Training & Tantrums...

Its a quiet evening at the Gomez house...

Liz is in the kitchen putting the finishing touches on dinner, Stephen is greeting his children after arriving home from work, when all of a sudden...

NAKED ABIGAIL!!!!

So here it is, my most recent cry for help to another mommy: 

I would seriously love some advice. Especially since you have trained four kids, you have probably have seen everything! I actually attempted potty training Abby at 18 months, and quickly learned a very valuable lesson... She is JUST like her dad. She doesn't like being bothered with anything for the first hour she is awake! Needless to say, I have spent the last 6 months working on this with her. She still is not a big fan of mornings, but at least now she isn't crying hysterically at having to use her legs to walk. She wakes up from naps and bed times dry, will take off her own diaper if it is wet, and its very obvious when she has a bm. She is extremely strong willed, and takes after me. She tests her boundaries every couple of days and its a battle of wills for up to 30 minutes. All that to say, her strong will doesn't like being put on the potty! We have two different potties. The first is a small one that sits on the ground. Its very easy for her to get on and off by herself. The second, is a little seat that fits onto our toilet. She is so picky. She likes the height of the small one, but the cushion of the big one. (And I have tried putting the cushion on the small one, it doesn't work.) So far as rewards, I lavish on the praise. And anytime she does something positive, like sitting, pulling down her pants, washing her hands, etc., she gets a sticker (even if nothing else happens) When she does go, I have given her a small piece of candy. In all honesty, I don't know which one she is more excited about... After realizing that she wasn't ready the first time, I decided to wait until I thought she was ready. So for the last two days, any time she gets wet, off comes the diaper! When she did this last night, my husband started laughing. I asked if he thought it might be time to try again, and he said "go for it!" So that's where we are. I am not a fan of the training pants that feel like diapers, but I have conceded to use them for naps and at bed time just in case. Any recommendations would be warmly welcomed. Thanks, Liz PS. Out of curiosity, what language did you use? I am wondering if the baby talk of "pee pee" and "poo poo" is helping...

So now that you have stopped laughing... Please, share if you have had success, and if not, glean from the wisdom of those who have gone before us...

"Home"

We just got back from our visit to Southern California. And to be completely honest, I don't think I was ready for it...

Its been a little over a year since we moved to Oregon. Portland has been the home for many of our family's firsts. Abigail turned one, which I now realize is more of a mommy accomplishment than anything else. We got Stephen a puppy on Mother's Day, and yes, it is HIS dog. (Havana respects him as the only leader of the family.) And we had our second baby girl, Rachel Helene. Even with so many wonderful memories, I have had difficulty in adjusting my thinking that Portland is home. I would always default Los Angeles as being home. I was just on a really long missions trip.

Visiting California this weekend was different. It no longer feels like home. Driving on childhood streets and eating at In & Out felt strange. I would feel a surge of emotions at these familiar intersections, but they were so empty. Its like I was longing for something that didn't exist. It was actually kind of depressing, like the day after Christmas. What I really wasn't expecting was how seeing friends and family made it worse. I was overwhelmed with so much joy to see them, hug them, kiss them, love them... And yet, it caused me real pain to see them. 

The thing about home, what really makes it home, is family. I really don't have close friends. I have family. There are those who were born into it and those who have been married into it. And then there are those who are so close to me that they have become family. They went to great lengths to see us, and even then, some of them just couldn't manage it. It was these, my family, that I felt anguish for. Some of them had experienced devastating pain in the last year. They had lost spouses, children, jobs, homes, and some had lost everything. And I had missed it. 

I love being a listening ear, caring eyes, warm arms, and a gentle shoulder. I was not able to be there, I couldn't be. What's worse is that I have been none of those things to my new family in Portland. Truth be told, I haven't been me. I have allowed myself to be consumed with my own drama. I have not truly cared for anyone else. I may have been sympathetic, but I have not made the leap towards living my life sacrificially for anyone else. 

It was quite the revelation to realize that the community I so longed for, I was actively refusing to engage in. I have actually been substituting an artificial community of quick smiles and local stores for genuine relationships. Its not about which neighborhood I live in, which is Kerns now, but rather who I am choosing to share my life with. I know that demographics are important and practical. But I think my issue of not feeling at home has nothing to do with which side of Burnside I live on. 

What's even crazier, Stephen and I are entertaining thoughts of buying a place. I know, we have only lived in our current place for two months! When we were originally looking for a place, I wanted it to be close to where we were. Now with my wrestling with community, I don't care as much. I still want to be close, but I guess I don't feel the need to substitute familiar streets and buildings for the security that comes from deep and intimate relationships.

As silly as it sounds, I thought I would be betraying my family in California by developing a new one here in Oregon. Like I would be stealing or depriving them of something. When I was pregnant with Rachel, I remember talking to my mom about my worry over not being able to love her as much as I loved Abigail. She laughed. She told me that your heart grows. It doesn't take anything away, but that your capacity increases. Granted I will have to manage things a little more tightly, but that's life.

So here's to loving family.

The Dreaded "D" Word

Parenting is a funny thing. With your first child, you try to do everything perfectly. Reading books, endless internet searches, calling girlfriends at all hours, and even asking your mother for help, desperately hoping that you won't do any permanent damage. Then you have your second. Its not that you love them any less, its that you realize that kids are a little more durable than you thought.

As crazy as it sounds, I am actually very thankful that my girls are so close in age. I love how they play together, and that they have each other to share adventures with. Having them so close has been very beneficial when it comes to the murky waters of discipline. After Rachel, I am not spending so much time worrying if I am doing everything perfectly, I don't have time to. And while I want to be the best parent I can be, I am learning to not waste my time questioning every little thing. I am learning to use my God given wisdom, and to trust my gut.

Disciplining can be very challenging. While its probably different for everyone, for me, the hardest part is feeling like I need the approval of other parents. Ridiculous, I know. Its like I am afraid to publicly correct Abigail in fear that I am not doing it right. And then the truth will be revealed, that I am ignorant to proper parenting techniques. It sounds silly, but I know its true. The sideway glances, straining ears, and hushed lips, let me know that others are meticulously judging my interactions with Abigail.  Give me a break, is that too much to ask? Maybe the judgement is harsher because I have two babies under two. Like I must not know anything, because if I did, I would not have gotten pregnant so soon. 

This last week, I have learned that it is all about timing. The sooner I respond, the better Abigail responds. If I give her time to have an attitude, she gives me ATTITUDE. If I give her an option, she refuses. Disciplining Abigail has to be very direct and consistent. I should not be surprised, after all, she is my daughter. Its no mystery where her strong will or her don't-punish-me smile comes from. The quick response can be difficult at times, especially when I am stuck to the couch with Rachel's demands. But its consistency that Abby is responding to. She is quickly learning that MOMMY MEANS BUSINESS. And shouting "no" with forceful feet or objects is NOT the proper response. That just leads to more trouble.

I love being a momma. Its tough work, but nothing is more rewarding. These "trying twos" are really going to shape Abigail for the rest of her life. And though I dread the teen years when she will loathe me, I know that right now, she is learning to trust me.

March Madness

Its the end of March, and I figured that I had to blog at least once. In all honesty, this has been a really rough and long month.

At the beginning of this month we moved into our new home in the Kerns neighborhood. Moving takes so much out of me, and its not like I really had any extra to spare. Leaving our old place was really difficult, more than I expected. It wasn't until I was scrubbing the counters on our last day that I recalled all of our family's firsts. Stephen got a job with Farmer's Insurance. Abby learned how to walk. We brought a 5 week puppy home on Mother's day. Rachel was added to our family. We got our first Christmas tree and had our first Christmas at home. And I got laid off. It has been a lot to process. Its strange that so many happy memories can make me cry so much. I guess I felt like I was increasing the distance of those memories by leaving.

This month also brought my birthday. My 26th birthday. Everyone says I am young, and in their perspective, I am. But to me, I always thought 25 was old, and 26 is officially beyond that. I am now closer to 30 than I am to 20... I am not disappointed with where I am in life, but I don't think anyone is ever prepared for where they find themselves, especially a milestone. I am so far removed from the days of carefree spontaneity.  Now, I literally have to wrestle to keep a daily routine, for that is where I find sanity. Who would have thought that a curfew would be so loved and embraced?

My girls have also made leaps developmentally. Abby is repeating everything, as if she was finding inspiration from a parrot. Her attempts at some words are pure comedy. She can't say "shirt," "frog," or "beach" properly. They all sound like the words on a PG-13 movie. However, she can perfectly pronounce "medicine." Go figure. Rachel is mobile. Army crawling at dangerous speeds. She is more effective at swiffering the floor with her belly than I am. Nothing like a crying infant to remind you of how insufficient your housekeeping is. Rachel has also gotten her first tooth. If you have ever been in the presence of a teething baby, I don't even need to explain. For those who have no idea what I am talking about, its bad. Real bad. Comparable to the tantrums thrown by adolescents. 

Like I said, a very long month. I am actually relieved that its over. It would be nice if my house was unpacked, but I will settle for it being functional. My pace for unpacking has reached the ultimate low. It only gets unpacked if I need it. At least the house is safe enough for the endless hours of exploring by Abby and Rae. I just want my head to be clear. But honestly, I don't think that is going to happen anytime soon, at least not till all the boxes are gone.

Here's hoping my anniversary doesn't get lost in the madness of April.

No Recent Blogs

Yeah, its been a while. And for a very good reason. Life. Yep, life has gotten in the way. 

I did realize how much I really love blogging, and how much my family needs for me to have an outlet. (I think Stephen misses it too, but I don't think he knows what "it" is...) The last two weeks have been filled with Winter Camp, In-Laws, colds, home hunting, and packing.

Yeah, the in-laws most recent visit was very special. And I mean that in a very literal and also sarcastic tone. Having them around really reveals our family's individual weaknesses, well Stephen's and mine. I won't go into detail as to what weaknesses are brought out in my husband, as they are only my perception, and I really don't feel like getting into a knock down drag out tonight. :)

My issues, I will gladly share. I am really amazed at myself. You would think that after almost 4 years of marriage and 2 kids later, I wouldn't be so insecure. Oh, but I am. Horribly insecure. It is actually embarrassing at how insecure I am. I even go as far as being filled with anxiety. And not just when they are here, but the month before and the days that follow. Nothing is off limits. I worry about everything. Laundry, dishes, tile grout, my weight, hygiene, couch covers, and dog hair. Just to name a few. Its exhausting. 

Don't get me wrong. I have wonderful in-laws. Its just I don't feel like I measure up. Its not that I think they are disappointed with me, or even disapproving. But for some reason, their presence triggers a full theatrical production out of me. The song and dance that goes on over here would really shock some of you. Or at least, those of you who really know me. Why I am so concerned about their blessing on our family's choices is beyond me. (Cause if I knew, I would fix it already!)

It's a pride issue, I'm sure. Not wanting to appear vulnerable, but strong and capable. Like I need to prove that supporting our family's move to Oregon was the best decision. (I still get the feeling that they aren't happy with that choice. And one of them asked if our currently living situation had us considering relocating back to So. Cal.) That I am a good mother and wife, one who is WORTHY of their son's affection and their family name. I seriously thought I would have outgrown my insecurity by now, apparently its not a childhood illness.

So, I am very tired. Not only because I got a cold at the tail end of their visit, but I am emotionally spent. ARRGH! Why can't I just get over myself?

Registration

Ok, so we have winter camp tomorrow. Yeah. In all honesty, I have a love-hate relationship with camp stuff. I love that there is a very clear task, objective, and deadline. I also love that the event itself is very fluid because of all the different type of individuals involved. However, I HATE when I get stuck. And if you have ever had to deal with camp nonsense, you can get stuck often. Getting over those moments of being stuck is wonderful, but so many ups and downs can make you sick like a ferris wheel. 

Its also amazing what kind of details you let slip by you... Like child care. I know. How could I let my two pooping machines escape my mind? But I did. It was only this week that I realized I hadn't figured out what to do with them. The drama heightens. Scrambling to find overnight sitters is no easy task. And I was not having much success. Then, I got this crazy(God inspired) idea to call the conference. Its a big church. Maybe they have a preschool I could pay for my kids to go to. Well, 4 phone calls later, I still hadn't been able to get through to the right person. UGG! What to do... I figured I could start calling in the few favors I had left, maybe throw in some tears, see if anyone was willing to have pity on my negligence. 

We got home a little before 7 p.m. last night, and I was thinking I might not be able to do this. So frustrating! To put so much effort in, forget a minor detail like the kids, and not get to participate. Then my cell phone rings. Of course, a number I don't recognize. Do I pick up? Fine, I am trying to get my kids out of the car, but whatever! Its the conference. They are returning my call(8 hours later). They do have childcare. And its at the site. And its free. And they have room for my two kids. ITS A MIRACLE! Obviously, there are enough busy parents putting on the conference, that it was a real need. I am not alone.  At least I can stop worrying about how I am going to feed Rachel. I was concerned about having to pump and store the whole time. Now, I don't have to. 

Things are still being finalized. At as Stephen so graciously put it, things will still have to be done until the conference is over. Thanks, honey.

Enough

Frustrated. That is the perfect word to describe how I am feeling. I know that frustration is the result of expectations unmet. But honestly my heart doesn't care what my mind knows. Its just been one of those weeks.

So here it is. My frustration is rooted in parenting. Mainly my own shortcomings. My children are not perfect, and as a result, I don't give the perfect response. And yes, I know that they are still babies, and I should not have unrealistic expectations of them, as they are both under 2. Its not them, its me. Lately I have been feeling incompetent as a mom. This has been going on for a while now...

It started with a positive pregnancy test. Abigail was not planned, at least not by Stephen or me. How great of a parent can I really be if I wasn't even convinced that I was ready? Was I excited, yes. Would I take back Abigail, no. With the child care issue, I couldn't handle the idea of leaving her with a complete stranger. So I gave up my corporate office desk for an overnight grocery job. Taking naps when Abby slept, and only sleeping in the same bed as Stephen 2 nights a week.  I would really question if all of my drama was self inflicted.  And on days that I was overwhelmed, I would wonder about how much better Abigail deserves...

Then just as my sweet baby was turning 7 months, I found out I was pregnant, again. Another unplanned baby. Things went from complicated, to crazy. I got the flu when I was in my second month, and had to go to the emergency room for an IV for fluids to ensure that the baby would be ok.  When I was 3 months pregnant, I had to wean Abigail. She was only 9 months. I say that I had to, because I was loosing weight and I wasn't throwing up. I couldn't keep up with the calorie demands. I still feel guilty. And then we moved. My pregnancy symptoms were not horrific, but they were enough to put our family on edge.  The preterm labor and "false" labor scares had me on medications and making unnecessary trips to the hospital. 

When Rachel did arrive, I only spent 6 1/2 weeks at home, and then I was back to work. The girls did not do so well those first two weeks. Both of them showed their contempt by going on a combination of sleep and hunger strikes. After that, I started working overnight again. I would average 4 hours of sleep on a work day. The girls were eating and sleeping, but I wasn't. I was so sleep deprived, I started to get depressed. I had not felt that hopeless since I was in 8th grade and my parents took me out of public school to keep me home. I actually contemplated calling a doctor for some anti-depressants. The worst part was that I was so incredibly lonely. Stephen and I hardly had a chance to talk to each other. I couldn't be honest with anyone. So I would spend my nights at work sobbing on the floor of the grocery store.  Begging. "God, if you really love me, you will get me out of here..."

The begging was answered the second day of January. I was going to be laid off. Good News... or Bad News...? I still don't know. While I no longer feel like a crazy person, my family's well being is now in jeopardy. Downsizing to one income is very difficult to do, especially without warning. Oh, did I mention we have to move? This is not how I pictured motherhood. I finally have the patience to lovingly endure my toddler, but now I can't provide for her.  And now that I am rested enough to be awake with Rachel, I have realized that I slept away her first six months. And I can't ever get those back...

I just can't win. Even with all my effort, its never good enough. No one is getting the best of me, just the crusted remains from the serving spoon. The worst part is, I don't see an end in sight. I remember swimming in my cousin's pool, and trying to see how far I could hold my breath. Life feels a lot like that, the only difference is that I can't see the blue tile that frames the water.

I thought my life would be more settled. At a place of rest. This is probably the most depressing and discouraging blog to read. Stories that should sing of triumph and bring smiles, are just haunting memories. I don't know how to improve on the situation. I am just disappointed with where I am and the choices I am making to keep me here. At some point, I will look back, laugh, and be delighted about the road I have traveled on. But its not today. Tonight, I don't feel like walking. 

Breakfast For Dinner

Tonight we had breakfast for dinner. Seriously. We had eggs with sausage and pancakes. Stephen had a cup of coffee. And I think Abigail might have been a little confused.

I love moments like this. When I can step away from the normal stride of life and be delighted by simple changes, like breakfast for dinner. I remember as a child having foil wrapped Ding Dongs with candles and party hats in the middle of the night. My parents had called it a "midnight party." In reality, it was only 10:00 p.m. but my sisters and I didn't know any better. All we cared about was that we were asleep, and now we were awake and about to eat a dessert. It was so wonderful. 

My sister Heather was born on March 17th, St. Patricks Day. My mom would really get into it. We would always have pancakes for Heather's birthday, and without fail, they would always be green. My mom would even dye the milk green. We were so serious about it, that we would all prepare the night before, ensuring that our green p.j.'s would keep us from getting pinched. And of course, I had to learn the hard way that boys like to hide their "green." I think I was 12 the first time my cousin Johnny punched me in the arm for pinching him while he was wearing green underwear. 

April Fools day was always lots of fun, too. Mainly because we could get away with telling lies and insults as long as we said "April Fools" at the end. The practical jokes were limited to the imagination of sheltered girls, so the toilet always had plastic wrap on it. Sarah once did a slight variation with Vaseline, it was a joke to say the least. Sometimes they pranks didn't go so well. My mom filled frozen pops with colored water, but my dad didn't find out till June... One of my sisters told my mom she was pregnant, which led to hysterical tears and then anger... And then there was the time I was working at Starbucks and scared one of the managers... Good times. At one point my mom had to put a limit on the jokes as some of the remarks were more cutting than fun.

I love that I get to start new traditions with my girls. The fact that we got a Christmas tree this last year was a total thrill. And watching Abigail attempt to pick up a pumpkin that weighed more than she did, made my sides ache. Breakfast for dinner is just one of the many things I hope my girls will fondly recall when their older. It will probably take a while, as I am sure that they will be embarrassed of my as teens...

I just put Abigail down for the night, and Rachel went down about 15 minutes before she did. I am reminded of another tradition we have. Some would call it a nightly routine, but it means so much more than that. Before we put the girls to bed, I(or Stephen) will take them around to give everyone good night kisses. And then, as we quietly slip into their dimly lit rooms, we pray over them. I have no idea what Stephen prays... I pray the same prayer my mom used to pray over me.

"Dear Jesus, Thank you for my Abigail. I love her very much. I pray your blessings on her tonight as she sleeps. Give her good and pleasant dreams. I pray that she would come to know and love you at a young and early age. May she follow you all the days of her life. Help her to be a good big sister to Rachel. And help Daddy and I to be good parents for her. We love you. In Jesus' name, Amen."

Its very simple. A prayer that a child could remember and recite. There are of course a few add ins from me, but its the prayer I remember from my childhood. I can not recall a lot from my early years, but I remember every word that she would pray over me. It was sacred. Well, I guess it still is. I hope my girls grow up with more than just traditions and silly memories. I pray that they would look back on our nightly routines and see God in their lives. 

 

Fear

Daddy. I used to hate that word. I would only use it if I thought it would increase my chances of obtaining the item(s) I was asking for. Daddy is a term of endearment. And quite frankly, I didn’t feel that way. You could classify me as one of the many grown-up children who has “father figure” issues. I have been to enough camps and conferences to know that God desires to heal this issue for good in me. But being wounded by a parent is not your typical forgive formula. Parents are always coming up with new ways to remind you of the past pain they have caused.

 

I am only reflecting on this right now, because my dad is in surgery. He has had a round ball growing in his stomach for around two years, and had adamantly refused to have it looked at. He finally did, as you have probably already guessed, and is now having his grapefruit sized hernia removed. Talk about procrastination, right? It brings many mixed emotions for me. The men in my father’s family don’t live very long. They usually get cancer and the sudden decay is more than anyone can take. I am very relieved that it is just a hernia… and irritated at the same time. 

I know that it was probably his own crippling fear that caused him to delay looking in to this matter sooner. But why didn’t he? Doesn’t he want to be around to see his grandchildren grow up? Or even witness the grandchildren yet to be born? Like I said, it’s probably fear, but all I can hear is selfishness. I do want him around, but ironically, on my terms. I want to be able to understand him, and be able to explain him to my kids. I dread the day my girls will ask why Grandpa and Mimi aren’t married. What do I say? “Yes girls, that’s right. Grandpa chooses to not get married. Yes girls, God doesn’t like it…”  I know this so well, because I have already had those conversations with him.

 

As a teen and even up until recently, I thought I had to be ok with him in order to be in relationship with him. Like everything had to be perfect. But it is far from that. I am now learning to be in relationship with him the same way God is with me. Yeah, I have majorly goofed up, quite a bit actually. And no, things are not perfect. But God loves me and desires to be in relationship with me, even in the midst of my imperfection. When I start to think of my dad as just a man, it’s a lot easier. My expectations always run a little high… 

Daddy is now a wonderful word. Last week, Abigail was naming the people in a family photo. When she came to Stephen’s face, she uttered the words “my daddy.” I cried. Who knew that it would take this long to finally be at peace with calling God “daddy?” Now I get the mean of “Abba Father.” I have heard the words plenty of times, in great sermons mind you. But it took Abby saying them for me to finally get it. And I want to get it. I want to barely whisper “my daddy” with my head tilted and a slight smile across my face. It was beautiful. 

Pray for my Dad. He is scared. He didn’t decide to let his kids know he was going into surgery until 20 minutes before he went in. Fear can be more crippling and damaging than we realize. It can keep us out of relationship with those we long to be close to.

Just One Of Those Days

The day did not start off well. If you count the fact that I was in bed at 9:30 p.m. then sure, ok, it started off well. But then at about 11:30 p.m., not even before yesterday had officially ended, my day began. Rachel is teething. Any mom who has endured the infant years will not have to read any further. The word "teething" says it all. For those of you who have not yet been blessed with children, I shall do my best to explain. (Without complaining too much.)

Teething is the milestone that every new beaming parent greatly anticipates. Teething signals the soon appearance of teeth. And teeth, my friends, are very exciting. They compete with the same level of excitement as rolling over and sitting up. There is nothing quite like the anticipation of that first tooth to grace your baby's gummy grin. 

Nice commercial, right?

The truth? Teething is the milestone that signals the beginning of drooling, gnawing, crying, and your sweet baby refusing to be comforted. Nothing makes them happy, or at least not for long. And may the Lord bless you, if you are still nursing! Seriously, I was up every two hours last night with Rachel sobbing hysterically. It reminds me a lot of the early, newborn days, however, I could feed her and she would stop. There is nothing that stops the crying. And they continue to cry and cry and cry, until they have exhausted everyone in the house. And then they cry some more. Then finally, they loose their breath, have left no energy to spare, and fall asleep for 20 minutes, 2 hours max. And then, my dear friends, it begins again.

Needless to say, I am tired. Stephen also did not wake up on time, which then lead to my recruitment of preparing his breakfast, coffee, and lunch in a total daze. I was pathetic. Then my sweet Abigail awoke with her cold, going on day 3, and added to the drama of the constant crying. It was pure chaos. Abby got her hand stuck in the baby wipes container, and proceeded to run around the house crying and waving the box frantically in the air. Its so hard not to laugh at such a sight, but her tears helped me maintain composure.

I don't know how it happened, but I did make it to the youth office today. I was only there a couple of hours, but I felt like I could not get anything done. Even now, I have been home for a little over 2 hours, and I still feel like I haven't quite gotten settled yet. I needed to get so much done this afternoon. There is a beautiful list of all the things that needed to be accomplished this fine day. Instead, the list is not completed, not even half, AND it is sitting in the drawer of the youth office. Way to be productive, Liz. 

Some days, its easy to accomplish the tasks of mommydom. Today was not one of those days. Its like my whole world has to come to a screeching halt when the girls are sick. Seriously, if moms got paid, we should get overtime when the kids are sick. (And double when they are teething!) Its a thankless job, one only a mom would do.

Romance Me...

Romance... I never thought that I would find that word hilarious, but I do. Anyone with young children and a couple of years of marriage under their belt would agree. When is there ever time for romance with little ones screaming "MEEE" at the top of their lungs?

Romance has always been a topic that Stephen and I don't really see eye to eye on. We have very difference definitions as to what can qualify a person as being romantic. Our conversation will follow something along these lines:

Liz- "Stephen, your not very romantic."

Stephen- "I am too romantic."

Liz- "Name something that you have done that's romantic."

Stephen- "MY PROPOSAL."

Liz- "Something more recent."

Stephen- "I don't know, I can't think of anything right now."

Liz- "Exactly. If you can't think of anything, its been too long."

Stephen- "I'm sure I've done something recently."

Liz- "Yeah, but was it intentional?"

Seriously, we have this same conversation, like once a month. It never really goes anywhere. Its basically me expressing my desire for more, and Stephen expressing that he currently doesn't have the capacity to. 

The truth is, we are not unique in feeling at odds with what we expect out of our relationships. The fact that we talk about it, is a HUGE step that most couples won't even take. But its the next step of actually doing SOMETHING that's the trick. There are soooo many good excuses. And we use them everyday to get out of one thing or another. Some are completely valid. Like a sick kid (Abby is currently not feeling well, and there is very little I can do to help her or anyone else for that matter.) or the weather (Ah, another favorite of mine!). But at some point you have to get beyond the excuses.

Stephen and I are both abstaining from watching television shows, each for different reasons. And to my surprise, we are talking more! It's a big shock, I know. We still will watch an occasional movie together, but the conversations that actually are causing me to wonder into deep thought are becoming a regular occurrence. Mind you, it also greatly helps that we are now getting to see each other more than 3.5 hours a day (and 2.5 of those I was asleep). This unemployment thing is turning out to be great for my marriage. Who would have thought?

Last night, we had one of those spontaneous conversations. It was amazing we talked for a couple of hours. About life, love, ministry, humility, our future... It was sooo good. Like better and more rich than the flour-less chocolate torte at P.F. Changs. It was true romance. We sat at the kitchen table with our tea filled mugs being open and vulnerable about the areas in our lives that we try so hard to seem competent at. I left the dinning room feeling giddy and inspired.

Its been a long time since Stephen and I have talked like that. Not because we don't want to, but because we haven't been able to. You can't force conversation to be saturated with intimacy. We have had plenty of good talks since we have been married, but the quality of last night reminded me of the early days of our courtship. The long walks through Old Town Pasadena, the endless drives to Camp Cedar Crest, and the hours upon hours at the local Starbucks. Yeah, parenthood doesn't grace you with those opportunities. But last night, it was magical.

Corny, I know. But as a result of last night, I found myself inspired in the other areas of my life. Its like I received permission to be creative, and to be a little bit more of me. Strange, but spending some quality time with Stephen actually reminded me that there is more to me than diapers and dirty dishes. I am also tempted to throw out the cable antenna, but I don't think Stephen will go for it with baseball season quickly approaching (Go Yankees!).  

So to my dear friends, turn off the TV, and allow yourself to drift into meaningful conversation. It could be the boost of romance that you need.

Packing...

Last night I officially started packing. I hate packing. Its so frustrating. If you have ever had to pack with small children around, than you know my frustration.

 

Abby likes to help. It doesn't matter what I am doing, she wants to help. This includes diapering Rachel, making dinner, laundry (which is counterproductive), training the dog ("sey" for stay and she can very clearly say "out!"), and of course packing. Now I have yet to recruit her services for this round, but I remember how helpful she was last time. She would put dirty laundry in boxes, and take various items out when I wasn't looking. Needless to say, I had to ship her off for two days, to the delight of her Grandma, so I could get something done! Even with Abigail not around, the emotional toll on a 4 month pregnant woman was great. Thankfully, that is not my current status.

 

I have resolved to pack a couple of boxes each day, in hopes that this gradual approach will avoid the need to evacuate the babies. The trouble with this is that it prolongs the emotional processing that accompanies packing, and honestly, trying to evaluate the items that I won't need for another 2 months is quite difficult. Stephen's family will be visiting in mid-February, so I want to keep out all of my nice dishes and glasses. You know, the stuff I only use for company. And all of that stuff is usually the first to get packed. I would pack all the extra linens, but we need those. I did manage to pack half of the girls toys, and immediately I started to worry about the girls' cousins having enough to play with. 

 

Abigail noticed that there were toys missing this morning. She walked around her playroom like she was lost. Rachel didn't care. She is too little to care, and I left her favorite toy out. She is content. Rachel doesn't have the attention span that Abigail does, which is none. Abby truely is Stephen's daughter. Its like the additional space gave her even more of a reason to run around screaming this morning. And she decided to include the puppy in her game. Not to helpful, if you ask me. 

 

I have given serious thought to packing clothes. But I live in PORTLAND! When we first moved here, someone told me that if I didn't like the weather, wait 10 minutes, it'll change. And they were right! It's not like we own a lot of winter clothes anyways. Our winter attire consists of layering our summer and California "winter" clothes creatively, so that we can stay warm. I actually layered 3 tank tops yesterday with a sweatshirt. I'm doing the best I can without buying a new wardrobe. Abigail is also going through a "naked" phase. The more layers on her, the more likely she will stay clothed. We are starting to fid her completely undressed in the morning. Oh, the joys of parenthood!

 

Thankfully, we were not too eager to throw out or redistribute our moving boxes. I had told Stephen that we spent a lot of money on those boxes, and you never know when we might need them. Oh brother, if I would have known, I would not have unpacked... Ok, maybe I would of. I definitely would not have spent all that time painting downstairs when I was pregnant... Ok, I probably would have. (There are very few things you can talk me out of when I am pregnant.) But even with all the boxes from last time, we still need more. Adding a child to the family immediately increases the clutter. And we have two daughters. Girls by nature come with accessories.

 

ARGH! I hate moving. Stephen is sending me like 20 emails a day. Each with links to a Craig's List post of possible rentals. I have actually considered blocking him. It is starting to look a lot like "spam." (I love you too, honey.) As awful as it sounds, nothing is what I want. (I am such the consumer.) I keep looking at these places going "Do I really think that living room can handle a screaming Abigail with a Havana chasing her?" Or how about the fact that I want space for when our families come to visit us? And being out in the middle of nowhere isn't conducive to youth meetings either... Does the perfect home exist?

 

I drifted from my normal reading guide and stumbled upon Psalm 84. Its amazing. If I would have read this on the date scheduled, it would be in September. But here we are in late January and I am finding myself strengthened by words about birds and their nests. Its not like I haven't noticed the verse before, I have. It's just this time it was personal. I want a place to raise my kids. And as much as I want to cater to the needs of a hostess, I really just want to be close to God. I want the peace that comes from constantly being in his presence. I want the security of being within the walls of his house.

 

The cynical part of me doesn't care where we move to. We would have to leave it within 13 months anyways... But the hopeful part, just wants someplace where we can get settled. A place where my family can find its rhythm. Where the girls can go to a nearby school, and God willing, have more kids. (A boy would be nice.) A home that we can welcome our community into, and a place that reminds us of God's hand on our lives. Too bad that's not a post for Craig's List, right?

 

All that to say, please keep the Gomez Family in your prayers. Its hectic over here...

Timing...

Personally, I don't believe in coincidences. There is too much organized rhythm to the life that is all around us. As chaotic as life may be, I think that it is the strong undercurrent of rhythm that gives one of the greatest cases for faith. But that's a different blog...

Currently, at the moment, I am no longer working full time outside the home.  I have been using the term "unemployed" but a dear friend of mine quickly reminded (and affirmed) me, that being home all day with two babies is a full time job. I just don't get the luxury of getting a fiscal reward. Our current situation has also added the complexity of needing to relocate our family. All this sudden change, as you can imagine, has really caused Stephen and I to pause. Obviously, something in our approach is off. We have had to move 4 times now since we were married in April of 2005. Our context has changed, and our angle needs to be different. 

I can't help but wonder why I am not working full time in the midst of a moving transition. Is it just to have more physical and emotional energy to relocate? Or could it be something more? Could it be that this is more than just a shift in where and how we have been raising our family to something dramatically different? Are we not to pursue the typical avenues of finding a new home?

I'll admit, I have spent time recently entertaining the idea of being a stay at home mom. Mind you the term itself is a joke. Any mother who is able to not join the workforce becomes subject to the massive flow of errands. Even as I write, I am not at home. I am taking a break doing youth work at the church. I have spent more time out of the house this last week than I ever did working the graveyard shift. I actually love that I am able to have the mental capacity to give time and energy to the youth ministry. For so long, like the last year, it was only a once a week kind of deal. But being home during the day has given me opportunities that I have not had in a very long time. Its kind of exciting.

So what to do? Do we as a family totally downsize? Do we make adjustments that I do not have intentions of going back to work? Do we stop looking for a home that gives us the "most bang for our buck"? Do we sacrifice convenience for a price tag? It would be so much easier if we didn't have kids in tow... but than the sacrifices and rewards would be very different.

I love timing. It lets me know that there is meaning and purpose to all that is around us. That we aren't just going at life for the weekend or a summer vacation. All of this adds up to something, something wonderful and beautiful. And well worth the wait.

Brokenness

Pain is a very funny thing. Most people don't like pain, and go to great lengths to avoid it. But pain is a signal. It lets us know that something is off, sensitive, broken, or in need of adjusting.  It amazing that pain can give us great insight, when otherwise we would be unaware of the problem.

When I was in my sophomore year of high school, I had gone to winter camp the weekend of my birthday. Camp Cedar Crest was covered in snow, it was really quite beautiful. My cousin, who is 6 months older than I, had brought his snowboard and was enjoying the various steep inclines of the property. I had asked for a turn, and he agreed. No big deal, right? Except that I was ignorant of the needs for proper snowboarding. So when he offer me the board, but no boots, I really had no idea what I was getting myself into. 

During free-time that afternoon, I had an ridiculous amount of fun. I even considered looking into this snowboarding thing when I got home. It was after several hours of dragging the board up and down the hills that I finally retired, so that I might thaw out before dinner and the evening session. As my legs returned to a normal temperature, I began to realize the true impact of "snowboarding" all day in a pair of mere running shoes. Needless to say, my ankle swelled, and was accompanied by horrific pain. I spent the rest of camp and my sweet 16th birthday on crutches. Pathetic, I know...

It was the safe, warm, and non-threatening environment of the cabin that allowed me to feel and recognize the pain I was in. It was only then that I was able to start making things better, and work towards the healing of my poor ankle. Granted, the injury was self induced. But I had allowed someone else to lead me to believe that snowboarding in sneakers was a great idea. 

So why do I mention my horribly embarrassing "snowboarding" story? Well, last night I had a "safe, warm, and non-threatening environment" reveal that I still have a lot of pain. Stephen and I were sitting in Tim's office discussing the youth ministry. There should be nothing traumatic about that, but it was. I felt like I needed to guard myself, defend my reasonings, like I was under attack. But I wasn't. Not in the least bit. It just God using a meeting to reveal that there are some very broken places in my life. I have known that this area was sensitive, I'm not that oblivious. Honestly, I thought I was only suffering from a broken relationship, I didn't know that I had let it affect my relationships with other leaders as well.

On January 4, Pastor Dennis gave the message "Better & Better & Better- A "Better" Year" and he spoke on the better including our finances, attitudes and expectations. Part of the expectations included the healing of broken areas in our lives. I really didn't think that this part was going to apply to me. But the "safe, warm, and non-threatening environment" proved that I so desperately need healing. I have let it go for so long, years in fact. I have ignore the subtle hints of it in conversation. I have created countless excuses for my disconnected attitude. Better finances, better attitudes, and better expectations. I have got to keep reminding myself...

This year, in the few weeks of its existence, has already proven to be interesting. At the moment, I am unemployed and our family is going to be moving, again. Of all the areas that I would want Jesus to intervene for me, this was not the place I was expecting. But it is the right time. Hopefully, I won't be on crutches too long. My ankle only needed a couple of weeks, and not that I am one to rush healing. But this year is going to be better. I can't wait to see all that it has in store.

Sleep...

Its a curious thing. The imbalances  in our children often reflect the inconsistencies of our own lives as parents. The most recent of these being my children's sleep patterns, their very unusual sleep patterns.

The normal things set their schedules off. Things  you would expect, different routines, visitors, and sugar. Lately, they have been shifting things around. Which is semi-normal for children of 5 and 20 months to do. However, with that being said, its the way they go to sleep and the quality that has shifted greatly.

Abigail, who is 20 months, has never had any trouble sleeping, now seems to never sleep when she should. And of course, this results in her wanting to sleep when she shouldn't. For example, asking to take a nap only 90 minutes from waking up is not normal. And its not like I am making her wake up super early, I will let her sleep in as late as 9 if need be.  When she is in her crib, I hear her playing at the most odd times. And trust me, there is nothing normal about playing at 11 p.m. and 4:30 a.m. 

Rachel, my sweet Rachel, is 5 months. Crazy shifting in her schedules is to be expected. However, lately, regardless of how tired she is, she fights it. With tears, screaming, and flailing body parts, she fights. She was sleeping through the night, and then, it stopped. Its like she figured out I wasn't going to work anymore and knew that if she cried enough, I would attend to her. Maybe she only caught on to this because we aren't taking naps together anymore. I will openly admit, when you can only get your sleep in small naps, the still nursing baby comes with you.

Truth be told, I am finally starting to get my own sleep life back on a normal schedule. This new season of being "unemployed" is providing sleep. Every night. Sleep is such a wonderful thing. I think that is why I am so puzzled to my children's resisting of it. But maybe their sleep patterns have been off for a while. It may be that I am only noticing inconsistencies because I am finally awake to see them. Its actually embarrassing to think about all the things I haven't noticed. And what's worse, is how long has this been going on for?

We all have moments when we feel like we have failed our children. That we have deprived them of something so fundamental to their development.  Even now, Abigail and I are at war. I have been trying to put her to sleep for over 30 minutes. Granted, she isn't at home, nor is she in a bed... but that has never been an issue before. Maybe once I finally catch up on my own sleep the girls will follow suit. Or maybe, this is just the beginning of many sleepless times our family will encounter.

May you find some rest, if not sleep.

Walks In Irvington

Its not often that I actually have a spare moment to have intellectual thoughts, let alone enough to give my mind a workout. But lately, I have been able to escape the house and its many chores on walks through my neighborhood.

I have taken many walks through the nearby streets. Long walks, short walks. Walks with the girls and walks alone. Walks with Stephen and walks with Havana. Walks to Fred Meyer and walks to the park. Walks to bring on contractions and even more walks to bring on contractions. Walks to get snow chains and walks to get coffee. Walks when I am angry and walks to put Abby to sleep. And walks that were not walks at all, as Havana dragged me through the neighborhood. There have been many, many walks. Each path and street reminds me of a previous time the way looking through a photo album can. I think that is why I enjoy my walks so much, for all the treasured memories I have on the streets of Irvington.

My walks have been more frequent as of lately. Partly due to the energy level of a growing puppy, and simply because I have needed to be able to think. I can't focus at home. I can't hear my own thoughts over the volume of dishes, laundry, crying and Elmo's World. There is always something to occupy my mind when I am within these walls. It was yesterday afternoon, during nap time, and I was about to get some much needed sleep myself, when I bounded for the door. Sure, a few minutes of sleep would be wonderful, but instead, I chose to exhaust myself with Havana on a walk.

Walking with Havana requires a much quicker pace, ok, so its more like a run. But as I was attempting to train her to go at my pace, it really got me thinking about all the other paces I have taken since we moved here. It will be one year in March since we first got to Portland, and as we are looking for a new home, I really don't want to leave Irvington. Since we have been married, Stephen and I have never lived in one place for more than 13 months. I have no problem leaving the house, but maybe its all the walks that make the neighborhood feel like home. Its strange that the things that I have attached myself to are the paths where I know the unleveled spots. But I was able to slow Havana down, and really began to enjoy the path my life has taken since starting my walks in Irvington.

This last year has brought us Rachel, and she is nothing like I expected. We weren't expecting her to begin with! I honestly believe that pregnancy can give so much insight into the personality and new life your baby will bring. I was constantly in and out of active labor with Rachel, and even now at 5 months, she never knows what she really wants. Its like I have to argue with her to convince her she is tired. I already dread the quickly approaching teenage years. 

Havana, our wonderful labrador retriever was also introduced into our family. I am convinced that movies and books are written about dogs with similar beginnings like Havana's. She is one of the most sweetest dogs, and I have never seen a puppy so gentle with small children. I finally understand the sorrow that families go through upon the passing of a beloved pet.

The most dramatic result of these walks is myself, but maybe that's because I wasn't anticipating much change. Its like I am finally coming out of a dark ravine that has kept me hidden for so long. I have had difficulty in adjusting my sight. But in all honesty, I am glad to have gone through such a dark and lonesome path. At times it terrified and overwhelm me, but I am now able to seek and find peace in desperate moments. And as a result of that peace, I think I am finally entering into a walk filled with joy (and that's a new one for me).

Walks are good. Reflection is good. Even if it's only taking notice of how many houses have gone up for sale in the last six months. Inhale deeply and take those precious moments to think and make memories that will guide your future steps. 

Will My Kids Hate Church?

Ok, I know its a crazy thought. But I think every good parent struggles with giving their kids too much of a good thing.

Tonight we had Third Place, which is a monthly expression of our youth ministry at PDX4. With both Stephen and my involvement, the girls are in tow. Its not a big deal, really, we don't mind. But when we got home tonight, Stephen was gently kissing Rachel's forehead and earnestly said, "I hope you don't grow up hating church." It killed me. The idea that I could be the one to push my kids away from learning about God and experiencing community. 

We have talked about getting babysitters, but if the focus is youth ministry, its not really appropriate (or at least productive) to have our usual list aid us. We don't want our girls growing up bitter because of the amount of time they spend at church, we also don't want them acting like they own the place either! What to do! Its not like there are books on how to perfectly balance ministry and home life... if there were "pastor's kids" would not be a cliche. 

Even now, my kids act a little needy on Mondays. They are soooo out of wack after church on Sundays. Abby needs extra cuddle time and Rachel... well, she won't let me put her down! To be quite truthful, it can be really exhausting and kinda overwhelming. Don't get me wrong, I know that they are still babies, and they still need their momma... often. But, I do wonder about when they will adjust, or are they even supposed to?

Honestly, its probably really healthy that I am concerned about this. By engaging my mind in the ramifications, I am constantly making proactive choices. (Which is a miracle, because most of my parenting is reactive. I am still very new at this...) It is also very humbling to openly admit that I don't have the faintest idea as to what is best for my own children. No mother wants to say that she hasn't a clue as to what her child needs from her. 

Anyways, its not like its going to be resolved anytime soon. There are still many years to come, and I am still growing up myself (another thing no mom wants to admit). But my mind is swirling and I can't think about much else right now...

A Rite Of Passage

I have been putting it off for weeks, well, months actually. I had bought a turkey from work a week before Thanksgiving, and since I had no intention of cooking it anytime soon, I stuck it in the freezer. And there it remained. There was those occasional comments from my loving husband, curious as to WHEN the turkey was to be cooked, but it remained frozen. Yeah, it was now January, and the turkey had yet to embarked on its journey to my oven.

That is until last week. And what a journey it has been!

My girlfriend Amber has been in town, and she had still not met the newest Gomez. So to remedy the situation, she was going to join us for a leisurely dinner on Saturday. And with our finances being what they are, we had not gone grocery shopping and there wasn't much in the fridge. Except a 16 pound turkey. And to her credit, Amber could sense the tone. It was more than just the typical "let's have dinner at the house so we don't have to pay for the unneeded tips and parking fees," but that a meal at home made more sense for our family economically. So when she learned the contents of our freezer, Amber so graciously suggested we have the turkey. Unfortunately, the turkey was not completely defrosted by Saturday. We had chicken. So the turkey was still not cooked, but sitting and awaiting its fate.

I don't care what the packaging says, that turkey did NOT take 2-3 days to defrost. If it had, I would have attempted to serve it to Amber on Saturday. No, my turkey took its sweet precious time. It was closer to 4 days, and even then I waited till day 5 just to be sure. So with it being the official day of roasting, I searched the internet looking for a recipe to follow. This should not have been difficult, but I seem to complicate the simplest of tasks. I finally found a recipe that seemed easy enough, and yet I still ended up adding "special" touches of my own.

It was sometime during the rinsing of the bird that I realized that I was embarking on to something I had never worried about as a single person. The ceremonial roasting of the holiday poultry is an honor and privilege usually reserved for the most experienced of the family women. I was encountering a rite of passage that I had not properly prepared for. I was truly grateful at that moment that my attempt would not have to be the subject of the family feast. It would not have to undergo the careful and merciless scrutiny of my family, or more embarrassing, my in-laws. The only person I would have to explain my unusual additions to would be Stephen, and he has learned to embrace that "resourceful" side of me. So I added the uncalled for apples and clementines. And because I was too cheap to buy the dry white wine needed for the basting, I used the 4 year old bottle of champagne that we received as a wedding present. (Thanks, Brittany!) I mean, technically it is white wine. Its not like it actually came from Champagne, France. I think its from California... Regardless, I thought it to be a better option than buying a new bottle for only a 1/2 cup of wine.

I did manage to get that big bird into the oven. (Not to be confused with Elmo's yellow friend...) And I soon learned that the turkey's packaging not only lied about the defrosting time, but also the cooking time.  But that's "ok." Luckily, we still had leftovers from two nights ago available for last minute consumption. I stayed up long enough to take the turkey out of the oven, and before I could even let the meat rest, I went to bed. 

I could only get a quick nap in before work. As a scrambled to get my coffee ready, I did manage to get the turkey in the fridge. So after a long night of work, my last night of work (that's a different blog), I came home and knew that I couldn't just let the turkey sit around the fridge. I decided to try it in the final minutes leading up to Stephen's departure for work. I don't know if its my father's lucky culinary genes, or that I used a recipe that was fool proof. The turkey was amazing! The white meat was actually moist and had flavor! It was a mid-January miracle! My husband's response was classic, well, with a twist. "It's still not as good as your dad's." Oh, well.

So why do I write about my turkey excursion? Because as busy moms we have so many new adventures, and very few celebrations over our conquests. We are required to try new things everyday and be resourceful with odds and ends. I hope that you find yourself smiling and celebrating the trials of today.