And one year ago we saw these sweet, sad faces....
I would never have been able to imagine who the little people in these pictures would become. And who we have become as a family? For that I am most profoundly grateful. I love you little peeps.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
One year ago....and Three Years Ago- Edited to fix links
Three years (and a couple of days) ago, we saw your sweet, sweet face. Here is what we had to say that day... and how it happened...
And one year ago we saw these sweet, sad faces....
I would never have been able to imagine who the little people in these pictures would become. And who we have become as a family? For that I am most profoundly grateful. I love you little peeps.
And one year ago we saw these sweet, sad faces....
I would never have been able to imagine who the little people in these pictures would become. And who we have become as a family? For that I am most profoundly grateful. I love you little peeps.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Motherhood Lesson # 852 That I Wish I Wouldn't Have Learned First Hand
Motherhood Lesson #852 That I Wish I Wouldn't Have Had to Learn First Hand:
When one is diapering a freshly lotioned two year old who is screaming and trying to rub all of the lotion off of his face while one's naked, freshly lotioned three year old jumps onto one's back and begins loudly demanding help with her 'unnawear' and one's freshly lotioned, naked four year old starts leaning on said diapering individual and making increasingly whiny demands for hugs in spite of being asked to wait until said two year old is, in fact, diapered, and the dogs in the kitchen start a barking frenzy that should be reserved for attacking Nazi's but is probably in response to one of the baby rabbits who has taken up residence on the other side of the fence in the backyard, and all of the naked, freshly lotioned children demand an explanation for the riot under their feet, one should refrain from stating one's belief that the barking is in response to a baby bunny, in hopes of avoiding the giant, naked, lotiony pile of crying children that will inevitably result when they all attempt to run down the hall at the same time to see the baby bunny.
That is all.
PS- I dare you to come up with a longer sentence.
When one is diapering a freshly lotioned two year old who is screaming and trying to rub all of the lotion off of his face while one's naked, freshly lotioned three year old jumps onto one's back and begins loudly demanding help with her 'unnawear' and one's freshly lotioned, naked four year old starts leaning on said diapering individual and making increasingly whiny demands for hugs in spite of being asked to wait until said two year old is, in fact, diapered, and the dogs in the kitchen start a barking frenzy that should be reserved for attacking Nazi's but is probably in response to one of the baby rabbits who has taken up residence on the other side of the fence in the backyard, and all of the naked, freshly lotioned children demand an explanation for the riot under their feet, one should refrain from stating one's belief that the barking is in response to a baby bunny, in hopes of avoiding the giant, naked, lotiony pile of crying children that will inevitably result when they all attempt to run down the hall at the same time to see the baby bunny.
That is all.
PS- I dare you to come up with a longer sentence.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Singing the Moon...
An explanation.
Every family has their own language. We all have our inside jokes, our favorite stories.. the things that remind us that we do love each other, and why. To me, these things are almost sacred. Singing the moon is one of those sweet, secret phrases in my family's language. It is one of my two favorites (the other being, "I love you the whole world" if you were wondering).
It started with me singing Meron to sleep every night. She didn't sleep. I mean... seriously didn't sleep. Right after Meron came home, there was a time period of several months in which it took us about 2 hours to get her to fall asleep. She would sing, talk, wiggle, pull her ears, scratch herself and physically hold her eyes open to stay awake. I would hold her and sing lullabies, always starting with a song that Ernie sang on Sesame Street:
"Oh, I'd like to visit the moon, on a rocket ship high in the air.
Yes, I'd like to visit the moon, but I don't think I'd like to stay there.
I would like to look down at the earth from above, but I'd miss all the places and people I love.
So although I might like it for one afternoon, I don't want to live on the moon..."
I remember several times being so tired that I couldn't remember any words but those. I'd sing them over and over for hours before Meron would finally collapse in exhaustion. I'd carefully lay her down, tip toe out of her room and go downstairs to relax. Then, twenty to thirty minutes later, she'd wake up screaming and we'd start the whole process over again. It was awful. I knew she was scared. She had decided that she liked us and was scared that we wouldn't be there when she woke up.
After a while, as soon as I started singing she would relax. She knew I was there. She knew it was safe. She knew I loved her. Things slowly got better. We added new songs to our bedtime repertoire. Hana and Malakai came home, and they learned our songs and our family language.
Now, whenever things are sad or scary or lonely, they ask for me to comfort them the same way Meron started to as soon as she learned to talk- "Can you sing me the moon, mama?" And they know I am here, that their world is safe, and that I love them.
Every family has their own language. We all have our inside jokes, our favorite stories.. the things that remind us that we do love each other, and why. To me, these things are almost sacred. Singing the moon is one of those sweet, secret phrases in my family's language. It is one of my two favorites (the other being, "I love you the whole world" if you were wondering).
It started with me singing Meron to sleep every night. She didn't sleep. I mean... seriously didn't sleep. Right after Meron came home, there was a time period of several months in which it took us about 2 hours to get her to fall asleep. She would sing, talk, wiggle, pull her ears, scratch herself and physically hold her eyes open to stay awake. I would hold her and sing lullabies, always starting with a song that Ernie sang on Sesame Street:
"Oh, I'd like to visit the moon, on a rocket ship high in the air.
Yes, I'd like to visit the moon, but I don't think I'd like to stay there.
I would like to look down at the earth from above, but I'd miss all the places and people I love.
So although I might like it for one afternoon, I don't want to live on the moon..."
I remember several times being so tired that I couldn't remember any words but those. I'd sing them over and over for hours before Meron would finally collapse in exhaustion. I'd carefully lay her down, tip toe out of her room and go downstairs to relax. Then, twenty to thirty minutes later, she'd wake up screaming and we'd start the whole process over again. It was awful. I knew she was scared. She had decided that she liked us and was scared that we wouldn't be there when she woke up.
After a while, as soon as I started singing she would relax. She knew I was there. She knew it was safe. She knew I loved her. Things slowly got better. We added new songs to our bedtime repertoire. Hana and Malakai came home, and they learned our songs and our family language.
Now, whenever things are sad or scary or lonely, they ask for me to comfort them the same way Meron started to as soon as she learned to talk- "Can you sing me the moon, mama?" And they know I am here, that their world is safe, and that I love them.
For the Dads
For theirs:
And mine:
I am truly lucky. And oh so grateful.
Happy father's day to my dad, my grandpa and my husband. I love you all, and am so glad that my son has you for his examples of what it means to be a man.
And mine:
I am truly lucky. And oh so grateful.
Happy father's day to my dad, my grandpa and my husband. I love you all, and am so glad that my son has you for his examples of what it means to be a man.
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