Haunted

I can't sleep. Again.

Not because I'm pregnant, though that does its share of damage.

No. I can't sleep anymore because I'm haunted.
Truly. It's bad.

I have a few friends who have told me about the horrific dreams they have only when they're pregnant. Dreams about awful things happening to family and loved ones. Dreams that keep them up.

Funny, I thought. Because for all of my life, my dreams have been ultra-vivid. Like being in a movie. Or a book. With deep, dynamic plot lines and danger and fear and love and romance and all those elements. And they always feel real, while I'm in them. Real enough that sometimes Chad is forced to listen to me talk them away at two in the morning, so that I can fade back into sleep without a stomach knotted with fear. So it was funny, I thought, that some of my friends were getting their first taste of that during pregnancy.

And now, with my third pregnancy nearing its end, I realize that I had no idea what they were really saying when they told me they had bad dreams. No idea. None at all.

Because NOW I am haunted with bad dreams.
Awful, horrific dreams. About my children. And death.
And I didn't know what it felt like to have a dream fit just like a reality before.

But now I do. Oh man!

I feel the soul of myself shatter to fragments as I pull my little girl's crushed body from beneath a car. I cannot even breathe as I look at the blood. I cannot bring myself to even look at her face, because I know it's not there anymore. I am literally suffocating. Because nothing about this is a dream. It is too real, too awfully, horrifically, devastatingly real. And I wake up gasping for air, for life, for a miracle.

Or I am sobbing, sobbing uncontrollably as I try to explain to my husband, who just got home from work, that now Coren is dead. Risa died last week, unexplainably, and now his boy is dead too. But I can't explain because I can't even speak. My body is wrenched, wracked with a pain that has no words. And he waits for the news, while I sit in a heap on the floor, wondering why I'm still alive. And all I can get out is, "Oh Honey, why did we ever have kids? How will I ever get through this?" And I cry, and I cry, and I cry. And I wake up to my own heavy sobbing.

And Chad silently moves to my side of the bed and puts his arms around me. The dark room and his warm body jar me out of the dream. And it was a dream. I can breathe a sigh of relief. Except it doesn't come yet. Even in the reality of my safe little bed, in my safe little home, with my living, breathing family, I am haunted. For ten minutes I cry and shudder with fear, with my face buried in my husband's chest. And the dream slowly fades away. But not nearly fast enough. And even with my mind completely reassured that the scene was a figment, a dream, I have this intense need to go into my kids' rooms and feel their chest rising and falling. To scoop them up and hold them and just breathe, breathe with them and feel their warm, living bodies in my arms.

I hope this is a symptom of this one single pregnancy. I hope I don't experience these with the next one. I don't think I could do it, keep growing more children, while my nights are haunted with the loss of those I already have. I don't know that I can do it for eight more weeks. It is too awful. It is too haunting.

I need a dream with unicorns. And Care Bears. And rainbows. And laughing children running along the beach. That is what I need. How do I fix that up?

Choices & Changes

"And you are the mother

The mother of your baby child

The one to whom you gave life

And you have your choices

And these are what make man great

His ladder to the stars"

-Mumford & Sons, "Timshel"

(Tea Lights Mae and Bebe, by Kat....

See more of her lovely art at http://www.etsy.com/shop/kathannah)

I have been dwelling on the theme of choices lately... Really, our whole household, since we're making a concerted effort to teach choice and accountability to our firstborn these days. And it's sinking in; he's starting to get it.

And my husband and I have myriad choices to make in the next few weeks and months: Our car is/has been broken....Do we buy an older car? Do we get a loan and buy a not-so-old car? Our computer is on it's deathbed....What kind of computer do we replace it with? When? And Baby #3 is coming.... What do we name him? Where do we put him? Where do we put the other two little chickens? What if we just had him here at home instead of a hospital this time?

See, choices. Big and small.

And I made choices at the beginning of this year. Personal choices that would drive me and challenge me. That would make me a better me at the close of the year. And I think it's working.

It was discouraging for a while. I had made changes, and I saw no results. I was making a concerted effort, and yet there was nothing to see; no greater serenity; no sense of enlightenment. Hm.

But I made a choice to keep going. Day after day after day. Choosing not to climb onto the computer in the mornings--spend the time playing puzzles and balls and books with my little chickens. Doing a mini-preschool with my son. Choosing not to climb onto the computer immediately after I put the kids down for naps. And choosing not to turn on Netflix either. Choosing, instead, a home project or a book or a personal project. Choosing to read and meditate. Choosing to plan and organize. Choosing to work on my talents, some I've kind-of cast along the wayside in the last few years.

Choosing to focus on encouraging my kids, rather than scolding them. Choosing to listen to their incessant questions and requests and pointless stories with enthusiasm rather than exasperation. Choosing to really look at them, everyday....so that I am reminded, everyday, of their divinity, their wonder, their imaginations, their innate ambition for only love and embracing. Choosing to see them with their tabula rasa; and my connected responsibility to fill that slate with decency and moral confidence and a sense of unbounded worth. Choosing to kneel down on the floor--often quite literally--and see the world from their perspective, with their simplicity, and refrain from mucking it up with our very grown-up absolute nonsense. Choosing to stand in awe of them, rather than running in exhaustion from them (okay, not really that dramatically; but, moms, you know what I mean).

And it's working. My day has more smiles than frowns, more sounds of laughter than of anger. I feel peaceful. I am full of hope and excitement for this next little dude. I am proud to report to my hard-working husband at the end of the day. I feel productive and efficient. And yes, I still have a long way to go. And, in all honesty, there are a few of my resolutions that really haven't even been touched. But the big ones, the important ones, the change-me-inwardly ones, those are the ones I chose to do and keep doing. And I am finally seeing hints of change. And it feels.... nice. Not awesome or breathtaking. Nice. In a peaceful, harmonious, kind-of zen way. Good. Comforting. Encouraging.

And so I think I'll choose to do even a little better tomorrow. And the day after. And the day after. I'll keep choosing to do, so I continue to feel... well, good. Because my life was always good--now it's getting better.

Just wondering

My hubby is a how-things-work kind of guy.

A technical man.

Really, I think, a genius.

He can figure out how something works, 

take it apart,

put it back together,

without instructions or manuals.

It's just how his brain works.

So is it weird that sometimes,

out of the blue,

when he makes a really deep comment

about human nature

or literature

or art,

I am immediately turned on??

Mmm, my hubby!

Words, Words, Words

Okay, I must stop playing word games.

It's getting a little out of hand.

At 2:30 in the morning, after taking my midnight bathroom run,

I am lying awake in bed....

Putting words together.

Picking my own six-letter combination,

And seeing how many words I can make from the six letters.

In my head.

Not even on a screen!

And I even stress myself out,

At 2:30 in the morning, 

with no screen,

By counting down the time on some imaginary clock.

I think I might be obsessed.

And I need a break from words.

But first....

What seven-letter word can you make with T-R-I-O-G-N-S???

Sleeping...

It's on my mind this week.... and not just because I'm six months pregnant now, so it's become rather elusive for me. It's really my kids I've been thinking about--their own sleeping habits. Because I am a selfish mother; I have already come to terms with that, admitted it. Not to say I'm not working on it, but selflessness is not my natural state of being just yet. Not nearly. So I really, really covet my kids' nap time. It's my Me Time, my time to do my things; to hear my own thoughts again in a quiet house; to get things done without them being undone behind me; to be someone other than a mother.

My kids must know this on some level because their sleeping habits of late have been rather disappointing.... little scamps! Coren is trying to decide whether he even needs a nap at all anymore. So some days he just doesn't take one. Not a minute of shut-eye. No sir! (In his defense, he still plays quietly in his room for an hour or so....but then he's done, and he wants out.) And Risa--well, she's always been hot and cold. She just isn't the napper her brother once was, and two hours is really a long stretch for her. I know--two hours! That should be enough for me, right? But too often it isn't. Too often the selfish me comes out and I grumble as I walk over and open their doors. And bang! There goes my Me Time, my state of peace. Gone.

But this week, my kids have been a little sick. Just a little--they got touched with hints of a cold; and it's been just enough to wipe them out in the afternoons. We've had good long naps this week. And it's been really quite lovely.

But the sleep I've been thinking about happened on a quiet afternoon just three days ago. My kiddos had been down for an hour--a mere hour!--and here came Risa's cries through the vent. Bleh. So I grudgingly made my way downstairs to get her. But she was obviously not ready to be awake. As I pulled her up into my arms and came up the stairs, she threw her hands over her eyes and tucked her head under my chin, trying to block out the daylight. And she whimpered through her little snot-encrusted face and mouth. Poor thing! Well, it doesn't matter how selfish I'm feeling, my sick kids never leave me untouched. So I wiped her face off, and I made my way to my room. I got us both snuggled down into my bed, and Risa immediately fell asleep again, doing her best to breathe through her congested passageways. And I just laid there and watched her....

And she is beautiful. I just studied the way her long dark lashes cast shadows on her cheeks (a gorgeous feature both children inherited from their gorgeous father). The roundness of her cheek, which refuses to go svelte, even if the rest of her is thinning out. Her lips puckered out, so she could snore her way through her nap, with just enough space to glimpse her cute little gap teeth. She had one arm tucked behind her head, pillowing her. She was just perfect there. Really. And I think I watched her like that for a half-hour--the most precious Me Time of the week!

I was super-tempted, actually, to creep into Coren's room and watch him too--I really wanted to! But sadly, the other me took over again, and I just couldn't risk waking the boy up. But I imagined what he looked like.... curled in his favorite fetal position. Just at the edge of his bed, so his knees hang over, but nothing else. He sleeps silently, with his mouth closed, like his dad. And his cheeks go rosy--my favorite part. And his lashes look the same as his sister's, and his dad's. And every now and then, he re-situates his head on his pillow, taking a deep breath, but never coming up from his deep sleep. I have watched him sleep before.

I have beautiful children. Rascals in the day, but all innocence again in sleep. It's good to look at them like that again, every once in a while. To remember that. And hold it for a moment. Because I'm sure, any minute now, Coren will be knocking on his door.....

"Mom-may! I'm AWAKE!"

(And no, I don't have pics of them sleeping.... I wasn't about to start clicking and flashing during their naps!)

Resolutions....

The word makes me a little intimidated. And so I procrastinated a little. Just a little. Until about halfway through January.

Then I started to get intimidated by some other words: "I am so thoroughly convinced that if we don't set goals in our life and learn how to master the techniques of living to reach our goals, we can reach a ripe old age and look back on our life only to see that we reached but a small part of our full potential." -M. Russell Ballard

And so, about halfway through January, I set my New Year's Resolutions. And I wrote them down. And I did it in a fairly nerdy way....

I broke my goals up into four categories: spiritual, physical, family and talent (yeah, I know, those don't flow very fluidly together, but it works for me). Then I chose a goal for each category. Then, beneath each goal, in proper outline form (wow, it is nerdy!), I wrote out "sub-goals", i.e. the specifics of my goals and the smaller steps I need to take to reach the goal, with appropriate calendar deadlines where it applies.

And then I took a look at my goal outline/yearly plan--essentially, this is what I'm doing, right? Planning my year?--and I was immediately overcome with two very powerful feelings:

1. Elation. "Wow!" I thought. "Look at this! I'm going to be a powerhouse by the end of the year! Look at everything I will have accomplished! I will be unstoppable!" And I reveled for a moment in my goals--each one deliberately thought out, calculated to stretch but not overwhelm me. It felt really fantastic, to see them written out there, in black and white, with my own how-tos and completion dates and even the occasional helpful pointer. I was proud of myself, and relieved to have given them real dimensions, rather than leaving them as nebulous ideas ("I want to be healthier. I want to work on my talents. I want to spend more quality time with my kids" etc).

And then.... 2. Fear. Almost kind-of heart-stopping, paralyzing fear. "Holy smokes!" I thought. "What in the world am I thinking?! Need I remind myself that I'm having Offspring #3 this year? That means three little people to take care of all day! When am I planning on doing all of this? And geez, why did I write the blessed things down? Don't I know that means that I'm accountable now, because I actually gave them definition?" And I started to panic, already projecting when and why my failure date would come.....

And then I took a deep breath, and I thought again of Elder Ballard's quote. Do I want to reach that ripe old age and look back and realize I didn't make real all the dreams I had at this time of my life? Because I was making excuses?! Like how I'd have so much more time when..... when? When am I magically going to have more than 15-18 waking hours in a day? When am I suddenly going to find myself without obligations of one kind or another?

Or really, more honestly, when am I going to wake up having magically absorbed the ganas that I'm lacking. That's what I'm really waiting for, isn't it? The day when I suddenly feel that "up-and-at-em" spirit the moment I get out of bed. Except nobody just has that. I don't think even the movers-and-shakers of the world just had that feeling one day. I think they made themselves have it, every morning, when their blasted alarm was going off at 6:00am again! And they thought about the hard work they'd have to put into their kid-raising and their writing and their neighborly service and their whatever that day. And maybe they groaned a little. Then they got up and did it.... and did it better and better every day! And that's what we all have to do, to be powerful potential-reachers one day.

So I have my goals for the year. The ones that are challenging but attainable. The ones that I thought and planned knowing I had another little dude coming. Knowing that I'd have to pull myself out of bed earlier than I really like to. Knowing that I'd have to give up some of my coveted kid-nap-time/mommy-movie-time to study and write and practice and stretch and grow. And yep, I'm still intimidated. But I'm kicking the fear out of bed. Because at the end of 2012, I want to see, for myself--because, really, what do my goals matter to anyone else?--a change in myself: In my abilities and confidence, my relationship with my lover and kiddos, and my own sense of worth and daily peace. I want to look back, when I start thinking about goals for 2013 (when I'll be thirty, by the way--yikes!), and say, "Wow! Look at everything I accomplished last year! I was--I am--a powerhouse!"

So, really, my overall goal for 2012: Become a Powerhouse! And I know how.... Now bring on the hard part....

Three Whole Years

My boy is three! What a trip! That I have a child--that I bore a child--that has reached three years of age! (Do you sometimes have those moments where you sit back and look at your children, and it dawns on you again, "What the heck?! I am your mother! When did this happen??")

Well, it was a rather lovely birthday. We spent the weekend at Chad's parents, and so we did his party shindig over there. And I'm sure he was all kinds of proud that day, because he pretty much got to throw out all of Mom's regular rules--"Yeah, go ahead and have another cookie, it's your birthday." "No, I guess you don't have to eat your noodles, it's your birthday." "Okay, you can watch another movie, it's your birthday." And all week the anticipation was building.... I would ask him what we were going to do on his birthday, and he list off all the highlights he was looking forward to most--"We're gonna eat chicken nuggets! And blow up balloons! And have cake!"

And that really kinda covers the bases. We had chicken nuggets for dinner--Coren's choice, of course. And fruit and cookie salad (I also added a regular salad to the menu to make it a little more appetizing for the adults). And we blew up balloons and left them all over the floor.... I tried to hang them up with the streamers, but Coren took one look at my first hung balloon and stated, on the verge of tears, "You can't do it, Mommy! It's too high, I can't get it." So I pulled it down and left all his coveted balloons where he could get to them.

And I made a Mickey Mouse Clubhouse cake for the boy--another special request; Mickey Mouse Clubhouse is his favorite these days.

Which didn't turn out too badly, actually. I did have to doctor it a bit and change some of my original plans around to make it work, but it did the job. What really made me most proud was how, for the entire week after Coren's birthday, whenever he saw the clubhouse at the beginning credits of the show, he yelled, "Look, Mommy! My cake! It's my cake!" Success! The cake was followed by presents, and it was a perfect little party for him, meeting all his expectations. Hooray!

Some updates on my three year-old boy:

-He loves Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, as I stated before. And he has just started a Blues Clues and Jake and the Neverland Pirates kick.

-He has a macabre streak, which I'm still trying to decide whether or not I should worry about. He loves The Nightmare Before Christmas and can pretty much sing the entire opening song word for word, as well as being able to quote about half of the movie itself. He loves Monster House and "Spoky Marley" (Disney's A Christmas Carol, which, yes, is quite "spoky"). He pretty much enjoys anything with monsters, aliens, weird creatures, or dark stop-animation (like all of Henry Selick's work).... And before you really protective mothers start to get all hot and bothered, no, we haven't let him start watching anything past kid-level maturity, so don't worry. Just the creepy made-for-children movies for us! :)

-He has started making statements about when he thinks Mom or Risa or Daddy are funny. And he'll even happily admit when he himself is funny.

-He LOVES music. He's definitely the musical product of his parents, which is probably inescapable for any of our kids. But he takes it to a whole new toddler level. He has certain songs which are assigned to each family member. He knows which songs are Mommy's songs and which songs are Coren's songs. He can tell you what movie a song is from after the first four notes, practically. But then he wants to know about every other song that comes on as well. And he runs me through a gamut of questions. What is this song? Why is it called that? Whose song is it? Why do they sing this part? What are they saying? Do you like it, Mommy? Why do they sing like that? And so on and so forth. And he picks up a song after hearing it one time.... I am with my children pretty much all week but the two hours they're in primary. And yet, out of the blue yesterday, Coren sings the entire song of "The Wheels on the Bus," which I have never sung or played for him. All I can figure is that they sang it in his class on Sunday, and therefore he memorized the whole thing, the whole thing! I'm beginning to think his inner thoughts run through his head with melody lines.

-He's still a super-fruit boy. But he has also discovered some of the regular kid favorites, like, well, chicken nuggets and hot dogs and cheeseburgers (which he always asks for in the "cool computer voice" from Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs). He still hasn't gotten into some other kid regulars, though, like pizza and mac and cheese--a couple of bites and he's done. He loves trees (broccoli), and he likes pasta without the red sauce. And, of course, he loves cheese, in pretty much all its forms.

-He loves the snow. He'll wake up and peek his bleary eyes out the window, and the minute he sees the snow (which, really, has only been a few times this year, thus far) he asks for his boots and his Jack hat. And I give them to him. I bundle him up and let him go out whenever he asks to, because I'm trying really hard not to kill my children's love of snow with my own less-than-favorable opinions about it.

-And the boy is a crafter. Huh. We discovered this just in the last couple of months. Especially at the Brooks family reunion. They had three or four crafts each day for the kids to do. And we were rather astonished: Coren was the last child remaining at every craft, still working on his little project long after all the other kids had lost interest. Who would have thought? A project boy! A hands-on boy!

-He's trying to find the balance between playing with Risa and driving her nuts. It's a delicate balance. But he is thoroughly enjoying his playmate these days. Which is my favorite thing ever!

-And he's officially daytime potty-trained. We have yet to tackle naps and bedtime, but he's a champion in the day. Only one accident in a week, and I am SO HAPPY!! We started about two weeks ago. He picked out M&Ms for his treat; I stuck him in Spongebob underwear and told him how it worked (which he pretty much already knew from Elmo's Potty Time and such); and then we started in on the training. And the first few days were not bad, but certainly not encouraging. He had one success and about five accidents a day. And he got the concept, but he didn't recognize the sensation until it was too late to get to the potty. But I, surprisingly, kept my patience (which, let's be honest, was a miracle). And then on day four something just clicked. And from Friday on, he made it to the bathroom every time; even when he was upstairs by himself, with no promptings from parents; even when he was at his cousin's house, playing outside. I am so proud! And he is too--Each morning, when we take off his diaper and swap it for underwear, he loves to declare, "I'm too big for diapers." Oh frabjous day!

And that's our boy. He's really a fantastic, imaginative little dude--big dude, actually. Most people think he's four, not three. He's still quite the handful, but he's calming down in small ways. And he listens and responds, now that he can communicate in full paragraphs and have entire conversations. It's amazing how much that changes things! And, as usual, he's a really happy kid. Not one for tantrums or excessive whining (actually, hardly any whining) or crying. He's just a contented child, and I love that! He's one of a kind, and I'm really, really grateful that he's my one-of-a-kind! Happy birthday, my son!