Do You Know What Gogurts Eat?

The other night we were eating dinner when Riah asked me a question:

“Did you know that Gogurts only eat grapes and grass?”

Perplexed, I asked:

“Gogurts? What do you mean? Like those yogurts in the packets that you eat?”

“No, no, GO-GURTS. Like, the animal.”

“Riah I have no idea what you mean. There are no animals named Gogurts. Do you mean…um…lizards maybe?”

“No! We learned about them in school today.”

I was so confused and for the life of me couldn’t think of what he was talking about. I asked him a few more times what he meant, fishing for the answer and hoping one of my questions would stick. They didn’t.

Then, thankfully, Allan swooped in and saved the day:

“Riah, do you mean groundhogs?” he asked with obvious annoyance.

“Oh. Yeeeaaaah. Groundhogs!” Riah responded with the biggest smile on his face, clearly thinking his use of the word “gogurt” was just as funny as I thought it was.

The entire interaction made me laugh and I couldn’t help but think: how lucky are we, for both our boys.

A Spot to Read

I heard someone reading a book the other night (which, there are only three of us in the house who can currently read, so I had a pretty good idea of who it was ;) and it was coming from the other room, so I walked in so I could better hear. But I didn’t see anyone.

I could hear Allan’s voice but I couldn’t see him, and it’s not like our dining room is big enough to hide a child in. Then I looked under the table to find him curled up on the rug reading his “Dick and Jane” book. How cute is that? I hope he never stops reading as he gets older. Reading was one of the things I loved most growing up and I would love for at least one of our kids to take an interest in it.

I would say Allan is on his way!

That’s One Way to Wear Pants

The other day I told Riah to get dressed and gave him a pair of jeans to put on.

He proudly walked into the room to show me he was dressed and ready to go. I couldn’t help but smile and laugh (but not too much). When I told him his jeans were on backwards, he burst out laughing and thought it was the funniest thing ever. I immediately told him to stand still while I took his picture, naturally. He is so damn cute!!

Zachariah Garrett, what are we going to do with you?

Do You Know How I Love You So Much?

As I was tucking our son into bed the other night, he told me something that made my heart swell.

I was laying down with Riah and rubbing his forehead and eyes to get him ready for bed, as I always do, when he looked at me and said, “Daddy, do you know how I love you so much?” I knew immediately this was a version of a question I ask the kids every night: “Do you know how much I love you?” to which every guess they give me, I respond with, “Bigger.”

I smiled and felt my heart bursting with anticipation for what his reason was going to be.

“No, how?” I curiously asked.

“Because I did not like when you fell on the stairs before, that’s why I love you so much.”

Oh man. Riah has always been our little charmer. I felt joy in how he expressed love in his own words, saying what made sense to him and conveying his emotions in a way that fit his five year old vocabulary (which was my favorite part). Even if I didn’t know he was watching at the time, he saw earlier when I fell coming up the stairs to get bed time started and that I was in physical pain, and him letting me know he doesn’t like it when I am in pain is the most human and basic form of love I can think of.

We don’t like it when our loved ones suffer, and the words we choose to let them know don’t matter so much, just so long as they know how we feel.

And so I thanked him, kissed him on the forehead, and told him I loved him, too. He then immediately ended the conversation with, “Also I love that red Spiderman because he’s my favorite also.” So there’s that, haha.

Even late at night when I’m tired and in pain from a fall up the stairs earlier, their little brains have a way of making me smile and letting me know that, one way or another, I am loved.

The Biggest Little Helper

Yesterday was a good day.

I spent the whole morning with Anna, who kept me company while running all over town. First, we went to the car dealership and got some information on our family car (more on that at a later date!). Then we went to what might be all the kids’ favorite thing in the entire world to do, something they ask weekly if we can go through: the car wash.

She screamed with joy when I told her where we were heading, and even voluntarily put her iPad down so she could enjoy the main event . After the car was washed, Anna helped me clean the inside by wiping down the seats and floorboards with a rag, and did a fabulous job if I do say so myself.

Right now she (really, they all are) is loving to help with little daily tasks: folding the clothes, cooking and baking, cleaning up around the house, etc. However, I was telling PJ the other day how they’re all kind of at these ages where them helping actually makes the task take longer, but I know that if I stick with it and show them how to do it, eventually, they’ll get the hang of it and not only will it help us out, but they’ll also learn how to do things for themself.

But for now, I’m finding it so cute and so sweet when they ask to help put the groceries away or feed the animals. I wonder what age that’ll stop?

After the car was cleaned, we made a quick stop at the bank, where our favorite bank teller explained how she was so excited to finally to meet at least one of our kids. Anna was being shy, but her personality couldn’t help but shine through.

When we were finished at the bank, we headed to pick up Riah’s prescription and do a little grocery shopping, which happens to be one of Anna’s absolute favorite things to do. Go figure!

She rode in the cart and ate a donut that jut couldn’t wait until we got home and kept receiving compliment after compliment from people commenting on how good of a helper she was (and of course, how cute she is). I can’t help but feel so much joy when other people see what we see in our kids.

In the check out line, the sweet lady behind us with beautiful salt and pepper hair said she loved Anna’s brown hair because it reminded her of hers when she was young. How sweet is that?

And finally, when all the groceries were bought and put in our car that was all clean, we headed home to eat lunch before heading out to the farm to meet PJ and Riah, who had gone out there earlier that the morning to meet our (three!) new lambs. 

I am writing this down here so I can hopefully always remember these days with our girl. She is the biggest little helper ever, and I can’t imagine running errands would be as productive or fun without her by my side.

Taking in the Silence (and Actually Enjoying It)

Most days, if not all days, our lives are loud.

With three kids and more animals than I’m going to even attempt to count, there’s always some kind of noise ringing through the house. And to be honest, I quite like it that way. I love the sounds (good and bad) of kids doing life in our home. I love hearing our dog Meryl play with our cat Alyster and the noise she makes when he jokingly claws her in the face. I love the sound of the washing machine beeping and the way the doors creak in winter.

All of these are sounds of home and our very busy and very full lives right now. They’re comfortable, familiar and safe to me, and I relish them.

But on the way to clean my car and get the oil changed, something changed. I plugged in my phone and started looking for a song to listen to on the drive, but couldn’t find one I wanted to hear. I kept searching and searching but nothing sounded good. Not the new Adele, not the new Taylor, nothing.

And then I quickly realized, it’s not that I didn’t want to hear any of those songs, but that I didn’t want to hear any songs. Nothing sounded good to me because the thought of silence sounded so much better.

It’s rare that our house is quiet. It’s usually after the kids go to bed, but even then, there’s still the calming sound of the dishwasher running or the click-clack of our animals walking on the hardwood floors. This week PJ took the kids to Chattanooga while I was getting ready to accompany my mom to her holiday party, and the house was still. I tried to take in the silence then but I wasn’t able to. I’ve found I don’t enjoy being alone at home just yet; not for reasons of fear, but because I enjoy the dynamic of our family so much right now (even when I feel like I might go insane from all the fighting the kids are doing lately 😂).

Sometimes I forget we’re technically still new parents, and right now we’re still soaking up this time with our children while they’re young. I can’t tell you how many times a week someone tells us to enjoy these ages as much as we can, because they grow up so fast. I’m feeling that every single day lately: time is moving too quickly and they’re changing almost daily.

So I drove to the car wash and to get my oil changed with no sound whatsoever. No music. No podcast. No radio. And it was total bliss. I’ll be returning home to a house full of children and noise soon enough, but for now, I’m taking in the silence (and actually enjoying it).

Our First Overnight Stay in the Hospital

Update: Thank you all SO much for the loving and supportive comments for our boy. I was very tired and emotional when writing this post and we appreciate you being here to read it!!

It’s currently 9p and I am trying to keep my eyes open as I sit next to our son, who very much doesn’t have his eyes open and is sound asleep on the 3rd floor of the hospital we’ve been going to for the last year and a half.

I have lost count of just how many times we’ve been to the hospital for Riah. Those are words I never thought I would write when I used to think of our someday kids. I don’t mean to sound like I am pining for your pity, because thankfully, and I truly mean thankfully, all of the visits have been fine and well and we’re handling his epilepsy as best as possible and taking all of the necessary steps so that he hopefully grows out of it in a few years. 

What I mean is, you can never predict what the future holds for you and the ones you love. That’s part of what makes life so exciting (and scary). So I never could have predicted with 100% certainty, especially since he isn’t biologically ours, that our son would have epilepsy. There were certain hereditary signs, but who could know for sure? 

We are spending the night for the first time at the hospital to do a sleep study and see how things are progressing. He is currently hooked up to 38 wires, with tape across his face and in his hair, and a big white bandage all over his head to hold everything in place. He is sleeping under a thin blanket. I let him pick out his favorite stuffed animal and we brought it with us, but our boy was so tired after they hooked him up that he was falling asleep before the doctor was even finished putting the wires on him. 

There was a moment, though, when he was told to sit up so the doctor could patch his head and face with long, brightly-colored wires that looked more like toys than vital instruments to measure one’s sleeping patterns, where he was staring at me with such a longing to lay his head on the pillow; to rest and to fall asleep. I felt my heart twist and turn as I stood watching the doctor we just met lace him up with one toy-like string after another. I felt, as I always do when he is in the hands of doctors and nurses, helpless. I wanted so badly to lay him down and give him the rest he so desperately needs. His eyes were heavy, and my heart was, too.

Riah requires more sleep than our other two children. He always has. His brother and sister are able to function and go all day without a nap (much to our surprise) but Riah is so noticeably out of sorts when he doesn’t take one during the day. His whole vibe is off and he’s much more moody, sensitive, and angry. If you have young kids or have been around them for any amount of time, does this sound familiar? 

I hate that he has to have all of these tests done. I hate that he has to drink medicine twice a day that tastes disgusting. I hate that he is five years old and has already had more lab work done than I have in my entire life. And I hate that we’re not home with his father and his brother and sister, on this cold December night.

But you know what I don’t hate? The chance that he will grow up without his epilepsy getting worse, or better yet, that he might grow up with no epilepsy at all. I also don’t hate that he is so good with needles and pokes, because I have to look away when they do it to him (and to me). I don’t hate that he is so brave and strong when it comes to this stuff, and that the medical staff are always telling him how wonderful he is doing. I don’t hate that he never complains about any of it: he rolls with the punches and keeps going. I don’t hate that everyone we meet with has been extremely nice, sensitive and patient. We were late getting here tonight because of traffic and they kept telling me it was alright. And you know what? I think it will be.

It’s later now, and he’s been asleep for a while. We will get to leave at 4:30a and make the long drive back home to our house with the 100 year old floors and the laundry that needs to be folded on the couch, and the dogs that need to take their medicine twice a day, and the litter box that needs to be changed, and a brother who needs help tying his shoes and a sister who wants to eat only Mac n’ cheese, and a husband who texted me after we got here saying “Everyone misses you,” which put the biggest smile on my face. And as I adjust and try to make this recliner next to his bed more comfortable than it is, I can’t help but feel grateful for our boy and everything that makes him, him. 

And also for the fact that he is sound asleep, finally getting that rest he wanted, and the rest he so desperately needs.

Do We Tell Our Kids Santa Isn't Real?

Do we keep up the lie to satisfy their child-sense of wonder?

PJ and I were driving the other day when he turned and looked at me and said, “I really don’t like the idea of lying to them about Santa.” The funny thing is, just the day before, I was thinking the exact same thing. Why do we perpetuate this lie to our children, when it doesn’t really and truly serve anyone? Wouldn’t they be just as okay knowing Santa isn’t real?

I know so much of the magic of the holidays when you’re young is believing Santa Claus is real and that he will come down the chimney and shower your home with presents on Christmas. I know that leaving milk and cookies out is something I always looked forward to, and singing songs about the big guy with the white beard and the red hat were always my favorite Christmas carols. What I don’t know, however, is how old I was when I stopped believing in him.

I think a part of me knew for a while before I finally accepted that he was a myth; a made-up, mystical man that serves as the inspiration and main plot point for thousands of movies and TV shows. But that’s the thing about TV: everything looks magical on the big screen, and so much less magical in real life. So maybe we fear the holidays won’t be as magical for our kids if they know Santa isn’t real. Is that why we keep up the lie?

Another thing is, and probably the biggest reason why we don’t tell our kids, is we don’t want to spoil it for any other kids in their class. Can you imagine how mortifying it would be if our child was the one to ruin Christmas for everyone else? Worst-case scenario. So for now, in the spirit of preserving childhood innocence, we will keep up the charade of Santa Claus and all the joy and mystique he brings.

Our middle son, Riah, has already been questioning his validity lately. I thought for sure it would be our oldest, but I think he enjoys believing in all the things right now. The truth is, I don’t think any of our kids would mind if we told them he isn’t real. I think they would all feel a sense of privilege knowing the truth, like they’re in on this huge, giant secret that no one else knows. I honestly think they would handle the news well and that there wouldn’t be any pushback. I could be wrong, but that’s what I’m thinking would be the case.

However, I would be lying if I said we haven’t used Santa Claus as a motivator for our kids to act accordingly. I know, I know. Not our proudest moments (we’re still learning!!), but it’s the truth, even if it’s technically frowned upon. In this article on Fatherly.com, Psychologist and parenting expert Dr. Justin Coulson explains, “When we use a coercive, manipulative strategy to get our kids to behave, we are relying on extrinsic contingencies by telling them to be good in order to get what they want. And once that motivation is gone, how do we know they’ll still feel compelled to behave? It’s morally, ethically, and scientifically dubious at best.”

Doesn’t that make so much sense? Dr. Coulson goes on to give his argument for being brutally honest with kids about Santa Claus: “Christmas is going to be exciting and fun and enjoyable whether kids know the truth about Santa or not. In the same way that I can watch a movie that I know is complete fiction and still find the movie tremendously enthralling, our children can know the truth about Santa and still find Christmas every bit as exciting.”

So there you have it. For now, we will keep up the Santa Claus schtick until we decide to tell them the truth. What we won’t be doing, however, is using Santa as a manipulative tool, because that’s good for no one in the long run. Maybe by next Christmas we’ll be sharing how well they took it, how much more magical the season is for them now that they know the truth.

Either way, happy holidays to believers and non-believes alike!

The Struggles of Being a 6 Year Old

A few moments ago, as Allan (our 6 year old) was trying to solve a cube, he shared with me his current frustrations:

Him: Have you ever solved a cube before?

Me: Nope!

Him: I am trying to solve this cube but my brain is still just thinking about dinosaurs. I don’t know why my brain is thinking about dinosaurs but it just is. Brain, please stop thinking about dinosaurs! Knock it out!

My favorite part of this whole ordeal is that he was 100% serious. He was honestly and truly telling his brain to stop thinking about dinosaurs so he could concentrate on the task at hand. And don’t get me started on his honesty! His candidness was so cute and innocent and funny to me. Allan, more so than the other two right now, is really into telling us his every thought lately, much to our enjoyment, of course.

I want to remember these little sayings forever.

“I’m An Instruction Worker”

As told to me just now by our oldest while all three of them are building “ponds” for us at Ocoee Farm. And that really is such great news, him being an instruction worker and all, because the farm could use more helping hands.

There are a million of these statements coming from them almost every day and I really wish I would write them down more. They always catch me off guard and they’re so funny and innocent.

I never want to forget them!

It’s The Little Things, Isn’t It?

When the school year started, I wasn’t sure if I would like walking the kids to and from school every. single. day. It sounded nice in theory: quality time with them, fresh air, a little exercise. But doing it four times a day (since the boys get out at different times) seemed like it would get a little…repetitive? Monotonous? And what about when it rained or snowed?

I used to walk our oldest to school over a year ago before he did virtual learning for Kindergarten and I remember loving it, especially when the weather was nice. But four times a day? I had my hesitations. 

But now it’s about three weeks in and I. love. it. It’s become one of my favorite parts of the day. The walks to school in the morning with the boys (and sis if she feels like tagging along) have become part of our routine as a family and something I now look forward to doing.

In the mornings, we talk about school and what they’re going to eat for lunch. We talk about new friends they’ve made and their teachers. Right now their favorite thing to do is to try and find bugs on the sidewalk and shriek when they actually do (most of the time they think they see one but it’s actually just a piece of mud). Last week there was a grasshopper that our oldest found that looked like a leaf, and he told me all about how they camouflage to protect themselves from predators who might want to eat them. Isn’t that so cute?

He gets so excited about insects and bugs that he almost can’t control himself, and he’ll say things like, “My heart is beating so fast right now and I am shaking”. So cute. Lately they’ve been finding dead cicadas on the sidewalk and they think they’re the coolest things ever. Me, not so much.

On the way home, they tell me about their days and what they learned. It’s like for a few minutes a day, it’s just them and us in the world and we get to hear about the good, the bad and the fun they had during their few hours at school. They tell me what they had for lunch and if they liked it or not. They sing me songs they learned from their teacher. They tell me their friends’ names and always get so excited when they’ve made a new one. They carry their backpacks home with pride as they skip out the school doors. There’s nothing in younger brother’s at the moment, but that doesn’t stop him from holding onto it for dear life on the way home.

I just got back from walking them to school this morning and, after all the rain we’ve been having, the air was cool, crisp, and refreshing. It felt like fall. I’m already getting excited for our walks to and from school in a few weeks; seeing the leaves change and fall to the ground, wearing layers to stay warm. Little things to get excited about.

Speaking of little things, I didn’t mean to write as much as I did on this post, but I suppose I feel very strongly lately about appreciating the little moments in life that bring joy. You know, the ones you don’t really even think about too often because you’re too busy or you have a million things on your mind, but when you take time and actually do think about them, you realize they might be more important than they first appear. They might equate to the big moments that mean something and add up to a life of wholeness.

Yes, it really is the little things. But, maybe, they’re not so little after all.

Who Knew School Drop-Offs Would Be This Emotional?

While dropping little sis off at school yesterday, we may or may not have both cried in the car.

Lately, now that she is in school, our 3 year old has been telling everyone in the house how she misses them during the day. To her brother: “I miss you Fa-Fa at tool (school).” Fa-Fa = the name she calls our middle child, even though his name doesn’t start with an F and only sort of sounds like what she’s trying to say. 😂. But it’s cute and we love it, so we don’t correct her.

She’s used to spending all day every day with all of us, so I totally get why she takes the time to tell everyone how much she misses them when she’s gone, because to be honest, we miss her, too.

On the way to school yesterday, she was saying it to me from the backseat: “I miss you, daddy.” I thought it was so sweet, and so I told her that I will miss her, too. She said it again before we pulled up, so again, I let her know how much I will miss her. And finally, when we pulled up to her school and I turned off the car and unbuckled my seatbelt, she said it a third time: “I miss you at tool, daddy.” Only this time, her eyes were filled with tears as she was smiling trying to keep them from falling down her cheek. This time, she was telling me, in so many words, that she wasn’t ready to say goodbye for the day.

And just like that, my eyes suddenly started to tear up, too, and I felt a pain in my chest. We hadn’t experienced this with any of the kids yet, and I thought we had avoided it altogether this year. All of them had been so eager and excited to start school that I thought we blew past the not-wanting-to-go phase. Up until that point, she had been more than willing to walk into her classroom every day.

I told her it’s okay to cry if she’s sad because I do it, too, and that we’re supposed to miss people when they’re gone; it’s how we know how much we love them, but even that won’t stop us from having the best day ever! She ended up being fine, gave me a big hug goodbye and walked into her classroom ready to start the day.

Whew. Those are some strong feelings at 8 in the morning, aren’t they? It’s so different with the boys and dropping them off, I think because she’s still younger than they were when they both started school, so it’s a little harder to say goodbye to her for a few hours every day. Today, however, things didn’t end so well. She ended up bawling as I signed her in and wouldn’t let go of my neck. I knelt down and put her on my knee and held her for a few minutes to calm her down but to no avail. She wasn’t ready.

It ended up being for the best, though, because last night she started having a runny nose, so we took this as a sign that we should take her to the doctor with her brother this morning ( poor guy got a strep throat confirmation). Looks like neither of them will be going to school tomorrow, so we’re hoping by Monday she will be back in the game and ready for a new week with her teachers, her classmates, and without her dads for a few hours a day.

Who knew school drop-offs would be this emotional?