Mommy Blessings

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I take care of my children because I'm their mother. I want the best for them. When the baby is hungry, I nurse him or give him some age-appropriate food. When his diaper is dirty, I change it. When my 2-year-old is done with his business on the toilet, I wipe him. When his older brother picks on him, I intervene. When my 4-year-old finishes brushing his teeth in 5.6 seconds flat and rinses out his toothbrush, even though I have told him repeatedly not to do this, I put more toothpaste on it and painstakingly coach him (for the 82nd time) on how to brush all the surfaces of his teeth. (Sometimes I do this patiently . . . and sometimes not.) When the same 4-year-old asks me a question, and then another, and then another, and then another . . . I answer each and every one of them as thoughtfully as I can. I am Mommy. This is my job. I do it out of love for my children, not for reward or recognition. (And it's a good thing too, because some days there doesn't seem to be much of either!)

So it still takes me by surprise when my children do something that lets me know they reciprocate my love. Recently I picked up my 13-month-old, a happy, lazy child who still isn't crawling (never mind walking) because he has found that he can get everywhere by scooting around on his bottom. I picked him up and held him close, as I've done thousands of times, but this time was different. This time he snuggled against me, put his chubby little arm around my neck, and squeezed! As I basked in the warmth of his baby hug, I knew that nothing prior to motherhood could have prepared me for the exquisite yet piercing joy I was feeling as we held each other.

Sometimes the constant demands of mothering three small children and homemaking can seem overwhelming, and they can skew my perspective. I would like a clean, clutter-free home. I would like to cook three hot, delicious, nutritious meals a day. I would like to wash my hair on a regular basis. But more than all these things, I want to be a good mommy. I want my kids to remember their childhood as a happy time of wonder, discovery, and love. So I'm learning to let those other priorities take a backseat to what is truly important these days. I'm praying that God will help me to be the mommy that He wants me to be, not the mommy that I or other people might try to pressure me to be.

Today is Thanksgiving, and we're hosting a gathering of 23 people—10 adults and 13 children—in our spacious new apartment. I have not yet finished unpacking from our move a month ago, and I just hope that the smaller kids don't decide to finish the job for me. People will begin arriving in just under two hours, and I have not yet mopped the floors or cleared off the kitchen counters (or gotten dressed, for that matter). I didn't find the time to make a pretty centerpiece or cut out colorful leaf-shaped cards that people could use to write down the things they're thankful for. But somehow none of that seems all that important. The things that really matter, the friends and family whom God has put nearby who fill my life with joy, will all be here, and we will enjoy a beautiful, chaotic time of love, laughter, and friendship. This year, that sounds like the recipe for a perfect day.

Happy Thanksgiving, from us in Ukraine, to all of you in the U.S. (and to all you American expats, wherever you happen to be)!

Lifelong Birthday Blessing

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Just over three years ago, I was heavy with child and patiently awaiting the onset of labor. It was to be the second time I gave birth, and I thought I had it all figured out. My due date was November 11, and since my first baby had been born just two hours before his due date, I knew that there was no danger of this one being born on my birthday, November 19. I was relieved, because I really did not want to share my birthday―my own special day―with one of my children, for the rest of our lives. But God, and my second-born, had other ideas.

I remember a phone conversation with my dad around November 14. "The baby's just waiting to come on your birthday," my dad joked. "He is not!" I retorted. "I am not going to share my birthday with one of my children!" But when I felt the first contraction at 5:30 on the morning of November 19, I knew that my dad had been right. I briefly considered trying to stall my labor with mind power alone, but I quickly realized that 1) I probably didn't have enough will power to do it and 2) I didn't really want to drag out an uncomfortable experience any longer than necessary. So I resigned myself to the inevitable, and just over twelve hours later, my second son made his entrance into the world.

Everyone at the hospital thought that it was wonderful that our little Elijah Kiyoshi was born on my birthday. They said things like, "Oh, that's so special!" and "Isn't it the best birthday present?" I smiled and nodded politely, but I didn't agree. My idea of a good birthday had been a leisurely day spent with family followed by dinner with my husband at a nice Mexican restaurant. But instead of doing what we had planned, I spent the entire day in labor and the following night in sleepless exhaustion. My midwife brought me a cupcake with a candle in it from the hospital cafeteria, and my mother-in-law and sister-in-law brought me gifts from the hospital gift store, but in my mind, these kind gestures didn't really make up for being made to walk through the valley of the shadow of death on my one special day out of the year.

That night, after all the well-wishers had gone home, and my husband had fallen asleep on the couch in my hospital room, I found myself wide awake in bed, unable to sleep because of the joy and excitement bubbling inside me. I realized that what I was feeling was similar to how I used to feel as a child after receiving an especially longed-for gift. I rolled onto my side and gazed lovingly at the precious little bundle nestled in the bassinet beside me, and my heart felt like it would burst from the force of the indescribable and powerful emotions surging through me. Maybe this was the best birthday present ever.

Today is my 33rd birthday. And it's my second son's 3rd birthday. Happy birthday, sweet little boy!

A Confession

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I recently found out that a friend whom I haven't seen in well over a year is a fan of my blog. I found this out because I was talking with her husband, and he said that she loves to read my blog. Then he said something that I'm still contemplating several days later. He said that his wife is really impressed by me . . . because I have three small kids AND I still manage to brush my hair. I don't know how she can be so certain that I brush my hair, since she never sees me, but she's right: I do, usually at least once a day.

I know, it's amazing, isn't it?

After my friend's husband told me this, I felt compelled to make a confession, lest my friend get the impression that everything is perfect around here. I do brush my hair regularly . . . but . . . washing it is another matter. A picture of my long hair, taken when I was in labor with my third child

First of all, up until I asked my husband to trim it about a week and a half ago, my hair hung a good six inches past my waist. Even now that it's only waist length, it's still a lot of hair to wash, and it's a real pain to dry. The whole process takes close to an hour (longer if I let it air dry), and I can only do it 1) when my husband is home to watch the kids or 2) after all the kids are asleep for the night. The first option doesn't happen all that often, and usually by the time the second option is a reality, the last thing I want to do is mess with wet hair. So that leaves me with the less-than-ideal third option.

Option three means that I take the 1-year-old into the shower with me, and I leave the bathroom door open so that I can hear if the 2-year-old starts to scream because the 4-year-old is molesting him. (On a side note, if I were making a list of the simple pleasures that I really miss from my life before kids, the ability to take a shower with the bathroom door closed would be near the top.)

Because of the hassle, for the first six months or so after the birth of a new baby, I don't bother to wash my hair more than once a week. (But I do make sure to wash it as soon as I go into labor. The picture above shows me with freshly-washed hair, breathing through a contraction while I await the arrival of child #3.) It's convenient that I don't really need to wash my hair more than once a week for several months after childbirth. Once my body chemistry starts to return to normal, however, I make a heroic effort to wash it twice a week, but it doesn't always happen. As a result, I've become an expert at hiding greasy roots. My favorite method is to pull all my hair into a tight ponytail, but my sister has a great idea that I have yet to try. One of her pictures on Facebook shows her looking super hip wearing a cute baseball cap with her hair in a low ponytail threaded through the hole in the back of the hat. When a friend commented to complement her on her stylish appearance, my sister responded that the only reason she wore the hat was because she really, really needed to wash her hair!

Guest Post for Sprouts en Route

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Just prior to our recent move, I wrote a guest post for Sprouts en Route, a blog by Kristin Spencer, another mom and missionary who writes about how to travel with kids and still enjoy the journey. It was part of her Ultimate Family Road Trip series. I wrote about how to keep order in the car. I mean, let's face it, keeping your kids in order when you're at home can be difficult enough. The mere thought of trying to do it on a road trip makes many parents cringe. But it doesn't have to be that way. Our family's lifestyle necessitates regular road trips where we spend ten or more hours in the car in a single day. But we enjoy it! Road trips can be fun for the whole family. You can read my tips and ideas for car travel with kids here.

Okay, So It’s an Excuse . . .

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I've been scarce in these parts for some time, so I wanted to show my virtual face and offer an explanation. One and a half weeks ago, we moved. It was just from an apartment on one side of the street to an apartment on the opposite side of the same street, but still, we moved. And in my opinion (and I've moved 9 times in the last 8 years and 8 months, so I should know) any move is a huge hassle, regardless of the distance involved. And when you move from the 4th floor of a building with no elevator to the 5th floor of another walk-up, it's potentially more of a hassle than moving across the country, even if those two buildings are on the same street. So our life is presently chaotic, and our living space is in a shambles, but we're t-h-r-i-l-l-e-d with our new place. And as soon as I locate the USB cable for the digital camera, I'll post some pictures . . .

Out of the Mouths of Babes and Infants

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My husband's grandma died last week. My 4-year-old son overheard us talking about it. "She died?" he asked, furrowing his eyebrows. I held my breath involuntarily, wondering how to explain this to such a young child. "Yes, Great Grandma died," my husband said, "and now she's in heaven with Jesus." My son started to giggle with glee! I was shocked and disturbed, until he exclaimed, "How she got there by she's self??" (Translation: How did she get there by herself?) Then I understood.

Lately he has been preoccupied with heaven, often asking me when we can go there. When I explain that we have to wait until Jesus takes us, he says, "But I want to go now!" So when he heard that someone he knew had made it to that wonderful place, he couldn't contain his excitement, and he wondered, How did she do it?

My first instinct was to dismiss his irreverent laughter as merely the result of a lack of comprehension. He didn't really understand death, so he could be excused for thinking that this was a time to rejoice. But suddenly I realized that he understood the big picture much better than we did. In his mind, the specter of death was nothing in comparison to the joy of heaven. His thoughts were not of losing a great grandma but of her incredible good fortune to get to go where he so desperately wanted to be. I looked at his glowing face and smiled through my sadness. All of us adults with the long faces could learn a thing or two from the glee of my 4-year-old.

Changes on the Horizon

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When I started blogging on October 23, 2005, my goal was two-fold: (1) to give myself the chance to write something that might be read by more people than myself and my husband (he’s super supportive of my writing efforts, but I wanted a larger audience) and (2) to give my friends and family in the States a more intimate look into my life (since missionary prayer letters don’t always provide the details that loved ones crave).

That was almost six years ago. (Wow!) I’ve seen a lot of changes since then. I’ve gone from being an American abroad, paralyzed and frustrated by the language and culture, to someone with a deep appreciation for my adopted country who has learned to drive by the rules of the road here. I’ve gone from childless housewife with a part-time job and several ministries in the church to full-time stay-at-home mom with three small boys! And I’ve gone from occasional writer to committed blogger.

Over the years, my blogging frequency has been erratic. I’d didn’t write at all in 2007 (the year that began with the birth of our first child), and 2010 saw another hiatus (perhaps because that year began with morning sickness and ended with a 3-month-old infant in my arms). But this past spring, I made the decision to begin writing again, with the goal of adding a new post here once a week. It’s been a rewarding half year, and connecting with you, my readers, has definitely been the main reward!

So I wanted to let you know that some changes are coming to this blog. Now that I’ve sort of got the hang of writing regularly, I want to become more intentional about blogging. I’ll be moving my blog to a different hosting domain, and you’ll be seeing a new name, new look, and new format.

To pursue my blogging dreams, I’ve been reading a variety of resources. I just finished reading Bryan Allain’s hilarious eBook 31 Days to Finding Your Blogging Mojo.  It was so funny that I was having trouble getting through it, because every few paragraphs I had to stop to fend off my two older kids, who kept running over to find out what I was laughing about! But beyond Bryan’s off-the-wall sense of humor, what I loved about this book was its imminent do-ability. The chapter-a-day format breaks it up into manageable portions, and each day’s reading ends with an assignment that is both practical and feasible. By the time I complete all 31 assignments, I know that I’ll be well on my way to meeting my blogging goals. I can hardly wait till the kids are tucked in for the night and I can grab a pen and do the first day’s assignment! If you’re a blogger, check out Brian’s book on Amazon Kindle or as a PDF, and then come back here to let me know what you thought about it!