To My Son On His 6th Birthday

Dear Patrick, 

In three days, you will be six.  You probably know by now that I love celebrating each new year with you and that I don't mourn the passing of your childhood.  As a child myself, I loved growing up.  I imagine you do, too, and so I am excited for you.  I really am.  By the time you read this, I hope I have made myself clear on that.  This year is a bit different, though.  You're not just a bit taller, a bit funnier, full of a larger vocabulary, kind-of-the-same kid.  You're changing.  And now, as excited as I am for you, I am also a bit sad for me.  

You've heard your birth story a hundred times.  You've heard it three times this week.  I've played it over in my own head at least ten times since the beginning of the month. When you were born, I became a parent.  In a way, a new me was born, too. We started a new journey together, and for that reason, you will always be special.  You changed me.  You made me a new person.  You made me feel the joy of parenthood, of taking care of others.  You made me go to nursing school.  You made me work in pediatrics.  You shaped my life.  You did.  You're six.  And you've drastically changed my life...and others.

You don't know yet how special you are.  I do.  I know your soul in a way that I cannot put into words.  Your newly-acquired attitude, the small chip riding on your shoulder, the sharp tongue that just showed up, I can see what it's leading toward.  I can see how you are developing into a strong, independent, free-thinking man.  It's happening way faster than I imagined, and I am as proud of your ambitious nature as I am frustrated with the present-day disposition.  I know you think that you know it all.  I know that you think I am over-bearing.   I imagine it's only going to get worse.  And I will get mad.  And you will get mad.  But when you and I both call a truce, when we sit down to read a book, when you let down your guard and giggle that giggle I know so well, when your cheeks flush pink with happiness, when your eyes light up like your soul just turned itself on, I see you in there.  I know you're the Patrick I met nearly six years ago.  You're the one who is destined for such great things, you cannot even fathom them yet.  And you're starting to turn into that guy.  And I can be okay with that.  In a few days.

Right now, I can still smell your neck the night we brought you home.  I remember the lighting in the living room when you cried for hours because I hadn't the sense to dress you warmly.  I remember the first time I left the house with you (Leeney came because I completely lost all sense for a few days).  I remember the outfit you wore on your first Valentine's Day.  I remember you as a baby.  My baby.  And, as I got to know you then, I knew you were special.  I know now more than ever.  

Keep your spirit: It spits fire and enthusiasm.

Keep your voice: Ask lots of questions.  Introduce yourself. People love you.  

Keep your humor: Your laugh will make your soul bloom.

Keep that wit: Seriously.  Your smart friends will get it.

Be gentle.  Be humble.  Be patient.  Be understanding.  These things will take some work, but they will make your life extra special.

You, son, are the very root of my heart.  When you grow, it grows.  I'm proud of who you are becoming.  I am proud of who you are.  

You are our favorite Patrick John Edward.  You're our favorite oldest son.  You are the first best thing that has ever happened to us.

We loved you then, we love you still.

Always have, always will.

Happy (almost) birthday, Pjew.

With my whole heart,

Mom

Mom Just Isn't Fun at All

I have been itching to update this blog. I really want to be 100% honest- I don't want to give an inaccurate depiction of how we live, and the last post needed an update. The weekend has passed and it's now Monday morning, so here it is. Prepare yourself to deem me neurotic or just completely dull.

I was so proud of myself for letting go of my own hang-ups and driving forces on Thursday. I had a great night with the kids by myself. Awesome. I was high on life.

But my free spirit didn't even last until the wee hours of the next morning. I couldn't do it! I lost sleep over it. I can't be that person. I spent the morning rushing around like a crazy person trying to get a grip on my to-do list. It was a mess. (Adam was a good sport, though, and kept me going. Let me tell you later about what a good team-player he is. Need a reality check? Find Adam.)

I try. I do. But it looks like Mom just can't have fun like Daddy does. It takes all types to make the world go 'round, I guess. Sigh.

BUT, here I am owning it. If you needed to feel better about yourself this morning, there you go. You probably just realized you are more fun than I am. You're welcome. :)

❤️

Today, I did something not always in my character.  I didn't get bent out of shape about my chores that needed to be done.  I didn't ride Adam's ass nor hold a grudge because he couldn't help me out.  I didn't rush Patrick out the door.  I tried not to worry about how things should be.  I did only what needed to be done.

"Things don't have to be perfect all the time, Catie."

"I wish you still laughed like you used to."

These are two sentences that weren't meant to be related, but they are.  Rather, I think they are.  Adam said both of these to me one night during one of our talks.  It's probably been four months, but for one reason or another, they resonated on the inside.  Here is why: 

1.) I want so badly for the kids to have a happy childhood.  I want it so much, I become fixated on it.  Now, I don't want a you-get-everything-you-want childhood, but I want one full of happy memories and strong parents and loving gestures...and a tidy background.  I want them to remember all of their best moments in a neat and tidy space. I need this for them so much, I cannot relax until it happens.  I mean: I. Can. Not. Relax. Do the kids care? Nope.  So why do I want everything perfect? For me.  It's selfish. It's not about them at all (though I tell myself it is.). To be fair, I want my own memories neat.  Totally silly.

2.) I am happy.  In fact, I am so happy, sometimes I want to burst.  Do you know why? Because I have everything I ever wanted (minus an unlimited bank account and small boobs.)  So why don't I laugh like I used to? See above.  Also, I'm busy.  I make doctors appointments and take the kids.  I keep track of what is going on at Patrick's school.  I manage my schedule and Adam's.  I care for tiny kids and their 10,000 needs and wants.  I grocery shop and meal plan. I manage this house.  And I do it really well.  I mean, not to brag, but I'm good at this gig.  But, one could argue that I have lost part of me in the process.  I forgot about how much it means for the kids to see me having fun.  I forgot how to live in the moment.  

Today, I let it go.  It didn't bother me a bit. In fact, it was great. And I can't always just go about my day all wamsie-pamsie, I know that.  I have to own that I am forever changed by being a homemaker and caretaker of little people.  And that's okay.  Not intentionally, today I quit worrying about that nonsense. I didn't care that I had no control over the chore flow-chart. Because, even though it makes me feel euphoric when things are neat, it's also okay to have a day when everything falls apart. When I order pizza for dinner and have donuts for dessert.  When I forego folding laundry to draw maps with my boys or sit down to watch Dr. Phil while nursing my baby.  It's okay, I tell myself.  Nobody is here to judge me but me (and I'm probably the worst).

Today, nothing happened.  The house didn't fall down or catch on fire. Nobody called me a bad mom (of which I am aware). As we were saying, "cheers" over our pizza slices, I don't think the kids cared that the kitchen was unkempt or that I had a load of clean clothes in the dryer and two more loads on little Hatchie's bed. They were fine.  And I could wear my happiness on my face and not just in my heart.  And I laughed.  Silly laughed.  And it was wonderful.

Except tomorrow will be a bear, but that's ok. I bet the house won't burn down then, either.

Annie is 5 Months!

This will be short, as I'm typing on the iPad and there are few things I hate more, but here is a snapshot (literal and figurative) of my sweet Annie at five months:

1.) Sleeps 12-13 hour stretches at night in her crib.

2.) Gives great big open-mouthed kisses.

3.) Loves to be talked to and mimics expressions.

4.) Smiles and giggles constantly.

5.) Is still only breast-fed but eats like a boss.

6.) Whimpers when I leave her field of vision.

7.) Has mostly given up her paci.

8.) Can roll from front-to-back.

9.) Loves snuggles.

10.) Is very aware of her surroundings.

11.) Has the corner of one tiny tooth just barely visible.

12.) Sleeps in her pearls. (She's classy.)

In short, she's just about the best girl in this house. 

Annemarie Colleen, 01.27.14:

"There's Something Wrong With Leo"

For a few weeks, my absence has been for good cause.  You see, the holidays came and went and both were lovely.  I wish I had updated the actual details for you sooner, but I couldn't.  My mind wasn't really there.  Nonetheless, I'll give you a quick rundown.

1.) We spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day with both our families and Adam and I became acutely aware of how much our separate sides have just become a collective "family."  It's probably happened over time but it's become so obvious after this year.  It's a great to have such a large family support system.  It's even better to share a really good day with them all.  His siblings feel like mine, his parents like my own.  It's a good feeling.  It really is. 

2.) New Years Eve/Day, never being my favorite holiday, was actually spectacular.  Our original plans with all of the cousins were cancelled due to sick kiddos, but it didn't stop any celebrations in our own private homes.  We had a party with the kids (disco dancing, sparkling grape juice toast) and I spent New Years Day with Adam's mom and sisters at a local winery.  You can't really top that. 

But, through it all, I felt like something was wrong. 

It started like this:

On December 13, 2013, at 1am, I got a call from Adam while I was leaving work.  "There's something wrong with Leo."  I still can't think about it (much less write about it) without getting teary-eyed.  He was right.  There was something wrong with Leo, but that was the beginning of it.  While driving to meet Adam halfway on 31, I have never felt so scared in my life.  Never.  Leo was having a hard time breathing.  I don't like to mess around when it comes to kids and airways.  They make me nervous, and I don't scare easily.

                                                 

 

Leo spent the night in the emergency room (with me and Annie.)  He was admitted.  The next day, though, Leo left the hospital, and we thought we were in the clear.  The worst was just coming, though.  Despite his difficulty breathing, Leo had recurrent fevers of 104+. 

 

Christmas Day was the first time it clicked with me that something really was wrong with Leo. He couldn't eat, he went from nearly 37 pounds to 28.6 pounds in a short period of time. His eyes were sunken, his lips cracked and bleeding.  He was drinking water by the gallons, it seemed, but never looking hydrated.  I kept telling myself that it was a virus and it would pass.  The day after Christmas, I told my mom, "I can't take him in today.  If I take him in, they'll admit him."  In hindsight, he probably needed some sort of intervention, but I was scared of what was going to be done: the work-up, the fluids, the swabs and the monitoring.  I didn't want any of it.  I felt I could nurse him back to health myself.  I tried, but as the mucles in his legs started to waste and the bones in his feet became apparent, I became tearful.  And scared.  We ran through the possibilites. 

 

Was it cystic fibrosis?  Diabetes?  An immune deficiency? I'll spare you all of the "what-ifs" that were thrown about.  They weren't good.

 

I looked at the family photo we had taken shortly after Thanksgiving and I cried.  The Leo in the picture was not the Leo we had with us.  Our new Leo was sad and vacant. 

 

Adam said very little.  Except, as I got off the phone with my dad one day, visibly upset, Adam seemed angry.  "F---."  That's all he said as he got off the couch and headed for the stairs.  I asked what was wrong and, after a few seconds of silence, he quietly said, "Leo."  Thirty minutes later, Adam had gone upstairs and not returned.  This is what I found when I went to check on him.

 

The recent polar vertex meant that the inevitable doctor's appointment for Leo was cancelled.  But a miraculous thing happened while we were stuck at home: Leo started to smile again.  After four weeks of absolute inactivity and expression, he was playing with his brothers.  Granted, it was slow at first, and very careful, but he was playing.  His lips looked better.  His cheeks turned pink.  He seemed like Leo.  And he was ravenous. 

 

In the last week,  Leo has made drastic improvements. His eyes still look a little distant, but his face is filling out again.  He's eating everything in sight.  As of today, he's back up to 33 pounds.  He's getting better. 

 

He's still going to get the work-up and the doctor's visit that I so stupidly put off for so long.  We still want to know if there is something wrong with Leo, but most of the serious possibilities are no longer a concern.  It took a long time, but our Leo is coming back. 

 

Last night, he was up at ten, asking for ham and beans and cornbread.  He got that, and then carmel corn, crackers, a cheese stick, chocolate milk.  I'll give him anything he wants if he just keeps getting better.   

Now, I'm not writing this for pity, more for my own recollection.  Clearly, Leo is getting better and we couldn't be happier.  Some family knew how sick Leo was, others didn't.  If this is the first you are hearing of it, I'm sorry. We weren't really into talking about it.  But, now we can.

 

Yesterday, Adam and I went room to room together and watched each child as he/she slept.  We snuggle a little longer with the kids now.  We take naps with them.  We practice patience.  We try to be present when we spend time with them. Leo's illness, whatever it was, was a sign that we needed to slow down--to enjoy each other--to stop taking all of this for granted. 

 

And so we will.

 

And perhaps we'll look for help a little sooner next time the kids get sick.  Lesson learned.  I'd like to think we're decent parents, but we're clearly not medicine men.  Clearly.

 

Three cheers for Leo Alexander.  To health, to weath, and to happiness.

 

God bless.

 

And Now I Cannot Put Her Down

Annemarie was baptized this past weekend, and while I know I have been absent for the last couple of weeks, I'll catch you up on that later.  For now, let's talk about this.

I look forward to our children's baptisms before they are even born.  For me, it's the best day of their lives (so far), and while I have planned for this day for a year, there are always the unexpected curve-balls--the weather, for example.  The weather!  Snow and slick roads and poor visibility...all a disastrous combination for an evening celebration for our lttle girl.  But people came.  Our family drove in from out of town (you know who you are), the house was packed and hectic and I was sweating from trying to keep it all controlled, but it was wonderful.  Annie, your cake was beautiful, the food was abundant, the house was loud and full of laughter of the people who came for you.  You won't remember the day, but we will.  It is so touching to be surrounded by the people we love...and who love us...and who so clearly love our children.  I'm still beside myself with appreciation (though the house is still not put back together.) 

And, still feeling so high on the love, I cannot seem to put Annie down.  She is so happy and so snuggly and so completely pure.  She's so loved.  Above all else, I want her to know that.  Based on the outpouring we have received so far, I don't think she'll ever have reason to doubt that.  Things go wrong and people go wrong and some days are bad, but none of that matters, sweet Annie, because you are loved.  You have a great big family of people who love you.  There is nothing, nothing in the entire world that is better than that. 

So, sleep, sweet girl, while I hold you and watch you dream pretty dreams.  Snuggle and feel safe and happy because life is good for you.  We'll make sure of it.  You deserve no less.

And, to anyone who may read this who came to celebrate with us, or who kept us in their thoughts or wished her good wishes, thank you.  Thank you for giving our sweet girl a good start.  Thanks for being there.  Thank you for loving us. There are no better people than you.   

Pictures to come.

Merry Christmas

'Twas the day before Christmas and all through the house,

Four babies were sleeping, one dad on the couch.

The stockings still lost but there are lights on the tree,

The gifts are all wrapped, one for you one for me.

The suits are all pressed, dresses hanging to wear

For a party with the fam and we all will be there. 

For food and for wine and for lots of good cheer,

And to recap the Bible, like we do every year.

May your days bring you warmth and all that is right,

Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!

Today

If my mother were to read this (and she will; she'll likely be the first--she's dedicated), she'd give me the what-for for still being awake.  It's Saturday morning, 0008, and I should be sleeping.  I should be sleeping because in the last 48 hours, I have worked 14 and slept a total of 5.  I have a house full of sickies (more about that later), and I have at one point, felt as though we were suffocating in viral diseases and vomit.  But not today.

Today was amazing.  It really shouldn't have been.  It should have been good.  Fine.  No big deal.  Patrick had his Christmas party at school, which Adam attended because I had just gone to bed as he was leaving.  I didn't wake up until 9 and, by 1, I had completely lost track of time.  I was delusionally tired.  I found cottage cheese with our glassware and dry cereal in the fridge...among other things.  I barely knew my own name.  I was am exhausted. 

But my (truly amazing and humbling and sort of perfect) sister took the kids and, along with her equally-awesome husband, gave us a free night.  (Note: We have Annie, but I'm still nursing on demand, so we don't really stray far from each other.)

So, tonight.  Tonight, we had fun.  We visited my sister-in-law and her husband, who we adore.  We got to see our sweet and awesomely-named nephew.  We got to be us. 

We went shopping.

We went to dinner.

We discovered a new favorite restaurant.  (One that trumped the last one, and for 1/2 the cost.)

We talked over dinner.  Annie slept.

We planned our 10th anniversary.

We held hands. 

We laughed.

We talked about the kids. 

We talked about all of the reasons why we love our family.

We split three desserts. 

We said "I love you."  And it wasn't before bed or getting off the phone or because we knew the other was mad.

We came home to a clean house.  (I must have done some work in my delusional exhaustion.)

We had fun.  We had lots of fun, which is encouraging, because our life is so hurried and hectic and loud and busied that, aside from focusing on everyone's basic and daily needs, we don't have much time for anything else.  But today we did.  And it was awesome.  And, though I am still exhausted, my soul is renewed, and that makes things good again.  I'm tired, but I'm whole. 

Thank you, God, for this.  Right now.  All of this.  It's...more than enough.  It's my kind of perfect.  

You Have FOUR Kids?

It's the beginning of the holiday season, and I must admit, I'm in heaven.  The tree is up, as is the Christmas village, the garland and bulbs down the staircase, the trees and bows on the front porch, and two giant candy canes hanging on the front door.  (No outdoor lights yet, but we haven't a clue how to get started on that.)

If you would come over right now, here is what you would see:  two boys in jammies watching Christmas Vacation (they think the part with the squirrel in the tree is hilarious), me with my Santa mug and peppermint coffee, a sleeping baby girl in snuggly polka dots and freshly vacuumed floors.  You'd be impressed.  I'm impressed.  (I would not invite you to use the bathroom.  I can't even get started with the toothpaste on the mirror.)  If you were to come over right now, you may think that I have this parenting gig down.  And you would be right.  Just for this second.

Let me tell you the truth.  Putting up the tree was a test of my patience.  As I desperately tried to remain calm and cheerful and let the boys have great fun with it, my anxiety was on overdrive as bulb after bulb was shattered on the hardwood floor.  Every sticky hand that touched a "good" ornament was enough to make me gasp and nearly panic.  Putting up the Christmas village was worse (if you look closely, you'd notice quite a few are missing chimneys.  As it turns out, those snap off pretty easily.)  The start of the Christmas season has turned three wild boys--well, two wild ones and a sensitive one--into crazy people.  They want inside then outside and inside and then outside again, and each trip in and out takes approximately ten minutes to dress and undress.  They are brought to tears over the thought of Santa being disappointed in them and Otto, our beloved Elf, has gone missing.  They have deduced that he is still packed up in a box somewhere (probably true) and has been suffocating for a year.  According to Patrick, he's probably dead and though I didn't kill him on purpose, I should feel really badly about it.  Christmas is magical.  It's wonderful.  And it's brought to my attention the number of people in our house.

Granted, four kids isn't a ton.  Nobody is super impressed with that--five and over shows who the true parenting superstars are, but it's enough to feel like you are drowning in children, in the best way possible.  At least, it is when they are five and under.  Hatch, now two, can tear this house apart in seconds.  While you are fixing one mess, he'll be busy making another.  An entire roll of toilet paper won't flush?  He'll get a toy gun and shove that $%&@ as far down the pipe as he can, then flush on repeat. (You'll have to get kitchen utensils to pry it out from the toilet, piece by piece.)  While you're mopping up that flood, he's found a Sharpie and decorated his bed.  Leave your jewelry out? Check the washing machine.  And, while you are in there, look to make sure the detergent is still high on the shelf because he's been known to steal it.  Meanwhile, Leo is screaming bloody murder because Hatch beat him to all of the good ideas and can't he just play with your phone??  PLEASE?!!!  Why are you so MEAN????  YOU NEVER LET HIM PLAY WITH ANYTHING!!!! YOU HAVE NEVER LOVED HIM!!!  NEVER!!!!!

Patrick arrives home from school and cries for a bit because he's convinced the little boys have touched all of his things.  The ruckus causes Annie to start to wimper, which means all three of the boys rush to her aide, one falls over, bonks her head and now everyone is screaming.

Welcome to the Waldens.  And, as I type this, I'm laughing because it really does play out just.  Like.  This.  And if I make it sound miserable, then let me correct myself.  It's actually quite awesome once you get used to it.  It's not bad at all.  It's great fun once you come to terms with never having nice things again.  That includes clothes because it's inevitable that, as soon as you are dressed, someone will vomit, pee, or spill something on that new sweater.  And you'll wear it anyway because it's just how things go.

You have four kids! You want to spend adult time with your husband in your own room?  Good luck with that.  Two kids are already in your bed and a third is on his way.  Your husband ends up on the floor with a throw pillow and someone's discarded hoodie as a blanket.

You have four kids.  And people are horrified that you take them all to the grocery and stare in disbelief as you have one on each hip, one hanging on your back, and one crying at your side because why can't you just hold him, too?  Why does Leo get EVERYTHING?!  Can you at least get him a sucker?????

If you are me, you're probably laughing and crying at the same time and wondering how you could do things differently so that the kids were always impeccably behaved and quiet and kept their clothes neat and clean and would not chew on the sleeves of every shirt.

But they are not.  Because you're not the von Trapps.  You are the Waldens.  And not a one of you can sing.

The truth is that as nutso as this house is, it's super-awesome, especially this time of year.  We're buzzing with excitement with just a touch of neuroticism.  When we laugh, it's loud.  When we snuggle it's all day long.  We bake and eat cookies and brownies with abandon.  We use Santa and his bag of presents as leverage.  We try not to yell.  We try.  We pick our battles.  And I often think to myself, "Will this matter in a year?"  Most of it doesn't.  And I love the chaos, even if I have to convince myself of it sometimes (honestly, that is what these chronicles are good for.)  Adam is learning to love it.  The kids just think it's normal--because they outnumber us by 100%.  Because their pack is stronger than ours.  But they don't know that yet, and since we still enforce bedtime, we win...every time.

You have four kids?  Correction:  you have [insert your number here] kids?  You have it good.  You have no money and no time, but you have it good.  You do.  Even you, with the jeans that have been peed on.  Go get yourself some egg nog.  You rocked those pee jeans.

Merry Christmas!