The Little things

We all have those days where someone we see has it way more together than we do.  It seems to me that those people are everywhere:  The woman who has an endless amount of patience with her kids.  The woman with an infant who doesn't have spit up on her shirt or poop somewhere on her pants.  (The kid's poop; not mine.)  The woman whose put an elaborate meal put together for her family without demolishing her kitchen.  The woman who cooked at all.  (My poor family has been on a steady rotation of casseroles, pasta, and grilled chicken for over a year.)  The woman who looks great after working out.  The woman who worked out at all.  The woman whose kids look cute, without dirt marks on their knees and scuffs on their shoes, without bows askew.  That woman drives me a little nuts.  

I am pretty sure I have never been that woman.  If I have been, the moments are few and far between, and I was stressed out getting there.  And my kiddo has probably been a bit neglected and watched too much television that morning to allow me to get that way.  Or she's emptied my makeup bag out while I was brushing my teeth.  Or something.

I have a tendency to concern myself with random stuff.  I clean and straighten our home obsessively, for example.  Who cares?  Brad doesn't.  Addison doesn't.  Just me.  And I want to be early or on time to everything.  That is next to impossible with an infant, let alone with an infant and an extremely independent two year old.

As a stay at home mom, I have tried to continue to have some sort of schedule to the week.  I'm a planner, and this helps me function.  I was reminded this week what else helps me function: a pal.  A mom of kids similar in age who also shows up slightly frazzled; with one of her kids still in pajamas; who, like me, carries an endless supply of Goldfish crackers and fruit snacks in her purse.  To sit while our kids raced back and forth, discussing the pros and cons of waiting to potty train when our kids are obviously ready, and what they're learning in preschool, seems to make the week a little easier.  Knowing someone else sometimes feels like they're drowning in a sea of toys and diapers and laundry makes me feel a little less lonely.  When Addison was little I had a couple of close friends with kiddos close in age.  We did lunch and coffee dates where we let the babies sleep and we put our feet and just talked.  It's been a while since I recognized the need for commiseration.  It's so important!  It reminds you that what's important is not always what's easy or what you wish your kid was doing.  It reminds you what God has called us to as moms.  It reminds you that sometimes just letting go and being with your kid is what matters.  Isn't that why we stay home in the first place?  I needed that reminder.
  
Another reminder came from one of those articles on Huffington Post about motherhood.  It was one of those pieces that made me tear up (doesn't take much these days... or ever).  I was especially struck by the following:
Our sons need to see how young and beautiful and human their mamas were. Our daughters need to see us vulnerable and open and just being ourselves -- women, mamas, people living lives. Avoiding the camera because we don't like to see our own pictures? How can that be okay?

How true!  Addison doesn't care if I'm racing back and forth around the house picking up laundry before I go get her from preschool.  She doesn't care if the library books are returned a day late, or if dinner is take out or leftovers.  She doesn't notice if her stuffed animals make it into the bed before she does, as long as they're there eventually.  And she doesn't care if she eats lunch a few minutes earlier or later, based on when Audrey is fussing.

So, I'm going to schedule more play dates for Mommy, because I know they benefit Addison and Audrey.  (And even Brad.)  And I'm going attempt the library story hour today.  We will probably be late.  My hair will be dirty and I'm pretty sure either my baby or I will smell like spit up, but I'll be there.  And I'll try to be all there.  So Addison doesn't remember me cleaning or cooking or how I looked, but instead remembers how much I enjoyed her.

By the way, Audrey is one month old today.  Where does the time go???  One more reason to slow down and enjoy the little things with my gals.

PS: it took me two days to write this post.  

Life with Two

Well friends, we've got two... two sweet gals.  This weekend it was rainy, and I had the pleasure of having both curled up in the bed with me.  I couldn't help but wonder how we got so lucky.  I am constantly in awe of these sweet blessings.  Audrey Lynn came into the world on September 10, 18 inches long, and 7 pounds 4 ounces.  Screaming as loud as she could.  As Brad says, we were pretty nervous for about 30 minutes, but she calmed down and has been just as easy a baby as Addison was.

So, how is life with two different?  I am pretty sure it will constantly evolve.  Right now I'm still technically recovering from my C-section, so I'm not supposed to pick up anything over ten pounds.  That's pretty difficult when the baby weighed almost 9 pounds at two weeks old and you still have a two year old who likes to be held.  (You read that correctly: our little bit gained an ounce a day in her first 10 days at home!  Phew!)  The hardest part has been not picking up Addie and doing all those things we are used to.  I actually overheard her explaining things to her Mickey Mouse doll last week:

"Mommy can't pick me up because of her owie.  But I love you, so I can pick you up and hold you."  Ouch.

I know she'll forget all about how often I've had to say "Mommy can't ______," when I can do all those mommy things she thinks I should.  In the meantime Brad is her favorite, I can do nothing whatsoever - including read stories before bed or say prayers, and she climbs like a monkey up into her car seat, high chair, bed, and anything else up high.  Our big girl is getting so independent.

The little gal is working on a schedule for Mommy... last night she slept almost 5 straight hours!  (It's amazing how little it takes to make a new mom happy.)  She grunts in her sleep like a goat, and coos whenever I carry her in the sling.  Her chubby cheeks melt my heart.  

Getting both out of bed and ready to go anywhere feels a little like I've worked out.  Bed time when Brad is not home is touch-and-go.  Any time Audrey cries, Addison gets distressed and says "Oh no!  Mommy she's fussing!"  It is super sweet how she doesn't ever want baby sister to cry, but it sometimes makes for an interesting race for me, back and forth between the playroom and the nursery, haha.  

So while Brad and I stay busy taking care of an infant and chasing a two year old - and scratching our heads over the things she says - we'll continue to count our blessings.  Two healthy, beautiful girls.  Wow.

Here's your sign: the miracle of life.

As I lay in bed a couple nights ago, I was amazed for the 100th time that I could not only feel my new daughter trying to get comfy in my stomach, but also feel her have the hiccups.  The hiccups!  And I asked my husband for the millionth time, "How could anyone who has ever been pregnant or nursed a baby ever question that there is an Almighty Creator?"  Seriously.  Feeling a life growing inside you is miraculous, and such a precious gift and reminder that there is a God.  How can an obstetrician, who knows what babies do as they grow and how a mother's body changes - bones and hips and muscles actually change shape! - ever doubt that we were knit together in very specific ways by a Heavenly Father who tenderly cares for each life formed?  I may gripe about how uncomfortable being nine-months pregnant is, but I am constantly in awe of this sweet baby inside my belly and our Father who decided to bless us with her.



Kind of on that subject...  While watching NBC Nightly News today, I saw a flash-back to the Democratic Convention four years ago.  The woman speaking said something to the point of "a woman considering an abortion should not be forced to have an ultrasound against her wishes."  Then the camera showed a cheering crowd.  First of all, I didn't realize that was a rule anyone anywhere who actually performs abortions enforces.  Secondly, SHOULDN'T THAT TELL YOU SOMETHING???  If when an expectant mother sees the shape of her child - whether that be a teeny peanut in the first weeks of pregnancy, or the profile of a miniature face a few weeks later - she recognizes that it's a person, shouldn't that be a SIGN to anyone pro-abortion or pro-choice (let's face it, isn't that the same?) that a fetus is, in fact, a person?  If hearing that sweet heart beat as early as 19 days is enough to make a woman change her mind about the value of the life she carries, shouldn't it tell our doctors, politicians, bloggers, voters, etc. that we cannot, should not, continue make an abortion so accessible?  As comedian Bill Engvall has said, "Here's your sign."

Disclaimer: I'm not a political activist.  I realize that in another woman's shoes, choices may be much harder to make.  But I pray that cooler - more reasonable - senses prevail in our culture to teach women in all circumstances the early stages of life.  And for leaders more aware of the sanctity of life.


Ps: If  you've never heard Engvall and you like family comedy, check him out.

God is necessary, in all things

Does it ever seem like lessons, sermons, and even songs seem to follow a running theme?  For the past few weeks any time I stop long enough to pay attention to anything - besides Veggie Tales music in the car - the messages have been connected and drawn me back to remember God's necessity in and authority over all things.  I sat down yesterday to piece it all together.  The reminder is always important, so I thought I'd share with anyone who cares to read...

So many people I know have been dealing with infertility.  I mentioned our brief struggle trying to get pregnant on here once.  I can only imagine the grief and pray for the struggling.  I know women in the middle of it wonder at their bodies' inability to do what they think it's supposed to do.  Husbands (if they're like mine was) want to fix it and probably want their wives to be able to focus on anything but the baby they so desire.  A few weeks ago the sermon reminded me of these things.  A guest preacher spoke on God's ultimate plan of salvation throughout Scripture, and he used examples of infertile women God used to bring His people back to Him.  I've never once made the connection.  Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, Hannah, Elizabeth... all women who had begged for a the gift of a child.  All women who eventually received a child who changed history.  Reading their stories, we see God's amazing plan of salvation unfolding, and in it God proves to those women (and anyone else who reads scripture) that (1) God gave them their children, just as He gives all good things.  (2) God is necessary, in all things.  In other words, we cannot work out life for ourselves, no matter how basic it seems.  (I need to make this my mantra!)

Whatever our season is - especially one of darkness - the place to be is in prayer and worship, even when we don't feel like God has been hearing what we're saying.  I've especially struggled with this in the past.  Sometimes I have to be intentional about making sure church doesn't become just the place where my husband works - instead of my place of worship.  Even when the last place we want to be is with other believers, that's the best place for us, for a whole host of reasons.

When we say "Your will be done," how honest are we being?  When we pray for specific things (healing, safety, a "normal" child, a season of happiness, etc.), are we giving God a list of what "I need"?  Or maintaining a posture of obedience, sincerely realizing that whatever the Lord's will is, it is better than anything we could know or imagine?  Sometimes a season of pain or struggle is what we need to learn or remember, and to live out the fact that
"My grace is sufficient for you" and
"My power is made perfect in weakness" 

Job 13:15 says "Though He slay me, yet I will trust Him."  God's authority is based on His identity.  We are called to trust and obey because of who God is, not what He has or is doing.  We have to learn who Jesus is, so that knowledge of Him can continue to transform us into who He created us to be.  John 15:1 -12 teaches me I should make this my prayer for every day:

Oh Lord teach me how to abide in and reflect You in all things! 

My child is apparently learning things, too.  This morning she saw a wedding on TV and told me she was going to get married to Jesus.  :)  Shouldn't we all be in the mindset of becoming Jesus' bride?

A two-year old's stalling tactics...

You may think that the stalling tactics of a two year old are immature or innocent.  Surely we shouldn't use the word "tactic"?!?  That implies manipulation.  Well, naive friend of mine: my gal excels at manipulation!  She has worked it into an art form!  Already!

Sleeping has been a struggle for us for a while now.  Even before we converted her crib into a toddler bed (when she climbed out about 3 months ago), A was avoiding napping at all cost. She doesn't scream to get up or cry when we put her down.  Instead she sings every song she knows, names every person in our family, calls out the names of her friends, calls out the toys she sees around her room... you get the picture.  If I'm in the right frame of mind, it's pretty fun to sit in the hall and listen to her.  Especially now in her big-girl bed.  She can stand up (which earns a spanking if we catch her), hang onto her bed rail, and see herself in the mirror.  I first discovered her doing this, dancing back and forth, and telling herself she was pretty.  (Ugh!  I mean, she is, but have I created a monster???)  So you see, naps are a rarity these days.  If she happens to fall asleep in the car she's good, but otherwise she's up for almost two hours playing, and once every few days she actually falls asleep.  It's exhausting to this pregnant mama, and a little nerve-wracking to imagine no naps when I have a newborn, too.

Back to the stalling tactics.  These include but are not limited to,

"I cannot take a nap."  "I don't yike to go to seep."  "Can we wead da Jesus Bible 'gain?"  "I yove you."  "Want to give baby sister a kiss."  (This involves kissing my belly button, which is apparently a portal through which the girls can talk and hug and kiss already.  Ha!)  "Will you say prayers 'gain?"   "Mommy!  I'm going to stand up!"

You get the picture.  How can you say 'no' to saying more prayers?  Apparently even a spanking is preferred to sleeping.  Our girl is definitely a mess.  And - not to brag - but how smart to use Jesus to stall?

I used to think my frustration about naptime was selfishness on my part.  That I just wanted that time alone, to catch up on email or shower or start dinner in peace or whatever.  That's certainly true at times.  I just cannot be convinced that a two year old doesn't need a nap!  Especially when she's whiny and grumpy all afternoon afterwards.  Or when she wakes up the next day like this:

Anyone with morning hair like this has had some desperately-needed sleep!  I'm at a loss on all future naps.  Sigh.  Perhaps she's just my girl in all respects: too nosy or interested in what's going on around her to calm down.  Heaven knows she's every once of mine in other ways...

The gal is two!

Soon I will have to stop referring to Addison as our "gal."  We will have two, after all.  In the meantime I will continue to use this Gowing term of endearment for my sweet girl.  My sweet big girl, I should say.  She is two.  The light of my life, her Daddy's love, the focus of our future and my days, and the gift that has taught me so much about myself and who God created me to be, as well as about our Father's love, is two years old!
I distinctly remember discovering I was pregnant with her.  Brad had such a funny reaction.

I remember being so scared when we found out she had to be delivered by C-section.

I remember waking up at midnight before going into the hospital to fix myself eggs and toast to tide me over; I couldn't eat for 12 hours before surgery, and I didn't want to be in a foul mood when they brought my baby to me.  (If you've ever been around me when I'm hungry, you understand.)  My dad got up to eat with me before we went back to bed.

I remember when they held her up and Brad walked around my head to get a better look at her.  First he told me she was beautiful, then I think he said something about how the inside of my stomach was disgusting, then he realized our camera was out of batteries so he ran across the hall to borrow one.  :)

I remember the first time I nursed her, the hospital had some sort of fire alarm or something go off, so all the grandpas and friends and youth who were visiting (and there were several of each) were ushered back into the room with us, awkwardly listening to Addison's first attempt at eating on the other side of a curtain.  Haha.

I remember our first walk: Brad held me up, while I held onto the hospital bassinet for dear life and walked around the hall so slowly it seemed like time stood still.  I'm pretty sure I was bent over at a 90 degree angle.

I remember being nervous about introducing Addison to Rosco, and quickly realizing we had nothing to be concerned about.

Our first days and weeks at home were a struggle.  Thank goodness for my parents and sister, who all stayed so long to help!  I cried like a baby when my mom left town, so sure I was going to screw up royally without help.  But as I figured out what I was doing, and she learned how to not over-eat (she is, after all, her mother's child!), life got easier and my heart has seemed to grow outside of my body.  It continues to do so.  How do people without children understand even an ounce of the Father's love for us?  I barely grasp it at all, and I tear up almost every time I pray with or for Addison.  Her mere existence has brought joy to Brad and I from the moment we found out she was coming.

Even now, as the "NO!"s and "MINE"s have increased and sometimes led to more frequent spankings.  As the twos come on strong and bring methods of manipulation that I never imagined my sweet baby capable of, I am struck by frustration, yes, but love.  And laughter.  (Let's face it: unless you're in the middle of Publix or something, a tantrum is often quite funny.)

So happy birthday sweet Addison Grace.  I love you so much and I pray every day for your salvation, loving spirit, and kindness.  Mostly I pray your daddy and I don't screw this up too badly.I know our sweet Savior has much, much in store for you!

The month leading up to her special birthday has been a busy one: settling in, visiting Texarkana for a week, family reunion south of Dallas, and a week in Pensacola has exhausted all of us but been so fun.  A month in pictures should suffice...

practicing for "baby sister"

cousin Holmes

Grandaddy & RaRa

all the Gowing cousins + our sweet friend Will

loving on our new cousin, baby Kate

Elmo birthday cake for the family "party"

yup: my kid for sure

And the hits just keep on coming...

I was going to title this post "Some Rules to Moving."  Then this morning happened and I just can't get past the comical aspect of what should have been a fairly simple move for our little family.

The rest of this post is going to sound really negative, so I need to say upfront that it all could have gone horribly, but it didn't.  Brad's parents came into town to help, and help they did, taking turns keeping Addison or helping me at the house before we even moved our stuff.  We are so thankful to them and some sweet friends who helped us.

We bought a house on May 18th.  This comedy of errors started about a week before that, however, when I made the mistake of buying a Pottery Barn rug for A's "big girl room" from someone I found on Craigslist.  It was hot outside, she was 20 minutes late to meet me, and I had to pee... not a good combination for a pregnant girl.  By the time the woman got there to meet me, I was so antsy I didn't even have her roll the rug out!  I talked her down to $100 and felt okay about it.  Needless to say, I got it home and discovered a horrible mess!  After multiple hours on my hands and knees spot cleaning, and a few rounds with a steam cleaner, the jelly stain is out, the dark who-knows-what-that-was is lighter, and what I can only hope was juice has actually drained the pink color in a few spots.  Oh well.  One day Addison will discover markers and I'll be glad I didn't pay the $799 that rug is currently listed for at the store.

With any move, you can expect to bleed some money.  We knew coming into it we would spend quite a bit getting our electrical system up to code, putting in a couple new appliances, and other "move-in" type things.  The Wednesday before we moved in, however, I had to laugh at the rotating group of sub-contractors in our house.  Brad's dad and I were cleaning (the entire house was filthy), and throughout the day we had the deliverymen bring in my washer and dryer, a couple of sweet, round, red-neck electricians working nonstop, a plumber who looked like he belonged on the movie Deliverance, and two painters who spoke absolutely no English.  All in one afternoon.  Pretty funny.

We had asked around about a painter to do some touch up work on the inside of the home.  I really wanted to paint all the rooms, but after taking a look at the trim work that's chipped and the ceiling that needed repainting in a few spots, we decided to take care of that and a couple of rooms.  We had several suggestions of who not to use, and only one suggestion of someone who did good work.  I met with him and was a little concerned about his limited English, but we stepped out and agreed on a price and an end date.  To make a long story short, he did none of the work and hired out to guys who spoke no English, they finished a day late, my trim work hasn't been touched, the coats of paint are visibly are uneven, and I've been scraping drips of paint up off the floor with my fingernails.  Ugh.

With lots of help from Brad's parents and a couple of movers, we got our stuff over here and some boxes unpacked.  Brad's mom started loading the dishwasher looked up distressed: the baskets in the dishwasher were literally falling apart!  We priced replacement baskets and quickly realized that it made more sense to buy a new dishwasher.  A week later the deliveryman actually showed up, damaged my counter top, told me he'd have to cut the kitchen tile in order to get the old dishwasher out, and left me with two dishwashers, neither working!  He came back two days later with reinforcements and put it in, charged me more money, and left with my new dishwasher not installed properly.  Ugh!

Today I woke up with a long list of "to dos."  I tore my back out during all of the moving stuff, so I've been taking it easy.  I intended to finish unpacking the boxes, rearrange some stuff in A's room and run a couple of errands.  About the time I was finishing breakfast I heard a strange gurgling noise from the guest bath.  I will spare you the details and skip to the end: the plumbers came back and had to replace a portion of the sewage pipe under the house; there was a hole in it that someone had tried to fix with a large rubber band.  The hits just keep on coming, and our monetary hemorrhage continues. :)

We are enjoying lots of things about the "new" place though: A's playroom, space in our kitchen, an actual backyard, etc.  I'm thankful that we're discovering all these issues now, and not when I'm days away from delivering this sweet baby girl.  Have I posted that yet?  That this bundle of moves is a girl?  It's a girl.  And she's either going to be a runner like her daddy or a dancer like me, because she moves constantly!  Can't wait to meet her.  Well, I can wait... I need to wait... I don't know where any of our "newborn" stuff is yet!