Sunday, January 31, 2010
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Henry Wisdom Hyde
We are proud and blessed to welcome Henry Wisdom Hyde. He was born last Saturday January 23, weighing 8 lbs 7 oz. He is beautiful and perfect.
Thursday, January 7, 2010
Boasting in my weakness
Pregnancy attitudes that need adjusting, Round Two:
The actual birth.
I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I’m embarrassed about my C-sections.
I have these grand romantic ideas of what natural childbirth would be like, and I want so badly to experience it. Despite my best attempts (OK, pretty decent attempts) twice now, I have had two Caesareans. And am about to schedule a third.
From a strictly medical perspective, all emotion aside, I firmly believe that natural childbirth is best for mother and baby. The vast majority of the time, there are minimal complications, and these are reduced with good nutrition and exercise during pregnancy and good perinatal care. The interventions that “we” do (I include myself in the medical community, even though OB is not my field) are not without risk. Even the seemingly harmless epidural has associated risks, and doesn’t always work. I think it’s best to treat birth, including the associated pain, as a normal, healthy event until it proves itself to be otherwise.
(As an aside: I encourage my friends to consider birthing with a midwife. I can tell you that physicians are trained to look for, find, and treat disease. That's not always bad; that's the way the profession works, and some of us are good at what we do (or were, back in the day). But with that perspective, a woman in labor is a ticking time bomb, and it doesn't have to be that way.)
Having said that, I recognize that childbirth can be dangerous. Let us not forget that it bears that curse of God. That isn’t something to take lightly! Women throughout history, and throughout the world today, risk their lives for this “normal, healthy event.” Things can and do go wrong. Talk to enough natural birth proponents and you can start to lose sight of that fact. I can't tell you how many times it has been implied that any complications I experienced were my fault. If only I had refused the epidural. If only I had a midwife. If only I had done everything right, nothing bad would ever have happened to me.
From a more emotional and spiritual perspective, I can imagine that natural childbirth could be very empowering. Pregnancy and childbirth are such a universal event, and yet so individually unique. I find it fascinating. I desperately wanted to experience something that so many women throughout history have experienced. I suppose it seems to me like a rite of passage in some ways. And because I felt so grossly unprepared for motherhood, I imagined that at least giving birth well would somehow prove that I could do this thing.
I don't like to have surgery. It's scary, and it hurts. I want to "give birth." I don't want to be strapped down while someone cuts the baby out of me.
I would prefer to feel strong, capable, independent, autonomous, self-reliant.
It’s not an overstatement to say that my first caesarean was the first time I really encountered my mortality. It was the first time my body had let me down. I wanted something and couldn’t have it.
I failed.
It says something about me, I suppose, that I hadn’t admitted the possibility of failure or mortality until my mid-20’s.
I have experience growth as a result. It is good and healthy for me to admit that my body exists in a fallen state, awaiting its final redemption and glorification. I am still trying to come to terms with the same reality in more spiritual terms.
In light of that, I can receive the “help” of modern medicine with gratitude. It is true that lots of medical interventions are unnecessary in childbirth. Many caesareans are done for convenience or medicolegal paranoia rather than strict medical necessity. But some are necessary, and life-saving. In my case they are legitimate, and I am glad to have the option.
So as I put my next surgery on the calendar, I swallow my pride. I mourn for that glorious, empowering experience that I have imagined but will never experience.
And then I slap myself upside the head and say "GET OVER YOURSELF ALREADY!"
There are more important things about childbearing than "was the birth experience personally fulfilling and rewarding for me?" I know it is for many, and I rejoice for them. I really do. But I can't make that my criteria for evaluating "Good birth" vs. "Bad birth."
There are still women all over the world who die in childbirth. Have you ever heard of a fistula? Be glad if not. There are women in the third world who experience long, obstructed labor (I’m talking days and days), often ending in stillbirth, and are so badly damaged and torn that they leak urine or stool from their vagina for the rest of their lives. They live indefinitely as social outcasts as a result. The cure is a fairly straightforward surgery. Prevention is a C-section when labor goes badly.
Do I really want to whine about my "unfulfilling" birth experience?
I’m sorry to be graphic, but maybe I need to shock myself into reality. My “failure” to achieve my “I am woman, hear me roar” fantasy is not the worst thing that has ever happened.
The actual birth.
I’m embarrassed to admit this, but I’m embarrassed about my C-sections.
I have these grand romantic ideas of what natural childbirth would be like, and I want so badly to experience it. Despite my best attempts (OK, pretty decent attempts) twice now, I have had two Caesareans. And am about to schedule a third.
From a strictly medical perspective, all emotion aside, I firmly believe that natural childbirth is best for mother and baby. The vast majority of the time, there are minimal complications, and these are reduced with good nutrition and exercise during pregnancy and good perinatal care. The interventions that “we” do (I include myself in the medical community, even though OB is not my field) are not without risk. Even the seemingly harmless epidural has associated risks, and doesn’t always work. I think it’s best to treat birth, including the associated pain, as a normal, healthy event until it proves itself to be otherwise.
(As an aside: I encourage my friends to consider birthing with a midwife. I can tell you that physicians are trained to look for, find, and treat disease. That's not always bad; that's the way the profession works, and some of us are good at what we do (or were, back in the day). But with that perspective, a woman in labor is a ticking time bomb, and it doesn't have to be that way.)
Having said that, I recognize that childbirth can be dangerous. Let us not forget that it bears that curse of God. That isn’t something to take lightly! Women throughout history, and throughout the world today, risk their lives for this “normal, healthy event.” Things can and do go wrong. Talk to enough natural birth proponents and you can start to lose sight of that fact. I can't tell you how many times it has been implied that any complications I experienced were my fault. If only I had refused the epidural. If only I had a midwife. If only I had done everything right, nothing bad would ever have happened to me.
From a more emotional and spiritual perspective, I can imagine that natural childbirth could be very empowering. Pregnancy and childbirth are such a universal event, and yet so individually unique. I find it fascinating. I desperately wanted to experience something that so many women throughout history have experienced. I suppose it seems to me like a rite of passage in some ways. And because I felt so grossly unprepared for motherhood, I imagined that at least giving birth well would somehow prove that I could do this thing.
I don't like to have surgery. It's scary, and it hurts. I want to "give birth." I don't want to be strapped down while someone cuts the baby out of me.
I would prefer to feel strong, capable, independent, autonomous, self-reliant.
It’s not an overstatement to say that my first caesarean was the first time I really encountered my mortality. It was the first time my body had let me down. I wanted something and couldn’t have it.
I failed.
It says something about me, I suppose, that I hadn’t admitted the possibility of failure or mortality until my mid-20’s.
I have experience growth as a result. It is good and healthy for me to admit that my body exists in a fallen state, awaiting its final redemption and glorification. I am still trying to come to terms with the same reality in more spiritual terms.
In light of that, I can receive the “help” of modern medicine with gratitude. It is true that lots of medical interventions are unnecessary in childbirth. Many caesareans are done for convenience or medicolegal paranoia rather than strict medical necessity. But some are necessary, and life-saving. In my case they are legitimate, and I am glad to have the option.
So as I put my next surgery on the calendar, I swallow my pride. I mourn for that glorious, empowering experience that I have imagined but will never experience.
And then I slap myself upside the head and say "GET OVER YOURSELF ALREADY!"
There are more important things about childbearing than "was the birth experience personally fulfilling and rewarding for me?" I know it is for many, and I rejoice for them. I really do. But I can't make that my criteria for evaluating "Good birth" vs. "Bad birth."
There are still women all over the world who die in childbirth. Have you ever heard of a fistula? Be glad if not. There are women in the third world who experience long, obstructed labor (I’m talking days and days), often ending in stillbirth, and are so badly damaged and torn that they leak urine or stool from their vagina for the rest of their lives. They live indefinitely as social outcasts as a result. The cure is a fairly straightforward surgery. Prevention is a C-section when labor goes badly.
Do I really want to whine about my "unfulfilling" birth experience?
I’m sorry to be graphic, but maybe I need to shock myself into reality. My “failure” to achieve my “I am woman, hear me roar” fantasy is not the worst thing that has ever happened.
I need to remember that true Empowerment comes through the gospel. The way for me to be empowered through birth is to acknowledge my utter inability to accomplish this miracle unless God ordains it. To acknowledge that I have not risen above the need for complete and total reliance upon God's grace. And His grace is sufficient. For me, it seems that includes humbly accepting the help that He has graciously provided in the form of skilled surgeons, and abandoning my futile grasps at self-empowerment. It doesn't mean that for everyone. But the illusion of control, the false gospel of self-reliance, is far from empowering. If we teach women that they just need to try harder, eat better, and breathe right and then they will be "safe" from harm, we are damaging those women. In the same way, paternalist physicians who say "you can't do this; just let me take care of everything" are doing a tremendous disservice.Romans 8:28 And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.
Childbirth is a glorious gift of God. A way that women uniquely bear an aspect of God's image that men just don't share. We participate in a direct way in bringing new life into the world. If God gifts you with a gratifying experience, praise Him for it! (I can't promise not to feel envy, but I'll work on it.) He has not gifted me with the sort of experience that I had hoped for. But He has gifted me with beautiful children. And life itself, and salvation. And a fabulous husband, and good health, and a wonderful family, and a vibrant church body, and...and...and.... and so I thank Him.
I praise and thank God for this upcoming birth experience, no matter what the outcome.
I thank Him for enabling me to love Him even when He doesn't give me the gifts that I think I want. And for glorifying Christ, somehow, through my weakness.
II Corinthians 12:5-10 ...on my own behalf I will not boast, except of my weaknesses.... 7to keep me from becoming conceited....a thorn was given me in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to harass me, to keep me from becoming conceited. 8 Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that it should leave me. 9But he said to me, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness." Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me. 10 For the sake of Christ, then, I am content with weaknesses, insults, hardships, persecutions, and calamities. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
Got Sugar?
Last week, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes. My blood sugar has been well-controlled on my diet, but it has not been easy to follow. Turns out I have more of a sweet tooth than I realized! I am craving dessert like nobody’s business!
Here’s the gist of the diet: 30 grams of carbs at breakfast, 60 at lunch and dinner, 15-30 at each of 3 snacks. Apparently, carbs turn up in all kinds of places once you start looking for them! Sneaky little devils.
The day I went to "sugar school," aka diabetic education, I had what I thought would be a very appropriate lunch at Berryhill. I had one fish taco, an ear of roasted corn, and tea. Doesn’t sound too bad, right? It’s not pasta and a coke, anyway. And fish is supposed to be good for me, so I was actually kind of proud of that. But when my two hour reading was 135 (goal is 120), I reviewed my lunch with the dietician. Here’s the Official Carb Count: Two corn tortillas on the taco at 15 grams each. 30 grams in the ear of corn! And 10 grams per sugar packet in the tea; I used two. And oh yeah, some chips and salsa to kick in another 20 or so. That’s 100 grams, WAY over my limit! And I didn’t even have dessert.
That was my first clue that this could be tricky.
It really hasn’t been that bad; I’m just indulging in a little self-pity because I’m a week in and still craving Dr. Pepper and cupcakes.
Fat, protein, and calories are essentially unlimited as long as my weight is OK, so I’m eating eggs and bacon for breakfast, and I’ve had wilted spinach salad (bacon grease in the dressing! Genius.) twice this week.
I have to laugh at myself because it really is pathetic how badly I want a Route 44 Dr. Pepper right now. Carb count = 97.
That can’t be healthy. This diet has revealed to me that my approach to food is more emotional than I had thought. Craving.
God is working on my attitude. I think it’s a real problem that I have to limit myself to diet drinks (which I hate) or water. Seriously? This counts as an actual problem? In the midst of such abundance, I’m whining about cutting back on high fructose corn syrup? It’s a little embarrassing.
I know that so many of many friends would gladly eat rocks if they could just have a baby. I am immensely grateful for what still counts as a “healthy” pregnancy.
Here’s the gist of the diet: 30 grams of carbs at breakfast, 60 at lunch and dinner, 15-30 at each of 3 snacks. Apparently, carbs turn up in all kinds of places once you start looking for them! Sneaky little devils.
The day I went to "sugar school," aka diabetic education, I had what I thought would be a very appropriate lunch at Berryhill. I had one fish taco, an ear of roasted corn, and tea. Doesn’t sound too bad, right? It’s not pasta and a coke, anyway. And fish is supposed to be good for me, so I was actually kind of proud of that. But when my two hour reading was 135 (goal is 120), I reviewed my lunch with the dietician. Here’s the Official Carb Count: Two corn tortillas on the taco at 15 grams each. 30 grams in the ear of corn! And 10 grams per sugar packet in the tea; I used two. And oh yeah, some chips and salsa to kick in another 20 or so. That’s 100 grams, WAY over my limit! And I didn’t even have dessert.
That was my first clue that this could be tricky.
It really hasn’t been that bad; I’m just indulging in a little self-pity because I’m a week in and still craving Dr. Pepper and cupcakes.
Fat, protein, and calories are essentially unlimited as long as my weight is OK, so I’m eating eggs and bacon for breakfast, and I’ve had wilted spinach salad (bacon grease in the dressing! Genius.) twice this week.
I have to laugh at myself because it really is pathetic how badly I want a Route 44 Dr. Pepper right now. Carb count = 97.
That can’t be healthy. This diet has revealed to me that my approach to food is more emotional than I had thought. Craving.
God is working on my attitude. I think it’s a real problem that I have to limit myself to diet drinks (which I hate) or water. Seriously? This counts as an actual problem? In the midst of such abundance, I’m whining about cutting back on high fructose corn syrup? It’s a little embarrassing.
I know that so many of many friends would gladly eat rocks if they could just have a baby. I am immensely grateful for what still counts as a “healthy” pregnancy.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
It's a new dawn, it's a new day, it's a new life
Can I just tell you that I breathed a huge sigh of relief this morning to start a new week?
We had a hard week, y'all.
Sometimes that happens.
I have a lot of updates to share, and I'm going to move quickly, so hold onto your hats. Some good news and some bad news. Let's just go in chronological order:
Friday Dec 4, morning: Ultrasound at my OB. The baby's head had measured large on an earlier scan, so just double checking, to rule out hydrocephalus. The way my mind works, I'm all but shopping for pediatric wheelchairs at just the mention of the thing. But it was healthy for me to think through. "So what if the baby has special needs? That's not the end of the world. We will still love him or her. God is still God, and we'll see how He glorifies Himself in this adventure."
But don't call the neurosurgeon for us just yet. The head is normal. The whole baby is huge, but that's fine. And....it's a boy.
We had planned to wait and be surprised at delivery. Made it through the first big ultrasound when you usually find out the gender by hiding our eyes. But the doctor just blurts it out this time, for no apparent reason. (Not my usual doctor!) I have no idea why. He didn't seem too broken up about it either.
Whatever. It's not like the birth will be boring, even without that surprise.
So exciting! Yea. A boy. That will be fun.
A healthy baby boy.
He will (almost certainly) be named Henry Wisdom, and go by H.W.
that afternoon: My grandfather died.
My sweet 93 year old grandfather, my mom's dad, died instantly and painlessly at his beloved farm. On the farm where he was born. Exactly how he had hoped to die, and what we all wanted for him.
My mom found him. I can't imagine her sense of dread, driving out to his farm when she realized he was home late and not answering his phone. In a tremendous grace of God, he appeared peaceful and comfortable. I pray that God grants my mom a peaceful remembrance of the event as well.
When I told the kids, Jonas thought for a moment and then said, "He'll be so excited when he wakes up and he's in heaven."
Saturday Dec. 5, afternoon: Make the decision to take the kids to Oklahoma for the funeral without Justin. Justin could go Sunday and come back Monday, but I dread making the drive two days in a row and would like to stay longer. So I need to go without him. Laundry and packing.
that night: Betty develops a fever. Never mind about going to the funeral.
Sunday Dec. 6: Stay home with sick Betty.
Monday Dec. 7: Sad to be missing funeral.
Abdominal pain and contractions. Maybe a touch of Betty's virus???
I've had Braxton Hicks, but these feel a bit firmer... and there are more of them...
OK, I think I need to go to the doctor. Need someone to keep the kids, but can't ask any of my mommy friends because Betty is sick and I don't want their kids to get sick. Can't call my mom, she is at her father's funeral. Justin is in College Station; he carpooled with friends and is trying to get here ASAP but it may be awhile. Justin's mom will be here as soon as she can, but her boss just had a baby two days before so she really can't leave work very early. I call Justin's grandparents; his grandmother stays with the kids and G-Dad drives me to the doctor.
Admitted to labor & delivery for monitoring. Very dehydrated. Very uncomfortable G-Dad, whom I doubt has ever before been inside the labor & delivery unit.
After 2 liters of IV fluids, I feel better and the contractions stop. Sent home late that night.
Tuesday Dec. 8: Bedrest all day. Justin with the kids; Betty still has fever.
Huge thanks to Stephanie, Mamaw, and Mandi for bringing dinner all week.
Wednesday Dec. 9: Feeling a little better. Out of bed some. Betty's fever is gone.
Thursday Dec. 10: Wake up with red painful right eye. Feels like someone is poking me in the eye with a stick. Very sensitive to light; have to drive with sunglasses over my regular glasses (note to self: pick up some prescription sunglasses!) and a scarf around my head Jackie O. style to block out more light. Except it's Jonas' scarf that I dig out of the backseat, and it doesn't wrap around my head elegantly but rather just drapes across my face, dangling to the chin on either side.
Go to OB for follow-up, am pronounced good as new, except for the eye thing. Go to ophthalmologist who diagnoses infection from contact lens, prescribes drops. Relieved it's not pink eye and not contagious. Home to bed; worn out from driving around all day with a tree branch in my eye.
Friday Dec. 11: Wake up with a fever. Are you kidding me???
Consider it the most joyous of good news when the doctor says I don't have to come be seen in clinic. For the third time this week.
Another day in bed. Feel lousy all day. Eye feels better though.
Saturday Dec. 12: Thankfully my fever is gone. Take the kids out for donuts. In case you're counting, that's 4 days this week they've been away from me: two days I'm literally gone most of the day, two other days of bedrest. Not used to that. Starting to miss the little guys; the stress is affecting them too.
That night they stayed with Mamaw and we had a fun evening with some friends. I was glad to get out and officially pronounce the week OVER.
I know God taught me something. Probably about self-reliance and pride. Turns out, I really can't do it all. I actually do need my family, and my friends, and my church. And it doesn't kill me to ask for help. Bless my sweet husband; he took such good care of me. He completely turned his schedule upside down this week, and I know it's going to cost him.
And we're having a boy! It's starting to seem real now. 7 weeks to go...
I haven't done much of the Advent activities I had scheduled for this week. But I have been turned toward God, forced to acknowledge my dependence and frailty. I await His coming....
We had a hard week, y'all.
Sometimes that happens.
I have a lot of updates to share, and I'm going to move quickly, so hold onto your hats. Some good news and some bad news. Let's just go in chronological order:
Friday Dec 4, morning: Ultrasound at my OB. The baby's head had measured large on an earlier scan, so just double checking, to rule out hydrocephalus. The way my mind works, I'm all but shopping for pediatric wheelchairs at just the mention of the thing. But it was healthy for me to think through. "So what if the baby has special needs? That's not the end of the world. We will still love him or her. God is still God, and we'll see how He glorifies Himself in this adventure."
But don't call the neurosurgeon for us just yet. The head is normal. The whole baby is huge, but that's fine. And....it's a boy.
We had planned to wait and be surprised at delivery. Made it through the first big ultrasound when you usually find out the gender by hiding our eyes. But the doctor just blurts it out this time, for no apparent reason. (Not my usual doctor!) I have no idea why. He didn't seem too broken up about it either.
Whatever. It's not like the birth will be boring, even without that surprise.
So exciting! Yea. A boy. That will be fun.
A healthy baby boy.
He will (almost certainly) be named Henry Wisdom, and go by H.W.
that afternoon: My grandfather died.
My sweet 93 year old grandfather, my mom's dad, died instantly and painlessly at his beloved farm. On the farm where he was born. Exactly how he had hoped to die, and what we all wanted for him.
My mom found him. I can't imagine her sense of dread, driving out to his farm when she realized he was home late and not answering his phone. In a tremendous grace of God, he appeared peaceful and comfortable. I pray that God grants my mom a peaceful remembrance of the event as well.
When I told the kids, Jonas thought for a moment and then said, "He'll be so excited when he wakes up and he's in heaven."
Saturday Dec. 5, afternoon: Make the decision to take the kids to Oklahoma for the funeral without Justin. Justin could go Sunday and come back Monday, but I dread making the drive two days in a row and would like to stay longer. So I need to go without him. Laundry and packing.
that night: Betty develops a fever. Never mind about going to the funeral.
Sunday Dec. 6: Stay home with sick Betty.
Monday Dec. 7: Sad to be missing funeral.
Abdominal pain and contractions. Maybe a touch of Betty's virus???
I've had Braxton Hicks, but these feel a bit firmer... and there are more of them...
OK, I think I need to go to the doctor. Need someone to keep the kids, but can't ask any of my mommy friends because Betty is sick and I don't want their kids to get sick. Can't call my mom, she is at her father's funeral. Justin is in College Station; he carpooled with friends and is trying to get here ASAP but it may be awhile. Justin's mom will be here as soon as she can, but her boss just had a baby two days before so she really can't leave work very early. I call Justin's grandparents; his grandmother stays with the kids and G-Dad drives me to the doctor.
Admitted to labor & delivery for monitoring. Very dehydrated. Very uncomfortable G-Dad, whom I doubt has ever before been inside the labor & delivery unit.
After 2 liters of IV fluids, I feel better and the contractions stop. Sent home late that night.
Tuesday Dec. 8: Bedrest all day. Justin with the kids; Betty still has fever.
Huge thanks to Stephanie, Mamaw, and Mandi for bringing dinner all week.
Wednesday Dec. 9: Feeling a little better. Out of bed some. Betty's fever is gone.
Thursday Dec. 10: Wake up with red painful right eye. Feels like someone is poking me in the eye with a stick. Very sensitive to light; have to drive with sunglasses over my regular glasses (note to self: pick up some prescription sunglasses!) and a scarf around my head Jackie O. style to block out more light. Except it's Jonas' scarf that I dig out of the backseat, and it doesn't wrap around my head elegantly but rather just drapes across my face, dangling to the chin on either side.
Go to OB for follow-up, am pronounced good as new, except for the eye thing. Go to ophthalmologist who diagnoses infection from contact lens, prescribes drops. Relieved it's not pink eye and not contagious. Home to bed; worn out from driving around all day with a tree branch in my eye.
Friday Dec. 11: Wake up with a fever. Are you kidding me???
Consider it the most joyous of good news when the doctor says I don't have to come be seen in clinic. For the third time this week.
Another day in bed. Feel lousy all day. Eye feels better though.
Saturday Dec. 12: Thankfully my fever is gone. Take the kids out for donuts. In case you're counting, that's 4 days this week they've been away from me: two days I'm literally gone most of the day, two other days of bedrest. Not used to that. Starting to miss the little guys; the stress is affecting them too.
That night they stayed with Mamaw and we had a fun evening with some friends. I was glad to get out and officially pronounce the week OVER.
......................
I know God taught me something. Probably about self-reliance and pride. Turns out, I really can't do it all. I actually do need my family, and my friends, and my church. And it doesn't kill me to ask for help. Bless my sweet husband; he took such good care of me. He completely turned his schedule upside down this week, and I know it's going to cost him.
And we're having a boy! It's starting to seem real now. 7 weeks to go...
I haven't done much of the Advent activities I had scheduled for this week. But I have been turned toward God, forced to acknowledge my dependence and frailty. I await His coming....
"...the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
the garment of praise instead of a faint spirit..."
Isaiah 61:3
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Why didn't Mommy give me anything?
So I spent maybe an hour getting the calendar up and the schedule made. Another hour or so for the tree. Some time for the blog posts, to "pay it forward" for other families. The kids helped with the calendar and tree.
All enjoyable time, and I'm glad to do it. But, you know, a small investment.
When the time rolled around to Officially Celebrate Day One, I asked Justin to talk to them about Advent. He usually leads out in our family devotions anyway, and I had already set up the tree and calendar with the kids, so I figured it was his turn to do something Christmas-y. So he explained Advent, gave them their quarters, and talked about how the quarters meant there were 25 days until Christmas.
They were very excited, and rushed to their piggy banks.
Then sweet Jonas came out with toys that he wanted to put in the calendar. He had two, one for Justin and one for me. "I got you a present too!" He gave them to us, with both hands behind his back ("Pick a hand!") just like Daddy had done. I got a little toy car, and Justin got a spaceship or something. "Oh, I forgot Sissy!" And he ran and got a pink paper plate for her.
We told him that was very sweet and thoughtful, and we were glad he wanted to give presents.
Then Betty did likewise, and gifted Jonas with a Lego I think.
Then Jonas looked suddenly sad and hurt, and asked "Daddy and Betty gave me presents, and I gave everyone presents. Why didn't Mommy give me anything?"
....I think it's safe to say I'll be passing out the Advent gifts tonight.
All enjoyable time, and I'm glad to do it. But, you know, a small investment.
When the time rolled around to Officially Celebrate Day One, I asked Justin to talk to them about Advent. He usually leads out in our family devotions anyway, and I had already set up the tree and calendar with the kids, so I figured it was his turn to do something Christmas-y. So he explained Advent, gave them their quarters, and talked about how the quarters meant there were 25 days until Christmas.
They were very excited, and rushed to their piggy banks.
Then sweet Jonas came out with toys that he wanted to put in the calendar. He had two, one for Justin and one for me. "I got you a present too!" He gave them to us, with both hands behind his back ("Pick a hand!") just like Daddy had done. I got a little toy car, and Justin got a spaceship or something. "Oh, I forgot Sissy!" And he ran and got a pink paper plate for her.
We told him that was very sweet and thoughtful, and we were glad he wanted to give presents.
Then Betty did likewise, and gifted Jonas with a Lego I think.
Then Jonas looked suddenly sad and hurt, and asked "Daddy and Betty gave me presents, and I gave everyone presents. Why didn't Mommy give me anything?"
~~~~~~crickets~~~~~~~~
....I think it's safe to say I'll be passing out the Advent gifts tonight.
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