it’s christmas eve

We’re spending Christmas in Dallas this year, staying with the Great Grandparents, and trying to keep the crazy to a minimum.

Of course, since it’s Christmas Eve, that means the crazy still has to happen.

quite a whirlwind autumn

It became very windy outside today. Georgia, my neighbor, remarked on how fast the clouds had been moving all day. The clouds at all levels were speeding by, as if to whisk us into winter more quickly than we’d like.
And that’s what they’ve been doing.

After an exceptionally balmy day, I can feel the chill creeping in from my still-cracked-open windows. I don’t want to shut them–I love the fresh air–but soon it will come time for us to shut up the house in the evenings completely, and hide under our down blanket for warmth.

And although you can get cabin fever, there’s plenty of warmth to be had indoors–warmth of all kinds.

first day of preschool!

Ruth had her first day of preschool yesterday. The dropoff went rather smoothly. Contrary to stories I had heard about other mothers, I didn’t get emotional when I dropped her off. Rather, I found myself waxing sentimental when I saw Steve pull up to our parking space, and pull a sleepy toddler out of the car. She’s my big girl now, I thought.

It’s a large change in the life of a parent when your child starts having experiences without you around. Of course, that’s what growing up entails–more independence. To me, it’s frightening and exhilarating to think of all the things that my children will do, say, explore, and more, without me. They’re vulnerable, but you have to let go in order to let them learn, and to let your heart stretch a little bit too.

In a way, it’s a good thing that human dependence lasts for comparatively long; I don’t think parents are built for a mere six week infant-to-adolescent transition, like a kitten. However much we long for our kids to think for themselves, we’re just as enthralled with their neediness as they are with us.

None of these thoughts are new, of course. There’s nothing new under the sun. But she’s my first, and so with her, so much of life is new, like the first sounds of birds in the morning. The changes she goes through are like whiffs of seasons in the air. Tonight I dressed her brother in a red sleeper she wore a year ago. Has it been that long?

Home again, home again

We’re home. We’re unpacked. It took almost a whole week, but we did it.

What I’m most excited about is this: in the process of packing and unpacking, I managed to get rid of an astounding amount of stuff. Old posters, items we hadn’t used in years, and useless junk that we somehow held on to thinking it was really meaningful made its way to the trash. Interesting books, my framed artwork, kids’ clothes, and other useful do-dads went to friends, family, or the thrift store.

I feel so much lighter now, and that when we move out of seminary, our moving van will be able to accommodate everything with room to spare. Having just what we need (and maybe a little more) is exactly the way I like to feel.

This is new to me; I used to think I was a collector. I collected books, sea shells, random interesting junk that struck my fancy. After reading Your Money or Your Life, my habits towards my belongings came under fire–what was I doing with all these random collections taking up space? I didn’t cherish them; they irked me. I felt obligated to keep them for–well, I couldn’t figure out the reason, really.

And so I got rid of a bunch of them. And now I feel better. I’m going to keep up the de-cluttering habit on a weekly basis from now on; it will keep me excited and mentally liberated to take great care for the items I genuinely value and enjoy.

Musings before bed

I’m singing Ruth to bed. I’ve been doing that ever since she was born. She’s an anxious girl, nervous about going to sleep on her own. I don’t blame her. She’s always been small for her age, and I’d like to think that made her feisty.

The sound of my voice stops her from talking. It helps her calm down enough to close her eyes. Lately, because she’s scared to lie down, I tell her that when I sing, she can lie down, because it makes “all the bad stuff go away.”

Wouldn’t it be great if I really had that magical power, eh?

Lucas, however, must be held and cuddled to bed. I don’t think the singing matters as much for him. For him, it’s all about touch and closeness; knowing you’re near through the electricity of contact.

Lucas goes to bed much more easily than Ruth now, but he’s a lighter sleeper. Go figure. I can sit next to Ruth and yell her name, and she won’t budge.
What a pair.

The scar

Lucas nestled in my arms this afternoon, nursing quietly in between fits of talkativeness and enthusiastic whapping of various toys. I held his left arm–thick and padded–in my hand. I thought about the miniature skeleton underneath it, so delicate and sturdy at the same time.

Then, I noticed it–his scar.

A few weeks ago, we discovered that Lucas was strong enough to open the oven door entirely on his own. We learned it the hard way. Yes, he cried, but not nearly as much as his injury warranted. An ugly scab formed in a loose crescent shape on his left forearm. As with many childhood injuries, it dissipated quickly, almost miraculously.

The skin is now pink and smooth in a plastic way, as though someone taped the scar on to his soft, delicate baby skin. I’m sure it will fade easily over time. I may grow to miss the scar, even, because it symbolizes my boy’s strength and curiosity.

I hope he’s learned his lesson about ovens, though.

Home, home, home

I’m back from Texas, and have been for awhile now. I had the strange feeling upon returning home, that I wasn’t truly “home,” but merely on another leg of my travels. It’s taken a week or so of normal life–laundry, dishes, diapers–to shake that feeling, and find contentment in being settled until we visit Baltimore for Christmas.

We’re settled, but not completely. I have mounting anxieties about our finances, about employment, about the loose strings that moving has created. I won’t go into the complicated details, but applying for food stamps and state health benefits has turned into a game of setting up dominoes in just the right positions so that one falls right after another. It feels as though there are 27 steps for each document I need to prove that we are who we say we are, live where we say we live, and need what we say we need.

Experiencing a New England autumn again has made up for this, however. Crisp air and that familiar temperate forest smell evoke powerful childhood memories for me. I’m remembering what it means to layer clothing, and discovering that my wardrobe is sorely lacking in chilly New England essentials. I curse Baltimore for making me a weather wuss.

The kids are very healthy (at the moment), and lucky for us, the dreaded H1N1 vaccine shortage won’t hit home; Ruth has had her first dose, while Steve and I will get ours this week. It’s nice to have a toddler whose nose I don’t need to wipe every ten minutes, and a baby breathing easy and phlegm-free.

Thanksgiving is nigh upon us; Steve’s parents will be up for a visit to get their hit of Ruthie’s energy and Lucas’ baby smiles. Both my brothers will return to Natick, and we will gather around the table like old times, and perhaps even say the family grace with gusto:

God is great, God is good
and we thank him for our food.
By his hands we are fed
we thank him for our daily bread.
Rub-a-dub-dub, thanks for the grub!
Yay, God!

(Mom always tried to make us drop that last bit.)

…

(See my October family photos, too!)

Nervous Anticipation

I leave for Baltimore today.
It’s going to be strange, returning to the home-that-is-no-longer-my-home. I’m nervous, mostly about leaving my kids for so very long. I won’t see Ruth until we meet in Austin, and Lucas will be away from me for large stretches of the days ahead. I know it’s partly my control-freak tendencies, but also the part of me that wants to cling to something secure and familiar.
People do this all the time, I keep telling myself.
It’s still strange to be caught between worlds. Hopping across the country as though the boundaries and miles didn’t matter is simultaneously reassuring and disconcerting.
But before I embark on my journey, I wanted to share a few highlights. First, Stephen singing at St. George’s in Norwood, MA, with a crowd of other seminarians. Ruth shared books with Lucia, a fellow toddler.

Secondly, an example of Ruth miming what mommy does with a phone and a baby.

And last, an unsuspecting victim.

Lucas’ Birth Story

Lucas Mathewes arrived, scheduled but suddenly, on August 27th at 1:52 PM. 7lbs, 8oz, and 22 inches long. A hefty, healthy boy, with a full head of dark hair, and dark navy eyes.

Late pregnancy tired me out; I had been uncomfortable for weeks. Between trips to the bathroom and kicks to the ribs, I was up at all hours. A few days prior to my due date (the 22nd), I had a rough night of contractions that had me thinking, “This is it!” Steve timed them–they were strong.

Well, it was a total fakeout. The next day, the doctor checked me; 4cm dilated. “How are we not having this baby?” Steve kept asking me. I’d shrug, and keep drinking raspberry tea and going on long walks to try to get labor started.

The next week, I was almost 5cm dilated. When the doctor said she’d be happy to break my water, I was surprised when Steve and I looked at each other, and said, “Yes.” Lucas was already big (I could tell), and since labor tends to go more quickly the second time around, we didn’t want to end up having a kid in the backseat of a car. The doctor scheduled us for August 27th.

Thursday the 27th came. Our bags had been packed and prepared for the hospital for weeks now; we were ready. Frederica (Mamou), Stephen and I got up early and drove to the hospital. Aunt Megan and Fr. Gregory (Papa) watched Ruthie, and waited for news.

At the hospital, all our waiting was compounded and exacerbated by paperwork and procedures–very anti-climactic. I was itching to get going. I paced in my gown and socks. Steve seemed to twitch, and I felt badly that Frederica had gotten up so early to be with us and there wasn’t much going on.

But then the doctor came in. I was nervous, and unsure of what to expect. I knew that once my water broke, it could mean complications. It meant I wasn’t going to leave the hospital for awhile. It meant that, one way or another, I would have a baby boy in my arms at last.

And I did–I held him that afternoon. The doctor broke my water at 10:30, and let me walk the hallways. Each contraction was markedly more intense than the last. After an hour or so of walking and leaning on Steve, trying to hold conversation between contractions with Frederica, I gave up and got onto the bed. I lay down, I tossed, I hung over the edge. The pain was so much more intense than what I remembered; upon reflection it was a blessing to have had Ruth in the middle of the night, and have sleep-deprivation and passing out to dull the experience a bit.

I was wide awake, wildly aware. “I wanna die,” I said. “I don’t know if I can do it,” I said. The doctor checked me–7cm dilated. “REALLY?” I said, astonished. In a flash, I thought, “I could ask for the drugs,” but then the moment was gone in a sea of even more intense contractions and downward motion. In mere minutes, it felt, I was ready to push.

And push I did. For a half hour, I pushed. I strained. I struggled to feel the right muscles and make use of each contraction. I was losing steam and feeling defeated. Frederica and Stephen held my hands, encouraging me, helping me to breathe, making me try anew. The sooner I got this baby out, the sooner everything would be over and I’d feel that relief and happiness of The End of something that is also A Beginning.

That was Lucas’ beginning. He arrived at 1:52, squalling. “He’s here?” I said, with disbelief. I could still feel the contractions of afterbirth and felt twinges from a 3rd degree tear, but enjoyed the heavenly falling-in-love moments with him on my chest in the midst of the pain. I smiled, I relaxed. I looked at Steve and Frederica and my newborn son, freshly arrived. It was done.

Big sister visited the next day; disoriented and curious, Ruth looked wide-eyed around the room at the strange furniture. Thrilled to see me, she leaped into my arms and gave me a big hug. Then, she noticed Mamou holding Lucas, and started pointing out all his features–eyes, nose, ears–with an excited squeak.

And here we are now, a family of four. A new personality creates a new dynamic for us to learn and enjoy. I’m sure we’ll have our share of frustration from time to time, but meanwhile the new addition to the family has made quite a splash.
Welcome, Lucas Alexander. You are loved!

And Then There Were Two

I’m officially a mom of two. I’m outnumbered when alone. There’s one for each of us when Steve is by my side.

I’m also the parent of a willful toddler (but what toddler isn’t willful, really?).

Lucas is–to be horribly cliche–his own person. He’s not at all what I remember Ruthie being like. She clung to me like a burr to a wool sweater. She needed me to co-sleep and nurse her to dreamland every night. She woke me every two hours for the first three months of her life.

In the past two nights (I’ll say it though I don’t want to jinx it), Lucas has let me sleep for 5 hour chunks of time. FIVE HOURS, I tell you. And he readily sleeps by himself in the baby swing. It’s utterly astounding.

He’s a hungry kid; during the day he’ll nurse every 2-3 hours. Every now and again cry to be held. Since he’s a boy, I’ve had to look out for the pee fountain at diaper changes. Boy, does he like to fill his pants, too.

He’s a big kid; nearly two pounds larger than Ruth at birth (5lbs 12oz vs. 7lbs 8oz), and just a few days ago weighed in at 8lbs 3oz–already gaining weight in the first week.

We gave him his first bath yesterday. He is one week old.

…

Ruth seems okay with him being around. She’s fascinated. She won’t leave him alone. She likes to put toys and extra binkies in his swing with him. She likes to shake the swing to rock him (which we discourage, of course), and tries to sit in the swing like he does when he’s not there (which we also discourage, since she’ll break it). She asks to hold him. She tries to pick him up herself.

But she’s also started throwing tantrums, and had a few tough nights going to bed. She’s a good girl, very obedient, and normally a dream at bedtime and naptime. We’ve had consistency, living at Steve’s parents’ house. In about a week we’ll throw all that consistency out the window and fly to Boston. Hopefully she won’t be too disoriented.

She’s going to really miss her grandparents, Papa and Mamou. I’m going to miss them, too, because watching her play and engage with them is one of my favorite things to do.

…

Soon, I’ll write his birth story, as well as a general reflection on all the crazy stuff that’s happened to us since July.

P.S. See more photos of Lucas here.