Friday, April 15, 2011


It was about a week ago, Sunday to be exact, that something occurred to me: no matter how many things I do wrong or how many times I mess up, Little Two continues to love me. Amazing ...

In staying home that morning I thought I was being a wise mother ... prudent even.   After all, Little Two was sick (again!) and missing a nap was most certainly out of the question.  This poor little one needed as much sleep as possible to get over all the colds, stomach viruses, RSV and mono that have plagued him all winter long.  Thus, Little Two and I stayed home so he could nap while Husband took Little One to church and Sunday School.   The morning seemed to be off to a good start: Husband and Little One were up, ready and off to where they needed to be (on time I might add) while I put Little Two down for nap and rested myself (thank you Little Two for sharing a rather miserable stomach bug).

After Little Two woke up from his nap, I ingeniously barricaded him in his little nook while I finished getting ready to meet Husband and Little One.  Now, moms understand it is nearly impossible to get ready with a mobile and curious little one crawling around, which is why barricading him in his nook with toys was simply genius.   However, after a few cries (parents of more than one little one will attest that after the first one you just don't run over as quickly when they cry) I went in to check on him and saw he had pushed the coffee table over just enough so that the sharp corner was sticking into his room instead of behind the wall, and just under that corner of the table was a block he desperately wanted.  Putting two and two together, I realized he had repeatedly hit the middle of his forehead on the point in pursuit of the block.  Strike one.

Being the sympathetic and wise mother that I am, I brought Little Two into our room and shut the door to protect him from the steep stairs which were just on the other side.   My back was literally turned for 5 seconds, but when I looked back, the door was open and all I saw was one of Little Two's feet ... briefly.   Little Two was now doing the luge head first (I guess that makes it the skeleton) down our stairs, heading right for the wall and front door.   My heart stopped and I froze as I watched him fall/bounce down and then finally flip onto his back at the bottom.  Strike Two and it was only ten o'clock in the morning.

As I held my screaming little one (while thanking God he was screaming and moving), it occurred to me that even though it was my fault Little Two did the skeleton down the stairs and had bruises on his forehead, he still wanted and needed comfort from me.   Often times I hear people talking about how being a parent has allowed them to understand how much God loves us ... that is very true and I, too, have experienced that ... but in this moment, while Little Two was holding on to me, I felt this unconditional love completely free from judgment that I most definitely did not deserve that morning.  In that moment I was not the parent loving my little ones as God loves us; instead, I was the imperfect little one receiving the perfect loving kindness God bestows on us.

Monday, April 11, 2011

A New England Winter wonderland?

I think it is the weather.   All the snow.  All the cold.  All the insideness.  It makes even the best of us go crazy.    There is only so far to run inside an apartment.    By January the rooms seem to shrink, the ceiling gets a little bit lower, and my history in Firefox is filled with links for homes in North Carolina, South Carolina and Texas.   For those of you who do not understand what a New England winter is like, I would tell you it is something worth experiencing, but NOT with two boys under three and a half in a small apartment!

There is just nowhere to go in the winter that does not require A LOT of effort: bundling up Little One and Little Two (and myself), going out in the cold (and I mean cold!), snow, and ice that just seems to grow exponentially for months at a time.   It gets depressing really.  You turn on the news and hear there is yet another blizzard looming ahead.  Little One hears the word 'snow' and immediately begs to go outside.  I say no (at first) but then think, 'you know, I forget what it looks like outside, why not?'.   So, thus begins the process of getting warm clothes, snow pants, boots, hats, gloves, and coats on my little ones ... only to promptly turn around and march back up the stairs because Little One says its too cold outside.  

Days continue to come and go.  Then all of a sudden its above 40 degrees again!  I see patches of green, and there is rain instead of snow!   Life is exciting ... soon the weather will be warm.   Husband and I will be taking Little One and Two to the beach, having cook outs and doing all of our favorite summer things.  My sanity will return and I won't understand why some people do not want to live in New England :)

In the midst of all the bleak wintery days I watched something magical happen.  I saw a friendship develop between Little One and Little Two.  I watched as Little Two began to interact with the world around him, as Little Two began to recognize his big brother and squeal when Little One would come into the room.   I watched Little One learned to comfort Little Two, share his toys (yes even his CARS!) and make him laugh.   Nothing brightens a gloomy wintery day like watching Little Two and Little One wrestle and giggle together.  I guess there is something special about being stuck inside for months at a time ...

Saturday, April 9, 2011


Knowing myself as well as I do, I think sometimes I am going to need inspiration for posts, and what better inspiration than your questions!  I love hearing what people think (or ask in this case) ... so ... look over to the right side of the blog towards the bottom and submit a question and I will answer.

We're waiting ... :)

Sunday, April 3, 2011

Who cares ...

Sundays are days we all relax and don't do much.  It's a day without cleaning, laundry and work.   We enjoy time together without the burden of 'getting things done', and I like that.  One of my favorite things is sitting down in the evening (little ones asleep!) and watching TV.   Tonight I am watching Secret Millionaire, and while the wife is talking about people she met with HIV she said something profound. "Often times I was distracted about how people became infected with HIV, but who cares??"

Who cares? Who cares how people end up where they are.   Who cares if they are different.   They are people, real people, with real pain and real needs.   Isn't it easier to justify not helping because of how they contributed to their situation?  Isn't easier to look down on them ... after all, it's their own fault right?  I am ashamed to admit those thoughts have gone through my head.   That I judge other people before I hear their story.  That I think I'm better for some reason. 

What if we stopped caring about why.  What if we said 'who cares' about their past decisions and loved the person standing in front of us?  What if we smiled instead of walking the opposite way?  What if we taught our children to serve instead of expecting to be served?  What if we had compassion on those around us instead of being afraid of our differences?

I think our world would be a better place.  I think we would see past skin color and clothing, and into someone's heart and realize that it looks a lot like our own: broken.  We are all broken in one way or another.  We all need help and a kind word now and then.  That is what I want to teach my little ones.  I want them to say who cares.  I want them to help other people and be kind to them because they are people, real people with real pain and real needs.