I started this blog entry a few days before Shawn's first follow-up appointment at Mayo. Before the bottom dropped out. (http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/shawndeboer) I was intending to tell the story of what's been going on in our lives lately, but I never got that far. Ironically, I think what little I have, is even better.
**
Children can be consuming. They absorb time, money, attention, space and especially love, en mass. And while they're earth-shatteringly amazing, it's equally important, I think, to remember how these tiny little creatures come to exist in the first place. In Team DeBoer's world, it reads a little something like this:
Boy meets girl…
girl ignores boy and pretends he doesn't exist…
girl then spends the next year chasing after boy until he finally agrees to go out with girl…
boy and girl date, then marry, then move to Minnesota…
boy and girl buy a house and a hound, and shortly thereafter, decide to pull the goalie…
after seven years of dating, six years of marriage and five-and-a-half years with just a dog…
a child is born.
It goes so well that just a short time later, another child is born and the rest, as the cliché goes, is history.
Shockingly simple. While my family's story can be cutely, albeit crudely, summed up in seven lines, it's important to emphasize how it all began: with a boy and a girl. Literally. Shawn and I were just kids when we started "going out." (That label always slayed me … going out. Out where? We couldn't even drive. Well, I could, but still. Where the hell were we going to go? Casey's General Store?) We've grown up together, we've endured a lot together, we love each other now more then ever and I can confidently say, we still genuinely like being around each other. It sounds like I'm surprised because sometimes I am and I even say so to Shawn. I think we're a bit of an anomaly and that makes me smile.
From being kids to having kids, one thing has been constant, we've been a team. A team of two…
**
While I don't particularly care for Valentine's Day and all the hub-bub that follows in it's wake, I will honor it's existence in that I will take the time to say a few extra "I love yous" to Mr. DeBoer today. Today, tomorrow, the day after that and the day after that and so on and so on…
This child … I must come up with a nickname for her Hasidic-Jew-meets-Danny-Zuko-hairdo. I've never seen anything like it and it is the best.
Big sisters are so helpful. I don't remember what Maemo was saying here but I'm sure it was nothing short of reassuring. My heart literally swells every single time they interact. No matter the occasion, Maci plays the quintessential older sister and Ivy the adoring, smiley younger sister. It is pure entertainment just to observe.
Especially when things like this happen…
"X" marks the Ivy.
Sometimes I swear they're almost the same size, which bodes well for their relationship. It will be interesting to see where they end up. Maci has sprouted like a weed recently but she's still pretty petite. Ivy is anything but petite.
That foofy Valentine's Day is a comin' which means it's time to recap Christmas.
This year, for the first time, we went to Lights in the Park: "St. Paul’s Phalen Park is transformed into a fantasy of lights and color. More than 50 larger-than-life holiday sculptures and animated displays bring the season to life." Basically for 10 bucks, we got to experience the likes of the Hollidazzle parade from the warmth of our SUV. We even let Maci bounce from her car seat up to sit on my lap, front and center. We took our time, listened to the CD of local artists we bought at the gate and took turns naming our favorite displays. Maci was delighted and it was priceless just to watch her reactions. We were able to capture some on video, however, the best photo we got was with our iPhone, behind the windshield. It's not much but it's something to remember the experience by … although it's definitely something we'll do again, especially because I'm pretty sure Ivy schnoozed through the entire thing.
Next up was the girls' school Christmas concert. I managed to record almost the entire show on my DSLR, until the battery died, literally moments before Santa handed Maci her present. #parentfail In any case, as one might guess, the concert was the cutest thing! I'm pretty sure neither of them sang, but what does it matter when you have reindeer antlers and/or furry white boots? Again with the iPhone photo…
Then, of course, there was the visit with the big guy. It needs no explanation. In this case, the picture is worth every one of it's 1,000 words. Yin and yang.
I'm pretty sure this doesn't follow chronologically but somewhere along the lines, as is the tradition in our house, we ventured out for the DeBoer family Christmas tree! (I mentally picture Chevy Chase each and every single time I say that.) It was the coldest day we had had up to that point and our moments outside were bundled up and brief. This year Maci Mae picked out the tree and the hubby cut it down. While the awesome volunteers of Hampton Hills Tree Farm shook, wrapped, hoisted and tied down the small but mighty pine, Shawn took Maci to check out Santa, his sleigh and his, um … mules. (The reindeer must've had the day off.) Her feelings against Santa held strong but as per usual, she was enamored with the "horses." It's pretty much what she talked about the whole way home.
That night we got the bad boy up in the house but I believe it wasn't until the following weekend that we actually had time to decorate it. This being Maci's first year helping we weren't sure what she'd think but we knew she was big and bad into an "I do!" phase so we figured, at the least, she'd adapt. And adapt she did – she was a pro and was very proud of herself every time she hung an ornament, right beside each other. It very vividly reminded me of one of the first times Ty helped decorate the family tree when I was growing up and after he hung red ball by red ball by red ball, Dad took a picture and told the rest of us we were not to move them or rearrange them in any way because that's where Ty wanted them so that's where they were going to stay. It took some strength to shut off the OCD in me (then and now) but I left every single one where she put it because that's where she wanted them so that's where they were going to stay. And it did nothing but make me smile. In the end, we had the cutest darn tree you ever did see with the cutest ornament clusters this side of Ruggles. I can only imagine what another year and another little helper will bring…
Christmas Eve rolled around and while we had hoped to take the girls sledding, like we did with Maci last year, it was just too darn cold. We did get in some Grinch-watching and present-opening though so it wasn't completely without it's tradition. After the girls discovered their Christmas jammies, we fancied up and headed to church. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, we did not get a photo of the girls in their outfits so I'll just have to record it here: they both wore grey sweater dresses with pink stockings. No, they were not identical … but they did coordinate. My favorite part about this service was and always is when we sing Silent Night. There is something simply magical about a mass of people, faces lit only by candlelight, singing in unison and at the end, a cappella. Without fail, it always leaves me in tears. Good tears …
I know the photo above is blurry but Maci's expression is spot-on. And while the eldest Obi-Wan went the conventional route of opening, our youngest Jedi was apparently just banking on the force … of her gaze. And you can't see it but she dawned her Star Wars onesie just for the occasion.
Christmas morning! The girls were up, like clockwork, around 6am and we groggily made our way to the living room and the chaos that was Kris Kringle's visit. There were half-eaten cookies, empty glasses of milk, stockings full of stuffers, an art easel, a sled, a tunnel, a tent … it was awesome madness. We slowly but surely made our way through Santa's gifts and to the beautifully wrapped boxes under the tree. Even though this was the first year we feared fairness, the only little comment Maci made was declaring (not necessarily negatively) that Ivy was opening a big box and she was opening a little box. She claimed everything as hers anyway and Ivy enjoyed the wrapping paper more then anything else so it all worked out in the end.
It was a very relaxed day as we had plans to go absolutely no where. We watched some Toy Story (for Mr. Potato Head context of course), napped, ate, played games with Gma and Papa and really soaked in the complete and utter lack of a schedule. Nothing like a fireplace, family and fuzzy jammies to help you celebrate your first Christmas as a family of four!
…laundry will not contain garments soiled in bodily fluids.
…I'll be able to stay up later then 9pm and sleep in later then 6am.
…we'll have "fun money" again.
…I'll have more clothes that don't have holes then do.
…we'll have more then five minutes to eat.
…I'll get the trim of those last two windows painted.
…we'll finish that basement.
…the girls' imagination will occupy them for hours at a time.
…I'll have time to exercise.
…we'll create those photo books.
…I'll learn to operate my camera to it's fullest potential.
…we'll pay off those student loans.
…I won't have to time anything around an electric pump.
…the girls will be able to do their own hair.
…I'll get through all those Real Simple magazines.
…everyone in our house will sleep through the night.
…everyone in our house will be healthy at the same time.
…I'll blog more often.
But for now, for now I'll enjoy these people. Two tiny people I kinda really love, ironically created by two not-so-tiny people I kinda really dig as well.
It's almost Thanksgiving, so let's talk about Halloween.
First, there was Team DeBoer's annual trip to Axdahl's Garden Farms outside Stillwater, MN. (You can reminisce about our previous visits here and here.) There, we watched a movie, in a silo, sitting on some hay bales…
…and revisited the giant wooden porch swing.
We posed in front of the corn maze sign although said maze didn't actually exist this year…
…and in front of the pumpkin display that was, for some reason, sans the Beetle.
This is where we captured a picture with my favorite caption to date: "I once caught an Ivy, thisbig!"
Sasquatch and her gourd…
…and Mama and her Maci.
We spotted some hot air balloons…
…and stared and stared in wonder.
Daddy and his girls in front of da barn.
Team DeBoer, take one.
Team DeBoer, take two.
Next came the painting of the pumpkin. The as in singular. As in non-plural. As in even though we came home with four pumpkins, one for each DeBoer, we were left with only one to paint after some asshole stole the other three. That's right, someone stole our pumpkins; mine, Maci's, that she picked out all by herself, and baby Ivy's. When Maci innocently asked what happened to her pumpkin, I had to quiet the profanity in my brain long enough to tell her that someone must have taken them because sometimes people just do things that aren't very nice but that it was okay because we still had Daddy's pumpkin to share, to which she replied, "I like Daddy's pumpkin!"
After taping off the letter, "D," Maci and I went to town.
We were very thorough…
…and quite proud of our painting.
Tape removal was left up to moi…
…and when I asked Maci what the "D" stood for she said, "DADDY!"
Finally, there was Halloween, costumes, trick-or-trunking at school and trick-or-treating at home. Mae Mo did great this year and really got into the ritual. Even more, she really got into the candy and especially enjoyed her some chocolate. (Apple of my eye that one.) Even though we eventually cut her off, we're pretty sure she still vibrated to bed. I'm biased but these two are cute as a bug's butt.
Speaking of butts, this is apparently what a ladybug's looks like…
…and, of course, no bumblebee is complete without her stinger.
An old coworker of mine used to say, you can't hit a home run everyday. I now consider this an understatement. In fact, it's become my unofficial Mom-mantra. Continuing with the baseball analogy, lately I feel I could be happy with an intentional walk. Sacrifice fly? Hit by pitch? Oh, I like that one. It's completely and metaphorically accurate. The quick but intense bout of pain I would have to endure to get on base rings all too true of the quick but intense bouts of pain I endure to get to the end of a day. In other words, parenting seems to have gotten exponentially harder. And not because of my 4-month-old baby, mind you, but thanks to my 2-year-old toddler.
Issue #1: I am not a patient person and there is nothing you need more as a parent of a toddler then patience. Well, that and a sense of humor. That way by melodramatic meltdown number 83, over something like socks, you have the wherewithal to just start laughing … quietly and to yourself of course. Along the same lines, I don't deal well with lots of loud noises.
Unfortunately, my combination of kids and extrovert husband make this impossible to avoid. When things get loud, my stress increases and when Shawn gets stressed, he just gets loud. (While opposites attract in matters of love and marriage, they are a real bitch when babies are crying.)
Issue #2: Gone are the days where my sole responsibility was merely keeping my child alive. Now I have to parent and discipline … and teach. A teacher I am NOT. And my toddler is already entirely too smart. All parents say that about their kids so I'm not going to elaborate but trust me. The things she says sometimes… Recently I told Shawn I feel like I spend most of my days trying to outsmart a 2-year-old. Combined with my recent bouts of Mama Brain, this is not done with any semblance of confidence. Which leads me to my next point.
Issue #3: Thanks in part to my analytical brain and in part to things I've read, I often strive towards an illogical, overly idyllic realty. So-called storybook expectations do nothing but set me up for failure because I'm aiming for perfection and nothing in life or parenthood is perfect. Raising kids, is, hard! EXCLAMATION POINT. Because I'm new at this, I'm constantly evaluating, constantly reflecting and I don't necessarily trust my reactions and instincts. Yet. This, of course, does me zero good and in fact, only leaves me exhausted. Enter issue #4…
Issue #4: Both myself and my toddler are sleep deprived most of the week and sleep is of the essence to achieving patience. (It's the obligatory viscous cycle.) Lately she's taken to only napping for an hour or so at school so by the time I pick her up, odds are, she's a hot mess. Our ride home can either be extremely entertaining or downright brutal. She'll either happily ask her black sheep over and over and over if they have any wool, or I will get to listen to her wail about wanting something to drink, not wanting what I gave her to drink, not wanting the glass I gave her that something to drink in, not wanting the color of the glass that I gave her that something to drink in…
Now, these are not revolutionary observations, obviously. This is not ground-breaking stuff. It's not brain science or rocket surgery. It's not new … it's just new to me. It's the current debacle I find myself in. Well, that and praying my daughter only educates a small number of people about a girls' vagina or a boys' penis, or doesn't necessarily want to see the contents of her diaper on a particularly poopy day, or doesn't need a Kleenex to catch the Nebraska-size-mucus dripping from her nose. Yeah, we keep it classy.
Seriously though, I struggle. I struggle because again, I'm new to all of this and like any self-proclaimed Type A, OCD, overachieving, people-pleasing, control freak, I want to do it "right." I now know this isn't possible. I've really known all along but find myself needing a reminder every now and again. I've very quickly learned there's no "right" way to do anything, especially when it comes to parenting. There's just the best-intented way. That and a lot of hope, faith, trust, confidence and camaraderie.
Camaraderie is what's helped pull me out of the idealized waters I was wading in. To each their own of course but to me, I can no longer take those that publish their lives only focused and reporting on the good. Don't misunderstand, I secretly worship these people. They, and their optimism, are a rare breed and I believe them to be some of the most authentically happy people in the world. They are just not me. (Hi Captain Obvious! Hi Celexa! Hi New Belguim!) I need someone to tell me how a small, microscopic part of them didn't necessarily "like" their child last Tuesday. I need someone to confide that they, too, sometimes have the impulse to chuck their children across the room. I need someone to say out loud that the favorite part of a particular day was when their kids we're all tucked away in bed. Along with all the heart-expanding good moments and my immeasurable amounts of love for my kids, I need some cynicism and wit. Like Carrie Bradshaw once said, "I need my relationship [with my daughters] with a little bit of milk." I can't do happy all the time because things aren't happy all the time.
It's like this episode of Desperate Housewives where Lynette ends up taking her kids ADD medicine to keep up and by the end of the episode she crashes and breaks down in front of the other moms on the block, only to learn that they've all been through it. Her response, through eventual tears, is to request that moms talk about the hard stuff, too. Because it is hard and instead of constantly feeling like other Moms, other parents, are always doing it better—keeping it together, not complaining, relishing in all the joys—I need to know I'm not alone, it is okay, it is hard, it will get better and it does not and will not have any reflection on my love for my family.
You know what else helps? Fucking funny blogs. Like this gem another coworker helped me discover: Ask Your Dad Blog
He's genuine, he's sensitive, he talks about the hard times and even better, he talks to his kid's poop. LOVE. IT. Give it a read, go smooch your chitlins, open that bottle of beer and just be darn proud that you made it through another day of the hardest, but best time of your life. You may not hit a home run today, but it's a mighty fine privilege just to suit up and be a part of the team.
In honor of World Suicide Prevention Day, let me tell you about a little ol' event we participated in exactly one month ago.
(See, my procrastination with this post lead me to be able to link it with such an important effort. Laziness really does pay off!)
For the second year in a row, Team DeBoer became Team Camo for SAVE's Emotion in Motion 5K Run/Walk for Mental Health. While the husband and our eldest ran the route, myself and our youngest got to walk. And because we walked, Norman got to walk too. Our family of five helped raise much-needed funds for SAVE, we helped raise awareness about mental health and it's link to suicide, and most importantly, we honored the memory of one Grandpa Mark Miller. A Grandpa my kids never got to meet. A man whose death was untimely and unexpected and therefore must be remembered. A Dad who I think of and miss absolutely every, single, day.
Again this year, the weather was perfect and the surroundings were beautiful. The air was crisp but with the help and heat of the sun, conditions could not have been better. Lake Harriet really is a sight to be seen for such an event. Shawn and Maci took off on the run roughly 15 minutes before Ivy, Norman and myself headed out for the walk. As was our plan of attack, we hung out at the back of the walking pack so that when Shawn and Maci were done, they could keep going and catch back up with us. It took a wee bit o' effort by Mr. DeBoer, but the hubby pulled through and found us about halfway through our lap. Crossing the finish line as one family, we all received our yellow roses and spent the rest of the morning relaxing, eating, taking pictures and just watching. It was a great day.
Miss Ivy amid her morning nap.
Miss Maci amid her silliness.
And they're off!
Ma familia.
Norman was pooped. So Mae Mo pounced.
The newest chitlin to dawn the camo.
Like daddy, like daughter.
Mama and my girls (and unequivocally my favorite photo).
