Madelyn's Big Week

What a week it's been for our sweet Madelyn Grace!  Monday, September 9th, marked her first day of Kindergarten at Chief Joseph Elementary School right behind our house in North Portland.  She did amazing, not that I would've expected anything less.  She eagerly and confidently walked into her brand new classroom knowing none of the other faces and reached out to another little girl, Grace, who was having a hard time saying good-bye to her parents.  "Hi friend!" she said.  "Want to come over and sit by me?"  I might've made it out of there that morning without crying had I not witnessed that interaction; my heart literally ached with pride.  

Tuesday, September 10th, then marked her 6th birthday.  We greeted her first thing in the morning with a candle stuck in a marshmallow singing Happy Birthday and gave her a silver necklace with an "M" charm and her birthstone.  Before we even left for school that morning, she said "I still feel 5, Mama."  I giggled internally and wondered what pivotal moment will make her "feel" six.

Then, quite unexpectedly, Maddie lost her first tooth on Thursday, September 12th.  It's been loose for awhile but got really loose really quickly -- like, gross loose.  I knew it was ready to come out, and in a sudden burst of maternal confidence, I suggested that we just pull it before it fell out on its own and disappeared.  My arms literally felt shaky as I reached into her mouth; I mean, the whole thing is totally disgusting, right?!  Teeth just fall out of our mouths.  Blech.  But I did it and it came out and Madelyn was super excited.  And, oddly enough, of the three momentous occasions this week, the lost tooth makes her seem the most grown up to me, perhaps because it dramatically alters her appearance.  She lisps slightly and keeps sticking her tongue in the empty space, and it's freakin' adorable.  The Tooth Fairy paid a visit and left a dollar bill sprinkled with pink fairy dust.  

Phew!  What a week.  We are all exhausted, but we've survived and even thrived.  

One more quick thought:  in the book The Help (one of my top-5 favorite books), one of the characters, Aibileen, whispers the same words over and over again into the ear of the little girl she cares for in an effort to burn them into her psyche and counteract the damage of her neglectful mother -- "You is good, you is kind, you is important."  I immediately loved that (for many reasons -- read the book if you haven't already!) as it solidly resonates with my training in child development that the words we say to our small children become their internal dialogue and shape the way they begin to view themselves.  That's an enormous amount of pressure, and I have felt the weight of that responsibility every day for the last six full years.  But it's also a privilege, yes?  So in the same spirit, I began whispering my own mantra into my children's ears the day Maddie started Kindergarten:  "You are kind, you are brave, and Jesus loves you."  No doubt they will grow very tired of hearing me say this to them, and in their tween years they might even shrug it off or say with exasperation "I know!!!"  But words are powerful, and my prayer is that this very distilled mantra will become the foundation of their identity and the key to the map of how they will conduct themselves in this world.  And if that's the only thing they'll ever remember their mama saying to them, I'll feel pretty good about that.

First Days

Henry Finn, age 2 1/2, on his first official day of pre-school at Portland Christian School.  He will be in the same classroom with the same teacher (Miss Malou) that Madelyn has had for the last three years and we couldn't be more pleased.  He has been dropping sis off and picking her up from this classroom since he was born, and it's now finally his turn to stay.  He was a bit anxious this past weekend and said several times "I don't want to go to Maddie's school; I want to go to Henry's school."  I reminded him of the two motorcycles in the big bin of various vehicles that I always had to pry from his fingers when it was time for us to leave, and whadaya know...he perked right up.

It was a good day.  Drop off went well, Miss Malou reported that he did a great job through the day, and he ran at full speed across the playground with a huge smile on his face when I arrived to pick him up.  But here's what I will say about my (albeit limited) experience with "first school days" thus far: they are a mind v. heart battle regarding the illusion of safety and control in our children's lives.  My heart started to quiver as I drove away from him this morning thinking "Will they watch him closely enough on the big playground?  He's still so small.  Will he get any hugs?  Enough smiles?  He's very different from Maddie...with they just compare him to her all day long?"  I called Kurt.  My voice shook a bit as we talked, but I never actually cried.  I know, of course, that the reality is that I have very little control over the safety (physical, emotional, or otherwise) of my children.  God gives us our brains and we are to use them, but to think that I can be smart enough or organized enough to create a world where my children are immune from danger or fear or anxiety or loneliness is emotionally depleting and spiritually lethal, for both me and them.  We have had three fabulous years with Portland Christian, and I trust them completely with my son's small spirit.  I don't know exactly what words they will use with him throughout the day or how close they will stand to him on the playground, but despite what my heart wants to fear, I know he is in excellent care.  And next Monday when I leave Madelyn for the first time at her new school where we do not have three years of trust built up, I will (do my best to) choose to trust her and her bravery and confidence and kind-heartedness and honesty.  

Enough Already

Well let's see.  The last post I wrote was back in May.  Nearly three months ago.  That's the longest I've gone without posting since we started this blogging adventure, and, of course, I feel guilty about it.  Sigh.  I may never learn to just be gentle with myself.

After so long and such a fantastic summer, it would be fitting and appropriate to post a bunch of photos of all that we have done and update everyone on what the kids are up to and how we are preparing for our eldest to start Kindergarten and our youngest to start Preschool.  I'll get to that one of these days.

Right now I need to vent.  Like, rant and rave and hope to Heaven that this thing that is eating me from the inside out right now can get consumed and leave me be.  More than anything else, writing is wholly and completely cathartic for me.  I write and edit and rewrite and edit in my head all day long.  But that doesn't fully do it for me.  I have to actually see those words on a page and send it out into the universe.  Release it.

So here it is:

I have officially had enough of being other people's punching bag.  I accept that we are all a punching bag on occasion just as we are also all the one doing the punching on occasion.  I just know that right now, this moment, I can't take any more punching.  I feel so stretched and pulled as it is that to then get emotionally socked in the gut repeatedly at seemingly every turn for stuff that's all about someone else and not about me just feels plain icky and hurtful.  My kids punch me all day long.  Totally normal, I know, and in a somewhat twisted way I'm honored that I get to be the one person on this earth that they trust enough to keep loving them after repeated emotional abuse.  I understand how the brain develops and I don't at all take it personally, but that certainly doesn't mean that it's not utterly exhausting to argue and negotiate and discipline all day long.  But to then be emotionally junk-punched by fully developed brains who didn't come from my womb...well...I frankly just don't have the energy to keep taking it.  Or to fight back.  So I'm not totally sure where that leaves me.

I could say more.  But it would be too specific and I would regret it later.

Deep breath.  Turn the page.

Not at all related, I am reading a fantastic book right now called Love Wins by Rob Bell, who is the pastor of the church I used to attend in Grand Rapids, MI when I was in college.  My dad has read it twice and highly recommends it, and I, too, think every person should read it regardless of whether they follow Jesus or not.  It is rapidly changing my entire perspective on the nature of heaven and hell and the extent that our Creator loves us.  Pick it up, and I would very much love to hear what you think if you do.

Ok, one photo.  Here we are in Sunriver a couple of weeks ago.  We're headed back next week for our annual friends trip and are very much looking forward to it.  

The Velveteen Polar Bear

Like his sister before him, Henry has formed a deep and committed attachment to his blanket, or "Beebee" as they are known in our home.  This is great.  We are pro-security-object in our family, and perhaps the best parenting move we've made thus far was purchasing two of each of their blankets and swapping them out regularly to make sure that all of them get "seasoned" at the same rate.

At about 7 or 8 months of age, Henry made a unilateral decision to also become attached to one of his stuffed animals, a crisp white round little polar bear that was given to him by Uncle Kris and his girlfriend Laura.  I understood the draw.  He was soft and fluffy with a cute little face and beans in his bottom.  But of all of his stuffed animals, I most certainly would not have picked a bright white one for him to adopt as the lovie that gets puked on, drooled on, sucked on, and dragged across countless floors and rugs.  Needless to say, "PaBaBa," as Henry calls him, has been washed many times and looks as haggard as a thirty year meth addict.  

A few weeks ago, Henry started saying that Polar Bear was broken.  He would hold him up, watch as he hung limp, saggy, and grey from his hand, and state with a furrowed brow that Polar Bear was broken.  Kurt had the genius idea to order a new, identical one and then "fluff up" Old Polar Bear in the dryer and exchange with New Polar Bear.  We did just that, and at first, Henry seemed genuinely amazed and tickled that PaBaBa had been restored to his youthful, ripe self.  He bought the switch and hugged New Polar Bear, but within 30 minutes or so, he had put New Polar Bear out of his sight and was asking for Old Polar Bear again.  We tried buttering him up to New Polar Bear, but he would have none of it.  By bedtime, it was clear that we'd better figure out how to "de-fluff" PaBaBa or we were all going to hear about it.  

Alas.  Old Polar Bear returned.  Henry seems to keep him even closer than he did before, and he hasn't once stated that he looks broken.  

'Tis the Season

 Sometimes life is really hard.  Sometimes you feel exhausted and lonely and defeated before your feet even hit the floor in the morning.  Sometimes the only prayer you can quietly muster is "Help, Help, Help" over and over again and you're hard pressed to remember the last time you smiled.

This is not one of those times for our little family in our little corner of the world.  

This is a belly laugh until you can hardly breathe time.  A blast Taylor Swift in the living room and dance around like fools with the curtains wide open time.  A treat ourselves to Ruby Jewel Ice Cream on a warm Spring Thursday evening time.  A "Thank You, Thank You, Thank You" as your heart swells with gratitude time.

I live under the same roof with my three favorite people.  My husband knows how to make me laugh and knows how to make my coffee.  My children draw me pictures and cover me with sticky kisses.  We are healthy.  Our bellies are full and our bodies are warm.  Our hearts are regularly nurtured and our spirits lifted by our beloved family, friends, and neighbors.  

We attribute these blessings to the Lord whom we love and serve and know that in experiencing His love for us, our lives shift from black and white to vivid technicolor.  I don't at all expect that all of the seasons of my life will be easy and abundant, and I hope when our next trial comes, my song is still fundamentally one of gratitude.  But for now, we are basking in this season of joy and rest and praying that we have ample opportunities to let our cups runneth over onto each of you.

Here are a couple of random photos that somehow never got posted:

Our sweet kiddos in their Christmas duds.

Madelyn with her lovely Nana and lovely Mimi at the Heathman for New Year's Eve tea, a new tradition.

Sibling affection.

Just like Daddy.

Easter 2013

If all Easters for the rest of my life this side of Heaven are cold, grey, and rainy, it will be worth it for the 73 degree and sunny Easter of 2013.  Not hard to experience the joy of a Risen Savior with a day filled with sunshine, blue sky, blossoming trees, family, yummy food, laughter, and great neighbors.  Topped off with a bike ride.  In March.  We lose count of our blessings to be quite sure...

Lessons for age 5 and 34

Madelyn has reached the age when she's starting to get her feelings hurt by her friends.  "Mark didn't want to play with me."  "Katie called me stupid."  "Toby said my shoes were ugly."  She'll cry big, sad tears and collapse into my arms with genuine hurt and defeat.  I try my best to be compassionate and soothe her and encourage her to be confident in who she is and not let others' hurtful words dictate how she thinks about herself or feels about herself.  

I was reminded this week that this is much easier said than done.  Some of you know that things at my place of employment have been tense to say the least the last several months.  I have found myself for the first time in my professional career in the crosshairs of Human Resources regarding the non-profit organization that I am starting.  My employer feels that there is a conflict of interest between what I do at my current job and what I am endeavoring to do through The Family Room.  This, of course, is preposterous and literally elicits laughs from everyone I tell, but they have given me a "cease and desist" ultimatum and have pulled me into several disciplinary meetings in which I have been treated more like a criminal on trial than the exemplary employee that I have proven to be over the last 8 years. The thing is, I know who I am and that I have done nothing to deserve punitive action.  But hearing others say untruthful, negative things about you truly is hurtful regardless of how much your brain knows there is no merit.  And I'm 34 years old with a (mostly) mature brain and decades of life experience.  How much more painful and confusing must this feel to my 5 year old girl?

Thank God we have the unconditional love of our boys to buoy our spirits and make us laugh.