Better

Every day I wake up and say, "I will let it go. All of it. Nothing he does will matter, but my reaction will matter. Nothing deserves a reaction." And every night I lay here and apologize to my babies for being crazy-yelling-mom. I pray the next day will be better.Some days are, but most of the time it feels like one step forward, two steps back. My toddler doesn't handle change well.  I don't handle my toddler well.

Tomorrow will be better.

New Year, Clean Slate

Facebook status update today: 

2014 has begun with a bang with Justin receiving orders for March to his A school in Yorktown, Virginia. We never expected to live in Port St. Lucie for as long as we have; most A school waiting lists are not nearly three years long. The news is bittersweet - while Florida and I have an on again, off again relationship (currently on, thank you, winter) the past (almost) three years have been an intense period of growth and change for me and I will always have a special place in my heart for the Treasure Coast. My babies were born in this house...the friends I've made through La Leche League and the wonderful community of loving, supportive women I've found here have helped me survive the first years of motherhood, have loved me and my children, and have been my family when I am so far from my own. I am so thankful for God placing us here for this time in my life. I knew He was in control from the moment I sat on my parent's couch, twenty weeks pregnant, Googled "home birth certified nurse midwives in Florida," prayed for a miracle, and found the amazing Angela Love. While I'm crying as I write this, I'm also so excited to see where we'll be stationed next. The babies and I will be staying with family in VA while Justin is in school and then...who knows! Adventure awaits! 

More blogging, less FB - that's part of the adventure. More nature, less "stuff." More breathing, less yelling. More hugs and tickles, less hand holding and counting to ten. 

I am thankful for the rollercoaster the next six months will be, for the break from a routine or familiar surroundings, for the family we'll be with, for the yards we'll have to explore. I'm grateful that Mateo will have these experiences...

My biggest fear is seeing the light go out in his eyes. For him not to want to hug or kiss me one night. For his unbridled joy to become bridled. I am being driven crazy by the Twos, and yet I never want them to end. I hold him, I kiss him and I am full of fear and love. Sand through my fingers...

The Sense of Wonder

"A child’s world is fresh and new and beautiful, full of wonder and excitement. It is our misfortune that for most of us that clear-eyed vision, that true instinct for what is beautiful and awe-inspiring, is dimmed and even lost before we reach adulthood. If I had influence with the good fairy who is supposed to preside over the christening of all children I should ask that her gift to each child in the world be a sense of wonder so indestructible that it would last throughout life, as an unfailing antidote against the boredom and disenchantments of later years, the sterile preoccupation with things that are artificial, the alienation from the sources of our strength.

If a child is to keep alive his inborn sense of wonder without any such gift fairies, he needs the companionship of at least one adult who can share it, rediscovering with him the joy, excitement and mystery of the world we live in."

 And:

"I sincerely believe that for the child, and for the parent seeking to guide him, it is not half so important to know as to feel. If facts are the seeds that later produce knowledge and wisdom, then the emotions and the impressions of the senses are the fertile soil in which the seeds must grow. The years of early childhood are the time to prepare the soil. Once the emotions have been aroused — a sense of the beautiful, the excitement of the new and the unknown, a feeling of sympathy, pity, admiration or love — then we wish for knowledge about the subject of our emotional response. Once found, it has lasting meaning. It is more important to pave the way for the child to want to know than to put him on a diet of facts he is not ready to assimilate."

- Rachel Carson, "The Sense of Wonder"

Oh please, please, please let me be that companion for my children.

2014 shall be a year of wonder, a year of change, and new discoveries. Starting now.

Also, read this book.

I Resolve

I usually make too many vague resolutions and half keep all of them. You know - read more, work out more, be less lazy, make friends, save more money, etc.

2014's resolutions may not be very specific, but they are The Most Important (to me) and there is a semi-plan for accomplishing them.

I resolve: (a) To read more, to write more, to keep a daily journal with Justin. (b) To watch less, to scroll less, thereby resulting in more time for (a).

The End.

Annie

Little Lydia, my Annie, you are my dream come true, the dream I wake to every morning.

Since I was a little girl, I dreamed of you. Before I liked boys, before I knew where babies came from, before I could weigh "career or stay at home mom," I dreamed of a little girl who would share my name, the name of the amazing women who came before us. You were a vague, beautiful spirit, somewhere deep inside me and far off in the future. You came true.

Your grandfather dreamed of you, also (he secretly hoped your brother would be you, but don't tell Mateo that). I think with my birth he discovered the magic beings baby girls could be, the way they can capture your heart and unearth new wells of love within you. He has waited for you for a long time; three grandsons came before you, for you he has waited longer than I.

You are my dream, the keeper of a beautiful future, my calm and peace, my reminder to love myself just as I am, so that you will always find within yourself perfection and grace, just as you are. May you have the curiosity and resiliency of Lydia Maria Chomat, the generosity, energy, beauty, and independent mind of Lydia Maria Ferran, the sensitivity, heart, and gifts God bestowed on me, your mother, and your own unique spirit yet to be revealed. You are loved, just as you are, my own Lydia.

Today

Between the sighs, tears, the "how am I going to do this?" and the overwhelming...desperation of it all is something else.

She is my something else. My Lydia Antoinette, my Annie. The quiet, easily startled, sleepy, frightened eyed little girl who constantly occupies my arms, my lap. Fifteen days old. So...easy. She is my world and easily forgotten. She's here. My daughter. She epitomizes sweetness, meekness, she asks so little from me. To nurse, to be held. To stare into my eyes, to speak to my soul, to say, "I'm here. At last." She barely spits up, her burps are quiet little lady burps. So unlike her brother, who charged into the world screaming for his dinner, and still bangs his way through our home and hearts two years later. What a relief she is, what shelter from this storm that is my transition to mother-of-two. And yet...she did this. She is the reason for this storm. I look at her peacefully dozing and wonder how that can be true. How can this quiet, wide-eyed, kissy lipped, dark haired angel be the reason for my chaos? Did Mateo take so much of me that I cannot spare even the small bit she asks?

I am letting go. I am breathing, in and out, in and out, in and out. Three deep breaths to eliminate the fright or flight response. I am choosing not to care about these things, to love my little boy first, and my home last. To shelter my new baby in my arms, to wear her close to my heart. Water, clean diapers, food. The necessities. One day at a time, that's all we have. I have this day with her, tomorrow she'll be bigger. I have this moment to play with him, tomorrow he may not want me. I am theirs for today, one day soon they will be gone. Today, love for today. That's all I need. Love is patient, love is kind. Today, now. Not in a little while, now.

They are changing me, with their love, with their cries, the lips they both inherited from their father, sucking my heart out with the milk one requires for survival, and the other requires to feel the fullness of my love. Their eyes, so big, his, mine, challenging me to love them more, love them first.

Today, love for today.

Mateo Leon

This task seems insurmountable, but it will only grow more so if I put it off...

I'm not going to write about Annie. Not today, not now. This miracle angel baby's story will have to wait.

Today is for Mateo. The tears that flow daily are for him, because of him, in spite of him. It happened, what everyone said does when you have a newborn...my toddler is suddenly a grown up. How did his head get so heavy? His hair so thick? When did these sentences become so complete?

Today I am thankful for him, thankful with my entire soul and being. For the way he says, "I like it?!" When he does indeed like something, or when he's asking you if he will like it.

For, "I downdt!" His own made up word that is said with such enthusiasm whenever he's in a highchair  (or otherwise confined), meaning, "done," "down," and "out" all at once.

For "Ready?!"

For his unbridled enthusiasm for EVERYTHING. His spirit is strong and unshakeable, like his strong limbs that hug me tightly and can be such a source of frustration when his will is opposed to mine (he is a toddler, after all).

How is he already two? How are those first years behind us? And yet, how is he ONLY two? How can so much heart, imagination, curiosity, determination, sweetness and craziness come about in only two years?

Nothing has baffled, surprised or amazed me more than living with 2 year-old Mateo. I understand now what it means to be a mother and love someone so much your heart feels as though it would break. As much as I love Justin and my family, this is the most intense love I've ever experienced...probably in part because it is so fleeting, this day in his life will be over before I know it, my time with him will be up and he will be gone from me. There is no promise of forever, no "til death do us part." Never again will he need me so desperately, love me so willingly, share all his smiles and tears with me. No one warns you that motherhood will be so beautifully sad.

When I was preparing for Annie's birth I focused a lot of my mental preparation on living in the moment, dealing with one contraction at a time and then shaking it off, neither lingering in the pain or anticipating the next. It is clear to me today that living in the moment is crucial to surviving motherhood; not just in dealing with its stresses and frustrations, but in allowing the fullness and richness of its love and glory to wash over me daily. To embrace the little person in front of me without regret for the bygone days of tiny  baby whimpers and smiles, and without fear of tomorrow, when he will be one day bigger, one day older.

God, help me to love him today, fully, uncompromisingly, as he is, not as I want him to be. Help me to set aside concern for anything else but him and Annie, to accept my failure to love them both as I should, to do my best and move on. Thank you for giving him to me.