When I was a kid, my parents told me all the time that I had a good memory.   It started when I memorized Horton Hatches the Egg word for word when I was four.  At first my parents thought I was some sort of genius who had taught herself to read.  Not so much.  But they were impressed nonetheless and it become part of my story.  From that moment onward, I was the kid with the good memory.  Up for a part in the school play?  No problem, said my mom.  With your memory, you’ll have no trouble with those lines.   Studying for a tricky multiple choice test?  Easy peasy, my dad told me.  You’ll ace it with that memory of yours.  And they were right.  I routinely rocked the rote tests in school and memorizing lines and speeches never daunted me.  As an adult now, I pride myself in the fact that I’ve memorized our credit card number, all our social security numbers, our library card numbers, you name it.   I’m also the family historian, remembering and recalling all manner of memories that have fuzzed over in everyone else’s mind, reminding everyone of the little details that have long since been forgotten.

But I got to thinking a few months ago… is it actually true?  Do I really have a good memory or has it simply been a self-fulfilling prophecy in my life?   Was I told so many times and heard it repeated in so many ways throughout my childhood that I simply believed it was so and thereby made it come to pass?  Either way, whether I truly have an impeccable memory or my parents just repeated it so often that I believed it, I don’t think it really matters.  It has become part and parcel of who I am.  It might seem a minor detail but it is a defining characteristic of mine.   Everyone expects me to remember.  I expect myself to remember.  And so I do.  Maybe I have a unique thing going for me, some special memory gene.  Maybe I don’t.  But either way, I’ve got a good memory.

I’ve heard that you aren’t supposed to tell your kid that they are smart.   Have you heard this?  It’s based on research done by Claudia Mueller and Carol Dweck, and the basic thinking goes like this…

• If you constantly tell your kid that they are smart, when they fail at something, they lose the “smart” label.  Fail a test and they are no longer smart and therefore prone to throwing in the towel.
• But if you tell them that they are a hard worker, then even if they fail at a task, they still see themselves as a hard worker and will try even harder next time.

Make sense?

It’s actually sort of hard.  Of course my children are absolutely brilliant, right?   But I’ve been trying hard to stifle the “wow!  what a smart boy you are!” remarks and replace them with “Wow, Isaiah, you are such a hard worker!  What great problem-solving, bud!” and things along those lines.   It’s been remarkable to see the response in the boys, especially Gryffin as he’s been getting older.  He truly sees himself as a hard worker.  He repeats it all the time now.  ”Look at me, Mama.  I’m such a hard worker”  and “Aren’t I a hard worker, Mama?” and “Look at us, Papa.  Aren’t your boys such hard workers?”  I feel like I’m witnessing a self-fulfilling prophecy in the making and I find it sort of astounding.  What a wonderful gift you can give your children.    Like my folks did with my memory, I can tell Gryffin and Isaiah all the wonderful things that I believe them to be and then allow them to slip into it, try it on for size, and claim it as their own.

Jason listened to a podcast last week about a man who has been addicted to internet pornography since he was in 5th grade.  Think about that… just 11 years old.  And as he relayed the story to me, I felt that familiar sense of fear that often grips my heart when I hear such a thing.  We talked late into the evening about how daunting it feels to raise kids in an era with such easy access to technology.  We wondered about how we might be able to protect them in these early years and how we will help them navigate it all and make wise choices as they get older.   And the conversation wandered into other equally terrifying areas, to alcohol and drugs and dating.  And ultimately we shook our heads and admitted that we felt sort of helpless.

But then we started talking about Gryffin and how adorable we find his little proclamations about being a hard worker.  We marveled at how easy it was to help him believe it, to speak those words to him and how satisfying it feels to watch him own it.   Now, I will admit that he’s our first kid and he is only 4 and we have NO idea if he will continue to believe this about himself, if Isaiah will grow to believe it about himself as well or what the future holds.  But instead of feeling hopeless to help our boys, we suddenly felt like we had an answer of sorts.

Maybe instead of focusing on what we don’t want them to do, we can focus on what we do want for them.  Maybe we can tell them that they make great choices, that they are kind, that they are stalwart friends, joy-filled, adventurous, wonderful helpers, wise… that they are delightful.  It’s like telling a story in reverse.   It’s telling our boys the end of the story before they have lived it.  It’s speaking hope over them and in them and through them so that they can live into it.  By telling them the end of the story now, telling them that it’s who they are, what incredible things might we be able to bestow upon them?  I can’t wait to find out.

—–
What about you?  Have you experienced this?  What things did your parents, or other adults, tell you about yourself that you have lived into?  Good or bad.  Because it works in reverse as well, right?  I think some of the bad things, the ugly things, we were told about ourselves growing up are some of the hardest things to overcome – because just as firmly as Gryffin truly believes himself a hard worker now, he will also believe the negative things we tell him.

Isaiah working hard on his frisbee golf skills – and, miraculously, wearing a coat

Gryff, working hard on his playground skills

Last week was a surprisingly busy week.  Work-wise, babies were making all sorts of early and surprising and, in some cases, l o n g arrivals.   We also had several social gatherings over the weekend – including our 6th annual Christmas Fondue party with our community group, complete with a “12 Days of Christmas” sing and dance a-long (it’s not pretty!).   And I’ve been working to wrap up all the gift-making projects so that this could be a week of rest before we head to California for the holidays.

Isaiah doesn’t really get Christmas yet, being 2 and all.   He likes our tree and the lights ok.  The gingerbread house-making and cookie-decorating are all fine and good.  But they are neither here nor there for him.

But Gryffin?  The kid is over the moon excited about all things Christmas.  The caroling and the ornaments and the decorating and the advent calendar and the gifts and the treats are almost too much for him to bear.  Every part about the season is so magical for him this year.   Last year, like his brother, he didn’t have a clue, and we were starting to think that maybe we’d just skip over the whole Santa thing.   Who needs Santa, anyway?  But this year is so different.  The thrill Gryffin feels at the very idea of Santa Claus, a magical man who flies all over the world, delivering gifts, is palpable and for two folks who thought they were above the Santa Claus hoopla, Jason and I have been completely swept up in the excitement.   Jason helped the boys write (lengthy) letters to Santa last week while I was at a birth and I seriously made some personalized videos from Santa for the boys at Portable North Pole yesterday.   There are probably only 1 or 2 years of this, this unabashed all-out enthusiasm and we are milking it for all it’s worth!

So many folks I know really worry about making sure their kids understand the true meaning of Christmas and fret over Santa and consumerism and such.  And for good reason.  I’m not sure why exactly but I don’t feel too worked up over it.  Not yet anyway.   Growing up, I was well aware of why we celebrated Christmas and I’ll admit that I usually felt guilty for being more excited about presents than about Jesus.   But every passing year, I see and experience more sadness and sorrow, more heartache and pain, in my own life and in the life of others and I long more and more for the day when the kingdom of God will come in full.   So I’m ok if it takes my kids a while before they feel this way.   They will know searing anguish and deep grief soon enough.  For now I’m content to let them delight in the joy of the giving and receiving of gifts, the eating of good food with good company, and hopefully marvel a little at the wonder of Immanuel, God-with-us.

Jason took the boys to the Christmas potluck at our church while I was working and they got to make these gingerbread houses.  Apparently Gryffin ate more than double what ended up on his house.

Isaiah never looked at his house again. But G-man gets up close and personal with his every single day. He REALLY wants to eat some of it but so far he’s managed to restrain himself.

Our family lit the advent candles at church a couple weeks back and it was the most “dressed up” the Rusts have been since… well, maybe ever. Jason and I were ridiculously excited about a chance to bust out the Goodwill blue corduroy suit.

Strutting his stuff

Jason took a LOT of pictures that afternoon. Zeebo was a really good sport!

For comparison-sake, here’s Isaiah in the suit, aged 2.5

And Gryffin, aged 1.5 back in June 2010.
This is probably one of my most favorite things that our community group has ever done – we threw a fake wedding for Brian & Nicole (their REAL wedding was in 2007) but that’s a story for another day.

———————

I mentioned in a previous post that I was hoping to make at least 75% of our gifts this year and I managed to pull it off.  Here’s a look at some of the stuff I made.

Lip balm made with honey, coconut oil and beeswax. I ordered the tins online and the stickers are from Target.

I tried my hand at painting ceramic, which turned out to be harder than I anticipated. I used ceramic paint and then you bake them for an hour, which apparently makes them microwave and dishwasher-safe.

Ric Rac Rings. These were simple to make. I found a tutorial online and after purchasing the blue ric rac and some ring bases online, I was good to go.

Lotion Bars made with beeswax and oil, scented with vanilla. I kept a couple of these and I really like them. They go on a little… oily, but it soaks in quickly

Pants! This was my first attempt at making clothes. These are seersucker pants for my nephew, Caleb (2.5).  I  also made a pair, in the fabric seen below, for my new nephew Peter.  He’s set to come home from China in January and I can’t wait to meet him.

The pants turned out much harder than this skirt, made for my niece, Mary (6).

I decided to make matching ones for her sisters, as well -Hannah (10) and Emily (8). The fabric for these came from the curtains that used to hang in our guest room. How Maria Von Trapp of me! 

And of course, the oyster crackers. My friend Shane call these “pandemic” after watching The Wire. It’s fitting. They are quite addictive. And they always make me think of my grandma Ed. It’s her recipe and our family has been eating these at Christmas for as long as I can remember. I asked her for my very own batch when I turned 16 and she showed up to my birthday with the BIGGEST tupperware container full I’ve ever seen. Think Costco-sized popcorn container. But bigger.

We also sent out Christmas cards for the first time in… 9 years, I think?

Whew.  This week has been a bit of a doozy.  Let’s look back…

• Amongst some other stresses, Gryffin fell hard and busted his lip open on Sunday with copious blood and a very swollen lip.  Right before bedtime.
• Then, on Tuesday, he somehow stuck his wet finger into a light socket (or possibly put in one of my bobby pins with a wet finger — in all the chaotic aftermath it was unclear) and got a pretty serious zing!   It completely freaked dude out and was the most we’ve seen him cry in a long time.
• Then I got a call on Wednesday to come pick Isaiah up from preschool because he had a toe cramp.   To which I responded, “Ummmmm, what?”  I mean, a toe cramp?  For reals?  It’s so bad I have to come pick him up?   By the time I got there it was a thing of the past but he seemed pretty sad so we headed for home.
• Later that night, around 12:30am we awoke to a blood curdling scream from the boys room.  Jason and I both raced in, hearts pounding, to find Isaiah all wild-eyed and out of it.  Fever of 103.8.  Nice.  A lot of lethargic lying around, much crying, and one “just to be safe” trip the doctor.
• Two rough nights and we seem to be out of the woods with Isaiah.   But this morning, kid fell down the stairs, caught mid-way by Jason’s incredible stunt work.  And an hour later I got to witness the toe cramp myself when we had a repeat episode.  Kid cried for 20 minutes over that dang toe.   After some ice, much rubbing and ibuprofen, he finally simmered down.

I’m tentatively taking a deep breath and assuring myself that things can only look up from here.  Right?  I mean, I usually like to save weeks like this for when I’m on vacation in Santa Barbara.   In reality, none of it was really that huge or traumatic.  But added up it made for a mildly stressful week.   It’s just the way it goes with kids sometimes.  The drama, the angst, the worry, the fretting, the “should I call the doctor”ing, the middle-of-the-night concerns that seem like no big deal in the light of the morning.

I read this blog post (pardon some of the language) a couple days ago and had a good laugh about it with some friends, in the “it’s funny because it’s true” kind of way.   And I’ve had several conversations with friends and clients lately about the stresses of parenting.  How we aren’t set up especially well as a culture to raise kids.   How in addition to all the stress and worry, there’s also a whole lot of lofty ideals and high expectations.  How parenting, more often than not, feels like one slice of humble pie after another.

One friend’s comment stuck with me.  She said parenting is just so stinking tough.  So much harder than she expected and it’s hard to know what is important and what needs to be let go.  True, no?    On top of all the inherent worrying that apparently comes with the job, when we look at all the options out there, how do we know what hills to die on, what things are genuinely important and what things aren’t, and when to just suck it up, eat our humble pie, and move on?

I certainly don’t have it all figured out.  Not by a long shot.  Several years ago, I heard Gary Haugen, president & CEO of International Justice Mission, speak at a retreat and he was incredible (so is IJM, btw).  I hope I’m remembering this right but as I recall, he said he used this rubric for making a lot of his decisions in life and I’ve been using as my own ever since.   Whether I’m deciding about where to send the boys to preschool, how many clients I should take a month, how we should do our “bedtime routine,” with the fellas, if I should continue to lead the women’s group on Thursday mornings, you name it, I ask myself these two questions…

1. Is it joyful?
2. Is it sustainable?

Now, obviously not everything is going to meet both criteria.  Not everything is going to be joyful.  Changing 87 diapers a day, for one.  It just isn’t.  But by and large, it works pretty well as a standard for decision-making.

Take sleeping.  I like having the boys sleep in our bed.  I really do.  It’s definitely joyful and I enjoy being all cozied up with them under the blankets.  There is just nothing like it.  But it’s not sustainable.  Not for us.  I have some back issues (understatement), I’m an unbelievably light sleeper, and the boys don’t actually sleep all that much when they are in our bed (minor detail).     Toss it.

Or gift-giving @ Christmas.    I decided this year that I wanted to make at least 75% of all the gifts we gave.  Making things and being creative is something that I find immensely joyful.  And it’s sustainable, so long as I get an early start.   Keep it.  

I made all of Gryffin’s baby food back in the day.  Steamed and smashed and pureed with the best of ‘em.  But when Isaiah entered the scene WAY sooner than we anticipated having a second child, I just couldn’t keep it up.  It was no longer a fun endeavor, there were plenty of good alternative options, and there was no way I could sustain it with an 18-month-old and a newborn.   Tossed it.   

You get the idea.   It works in so many ways and has helped me make sense of things when I feel overwhelmed by all the options out there, all the “good” choices that we can be making.  Serving on this or that committee, making my own mozzarella cheese, sewing all of my own clothes, taking violin lessons (someday!), and organizing 10 years worth of photos are all good things.  But they probably wouldn’t all be joyful at this time in my life.  Or sustainable.  Maybe someday they will be but they aren’t right now and no biggie.  I’ll figure out what is and what isn’t and then roll with the punches.

How do the rest of you decide what is important?  And what to let go?  Got any insight to share?

———-

Despite all the drama this week, the boys have been full of Christmas cheer

Hopefully we’ve got a better week ahead of us.   Good thing kids are resilient, right?

I remember my Uncle Steve saying once that he disliked having free time if he didn’t have a good book handy.  I feel the same way.  I mean, don’t get me wrong — there is always Dawson’s Creek Season 3, but still.  I usually prefer books.  I’ve been reading a Stephen King book this month for my book club.  Not horror, though, which surprised me.  It’s called 11/22/63 and it’s about a time traveler trying to stop the Kennedy assassination.  And it’s H U G E.  Almost 900 pages.    But I’m really enjoying it and I’m nearly finished.  Yesterday I read this passage and I’ve been thinking about it ever since.  The main character had just witnessed something beautiful, something truly good…

“For a moment everything was clear, and when that happens you know that the world is barely there at all.  Don’t we all secretly know this?  It’s a perfectly balanced mechanism of shouts and echoes pretending to be wheels and cogs, a dreamclock chiming beneath a mystery-glass we call life.   Behind it?  Below it and around it?  Chaos, storms.  Men with hammers, men with knives, men with guns.  Women who twist what they cannot dominate and belittle what they cannot understand.  A universe of horror and loss surrounding a single lighted stage where mortals dance in defiance of the dark.”

Something about those lines really resonated with me.  I’ve been thinking about, and longing for some unfettered joy lately; to just be completely and totally happy.  The way that I used to feel sometimes when I was younger.  The older I get, though, the more I see and know, the less often this seems to happen.  I might be completely buoyant and thrilled for one friend while simultaneously weeping with another.  One of my kids is sick while the other is thriving.   Part of my community, my family in Seattle, is in a good season of life right now and we’re walking with them.  And other parts of our family here are in a sorrowful season and we’re walking with them as well.   You get the idea.  It’s good and hard and confusing in equal measure, figuring out how to be both happy and sad simultaneously sometimes.

Anyhow, that excerpt by Stephen King struck a chord.   It seems really depressing to say that happiness, beauty and goodness are always tinged with sorrow, that “horror and loss” always surround it.  But I guess then that the flip side is also true.  There is always beauty and goodness to be found even when we are full sorrow and sadness.    And that’s a good thing.  That’s what keeps us all going, right?  Those good moments, the beautiful things, big or small, that pierce through the drab and darkness that might otherwise take us down.  So I was thinking about all of this last night before drifting off.  And honestly, people, things aren’t at all bad right now.  Remember how I like to be melancholy?  Yeah, this is just more of that.  But I was thinking that no matter how hard things get, regardless of what sadness is surrounding me, I don’t want to lose sight of that stage where the mortals are dancing.   I’ve talked about being a Christian before.   And as a Christ-follower, I am eagerly looking forward to the day when all the other things around that metaphorical Stephen King-stage fall away, the day when everyone is dancing and all things are made new.  Sounds pretty good right about now.

Here are some (mostly) beautiful moments from the last week…

Gryffin playing with his new play-do machine. I made a huge batch of play dough last week and while it IS much better quality than the store-bought variety, it’s just as messy. I guess I thought that if I made it myself, it wouldn’t be so annoying to clean up?

On Thanksgiving Day, we went over to our friends’ house – the Bantum’s. It was a great evening for us. In addition to making some desserts and side dishes, I arranged a bouquet to take to Gail & Brian’s.  I realize this  might not seem too exciting but I watched my mom arrange bouquets for our house and for others all of my life growing up and I really enjoy carrying on the tradition. This one had a few flowers from Trader Joes in addition to some cuttings from our garden.

A rare moment of collaboration the day after Thanksgiving.   This is a truly awesome moment when you have 2 kids. Just doesn’t happen that often. I should have been reading, instead of snapping pictures!

Isaiah got that airplane from Gail and Brian’s oldest, Caleb, and he thinks it is the best thing ever. He even showered with it.

Here he is after his shower, painstakingly drying it off. 

The day after Thanksgiving we headed downtown for the Macy’s Parade. It was raining pretty hard but this IS Seattle and a little rain never hurt anyone 

Passing the time, waiting to see Santa

Right after Gryffin saw his favorite part of the parade – the old fashioned cars

Isaiah wasn’t quite as excited as the rest of us but he hung in there.

Unlike last year, the line wasn’t too long for the Christmas carousel so we took the boys for their first spin.

Ok, now to tell you about our Christmas Tree excursion.  Jason thought it would be brilliant to drive up into the mountains to a U-Cut Tree Farm.  You know, with hot cider and farm animals and all that festive cheer.  I agreed that it would be fun if we didn’t have to drive so far with a 2-year-old and a 4-year-old eager to get a tree and seriously lacking in the patience department.   I suggested a farm about 20 minutes away, with equal festive-ness, but no mountains.   Save the longer drives for when they are a tad older.  But he was not to be deterred.   He promised brilliance.  He promised the boys would be happy as little elves.   You know where this is going.

Long story short?  We drove.  The boys whined and carried on.  Isaiah was a hot mess 25 minutes in, once the snacks were gone and boredom set in.  I was wedged in between their car seats because J’s mom is in town so she was sitting up front, Isaiah pulling my hair  and Gryffin practicing his “scary roars.”  Jason pulled over about 35 minutes in, tossed me his phone and said in total exasperation “find us something closer!”    I did my best.  I found a farm about 10 miles back, on a little country road, so we turned the car around in the hopes of finding those trees and holiday spirit, stat.    But small tree farms on country lanes don’t open until December…

So we threw some rocks in the river and burned off some steam, Jason told me I had been right (this was painful for him), and then we headed back home, where we bought a tree from the produce stand down the street from our house.

Gryff had stepped in a mud puddle (of course) and refused to wear his socks. Or his shoes. Or to walk. So Jason had to carry him the whole time at the produce stand while we picked out our tree. It was Jason’s penance, I think.

The upside? The produce stand is also home to one of the best taco trucks in Seattle so we had a great lunch!  Two hours in the car with whiny kids?  No biggie if there are tacos at the end.

First time carrying a Christmas tree into our new house.

And the boys, seeing it all lit up and “magical.”

So far the tree has been a source of wonder and great excitement for both boys – despite where it came from!  And hey, the year Gryffin was born, we were so exhausted, we got our tree at Home Depot so who’s complaining?  The produce stand is a step up for us.

Sometimes I look at my boys and I wonder who is supposed to be doing the growing up around here?  They are in the throws of learning what they want, what they need, what they like, what they don’t like and how to express those wants, needs, likes and dislikes.  They are learning how to interact with other people, what is “polite” in our culture and what is not (like, oh, say, peeing in the sandbox at the park), not to mention all the physical feats like running, jumping, skipping, climbing, brushing their teeth, their hair and on and on and on.   They’ve really got a lot going on when you think about it.

But I often feel like I have a lot of growing up to do as well.  Before I had kids I sort of thought I had my act together.  You know, I was basically an ok person.   I didn’t have anger issues or problems with patience.  I was (mostly) emotionally healthy and life seemed relatively uncomplicated.  But now?   Sheesh, the learning curve sure is steep with this parenting thing.   It has challenged me in so many ways and I’m constantly asking myself, Am I being the person I want to be?  Am I becoming the person I want to become?  Am I doing right by these little guys?  Honestly, some days it’s a toss up.   But even with all the challenges and the daily (hourly?) realization that I’ve still got so much growing up to do, these two boys bring me joy unending and I’m sure happy to be along for the ride as Gryffin and Isaiah become the people they are going to become.

I’m thinking about Gryffin a lot this week.  He is turning 4 on Friday and I’m once again feeling nostalgic and emotional on the eve of his birthday.  I often hear people talk about how fast it all goes.   And it seems so incredibly cliche to say that these years have flown by.  But there’s a reason people always say it.  They say it because it’s true.  It’s stunning how fast it all goes.  I think that our days, our lives always pass this quickly but with children you really see how quickly it goes.  I look at myself in the mirror day after day and things seem so… the same.  I see pictures of myself from 4 years ago and minus a couple wrinkles, I look pretty much the same.  But looking at my children?  Looking at a picture of Gryffin from just 6 months ago and I’m startled by the difference.  Kids give us a visual sense of the speed of life and it’s sort of staggering sometimes.

We had quite a rough spot with the G-man earlier this year (up until about 3 weeks ago) but we seem to be emerging on the other side and we’ve been delighting in him in new and different ways lately.  Not only is he doing better with expressing his feelings and emotions but kid is quite chatty these days.  To quote Rachel Lind from Anne of Green Gables, the kid could talk the hind leg off a mule.   Come on over for a visit and you won’t have made it through the door before he’s asked you where your car is parked, what color it is, where you are planning to sleep tonight, if you think you’ll make it home before dark, if you like pumas and wolves, if you’re nervous about spiders and if you’d maybe like to come on vacation with us sometime.   I am fascinated by the conversations we’re having lately (on the way home in the car this morning we discussed turbulence and beavers) and only every now and again do I feel the need to say SHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. Please for the love of all that is sacred in the world…, shhh!  Mostly it’s pretty great.

He’s also been getting a tad more independent.  He has a couple of neighborhood friends that come by sometimes to play and he’s been over to one friend’s house without me.  My sister told me once, way back when Gryff was still a newborn, that almost every milestone with your kids is happy and sad in nearly equal measure.  I like seeing Gryffin interact with other kids, his vulnerability is gut-wrenching and beautiful, and he’s so unbearably excited to have friends.  But… it’s hard to let him go, to let him play at a friend’s house without me, to say yes when he requests to ride around the pond in the opposite direction as me so we can meet in the middle.  I can see all the way around the little pond outside our house but still.   There’s this one spot where the bushes obscure my view for just a fraction of a second but my heart beats wildly in that millisecond, waiting to see him emerge safe on the other side.   I find parenting very strange in this way.  It’s the only relationship I have in my life where the person is supposed to separate from me.  Where it’s healthy and good for us to grow further apart in some aspects instead of closer together.   And sometimes I want to fight so hard against it.   To throw my own tantrum.  To refuse to allow this separation, to spare myself the anguish of it all.  But I know that I would be more anguished still should my boys not grow in this way.   Like I said, we’re both growing up.

Evidence of the speed of life…

Gryffin, 3 days old.  I remember this day so vividly.  I just couldn’t believe he was finally here.  Still seemed surreal.

Four months old.  I remember taking this picture and thinking he looked good in the hat because he was still completely bald.

Fall 2009 on a walk through the Kubota Gardens.  I was 4 months pregnant with Isaiah.

Summer 2010 on a short vacation to Mission Lake with the Schnells

Spring 2011.  First day in the sandbox Jason built.

Late last Fall.  Helping Jason in the garden a few months before we moved.

Summer 2012 @ Lincoln Park.   I think this is how I’ll always remember him from this summer.  It really captures the essence of him of late
(minus the screaming, of course – selective memory, folks, selective memory).
Happy birthday, Snacks.   I’m so excited to see you swing into yet another year.

Our pastor talked about expectations this morning.  How we all have them and they inevitably lead to disappointment sometimes.  It made me think of parenting.  Jason and I had so many expectations coming into this gig.  So many things we thought we would do, or things we swore we would never do.  There are just so many examples to choose from…

• Formula.  I did not want Gryffin to have a drop of it.  Ever.  So I nursed and nursed and nursed and despite some obvious signs of hunger, I stubbornly refused to supplement for him.  He’s still hungry, I think.   Oh, and then he weaned himself at 8 months (hello, Isaiah!) and I was left with no choice.
• Cry-it-out?  Absolutely not.  We swore we’d never do it, we secretly judged others who had, and we read every book ever written about sleep-training.  But when Gryffin was 9 months, unbearably sleep-deprived and mildly crazy, I gave in and had the g-man cry it out.  At my parents’ house.  It was the longest night in the history of the world.  Totally worked, though.  In one night.  And I couldn’t believe I had waited so long.
• Gryffin wore cloth diapers and we were so proud of ourselves.  So high and mighty about it.  Can’t believe everyone doesn’t do it and blah, blah, blah.  But Isaiah was a different story entirely.  He has eczema and allergies and the cloth diapers were giving him these terrible rashes and yeast infections.  No problem.  We’ll find a way!  We’ll power through!  Surely they are better than those awful disposables.  Our pediatrician finally told us to get over ourselves and to put him in disposables.  His diaper issues have been fine ever since.  Go figure.

The list just goes on and on and on.  Part expectation, part pride.  Sometimes it feels like parenting has just been one big comeuppance, you know?   Lately we’ve been so baffled by Gryffin’s behavior.   The kid is so dramatic and over-the-top with his emotions.  It’s exhausting and we are constantly questioning how best to guide him through this obvious angst.  We were thinking back to about 6 months ago when we were sort of congratulating ourselves on making it through this year without much difficulty.  We’ve had so many friends tell us these crazy stories about their 3-year-old’s behavior and we had always been inwardly grateful and perhaps a wee bit smug that we hadn’t had those kinds of problems.  And now here we are.  Of course, right?  Why don’t we learn?

Parenting is about rolling with the punches.  As my friend, Louise, says, parenting is an art, not a science.  There are no hard and fast rules.  Every kid is different and you’ve just got to take it one day at a time.

The boys found my hats a couple days ago and Gryff wanted to look like Little Bill from the cartoon, so he picked this one.

Isaiah looks like he should be on Newsies (minus the flower, of course)

Oh, and Jason taught them “jazz hands”

An attempt at a family portrait last weekend

but… we could not get Isaiah to put down the Holga.

Another expectation that came to mind was the expectation that my parents are going to live for a long time.  Two of my grandparents just passed away and I’ve got one that is still living.  So I’ve sorta been assuming that they are going to be around for a good long time yet.    But my mom now has Hepatitis C.  Well, she’s had it for 33 years but only just recently found out.   And we’ve been given a lot of mixed information regarding her health.  From…

“oh, it’s probably no big thing — let’s just get a liver scan to be sure”  AND  “your liver scan looks clear — probably nothing to be worried about”

TO “well, you actually have hepatitis C from your blood transfusion 33 years ago” AND  ”you need treatment, stat”

TO “you can forego the treatment and assume that it’s really slow moving and won’t affect you for a long time yet”

TO the latest news this week, “your final tests are in and it turns out you already have significant scarring on your liver.”

So this is apparently the final word.  She’s still going to forego treatment and we all agree that this is the best plan for her.  But it’s not good news, this latest result, and maybe means that her time with us is much more limited than we thought.   I don’t want to raise my boys without my mom around.   She was with us when Gryffin was born and she shares my joy as a mama more than any other person (save Jason) on this earth.   It makes me feel so ungrounded to think of life without her.

I guess it’s kind of like parenting the boys, especially Gryffin lately.  We need to enjoy and soak in the good days when we get them.  And hunker down, bear up strong, and live through the disappointment and sorrow of unmet expectations when we don’t.  It doesn’t mean that we won’t feel the disappointment keenly.  But it’s probably a little easier to weather those storms when we’ve filled ourselves to the brim with the joy and delight of the good days that have gone before.

Some other good stuff of the summer…

I got Jason a beer brewing kit for his birthday and he and Jordan have been hard at work getting their first batch going

Sanitizing the supplies.  I was glad Jordan was supervising for this!

Fermenting commenced!