Call it what you want

The time is 5:58am. I'll also mention it was Sunday morning, as I know that makes 5:58am earlier to some, though we don't observe weekends in these parts. The place, naturally, is my dark, cool bedroom, in my dark, warm bed. The sound I hear on the monitor: a round five-month old boy, grabbing his feet, rolling around, and blowing raspberries with remarkable gusto.


When baby Eden would choose a moment like this to wake and play, I thought nothing of it to stay in my cotton cocoon and let her talk in her crib as long as she wanted. I knew she didn't *need* to eat so early, and would likely go back to sleep after a while. Judah, however, sleeps (or, in this case, talks) in the same room as his sister, and she sleeps until at least 8. Let me be perfectly clear: EDEN MUST SLEEP UNTIL AT LEAST 8. I confess that I have, on one or five occasions when E has called to me in the seven o' clock hour, stumbled into her room in mock confusion with squinted eyes and told her in a husky whisper that it was still sleeping time, turned her soundspa back on Ocean Waves, and tiptoed back to my coffee and computer screen. The point is this: regardless of Judah's reasons for being awake or what I am "teaching" him by fetching him so quickly after he makes a sound, the main objective is to remove him from earshot of the sleeping toddler, and make it snappy. For Pete's sake, get him out of there.


The seasons are changing, and mornings are getting darker. I carried my hip monkey-in-training down the creaky stairs and clicked on a lamp. Nursing a baby is something I have now done thousands of times, and I can not recall details of this morning's setup that are any different from any other session. Judah wasn't all that hungry, for once, but was more than happy to converse with me with open mouthed smiles, unabashedly doting on his momma. When Judah smiles, his whole face smiles, and he was spilling over with them as I sat with my baby son on the couch at six o' clock this morning. The early hours of my day are precious not just for quiet time to myself, but for the one-on-one I get with my second-born babe, this sweet soul whose infancy seems to have been characterized more by the multitasking and juggling required on MY part to keep up with the toddler in tandem, rather than by his unique personality and milestones. All the sweeter, then, were these moments of intimacy between mother and son. He has my eyes, you know.







I was ditched by a friend yesterday. Even better, she called to tell me she'd double-booked herself a half hour *after* she was supposed to be at my house. Nice. I was hot, but it was a beautiful day, and I knew my mom was out at the Pines by herself since my dad is in Israel. I've had more guilt about packing up the kids and heading to the Pines since Derek told me how much it costs per trip in gas. (What? Jeeps aren't fuel-efficient?) But come on, it's September... a few more weeks and the option won't even BE there. So we barrelled southeast, Judah sleeping and Eden whining incessantly after minute 7 or 8.

I may have let slip a word or two that I wouldn't want repeated by my two-year-old daughter.

The weekend after Labor Day was quiet at Sandy Pines. I suspect most families are getting their bearings, recovering from the first week of school and maybe even sleeping in, but doing it at home and NOT at their vacation trailer in Allegan County. Our activities were not unusual: we chatted, we snacked, we played with kids, I nursed the baby, Eden napped on YaYa's bed. YaYa, however, was becoming increasingly concerned about a bee sting she'd received the day before while landscaping with my brother.

There is a history of less-than-desirable reaction to bee stings. There was a time of concern and indecision: "Is this that bad? This feels weird... is it bad enough to pay for a doctor visit? This is NOT right... I feel kind of funny. But it's been 24 hours, I'm still breathing... Uh... it's the size of a dinner plate..."

So off we went. And let me say this: it is no accident that I was ditched and went out to Sandy Pines. It is no coincidence that Judah had just been nursed and changed and Eden was up from her nap when we decided it was time to head to Prime Care. How could it be that my toddler's behavior went from maniacal whining and senseless fits stretching from two days before to perfect, content quiet play just when we needed her to sit still for another car ride and sitting in an ER? And hm, there's someone to pick up my mom's prescriptions other than my mom, who was recently injected with various medications for her tingly, puffy appendage/ bee buffet. Wow. How weird.

(God has it worked out. God always has it worked out.)

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

On my drive home, I noticed a pair of joggers on the bike path. This is not uncommon, of course; this time of year, I'd imagine, provides ideal conditions for those in our midst who'd CHOOSE to pant and sweat ON PURPOSE. Okay, no surprise here that I'm not a runner, but I took note of these two because I happened upon them on a country road, a fair distance from any intersection. They were heading down the sidewalk, then paused, bouncing, for the briefest of moments, and turned around.

There's a plan I'm not aware of.

Sometimes, I'm part of it.