Here Comes Peter Cottontail

Sorry I haven't written much this week--I've been working through a sinus infection, both Wyatt and Emerson have felt poorly, and Emerson got his 2nd tooth yesterday.

Wyatt is so excited about Easter this year, and his enthusiasm is catching. Several times a day, he bursts into a rendition of "Here Comes Peter Cottontail"--in the van, in the tub, during supper. I'm not sure he's ever eaten a jelly bean, but he's fascinated with the line "He's got jelly beans for Tommy, colored eggs for sister Suuuuuue," and he'll repeat it even if he doesn't sing anything else of the song. He's also learned from my Fontanini tomb set that Easter eggs are empty because, as he says, "The tomb empty. Jesus alive!" SO cute.

We've seen the Easter bunny at the mall, gone egg hunting, so the only thing left was to dye eggs. In all honesty, I'd been putting it off because a terror grips me when I think of Wyatt in the same room with dye. I have visions of his arms, clothes, the floor, and all of me stained with a rainbow of colors, none of which come off even after scrubbing and Oxyclean. So, what did I do? I went to my parents' house.

I had no idea just how excited Wyatt would be. He was so giddy, he was literally bouncing up and down on his stool, not good considering there were 6 cups of colored water sitting inches from his bouncing form. Had I but known, we would have been wearing hazmat suits and would have done all the dyeing outside. But, alas, you live and learn.

In the end, he was so excited that most of the eggs look "yellow" because he couldn't leave them in the dye long enough. I was able to scrub the blue dye off the cabinet, and my fingers will lose their green hue (I hope) in a few days. When his daddy came in from work, the first words out of his mouth were, "Eat Easter eggs, daddy!" So, I peeled two and made deviled eggs for them. What surprised me was that Wyatt liked the white but not so much the yellow filling.

I can't wait for Easter morning. Before the kids, Doug and I would just buy our Easter candy in the 75% off Wallgreens sale. Not anymore; now, there'll be a chocolate bunny in my basket, too. There's just something about children's energy and excitement about little things that just rubs off on you and makes you smile. The air just crackles with excitement--if we could see that excitement, I'm sure it'd look like heat lightening that covers the entire skyline during mid-summer evenings!

I'm so blessed to have a house full of children.

Just Enough

Sometimes, I get so frustrated with my job. With spring fever attacking my students like a vicious plague, I more and more just want to reach through my computer screen and give a few of them a good shake because I've seen a glimpse of their sparkling wit or talent, all of which is hiding beneath apathy or "a 'C' is good enough for me" attitude. And I'm talking about real, vivacious skill here.

Where did this attitude come from? What past event or past person implanted the thought in these young minds that since they were only good enough to just get by anyway, they shouldn't even bother trying to be brilliant?

If they treat their coursework this way, do they treat their jobs the same way, too? (Just enough to earn a living? ) Their marriages? (Just enough to keep him happy?) This attitude really explains how people treat God, too--I'll give Him just enough of my life, just enough of my time so I don't feel guilty.

What would our world be like if people would do everything to the best of their ability instead of just settling for being mediocre, average? How many Einsteins or Fitzgeralds are buried under a life of mediocrity? And what would our relationship with God be like if we all took the attitude that the best of our ability is all we'll settle for?

No, They're NOT Twins!

You really need to come shopping with me one day--just one outing to the mall and you'd understand my utter frustration. When you're by yourself, you're invisible as you whisk in and out of stores, effortlessly squeeze between tightly packed racks of clothing, and glide noiselessly past the wad of people standing like sheep in the middle of your path. When you have one child, you're a little more clumsy as you maneuver your kid, your packages, and the oversized stroller along, and you sometimes get an "Oh aren't you handsome" from a little old lay or an "Aren't you a big man" from an older gentleman.

But when you have twins, all bets are off. There is no "invisible" anymore; there is no "effortless;" and there is definitely no squeezing anywhere. And you can forget going into Claire's for hair accessories--the stroller can't fit in the front door, much less between the racks. I love my double stroller, but I feel much like an enormous garbage truck in the middle of a ballroom full of graceful dancers, all of whom know the steps to this intricate dance that I used to know but can no longer dance, myself, because of three children attached to a leg, a hip, an arm. I am conspicuous and I know it. I try valiantly to see my goal and race towards it, going left, right, left again, bouncing off curbs, running over clothes racks, and hitting corners like a wayward ball in a pinball game. But then I see something I want to look at, and it is then that they descend upon me like ants upon a wounded caterpillar.

You have no idea how many people make my trips to the store take twice the time they should just because they want to talk to me about the twins. It's insane. I got through ONE store in the mall today before we had to leave. ONE!!! I suddenly am approachable, famous! In the past 2 weeks, I've had to help 2 women shop for their new grandchildren. I'm struggling to wheel my tank around a corner and not take out an entire rack of clothing, plug Amelia with a pacifier because she refuses to nap, try to fan the air a bit more before I go change Emerson's impromptu poopy diaper, and check prices all while being asked to vote "yes" or "no" to whatever the lady holds in the air for her grandchildren.

Last week, I had to play the "girl" or "not girl" game for a lady buying clothes for her 3 grandkids at the thrift store. This morning, we almost missed the elevator because some lady was too busy chatting up my babies while the door closed. And tonight at supper, another lady actually came over to see them and stayed around to talk, then left, went back to her table, and called someone on the cell phone to tell her there were twins there!!! And I can't just be rude and ignore them, but oh is it tempting!

"Oh! Are they twins? (Nope. Just stole one from our neighborhood's playground to fill up the front seat of the buggy so it'd be weighted properly.) Are they identical? They sure look identical. (Well, I guess you'd know better than I--their mother!) What are their names? Oh...Emerson? I've never heard that one before; where did you find that? (It was the name of the bouncer at the bar I got kicked out of one night while I was pregnant.) What's wrong with her? She sure is a fussy little thing. (She gets cranky when the buggy stops rolling so people can talk to her.) They sure are big babies for 5 months old (Are you calling my babies fat!? Well, starving babies isn't fashionable right now.)

Maybe I'll make business cards that have their names, ages, weights, personalities, and sleep patterns on them. When someone approached, I could just say, "Here you are" and keep moving. That would save so much time.

Message in a Bottle

This evening, Doug was going to take Wyatt and the babies to Oma and Opa's house for an hour so I could catch up on some schoolwork. (I've been dealing with a nasty virus that got past my 2 virus protection programs, so I'm a bit behind.) So, darling child that he is, Wyatt climbs into his seat, realizes he has a poopy diaper, decides he doesn't like it, then PULLS THE POO OUT and puts it in his carseat. When Doug comes in (with Wyatt in tow), he says, "I have a hypothetical for you. What would you do, hypothetically, if a kid pulled poo out of his diaper and put it in his carseat?" Hypothetically? Do I honestly believe my husband could come up with a scenario like that on his own? And to think I'll be going through these same potty training scenarios in another year or so with 2 at one time.....I don't know if I'll ever be ready for that.

On a more interesting note, last night I took the first sleeping pill since my pregnancy because I just haven't been sleeping well of late. And, I dreamed of my grandfather who died 2 years ago this November. I don't dream of people in my life who have passed on, so this is a rarity. I forgot everything before I saw him; I just know he walked in out of nowhere, dressed in slacks and a button-up shirt, and I ran to give him a hug. Somehow, I knew we had little time to talk, and I immediately asked him if he knew I'd had twins. Then, as an afterthought almost, I asked if he knew about Wyatt. Yes, he said he knew about all of them.

He only said three short phrases--once when I hugged him and once after each of my questions. I thought to myself, "I must remember everything he says so I can tell my family." And I also remember telling myself, "This is a dream. He's dead. This is not real" and upon thinking that, instantly waking myself up, struggling to remember what exact words he said only to feel them slip away like water through my fingers.

I don't know if dreams are just dreams, if they're merely workings of our unconscious mind, or if there is something more at work there. Sometimes, I think there's something more to them. Is our unconscious connected to our soul? To the Spirit of God who resides within us? I'll never know this side of eternity, but that brief "meeting" in my dreams last night felt different than any dream I've had in years. It felt like a message sent to tell me that my grandfather in heaven knows of his great grandchildren. Maybe not. But food for thought, nonetheless.

Meeting Clifford!

I know my life has been totally changed by this mommy thing when I walk into my closet to get dressed for an evening on the town with Wyatt and Doug and my first thought is not "What do I look really great in?" but, instead, is "What will wash the best when Wyatt wipes his supper on it?" I also know I'm sold out to being a mommy when I give up my date night with Doug to go see somebody in a red dog suit!

Friday night, Barnes and Noble was crazy enough to sponsor an Easter Egg hunt inside the kids' section of the store. I think they were unprepared for how many kids were there. And I was unprepared for some of those over-zealous parents skipping ahead in lines and picking up Easter eggs before the hunt to make sure their kids got everything best, first, and most.

Poor Wyatt--he found a purple egg before the hunt, and his mommy made him put it back. Then, they didn't announce the hunt, but, instead, just let parents and kids start picking up the eggs, and by the time we figured it out, the candy-filled eggs were all gone. Wyatt didn't care, but I was irritated, so I sent poor Doug to the front table where I'd seen a hidden cache of "extra" eggs. Doug grudgingly went, and he came back successful with three eggs! So, Wyatt still doesn't understand the competition in an egg hunt...not that he cared. But my husband got a chance to be my knight in shining armor!

Wyatt's favorite part of the evening was the cupcake station; a couple ladies from Whole Foods piped icing in the shape of Easter-themed images on top of these huge chocolate cupcakes. The kid in front of us in line was in 4th grade, and I heard the lady tell him she wasn't allowed to create anything violent, so, logically, the boy told her to pipe him a duck....with rabies. Yep--that's what I have to look forward to with my boys! She humored him, too. Wyatt chose a yellow duck. Imagine a huge, 3" diameter, 2" tall MEGA cupcake with a 2" tall mountain of yellow icing on top. Sugar heaven! So, as we stood in line to take pictures with Clifford, what else did Wyatt do? He slurped up the icing.

He wasn't scared of Clifford, either--he bounced up to him and jabbered something at the costumed critter as if this was just another conversation! Why not? He sees Clifford in books every day at home and at least once a week on the TV. I couldn't make him stand up straight for the picture; he preferred to cuddle close to Clifford. So cute.

Afterwards, we went to La Carretta because Wyatt likes shrimp quesadillas, chips, and salsa. At the end of the meal, I sent Doug and Wyatt to the potty. After ten minutes, I thought I was going to have to go in after them! I couldn't imagine what was taking so long--some sacred rite of manhood that I know nothing about, maybe? Nope. They finally come out and Doug says, "Ok. Here he is. Now I'm going to go." Huh? I've had shopping trips to Walmart that were shorter than your stint in the bathroom! That long and you both couldn't pee pee on the potty? Obviously not--Wyatt kept trying to touch things, pull his pants down, flush the potty, and pull down the roll of paper.

Yeah? That's nothing new. Can you imagine how rare it is that I can go to the potty by myself? Those daddies...I just had to laugh. So date night was a success, at least from Wyatt's perspective.

No Coincidence

One of my biggest fears in life is that God will cease speaking to me. Since I became totally immersed in His word in 2005, I have been amazed, humbled, and jubilantly excited when God aligns the pieces of my life in order to get His point across. Like stars in a constellation, God would sometimes speak something in my soul and then confirm it repeatedly by having me hear the same message in a sermon, read it on the Internet, hear it on the radio, or see it on T.V.

You may think I’m nuts, but I don’t believe in coincidence. There’s nothing more comforting than knowing what I’m doing is exactly what God would have me to do. So many times, I have asked for Him to not leave any doubt in my mind. And He has always been faithful to answer that prayer. But, when I started having children, God still spoke to me through Bible studies and the scripture, but He seemed to stop speaking through life events, seemed to stop lining up everything in my day to make His point.

Maybe it was because I wasn’t listening. But, I tend to think it was more because the noise of my three children made it hard for me to ever “be still” and rest in the quiet to hear God’s voice. If there were quiet, I was sleeping through it. And I also think it was because I was searching. Since Wyatt was born and I made the decision to be a stay-at-home mom who worked a full-time teaching schedule at home, I have struggled with my position in and my purpose in life and in God’s kingdom. Please understand--I know with 100% certainty, with every fiber of my being that my place is at home with my children. I've known this truth from the time I began working full time at RPCC, and I was always clear with my boss that when I had my children, that was it.

But, knowing and doing are two different things, and this struggle for an identity apart from “mommy” came to a head after the twins were born. With two babies and a 2-year-old, my life quickly became stifling, knowing it was no longer possible for me to just drop everything anymore and go on a hurried trip to the store for milk. I could no longer run to the mall by myself with the kids because Wyatt is still young enough to need his own stroller, and I am not about to push one stroller and drag another one. I felt trapped and totally unable to fulfill God’s command to go and tell the world about Jesus. I wondered how I could ever again be in the center of God’s will if I didn’t even know what His will for my life was anymore other than to raise three babies to love Him.

After speaking with my pastor and praying, I came to see God’s purpose was for me to create my devotional Quail and Manna blog. I was hesitant about it at first, struggling to hear God’s voice. But, these past three weeks, my soul has once again found God’s station and tuned in perfectly to that frequency. Ray Stevens had a song "Turn Your Radio On" about "the Master's radio"--that's how I feel about God speaking: I have to tune my human receiver to hear the divine words He's speaking around me. I fret needlessly all week long, trying to think of what to write and coming up empty, and then either Friday or Saturday, God will give me what to say. It will be clear as can be!

The first time it happened was two Saturdays ago; I thought it was a fluke, but I wrote the devotional and scheduled it to post Sunday at midnight. Then, the next day, our pastor preached on the same topic even though I hadn't shared it with anyone yet, so Doug and I had a good laugh about him stealing my devotional. Then, last Friday, God easily gave me a topic again; I wrote the devotional and scheduled it to post Sunday night….and two days later during the morning service, our pastor was preaching on just that topic! I was so giddy! I told Doug that I had confirmation I was doing what God wanted me to do and saying what He would have me to say. But still, deep inside was a fear that He would stop speaking, that this was a short term deal. But today on the way home, He planted another idea in my head for a topic. Then, when I opened my email tonight, the key word was repeated a second time for me in a totally non-spiritual context. It’s happening again!

Week by week, God is connecting the dots in my very small universe, and I’m able to see those connections once again. I am in awe. I am humbled. I feel such a peace and such an excitement to be where I’m supposed to be that words just cannot contain those emotions.

You may think it’s all a coincidence. No. Be certain. It’s God.

Ultra-tasking

Reader's Digest (March 2009) ran an article, "7 Dumb Things We Do." Among the list was "When we multitask, we get stupid." Apparently, a study shows our working memory begins to forget things after two seconds: "Within 15 seconds of considering a new problem, you'll have forgotten the old problem. In some cases, the forgetting rate can be as high as 40 percent." And another "duh" study of employees showed they took, "on average, 15 minutes to get back to" serious tasks after being interrupted by something like emails.

And we had to spend money to find this out? Any mom could have pocketed that check with no hesitation because the outcome was so utterly obvious. Working from home is a blessing in that it allows me to stay with my children all day, and I know many people just wish they could work from home. But, the result is that my day is spent at warp speed as I maneuver from one task to another and back again in hopes that when 2:00 comes around, I can get a couple hours of downtime while the three of them (fingers crossed) nap together.

Case in point: this past Monday between the hours of 9 and 2, I simultaneously had my sink full of carrots I was washing, my food processor whirring as I shredded 24 cups and sliced another 24 cups of carrots to bag and freeze, my washer and drier taking care of 3 loads of clothes, my tea pot heating water to make humming bird food for the poor birds who kept zooming around outside, my computer speeding emails back to students, my children demanding food, attention, book readings, etc. at random intervals, and my oven baking strawberry bread to use up the strawberries I had mashed because it was "use them or lose them" time. That is NOT multitasking. That is insanity.

I think we need a new word: ultra-tasking. "Multi" just doesn't make what I do seem chaotic enough. "Multi" seems to imply I might could squeeze one more thing into my juggling act. On the other hand, "Ultra" seems to imply I'm at my max. Yep--I don't multitask; I ultratask.

Oh--I took a pic just for you all. Can you see that tooth? Yes, this mama let Emerson fuss while she ran to get her camera--how else was I going to get that mouth open for a picture?