Because sometimes this is hard.

I don't like to use the word really.  If you mean what you say, you shouldn't need to bulk it up.  I also don't like to use the word very.  Not usually.

But this is really hard.  Really, very hard.

Small kids, a big kid, a business, a marriage, relationships, dreams, obligations....you know how it is.  I'm typically a happy person, but sometimes all this responsability makes me a bit surly.   Like when I've cleaned the entire kitchen twice and wiped a banana-like substance off the bottom of my foot even though we ran out of bananas several days ago.  And everyone is starving but noone wants to eat what I've prepared.  I'm two crappy diapers in and it's only 8am.  That's when it's hard.

People without kids complain to me about being tired.  And I don't punch them.  And I call that my good deed of the day.

So...why?  I have options, I don't have to do this.  And yet, here I am, taking my surly mood out on my dear husband in the morning and then snuggling up to him at night (the world always looks a bit more optimistic when the kids are asleep).

So I made a list.  I'm a list person.

Why I love my life even when it's really, very hard:

1. The height chart across from the pantry.  I feel like I just put it there, it's a tree with one bird.  I swear I just put it up "the other day", yet each of my children already has two marks.  And the sharpie lines marking each boy's height are miles away from each other.  How can a human grow a foot in a year?  No wonder I can't keep the closets organized.  When I'm stressed, I look at it.  It's beautiful.

It would be quite nice for there to be a picture of said chart.  There isn't  Get off my back.

2.  The sight of Jesse's truck outside our front window.  We all feel it.  The tone of the house changes, everyone gets excited and I watch the kids as they all try to decide what they need to do to get front and centre.  Not to brag, but I always win. 
Jesse is often finishing up a call in his truck so there can be a delay between seeing the truck and seeing Daddy walk in the door.  If you're ever on the phone with Jesse after 5:30...beat it. We miss him.



3. My kids.  I tried to be more specific, but I can't.  The sight of them, the smell of them.  Even the sound of them.  Even when I feel like I'm attending a death metal concert against my will.  Poor ears, lucky heart.

I love to watch Mallory master a new task, create a new craft or make a joke that I laugh at because it's truly funny.  We don't use the word "step" around our house anymore. Not because we made some life or values decision about it...but because the word found itself irrelevant.









Cohen is my wild man.  Fearless.  A friend once looked at me with horror when I let him take his scooter on the trampoline.  He was wearing his helmet.  It's just who he is.







Jones is, as everyone who has met him says, so totally Jones.  You know that guy who's totally comfortable in his skin?  Moves calmly and with certainty and has kind of a magnetic affect on the world around him?  Call him Jones.

 

 

 

4. Two cribs in one room.  Think about that for a second.  How long are you in a crib? A blink.  And I have two of them.  In one room.  Sometimes I sneak in and sit in the little green chair in their room and I listen to them breath and I soak it in. I let everything else go and I marinate in the peace and innocence of that very special room.  I think about how big the world is and how we managed to fit so much into such a tiny space, and how every other room in the world must be jealous of this very special room.

Not a complete list, but enough to make me want to delete the entire first part of this post. 

A rough life, it is not.

Becomma Momma

It's Mother's Day and in an act of selfishness permitted to me by my lovely husband and a trip to the park I sit here to write about how I became a mom.  I've had the birth stories of the boys scrawled in my journal, but decided that they are too beautiful to live in the dark pocket of my bedside table. They've been edited, both for length and due to the graphic nature of birth. As Anne of Green Gables once said, "If you knew all the things I wanted to say, but didn't..." 

We'll start with Cohen...

 

We were 6 days past our due date when Cohen decided to make his move.  I obediently followed the midwife's advise and napped through the early hours.  I remember staring at Jesse, waiting for his eyes to open.  At last they did and I couldn't believe I got to say the words, "We're having a baby today."  We knew the name if we had a girl but we were still between boy names.  Jesse reminded me of this and I said, "Cohen.  Now we just need a middle name."  "Promise".

It was a long and exciting day.  Supported by our midwives, I walked and rested and ate.  I recall talking to mom on the phone, telling her I was in labour while making myself a Chai tea.  As the next contraction came I politely excused myself from the call and turned down the stove...nothing worse than burnt Chai or a panicked mom.

 

Mom and Dad were patient with us as we chose to labour at home and then proceed to the birth house.  We felt like it just needed to be us.  Understanding as they were, I know they wanted to be there.  At one point while I was enjoying some tub time at the birth house, we heard a helicopter fly over.  "That'll be mom", I joked.  We all laughed, but wouldn't have been terribly surprised if it had been true.

Over the next hours, I did my best to encourage our baby to arrive...desperate to know who was going to be the next to join our family.  Patti, our midwife, gently assured me that a baby was indeed on the way.  And right she was.  As our little one was about to be born, Patti looked to Jesse to see if he wanted to deliver the baby.  Before he could answer I screamed "OUT!", I certainly wasn't waiting for them to play musical chairs.  Moments later Jesse announced, "It's a Cohen honey!"  My little boy.  I knew it.  We cried and laughed and tried to listen to the midwives through the hum of our excitement.  I held Cohen in my arms as he took his first breath.  Jesse counted fingers and toes. 

 

Soon Cohen and I were plucked from the tub.  Supported by two midwives and my lovely husband, I declared, "I did great honey, didn't I?  I did great".  He wasn't about to argue.  They laid us down on the massive 4-post bed of our room at the birth house.  The sheets were soft and the bedspread was a rich floral red.  Arlette helped to prop me up so that I was in total comfort and positioned Cohen to nurse.  He ate and ate and ate.  Jesse snuggled up with us and fed me from a fruit cup.  I remember thinking that this wasn't at all how I imagined it.  They didn't grab Cohen and measure him and poke him...he was mine.  It wasn't until he had eaten and rested that they asked if it would be alright if they weighed and measured him.  Jesse helped to wrap him in the cloth sling that would hang from the scale and then we learned...6lb 11oz.

 

After that, I was ready to be home.  When they asked how I was feeling and if I thought I could walk to the car, I lied, "Sure." And we were soon on our way home.  Our parents and Mallory were waiting in the parking lot.  I'll never forget the looks on our their faces, like a child at Christmas multiplied by a surprise car on your 16th birthday....they were that excited. Mallory was a bit alarmed to hear we had a boy.  She was sure it was a girl.  She promptly went to her room to write Cohen a bedazzled and sparkle-covered letter telling him that she was sure he was a girl, she wanted a girl, and that next time she hoped he would be a girl.  My concern for her heart was short-lived.  We placed Cohen in her lap and he looked up and I swear he smiled.  And suddenly a little brother was a gift after all.

...Nine months later I was pregnant again. Eleven months later my morning sickness prompted a pregnancy test and we found out we were pregnant.  It was a happy trip back to the midwives office and we were blessed to have the same team that we had with Cohen.

It was a busy pregnancy and we called in the troops several times.  It's hard to rest when you have a little one and impossible to not pick him up even when you're told to not pick him up. So our mom's and our friends would arrive to help with kids or cooking and my employer, let's call him Bob, was exceptionally supportive as those last months challenged my stamina.

 

And then there I was again...ready to have another baby....

Sixteen days late.  I was enormous.  All belly.  And it's August. 

 

This time it was Julie who saw us through the big stuff.  She came to our house every day, sometimes twice a day for sixteen days.  We talked about every natural method to get labour going.  I tried everything.  I took an "induction smoothie" that consisted of castor oil and lemon verbeena, among other things.  I took it six times.  To this day I cannot stand the smell of lemongrass, and if you use lemon pledge in your house, I'm not coming in. I went to the birth centre.  Again.  We'd already been there several times for monitoring.  And Julie looked at me and said, "Did you feel that?"  I hadn't.  "You've had three contractions since you've been here."  Maybe this little person was actually ready.

 

We headed home and decided that Julie would come over and break my water.  Again.  We had already tried twice.  But as Jesse and I were out for a walk I started to feel something.  Something uncomfortable and vaguely familiar. As we got home Jesse asked if he should set up the tub.  I wanted to have a water birth at home, but I had come to terms with the fact that I may need to be at the hospital to make this labour happen.  "No", I said, "I think we still have a long road".  We had called Mom and Dad and they arrived (again).  We were all hoping that this wasn't another false alarm.

 

We slowly set up the candles and music as planned and I allowed labour to progress in my room, quietly visiting with Mom and Jesse.  I finally agreed we should call Julie.  When Jess called and reported where we were at she asked if he had set up the tub.  When he said that he hadn't I saw his eyes grow large.  The response on the other end of the line clearly indicated that this was something he should be working on.  He calmly hung up and gave me a loving hug, and then sprinted downstairs to set up what I would later realize was quite a bit of stuff.

 

My midwives arrived and I laboured some more in my room.  I finally told Jesse that they should check me because I was sure I was "stuck".  It wasn't painful enough, the contractions weren't long enough...I was going to have to be induced.  I would later learn that this is just who Jones is...he's just that easy.  Rather than "stuck", I was declared 9cm...and rode my 9cm buzz all the way to the tub.  I say tub but it was in fact a quite sturdy children's pool, complete with dolphins and sharks.

 

The next hour is fuzzy but I recall that baby and I became the centre of everyone's world.  This time,when we came to that final push, Jesse carried our baby into the world.  He lifted our baby from the water and placed him on my chest (where I soon discovered the him part) and then magically appeared behind me, supporting me as I held our baby Jones.

The moments after Jones' birth were busy and focused. I recall Julie asking me, "You still with us Christy? You still hear me honey?" And I said, "Yah, but keep asking!" I was handled with care and had a heart full of trust in my midwives. I held Jones through everything and he was my total focus. He was perfect. And huge! (We later learned he was a whopping 8lb 15oz). And had red hair!

 

As the midwives cared for me and Jones, Jesse ran next door to deliver the news.  While it was quite late we discovered that Dad had been sleeping in his shoes.  Jesse describes being met by a 10 foot man.  And then he said we were all okay and that our baby was here...and Dad returned to normal size.

It took a few days before we knew his middle name.  It is an ode to his father, and to how Jesse finds his peace.  Jones Caddis, for the Caddis flies that guide Jesse to fruitful and meditative waters.

The coming days filled our home with family and friends.  Jesse pulled our mattress down to the main floor, in the very same place where the tub had been, and I spent several days laying there with my baby and Jesse, recovering, drinking chlorophyll  (those crazy midwives) and reading magazines.  I later looked at a picture someone had taken, a busy picture full of kids and toys and blankets and activity and I realized...that's my family.  Five whole people.  All with their unique personalities and gifts, several sets of Jesse's ears, and a perfect mix of our eyes and smile.  I was overwhelmed, feeling both blessed and terrified, and just when you think your heart can't hold anymore...it stretches, and it all fits.



I look at Mallory in that picture and how she looks neither overwhelmed nor terrified.  Her heart didn't need to stretch.  It was big enough, just waiting for her little brothers to come in and occupy that space she was keeping for them. 


 


Mallory was my first glimpse at motherhood.  At how truly proud you can feel when a dish finds itself in the dishwasher, and you didn't even ask.  At how sweet and clever a child can be, when you didn't teach them that sweetness or cleverness...it's just within them.  She was the first to show me how beautiful a bouquet of dandelions can be, or how a bracelet made of string and bits of beads and knots and yarn can hold the most prized place among your jewellery.  And, thank goodness for Mallory, she gave me a little girl that I couldn't have had all on my own...that I wouldn't have had. 



Long before she knew I would become one of her momma's, she opened her heart up for me.  Long before either of us could understand how deep our relationship would become she made me pictures and wanted to sit next to me on the couch and would devise the schemes of a 5 year old to make me stay and play just a few moments longer. 

And here we are, the five of us.  Designed for each other.

Happy Mother's Day.

A Jones by Any Other Name

The very significant baby bump that I was certain carried a girl. "Women's intution", I said. "I have a feeling", I said.

So I was wrong. There's a first time for everything. I was sure I was having a girl, I even bought pink stuff (most of which I showed Jesse, the rest of which I hid and promptly gave away). So imagine my surprise as I take my little girl up from the water and grab her under her little bum and...her girl bits are boy bits! Lucy is a Jones! It was a happy surprise and our little man was patient as we took a few days to figure out his full name.

Jones Caddis Switzer. While his name fits him perfectly, he answers to nothing.

P.S. That's an arm, not a boob...just in case you were wondering...cause I was....but it's an arm. PG blog.

Jonesy, Ja-Bones, J-bones, Jonesy Bonsey...I'm not sure where the "bones" came from, my pudgy little man looks as though he may be purely fat cells and cartilage. But it's stuck.
I say he has my ears. Jess lays a similar claim. We're both right (but if you had to say who was more right that would, of course, be me). He has Jesse's, shall we say, generous ears. And they have little peaks at the top with a bit of peach fuzz, explaining why we called him our little Linx. I'll let the Switzers have that one. But they tip out at the top like mine do. Finally, a kid that looks like me.

Sometime I call him Mr.Serious, because when he furrows that brow he is not to be taken lightly. C'mon Jonesy...just one smile for the camera?
Still frowning....
A seriously concerned little man...my Mr.Serious. He looks as though he's about to cry, but nope, just a very serious model.

He's even takes burping seriously.

But he's not always so serious, shortly after this picture was taken Cohen pulled Jones off our couch. Maybe it was the thrill of the ride, or maybe he took pleasure in seeing his big brother almost get hung by his toes by his traumatized mother, or maybe he just liked all the attention...but our Mr.Serious just took it all in stride. Perhaps serious and serene walk hand in hand.

For the most part Jones is calm and content. Loves to visit and busts out a monster smile when he knows you're looking. These are the times when you'll hear him called the typical mooshy baby names...muffin, punkin, honey, etc. Hmmm, all food related...

He still has a brow to be reckoned with but he wears it peacefully.

When he catches your eye he flashes a smile that takes up his whole face. You can tell he's smiling even when you stand behind him...he smiles from his toes. We don't have any nicknames for this aspect of our Jonsey, cause all you can do is smile back.

FYI. He does not smile when he gets dressed in an elephant costume with pink ears. No sir, he does not.

And how could you talk nicknames without mentioning the obvious? Copper-top and Pumpkin-head being the most prevalent, but all carrot and ginger related names have been applied.

Big li'l brother, baby monster, Mr.Chubbs, Cheeks...references to size are also common. He's a year and a half younger than his brother but it is not unheard of to try to put the wrong jammies on one or the other of the boys. Jones is catching up quick and Cohen had better enjoy his bullying now because his physical supremacy is sure to be short lived.

We call him Jones. We call us blessed.