JKenny School of Hard Knocks

Dear Justin,

Your daddy and I have officially kept you alive for three years (in just 3 days).  This feels like a major victory on our behalf, and while it may seem like we are exaggerating, your daddy and I literally high fived each other last night at the prospect of celebrating your third birthday.  Justin is three years old.  Wow.  We did it.

First of all, this year, you forgot your name.  You've always had a family nickname of JKenny (as in jay-kenny....it's your J-Lo name).  But maybe we've used it too much, because now when people ask you your name, you say JKenny.  It's so adorable, but I'm kind of concerned that people might think your daddy and I were on drugs or something when we named you.  That's a goal for year four.  Be able to give your actual name when you are asked.

So at the completion of your second year on this planet, you became a big brother.  And I'll admit, your daddy and I held our breath.  Because....how should I describe it?  Well, son, you are W.I.L.D. 
We wondered if you'd grab her, swing her around like a toy and throw her.  Just because you can.


But you joined your brother in the ranks of great big brothers.

You were exceedingly sweet with your sister.  And really, that defines the paradox that is you.  You are all boy - 100% male.  You leap, run, attack, assault, dig in dirt, spin in circles, climb cupboards, pick up bugs, freak your mom out, risk your life, and show absolutely no fear.  (It's inspiring to those of us who grip the side of the swimming pool for fear of what might happen.)

Crazy boy.

But there is this side to you that almost always catches me by surprise.  First off, your favorite colors are pink and purple.  Could I even make that up?  Just the other day, you said "Mom, I want a pink big boy bike for my birthday."  I asked you what color of cake you wanted for your birthday, and you said "purple, just like Adie.  And I want the cake part to be pink.  My favorite colors!" Just in case you are wondering, this is not new.  You have always said these were your favorite colors.  But you know what?  If any boy could make pink and purple look manly, it's you.  The colors don't seem to make you more feminine...you have managed to make pink and purple look tough. 

Your smile is one of a kind.  Takes my breath away.

And while you have that carefree, wild tinge to you, you also are the person who said "Mommy, I'm so happy to see you" when I got home from work today.  And you can hardly go to bed if somebody doesn't sing a lullaby or rub your back at night.  And sometimes you come running to ask for a hug, and you often then say "Okay, Mom.  You can have another hug after school today." 
Also, you happen to be the life of the party.  Your teacher at preschool always tells me that you are the first to jump into a project and get other children to engage in activity.  Your smile, dimples and happiness are electric.

Your play knows no boundaries.

However, our house has taken a beating this last year.  You colored the cabinets in the kitchen with a green marker, and I still haven't figured out how to get it off. (You cracked me up because you said Adie did it, and then you said Santa did it.)  And there is a hole in your wall from when you took off the wall protector thing and then slammed the door handle repeatedly into the wall.  Also the towel holder in the bathroom broke this year after you swung on the towel and the holder fell down.  And you swung from the ceiling fan over mommy and daddy's bed, breaking off one of the blades. 
But do you know what's nuts?  Every time I see something that you've destroyed, something inside of me just smiles.  I know I should probably be frustrated.  Maybe even angry?  Maybe other moms would be upset that you've done some property damage.  But somehow it makes me love you more.  The energy that you bring to this world can't be contained.  That's always been true about you.  How can I be surprised when you do what you do because you are who you are? (If you are reading this as a teenager, don't you dare use that against me, young man.)

You thought you played soccer in the Fall of 2010.  Not true...

This year, it finally happened that you had to experience a bit of separation from Chase.  Chase played soccer, and we dressed you as close as we could to help you adjust to his activities.  We even bought you soccer gear.  You were adorable, and stood right next to Chase.  But it was evident that he was moving into something that you weren't ready for.  Then Chase started preschool in the older room, and you didn't attend school until November.  You struggled with this, but you and I spent extra time together and I think it helped you develop some individuality. (Because, certainly Chase wouldn't be caught dead saying his fave color was pink.  That's all you, darling.) And now, in school, you are in the younger room and Chase is in the older room.  You still track him carefully, but you are starting to branch out into your own stuff. 

But you both still desperately love each other.

You are the best of friends. 
By the way? There is not a more stubborn person on the planet.  Despite our multiple attempts to cajole you into doing something you don't want to do, the only thing that has ever worked is by telling you that you can't do it.  Suddenly, you get this enormous grin on your face and nothing will stop you from doing what you were told was off limits.  Daddy and I have used this to get you to stay in the backyard, to get dressed, to eat your vegetables....you name it.  One thing is clear....this is going to seriously bite us in the you-know-where someday soon.  But child? It's really your own dang fault.  (It could be ours, but I'll never admit it.  You did get the stubbornness from somewhere, mind you....)

At some point this year, you became a boy.

You also have a wild temper. Daddy and I have noticed that you really need help calming down.  We are getting good at noticing the moment where you switch from angry rage to devastation and need for comfort.  Again, it particularly strikes me that somehow this inspires a smile from me.  You are so passionate.  Your emotion is pure and honest.  You hide nothing.  We have some work to do around the rage, but still you recover.  Heaven help the person who gets in your way though.  I've made that mistake before. 

You get red cheeks when you are tired.

This past year was a big year for you and me.  Your first year, you were a busy boy.  You really couldn't be bothered with anybody besides Chase, or anything besides physical development.  Your second year, you were a busy boy.  You were so physically active and continued to be intimately tied with Chase.  But this last year, you seemed to finally recognize my role in your life.  We bonded pretty tightly as soon as Chase went to school.  I, of course was always here for you and always full of love for you, but this past year it seems like you noticed me for the first time.

I love you so much.



You are pure joy

I love being your mom, Justin.  Sometimes I wonder if it's for selfish reasons though.  You're inspiring.  You push me to be more bold.  And as if that wasn't enough, this past year my love for you has shoved me straight into the arms of God.  Your seizure in 2010 really freaked me out.  So much so that every time I think about wandering away from God, I can see your face that particular day.  It was blank and you were gone.  For those three minutes, my blood ran cold.  The idea of losing you was crushing.  There really isn't enough words to describe how frightening those minutes were.  It's safe to say that I'll never be the same after having a glimpse of...well I just can't even write it.  But my love for you changed me forever in that moment.  Oddly enough, it's the worst moment of my life, and also the best thing that ever happened to me.  And that's only true because of how much I love you, JKenny.  Somehow the amount of love I have for you ends up feeling selfish.

I guess there is a moment as a parent where you are sacrificial in nearly everything you do, yet it's so rewarding and fulfilling that the sacrifice is pure joy.  You are pure joy.  Each year that passes, not only do I become a better person by knowing you, but my respect for who you are becoming grows ten-fold.

Maybe this year, we could avoid swinging from the ceiling fan.  But, you know, it's just a thought.

Jkenny.  You are one of a kind.  Thank you for being my teacher and enrolling me in the JKenny School of Hard Knocks.  I kind of wish you had not made me the mascot. 
Love always,
Mommy



The Opposite of Parental Joy

Being a parent?  Love it.  I really do. 

Something absolutely miraculous happens the moment you set eyes on that baby.  And it happens deeper every single time.  You look at this creature and realize that you'd literally jump in front of a bus for this little thing, and yet you don't even know if he or she likes chocolate.  Nothing matters.  This baby can do no wrong, and even if they do, you won't care.  It feels as if you can literally see the fingerprints of God all over this child. 

So here's the actual crux of the matter. 

Where do the fingerprints of God go when this amazing creature has explosive diarrhea all over his bed, and then comes to your bed and pukes all over your bed?  And then, this "blessing" has the audacity to look at you, look at the bed he's just massacred, and state in a particularly disgusted tone "Mommy, I don't think I want to sleep in your bed anymore."

That's right.  He really did say that. 

Just in case you are wondering how Chris and I handle that statement at 4:15am, both of us kind of laughed with a delirious quality to it, and said "well, that's completely understandable." 
Then he went to his bed and passed out (which had all new sheets on it already). 

So, a message to teenage Justin, from his mother:

Justin, if you are reading this, you vomited all over your father this weekend while he was sleeping.  And your father and I had to sleep in a smell which would be an easy win in the "worst smell ever" competition without any blankets because you had already pooped all over the other blankets in the house. 
And you gave me stretch marks when I was pregnant with you. 
And you jumped from high stuff to low stuff all the time, and I swear I gained a wrinkle and gray hair with each "trick" you did.  So now I look old.
So.  If I asked you to do the dishes, mow the lawn, pick up your sister, bring in the groceries, or take care of me when I'm old...by God, child, you better do it.  YOU BETTER DO IT.
And yes, that is a threat.  The phone number for DHS is (503) 378-6704. 
Love you.
Mommy

Rough Morning

On Wednesday mornings, I have the pleasure of getting my three children ready for school/daycare solo while I prepare myself for a day of work in the ER.  The word "stressful" is not even close to describing the feelings that I have between the hours of 6:30am and 8:15am.  It's more accurate to say exhausted, panicked, crazy, disoriented, agitated and unstable, all rolled into one delightful mother.  One wonders after so many years of interrupted sleep what it would be like if I actually woke up, had a few minutes to orient myself and then rise when I felt it was time. 

Maybe I would then build a pyramid and run a marathon simultaneously.

So this particular morning, I was feeling on top of my game.  Lunches were made in advance, clothes were already laid out for wear and backpacks were already packed.  I was hesitantly confident that I could locate two pairs of matching socks for the boys.  All I needed to do was dress them, feed them, do hygiene, love on them and move on with our lives.  Piece of cake.

Except one factor that gets me every time.  On occasion, children are not thankful for your diligent work. 
Chase didn't like his shirt.
Justin refused to wear "those pants".
Justin threw his body on the floor because I prepared a cup of milk for him.

And then he screamed at me with unadulterated fury. 

All I could really do was walk away.  To be honest?  My feelings were hurt.  Sometimes as a mother, when I stress so much to make sure every single one of the children are taken care of, it shocks me when it blows up in my face for completely different reasons. So I went through the rest of the morning and I couldn't really help but feel an undercurrent of sadness.  He yelled at me like I had done something horrible.  And I was only trying to love him and anticipate what he needed before he asked.

So I did my best to power through it, to smile and accept his eventual apology.  I drove him to school and he ran up to the door of the preschool before I could grab his hand and enter together.  He ran to his teacher and was so excited to see her.  He immediately began playing with his friends and was lost in the joy of the moment.  I signed him in and approached him to hug him good-bye.  He received the hug half-heartedly and continued playing. 

So I reminded myself that he was two, and he had so much going on.  I reminded myself that as a mother, I didn't need to be thanked every single day, especially by a two year old who sees the world as revolving around him.  I reminded myself that my world does revolve around him, and he's pretty accurate in that.  And I headed for the door. 

The door to the preschool was just about to close behind me when I heard his voice.  It was hard to hear as the door was closing, but I did hear clear as day "Bye Mommy! I love you!"  I turned around and held the door open, peaking my head in to look at the doorway of his preschool room.  His beautiful little face with big brown eyes and huge dimples smiled back at me.  He waved and looked so happy.  "Love you Mommy."

It made my whole day. 

And as I drove to work, I couldn't help but wonder....is that an ounce of what God feels when I finally stop in my day to acknowledge Him?  Does He wonder why I take so long in the day to pray?  Does it break His heart when I get angry at random moments when I think my expectations aren't met?  Does He feel broken-hearted when I give Him a half-hearted hug as I'm thrilled to engage in the world?  Does His heart leap for joy when I turn and profess my love for Him sincerely, if only for a moment?

I think so.  And I need to do better.  But the encouraging thing is that because I know how my heart responds to my babies, I have an inkling about how His heart responds to me.  Justin could burn down the house, (and he probably will someday) and it wouldn't matter.  My deep profound love for that child is interwoven into the very core of who I am.  He's stuck with me and to think....God's love for His people is exponentially bigger than anything I could imagine. 

It's just beautiful. 

Night Time with Justin

I love Justin.




I really do.  I love just about everything about this child. 



But when the sun sets, Chris and I both make eye contact, sigh, and will ourselves not to freak out immediately about the upcoming interactions with Justin.  Because the boy is stubborn.  Don't get me wrong;  I love "stubborn".  I happen to have been called stubborn 90% of my life thus far, and always considered it a compliment (much to the chagrin of my parents).  However, Justin has taught me all about stubbornness.  I was an amateur.  I mean seriously - I was in the tadpole class and he's the big giant crocodile of stubbornness. 
He makes cement seem flexible. 
He makes me seem easygoing. 

An example of night time at the Garland home....

7:30   Adelai goes to bed.  Like a breath of fresh air, she is laid down wide awake and puts herself to sleep.  Because that's how much God loves Jess Garland. 
7:35   The boys change into their jammies.
7:37   Justin realizes that he doesn't have his Toy Story sheets on his bed (because he peed all over the place last night and now has red sheets...which represents the "B team" of sheets in Justin Land).
7:38   Justin has a blow out tantrum wherein he screams at the highest decibel you can imagine.  No one can understand.  No one can sleep.  No one has hope that life will ever get better. 
7:40   Chris and I finally understand this tantrum is about sheets.
7:45   Jess finally gets Justin to believe that red sheets are Elmo + Lightening McQueen + lobster sheets, all rolled up in one and subsequently trump all sheets in the entire universe. 
7:46  Justin begins jumping on the "melmo" sheets, trying to touch the ceiling.
7:50  Chase climbs into bed like an angel.  An easygoing, sleep loving, angel from heaven. 
7:52  Justin beats cheeks out of the bedroom and yells "I want some cheese, Daddy.  I'm hungry! I need to go pee!  I want my blanket from the car!  Let's go to the store and buy chocolate milk!"
7:53  Whichever parent lost the quick rock-paper-scissors match goes and retrieves the toddler, who turns into screaming crazy person, once again.
7:55  Justin's tantrum is ignored and we begin reading books with Chase.  Justin comes running and yells "I want to read Gold Bug", which is the toddler equivalent of Where's Waldo, except that there are 400 pages of cars and all must be talked about.  Every-freaking-single-one-of-them. 
8:40  The lights are out, Chase is almost in a coma.  Parents leave the room. 
8:43  The door closes, and the light under the door comes on.  Justin is giggling.  Chase is crying and saying "You woke me up, Justin!"
8:45  Justin wanders around the house, giggling.  He is caught, walked back to his room and placed in his bed. 
8:46 Justin wanders around the house, giggling.  (Again.) 
9:14 Chris and I think he has gone to bed finally, only to realize that he is singing on the ground in his room, jumping on the bed and laying on the floor in the hallway.
9:15  We lose our cool.
9:16  We realize losing our cool doesn't work at all and makes everybody feel crappy.
9:17  Justin wanders the house, giggling.  He "wants to cuddle, mama!"   He wanders some more. 
9:20 We lose our cool again.
9:21 We feel crappy again and give up.
9:22 Justin says "Mom and dad, I just need to poop.  Can't I go poop?"
9:23 I say "fine, you can poop, but you better squeeze something out, child".
9:29 Justin has squeezed out the smallest turd anybody has ever seen.  (Did I really just write that?)
9:36 Justin begins wandering the house again.  Chris and I give up completely.
9:54  He starts to look a little tired. 
9:55  I pick him up off the ground, he goes limp in my arms and lays down.  
9:56  Chris and I collapse.
10:01 Chris sneaks into the bedroom to put a pull-up on Justin, because had he put it on before, the tantrum would have never ended.
10:05 Lights out in the Garland home.


It's exhausting.  He's devoted to getting his way.  We are devoted to not giving in, and yet he outwills even the best of them (meaning me).  I know the parenting strategies, but no strategies makes up for a 2 year old boy in a small house with two other children sleeping.  He has the ability to ruin everything, he has leverage over his parents, and he has the energy of 1000 adults, all combined together. 

Let's face it.  We are his bitch..   Ahem.  Justin is the champion. 



 

Preschool Combat

I'm a girl.  Not sure if that was clear, but I'm really a girl.  When I was told I was having a boy at the ultrasound for Chase, I walked away absolutely stunned.  I guess I just assumed that, while boys exist, I could only reproduce what I already was.  Plus, all the people in my family are girls, so needless to say I feel vastly unprepared to be the mother of two boys.  Everyday I am slapped in the face with their maleness and I'm totally perplexed.  I always considered myself a tomboy.  I was wrong. 

First of all, their boy parts are...*ahem*...scary.  I didn't realize how awkward I was around them until I had a daughter and realized how dramatically more comfortable I was.  I think when Chase was born, Chris and I actually had a conversation about if it was possible to break it.  As the boys grow older, I'm freaked.  I really am.  I'm about ready to just say to Chris that he needs to take care of all things with respect to their boy parts.  I just don't want to traumatize them (or myself) for life.  And when I'm trying to assist in washing body parts by batting a wash cloth at it with a terrified look on my face, I think it's safe to say that we are approaching trauma status. 

Second, they try to kill each other everyday and are best friends.  I think I'm starting to get the rules of brother combat, but I clearly live in an alternate universe of dolls and playing house.  For example, did you know that a pencil can be whipped across the back of your neck and leave a red mark for a few hours? 

These seem to be the rules of combat in our house, though take account for the idea that I'm female and only an observer. 

• If you profess your love for any object in the home, you can essentially kiss it goodbye.  Your weakness has been identified by your brother/best friend/enemy/competition.
• If you are playing with a toy...any toy at all, you are asking to be tackled from behind, thrown to the ground and the toy to be ripped out of your grip. 
• If you are the person that tackled the other, you better run for your life. 
• If you are the child that happens to run for your life, you should run to your mother and stand by her, ever so nonchalantly. 
• If she happens to ask you in a frustrated tone "What are you guys doing?", you both must look at her ever-so-innocently and say "nothing mom". 
• If you are wrestling and somebody wants to poop, all you have to yell is "I have to go poop" and the other immediately releases.  Both smile and wrestling is paused until the pooper returns.  
• Each boy has their own art form.  Chase is cool until he grits his teeth and wraps his hands around Justin's neck.  You know that Chase has crossed the line at this point.  However, if he's just swinging a baseball bat and hits Justin in the buns, this was "just fun".  Justin on the other hand is always having fun until he starts screaming a guttural growl wherein he starts swinging his arms in a crazy fashion and running after the other.  This appears to be the moment when the grown up is supposed to dive on the Justin and take the blow.  Because Justin will swing.  And you will be hit.  And it could be funny, or it could not be funny to him.  You never really know until you release and he either laughs hysterically or screams like a wild child. 
• Apparently the goal seems to be that you fight just enough to make your mom wonder if she'll accomplish anything at all today besides keeping you alive.  This is a intricate dance of fighting just enough so that she thinks accomplishing something was possible, yet she's interrupted enough to fail. 
• Time out is really just an opportunity to harass the offender who is stuck in a chair for a predetermined amount of time.  Just make sure that anytime your mom turns around, you are again looking ever so innocent. 
• Being in time out together is hysterical. 
• If you are angry at each other, this lasts for 14 seconds.  Just enough to make the other person cry. 

I don't get it.  I'll never get it.  They hold hands and punch each other with the free arm.  They jump off of beds, collide, wrestle to the ground screaming and then laugh.  Any object is a potential weapon.  I'm just the lady on the outside trying to argue for sanity to two insane little testosterony boys who just hear "blah blah blah".  Then they turn, smile with big dimples and say "Hey mom? Justin colored the wall with red marker.  And also the couch.  And his face.  Can I have some milk?  Why does your face look like that?"

On Blessings...

I've been thinking a great deal about the title of this blog...on the idea that this would be a place that I would talk about all the blessings in our life.  And yet, I'm drawn to writing about how my kids draw with markers on themselves, flush my coat down the toilet, lock themselves in the bathroom, etc.

(For the record, this all occurred within the last 48 hours.  But I digress.)

This all comes to mind because I heard about a woman who was in a car accident and lost all three of her children, under the age of 5 years old (on Oprah, naturally).  She spoke about how it was so horrible to come home to the quiet space of her house full of toys...how she couldn't stand to hear children playing because of the sheer amount of grief....how she was shaken to the core with respect to her identity and her purpose. 

I also know that women out there look at this time in their life and miss it.  I know I will miss this.  I know that I will look back at this craziness and think that this span of time was one of the highlights of my life.  It's interesting to me that with great blessings comes great responsibility.  The longer I focus on the responsibility, the more I lose the blessing part.  I hate that.  I've also been thinking a lot about the idea that motherhood forms women over time, and thinking about all the great women I know who have come out the other side with patience, a serving attitude, the knowledge that sacrifice is just the start of love, and the natural perspective of selflessness. 

I think my damage at this point is that I'm still self-centered, focused on how my needs are second, and wishing that people would buy me stuff.  Lots of stuff.  In honor of my selflessness.  With a plaque.  And possibly a song about my awesome humility.   

See, I have a ways to go. 

Last week, Justin started preschool.  The first day went great and the second day he had a lot of trouble with me leaving.  He snuggled up on my lap, buried his head into my shirt, and cried "mommy, please don't go."  This in turn made me cry, and ultimately my two year old and I sat in the middle of his classroom and sobbed. (Super embarrassing, but beautiful all the same.)  I know there will be a time when I wish more than anything that he would say "mommy, please don't go."  I am so grateful to be a mommy and if, by the end of their time in my home, every piece of furniture is colored, the toilet is forever broken and there isn't a single doorknob in the house, I pray that I will remain grateful and focused.  And sane.  And sober. 

Justin the Titan

I feel the need to describe my son Justin.  Why?  Because he drew on himself with a sparkly glue marker this morning and it struck me that I have a lot of responsibility with this boy. 

First off, to get a clear picture of him, you need to know that he didn't talk for about 22 months.  During that time, he was mastering the quest to match his big brother's physical abilities.  I think the day he was born, the kid was flat out irritated that he couldn't move.  He was pretty irritable until he started crawling at 6 months(literally 6 months.)  He was hanging on to furniture at 8 months, and by 9 months old he was nearly sprinting around the house.  He was climbing bookcases by 14 months old.  It has only gotten worse from there.  This summer, I watched him rock-climb the retaining wall in our yard in under 2 minutes for the first time. 

Justin's thoughts on any type of restraint of any kind at 12 months old:

This is Justin after he climbed a bookcase at 14 months old.  Yes I took a picture because who would believe it?

When he finally did start to talk and put sentences together, he quickly found the ability to make his demands known.  To put it simply, he likes what he likes.  He does NOT like what you like, unless it was his idea.  I have seen this child ask for milk, and then LITERALLY throw a tantrum when you give it to him because he didn't want milk.  I have also watched as he "tossed" the kitchen afterwards - knocking down chairs, pulling stuff out of drawers, etc.  I like to call this "passionate" because that seems like a mom thing to say. 

All this to say that I adore this child.  Even though his ability to toss a room and tantrum makes life difficult, I have such an appreciation for his conviction.  He's a heavy responsibility because I can see his personality leading him in two different directions: 1) jail or 2) a person who is able to move mountains in any direction he pleases.  Chris and I have no idea how to direct him into option #2, but lets just say that we pray a lot, and attempt to point out to the Lord that Justin could do a lot for Him if God would give us wisdom and patience.  I see greatness in this child's future.  I also see many holes in the walls of our home over the time where he is being molded and shaped. 

And finally, a word to those who know me well.  Yes, it has been pointed out (every day) that Justin has many of my attributes.  I get it.  Yes, I see it.  Yes, I apologized to both of my parents.  A few nights ago, Justin was throwing a tantrum at 3am, and I was up with him making clear the boundaries of his behavior.  When I came back to bed and the house was quiet, Chris said "Wow.  It's like the battle of the titans."  

I'm always the winner though.