6th Day of Thanksgiving: Two Years with Squiggle

My little Squiggle Man is two years old today!  He doubled my joy on that Tuesday before Thanksgiving in 2006, a joy that continues to grow every day.  His birth made one of my most memorable Thanksgiving holidays.  When I went to the doctor on the Friday before, he decided that we would induce labor on Tuesday, November 21.  We had already determined that Squiggle would be the namesake of both of my grandfathers.  It wasn’t until I got home from the doctor’s office that the date sunk in.  He would be born on November 21, my Grandaddy’s birthday.  We knew, then, his name was well-chosen.  By 10am, I had him in my arms.  After two nights in the hospital, we brought him home–on Thanksgiving Day.

I remember that day as one of the most peaceful and joyful holidays I’ve experienced.  It was sunny and crisp, but not too cold.  A beautiful Autumn day.  We hardly knew it was a holiday, but we had much to be thankful for.  I was so glad to see and touch him on the outside and to be relieved from the pressure of having his 8 lbs 15 oz taking over my belly.  We got home just after lunch with big brother Little Drummer Boy all dressed up and proud of his new playmate.  I remember just wanting to soak them both up.  My nights at Oktibbeha County Hospital with Hub bunking in had been the only nights we’d spent away from Drummer Boy since he was born.  I was so happy to have them both home in our house–safe, healthy and in hugging distance.

It took us until the early afternoon to get home, get settled in and realize we were hungry.  Starkville is a university town, and the Saturday after Thanksgiving every other year brings in fans for the State/Ole Miss football game.  We’d never been in town for Thanksgiving, but we hoped the extra visitors for the upcoming game meant the standard take-out options would be open despite the holiday.  We called around and found out Ruby Tuesdays was one of the few restaurants available and placed our order.  There, around the table with a high-chair and a basinette, we enjoyed Thanksgiving lunch from black styrofoam take-out boxes–loaded fries, the sustenance of gratitude.

We had our traditional Thanksgiving meal on Saturday with a few sleepless newborn nights under our belt.  We cooked it and ate it at my house.  Although we spread the table with the same dishes cooked from the same recipes, it was another first.  Every year before and since, the menu has been reserved for Grandmother’s house, MeMa’s house or Mama’s house.  Still, it was a precious change filled with the comfort and joy of being in the first place your children belong.

The blessing of getting to know Squiggle is just two years in the making now.  We are basking in joy that pops in and out, sitting just beneath the surface of the frustration inherent in parenting a toddler through those first tough lessons.  As with Little Drummer Boy (and I’m sure Baby Girl to follow), we are sometimes heavy with the realization that so much of who he is becoming is who we are, and who we are training him to be.

Squiggle is intensly resolved.  Some might call it strong-willed, that character trait we so often admire in adults, but chide in toddlers.  Even in the womb he was resolved.  He would straighten both his legs out to push against the constraints–one foot on each side under my ribs.  It took more than a few pokes and pushing back on his heels to get him to move, releasing my lungs to take a deep breath.  He came out of the womb determined to make his own way.  Even as an infant, he would never simply rest his head on my shoulder like his brother did.  He would always push back to take in his surroundings.  Only now does his loving spirit sometimes give in and allow me that fleeting luxury at bedtime.  Squiggle is passionate about everything.  He does everything and feels everything at 110%, fully giving himself to it.  He is the most fun-loving of my children, the most willing to test his wings with abandon.  This trait has prompted more than one person to tell me, “he will be the one to watch.”  He learned to smile very quickly, and practices often, along with his trademark squeal-fueled giggle and the universal animal roar he has made his own.  His eyes often reveal the twinkle of joyful mischief within, and he is the one most likely to fling himself into your arms–for two seconds before moving on to the next passion.

I love this picture from our first photo shoot.  He’s wearing the same white outfit each of my children have worn home from the hospital, and a baby blue sweater–the perks of being born in November.  I see an earnest expression, brow almost furrowed in thought. I still see that today sometimes when he is trying to make sense of his little world–resolving his passion for whatever is before him with the joy of life his heart seems to exude.  He will be a spectacular man.

God, please help us to get him there with his vibrant spirit unfettered.

Counting

Counting has been a big point of interest around our house for the last few months.  Little Drummer Boy has been proudly demonstrating his prowess at counting to twenty, and bravely guessing at the unknown world beyond that benchmark.  “Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, twenty-ten….”

Squiggle has been learning to count to three, primarily in the context of “one, two, three, go!” and the subsequent 2-year-old land speed record.  In true Squiggle fashion, he prefers to skip right past the one and two, and focus on “three, go!”  Why take time to contemplate the process when you can just hit the ground running?  Despite our best efforts, he seems to think three is the only number at the moment.  We try to count as often as possible: french fries as they go on the plate, blocks as they go in the bucket, arms and legs as they go in the shirts and pants, steps as we go up or down them.  But, Squiggle clearly prefers three.  Each step is “three, three, three.”

On August 30, we counted Baby Girl’s fingers and toes for the first time–ten of each.  Then, because of a minor nerve injury to her right arm during her delivery, we were counting reps in her little home-grown physical therapy sessions–bending at the elbow, raising over her head, and rotating palm up and palm down.  Hub really put her through the paces with 3 sets of 10 or 12 reps.  She’s more in shape than I am.  Now, she’s pretty much using her arm normally, and we’ve stopped mentally counting each time we see her lift it on her own.

Hub has been counting pennies and desperately trying to find two to rub together.  My maternity leave was wonderful, but it meant less money from my day job and even less time for my freelance writing jobs.  My return to work full time was good, but added another day care tuition to our budget.  Winter has come early for us in Hub’s business with project work dwindling.  So, now we’re counting the days until we hear back from extra job applications.

As for me, I’ve noticed a disturbing trend.  I’ve been adopting the taking names, counting check marks, and staying in at recess approach to thinking about our worrysome circumstances–assigning blame, complaining and criticizing.  Financial struggles and concerns are the top of the list in the family-buster stress category, and it’s been all over us like white on rice (as they say here in the deep south.)  It’s funny.  I never thought I was one to take the easy way out.  But, blaming, complaining and criticizing are SO easy.  It is so much easier to focus on someone else’s short-comings or mistakes than it is to take responsibility for my own.  Nitpicking my children into frustration is easy.  It’s so much easier to push my frustration on to them than to wisely deal with it myself.  Letting uncensored thoughts fly out of my mouth is a no-brainer.  It’s so much easier than exercising self-control.  It’s so much easier because it’s all about me.  It’s always easier to take care of Haley than it is to step outside of myself and my needs.  When faced with big things, it’s so easy to be small–to let the littlest things tear down and destroy.  It seems I need to relearn to count.

I grew up going to a Southern Baptist church (a couple, actually). Not that the distinction really matters, except to say that in Southern Baptist churches you stand up and sit down a lot, usually to sing.  One of the old standby hymns we sang was called “Count Your Blessings.”

Count your blessings.
Name them one by one.
Count your blessings.
See what God has done.

Yep, counting sounds pretty important right now.  In trying times, the hard stuff muscles its way to the front.  Those are the times when counting matters.  It’s a conscious, thinking action — counting, naming.  It forces me to push beyond the easy, to lay aside the temporary frustrations or disappointments and see life-long realities.  Blessings that can’t be shaken.  To count them is to keep a record, to acknowledge them, to give them a name, to signify their importance.

It’s fitting that Thanksgiving is just around the corner.  What better time to start counting?  So, I’ve decided to embark on a mathematical journey to quantify the blessings.  Complaining and criticism, be gone!  I’m challenging myself to reflect on Thanksgiving and document my joy in posts for the 12 days of Thanksgiving (no, there’s not a song.)  Let the count-down to turkey day begin!

Gift Tag: The Hug Store

Little Drummer Boy (my 3 1/2 year old) and I have a little game that goes something like this…

Mommy:  Do you have a hug for me today?
LDB: No. (said with a giggle)
Mommy: Oh no!  I need a hug.  Don’t you have one for me?
LDB:  No. (more giggling)
Mommy:  Do you have one in your pocket?
LDB:  (extended pause)  Ummm. Yes.
And, he pulls an imaginary hug out of his pocket and gives it to me.  Nice.

Sometimes…

Mommy: Are you sure you don’t have a hug for me?  I really need a hug this morning.
LDB: But, I have one at school.
Mommy:  You have it at school?
LDB:  Yes. (said with a giggle)
Mommy:  Are you going to bring it home for me?
LDB: Yes.
Mommy:  I wish I had a hug right now.
LDB: But, I don’t have any more hugs.
He usually relents and somehow finds one before he heads out the door.

There are a hundred variations.  Sometimes the game translates to a request for his “special” kisses–the ones that aren’t just a peck, but all slobber and giggles.  My usual response is “Oooh, I’m going to keep that all day long.”  It’s the dance we do.  And, I’m a willing participant.  I relish the process because I know one day (way before I’m ready) I’ll have to do a lot more begging that that to get a hug from my big man.  One day he’ll be the one leaning down for the hug instead of me.

One morning this week, the game took a slightly different turn…

Mommy:  You’re out of hugs?  But, I really wanted a hug.  Can you get another one?
LDB:  Yes, I can get one.  From The Hug Store.
Where does he get this stuff?  Laughter ensued from Mommy and Daddy, which made Little Drummer Boy giggle, too.  And, of course, I gave him a shake-down to find the one last hug hidden deep inside after all.

The Hug Store.  Talk about your retail therapy.
Who am I kidding?  What he’s offering, money can’t buy!

Gift Tags are the tiny messages God continues to include with our gifts — 2 little joys of boys and 1 little jewel of a girl, each with open eyes, open ears, open hearts, and much to teach. “Behold children are a gift of the Lord…” (psalm 127:1)

Time Out

It’s always funny and refreshing to see the world through the eyes of a 3-year-old.  Tonight at bedtime we were reading in our Rhyme Bible about Daniel and the lion’s den.  It’s one of Little Drummer Boy’s personal favorites, and therefore, I’ve pretty much committed the cadence to memory.

In case you’re not familiar with the story…  

Daniel was a Hebrew taken into captivity by the Babylonians.  He proved his character in such a way that King Darius, ruler of the Persian Empire later appointed him to supervise the governors of all his territorial provinces.  Obviously, that didn’t go over well with the actual Persians in King Darius’ court who were bumped over.  They knew of Daniel’s faith in God and commitment to daily prayer.  So, they tricked King Darius into making a law that would outlaw the prayer, knowing Daniel would not abide by the law.

That’s the point in the story where our story book includes a picture of several of the court officials spying on Daniel outside his window.  Little Drummer Boy leaned up from his pillow and pointed to one of the men.

“He’s about to be in trouble.  He’s probably going to be in time out.”

I’ll say.  As a result of the law he was tricked into signing, King Darius had to send Daniel to the lion’s den for the night, which greatly grieved him.  Our story stops the next day after the king saw that God had protected Daniel and announced that the kingdom should honor the God of Israel.  However, I have a feeling King Darius subjected the court officials that targeted Daniel to a time out of a more permanent kind that usually seen on Nanny 911.

Nevertheless, Little Drummer Boy’s take on the situation gave me an inner giggle and an appreciation of his keen sense of what was kind and unkind.  Sometimes I envy the clarity of the 3-year-old perspective.  If only we had the same understanding of kind and unkind as adults.  I don’t know about you, but I encounter people and situations every day that could benefit from a time out.  A pause.  A little separation from a volatile situation.  Time to consider our actions and their consequences.  Time to learn how to make a different choice.

By the way, I highly recommend the Rhyme Bible by Linda Sattgast. It offers stories in rhyme from both the Old and New Testaments along with great (and sometimes humorous) pen, ink and watercolor illustrations. lt communicates many Bible stories and concepts effectively in a way that has appealed to my Little Drummer Boy since he was probably no more than 18 months.  We haven’t quite started it with Squiggle Man yet–mainly because we can’t get him to sit still long enough–but I am sure he will be just as enamored by it at bedtime.  Get this one.  It’s well worth it!

Gift Tag: Mommy’s Lap

My little Drummer Boy did not get a nap today.  It was day 7 in one of those weeks.  There has been a lot of excitement around our house.  Last Monday I went for my weekly doctor visit to check on Miss Baby M, and he decided it would be time to induce us at 38 weeks.  That means that when I go to the doctor tomorrow, we’ll find out what day THIS week our baby “seester” will make her arrival.

We’ve been scrambling around, getting all manner of pink baby items, and putting the semi-finishing touches on the nursery.  Mommy’s been working from home instead of going to the office, and getting more uncomfortable by the minute.  Daddy’s been taking over a few more parts of the daily routine than he had already taken over.  Little Drummer Boy and Baby Squiqqle Man have been slam dancing between spontaneous tears, random throwing of toys, mini tantrums and the sweetest blown kisses, slobbered kisses and hugs they’ve been holding in their pockets all day you’ve ever seen.  We know that confusion and insecurity are running rampant.  We know that even though Little Drummer Boy has an amazing vocabulary for which we can take no credit and Squiggle Man knows way more words than we give him credit for, they can rarely articulate what is really going on inside.  We’ve been watching, asking questions, guessing, soul-searching, and giving it a try for quite a few months now–go back to watching and repeat ad infinitum.  Change is hard, no matter how many years you have under your belt.

My Little Drummer Boy has had an extra dose of change lately.  Two weeks ago, he moved up to a new preschool class–new teachers, new schedules, still not wanting to put his tee tee in the potty, but everybody talking about it.  One week ago, he started his first “extra-curricular” activity–an AWANA “Cubbies” club where he’s meeting new friends, more new teachers, and learning Bible verses (doing a great job, I might add!)  Plus, he actually knows what it means to anticipate being a new big brother.  He’s already done it once.

So, he didn’t get a nap today.  That means he was practically falling asleep at dinner, and I was putting him in bed early.  We read our books, found our blanket and puppy, turned on the music and listened to Mommy sing.  I thought he would fall asleep while I rubbed his back, but then it began:

Drummer: “Mommy…”

Me: “Mmmm Hmmm?”

Drummer: “I want to sit in your lap.”

Ok, I’m paying attention now.  Requesting to sit in my lap is uncommon these days now that he’s such a BIG 3-year-old– usually reserved for “bo bo” comfort or coersion (read bribery) from Mommy.  I knew this did not bode well for a speedy bedtime, but it was a treat I couldn’t pass up.

He climbed over in my lap, which Miss Baby M has shrunk considerably at this point.  Aside from some of my mandatory hugs, he didn’t cuddle or put his head on my shoulder.  He was content just to sit.  Then, he looked at me and smiled–a couple of times.

Me: “Why are you smiling?”

Drummer: “I’m happy.”

Me: “Why are you happy?”

Drummer: “I’m happy for you, Mommy.”

Me: “Why are you happy for me?”

Drummer: “I’m sitting in your lap.”

It was a crystal clear moment.  I saw deep into his heart, and was dumbfounded by how little it took to get there.  I knew he meant he was happy ABOUT being in my lap.  It was instantaneous security, peace, clarification, and love for him.  I told him how proud I was of him, how thankful we were on the day he was born, what a good big brother he was, and how much bigger Mommy’s lap would be in just a few more days.  And, just as quickly, the moment was gone. My Little Drummer Boy “wasn’t tired” anymore, and we would live to convince him otherwise in another hour or so.

“Teach us to number our days, that we may present to Thee a heart of wisdom.” (psalm 90:12)

Yes, it was a crystal clear moment.  One that underscored a realization that there is no better barometer of wise priorities than to center ourselves in this moment in this place to do what counts most–even if it’s just postponing bedtime for a little laptime.  Although, my Little Drummer Boy misused his preposition, I was actually happy FOR me.  It was instantaneous peace, clarification and love.  I saw deep into my own heart, and was dumbfounded again by the recognition that the best of my whole world can be found in the space of just a few rooms.

Gift Tags are the tiny messages God continues to include with our gifts — 2 little boys and the anticipation of 1 little girl, each with open eyes, open ears, open hearts, and much to teach. “Behold children are a gift of the Lord…” (psalm 127:1)