Happy 1st Birthday, Aria

Dear Aria,

Happy birthday, sweet daughter!

My heart cannot handle the reality that you're turning one. You have been here for a whole year, and what a year it has been. Last year you arrived a little past your due date, and were heartily welcomed by our family.

With your grand entrance as the third child, our family life got more topsy-turvy. Now the kids outnumber the parents, and it's wild and fun and messy. You often make loud noises and yells, seeming to simply want to be noticed. Don't worry, we see you!

This past year is filled with lots of memories with you. You went from barely sleeping (ugh!) to sleeping through the night (hooray!). You traveled to California, took your first plane ride in first class, got dedicated at church, tried and loved most new foods, got your first four teeth, and are almost walking.

You love dancing to music, laughing with your siblings, putting everything into your mouth, saying "Dada" and "uh-oh," eating food samples at Costco, splashing in the ocean, being tossed into the air by Dad, taking baths, and tearing up paper.

We celebrated your first birthday with all of your grandparents and a lunch party. You blew out a candle and got a bowl of ice cream, which you loved until you experienced your first brain freeze. Then you cried and screamed.

May your next year of life bring lots of wonder and joy.

I'm so grateful that you are in our lives. I love, love, love you.

Your Mama

A Generous Heart

Every night before our kids get into bed, we have "talk with God time." It's some space we create to listen to God and tell him what's on our hearts. Usually, our kids pray something simple, such as "God, please help Daddy have a good trip" or "Thanks for a good day." Sometimes we ask God if there's anything he wants to say to us.

The other night, Aaron's prayer was a bit different. He said, "God, please give Jade and her family a home to live in." I asked him about it afterwards, and he explained that his friend and classmate Jade currently lives in a tent because her family can't afford a home. We talked more about money, homes, and how sometimes people's basic needs are not being met.

The next day, I discovered Aaron counting money from his piggy bank. He has about $11 dollars, mostly from some birthday money and loose change he manages to find. He collected a portion of the money, put it into a plastic bag, and told me that he was giving it to Jade.

Maybe this shouldn't have been surprising to me. Our family talks a great deal about kindness and thoughtfulness. We affirm the small and big moments when our young kids share their belongings or extend kindness to people. But Aaron's desire to give away his money struck me as particularly beautiful, especially coming from a kid who is starting to understand the value of money. He has mentioned more than once that he wants to save his money for an iPad.

At this moment, I am challenged and inspired by my 6-year-old son's generosity. He doesn't have much, but he gives freely out of what he has. He sees a need of a friend, and doesn't just ask God to provide, but allows himself to be a provider.

Sometimes I am overwhelmed by the seemingly unending needs and hurts in this world of ours, and I become paralyzed. I don't do anything. Or at other times, I shut off my empathy response, and become solely focused on myself. Again, the result is that I don't do anything.

But in my heart of hearts, I want to be generous.

I want to value and cherish others. I want to see that what I can offer to others is important. And I want to more deeply understand that generosity has been extended to me.

This is my prayer today:

Thank you, God, for all that I have been given.
Help me to love and give generously.

Halloween Costumes

We take Halloween pretty seriously in our family. An excuse to dress up in costume and procure free candy? Yes, please. This year we have a theme for the whole family. Photo to be posted after Halloween. Until then, here are some throwbacks from past years.

 Surfer Dude & Pillsbury Doughboy

 Upside Down Guy & Chinese Lucky Cat

 Monk, uh...Creepy Guy(?) & Marcy from the Peanuts

 Russell (holding Dug), Kevin & Carl from Up

 Cat in the Hat (my dad), Ladybug, Court Jester (my mom) & Hula Girl.

I was too lazy to dress up.

 Sully & Boo from Monster's Inc.

Olaf & Batman

That Time I Lost It With My Kid

Before I became a parent, I used to imagine there was this child-raising formula: love + good intentions = great parenting. Now that I have actual experience in actual parenting, I realize that it doesn't really work that way. Because guess what? Parenting involves human beings. And sometimes, humans beings are messy. 

I lost it last week with my daughter.

She is three. She is passionate, feisty, and sometimes goes berserk (as three-year-olds are inclined to do). On average, she has about 3-4 meltdowns per day. These meltdowns may be triggered by any number of horrible experiences. Such as her oatmeal didn't have enough milk in it. Or I asked her to pick up the utensil she dropped. Or her pull-up diapers "feel squishy."

Last week, I was helping her get ready for naptime. She was in her bed, and asked me to turn her fan on. I did. Then she complained, "I can't feel it!" I adjusted the fan closer. "I still can't feel it!" I pulled the fan as far as the cord would reach, and positioned it four inches from her face. "I still can't feel it!" I took a deep breath, reminded myself that I needed to be the calm adult, and moved the fan again. "Okay, this is the best I can do," I told her. She kicked the air and shouted at me, "I STILL CAN'T FEEL IT!"

Snap. My frustration boiled over, I lost that tiny shred of rational thinking, and I shouted back, "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?"

Which is obviously a productive question to ask a toddler. But I didn't stop there. I stormed out into the living room, to where my husband was sitting on the couch.

In a desperate attempt at sympathy and help, I said, "I don't know what to do with her FUCKING FAN."

It was basically my version of a tantrum. Things were not going the way I wanted, and I was angry.

Steve's eyes went wide, as he silently pointed toward the coffee table. Crouched under the table was our six-year-old son. My kid had just witnessed his mom yelling the f-word loud and clear. While that new bit of information dawned on me, my gallant husband tried to play off the moment, saying, "Hey Aaron, were you hiding from Mom? She had no idea you were there! Okay, time for your nap."

In that moment, I was completely horrified at how badly I had messed up.

Mean, accusing voices spun through my head. What a terrible mother you are. Good parents don't yell at their kids. Those are the words I hear when I screw up. I know they are lies, yet I still hear them.

But then a different voice spoke up in me. You're human. She's human. Humans screw up sometimes. You're learning.

A mentor of mine, who I consider to be an amazing mom to her three kids, once told me, "I love my kids. But sometimes, I really want to just kick them." Her words capture for me just how human and messy this parenting thing is.

I love my kids and try to do my best as their parent, but sometimes I really screw up.

I'm learning to be okay with losing it once in awhile. And to apologize and ask forgiveness. And to extend compassion when other people lose it.

Maybe parenting isn't so much about doing it great all the time. Maybe it's more about sticking with each other through the mess and screw ups, and continuing to love each other.

Happy 3rd Birthday, Alexandra

I write letters to my children on their birthdays. Here is last year's letter to Alex.

Happy birthday, Alex! You are three, officially a "big girl," according to you.

As I write this, you are currently skipping around the living room with a balloon tied to a ribbon, joyously shouting, "I'm flying a kite!" with your cave-woman curls bouncing around your face. Such is the energy and imagination of a three-year old.

This spring you were usurped by Aria from your Youngest Child throne. It was a brutal few months of extra meltdowns and pick-me-uuuuup's, but we made our way through it. I think you're now used to being the middle child. You are affectionate with baby Aria. And though you and Aaron get into conflicts many times a day, you are quick to apologize and forgive.

You just started attending preschool, which you jumped into with excitement. You're in the "Turtles" class, and your teachers say you enjoy helping with cleanup and playing with play dough. That's how you often approach life - with confidence and fervor.

Every day with you involves the full spectrum of emotion, leading to us dubbing you "Mount Vesuvius" (you never know when it'll erupt) and "Jekyll and Hyde." You can go from sweet and affectionate to horribly grouchy, which makes life with you never dull.

You are our little extrovert, constantly narrating long paragraphs. Thrown into normal conversation are your hilarious Alex-isms:

Yestertime - yesterday, last time, or any past moment
Cough you - what you say instead of "bless you" when someone coughs
"Ff" instead of "sp" - fippers (slippers), fart (smart), fuh-pive (surprise)
Mapkin - napkin

You love bathtime, eating quesadillas, art classes, yelling "fuh-pive!" when Daddy walks in the door, singing the Alphabet Song, going to Costco, wearing your Minnie Mouse pajamas, playing at the beach, and pretending to be a kitty.

I love you a lot, all the time.

Your Mommy

Happy 6th Birthday, Aaron

I write letters to my children on their birthdays. Here is last year's letter to Aaron. 

Dear Aaron,

Happy Birthday, son. Holy ninjas, you're six!

We had a birthday party at Magic Island Park with family, friends, a bounce house, and chocolate cupcakes. This was the first birthday when you had an opinion on friends to invite; it was fun to see you playing with your classmates.

Highlights of this year...

You started kindergarten, where you enjoy playing during recess and learning how to read. I realize that learning to read is a pretty common skill, but it amazes me that you've gone from identifying letters to actually reading multi-syllable words and sentences. You also love math, and thank goodness your dad is a great math teacher, because I am totally not. I will do lots of art projects with you, though.

You're a great older brother to your sisters. Being the oldest comes with challenges, but you're learning. You and Alex go from best pals to worst enemies about twenty times a day, and often need coaching in conflict and reconciliation. You're super affectionate with baby Aria, and treat her with so much gentleness. Thanks for your willingness to help with dishes, laundry, and the occasional diaper change.

I can sense you transitioning from little boy to boy. You still need our help in lots of ways, but are also growing into your own independent person. You still cry if you're hurt or sad, but are now able to recover quicker and manage your emotions.

The other day you took your first karate test (and passed!), and I was amazed at your confidence. You take after Dad, and love board games. On a typical week night, we'll sit around the dinner table and play a good game of Settlers of Catan. Not the kid version, but the real adult one.

You love peanut butter sandwiches, reading Elephant and Piggie books, making paper airplanes, watching the Friday Waikiki fireworks from our porch, playing Plants vs. Zombies on my iPhone, making people laugh, counting the money in your piggy bank, and sleeping with Herman the stuffed manatee at night.

There are days when I look at you with disbelief. How did the time pass? And I remind myself to give you a quick hug and to listen well to you.

I love the boy you are, and the boy you're becoming.

I love you always.

Your Mom

Aria's Birth

Aria's due date, March 5th, passed without event.

Days went by without any changes, and our doctor scheduled us for an appointment to induce labor on the morning of March 10th. My delivery with Alexandra was induced with pitocin, and I wasn't excited to repeat that experience, so I hoped that I'd go into labor naturally.

Around 1am that morning, I started feeling regular contractions. By the time Steve and I showed up at the hospital at 8am, contractions were pretty painful, and I knew that I was close to delivering our baby. The nurse checked, and told us that I was 6 centimeters dilated (over halfway there). To help labor along, the nurse recommended a low dose of pitocin via an IV. She asked if I wanted an epidural for the pain. After a moment of consideration, I said no. No epidural. The pain was bad, but I figured if I could do it with my two previous births, I could do it again.

Soon after receiving the pitocin, contractions came faster and stronger. Around 11am, I was asking (probably yelling, actually) if I could start pushing. When you say this to the nurse, a flurry of activity is set in motion. The doctor and aides jumped into action, setting up all their medical gear, breaking my water, and finally saying, "Okay, go for it...start pushing!"

Side note: our actual doctor was running late, and so a different doctor did the delivery. That happened with ALL three of our births.

I pushed with each of the next 3-4 contractions, and Aria came out. Healthy, calm, and alert. Steve cut her umbilical cord. She was wiped down, and wrapped up in a blanket, and handed to me.

Oh, the joy and relief and burst of love at meeting our daughter!

Her name, Aria, means "lioness," in Hebrew, and "air" in Italian (also used as a musical term for an operatic solo). A blend of strength, beauty, and nurturing. All our children have Chinese middle names, and Aria's is Li Mei, meaning "strength and beauty."

This third delivery was just as painful as my others. I fantasized about the baby just slipping out without much effort, but alas, that was not my experience. Contractions, pushing, and an episiotomy were all really rough. But in the end, I had another un-complicated, non-pain-medicated, healthy delivery, so count me grateful.

In this first week since Aria's arrival, we've had an influx of friends and family (namely, Steve's mother, who is the BEST), around to help with meals and other practical needs.

We are enamored with Aria. Aaron and Alex are adjusting to having a newborn sister - with some grace and some turmoil. Steve and I are living on less sleep and figuring out how to parent "zone defense" style.

Baby Aria Is Here!

On March 10, 2015 (5 days after her due date), Aria Li Mei Marks entered into the world!

She's a healthy newborn - loud cryer, constant eater, cat napper, and maddeningly dead set against sleeping at night.

And now we have THREE kids. The chaos just got real. We're figuring out a new normal with an infant, toddler, and 5-year-old, which feels both insane and fun.

Love Is...

While sipping my lukewarm coffee and hoping my daughter takes a long nap today, I think for a moment about Valentine's Day. My first thought: Thank heavens my kid's kindergarden class doesn't require cupcakes or homemade Valentine's. My second thought: I wonder how to celebrate, reflect, and expand love today. 

I'm not that interested in receiving chocolates or a teddy bear holding a heart from my husband. I'm celebrating Valentine's Day by pouring love into people around me. And embracing the ways I am experiencing love. 

Love is taking a deep, long breath while my two kids fight over a toy for the twentieth time, and embracing another moment to teach them about kindness.

Love is connecting with a friend who is struggling through depression and fatigue, and hoping and persevering with her. 

Love is cooking dinner for our family, and keeping our nightly ritual of eating together. Even if it's a brief moment that is shared over a meal of chicken nuggets, it's still something good. 

Love is my unborn baby squirming in my stomach, and feeling such gratitude and awe for this little person. She's being welcomed into a very love-abundant family. 

Love is my sister-in-law texting me to recommend a book to me, and asking how I'm doing. We're an ocean and timezone apart, but our friendship still thrives and I'm thankful for her. 

Love is my toddler snuggling up to me, requesting to read Elephant and Piggie again. As I read it to her, I make sure to deliver the dialogue with gusto that would make my drama teacher proud. After I finish, I breathe in my daughter's scent and mentally capture this passing moment. 

Love is rounding up another load of laundry into the washing machine so our family has clean clothes to wear. 

Love is listening intently to my son as he talks about his favorite part of his day (getting a cookie) and his least favorite part of his day (when Kyle bothered him in the lunch line). 

Love is enjoying a tear-inducing, belly-aching laugh with my husband before we drift off to sleep. 

I may not be "celebraing Valentine's Day" this weekend, but I am celebrating the abundance of love that is coursing through my life. 

Chicken and Smoked Sausage Gumbo

A strange ritual of sorts has emerged for me during late pregnancy.

It's not the ritual of freaking out about how messy our house is, and we urgently need to clean and unclutter (though that happens). It's not the ritual of cramming our infant car seat into the car, and cursing because "why are these things so damn difficult to install?" (thankfully Steve is our resident car seat installation expert).

I'm talking about the weird ritual of cooking gumbo. Every time I'm in the last month of pregnancy, I have the urge and instinct to make a huge pot of gumbo. A week before I had my firstborn Aaron, I made gumbo that served as our final meals before going into labor. I also had the foresight to freeze batches for later, when we were in the throes of caring for a newborn. Later, when Alex's arrival was imminent, I did the same thing. Here I am with our third child on the way, with a newly made stock pot of gumbo sitting in the fridge.

Gumbo takes a lot of time and love. Maybe that's a metaphor for us preparing to welcome a new baby into the family. I dunno, my brain is fried these days. Anyway, gumbo. It's a long, slow process of chopping, searing, roux-stirring, and simmering. You can't rush it, so it becomes a practice in slowing and meditating. But oh how the result is worth the work.

This gumbo is rich in flavor, owing its deliciousness to the dark roux and perfect Creole spice blend. I've made this with various meat combinations, including shrimp or other seafood. But I think I like the simplicity of chicken and sausage best.

Chicken and Smoked Sausage Gumbo (adapted from Emeril Lagasse)

print this recipe

1 tablespoon plus 1/2 cup vegetable oil
1 pound smoked sausage (such as andouille or kielbasa), cut crosswise in 1/2-inch pieces
4 pounds chicken boneless and skinless thighs, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 tablespoon Creole seasoning
1 cup all-purpose flour
2 cups chopped onions
1 cup chopped celery
1 cup chopped bell peppers
8 cloves garlic, minced
1 teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon cayenne
3 bay leaves
6 cups chicken stock
1 28-ounce can stewed tomatoes, drained
2 cups frozen sliced okra
1/2 cup green onions
1 tablespoon file powder (optional)
White rice
Hot sauce

In a large cast iron Dutch oven or stock pot, heat 1 tablespoon vegetable oil over medium-high heat. Add sausage, and cook until well browned, about 8 minutes. Remove sausage and drain on paper towels. Set aside.

Season chicken with Creole seasoning and add in batches in the oil remaining in the pot. Cook over medium-high heat until well browned, about 5 minutes. Remove chicken, let cool in a bowl, and refrigerate until ready to use.

Combine the remaining 1/2 cup of oil and the flour in the pot over medium heat. Cook, stirring slowly and constantly for 20-25 minutes to make a dark brown roux (the color of chocolate).

Add onions, celery, bell peppers, and garlic, and cook, stirring until wilted, about 4-5 minutes. Add the sausage, salt, cayenne, and bay leaves. Stir and cook for 2 minutes. Stirring slowly add the chicken stock, and cook until well combined. Bring to a boil. Reduce heat to medium-low and cook, uncovered and stirring occasionally for 1 hour.

Add chicken, tomatoes, and okra to the pot, and simmer for 1-1/2 hours, skimming off any fat that rises to the surface.

Stir in file powder and green onions. Serve over rice, with hot sauce as needed. Makes 6-8 servings.

Happy Things for the Solo Parent

Steve is away this week on a work trip. He usually has these trips about once a month, so we're learning how to make it work with our family life. On my end, even though we've done this a few times, I still need to intentionally find ways to help the kids and myself thrive. Here are a few happy things I've been doing this week to enjoy the solo parenting:

1. Go on a walk with my toddler.

2. Take a trip to Starbucks and guiltlessly splurge for a gingerbread latte.

3. Try a new haircut. 

4. Bake and cook with the kids. Aaron wanted to make mochi, so that's our fun activity for this afternoon. 

5. Facetime or text with Steve when I need to connect with my faraway spouse. 

6. Do spontaneous things with the kids. Unplanned trip to Costco because the kids enjoy the samples...why not? Say yes to things they want to do (unless it's Aaron asking if I will play the card game War with him. Then it is ALWAYS no.)

7. Have lots of story time with the kids on the couch. 

8. Take naps while my toddler naps. 

9. Ask a friend to watch the kids so I can be alone for a few hours. 

10. Cook simple, quick meals.

11. Go to sleep earlier than usual. 

12. Connect with friends who get me.

13. Watch Top Chef, Parenthood, or other fun, mindless TV.
14. Be okay with less showers, messier floors, and dirty laundry.

15. Stretch and do yoga. 

16. Give kids some crayons, Scotch tape, and paper. Let them create!

17. Read.

18. Take a few deep breaths and let go of expectations for how things "should go."

What to Expect When You're Expecting Again

After being pregnant once, each subsequent pregnancy is a completely different experience than the first.

The first pregnancy is the Honeymoon. You are a human-creating Goddess. Everything is new and beautiful. Even the uncomfortable moments like morning sickness are nature's pleasant reminder of the miracle growing inside you. Strangers look at your belly adoringly, and comment how lovely you look. Second (or third or fourth) pregnancy has lost the romantic novelty factor. You don't glow anymore...you're just crazy tired because you're waddling around, taking care of your firstborn. Strangers give you pitying glances at your stomach in the grocery store as you try to console a crying toddler. 

I'm currently in the second trimester of a third pregnancy. Which means that I have done extensive research on the differences between first and additional pregnancies. Here are a few things to expect when you're expecting again:

Eating:

First pregnancy - You take notes when your O.B. runs through the list of pregnancy dietary rules, and obey them with vigor. No sushi, no alcohol, no soft cheese. You up your intake of folic acid and omega-3, and dutifully take your daily prenatal vitamin. Only the best nutrients for your little fetus. 

Second pregnancy - You realize that 9 months is way too long to abide by all those nit-picky eating rules. You eat some raw fish and have a few sips of wine, and feel free to not go crazy about the outside possibility of contracting a food-borne disease. If you're lucky, you remember to take a prenatal vitamin once a week. Mostly, you just hope that your baby can glean enough nutrients from ramen noodles and ice cream, because that's all you can stomach.

Shopping for Baby Stuff:

First pregnancy - There's a whole world of new things to get for your new baby. And people are excited to give them to you. So you spend hours upon hours researching the best strollers, carseats, and baby carriers out there. You create a baby registry, and get to open loads of cute baby stuff at your shower. 

Second pregnancy - No big baby showers. You have most of the stuff you need, albeit used versions with pasta sauce stains. All you really need at this point is to wipe down the high chair, and buy some new pacifiers because the old ones are in some sandy crevice in the car. Second baby has to be content with hand-me-downs. It'll build character, right?

Body Changes:

First pregnancy - Every change is an exciting milestone. You take photos of your growing belly each week. When you finally have enough of a bump to buy maternity clothes around week 20, you go on a special shopping trip with your girlfriends. People encourage you to rest and nap as much as possible; you happily comply. Your husband offers to give you massages and get you your favorite ice cream at your whim. 

Second pregnancy - Your stomach is so huge by the end of your first trimester, people think you're about to go into labor. You forget to take belly photos until maybe halfway through the pregnancy. But by then you don't feel beautiful; you feel huge and bloated, and you don't want to document your chubby face and butt. No naps for you, because you have a young kid to tend to. You pass out around 8pm every night from sheer exhaustion.

Birth Preparation:

First pregnancy - You research the birthing process extensively, reading every book and website possible. You watch videos on the Bradley method, write up a very detailed birthing plan, and discuss said plan with your O.B. Hospital bags are packed and doula services are procured months in advance.

Second pregnancy - Your water breaks before you even have a chance to think about the baby's birth. You and your husband scurry around at the last minute, getting someone to babysit your older child, and installing the carseat at the hospital.

General Emotions:

First Pregnancy - Every single milestone is exciting and momentous. You're anxious about being a first-time parent. Joy and anticipation are shared between you and your spouse. You feel overwhelmed with love for your baby.

Second pregnancy - Each milestone is barely noticed. You're so uncomfortable, you wonder if you can even make it to the end. You're anxious about being a parent of multiple children. Joy and anticipation are shared between you, your spouse, and your kid. You feel overwhelmed with love for your baby (again). 

The Dreaded Parenthood Question

"What do you do?"

"What's your job?"

These questions have left me in a state of perplexity recently. The other day, while filling out my personal information on a form in a doctor's office, I was stumped by the box labeled, "Occupation."

For years I have had a clear answer to the job question: "I'm a campus minister." And while that term always needed a bit of background explanation, it was still a clear title. Now that I've stopped working for pay, and care for our children full-time, my status has suddenly changed. I don't have a job in the workforce.

I'm happy and satisfied with that decision, but how do I respond to questions that assume being a part of working society is important to one's identity? I know the obvious terms that I can use, but they all sound lame and inadequate to me.

Stay-at-home mom (or the acronym SAHM) - This is probably the most frequently used term, but it really bugs me. Most "stay-at-home" parents I know of rarely stay at home. I'm frequently on-the-go, driving kids to and from school, taking my toddler on trips to the park, running errands to meet the demands of our family. One time someone in all seriousness said this to me, "You're a mom...you must have so much time on your hands." I didn't know whether to laugh or slap that person.

Full-time Mom - I've used this one on occasion, but don't like what it implies. Is a working parent like my husband a "part-time parent"? Are there "no-time parents"? Parenting is not merely a task you can take or leave at the punch of a timecard. At best this term is silly, and at worst it's offensive.

Housewife - Excuse me, but my identity is not solely dependent on being someone's wife. And housewife? That sounds like a woman who is locked up in the home all day by her domineering husband. Or an upper-middle class society woman who plays tennis at the country club. Again, a poor term. I have never heard someone call a stay-at-home dad a "Househusband."

Homemaker - A slight step up from the term housewife, homemaker is still a dissatisfying label. I'm pretty sure it was made popular in the 70's. While I love cooking, I am not choosing to pause on being in the professional workforce for the sake of micromanaging my family's domestic life. Couponing and keeping a spotless home are not my main priorities. Now if "homemaker" can mean prioritizing the family and home (and not simply the house), then maybe I can get on board.

I suppose I could simply say, "I'm unemployed." But even that requires more explanation.

In my opinion, we need a better term for the multitude of men and women who care for their children full-time, and aren't working for pay outside the home. A term that is accurate and honoring.

To get your imagination going, here are some of the duties in my current role:

• Multi-tasker Extraordinaire
• Counselor
• Full-time Human Developer
• Educator
• Day-care Provider
• Referee
• Housekeeper
• Toddler Chaser
• Personal Chef
• Childhood Development Specialist Researcher
• Lego Builder
• Hairdresser
• Chauffer
• Band-Aid Dispenser
• Life Coach
• 24-Hour Milk and Diaper Maid
• Storyteller

So tell me, how should I refer to myself in those instances when asked what I do? What term fits best?

How about Queen of the Family and Household? I think I'll use that next time.

Happy 2nd Birthday, Alexandra

I write letters to my children on their birthdays. Here is last year's letter to Alex.

Dear Alex, 

Happy birthday, sweet girl! You're a whole two years old today. 

I know that each year in your life will come with its own changes, but this past year felt especially accelerated. 

Your expressiveness, language, and personality have emerged in all sorts of ways. You really show us how you feel, whether angry when we can't understand what you're saying, or overjoyed when Daddy gets home. 

You've picked up so many words, though still spoken in sometimes indecipherable baby language. 

Gak = milk
Ca-ca = coffee (or the Starbucks logo)
Ayax = Alex
Dee-dee = thank you
Ooh-ooh-aah-aahs - monkey (or her pacifier)
Jimmy Fa-fa - Jimmy Fallon

You're charming, social, quick to try new things, resilient, and pretty fearless for a toddler. You love to flash your smile at people, give them an exuberant, "Hi!," and wait for them to respond. You can pretty much climb anything at the playground with confidence. And if you get hurt, your emotional recovery is quick. 

You love bath time, playing with Play-Doh, eating (nearly all the time), doing whatever Aaron is doing, getting tickled by Daddy, piggy-back rides, reading books together, giving hugs, playing at the park, and attempting to do things by yourself. 

Like a typical two-year-old, you have a strong will and lots of emotion. Sometimes that gets frustrating for you - to want something but not be able to adequately do it or express it. But we'll make it through this. 

I love your fireball spirit. I love that you're feisty and tough and joyful. And I hope that we can be a family that is a safe place for you to be yourself. 

I love you, daughter. 

Your Mommy

How to Thrive, Stay Sane, and Not Go Ballistic On My Children

I'm temporarily flying solo with the kids all week while Steve is away on a work trip.

Whenever we do this, I have a heightened appreciation and awe for single parents who do this all the time. Seriously, that is another level of superhero. Thankfully, my husband and co-parent promises to return. If at least so we can resume watching 24 together.

But in the meantime, I needed a proactive plan for this week. Because here's the thing: as much as I love my children, being with them non-stop for more than a day can feel like Crazytown. From previous experience, I've learned that some things - meltdowns, the emergence of Dragon Mom, and desperate texts to Steve ("OMG our kids are freaking nuts") - are unavoidable. Nevertheless, there are some things that help me to survive.

How to Thrive, Stay Sane, and Not Go Ballistic On My Children:

1. Do one activity per day to get out of the house. 
2. Hang out with friends. Schedule a few play dates, have friends sleep over, talk to people on the phone. Find ways to connect with adults and have real conversations. 
3. Prepare meals with extras for leftovers ahead of time.
4. Go out for afternoon ice cream and playtime at McDonald's.
5. Pull out some "new" toys from storage. 
6. Eat out or order delivery. Pizza solves lots of problems. 
7. Borrow books from the library.
8. Go to the park.
9. Make popcorn and watch a movie at home.
10. Get some babysitting help.
11. Turn on the hose for water play in the front yard.
12. Extra coffee (for me, not the kids).

Thanks to my friends who gave some great encouragement and tips via Facebook. 

Happy 5th Birthday, Aaron

I write letters to my children on their birthdays. Here is last year's letter to Aaron.

Dear Aaron,

Happy birthday, son.

I think you can now say "fifth" properly, so that's pretty nice timing, don't you think?

We're going to celebrate your transition to five with some of your favorite things: friends, a bounce house, ice cream, and hot dogs. Being five is truly great.

This year you jumped into pre-Kindergarden with zeal. You love to list your classmates by first and last name (with accurate Spanish pronunciation befitting for South Los Angeles), and your teachers say that you are very engaged with learning. You enjoy doing simple math problems in your head, and identifying familiar words in books.

You love building and creating things, from painting with watercolors, to creating Lego cities, to baking sand cakes at the playground, to writing your own stories. And taking after your dad, you really like games. You're old enough for Connect Four and Guess Who?, but not quite ready for Dominion yet.

You're quick to warm up to people and make friends, with both peers and adults. You have become a pretty good conversationalist. I am often surprised at the things we can talk about with you, and how you seem to make connections in your mind about how things work.

One of my favorite parts of the day is our nighttime routine. Right before bedtime, we snuggle on the bed and you ask for a story. Often you request a scary story or a story from the Bible. Or our recurring silly story of "Goldisocks and the Three Bears." After stories, we pray and sing together. For months, your prayer has been, "God, please give me a baby brother." We talk about our highlights and low points of the day, and then lights out. I hope this nighttime ritual remains for a long time.

You love helping around the house (to the point where you're genuinely disappointed if I do laundry without you), watching the Incredibles, going to the park, eating quesadillas, visiting the library, playing with water, going to church, reading Cloudy With a Chance of Meatballs, saying things in silly ways, and playing with your sister.

When I think about who you are, I am overwhelmed by joy. You're playful, silly, curious, thoughtful, creative, energetic, and generous.

I have simple hopes for you. That you'll continue growing into the unique person you're meant to be. That you'll know that you're deeply loved, always. If those things happen, then I think we're good.

I love you.

Mom

Kid-stagram

Toddler leash, a necessary parent accessory at Disneyland.

 Synchronized monkeying around at the pharmacy.

Fight on!

Weekend face painting. Frankenstein's monster was Hapa, apparently.

Easter baskets.

 Popsicles on a warm afternoon. What could be better?

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Waiting In the Darkness

Holy Saturday, sometimes called The Great Sabbath or Silent Saturday, is the day of Jesus resting silently in the tomb. 

Ultimately, Easter is about life. It’s about resurrection and revival and new life. It’s about hope in something so true and eternal, we’re still talking about it today, thousands of years later. It’s the story of a God who enters into our lives and in the face of death, gives way to eternal life. 

But before that, before the life and resurrection, there is a waiting period, a length of time when there is a body laying in a tomb, and there is disappointment and darkness. And there’s waiting. Anyone else feel like they’re waiting? 

Life is full of of these in-between, darkness moments. 

Maybe in some area of your life it feels like darkness. Like you are stuck between the pain of Friday and the not-yet-realized hope of Sunday, a place where you are waiting for God to do something. Maybe there is a place of disappointment, of having a dream die, or a relationship end, and you’re just waiting. 

Two years after having our son Aaron, Steve and I decided that we were ready to continue growing our family. 

In November 2010, we got pregnant. But there was a miscarriage. I experienced some bleeding around the 5th week of pregnancy, and a miscarriage was confirmed soon after. We were saddened, but knew that early-term miscarriages are common. We continued trying to get pregnant. 

In March of 2011, we were pregnant again. At our 7-week doctor’s check-up, we were prepared to see a visual of the baby and hear his or her heartbeat. As the doctor turned on the ultrasound equipment, she asked Steve if he wanted to record the moment on his camera. Several seconds later, as she looked at the ultrasound, her tone changed, “You may want to turn off the camera. This doesn’t look good.” She explained to us that there was no heartbeat, and that she couldn’t locate a fetus. The next week, we had a follow-up ultrasound with the same results, and that's when the doctor confirmed the miscarriage. We were told that my body still needed to expel the remaining tissue. That was a particularly difficult time of waiting. We had close friends and family praying with us, knowing that a miscarriage was pretty certain, but still holding on to some hope that there might be a miraculous turn of events. It took several weeks, but my body finally expelled the tissue from the miscarried baby. 

We felt a deep sense of grief and darkness. We both took several days off of work, and also reached out to our community of friends. Friends and family prayed and mourned with us. We cried over our unborn babies, cried over the hope of knowing them and seeing them in this life. 

When we live life long enough, we encounter moments of death and darkness. Doors close, relationships end, hopes die. And we’re stuck in darkness, longing for breakthrough that hasn’t yet happened. 

So what do we do in that moment? When we’re in that moment of darkness and in-between at the tomb, there are different responses we can have.

1. We can despair - we can lose all hope, and blame God, and run from God. We can believe that death is the end, and lose hope in things, and just sort of stop expecting anything to change.
   
   

2. We can be in denial - we fake that we’re okay, put on our strong face to mask the pain, we escape. We have these simplistic answers and forced optimism. Keep calm and carry on! Just trust in the Lord, but don’t do it in a way that’s messy or takes too long! Denial is the message that if you’re feeling disappointed or grief, you just need to have more faith and get over it.
   
   
3. We can despair or be in denial, or there’s a third option. WAIT ON GOD. We hate that one. More specifically, I hate that one. Waiting is hard. Waiting is not glamorous. It takes away all our control, no guarantees, and puts us in a position of submission and vulnerability. 

But waiting on God is also courageous. Waiting on God in the darkness is saying, “Okay God, I don’t know what’s going on and how this is going to end. But I’m choosing to press into you with all that is in me.” It’s the place of crying out to him with our true selves, and not just putting on the fake happy facade. 

It’s not passive, it’s not escape, it’s not hopelessness. It’s connecting to God, listening to him, doing things with him, resting in him, grieving with him. And it’s a holding out hope that he’s the God of resurrection and new life, even if all we have is the tiniest seed of faith.

And God is with us always, even in the darkness and waiting. Some of the most significant moments in Jesus’ life took place in darkness: his birth, his arrest, his death. For us in the spiritual journey, waiting on God in the darkness can yield extraordinary events. 

In my own experience of waiting in darkness with the Lord, there are a few things that happened:

I learned that God endures with us. 

Through his own death, Jesus enters into death with us. My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? His cries echo the despair and lostness of the world’s pain. It is a cry of abandonment and agony. How incredible is that? We have a Lord who doesn’t just stand at a distance from pain, but he enters into it and suffers with us. 

When Steve and I had those miscarriages, I felt Jesus draw so close to us. It was counter-intuitive to me. I suppose I figured that in really painful moments, God would feel far away. But it was just the opposite. I remember the moment a few days after the second miscarriage. Steve and I were sitting in our living room with our friend and staff supervisor Jen. Jen had been our mentor since our earliest days on staff, she had led us through pre-marital counseling, had been at our wedding, and now she was praying and crying with us over our miscarried babies. And as she sat with us, I was overcome with the deepest sensation of safety, comfort, and awareness of Jesus with us.

In my journal, I wrote this: “I feel the power, goodness, and mercy of the Father now more than I have in the last few years. I am more certain than ever that God is the only thing worthy of our hope and confidence.” In many ways, God poured out his love and comfort into our family that was unique to this season of darkness and waiting.

Another thing that happens in the darkness is that God promises his presence.

There are times in life when we are in the dark and God feels far away. I’ve had moments when I am barely making it with the Lord, and really struggling to see him and hear him. I’m going to guess that many of us have had that experience. It feels like God is far or even absent. We feel abandoned. 

But Psalm 139 tells us that there is no place we can go to escape the presence of God. 

“Where can I go from your Spirit? Where can I flee from your presence? If I go up to the heavens, you are there; if I make my bed in the depths, you are there. If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast.”

Here’s the thing that I find so comforting and reassuring: God’s presence does not depend on us. It does not depend on how we feel. It does not depend on how in tune we are with him. The grace of God is that he doesn’t let go of us, even when we are completely unable to even come to him or pray or feel hopeful. Nothing will separate us from him. Even in the hiddenness and darkness, he’s with us. 

God endures with us, he promises his presence, and third, God cultivates new life.

In a book called The Holy Longing, Ronald Rohlheiser says this about the spiritual journey: 

“It is a process of transformation within which we are given both new life and new spirit. It begins with suffering and death, moves onto the reception of new life, spends some time grieving the old and adjusting to the new, and finally, only after the old life has been truly let go of, is new spirit given for the life we are already living.” 

For the Israelites, there was Egypt, wilderness, and Promised Land. Or in the life cycle of a butterfly, there is larvae, cocoon, butterfly.

The darkness is a holding environment where transformation happens.  We may not feel different or be doing anything different, but God is working to bring forth something new. It’s like the 9 months of pregnancy before a baby is born, and it’s incubating in the womb. It’s Jesus in the tomb, before being resurrected. 

Oftentimes, in the darkness, the new life that God is cultivating is internal. He’s changing us. He’s freeing us from fear or shame. He’s breaking our bondage to idols. He’s gently coaxing in us the fruit of love, joy, and hope. He’s deepening our intimacy and dependence on him. 

After our two miscarriages, we continued trying to get pregnant again. Months and months went by, and nothing. 

On November 10th, we had significant time of prayer with a friend named Ann. Ann was the wife of one of Steve’s seminary professors, and they had a similar experience of miscarriages while trying to conceive their second child. They had a powerful prayer encounter with a friend, and right after that they got pregnant. When Ann heard about our journey, she had a sense that praying for us could have a similar outcome. After Ann prayed with us, both Steve and I believed that a breakthrough had occurred in the spiritual realm, and that we would get pregnant soon after. 

We were a bit perplexed (and disappointed) when December and January passed with no pregnancy.

Finally, in February 2012, we took a pregnancy test, and it was positive! We were thrilled, but also hesitant to get too excited, given our history with miscarriages. At our 6-week doctor’s check-up, we were ready to have the doctor confirm the pregnancy. In the doctor’s office, our doctor told us that at 6 weeks, we could expect to see the yolk sac, and possibly a tiny dot-like image of a baby. The image of the ultrasound popped up on the screen, and we very clearly saw the form of a baby, with a head and limbs. I remember thinking, “Uh, that’s weird...it looks way more like an actual baby than a little dot.” The doctor was shocked. She measured the image baby’s head, did some calculations, and exclaimed, “You are definitely not just 6 weeks pregnant! You’re at least a full 13 weeks!” In an instant, we went from hoping to simply confirming the existence of a tiny, barely-there baby, to actually seeing our nearly second-trimester baby’s moving arms and legs. We then got to hear a strong, healthy heartbeat. 

Apparently, unknown to us, we actually had conceived a baby in early December (right after having that prayer time with Ann). For two full months we were pregnant and didn’t even know it. 

Our daughter Alexandra was born on August 7, 2012. 

She is our reminder of the resurrection power of Jesus. Our reminder that death and darkness isn’t the end. When I look at her, I remember God’s faithfulness as we wait in the darkness, and remember that he’s the bringer of new life.

Jesus has triumphed over death, has resurrected, and is making all things new. That’s what Easter is. Easter is Jesus. Easter means everything Jesus has been saying about God, about life, about death, about faith, about love, about forgiveness, about suffering, about giving over your life…it's all true. Easter means God, who created everything in the beginning, is now recreating everything.

Whatever death and disappointment and darkness you are in, it is not the end of the story. Jesus is the end. So in the midst of the unrealized dreams, unfulfilled hopes, rejection, shame, brokenness, depression, whatever your disappointment, believe me when I tell you it is not the end. Deliverance and resurrection and breakthrough is coming. New life is on the other side. 

Hold on. Wait on God. Welcome him in the longing and hoping and the darkness. Cling to him with all your might, and hold on to his promise in Isaiah 25: 

"On this mountain the Lord of hosts will make for all peoples a feast of rich food, a feast of well-aged wine, of rich food full of marrow, of aged wine well refined. And he will swallow up on this mountain the covering that is cast over all peoples, the veil that is spread over all nations. He will swallow up death forever; and the Lord God will wipe away tears from all faces, and the reproach of his people he will take away from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken. It will be said on that day, “Behold, this is our God; we have waited for him, that he might save us. This is the Lord; we have waited for him; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.” 

In Jesus we have freedom and hope and renewal. In him we rise out from evil and death, and in him we have celebration and joy and new life.

Signs You've Acquired a Toddler

A new creature has entered into our household. 

If I didn't know better, I'd say it was an untrained pet from the store, or an alien life form that arrived from a different planet. But I do know better because this has happened to us before. We now have a toddler. 

Our daughter, once a peaceful infant, is now a full-blown wild ball of energy and crazy packaged in 2-ft. of chubby. For all those who think they've possibly acquired one of these mysterious creatures, here are some signs:

1. Your carpet is covered in graham cracker crumbs and Play-Doh. 
2. Laundry day used to be once a week. Now it is daily.
3. You hear the word "no" an average of 200 times per day.
4. You are commanded to read Moo, Baa, La La La over and over and over. And so you hide it, and pray it'll never be found again. 
5. If you ever leave the house without reserves of goldfish crackers or string cheese, you'll be sorry.
6. The word "gah-gah" has multiple different meanings (sock, milk, coffee, glasses, cracker, and sometimes oatmeal), and if you don't understand its particular use within three tries, and respond appropriately, all Hades breaks loose.
7. You've yelled the phrases, "Stop eating dirt!" and "Don't touch your poop!"
8. If you lie down on the ground, a smallish but hefty person will think you want to wrestle or get pounced on.
9. Pampering yourself means shutting the bathroom door and taking a three-minute shower every other day. If you're really going for glamour, you change into clothes that aren't yoga pants and a stained t-shirt.
10. You fall asleep with the Caillou theme song on repeat in your head.
11. Every board game in the house is missing pieces or has bite marks. No one can play a real game of checkers anymore.
12. While searching for a lost ball under the couch, you've discovered the source of "that mysterious weird smell" is a months-old partially full sippy cup of milk. 
13. Dance parties consist of Ring-Around-the-Rosie. 
14. The bottom third of your television screen is covered in little fingerprints. 
15. You've strained your back while trying to carry your squirming kid, a diaper bag, and 3 bags of groceries from the car to the house. 
16. If someone forgets to close the bathroom door, the roll of toilet paper will quickly be unraveled, non-flushable objects will be thrown in the toilet, and toothpaste tubes will be emptied of their contents.

How about you? Have you joined the toddler party?