On Forgetting

The week, it's over. I have nothing to show for it except that all my people are alive and well.

I can't remember from one day to the next what is going on. What I did yesterday. What I might be supposed to do today.

It's this part of the Newborn Fog that I blissfully forget after each child is born.

The part where I gaze at my husband and wonder if we still speak the same language.

The part where I listen to my kids and wonder how it is that they have gotten so big and where did that intellect come from anyway?

The part where I look at the pile of crumpled clothes in the basket and can't remember if they are clean and unfolded or dirty and discarded.

The part where I all but drop all communications with friends because I can barely find time to breath, never mind have an actual phone conversation or a visit.

The part where I read the same page in a book forty-eleven times before I lay it aside, finally realizing that I have no idea how to digest the written word.

The part where every time I look in my closet, I wonder what will fit today.

The part where I gaze into my new baby's eyes and forget any frustrations that were nagging at me just two seconds ago.

Yes, forgetfulness can be a good thing.

STOP

On The Lighter Side...

We tend to keep our chickies close to home. We protect them from probably a lot more than they need to be protected from, but it gives Joshua and me peace of mind. There are phrases that my kids know nothing of, and the innocence of their uses of those words is somewhat startling at times. And occasionally hilariously note-worthy.

Recently my Mom stopped by and brought kids meals for the kids. They ate the food and then ripped into the toys. I have no idea what these toys are supposed to be, but they are little round plastic things that have legs that pop down when you push a little button.

Well, that description clears things right up, doesn't it?

Anyway, the toys were opened and the girls naturally needed to name their, um, pets? Gadgets? Elizabeth introduced us to 'Noo-Noo' (pronounced new-new). Sarah Grace proclaimed hers to be 'Boo-Boo'. Not to be left out, Anna piped up and announced her 'baby' was named 'Doo-Doo'.

And nobody made any jokes. Because they have no clue that there are potty connotations tied to that word.

However, Joshua and I knew. Now remember, we have a three week old in the house. Sleep is a commodity that we are in short supply of. Things that might be mildly amusing are considered absolutely hilarious when you are sleep deprived.

'Will you hold my Doo-Doo?'

'I love my Doo-Doo!'

'I lost my Doo-Doo!!'

'There's my Doo-Doo on the floor.'

'Can my Doo-Doo eat with me?'

And on and on and on and on and on it went. I cried. I mean, I was laughing, but I was in tears. It was all very junior high.

Anna, for her part, knew that she had hit on something funny. She is the comedic relief of our family and well aware of it. She may not have understood why it was making her parents gasp for breath, but she totally understood that she was on to something good. She kept a running commentary of what she was doing and what Doo-Doo was doing.

Alas, poor Doo-Doo rolled under the couch and the kids bedtime was upon us. The toy was forgotten about.

Until today when I scootched the couch out so the kids could retrieve all the stuff that had collected under it.

'MY DOO-DOO!!! I FOUND MY DOO-DOO, MOMMY!!!!! I MISSED YOU, DOO-DOO! I LOVE YOU, MY DOO-DOO!'

Even with more sleep on my side, it's still funny. I still laughed like a twelve year old boy when I heard her exclamations.

And I'm pretty sure I want to shelter them from the potty meanings of that word for a long time to come. My reasons may or may not have anything to do with the entertainment value of keeping them in the dark...

Haute

You know they exist. Those pictures of you as a kid wearing really ugly clothes. Outfits that were never meant to be an ensemble.

As teenagers, we are mortified by those pictures. As engaged couples, we smile indulgently as our mothers trot them out for the world to see. As mothers, we resolve that our children will never wear anything but adorable little outfits, neatly pressed and precisely matched.

Every. Single. Day.

I've yet to meet anyone who manages to to stick to their guns on that perfectly pressed and dressed child in their imagination. Life with it's M&M's and mud puddles get in the way. Grease stains from the potato chips and hot dogs. And before you know it, you're laughing as you snap pictures of your rag-a-muffin offspring.


Naturally, if your a blogger, you post those pictures online for the world to see. Because despite the too-short pants, the plaids and polka dots and stripes combined in a less than couture way, the shoes on the wrong feet, and the hair that must, must, must be worn down and stringy in the face of your precious little girl, those children are your pride and joy.

So let's celebrate children and their ripe sense of fashion. Allow them to be-bop around in those mismatched outfits and revel in the glorious-ness of childhood.

Just be sure you catch it on film so as to share it and carry on the grand tradition of eating crow, hmm?

Daniel - 2 Weeks

Why yes, I do believe we have all but fallen off the edge of the Earth. Just chalk it up to having a newborn in the house. He's usually a pretty good baby, but occasionally he burns my candle at both ends.



And yet, he manages to look all rested the next day while I stumble around begging for nap time to come quickly.


As most of you know, we had settled on a girls name. I don't think either of us truly expected to produce a boy after all of our lovely little ladies. But when the baby arrived and Joshua announced "It's a boy!!!" and the nurses cleared out, Joshua and I looked at each other and at the teensy baby in my arms and laughed. Because we knew we hadn't even remotely settled on a name for a boy.

We had a list of six or seven names that we really liked, and so we tossed those about for the first 24 hours. Then the Birth Certificate Lady came. When we told her that we hadn't selected a name, she got a tad bit disjointed.

Are we really the only people who've gone to the hospital to have a baby and didn't have a name already picked out?

She left and Joshua and I laughed. We also got down to business on naming the baby boy who'd just assumed the moniker Little Dude.

We had honestly pretty well decided to name him Daniel. However, that is as far as we had gotten. We couldn't find a middle name that suited. We conversed on and off throughout the day as to what to add to Daniel to complete our son's name. At last, Joshua (thinking he was being humorous) said, "Well, I guess he can borrow my middle name."

Harrison.

I said it together. Daniel Harrison. I liked it. Joshua liked it.

Then we realized that in giving this name to our second son, both boys would have a part of their Daddy's name. My husband is Joshua Harrison. Our first son is Joshua Thomas. And now our second son is Daniel Harrison.

So it is that he was named.

The New Normal

I have five children.

The oldest one is six.

Then five years old.

Then four years old.

Then two years old.

Then fifteen days.

Our old routine fell apart in the Great Storms of the South when we lost power for five days. The power had been back on at our place for a scant fifteen hours when I gave birth to our newest little arrow.

Suffice it to say, 'normal' is a word that has yet to re-enter our lives in any meaningful way. But, I am standing on my own two feet, more or less running my house again. Families from our church are still (oh-so-thankfully) supplying my family with meals, otherwise we'd be living off of peanut butter and raisins and apples and carrots.

We are finding a routine...on the days when Mommy has more than three hours of sleep tucked under her belt. On the less fortunate days, there is a lot of movie watching. And my six year old makes the peanut butter sandwiches.

It is an exhausting chapter of life, but mercifully, a very short one. The sleep deprivation passes quickly and fades from memory, leaving behind the sweetness of little feet, precious gurgles, and teeny bodies snuggled close.

Yep, normal is on the horizon. Somewhere. For now, we are resting in His arms while Daniel rests in ours. It is indeed a sweet time.

Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.~~ Matthew 11:28

Motherhood Should Come With

Motherhood should come with a stunt double. The one who gets to run around and wipe rear-ends, clean up the spilled drinks, catch the runny noses, cope with the sick children, and do all the dirty laundry.

Motherhood should come with a set of Cliff Notes. To tell you when to actually be worried about little ailments, when to listen to the very young doctor and when to tune him out. To inform you of the little things that will catch you off guard. You know, the things that Nobody Ever Tells You.

Motherhood should come with a twitch of the nose to change from the snot streaked, lunch left-overs, ponytail look into a trendy ensemble and naturally beautiful coiffe on a moments notice. Like when the doorbell rings unexpectedly. And it wouldn't hurt if the house just ship-shaped all by it's lonesome, either.

Motherhood should come with a sense of humor. The ability to laugh at yourself and allow your kids to laugh with you. To remember that they are only 'insert age here' years old and that things are viewed through a different lense.

Motherhood should come with open arms. To hold tightly to little wiggly bodies who crave our attention now. To soothe tears and torments. To grab it all up now, while it lasts...

Motherhood should come with a perfect memory of the good, and a perfect forgetfulness of the not so good. So we never forget these moments that matter and we never remember the trials that really are trivial.

DONE.

Oh, but I could go on and on and on...

It's A Boy!!!

There are stories, y'all. It has been one of the most eventful weeks of our lives. But most importantly, we are safe. We are blessed. And our family has met it's newest member!

Daniel Harrison Freeman
May 2, 2011
7 lbs 9 ozs
20 inches