Melissa (Mike) Moren

See this beautiful woman? She is my grandma (mom's mother). She died when mom was 12, so I never had the privilege of knowing her- but I like to think this picture tells so much of who she was. She's in a boat reading a book. She's giving us a smirk over her shoulder as if to say golly this is the life. 

Grandma Mike had a rough go of it. She lost her house to a fire, she lost her husband to an aneurysm when mom was 2, she lost her son to an auto accident when he was 16. She was left to raise her 6 surviving children on her own in an era when working women were not anyone's ideal. She fought hard and gave my mom some pretty colorful memories- like potato chip/mayo sandwiches and swimming in flooded alleys. Mom was the youngest, with her next sister being a couple years older, so it was just the 3 of them for a while. Though Mom doesn't talk about her growing up years much, when she does it's with a surprised grin over the life they lived. Surviving and making the most of every situation- just like grandma in this picture improving a day on the lake with a book. 

My circumstances don't compare to Grandma's, but I pray that with every bit of bad news I hear, every crisis I face I would face it with tenacity- and a determined smirk to carry on her loving legacy.

Tantrums R Us

That's where Margot thinks we live I think.  She's a tantrummer extraordinaire.  Tonight my brother Isaac and sister-in-law Jess stopped in with their sprout, Daphne.  And Margs wowed them.  I guess I do remember the other kids acting two before they turned two, but apparently since that was all of 1.5 years ago for G, my memory of the actual dirty deeds has evaporated...along with my patience and almost every other fruit of the Spirit when dealing with my children.  The biggest problem for me is realizing how dramatic I am when they're not obeying at bedtime or mealtime or quiet time or anytime.  It's like I throw an adult tantrum that's more pathetic and years more ironic than anything that little miss 22 month old beanpole of a Marg could ever dream of composing.  I don't roll around on the floor (I know that surprises you), but my words are ridiculous and there have been, on occasion, items slammed or tossed in a frustrated mothering moment.  It doesn't happen always...it just feels frequent when they're so crazy and there's chaos and confusion and calamity.  That was me being dramatic.  But seriously, am I the only mom who can throw it down?

Oh sweet child of mine.

Kids say (and do) the darnedest things.

Melting snow and thawing ground are teaming up to create endless puddles for endless enjoyment here at the farm.  Before supper tonight, Oliver peeked his head in from outside and declared, "I'm just gonna go play in my favorite puddle real quick, then I'll be in."  Sentimental little dude.

Georgi had a real spiritual moment today while looking at the butter that was about to go on her banana bread.  "I love this butter.  It's my best friend.  Forever."  Proud mommy.

Miss Margot...oh the trouble she got into today!  After she unwrapped and sampled G's dirty diaper, I airlifted her to the bath.  But don't worry, I didn't stunt all her fun- she did get to pee on the floor en route.  Magically, that puddle didn't get stepped in.  I'm calling it a victory. 

So, who thinks it's a good thing I prayed for patience with my children this morning before they tried me?...though I could've used approximately 2.5 tons more.

Q: Why doesn't Georgi nap?

A: She is too big.  She hasn't outgrown nappies, but her Nana bought her some panties.  During naptime she had to try on all seven pairs at once (and separately) and show Betty (her dolly), and probably Merida and Barbie- this is much more important than sleep, people.  G isn't interested in potty training, she's interested in underwear.  Homegirl is almost 3 and has never officially gone anywhere besides her diaper (excluding the myriad of places she left her mark while she was an infant).  There have been a couple "quick!  Get her to the potty!" flukes, but that's just what they were...pure coincidence in which the stars aligned in order for everything to happen in the right order.  I don't have the patience to ask her every 5 minutes if she has to go, nor the patience to clean up a million and one accidents every day.  I realize that patience is a virtue we can ask God for, but I need His grace in far more substantial subjects and measure than potty training.  For example, Gigi spilled her milk twice at breakfast (technically Marg climbed up on the table while I was loading the dishwasher and spilled it for her once).  Do you know what my voice or my face did after that second spill?  Eek.  Earlier today Oliver told me he had thought about playing a game on my phone, but then he imagined what I would look like if he did that without asking, so he decided not to.  I don't know if that's good or bad.  My mad face puts enough fear in my kids to make them do the right thing?  That seems wrong...but it's working for right now.  We're still trying to train the heart instead of the head on our little charges, but when it can, a frightful mad face wins.


A year ago, the babies and the weather looked like this.



This year-- Yes, those are different people.  The weather is also different.

 

Mothers

Some of the most beautiful people in my life are moms. Inside and out, these women radiate the beauty of Christ's love and creation.

Taken during our Mother's Day brunch festivities.  Capturing this was a riot, as you might imagine.  I'd like to draw special attention to my lovely sister-in-law, Heather, holding sweet SariAnn; my incredible mother-in-law, Bonnie; Bonnie's mom, Betty.  [is it sad that Margs was napping during the photo??]

Behold, Carol Kasper.  She is as gracious and gorgeous as she looks.  And there's my sister-in-law (married to my bro, Isaac), Jessica- WHO'S HAVING A BABY!  I said I would post about Isaac and Jessica and their move to MN from DC...and I still will.  I just couldn't hold in the excitement of their Bun any longer!

This photo was taken right after Marg was born.  Also brand new: my little niece, Zarriah (pronounced Zaar-E-uh).  That beauty holding her?  My baby sister, Sally- Z's mum.  My precious sister Anna celebrated her second Mother's Day this year as mom to her studly little Theo.

Grandma Eleanore Kasper, my dad's mama, gave birth to and raised SIXTEEN CHILDREN!  She's an example of strength and survival to me. :) 

Bossy big brother-isms

Oliver has a new one. When asked, "Is your baby going to be a baby sister or a baby brother?" if he doesn't say sister/Blackie, he may say, "A baby brother. We're gonna name him Popsicle Icicle." I have no idea where this came from, as it is with most of what comes out of his mouth. There's an extensive list of words we can't say - the words that I've heard roll off his tongue and make me wince. The problem with me telling him we don't say 'stupid'... now I'm not allowed to say it either. The preschool police will have you eating your words if 'shut up' crosses your lips. "We don't say shut up, Mom." Thanks Olives. Another good one: Dad called Oliver a big brother. Oliver responded, "Good job, Grampa."

SOOO 2.

Oliver has successfully reached another milestone. Aside from turning two last month, he's now entered the world of "Why?" As he asks me, I ask anyone who will listen - WHY? Why does he throw fits at church? Why does he obey me nicely (if not surprisingly) all day, until we get to the checkout in the grocery store, where he refuses to look at the cashier smiling down nicely at him, and instead grunts, screams, and tries to flip out of the cart? Why does he still wake me up in the middle of the night? asking me to find his nuk? Why can't I find the guts to take away his nuk? Why do I love him so much? The answer to all of these questions is: because.
"Because God demonstrates His own love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us." Romans 5:8
So even though Olives makes me feel like I'm losing my mind, I love him.

"NO"

Yes, that's Oliver's new word. He just started saying it yesterday, but so far I don't think he understands exactly how or where to apply it in life. It's only a matter of time before he begins telling me whether or not he'll obey, instead of just physically defying me (which he is in the habit of doing). He's been quite the stinker - looking at me after I tell him 'no' (irony?), and doing whatever it was that he got in trouble for with so much rebellion in his face. Perhaps I'm being a little extreme. My one year old may not be rebellious, but when he shoots me that look of ' what ya gonna do about it?' I'm quickly brought back to reality. My child is not the cherub he pretends to be, but a descendant of Adam - which makes him heir to natural sin. I'm always annoyed by moms who act like their child can do no wrong. Like when their kid pushes another over, they go to the other person's innocent child and accuse them. Though I can feel myself doing that, or at least considering it, it's denial. I want to believe that little Olive is an angel. -My son is the perfect kid we've all been waiting for!- But even now, as he cries in the background wanting me to help him down the stairs (which he can maneuver just fine on his own but simply needs me to stop doing what I'm doing), I'm hit with the truth: no body's perfect, including my precious baby. He's making that quite clear.
In other news, Oliver got new sippy cups. He is so proud of himself, carrying his cup of water around like it's a prize. Oh the simple joys in life.
Also, backtracking to a post where I quoted 'Sheep in a Jeep' - I credited Margot Apple with the writing, but she's the illustrator (the pictures are amazing). Nancy Shaw wrote the beloved book. Way to go ladies.

Triumph

As brought to my attention by my dear husband, my blogging has not been as clever lately as it was in the beginning, when excited energy filled my fingers as I wrote. A pang of frustration and reality hit my heart. The moment he revealed this, I knew it was true -- oh where has all the quick-wit gone? Though there isn't an extremely large population tuning in ..ahem, 'logging-on'.. to read what I have going through my head, I don't want to disappoint even a small audience. Truth: my life is far from boring. This busyness causes a constant hum in my head -Dad, you can relate- and in addition to the melancholy feel of our February/March climate I think a good all-encompassing word for my state of mind would be POOPED.
Something definitely the opposite of dull happened just Saturday and although it may not promote happy feelings, I'll share. First you must know that Oliver hates getting his diaper or clothes changed. I could skip my daily regimen of Pilates in exchange for one diaper and clothes fight, it's that intense. I should make a fitness video for moms... Anyway, Saturday I was feeling exhausted and willing to do whatever Oli wanted in order to prevent a fight. He opted to play with one of the clean diapers in the basket. Great! After refreshing his pants, I let him play with his new toy which he actually thought was a hat. There he was trying to get the diaper on his head, while testing his sweet and shaky walking skills. Then I watched in horror as he fell, hands above his head, right on his poor little face! You know those bad dreams when you can't find your voice to warn of trouble and you can't run from it because you're totally paralyzed? My worst nightmare came true. There I sat, silent, as he crashed directly onto his forehead producing a hickey-like red mark that outlasted the weekend. His nose was bloody and he was crying. (I had to stay strong for him or I would have been crying as well.) I have a feeling there is much more of this to follow...
And so I admit that the content of my posts have been somewhat lackluster (excluding that last paragraph). I guess being a mom is becoming more of an all-consuming challenge than even I had until now realized. I love it, though. It's worth the late nights and near heart attacks. It's worth the countless lessons in humility. It's worth my sanity. Well...
So in answer to the question, "Isn't being a mom the greatest..most of the time?" I say YES. I still can't believe God chose me, but I'm sure glad He did.

Quotable moment

"Careful when you pray for humility. You might get pregnant."
- Me
(Not now, but with Oliver. I'm in the process of realizing that there is nothing as humbling as being pregnant, giving birth, and being a mom.)

Spanks

If I were to tell everyone in the world to raise your hand if you don't believe in spankings, Oliver's hand would be among the first to shoot up. Not that he believes they don't exist (he has the experience to prove otherwise), but he doesn't believe in their power or effectiveness. I'm starting to agree...Help??

OLIVER ISAAAACCCC!!!!!!!!!

If you came to our house, that's something you would most likely hear after being here only a few minutes. I've grown so accustomed to the need for this stern warning, it pretty much just rolls off my tongue with little or no effort and certainly no surprise.
Action that warrants this response? Oliver's new trick of hiding his toys in the heat vents. I knew he was up to something when I heard a lot of banging coming from the other room. Upon arrival I see my boy fiercely whacking things (table, chairs, etc.) with the formerly harmless vent -a turning point in our baby-proofing saga. When we remember, we put a chair leg over the vent (his favorite location being the dining room), but we are only human as it turns out, and often forget the after-dinner drill. Yesterday (being one of the forgetful days) I heard a lot of clamoring coming from the dining room. Hurrying to stop the destruction, I noticed something poking out of the duct work...a drumstick!!!! His toy drumset was being commissioned into the land of lost toys, apparently. There it stood, at attention, one end in the floor. This drumstick should receive a medal for pointing me in the direction of so many other toys that were MIA. After using the drumstick for a fishing pole, I found: a cow, a pirate, a horse. Oliver Isaaacccccc!!!!!!!

paper or plastic?

Something that I dread: grocery shopping. I don't know why it's such a nightmare to me. I guess it could have something to do with spending a lot of money on something I'll have to bag, put away, take out and cook, consume, clean up after, and then have nothing more to show for it. Unlike shopping for the house, even if it's just essentials, food has a date with destiny and is then gone forever. Oh, I love food. I love eating. But the sorry fate of food being bought must be eating at me (pun intended) while I push the cart around the store in a mildly depressed state.
Okay, I may be dramatizing this a bit...no, I don't need counseling for a quick trip to the market. I just wish I could handle taking the list and getting it done instead of having an instant wave of disgust and fear wash over me.
Having little Oliver with adds to the insanity, which can either be a good distraction from reality, or make me want to pull my hair out before we get to the frozen foods aisle. He's a pretty good helper, but would rather eat the food while packaged instead of waiting until we're home and it's prepared. Plus he usually chooses something grotesque to grab hold of and gnaw at while I wheel him around the store. Pretty sure he loves the unknowns of the grocery store...which I dislike.
He's like his daddy who, defying all logic, loves to grocery shop and actually becomes inspired, ending up buying lots of things that weren't on the list--minus a few things that were.
Andrew's our designated shopper, so I rarely even have to go, but I was just sitting here looking at our current list thinking I should be brave. The sick feeling set in. Woe is me.

Oliver: here and now

I hope that no one tires of the main topic of most of my writing..he's just so doggone interesting and active and this is my life now. I couldn't have had a blog pre-Oli, because I wouldn't have wanted to promote boredom. Now there is just an endless story..he's an unlimited resource..

Here is something - my son is a....POINTER!!!! It started with Andrew and I asking him, "Where's the Christmas tree?" It didn't matter where he was, near a Christmas tree or not, that question would prompt him to point..at nothing really. Well, then he started pointing at random people. It's evolved into more of a jab now. He'll get his little finger out there and just start poking at the air. He did it to a lady at church the other day. Quite embarrassing.

Also, Oliver is an ADVENTURER..you'll notice him climbing through a chair in the picture. He's always wanting to get into small spaces, such as under my desk, his crib, the Christmas tree. He once tried to crawl under the pack n play.. I guess the three inches of clearance were not enough for his head.

Most of all, this little dude is a BLESSING. I never would have thought it possible to enjoy all the labor (before and after!) that motherhood brings, but it's just so much fun! I mean, it's exhausting and scary and smelly, too, but all of those things rolled up and tied with love equal the greatest blessing and responsibility I could ever know. Andrew and I acknowledge almost daily how amazing it is that God knows and cares enough for us that we were given the opportunity to experience parenthood. Talk about adventure. We are lusty adventurers.

So, here are the Toftness and Kasper families at Thanksgiving time. We're at a record pace of adding 1.5 people to the families on average each year. That's exciting stuff!



This next topic has nothing to do with these pictures, but it has been a very dominating factor in my life lately: waking up in the night with Oliver. He's been sick, so I understand that he's having a rough time sleeping, but I find myself going back to bed -after calming him- and lying there in such abstract positions, waiting, hoping that Oliver won't hear me pull the covers up. It's a very delicate process..one that Andrew doesn't seem to understand. He doesn't usually wake up when Oli does (though lately,a couple times, he miraculously has), instead, what he does on a normal occasion is rustle around and make as much noise as is humanly possible while still snoozing. So here I am, all distorted and disturbed thinking I could possibly wake my baby up by the slightest bump or fumble, and there's Andrew, completely oblivious to life in the middle of the night. I envy him. Though, I must say, those times with my baby in the wee hours are very precious to me, as I rock him back to sleep singing "Jesus Loves Wuv." He's actually turning into quite the little cuddler . What a joy.

So aside from a daddy and boy having head colds, all is well in our home. I pray the same for all.

Merry Christmas!!