I will be patient.

Tonight, when they were all finally asleep, I went in to check on them, and I stayed for a minute or two, observing how sweet they all are when they are asleep, their steady breathing, their smooth skin, their strangely contorted, uncomfortable-looking bodies curled up in their little beds. It was one of those days today. I needed, so desperately, the reminder that they are in fact, more or less, sweet little boys.

I am not a patient person. Not even close. And this time of year, what precious little patience God gave me is depleted rapidly. You see, my husband's career choice subjects me semi-annually, to single parenthood. 

My job description (that of Farmwife USA) further dictates that I (taking turns, in cooperation and coordination with my farmwife colleagues) faithfully pack food to the crew, lest a tractor have a chance to cool off during the peak farming seasons. This requires organization on a military scale, it seems, to arrive at lunch-ish time with a hot, home-cooked meal and a 2 gallon jug of cold iced-tea. And a backseat full of 3 little farmboys. Truthfully, the boys and I are happy to get out and see our farmers, so really we don't mind. That much. Ok, they (they boys) actually live for this daily outing. It's a huge pain in the ass significant amount of work for the farmwife.  

Today, I cheated. For the bargain price of $42, I scored four cheeseburgers with fries and two orders of chicken strips from the local cafe. I still brought the 2 gallon jug of tea. Plus capri sun and pureed peas for the aforementioned farmboys.

Tomorrow is John's last day of preschool. He is sweet and compassionate. He is stubborn and whiny. He's tall, with fair skin, dark brown eyes, and long eyelashes. He told me today, "I'm going to be a farmer when I grow up. It's been on my agenda for quite some time."

Tomorrow Patrick will still be three. He's goofy, cuddly, and sensitive. His temper has a hair trigger and he's prone to the most unbelievable rage spirals. He's tall, with fair skin, dark brown eyes, and long eyelashes. It was a chilly day for May today. He was outside this afternoon, wearing gum boots and NO pants. And he had his shirt tucked into his underwear.

Tomorrow Theodore will wake me up at the crack of dawn. He's mild-mannered and enamored with his older brothers. He's obsessed with cheerios and eating in general. He's skinny, with fair skin, eyes that are not quite brown, and long eyelashes. He didn't really say much today. He probably won't say much tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I will be patient. I will be patient. I will be patient. I will be patient. I will be patient. I will be patient. I will be patient. I will be patient...

(And, yes, I typed that over and over, rather than Ctrl+C and Ctrl+V...I thought it might do me more good that way.)

Happy Birthday, Grandma Helen!

Today is Grandma Helen’s birthday, so be sure to remind her about it if you see her. Not that she’d forget it…that woman never forgets anything! We love you, Grandma!

Four years ago today…I was not having a baby. I wanted to be having a baby. September 1, 2007, was his due date, so four years ago, I was a few days past what was supposed to have been the big day. He arrived instead, September 12, after I broke down and opted for a labor induction. No, John is not yet old enough for preschool, as he was not 4 before August 1. It’s hard to believe the child who was completely non-verbal at 2 and finally catching up to “normal” verbal ability at 3, now talks non-stop. He has an incredible vocabulary, and I enjoy eavesdropping on the conversations among his trains, tractors, and trucks. He is intermittently sweet and belligerent. He misses his Grandma Diane and his old house, and chief among his concerns are the possibility of his own mommy dying, his desire to accumulate more cars and trains,  and a shortage of apple juice. He mentions almost daily his desire to have a baby sister, in spite of our insistence that there is no way, were we to have another baby, that we could guarantee a girl.

Patrick, on the other hand, does not want a baby sister. He made that perfectly clear when he met his new cousin Carli a couple weeks ago. Patrick sat on Uncle David’s lap while I held Carli and showed her to John. Uncle David noticed a tear silently running down his cheek. When David asked him what was wrong, Patrick could no longer hold back. His little face crumpled, and the silent tear became heartbroken wailing. He wanted his mommy. Clearly, he is not done being the baby. As always, I enjoy keeping mental lists of my boys’ favorite things. Patrick’s, at 18 months, include:

1.       Mommy’s hair.

2.      Anything that makes a motor noise (either by itself or supplied by PW).

3.      Chapstick (John also had this obsession, although he actually had chapped lips, thanks to his Accutane therapy).

4.      Tools, specifically tape measures.

5.      Bob the Builder.

6.      Climbing on mommy’s desk, specifically to color on things, like the computer monitor or walls.

7.      Climbing over fences.

8.      Climbing onto the kitchen countertops so he can access the knives and pepper.

9.      Climbing in general. He’s very good at it.

10.   And, new last week, moving furniture.

The Proverbs 31 Woman & Some Other Stuff

Me & the Proverbs 31 Woman

Sometimes I like this passage of scripture. Sometimes I do not. The “Proverbs 31 Woman” inspires me on a good day, but she haunts me on a bad one. This scripture was in my head today (guilty conscience, I think) so I decided to read it tonight, and take inventory. What follows is part serious, part tongue-in-cheek, but all honest. (The scripture part is in italics, and Proverbs 31:10-31, The New American Bible)

When one finds a worthy wife,

Her value is far beyond pearls.

That’s why engagement rings have a diamond, not a pearl.

Her husband, entrusting his heart to her,

Has an unfailing prize.

She brings him good, and not evil,

All the days of her life.

Well, I try.

She obtains wool and flax,

And makes cloth with skillful hands.

I guess I should get a sheep.

Like merchant ships,

She secures her provisions from afar.

I secure my provisions from Sam’s Club. That’s afar.

She rises while it is still night,

And distributes food to her household.

I rise at dawn, so I can sneak out for a run, lest I get stuck having to fill someone’s sippy cup.

She picks out a field to purchase;

Out of her earnings, she plants a vineyard.

Matt picks out the fields. I planted a garden this year. It was a total failure.

She is girt about with strength,

And sturdy are her arms.

Because I pack children around all day. Able-bodied heavy children.

She enjoys the success of her dealings;

At night her lamp is undimmed.

I like it when people pay their bill. I like it when I sell stuff on Etsy. My lamp is undimmed because I’m blogging.

She puts her hands to the distaff,

And her fingers ply the spindle.

I don’t do this.

She reaches out her hands to the poor,

And extends her arms to the needy.

I help people minimize their income tax liability, thereby preventing them from becoming “the poor.”

She fears not the snow for her household;

All her charges are doubly clothed.

And they all have gum boots.

She makes her own coverlets;

Fine linen and purple are her clothing.

Fine sweatpants and paint-spattered are my clothing, though I have been known to make a blanket, or two.

Her husband is prominent at the city gates

As he sits with the elders of the land.

He talks with the guys at the auto parts store. And at the elevator.

She makes garments and sells them,

And stocks the merchants with belts.

I make aprons for sale on etsy.com.

She is clothed with strength and dignity,

And she laughs at the days to come.

Yes, strength, dignity, and sweatpants; I laugh because it’s better than crying.

She opens her mouth in wisdom,

And on her tongue is kindly counsel.

People pay me for tax advice. And, I’m pretty nice about it.

She watches the conduct of her household,

And eats not her food in idleness.

I enforce time-outs. And I sneak M&Ms during naptime.

Her children rise up and praise her;

“You’re the best ever mommy; the best mommy ever!”

“Good supper, mom.”

Her husband too, extols her:

“Many are the women of proven worth,

But you have excelled them all.”

Yep, that’s pretty much what Matt says.

Charm is deceptive and beauty fleeting;

The woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.

Give her a reward of her labors,

And let her works praise her at the city gates.

A full night of sleep would be nice, once in a while, too.

So, there you have it, a quick, very literal inventory of my womanly worth. 

Now, for a couple brief updates on what I haven't blogged since the last post:

Grandma Elizabeth fell in May and broke three ribs. After a week in the hospital, she's been in the nursing home since. Hopefully, she'll be able to live on her own again. At any rate, I really don't see the harm in letting her try, if that's what she prefers.

We lost our dog, Ernie, to kidney failure in May. He would have been 10 in November. My dog Maggie was Ernie's mother, and I gave him to Matt when I was a sophomore in college after we'd been dating a little over a year.

John had his routine CT and MIBG scans the last week of June. Both scans showed there is no active neuroblastoma in his body, which means he won't have another scan for a whole year, just a urine test in December. That's incredible to me. Three years ago this summer, I feared he would not see his first birthday, and now, he's nearly four years old, and cancer-free. John is healed, and I pray that he will stay healed.

He is healed, and I pray that I will be one day too. But I fear I will never be. I will never know normal. So much has changed since that summer he was diagnosed. I no longer carry a thermometer in my purse. Or EMLA cream. I don't have his oncology nurse-practitioner's pager number memorized. I don't panic if the gas tank gets below 1/2 full (we always kept it filled up in case we had to make a quick trip to Columbia). I don't pin a medal to John's shirt every morning, and I don't wear one that matches around my neck every day (mostly because PW would break the chain if I did.)

But a lot of stuff hasn't changed. I feel a twinge of panic when he tells me he has a tummyache. Or a cold sore. Or a bug bite. If he doesn't take a nap for a week, I panic because of his restlessness. If he naps faithfully everyday for a week, I panic because I worry about why he's so apparently exhausted. If he wakes up sweaty, I panic. If he feels a little warm, I whip out the thermometer, pronto. (Fevers and nightsweats can be tumor symptoms). 

When PW is unusually crabby and clingy, I fear that he has cancer and briefly toy with the idea of calling his pediatrician to have a urine study done to check for neuroblastoma. I did even do this once, and she agreed to it, bless her heart.

Enough of that. I guess my recovery will be a lifelong process.

What else?

Patrick has started talking...single words, unintelligible to all except his family. Like John at this age, "socks" and "hot" are among his first words. Recently he's added "boots"; and it really frustrates John when PW picks up a shoe or a sandal and calls it a "boot." He's very proficient at animal noises. He loves to watch TV, and Shrek is his favorite movie. I am ashamed of this fact. But he also really, really loves books. He even enjoys "reading" them on his own, not just being read to. And, what's even better, John likes to read to PW, and PW likes John to read to him. This is a wonderful thing in my life. I really find Patrick's love of books and TV/movies amusing, as John was indifferent to the television, and he downright loathed books of any kind until after his second birthday. Patrick is very fond of both Papa Larry and Papa Dennis. His favorite foods include grapes and dill pickles, and he has an insatiable sweet tooth that rivals my own. He's also trying to learn to jump off furniture, which makes my heart stop several times a day.

John never stops talking, and it's hard to believe that a little more than a year ago, he could barely express himself verbally. One of my favorite things to do is to eavesdrop on the conversations he has while he's playing. Invariably, the scenes he acts out with his cars or trains involve someone's birthday party. About a week ago, he told me, "Mom, I am very angry. I am very angry because Levi is having a baby sister, and her name is Car-wee, and you know that I want to have a baby sister. And I want one." This went on and on as I kept explaining to him that it's hard to get a baby sister and maybe it would be ok if he had another baby brother. And, clearly frustrated, he would again explain to me that he is very angry (specifically angry and me and not Levi or anyone else) and so on and so forth. Obviously, he thinks the only thing keeping him from having his very own baby sister is his own mother's stubborn unwillingness to get him one. (I am, by the way, not presently pregnant). John is unbelievably sweet and lovable, but also short-fused, independent, and bitterly determined against anything he decides to be bitterly determined against, including using scissors properly, eating scrambled eggs, and receiving any kind of assistance in getting into or out of a shopping cart.

Hopefully, I'll post again in less than 3 months!

bdc