I was here.

I remember as a middle schooler, writing "Austin-Lee wuz here" on lots of things. I don't know if anyone else remembers doing that, or if it was just one more of the ways I was weird as a middle schooler. (But honestly...who is NOT weird as a middle schooler?) Anyway, I was running yesterday afternnoon (Yes...it was HOT. But it was the only time I could go, and believe me...I needed to go.) and was listening to music and thinking. It's fabulous to actually be able to just listen to music and think. As an introvert mom of four wild souls who have enough energy to light up this town, I need that space. I do some of my best thinking while I'm running. Probably because I don't have to think things like "have I eaten today?" or "what is that noise?" or "when was the last time I saw Jericho...he's probably halfway across town by now and I'm going to be reported to social services" or "will Amaryllis ever stop crying?"


So while I was out there, sweating myself into a puddle and loving every minute of it, a Beyonce song came on. (My music taste is all over the place.) It was "I Was Here", which I'm sure a lot of you have heard. Here are some of the lyrics:

I want to say I lived each day, until I died

And know that I meant something in, somebody's life

The hearts I have touched, will be the proof that I leave

That I made a difference, and this world will see

I was here

I lived, I loved

I was here

I had one of those moments where a song you previously thought was kinda sappy and cheesy just hits you in the right spot. Kind of like that Christmas Shoes song...which I promise has only made me cry like once. I caught myself thinking of the kids, (I know I know...I was supposed to turn off that part of my brain.) and picturing their precious faces, and thinking how often it's just a struggle, just bearing down and gritting my teeth and clean up one more puddle of chocolate milk, or pee. Make one more sippy cup full of juice. Hold Amaryllis while she screams in my ear for another hour. Wake up to a different one of these four faces every hour throughout the night all needing me for some reason or another. To break up one more fight. To try and teach one more lesson so they grow up to be people who truly love, feel, and care. To just try to make it. Try not to fall apart or lose my mind from the sheer repetition and boredom that I love and hate all at the same time.

I realized in that moment something I know I'll forget in so many more, when the battle to raise these souls is fierce and lonely and wearing me thin. I realized just how much I want to leave a mark on their lives. Not for me, but for them. I want them to look back at growing up and be happy, I want them to grow up and BE...whatever it is they are supposed to be and do it with all they've got because they saw me give it all I had. I want them to know how to live to their full capacity, to be wild and brave and strong and them. I want them to cling joyfully to the One who knit them together, and because their foundation is strong they won't be moved, but will move the world. I know that I'm tired, but the same as when I'm running and loving the beauty I find in exhausting myself, I want to exhaust myself so they will know: who they are, and who He is. I want to be here, in the middle of the beauty in this exhaustion...and hope that in turn they will live the same, and be able to say there were here.

Mistaken Mouse Identity

For some strange reason, we decided to take the hooligans to Chuck E. Cheese Saturday night. For the record, don't ever do that. It was so crowded. They had a blast, but I had claustrophobia. Next time we go, I'm going to take advantage of being a homeschooler and go at 10 am on a weekday.

I think I actually took 5 children to Chuck E. Cheese, since their father kept taking their tokens and playing games. (In his defense, he had seen a kid get about 250 tickets out of this one particular game, and didnt want to be outdone. So he ended up winning 250 tickets so the hooligans could get even more cheap plastic prizes at the end.)

They always do the "shows" there, too. Where the characters sing and scare little children to death. (Well, maybe that's just Jericho?) Thankfully he wasn't too scared this time, since he mistakenly believed that the mouse singing and talking was "Mickuh Mouwwws". He screamed it every time he saw him, as well as when we were coming and going and he saw him on the sign outside.

The kiddos did have a great time, so the crowd was worth it. They always watch cartoons on Saturday mornings, and they play the Chuck E. Cheese commercial repeatedly until all any self-respecting kid can do is beg their parents to take them there. I guess persistence pays off. ;)

Oily

Recently we've all come down with a cold, even Amaryllis. Thankfully as far as colds go, it hasn't been the worst one I've ever had. But since this is her first one, it's definitely the worst one Amaryllis has ever had. She has had a pretty tough start to life...between reflux and now her first cold. The times that she's sitting somewhere content we all kind of look at each other like, "what is even happening right now?" Just when I felt like we were starting to get the reflux sorted out, the cold happened. So maybe when we are on the other side of the sniffles little miss will finally be able to settle a little bit.

In trying to figure out her reflux, I became a desperate individual. Desperate in that I was willing to do pretty much anything and everything, even things that are probably not ethical or legal (kidding, kidding), to make this baby happy. I even finally asked her, "what do you want from me?!" in a dramatic performance worthy of an Oscar. We've taken her to the doctor so often he probably thinks we live in the parking deck, tried different formulas, tried every way of holding her wrapping her swinging her bouncing her, tried different meds and fought with insurance companies, tried every item marketed to parents with colicky-cranky-burping-gassy babies on the shelves of the local pharmacy and witch doctor's office.  Sooo...since we had finally thought we figured out the reflux situation, the cold and it's return-of-the-screaming returned me to the desperate.

You can't give a baby cold meds, but you can rub crazy smelling oil on their feet and hope to heaven that it works since you're holding a sniffly baby, feeling like a hippie, and smelling like a combination of the produce section and a Christmas tree. (Thanks to some friends for a sample of some oil! It does seem to have helped the rest of us feel better, and Amaryllis seems much less congested.) So I guess the good thing about desperation, is that it occasionally leads you to try new things you wouldn't have necessarily tried before. And even if this was just a fluke and not the oil, at least we all smell good!

Tears of Shae

I know that recording my daughter crying, scratch that howling, is probably frowned upon by some people. But I thought I owed it to all the folks out there, who get a good laugh out of #tearsofshae, to actually get to experience it in action. There are times when it does NOT make me laugh, this time I was crying laughing, though. In case you need a little translation, she was saying: "My lips are chapped. Owwie-owwie-owwie."

Disclaimer: Her lips were not chapped when she went to bed some minutes before this, and I got her chapstick right after. So no Tirzah Shaes were tortured in the making of this video. There really is endless material for #tearsofshae. I do hope, however, that we can help her learn to get control of her emotions before hormones happen. Cuz then maybe the hashtag would be #tearsofaustinlee.

The (Bigger) Baby

This guy...is getting entirely too big for his already big britches. We officially moved him into his own room and out of a crib. So far, it's going pretty smoothly. He does have a gate up on the outside of his door to prevent any escapes - which he is a master of. He recently figured out how to get out of the childproof doorknobs we had on the back door of the house. Thankfully he did that while I was watching. 

He seems to like his new room. We have learned from experience and removed his toy xylophone unless we want to be serenaded awake at ungodly hours. I took this picture the other night of him reading his "tractor Bible" as he calls it. He looks so little in that big bed!

I remember when this little "big" guy was sleeping in my bed, which he still does if there happens to be a storm at night. While I don't miss his big feet kicking me in the head, I do miss the baby he was not so long ago. But now at least he's big enough to put to work. He is great at picking not-quite-ripe vegetables out of my sister's garden. Now if I could just get him to stop leaving socks all over the house.

A month.

I really can't believe it's been a month since Amaryllis was born. But as I've said with all of our kids, it seems like she's been with us forever. (I also feel like she's screamed since she was about 3 days old...so that contributes to the "forever" feeling as well I believe. She's screaming as I write this...so pardon any typos and incorrect grammar or if I just post a half-finshed blog post.)

In her defense, the screaming has much improved (at least it seems like it I think) since we switched her formula and increased her reflux meds. (She has what her doctor believes is silent reflux, and also seems to generally throw a screaming hissy fit where I can barely hold onto her -if you think i'm kidding you should come give it a whirl- whenever anything resembling milk or it's friends and family hit her stomach and try to make an exit.) So she's on formula that costs enough to feed a small country, but we are in the process of seeing if this fixes whatever it is that irritates miss fancy pants' stomach.

This blog wasn't supposed to be about screaming and milk issues and reflux...but when it's penetrating to your very soul it's kind of all you can think about. Apologies. ;) Billy and I always say that 'baby screaming' should totally be used as a means of torture. It would work...people would do anything to make it stop. (Like type with one hand and jiggle a baby and drive your doctor insane because you do crazy stuff like call him 5 times a day.) So...um, she's a month old! That's what I was writing about. She's so cute. I'm not sleeping. I love her so much. I need a vacation. She is such a gift, for real. I think that about covers it. Hopefully when I'm blogging about her being 2 months old I will be able to use two hands. ;)

Just Stop

It seems like Merrick gets a little bigger every day. The other weekend while he was staying at Billy's parents we got a text with a picture of his new big tooth coming in. It's so big. Kind of like his feet which are huge. (He's really a small guy...but his feet look like a teenagers feet and it freaks me out because they make me think of when he will actually BE a teenager and won't kiss me with his sticky face anymore or want to snuggle in my bed in the mornings or want me to sing to him at night or...ok ok need to calm down.)

Anyway, this week he has been going to a day camp near our house. But it's still entirely too far away. He loves it of course, but he always looks so...little...when we drop him off. My not so little baby being all independent and stuff. At least he still lets me kiss him when I leave. (And came home the other day with this blue sticky mouth wanting a big kiss.)

I think how sweet and thoughtful this guy is makes him growing up even harder. Life is tough, and I don't want him to ever let it take away that big eyed sweetness of his. I love the guy he's growing up to be...I just wish he wouldn't do it so fast.