Happy Birthday Bailey!

Today you turn 2, and there are some things about this age that I never want to forget.





Daily you fill this house with laughter.  You love to dance and have tea parties and listen to music; you ask for "noise" whenever iTunes isn't playing.  William Tell Overture will forever be the "horse song" and I will never tire of singing "Baby Mine" to you when you go to bed and ask, "song?"  It's even better now that you've started to sing along.


Your books are among your favorite toys.  Some days you pull all of them from the shelves just for the fun of it.  You've learned your letters A through J and numbers through nine.  You identify animals by their sounds, not their given names, and can't do a horse's neigh without grabbing your neck.  I'm amazed at how much you learn everyday.


You are quite used to - and comfortable with - playing alone, or with just Mommy and Daddy.  When we play outside, all you want to do is splash in the water, no matter what the temperature is.  And Daddy is determined to make you a tom boy if it's the last thing he does.  You're constantly being thrown in the air or across the bed as he rough-houses with his little girl.


Your favorite foods are bread, cheese and bananas. And you'll eat as much spaghetti and pizza as any grown adult.  When we go on walks, you're always asking for chipa or empanadas or juice as we pass bakeries and restaurants.  You collect rocks on every outing and turn everything into a cell phone. You'll also hold up your hand at every passing bus, trying to get them to stop for us.


Over the past two months you've become an amazing big sister.  You let me know when Sister is crying, help me keep her awake by tickling her belly, and include her in whatever games you're playing.  You cover her with kisses when it's time to go "night-night" and always ask to "see? see?" when I'm holding her. 


You are a creature of habit and enjoy routine.  I hardly need to leave directions for babysitters; you're sure to tell them what needs to be done when, and how.  From putting soap on both hands after going potty, to reading books before bed, to dumping the bath water immediately after you're done bathing.


Anytime I'm in the kitchen for more than two seconds, you ask to "sit? sit?" on the counter.  You love stirring up cookies, using cookie cutters, and sampling batter off of beaters.  Your eyes light up when I pull out the mixer and you immediately ask, "eat?!"


You are my precious baby girl and I love you more and more every day.


Happy birthday, darling!

How Do I Love Thee

Back in January, a mom blogger that I follow posted 10 Ways to Save Your Sanity, filled with suggestion (ten of them to be precise) of how to cope with a child that's driven you to the brink of insanity. In another post this week, she referenced the post again and I found the timing to be perfect as I re-read the post and did some reflecting on our darling - yet frustrating - little Boston.

She's not a bad kid; for goodness sake, she's just a few days shy of two months.  She does what every baby does: sleeps, eats, poops and cries.  Trouble is, though, that her big sister did those things in a predictable pattern at this stage of the game.  By two months of age Bailey would eat, spend some time awake, then nap in a regular three hour cycle.  Even if we threw in "field trips" to visit relatives, friends, go shopping, etc. she would keep pace and sleep through whatever it was, fall asleep on cue, and eat full meals when it came time to nurse. She was the "perfect" babywise baby.  At least it seems that way in hindsight.

Poor Boston is anything but.  She's a lazy nurser, which leaves her hungry half an hour later.  She's unpredictable in her wake-times; some days she's up for an hour after eating, some days she wants to go immediately back to sleep.  She's resistant to napping anywhere but her bed (Tuesday she was awake for three hours straight because she wouldn't sleep in the stroller as we went to the fruit market at a local mall).

Yesterday afternoon I hit a wall, so to speak, when she quit nursing after only a few minutes on one side; it was nothing new, but it was the last straw after a(nother) exhausting day.  I screamed in her face.  Well, not really screamed. More like a jaw-clenched "arrggghhhhhh!!!" from my throat with my nose pinned against hers, but it was accompanied with a stronger-than-a-love-pat swat across her leg in order to "encourage" her to eat some more. Who am I kidding. I was angry and I acted without thinking.  We both had a good cry - a good, long sob fest - and I resolved to make my list.  My list of the things I love about our precious baby girl.

(1) You're patient with Nala.  Unlike your sister, you, dear Boston, could care less if Nala sneaks up on you to sniff your face or lick your toes.  I find your apathy endearing.

(2) You love bath time.  I don't know what it is about the water, but you love it.  You'll lie there forever as I dump cups of water over your tummy and legs, and don't even squirm when I play with the suds in your hair.  You get more baths than you really need because I enjoy watching you enjoy them.

(3) You love to cuddle.  If we would do it, you would let us hold you all day, every day.  Up on a shoulder, lying in someone's arms, or even across a lap, you just want to be skin to skin.  And while some days I think "I don't have time for this!" I remember that you'll be our last baby (according to our plan, anyway), so I better enjoy it while I can.

(4) You make the greatest faces.  Okay, usually they're blank stares of a sleepy-head, but they still make me laugh.

 

(5) Your smile melt my heart every time! When I'm on the brink of a breakdown, that goofy, toothless grin reels me back in.  And your timing is usually perfect.

(6) You're a regular Houdini.  More than once, you've woken up from a nap with limbs hanging out of your swaddle. Usually when Dad wraps you up, not that I'm keeping track...

(7) You put up with your sister's crazy antics.  Whether it's playing "I Spy" with a used paper towel roll, or having a tea party with a wiffle ball at your feet, you let her be the big sis and show you how it's done.  And you usually don't cry about it (you leave that for me as I watch my two girls "play nice" together, already).

(8) You keep me warm!  It will have to get really cold for me to put on a jacket while carrying you up against my chest.  Carrying you around is like having my own personal heater.

(9) You've started to coo, and those timid little ooo's and aaah's are a welcome addition to the soundtrack in our house. I'll work on getting a video of it; you're just a bit camera shy right now.

(10) And that hair! Much as you could spend all day wrapped up in someone's arms, I could spend all day playing with the puffy, curly locks that sit atop your head.I'm so glad the doctor was wrong about it all falling out (and that you haven't yet developed a bald spot in back).

Lord, help me to remember these things about my baby girl as she cries and fusses and does things "off schedule".  Help me to see her as YOU see her; a precious gift from heaven that you've entrusted to us. Help me to do right by her, and by you.

The Mile Run

Two P.E. students wrote this account of the mile run. Enjoy!

It was a really hot day, and of course we had to run the mile. Not surprisingly, our quirky and peculiar P.E. teacher (Mr. Bishop) printed the wrong papers so our other vain, conceited, and way too over confident P.E. teacher (Mr. T) had us separate into groups: the turtles, middle and fast. We  decided to put ourselves into the middle group, but this other girl, who shall remain nameless, practically shoved us into the fast group. Being the modest people that we are, we didn't think we were adequate for the fast group, but graciously accepted. Mr. T then announced and I quote: "I don't want to hurt my athletes, so all of you in the fast group, take a seat and get an A." So we, shocked but also very amused and smug, kept our poker faces as our peers were sweating their way through the mile. We told Mr. T about that fateful incident, but begged him not to make a big deal out of it. But him, being Mr. T just had to (he couldn't help himself). As the girl (who is still nameless) ran by, panting and sweating he called out: "Nolan and Julie say thank you!" As he gave them a dirty look we smirked to ourselves, very satisfied.

Coin Letters

Rather than get mad when Bailey dumped our bus change on the floor this morning, we made a game of it: Guess the Letter/Number. She's now pretty good at A through I and 1 through 8 (not advanced, but proficient)

 

She even took a stab at creating her own.  A million points to whoever can correctly guess what she was making.  I have no idea . . . 

Say Good-night to Sister

Here's how it's done:

You start with both cheeks; right, then left, Paraguayan style (I was grabbing the camera and missed step one of this daily ritual).

Then move on to her feet.  Both of them:

Then her knees:

Both hands:

Belly:

Return to her head for a kiss right on top of her dome:

Doesn't she look THRILLED by this process???

Bailey tried adding "kiss the diaper" to this ceremony, but that was too weird.

New house rule: we don't kiss diapers. 

And Then What?

The past five weeks I've been doing Beth Moore's Bible study on the book of Esther with my pastor's wife and two other young ladies that she's discipling.  Every week during the DVD session I think to myself: "I have to put this on the blog! It's just too good not to share!" But until now I haven't followed through.

In this week's session, we hit the part of the "story" where Esther had to decide.  Decide to face her fear of death by entering the king's presence without being summoned, or sit back, do nothing, and die for being a Jew.  Tough choice.

In talking about the fear Esther must have faced at that junction in her life, Beth Moore went on a tangent - a long, thoughtful, wonderful tangent - about fears and how often we let them control our lives.  So much so that we can become paralyzed by them and miss out on being used by God in amazing ways.  There was so much that she shared about fear, so much that hit home for me, but what stood out to me was the illustration that she used from her own life as she faced a nagging fear of her own.

"What if my husband falls in love with someone else?" she confessed as a recurring fear in her mind.

One day, plagued by the thought, God lead her to play it out.  As if God said, "Okay, Beth. Say he does. Then what?"

"I'd throw a fit!"

"Okay, and then what?"

"Well, I'd get really, really mad and yell terrible things."

"And then what?"

"I'd fall on the floor and cry."

"Then what?"

On and on she went.  Ping-ponging with God over what would happen next.

I'd cry. I'd yell. I'd pull the covers over my head.

And then what?

Eventually, Beth's answer to "then what?" was that she'd throw her Bible across her face and stare at it.  And then she'd start memorizing scripture to give her the strength to cope. And then she'd find her way back to ministry - admittedly a bit jaded and angry at first - but she'd survive. She'd bounce back. God would still work through her to accomplish His will.

I tried the same thing with some of my biggest, recurring fears.  And you know what? After enough "and then what's?" it all comes full circle. God is faithful to bring us back to Him and will use us - despite the fearful thing.

What if I fail at _____?

What if ____ doesn't work out?

What if _____ happens?

It was a bit scary, entertaining the fear and letting it "unleash" all it's misery, but in the end, it was incredibly liberating.  Because in the end, no matter what the "what if" was, the answer was always, "then, God!"  God will be there. God will be faithful. God will pick up the pieces. God will use me despite (rather, because of) the situation.  God. God. God.

Next time YOU feel overwhelmed with fear, I challenge you to do the same.  Ask yourself "and then what?"  You'll realize that God is bigger than the fear and that He will bring you through whatever it is.

Swallowing my Pride

This blog set out to be a way for our family and friends to keep "in the loop" about what is going on in our lives while we're down in Paraguay. And while it has done that (at least I'm assuming it has, don't burst my bubble if it hasn't) it has also been rather therapeutic at times for me.  I've been able to write about the experiences we've had, process them a bit more than I otherwise would have, and draw "bigger" conclusions about relationships, God, life, etc.

Blogging has been my psychiatrist (okay, that might be taking things a bit too far, but I hope you get what I'm trying to say).

The last month of posts - Boston's birth, the hospital comparison, Bailey's potty training adventures in three parts, the installation of the grass - have all been reflection-less on my part.  And quite intentionally.  I didn't want to reflect. I didn't want to think about how I was feeling, let alone admit to how I was feeling, let alone admit publicly to how I was feeling.

But it's time . . . so here goes.

We hired Patricia back.

Some of you might recall that Patricia came during last semester to watch Bailey while I was teaching part time.  At that point in Bailey's life, she was getting up at 7, then napping again at 9:30ish (until I got home from school).  Patricia did most of the routine household chores before Bailey got up and during her nap.  There was a part of me that felt kind of awkward about it all - having someone else clean my house, wash the dishes, and do the laundry - but what else was she to do for the three hours of her work day that Bailey was sleeping? And those are the things that I potentially could have done during Bailey's morning nap, a nap that I was "missing out on" because of being at work.  I justified the heck out of the situation and got to a guilt-free point.  Besides, who doesn't like to come home to a clean house, without having to do the cleaning yourself?

When we left Paraguay in December, we had to let Patricia know that we weren't going to need her services for the foreseeable future.  My parents were coming (and did come) for the first month when Boston was born, and Brandon's mom is coming at the end of May.  At the time there was even rumor that my sister might come (okay, it might have been more wishful thinking than anything) between the two parental visits, leaving me with a whopping four weeks or so with both girls by myself.

But during the last week or so that my parents were here, I had a rough go at it (ask Brandon, he'll tell you).  I was a wreck thinking about how in the world I was going to manage the house by myself.  I would be sitting nursing Boston, with my mom making dinner and Papa or Brandon helping Bailey go potty and I'd burst into tears.  What was I going to do in a week when I was the only one there? Boston would go hungry, Bailey would wet herself, and dinner would be burnt, all with me curled up in a ball in the living room, praying for it all to go away.  At least that's the way I imagined it playing out in my head.

Chock it up to postpartum depression (or regular depression for that matter).  I was terrified about being alone with the girls.  I couldn't fathom how generations of mom's before me did it (and continue to do it, and with more than just two kids).  Then I'd have a moment of rational thinking (just a fleeting moment, mind you), and I'd be okay.  "You've got this" I'd say to myself.  "People do it all the time and you're no less of a person than any of them.  You can do it."

And like the little engine that could, I'd recite: "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can . . ."

Then it would all blow up in my face and I'd cry myself to sleep. Again.

The weekend before my parents left (and Brandon went back to school after being on Easter break), Brandon made a decision for us: we're hiring Patricia back.  His solution to my irrational fear was to bring back the help.  And while part of me jumped for joy ("she can do the chores! yippie!") his words cut deep to my heart.  I felt like he had no faith in me, that even he didn't trust the girls to my care.  That's not the truth - I know that in the rational part of my brain - but I couldn't help but feel betrayed.

That first Monday with her there was harder than I imagined being alone would have been.  And not for her lack of assistance.  It was because of my internal monologue telling myself that I failed.  I failed as a mom - I had to hire someone to care for my own two kids, one of whom sleeps 90% of the time.  I failed as a homekeeper - someone else is being paid to do my laundry and wash my dishes.  I failed as a wife - she's taking care of "everything" and I'm still in my PJ's, glasses, sans makeup when Brandon gets home.

After that first day, I told Brandon that I needed to try doing "it" by myself, if only to prove to myself that I could.  So when a downpour started in the wee hours of the morning Tuesday, I typed out a text to Patricia, telling her not to worry about coming in with the bad weather (bus travel does get tricky in the rain).

I did it.

Then came another tricky part: I could do it alone (duh!), but I felt like we had already made a commitment to Patricia for the six weeks between my parent's and Brandon's mom's visit.  So we talked it over and shortened the time that she's with us. What started out as Monday through Friday, 9-4 is now Monday, Wednesday, Friday, 9-1:30 (when Bailey goes down for her nap).  I still have to be a stay-at-home-mom by myself at least two days a week.  And I still do some of the household chores.

It's still hard to admit to; that we have a "chica" when I'm there at home all day anyway, but it is what it is.  And I'm still processing it.  And I'm sure I will be for a while. But this was a start.