she's needed me lately.

Mommy, I just want to be with you.

Mama, can we have some time, just me and you?

Mama, let's have some special time together.

+++

SERIOUSLY??? No, I am not dreaming. This really is my life. This really is her heart toward me. I am blessed. But if I'm not in tune with her, or with myself even, it's easy to miss these clues into her little soul. It's easy to pass it off, or shush her or tell her why it's just not always practical to spend one-on-one time together because after all there's Zion and he's two and he doesn't just go away and when will we because of school and art class and ballet and then dinner and oh storytime and Look Daddy's home or why don't we just play girl toys and boy toys simultaneously?

Yeah, that makes soooooo much sense to a 4 year old.

Sarcasm.

It doesn't make much sense to me either.

Honestly, I give my crazy awesome God all the kudos here because the truth is, I haven't done any of that. And trust me when I say it's easy to do so. But lately, it's like our hearts are entwined in this wonderful way and we get each other and feel each other and know just what to do. Jersey and I. We're like chocolate and peanut butter. We just go together.

Just look at us. :)

And Zion, well, he just takes it over the edge with goodness.


So even though our daily life of Mama and Jersey and Zion is wonderful and full of fun and learning (like the fun kid kind) and love and cuddles and kisses and hugs and food and peace, I'm taking a moment to step back. I don't anticipate the inauguration of any new schedule or anything, I like our life, my kids like our life. It works. They're thriving. It's just now, for a couple weeks, Jersey just might need a little more thoughtfulness, a little more eye contact, a little more Mama. And it's something I'm meant to navigate, to sort out where God wants me to engage and where he wants me to let HIM engage.

I'm so honored to be the one that gets to see glimpses into her heart and be there to spur her onward.

Zion Joseph.

*
Cracked tiles pasted within bright stars, my soul is racing,
plotting a course between yours and mine.

Hope you have time to rest upon my heart,

for I think it's time to make a color no one has ever seen.
*

Jersey Christine.

*

The Eskimos have a thousand words for snow.

I wish I had a thousand words for love but all that comes to mind is the way you make my heart dance at the sight of you and there are no words for that.

*

on Mommy marathons and icky job/illness inflicted solitude.

**Click to see larger. It's worth it.**

My husband's job that is. Oh, and my husband's illness.

**Disclaimer: This post is meant to neither impugn my wonderful, hot, hardworking husband or his job. Seriously. It's meant to merely complain.**

My hubby doesn't read my blog anyway. :)

So here's how it goes down.

6:00 a.m. Hubby's alarm sounds. No bother, it's the kind that simulates the altogether soothing sound of church bells. Oh, and it commences softly, like your sweet Mama's voice on Monday mornin' when it's time for school. And he turns it off before it gets obnoxious.

by 7 a.m. One of my darling kids decides it's the perfect time to meet the day. Or at least to jump in bed with yours truly. Zion is particularly endearing and well, interested. In cuddling with me that is.

7:30 a.m. We make a choice. Breakfast at the coffee table? Insert watching child's brain turn to a watery pulp as they watch the boob tube. Why do they call it that? -OR- Breakfast at the table with charming morning banter about nightime dreams and plans for the day. I'm ashamed to say it's usually the making and loathing of watery pulp.

9:30 a.m. Do we play? Do we hit Target? I'm sure we need something. Oh yes, we go to the Pool. My kids are in heaven and well, so am I.

12 noon Lunch at home or at the pool.

12:45 p.m. Quiet Time & Nap for the kids while I enjoy a little bill paying, virtual-internet swashbuckling, or some good ol' fashioned R&R. For the record, the swashbuckling consists mainly of mommy blogs, facebook and email. It's really not that adventurous. It would be more accurately described as virtual-internet slothful relaxation. Or downtime.

1:45 p.m. Jersey is asking if her Quiet Time can be over.

1:47 p.m. Jersey is asking if her Quiet Time can be over.

1:49 p.m. Jersey is asking if her Quiet Time can be over.

1:49 p.m. I let her get up. We get a treat and find a nice spot to play Polly Pockets or American Girl or baby dolls. Polly Pockets is my her my current favorite. We play and pretend and teach our Polly Pockets to think of others before themselves. It's really quite charming.

3:00 p.m. Zion wakes up and joins the fun, only we add farm animals, cars, trucks, motorcycles and baseballs. Polly Pocket takes leisurely rides on said farm animals and car crash after car crash after car crash ensues. On the coffee table. Off the coffee table. Aaaaaaaand we do it again. This is actually one of the most wonderful things to do with him. He's pretty much de-lish.

4:00 p.m. Oprah? This is a recent thing. I keep telling myself I'm on vacation and it's okay.

5:00 p.m. Storytime on the couch. Some days yes, some days no. But only by lack of remembering.

5:45 p.m. I should start dinner. Then again Brian hasn't been getting home until...

6:00 p.m. I've forgotten about dinner.

6:15 p.m. Remember dinner but realize it's too late to make anything meaningful. I'm thinking Brian will be home any second and maybe something magical will happen like he'll walk through the door with Papa John's. Afterall, I'm on vacation.

6:30 p.m. I'm forgetting that my kids need to eat so they can go to bed, but the fact that Brian isn't home is tricking my mind into thinking it's 5:00.

7:00 p.m. Brian walks through the door with Papa John's. We eat, we play, the kids are in heaven with Daddy home.

8:00 p.m. (unless they're having a particularly good time, then it's more like 8:45... errr... even 9:00) Kid's Bedtime. Brian takes Jers. I take Zion.

8:30 p.m. Yes! Time with my man. Maybe we can have an invigorating metadiscourse about world peace and spending money on high-end shoes. Oh yeah, he's sick. Bummer. I guess it's hard core analysis of market segmentation as it relates to Cheer, Era, and Dreft. Usually Dreft. I actually happen to dig this topic.

10:00 p.m. Talk of bedtime drags me down. I'm feeling spent and lonely and desperate for some real time with Brian, other Moms. Mostly Brian.

Can anyone relate? Do you see all the loveliness of my day or did I centralize too much on the negative? I'm actually quite happy and content with my life. I actually love my life. But as much as my kids fill me up with joy and love and laughter and peace, they also drain me. And that's not a criticism or an admission of their high-maintenance-ness. It's just the truth for all Kid-Parent relationships. Anyway, can anyone relate? Oh, and did this sound contrived? Seriously.

Strawberry Shortcake and death to inertia.

I am completely at a loss for this oddity that happens all. the. time in life.

Not looking for Strawberry Shortcake gear: It's EVERYwhere. Looking for Strawberry Shortcake gear: "I'm sorry, ma'am, all of our Strawberry Shortcake stuff is due in 3 weeks."

Super.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeee creative. Truth is, whatever happens, my little 4 year old-to-be just cares about fun and friends. The Martha Stewart award is impervious to her thrills and enjoyment of the day. Must let it go.

Oh, and check out the evolution of said Strawberry girl:



I miss the old one. She was cuter and chubbier. Why do they put our little girl role models on weird diets? The Care Bears did it too. Just for kicks here they are:



Oh, speaking of weird diets, and ahhh yes, death to inertia, I've kept my house pristine for a whole week and I've still played with my kids and I've breathed and I've homeschooled and I am on a diet.

Please, no emails. It's ok. A girl needs to at least try to bust those obstinate baby pounds and increased presence of cellulite! Seriously. Anyway, I'm on it. But in case you see me this summer and said cellulite is still glaringly accounted for to an offensive degree, don't judge me. Grace. Ahhhhh, sweet grace.

yummy blather that makes my heart all ooey-gooey like.

At the end of the day, if I've heard just ONE of these from my son, I don't have the option to call it a bad day. It just isn't.

Here is my current list of swooning lines from my squishy boy:
(Zion, 17 months old)

*Ah Da Doe?* (translation: *Where did __________ go?*) You have to ask him what he's looking for but the boy will tell you. It's usually one of the following: Dada (this is a big one), Passy (hmmmm, this one might be the biggest), Cheetah, or Sissy (he's asking this one more and more. Boy, he loves her.) Oh, and you have to picture the "Da" part at a much higher octave.

*Yay-Yaaaaay!* (translation: *Sisseeeeeeee!* It sounds nothing like "sissy" but it's what I want to say when I think of her too.)

*Tee-Taaaaah. Tee-Taaaaaah* (translation: *Cheetaaaaah. Cheeeeetah.* When it's time for night night he needs his Cheetahs, one for each hand, thus the cries for his kitties.)

*Ah Wu Wu Wu* (translation: *I love you*) :)

*Thee-Ahhheeee-Ohhhh-Eeeen* (this is Zion spelling his name, repeating each letter after us. Z-I-O-N)

*Nin* (translation: *Again!* to being thrown on the bed, thrown in the air, flown around the house and other such fun and he's saying it before said act of fun is even over! so cute.)

*Ninu* (translation: *Menu* letting you know the DVD Menu is up and it's sooo time to push PLAY. He just sits on the couch, *Ninu! Ninu! Ninu!*

and I couldn't leave out...

*Mama. Mama. Mama.* (no translation needed. :) He says it perfectly. :) He calls me when he wants to show me something silly that he's doing, when he falls, when he's stuck, when he wants to be held, when he doesn't know where I am, when he throws something he knows he shouldn't into the toilet, you know, normal times like that. And if I don't answer right away the volume is boosted one notch at a time and the syllables become more and more elongated. There's just nothin' like it.

So here's the dealio, when I start to complain or get down or just feel yucky, I look at my kids. They are bright light and warm sun and happiness and every synonym that exists for goodness. They make my little innards leap at the sight of them. :)

Maple Brown Sugar meets Crap.

Let's get one thing straight.

My life is not a relentless stream of episodes of charming baby doll play, patient games of Candy Land in a room filled with streams of warm sun, cozy cuddles with my small blond steed and sticky sweet longings to be an even better mother. Oh please.

Don't get me wrong, gosh, these moments exist, often even. But I also have days where I walk around my house thinking... I can't do this... and feeling demotivated with no initiative and desperate pleas of Oh heaven, I'm begging you to send some angels my way to be her panel for the next 5 hours until bedtime because I cannot answer one. more. question.

I hate writing this. I fear you don't know my heart fully enough and the degree of gut-wrenching love I have for my children, my love for motherhood. The truth is, I often feel lost, bleary, uninspired and otherwise distracted from the good life. That's the truth.

But alas I intentionally spill my can of crap to show that my life in indeed not always smothered in maple brown sugar and hopes of an even brighter day. It's sometimes something far uglier.

So there you have it. What you will find here is the depth of my heart, all of it, errrr, most of it. But hopefully it will be a candid, veracious balance of real life. Living day by day and not loving every minute. Just most. :)

Just them.

What if at the end of the day I'm not doing what really matters? Like playing with my kids, really playing, quality playing, and not the kind where I'm acting like I'm playing but my mind is elsewhere, on dirty dishes, or showers, or facebook, or God even.

Yes, I really said that.

Because when it's 7:30 at night and I'm sighing in relief at bedtime's final arrival, I wonder. Did I see them today? Did I hear them, listen to them? And it's not 5 minutes after they're sound asleep that I don't ache to go in and scoop Zion up out of his crib and hold him for a while, nestled on my chest, knowing him. Or to slip into bed with Jersey under her flannel sheets next to her warm skin and soft hair, breathing her in and begging God to make her stay like this forever. It happens so often like this.

These indescribably normal, everyday moments are hissing by me so fast I'm wracked with whiplash and I don't know how to pause time and cement these frames of glorious-ness in mind and know that in 25 years I can go back and hold my kids, warm from a nap in my arms and it makes me mad.

There's nothing better than them. Just them in their clothes that smell of breakfast and disheveled hair and really wet kisses. Hearing Zion say *Mama, Mamaaa, MAMAAAAA* with intensity and love and Jersey telling me about baby dolls, and Astro Girl, and friends, and summer. Seeing her come into my room in the morning and telling me it's too sunny and not meaning the sun but my lamp. Feeling the weight of my son grow heavier with each turn of the page of The Big Red Barn as he makes his way to sleep and peace. Hearing about Jersey's day at school with expressions I don't recognize because she's growing so stunningly fast. Watching her enter a reality that is tangible to her as she sings over, dresses and nurses her baby doll, taking time and care and patience. Hearing Zion say, i wu wu wu, and noon, and aiwuhwuh with arms held up, and theth, and dado, and tith, and the like and knowing exactly what he means and just how to make it better. Accepting a hopeful request from Jersey to play baby dolls or a game and seeing her light up when I say yes.

No, there's really nothing better than them.

In light of this, here are some pictures, unedited, unscripted, unposed. Just them.

"If They Could Just Stay Little"

It's on the cover of Jersey's Baby book. I debated. How silly. You can't wish them tiny forever, can you? Selfish. Unhealthy.

Here I am, sometimes dreaming back the days of Jersey as my warm, squishy baby girl, tied to "Sah-Buh" and passy and me. And now my Zion. Willing him to stay a baby, but alas he grows. Barely hanging on to his "Ba-Ba" and utterly passy addicted. That part, I secretly love.

Yes, I'm a Mama of young-ins. I can't imagine life with them big, independent. For now, our favorite part of each day, yes all of us, is snuggled up on the couch reading books, warmed by Christmas lights and Jesus blankets and we're happy. So gosh, what's the harm. They'll grow, I'll adjust, and life will be as it should. And right now, life is as it should. I love my life, yes, sometimes mourning yesterday's passing but filled with hope for all of tomorrow.

But come on, look at him. You can't deny the appeal.

what I'm looking forward to the most.

I turn 30 in 5 days. WHAT?!?!?! Where does life go?

Well, in light of my birthday fast approaching my awesome hubby brought up the subject at dinner last night. My 3 year old, Jersey pipes in,

Her: "Mommy, what do you want to do for your birthday?"
Me: "Hmmmmmm"
Her: "Like, wif each uhver"
(before I could answer...)
Her: "I could get out my baby doll stuff. Do you want to play baby dolls wif each uhver?"
Me: "Are you kidding? YES!!! That is exactly what I want to do on my birthday!!!"

Seriously? She makes me smile and makes each day sweeter. What I'm looking forward to the most about turning 30 is starting the year off with my favorite thing to do. Playing baby dolls with my daughter on the floor beside her bed. And even though AS SOON as I meticulously dress, wrap, and feed MY baby doll, she ALWAYS, asks to "trade". AS SOON as I get my baby doll just the way I want her... she asks to trade. Let it go, Christine, you're turning 30.

Here she is. Isn't she lovely...