Car Talk

Tonight I was thinking again about something Claire said to me last year when we were driving to dance class.

We were listening to Drew Holcomb's song "Wild World," a favorite of mine.

And there's a lyric in the second verse that goes like this:

"Whether or not you pray, black or white, straight or gay,

You still deserve the love of your neighbor."

Well. 

We're driving along and we come to that part of the song.

And as soon as those words are out, Claire, without skipping a beat, 

said out loud, with emphasis:

"Of COURSE you do!"

I love that she said those words, and I've thought about that little moment so many times.

I hope these four people in my care grow up to be good humans--people who treat others with kindness, respect, love, and compassion.

Topknot

While driving Claire home from dance class today, the combo of this girl plus topknot was killing me. 

 We were listening to Meghan Trainor’s “Better When I’m Dancin’”, a song we both like these days. There’s a lyric in the song that says “I don’t know about you, but I feel better when I’m dancin.” Frequently when Claire hears that line she’ll look at me and say, 

“I actually do, Mom.”

Mmm hmm. Me too.

True words, those.

Sheesh. 

I am loving watching her grow up.

Rhyming

Claire and I got home from dropping the kids off to school on Thursday morning. 

We ate oatmeal together at the kitchen table, and then went outside to retrieve a couple of onions and some carrots from the garden that is almost over.

Came inside, chopped them up with celery, garlic, and red bell pepper, and then threw it all in the crockpot with split peas, water, spices, and chicken bouillon.

I made artisan bread dough and stuck it on the table to rise, and then cleaned up the kitchen.

Then Little Miss and I went into another room and began sorting clothes, a project I HATE.

Let me say this: hate is a strong word, but I am totally intentional here.

When I think of tasks I don't like, this ranks right up there.

When you have to pull down clothes, decide what you're keeping, what you're discarding, what's going to DI, and then clean out drawers to make room for the next size/season of clothes, get them washed, put them away, etc.?

Excuse my French, but it's a pain in the butt.

Flat. out. tedious.

(Ugh and eye roll.) 

What's a girl to do, though?

It had to be done.

So, there we were. I'm dumping out bags and sorting, Claire is oohing and ahhing over various articles and trying stuff on.

At one point she put on a shirt, and I think it might have been made out of wool.

(And here's where I insert that they've clearly been discussing rhyming in preschool and Claire is absolutely taking it to heart. I heard about it one day after I'd picked her up and we were driving home, and another time she ran into the laundry room to inform me that sandwich and witch rhyme. Indeed.

So, clearly, it's on the brain. Hers, that is.

She's trying words on for size.

And now, back to sorting.)

She puts on a shirt.

And I hear her say, kind of muttering to herself, completely oblivious to the expletive: 

"Well this shirt is
itchy bitchy."

And you know what?

I started to quietly laugh and didn't say a word.

And I'm still laughing.

Childhood is beautiful.

#ohmygoshiloveher

This Little Sequence

We were lying in bed next to each other and I snapped these photos in succession.

And the thing I keep thinking is that this little sequence pretty much sums her up.

She is funny, inquisitive, smart, verbal, zesty, surprising, articulate, energetic, full of life, laughter, and energy.

She always wants to go and she always wants to do.

She cries if she's left behind, never wants the party to be over, loves to snuggle, and is kind of a boss.

She always has an opinion and she'll let you know what she thinks. 

If you can't find something, ask Claire. She almost always knows where everything is.

She's insightful and has a vocabulary that amazes me.

I could just eat her up.

This Just In

This woman is my soul sister in at least one regard.

This.

Yesterday, I was sitting on the couch working.

She asked for chocolate. 

(#happenseveryday #andicomplyandsupply) 

She got a bowl and brought me the chocolate chips because I was in the middle of something and wasn't going to go and get a square from my Lindt bar hidden downstairs just then. 

(Chocolate is a real sitch around here, people.)

So, there we were: her next to me, I'm working, both of us eating chocolate chips.

And then, out of the blue, she says to me:

"We're so lucky, Mom."

And I looked at her and said, 

"Why?"

And she looked right back at me and said, 

"Because we have chocolate."

Indeed.

I pretty much adore her.

So Worth It

On the night before her birthday a couple of weeks ago, Claire made me laugh out loud.

We had climbed into my bed, she and I, and I was asking her what she knew about the day she was born.  

She recollected, wrongly, that she was born in the hospital.

To prompt her in the right direction, I asked her where I was when she came out of me.  

Her: "In the bathtub."

Me: "I was in the bathtub. That's true."

And then, she surprised me and I started to laugh when she offered up this little gem:

"You were like, '(Grunt)...it's SO HARD to get out this baby!'"

The grunt was accompanied by a funny, uncomfortable, grimacing expression on her face.

After I stopped laughing, I told her that's kind of how it went down---
that it was pretty painful.

But I also told her 

she was worth it.

  

So worth it.

And this picture is blurry, but it's from four years ago today, when she was just new.

She's much bigger now, and she's a bucket of sass and joy, 

but I love her so.

2:00 AM Negotiations

 Last Sunday night, I fell asleep just after 10:00 while holding my youngest.

After church that day, we'd basically lounged.

Made cranberry orange scones and melted salted butter on them when they were fresh, hot, and sweet from the oven.

Read a couple of chapters from the chapter book we've been reading aloud while lying on my bed after dinner, and Claire fell asleep lying next to me.

Mia and I came back upstairs to clean up dinner.

We turned on some music, and she started scraping plates and wiping down the table while I loaded the dishwasher and took out the trash.

When all was said and done, the three older kids were in their rooms listening to audio books while I took a quiet, solo walk around our neighborhood as it started to get dark.

When I got back, we gathered to say prayer together and Claire came walking in from the other room, having just woken up.

I had her go to the bathroom, and we brushed teeth and changed her into her PJs, and then she and I climbed back in my bed right about 10:00.

And both crashed.

At 2:00 that morning, I woke up and figured I'd better go upstairs and turn off all the lights (and the porch light), cuz I'd left them all on when I'd fallen asleep.

When I went back down, I checked Mia's blood sugars, found she was low, and woke her up to drink some juice.

In the meantime, I moved the smallest one back into her bed, she woke up (again), and promptly started quietly crying because she wanted to sleep in my bed, not hers.

(And I wanted her to sleep in her bed, not mine.)

So, I did some fast thinking.

And this is what came of it.

"Claire, if you stay in your bed, you can help me make waffles with sweet whipped cream and fresh sliced peaches for breakfast."

Silence.

"Okay."

And that, friends, was that.

I walked out, she went to bed, and I crawled into bed and it was luxurious (I almost always have a small person who climbs into my bed and sleeps next to me, but it's nice to be able to stretch out once in a while).

And she was a happy camper the next morning when we made it happen.

But when I think about it, it kinda amuses me.

She wasn't about to be dissuaded; she wanted to be in my bed.

Until I mentioned food, something she loves to eat.

Apparently food carries some serious weight with that lady.

Which, I have to admit, is kinda just like her mother.

Fairy Wings

Over a month ago, I was laying in bed with this girlie next to me (like every night).

And out of the quiet she said,

"Mom.

If we were fairies, we could fly like this."

And she started to move her arms like wings, and added,

"And we'd have wings on our backs."

I gave some sort of affirmation to that point, but really, it was one of those moments that made me quiet in my heart.

I looked at her and thought about the wonder that is being three years old and wondering about fairy wings before drifting off to sleep.

She's Amazing

Just about a week ago, I took a pile of needles off my counter and headed downstairs to the laundry room where I keep our sharps container (an empty laundry detergent jug).  

I could only fit a few more inside before it was crammed full, and the others had to go into a new container.

I snapped this photo, looking down from the opening at the top.

And here's the thing.  

When I went to come back upstairs with the full one, ready to throw it in the trash, I ended up turning back around and leaving it in the laundry room next to the new one.

Funny as it may sound, I couldn't throw it away, though I will eventually.

It seemed flippant to just throw it out, cuz it represents so much more than what it physically is.

Almost seven months ago, I spent two days at the hospital with my gal.
She was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes.  

The only time I saw her waver, at all, in this whole journey that has brought significant changes to her life, was that first night at the hospital.

Because the acidic levels in her body were high and dangerous, they put her on an IV to stabilize her more quickly.  And because of that process, she couldn't eat or drink until the following morning.  I watched her, lying there, trying not to cry, not complaining, and hungry.

I thought about what lay ahead of her: not being able to just eat whenever (or whatever) she wanted, not being able to just grab a cupcake at a birthday party, or eat candy with a friend.  I thought about the fact that she would never be able to put another thing in her mouth without thinking about it.  
And she was only 6.  
It made me so sad, and I worried that she didn't even realize the full implications of what was happening, of what this meant.

I wished that it was happening to me and not her.

When she was finally somewhat comfortable that first night (about 1:00 or 2:00 in the morning), I lay there on the couch-made-into-a-bed in her room, and allowed myself to quietly cry for a moment, allowed myself release to the fear and exhaustion I felt, a way of giving voice to the sadness and overwhelmingness of it all.  I didn't want her to hear me or see me.  

(in the hospital, eating ice cream and watching Mary Poppins)

And then, amazingly, 
miracles started to happen.

I thought we wouldn't get insurance---but we did, and the coverage is incredible.

I was worried about counting carbs and figuring out her doses, since I cook a lot without following a recipe.  Having to input everything for nutritional information seemed overwhelming.

But today?  I don't even really think about it, and I hardly ever input anything anymore.

But the really incredible thing?  

HER.

(Uncle Martin distracting her from being hungry and sad that first night)

I still marvel that she has not complained, EVER.

She has never cried about it, even though it would be totally understandable if she did.

She has never told me that it isn't fair or it isn't fun.
Not one time.

She's the girl that never sneaks a treat, always comes and asks me, makes sure she's dosed before she eats anything -- even candy.

She is patient and has to wait on me a lot to get her set up to eat, and she never complains.

Instead, you know what she said?  

I blogged about it here, but when we talked about what we learned at New Year's, she said this:

"This year, I learned to be brave.  And I learned about having faith that God will lead you out of the mess, whatever it is."

She has handled it with grace and I think I take it for granted just how much it has impacted her life because she makes it look so easy.

When I look at her I see strength and faith, grit and gratitude.

She is a rock, and I love her.

Her example inspires me to try harder, to be better, to not complain.

(so much love on this table from friends and family)

And so, to me, that container is...

A journey.
Faith.
Acceptance.
Miracles.
Learning.
Change.

All of those shots represent accepting--and living with--hard things.

Dealing with big changes, and moving on anyway, with happiness.

And being brave.

She has been so brave.

And she's kinda one of my heroes.

And the other thing is?  

Sometimes I wonder why I still struggle to trust God when things aren't looking exactly how I'd like. In this experience, as in so many others in my life, 
pieces fell into place at exactly the right time.

That's something I have to keep remembering.

TBT

I looked back in Picasa tonight at photos from a year ago today.

These.

I remember exactly what was going on.

It was after dinner.

Music was on.

I was chasing her round and round the front room.

She was running and laughing.

You know, as a parent, you could talk about a lot of things.

It's exhausting, and there's always more to do than can be done.

It can be so totally emotionally draining.

You lose sleep.

Sometimes you don't know what to do. 

No one prepared you for the ways it would stretch you,

the way it would bring out the best and the worst you have to offer.

But, you know what?  

I look at these photos of my smallest daughter tonight, and my heart kind of weeps.

Weeps, because the time is going.

But weeps because there has been SO MUCH JOY.

They are joy.

They are my best teachers.

I can't think of a single thing I wish I would have done instead, or a single place I would rather be.

I can't think of one other thing I'd rather do.

What an incredible ride.

Sassafras

SomeMost times I can't believe she's only two.

Almost three, but wow. 

The spunk and sass packed in this girl is really something else -- and it continues to surprise and amuse me.

She's funny, verbal, delightful, stubborn, prone to snuggling, bossy, confident, opinionated, tender and smart.

And, she's a ham.

Because, I mean...

 the pictures speak for themselves.

She makes us laugh.  

All. The. Time.

A Rainy Day Is A Cookie Day

This morning when I came upstairs about 7:30, trying to get my weary body to wake up, 

I felt cozy because of the weather.

It was breezy out and the sky was overcast---full of deep, dark, puffy clouds that made the morning darker than normal.

It stormed off and on all day.

At one point, I went out to run (weather like that often makes me want to put my shoes on and get out in it).  

I slipped out the door.  Those dark clouds were low on the mountains; a storm was setting in.  I began to run, loving the breeze.  Within a block, raindrops started.  At first, it was light, but by the end of my run?  I was in a downpour.  I was running hard, soaking wet, listening to a Weepies mix on YouTube.  

I felt invigorated, alive, strong.

When I came in the front door, my littlest gal was waiting for me.  

I turned on the kitchen lights and while the storm continued outside, 

we made something warm and sweet inside.

My favorite line of the afternoon came from her after I had dumped sugar into the mixing bowl and then put the rest of it away.  When I turned back around, she was dipping her finger into it. She kind of cocked her head and, looking at me slyly, said, 

"Sugar: it's kinda nummy."

Made me laugh out loud.

(This girl, I tell you.)

But, yeah.  I agree.

Especially if there's chocolate involved.

Nola

One of my go-tos of late?

This.

This particular recipe of granola that I love so much.

Lately I put in on top of vanilla yogurt in the morning with some fresh chopped fruit.

Oh my.

It's a staple---and when we run out, another batch is in the making pretty pronto.

This little gal asks for "nola."

She was up on the counter when I was making it recently and once everything was mixed in, I caught her taking whole spoonfuls raw.

 I can't blame her, cuz I often do the same thing.

Once you dump it out of the mixing bowl and spread it all around with your bare hands to bake, it's pretty hard not to do this.

What's not to love about something healthy, tasty, and a cute little face like that?

Nursings

Confession: I still nurse my baby, who really is no longer a baby. 

I'm actually feeling ready to cross the threshold, but she won't be happy about it and so I've lingered.  And honestly, there's always a part of me that's always been sad when I've stopped nursing one of my babies.  It is saying goodbye to something I love -- to tiny little hands and snuggling in and a warm little body wrapped up around yours, fast asleep.

She wants to nurse, buuuuut.  She also regularly smears lipstick all over her lips, talks with some sass, surprises me with her understanding, contributions, personality, wit, and charm. 

She sings songs to herself, is the smallest chief (but maybe the loudest), is self assured, confident, opinionated, and relatively uninhibited.  I get a kick just sitting back and watching her, find myself exasperated by her at times, and she frequently has me in stitches.

Like last night.  

She got home from being with her dad and came downstairs and into my room to find me.  She started this biting-my-arm game that had happened earlier and we were making this 

face at each other and busting up laughing.  I couldn't help but feel like I could just eat her and her cuteness all up.

Then, fast forward a few minutes later.

Teeth are brushed.  We gathered and said prayer.  Tuck my boys in, and my gal.  

Came back with the small one to my room to change her diaper and start the process of putting her to sleep.

She's on the floor in her diaper.  As I change her, she's touching her chest and telling me that she has nipples.  And then that I have nipples.

I tell her that we all have nipples.  

We kind of have a repeat of sorts.  

She has nipples.  Check.  

And then I say, "And I have nipples," to which she fired right back, 

"No! You have NURSINGS!"

Made me crack right up.  

And then I snuggled her up and just looked at that cute little bundle in my arms and felt grateful that, tho she is getting big, I can still hold her, ALL of her, in my arms.

For now.