9th Day of Thanksgiving: The List

Last Friday, Hub and I attended Little Drummer Boy’s Thanksgiving program at day care and enjoyed a selection of turkey songs, his turkey headdress, a little day-dreaming, a great deal of jumping, and ham and cheese sandwiches.  It was our first “program” complete with all the fun we expected in a 3-year-old’s performance.  They did great. Their teachers did GREAT, and we captured it all on film.  Little Drummer Boy has now added HIS “movie” to the favorite list and enjoys giggles from the audience at each showing.

As part of the decorations in the Fellowship Hall, the teachers for each class had hung posters with lists of what the children said they were thankful for.  As you can imagine, the lists included everything from frogs to Spider Man to cheetos.  My Little Drummer Boy was thankful for “Mommy and Daddy.”  Right back atcha, sweet one!  In the grand tradition of preschool “What I’m thankful for” lists, my observance of the 12 Days of Thanksgiving would not be complete without a list or two of my own.  This one includes the silly, the sweet and the soul-searching of my life.  I tried to split it out, so as not to muddy up the serious with the superficial, but you know, life’s little Thanksgiving pageant just isn’t like that.  So, here goes (in no particular order. actually, in the order I thought of them, which is not particular)…

3.  Little Drummer Boy, Squiggle & Baby Girl — I start with (3) in Squiggle Man’s tradition because to separate them would suggest a first and last, and I could never decide that.
4.  Hub — his knowledge of 80’s rap and all manner of toddler wrestling moves, his commitment to follow hard after God and to work hard despite disappointment
5.  My Family — their generosity, their love of traditions, their commitment to celebration, their pecan pie
6.  Laptops — daily Mac love
7.  WordPress — autosave, comment approval and spam catching widgets
8.  BlueHost — and it’s cheap hosting
9.  McDonald’s playland — chicken nuggets, family time and some “outside time” even on a rainy Sunday
10.  My Day Job — and the Queen who reigns there
11.  Cheesy Dogs & Tator Tots — my own little 30-minute meal, including the 50 stops to soothe tears, referee toy ownership, find pup-pup, start Dora, converse with Hub (rare!), bounce Baby Girl, move Buddy (the cat), find Noah and Jim (citizens of Little People land), fill juice cups, find pup-pup again, etc, etc.
12.  Ore Ida Steam N’ Mash Potatoes — Wow!  My favorite new product.  I can make homemade mashed potatoes (the rare food everyone loves) without peeling, chopping or boiling.
13.  Fallen leaves — and their crunch, the sound that immediately immerses me mentally and emotionally  in everything I love about Autumn
14.  The Internet — finding at least something about almost anything
15.  Simon & Garfunkel Pot Roast, Mashed Potatoes, Baby Limas & Corn Bread — delicious.  the meal that makes me feel like I’m cooking like a Mama
16.  Our House — the fun of making it our own, the joy of giving our kids a place they belong, the realization that even if we didn’t have it, we would still have everything
17.  God’s Word — truth, solace, encouragement, instruction, admonition, past, present, future
18.  Giggles — and their abundance
19.  Saturdays — the day we “get to spend the whole day together”
20.  The Question “Why?” — and the opportunities for conversation it brings, 537 times a day
21.  God’s Mercy — boundless redemption from mistakes and wayward steps
22.  A Baby in the House — her smiles and coos, the bonding of nursing her, watching her recognize her own hands, letting her fall asleep on my shoulder
23.  Boys — the every day learning curve of truck horns, animal roars, constant movement, drum beats, tall towers, and the dream of the men they will be
24.  The Quietness of 11 o’clock — the peace of seeing them all asleep with arms sprawled or knees pulled under, and a few moments to myself.  it’s worth the loss of sleep.
25.  Laying my Head on the Pillow — in the hope that I’ve given each moment it’s due, trusting God to prune, fertilize and water what’s been done

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!

Toothy Still Life

An impromptu Halloween goodie still-life by budding photographer, Drummer Boy!

My boys have the Fisher Price Kid-Tough Digital Camera, and it is!  Kid-tough, I mean.  We’re still working on our aim and the flash is a little wacky, but they are pumped about the possibilities.  I’m amazed at the “art shots” they are getting as happy accidents.  (More to follow.)  Little Drummer Boy is learning to get our heads in there.  Squiggle Man really likes to see the flash, so we’re getting lots of self-portraits from him.  And, we’re all running around saying cheese.  Toothy!

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)

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 “meet haley” 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.

Gift Tag: Lessons in Recklessness

I was sitting on the floor of the living room–not necessarily an easy task at the moment with a 7-months pregnant belly out to there–and 18 months of pure squiggle (a squeal-fueled giggle) energy were coming at me full steam.  

Running at maximum toddler capacity, my little guy flung himself into my arms with a resounding super squeal.  I gave him a little squeeze, a big “I love you,” and a few cheek nibbles as the various oversized wooden screws in his hands made contact with eyeglasses, ears, nose, etc.  Then, it was full steam back to the wall at the other side of the room to start again.

We repeated the process more times than I can count, with my little guy alternating between Mommy and a left detour to give Daddy a turn.

Full steam.  Turbo drive.  Volume 10.
That’s how my little 18-month-old gift does everything.  He’s on a personal mission to prove that no matter what you do, you can have more fun and be more successful at it if you are also squiggling at the top of your lungs!

Despite the household craziness his approach sometimes creates, I often find myself just soaking it up.  He’s reckless, giving himself completely over to whatever he’s feeling at the moment–whether it’s the trying times of hurt feelings, frustration that a toy won’t work right and disappointment at hearing “no” or the joyful times of shouting newly-learned words, a full speed, fully squiggled chase with brother and the ever-popular hug episodes described above.  There’s no doubt that whatever it is, he’s completely abandoned himself to it.

It want to cultivate that caliber of freedom, to act without hesitation when I feel strongly about something.  Or, to elevate the mundane to that level of love, joy and excitement.  I can imagine it most powerfully chrystalized in that moment of an 18-month-old flinging himself into Mommy’s arms.  No reservations.  No holding back.  No fear.  Just pure joy and pure love. 

It reminds me of another love:
“In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of our sin, according to the riches of His grace which He lavished on us.”  (Ephesians 1:7-8)

Can I be the one to fling myself without fear into the Father’s arms and bathe in His lavish love and grace?

Can I open up my arms and receive the one in need, ready to give His lavish love and grace in human form?

I hope so.

 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)

Gift Tag: Background Music

I was cooking pasta in the kitchen, and I heard a sudden chorus of giggles.  Three gigglers — two little ones and one big grown up one.

“Tickle meeee!”
“Wheeeeeeee!” (translation = “no, tickle meeee!” from the giggler who can’t say most words yet)

I couldn’t resist a peek around the corner.  I saw two little boys lying side by side on their bean bag with arms stretched over their heads and one big boy (daddy) leaned over them with tickling fingers poised.  All were joined in one resounding symphony of giggles.  It was at that point I added my own giggle to the chorus.  And, I couldn’t resist getting in one tickle of my own before getting back to my boiling pot.

It’s a time of change in our household.  We’re nurturing a still new landscaping business, entering new stages from baby to toddler, from toddler to big boy, and preparing for a new “little seester” in early September. It has stirred up even the youngest hearts in our little giggle crowd. Change has become the background music of our lives.  

The one consistency of change is its constant presence.  And, like all background music, it sometimes asserts itself.  At times it’s a dirge, and we are saddened and brought to tears.  At times it’s staccato, disjointed so we can hardly keep up.  At times it’s a waltz, and we think we are finally in a predictable rhythm.  At times it’s forte, a cacophony that stretches and irritates.

Then, the giggles.  That joyous chorus relegates the turmoil of change to its right place — the background. It’s just the hum we learn again to accept.  The beautiful music of laughter has refocused our perspective.

“Our mouth was filled with laughter and our tongue with joyful shouting; then they said among the nations, “the Lord has done great things for them.” (psalm 126:2)

Indeed. 

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)