I’ve recently been thinking quite a bit about this series of toddler books surrounding a boy named David entitled, ”Oh, David!” “No, David!” “David gets in Trouble.” “Ooops.” — you get the idea. Maybe I simply forget about the life surrounding toddler-hood (only long enough to be in it again), but lately I’ve had so many “oh, Blythe!” moments, I thought I might compile a little picture book of my own. They are as follows: a chocolate pudding facial; evidence of either a rodent or a two year old helping herself to a snack; and a color study in pink with my lipstick upon her body, my bathroom door and bathrobe. The two separate instances of finding her sitting in her sink covered in toothpaste (thank you, step stool) are missing, as well as the portraits of Blythe with gum on her eyelids and in her hair, twice (although fortunately in the bottom strands). Needless to say, Blythe cannot have gum for while – unfortunately, her most favorite treat.
It seems like a year ago, as opposed to five, that I was holding you for the first time. I remember the nurse handing you to me, bundled up like a little glowworm, and leaving the two of us together in the dimmed hospital room. You looked up at me with your black eyes, as if you might say something. We stared at one another for a while, you, still shocked by your new world, and I, still shocked that I actually was holding you, my son.
You, dear one, love beauty. From art to language to flowers to clothes, you enjoy discovering and relishing beauty. Most days you spend hours drawing or painting or coloring, often giving form to a story or dream or character familiar to you. Frequently (and without prompting), you tell me how beautiful I look or how you enjoy a particular dress or pair of earrings that I’m wearing. You regularly bring me unsolicited flowers from the yard or park — not to win my approval, but to share a piece of beauty with me. I love this about you.
Your imagination runs deep, as does your sensitivity to those around you. You often recognize injustice, even when it does not affect you, and you usually want to defend them. However, you are only five, and therefore enjoy defending your own causes too. Dad and I often refer to you as our D.A., with your never-ending questions and love for verbal combat. You are so competitive, Liam, and loathe losing at anything — even things as simple as getting dressed first. Because of this, you will always give everything that you have, even in the small things. And even in these young years, I can see the way your zealous and light-hearted nature affects those around you, young and old. And although, sweet boy, you will fail at some things, as everyone inevitably does, you will never be a failure. So be free, Liam. Be free to try new things, to do what’s in your heart, without fear of failure. I love you. I delight in you. And today I celebrate you, Liam: happy birthday.
Your dad has class tonight, so we celebrated your birthday this morning. Here’s a picture of you with your brithday “cake.”
Mark had asked me recently, “Are you sad that this is your last pregnancy?” (Somehow hoping to solidify our agreement that this will be our grand finale.) “No.” I responded. “It’s not the actual pregnancy period that I’ll miss, but I know I’ll really grieve that this my last birth.” “What?!” Mark laughed, baffled by my momentary insanity. This is most certainly his least favorite part: almost hyperventilating while trying to breath with me; having to see me in pain and knowing his only solace is to stroke my hair, speak encouraging words, countdown contractions, and feed me ice chips; but most of all — seeing the blood. Mark and our son Liam have a remarkably low threshold for blood. The other day while Mark was telling us a story about his childhood friend that lost one of his digits, Liam giggled profusely, with intermittent exclamations, “I feel so weak. I feel so weak.” So, I know that while I’m telling Mark about the enjoyment of childbirth, it’s this part of childbirth upon which he’s fixated — the pain and blood. I agreed with him about the difficulty of the first part of labor, but reminded him, “it’s the actual birth — the culmination of all of that pain and blood — the new life that overshadows everything. Seeing this new person, who’s been living and growing inside of you, for the first time. . .”
This little exchange came back to me this past weekend. As I mentioned in the post before, I’m glad to say goodbye to August. For varying reasons, the month’s circumstances seemed to exasperate me, not to mention my erratic emotions (not a fantastic combination). By the time last weekend came, I felt done relationally and emotionally — confused, anxious, lacking peace. I couldn’t hold myself together any longer. But, then I started thinking back to this conversation, about the process of labor, and how the physical often respresents the metaphysical: in short, we all are in some form of spiritual labor, right? The Lord has a destiny for each of us in Him, which in turn means that as He reveals things in our lives that our not of Him, we have to release them; let them go. And sometimes these “revelations” can feel like contractions — hard and painful, even hopelessly impossible. I wish I could say that I always choose to work with these spiritual contractions, resting in the Father and believing that He really is near to me and loving me, but too often in those moments I respond in the natural rather than the eternal, focusing on my circumstances, wallowing in self-pity and doubt, angry and afraid, unable to hear the Father. And when I have relief, and the contraction ends, I hear the Lord again. And He, like Mark in the delivery room, whispers to me that He is near to me, that He is for me, and that with each contraction I am closer to something new, some One new, and my destiny in Him. Thank you God for new life.
Yes. I’m writing again. We’ve been so busy, tired, hot, but mostly just busy this last month. Honestly, I’m glad that August is over. I need to be revived with the idea of fall, moreover, the hope of cooler weather. So, I thought rather than a series of posts dripping with the details of our August, I would give you a brief synopsis, some photos, and highlighted moments.
We started the month with a trip to Beaumont for our good friends’ (Elijah and Stephanie) wedding. The entire family piled into a single hotel room, which, of course being a new experience, merited great squeals of delight from the kids: sleeping in a bed right next to mom and dad with a TV and a little fridge — who could imagine? Blythe took up her usual traveling residency in the bathroom (unfortunately, the lesser option to the closet). Which led to this scenario with Kristen and Tim the evening of the wedding:
Tim: Oooh.
Kristen: Um, Bethany, Blythe’s chewing on a styrofoam cup.
me: Oh, take it away from her. That’s the pee cup. (It was empty and rinsed out.)
Kristen and Tim: WHAT?
That’s right. Blythe needed her own space, which required her sleeping next to the toilet. Rather than dragging myself or Liam down three floors to the lobby bathroom a couple of times in the night, Liam and I opted to pee in the two Big Gulps (although never at the same time). It was like camping in a hotel. Later that evening at the wedding, Liam took his first communion. Mark went with him to receive the bread and wine, and it only took a moment after placing the Blood and Body in his mouth for Liam to dramatically grab his throat (as if he were dying) and exclaim in a loud, raspy whisper, “it’s the blood. it’s the blood! it’s so dis-gu-sting.” Meanwhile, Mark rushed Liam to the side of the yard (away from speculation) where he could promptly spit it out.
The rest of the month entailed a week in Rockwall with the Douglass family, Michael O’s 60th surprise birthday party, saying goodbye to Scott and Diana, a visit from Kerry and Isaiah, a weekend helping Nina and Papa clean out and re-paint their garage, mourning the loss of our dear friend Caleb’s father, Chip Carruth, and celebrating the upcoming birth of our niece, Reese, with a shower for Joseph and Kayla. The few days intertwining those events comprised milestones of their own. Burke finally started peeing in the toilet consistently, and simultaneously inspired Blythe to start using her baby toilet a couple of times a day. And then there were the two ”dark days” where the kids were housebound due to the weather and managed to pull up half of our FLOR carpet tiles in the hallway (rearranging them in their own manner); I found the boys several times naked or in their Marvel briefs jumping on random pieces of furniture; Liam pooped (an adult-sized amount) in Blythe’s little potty; and Burke (playfully, but in full force) punched Mark in the face while Mark was reading to him. On one of those evenings, when Kristen asked Burke what he had done that day, he responded plainly, “I got wots of spankings.”
Unfortunately, most of the month, I didn’t have my camera. Fortunately, Kristen and Tim took some wonderful shots in Rockwall. Here’s some pictures to commemorate our August:
