Love Must Be Loud

The were being typical little boys. "Mom, he did blah blah blah." "But mom, first he whine whine whine." And finally "I wish I could trade him in for a different brother." That was my final straw. I told them (for the millionth time. Not exaggerating) that they should always treat each ther with love, gentleness, and respect. I had them give each other hugs and say out loud  "you are one of the best gifts that God gave me." I make them say things like this often, because they don't  yet realize how strong your brain is.  If you keep saying it eventually you believe it.  So if I keep saying my brother is special, eventually the thought will stick. Or at least that's what psychologists claim... One brother enthusiastically grabbed his brother in a Bearhug/headlock and exclaimed "YOURE ONE OF THE BET THINGS GOD GAVE ME!" The other responded a little more quietly and even after multiple cues his mumbles could barely be heard. He was not putting any effort into this reconciliation.  Finally I explained that love must always be louder than anger.

Of course this confused them.

They understood that it is easy to express anger, hurt, frustration, and hate. Those easily carry human emotions into a loud, often explosive, physical state. But a quietly mumbled "I love you" is easily overshadowed by a screamed "I hate you." Ok, they got that one. So we moved on to finding Biblical examples of when love was loud. Love groaned in agony from the cross. Even as a desperate Son questioned why His own Father had turned away, he still chose to stay. For us. Out of love. When asked what the greatest commandments are, He boiled them down to loving God and loving others. 

I'm not talking about mushy, sentimental, country Western song love.  I'm talking about love as a decision. The love that looks at a person, flaws and all, and says "I love you." The love that makes a parent stay up nights and clean up vomit without complaint. The love that sees a man visit his wife long after her dementia has taken away any memory of him. The love that says "I could let go but I refuse." That's the kind of love that shouts as it works day in and day out. 

But too often it's silenced. 

I asked them if mommy and daddy always agree. No. Have we fought in front of them? *hangs head in shame. But we've been working on it. It's been a loooong time since an honest to goodness fight. But we still have difficult discussions and decisions to navigate. And we still will as long as we're married. But I old the boys that what gets us through is knowing that we're not going to give up. That we love each other more than were angry, hurt, prideful, etc.  The boys have already seen many failed relationships in their short lives. Their little friend's divorced parents. Grown siblings who don't speak to each other. Pride that is stronger than love and has torn families apart. They've seen much already. And they don't want it. So I try to lead them into making choices. The kind of choices that scream I love you! So that when the relationship is strained, when it's near breaking, they will know that love is still present. That they will stop and fight for that relationship because love is shouting don't give up! 

When anger is shouting that you must prove your point and be right, love must shout louder. When hurt gives the cold shoulder, love must be stronger. When pride refuses to reconcile, love must be the more stubborn . When all the selfish humanity inside you is screaming to put yourself first, love must calmly say over the din I choose to serve. As often happens, when I teach my children, I learn the most. Am I more willing to express how others disappoint me or how I love them? How will this change how I treat those I love? Will it challenge you?

"...Faith, hop, and love. But the greatest of these is love."

My response to the Frozen furor

Since the arrival of Disney's Frozen in the movie theaters, there have been both it's supports and vehement nay-sayers. Which is normal. This time, however, the conservative Christians didn't focus on the use of magic in the film, which is the want, but on one of the character's songs. Unless you've been living under a rock, you know the story of Frozen, so I won't rehash it for you. Here are the lyrics that are troubling to many parents:

                                         "Let It Go"

The snow glows white on the mountain tonight
Not a footprint to be seen
A kingdom of isolation,
And it looks like I'm the queen.

The wind is howling like this swirling storm inside
Couldn't keep it in, heaven knows I tried!

Don't let them in, don't let them see
Be the good girl you always have to be
Conceal, don't feel, don't let them know
Well, now they know!

Let it go, let it go
Can't hold it back anymore
Let it go, let it go
Turn away and slam the door!

I don't care
What they're going to say
Let the storm rage on,
The cold never bothered me anyway!

It's funny how some distance
Makes everything seem small
And the fears that once controlled me
Can't get to me at all!

It's time to see what I can do
To test the limits and break through
No right, no wrong, no rules for me I'm free!

Let it go, let it go
I am one with the wind and sky
Let it go, let it go
You'll never see me cry!

Here I stand
And here I'll stay
Let the storm rage on!

My power flurries through the air into the ground
My soul is spiraling in frozen fractals all around
And one thought crystallizes like an icy blast
I'm never going back,
The past is in the past!

Let it go, let it go
And I'll rise like the break of dawn
Let it go, let it go
That perfect girl is gone!

Here I stand
In the light of day
Let the storm rage on,
The cold never bothered me anyway!

Lyrics by Idina Menzel.

And I get many of the points made. I'm a mom of three. It's hard to teach them right and wrong in our current culturel obsession with relativity. Having a song with beautiful animation, supporting casts including taking snowman and a cute reindeer, and a pop star singing doesn't make the issue any easier to ignore.

But let's take the story in context and realize that the song, although played incessantly as a single on the radio, is actually part of Elsa's character development. And it may be a cartoon, but the script was written by real people, so let's put ourselves into Elsa's shoes. have you ever been told that there is something fundamentally wrong with you? That the way you were born is a shame and a disgrace? That part of you needs to be hidden because of your potential to damage someone else? You may not, but I have. I once volunteered for a non-denominational organization in Russia. It was an opportunity that I had been waiting and working for over a period of several years. My dream. But I had a problem. My hair. I was born bald. Then as a child I grew thin, incredibly blond hair. Somewhere over the course of the next several years my hair grew very thick. Then at fifteen it started growing wavy. Not all at once, mind you. That would have been too easy. It started in different patches and took about three to four years until it reached a relative homeostasis. And I didn't have a clue what to do with it. I tried gels, mousse, shampoos, conditioners, hairsprays, hair cuts, and anything that any hairdresser would recommend. My mom and my hairdresser tried, but neither one had a clue either. Sure, I could straighten or hot roll it every day, but that took spending well over an hour on my hair alone. Time that I knew I wouldn't have in Russia. The best solution seemed to be to put a perm over the top of the natural curl to try to make it a little more uniform and tame the frizz a bit. Did I mention it's frizzy? if I don't do anything with it I look like I walked through gale-force winds. Back to the point... I thought I was doing pretty well, but evidently it wasn't good enough. I was told on multiple occasions, by men whose wives had stick-straight hair that I was somehow a distraction. That the curliness was often "unkempt" looking and didn't leave a good impression with the leaders the organization was working with. therefore I was instructed to keep my hair "plaited." Laugh if you want at the archaic terminology. But it wasn't a laughing matter.

Have you ever worn a baseball or winter cap all day? you know that feeling how at the end you just want to take it off and run your fingers through it just to feel some movement? Yeah, I felt like that a lot. I also keenly felt the sting that while these people were preaching that God makes no mistakes when He creates each individual, somehow just didn't apply to the way He created my hair.  Some people wither under such criticism, but my family had built some into me some good self-confidence so I knew that what I was being told was ridiculous. While I catered to the request demand made of me, not for one minute did I believe it was right. My sarcasm went into overdrive and I ran with the new nickname from my friends, Rapunzal. Check the name of the blog, I still use that nickname. And I will never be able to forget that someone tried to make me believe that there was something indelibly wrong with me that needed to be hidden for the good of others.

When Elsa reached back and took her hair out of the bun and let it hang down in a braid, I could identify with the feeling. When she talked about no longer needing to hide, I thought of another blond girl with long hair who desperately wanted to be accepted for who she was.  I was already struggling to make my curly hair look nice, and all I was told was that it was hurting the ministry. You know, many people actually like curly hair and think it's beautiful. Not these people. Elsa couldn't help that she had been born with the snow powers. And while her parents weren't trying to make her feel evil, their "help" only consisted of trying to make her hide them. ("Conceal, don't feel.") She lived in constant fear that the very traits that she had been born with and used to entertain her sister would in fact seriously endanger them again.  We both faced condemnation for something that was in our very DNA.

 While many look at Elsa's actions as running away (which she was), also remember that she was running towards something. She was seeking to, for the first time in years, be able to be unapologetically herself. When I got home from Russia, I scheduled a hair appointment that first week to cut the remnants of the perm out of my hair. I have no desire to ever have another one. I'll deal with my natural state from now on, thankyouverymuch!  Elsa looked to be in the neighborhood f 6 when the accident with her sister occurred, forcing her into hiding and preventing her from enjoying a rather fabulous gift. Who can blame her for wanting to be whole, to no longer hide behind a locked door? Surely loneliness with truth must have seemed better than living in isolation in the middle of a city and pretending to be something that she wasn't. Those were the only two options that she could see. There is a vast difference, as illustrated in this movie, between learning to control yourself and attempting to completely eradicate a part of yourself. Perhaps while we talk to our children about the song, we can also talk to them about developing the beautiful person that God created them to be. To learn to use the gifts we are given and to not live our lives in fear but enjoying the life He gave us.

That's my own personal story relating to the film, but I was wondering about the children.  So I asked the targeted demographic: my six and eight-year-old kids. They acknowledged that, yes, she was talking about not having any rules. But I asked them if they thought that's what she still believed at the end of the movie and they said no, that Elsa had come back home and was the queen. And everybody knows that Queens have to follow rules even if they get to change a few. They also answered that they didn't want to leave behind all the rules because they didn't want to be lonely. Although they did seize the opportunity to ask for a reprieve on the "no video games on school nights" rule. They tried, gotta hand it to them. :) While I would not want someone telling my children that it's ok to live with no rules, I think if taken in the larger context of the story itself, the children see the consequences of those actions. And no parents should let their young children watch movies or read books without taking the opportunities to talk with them and help guide them. Disney isn't raising my children. I am.

If you haven't seen Frozen, grab it here from Amazon. Disclaimer: This is an affiliate link.

Why we should leave Dad alone with the kids

Guys as parents often get a bad rap. There are tons of memes on the internet with some admittedly pretty hilarious photos describing why fathers aren't as responsible a parenting choice as mothers. I believe that, instead, men are different than women. *Gasp!* But despite the fact that dads are more likely to hang their children upside down by a leg occasionally, that doesn't mean that they're bad parents. Just see things a bit differently.  Is there anything wrong with a different parenting style? So in honor of my husband who is a fantastic father, his dad, my own father, and all of our wonderful grandfathers, here's a post on why you SHOULD leave your kids with good old dad!

1. They show up. When it's not convenient. When the occasion is big or little. When they're not feeling well. When they have something else to do. They come and support. (And a big shout-out to Nana, who is in the middle of radiation treatment at the time of this picture and she still made it out to the kindergarten graduation.)

2. They support all the school endeavors.

3. They're always ready to go fishing with their kids, even when the "kids" are grown.

 Toblerone!

4. They bring chocolate.

5. Dad then shares the chocolate.

6. He's always a shoulder to lean, or sleep, on

Proud daddy and baby's first steps

7. He's there to help you with your first of anything, steps, baseball, reading, etc.

8. He even shares his ice cream

9. He loves holding you even when Mommy goes a bit overboard in the dressing department.

Boating with baby can be a handful

10. He includes his kids in his favorite activities even when they're little and it would be easier to go alone or with a buddy.

11. He teaches them the value of hard work. And how to work with their hands.

Quirkle!

12. Dad plays games with the kiddos.

13. He teaches them how to let their hair down. :)

14. He untangles fishing line. Again. And. Again. 

Thankful This Year

   Wow, I have a ton of posts that I've started but haven't finished! I'm not going to sit and contemplate what that says about my personality... Instead I'll check what was supposed to be a Thanksgiving post and hit "post."
   It was the best of times. It was the worst of times. It was a year of gladness and rejoicing. It was a year of struggle and frustration. One year ago I announced with extreme joy that we were having a daughter. The long- awaited answer to several year's worth of prayer. But around that time I also started my struggle with preeclampsia and had already ruptured my Achilles. And the hard times were only going to get worse. Those things were most definitely not in my plans.
     That whole situation...my preeclampsia became bad enough that I was hospitalized and sent home on bed rest around 32 weeks gestation, and had an additional extended period (over three months) of being off my feet after surgery, I can't say enough times how blessed I was during that time period. I never want to go through something like that again. Ever. *shudders.* But I've also never felt so loved. I had two different friends clean my bathroom. I had more people than I can count from my church offering to come over and help with laundry and cleaning. My parents stayed for a while and helped Ryan work on the house and my mom stayed for a loooooong time to take care of the children and me. And while I was sitting on the couch for my second bed rest with my leg up feeling like a useless blob, God continued to provide for us. Quite literally out of the blue, He gave Ryan an amazing job opportunity.  I was reminded again, as I watched my husband work long hours during the harvest season and then come home to work hard to take care of us, what an awesome man he is.
     In the middle of what seemed the longest period of my life, I had tons of time to spend with my three beautiful children. This was the longest maternity leave I'd ever gotten (7 1/2 months!) and the longest period of time I'd been able to spend with the boys since my first summer in the PTA program. (which would be 5 weeks in 2008. Yep, a while ago.) I was blessed to cuddle with my children and watch my boys enjoy being big brothers as well as love on my new baby girl.
     The fall saw my little boy Landon take a big step in growing up and go to kindergarten. Big brother Nathan took little brother under his wing and explained all the rules of school. :) And just when I thought I was going to go positively, absolutely, crazy from being on forced bed rest, my surgeon cleared me to begin walking, and shortly thereafter, to go back to work. And the rest of the year has been us as a family acclimating and finding our new "normal."
     In a year of emotional, physical, spiritual, and financial, hardship, God also brought joy, love, friends, comfort, and blessings. I NEVER want to go through a year like this again. And I'm a little tired of doctor's offices... But I can be thankful for this last year.
 

Big Brother Gets it Right

        Anybody that has children knows that the friendship level can swing widely from one extreme to the next in less than the blink of an eye. Children who were happily playing together are suddenly screaming bloody murder with cries of "Mom, he...!" mixed in for good measure. Such are my two boys. One moment they're best friends and the next Mom has to step in for a calming effect and send them to their respective rooms once the rounds of apologies have been completed. Then Mom gets to go and talk to each offender individually about his particular role in the spat.  My oldest loves his little brother but being the oldest also likes his alone time. He is also quite the more clean of the two and often resents the way Landon strews toys all around and frequently breaks them in his exuberance. My youngest being the youngest thinks that alone time is a penalty and strives to be with Nathan every second they're both awake. He also, as aforementioned, is happy with is room being knee-deep in toys and clothes and doesn't get the concept of privacy. You see trouble brewing between the vastly different personalities? Then join the club.
        Relationships had gotten to the point where any approach by Landon was greeted with "Go away, I don't want you around." Such as response was, as you can well imagine, not tolerated in this household. One afternoon it was bad enough that after I sent Landon to take his nap, Nathan and I sat down and had a good long talk. We discussed how Mommy and Daddy gave Nathan his name because it means "gift from God" and that Landon is still a precious gift even though his name means something different. Each and every child is a precious gift from the Father. I also pulled out Landon's baby album and pointed out how many pictures had Nathan excited to be around his baby brother. (and there were numerous pictures of Nathan hanging out with his brother.) Then we prayed for his attitude towards his brother to change.  I've also talked to Landon extensively about giving Nathan some alone time. That was a hard concept for the kid to swallow!
         I wish I could say it's been perfect since then, but that would be a complete lie. And it would mean that my kids aren't growing through challenges.  Nathan is much better about asking Landon to leave his alone rather than shoving him into the hallway and locking the door. Landon, with some coaching, now leaves Nathan's room when asked and the whining is diminishing. The other day I could not have been more proud of my oldest son. The second night of VBS we ended up moving Nathan up to an older class (the downside of holding him back from kindergarden a year is the constant struggle to identify which age group he needs to be in.) Landon was heartbroken that he was no longer going to have his brother in his class with him. While I was busy trying to take care of necessary communications with other adults I was unable to comfort my youngest son. Never fear, Nathan took care of that. I looked over to see Nathan with Landon's head cupped in his hands and his forehead touching his little brother's while reassuring words came out of his mouth. My thoughts ran between "Awwww" to "WHERE'SMYCAMERA?WHERE'SMYCAMERA?INEEDMYCAMERA!!!!" Alas, the moment was too fleeting to dig my phone out of my pocket and capture the photo, but it is ofrever captured in my memory. Reassurance that as they grow, so will their relationship. Hope that maybe I'm leading them in the right direction. Reminders that little hearts are big enough to share God's love.

No more pilates

This morning I cuddled my son. He had curled up on the pilates mat while I was fixing him breakfast. He was supposed to be getting dressed for school. Instead he lay there telling me with a cute grin how soft it was. If I hustled him along, I could finish the last ten minutes of my workout before taking him to the bus. Instead I sat down and pulled him into my lap. He still fits, but there will soon be a day when he will no longer fit or want to snuggle in his mommy's lap. So today I put off the inevitable, the workouts, and the hustle, and spent a few minutes cuddling my son.

the backpack

There's a backpack in my basement. I dont like it. It was on a tremendous after-season sale. It's nice looking: black with gray and red trim, a few pickets to hide things in, and those neat-looking but pointless bungee cords on the front. (Seriously, I've never seen anyone use that feature. Ever.) If I were a kid I would love it. I'm pretty sure that my kid will love it. Therein lies the problem. It's for him to pack his books, crayons, and the like and go to school. I know that Nathan will enjoy both the backpack and going to school. And I'm having a hard time dealing with it.

My friend talked me into buying the backpack on Black Friday because it was only two dollars. She bought the other three for her two children because, apparently, children are pretty tough on backpacks and they break in the middle of the year forcing desperate parents to pay full price for a new one. Not having prior experience in this area, I took her word for it. This will be my first year to send a child to school. Forget him being ready, I don't think that I am.

Thousands of parents across the country are counting the days until school starts again and I act as though I'm sending him to a concentration camp. My sentiments are being very unreasonable, I know that. And it's fun to see them grow and learn new things. But I'm sad that this innocent phase in his life is soon to be over. Soon he'll have homework and after-school activities. His time will be scheduled more by his school day than by family activities. I love coming home for lunch and seeing my boys. I dread not having him there.

Starting school is the end of a wonderful phase of his life but also the beginning of another wonderful one. Truthfully, I wouldn't want him to stay home forever. This is the beginning of his really really growing up, and there's actually a part (small!) that's excited to see what will happen next.

There's a backpack in the basement. I'm dealing with it.

What a Mess!

Discovered this post that I had started and never posted from last August. Here goes.

Last weekend we visited one of my favorite stores--IKEA. I was delighted to find that one of the main items on my list, rugs for the doors leading to the outside, were on clearance. The last rug wore out sometime before the birth of my three-year-old and I hadn't been able to find one that I liked in my price range. Consequently, I'm not even sure if my children know what rugs truly are. With joy I laid them on the floor and imagined the dirt clods and leaves being somewhat restricted in access to my home.

The rugs were placed on the floor after the children went to bed. The boys didn't seem to notice them until halfway through breakfast. Landon looked over with spoon in hand and pointed to the door, "Daddy, what spilled?" My husband looked around in vain for the offending liquid on the floor. Landon insisted, despite assurances to the contrary, that there was indeed something spilled on the floor. "But there's a towel on the floor!"

Willing wethead

Neither one of my sons likes for his hair to be washed. It's not the shampoo, but the water pouring over their heads. Ryan can't figure out how to hold both his eyes and his ears at the same time. At least he has stopped shrieking at the top of his lungs. William doesn't go in for the hysterics, but he does cling to me tighter than melted chocolate on upholstery all the wihle gasping anxiously for breath. Some days I feel as though I'm dressing for war when I bathe them--hair in a ponytail, contacts must be in, and remove any long sleeves.

None of this makes sense to their befuddled mother as I've always been a fish out of water. Out of water I'm a complete klutz, but in the water I feel graceful and strong. My parents had to teach me to swim before I was two years old because I would run and jump in anytime I saw water. Since both my brothers were in competitive swimming, this kept my mom quite busy. Having two sons afraid to let a little water drip over their eyes leaves me wondering what to do.

They both absolutely love taking baths and playing in the water, it's just the wet heads they can't deal with. Obviously skipping hair washing is not an option, so we've dealt with it--both the sobbing children and the soaked clothes. Ryan is finally getting to the point where he will cover his face with a washcloth and allow me to wash his hair. The big surprise of the day was when William, picked up the green cup and handed it to me. Then he even leaned forward for me to dump the water on his head! I can't tell you how astounded I was that this little guy was asking me to wash his hair! YAAAY! No matter what else happens today, this day goes down as a good one. :) I now have a willing wethead!

Cute Easter photos

The Easter photo shoot didn't go as planned. The boys would NOT sit still. But it doesn't matter--they were still so cute all dressed up. Ryan loved wearing a tie and William wouldn't take off his hat in Sunday school. A few tips for getting at least some decent shots of your children on special days...

1. Don't get dead set that the pictures HAVE to be done a certain way. Children are masters of picking up stress and will react (usually negatively) to it. Just relax and realize that you can only get kids to do so much.

2. Be snappy. Two ways. First, if at all possible, use an autofocus camera. Yes, my 35mm Minolta takes superb pictures, but it's a dinosaur and doesn't autofocus. No toddler is going to sit still long enough for you to focus manually! Also, take a lot of pictures. Just keep shooting. You never know when a good one is going to come out.

3. Take candid shots as well as posed portraits. This way at least something will turn out. Some days they end up being better than the posed "everybody sitting and smiling in the same direction" pictures anyway. I didn't get a good photo of the boys in their easter outfits (hopefully one of the grandparents' turned out). But I'm happy with the egg hunt photos, so I've included two of them. Remember, the point of taking pictures is to preserve memories. So don't stress yourself out trying to get "the" perfect shot.

And take advantage of Snapfish's generosity and save money printing your Easter memories. :) 50 Free Prints plus a choice of either 20% Off Photo Cards OR 20% Off Photo Books Exp 4/30

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Just a few more?

The last two and a half years that I have spent at the university have been both enjoyable and interminable. Time has passed both quickly and achingly slow. I find myself within three weeks of finals bouncing up and down at the prospect of being done with classwork. Summer clinicals will be difficult but enjoyable. To say that I am eagerly anticipating graduating in August and being able to find a job in a clinic is an understatement. I'm ready to be out of school and re-enter the real world!

Somehow, though, when I look at the years that I've spent on campus, it seems as though I didn't get half of what I wanted accomplished. The instructor for my voice class asked if I wanted to take private lessons next year. My voice carried both excitement and regret that I couldn't because I have graduated by then. There are so many courses, so many subjects that I wanted to study, but I just ran out of time. While registering for this last semester I felt like Cinderella at the ball, begging the clock to allow just one more dance. I wanted to take another art course, to study more music. My brain has been stuffed full of physics, anatomy, and chemistry, and it is happy for the challenge. But my spirit feels satisfied when the expression when I am bent over a drawing or my fingers are flying over the keyboard.

At times I look jealously at my younger, single classmates who seem to have the world open. They complain that they can't find anything interesting to fill out their elective hours, while I bring myself back to reality that, no, I can't take the 22 hours of the courses I really am interested in.

But then, when I start the ignition to my Jeep and begin the long drive home, the miles weigh on me. I do not wish to make this drive any longer. The miles weigh on me because they separate me from my children. What science can be more challenging than teaching my oldest son to read? Is there an art course in the world more fun than making dolphins and elephants shape out of playdough and then squishing them with two giggling children? Is there a human relationship more confounding and yet comforting as the marriage relationship? I may miss out on a few college experiences, but what I have more than makes up for it. My life is full, it is rewarding. It is different than that of my classmates. And crazy. :)

Maybe it is for the best that I will leave the university feeling unfinished. I have not lost my desire to learn. My mind still contains many dreams and other goals to accomplish. I will never be bored. There is always something else to discover.

5 Tips for Flying with Preschoolers

Several weeks ago I had a madcap trip scheduled to see family during spring break. My excitement over seeing my brother who had returned from being stationed overseas was tempered with a little bit of terror over flying alone with a 20 month-old and a 3 1/2 year-old. Whether you are a new reader or an old friend, it only takes reading one post to realize that my sons are high-octane, nitro-charged, 100% BOYS! (they're very well behaved, but they're still boys...) I lost track of the times at school friends and teachers would say "You're flying with them alone?? Are you nuts???" Certifiably. but that's another story. :)

The traveling ended up being mostly pretty fun. The trip with family was a blast, and we made it home in one piece and both children present. :) To help other adventurous parents with their travel, since that season is almost upon us, here are several of the tools and tips I used.

1) Liquids 3-1-1. To make it easy, liquids 3 oz. or smaller, 1 qt. plastic ziplick, 1 bag per passenger placed in tray during security. There are, however, exceptions when traveling with children. From the TSA official site "Declare larger liquids. Medications, baby formula and food, and breast milk are allowed in reasonable quantities exceeding three ounces and are not required to be in the zip-top bag. Declare these items for inspection at the checkpoint." They will not ask you to taste the items, but they will be insepcted. They still won't let you take water through, so either plan on buying water for formula powder or buy the premixed stuff. ALso, if you have frozen breast milk or medication that needs to stay cooled, you are allowed those little refreezable packs. As a precaution, I always print out the offical rules from the TSA site in case I happen to come across a security agent who's not aware of the exceptions.

2) Going through security with children. First, they will not ask or do anything to separate you from your children! Still, keep your eyes on them... If the child is capable of walking they will ask if the child would walk through on his own. (Which they did the first time. On the way home, William wouldn't be parted from Mommy's arms). Be aware that all shoes, even sandals, must be removed. I dressed the boys in easy-to-tie shoes, and wore clogs for greater ease. I even had a compassionate TSA agent help me fold up the stroller, get the Ziplock out of the backpack, and round up the shoes! If you have more questions, check out TSA's site about traveling with children.

3) Luggage and car seats. Since most airlines have started charging for even the first suitcase (except my beloved Southwest), check with your airline's website for their policy. The several that I checked with, (Delta, United, American) do NOT charge for car seats and strollers (or you can use the stroller throughout the airport and gate check it to pick it up immediately after the flight). So you do not have to worry about paying extra to protect your child at your destination. :)

4) Medical Emergencies. The first flight of the day coming home, I looked down as we were boarding to notice my youngest son's right knee looking red. I thought it was odd, but continued with the boarding. By the time we were loaded on the plane, both knees were red with hives, as were both elbows. By the time I dug through the bag to look for medicine, they had spread to cover most of his legs and arms. Not having benadryl with me, I called for the flight attendant. They don't carry medicine on board, but she called for the airport EMTs. We did have to disembark from the plane, but it was nice to know there were people available to help. They checked out his lungs, which were thankfully clear. But now I know that airports carry medical personnel who respond very quickly, and the service is free. (unless you require an ambulance to transport you to a hospital). Airline agents were also very helpful in rebooking my flights to get me home only a few hours later. They did not charge to rebook. The moral of this story is, don't take chances, especially with your child's health. There are people available to help if you have serious concerns. I did not want to delay my trip, especially since I was taking care of two tired children, but the alternatives were to have my child's airways swell up at 20,000 feet.

5) Medical kit. Bring the essentials with you. Benadryl is now one of them... Infant Tylenol is small, and you can use with an older child, it just takes a little but more. An anti-itch cream. A few band-aids. Diaper rash cream. Your pediatrician's phone number. Orajel. You know your child and what you normally do to prepare for possible emergencies away from home, just double-check the contents and pop it into your bag. There are stores in airports, but they don't cater to children and infant needs. Just don't forget to take the nail scissors OUT of the bag...

Don't forget to come back next week when I post more tips for traveling with preschoolers!

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Snow Much Fun

Two days ago I awoke to the sound of little feet pattering their way into my bedroom. As I was still recovering from a sinus infection and on decongestants, the sound was somewhat akin to the stampeding of elephants. Nevertheless, it was a welcome sound. Ryan scrambled his way up into the bed to give me a hug and kiss, sitting still for approximately 1/1000 of a second before scampering away while yelling "come on, Mommy. Get up!" He then ran to the front window in the living room, ducked underneath the blinds to peer out the window, and realized how much the world had changed while he was asleep. He danced his way back, shouting his excitement, "Mommy, it's snowing. It's snowing! It's a BIG snow!"
Later that afternoon, amid squeals of excitement from both children and dog, I proceeded to get everyone ready to go outside. Being the dutiful (read into it overprotective if you want) mother that I am, I of course layered them in turtlenecks, snow bibs, hats, scarves, and the hoods on the coats. By the time I had crammed squirmy children into those layers, I was sweating. But talk about being worth the wait. The sled was difficult since the amount of snow meant it tipped whenever the children were off balance. And a 3 y.o. and a 1 y.o. don't keep their balance very well... But we got some good laughs.
This was William's first true experience in the snow and he loved it. I wasn't sure what to expect from the child who didn't like grass the first time around. Poor little guy had difficulty walking as the snow was up to his little thighs, but he made do with crawling. And tasting. And eating the snow until his little face was red and I had to take him inside, much to his disappointment. He kept wanting to go everywhere big brother went.
Ryan's activity seemed to be making snow angels. Or exploring. He was never still the entire time we were outside. His big scientific discovery for the day was the fact that it is hard to slide down a slide covered in ten inches of snow. And that snow blowers are loud, which he pointed out to me numerous times.
I had to drag both children inside to get warm, both under great protest. As we regaled Daddy with tales of the day Ryan leaned forward and said "That was fun. Can we go in the snow again, Please?"

Second time around

My son has a shoe fetish. I'm not concerned--not because I'm unconcerned about what other children will think about him, or how he'll grow up, or any of those reasons. I'm actually kind of proud of him and happy for the photo opportunities. He's 16 months and he has just learned that shoes can easily be placed on and taken off feet. He has even figured out that someone other than Mommy is capable of doing such a feat (no pun intended.) Consequently, he has been trying on anyone's shoes that happened to be left outside of the closet. He has not mastered and gets quite frustrated by Daddy's cowboy boots. Once his legs grow longer than the boots he might have a bit more success. He likes mommy's shoes ok, but he really has taken a shine to his big brother's. Little William is capable of placing one of big brother's shoes on his feet, and since they're not enormously big like clown shoes, can actually walk quite well in them. They even fit over his footed pj's. I looked down this morning and he had my right tennis shoe on his left foot and Ryan's right shoe on his right foot. I found my other tennis shoe under his crib, but Ryan's other shoe is still in hiding.

I always wonder if things like trying on shoes are developmental milestones. I remember things that my oldest did and wonder whether the youngest will do that too. And if so, how will his personality change the same actions? Even though the exploratory stages are repeated, it's far from being a Groundhog Day scenario. William gets a little bit more frustrated than his older brother did when he can't get a shoe on. But he's more determined, possibly because he wants to be like the rest of the shoe-wearing household. I'm proud of him for noticing those strange contraptions that go on the feet, and prouder still that he sometimes says "sssooes" to go along with it. Ryan rarely displays such interest in shoes other than his own anymore, which is fine as he was starting to do dangerous tricks like jump in my heels. He's on to bigger and newer things like wondering snow is and why his carved pumpkin turned mushy before it disappeared. So I'm enjoying watching the curiosity of a little one exploring his shoe world. Now to find Ryan's missing shoe. Oh yeah, and hide my high heels.

Are you kidding me???

Erik's family celebrated Christmas together on December 21 this year since that was when everybody was off work. Ryan ran into my mother-in-law's living room, grabbed the biggest present and proceded to start opening it! We had to remind him to wait and that the present wasn't even his anyway... It was a great family time, but it got the kids in the mood to open gifts. Since we had four days left until Christmas, I spent a considerable amount of time telling the kids that it wasn't time yet to open the presents under our tree! I seemed to constantly be finding a bow that William would have stripped off a gift and be returning it to the rightful box. I finally started returning errant bows to the rubbermaid storage container.

Christmas Eve Ryan and I had a conversation where he kept asking why we couldn't open the presents and I had to remind him that Christmas wasn't until tomorrow. Christmas morning Erik went into the boys' bedroom to wake them up. Ryan snuggled into Erik's lap and when greeted with "Merry Christmas" responded "No, Daddy. Mommy said Christmas is not until tomorrow." Erik laughed and replied that it was indded Christmas morning and time to open presents. The wonderful little three-year-old started to get hopeful, but almost couldn't believe it and out came "Are you kidding me?!?"

Family Decorating

Some people despise traditions because they disdain doing the same thing in the same way. Some people love traditions because they find comfort in turning occasions into special events. I happen to be one of the latter. Growing up, we knew what putting up the Christmas tree was going to be like. My mom and I would bake chocolate chip cookies and defend the dough against encroaching brothers and dad with wooden spoons if necessary. The smell of cookies would fill the air while the guys got all the decorations down from the attic. Lights would be strung out to check and see which bulbs were missing. My dad, an engineer, would string the lighs around the tree, methodically placing strands on every branch. Then mom would sit in the wingback chair and pass out ornaments for us to hang on the tree. To some people, it would be monotonous, but to us it was special. There was comfort, familiarity, and we looked forward to it every year just after Thanksgiving.

When I married my husband and I had a discussion about traditions. He's not exactly huge on them, but nor does he despise them. He didn't object to the chocolate chip cookies, though! :) we looked forward to starting our family, blending our traditions, and creating some new ones. We don't push the "perfect" traditions, but go with the flow. The last couple of years we have decorated the tree while children were asleep. Last week when we decorated we decided to allow Ryan to help out. We did, however, decorate the tree when William was in bed. Erik and I carefully separated the glass ornaments from the wooden and plastic ones and asked Ryan to help. It was so much fun to watch! He would take one and carefully eyeball and circle the tree, looking for just the perfect spot. He even told me so! The real laughter came when Erik and I realized that all the ornaments had gone on the exact same spot anyway! All of that effort and 5 ornaments hung from the same branch. To not ruin the child's joy, DH went quietly behind our son and redistributed.

Another thing that I really enjoyed was watching his excitement as I opened the large box containing the Christmas decorations. "What is that, Mommy?" and "Wow!" were frequently heard. I showed him pictures of his daddy of his "Baby's 1st Christmas" ornament, and the wooden bear that I had painted about 6 different colors when I was 4. We enjoyed being together. Ryan's childish giggles and amazement made me certain that this is one tradition I always want to continue.

Martha, Martha

Shakespeare called it "the witching hour." Although I do not believe in magic, just about every mother can testify that there is a certain time in the evening in which her children borrow a few pages from the Tasmanian Devil's playbook. This unruly, whiny time always seems to occur in the evening rather than earlier in the day when Mommy is tired and least capable of dealing with it in a rational manner.

This evening was no such exception. William had already been pulled off the kitchen table three times, out of two different cabinets, out of the dog's water bowl twice, and was now attempting to climb my legs and screaming his frustration at his lack of success. I knew that he was hungry, he had already downed a full cup of milk, and I was desperately trying to finish supper (ever notice how it takes an hour to cook a 15-minute dish when kids are present?). Ryan was clamboring on the other side of me trying to get my attention. The dog ran in and out between us just to complete the mayhem and make William's frustration increase another several decibals whenever the giant pink tongue appeared. All of this was happening as I stood in front of a hot stove and tried to ensure that nobody got burned. The third time in 2 seconds that Ryan had called "Mommy," I looked at him and said "Ryan, could you..." my voice trailed off as my frazzled brain couldn't even suggest what toy or activity for him to pursue. That was all right as the smart little guy finished for me with, "Go somewhere else?" I laughed, felt guilty, but was grateful for at least one set of hands to not try to keep away from the hot burner.

William was still trying to turn my legs into a ladder and was getting louder and louder. Obviously, my level of frustration increased and my patience evaporated. Erik heard the clamor and came in to rescue his youngest son and take him to the bath. Instantly the set of eyes fresh to the situation noticed that not only was William hungry, but he was also suffering from the molar that's just coming in. Erik commenting on his way out "William was in pain, and you were to busy to notice." Ouch. True, but Ouch. Brings to mind the story of Martha and Mary in the Bible (Luke 10:38-42). In that moment, trying to provide for my family, I had missed being with my family. I had missed out on the important thing. Yes, my children needed food, but I shouldn't have been so preoccupied that I didn't even notice that my son needed some Tylenol. *note to sef: by more Orajel next time you run to town...* How would the situation have changed had I taken two minutes to take care of William's gums? Today, I decide that I will be Mary instead of Martha.