Missing joy...

She slipped out unnoticed one day when I forgot to latch the door.

And so I rise each day and nurse babies and make breakfasts and shopping lists and play-doh pizzas; I kiss boo-boos and sweaty little baby curls. I wipe up spills and runny noses.

But it's mechanical and dutiful and forced. These are beautiful things-- beautiful children. My God has blessed me abundantly. So why is it such a chore?

Oh, Jesus-- soften my heart. Make me content.

Cana's first 'do

It's Beauty Parlor Day at the Strayer house, what with blue-painted fingernails, flat irons, and THIS:

Piggies are running amok 'round these parts:


*sigh* I love having girls.

Crunchy Tribal Goddess Mama

THAT is how I would like to be referred, from now on, please.

'Cause no, I didn't clean the bathroom today.

No, I didn't fold the laundry.

Yes, I fed my kid Cheerios for breakfast (again) instead of our *ahem* usual diet of sprouted grain toast and organic tahini topped with ground flaxseed toppy.

But darnit, I got my infant on my back with a long piece of fabric. And nothing but a long piece of fabric.



Just like the crunchy tribal goddess mamas do.

Panic

That's what I felt when I woke up in the middle of the night and couldn't find Cana. My head popped up-- she wasn't in the co-sleeper. I looked on either side of me on the bed. She wasn't there. My heart stopped. I recalled stories I had heard of co-sleeping accidents, and imagined that Cana was smushed between the mattress and the headboard. Or maybe I had kicked her off the bed in my fitful sleep. Maybe I had rolled over on her...

Wait...

There is a kid sucking on my boobie.*

Has been for the duration of this internal dialogue.

No, it's not Evie.

I breathe a sigh of relief and snuggle back under the covers.

*I hesitated to post the phrase "sucking on my boobie" but then I figured that it is my blog so I can say it if I want. Plus, it sounded better than "There was a kid benefiting from my lactation skills" or something like that...

Eat her with a spoon

This kid, that is...




..when I'm not too busy eating this one with a spoon:




...or re-touching photos of myself in iPhoto so I don't actually have to pluck my eyebrows...



... or vying for space in the bed...



...or indefinitely shirking the task of sorting through the girls' fall/winter wardrobe (SO glad I have a crib for this express purpose!)



...or, you know... wearing a green shirt and eating a walnut in front of the computer.

Naked as the day she was born

Well, you know, plus a tee-shirt and baby leg-warmers.


We potty-train in style 'round these parts.

Lil' half-pint better get this down soon. Cold weather's a-comin'.

"Why yes, yes she is..."

I am constantly getting comments about how cute/sweet/adorable/brilliant/verbal, etc. my little Evangeline is. And of course I am very modest about such compliments and follow them up with something like, "Yeah, well, you should see her when she's tired" or "She's not really that smart... she has yet to read through all the classics..."

But in this post, false modesty is going out the window.

Why, yes, yes she is cute/sweet/adorable/brilliant/verbal and FUNNY. And kinda weird and quirky, too. Like how the little sunspots on my arms are called "frinkles", or how her BabyLegs legwarmers (she insisted on wearing ONE of them, inside out, around the house all day yesterday) are called "sock-warmers".) Or perhaps how she insists on sleeping cuddled with a plastic Pooh cup that she received as a party favor (she puts an extra pacifier in it and calls it her Nukie cup). And it was bad enough when she decided that she must wear Dad's Creation toboggan hat to sleep... but then she found one of mine and insists on wearing BOTH to bed (her nightcap[s] so to speak... I need a few myself these days.) Or like how a few minutes ago, I asked her to help me make her bed (a task she generally enjoys, but she was feeling a bit persnickety this morning) and she manages to choke out, between gut-wrenching sobs, "I can't do it!!! I'm NOT a hard worker!!" Or today, when we were reading in Matthew about how little ones have their own angel, and Evie said, "I go to Jesus' house and see my angel." Sometimes if I'm feeling a little hormonal and overwhelmed and weepy, she'll come over and rub my back and say, "Mama, are you tired? Your belly hurts? It's ok, mama. Don't cry; it will be okay, mama."

I LOVE this kid. There's a lot of things I never anticipated about parenthood--ie, the utter disgusting-ness of toddler poop, or the overall toll that two years without sleeping through the night has on a mama--but perhaps the greatest is this: I never anticipated how deeply, and with such raw emotion, you could love these tiny little people. I'm overwhelmed by God's kindness to me-- not just that I get to be a mama, but that I get to be a mama to THESE sweet babies, that they are my family, my responsibility, my joy.