Battle of Will vs. Skill

Houdhini strikes again. That's what we've called Sam since he was just little and learned to open child-proof doors, climb over the baby gates and open all manner of things little babies are not supposed to be able to. Now he has learned to climb out of his crib . . . and into Ben's. This is a problem.

After several successful stealth missions (he's very quick and quiet) and no sleep in sight, Terry finally removed the bottom bolts of the crib and placed his crib mattress and future toddler bed mattress directly on the floor so Sam would have to climb an extra precious few inches. We also started locking the gate at the top of the stairs, just in case. This was successful . . . for 48 hours. Yesterday, I ended up spending over an hour parked in front of his door to escort him, every 2 to 3 minutes, back to his crib. I even attempted using the toddler bed but he is too young to be able to wander around freely upstairs - and my hope was that climbing in and out of the crib would at least wear him out. I know I, at least, was exhausted.

Today, while playing with the boys upstairs, I saw his skill in action - and countered with a mission of my own. I would try various techniques until I finally found a solution that would keep him from being able to climb out BEFORE I tried to put him down for a nap.

Attempt # 1: The crib mattresses directly on the floor. I even used his "blankie" and soother as bait, inside and then outside the crib to see if he could climb both in and out.

SCORE: 1 for baby

Attempt # 2: Push toddler bed up against crib so "Houdhini" can't push the crib and squeeze out. I have high hopes for this solution. Again, blankie and soother as "bait".

SCORE: 2 for baby

Attempt 3: Okay, this is it. Push dresser in front of crib. Please oh please oh please let this work or we will all never sleep again.

WAIT! Can it be ...

Ah, the sweet sounds of success. Success for today at least . . . he IS Houdhini after all.

**** much, much later - same day ***** Is that the sound of Ben's door being rattled from the outside??? Yep. SCORE? Baby: 3, Mommy: zilch. Houdhini breaks free once again.

My People

We walk towards the large group congregated under the picnic shelter and scattered on lawn chairs around it. Ben's hand is in mine and Sam's in Terry's. It's our church's annual outdoor service at Hidden Acres Camp. We get within sight of the crowd and I can feel a small tugging, becoming more insistent with each passing moment, until he finally uses his other hand to pry his little fingers from mine. I see what he sees. It's Abby and Sandy and Grandma at the top of the small hill and he is itching to run. I let go and within moments he is flying into a pair of outstretched arms, Sam right behind him. My heart bursts.

Today, as I continue my quest to re-read my old journals, I read of the days, early in my relationship with Terry, when I met, one by one, the many people congregated under that shelter. I remember feeling overwhelmed that I would never know them, that I would never remember all their names and that I would never piece together the connections they all have to one another. I wondered if I'd ever become more than acquaintances with any of them, if they'd ever become "mine." I smile at that now.

Yesterday, in between keeping an eye on this toddler or that one, I chatted here and there with so many. I did not look to Terry to fill in the blanks and did not need him standing beside me for comfort; we are years past that now. These people are "mine" as much as "his". I know them now. They are friends that fill a place in my life that I can hardly believe stood empty waiting for me to meet them. God created this life for me and I'd never have dreamed when I first met Terry that I would be living in this place or that I would have my feet so deeply entrenched here that I would not move from it. This is my home and these are my people.

Changing My World

It assaults me as soon as my foot steps over the threshold of the livingroom...again. Third time in an hour. I shake my head in frustration at yet another interruption in my big to-do list of the day. All I want is to get the dishwasher unloaded and the pile of dirty dishes out of the sink. I have a heap of laundry piled up on the dryer and also inside it, getting more wrinkled with each passing day as it sits neglected from folding. The floors and the bathroom? Agh. And now this. Again. It's the smell that tips me off. Diaper duty.

.

I know I'm in for a battle; it's always like that these days. The screams and squirming to throw himself off the table as though this event were a surprise to him; as though we haven't done this dance ten times a day for 21 months now. Somehow he always seems to look shocked that it would come to this, and fights each step of the way. I have low toddler tolerance today. Still, it must be done. "Sam? Do you have a poopy diaper?" "No." "Sam? We need to change your diaper." "No." He draws the word out with his finger held up in admonition just to emphasize his unwillingness to play out this scenerio yet again. I brace myself and haul his kicking, howling body to the change table anyhow.

.

I try everything. Lotion to hold and play with? No. Itsy Bitsy Spider? No. This Little Piggy? No. I am amazed that such a little body could possess such strength to fight me. I do not have the patience for this today and resort to venting my frustration, "SAM! SIT STILL!" Well that never works. I close my eyes and take a deep, shaking breath and begin to sing a Sunday School song loud enough to be heard over the ruckus. He rolls onto his back, looks up into my face and lies still. I am almost too shocked to take advantage of his acquiescence, but eventually spur myself into diapering action, singing all the while.

.

Once finished, I stand him up and give him a big kiss on the cheek. "Good job, Bud." He scampers down and runs off to play with Ben in the livingroom. I am calm. I am amazed that I could forget each day what really matters in my day of housekeeping and babies. I am ashamed that I shirk aside the value of teaching these little ones the right things, in the midst of just "getting it all done." This is my world and even though it looks so different from the "value" I used to have involving myself in every ministry that came my way, I can make a difference here. Even if I am just changing my world one diaper at a time.

.

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness, that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, "Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented and famous?" Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God." - Nelson Mandela-

Reliving the past

I have been re-reading old journals the past few days; an eye-opening endeavour, to say the least. I started at the first and am working my way through to the present. I find myself becoming increasingly frustrated at my former self for not "getting" the lessons that I see are glaringly obvious now in hind-sight but seemed so fraught with confusion and uncertainty then. I want to stand up and shout at "her" as she prays - yet again - for the same answers that now I see were right in front of her the whole time. It is a journey of moutains and valleys, angst and joy; one that has found so much resolution and peace in the present.

I can't help marvelling at how far I've come and how God truly did work a miracle in directing my life to the place it is now. I read page after page after page of lists of what I wanted in the person I'd marry, who was not even someone I knew at the time. How affirming it is to read those lists with a smile and mentally "check off" every single line as being perfectly Terry's character and 100% descriptive of our marriage today. At the time, those were wish lists, with very little hope of having such a life or such a husband who could possibly meet the overwhelmingly stringent criteria I filled whole notebooks with. And yet, here I am, living the life every day.

I have loved getting to know Terry again the last few days as I've relived the story of our meeting and dating and marriage. I am reminded of each moment that, at the time, I thought I'd never forget, but have. I'm so thankful now that I'd taken the time to write it all down; a lesson for me for today, to keep writing. It is so easy to become bogged down with the to-do list of life and forget the miracles in our midst. Terry is that miracle.

Over the backyard fence

This neighbourhood astounds me. At times I feel as though I've travelled back to a quieter, more considerate time in history when the reality is, it's the same busy, hectic time as everywhere else in this country. It feels different somehow. It's a place where people take a moment to chat with you over the front porch rails. It's a place where you wouldn't think to pass someone on the sidewalk without a nod or a hello, whether you know them or not.

When I glance at the houses on our street while I'm out for my daily walk with the boys, I don't see bricks, I see gestures. On the corner is Ray and MaryAnne's place. MaryAnne is a senior who, even in the dead of Winter, just days before her hip surgery, hobbled across the street, leaning heavily on her cane, to drop off a plate of freshly baked tea biscuits and homemade jam. Next door is Gina who buys packages of cookies just for Sam and Ben and runs into the house the moment she hears their chatter so she can be ready for them with hand outstretched. There's Elaine who baked Terry a strawberry pie for his birthday last month and Vern who supplied me tomato seedlings that he started in his mini greenhouse. A few doors down is Angela who cuddles and kisses the boys each chance she gets and who, through her son who also lives down the street, gave the boys the swingset they play on each day.

And then there's our next-door neighbours, Gary and Laurie. Gary, who passed on bags of cement from his shed for Terry's posts and Laurie who shares her own garden bounty with us. Just yesterday, she passed a bucket full of zucchini she picked moments before, over the backyard fence. We meet often over that fence; Terry and Gary tossing jokes back and forth like a volleyball and Laurie and I lamenting and discussing the joys and frustrations of our gardening endeavours. We take turns chasing the boys who are constantly trying to escape into their yard to see them.

Saturdays will inevitably find all the neighbours wandering outside to gather on this person's porch or this person's lawn to shoot the breeze about everything or nothing at all. By unspoken agreement, we trail away at some point, back to our own yards and porches, only to reunite again once children are tucked away in bed and dinner dishes scrubbed.

This is the good life. This moment, this home, this town. I love this town.

Awake My Soul - Psalm 57:8

Have you ever felt so overwhelmed and for such a long time that you have to pull out old photo albums and journals just to remind yourself that it hasn't always been this way? Have you ever had one of those days that starts with babies covered in paint and ends with them crawling under the newly installed fence, running to freedom (with you safetly locked away inside the yard with no way to fit YOUR backside under the fence to go after them)? Have you woken up so tired that when your eyes finally focus on the kids in front of you it takes another 2 or 3 minutes before you recognize them as your own? And your day hasn't even begun.

Those have been my days for the longest while lately. I am begging for time. Time to sleep. Time to relax without feeling guilty about the chores that await me. Time to myself again, although it's been so long that I might actually be dreaming that such a time existed. Time to remember who I used to be before that person became buried under a pile of poopy diapers and loads of dirty laundry. Today I carved out that time.

I took advantage of the boys nap, left the laundry on the laundry room floor, the toys all over the livingroom and the evidence of lunch on the kitchen counters. I pretended I was blind and therefore, what one doesn't see, doesn't exist; "there is no mess, there is no mess . . ." I took the coffee Terry made for me this morning and an old book to the porch, curled up in the white rocking chair and breathed. And then I prayed. I asked to be reminded of who I was and shown again who I could be; not this exhausted shell of who used to reside in this body. But of me, the real me.

And then I read this quote:
"Usually, when the distractions of daily life deplete our energy, the first thing we eliminate is the thing we need the most; quiet, reflective time. Time to dream, time to think, time to contemplate what's working and what's not, so that we can make changes for the better."
(Sarah Ban Breathnach - Simple Abundance)

Laundry will always be there - and ever in abundance. Toys? Well, no matter how often you put them away, they always seem to jump right back out of their bins. Diapers? Well, unfortunately, those are just going to need changing no matter what. But there's always time somewhere. Get away from the phone - somewhere you can't even hear it ring. Shut the door. Sit. Close your eyes. Relax. There it is. Yep. Can you feel it? It's there. Solitude.

Now breathe.