On Her Birth Day

When you have 2 boys and are pregnant with your 3rd child, everyone tells you they hope it's a girl.

Everyone.

Throughout the course of my pregnancy, I might have met 4 people who told me they hoped I had another boy.  They were all moms of 3 or more boys.  

I think it was solidarity.

And to be honest, all those comments began to get on my nerves.  Especially since most people would tell me they hoped I had a girl while my 2 boys were standing right there.  Didn't anyone notice that?

Didn't anyone think that I adored my 2 boys beyond measure and the thought of adding to my pack wasn't terrible at all.

I was more than ready for it.  I kind of wanted it.  I would have been proud

There is a certain status that comes with being a mom of 3 boys.

But God had other plans.

We arrived at the hospital, 9 days before my due date.  I was a unique case: sex of baby unknown, VBAC, no drugs and I wanted a roomful of ladies with me.

I had the loveliest nurse, Veronica, and she was gracious and encouraging and told me I could have anybody I wanted but just give her the word and she'd kick them all out.

They stayed.

It was a much easier labor than my first.  I smiled and chatted through a lot of it.  And after a while I grew so tired, I'd sleep between contractions.  It felt like many, many minutes passed between each one, but it was only 1 or 2.

The room grew dark and quiet.  I knew my ladies were praying for me.

Mom, big sister Kristen, labor coach extraordinaire Cathy, mother in law Mary, sister in law Jessica and my sweet husband, alone with all those ladies.

Then they broke my water and Cathy said, "it's going to get really intense now."

She was right.

In 20 minutes, I went from 6 to my baby being born.

And for a minute or 2, I thought I might die.

I remember looking at Aaron, unable to speak, but there was fear in my eyes.  I could feel it.  

It was the most intense pain I had ever experienced.

But in this instant, it was all forgotten. 

Out came that baby, big like her brothers, and no one said what we had.

"What is it?" I cried.

"It's a girl!!!" said Dr. Nguyen.

The room erupted in screams.  Even the nurses.

There was jumping.  Crying.  laughing.

And more joy than you could ever know.

It might have been the most powerful moment I have ever experienced.

And, Lilly, my darling little girl, I had no idea how much I wanted you until that very minute.

It was perfect.  It was meant to be.

And everyone was talking at once and the nurses called you "Porkchop" because you were so chubby, and we laughed and cried more and just admired you.  Everyone held you and laughed and cried again.

It was magic, Lilly.

Your arrival was so celebrated.  

I wanted to call everyone I knew, to shout it from the rooftops, but it was 4 in the morning.

I waited until 7.

They took us upstairs and we were left alone.  They left us to find food or sleep.  

But I couldn't sleep.  I was wide awake, just soaking in my girl.

And I couldn't believe it was true.

I had a girl.  I had a daughter.

I was so in love.

Dziadzi brought your brothers to see you a bit later.  James was excited, William hesitant.

They called you Little, Little, Little Little, Little, Little Lillian.

They loved you.

And Daddy loved you.  His little girl.  You had him wrapped around your finger from the very start.  And you still do.  Even more.  You two are inseparable.

A few days later, we put a pink bow in your hair and took you home.

We put you down, in the midst of tractors, trains and big brothers,

of books and stories on the couch

and going out to celebrate your first holiday, the 4th of July, when you were only 4 days old.

You fit right in Miss Lilly.

You are the perfect little sister to 2 big brothers.

The mellowest baby who loved them so much.

And still you do, but you aren't afraid to show them whose boss, to call them, "princess" and make them fighting mad.

To do whatever they do, even though you're littler and a girl.

It doesn't matter and I don't think it ever will.

You are so strong Lill.  I thought I'd have my work cut out for me being a mom of 3 boys.  But you, my dear, dear daughter, have much more to teach me.

I am still a little afraid sometimes.  Because Lilly, you are a stallion.

But I love that about you dear one.  I know being your Mama is going to be an adventure.

And I am grateful beyond measure for this day. Your birth day. 

The day my life changed again.

Happy Birthday to my sweet and spicy Lillian Catherine!

My love for you knows no bounds.

Love from,

Mommy

Like this one?  read another here.  And another here.

Reaching Out

The other day, my friend Judy and I sat on the beach watching our kids play.  It was one of those rare moments when everyone was happily busy, even our almost 2 year olds, and so we were talking.  Uninterrupted, grownup talk.
Judy asked me, "so how are you doing?"
"Oh we're fine," I began.  And then I launched into the typical blather I offer when people ask me that: kids, sleeping, Aaron's work, busy, you know the stuff.
"No," Judy asked, "I mean, how are you doing?"


Then I knew what she meant.  And I was a little surprised.  It has been 5 months.  I don't feel like I should talk about it anymore.  
But I am so glad, so very glad she asked.


It is hard to do that sometimes--to reach out and ask for people to bear their heart before you.  It might be uncomfortable, it might mean tears, it might mean sadness or even anger.  It means taking a little extra time and we all know that is a precious commodity.


I have thought about that a lot in the days since my miscarriage.  I have thought about the people who stopped by to bring notes, a plant, cards or flowers.  How much their kindness meant to me.  Even more appreciated than the actual gift they brought over  was the time spent making it, going to the store to get it and then coming out of their way to bring it to my house.  Believe me, I know that driving 10 or 15 minutes out of the way can be a really big deal.  Especially when it is nap time, or dinner time, or you have to get to the grocery store, or, or, or.  There are always so many things on our plate, things we have to do, that one extra thing is often more than we can do.


This is where I often find myself.  I intended to do it.  I had such grand plans.  I had the best intentions.  But then, I forgot.  Or today wasn't a good day.  And so time goes on and I find that I have done nothing and then I feel it is certainly too late, and I haven't reached out at all.  
But you know what?  It is never too late.


Not too long ago I got an email from a friend.  We haven't seen each other since junior high, but reconnected on Facebook.  She shared with me about her own miscarriage and told me about a website she knew of that wrote your due date in the sand and photographed it.  A way to remember that life that was not fully lived.
She expressed her intentions to write sooner, but I didn't mind that she had waited.  I was touched that she took the time to write at all.  Just like out mothers always told us, it is the thought that counts.


Shortly after that, a note arrived in the mail.  Another friend offering words of comfort, encouragement and love.  Something she said resonated with me.  She said she had meant to write earlier and time got away from her.  She felt like it was too late, but then she realized that "a kind word is always appreciated, even if it is a little late."


How true.  I didn't care when Nicole's card arrived.  I cared that she sent one.  I cared that she sat down and wrote to me and put a stamp on the envelope and mailed it.  I cared that she remembered.
I vowed to remember her words and the way her note made me feel, and to not let the passage of time put a stop to my good intentions.


Tangible signs of our love and concern for others are awfully important.  It is very easy to offer an, "I'll pray for you,"  Sadly this is often an empty promise.  I know it is for me.  I am learning to stop and pray, right then, when I say I'll pray, so it is more than words.
But I think I can do more than speak words.
I wrote about all this before.  But I needed a reminder.  
I want to put my love into action.


These thoughts have been swirling in my head for some time now.  But after Judy allowed me the space to open my heart, to really tell her how I feel, not judging or trying to fix, or offering platitudes, just listening, things became clearer than ever.
Reaching out to others is not easy.  It requires we give of ourselves.  That might mean time, energy, resources or a listening ear.  It might mean swallowing our pride that we allowed months to pass and still haven't brought by that loaf of banana bread.
But it is worth it.
Because kindness is appreciated.  Deeply.


I saw this on one of my favorite blogs, Blessed Little Nest.  You can find the original post here.  It is a pretty great project.  However you chose to approach it, you can do so much to brighten some one's day by showing kindness.  Your simple act of kindness might be the thing that helps them get through their day.
There were many times that a kindness did that for me.


I encourage you to take a look and see how your world might change by reaching out with kindness.
Let His kindness be your model:
"Thy loving kindness is better than life"
Happy Monday, friends.  
Love from,
Greta

Big Girl Bed Blues

2 years ago William figured out how to climb out of his crib and life as we knew it ceased to exist.
He is finally easy to put to bed.  
But now....Lilly figured out how to climb out of her crib and life as we knew it has, once again, ceased to exist.
What's up with these kids?


When James moved out into a big boy bed, long before he climbed out of hi crib, he stayed there.  He got out of bed once.  He got in trouble and he never did it again.  Maybe having a James first was an unfair set up for the reality of a William and  a Lilly, who don't give a flying fig about staying in bed.


And I am sad, and yes, even a bit embarrassed to say, that we now are back in the trenches with another one: not wanting to stay in her bed at bed time, climbing out over and over, flopping around like a fish on the sand, crying and making us generally insane.  
You'd think we'd have figured it out after doing it with William.  But we haven't.
It is hard to admit you don't know what the heck you are doing.  
But this girl is even more determined that William, and she is determined not to go to bed.
We can't tie her in, can we?


So tell me, have you had a Lilly?  Do you have advice for me?  Are we just going to have to wait it out again?  Are you laughing because you've been there and come out on the other side?  Or are you in disbelief because your children have never done such things?  I'd rather not hear about that, if you don't mind.  Remember, I had 1 perfect sleeper too.  And if I kind of rubbed that in to you at some point, I am dreadfully sorry.


The worst of it is, it doesn't end once she falls asleep.  I don't even want to tell you how sometimes in the middle of the night, one of those 2 comes to our bed and I just let them in.  Because I am so tired I just don't care.  And then the other one comes.  And 4 people in 1 double bed just doesn't work.  (Thankfully, James is just snoozing away on the top bunk.  If he wanted in, I think we'd just give up and turn the living room floor into one giant bed)  
So the musical beds begins.  I take William back to his bed and I just climb in with him, cause I'm so tired.  Or Aaron takes Lilly to her bed, and yes, he has actually fallen asleep with her in a TODDLER bed.
It is a sad state of affairs around here.
We were in a good bedtime place for a long while there.  It was easy.  Almost, almost like the old days.  


But nothing stays the same.  And I tell myself that so I'll know that this, too, will end eventually.  But right now, I am pretty tired.  Of everything.
And I admit all this not because I want your sympathy, but mostly to know we are not alone.  It's like this at someone else's house too, right? Right?


Here's to hoping you get some good sleep this weekend.  I am looking forward to some also, in about 2 years.  Happy weekend.
Love from,
Greta


PS. Even though she doesn't want to be there at bed time, isn't her bed cute?  That makes is the teensiest bit easier to bear.  
No, not really.
PPS.  I am going to be posting a bit less often, read about it here, for a bit.  So check in a few times a week for new stuff.  I just can't seem to keep up with anything right now.  Bear with me.

Ch, Ch, Ch Changes!

I have been changing diapers every day for 6 years.  Every day.

OK, except for that week and half, total, that I have been away from my children in those 6 years.

That is a lot of diapers, friends.

But all that is changed now.

It's the end of an era.

Because Ms. Lillian joined the underwear gang!

Just check her out:

Inspecting the goods

"It's Minnie Mouse, right here."

And I have another pair, see?

Underwear make you sooo much faster than diapers.

Watch

"Fasta!"

And even fasta!

They are good for climbing, too.

Especially outside.

So now I will have 3 little people running around my house, and yard, nearly naked.
But when they are this cute, who really cares?


____________________________________
How We Got Here--Potty Training Lilly  (Beware.  This post contains a large amount of poop talk)


Well really, there was no potty training Lilly.  One day, she just did it and that was that.  
I am still amazed, actually.  Because I haven't had any horrible potty training experiences.  Minorly uncomfortable, yes, horrible, no.  I didn't find it hard to potty train my boys.  They were a few months over 2.  I always began after the new sibling arrived.  (giving me 2 in diapers--fun!)


James took the longest.  It wasn't hard once he figured it out, it was just that each new step was scary to my cautious little guy.  So he used the potty seat, sitting down, for a long time.  I finally convinced him to use one of those small seats on the big toilet after I was really, really sick of dumping poop from the potty to the toilet.  Then he finally peed standing up.  Then finally sat on the toilet seat without the small seat.  It wasn't painful--just lengthy.  But still, he was a long way from 3 when it was all said and done.
I did have to use quite a lot of M and Ms in the beginning, though.  Something I said I'd never do.  Little did I know.  I would have given him a whole bag of M and Ms if he was in diapers at 3 or 3.5. 


William was even easier and super speedy.  He required M and Ms too, or jelly beans, I can't remember. He was standing at the toilet and peeing like his big brother from the first day.  It was great!
But there was a week or so of random poop accidents until he figured out he had to stop playing and go in the house to poop.  
That was a long week.  Oh how very, very, very much I hate poop accidents.  Give me throw up any day of the week.  But poop?  
I shudder.


And then there was Lilly.  She is a month shy of 2 (well she was when we started this).  I knew she could probably do it, but I just wasn't ready to face those poopy underwear days.  So I put it off.
Then one day she was in the tub.  It was after breakfast (Lil asks to take baths all day long and sometimes I comply) and so I told her, "if you feel poo-poo coming, tell Mommy, OK?)
I stepped out to get some towels from the drier.  When I came back, Lil was on the toilet, naked and dripping.
She said, "I go poop poo on toilet, Mommy."
I thought, "I guess I need to potty train this girl."


She hasn't had one poop accident and for that, I would give her 20 bags of M and Ms!  But I haven't had to give her a thing.  She just did it.  She has been in undies from day one.  She wore William's at first. But after a few days of success, we took her to Target and let her choose her own.


Her brothers were very helpful and tried to steer her toward the princess undies.  They are determined that she should like princesses.  Then they pushed Dora.  Hello Kitty. Lilly wouldn't have any of it.
"I want Minnie Mouse," she said emphatically.
And that is what she got.


People told me so much about a girl being easier.  But Lilly has been my most difficult child, by far.  She is a pistol.  Sometimes, I don't even know what to do with her.  Her independence and determination are legendary. 
In this case though, I think that is what made potty training so easy.  She decided she would do it.  She did it.  And that was that.


Lilly, you haven't made my life easier in many ways, so thanks for giving Mommy a break on this one.
I love you, big girl!


Oh, one last thing.  A few days in, I needed to go to the mall.  I decided to risk it and let her go in underwear.  After a bit, I knew we needed a potty break, so we hit the restrooms.  Lilly and I went into the stall and I prepared for the worst.


The worst like this: 
When James was 2 and newly potty trained, he was terrified of public restrooms.  He hated the automatic flushers and called them robot toilets.  He would be paralyzed with fear that one would flush while he was going, so he'd hold it and hold it until he could hold it no longer.  One time, he finally admitted he had to go and we ran to the bathroom.  
This was the scene.  
I am trying to undo his pants, he is trying not to pee, he won;t stand, he won't sit, so I am holding him above the toilet, he's crying, "Block the robot eye, block the robot eye!" so I use one hand to block, it goes off anyway, he starts bawling and pee is going everywhere.
Mostly all over my arm.
And I am trying to comfort him, and encourage him by saying, "wow, you are doing such a good job to go potty even when you are scared.  What a big boy.  Mommy is proud of you." 
Meanwhile, my arm is totally covered in pee.  
And because he waited so long he has a lot of pee.


But Lilly just sat right down  on that toilet seat, cover and all, and went.  
"I go pee pee on toilet, Mommy.  I big."


Finally, I can say, girls are easier. (at least my girl, in this one thing.  But I'll take it people, I'll take it)
Love from,
Greta

Finally! A Love Story--Part 2

If you missed Part 1, go here.

Turns out looking for pictures in the garage became a full scale garage cleaning.

And I didn't even find the pictures I was looking for! Isn't that always the way?

But I did find a few, and they reminded me of a very important story. It is pretty crucial to the whole story. So that's where I'll start. We're going backwards a bit. Bear with me.

_________________________________

When my dad and I were preparing to go to India for our second mission trip, we needed to take along a small team. We would be working with some Indian nationals, but needed a couple more Americans to come with us. My life long friend, almost little sister, Erin, was coming and so we needed a guy.

There were a couple in the running. Oddly enough, one was interested in me and the other was someone a friend wanted me to be interested in. The first one, whose name I cannot even remember, I met while a counselor at camp. We had both been on a Teen Missions trip the previous summer, and whenever you meet a fellow Teen Missions alum, you have an instant connection. Apparently this guy thought it was a bigger connection than I did, and wanted to come on our India mission trip. He even traveled down to Fallbrook to meet my Dad and find out more.

It didn't work out and I was relieved. It would have been kind of an awkward summer.

The next guy was sent to us by someone else. She made it pretty clear she thought he'd be perfect for me. I was a little confused--this was a mission trip, not the dating game, but whatever. He was a lot older than me (or so it seemed at 17) and I wasn't enthralled. Lucky for me, he didn't pan out either.

And then, one fateful night, Aaron called me and asked if I was home. It wasn't too late, around 10, and he said he was coming over.

"Just wait for me," he said.

So I did.

Before long, I heard a tap on my bedroom window. I pulled back my curtain and there stood Aaron, in our dark driveway, his hands full of flowers.

"I brought you these."

Then he began to recite a poem.

I don't really remember the poem, if he wrote it himself, or it was from some well loved poet, because almost as soon as he began, I heard the back gate open.

And I knew.

My Dad was coming.

If I would have thought clearly, it all would have been no big deal. I would have told Aaron to quickly call out to my Dad, or even more quickly come around to the front door. But both of us just froze.

Aaron had the look of a deer about him.

He was terrified.

My dad hadn't been very welcoming toward Aaron, even when Aaron came to lunch to meet him and get permission to "hang out" with me. You could tell Dad was not a fan of this whole thing.

Our driveway was long and dark. Dad was checking the cars to make sure they were locked, like he did every night. He would also sometimes take my dog, Bunny, for a walk. He carried a bat. For coyotes.

When he came around the corner, he could make out the figure of a man standing at my window. The pool of light wasn't bright enough to see that it was Aaron. Just a man.

In in a voice he reserved for the worst of all people, Dad yelled, "who's there!"

Aaron's voice rose back to its re-pubescent level, "it's just me!"

"What are you doing?"

"Oh just sneaking around. Hee hee."

Probably not the best time for jokes. We heard the gate slam, then a door, then another door.

I said, "I better go."

Aaron said he'd leave the flowers for me in the mailbox and he took off.

Oh dumb teenage love. Why didn't he come right in and explain things? Why didn't we admit the truth? I tried to explain it away to my dad. I said, "we're just friends."

My dad didn't buy that for a second.

"You might be just friends with him, but no boy wants to be just friends with a girl. And that boy, especially, doesn't want to be just friends with you."

And then he gave his famous line.

"I know how boys think. I was a boy once."

You just can't reason with that kind of logic.

I waited until everyone was asleep and then snuck out to the mailbox for my flowers. They were roses. Picked from the country club gardens where Aaron worked. There was a letter too. One of the many he had already given me.

Just friends. Who were we kidding?

The next day, Aaron came over to apologize to my dad. And dad asked him to go to India with us.

I never asked him why, but I am pretty sure he wanted to check this guy out who was so interested in his daughter. He thought he'd see if he passed the test.

He did.

Aaron and I weren't the only ones who bonded on that trip. Aaron and my dad did too. They often shared a room, we all had Bible study every day, prayer time and ate 3 meals a day together. We were in each other's company constantly.

Dad got a pretty good idea of who Aaron was and hey got along pretty well.

They even began to dress alike. It was scary.
This is the real proof though of the advances in their relationship. Really scary.
They are of course, just posing. And yes, this is a public urinal, on the street, without any walls. Oh India! (My mom hates this picture. She is probably not going to be happy to see it here. It is pretty gross. And also pretty funny.)

When we got back from India we admitted the truth, and we began to date. It was official.

We were in love.

So you see, without that late night visit to my window there might not have been an India. Aaron certainly wasn't planning on going with us. Until my Dad suggested it, he hadn't even thought about it. I am so glad Aaron was a hopeless romantic. It really worked out for us.

This is now one of our favorite stories. It seems so silly and harmless, but at the time, oh it was quite a moment. I don't think I've ever seen Aaron so scared. Even when I'm giving birth and he is white as a sheet and nearly fainting. His voice sounded like Mickey Mouse. Classic.

After we'd been dating for nearly 3 years, I began to get anxious. I was, after all, over 20, and ready to get this show on the road. Many of our friends were getting married. Aaron's younger sister got engaged.

It was driving me crazy.

I nagged. I cajoled. I hinted. I am ashamed to admit, I even cried.

I didn't know then what I know now, if Aaron doesn't want to do it, there ain't no way anybody is going to get him to do it. In fact, he'll probably resist even more just because you want him to.

He's rebellious like that.

Like I said, I had a lot of growing up to do.

To his credit, Aaron also wanted to wait and ask me with a ring. I know there are guys who have a ring fund before they even meet "the one", or at least begin saving once they meet her. Aaron was too poor to have a ring fund. He was a student, waiting tables part time and scraping by.

I told him I didn't need a ring. I didn't care. And really, I didn't.

Still, nothing.

And then one night, we were in Laguna Beach. We met there often because it was half way between Long Beach and Fallbrook. We'd walk the beach and hilly streets, holding hands and dreaming of the future together. The future, I'd try hard not to point out, that wasn't really a future yet at all.

We walked back to my car, parked on Thalia St, in front of a little beach cottage with a ramshackle, white picket fence, when suddenly, Aaron was down on one knee.

He took my hand, there on the side of the road, and said, "Greta, I don't know why it has taken me so long to ask you this. Will you marry me?"

I think the skies opened up and the angels sang.

I said yes! Yes! Yes!

He didn't have a ring, we weren't having dinner by candlelight or watching the sunset, but it didn't matter one bit.

It was perfect

He told me later that as we were walking to my car it was like a lightbulb went on in his head and he thought, "WHAT AM I DOING? I need to marry this girl." So he got on his knee and asked me right then.

We found a ring a couple months later at an estate jewlry store. It was perfect and just what I wanted. It is from the 20s and just like my grandma's. I can't find the pictures of when he gave it to me, so I'll save that story for next year's anniversary.

Our wedding was on June 13, 1998. We got married under a magnolia tree in a garden. There were lots and lots of people there that we loved. I remember all the little kids I baby sat waving to me and whispering, "Hi Greta!" as my Dad walked me down the aisle.

I remember being supremely happy that I was finally marrying the man of my dreams.

He was worth the wait.

We look so young in these pictures. I can't imagine our sons or daughter being married at 21 or 23. But I am glad we did. We've grown up together.

Have we fought? Heck yeah!

Have we been sick of each other, annoyed, fed up? Yep.

But you know, marriage is really about hard work. It is about loving someone even when you don't feel like it. It is about sacrifices and giving and putting the other person first.

And 12 years later, we are still learning how to do that.

Maybe by 50 we'll have it figured out.

__________________________________

So many of you have responded to this story that I want to encourage you to write down your own love story. Even if you don't have a blog to publish it on, write it down and save it for your kids. Find some old pictures. Remember some of your favorite dating stories. Take a walk back in time and remember the greatest story of your life.

It will be fun.

And if you do, I'd love to hear it.

Happy writing!

Love from,

Greta

Father's Day 2010

Giving cards to Daddy after letting him sleep in as long as we could stand it.

These are sweet, sweet times.

And this is the sweetest love there is.

Happy Father' s Day, 2010.

We love you Daddy.