the birds and the bees

Funny things kids say will never grow old. The other day, Micah was telling me about school and the fun games he plays with the boys: transformers, Thomas, policemen & criminals (apparently “cops and robbers” has been PC-ized).

I asked him whether he plays with the girls at all. His response:

“Mommy, I do not like to play with girls. They’re too fancy for me.”

Robot. Enter.

Micah’s prayer

We’ve been praying for Haiti as a family. I debated long and hard whether to tell Micah about the earthquake in the first place. Mister isn’t unfamiliar with death, since Rich’s grandmother and mine passed away within a span of about a year. But dying in old age is one thing: dying in childhood under the rubble of your own home, or from hours of medical neglect after emerging as a once-lucky survivor, is another.

In the end though, we knew it was our responsibility to. The whole premise of his name is that we felt Micah 6:8 summarizes who we want to be as a family: to act justly, love mercy, and walk humbly with God. Sometimes, to be and do those things is in some ways to confront and experience the ugliness of injustice and the abandonment of grace. Of course, you package it in a delicate enough way for a four-year-old to swallow. But we agreed that we can’t teach our children to love their neighbor if we never open the door to let the outside world in.

So every night, we hold hands in a tight circle and sit on Micah’s bed to pray. I love that Micah volunteers every time: Mommy, you pray for Lucas and me and I will pray for Haiti. This four-year old boy with the weight of the world on his heart, but in a good way. I love that Lucas, in total disregard that all of us are closing our eyes, watches Micah, entranced, parroting words he understands in soft whispers. And I love that the prayers of children, so simple, sweet, sincere, are probably the loudest in God’s ear.

Dear Jesus, please help the people in Haiti because a lot of them got hurt in the big earthquake. And a lot of them are poor and don’t have food or a home or family but Jesus, I mean God, you are the best doctor in the whole world and you can make them better. Please help them feel joyness in their hearts and help them know that you died on the cross for them and they look on the outside, but you look on the inside Jesus. Please help them I know you can because you’re the best hero.

just the essentials

boys will be boys

lucas’ newest word: diarrhea.

Thomoptimus Prime

To be filed under the “disturbing yet so awesome” category. Christmas, anyone?

details on Wired.

lucas’s (lucas’? still figuring that one out) list at 22 months old:

1. dada
2. mama
3. this
4. that
5. more (”muh”) 
6. milk (”muh”)
7. cheese
8. juice
9. please (”deez”)
10. who is it
11. up (”ut””)
12. down (”dow”)
13. thank you (”deak dah”)

14. sit
15. go
16. blue
17. red
18. yellow
18.  mm, good!
19. where are you?
20.  shoes
21. outside (sigh-ow)
22. dear Jesus
 

And if you listen really closely:

14. Gordita
15. Gaza
16. Baba ghanouj
17.  Yeshua

18. mamacita

balance

Mister outgrew his Kettler tricycle earlier this year, and I was debating for the longest time whether to get him a bike with training wheels or a two-wheeled balance bike. The advantage of training wheels is, of course, that the kids just hop on and go. The balance bike is a steeper learning curve, but the payoff is that they learn to balance by lifting their feet and coasting on the momentum. The idea is that the transition to two-wheeled pedal bikes is much faster and smoother. I was intrigued, so we got Mister the “Weeride push training balance bike” from Amazon for a steal.

The first, oh, 6 or 7 times, I thought the Weeride was  a total crock. Mister complained about the seat height no matter how much we fiddled with it, and he would walk v.e.r.y. slowly, treating it like a ride-on toy. I was determined that Micah get the hang of it, encouraging him with  ”Ooh, Micah, so blue and shiny!” or “It looks like a bike only big boys can use!” or “You’re not eating dinner until you ride this thing!”.

The good news is that Mister begs to ride it every day now; he builds up quite the speed and coasts comfortably down the block. We love it!

 

 

check out that determination!

inspiration

Working the 9-5 scene can be brutally monotonous sometimes. Rich and I try to keep artifacts around the home that inspire us, remind us to get in touch with our creative side and transcend the mundane.

The only thing better than creating something myself is teaching the boys to do it. I love that art comes naturally for children, and that it’s a part of their daily job description. I’m very tempted to bring the finger paints to work and petition for one hour of required doodling.

Nevermind that basket of unfolded laundry back there. It can wait.

 

coping

Transitioning from a stay-at-home mom to a full-time working mom hasn’t been easy. The worst part of the day happens at 8:30am ( 8:20 when I’m good) when I have to say bye to the boys, pry their pancake-battered fingers off my legs, and be apart from them for the next nine hours. Thankfully, we’re incredibly blessed to have a strong support group in the form of a loving montessori for Mister, an amazing preschool for Lucas, and grandmas who love their grandsons to pieces and chip in whenever they can.

Still, that’s sometimes not enough for me to feel at ease about the whole arrangement. There are moments when I’m at work  and I get this sudden, stabbing ache to be home. Don’t get me wrong; I have a decent job, to-die-for benefits, and great colleagues, but they just don’t replace a simple, mundane day with the boys. Staying in PJ’s. Taking slow, heel-to-toe walks to the park. Having the time to make 3 square meals a day. Being there to hear their ever word, to witness them learn something new or revel in something old.

It’s hard to be be physically in one place and emotionally in another. When the kids are older and not so needy I’m sure things will change, and hopefully at that point I will be completely engaged in a career or endeavor I love and identify as my passion. But for now, it’s a plate-spinning trick, balancing act, and tug-of-war all rolled into one.