children in the cart, one holding onto its side.  Kathleen's eyes light up and she calls out, "Look, Mama!  A surfboard!"  But we're in the laundry aisle.  And it's an ironing board.  I must be some housekeeper.

: :  The kids cheer, "Daddy!" as Jim climbs into the van at the end of a long school day.  He slides into the front seat and Madeline asks very seriously, "You good at school today, Daddy?  You listen your teacher?"

: :  I'm trying to check e-mail quickly before Kathleen naps (she and the computer share the same room at naptime, which decreases my computer time and generally increases my naptime productivity).  She's waiting impatiently (me, too, as the computer is slow, slow, slow of late) for me to finish and read her a story.  I'm nearly done when she begins burping.  And burping.  And burping.  I give her a meaningful look and say, "Kathleen?" -- expecting an apology or an "excuse me" or something.  But instead she grins and says, "It will never stop!"  She  keeps right on burping.  And all I can do is laugh.

: :  John David has discovered his voice.  It's loud.  He screeches about most everything -- when we're not feeding him quickly enough, when he'd rather be outside or not in the playpen.  And he's discovered the kitchen cabinets.  He loves to open them.  And to empty them.  We've already sacrificed a corning ware serving dish to his adventuring.  Consequently, we've had to gate off the kitchen.  (We did try to install safety latches, but the strange laminate breaks when you drill into it.)  And so now I see this while I cook dinner:

It's significantly cuter than its soundtrack.

: :  The girls are standing on their stepstools at the bathroom sink, brushing their teeth.  Their dad is overseeing them.  "Daddy," Kathleen announces, "I don't like it when you put us to bed.  It's harder.  And it's harder to breathe."  Understandably confused, Jim asks why.  She answers, "Because you're so big.  And you take up too much room."  I guess she'd like a larger bathroom.

: :  The girls made an astonishing discovery this month -- that they can get out of their own beds.  They'd never done that before.  Ever.  But then, one night they did.  And suddenly they were turning up all over.  Shortly after bed: "I have something to tell you."  By my side in the middle of the night: "It's dark."  It has taken some time and a considerable amount of  patience, but we've just about gotten it under control.  (Kathleen obeyed quite quickly.  Madeline... not so much.)  As you can imagine, this has contributed to everyone's exhaustion.  But it's also given us some truly laughable moments.

One evening, early on in the girls' nocturnal adventuring, we were sending the girls back up to bed for about the fourth time by 8:15. We listened over the baby monitor as they climbed back into their beds, and heard Madeline ask, "Why Mommy and Daddy so gwumpy tonight?"  (As though normally we'd just say, "Sure!  Who cares about bedtime!  Come watch LOST with us.")

Another evening, I went to investigate some nocturnal noise and discovered Madeline sitting on her bed with every single book in her bedroom.  Open, no less.  No wonder she couldn't sleep -- there wasn't any room!

On yet another evening, Madeline had been chattering all night, but eventually the chattering had given way to whining, and by 9:40 the whining had become full-fledged crying.  By some miracle, the crying hadn't woken Kathleen, but as I entered the room I whispered, just in case.  "Madeline," I hissed, "What is going on?"  "Mama," she wailed, "why you be so mean to me?"  I explained, quite calmly, that I wasn't being mean, that it was nighttime and that little girls needed to sleep and that even if they didn't sleep, they needed to stay in their beds quietly, so that other people could sleep.  Unimpressed by my monologue, she cried, "But I just want you 'nuggle with me."  Undone by her two year-old logic, I climbed into her bed to snuggle.  I let her drape her little arm around my neck and press her knees into my tummy and breathe into my face for a bit.  Then I tucked her in with her loveys (one under each arm) and said goodnight.  She was snoring before I shut the door.

Because of the LORD's great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. 

They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.  -- Lamentations 3:22-23