my huntley life

this boy

2009-06-29T09:54:00.004-06:00

Sean had a rough day yesterday. After getting to bed a little late the night before, being awakened in the middle of the night by thunder and then kept awake by obnoxious, unsmart, pool-partying teenagers (since when was partying in a pool during a lightning storm such a grand idea?), he was just a tad exhausted yesterday and not exactly on his best behavior. Which for Mr. Dot-my-i's-and-cross-my-t's is not normal. He disobeyed all day long about everything, whined/cried/complained about everything, and then, to top it all off, ate all but two little bites of the brownie I was saving for Ben (after already devouring his own, of course). That last infraction is very not normal--he might think about doing something like that, maybe even pretend to do something like that, but very rarely does he actually do it.

Needless to say, I was beginning to doubt my decision to go out for the evening and leave the boys with Chris--not that Chris isn't capable, of course, but he usually prefers to deal with them when they're all in a state of normalcy (who wouldn't?). But just as I was getting ready to leave, Sean looked at me and said in his sweet little voice that we hadn't heard all day, "Mommy, I like your skirt." And just like that our little boy was back.

Here's hoping it stays that way--Sean in a bad mood is not my idea of fun.

a must-read

2009-06-25T11:11:00.007-06:00

One of the hobbies that I have made a point to start up again recently is reading. I convinced myself a few years ago that I didn't have time to read like I used to, and so I quit doing it, even though I've been an avid reader since childhood (growing up without a TV will do that to you--and no, we weren't Amish, as some people have assumed). But once I started making a point to look for time when I could read, I found lots of it--imagine that! And so I've been reading like crazy the last several months and loving every minute of it.

The latest book was Me, Myself, and Bob by Phil Vischer, the guy who created VeggieTales. I've always been a VeggieTales fan, ever since the day in high school when my friend Kate was babysitting a little boy and Beth and I went over to visit and ended up dying laughing over Larry the Cucumber singing the hairbrush song. But I had no idea of the ups and downs that went on behind the videos, or of the fact that Mr. Vischer--the man who dreamed up the talking veggies and made them come to life--is no longer even part of it, and not because he wanted it that way. But trust me, if you have any interest in VeggieTales, read this book. If you have any interest in detailed explanations of how things work, read this book. If you have any interest in humorous, engaging storytelling, read this book. If you have any interest in thought-provoking autobiographies, read this book. And if you've ever had a dream, especially one that failed or that you're still waiting to see fulfilled, you most definitely must read this book. You won't be disappointed, and you might even learn something while you're at it--something, perhaps, about dreams, God, and talking veggies. Read this book. Trust me.

oldest two YOUNGEST: my jonathan

2009-06-22T11:25:00.003-06:00

My poor, poor little Jonathan. I was looking through my blog labels recently and noticed the following: number of blogs about Sean? 36. Number of blogs about Ben? 26. Number of blogs about Jonathan? One. And I do believe that one was from right after he was born. I had every intention of blogging about all of his monthly milestones like I did with the other two, but for whatever reason I failed to even start. What can I say, he's the third child. Or maybe I'm just a really neglectful parent. Or maybe both.

As much as my lack of blogging about the little guy may be evidence to the contrary, we really do love him. A lot. All of us, from big to little. And I think my lack of blogging about him can be attributed to one of three things:

::My lack of blogging in general:: I'll be the first to admit, I haven't been exactly consistent in writing the last 12 months, so my sharing about Jonathan's life has naturally suffered. But I've already gone into the why's and wherefore's behind that, so I won't do it again here. And I really am going to try to do better. Really.

::I've been too busy enjoying the boy himself:: Honestly, when it comes down to it, which would you rather spend your time doing: holding and loving on a sweet fat baby, or writing about him? I thought so. But I do realize I need to figure out a way to balance the two. Because one day (today) I will wish I had done both.

::We've already been there, done that:: Now, Joanna, before you have a conniption and start ranting and raving about how later children are so unappreciated and neglected and so on and so forth, let me explain...

Since Jonathan is our third child, I've been able to observe babies and their milestones for three years total now and I've come to this conclusion: for the average, normal, healthy baby, those little milestone charts that you read about and find all over and in every book really are fairly accurate. So if you've been so tedious as to record every tiny little milestone achievement of one baby, you've pretty much done it for all of them. That's not to say that I don't still record on my calendar the days when he's done something grand--I can't help but fill in those squares when tooth #1 comes in, or he rolls over for the first time, or he takes his first bite of food, or he takes his first step. But honestly, I'm not always moved to blog about it. Pictures are often taken, yes, but that doesn't necessitate that a blog post will follow. And we quickly learned that even in picture-taking, it isn't necessary to document every pre-milestone moment either. Photos of your baby's gums just prior to his first tooth breaking through really aren't that necessary (yes, we did. I'm sorry, Sean). Who's going to want to look at that? I guess we do, just to laugh at ourselves, but really, those pictures aren't going in a baby book anytime soon.

Having said all that, there are still some things that make Jonathan uniquely him, even in the ordinariness of all his milestones. And those are the little things from his first year that I especially want to remember, and assume there's no way I'll forget, until the time is past and gone and I'll one day realize I have forgotten. And with his first year so quickly drawing to a close, I find myself thinking about all these little things more often, and having the urge to write them down before they're out of my head forever. So here they are--the little things that make Jonathan him:

::thumb sucking:: Our one and only thumb-sucker. He's been doing it pretty much since day one. And as of right now, I'm not exactly complaining. Ask me in a few years and I might tell you otherwise.

::super sleeping:: He's the only one of my three that slept 12 hours a night from the first month on. In fact, there were a lot of times in his first few months of life that he'd sleep for 10 or 12 hours, wake up and eat for a little bit, and go back to sleep for another 5 or 6. It used to scare me half to death, and I didn't know if I should wake him up to feed him or what I should do (believe me, this was so NOT normal for the other two)...until I asked the doctor and he said, "He's in the 95th %ile for height and weight. Let him sleep. I think he'll be okay."

::army crawling:: He started moving around when he was almost 7 months old by army crawling, and boy, could he go fast. And then all of a sudden one day a few months ago he brought that big belly up off the floor and started crawling the "real" way like he'd been doing it all along. But that army crawling sure was cute while it lasted.

::throat gurgling:: He makes this little gurgle sound in his throat all the time and has for months now. Some babies coo, some babies babble...Jonathan gurgles. I can't duplicate it, Chris kind of can, but hearing Jonathan do it makes everybody around him smile.

::belly laughing:: The kid's laugh so does not sound like it should come from a baby, which makes it even funnier to hear. And there's no telling what's going to set him off. We discovered a few days ago that when Sean pulls the seatbelt in the van and lets it snap back up, Jonathan will laugh so hard he'll have tears running down his cheeks--but only if Sean does it. It's not so funny if Daddy does it, apparently. But with Sean it works every time.

::ergo riding:: I wore Sean in the sling quite a bit when he was a little baby, and wore Ben in the Ergo every once in a while before he started walking, but Jonathan gets to ride in it usually at least 2 hours a day. And it's more for my sanity than because he absolutely needs it. The guy is so insanely busy and into everything that if I don't have him on my back, I'm chasing him around trying to keep him out of or away from the cat food or the air vents or the crumbs under the table or the nightlights or the bathrooms after Sean leaves the door open or the trash can or the recycle bag or...you get the idea. And dinner prep without the Ergo? I don't even want to imagine. We'd eat frozen pizza every night without the Ergo.

::danger loving:: I don't think this little boy knows fear. Which is understandable, really, when you consider who his big brothers are and the fact that he's been tackled and wrestled and pulled from limb to limb since he came home. He already loves adventure--loves for Daddy to hold him by an arm and a leg and swing him through the air, loves for Sean to go dragging him through the house by his legs (I know, we're terrible parents, aren't we?), loves to join in the dog pile when the rest of the guys are roughhousing--pretty much anything that involves fast action and physical play brings on his belly laugh. I'm already dreading the tag-teaming that he and Ben are going to do over the years. And Sean no doubt will be trying to convince them not to do whatever they're doing because "you'll get in trouble!".

I could go on and on--his independence, his scrunched up little smile, his chubby and squeezable arms and legs, his hatred for bibs, his love for baths and sippy cups and water bottles and Mommy, his easygoing and laidback personality. Yep, I could definitely go on. But for now I'll just go enjoy the little guy himself and save my other musings for next week...when he turns one.

busy living

2009-06-22T09:21:00.004-06:00

It's been brought to my attention that this blog has been woefully silent the past few months, but we've been busy--the good kind of busy. The kind of busy that's made up of play, laughter, food, fun, family, vacation, exploring, learning, growing, improving...you know, living. And as often as I tell myself, "I need to blog about this," I've obviously too often ignored or postponed that thought and gone on with living.

But I'm going to try to do better, because there's so much going on now that I don't want to forget. Little ones on the verge of bigger and better things, who tomorrow may just move on so that life as we know it, today and right now, will never be the same again. But it's the living of today that I want to remember.

Honestly, though, there's one big thing holding me back from doing things I love, like blogging, more often: my house. I know, sounds weird and completely illogical. But here's a little window into the inner workings of my mind and the goings on of my life...

When we moved into this house 4 years ago, Sean was just 2 months old and being new parents, we didn't think about how quickly time moves once you start a family. So we set up house for how it worked for us at that time, with no thought at all of how it might need to work for us a year or two later. And we've been paying for that lack of foresight ever since. Once Ben was born it became quickly evident that a major rearranging was in order--we needed our third bedroom to be used as, well, a bedroom, which meant the guest room/my office needed to be moved downstairs, which meant Chris's office needed to be moved out of the house altogether. But it wasn't long after all that was finished, that Jonathan was on the way and last year's waterproofing happened, which started another round of upheaval from which we are still recovering. It didn't take us long (okay, maybe kind of long--we did have a newborn, after all, and I wasn't much help for a few months) to get our major rooms put back together and in order, but those hidden ones, namely the office, storage room and garage--that's another matter entirely. They're the dark underbelly of this thing we call "home." And it's that dark underbelly that's holding me back from being a free woman.

Chris and I both suffer from a bad case of "good enough" when it comes to finishing major projects, and on top of that, I'm also a recovering perfectionist, trying to get over the idea that if I can't do something perfectly in one fell swoop, I might as well not even start. So you can imagine the difficulty we have in following through on finishing those rooms, as important as it really is to do just that. And for me, it really is important, vitally important. I don't function well in the midst of chaos and disorganization. I need to have things organized from the inside-out so there's no doubt of where everything belongs. But it's the getting to that point, especially when there's such a big elephant to eat before getting there, that's the issue. And until I eat that elephant, I tell myself that there's no point in taking the time to do the things I love, like blogging and reading and writing and taking pictures and learning to sew and baking and...and...and. I want to do those things, really, but there's this great big fat elephant in my way. And in my peanut-brained little mind, I've got to eat that elephant before everything else can fall into place.

Which is where the "recovery" part of my perfectionism comes into play. I've finally convinced myself of, and have even begun to follow through on the idea that doing something is better than nothing. I do have three children, after all, and there's absolutely no way that I'll be able to dedicate an entire day to cleaning out and organizing even half of one room, much less an entire one, as much as my perfectionist mind would like to tell me otherwise. So I simply have to do this thing one tiny little bit at a time and know that I will, eventually, one day, have my house completely in order the way I need it. But, man, that day seems a long way off. Think I can be done by August? Ha.

better

2009-04-18T21:39:00.004-06:00

Yesterday Chris took the two oldest boys out for the morning, had a change of plans while out, and ended up being gone until 10 last night. I forgot how much easier it is to clean without lots of little ones around needing to be fed, clothed, changed, wiped, disciplined, bathed, bedded down, played with, etc. I managed to clean the entire upstairs by myself--even dusting!--in just a few hours. That hasn't happened since Sean was a baby, I think. And I even managed to do the biannual sorting through and switching out of all three boys' clothes, complete with a list of what they each still need. I amazed myself.

And then I woke up this morning and life went on. And I spent most of my day feeding and changing and clothing and wiping and disciplining (lots of that) and bathing and bedding down and playing with little ones. And in those moments when I would look around and see chaos where I saw calm just yesterday, I was reminded of why I've learned to love the mess. As much as I love a clean house, it can't give me the happy sound of brothers laughing, or the sweet smell of freshly bathed little ones, or the fun of dinnertime kitchen help, or the cozy cuddling of bedtime stories. The house is just a house. But these little people--the people behind the mess--are joy, hope, love...all the good things that make life worth living.

Yesterday was great (and so was the clean house while it lasted!), but today in all its chaos and ordinariness...today was so much better. Lord, give me millions of todays.

a busy day

2009-04-01T13:59:00.003-06:00

Monday before noon, the boys spent their time throwing Daniel in the lions' den over and over again, getting a pizza for Farmer Jed, setting up "the pig movie" for all the farm animals to watch, teaching school to a classroom of one, and helping clean up the kitchen and start a few loads of laundry. And after all that, we got in our cars and drove to "Old McDonald's" where we all ate chicken nuggets, apple dippers and french fries, Sean drank fruit punch, Ben drank apple juice, and I drank water (much to Sean's surprise--"Don't they have tea?").

And to think that to do all that, we never had to leave home, I didn't have to spend a dime, I still got the kitchen cleaned, laundry folded, beds made, and Jonathan still got his morning nap. And Sean and Ben had the time of their lives.

Imagination is a beautiful thing.

oldest TWO youngest

2009-03-26T15:26:00.000-06:00

Mr. Ben turned two in October, and seeing as how that time in our lives was rather chaotic, to say the least, I never did get around to documenting the event. And now that his half-birthday is coming up in just a month, I figure I better get on with it before he's closer to being three than two.

But where to start? So much, so much, can be said about this boy. From before he was even born, I knew we had fun times in store, and he certainly has not disappointed me on that score. Life with Ben is anything but boring.

Ben's the type of kid that everybody seems to have a name for (you know, usually names like stinker, ornery, rotten), but a kid that everybody can't help but love. You watch him for two minutes and there's no doubt he's his own person marching along to his own little beat. To Ben, the world has no boundaries. His life motto seems to be, "I want to, I am able, therefore, I CAN." And woe to the man, woman or child who stands in his way. Countless times I've watched him and wondered, "Does he even have a conscience? Is it possible to be born without one?"

But, wow, the life that pours forth from this kid--the joy, the anger, the frustration, the sadness, the disappointment, the curiosity, the wonder, the compassion, the love. Life doesn't just happen to this boy, he feels it with everything he's got. And that, my friends, can be an overwhelming thing to witness.

Words fail me when it comes to just how much I love this kid. But when it comes to what I love about him...that list might be endless. I love...

his happy giggle, especially the one that comes when he's being mischievious.
his willingness to share almost anything with anybody, especially his big brother.
how he calls himself "Dem-dem Duce" for Benjamin Jude.
how he sweetly asks for "bapple duce," even if it happens a dozen times a day and I have to deal with a meltdown when he's refused.
that when we start singing "Benjamin Jude" to the tune of "Winnie the Pooh" he interrupts, shaking his head, saying "Doe, doe, doe! Dat's Wee Poo dong!"
the way he squats down with his little behind sticking out and puts out his little hand to be the catcher when we're all playing baseball, real or imaginary (I've got to get a picture of that before his behind isn't so cute).
that he loves to wear his "bap-ball" hat.
how much he loves music and tries to sing along with every single song, even if he's never heard it before--the moaning, for now, is adorable. And it's so sweet watching him sitting in church with a song book on his lap, moaning his little heart out.
how much he loves Veggie Tales--for now, they're his favorite thing to watch and his favorite CDs to listen to.
that he tends to hoard his bedtime cars under his covers down by his feet. Sometimes I feel like I'm raising a squirrel when we go to make his bed.
how noisy he is at home and in familiar surroundings, and how equally quiet he is with new people in new places.
how much he loves to read--by himself, with Sean, with Mommy or Daddy.
how much he LOVES eggs (he can easily down 4 in one sitting) and how disinterested he is in most sweets (we have yet to buy him his own treat when we go out for ice cream--a few tastes of everybody else's, and he's good to go)
how he loves to go potty, if for no other reason than for the 2 little M&M's he'll get afterwards. He'll squeeze with all he's got until his whole body's tense, his face is bright red, he's forcing out gas (and cracking himself up)--all to work out some dribbles for 2 tiny pieces of candy.
how he still likes to snuggle, sleepy or not.
how small his little face feels in my hands.
his wavy hair that will likely end up downright curly (I thought my curly hair would have better odds than one out of three).
how much he loves to play outside.
how he DOES NOT need someone to play with him (big brothers are so overrated).
that he's finally decided Jonathan's not so bad to have around, and it can actually be fun to make him laugh.
how he moves in. his. own. time (I really do love this, I do, I do).

What I think I love most of all about little Ben is how much he's teaching me about life--that parenting is so much more difficult than first or only children can make it seem, that patience really is a virtue, that happiness really is a choice, and that life's worth living with everything you've got.

I can't wait to see what God has in store for this kid. The world won't be the same once Ben gets a hold of it.

another funny

2009-03-25T22:39:00.002-06:00

I was in the boys' room at bedtime a few nights ago, laying on Ben's bed in the dark, listening to their CD with them, quietly singing along to "I've got peace like a river..." when all of a sudden...

Sean sits up and says, "Mommy, why is that boy saying he's got PEAS by a RIVER?!"

Gotta love it.

snippets to remember

2009-03-18T22:54:00.002-06:00

Chris and I were having a playful argument about the heater in the van being on or off, and he finally blurted out, "Who's the man in this vehicle?" Sean chimed in from the backseat, "The wise man!"
Sean's recently started calling people "names," purely in jest, but I'm trying to break him of it to prevent conversations like these from taking place with people who might not be, um, understanding:

S: Mommy, you're a dude!
M: I'm a dude?
S: Yeah, you're a dude!
B: Mobby, oo is boob.
M: Yeah, that's more like it.
S: She's a Jew?

Sean and Ben were wrestling around on our bed while Chris was in the room. Ben started trying to pretend-fight, something they aren't allowed to do on our bed (for fear of heads going through walls or furniture or some such catastrophe), so Sean tells him, "No, Ben, we can't fight!" Chris leaves the room a few seconds later and hears Sean say, "Okay, Ben, NOW we can fight."
Sean and I had a discussion about boys growing up to be men, girls growing up to be women, and I thought he grasped the concept until I heard him yell from the playroom a few minutes later, "Mommy, after I'm done being a daddy, then will I be a woman?"
Sean informed me this afternoon while eating his snack that when he goes to sleep he wipes his bogies on his bed. Lovely.

Never a dull moment around here!

a daily reminder

2009-02-26T14:09:00.002-06:00

I came across this today on one of my favorite blogs, Mommycoddle. I think when I can get this concept down pat, I might be well on my way to being a decent mother.

...there's still tomorrow. Except for a few things...

Tomorrow, my children will be a little bit older.

And tomorrow they'll be carrying around memories of yesterday.

And I can stand behind them and rush, rush, rush them through to tomorrow.

Or I can stay with them, and alongside them, and savor them. Today.

OLDEST two youngest

2009-02-22T23:53:00.009-06:00

The oldest turned 4 last week, and I've been trying for the past several months to come to grips with the fact that this little boy is quickly becoming more of a boy than a little one. I'm still not ready for that and I'm thankful that I have one more year of littleness before he reaches the landmark 5, which for me, for some reason, signifies "big." In the meantime, here's Sean at 4:

Still an independent perfectionist, i.e. having to know that his chances of succeeding at something are greater than his chances of failing before he'll try just about anything. Which can be frustrating at times (Put your pants on, please. BUT I DON'T KNOW HOW! Try. BUT I DON'T KNOW HOW!), but for the most part, it's a trait I can appreciate.
Writing his name, which is mostly attributed to his independent perfectionism. We never worked with him on writing his name, then one day last October, while he was doing his usual doodling and drawing, he looked up and said, "Look, Mommy, I drawed my name!" And sure enough, he had, complete with a self-portrait, even:

He loves his little brothers. This never fails to melt my heart. As ornery as he can be to them sometimes, he really is an amazing big brother.
He has an unbelievable memory. It actually scares me sometimes how far back he can remember and the randomness of his memories. And it humbles me to think that he's starting to form lifelong memories, as in, what kind of mother will he remember me being when he was 3 and 4 years old? Yikes.
He's started pretend playing by acting out little scenarios and conversations with his cars and it totally cracks me up.
He loves music and dancing along with it. He particularly loves the Daniel song from Veggie Tales, a CD which must be playing in the van non-stop. When that song comes on he can rock the van with his dancing, and you can barely hear yourself think over his "bum-bum-bums." And he and Ben like to get out their "instruments" and play their hearts out at home. They call themselves "rocket stars."
He thinks he's big enough to be a final authority on matters. Granted, this isn't always funny, but for now, most of the time it is. Like the other night Chris and I were discussing whether the noise Jonathan was making in his crib was a "I'm fussing, I need to be gotten" sound or just a "I'm awake and making noises" sound. Jonathan makes the noise again and Sean announces, "Yep. He's fussin'." So there.
He's a stickler for things being "right" and for himself being "in the right." He'll tell on himself if he's done something bad, he'll tell on Ben, he'll warn Ben if he knows Ben will get in trouble (it rarely works), he asks permission before he does anything out of the ordinary. Things must be "just so" in his world. He's not exactly one for free-flowing creative thought, but we're working on it.
He's fascinated with how things work and especially how they play out. He likes to have a play-by-play of what's going on and when. And he'll correct you if you get it wrong. For instance (a strange example), the other night I poked his very round, very full belly and said I thought I saw Mickey Mouse pancakes in it. He looked at me and matter-of-factly said, "No, they turned to poop already."
He's a social butterfly who LOVES hanging out with people, doesn't matter who they are or how old they are. If you're alive and breathing, he'll be your friend.

And this is Sean at 4, according to him (answers exactly as he said them):

Favorite color: orange & red
Favorite song: Daniel in the Lion's Den
Favorite Bible story: Daniel
Favorite food to eat: pancakes
Favorite present: Lightning McQueen
Favorite drink: grape juice
Favorite sport: Ohio State football & Cardinals baseball
Favorite place to go: the playground
Favorite movie/show: WordWorld & Backyardigans

I love this kid.

those sweet quiet moments

2009-02-18T11:33:00.002-06:00

I was in the nursery this morning nursing the baby to sleep for his nap, and for a few rare moments, the house was quiet. I could hear the clocks ticking, the wind chimes outside ringing, and across the hall in our bedroom, Sean and Ben rustling underneath the covers hiding away for a "surprise" attack in case Mommy came in the room. They were quietly whispering and giggling back and forth, and then all of a sudden I heard this little exchange:

Ben: Non, oo doe I duv oo?
Sean: Yeah, Ben, I know I love you! ... Ben, you know I love you?
Ben: Uh.

Those sweet quiet moments that seem to come so rarely make all the other crazy ones totally worth it.

bittersweet

2009-02-05T01:54:00.003-06:00

Chris and I are leaving in the morning for Florida. We're taking Jonathan with us and leaving the bigger little boys here at home, where they'll be splitting their time between friends and Mimi. We'll be gone for over a week, and we didn't even tell them until tonight. That seemed like the best idea when we first figured out when to tell them, but now I wonder if earlier wouldn't have been better. Ben didn't seem to get it, which worries me that he'll maybe freak out a day or two into it when Mom and Dad are still mysteriously missing. And Sean, trying to process where he would be from one day to the next and who he would be with, kept asking, "Are you gonna leave me and Ben here all by ourselves?"

I'm so looking forward to time away from everyday life for a bit, and seeing old friends and classmates from a little college in Temple Terrace who will always be near and dear to my heart, and revisiting and reminiscing about all the places that made Tampa home for us for two years (six years, really, if you want to quibble about the definition of "home"). I can't wait, honestly, but I know there's going to be this little hole in my heart that won't be filled until I have my little boys in my arms again.

"...I hate bittersweet chocolate. I don't even... what's the point of that? Why not just sweet? Who are you helping?"
Michael Scott, The Office

in the eye of the storm

2009-01-11T14:51:00.004-06:00

After 7 or 8 months of chaos or clutter or go-go-going or a little (or a lot) of all of the above, life has finally slowed down a bit. Just a bit. But it's enough for me to catch my breath and gear up for the rest of the whirlwind that we call life. I've been waiting for this moment for, well, months. These last several months have been the busiest and most hectic of my life to date, I can honestly say, so much so that 2008 was over before it really even felt like it had begun. The first four months of the year were pretty smooth sailing, normal everyday stuff, looking forward to the arrival of the newest little one. But then came the remaining two-thirds of the year and with it came the chaos and clutter and go-go-going. The whole basement thing, then the baby and all the little readjusting of our routine that that required, then putting the basement back together, then houseguests and a birthday and a holiday and traveling and more houseguests and another holiday and more traveling, all intermixed with the normal stuff of everyday life, and even some of the more traumatic and emotional stuff of just plain hard life. Needless to say, it's been an overwhelming 7 or 8 months. And as much as I hate wishing time away, I have to admit to being thankful that those months are over and that the coming days have the potential of being a tad bit calmer. I say "potential" because I realize that's really all that can be guaranteed is a day's or even just a moment's potential, and I say "a tad bit calmer" because that's one lesson I've learned from these months of craziness: life for us, in this season right now, is not a time of "calm." Sure, there can be calm moments, calm days, calm feelings, but more often than not those moments and days and feelings are made and not just happened upon. With three little ones on board, life is just a constant, ever-changing whirlwind, and we must create our own calm in the midst of it.

We just got back into town after more than a week of traveling and visiting family, and I spent a lot of that time thinking of ways I can create more "calm" for our family in this upcoming year. I have high hopes for better routines, better training, better relationships, better living, better fun. I may not be able to completely halt the constant changing that comes along with having little ones, but I would like to add a little more planned changing to control the whirlwind a bit. And I'm hoping that by doing so our 2009 will be more of what our 2008 wasn't: relaxing, peaceful, calm.

my war on poop: learning to love

2008-11-11T01:47:00.000-06:00

You know, before we had kids, we got all kinds of unsolicited advice about what to expect from the little one(s) about to invade our world. And like most advice, some has been useful, some not, but here's one thing I've been wrestling with lately: why no one, not a single living soul, even suggested that the poop of my children might very well change my life. Oh, sure, there was the "Ugh, those newborn diapers? N-A-S-T-Y! Just prepare yourself. They're nasty! And the blowouts that come with them? UGH!" But honestly, the newborn diapers--even the blowouts--are nothing compared to what's waiting for you down the road. Seriously, give me a nice, runny, mustardy, breastmilk-poop diaper any day of the week and twice on Sundays, but you can have the rest. Do people seriously forget what those diapers become...seriously? Because I don't think there's any way that I'm going to. Poop has definitely changed my life in ways I never expected, and in ways I most certainly was never warned about.

For instance, I didn't know that there were different kinds of poopers. Which makes sense, really, since bowel movements aren't exactly the centerpiece of civilized adult conversation. But this would have been useful information 3 years ago, and most definitely 2 years ago when boy #2 entered the picture. Because the pooping habits of boy #2 are vastly different from those of boy #1, which has led to some nasty situations in this household. See, with boy #1, he would go, all nicely contained in his diaper, we'd clean him up, and we knew we were in the clear for at least another 24 hours. Not so with boy #2. Sometimes I think he's trying to set a Guinness World Record for the number of dirty diapers in a 24-hour period. And the mess staying nicely contained within that diaper is more often than not something that we wish for than what really happens. This was especially bad during the summer when he didn't always have pants on. I quit keeping track of the number of times that I've discovered that he's had a dirty diaper, only to further discover that he's left a nice oozy trail all over the house. You know those cute little footprints that the kids in Family Circus leave everywhere they go? Ben's footprint trail is in the form of poop, and he's left it everywhere--couches, floors, toys, beds, brothers, every.single.step--if he can touch it, it's been pooped on. Several months ago his habit became so bad that every foreign object/substance in the house was mistaken for poop. "Sean, what's that on the couch/floor/table/clothes?" Um, I think it's Ben's poop. The boys even brought in a rock from the rock bed out front that we nicknamed "the poop rock" because we'd walk into a room, see it lying on the floor, and every one of us would automatically assume it was poop. It was bad.

I also didn't realize that the pooping habits of their children could be such an important topic of conversation between a husband and wife. If someone had told me 10 years ago that one day Chris and I would be discussing--on a daily basis--the number of dirty diapers (or lack thereof) that our children had, I honestly don't think I would have believed them. Who knew that kind of information could be so vital? We have to pay attention to who we're around when we choose to initiate these little discussions with each other--start talking about this kind of stuff in front of our kid-less friends and they look at us like Seriously, that's what you guys talk about? Believe me, it's more important than you think.

Another thing I never expected was that dealing with my children and their poop would get worse before it got better. I guess I figured that as with most aspects of parenting, it would get better the older they got. So naturally, once they would start potty training and figuring out where it's supposed to go, well, I wouldn't have to get my hands dirty quite so often. HA! That's a barrel of laughs. Boy #1 has been potty training since May. He figured out the whole peeing thing in 2 weeks and has had only a handful of accidents ever since. He even started waking up and going to the bathroom in the middle of the night without us encouraging him to--he's wet the bed once in the last 6 months. But you want to know how many times he's pooped in his underwear in the last six months? I couldn't begin to tell you. I can tell you the approximate number of times he's done the deed on the toilet, because we keep a little sticker chart that tells us so. Twenty. That's it--twenty. In six months. Aside from those twenty or so times that he's chosen to go on the potty, we've cleaned poop out of his underwear, poop off the bathroom floor that fell out of his underwear, poop off my foot that fell out of his underwear, poop off the hallway floor that fell out of his behind. You want to talk about nasty? The diapers from the first six months of this kid's life were nothing compared to the underwear of his last six months.

But I think the biggest surprise of all has been finding out that dealing with all this poop could bring out the worst in me as a mother. I didn't know that one frustrating aspect of parenthood could so greatly affect all others and that loving my children on a practical level could become such a Herculean task. Before I got married I would read the verse in Titus about young women learning to love their husbands and love their children, and it made perfect sense that loving a husband was something that needed to be learned. I knew the ecstatic feeling of love would only get me so far in marriage, and beyond that I needed to learn how to show love to my husband in practical ways. And so I learned. But I kind of skipped over that little but significant part about learning to love my children too. Loving children? That's easy! Or so I thought. But I'm finding that showing my love to them on an in-and-out, up-and-down, everyday, practical level is just as hard as, if not harder than loving my husband. And so I'm now trying to learn something that I should have started learning years ago.

I know I'll never be a perfect mother, but God doesn't ask that I be perfect, He just asks that I be loving. And this is the best way that I can think of to become just that:

Mommy is patient, Mommy is kind and is not jealous; Mommy does not brag and is not arrogant, does not act unbecomingly; she does not seek her own, is not provoked, does not take into account a wrong suffered, does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth; Mommy bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things.

And now here's a question for all you veteran mothers out there--or you young ones who have things figured out a little better than I do...in what ways do you show love to your children on a practical, everyday level? I'm eager for some sound advice.

refocusing

2008-08-22T14:07:00.004-06:00

It all started back in the spring when THE RAIN came. THE RAIN changed life for the Huntley household and we're still recovering. You see, because of THE RAIN, our basement started leaking like never before and Chris spent six weeks fighting a losing battle, armed with nothing but lots of towels and a serious lack of sleep. But THE RAIN kept coming and our basement kept leaking, and we finally decided we'd had enough. Our lives and our house were completely turned upside down by that point, all because of THE RAIN, and we couldn't go on living like that and dealing with that every time it came a downpour.

So we scheduled to have our basement waterproofed by professionals as quickly as possible, which just happened to be June 30...about a week after I was due with baby #3. Not ideal, but we knew we didn't exactly have any other choice. We'd just deal with it.

And so in June the chaos began. When we started clearing out the basement, we had intended for the overflow to all end up in the garage, but it didn't take long to realize that simply was not possible. So then the overflow started spilling into our upstairs living area, so that by the time June 30 rolled around, there wasn't a single room in our house that didn't have something in it from the basement. So here I was, 9+ months pregnant and ready to have my baby and bring him home to a nice, cozy nest...and my nest was a shambles with no possible way of being put in order again any time soon. We came home to an overflowing house that looked like it was occupied by packrats, with no available seating other than the chairs in the dining room and the rocking chair in the nursery.

It's amusing that I've been speaking in the past tense as if the chaos is over and done with, when the truth is that we're still in the midst of it. We knew it would be a long ordeal to get everything back in order again, especially with it happening right at the same time as the birth, so we're actually managing to stay somewhat sane through it all. But as much as I'm ready to have my house back, I'm actually rather thankful that I've been forced to go through this at all. Cutting our living space by half (and having it be cluttered and chock-full as well) has forced me to focus my time on doing only the bare essentials required for daily living--a little cooking, a little cleaning, a little laundry, and lots of playing and understanding and being [close!] together. I haven't had a whole house to deal with and agonize over, and it's made me realize that my life leading up to this had gotten way out of focus. And so I've been spending the last seven weeks analyzing everything in my life--my priorities, my use of time, my relationships, my things--and figuring out what I need to do to get back in focus.

I've been spending some of my introspective time perusing the web for helpful websites, and I've come across one that has quickly become one of my favorites. If any of you moms out there feel even slightly out of control in some area of home management, check out simplemom.net. You'll be glad you did, I promise (plus, she's got a great giveaway on there right now, which honestly isn't why I'm putting this plug in! I've gotten so much from her site that every time I've thought of writing this post, I've known I would mention her blog.).

All of my thinking has led me to realize one thing: I need to start waging war in just about every aspect of my life. War on procrastination, war on selfishness, war on negativity...even war on poop. Oh, yes. Poop. You'll hear it all in the coming days and weeks. Stay tuned.

brothers: the little one

2008-07-16T23:12:00.004-06:00

Here's announcing Jonathan Paul, born July 3 at 6:10 a.m., weighing 10 lbs. 6 oz. and measuring 20.5" long.

We love him, not that I doubted that we would, but he's an easy baby to love. Babies aren't supposed to be this low maintenance--little crying, short feedings, quick down-to-sleep time. It really couldn't be easier. I even had a tendency to forget he was around the first week we were home. Like Chris said today, that wheel's never gonna get oiled because it never squeaks. But squeaky or not, I think the little guy's going to get plenty of lovin', even if he doesn't ask for it. And I'm thinking he may have already gotten plenty from his oldest brother.

Sean loves his baby brother, just as much as he loved his first baby brother, only this time around he can verbalize it better. We've already heard these phrases countless times in the last week and a half:

"Mommy, you think I can be nice at him?" (which really means, "Will you let me love the living daylights out of him?")
"He's just. so. CUUTE!"
"Mommy, you think I can hold him?"
"Hey! JAAAWWW-thiiind! JAW-thind, JAW-thind! Watch this!" [makes funny face] (he's finally catching on that no matter how many times he does it, "JAW-thind" isn't going to laugh)

Sean eagerly moved on over and made room in his little heart and life for his baby brother, just like he did last time, and just like we knew he would again.

It was the middle child we were a little worried about. But so far, there have been no (or very few) hard feelings. Ben's taking it quite well, actually, for which I'm extremely thankful. He readily kisses Jonathan "good night;" comes up to pat him on the head or belly (albeit, none too gently), or to check out his fingers and toes; and he even squatted down in front of Jonathan in the bouncer last night to console him while I finished getting Sean out of the bath.

So, life with three may end up being much easier than anticipated. I suppose things may change, but for now I'm happy with the way four-became-five is so nicely coming along.

baby's toys

2008-06-25T16:21:00.002-06:00

Don't get your hopes up--baby's not here yet. But I had to record this conversation I had this afternoon with Sean. He was sitting on my lap and had pulled my shirt up and we were watching the baby wiggle all over my belly and the following conversation ensued:

S: Mommy, what he doing in there?
M: He's wiggling and squirming all over.
S: Why he wigglin' and squirmin' all over?
M: Well, why do you and Ben wiggle and squirm?
S (with eyes big and round): Mommy, this belly has toys in it?

I love that kid. He's such a great big brother already and he can't wait to be one again. Soon, hopefully, very very soon.

puff, puff, choo, choo...off we go!

2008-05-13T14:27:00.002-06:00

Sean's always--even as a baby--been the type of kid who wouldn't meet any kind of developmental milestone until he knew he could do it quite well. We have ridiculous amounts of video footage of him almost rolling over--he'd roll up onto one side, and then go back to lying on his back. Over and over and over again. So the first time he actually finally did roll, he rolled and rolled and rolled clear across the room. The same type of thing happened with eating and walking and talking. And we can't even think about persuading or coercing him into partially achieving anything--he'll do it on his own when he's good and ready, and not a moment before. Can we say "independent perfectionist"? I wonder where he gets it from?

So, given all that, I knew potty training the child would be quite the experience. We started talking to him several months ago about all the ins and outs of what going on the potty "like a big boy" entailed, since we knew we'd need a big jump start before we actually started training, but anytime we'd bring it up he'd firmly say that he wanted to wear diapers. And I have to admit, I was somewhat afraid that I might have seriously delayed any hope of readiness by unintentionally terrifying the poor kid before we'd even had a chance to start. One night somewhere in the middle of all of this gearing-up-for-the-big-event talk, I was helping him get undressed for a bath, and in my tired, absent-minded, mommy-brain state, I went to put him in the tub, but out of my mouth came, "Okay, Sean, time to go in the potty." Not "on the potty" (which at least would have been a reasonable statement) or "in the tub" (which is what I meant). No, I had to say "in the potty." Oh, the terror that leapt into his eyes. And the kicking of the legs and the thrashing of the arms and the crying and wailing of "NO, MOMMY, NO! I DON'T WANNA GO IN THE POTTY! NO, MOMMY, NO!" I had him halfway into the bathtub before I realized exactly what I'd said and, therefore, what his problem was, at which point instead of apologizing like any decent parent would have done, I started laughing--uncontrollably laughing--at the idea that I had actually uttered those words, but especially at the idea that Sean knew in his heart of hearts that what I had said was exactly what I was doing. Cruel, I know, but you have to admit that it is mildly funny.

Anyhow, despite the potential setback from that little episode, we decided about three months ago to take the plunge (no pun intended)--bought all the necessary "equipment," had a final little chat, and went with it. That lasted all of, oh, maybe a day. He quickly informed me that he was a big boy, but he wanted to go potty in his diapers.

We tried again about a month later with pretty much the same result. He knew he was a big boy and didn't need "big boy underwear" to confirm that fact (I definitely can't complain about his self-esteem). So, instead of trying to constantly realign a derailing potty train, we just parked it at the station for a while until the little conductor got all of his issues worked out. I kept talking to him about using the potty every now and then, with still no interest on his part, and hoping that one day soon he would come around.

And just last week he finally did. I had bought a new potty chair for him early last week (because the first one we got was ridiculously small--who do they think could go in a hole the size of an orange? C'mon.), and told him to tell me when he was ready to start using it (thinking the whole time that maybe it would still be big enough for him as a teenager). Three days later, as I was changing his diaper, he told me he wanted to wear his big boy underwear. I knew I must have heard him incorrectly, or he had forgotten what all went along with wearing that, so I quickly and thoroughly went through everything that he would have to do if he did, in fact, wear his underwear. And lo and behold, he was okay with it.

We're now on day 6 and he's doing quite well. Still having accidents every now and then, still will only pee in the toilet, but we're getting there. And he's finally on board. Now I just have to prepare myself for another derailment when the baby comes. But I think he at least knows by now that mommy will only put him on the potty and not in it.

coming into his own

2008-03-21T08:45:00.002-06:00

Sean recently has been unveiling more and more of his little personality, and it's hilarious. Yesterday, as I was changing his diaper, he made up this song:

"I love to sit in my STINKYYYY DIAPERRR! I love to sit in my STINKYYYY DIAPERRR! I love to sit in my stinky DIAPERRRRRRRRRR!"

Hmmm...and I wonder why pottytraining wasn't going so well?

And a few nights ago when we stopped for gas on the way home from church, he and I had this conversation:

S: Hey, look, there's Daddy!
M: I know, Daddy's going to pump Mommy's gas.
S: Why?
M: Because I don't like getting out after dark at this gas station.
S: Mommy...you have clothes on, are you?
M: Do I have clothes on?!
S: Yeah.
M. Yes, I have clothes on. What does that have to do with anything?
S: 'Tuz, Mommy, it's cold out there!

catching up on ben

2008-03-01T21:16:00.006-06:00

I've been neglectful lately of my second-born. Not literally, I don't think, but in not keeping up with a monthly record of his second year like I did so faithfully for his brother. I suppose that's what happens when you're not the first (as much as I know it pains you, Joanna, to hear that). So, here's a recap of Ben's most important accomplishments the last few months:

Month 13 consisted of finally learning two big things: 1) that it really isn't such a bad idea to go down the stairs feet first on your belly, and 2) that real, big people food really is good. Ben started eating so much table food right about the time that we went to Kansas for Thanksgiving that we joked about leaving him there for a while since he obviously liked Mimi's cooking so much.

In month 14 Ben started learning how to use a fork and spoon--I guess he decided that if he was going to go about this whole table food business, he might as well do it the right way. He also started learning a slew of baby signs. And it didn't take long to realize that he picks up on them quickly--he'd just see us do one once or twice, and then he'd start doing it on his own without prompting. "Drink" and "hat" are the two he has since used most frequently (since drinks and hats are about on par with each other around here).

And then in month 15 the verbal onslaught began. Since Sean never said anything besides "Daddy" and "applesauce" before he was 22 months old, it took me by surprise when Ben, at 14 1/2 months old, blurted out "cah-cah" when he saw me opening up a box of crackers. After that it didn't take long for him to blurt out all kinds of things: "cah" (car), "baw" (ball), "dat-da" (Daddy), just to name a few.

Month 15 was also the month that he started to really take an interest in reading. He'd grab books off his bookshelf or pick them up around the house and just sit in the floor and "read", or if one of us was close by he'd bring it to us and raise up his little arms so he could be picked up and read to.

At his 15-month appointment he weighed 25 lbs. 5 oz. and was 32 1/2 inches long. Still a long guy, as always, but not quite as chubby as usual--he was actually down 4 oz. from his 1-year appointment. Not that he's hurting--he's still got plenty of meat on his bones for us to squeeze.

And then month 16. This last month brought a lot more words--"tzth" (teeth), "chuzz" (cheese), "guh" (yogurt), "ca-ca" (kitty cat), "bi-ba" (bible), "buh" (boo!), "booh" (balloon), "poo" (spoon), "buh-baw" (football)--I can barely keep up with all his new words.

But the hardest part of month 16, probably of the last 4 months overall, was his first haircut. I admit, I put it off until his sweet little baby curls had become an unsightly mullet. I just didn't want to say good-bye to those little curly locks around the back of his head until I absolutely had to. So instead of this...

now our little man looks like this:

I wish he wasn't growing up so fast, but if he stays this handsome, I think I can live with that.

from my friend mary...

2008-02-23T00:01:00.002-06:00

"We can see God everywhere if we know how to look."

one, two, three...

2008-02-18T23:34:00.005-06:00

This day three years ago, Chris and I came home with our 2-day-old firstborn. I don't know where the last three years have gone, but I've loved every minute of them with this kid. I thank God every day for loaning me this precious little boy--sometimes I still can't believe I'm the one who got him. And just when we think things can't get any better and he can't get any cuter or sweeter, they do and he does. And even though I'm proud of the little boy he's quickly becoming, a big part of me is sad that he will soon leave all stages of baby- and toddler-hood behind him forever (if he ever decides to get out of diapers!). So right now I'm just trying to cherish his sweet threesomeness and all the little things he says and does before they leave too, because I so desperately want to remember...

how he wakes up every morning with a smile and boundless enthusiasm for the day
how much he loves his "ohl-neen" (Ovaltine)
how he loves to just sit and look through books at random moments throughout the day
how he likes to "read" to himself before he goes to sleep for a nap
how "the wise man's house" is his most frequently requested bedtime song and after-breakfast Bible story
how he likes to make Ben laugh...and run in circles, and jump on beds, and play "tackle"
how he likes to ask me, "Mommy, play with me hair," especially at bedtime
how he's so quick to come up to us with spontaneous hugs and sweet little, "Mommy/Daddy, I yuv you"
how he has to kiss all three of us good night every night
how he loves cars and trains and airplanes, both real and toy ones
how he loves to eat almost anything, but especially fruit and yogurt and the very rare (and therefore very cherished) sweet treat like a birthday cupcake
how he tries to join in adult conversations like he really knows what's being talked about
how he loves to talk on the phone...to anybody
how he asks most of his questions in yoda-ese ("Mommy, this apple juice, is it?")
how he tries so hard to do everything exactly as it's supposed to be done--three-point stance before a running tackle, dribble and run around before shooting a basket, hike the leg before throwing a baseball--and how he picks up all of that kind of stuff on his own without being taught
how his memory is better than mine and Chris's combined and he'll make reference to obscure things that happened six months ago
how his compassion just gets bigger the bigger he gets ("Mommy, what wrong?")
how he loves going to Bible class and church and seeing all his friends (big and little, but mostly big)
how he seems to get more and more lovable the longer he's around

Here's to you, little buddy. May you always be so quick to laugh and learn and help and love and play, because the world needs more of that. Happy birthday, Sean!

only boys

2008-02-17T22:12:00.004-06:00

Warning: The following post is not for those who are squeamish about calling body parts by their given names and insist on coming up with cutesy nicknames so as to spare themselves, and their children (I suppose), some kind of embarrassment. For everyone else, read on and enjoy.

I challenge any mother of daughters to come up with a conversation quite as interesting as the one I had with Sean last week following his nightly bath:

[Just a sidenote: when Sean asks a question, his voice raises to an increasingly higher pitch, so by the time he's finished with his question and depending on its length, he may be speaking at an octave five times higher from where he started. Keep that in mind...]
Me: Sean, stop playing with yourself so I can finish drying you off.
S: Mommy, what dat?
Me: That's your penis.
S: My peanuts?
Me: Yes, Sean, your penis.
S: Mommy, why dat my peanuts?
Me: Because that's what makes you a little boy. Little girls don't have one of those.
S: Little girls don't have one of those? [The octave change that accompanied this question gave the implication that he was really asking, "You mean, there are people in this world who don't have one of these?! How do they get by?!"]

No, son, little girls don't have one of those. And mommies of little girls don't get to have conversations like this either.

Chris's only concern was that Sean was calling it his "peanuts" and now if anybody offers Sean some real peanuts...well, that could lead to another interesting conversation altogether.

plenty of boy clothes already, but...

2008-02-12T22:16:00.002-06:00

I think baby #3 deserves at least one outfit to call his own! And he shall have it before his debut in June.

Another little boy. I have to say, I'm not surprised, I'm not upset, I'm not disappointed--never was from the moment we found out on Friday. In fact, I find that the more I think about it, the happier I am that we'll have yet another little man in our growing family. After all, with boys as fun and cute and just plain boyish as ours, who couldn't be happy to be getting another one?

And yet I get the feeling that so many people are surprised that we're not disappointed, or they are readily disappointed for us. Even the ultrasound tech apologized when she told us we were having another boy. I think part of it is because most people assume that three kids is our limit--it's not, we've always wanted four; and I think another part of it is that people assume we must be tired of raising boys and ready to move on to something else--we're not, and the little boys we do have are so vastly different that we're quite looking forward to seeing what this next one will be like--they're not little clones by any stretch of the imagination.

No, I can't say I'm in the least disappointed to be a mother of boys. Quite the opposite, actually. I've always had a vision of what an ideal man is, and what every man should be, and it doesn't take much observation to see that the world needs more "real" men--desperately needs them. And I'm thankful that God's giving me the opportunity to help teach at least three little boys what it means to be a man. And I'm especially thankful that they have a living example of godly manhood in their daddy, who I can easily point to and say, "That's what it means to be a man."

Do I want a little girl? Absolutely. I long for one. But if the Lord never blesses me with a daughter, I can honestly say that I will be more than happy with my crop full of little men.