It seems that Leo's first official word is "yeah" said in all types of inflections. It is always funny to see which words they pick up first because they are often the ones you use most frequently without even knowing it. I realized when he started saying it that I do talk to him a lot following up with "Yeah?" So there you go. That is how that happens. His expanding communicative repertoire now includes nodding his head yes, clapping, clicking his tongue, waving hello, a varying one-syllable form of "thank you" when he is given something, and responding to every question with a resounding or nonchalant "yeah," depending on his mood. All other requests and demands fall under the point and grunt category.
I am grateful that Stephen's business has afforded me the opportunity to stay at home with my babies. I do admit though, that that luxury has come with some personal challenges. Nannies are paid well for their services. Taking care of children whether they are yours or not is soul-searching, energy exhausting work. The days are long when you do not have a lot of adult interaction. I have been slowly embracing the new normal of getting stuff done with two littles in tote. When Leo was born and I was soldiering through another newborn stage as referenced in earlier posts, I absolutely could not deal with most things that involved taking the kids out in public by myself. Instacart and Amazon were my absolute best friends. But we were all getting stir crazy. It is so important to get the heck out of the house. The kids will sleep better and you will feel a part of the world again for a bit. Aria loves running errands with me. "Where are we going now, Momma?" It may be a lot of work to trek them in and out of the carseats, carry the diaper bag around everywhere, and keep up with going potty and staying hydrated, etc. etc. But it sure beats staying in the house letting the voices in your head drive you mad. "Giant Costco" is where it's at. Consumerism Capitol, but there are endless things to look at. The carts have a double seater. Free samples for you and them to snack on as you shop. A quadruple size of every staple you buy monthly. Everyone wins.
Each holiday season with children gets more magical every year. I just loved Aria's excitement over everything Christmas related this year. We have an unbreakable rule that no festive songs or movies are to be played until December 1st, so every morning starting one week before Thanksgiving, Aria woke up and asked, "Is it Christmas today?" She vaguely recalls taking Christmas photos with Leo last year. I was so shocked to find this out. I'm not sure why. I guess I just assume that all of her memories are blurry, because who remembers anything from when they were two? But, she was only two last year so I suppose I shouldn't be that surprised. I know she remembers because she asked if we were going to use a white sheet again.
As Aria learns and responds to her surroundings every day I too am navigating my role in her life, and how important and impressionable that role is. Some of my fondest memories with my mother are doing simple crafts. I have eagerly anticipated Aria reaching an age that I can start making things with her. It is incredible how many lessons I have learned in the process of teaching her simple things. We really take for granted the developmental stages of our skills. They are nearly impossible to remember and yet they form the foundation to literally everything we do. Basic motor functions and know-hows. We can all thank our caregivers at toddler age for all these life abilities.
I know every mom thinks their kids are brilliant, but seriously, Aria's vocabulary is insane. She listens intently to adult conversation, answers always in complete sentences, asks wildly thought-provoking questions, and has incredible recall for detail. Because of this, I forget often that she is three and still learning basics even though her verbal skills are advanced. I expect a lot of her, and worry that I often take her age for granted. When I have moments of realization on this front, I feel the weight of my influence on her self esteem, and the importance of cherishing this formidable time.
The other day we went to Michaels and picked up some things for Christmas crafts. I wanted to teach Aria how to make a simple chain. You know, red and green construction paper strips that you glue and link together to create endless time-consuming fun. It is the oldest craft there is. I have vague memories of making them at Christmas time, getting excited to make a really long one that could wrap around my entire room. I figured it would be a quick lesson and keep her occupied for days. I could get so much done while she made paper chains and then we could deck the halls with all of her handiwork while happily singing carols.
And yet, do you remember learning how to use a gluestick? How to fold a strip of paper into a circle and glue in the right place to make it stick? Do you remember learning the complex system of steps needed to take the circle you finally figured out how to make (with your sticky, achy, confused fingers) and then string another one through it? How many times did you look up at your mom to make sure she was still sitting there watching and offering support when you held the strips of paper in all the right places so that you could connect them...all the while, adding more and more glue because your original glue spot kept drying up in the time it took, or was smudged off by your spastic fingers? THIS IS TOUGH STUFF! And in that process, I kept needing to check myself because losing patience at any step is quite simply unforgivable. How dare I rush her through any of this. How dare I have the urge to want to! How could I prioritize anything over being present for this? She will not remember but shame on me if I miss this. I noticed that every change in my tone, Aria would look up or put what she was doing down. I realized how influential my encouragement and patience was in her persevering in this project. How much she needed to know that she was doing a good job regardless of how long the time was taking. That each step needed to be celebrated, not just the finished product. It occurred to me that every memory we make doing things like this could actually influence her confidence and work ethic.
On a simpler note, I am reminded of my current method when putting Leo down for the night. Stephen and I have adapted a routine to get them both in bed at the same time. I take Leo and he takes Aria. Leo takes far less time because over the last two years Aria's nightly routine has added so many details of her own design wanting to prolong the actual going to sleep part. It is extremely comical watching Stephen try every night to remember it all. But for Leo, it is always the same, and once he is in bed Stephen and I finish up with Aria together. Leo's routine is as follows: Bottle, "teeth time," diaper change, put on zippie, pray, hum and rock, and then off he goes into the crib. I always hum the same song. It always happens immediately after I say "amen." What I have been noticing most recently is that Leo will begin humming as soon as the "amen" is said. He is taking part in our time together and it is his contribution that I cherish the most. He shows me that he is present in his own small way, and that he needs this time as much as I do. Another moment that he will not remember but I will never forget. It is those repeated rituals that are often the sweetest for tiny humans and their connection with you.
Over and over again, motherhood teaches me how far from Christ-like I am. I am humbled beyond belief by my sin and imperfection. It would be easy to completely miss out on this stage that Aria is in by getting annoyed at the repetition of her never ending questions, the monotony of teaching and reteaching, the oversimplifying of everything. It would be easy to rush through bedtime rituals to gain the last couple of hours before Stephen and I crash to get things done. But, I would be a sorry fool to let myself take the easy route and miss being present and responsible for the wonder in their eyes and the peaceful joy that they feel when they experience something again and again. Each moment brings with it a little more wisdom and knowledge, as well as a deeper connection. How can I hope for a bright future for my children if I am not cheering them on in all of their victories, however small.
One of my favorite passages from G.K. Chesterton's Orthodoxy touches on this. "A child kicks his legs rhythmically through excess, not absence of life. Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, 'Do it again'; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, 'Do it again; to the sun; and every evening, 'Do it again' to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them." I do not make New Year's resolutions because I am the type of person who agonizes over this stuff every night of the year. When the day's failures lay heaviest on my mind I make resolutions to wake up and be more the next morning--more present, more intentional, more patient, just more.
Every year as I gain experience as a wife and mother, a particular piece of the Christmas story will jump out and hit me differently. One of our traditions is to read the first two chapters of Luke during breakfast Christmas morning. This year I was struck by the words, "But Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart." It is said at least twice--once when Mary takes in the various visitors and gifts presented at the nativity, another variation of it when Jesus is a young boy and he stays behind at the temple listening and asking the teachers questions. My heart responded powerfully to this sentiment. What must it have been like for Mary to know her son was meant for a purpose greater than herself, and yet here she was trying to take in and cherish the ephemeral times that she got to witness first-hand, cherished moments nurturing her son, yet her Lord, caring for him intimately as his mother. What kinds of failures did she experience? What stigmas did her society put on her? How much worse was it for her knowing that she was raising the freaking savior of the world!? It is yet another astonishing detail that reminds me how God elevates the role of motherhood in the bible. It is exhausting and monotonous, and at times the insincerity and unkindness of others who do not fight my personal battles can be crippling, and yet these tiny moments where Mary simply stops and cherishes a memory is captured for all eternity in God's word. God noticed, and he honored it, and best of all, he included it in THE story. I do not take comfort in that as I should. My God looked upon a mother and gave her an honor that does not change or diminish EVER.
The worst thing we can do as parents is forget that God is also raising and nurturing these children alongside us. Yes, they are our responsibility, but they also belong to Him, and he is rewarding us along the way by taking our failures and making them lessons. He loves us as we love our children, and he wants our good. He is giving us sweet instances of routine and character-building and encouraging us to "treasure them" and "ponder them in our hearts," because they are important, and monumental, and yes, they do matter greatly. May Mary's part in Jesus' life be that reminder for us to let time slow down in these fleeting moments, and clear out the distractions. God is doing amazing things with these children he has blessed us with, and he is using all of our moments to accomplish those things. Slow down. Cherish, savor, treasure, ponder. Happy New Year!
