Blessed are those who Mourn

And again, blessed are they that mourn; for they shall be comforted. ~ Matt. 5:6

This verse takes on new meaning to me and I cling to its promise. There are no contingencies, no strings. You don't even have to do anything other than what you can't help doing anyway - mourn - and God promised that He would comfort you.

It's been three months since I said goodbye to my mom and these have been both the most beautiful and painful months of my life.

Sometimes my heart hurts so badly I feel like I might collapse. It's as if part of it just got up and walked out of my body, leaving a gaping hole that continues crumbling. I still cry almost every day and now my tears sting. It's almost like they're punishing me for being so weak.

But sometimes I watch the sun rise outside my bedroom window, and I think, "Surely this is the most beautiful sunrise there has ever been." And sure enough, the next one I catch is even more vibrant.

And sometimes I pick Susanna up and she squeezes my shoulder in her version of a little baby hug and I think, "What a wonderful blessing to receive this baby's love. I haven't earned it and yet she gives it so freely. This might be the best feeling in the whole world."

I have never had anything to mourn - truly mourn - and I find myself ricocheting through the stages of grief many times over. Sometimes I see red and I just have to get outside where there's room to breath. I run until my lungs and legs burn. Sometimes I wish for just a little while with my mom. I'd like to make Thanksgiving dinner with her or play veterinarian with Ben, watching her listen to Brandy's heart with a plastic stethoscope.

I mourn not just the loss of my mom, but the loss of my old life and sometimes the things I miss are supremely selfish. No matter how old you are, your mom takes care of you and my mom took good care of me. She brought me vitamins, washed my dishes, upheld my family in prayer constantly. Now I'm the mom and the caregiver. Now I have to remember to take care of my family with calls, cards, vitamins, gifts.

I miss having a willing babysitter at all hours of the day and night. I miss having a good family health history - my dad has diabetes and my mom died of a stroke at 56, it's just a matter of time before my pancreas or brain poops out.

The one thing I don't do is ask why this happened. So many people want - maybe even need - to know why this happened. They constantly ask me, "Did she have any warning signs, any symptoms?"

The doctors said the blood clot that damaged the pontene section of her brain could have been from previous surgeries (she's had two within the last year), an old neck injury (the week before she had the stroke, she complained of neck pain and a headache). She said it was from picking up Ben and Ethan on the fourth. One doctor said it could have been from taking supplements.

But I think Chuck's Grandma Enderle had it right. She said, "My grandma always used to say, 'The day you'll die is stamped on the bottom of your foot from the minute you're born.'" It's appointed unto man to die and I think Mom just finished up her work and went home.

And although this separation hurts so badly, I believe that God is merciful and generous and is blessing us even if we can't always see the blessings. Sometimes when I lay down at night, I feel someone place their hands on my head as though they are praying over me. I don't know who this person or angel is or what they are praying for, but I'm thankful for the ministry and testimony. And I'm thankful that God gave me what I needed even though I wasn't aware enough to ask for it.

I don't believe that the entity praying over me is my mom, but I do wonder if my mom is praying for us and asking for a protection we wouldn't know to ask for otherwise. I also believe that my mom is working on her side and that makes me happy. I know she's happy if she's sharing the love of Jesus.

I watch the Lord pour out His love through people who love Him and I feel Him holding me - holding all of us and I think, "How can we keep from rejoicing? There are too many good gifts to count."

My mom - and all those we love so dearly - are not gone. They are simply on the other side of the veil and our time apart is short - soon we'll "Meet again and embrace at Jesus' feet".

And the promises just get better and better.

Matt. 5:4-13
4) Yea, blessed are they who shall believe on your words, and come down into the depth of humility, and be baptized in my name; for they shall be visited with fire and the Holy Ghost, and shall receive a remission of their sins.
5) Yea, blessed are the poor in spirit, who come unto me; for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
6) And again, blessed are they that mourn; for they shall be comforted,
7) And blessed are the meek; for they shall inherit the earth.
8) And blessed are all they that do hunger and thirst after righteousness; for they shall be filled with the Holy Ghost.
9) And blessed are the merciful; for they shall obtain mercy.
10) And blessed are all the pure in heart; for they shall see God.
11) And blessed are the peacemakers; for they shall be called the children of God.
12) Blessed are all they that are persecuted for my name's sake; for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.
And blessed are ye when men shall revile you, and persecute you and shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for my sake.
13) For ye shall have great joy, and be exceeding glad; for great shall be your reward in heaven; for so persecuted they the prophets which were before you.

Happy Father's Day

Chuck takes a lot of flack on this blog, but today I'd like to wish him a very Happy Father's Day and share a little about why he's a great dad.

I could mention that he tells his kids he loves them every single day or that he builds some of the sweetest Hot Wheels tracks I've ever seen, but I think I'd like to share another story. One that shows his preferred discipline style - Getting Even.

One hot afternoon, Ben and Evie were playing in a wading pool in our backyard. While they were refilling the pool, Ben splashed Evie with the hose. The next thing I know, Chuck said, "Don't worry, I got him back."

Huh?

Apparently, he watched Ben splash Evie, took the hose from him, and sprayed Ben in the face. Personally, I prefer to strive for a totally splash-free play date, and I find splashing someone who is basically one-fourth your size to be essentially assault.

But Chuck didn't think twice about it and defended his decision by pointing out that Ben did stop spraying Evie after he "disciplined" him. So, here's to Chuck's (and dads everywhere) unique style of discipline. Thanks for letting kids know there is someone bigger and tougher out there who won't hesitate to "show you how it feels".

Chuck, World's Greatest Dad, and the judges:
Baby Doo-Dan-A and Bean.

I'd also like to wish my dad a Happy Father's Day. Thank you for always encouraging me to do my best. Thank you for singing commercial jingles off-key, cheating at footraces and unwittingly sharing my childhood bowl trouble with my friends in high school (teenage girls are totally mature enough to talk about constipation).

Thank you for all the funny letters through college (I still have them). Thank you for not killing me when I backed the Grand Am into the garage crushing the brand-new siding. Thank you for being there for me when Blake died. Thank you for baptizing me and teaching me to listen to the Holy Spirit.

Most of all, thank you for loving me and my children. You're a great dad and I'm glad you're mine.

An exceptional dad right out of the gates. I truly
couldn't ask for more.

Mom Fail

A friend posted this video on her FB page. (Seriously watch it, because it's so funny.)

It's a Mama cat and her kitten cuddling and sleeping. The kitten gets the sleep shakes and Mama comforts/cuddles her baby back to sleep.

This proves that I totally fail as a mom. When my little ones jump in their sleep, I do one of three things:

1. Point and laugh.
2. Call someone else over to join me in laughing at them.
3. Get the camera so I can laugh at them later.

It turns out common house cats are better mommies than I am.

Humans vs Apes

I went to a Nursing Support Group today (Yes, I realize how lame that sounds, but it's totally necessary and actually fun.) and one new mommy was talking about her colicky baby. Nothing was working for her: nursing, swaddling, the swing...

My heart went out to her as Ben was a super colicky babe. There were nights when all three of us were crying :(

In any case, the lactation consultant suggested "wearing the baby". Put that fussy babe in a sling on your chest and move about your day. Then she said something that got me thinking, "Humans are the only mammals that put their babies away."

I think she was suggesting that lower primates - or even marsupials - have it right constantly carrying their babies. But as I think about it:

1. I don't have a pocket on my belly and
2. Really it's the babies that have super skills, not the mommies.



I don't know about anyone else, but my babies
can't cling to my body hair while I scale a tree.

Susanna is still a helpless little lump and Ben alternates between flailing wildly (No diapy change!) and being dead weight (No nap!). He uses whatever suits his current need.

Susanna being lumpy.

In general, childcare for other mammals seems easier. Bears "deliver" their babies while they're hibernating. Baby bears (weighing less than a pound BTW) basically walk out of their mother's womb and start nursing. Mama bears don't even wake up.

My experience has been, um... different.

1. Although at times I wished I wasn't, I was awake for both deliveries.
2. We'll skip the details, but both times it took an entire team of people to yank my children out of my body.
3. Both Ben and Susanna were confused about nursing. (They are definitely not taking care of business on their own while I sleep). Ben chomped frantically like Pac-Man and Susanna coils and then strikes like a blind snake. Both tactics are as painful as they are counterproductive.

I don't want to feel subpar to an orangutan just because I like to "go to the bathroom by myself" or "need both hands to eat a ham sammich". So, I tried to think of at least one mammal who isn't winning Mom of the Year.

And I found her. In 2005, Brandy had her first and only litter of puppies. She delivered 10 black lab puppies and, in general, was a caring and attentive mom. But she was always anxious to take a break. Whenever we came in the room, she'd get up and leave.

If she was a person, she would have said, "Oh, I'm so glad you're here. Do you mind watching the babies, while I run to the bathroom?" A half hour later you'd find her smoking a cigarette on the back porch.

I can safely say, I'm not sneaking smokes out back so take that other mammals - I win!

How To Ruin Your Baby In One Simple Step

We've only had Susanna for two weeks, and only had her at home for a week and a half, but never fear, we've successfully ruined her.

She was born sleeping through anything. I attribute her chill attitude to her abusive gestation. Seriously, Ben played the snare drum at top volume at my belly every single day. I actually had to wake her up to feed her and even then I'd have to poke her awake, change her diaper or even give her a bath to get her up for any length of time.

But that all changed with one innocent move. And here it is:

Chuck ruining Susanna.

Yes, that's Chuck and baby Susanna sleeping and snuggling on the couch. There is almost nothing better than snuggling a newborn baby. So one evening after I fed Susanna and she was still in-and-out of sleep, I said to Chuck, "Do you want to snuggle her while she falls asleep?"

And that was the beginning of the end. That night, I could not get her back in her bassinet for anything. She'd nurse and nod off. Then I'd lay her down and she'd pop up. I'd start all over and she'd pop up again. At one point I'd been up for two hours and was still failing at getting this baby safely back in her own bed.

For those who don't know, pediatricians suggest having babies sleep on their backs on a firm mattress with only a fitted sheet. No inclines, loose blankets, pillows, stuffed animals or any other comforts that babies (and normal people) like.

So at this point, I'm debating options trying to decide which is the least dangerous:

1. Walk, bounce and possibly drop the baby. I am only 5' 2", but that still a long fall for someone only 19 inches long.
2. I could put her in bed with us. (Both my children LOVE our pillow top mattress - you can literally lay them down wide awake and they will go to sleep on our bed. I have seen both of them fall asleep while I went to get a diaper.) But at this point I'm extra sleepy and don't trust myself not to roll on her. Nor do I trust Chuck, whose name I've been hollering for the last half hour only to be answered by snorts. 
3. I could try to put her in the bouncy chair, which she sometimes sleeps in during the day. The tricky part of this is deciding how to strap her in as she likes to wiggle out. Ben used to sleep in this chair and one extra-foggy morning I panicked because he wasn't in his chair - he was on the floor in front of it. 

See, I am a poor decision maker in the middle of the night and an even worse parent. In the end, I went with the chair and luckily come daybreak (approximately half an hour later) Susanna was still safely strapped in.

In the light of day, I have made her bassinet only moderately dangerous. I put a fluffy blanket in the bottom, but put a tight blanket over the top so it's still smooth, just softer. When she starts rolling, we're going to have to switch to the swing.

Only slightly dangerous sleeping accommodations.

On a side note, I told Ben, "Benny, we ruined your sister and we've only had her a week! Are you ruined?"

Sitting in our bed at approximately 6:22 am, with his legs under the covers and his little hands propping his head up on Chuck's pillow, he said, "Yeah!"

He's probably right.

Here are some shots of our bed at 6:30 this morning. Chuck and I were getting ready for the day and these two were snoozing/watching Mickey Mouse Clubhouse happily after sneaking in our bed. They are such pills, but I guess we only have ourselves to blame.

They totally kicked us out of our own bed.

Ben looking happy that he's ruined.



Susanna was sitting up talking with us... for about
2.5 minutes. Then she fell asleep in this super
dangerous position. Don't get used to this sweetheart,
this is how babies die and we're not taking chances.



My Arch Nemesis

Get a good look at this face. Memorize his orange stripes, his white whiskers, the blank look in his eyes. This cat is my new nemesis. 

Nemesis. Arch Nemesis.

He's not my nemesis because he's a little bit dumb and mildly irritating:

1. He chases his tail like a lab puppy and then jumps when he catches it.
2. He chews up cardboard boxes leaving tiny cardboard snowflakes littering my floors.
3. He eats food off the table.

Clearly guilty.


He's my nemesis because, today, he licked my baby girl's hair. My greatest fear has come true. That stupid cat, who attacks my hair nightly - the same cat who makes me sleep in a stocking cap like I'm eternally camping - has set his sights on my sweet baby girl.

Susanna sleeping peacefully, back when Gary was still
boarding and her hair was still safe.  

Heed my warning Gary, if you destroy Susanna's hair, I will destroy you.

Learning How To Be A Boy

This seems like something that should be instinctual (tooting/sword fighting/scratching), but apparently it isn't.

I remember reading in Bringing Up Boys by James Dobson that boys identify with a male role model at several developmental stages - the first was as early as 18 months. He said that boys actually have to learn to how be men and that their role model defines masculine behavior for them.

In the last month or two, it seems as though Ben is going through one of these stages. He has really attached himself to Chuck and has kind of become his shadow. If watching Chuck tells Ben what men are supposed to do, then Ben is currently learning that men mow the grass and wash cars.

This spring, Ben has been standing at the window while Chuck mows. He watches him mow the entire yard. I'm talking standing at a window, watching someone walk back and forth, mowing for a solid hour. I would consider this torture, and can't believe this is the same kid who thinks it takes too long to put pants on before going outside to play.

Chuck said I could let Ben outside while he was mowing. (I don't know why I didn't before. Maybe I thought he'd bark and bite at the mower.) Ben was in heaven. He marched proudly right behind Chuck, walking in perfectly straight little lines, going all the way to the fence before turning. Then he got his toy mower and just followed after Dad shouting.


Bean mow! Daddy MOW!

 When we tell him the yard looks nice, he says, "Yeah! Bean mow!"

Chuck is being so sweet and supportive with the birth of our daughter and has taken two weeks off. He's spending a lot of quality time with Ben and trying to get a few little extras done around the house - specifically, giving the cars a thorough cleaning.

Yesterday, he and Ben cleaned his car:

Wash. Rinse. Repeat. The tricky part is knowing when to stop washing. Chuck is very particular about water spots, in fact, you could say that water spots are his arch enemy. So, he towel dries the car after washing it. I watched him feverishly drying the driver's side as Ben "rewashed" the passenger side he'd just dried.

Toddlers need really clear instructions, "Now it's time to dry the car. Here's a towel. You do it." They also need water confiscated.

In any case, it looks like Ben is well on his way to learning the ins-and-outs of being a boy... or at least outdoor chores.

Welcome Susanna June

Although it took us nine months of gestation and 24 hours of looking at her, we finally named our sweet baby girl. Welcome to our family Susanna June!

We scheduled a c-section for May 5th (you're welcome SG - that was just for you) with the doctor who delivered Ben. Dr. Caffrey is a kind surgeon who joked about finding his watch and asked me if I wanted him to "just go ahead and put in a zipper this time."

At 12:04 pm, Dr. Caffrey showed us this:

Our first look at our sweet baby.

Baby Girl Enderle was 6lbs 5oz and had a full head of red hair!? Her hair wasn't the only surprise. I really expected this baby to look like me. Ben looks so much like Chuck, I thought surely this baby would be mine. After all, I just carried her around for nine months, but more than anyone else, she looks like Benny. Sigh.

Newborn Ben

She does have my ears, hands and dimple and we'll see how she changes as she grows. But I still feel a little robbed doing all this work to have have my babies look like Chuck.

I really had pictured our daughter being a dark-haired pixie and secretly thought Norah was going to make the final cut. As a reminder, it was down to two choices:

• Norah Ann (using my middle name)
• Susanna June (named after both my mom and Chuck's mom)

... and a late favorite:

• Pippa Anne (Yes, this was inspired by Kate Middleton's little sister.)

But the red hair threw us for a loop and we ended up choosing Susanna June for the following reasons:

1. Chuck said he simply couldn't imagine calling a little baby Norah. He said it was too grown up. I can see that.
2. Our sweet baby was born on the same day Chuck's grandma, Donna June, passed away two years ago. Donna loved children and we feel it's a sweet tribute to her to name our baby girl after her.
3. Just in case this is my only daughter, I want to honor my mother and my best friend.

Gammy Susan, Susanna, Mama.

So, our baby girl is Susanna June, named after three amazing women who have spent their lives teaching children about Jesus. My prayer for my sweet Susanna is that she will have the same heart for Jesus as her namesakes and spend her life investing in others the way these remarkable women have.

So far, she is a sweet cuddly delightful little baby.

I have lost my mind and like to coordinate hair bows
with hospital gowns... and Chuck puts bows on
like an athlete might wear a sweatband.

I don't think Ben realizes that we are going to keep this baby. When I tried to get him to hold her, he said, "No baby!" I still think he'll be a great big brother.

Ben and baby sister, Susanna.

In any case, I am excited to go home. I miss my Benny Bean and am ready to be home as a family of four.

Our first family pic. Ben says, "Cheeeese!"

Inappropriate Responses

I love hearing Ben's words and finally knowing what's going on in his mind. However, at two, he's still far from mastering the ins and outs of acceptable conversation.

Every night we have a little family worship. By that, I mean we read one or two scripture verses and pray as a family. By pray as a family, I mean Chuck or I pray while Ben either rolls around like a pig in the mud or plays his snare drum. (Although, sometimes he prays and that basically includes listing his grandparents and my mom's dog.)

To keep him engaged, I ask him to find letters that he recognizes in the scriptures and then read the sentence containing the letter. He likes to pick out: B, I, O, and T.

Tonight, he found a B and I read the first line of Psalm 128, "Blessed is every one that feareth the Lord; that walketh in his ways."

Ben said, "Oh-kay, " as if he didn't believe what he was hearing. It was low, sarcastic, and basically the same way I say okay when he insists on doing something that's going to make a huge mess. It's kind of like, "You're going to carry that full watering can from the kitchen, through our living room and out the front door without spilling it? Oh-kay."

I wanted to say, "No, that's really true. People who fear the Lord really are blessed," but it seems a bit early for that lesson. Thankfully, our Heavenly Father loves children and I'm sure he knows Ben's heart and enjoys these funny little "missteps" as much as we do.

And this is not Ben's only conversational misstep. Here are several examples:

1. Someone sneezes. He also sneezes. No amount of me saying, "Benny, when someone sneezes, we say 'Bless you,'" seems to reach him. He continues to mock those suffering from seasonal allergies.

2. Saying "I love you": Often a grandparent will say, "Ben, I love you." And he'll respond, "Yeah!" It sounds like, "Yeah I know, what else is new?"

3. "Yah, I do." You have to say this the way Arnold Schwarzenegger would say it and Ben says it for everything. He and Evie were playing and I asked them, "Are you guys friends?"

In her little singsong voice, Evie said perfectly, "Ben's my friend." 

Ben shouted, "Yah, I do!"

I really feel like raising a child is sort of like domesticating a raccoon. (Maybe it's just Ben.) I'm going to continue to try to teach Ben appropriate responses. In the mean time, please don't hold his words against me.

Are We There Yet?

Today marks 39 weeks and I've had enough fun for one pregnancy. I am ready for this baby to get out of my belly and in my arms. Seriously, it's getting crowded.

Aside from needing a crane to get out of bed and swelling like a tick when the temperature creeps up above 75 degrees, I have two very specific reasons as to why I need to have this baby.

1. My thermometer popped. Just like a Thanksgiving turkey, my belly button has popped out. While lots of people joke about me being "done", they've taken it one step further - poking my new outie. It never bothers me when someone touches my belly (they're just loving the baby), but poking my bellybutton sort of surprises me.

I'd like you to think about the last time you touched another adult's bellybutton. If you're like me, you probably haven't. Here in the Midwest, that's just not something you do. We have strict lines of appropriate touching that include shaking hands and maybe a pat of the back. So, as you can imagine, mine is extra poppy and extra tempting.

2. I might "wreck my car" extra often when I'm pregnant. I'm not sure if I'm simply distracted or if there is truly some medical explanation and I really can't see anymore, but with both pregnancies, I've had two accidents.

Luckily, I'm mostly attacking our garage and not innocent drivers. With Ben, I backed my car out of the garage with the driver's door open crunching it like frat boy crushes a beer can. In fairness, it was a 2002 Toyota Echo and essentially made of plastic (what you let go in safety, you make up in MPGs).

And while we were replacing the door, I forgot to put the rental car in park when I ran in the house to pick up some lunch. I came back to the garage just in time to see the 2003 Intrepid drive into the back wall of the garage. I tried to tell Chuck that the second one wasn't really my fault because I wasn't technically driving. He didn't buy it.

This time around, I sideswiped my van on the donation box at the recycling center. (Yes, weekly I take three giant bins of recyclables and always leave a donation. That's what I get for trying to be a good world citizen).

In the most recent incident, I closed our garage door with the van's liftgate still open. It crashed into the gate three for four times - sensing a foreign object, going up and then coming down again... and again. BTW nice safety measure. What if that were Ben? The door would have crushed him, gone back up, and crushed him again. I haven't told Chuck about this one yet and I may not. Luckily, he still doesn't read my blog.

My point is, that for some reason I am a menace to our vehicles and garage while pregnant and it would less expensive (and better for my marriage) if I wasn't pregnant anymore. So, I looked up ways to go into labor naturally and honestly, didn't like what I saw. Many of the options sounded gross, confusing and even dangerous.
They were so awful, I can't even write about them, so read some of the tamer options here. While long walks are nice this time of year, I can't bring myself to take anything that might cause "horrific diarrhea". And on another site, I read about primrose oil and, um... direct cervical application. In the words of Will Ferrell, "You wouldn't hire a clown to fix a leak in the John would you?"

Since I can't handle those methods, I came up with my own plan:

1. Two-a-days: I'm basically going to condition like a sophomore trying to make the varsity football team. I plan on running our stairs (and by running, I mean huffing and puffing while I waddle around at a pace most would consider "walking at a moderate speed"), set up cones in the back yard and time me and Ben as we run the 40, and scrimmage. Ok, no scrimmaging, but I will be making daily exercise in the morning and family walks in the evening a priority.

2. Raspberry leaf tea: This was one of the less-disgusting options and is supposed to "organize" your contractions. I've been drinking it every day. Ben likes it too. He says, "Mmm, gook tea. Mama tea gook. Mmm, mmmm, mmmm." I'm desperate enough that I look past the floaties.

3. Massage: I've made a date with Keri, my dear friend who is also a massage therapist and hopefully she can hit some points and set things in motion.

Wish me luck. As much as I'm ready to see and hold this baby, I know it will hurt and I'm a little apprehensive (ok - a lot apprehensive).

What's Your Greatest Fear?

A friend once told me about a conversation she had with a roommate in college. The roommate asked her, "What's your greatest fear?" clearly looking for a meaningful, connecting conversation.

 Although, Roomie had her answer ready, my friend didn't. She said, "Oh... I don't know. Maybe... snakes?"

Well, snakes really are Ben's greatest fear. He sees them in books and hisses, "Snake icky, keh!" He spies sticks on the ground and won't walk past them. He sees them coiled in aquariums and backs up.

In fairness, his first up-close encounter with a snake was kind of scary. We were playing at a friend's house with five kids and one lab running around when our ball rolled toward the street. As I walked to retrieve it, a three-foot-long black snake lunged at my leg.

 I'm sure this snake was simply enjoying the sun after a long winter, just like we were, but the dog, kids and ball were probably stressing it out. Ben was just a step behind me and even more stressed than the snake by my friend's screaming and her dog's attack. (Yes, we watched the dog attack, shake and subsequently kill the snake. Then it killed two more.)

Ben was frozen with fear and that's when he began refusing to walk past anything that remotely resembled a snake (sticks, strings, worms, garden hoses). Luckily, he no longer becomes paralyzed and begins to cry giant cartoon tears at the sight of sticks. But I think that snake left a big impression.

Ben's fear is so all-encompassing, it got me wondering what is my greatest fear? This is tough because I'm pretty much afraid of everything, but I've come up with a short list:

1. Something will happen to me and Chuck will be the sole caregiver for our children. Before I explain, let me say that I think Chuck is a great dad. He makes time to play with Ben every single day, he reads with him every night before bed (he never misses even if that means he'll be up working until 11:30 or later). He obviously loves Benny and I know he'll be just as good to our daughter too.

But he's still a dad and dad's have some holes. For instance, I was gone almost all day on Saturday and the following is a real conversation:

Jackie: Did you and Ben have fun today?

Chuck: Yep.
Jackie: What did you do?
Chuck: Hung out with Chris and played some T-ball.
Jackie: What did you feed him for lunch?
Chuck: I thought you fed him lunch before you left.
Jackie: No. I left at 11:00 am, why would I have fed him lunch?
Chuck: He was eating when you left.
Jackie: Yeah, he was eating his morning snack - the one I give him every day at 10:30 am.
Chuck: You really didn't feed him lunch?
Jackie: You really didn't feed him lunch?!
Chuck: He didn't say he was hungry.

Fair enough. Dads are simply too busy having fun to be bothered with mundane chores like "feeding" the kids. And in the long run, having a fun day hanging out with Dad is more important than one meal.

Dads really are fun. They think doughnuts are an acceptable, even healthy, breakfast option. They think it's ok to skip brushing your teeth if your camping - in fact, don't even bother packing your toothbrush. And they always have good ideas on how to make everything bigger and better. Like:

"You call that a fire? I'll show you how to make a really big fire."

or

"If you bounce like this, he'll catch your bounce and fly off the trampoline."

Dads are critical to families. If you're blessed with a good one, enjoy it and thank God every day for the father he gave you. But I think kids also need moms to provide peas at dinner and peroxide when there's been just a little too much fun.

2. Gary will finally succeed in chewing off a large, unfixable portion of my hair. I still sleep in a stocking cap because he thinks I'm his sister cat and purrs/grooms me nightly. He chewed some very stylish bangs for me earlier this year and they're just now growing out.

 2a. Gary will decide my baby girl is also his sister cat and chew her hair off.

3. Ben will be just as helpful with his baby sister as he is with the rest of the household chores. Don't get me wrong, I love his willingness to help and diligence in completing a project. And most days, I'm even ok with the fact that when he helps with the dishes, that means the entire kitchen will be wet when we finish.

But I have visions of him shoving binkies in her mouth or sunglasses in her eyes. I know his heart will be in right place, but he's simply not physically capable of executing all these plans he comes up with.

For fun, I tried to image Chuck, Brandy and Gary's greatest fears. Here's what I came up with:

Unfortunately for Chuck, I think he faces his fear annually:

2010 Standings: W-67, L-95

Every April he gets his hopes up and by July he's saying, "I'm just excited for football." You have to admire his loyalty. Also unfortunately for Chuck, he's a Chiefs and K-State fan.

 I'm almost certain that this is Brandy's greatest fear:

Brandy wants a puppy like she
wants a bath. She's an old, tired dog
who maintains a strict 8:00 pm bedtime.
A puppy is out of the question.

I am 100 percent sure this is Gary's greatest fear:

An empty food bowl is the only
thing that's ever managed
to elicit a panicked mew from Gary.

I tried to get a video of Ben telling me how much he hates snakes (because he's so stinkin' adament about it), but that totally failed. I got cheesy Bean instead.
 

Your Baby Can Read?

An old picture, but one that shows how much Ben
loves Evie. He asks to see her weekly. It sounds like,
"E-He Houk? E-He Houk?" That means, "Hey
Mom, can I play with Evie at her house today?"

Ben may or may not have read his first word today. We went to Toddler Time at the Mid-Continent Library and Benny picked out Evie's name tag. Twice.

Side Note: This is a favorite Thursday activity with Miss Jean whom Ben simply calls "Jean". It seems kind of rude when he marches up to her, hands her a book to check out and says, "Here Jean." Luckily, she is a true librarian and simply thrilled that kids want to check out books. She probably wouldn't care if he called her "Jim".

In any case, the library provides apple-shaped name tags for the kids to wear. During class, a teacher comes around and gives each child in attendance a sticker for their name tag. Last week, Ben got apples and Evie received strawberries. Then they both examined the other's tag.

This week, Evie wasn't there, but Ben went up to the table with approximately 15 unclaimed name tags, picked up Evie's and said, "E-He."

I brushed it off, "Yeah, good guess that is Evie's name tag."

Then he did it again. I asked him, "How do you know that's Evie's name tag?"

Of course he didn't answer me. I'm sure partly on principle (It's not cool to answer your mom's questions - just ask Dad.) and partly because he can't.

Seriously, he calls Evie "E-He". And this is an improvement. I'm just grateful he stopped calling her "Wee Wee". People would ask, "What did he say?"

"Ha ha. I'm not sure. I didn't hear him." All the while I'm thinking: Please don't say that again, because BTW, you also call your business 'wee wee'.

I'm not sure if he recognized the letters, the strawberry sticker or the combination, but something looked familiar and he knew it belonged to his friend. So, Congratulations Benny! You read your first word today! It seems appropriate that you did it at the library - Miss Jean will be thrilled.

Update: It's come to my attention, that I should include the rest of the this story. To test Ben, I took two index cards and wrote his name on one and Evie's on the other. I handed him Evie's and asked him to read it. He studied the card carefully, furrowed his brow and said, "Uhhh... licka, licka, licka, licka."

I think that means he cannot "read". However, he's starting to recognize words he's seen before. He keeps bringing me these cards saying, "E-He. Bean!"

Be Careful What You Wish For...

... It just might come true. I am currently living out this saying and all of it's negative connotation.

Chuck and I have been married for five delightful years and like many other couples, opposites attracted. He's naturally a spender and I'm naturally a saver. For five years, I've tried to trim our spending and increase our saving.

And for five years, Chuck has said things like this:

1. I don't like pinching pennies on vacation. (Vacation = Branson and he's usually talking about how many times he's going to ride the go carts.)
2. Jackie, I'm a simple man. I only want a boat, a motorcycle and an RV. (Only.)
3. (And my favorite) Look, I'm just here to have a good time. (This usually precedes purchasing an obscene amount of food. At the Missouri State Fair, I once saw him eat two hot dogs, nachos and a funnel cake. He washed it down with freshly-squeezed lemonade and got some root beer "for the road". I really don't understand how he stays so slim and trim.)

The Chuck I fell in love with enjoys life and doesn't worry about the tab. Then he discovered Dave Ramsey. Hooray, right? You'd think I'd be happy because I'm finally getting my way - more saving. But the timing is lousy, because right now, I'd like to spend a little.

I am due May 7th, and honestly preparing to have this baby in April. There are three things I'd like before I deliver: a manicure, a pedicure and a massage. Truly, I don't ask for much. I don't color my hair, I think $15 jeans at Kohl's are good enough and I eat out approximately twice a month. On a regular basis, I'm a frugal person.

But my feet and back hurt and my nails are gross from all the dishes and hand washing. I'd like to feel good before facing the pain of actually having the baby and look at least a little put together before sleepless newborn nights leave me looking like this again:


This is the part of your life where you stop wearing
makeup and "combing" your hair. You also usually
have throw up on your clothes, but nobody notices
that because your clothes themselves are ill-fitting
and partially unbuttoned. It's not pretty.


However, when I told Chuck that I had a few extras I'd like to work into the budget, he said, "How much is that going to cost?" The old Chuck would have said, "Sounds great!"

When I told him I wanted to spend a mere $150 on pampering, he said, "That money has to come from somewhere. You can't add money in one category without taking it from another. Where's it going to come from?" (Dang it! Now he's using my own words against me.)

"We could decrease what we're sending to savings," I squeaked.

He asked if I thought that was a responsible habit. Sigh. Of course it's not "responsible", but I have a baby in my belly that has to come out one way or another - and BTW - either way will hurt. Can't I get a little sympathy? I'm not asking for diamonds, I'm asking for someone to rub my feet. And seeing as how I'm carrying around an extra 20 lbs and can no longer reach them myself, I think that's a reasonable request.

In reality, I love the new thrifty Chuck. I just find it frustrating that he found the light 20 short days before my annual indulgence. To his credit, he approved the additional spending - albeit after I suggested that he could give me a pedicure. Now all I need to do is make my appointments. Yipee!

Final Two

I thought it would be impossible to find even one name that Chuck and I agree on, but we've found two. Our choices are:

• Norah Ann (I think I prefer this spelling.)
• Susanna June (She would have one name from each grandma and that would be really sweet.)

We're going to live with them for a little while and maybe even wait until the baby is born to choose a final name. She might really look like one or the other.

 

As much as I loved Brenna, I don't want to commit to "B" name. What if we have another child and can't find another "B" name we like? I know families like that and I always feel badly for the odd-man-out when I get their Christmas card.

 

Merry Christmas!
Love,
Ava, Andrew and Josh

 

Poor Josh! His parents really couldn't come up with one more "A" name. How about Allen, Asher, or Aiden. No? Ok, there's always Aaron, August, or Arthur. No? Avery? Atticus?

 

The Duggers have 19 children and they haven't run out of "J" names yet - it is possible. You just have to try! I can't even appreciate the card because I'm too busy pitying/renaming their youngest child.

 

In any case, feel free to weigh in on the final two options.

Let's Play: Name My Baby (Updated)

I am now almost 34 weeks along and working hard to get ready for our new baby girl. Specifically, naming her.

This is tricky business because Chuck and I fundamentally disagree on what a name should represent or who it should honor. Chuck usually pulls inspiration from hall-of-famers or "hot" girls from high school. I think if we're going to choose a namesake, we should honor people like our parents or grandparents.

Despite our differences, we're trying to come to an agreement. (Actually, Chuck is a very giving man and simply said, "Just bring me your top three and I'll pick my favorite. Isn't he wonderful?)

Here's what we've done so far.

I made a long list of names:
Alice - of noble kin
Anna - gracious/merciful
Anne - gracious/merciful
Beatrice - bringer of joy
Bethany - town near Jerusalem
Brenna - sword
Breanna - noble
Cora - heart
Easter - born on Easter (I think she might be born near Easter)
Elizabeth - God is my oath
Elsa - God is my oath (short form of Elizabeth)
Evangeline - messenger of good news
Jane - God is gracious
Jerah - boldness/bravery
Jessa - God beholds
Joy - happiness
Margret - pearl
Martha - lady
Myra - admirable
Natalie - born on Christmas day
Nora/Norah - honor
Savannah - open plain
Susanna - lily

Chuck made a short list of names:
Morgan - great circle (hot girl from high school)
Victoria - winner/conqueror (not sure of his inspiration here)
Joy - happiness (Jaime Presley's character from My Name is Earl)

Famous for saying, "Hey
Dummy, quit lookin'
at my boobies."

Then we looked to our family for inspiration:
Chuck's Grandmas:
Wilma Fern
Donna June

My Grandmas:
Vesta Verl
Dorothy Carolyn

Our Moms:
Barbra June
Carolyn Susan
Paula Beth (This was almost my mom's name, but my grandma lost that battle.)

We'll skip going back any further. I didn't really know my great-grandmas that well, but stories about them involved a lot of judgement and firearms. I can't remember the details, but I know at one point my mom said, "Grandma, please put the gun down, I'm afraid you're going to shoot me."

Then I made a list of unreasonable demands:
1. The name has to fit this baby:

• She seems sweet (she never kicks too hard).
• She also seems laid back... or hearing impaired. Ben plays his snare drum (again, thank you Little Brother for that super thoughtful Christmas gift) pretty much every day and she never even flinches.
• She seems to love Chuck and Ben. If they touch my stomach she always taps them back. It's like she's saying, "Hi. I know who you are and I love you."
• Although we don't know who she'll look like, I'd like to strive to hit the mark. Here are several choices:
• Ben: Lots of siblings look alike and, unfortunately for our daughter, Ben looked like Grandpa Enderle. The handlebar mustache looks sharp on Grandpa, we'll see if she can work it.

Grandpa and Bean looking handsome.

• Joseph: My mom keeps telling me how similar this pregnancy is to hers with Joseph. I'm having pregnancy nightmares of a bearded, guitar-slaying baby girl.

Joseph shredding on a tiny pink guitar.

• Me: Chuck says he hopes our baby girl looks like me. Little does he know, as a child, I may have look like a wild animal.

Judging by my weird little bangs, it looks
like this picture was taken after one of
my many self-haircuts. Don't blame my mother
for my crazy hair; I'm sure it was my fault.

2. It has to coordinate with Ben's name - Benjamin Charles. Benjamin is a traditional name and Charles is a family name.

3. It has to be clearly a female name. There is a current trend toward unisex names or giving girls traditionally boy names. And although I know lots of cute Taylors and Ryans (of both genders), I think this girl needs a girl's name.

4. It has to have a nice meaning. I simply can't name my baby something that means "sadness" or "afflicted". With every little cold I would think, "This is it. We named her Whatever-Name-Means-Afflicted and now she's doomed to spend her whole life afflicted."

5. It has to be versatile. When we were trying to name Ben, SG suggested Fletcher. I just can't imagine a person named Fletcher doing anything except working in a ski shop and aspiring to become a professional wakeboarder. We need something that will allow her to grow up and be an accountant or writer or whatever else she wants to be.

6. I would prefer a two-syllable name. (Like I said, these are unreasonable demands.)

So here are some names I've been playing with:
Alice Easter
Elizabeth Joy
Elsa Anne
Evangeline Fern
Jessa Beth
Jerah Beth
Joy Elizabeth
Susanna Joy

And here are my top two choices:
Nora Anne / Norah Ann (Annette is my middle name)
Joy Susanna (Susanna would honor my mom)

Update 1:
I love the write-ins! I didn't realize Brenna was such a favorite and I really like Evangeline Ann. Please keep your ideas coming :)

Update 2:
My parents don't love Nora and my dad said he would call her Noriega. If you're like me and don't know what that means, let me share. Manuel Noriega was a military dictator in Panama in the 80s. A quick glance at Wikipedia tells us he was a pretty bad dude. Plus, he looks like this:

The notorious Noriega

Despite this new information, there is no way I can come up with a name that's safe from my dad's nicknames so at this point, I'm undeterred.

Bubble Boy

In order to share this story, I have to admit to my extreme negligence as a parent. Please overlook it.

This evening Chuck was out running emergency errands - purchasing a new grill cover because ours is tattered and it will probably rain tonight. So bath time responsibility feel on me.

I started the water and began to undress and Ben, but realized I was super hot in my long-sleeved shirt and jeans so I went to change. (Just in case anyone missed it, this is the negligent part.)

Ben won't climb in the tub himself so I thought this would be a safe choice even with the water running. And if we were only concerned about drowning, it would have been. Little did I know that Benny had a secret plan and judging by the speed with which he executed it, this was a plan he'd been cooking for a while.

I came back - literally 30 seconds later - to find the bath tub completely pink and the previously half-full Lander's Kids Bubble Bath container essentially empty. This is a 64 ounces container. So, in the time it took me to put on a t-shirt, Ben unscrewed the lid and dumped approximately 30 fluid ounces of Silly Strawberry Bubble Bath into our tub.

Evidence

The extreme bubbles were already forming and within a minute they were cresting the top of the tub. At this point, we only had one choice: celebrate this extravagant bubble bath for the once-in-a-lifetime treasure it was.

I plopped Ben in the tub and we made bubble art:

Bubble Beard (I got one too, but wouldn't let Ben
operate the camera from the tub.)



Bubble Hats



Even a Bubble Mullet.



This was probably the best bath of Ben's life... until we couldn't get the bubbles off. We rinsed and rinsed and rinsed, but only made more bubbles. Finally, I had to take him to the sink and give him what Chuck calls "a whore's bath". He cried.

But I think if he had the chance again (which he won't - bubble bath is now considered toddler contraband), he'd take it.

Peas in a Pod

We have T-8 weeks until our baby girl is born and Chuck keeps asking me if I'm excited for my new best friend. I assume this is partly a jab at how much I love my mom, but I think he has sometimes felt a little left out because Ben was such a Mama's baby.

He always says that Ben is his best friend and I'm Ben's best friend. I try to remind him that we ought to be Ben's parents not his friends, but this point seems to fall on deaf ears. Plus, Ben is growing out of his Mama Phase and discovering how fun Dad can be.

Just in case Chuck ever starts reading my blog, here are my three examples of how similar they are and how much fun they have together.

Exhibit A - Extreme Sports:
After dinner I was washing the dishes listening to Ben and Chuck giggle in the living room. My heart was full and I was thinking, "Isn't that sweet, they're playing together and having so much fun." Then I turned around. I should have expected what I saw, but foolishly I didn't.

My six-foot tall husband was standing on the right arm of the couch and my two-year-old was was standing on the left. What I thought was a counting lesson, turned to horror before my eyes:

Together they said, "Three. Two. One. Blastoff!" And then they both fell face-first onto the cushions collapsing into giggles.

Chuck caught me looking at him and said, "It's ok, we're boys."

My mind was racing:

1. You are not a boy. You're 31 years old.
2. You're the DAD. You should be setting a good example, not teaching our child bigger and better ways to jump on the furniture.
3. This game looks like a head injury waiting to happen.

I nixed the criticism and decided to focus on what I wanted to happen - getting Ben and Chuck to play together appropriately. So I said, "I'm glad you guys are having so much fun and this is a very creative game, but instead of teaching Ben to jump on our furniture, why don't you take him downstairs and play with toys."

Chuck was happy to oblige. He said, "Come on Ben, let's go downstairs and play swords."

Sigh. Well, that's a little closer.

Side Note: I secretly want a video of this game, but feel like a hypocrite suggesting that they play it again.

Exhibit 2 - Super-Sonic Sense of Smell:
Chuck's habit of smelling his food before he eats it has long entertained me. Especially when we were first married he was discovering the wonderful world of vegetables.

Chuck: What is this?
Jackie: It's asparagus. Haven't you eaten asparagus before?
Chuck: No.... is it good?
Jackie: Well, I think so. I made it and I'm eating it.
Chuck: Hmmm.... Sniiiifffff.... (Biting.... chewing... ) Hmmm...

Ben smells his food too. He'll lean over his plate, inhale deeply and declare how icky something is. (Definitely developing a thicker skin about my cooking. It's hard to please a two-year-old).

But Ben smells more than just food. The other day at my parents' veterinary hospital, he picked up the end of the central vacuum and sniffed it. I truly thought I was going to throw up. I know what they suck up in that thing and it is gross. Think toe nails and  matted hair. Ew.

My mom was gut laughing, I was fighting back my breakfast.

Exhibit 3 - Preferred Sleeping Accommodations: 
To make room for the new baby, we moved Ben into what was our spare bedroom and moved him into a full bed. That's right we skipped the race car, toddler, and twin beds and went straight to a full. We made this decision because we already had a full-sized bed and didn't have any other place for it. It seemed silly to get rid of it, not have a place for company to sleep, and buy a toddler bed.

So we made it as toddler-friendly as possible. I asked Ben for about a week if he wanted to sleep in the big bed instead of the crib and at first he said no, but then he came around. On move day, we waved goodbye to the crib and carried all his little friends to the new bed. He climbed in and looked so happy.

We called Chuck up to see the new bed complete with Ben and he said, "Wow, that looks so comfy. I wish I could sleep in that bed."

Now, many people will think that Chuck was just saying that to make Ben feel like he's getting something really special, but he was completely serious. And every day for the last week, he's mentioned how he wants to sleep in that bed. In fact, the one morning Ben woke up super early (6:15 am) Chuck practically sprang out of bed and said, "I'll go lay with him and see if I can get him to go back to sleep."

In fairness, it does look pretty inviting.


Ben enjoying his new bed. Also a rare nap with pants.

 On a side note, Chuck keeps asking where Ben will sleep if his mom comes to town. I keep telling him, "With her." I bet they'd both love it.

So, Ben and Chuck, I'm glad you guys love each other so much and Chuck remember, you have a few more years where Ben thinks everything you do is amazing. Enjoy it.

How to Ruin Your Children

Many moms I know worry about "ruining" their children. They joke about starting a therapy fund and confess fears they probably haven't even shared with their husbands.

As friends, we reassure each other with comments like, "Oh, you're not bossy. You're efficient." or "So what if you're sometimes dramatic, you make life fun. Your kids know you love them and they're happy."

Most of the moms I've had these conversations with love their children fiercely and provide a constant home base of acceptance and security. Even adult children know that Mom's arms and ears are open if needed. These women are far from ruining their kids.

I however, am actually ruining Benjamin and here is the photographic evidence:


Ben being ruined.


That's right, Ben is roller skating... pantless. It's bad enough I let him roller skate every day like this is 1978, but letting him do it without pants is unconscionable. Adding insult to injury, instead of rectifying the situation (I'm totally capable of putting pants on him), I photograph him instead.

He's probably going to end up like this:

Ben's unavoidable future.

Ben decided he loved roller skating at SG's birthday party. He tore up the floor and even made it to the final round of the limbo. (I like to think his height advantage was offset by the fact that it was his first time skating.)

Ben's first time on skates.

He loved it so much, he found a picture of roller skates in a book (a funny Mickey Mouse book from the 80s book my mom gave to me) and said, "Bean keet! Bean keet!" probably 100 times. He'd pull out this book, shove his stockinged foot in my face and beg to skate.

So, one Saturday morning, I sent Ben and Chuck to Toys R Us with $100 in birthday/Christmas money. I gave Chuck a very detailed list of what he was supposed to buy:

1. Roller skates
2. T-ball tee
3. Sippy cups that look exactly like this (sent actual cup)

Chuck asked, "Do you want me to spend all the money?"

I resisted saying, "Please give me one example where I would say, "Chuck, it is imperative that you spend all of this money!"

Instead I respectfully said, "Well, there's no need to try to spend..."

"Ok, we'll spend ALL the money!" Sometimes I don't even know why I bother talking to Chuck, he's clearly not listening.

So off Chuck and Ben went to the toy store. I wish I could have seen them shopping. I imagine it included at least seven full laps of the store, Ben asking for things by picking them up and yelling, "Bean! Bean! Bean!" I also hope Ben called Chuck, "Daddy Chuck" which he sometimes does. I'm sure it took at least and hour and a half and was general chaos.

Then they came home with their loot: skates, a T-ball stand, hockey sticks and binkies... and Ben proceeds to ask to roller skate every moment of every day. At 6:15 in the morning, I get him out of his bed and he says, "Bean keet." When we're driving home, when I'm laying him down for a nap, when he wakes up from his nap. He wouldn't even take his skates off to eat dinner.

He always wants to skate and that's how this picture happened. Every single day, we have lunch and play for about 15 minutes while he poops. I take his pants off to change his diaper and leave them off for his nap. (I always ask and he always says, "Off.") Then he woke up, anxious to skate. Rather than wrestle him into pants, then shoes, then skates, I simply put his shoes and skates on.

And then I realized what I'd done.

Then I laughed at him.

Then I photographed him.

I wish I could say this is my only indiscretion, but it isn't. I am notorious for dressing Ben badly and then laughing at him. You can find evidence here.

So Benjamin, when you're older and reading this thinking, "This explains everything! Mom is the reason I (fill in whatever you'd like to blame on me here)," just know three things.

1. You're probably right. I did ruin you.
2. But I do love you very much.
3. And no, I did not start a therapy fund for you. You're on your own like the rest of us.

One, Two, Three...

Today is another red-letter day for Benny. He counted to nine all by himself without any help or prompting. Technically, he skipped four. We're not really sure what he "said". In fact, it honestly sounded more like a burp than a word, but he started back up with five and was really rolling by eight.

We celebrated and I tried to get him to call Mama Jack (what he's currently calling my mom) and say, "I counted to nine." He repeated the sentence once, but thereafter refused. Instead, he gave me that face that says, "I can't believe you are so lame." It's amazing how that expression is so instinctual.

Despite the face making, we're still proud of Ben's counting accomplishment and in Ben's own words, "Go Bean!"



This is a recent picture and another milestone. Ben put

his shoes on all by himself.



They may not be on the correct feet :)



We love you, Ben. You are a delightful person and we're so thankful God gave you to us.