perspective

The other night, after I vented about how sick we've all been, I went and read some articles from the True Woman 2010 Conference, and something in one of them pretty much knocked me over . . .

"Girls, the other day I met a gal who lives in my neighborhood. I didn’t know her, but one of our young moms came and picked me up and said, 'I can’t do this by myself. You’re going to have to go with me.' She had heard about this gal. Her name is Lynn. Lynn was diagnosed about two months ago with pancreatic cancer. She’s a young mother. She has a four-year-old and a seven-year-old. She has stage four pancreatic cancer. She does not have long to live.


So we went and just dropped in on Lynn and asked her if there was anything we could do for her, how we could pray for her. Do you know what she said? She said, 'I just never thought that I wouldn’t have any more time with my kids.'

Don’t blink because the days in which we live are precious. On the days when it’s hard, remember that none of us are guaranteed “X” number of days. We’re in transition as moms from the moment we bring that newborn home. Some of those changes we long for—we can’t wait for them to walk, or we can’t wait for them to talk, or to quit nursing, or to be able to buckle their own car seat."

I have been longing for and looking forward to some of these transitions since the day Lyndon was born, but the thought that I might not be around to see them has never even crossed my mind. This week, I longed for him to be old enough to find the toilet, or at least the sink, when he threw up, to be able to climb the stairs safely so I wouldn't have to stand behind him all the time, to take one long nap instead of two little ones, to go back to sleep in the middle of the night without crying for ten minutes, to stop being afraid of the vacuum cleaner and people blowing their noses, the list goes on.

And then I thought about not being around to see these moments. Depressing, I know, but, in many ways, realistic. God could choose any moment to take me home (or to take Lyndon home, for that matter), and I should try to live every day aware of that fact, because it's the truth. Then, even if I am allowed to watch him grow up and grow old, I will have savored the time. I can thank God for giving me every day that I had with him (and with Adrian, too, but I've been struggling much more with mothering than with um... wife-ing-- why is it that there's no verb form of that word-- lately).

So, no matter how much Lyndon gets sick this winter, no matter how many tantrums he throws or how many times I have to tell him 'no touch', no matter what he puts in his mouth or what comes out of his, ahem, other end, I will cherish every moment God gives me with my baby boy. I will love him fiercely but never forget that God loves him (and me!) with the kind of everlasting love that I can only dream of. He has good plans for the two of us, no matter how many days we get together.

Sick

Please pardon the temporary hiatus. Perhaps this will explain...

Last week, still in the wake of The Thanksgiving Stomach Bug, Lyndon, Adrian and I got colds. No big deal. Just a few runny noses.

And then Lyndon stopped sleeping. For three days. So we thought ear infection. But then he started getting better, so no doc visit. Just lots of TLC (and some Tylenol). Then I got worse, and Adrian came home early from work yesterday to take care of me. Some cough drops, tea, and the first good night's sleep in a week later (courtesy of Tylenol Cold PM), and I was fit as a fiddle. Lyndon was sleeping perfectly again and even starting to dry up a little. As of this afternoon, I thought we could finally see the light at the end of this tunnel of sickness.

And then Lyndon threw up. Three times.

*sigh* So it's off to the dr. tomorrow for my little guy. We don't know if the Plague has come back (please no, please no) or if it really is an ear infection messing with his balance. He just went to sleep-- miraculously-- after only 1/2 oz. of breastmilk, a fraction of what he normally gets before bed. And I have no idea what kind of night it will be from here on. But I do know that I'm already sick and tired of the Peterson family being sick and tired.

Is this how it is every winter for those of you with multiple children? Geez.

the view from here

Mustang does this all the time. When I finally get a chance to sit down and check my email, he decides that what I really should be doing is snuggling with the kitty.

 

So he lays down on my netbook.

Have you ever tried to use a track pad with a kitty sitting on it?

It is kind of sweet, though. I'm pretty sure he's purring in his sleep right now.

And to think, just yesterday I was wishing we had never adopted them.

happy cardmaking!

Hello all; it's been a while! Between the Thanksgiving holiday and "the plague" (read: stomach bug) that's been going around, we've been a bit busy. But now, we're back, just in time to tell you about a great deal! Shutterfly is giving away 50 free Christmas photo cards to bloggers willing to do a review of their products. Free Christmas cards? Sign me up!

This is our family's first time sending Christmas cards, and I wanted to do it right, so I've been shopping around for a few weeks now. The first thing I noticed about Shutterfly was their wide selection of card designs. There are literally hundreds of holiday cards to choose from, and almost all of them are really cute. You can sort them by size, number of photos, or color, which is really helpful, since I have very specific things in mind for our cards this year. Once I picked a few favorite designs, I started adding pictures from our holiday photo shoot. Shutterfly lets you collect up to 60 pictures per card, and you can swap them in and out just by dragging them across the screen. I could change my mind for days! Actually, I have been changing my mind and updating my cards for days now, because once you sign up for a (free) account, you can save your projects. I've been able to send my creations to my husband to get his opinion, then come back and make changes. It's been a lot of fun, and I think I have the final design nailed down now. (I'm not going to show it to you, because that would spoil the surprise. But I will show you some of my other favorites.)

I have a thing for brown, even though it isn't a "traditional" Christmas color.

I love the simplicity of this one, even though it looks like the son on the right was a little angry when they took the picture. :-P

Oh, and I almost forgot. Not only are we sending out Christmas cards from Shutterfly this year, we're also making photo calendars for a couple members of our family (who probably won't read this). And yep, Shutterfly does that, too. I've been having serious fun playing around with all the background and layout options. Hopefully, I'll be able to decide in time to get them by Christmas.

Happy cardmaking!

Disclaimer: Shutterfly compensated me for this post with 50 free Christmas cards. However, all my opinions are completely true.

giving kisses

In my last post, I mentioned that Lyndon is giving kisses. He does this mostly after I give him something he really wants and as we're saying goodnight. It's pretty much the sweetest thing ever and makes my heart want to explode every time. Fortunately, we managed to capture some of this adorableness on film recently.

Going in for the kill . . .

Mmmmmmmm........

.........wwwwah!

and the recovery.

Best. thing. ever.

growth charts, check-ups, and fear of man

I have "fear of man" issues. Just wanted to put that out there.

What is "fear of man," you ask? In his book, When People are Big and God is Small, Ed Welch (who is infinitely smarter and more qualified than I am) puts it this way:

"Fear in the biblical sense . . . extends to holding someone in awe, being controlled or mastered by people, worshiping other people, putting your trust in people, or needing people. The fear of man can be summarized this way: We replace God with people . . . When we are in our teens, it is called 'peer pressure.' When we are older, it is called 'people-pleasing.' Recently, it has been called 'codependency.'

I have a history of "fearing" other people, caring entirely too much about what they think of me. Generally, I either bend over backwards to fit in or declare myself a rebel and do everything differently just because it's different. If I fail at fitting in because I tried not to, then I didn't really fail, now did I? (I also have fear of failure and perfectionism issues, but that's a whole other post.)

I'm telling you all of this because, at regular intervals since becoming a parent, I've had to turn around and look my fear of man issues in the face. Maybe you've had this experience. They're called well-baby visits, otherwise known as check-ups.

Before every check-up that Lyndon has had, there has been some developmental or health issue that I have researched, freaked out over, worried about, tried to change (ever tried to teach a baby to roll over in 2 days?), and ultimately made myself (and sometimes him) miserable because I'm afraid it will reflect poorly on me as a parent. I'm afraid the doctor will judge me and think me a bad mom.

Lyndon has an appointment on Friday, and this one has been no exception. After comparing Lyndon to all the other babies around us (another sign of fear of man is comparing yourself to others), I have concluded that our child is horribly underweight and will probably be put on a strict regimen of formula supplements as soon as the doctor sees him, that is, if I'm allowed to keep him, seeing as how I'm clearly starving my child.

Nevermind that, according to the WHO growth charts, he is actually a perfectly healthy weight and height given the size of his parents (I'm 5'1" and 100 lbs. soaking wet) and that a significant percentage of the babies we know are actually above the 50th percentile for weight (some waaaay above it). Nevermind that he's obviously happy and healthy: developing perfectly, sleeping well, crawling, learning sign language, giving kisses. Nevermind all this. The doctor clearly exists to pass judgment on my parenting skills, and these appointments are obviously all about me and my skills.

Whoops. Did I say that out loud? See, that's the thing about fear of man. It seems so humble, almost self-deprecating. You think you're terrible and worse than everyone else? Clearly, you need some self-esteem. But, actually, it's a form of pride. All interactions with others are about me . . . either validating me and making me feel better about myself or confirming how terrible I really am. Instead of loving people like Jesus did, I'm using them. What if, instead of worrying about my precious reputation (to a doctor I see once every few months), I concentrated on listening to her advice and asking her good questions? How much more would that benefit her and my son? What if my goal in all of this was to love like Jesus, first my family (Lyndon and Adrian), then others (my doc and her office-mates)? How radical would that be? And how radically different would the week before a check-up look?

first Halloween costume

Soon after Lyndon was born, I announced that he was going to be Harry Potter for Halloween, as he had a head full of untidy black hair and would only need some blue pajamas and maybe a painted-on scar. As the holiday approached, however, his hair began to lighten. It's now a soft, light brown, and he doesn't look like Harry at all. *sigh*

That meant I actually had to come up with a creative, cheap, easy, comfortable costume for a crawling 9 month-old. Um, yeah.

It came to me one night when I was asking my husband, yet again, if he had any ideas. I said something along the lines of, "He army crawls everywhere, so he has to really be able to move in his costume; otherwise, either he'll be miserable or it'll be ruined." Wait... he army crawls? Ah ha!

That's right. I dressed him in camo (most of which he already had), bought a hat, borrowed some socks, and painted his cheeks. Army ranger, anyone?

Some action shots:

He went after a really manly monster truck, which was perfect.

 I think he kind of looks like a cat in this one.

Lyndon had a lovely first Halloween.