Defeated

They laughed at me. Both of them. Laughing.

I'm already completely exhausted by our family trip to Home Depot.  That experience in itself should have been my cue to hand the boys over to Jonathan for the rest of the night.  But no. 

I start the tub for the boys and then go to finish the dinner dishes we had left. After hearing evil laughter and a comment about the "toilet tub" I head into the bathroom to see the boys sitting in the tub with guilty little grins on their faces.
It takes no time to figure out that they stood side by side, outside of the tub, TWO FEET FROM THE TOILET and peed into the tub while it was filling up!  Did I mention they were two feet from the toilet?

If they weren't absolutely filthy from the day and in desperate need of bathing, the appropriate consequence would have been to take bath time away for the night.  (Don't worry.  Jonathan let me know that that's what HE would have done after all of this was over.)  Instead I drain the tub with them in it, refill it and take away pre-bed book time... as if all of this nonsense is digging into our bedtime routine and something has to go.  Natural consequences?  Well...it was logical to me in the moment.

Bath time is filled with more clowning and when the splashing becomes entirely too much I get them out and say very clearly, "Do not leave the bathroom.  We are brushing teeth and heading straight upstairs for bed."

This is Ben's cue to bolt out the door cackling and squealing.  He clearly isn't sensing how close I am to sending both of them up the Omo River in Ethiopia today.
Sam stays put but roars with laughter at his brave little brother, which of course just feeds Ben's budding ego.

Now...I don't spank often. I hardly ever have to. Really.  But this deliberate disobedience combined with my total lack of anything redeeming left in my bag of tricks is just the last straw for the day.

I say in my firmest voice, "Ben you are getting a spank for disobeying,"
Of course Ben pleads, "Nooo!"
But as I put his bare, little, tan body on my lap and give his adorable white buns a whack... he laughs.
He laughs!!!

THEN! THEN!  From the bathroom Sam yells while cracking up, "Did she just SPANK you Ben?"
Ben bursts back into laughter and calls back "YAH!  She SPANKED ME!" 
They both continue laughing as I sit on the couch in disbelief and a little bit of horror. 

This is the beginning of the end isn't it?  I am going to be their joke.  For the rest of their lives.

I march up the stairs with the boys, finish the routine (sans book) and let them know that I'm not coming back up no matter what.  I come down in somewhat of a stupor and look out the front window to see Jonathan happily chatting it up with three of our neighbors across the street.  They all wave at me and smile.  I gather myself and head out to let them know what the last hour just looked like.

They laugh.  At me. 

Oh Benjamin

Ben you turned three today.  

I can hardly believe it. 

I believe that you are three. 

I just have a hard time believing that you are MY three year old. 

That God gave you to ME. 

Because I'm in awe of you Ben.

I'm in awe of your spirit.  

I'm in awe of your heart. 

I'm in awe of how darn cute you are. 



And sweet!

Ben I pray that I bless you in your life as much as you bless me in mine. 

Because you BLESS ME!  Oh how you bless me.

Where is the Line?

(Caution!  Bathroom Talk to Follow!) 

I'm struggling.
We've entered the stage of "How inappropriate can I be without getting a consequence?"
I know that I'm on the stricter side than some but I really try to choose my battles wisely. Language is an important part of who we are. It says a lot about us. It can reveal one's level of respect, responsibility and wisdom as well as the amount of compassion, empathy, and love one has for others. I want our boys to communicate and play in a way that is respectful and loving to anyone who might witness it.
That being said, they aren't puppets or robots. I know this full well. I can try as intentionally as possible to teach to their hearts and "train" their behavior. But let's be real...

So we have three strains of "inappropriate" dominating our household these days:

Potty Talk.  Body Talk.  Violent Talk.

If you know me at all, you know that I'm most averse to the latter of the three. Truthfully, I get a kick out of Potty talk myself. Who doesn't appreciate a good joke about poop or letting one rip? Okay well I do.  But as we all know there is a time and a place.
Body talk is important and a part of our every day lives.  We take this one very seriously and encourage it in context.  But again, context! 
Violent talk on the other hand has no place in my heart or home. We all poop. We all have private parts.  We don't all shoot and kill people. So no. I can't find a way to justify jokes about cutting your brother's arm off, beating him all the way to jail or setting his eyeball on fire.  Roll your eyes at me. But its my house.

Here are the latest little jokes the boys love:
Ben will walk up to one of us at any given moment, point his hip up toward us and say in his deep, loud, gravelly voice, "TOOOOT!!".  I can't help it.  I fall apart.  It's not funny because he's pretending to toot on us. It's funny because of the way he lifts his hip. The way he says it with his adorable lips puckered out like a bugle. The way that he and Sam bust apart laughing immediately after.  And that he came up with this act totally on his own!  I think the best part of this little stunt is that he often does it when he feels the mood needs a bit of lightening.  He is already such a middle child.

They both love the word 'booby' right now. They thought they made it up themselves so they didn't know that it actually already has a meaning. Sam kept calling Ben things like, "squishy booby underpants" and "booby tooter". So when asked what their new word means they informed us that it means 'stinky'. Awesome. So that's a new favorite word in our house. Along w/ penis, buns, toots, barf and poop. Booby.  The other day when Sam told me he was going to "poop his boob out" I just about gagged on my tooth brush.  It was then that I had to share that the word actually has another meaning.  As respectfully as I could I shared how the word "booby" is used.  They looked at me like I had ruined all of their fun.  The actual meaning was a total bore.  Fine.

They love the word "fart" but are only allowed to use it in their room together.  So we regularly hear them blurting out all of the "bad words" they can say alone together in their room and then laughing hysterically.  Most of the time they use these words in such ridiculous and nonsensical ways.  But oh it's fun right?!

Here's a disturbing one...the other day after the boys got out of the tub one of them accidentally slapped their own private part w/ his own hand. Well...there began the giggles and nonsensical talk (talk only) about spanking each others penises.  They are so fascinated by their own anatomy and how hilarious it is.  Today Sam was having a conversation with his...

You see where these things start to get out of hand now right? There is good harmless fun and then there's stuff that we just have to put an end to before I get called into Sam's kindergarten class next year with big questions about what in the world goes on in our home!  Or worse yet, BEN'S PRESCHOOL CLASS! 

Drawing the line and then explaining to them why that crosses the line is sometimes blurry. 

We approach most of these issues with a general rule that we can have potty and body talk at home in the privacy of our family but not around others and not in public. We want them to know that we can talk about anything as a family but not everything is appropriate to laugh about or share with others.

With the coming of a new baby, there have been great questions.  Mainly about how their sister is going to... exit me.  It's great!  We get to teach our kids about life in the context of family and health.  We get to share with them the true, natural, God designed uses for our bodies and functions. 

But still. Some of the things these clowns are coming up with in humor is not even going to fly in private.  They just snowball from Ridiculous Land into Unquestionably Inappropriate and Downright Disturbing Land.  They expect a consequence or "the look" from me when their language turns bloody and painful.  However, when they are just being silly about bowel movements or their anatomy and it has gone too far in my eyes, it's harder for them to understand where they crossed the line.  Answering why one thing is funny and another has gone too far gets complicated. 

So they walk the line.  My line.  They say their joke with a giggle, watch me carefully and then proceed to go further with caution.  It's confusing.  Mostly for me.  I look at Jonathan and he so often just shrugs like it's... normal.  "Really?!" I ask.  Bizarre.  Other times there's no denying just how far over the line they are and we have to go all "parent" on them. 

Now that there is a sister coming....a whole new can of worms is about to open up! One that I welcome but will need to navigate intentionally and thoughtfully out of respect for her and every woman they encounter in the future.  I need to start praying for their wives more diligently.  God help them. 

We Found Out!

It's probably the second question everyone asks when they realize that you are pregnant.  After asking "When are you due?" they ask "Are you finding out?" 
My first two pregnancies I have endured the eye-rolling, gasping and complaining over our decision NOT to find out.  I actually even had a close family member tell me that it's "just not as exciting NOT to know".  Wow.  Ouch.  Sorry to ruin this for you. 
We never regretted not finding out with our boys.  Those moments in the delivery room when we discovered that we had sons were absolutely MAGICAL.  We truly met them for the first time in those first minutes.  Not having wrapped our heads around who they might be until that first, precious moment.  Magical.

This time....we did it different. 

Our dear friend Linda was our ultrasound technician with both Sam and Ben.  She so gracefully held the secret of our babies' sex for us and we just loved having her in that experience with us.  She has since retired but we wanted so badly to share this moment with her again and she had expressed that if we were going to find out this time she'd love to come in and do the grand reveal for us!  So of course we asked her. 

All four of us walked in today with the expectation of another Judy boy.  There really is no other way in any of our minds.  In fact this morning as I was preparing the boys for what the appointment would look like and what things Linda would be looking for they both started chanting, "Penis! Penis! Penis!"  Welcome to my life.  Anyway, almost everyone else has predicted girl.  So we kind of planned on proving everyone wrong today. 

It didn't work out that way. 

Jonathan and I were both shocked.  In all honesty we kept thinking that as the exam went on...there would be a penis.  But no.  No penis for this Judy baby. 

The boys?  Sam's first words when Linda said, "You're going to have a sister!" were..."This is horrible news."  Not a joke.  He was spitting angry.  We burst out laughing and then of course he was angry that we were laughing at him.  Ben came around a lot quicker and promised to teach her how to hold a baseball bat.  That's my little peace maker there.  

Most importantly, everything looked perfect.  Her heart, her spine, her kidneys, her limbs...everything.  We are so thankful. 

As the shock has worn off for Jonathan and me...we are very excited.  It hasn't taken long tonight for the boys either.  Sam admitted that he was more disappointed that he was wrong than that he is going to have a sister.  The kid is honest.

So now I get to purge some baby boy clothes and prepare for a daughter!  That still sounds really foreign!

"Girls are Bleh!"

Last month a story came out about a couple who refuses to share the gender of their 4-month-old baby with anyone.  That's right.  Even the grandparents don't know if they have a granddaughter or grandson.  The child's name is ambiguous (Storm) as well as their first two children's names and they have chosen to let the child decide for itself what gender it is.  They are leaving everyone in the dark with the hopes that their child will be spared the messages that place him or her into gender specific boxes.  They said "parents make so many choices for their children.  It's obnoxious."  http://news.yahoo.com/s/yblog_thelookout/20110524/ts_yblog_thelookout/parents-keep-childs-gender-under-wraps
I love stories that make me laugh out loud.  The idea that I am making the choice for my boys to actually be and act like boys is totally hilarious to me.

Earlier this week our morning devotional was about God providing everything that we need.  To expand on the topic I asked the boys what we have and enjoy that we don't particularly need. 
Here is the conversation that followed:
Sam:  "Toys."
Me:  "Yep, we don't need toys but we still have them and get to enjoy them.  What else do we have that we don't really need?" 
Sam w/ a silly little grin:  "Penises."
Me:  "Hmm...I'm pretty sure you need your penis Sam."
Sam:  "But you don't need one."
Me:  "Yeah, but I have what I do need.  I just don't have a penis."
Sam in a neener-neener voice: "Yeah, boys have more than girls!"
And...there ends our time of reflection.

Whenever possible, they choose to pee outside.

This is every day.  I don't know where it came from, but the boys have decided that all things "girl" are lame, dumb, ridiculous and shameful.  They are even adamant that the baby growing inside of me is a boy.  The root of this insistence?  Sam practically spat out at me, "We do NOT want girl toys in this house!  Especially a DOLL HOUSE!  I do NOT want one of those here!"  Of course Ben follows everything that Sam says up with agreement, "Yeah, no doll house!"

They hate pink, anything with pink on it, any character in a book or on a program that wears pink.  If you want immediate dismissal, tell them you like pink.  You'll be out and probably laughed at. 
They call each other "princesses" as an insult (although...I get that one.)
Ben saw Dora the other day in Target and said, "OH Dora!  I don't like Dora!  She's a girl!" 
Sam constantly calls things "girly" as a put down.
He has also successfully taught his sweet, innocent, mother-lovin' brother to respond, "Girls are bleh!" whenever the topic comes up. 

Here's the thing... they don't dislike girls.  Their two closest friends are girls of course.  But they have been clear to me that they would prefer to have those friends come to our house so that they don't have to play with "their girl stuff".  Of course once we are actually in their house, those girls own them and they'll do whatever they tell them to do.

Here's another thing... I am confident that this new phase has not come from Jonathan and me.  In fact we have challenged it thoughtfully with questions and reminders of truth.  Jonathan and I share responsibilities pretty evenly in our home.  I'd say more evenly than a lot of people we know.  And we speak highly of each other to our boys.  There are never put downs or generalizations made of each other.  Ever.   Regardless of our efforts to communicate true, healthy, balanced messages about men and women in our world, my boys are "typical boys".  Yep, they fit right into the boy box the parents previously mentioned are dreading for their child. 

Last summer.

We named them Samuel and Benjamin.  Strong, male names.  We told people they were born with penises right away.  I didn't dress them in yellow every day.  You could say that I "chose their gender for them".  But I also learned about trains, trucks, and football because that's what they are interested in. Not because I wanted them to be.  I didn't even know who Thomas was before Sam practically had seizures over him in a book.  We got Sam a baby doll when we were expecting Ben and he wanted absolutely nothing to do with it no matter how hard I tried to make him love it. 

Now what this doesn't mean is that they are insensitive, violent, aggressive little tyrants running around without feelings or compassion.  Although my boys have no use for a baby doll, if there is a real baby in the room, grab your camera.  They melt.  They kiss and love and talk sweet just as they should.  For example, their newest cousin was born a week ago to their Auntie Nellie and Uncle Aaron.  As you can see, they are in love with "Baby Andrew".


 


 



If there is a toy kitchen in the room, just sit down and let them bring you all of their creations.  They are going to be awesome and inventive cooks just like their Dad.  If they get a bonked head or hurt feelings, let me just get back to you in a bit because they don't "act tough" and I'll be comforting them and kissing on them until we're back to good. 

Despite their recent opinion that anything "girlie" is of-the-devil, I refuse to believe that we have confined them to a strict, role determining system of beliefs about themselves purely because we announced their sex at birth.  I am not thrilled with this current disgust of pink and girls but I'm confident that we'll get through it without neanderthals for sons.  They are who they are because they were born that way and I'm doing my best to learn about what they love so that I can keep up. 

Oh and this just in: Last night at dinner with their two best friends present (both girls), Ben announced that he might like pink now.  See?  It won't be us that influences their opinions.

Ginger

 

I've been trying to write an entry about the sweetest member of our family since I started this little blog in January.  I think I knew time was limited to document what a precious part of our crew she is before "something bad" happened.  Well, it's harder than I thought to describe someone so precious to me without writing an entire book or movie.  Thus, books like Marly and Me by John Grogan or The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein.  How do I describe Ginger and what she means to us with out going back in time and reliving our time-line a bit?

And so the following is probably boring to many.  But it's important for Jonathan and I to put our story into words so that we never forget how much we loved Ginger and how loved we were by her. 

This entry is for us.

Jonathan brought Ginger home to me at the end of our first year of marriage.  She was a gorgeous, happy, well-mannered, four year old Golden Retriever.  The effect on the two of us was immediate.  We were now a family.  Really!  In our 600 square foot house on Finn Hill, she made us complete!  She went everywhere with us.  Hiking, camping, visiting friends and family, BBQs, Home Depot (until they changed their policy)...everywhere.  She was part of us and we loved her like crazy. 

In the nine years following, a lot happened.  We added a cat, moved two times, re-modeled two houses, changed jobs, had two babies, eight roommates and constant gatherings at our house. Ginger was the constant.  She never changed or wavered.  We could count on her sweet golden body to greet us at the door, sidle up to us when she'd see us pull out her leash, get excited when she saw us packing up the car to go somewhere or plop down at our feet when we'd finally crash on the couch at the end of the day.  There were movements of hers that became so predictable.  Through each change, we could count on her to be our faithful girl.  Even through big changes.

I'll never forget bringing Sam home from the hospital when he was born.  She was so excited.  She couldn't stay away from him.  She just kept wagging the whole back end of her body and trying so hard to sniff her new boy in his little carseat.  I said something to her that I'll never forgive myself for.  Just thinking of it today puts such a horrible lump in my throat as tears stream down my cheeks.  I was so annoyed at her eagerness and her being in my way to get him out of the carseat.  "Ginger," I said, "I never thought I'd care so little to see you."  I regretted it the second it came out of my mouth.  But there began the first big change in our family.  Ginger dropped a notch in rank and we suddenly saw her as our dog.  Not our baby. 



Two guards to the stairs from Sam

 Of course, she moved right into the role.  I started calling her 'the other mother in the house'.  If Sam woke up and cried in his crib, she beat me there.  Wagging her tail furiously at his door and looking at me like there was a fire in his room.  She even stopped sleeping in our room for awhile and started sleeping in the hallway between us and Sam.  If a dog walked up to us on a walk, she stopped right between Sam and the dog and stood firm as a soldier.  As Sam learned to crawl and then walk, Ginger was right there making no movement as he pulled handfuls of hair out of her to steady himself.  She was perfect. 

Sam and Ginger watching the world

When Ben came, she was less enamored (which is why sadly, I can't find ONE picture of the two of them together) and just took the transition as gracefully as before.  She knew the drill.  Be good.  Be still when he crawls all over you.  Love on him.  Clean up the food that he drops.  Crash with us at the end of the day. 



Ben



Ginger's true love was the same as ours: Family.  And hiking.  There wasn't a hike that we went on without her.  In the days before the boys, we could count on her to complete the hike three times as she would run along ahead of us, then back to check on us and then ahead again.  Once we had the boys hiking along with us, she stayed pretty close to them.  No fail. 

Really, could we ask for a better dog? 

Four weeks ago, Jonathan and I had to make the worst choice we've ever had in front of us.  Of course, it wasn't really a choice.  Ginger had started coughing up blood and the X-rays told us that her lungs were filled with Cancer.  So, wait until her pain is unbearable?  Or end her pain and thus say goodbye to our sweet girl?  We cried for three days before we finally made the decision.  By then she had stopped eating and was pretty slow moving.  The two of us took her in together.  We sat with her on the ground sobbing as she licked us and loved on us until her very last breath.  I'd love to say that it was very peaceful and comforting.  But it was horrible.  It was absolutely horrible.  Enough said about that.

These past weeks have been...weird.  Each one of us have mistakenly expected Ginger to be at the front door when we walk in, (Ben has actually yelled, "Hi Ging!" more than once) or to hustle over to us when we drop a piece of food on the floor, or to accompany us on a walk or hike. 

A week ago the boys and I were on a trail and a big goofy dog ran up and basically tackled both of them.  They were hysterical.  I was calming them down while telling the dog owner it was fine and to JUST GO so that I could take care of them with out her stupid dog taking them down again.  Why hadn't that ever happened to them before?  There are always dogs on the trails.  As we got back on the trail, Ben said to me,  "If Ginger was here she would say 'BACK OFF!' to that dog."  He's right!  That's why they've never been harassed by a dog before.  She was always there in between them. 

Things are different now...and none of us like it. 

We're moving on and forward without our golden girl.  I don't expect to ever feel the same way about another dog.  We've had our good one.  She was the best and we miss her terribly.  But I will always be so thankful for the nine years we loved and were loved well by such a perfect, beautiful friend.

Goodbye sweet girl.  We love you.

Becoming Real

When we were expecting with Samuel we were in love with this quote from The Velveteen Rabbit by Margery Williams:

"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse.  "It's a thing that happens to you.  When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real." 
"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.
"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful.  "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."
"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"
"Real...doesn't happen all at once, " said the Skin Horse.  "You become.  It takes a long time.  That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.  Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby.  But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real, you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand."

We were so enamored by this quote that we had a very talented friend paint this scene for our nursery.  It was also read at Sam's baby dedication that we hosted in our back yard. 

Our hopes for our children involve big things.  We hope for them to be genuine people who love with wild abandon.  We hope for them to be brave in matters that bring life and truth to their lives and to this world.  We hope that they will have authentic personal faith that has been tried and found true in their own lives and not just in ours.  We hope that they will teach us as they explore and grow and believe. 

We hope for big things.  As we hope, we realize that if just one of these dreams becomes true for our children, some degree of suffering will very well be a part of their lives as well. 

So this quote was very romantic to us as we were expecting our first and even shortly after he was born.  We thought we were so wise and discerning to have arrived at the idea that our children will endure trials and sometimes suffering in order to someday be strong and genuine individuals.  We prayed that we would have the wisdom and self-restraint to allow them their struggles rather than to swoop in and rescue them at every turn.  We knew so well back then that for them to become Real, they would have a long road ahead of them.  We were honored to get to walk their roads along side of them but not for them. 

Then they started growing...
Not very long ago, Sam confided in me a feeling he had of being excluded by a friend.  It wasn't a huge deal, but something that left him with pretty hurt feelings.  I thought I might crack and shatter the way a window does when hit by a small object.  Hearing from him about how it made him feel felt like someone was squeezing my heart through their fingers.  Our conversation was absolutely precious to me.  It really was.  I did everything I thought John Gottman of Raising an Emotionally Intelligent Child would want me to do.   I listened.  We snuggled.  I affirmed his feelings.  We talked about what he might want to do if he feels like that again.  It was a great connecting moment.  But oh my heart hurt.  I want to protect him from these days.  I picture myself covering him with one arm while I carry him through the gauntlet of boyhood with the other.  

Becoming Real.  We believe the description in the story with all of our hearts.  Becoming Real means that our hair isn't always going to be cute.  We might come out pretty shabby and loose in the joints.  It will hurt.  People who don't understand might find us ugly.  I can handle all of this for myself.  Let's just be honest, "shabby" at least rhymes with the word I frequently use for myself!  But it is another undertaking altogether as we fling our children out into the world to become Real.  It hurts us worse!  If I were to describe the fears I wrestle with for my boys I'd be committed to a hospital. 

BUT!  At the end of the day, I desperately want my boys to become Real.  I do call it an honor to be the woman behind them as they encounter suffering on the road to Real.  I welcome the conversations someday that will take all of my power not to lead but to listen as they share with me their latest take on the world.  I pray for discernment as they grow into childhood issues that we did not have as children before cell phones, YouTube or Red Bull!  I hope for them to look back and feel that their hearts have been encouraged by their parents and not defined. 

Pray for us!  Oh please pray for us! 

All of this reflection comes from a funny little thing that happened last week.  Ben carries around a friend named "Bunny".  He goes everywhere w/ Ben.  Bunny has all of our hearts.  He's precious.  Well last week while staying at the Grandparents' house, Bunny got his ear and tail chewed off by a puppy.  Hearing about it over the phone from the boys was traumatic... for me.  How could Ben not have his Bunny anymore?  It was replaced by a BLUE BUNNY???  You can't just replace Bunny! 
Well, it was a great lesson for me.  One of the first things Ben told me was that he didn't cry about it.  I got control of myself, wiped my face and told Ben how glad I was that he was okay about it.  Then he told me that he still has Bunny but that he just has a new bunny too.  Fine.  Whatever.

Well Gramma sewed Bunny's head up without his ear and his butt up without his tail and he is a sight to see.  But guess what.  He's Real.  Ben still carries him everywhere he goes, sleeps with him every night and loves on him like he's the most beautiful bunny he's ever seen.  He's shabby to say the least.  He's been hurt.  He might be ugly to people who don't understand.  But he's Real to us.  And we're so thankful to have him as part of our family.