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.

5th Day of Thanksgiving: Haley Hears a Who

I’m realizing that the Who in Thanksgiving makes all the difference. I’ve been thinking through lists of things I’m thankful for, which I’m sure I’ll share as the days move toward Turkey Day.  I’ve been eager to cultivate a grateful heart for the little and big things in my life that produce joy, peace and blessing.  But, I have to admit that I’m finding it a little empty.  Yes, recognizing those people and things is rewarding, and the experiences with them are good to savor.  But, people and things come and go.  Thanksgiving really gains its power when it pushes me to recognize and praise the WHO responsible for my blessings large and small.  Like faith, thankfulness is at its most potent when it has an object.  

One of Little Drummer Boy’s favorite bedtime story books is his Rhyme Bible (which I highly recommend.)  It includes a story about how God fulfilled His promise to Abraham and gave him a son.  Our favorite part is the last page, where “Abraham jumped for joy, when he saw his baby boy.”  At this point, LDB always asks, “why did he lose his shoes?” The illustration literally depicts how Abraham must have felt when God’s gift truly knocked his socks (and shoes) off.  When I look back at the actual promise God made to Abraham years before his son was born, I’m reminded of His purpose in blessing Abraham.

“And I will make you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great; and so you shall be a blessing.” (genesis 12:2)

Blessed to be a blessing–that was God’s promise.  If adopting a life of gratitude is to have a true impact on me in the day to day realities, being thankful is just the seed.  To become a blessing is the fruition.  Knowing the Who who made it possible enables the cultivation in between.  With all blessings of peace, joy, grace, mercy and love–those most-sought-after and precious gifts–we can only give out of our own overflow.  And, my ability to bless others begins with a commitment to bless the Lord first.  So, who is this Who drawing my eyes upward in thanksgiving?  We know Him by His actions:

He pardons…  bringing the sweet restoration of forgiveness, the freedom of a clean slate in a world that takes names

He heals… applying the gentle balm of repair, the relief of wholeness in a world with open wounds

He redeems… repurchasing the squandered wealth of life, the hope of second chances in a world built on “all sales final”

He crowns… bestowing the undeserved protection of mercy, the birthright of belonging in a world of refugees

He satisfies… enabling the simple generosity of contentment, the joy of open hands in a world with a white knuckle grip

Bless the LORD, O my soul, And all that is within me, bless His holy name.
Bless the LORD, O my soul, And forget none of His benefits;
Who pardons all your iniquities, Who heals all your diseases;
Who redeems your life from the pit, Who crowns you with lovingkindness and compassion;
Who satisfies your years with good things, So that your youth is renewed like the eagle.
(psalm 103:1-5)

With all that is within me, indeed.  May I freely bless as He blesses?

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!

Three Ring Circus: Opening Tour Dates

“Welcome back my friends to the show that never ends.”
(Emerson, Lake and Palmer – 1974)

Yes, I’ve been on a one-month hiatus from writing while seeing to some very special tour dates at home — the THREE RING CIRCUS tour, that is.

If you’ve read the “introductions” page, you’ve seen the men in my life. Little Drummer Boy (because really what object couldn’t achieve it greatest functionality by being used as a drumstick) is my 3-year-old.  Squiggle Man (because really what activity couldn’t be made even more fun by including a squeal and a giggle at volume 10) is my 22-month-old. Those two provide much of the excitement in our show, although, my husband occasionally offers a contribution.  You may have also read my allusions and occasional complaints about being very pregnant in August in Mississippi.  Well, I am here to say that the very best thing about being pregnant in August in Mississippi is the prize you get for playing!

BabyGirl Montgomery was born August 30, 2008 at 12:47pm, and she is a Jewel!  She weighed in at 8 lbs, 8 oz and was bright eyed, healthy and hungry from her first moment under the bright lights!  Our THREE RING CIRCUS is complete and we are sold out on it.

My OB/GYN had been saying for months that we would probably have the baby a week or two early, so we were expecting to induce labor on September 2.  BabyGirl had other plans.  My water broke at the breakfast table, we checked into the hospital at 10:00am and she made her arrival at 12:47pm — what efficiency and 12 days before my due date! We were so fortunate to have an easy delivery and a healthy baby girl.  It was also a bonus that my doctor and our pediatrician were both on call for the Labor Day (ha!) weekend, so we all were well acquainted.

Daddy is quite smitten already.  He’s been reminding himself for months, “I’m going to be the parent here.” But, we all know just who will be wrapped around who’s finger. Drummer Boy and Squiggle Man are enjoying having their little “seester” on the outside and Mommy’s full lap at their disposal.  Drummer Boy’s chief concern was “what is in your tummy now?”  On the morning we brought Baby Girl home, I let him know it was the hospital french toast I’d had for breakfast.  Since then, he’s been eager to help us take care of BabyGirl by fetching her poppy (read pacifier), patting her back and looking at her dirty britches (read #2 diaper).  Squiggle Man was quite confused while we were in the hospital, but has since begun to alert us of Maggie’s presence by shouting “Bee Bee” (read Baby) each time he sees her or her basinette.  Like Drummer Boy, he also brings BabyGirl her poppy,  and tries his best to get it in her mouth.  Since she hasn’t quite figured out how to keep it in her mouth, he raises his hands in confusion as if to say “this one must be broken.”  He also is quick to point o the basinette and say “bee-add” (read bed) when he thinks Mommy needs to put BabyGirl down and read to him!

Step right up!  The three rings are now complete, the show is on, and we are having a blast juggling all the blessings.