Eli's First Day

Today, my little guy started preschool...and I wept uncontrollably into my pillow all night leading up to it.  He's doing two days a week, 2 1/2 hours each day of preschool at a co-op called Jack and Jill.  This is a decision with which I wrestled for months and still am wrestling...this decision and I are in a half nelson right now and we're all sweaty and gross and people are all, "just pin her, already."

Here's the inner monologue that has been running in my head about this decision:
He's just three, why send him now? Yes, but it would be great exposure to some structure and instruction from someone other than the T.V. I know, but he's going to be going to school his whole life...just wait a year.  True, but it's just two days a week, 2 1/2 hours each day. What if he hates it and cries and writes about it in his journal so that he can tell his future therapist the exact date when his mother let him down and he lost his ability to trust. Okay, what if you did a co-op...you know something with which you could be involved.  Hmmm...maybe.  I don't know. What if...

So, I made the decision to enroll him in a co-op where the teacher is so incredibly wonderful that I'm sure even her farts smell like lavender and heaven.  (I hope she never reads this.) His teacher was placed on this earth to teach little 3 and 4 year olds.  I love her and will include her in my will.

He missed his first day, because he was sick (the first time he's been sick since March, but whatever).  So, today was the day. And he loved it!  He turned off the t.v. of his own volition so we could go. TURNED.IT.OFF.HIMSELF!!! And then it rained skittles.

We'll see how it goes.  That's my motto right now.  If today was any indication, I'm sure he'll be fine.

The (abridged) Story of Us

13 years ago, during the autumn of my freshman year at Spring Arbor College, my friend Jill Thompson announced to me that she had found my future husband.  Her "find", she proclaimed, was my best fit.  She couldn't imagine us not getting together.  Then, she said his name.  Ben Parker. I scoffed in her general direction and informed her that while I found him EXTREMELY attractive, his less than bubbly personality instantly deemed him a not-viable option.  He seemed too arrogant to me.  Plus, I saw him serenading a girl with his guitar once.  Fail.  I later found out that Ben was equally  turned off by my huge mistake of a pixie hair cut. 

Hours of chapel band practice, psychology classes together (his major, my minor), basketball games, more mutual friends later, it seemed our friend may have been on to something. December 2001, I accepted an invitation to a faux "blind date" with Ben Parker.  November 2002, I accepted his marriage proposal.  And August 9, 2003, we made promises to love each other forever.  And I can't imagine a day since or in the future without him. 

Thank you, Jill Thompson.

"I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death."  -e.b.b.

36 Years of Rick

Happy 36th Anniversary to my Marms and Dad

Love is all you need.

Plans are Made for Breaking

"For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the Lord, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future..."  -Jeremiah 29:11


I have a hard time with this verse.  Mainly because I want to know what these plans entail and how/when they will be brought about.  Being able to go with the flow and know that life is not in my hands is one of the most difficult lessons I have to learn.

This weekend has been trial by fire.  I had made all sorts of fun plans for the last two days and then life happened.  Eli got sick, Ben was gone for two days, Eli had night terrors two nights ago and woke up every hour, Eli was awake last night from 2:30 - 5 a.m. I am going on 8 hours of sleep in the last 48 hours (I need about 8 hours a night in order to not make people cry using just my words), my hair dryer quit mid-dry yesterday, and Blockbuster didn't have the second Sherlock Holmes movie yesterday. (I know you're thinking, duh, get Netflix.  We don't do fancy streaming technology in this house. So, just...okay?) Oh, the madness.

Reading this last paragraph,  I know you're saying to yourself, "Suck it up, Parker.  This is it?! Over-dramatic much?"

And then I would say, "Your FACE is over-dramatic, fart face."

And then I would acquiesce.  You're right.  It's not that bad.  So what we have no clean drinking glasses because they are all waiting to be cleaned in my kitchen sink.  So what I have a pile of clean laundry multiplying by the second. And a pile of dirty laundry, for that matter. That dirty diaper that's been sitting right smack dab in the middle of my living room like some crack den is not a big deal.  It will get thrown away.  Dishes will be done.  Fruit flies that are circling around what I think were once bananas will die.  Life will go on.  Eli will eventually decide that sleep is not the enemy.  And so will Whitney.  I will have a full night of sleep at some point.  Right?  RIGHT?!!

This is a blip -- a very undramatic, unnoticeable by any other full functioning member of the human race blip.

He takes hold of my right hand and says, "'Do not fear; I will help you.'"

**After publishing this post I thought I should add a couple post-scripts to clarify and add some sunshine.

P.S. I was able, thanks to my father, to attend a fabulous wedding of a dear friend today.  I also was able to catch up with some great people and spend some good quality time with my mater. 

P.P.S. Just in case you were thinking of calling CPS on me, the diaper was left by the couch in my haste this morning after changing Whitney quickly before running some errands this morning (like buying a new hairdryer).  And the bananas...well, the bananas are pretty gross.

Eli's First Completed Potty Chart

 WARNING: THIS POST CONTAINS ANECDOTAL INFORMATION ABOUT POTTY TRAINING. WALK AWAY IF YOU CAN FEEL YOUR EYES STARTING TO ROLL.

If you've talked with me in the past 6 or 7 months, you've no doubt been tortured by my laments over Eli's lack of potty training.  I've been the parent who, honestly, has waited until Eli appeared interested to use the potty.  Lazy? Maybe.  But the way I looked at it is that I wasn't going to force potty training and then have to spend a year or more fighting with him to use the potty.  And if you've met my son, you know those fights would have been super fun.  They would have probably ended with me dead.  And, like my mama always says, "he ain't gonna start kindergarten wearing a diaper." (her speech is actually more refined than that, but I find hillbilly talk to be more humorous.)

So, we've waited and waited and prayed and waited some more and prodded and suggested and bribed and cried and prayed some more and made a virgin sacrifice to the potty gods and cried some more.  Then my brilliant husband (who should be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for Potty Training) bought him an Elmo potty video (Eli's very visual).  And then he wanted to do it.  That Elmo is a freaking mind manipulator.   I made a sticker chart that would allow him to essentially pee for a prize every five successful attempts (coming to a carnival near you). And now he just....goes to the potty.  

I should clarify that he goes #1 with ease; the deuce has yet to be dropped.  Which means this potty story is TO BE CONTINUED...

Update

Yeah...that whole blogging twice a week thing...didn't go as planned, soooo.  Below are Whit's 6 and 7 months posts.  Where are Eli's, you ask.  Oh, you didn't...that's cool.  Ummm...so I've been trying to write Eli's 3 year letter since he turned 3, lo these 3 months.  And I can't.  Two was a hard time for us.  A time when I daily felt like a failure as a parent.  And while I lean toward the hyperbolic more often than not, it's true -- daily failure.  My worst moments as a parent occurred during his third year.  I can vividly recall them.  So, I'm working on it; it's a hard one to write.   I will also post his 37 - 39 month letter soon.  Eli is using the potty, folks.  I know, right?  Just you wait to read all about it.  Cause I know you want to read about the bathroom going-ons of my three year old.  Stop shaking your head...it's going to happen. 

Whitney: a 7 month snap shot.

Seven months...look at you following the natural progression of time and stuff.  You get it, get it, girl.  Seven months and you don't look a day over six.  How do you do it?

 Look at them rolls...beautiful.

 I walked in the room once to find your brother swiffering you.

We'll do a bulleted  letter this month...mix it up a little.  Give you some fodder for future therapy sessions. "Mom did bulleted letters with me.  The injustice of it all!"

• Foods you've tried: rice cereal (to which we said adios), oatmeal,  green beans and peas.  
• Foods you will let me feed you without rubbing your eyes (the sign for get me outta this chair, woman!): oatmeal.  You read right.  You hate anything green.  Except for Kermit. 
• On deck: carrots
• You love to eat paper.  
• I think you have pica.
• You had a rash in one of your leg rolls this month. I'm so sorry.  I try to stay on top of making sure your nooks and crannies are clean, but your rolls are-a-plenty.  Don't you go getting a complex -- they are adorable.
• You finally have a high chair.  Lame parenting moment #2,246.  We had a high chair that we used with your brother, but it fell down on the basement floor this last summer and started growing mold colonies from all the dampness in our (at the time) air conditionerless basement, and I was all, mold colonies, you have to start paying rent for how many of you there are, and they were all like, deuces, woman.  So we parted ways, and the good boys of Emmons sanitation took them...it away. So, I was using your bumbo as a temporary high chair, which was not conducive for easy meal times. 
• The vacuum cleaner scares the tuna salad out of you (that's one of your brother's favorite sayings right now--it's from one of his favorite books), which was my cue to stop vacuuming; I aim to please. 
• Bedtime is a little rough still.  We'll get there.
• You have a clear tell for when you're tired and it's ADORABLE.  You scrunch up your eyes and rub your ears.  At first, I thought you had this perpetual ear infection that only bothered you around certain times that seemed to coincide with your nap times, but then I figured it out.  Can't get much past your mom.  She went to college...a college that turns no one away, but she went...so...
• You're about to go on your first real trip.  We're heading out to Boston for your Uncle Adam's wedding.  Two seven hour days in the car with you and your brother...I tear up just thinking about it.  
• Early on when you would get up from naps or for the day, I would say, "Hey, boooo. Did you have a good nap?"  Now, your brother says it.  He gets all up in yo bizness and says "Hey, boooo...did you have a good nap."  Even if you've been up for a couple hours.  Love it.
• Finally, you are loved.  By so many people.  Even weirdos in Target who won't leave you alone until you smile at them.

Those are balloons behind you.  Not an elaborate costume I made you wear.

Happy 7 months, boo!  Love you forever.