Butterflies

My daughter was recently given a Butterfly habitat for her birthday. The way the whole process works is that you're given (or you can buy) a butterfly habitat (where they'll live) and you get a code for five free butterflies. You have to submit the request for the butterflies because the caterpillars arrive alive and you have to make sure you can tend to them.

Our caterpillars arrived about four days ago, and let me just tell you, this is probably the most fascinating experience ever. Watching the caterpillars grow is crazy. They come so tiny and skinny, and after just a few days they're already over an inch long and really "fluffy"! In a couple of days, they will go into their hibernating stage where they'll turn into a butterfly, and then we'll release them.

My daughter isn't exactly happy about that portion of the event. She says we need to keep them and she doesn't want to set them free. 

I find that there is a life lesson for myself in that perspective. I too, don't want to set my butterflies free. I want to keep them close to me always where I can make sure their healthy and safe. 

Most people would probably label me as a pretty enormous force. I'm brazen. I'm bold. I'm confident. I know what I want. Most people would say that I'm pretty hardcore. Most people think that there doesn't exist a man on this planet who could be more dominant than me. Most people think that I must always wear the balls, because I'm rarely caught in a dress. Most people think that I win because I can't seem to handle the notion of losing.

When I sit next to you my big giant balloon deflates and this massive wizard of oz persona shrinkwraps down to just little old me. Insecure. Quiet. Pensive. Thoughtful. Fragile. Gushy. Mushy. Sappy. Crying at the drop of a bucket. Incredibly focused on looking pretty.

It's been ten years. Ten years that I have loved you. Ten years that you've been transforming me in to this aspect of myself that I've always wanted to be. Ten years of experiencing life through the picture frame experience of your love.

It's crazy because everything is intertwined and so defined by your presence that my life is really sort of divided in two: before you and after.

I'm not afraid to be fragile, which is completely miraculous, if you know me at all. You make me bolder. You make me braver. You make me fiercer. So when the conversation comes down to whether or not I would do this all over again if I had to, the answer is always a resounding hell yes. And I know that the crap I write is sappy. I know the words I say are incredibly gushy and dramatic. I can't help it. It's not that I have anything to prove, it's that I've got something to show. I'm not so comfortable with this sensitive side of myself. I am fumbling around in confusion when I have to show the way you light up my world in front of other people.

Crisis

I think in the life of every Christian, there comes a moment when you stand still and you honestly have to say Where the hell are You? I have heard it so often said that to say that, to even think it is complete blasphemy but I'm going to have to call BS on that. I think to reject it, shove it down, deny it is the blasphemy. To admit it. To dive into it. To cry out about it and mourn it is the truth. And isn't a relationship only a relationship as long as it's truthful? When it becomes mired in deception and secrecy then it is on a slippery slope of destruction. I don't want that, ever, with You.

So I'm sitting here in my grandfather's red chair and I'm saying Where the HELL are You? Because I don't have the faintest idea as to what You're doing. I'm not interested in the wishy washy, stereotypical "christian" answers. I don't want Bible verses shoved down my throat, and I don't want people telling me to just keep "holding on". I am hurt. I am angry. I am having a pity party. And what comforts me is that I know You at least bought the party hats and You're here... somewhere... even if I can't see You.

I feel so fatigued. I feel so broken. I feel like I'm scraping the bottom of the barrel of my existence and everything is confusing and complicated. I feel like throwing in the towel and running away as fast and as far as I can. Why? I feel like I'm my own echo and like I'm my own shadow all at the same time. And the sound that keeps playing over and over and over and over again is Why? Why? Why?


I miss You. I miss the comfort of You and the peace that washes over me when I can feel You. I miss the assurance of Your understanding. I miss being able to grasp everything that was happening. And now I don't. Now it just seems like an avalanche of confusion is blasting down this mountain that You've expected me to climb.

I know I shouldn't feel sorry for myself. I know I should be grateful. You've given me the world's best climbing partner ever. And he truly is amazing. I don't know how I would function without his existence. I am terrified that one day he'll wake up and take off. I should be glad that I have four living children. I should be thankful that they are walking around here with me.

Why do I feel so broken? Why is it so easy to destroy my will? I don't want to do this anymore. Why can't I have some miracle and some amazing scenario of magic?

Please come back here to me. Wash away the confusion and just come back and let me feel Your love. It's all that sustains me. As much as Chief helps me to endure, You! and You alone are what keeps me alive. Apart from You I am nothing. I have nothing to give and no way to thrive. I need Your comfort. I need Your embrace. I need Your understanding. And when You come I will be whole again.

My Valentine Birthdays

The memory of their birth is incredibly traumatic. In fact, the whole experience, from the seven months of strict bed rest, the constant nervousness of their or my death happening at any moment, the complete loss of my last few precious months alone with just Lolli, was traumatic. It was hard. When I reflect back on it, probably the most valuable lesson (and probably one I am still continuing to be taught) is to take every single day one minute at a time. Seriously. Stop thinking so far ahead. Stop worrying so far along. I just have to deal with this minute, this moment, this contraction, or back ache, or bad medical news, or a thousand other "or's".

I think that happened because the future was too overwhelming. I was four weeks along when I was put on bed rest. That was escalated to strict bed rest a week later. If I thought in terms of the long months of laying down, I would have had a nervous breakdown. If I thought in terms of the overwhelming medical problems that our unborn babies were facing, I would've had a heart attack. If I did anything beyond handling each second on its own, I think I would have collapsed. It was completely bigger than I could have contemplated.

I did so much to try to prepare myself for their sick bodies. We were heavily warned. We were given videos to watch, tours of the NICU, books about sick preemie babies, classes... I did everything I could to prepare myself. We were very well warned that Grigio could die and IF he lived he'd be mentally handicapped for life. He'd probably not walk, talk, or do anything. There was just too much he didn't get...

The surgery was excruciating. When they wheeled me into the operating room, I was bawling my eyes out. I sat there sobbing uncontrollably. I remember apologizing to the nurse who was trying to comfort me because I just couldn't stop. I was so done. Psychologically. Emotionally. Physically. Mentally. I had nothing left of myself and there I was, scraping the bottom of the barrel of my existence, trying to "let go" of the whole process. They were going to be born. And then we would see...

They were so sick. They were so tiny. Charchee was the only one who looked "normal" (if you can consider a 12 inch long 2 lb, 13 oz baby hooked up to a thousand machines monitoring her every move "normal"). Brun was so, so, so sick. Her skin was transparent. She was covered in hair. Her every single rib was incredibly pronounced (even when she was exhaling). She didn't open her eyes. She barely moved. She was so broken. Grigio was doing very well. His lungs weren't very strong, but considering they didn't expect him to live he was such a surprise! His "angel kisses" (cowlicks) were completely evident. One on the front of his head, and another on the back. I like to believe those were there where his guardian angel kissed away the lack of nourishment and nutrients and healed his brain.

The first year was hell. Literally. Leaving them at the hospital and coming home was hell. Bringing them home was hell. It was more difficult than I can adequately explain. It was painful and frustrating and terrifying and awful. There were no beautiful late-night moments of snuggles and kisses while they nursed. There were no moments sitting there with precious bonding. There was no time that we got to just be together because there was always another one to feed, or more pumping to do, or more diapers to change, or more notes to document for their doctors. In every single picture, Chief and I both look like we were the living dead. I'm not kidding you.

But now... Now I have three five year old children standing in front of me. Now I have three communicating, learning, walking, discovering, challenging, trusting, developing children in front of me. Now I don't have to change diapers anymore, or pump, or feed endlessly. Now we can go on "adventures" and discover things together. Now we can play in the backyard, or go to a museum, because their immune systems can handle it. Now we can sit and talk about life and flowers and why bees are black and yellow. Now we snuggle and cuddle and bond without the urgency of moving on to the next feeding, or life-need. Now when they're hurt, I can kiss their owies away, instead of standing by their hospital bedsides helplessly wanting to fix their ailments.  Now we can talk about what foods to eat and why they're good instead of just rushing through one baby's feeding because the next two are screaming for theirs.

They're amazing children. And they're still hard, don't get me wrong, but things are so different now. We are no longer just surviving and I love that.

A woman asked me the other day at the store what my secret was because they're so well behaved. I told her that I couldn't take any credit. I said, "Truthfully, each day they choose to behave how they behave. Some times they make good choices and some times they make bad ones. I am so thankful that they most often choose to make good ones. We have poured out prayer for them, over them, with them from the second we knew of their existence and God deserves any credit that I could try to take for myself."

So today, in my heart, as I am preparing to celebrate my most precious triplets' birthdays in a week, I can only look at them and say Look what God has done!

My mom

I have a very hard time maintaining relationships with women. As a whole the female species tends to annoy me. They're overtly emotional, dramatic, attention seeking, incredibly sensitive, and most of the time can't stand to hear that you don't think they're perfect (this is an ultra general verbiage, and there are some women whom I adore with every fiber of my being. I'm not anti women, especially since I am one. Just anti drama, and unfortunately they seem to go hand in hand most of the time). I can't stand the idea of bursting into tears because you don't like how someone's acting (or what they've refused to do, etc) in order to get them to do what you want. I can't stand manipulation. Period. 

All of this being said, probably the most complicated and best relationship that I've ever had with a woman, is my relationship with my mom. Mom's can be messy. Let's just face it. If you grew up feeling like you didn't get something you deserved from your mother, you tend to be a bit resentful and angry. It doesn't really matter if you want to be close. Mom's have the power to permanently scar, or to immaculately heal. It's really, what I would consider to be, the most powerful relationship in any person's life. 

My mom wasn't perfect. Yes, she falls into that category of chick's who don't like to hear that. Yes, she is incredibly sensitive. Yes, she probably has a good majority of those female attributes that annoy me. So why am I so close to her? I can tell you it isn't out of obligation. It isn't out of any sort of ode to my childhood. I think it's simply because I have always seen in her a desire to be something bigger and better than herself. And I have always wanted to be like that.

My mom has a hard time with change. She would probably argue immensely with that announcement, but the proof is in the pudding and she does. She has a hard time with staying motivated to change. She wants to change, but how does one keep themselves going when they feel so little reward for their efforts? I understand that. I relate to it. 

Second to my husband, my mom is my best friend. I can tell her anything and she'll hold it. I can be enraged with her and fight horribly with her, and she'll still love me. I can cry harder than I've ever cried in my life, and she won't see me as weak. I can have irrational fears and she'll pray for me. I can announce crazy things (like getting married in two weeks) and she won't judge me. I can complain about the awfulness (and let's face it, there are a lot of awfulnesses) of being a mom, and she won't question my undying love for my children. I can talk about all of the medical problems that my children are experiencing and she'll brainstorm, remember to follow up, and help me through it. I can complain about my own physical health, and she'll encourage me to seek help without nagging me. I can have my children call her, and every fiber of her being lights up (and it is to such a degree that without being able to see it, we can hear it) on the phone. When I'm scared she tries to comfort me (even though she's terrible at the deployment scared stuff, but I know she wants to make me feel better). If I don't talk to her for months (because we all get busy) it doesn't mean I don't love her. If I need help, she drops everything and comes to help.

My mom has not really been the stereotypical June Cleaver mom. She taught me and all four of my sisters to be critical thinkers, argumentative (which I'm sure she sometimes thinks was her greatest error. haha), and somewhat mistrusting (a trait which some people might see as bad, but I think is amazing). She is immensely complex, has the most insane sense of humor (busting out in to song at any given moment, I kid you not. And this is apparently genetic because Lolli seems to have inherited this trait), and is incredibly difficult to write about in any one setting. I don't know how to do her justice. She is battle scarred. And maybe a little bit traumatized. But she's beautiful. And I love her more than I know how to say.

Who's your daddy?

My son wants to be exactly like his dad. I have never heard him say this overtly to anyone but the proof is in the pudding. Case in point:

My son used to love Stuffing (I know some of y'all call it dressing but I call it stuffing, even if it wasn't 'stuffed' in the bird). He would gobble it up as if it was oxygen. To be clear, he is obsessed with food and he'd probably gobble up anything but he was particularly fond of stuffing. Then one thanksgiving day, I was serving my husband his dinner (don't get snippy. Yes, it is still possible to serve one's husband without being barefoot and pregnant and beaten down all day long...) and I asked Would you like some stuffing honey? His response No thanks. I don't really like stuffing. In that exact moment, the stuffing sparkle fell from my son's eyes and now he "doesn't like stuffing." Seriously. He won't eat it.

I realize that you might be sitting there saying to your sweet self Maybe the kid changed his mind! Maybe he used to like stuffing but he doesn't anymore. This is not a case of the wannabe dad clone. I see you will not be easily convinced. That's fine. I have more ammunition in my arsenal.

My husband does not enjoy running. It's not one of those things he's excited to do. But he does it. He does it a lot. Not just because the Army makes him do it. The boy hasn't heard him say that he hates running, mostly because it doesn't really come up in conversation. So yesterday, I took my kids for a run. Apparently three out of four of my children did not get the memo that running sucks. They love it! They had the time of their lives running and running and running. Now in my opinion, good for them! I'm happy for them. Run all you like! (On a side note, the child who didn't like it literally ran for twelve seconds stopped, looked at me and said, "Um. I don't really like this mommy." In my heart I was saying "I feel your pain kiddo. Two peas in a pod.")

So this morning, the boy got up and despite that it's pouring rain outside and incredibly windy, do you know what the first thing he said was? Mom! Can we go for a run? I said, It's raining so probably not. His response? Well Daddy does it!


What is the moral here? Well, there are a couple. For starters, your son's really are diligently paying attention to what you're doing out there Dads. At the end of your life, what book is your child going to write about you (maybe it'd be titled Things I Learned From My Dad)? What did you teach him? What kind of man were you?

I am glad that my son mimics his dad. Why would I not want him to copy someone who puts his wife above all others (seriously), loves his children more than his job, serves (I mean really serves) others, and gives of himself daily to the world and those in need. I am thankful that he looks to Chief for the idea of what a man looks like, rather than the many foolish males that pretend to be men roaming around the world. I just find it kind of funny that he won't eat stuffing and now wants to run, even in the rain.

Note: Fathers are equally being watched, studied and analyzed by their daughters. A daughter looks to her father to learn her worth, value, and the type of individual she should give her heart to. I, in no way, seek to disparage the importance of a father in a girl's life. My dad is an incredible hero to me. He's not perfect, but when I needed him he was there. Many components in my life, I learned from my nightly father-daughter talks. For the sake of this post, I'm merely pointing out the relationship between father's and sons.

hm

One of my favorite memories from my pre-children days was being able to sleep in. It might be disgusting to admit it in terms of laziness, but Chief and I would sleep until lunch time, snuggle in bed, watch tv, get up and eat, and head back to bed. No, not in a dirty way (for any of you gutter minds), but really because beds are comfortable and we like ours.

When children show up in a household, one can say goodbye to sleeping in. It's just not going to happen anymore. Even if you're spouse gets up with the kids, your ears are still tuning in to the chaos that is ensuing outside of your bedroom door. How can anyone sleep when children are running up and down hallways, or crying, or doing a myriad of activities? You can't. So you get up.

This morning, the hubster woke up early and I was apparently so tired that I didn't even hear our children screaming and carrying on. When I finally did awaken, there was some component in me that ached for those moments when we were younger. So from my sleepy haze, I texted the hubster to come here (nicely). When he did, we just snuggled. For like three hours. The kids came in and snuggled too. There was a lot of laughing, a lot of dogs trying to participate, a lot of precious time together. When we were laying there, he brought up how it was before we had the kids.

It's weird because when you are dealing with young children, your brain is so tired that it can barely comprehend moments beyond the current one you're dealing with. As I have now entered in to the phase with children who are much more independent and self sufficient, I am enjoying it tremendously. I love them being able to problem solve on their own. I love being able to have more precious moments with Chief without having to constantly monitor their cries and needs. I love them being able to come in our room and say "Hold me!" as they climb up in our bed for some snuggles. I love playing games with them, and laughing with them. I love asking them questions about things they'd like to pursue and then figuring out ways to help them pursue them.

When the triplets came into our world, everything was thrown upside down and launched into complete chaos. It's really wonderful to have these moments now where everything has become so much more of an adventure than just survival.

This Saturday has been one sweet one.