So, so...UBER.

I recently (um, Monday) hung out my shingle as a Reliable Data Transcriptionist. My cousin Sarah helped set me up with the University and posted flyers all over the place advertising my services. Not only that, but she already had a project lined up for me transcribing interviews for a fellow Doctoral student.

It has been uber-interesting; first of all, the general theory is that one hour of audio will take about three hours to transcribe. My first hour took more like . . . seven. I completed the transcription during three separate sleep cycles for my kids: During the first cycle, I worked for three hours and completed 19 minutes of audio. (That is definitely NOT the rate to stay at.) During the second cycle, I doubled my rate of production, and during the third, I doubled that, So things are looking up. Second of all, getting back to the uber-interesting-ness of it all, my first interview dealt with MATH. So, you know, it was right up my alley.

But you know when you get in a groove, and you just can't stop until you're done? That happened to me last night, and I ended up awake until after 1 am finishing the interview. And even after I lay down, my mind was still abuzz. I must have played 20 games of electronic solitaire before I was able to drift off.

Needless to say (but I always say it anyway), when Charis woke up at 7:30 this morning, I was not eager to get up and care for her. So, like any good, responsible parent would, I turned on PBS for her and told her to stay quiet so Mama could sleep some more. She's three, though, so not prone to being quiet for hours--or even minutes--on end, and it was not long before I was thoroughly annoyed that I had ever decided to procreate. Some minutes later, after I had caved in to her endless prattling about bagels and cream cheese and given her sustenance, I crawled back into bed, wanting to sleep for at least another century. It was at this point that my annoying child approached me.

"Hey!" she said, gently smoothing my hair and kissing my forehead. "I love you, sweetie."

I immediately swept her into my arms, smothering her with kisses and apologizing for the copious amount of TV she had been allowed to watch and the neglect she had suffered at my hand.

Or not so much. I mean, I was still really, really tired. But I was no longer annoyed, and even felt a few warm fuzzies toward the girl, which is not really a bad way to start the day after all.

God's Faithfulness and Stuff

I have a lot of updates to do--namely, an update on our construction progress and, you know, updates on the kids and their growth--but the amount of pictures and editing thereof and whatnot has me feeling slightly overwhelmed. For now, I will settle for this: a post about God's faithfulness in our lives.

Well, as most of you know, Abe is in the holding pattern of seasonal layoff, and has been since the first week in December. We fortunately had a little bit of money saved, and Abe has been able to draw unemployment, but the real sustaining wonder has been God's provision through others' kindnesses. I know I've written about that before, but it is fresh in my mind, since we just received another anonymous gift yesterday. I knew what it was even before I opened the envelope, and, knowing I would certainly cry when I saw what was in it, I made Abe open it. I cried anyway.

I just finished reading the Stephen King book The Girl Who Loved Tom Gordon. The story is about a little girl, lost in the woods, who gets a measure of help and comfort from a vision of Red Sox pitcher Tom Gordon. Gordon is a closer, and apparently, his trademark move is to point to the sky, toward God, after a save. In the book, the little girl asks him why he does this.

"I point," he says, "because it's God's nature to come on in the bottom of the ninth."

Well, is this theologically accurate? Not completely. But it feels that way sometimes: you're hopeless, hopeless, hopeless, and then bingo--in the bottom of the ninth, just when you need it, God comes through and shows Himself in such a way that He is unmistakable. Does that mean he wasn't there until then? Absolutely not. But maybe those moments of despair make the skies a little clearer to see Him in.

I mention that to say that yesterday was feeling like the bottom of the ninth to me; we've reached the point where we've almost exhausted our savings, and we've got some big bills coming up. The really big stuff--mortgage, heat--is fine. We'll be fine for those. But our cushion is growing mighty thin, and after doing the math yesterday, I was really feeling the stress of it. And then I got the mail, and we received this anonymous gift, and it felt like God really came on. Enclosed with the gift was this tiny note:

"Please consider this a gift from the Lord!

Philippians 4:19-
And my God will meet all your needs
according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus."

Amen, right?

But wait, there's more...

We've also had some cause for concern lately related to my pregnancy. A few Fridays ago, we had an ultrasound. We were able to see our baby in 3-D, which was absolutely overwhelming and wonderful. But the technology, you see, has improved since my ultrasounds with the other two kids, and the better technology means a better look at what's really going on. Which means we have a greater chance of seeing some potentially scary stuff.

In this particular ultrasound, we saw two things we weren't expecting to see. The first, placenta previa, caught me by surprise and wasn't even a complication I'd considered. My placenta is so low-lying that it's blocking the baby's exit and may be cause for a C section. We're praying that it won't come to that, but until we see that it has moved out of the way, I am on somewhat restricted activity, which includes not picking my kids up too much (yeah, sure) and stepping away from playing volleyball. Bummer. Still, I know of several women who had a similar diagnosis and everything ended up working out just fine, so we're waiting and praying about that one.

The second thing we saw was called EIF, which is short for something that means "calcified spots on the baby's heart." Echo-something-foci. While this is not life-threatening in any way, it does double our chances of having a baby with Downs Syndrome. Other risk factors--age, family history--are in our favor, and other indicators of Downs were not present, so chances are that this will ultimately amount to just a few spots. But the possibility of raising a Downs child and all that entails is something I'm trying to prepare myself for without obsessing about it (a tall order, for sure).

In it all, God is still God. And when it all comes down to it, He has never--and will never--make a mistake. His faithfulness is great in little things like gift cards and bills, and great in big things like pregnancy. What a comfort to know that in the bottom of the ninth, and in every inning leading up to it, and even in the things after that, God is there.

Sounds Just Like Her Mama

Judah was being obstinate. I had just told him No for some reason, and he was not pleased with me, so he knocked over the galvanized bucket full of matchbox cars in protest. Charis turned to him, sternly looking him square in the face.

"Judah!" She said. "You need to watch your tude-a-tude!!"

I could barely contain myself. "Charis, what did you just say?"

She glanced into space and worked it out. "Tude-a-tude. Tude-a . . . ATTITUDE! Judah, you need to watch your ATTITUDE!"

I suppose she's heard me say that a time or two . . .

It Was A Dark And Stormy Night

Here's the story Charis told me at bedtime tonight:

One day, Aunt Beth went into the forest, and there were many creepy things there. She saw some pirates, and they poked her all over with their hand-hooks. She was very frightened, so she ran away from the pirates into a very small, warm cave. She stayed there until the pirates told her it was safe to come out. Then they all had a picnic and they ate turkey.

Of course, it took much longer for us to get through it when she told me firsthand, but she liked her story so much that she kept asking me to "read it again."

When I asked her to tell a story about Daddy and Judah, it was strangely similar. But instead of pirates, there were bears. And instead of one warm cave, Daddy had a big cave and Judah had a small one, and they were both very cold. She never got to the end of that story, but I think it's safe to assume that a picnic and some turkey were probably involved.

The Potty Saga Continues

This time, it's Judah.

This morning, when I awoke, I turned immediately to go upstairs to use the restroom. I'm pregnant; it's what I do. Judah was already awake and greeted me as I exited the bedroom, and when I turned to go upstairs and informed him I was heading up to the bathroom, he started frantically shouting, "ME! ME! ME! ME!"

"You want to go to the potty?" I asked.

"YEAH!" he replied. And he did want to--that much was clear. He spent the next 10 minutes on the potty--a few minutes on the big one, then a few minutes on the little one, then back to the big one, and so on and so forth. He made a few mentions of what he anticipated to do on the potty, but I largely disregarded them, because the diaper I removed from him before he sat on the potties showed evidence that he was really all done in that area.

Charis came up to use the restroom herself, and Judah and I had wandered back to the little potty to sit for a spell. Then, hearing that Charis was all done, he headed back for the big potty with a determined look on his face. He clearly meant business.

I watched in horror/amusement as he quickly ran to the toilet, aimed his little self in the general direction of the bowl, and did his thing. All over the side of the toilet and the floor.

Well, at least he's got the right idea. Now we've just got to get him some shoes with lifts so his target practice can be a little more accurate!

What You Want, Baby, You Got

Just a few minutes ago, Abe was out working on the addition, with the radio tuned to some radio program called "Retro Lunch." Apparently, during the lunch hour, this particular station plays retro pop favorites.

Imagine our delight that much of what is deemed "retro" was popular when we were in high school.

Anyway, I heard Abe whoop giddily, and he cranked up the volume on the radio. I immediately recognized the distinctive bass line of that oldie-but-goodie Young MC classic, "Bust a Move."

Oh, yes.

So immediately, Abe and I were transported back to our youth, and I hustled out onto the addition to have a little impromptu dance party, with the kids trailing behind me in a scene from "90s pop Pied Piper of Hamelin."

Well, normally, Charis and Judah can bust a move with the best of them. But they're never really seen us strut our stuff.

The result apparently horrified them.

Charis actually stood next to me, tugging on my shirt and softly saying, "No, mama, no." Meanwhile, Judah stood across the room next to Abe, absolutely still and transfixed by the train wreck that was his mother's dancing. We tried to encourage him to groove a little himself, but he was apparently too mortified to try.

And all I'm thinking is, if my dancing affects them this strongly when they are but mere toddlers, imagine the effect it will have when they're teenagers.

Oh, yes.

3 Days, 2 Nights

. . . that's how long it has been since Charis has worn a diaper. She asked us two nights ago if she could try to sleep in her underwear, and we figured, gotta try sometime! She had already had a few successful naps sans diaper, so we knew it was becoming more and more likely she could go all night without an accident. And she did. One down, one to go! (Abe's goal is to have Judah potty trained by the end of summer. Man, wouldn't that be nice. Improbable, but nice.)

A Whole Lot of Nothing

I know it has been a while since my last post, and I feel really, really bad about that. I know I should be doing a more thorough job of documenting life here, but the thing is . . . there just hasn't been much to document.

Well, we won our volleyball game against Second Christian Reformed Team 1 last night, but I think that was predestined. Tee hee.

And when we got home at close to 9 pm, Judah was still awake, and remained so until 10 pm, probably because his deadbeat mother let his afternoon nap last until 6:15 pm.

Then this morning, Charis woke up at about The Crack of Dawn o'clock because she had to use the potty, and of course, no one could sleep after that--except Abe. He's pretty resilient that way, the lucky duck. Of course, he let me sleep in on Tuesday morning, so I can't complain too much, even though I try.

And then my kids started in with the whining--Judah because he wanted to nurse, which we don't do anymore, and Charis, because she wanted a bagel and cream cheese. Pleeeeeeease? I just want a bagel and CREAM CHEESE!!!! Pleeeeeeease cheese I want bagel please cheesebagel bagel bagel bagel.... This went on for so long despite my command for the whining to stop that she lost all bagel and cream cheese privileges. She later settled for a few Kraft singles and half of an english muffin, which, in retrospect, is about as close as you can come to a bagel and cream cheese without having one.

Today, I'm trying to move mountains of laundry and help Charis finish up her gopher Buddies pages.

So, see? You haven't missed much. But as soon as I have something remotely interesting to say, I'll be back, I promise.

Thank You

God never ceases to amaze me. I don't know why; His timing is perfect, His provision complete, His love unfailing. You'd think I'd come to expect it around every corner. Here's our story in a nutshell: Abe found out two days ago that it may be March before there is work available again. I had just used up the rest of one of the kids' Christmas gift cards to buy groceries, and have been constantly worried about money. So why was I surprised when we received an anonymous gift of money and grocery gift cards last night?

As soon as my friend Joni, the carrier of the gift, handed me the envelope, I suspected its contents. I opened it anyway. I pulled out this perfectly timed gift from someone wonderful and immediately started sobbing out of relief and gratitude. I don't know who gave it; they choose to keep that secret, making it difficult for me to know who to properly thank. I feel like I should thank everybody I meet, just in case. Whoever it was, they can't know what an indescribable blessing they have been to our family.

I'm writing this post for a couple of reasons:
1) To put my appreciation out there. I have no idea if the giver even knows about this blog. But maybe they do, and maybe by reading this, they will know how touched and thankful I am for their overwhelming generosity in our time of need.
2) To testify to God's never ending goodness. We have been blessed by so many, in unexpected ways--from money from a dear family member that helped us pay the mortgage, to this gift that helps us feed our family. People have given us these gifts, but I firmly believe that they were given with His prompting. God hasn't made us rich in dollars through these gifts, but He has continually reminded us of the richness of His love and blessing.

To whomever thought of us with this gift, we can't thank you enough! God has used you to bless us in a way you can't have predicted. And to the rest of you, take a moment to reflect on God's goodness and provision in your lives. It doesn't always show up when we're expecting it or in the way we expect to receive it, but it always shows up. Praise the Lord!!

Charis Sings the Classics, part 2

Charis just walked into my bedroom singing that old Sunday School classic, "God Loves a Stiffer Giver." Apparently our denomination doesn't encourage tithing amongst the preschool set.

Oh, the Humanity

Quite a while ago, Judah developed the amazing talent of climbing out of his crib. Though we tried to discipline him to stay in, our efforts were fruitless, and in the end, we were beat. We ended up turning his crib, a sleigh-style crib, around, so that the high back was in the front, and the low front was in the back. The new front of his crib is so high that we cannot even put him down in his crib without using a step stool, so we figured we were safe from any more crib escapes.

Until last night.

I heard a ruckus up there after the kids were supposed to be asleep. I rose from my comfy chair and climbed the stairs to reprimand my daughter, who I assumed was the cause of the ruckus. It turns out that she was not. Instead, it was Judah standing at the bedroom door, looking guilty.

"How on earth did you do that?" was all I said, but it was enough for Abe to ascertain what had happened and come see it for himself.

Needless to say, we were both stunned.

So when we heard Judah climb out at too early an hour this morning, we started brainstorming additions to the crib that might persuade him to stay in: barbed wire, netting, and a series of 2x4s all came up, but I'm sure we weren't thinking clearly, it being so early. Chicken wire would certainly suffice.

Oh, of course I kid. But really. I'm just not quite sure how we're going to make it through this tragic development...

Okay, Charis says it's time for me to stop working and get off the "Pooter." Have a great day!

Grocery Store Phenomenon

Today I ran a couple of errands with the kids. We struck out on our first two stops, at JCPenney and World Market, but were successful at our third, Meijer. Of course, Meijer had the easiest task: Stocking milk and eggs. The other two stores had a more difficult row to hoe: JCPenney needed to carry some cute maternity athletic pants (which they do not), and World Market needed to supply an (apparently) obscure Middle Eastern spice I'm looking for, Sumac (ditto).

But what I really want to mention about our errands is a special "Family Friendly" checkout lane I saw today at Meijer. I'd never heard of such a thing, so even though it meant waiting behind a lady with no family and a very very full cart, I was willing to give it a go. The premise is this: this particular checkout lane is not stocked with any sort of toys or candy, thereby reducing temptations for little ones. What they do not take into account, however, is that kids aren't only interested in toys and candy; Charis, for instance, is more than happy to while away our minutes in line playing with the bins of sundries like nail files and tweezers. And Judah isn't attracted to the candy bars, necessarily. He is also grabbed by small, brightly-colored bags of Trail Mix, which, while certainly a healthier option than a Kit Kat, are not something I'm going to spend money on. Long story short, I saw that the Family Friendly lane was every bit the minefield a normal checkout lane is, and I decided to go instead to the Express checkout lane, where there was no waiting. So while there was--gasp!--candy in the Express lane, we were not there long enough for it to tempt. We escaped the store without incident, and without candy. Take THAT, Family Friendly lane.


Money Talks

Speaking of avoiding candy, we've abandoned our sticker/sucker system of potty rewards.

It worked well enough in the beginning, when Charis was using the potty once a day. We can certainly allow one sucker a day for a reward. But when she started using the potty with more regularity (no pun intended) and was demanding several suckers a day, we knew something had to change. We shifted to smaller pieces of candy--whatever I had around--and that was fine, but she was still consuming more than her share of candy per day. Add to that the fact that if Charis has candy, Judah wants some, too, so then we had TWO battles to fight every time Charis used the toilet.

Two days ago, I had a brainstorm that seems to be working fairly well: pennies. Charis loves to put money in the piggy bank, so I decided to make that the reward. I counted out fifty pennies and put them in a bowl next to the piggy bank. Every time she uses the potty, she gets to put pennies into the bank. When she has transferred all of the pennies from the bowl to the bank, she gets to go pick out her very own candy bar at the store. That reduces us to candy every two weeks or so--certainly a much better ratio than 4 candies a day. Also, with pennies, we can subtract from the bank if she chooses not to use the potty as recommended, or up the ante with special large-amount penny rewards for bigger feats, like staying dry through the night.

So far, so good!

Judah 1; Charis 0

We reached a new level of disgusting-ness last night.

Abe and I were downstairs and the kids had gone upstairs to play, which is fairly normal. Charis has been a bit whiny lately, so we weren't particularly alarmed when she began to whine, and were even a little annoyed when her whining turned into full-fledged crying. Gee whiz, we thought. Suck it up, kid. But then Charis came to the top of the stairs, wailing. "I'm all wet!" she cried.

Abe got up and went to see what all the fuss was about. "YHoly Cow, you really are wet!" he said. "Wha--what is th--Judah! What did you do?"

All of a sudden, my mother's intuition kicked in. I feared the worst. A glance over to the potty chair, where the potty cup was conspicuously missing, confirmed my fear: Charis was wet, but not with water. Oh, no. She had used the potty chair mere seconds before she'd gone upstairs, and somehow, Judah had stealthily removed the cup and carried it upstairs with him, and emptied the cup...on his sister's head.

Needless to say, Charis was rushed to the bath, and Judah was not far behind her.

Oh Concolor Fir, Oh Concolor Fir...

Well, I'm seriously trying to play catch-up here. I am about to post photos of our outing to cut down our traditional Concolor Fir Christmas Tree, while at the same time procrastinating taking it down. I vowed I'd post about the tree while it was still in our house, and I am just barely making it under the wire.

There are a few traditions we observe in our tree-cutting outing. First: with the exception of Jed and Lindsay, who don't have room for a tree just yet, we go out as a whole family. It takes two very full trucks, but somehow, we all fit: Grandpa and Yia Yia, Moriah, Tim, Beth, Gideon, Elise, Abe, me, Charis, and Judah. This will not be the case next year, when we will have at least one more member in our family. Then, we'll have to take three trucks, environment be darned.

Second: we always get Concolor Firs. My history with live trees is short--when I was growing up, we always, always had artificial trees--so admittedly, I'm no Christmas tree expert. But a few years ago, we came upon these wonderful trees whose needles were just the right length, and soft, and when broken or crushed, those just-right needles give off a very pleasant citrus-y scent. There's only one place in our area that sells these trees, so hopefully, their business will flourish for years to come, so that we can always have the tree we want.

Third: our newest tradition is that we (our immediate family only) always go ill-prepared in the winter wear department. Last year, Charis had no boots, so we put plastic bags on her feet underneath her tennis shoes. How apropos. Judah had a snowsuit and hat of two very, very different prints; he was warm, but hard to look at. This year, though Charis' boots from last year still fit, we had only her old (too small) snowsuit, which kept riding up, exposing her very delicate calf. We also had only a pitiful pair of mittens for her, mittens that, though they have a theoretical place for the kid's thumb, do not actually fit any thumb larger than a toothpick. Poor Judah, on the other hand, was wearing an old, hand-me-down pair of boots with no liner, and--the unkindest cut of all--one of Charis' old snowsuits. In Pink. We have since acquired spiffy new snow pants for both children, bombproof boots for Judah, and fantastic mittens. And also hats that match. I did toy with the idea of turning these pictures black and white to save us all from the embarrassment of my children's attire, but I ultimately decided that this blog isn't about glossing over reality--it's about the real deal. So Judah, I apologize in advance.

I also apologize for not having a picture of us with the actual tree, but I'm sure you'll see it in a later post, trimmed and decorated.

Here's Charis going for a sled ride a la Superman with Grandpa. This photo was taken several minutes before Abe and Moriah were bowled over by Grandpa's runaway sled. Thankfully, Charis was not on board at the time--she had safely slipped and fallen on the icy, packed snow all by herself. Way to go, C!

Here's Judah in his lovely snow ensemble trying to take himself for a ride. At any rate, it's safer than being on a sled when daddy, Moriah, or Grandpa are involved. He remained in good spirits for quite some time, despite the fashion tragedy. On our way out, though, and despite the 20-degree temperatures, he stubbornly refused to wear his boots one second longer. I think he sensed that the red cuffs clashed miserably with the pink snowsuit.

Here's Peanut, plumb tuckered out on the way home. We weren't even out that long, but I think the excitement of the day, coupled with the caloric expenditure of trying to stay warm when her calves were constantly exposed to the elements, sucked the energy right out of her. Of course, our brief ride home was all the nap she got that day, but at least she looks good and rested here.

And finally, here's Judah, also worn out. And possibly hypothermic.

All in all, a good day. The Christmas tree may be seconds away from being another page in our history book, but the memories it helped create will live on--oh, for another couple weeks, anyway.

So this will have to suffice, part deux

From left: Charis, Mom, Dad, Steve, and Katie enjoy a meal together.
















This is, believe it or not, the best picture we could get of all three kids. Levi is easy to photograph. Charis and Judah are a little but more challenging; while Levi mostly lays still for pictures, my kids tend to, you know, run and jump and such. So this picture of my kids, diaper-clad and greasy, next to pristinely clean Levi, is one for the ages. Oh, well.






Okay, we're a bit out of sequence here, but this is Abe and Charis at that cool waterfall park. There's just something about a daddy giving his little girl a piggyback ride, isn't there?









Here's another park photo--it's the four of us inside one of those playground bubbles. Not a great picture in terms of clarity--the plastic distortion takes care of that--but it is a great one for the memories.










It's a good thing I was holding tight to my son in this picture; he was riding peacefully on my shoulders when he decided it would be fun to flip his whole self backward. At first, we thought he just fell over, but when he did it again after having been righted, we suspected it wasn't an accidental flip.













Of course, Charis had to get a piece of the action, too.





















I'd be remiss if I didn't include a photo of Steve and Abe bonding, presumably over Call of Duty. Boys. In this particular picture, Steve is trying to teach his nephew the finer points of digital gaming warfare.








Charis absconded a integral part of the napkin holder and began playing with it, and Steve told her it was a scepter, like a king would have. She kept saying, "You be King!" and handing Steve the scepter/napkin holder. She's a loyal subject if ever I saw one.









And here's one last shot of Levi. It's out of sequence, but he's so cute, I just had to include it.











It was a fun trip--beside visiting the neat-o waterfall park and Steve's ambulance, we also played a lot of Catch Phrase ("Okay, who is Samwise Gamee?" asked dad), visited Katie's college Alma Mater for a no-holds-barred buffet lunch and a campus tour, went for a hike in a nearby park with trails, ate at Sonic (a lifelong ambition for Abe), had some yummy pizza at a restaurant called The Mellow Mushroom, toured the historical sites downtown, and spent a day up in Charlotte, NC, visiting Calvary Church, some of our beloved former pastors, and one of my dear friends, Amy. Whew. Long and busy, but good.

The trip home, after all of the fun had concluded, was . . . awful. Where our trip down had taken 14 hours (and that only because of a lengthy stop at Cracker Barrel) and had been smooth as silk, our return trip was 17 hours and smooth as a serrated knife edge, and every bit as painful. We traveled at night, as we had on the trip down, but this time, the kids were miserable, and Abe and I were exhausted. We stopped three times in various parking lots in an attempt to sleep. All three attempts were largely unsuccessful, and by the time we pulled into our driveway,we were toast. The kids napped for 5 hours that day and slept 14 hours that night, and Abe and I have no recollection of how we slept, probably because we were partially in a coma for the next few days.

We have since recuperated.

But then came Christmas...

So this will have to suffice

Okay. I can't blog about Christmas or New Year's stuff without first wrapping up our Thanksgiving-ish trip dow south to visit my brother and sister-in-law and their precious baby, Levi. I mean, one must prioritize. So here's a quick run down, illustrated with photos:

Here's a picture of my kids with their hero Uncle Steve, the paramedic. At the time of this photo, Steve was an EMT training to be a paramedic, but he has now successfully jumped through all of the necessary hoops to be licensed as an actual, no kidding, save-someone's-life paramedic. Way to go, Steve!

We've never had occasion to visit the inside of an ambulance, so Steve was kind enough to take us on a tour. Below, there's a picture of goofball himself posing for the camera and a picture he (or my dad?) took of the rest of us awaiting medical attention. Charis is particularly scared, probably because Steve didn't have his license yet and she feared the consequences of his care. Oh, I kid. He's very capable. In fact, Katie, his wife, is in training to be a midwife, so you could pretty much go to them for all of your immediate medical needs. Handy!



Here's a photo of what happens when my mom starts telling you stories about her youth: you doze right off like a baby. Of course, Levi is an actual baby, so he's probably more susceptible to frequent napping. We'll give Grandma the benefit of the doubt on this one.








We visited this neat park downtown that had great waterfalls and a super playground for the kids. It also had some shady characters, but that's to be expected at a city-central park like this one. Still, it was particularly nice. Here's my dad showing Judah around.

It was freakishly warm down there, particularly for a bunch of Northerners expecting typical end-of-November weather. Here, my dad displays the Northerner's ability to adapt: yes, it's warm, so I will wear shorts, but I am expecting a cold snap at any moment, so I will wear a fleece jacket. We northerners are nothing if not resourceful and versatile.

Now, I know that if I try to attach more pictures at this point, it will drive Blogger haywire, so I will post again in a few minutes with the continued saga. I know you're riveted...

And Now He Has Lost His Superhuman Strength

This is a picture of Judah from Christmas Day. For some time now, we have been debating what to do with Judah's hair; we love it long because it's so darn cute, but at the same time, the poor kid was constantly in danger of having his eyes stabbed out by his wayward bangs. Abe dreamed of Judah having long, curly locks, and he loved the way Judah's hair peeked out from underneath his winter hat (which he loves to wear all the time), but the reality was shaping up to be quite different from the dream. Judah's hair is incredibly fine, and with every trim I gave in an attempt to stave off the mullet look, I cut off more and more of his baby curl until it was all gone. The long, curly locks we hoped for were more like overgrown and straggly.

We've also gotten the "my, your two girls are adorable" line one too many times, and there is one particular male relative whose name I won't mention here, but whose initials are Grandpa Nichols, who makes comments every time we see him about how we need to cut our son's hair because he looks like a girl. Our response to all of these comments has always been something to the effect of "phooey on you, go suck an egg," but we finally realized that, girl cut or not, Judah's hair was no longer practical and was getting a wee bit out of control. So this morning, we did this:




I did the deed myself with a pair of clippers. I used the longest guide (an 8!!!), hoping to leave some of the length intact so Judah could retain some of that long-haired cuteness, but it quickly became apparent that I should have used a 15. 8 cut it as short as you see here.

I think it goes without saying that I sobbed. I felt as if my little guy had vanished, and in his place was this--this BOY. And I am not prepared for my baby to be a BOY.

He was covered in hair, so we ran him up to the bathroom, stripped him down, and gave him a bath. With his hair squeaky clean and all of the missed spots apparent, I was able to then trim with the scissors around the ears and at the nape and complete the cut. Here's the after, though it's not a particularly great picture, and I think I did trim up a few tiny spots after I took it, but you get the idea:


I still think he's about the most handsome little boy that ever walked the face of the earth, but this will certainly be an adjustment for me. He doesn't seem to mind or care about the change--in fact, he's probably grateful that his eyes are not getting poked out anymore. He'll probably wear his hat even more often now that he doesn't have all that hair for insulation, but his hair won't peek out from the bottom, sadly.

I saved some of the hair in a baggie. I can't imagine what I'm going to do with it, or how long I will keep it, but I'm just not ready to let it go just yet!

It's a Christmas Miracle!

After months and months of wondering when it would happen . . . it finally has.

Charis is (mostly) potty trained.

I was starting to worry. I was also starting to think that Judah would be potty trained before his sister was. But we made the switch to Big Girl Underwear--for better or for worse, we decided--and let nature take its course. We used a reward system of stickers and suckers for attempts and successes, respectively. She had a few accidents at the beginning, but now, we are accident-free! In fact, on Christmas Day, Charis had nary a diaper on all day (we usually diaper her for naps and bed), and not once did we even have to ask, "Are you still dry?" or, "Do you need to use the potty?" She took care of it all by herself. Both functions, if you know what I mean.

As she's 3.5 years old, this has been a long time in the coming. It has mostly been a struggle of pride for me; I felt sheepish and ill-suited for motherhood because my child wasn't potty trained and many many kids her age are. But finally, I came to this realization: Who cares? So I ditched the pride and let her do it on her own time. She is a first-born perfectionist (somewhat like her mother) who does not like to do anything unless she can do it well. She did that with walking; in the morning, she was crawling, then she took a nap, woke up, and decided she was ready to walk. She did it with talking; I thought she'd never speak actual words, until one day, she thought it was time to make sentences. I figured that it would be the same with potty training. She is a very capable, motivated learner--she's just NOT motivated by pressure from others, namely her mother. I knew that when the time came, she would run away from the diaper quickly on her own, but that if I pushed it, potty training was likely a battle we'd be fighting for a long time. In the end, it turns out I was right. (I got lucky on that one, believe you me.)

I still put her in a diaper for naps, although it is not unusual for her to run out during her nap to use the potty, even though she is diapered. And we still diaper her at night. I'm not sure how much longer we'll have to do that, but I'm okay with it for now!

I know this is way more interesting to me than to anyone else out there, but in the interest of chronicling Charis' developments, I thought I should record it!

The Meaning of Christmas

My friend posted a bit on her blog about how fed up she is with the whole "Happy Holidays" phenomenon; namely, how Americans have, in the name of political correctness, sanitized Christmas and taken its meaning away, leaving us with little but Santa and lots of shiny things. Christmas isn't just a holiday. It's a celebration of the event that changed our world: Christ becoming present and human, providing us with the ultimate payment for the sin that separates us from God the Father.

Glory! What a gift.

My hope is that our kids will grow up knowing Christmas isn't just about presents, trees, decorations and food. I pray that they will understand why we celebrate the birth of one particular baby born to a humble couple in a stable long, long ago. I pray that you, too, will be filled with wonder this Christmas season; not because of the lights or cookies or concerts, but because of the baby Savior that came into this world so that you could have a relationship with God and know His true love and peace.

Have a blessed Christmas, friends.

The Ghost of Christmas Ick

*Side note (sorry if it's too early for one of those): I had to type that title three times, because my fingers keep wanting to type Charistmas. Force of habit.

We here at the CJ household have contracted the ick, and it is running through our family like the bulls through Pamplona. It all started with Judah, who one evening late last week, after having been asleep for two hours, woke himself up when he involuntarily tossed his cookies. And also everything he'd eaten in the previous 8 hours. He repeated this process twice, which meant that much sheet changing and laundry ensued.

A day later, I found myself feeling...funny. No tossing took place, through careful administration of ginger ale and saltines, but I did spent almost twelve hours immobile on the couch hoping for the world to stop spinning, already. I would have taken Pepto or something, except that I'm pregnant, and can't take much of anything at all. So phooey on that.

Next in line was Charis, who, on the same day I was like a mummy on the couch, told me that her tummy hurt. She was not kidding. In the aftermath of her ickiness, I hustled the kids up to the bathtub and waited for Abe to get home so he could clean up after us. Let me tell you, that guy is handy to have around, especially when you're still in your first trimester of pregnancy and so a touch sick most of the time, and also feeling flu-ish.

The only drawback to Abe's helpfulness is that last night, after we returned home from the Christmas program at Abe's parents' house, Abe declared, "I don't feel so good." He took the Pepto I had wanted to take and fell asleep on the couch until 2:30 this morning, when he stumbled to bed. Around the same time, my dear daughter woke up and announced that her tummy hurt again. Abe happened to be on hand for her first appearance and put her back in bed. A few minutes later, she popped out again, and I gave her water and put her back in bed. A few minutes after that, she stood at the top of the stairs crying and complaining about her tummy, so we let her come down and sleep with us. (But I've learned to first retreive a bucket to keep handy, just in case.) It was a long, long night, but we made it. We're home from church this morning trying to contain our ick a little better, hoping to regain health before Christmas.

All that to say that one of these days, when things are no longer chaotic/pathogenic and icky, I will get back to posting on a regular basis. But if I don't get a chance to say it in a few days,

Have a Blessed Christmas!