The sweetness of 3-year-olds

I know I complain a lot about my two pre-schoolers. The truth is, they are an incredible handful. Everything I say about them being INSANE is true and justified.

But it's also true that they have learned in their three short years on Earth how to be incredibly sweet, in that guileless way that only small children can be.

Dean, for example, is oh-so-sweet to Clair. He is her little caretaker. It swells my heart 50 sizes to see how he dotes on her.

He tries to help her put her shoes on; he looks for her pacifier when she can't find it. He "feeds" her spoonfuls of his yogurt. He shares (usually happily) almost anything she wants. He tries to interpret her wailings and baby gibberish if we adults seem to be struggling to understand her.

This morning, when we were walking downstairs to prepare to leave for school, she cried, wanting to go with all of us.

I was focused on getting out the door -- and also on not stoking the flames of her sadness by prolonging the departure. Cary was oblivious. But Dean stopped and gave her his little green light-up ring to try to soothe her. When she kept crying, he turned to her and said, "No, no, Clairzee. No crying. You see? I gave you the ring? So don't cry anymore OK?" It was the cutest thing. And you know what? She stopped crying!

She responds to Dean as if he were another parent . The sweetest, sweetest thing I have ever witnessed in my life as a parent is when Dean sings to her -- sings! -- when she is crying to be picked up and I'm busy putting dinner on the table or something similar. His voice gets hushed and he touches her little arm singing, "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." And EVERY TIME, she stops crying. Every time.
Note: The quiet doesn't last long. Clair is a very insistent child. If she wants to be picked up, no amount of brotherly love will deter her. But for a brief, beautiful moment, she bends in to the sound of his sweetly-singing voice and calms. I swear, I had no idea before having children how much a scene like that could warm me to my core and make me thank God profusely for blessing me so.

These two.

On the other hand, Cary, my little lives-in-the-clouds boy, seems to save most of his sweetness for me.

Twice now, I've come home from an event late, after the boys are already in bed, walked in their room to check on them, and Cary -- after literally jumping up and down at the sight of me -- has complimented me on my attire. Once he said, "Mommy, you look pretty in that dress." And last night, he said to me, "Mommy, you look pretty in that skirt." (Apparently, my boy likes a woman who shows some leg...)

This is fascinating to me because 1) Cary never notices my clothes in the daytime. The two times these unsolicited compliments have come have been when I've come in his room at night after missing dinner and bathtime. Perhaps I look better in a dimly-lit room? And 2) Cary never compliments ANYONE. My oldest boy is a sweetheart in many ways, but he is not nearly as in tune with other people or even his surroundings as his brother. He truly lives in his own head, so much so that he is often falling or bumping into things, or saying things that come off to others as impertinent, but to him, are just factual observations. It just doesn't occur to him that other people have feelings. (At least not yet.)

Because of that, Cary's compliments make me feel like a million bucks -- like no compliment before has ever made me feel. I know he is saying it for no other reason than that he truly thought it and decided to say it. He isn't trying to butter me up; he wants nothing. He just likes the sight of me in his room, after a long day, before he goes to sleep. I take note of that when I've been out a lot in the evenings and it makes me feel some kind of way. It's why I have two minds about leaving the boys this weekend to go to Atlanta, and the many nights for the next three weeks that I have after-work plans, and the February girls' trip my friends have planned.

After Cary complimented me, I leaned in to hug my baby tight. I said, "Thank youuuuu, sweet boy! That makes Mommy feel happy."

And in my ear, he said, "You're the best girl in the whole world."

I will miss him so when his hand no longer disappears in mine.

I am so blessed. Lord. Thank you for these children -- all three of them. I love them so. I'm so thankful You chose me to be their Mom. I hope and pray they will always love each other and us in the same way they do now. I pray they will always know that we think they are the best children in the whole world.

More sweetness

Yesterday, I came in from work a little late. The kids were already at the dinner table, eating.

Cary says to me, mouth full of pasta, "Mommy! I was worried about you!"

:-)


Later on, as I'm clearing the table, Dean walks over to me and asks, "Mommy, umm, did you have a good day?"

:-)


Love, love, love my sweet boys.

The sweetness of 3-year-olds

Once a month, Miss Teresa comes to our house to help me do a thorough cleaning. She has been coming to our house since a week or so before Cary and Dean were born, when I hired her to do the nesting I wanted to do but couldn't with my big, pregnant-with-twins belly. I thought then she'd be a one-time hire. As you can see, she's been with us for three years now.

Last month, for the first time ever, Miss Teresa had to cancel her scheduled cleaning. Her daughter texted me and told me that her grandfather, Miss Teresa's father, had died.

Miss Teresa came to our house yesterday. It was the first I'd seen her since he died. The sadness was palpable in the room. Her angular frame was slumped as she went quietly about her work. Her eyes looked tired.

As she finished up, we hugged and I told her -- as best I could, since she speaks limited English and I speak absolutely no Polish -- that I was so sorry about her Dad and that I would be praying for her. Miss Teresa, old enough to be my own mother, collapsed into me like a child would, and cried.

Her father was only 78, she said. Too young to die. It had been 9 years since she'd seen her "Daddy." And she wasn't able to afford a plane ticket on such short notice, so she missed his funeral. She was so sad.

Of course, I started crying too. We stood there in my living room, trying to understand one another's words, but succeeding more fully in understanding loss, regret and a father's love.

Cary and Dean were around - of course. They were mesmerized by this uncommon show of adult emotion.

Finally, after some time, Dean spoke up.

"Miss Teresa is sad?" he asked.

"Yes," I told him. "Miss Teresa's father died. She won't get to see him anymore and so she is sad."

"Miss Teresa's father died? Like Don Gato?" Dean said, referring to one of their favorite songs at the moment.

"Yes," I said. "Like Don Gato."

He sat and thought for awhile. He looked at Miss Teresa and smiled.

Then he tapped me on the leg and whispered.

"Our Daddy can come to her house," he said.

Miss Teresa coudn't understand him well enough to get that he was offering up to her his most precious gift - his own father.

But I did.

And I hugged my boy and loved him just a tiny bit more.

How sweet it is to be loved by Cary and Dean

I know I always make my children sound like whirling dervishes, and that's true a lot of the time.
But they are also really, really sweet.

Yesterday, when I got home from work, I was POOPED! (You're saying, 'What else is new?' but honestly, I had a lot of unexpected energy the night before, so this level of pooped-ness was more noticeable.) I actually took a nap on the couch while Lester fed the boys dinner; that's how pooped I was.

After their dinner, we were all on the couch, hanging out. I was on one side of the sectional, wrapped in a blanket, and the boys were jumping all over Lester on the other side of the sectional.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Dean staring at me. Then, he climbed down off the couch, grabbed a smaller blanket that was lying on the floor, climbed back up on the couch and ambled his way over couch pillows, books, toys and Lester to come plop himself down right next to me. He then pulled his little blanket up over his chest, up to his neck -- just the way I had mine. And he turned his head, looked up at me and smiled. "Ma-ma, blanket," he said. "Dean, blanket."
It was soooo cute.
It's like he thought I was lonely over on my side of the sectional.
And until he came over and put his little warm body next to mine, I hadn't realized that I was!


Then, a little bit later on, Cary and Dean were exhausting themselves playing with a scarf of mine, throwing it over each other's heads and faces and walking around like a camel with no head. Much falling over and giggling hysterically ensued, until Dean took a tumble and Cary fell on top of him, BAM, on the hardwood floor.
Dean is a little hardier than Cary when it comes to spills like that, so he didn't cry so much as whine. But still, I felt sorry for him.
Before I could comfort him, however, Cary stood up and hugged Dean from behind, squeezing his chest. "Brudder!" he said. Then he leaned his head into the back of Dean's neck and whined (sympathetically). "Brudder!" he said again.

I swear, I almost cried.

These boys melt my hearts -- whirling dervishes that they are.

(Me and all THREE of my children, on a different night of couch-playing. I love it when I can coax them both into a hug!)

I want my daughter to be sweet, but good grief!

So it's come to this.

Tuesday, I go in to the perinatologist to learn how to inject myself with insulin.

I resisted as long as I could, but my sugars just kept creeping up. And the new meds worked a little too well, making my blood sugar dip horribly low -- particularly in the middle of the night.

The last THREE nights I've had to bound out of bed twice to go down to the kitchen to stuff myself with cereal and sausage or frozen waffles and orange juice -- just to stop the shakes. This usually is around 12 or 1 and then again around 3 or 4. Waking up every three hours to feed?? Ridiculous -- my baby's not even here yet!!

All that up-and-down with my sugars has totally wiped me out. I feel like crap a lot of the time, and it's just no fun at all. I think I could suffer through it (maybe) if it was helping keep the blood sugars in check. But like I said, my sugars just continue getting higher and higher.

So insulin it is.

I'm nervous about it, because I still think in the back of my head that my body will get used to the extra help and then continue needing it even after I've delivered Sweet Miss Curve Ball.
And I also really don't relish the idea of excusing myself from meetings to go stick myself with needles in public bathrooms.

But, I must do what is best for my baby -- and what is best for me. So I will.

So just to make myself feel better, I am having some kind of warm, chocolatey, delicious thing this weekend! Sugars be damned! Heck, I might just splurge all weekend!

(Kelly, if you're reading this: Shut IT!) :-)