...When You Lose Your Boys

The first time I lost (and I mean really lost) one of my kids was about two years ago at the mall.  At the time, I had Lucy in the baby carrier with Gus tagging along.  We were in a department store.  Gus purposefully ran away from me... and ran fast.  Before I knew it, he was out of sight.  This department store not only had one large entry way into the mall, but it also had several exits to the parking lot.  He must have been missing for 20 minutes before the security guards found him.

A Boy & His Legos (Noah, age 6)

After Timmy was born, Nick and I thought it would be fun to take all five kids to Legoland.  Ultimately, we had a blast!  However, we had another scare at the water park.  Somehow, Noah disappeared.  Nick and I were so confused, because there was no where for him to have gone, yet he was no where in sight.  Nick was so nervous and began searching the water park.  I felt very... how do you say?... "experienced."  I knew a five-year-old-Noah would have much better family-finding skills than a two-year-old-Gus.  Thankfully, a lifeguard reunited us with our son after about 10 minutes.

Before you write me off as a careless, irresponsible, neglectful parent, read this next anecdote:

One Sunday, we had just come home from Mass.  Gus had been upset in the car, likely over a consequence he earned.  We all bounded into the house to eat, play, and relax.  The kids immediately started playing a game while I was in the kitchen.  I noticed that Gus was not playing with the other kids.

"Hey, where's Gus?"

"He's hiding in the other room," the kids told me.

Gus, age 4

"Ah, okay."  You see, Gus loves to hide.  It's pretty much his favorite hobby.  Plus, he's pretty darn good at it.  He finds good hiding places and waits.  Silently.  Once, we were at my cousins' and realized he was missing.  We started frantically searching and calling for him and walking up the street, only to find him hiding from us up in a tree.  So, when Miriam and Noah told me he was hiding, I didn't think anything of it.

I then remembered I needed an oil change and beckoned my knight to go get me one.  About ten minutes later, the phone rang.  I answered.  It was Nick.

"I have a stowaway," he says.

My jaw dropped.  Apparently, after Mass, Gus had never come into the house.  He had climbed into the trunk of the mini van.  And sat there.  Silently.  Even while Nick started the car and drove all the way to the shop to get the oil change.

Okay.  Now you can judge me as a careless, irresponsible, neglectful parent.  I will stop there.  I am prudently restraining this post to instances of losing my boys.  The girl stories might show up in the future.

Last one.  I promise.

Yesterday, Timmy stood up by himself.  I look at him and my heart wrenches.  In nine short months, I have seen this beautiful baby get pricked and poked, undergo blood transfusions, learn to crawl, eat dirt, laugh uncontrollably, and bring joy to our home in an indescribable way.  Now that Timmy is this incredible mobile and social being, I see that I am losing my baby.

Then

Now(ish)

Then I look at Gus.  He has become such a sweet kid who loves school and adores all his siblings.  He'll do anything to please Miriam and Noah, and he'll do anything to protect Lucy and Timmy.

And Noah.  He reads now, and plays piano.  He can beat any video game and build any Lego kit you give him.

The 20 minutes I lost Gus in the mall felt like an eternity.  Yet, what's even scarier is that what they all say might actually be true: these years go by too fast.  I pray that when I lose my boys, I will have at least gained three more wonderful, God-fearing men in my life.

Miriam Received the Sacrament of Reconciliation (Feb. 2019, age 8)

She's a Girl Like No Other! (Lucy, age 2.5)

Fake-Sleeping Selfie Taken by My #1

... When It's All Literal

In first grade, Miriam completes a book report every week.  For several weeks in a row, she was assigned Amelia Bedelia books.  Remember those?  I used to love them.  As is our habit, all the kids would huddle around me as I read the "new" book for the first time.  They were engaged; they enjoyed it. -- but they didn't get it.

Though Miriam has had her own share of developmental struggles, reading comprehension has never been one of them.  As I read the first Amelia Bedelia aloud, I knew she was going to have a hard time with the reading comprehension test.  You see, Amelia Bedelia is entirely literal... and so are my children.  They didn't get why Amelia Bedelia wouldn't be selling pieces of her lawn and plants at her yard sale.  I tried to explain why the scenario was supposed to be funny, and I even believed that they understood.  However, a few days later we were admiring a neighbor's plant and Noah asked, "Oh!  Maybe we can buy it if they have a yard sale!"

I love the literalism of children.  Its innocence and truth are so endearing.  Their literal interpretations can pull me out of grouch and grump.  Consider these anecdotes:

Grandma & Dido at Ukrainian Christmas in California

The kids were fighting in the back seat of the mini van.  Fighting while I'm driving, though a common occurrence, is a huge pet peeve of mine.  "JUST DROP IT!"  I yelled.  Dead silence.  Then a confused voice piped up, "Drop what, Mommy?  We're not holding anything."

Lucy, super excited to be TWO!

Miriam and Gus were having a conversation, in which they were conceiving hypothetical scenarios.  Whatever the scenario was, Miriam inquired of Gus, "But wouldn't that just break your heart?"  Gus replied, "No.  Why would that break my heart?  The only thing that could break my heart was if I died."

Hockey Game with Tot

I was drawing a bath for Lucy.  Gus comes in with an ever-so-urgent request for me.  Frustrated, I snapped, "Wait a minute!  I'm in the middle of something."  Pause.  Then, Gus responds, "No.  Actually, you're kind of on the left-ish side."

Somehow, Miriam turned 7 (today!)

At the end of the day, I'd love to buy a nice fruit tree at a yard sale.  And wouldn't it often be easier to drop an object than an argument?  Oh, how I would love to see what images dance in the kids' heads during the consecration at Mass.  Yet, something tells me that they see Christ's Body and Blood much more virtuously than I do.

... When You Kiss Health Insurance Goodbye

I have always referred to Noah as our "seventeen thousand dollar baby."  He was certainly worth every shiny penny, but he legitimately cost us $17,000.  The irony?  That was when we had health insurance.  The salt in the wound?  It was several months before we were putting a down payment on our first home.  The funny part?  When Gus was born twenty-two months later, we were still paying for the birth of Noah.

And that was when we decided to kiss health insurance goodbye.

After Gus was born, we knew we couldn't afford a health insurance premium for a family of five.  (Unfortunately, our family has never been insured through my husband's work).  People assured us that Obamacare would bring us "hope."  I spent way too many hours researching our health care options, only to find that the end of the rabbit hole looked just as I suspected: unaffordable.

I have been caught in at least a dozen conversations where my remark, "We don't have insurance" is met with judgment.  I either receive a look of pity or a gaping glance that speaks "irresponsibility" in volumes.  Heck, I don't blame them.  If I saw a disheveled mom of four young kids (one of whom was recently referred to as my "feral child"-- a nickname I couldn't reject) who told me her family was uninsured, I, too, would react with pity or judgment.

Visiting My Brother's Seminary

Now, here's our secret: I broke up with health insurance to enter into a far more rewarding experience.  We are now members of a health share program called Samaritan Ministries.

Samaritan Ministries is one of many Christian-based health share programs.  What exactly does this mean?  It means that we belong to a group of about 200,000 people who are putting Galatians 6:2 into action in our own way.  St. Paul encourages us to, "Bear one another's burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ."  For many, navigating through health issues alone is too large a burden to carry.  Now, coupling health issues with the financial burdens that often come alongside can be crippling.  Unfortunately, our government, in part, has intensified this burden.  Obamacare could offer nothing for a family like
ours.  Praise God for our friend, DB, who told us about Samaritan Ministries!

Hiking at Eaton Canyon

As a member of Samaritan Ministries, we pledge to help other families and individuals meet their health care costs.  We pay just under $500/month for our family of six.  Each month, we receive our newsletter that tells us about a family and his or her health care need.  We then write a check along with a few prayerful words of encouragement, and send it directly to the family.  In turn, when we are in need, we are blessed with both prayers and monetary gifts from other Samaritan members.  When we open our mailbox to find a check and hand-written card from someone whom we have never met, it is a very tangible reminder of St. Paul's image of the Body of Christ.  We are one body!  Together, we can bear one another's burdens.

Another cool part?  If there are not as many health care needs in a given month, our monthly amount gets reduced!  Can you imagine your health insurance company informing you, "Our overhead expenses were less than anticipated this month.  Therefore, you will receive an 8% reduction on your premium payment."  Through Samaritan, we are all committed to helping each other meet our needs; no one is here to profit from your health needs.

A Sample of One of Many Samaritan Blessings

I felt compelled to write this blog for several reasons.  First of all, I know there are other people out there who have been abused by our health care system.  For you: there is another way!  (Here, I would really like to insert: Don't let the government control you! -- but I am trying so very hard to be non-political in this post). Secondly, Samaritan has been such a spiritual blessing for our family, I pray that it can bless you, too.

[Lest I lead anyone astray, I do want to note that Samaritan has a handful of health care costs it will not cover, i.e. immunizations and well-baby visits to name a few.  However, despite these exceptions, we have still found it to be immensely beneficial, worthwhile, and affordable for our family.]

To sum it up?  Lucy was our $300 baby.

Lucy, One and On the Run!

My Newest Pet Project

...When Webster's Needs an Update

Hnatiuk Family Dictionary

baby seat (n) -- the only seat in the mini van that has a perfect view of the baby; the direct cause of all car ride fighting.  [Circular definition: noted].
It's not fair he got the baby seat again! 

bad guys (n, plural; compound) -- any team that is not Notre Dame. 
Is Notre Dame beating those bad guys? 
Sadly, no.  No, they're not.

bee (n) -- synonym for a common house fly or any flying insect, typically used in fear. 

Cheerio (n, proper) -- the thing that falls from the breakfast table, dries, and will not come off the floor unless chiseled away.

Celebrating 97 years of Oma

chom-chom (v) [origin: Ukrainian] -- to kiss; (n) -- a kiss. 
I love giving you chom-choms.

disgusting (adj) -- used to describe any meal that does not consist of Pop Tarts or hot dogs. 
Why do you always make disgusting food?

electronics (n, plural) -- refers to Kindle, Wii, and Netflix. 
Now can we use electronics?

friend (n) -- used only in anger or as a threat. 
I will never be your friend again ever again!

An Early Morning

God (n, proper) -- the trump card played in all conversations. 
Who's faster: the Flash or Superman? 
God's the fastest!

"I don't remember" (sentence, declarative) -- guilt admission. 
Did you bite him!?  
I don't remember.

ice (n) -- the immediate exclamation to any bite/cut/fall/scrape.

inappropriate (adj) -- used to describe any show that is not animated. 
Mommy, Noah's watching something inappropriate!

Little Red Hen (n, proper) [used by: me] -- a phrase uttered to warn children of who will get to eat the vegetables from the garden if they refuse to water it. 
Kids, don't forget what happened in the Little Red Hen.


sweaty (adj) [used by: Noah] -- indicating an uncomfortable temperature of some sort. 
I'm too sweaty!  I need more blankets.

Tot (n, proper) [origin: Ukrainian] -- affectionate for "father." 

Tot and the Littles

"You're joking" (sentence, declarative) [used by: Noah] -- frustrated response of disbelief when Mom and Tot can't remember something. 
Do you know where my Lego guy is? 
No, I don't. 
Stop!  You're joking!


Yoma (n, proper) [pronounced: YAH-mo; origin: German; prefix: Yolanda] -- Nick's derived name for the kids' maternal grandmother; (sentence, exclamatory) [used by: Nick] -- a colloquial and familial greeting.
Yo, Ma!

...When You Wish Your Toddler Said "No"

Gus.  Gus is my toddler.  He's my terrible two.  Emphasis on: terrible.  Why do I wish he'd say "no?"  I'm not gearing toward one of those pensively deep responses, like, if I teach him to say "no" in a safe environment, then he'll be able to say "no" to racism, sexism, violence, yadda-yadda-yadda.  That's all fine and dandy, but that's not what I'm getting at here.

Since Lucy's birth, I've had a number of people ask me, "So, what's it like with four?"  Honestly, it's about the same as three.  It's not too bad.  Except for GUS.

My sweet little one

Gus's recent behavior has made me delve into my memories: were my other two-year-olds this difficult?  First, there was Miriam.  She started her terrible two's at 18 months and they lasted until she was four and a half.  Stubborn as a mule and persistent as that caterpillar munching away all my arugula.  Miriam's tantrums would easily last an hour.  That was a "good" one.  A bad one could carry on for two.  "Why don't you distract her?"  Tried.  "Can't you just re-direct her?"  Nope.  She'd fixate on something and her fury would sound throughout the house to no end.  "Doesn't it tire her out?"  Apparently not. 

Miri, getting ready for a swim

Then, there was Noah.  Noah was much more easy-going than his big sis.  However, he would occasionally throw his version of a temper tantrum.  We nicknamed it the "Hulk SMASH."  If you sent him to his room for a time out, you ought to prepare for re-entry.  Not only would all the toys, puzzle pieces, blankets, and stuffed animals be strewn about, but so would every book from the book case... and the shelves from the book case.  As he got a little older, "Hulk SMASH" turned into "Hulk PEE."  His common retort being: "Fine!  Then I'm just going to pee all over the floor!"  And he'd pull down his pants and... yeah.  Thank goodness that's ended.

Noah's 4th Birthday (today!)

Now, a new dawn upon us: Gus.  Our linebacker, our dictator, our little Napoleon.  He's verbally constructed the toddler version of the middle finger.

"Gus, can you please get the step stool?"
"Never!"
"Gus, would you like cereal or oatmeal?"
"Never!"
"Gus, let's get a new diaper."
"Never!"

Any mundane task becomes a Civil War.  In my eyes, I'm the North; Gus is the South.  In Nick's eyes, he's Captain America; Gus is Iron Man.  Diaper changes, car seat bucklings, hair washings -- they're all exhausting, physical strains that seem to never end.  "Never" has become his battle cry.  There are days when I just wish my toddler would say "no."

Wish you weren't so cute

...When You Crown Your Mother

Most days I feel like a terrible mother.  I either yell too much.  Or serve bad meals.  Or don't play enough.  Or forget all the house chores.  Or... who am I kidding? -- it's usually all of the above.  However, the other night, the kids were all tucked in, and I hear, "Mom!  Mom!"  Entering the bedroom, I can tell that they are all very upset about something.  "Mommy, we're scared.  What if the bad guys from Moses come and take our baby away to kill her?  Mommy, you need to give us holy water.  Lucy needs holy water!"  In the midst of my reassuring words that Jesus, Mom and Tot, and all the angels were protecting our baby, I, too, was reassured that something in my mothering must be clicking; because, in this moment, my children were portraying a deep connection both with their siblings as well as their faith.

In the way that Time always plays her tricks, April has come and gone.  We welcome May, the month of flowers, the month for mothers, and the month of our Holy Mom.  Having a new little life in our home to learn and to love, to cuddle with and care for, to hold and behold, encourages me to reflect upon the gift of motherhood.

My motherhood actually began with my experience of my own mother.  I remember all of us huddling on the couch, side-by-side, up above, and on laps, to listen to her read our favorite books like Stand Back Said the Elephant, I'm Going to Sneeze.  Sometimes we'd have to nudge her in between pages.  "Mom!  You fell asleep!"  Bleary-eyed, she'd force herself back into a wide-eyed state to finish the book.  Only now, when I feel the tap-tap and hear the Mom-Mom from my own kids, do I re-visit that memory with a fresh realism: there my mom was, squished on the couch, reading the same book for the twelfth time, nursing a newborn, and probably wishing we'd all just take a nap.  But, she kept reading.  Day after day, year after year. 

There are so many sacrifices I know my mom made for us, so many good examples she set, so much hard work in place.  Today, in my motherhood, I'd like to especially thank my mom for two things: Mom, thank you for raising me in faith, and thank you for my seven siblings.

On Faith
From an early age, my parents had us plugged into all types of Christian environments and communities.  I never got Girl Scout badges.  Instead, I earned Awana badges.  Every summer we went to VBS... sometimes more than one.  We experienced Bible studies and Lord's Days in our home, while seeking fellowship in City of the Lord and Life Teen programs.  Though it was our dad who led us through Bible studies and Passovers, it was our mom (and Psalty the Singing Song Book) who helped us connect with Jesus on a deeper level in our youth. 

Bedtime rituals often included devotional series.  One week, we might read through a book of angels.  Another week we would focus on moral dilemmas, using What Would Jesus Do?  While our dad led the adult Bible studies in the family room, my mom ushered all the children into the living room for a children's Bible study.  One summer, we performed a play and educational experience on Naaman for all the neighborhood kids.  Mom showed us that if she could cram all eight of us into a pew each Sunday by herself, we ought never to have an excuse to miss Mass in our adulthood.  We learned that faith was both an experience as well as a way of life.  It could mean hard work, but that encounter with God was worth it all.

On Siblings
We did everything together growing up.  We spent summers playing Risk, Monopoly, and Fortune 500.  We traded chores.  We made secret knocking codes on the wall to communicate between rooms at bedtime.  We laughed at the slowest sibling during swim lessons.  We formed clubs.  With theme songs.  We complained about piano lessons and washing dishes after spaghetti dinners.  We fought over the Super Nintendo controllers.  All the time.  To the point where we would set alarms in the morning during the summer, in order to claim a controller. 

As a mother of (only) four kids, I'm beginning to get a glimpse into my mom's life of raising eight.  It's hard to imagine twice the number of diapers, meals to prepare, and laundry to fold.  Double the amount of sleepless nights and fights to break up.  Then, add an extra three years of being pregnant.  However, being one of those eight kids, I am so grateful for those lasting, meaningful, love-fight relationships.  Her openness to life gifted me with seven wonderful siblings here on earth and one I look forward to meeting in heaven.

Thank you, Mom, for your sacrifices.  Thank you for these priceless gifts.  This Mother's Day, I want to crown you!

Gus turns two... tomorrow!

Grandma came all the way from Michigan to meet Lucy!



Lucy Margaret, born March 29



Superman's new sidekick

Miri turned five!

One more of the newbie

...When You're Outside the Wardrobe

I was the naysayer.  "Fine.  Try it if you want.  But they're too young.  It won't work."

Ever since Miriam was born, Nick has been dreaming of the day he could read the kids their first chapter book.  And ever since Miriam was born, that book had been determined: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.  Now that Miriam was four, Noah three, and Gus one, Nick felt certain it was time.  So, after we got the kids tucked into their beds, Nick pulled out his read-aloud gear: pillows, headlight, and the book.  With one final goodnight blessing, I closed the door.  From the other room, night after night after night, I listened to murmurs coming from the bedroom.


Miriam and Noah started school!
(And I'm blessed to be teaching again.)

Each morning on the drive to school, the kids would excitedly tell me what had happened inside the wardrobe the night before.  "Peter got a sword!  And it wasn't a toy.  It was REAL!"  Noah could barely contain himself one morning. 

"We met the beavers!  They were good guys.  They made them lunch."  Miriam would then always tell me the title of the upcoming chapter. 

"Aslan knew deeper magic -- magic that the White Witch didn't even know."  They impressed me with their comprehension, and I found their literary excitement so endearing.

Then, often once a day, Gus's normal tornado of activity would dissipate.  We would go from room to room looking for him, calling him.  We found him time and again sprawled out on the bedroom floor.  Pillows underneath, headlight around his neck, and The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe in hand.  He'd be babbling, excitedly "reading" the book to his imaginary audience.  He, too, had been overcome by the magic of the wardrobe.



Family Beach Day, 9/2015

They just finished the book last night. And the whole time, I was standing outside the wardrobe.  I didn't experience the magic with them.  Though it was wonderful bonding time between Nick and the kids, I missed out on something pretty special.

It's been a while since I've blogged, because a little baby has turned my stomach life upside down the past twenty weeks.  The kids, however, have found great pleasure in my illness.  One morning, Miri and Noah were laughing so hard as I was throwing up in the bathroom.  "Bowser is coming!  Run, Mario!"  Apparently, I sound like King Koopa when I throw up.  Gus would run to the bathroom every chance he could: for him, it was a free piggy-back ride, where Mommy was too preoccupied to shrug him off. 

Newest Baby Hnatiuk, ETA March 2015

We're all excited to meet this new baby!  Miriam, of course, hopes it will be a sister, but quickly clarifies, "But I'll still love you if you're a boy," as she hugs my belly. 

Noah is mostly concerned with mind-boggling concepts like, "Baby, I hope you're having fun in Mommy's belly even if you don't have any toys in there." Then, "Mommy, will the baby be born with clothes on?"

Guess what's on the agenda for tomorrow?  Nick and the kids will be watching The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.  Animated or live action?  Big decision!

Halloween 2015

One more of my little monster!
After Gus got his first piece of candy during trick-or-treating,
he stared in awe for about 60 seconds.  Then dropped his bucket
and took off with his piece of candy.

...When iFight the Battle

Yesterday, Miriam and Noah were at swimming lessons. Nick and I were entertaining Gus on the sidelines. Nick gave Gus his phone. Now, this might not be exactly what you're picturing. Nick didn't give Gus his phone to watch a video or scroll through pictures; he didn't let him have it to play an app or record his drooly grin. As a matter of fact, Nick gave Gus his phone so he could "talk" on it and throw it on the ground, repeatedly. The kind mother next to it kept picking up the phone and handing it back to Gus.
"Don't worry about it," Nick said politely, with a wave of his hand.

"That's a good idea," she remarked.  "I should have saved my old phone for my kid to play with.  Recycle."

My husband claims he has a flip phone because he can throw it on the ground without concern.  (However, after demonstrating this sight-to-behold too many times, his flip phone did break, and he did have to replace it... with another flip phone).  I, on the other hand, don't own a smart phone because the model I found at Target was only $15.  Apparently, AT&T stores no longer carry phones that aren't smart.

Venice Beach, July 2015

A few months ago, Nick and I had a rare and welcomed opportunity for a date night.  While at dinner, we both placed our phones on the table.  Mine, because I anxiously check my phone lest there be a child-related emergency; his, essentially to mock mine.  The waitress remarked, "Wow, I haven't seen anyone in a long time with phones like those!  But I don't even own a cell phone."  She smiled.  She was proud.  She's fighting the battle, too, and is kicking our butts.

One practical reason we've chosen to fight this battle is to reduce expenses.  (I recently learned a iPhone costs several hundred dollars, not including the monthly bills)!  However, this is our lesser motivation.  I don't want an iPhone because I want to be an eye-witness to my own life.  I'd rather not view it through a screen.  More importantly, I don't want my husband to have a smart phone because I want him to pay attention to me!  Don't get me wrong: both of use see the many, many perks of being smart phone users.  For me, it would be a grand entrance into a new world of deals and coupons!  For Nick?  Probably a toss-up between playing games and watching movies.  A smart phone offers us so, so much, and if I owned one, I know I wouldn't have the self-control to stay away... or keep my kids away.  I already waste enough time as it is.

At Skirball, June 2015

We love the liberty our "old fashioned" phones give us.  I've seen too many friends who have been distraught over losing or breaking an iPhone.  As for us, we usually don't even know where our cell phones are.  And please don't text us pictures; we can barely make them out amidst all the blur.  Group texts?  They'll freeze our phones. 

On the Fourth of July, we were at a family barbeque.  While we were watching fireworks, my lovely, little sister was preoccupied with her Snap Chatting.  (I use this term the same way my grandma might use the term "Googling."  I reckon I didn't even spell it correctly.  It probably has a trendier misspelling, like "SnappChatt."  Please inform.)  I had a rare moment of sarcasm.  "Ellie, are you going to watch or Snap Chat Nina's wedding in a few weeks?"  We all laughed, and I got my point across: enjoy the first-person, in-the-moment experience.  The constant video stream, photo-snapping, and selfie barrage must feed into the self-indulgence that already permeates our society.  The Good Lord knows that my self-indulgence does not need to be indulged. 

4th of July, 2015

We don't condemn iPhones and certainly don't look down upon those who use them.  Heck, sometimes we're jealous of all of you.  It's just a battle we've chosen to fight in hopes of creating the best environment for our family.  However, I fear my own teammate is turning against me: Nick announced the other night that he is almost ready to make The Switch.  "For work."  I call B.S.














The Switch will likely occur when we realize we don't have any pictures of Grandma and Dido's visit, Uncle Greg's stay, and, predictably, Noah's upcoming 3rd birthday.  Thank you to all our iPhone friends and family who have captured our moments for us!

... When You Wait in Joyful Expectation

Sometime ago, I invited a wonderful couple over for lunch.  They came with their first baby in tow, asleep in his car seat.  I escorted him into the "nursery," so as not to be disturbed.  Meanwhile, we enjoyed some disjointed conversation and scrambled together some meatless offerings.  Not before long, we hear a squawk coming from the nursery.  Instantly, the mother and father made delightful -- yet competitive -- eye contact, signifying that parental ESP: Who's going to greet him first?!  Me!  Me!  Me!  Then, the scampering of feet, followed by coos and kisses.

Since I missed April, here's Miri's 4th "Easter" birthday!

That's the face of God I would like to be for my children.  Waiting in joyful expectation.  Love.  Desire.  Delight.  Instead, I confess that (on Mother's Day of all days), as I was trying to cook a new steel cut oats recipe and felt all my clothing being tugged off and my legs being clawed at, I shouted, "GET OFF ME!"  At the very top of my lungs, no less.  Too often, the sounds of my waking children ignite a dreadful anticipation rather than the joyful expectation of those dawning days of motherhood.  How do I rediscover that eagerness of first-time parenting?



Miri's first time writing "the whole family."

I've experienced a lot of "firsts" these past few weeks:
1.  I traveled solo, on a plane, away from my kids for nearly 48 hours;
2.  we celebrated Gus's first birthday;
3.  I dropped Miriam off for her first day of preschool;
4.  and, I watched as Miriam took off for her first field trip...

For minutes and minutes and days and days, Miriam excitedly daydreamt of her bus ride.  To her, traveling on a bus for the first time was more adventurous than the zoo destination itself.  So, I prepared her for her big day with instructions, hugs, and a sack lunch.  At 2:15 sharp, her brothers and I pulled up at the school to watch her come off the bus. 

"Miriam!"  We embraced.  "What was more fun?  The bus ride or the zoo?"

A moment of silence.  Thoughtfulness.  Then, "The part where you came back!"  And we hugged again, this time a little bit longer.

Creating

I believe every mother remembers that moment when she first cradles her precious miracle.  For me, (especially that very first time), I experienced a transcendental moment, in which I truly felt that manifestation of Trinitarian Love.  My babies have shown me the face of God in very profound ways, and it is that very gift that I want to give back to them... over and over again, in an endless sort of way.

Do you remember that first time you saw your husband at the front of the altar?  Or when the two of you couldn't get enough of those tiny toes?  Remember when you were finally given permission to hold your NICU baby for the first time?  How about the time you got to introduce your youngest to his big brother and sister?  I do.

Baby Miri

NICU Noah

Our Wedding
 

Miriam's descent from the school bus allowed me to re-live one of those very first days.  Joyful expectation.  Love.  Desire.  Delight.



Sorry, Gus.  Couldn't find your birth pictures, but happy 1st birthday!