The Long Game

My husband and I recently had dinner at our second-born son's house, and thoroughly enjoyed visiting with him, his wife, and their four energetic boys, aged almost one to almost six.  (We fondly refer to their rough-and-tumble family of little men as "the Gronks." Does anyone outside of New England--where we lived for 27 years--get that reference?)

At bedtime, the oldest of the four boys had been promised that he could come out and visit with Papa and Grammy after his little brothers were asleep, but he got impatient and started banging on the wall to be let out sooner rather than later. Our son went to his room to talk to him, and when he came back I asked him if Junior was going to be able to come out eventually. His answer?  "No, I don't negotiate with terrorists."

Score one for Dad.  As much as we would have liked that extra one-on-one time with our growing-up-too-fast grandson, it was the right call to make. 

What a good lesson for a young kid to learn: that parents make the rules, and you don’t get what you want by trying to wear down their resolve with unreasonable demands or bad behavior.  It's a tough thing to stick to, as a parent, because it's always so much easier to give in and give them what they want, isn't it?  There's so much less stomping, door slamming, back talk, and crying. 

But that's just in the short term.

If you stand firm about how you expect your kids to behave, it pays off a hundredfold in the long run.  As my husband liked to say, if you want your kids to be your friends as adults, you have to be okay with them not liking you sometimes when they're little.  Parents who try to be their kids' friends when they're young can end up with grown children who are hard to like.

Of course, when you’re in the trenches with relentless little would-be terrorists, sometimes you're just too tired to deal with the power struggle, and you weaken and cave.  You’re only human.  But you just have to persevere--with the help of God, the Blessed Mother, and every saint in Heaven--and keep trying to play the long game, so that in the end, everyone wins.

Son #2 sometimes balked at having such strict parents when he was growing up; you can be sure that his father never negotiated with terrorists either, and there were definitely consequences for bad behavior. But obviously, as a dad now himself our son believes that was the right thing to do, or he wouldn’t be following the same playbook. 

It's so satisfying watching your grown children raising their kids to be obedient, kind, respectful, compassionate people.

Just like the ones you raised.

Here we are at Christmastime, 2018, with our "Big Five" (who make me feel petite!).
I like them.  I like them A LOT!  They are all MVP's* in my book.

*Mom's Valuable Players

Celebrating Our Kids' Differences

Any parent who has more than one child knows that it doesn't matter one bit that your offspring all come from the same DNA pool and are raised in the same home by the same mom and dad; in spite of all the factors that point to the conclusion that your children will be more or less alike in personality and temperament, nothing could be further from the truth.

My husband's all-time favorite picture of me with my boys.

God created each human person with his or her own unduplicated set of fingerprints--not to mention his or her own one-of-a-kind immortal soul!  So!  We certainly shouldn't expect that our children will grow up to be carbon copies of one another.  We certainly shouldn't expect that the same methods of discipline will produce the same results with each of them.  It is our job as parents to figure out what makes each of those precious souls entrusted to our care tick, to help them to become the very best that they can be (in the eyes of God, not the world), and then to celebrate the differences between them.  I was always of a mindset that each of my boys was my "favorite" child, simultaneously, because of the special gifts, talents, and virtues that each one of them brought (and continues to bring) to the family dynamic.

My five favorites, circa 1998.

In our case, son number one was a sweet, happy, placid baby--an easy introduction to parenthood for a pair of 25-year-old first-timers.  A reserved, observant type, he was rather cautious, as firstborns often are, so he didn't give us too many worries.  He was an early talker and an eager learner of letters, shapes, and colors.  It's a good thing we didn't waste too much time before producing a sibling for him, or we might have given our parenting skills too much credit and thought that we had more to do with his serene temperament than we did.  We didn't know yet that certain personality traits appear to be formed before those little folks exit the womb, apparently!

When our next son came along 15 months later, we soon found that he was a different animal than his big brother.  He was a happy little guy, too (except for those first six months of his life when he screamed every time we strapped him in his car seat).  Exceptionally affectionate and funny, and very much attuned to the feelings of those around him, he was also way more physically daring than his brother had ever been.  Our firstborn had never had any interest in getting on a swing until he saw his little brother do it at a much younger age.  To see the differences between the two was fascinating, and to watch them forge a bond was one of the sweetest things ever.

Fifteen months after son number two was born, along came son number three, a happy-go-lucky, easy-going little fella with a quick, heart-melting smile.  While son number one was a rule-following peacemaker and son number two tended to wear his deeply-felt emotions right on his sleeve, everything just rolled right off son number three's back.  His brothers (when they got older, and funny in an adult-rather-than-eight-year-old-boy-obsessed-with-potty-humor kind of way) used to joke that that was his superpower: you could not get a rise out of him because nothing bothered him.  (As his fourth grade teacher once said of him, he was "a peach.")

Two-and-a-half, fifteen months, newborn!  

Son number four joined the team about 21 months after son number three, and now we had four boys aged four and under.  As crazy as that sounds, it was actually pretty wonderful.  (#BOYMOM)  But it was loud; so son number four learned pretty early on that if he wanted to be heard, he'd better crank up the volume.  He was a kind-hearted, instinctively empathetic kid, but he did cry a lot, and loudly, over the many injustices that came with being the youngest, weakest, and slowest of the bunch.  He had no idea what an inside voice was supposed to sound like.  (And BTW: it wasn't long before he caught up with his three brothers in size and speed!)

We had a big break between sons number four and five--just about exactly five years. And you would think that with an age gap like that, our fifth-born would be the stereotypical baby of the family: a demanding, perennially immature attention-seeker.  But he was more like a firstborn in temperament: an "old soul" who was serious, eager to please, loath to get in trouble--and above all, in a hurry to grow up as quickly as possible and be just like the big guys, who were his heroes.  You might also think that after five whole years as the baby, son number four would be jealous and resentful of the newcomer, but the opposite was actually true: instead, he took the little guy under his wing and in spite of their age difference, they became the best of playmates.

All my men!

Our boys were--and are--five unique individuals.  Yet growing up, they had many interests and personality traits that bound them together (the term "Band of Brothers" comes to mind).

When they were little, our boys were all dinosaur fanatics; I think they could have given most paleontologists a run for their money when it came to knowing every fact there was to know about those prehistoric monsters.  They always liked the same TV shows and movies, laughed at the same kind of jokes, and played the same sports (football and lacrosse).  All competitive by nature, they excelled both on the field and in the classroom.  All five were self-motivated, hard-working students who never needed us to nag them about studying for tests or doing their homework.

While many people think that having a houseful of teenage boys sounds like a nightmare, I look back on their high school years with fondness and nostalgia.  They loved sports too much to risk losing playing privileges by engaging in bad behavior (one of the many reasons I am a huge fan of kids playing sports), so they stayed pretty close to home and kept their noses clean.  In the grand scheme of things, they required minimal discipline.  (I mean we were strict, don't get me wrong; and there were some bumps in the road.  But compared to what we saw going on with some of their peers, we felt extremely blessed!) Many of the parents we knew at our boys' high school were more than ready for them to go off to college by the time graduation rolled around, but I can honestly say that each time one of our guys left home to start that next chapter in their lives, it was hard for us to let them go.  Not just a little hard; terribly hard.

So to recap: in many ways, our kids were quite similar; but in other ways, they were so very different.  And we were glad about that.  We appreciated their differences and didn't want them to compare themselves to one another.

Of course, once your kids grow up and get married (to kindred souls who are every bit as one-of-a-kind as they are), and then start raising children of their own, the ways in which they are similar and the ways in which they aren't become even more striking.

I'd like to explain more in depth what I mean, but it would take too long and this post has already turned into a novella of sorts.  So I think this is going to be a two-parter.

But I'm sure you want to read more about my favorite subject, my boys...don't you?  Sure you do!

These guys...sigh.  How lucky was I to be the one chosen to be their mother?

My hubby and I are going out of town this weekend, to a Notre Dame football game, so I may not get to it until early next week.  But I'll be back with more on this subject, I promise you.  Stay tuned!  (And in the meantime--go Irish!)

About a Boy

Once upon a time, there was a little boy who lost his dad to suicide at the tender age of six.  "Don't be mad at him," he remembers his paternal grandmother, "Grammy," tearfully pleading with his mother in the days following his father's funeral.  "Why would my mom be mad at my dad for dying?" the little boy wondered.

That boy wouldn't know the details surrounding his father's death for many years, until he was a 21-year-old newlywed with a niggling suspicion that he hadn't been told the whole story...and spent hours in the library poring over old newspapers until he uncovered the devastating truth, and then shared his newfound knowledge with his beautiful young bride.

Not a great way to begin a marriage, you might say; but that tall, handsome newlywed with the Paul Newman-blue eyes and the movie star good looks just celebrated 60 years of wedded bliss with his one and only sweetheart.  I'd say that's not too shabby, for a boy whose life could have been irreparably shattered by events that took place when he was only six.

After his father died, the boy's mother (who was the eldest of six siblings) went away to attend nursing school and get her career started, so that she could eventually become the sole supporter of her children.  The grieving widow left the boy and his younger sister with her mother, who'd become the head of the family after the crash of '29 robbed her father of his financial success and left him a broken man.  "Mimi" was a tough-as-nails matriarch, a sensible, hard-working, no-nonsense woman who, when it came to her fatherless grandson (an admittedly sometimes naughty little tyke!), never thought it was best to spare the rod if it meant spoiling the child.

This might sound like some horrifying Dickensian tale, but never fear: that boy adored his upbringing in that tiny town in upstate NY, describing his seven years in his beloved grandmother's care to his own offspring in later years as the most idyllic of childhoods imaginable.  He was surrounded completely by women (his grandmother, his sister, and several teenaged aunts who were still living at home at the time); he had no strong males in his life to use as role models for later on, when he would become a husband and dad himself.  And yet he was married at 21 and soon after became the dad of many.  By the time that boy was just 28, he was already the father of five: three daughters and two sons.

Once, when that boy's eldest daughter's fourth son was six years old, it suddenly occurred to her that he was the same age as her dad had been when he lost his father.  The idea of leaving her own boy motherless was so difficult to contemplate that she asked him if he had any memories of his father.  "Nope," he said, in the tight-lipped fashion typical of him when he didn't feel like talking about something.  "None at all."  And the boy's daughter was unspeakably sad when she heard his answer.

But a few years later during a thunderstorm, the daughter realized that her dad hadn't been entirely truthful when he gave her that curt reply.  As a fierce storm raged outside, she told him how much thunderstorms frightened her.  "Oh, not me," he replied.  "I love 'em.  One of the earliest memories I have from when I was a little boy is of sitting on my father's lap on the porch, watching the lightning come down."

"Aha!" thought the daughter.  "So he does remember his father!"  And she was happy, because that meant if she'd died when one of her own boys was only six, he might remember her, too.

That boy is an old man now.  His health is deteriorating, and he is facing the end of a long life well lived.  He's handling the most recent prognosis from his doctor with his usual courage...because at six, he had to learn how to be brave and strong at a much younger age than most of us have to; at six, he learned to take what life threw at him without complaining or asking for pity.  He didn't have a father to show him the ropes when he was growing up, but he learned how to climb them on his own.  He was a boy who figured out, all by himself, how to be a man.

I am proud to call that boy my father.

My dad, first row on the right; his "Mimi" next to him;

his mother holding his little sister on her lap;

and his father, not too long before he died, back row on the left.

(The other man in the photo is an uncle who was already grown

and gone when Dad moved in with his grandmother.)

Slow Down...Just Slow Down, Would You?

Oh my goodness, have you heard this song/seen this YouTube video yet?  If not, go grab some Kleenex before you do.

This morning, my husband showed it to me, after it made its way onto his Facebook newsfeed.  When he warned me that listening to this song would make me cry, I said, "Whenever anyone tells me I'm definitely going to cry, I don't cry."

I was wrong.  I cried.

It all goes so by so fast, doesn't it, moms (and dads)?  It wasn't that long ago that I was a young, newly-minted mother with an unlined face, completely besotted with her firstborn son.  Well, it was actually 1983, but it doesn't seem that long ago.

And after that, things just sort of exploded.  Within 2 and 1/2 years, we had a crew of three.  (BTW: this was a photo gift I made for my husband in 1985, before there were nifty ways to play on the computer and make something that would have been much more professional-looking.)

And things just kept getting better.

And better.

And by 1993, we had our own Pearl basketball team (even though all but our middle son stopped playing basketball by the time they got past freshman year of high school, preferring to take a season off between football and lacrosse--but I digress!).

And those boys just continued growing up at warp speed, getting taller and deeper-voiced (and sweeter...and more lovable...and more loved) every minute, despite their mom's best efforts to slow down time.

Fast-forward (and I mean really, FAST-forward) to now, and here's what those boys look like. 

Amazingly, they range in age now from 32 down to 23.   Four of them are married.  Three of them have children of their own.  And my husband and I are now the doting grandparents of 7 little ones-- who are also growing up way, way too quickly. 

It's been a beautiful ride.  My only regret is that we've been traveling much too fast for my liking.  I sometimes feel a bit sad now, about precious moments I might have wasted when I had the chance, wishing at the end of a particularly tough and exhausting day with my brood of boys that bedtime would come soon (like every parent of littles on earth, I suppose); moments I can never get back.  Because boy oh boy, is this adage ever true: the days are long, but the years are short.

Unfortunately, we can't slow down time; we can only try our best to make the most of every minute we have with our children.

Daddy-Daughter Love

My husband and I are getting on the road today, heading south to spend a week and a half or so helping out son #3 and his wife Preciosa, who became the parents of a new baby girl about a week and a half ago.  With the birth of their sweet Princesa, they have two under two (big brother G-Man is 16 months old).

Right now, our oldest son has four daughters and our second-born has one small son. So we told our middle son that he and his wife will always have the distinction of being the first in our family to have children of both sexes (something my husband and I know nothing about, having raised only boys).  As everything was (is?) a competition in our all-boy house, he can claim that he's the winner at breaking that particular barrier.  His brothers may do it in the years to come, but he will always be the first.

It will be fun to watch yet another of our sons who grew up without sisters interact with his little girl.
 
So far, it appears to be a love match.

I know you're filled with the warmest of fuzzies looking at this precious image of daddy-daughter love, and saying to yourself, "That is without a doubt the sweetest picture I've ever seen!  How nice of Laura to share it!"  I know.  And you're welcome.

When I think of son #3 now, this saying comes to mind:

He will be G-Man's hero (I daresay he already is); and though she may grow up and find her own Prince Charming some day, he will always be Princesa's first love.

Empty Nesting 101

One of my sweet Pearl sisters-in-law shared a blog post with me via Facebook yesterday.  It was titled "25 Rules for Mothers of Sons" and came from a blog called Life Out of Bounds.   Well, I tried to read #25 (my favorite--the writer definitely saved the best for last!) out loud to my husband last night, but I couldn't get through it.  I got all choked up and started to cry.

I'm going to share #25 with you, lucky readers; this is the one that really got to me, as a mother of all sons (and no matter who you are, you might want to have a tissue handy):

You are home to him.  When he learns to walk, he will wobble a few feet away from you and then come back, then wobble away a little farther and then come back.  When he tries something new, he will look for your proud smile.  When he learns to read, he will repeat the same book to you twenty times in a row, because you're the only one who will listen that many times.  When he plays his sport, he will search for your face in the stands.  When he is sick, he will call you.  When he really messes up, he will call you.  When he is grown and strong and tough and big and feels like crying, he will come to you; because a man can cry in front of his mother without feeling self-conscious.  Even when he grows up and has a new woman in his life and gets a new home, you are still his mother; home base, the ever constant, like the sun.  Know that in your heart and everything else will fall into place.

Okay now, pull yourselves together.  I'm not done with you yet.

If you come around these parts much you know that on May 25, I said good-bye to the youngest of my five sons--and that he was heading to a state far, far away, where he will begin his grown-up career.  My husband was on a trip at the time, so I was the only one there to watch him back his car out of the driveway...and to wave at him through the trees as he drove away.  After he'd pulled out, he put his car in park and grabbed his iPhone, and he snapped this picture of the old homestead.  That night he posted it on Facebook, with this caption: "Welp, today I left the place I've called home for the past 22 years to start my career as an adult.  Although it's weird and sad in one way, it's cool and exciting in the other.  And despite what my mom might've been imagining this morning, I will make my way back to it somewhere soon down the road."
.

By that night, he had finished the first of four long legs of driving.  He had planned to get as far as Buffalo, but here's the rest of that Facebook post: "Also, before I start being a professional adult, I figured I'd make a detour to Niagra Falls."

My husband said he almost advised our boy not to veer from the best trip route just to see this, but stopped himself.  Our son had thought this through; he'd never seen this famous landmark and it's what he wanted to do, so who were we to tell him he shouldn't?

I'm loving the Niagra Falls selfie (and also feeling grateful that although he'd been told that the Canada side of the falls was better than the US side, at least his detour didn't take him over the border).

I'm also loving the fact that this kid only had about two weeks to transition from being a happy-go-lucky college senior sharing a house with seven other guys to being a car-owning, cross-country-driving, responsible adult getting ready to begin a challenging career in a state he's never been to, and that he handled it all with his usual quiet confidence and resourcefulness.

Watching your child take his first wobbly steps as a baby is a thrill that's hard to equal; but it is also indescribably wonderful to watch him take his first tentative steps into adulthood, and to know that you've helped him become a man who is ready to take on its challenges.  He'll still need you, of course; but not all the time, and not for everything.

All of this got me thinking about a post I wrote just over a year ago, all about the unique joys moms can look forward to in the empty nest years.  As I need to remind myself about the many pluses of having grown children right now, instead of focusing on the negatives (I miss my baby!!  I wanted him to have more of a summer, home with us, before he had to get out on his own!!), I decided to re-post it today.  It's sweet, and if I recall it was pretty popular when it was first published (own horn, consider yourself tooted!).  If you tend to be leaky, you might want to have a tissue handy.  Okay then, here's that post, mamas.

Now, time to focus on my husband.  Whenever I say I have no one to take care of anymore, he reminds me that I've still got him. 

Thank goodness!

Happy Birthday, G-Man's Daddy!

My middle son turns 29 today.  This picture was taken 22 years ago, on his 7th birthday.  It was the year he got the Jurassic Park compound playset (his own personal Red Ryder b-b-gun) as his big gift.  Pretty exciting stuff.

I don't know where the time is going, folks.  I can't help repeating that tired old cliché: it seems like yesterday!  Or that other one: my, how time flies! Because it really does.  I remember the impish, stick-thin little boy in this photo so very well.  He was just the sweetest little guy, with the most endearing smile

I don't just remember him at 7, though.  I remember him at all of his stages of life.

I remember him in the hospital the day he was born, all 9 lbs. 13 oz. of him.  His shoulders were so broad, he got stuck in the birth canal; they almost had to break those poor little shoulders to get him out of there.  (Is that TMI?)

This photo was a "professional" shot (by 80's standards), taken
before we left the hospital.

 I remember him on his first birthday, in 1987--oh my goodness, what a cute kid he was.

And I remember him at 5, when this picture was taken--with him looking quite debonair in his suspenders, sporting a buzz cut and nubby little baby teeth.

I remember him as a handsome high school senior, getting ready to head off to Notre Dame...

...and as a beaming 27-year-old brand-new husband in 2013.

Every stage of son #3's life has been a treat for his dad and me.  We have been so proud of this hardworking, kind, funny, and thoughtful young man.

But I don't think we're ever been prouder than we are now, as we watch him in his role as a doting and very hands-on father to his first son, G-Man.



We've told our kids that they can never really know how much their parents love them until they have children of their own.  Well...now he knows.

We love you, dear son and G-Man's daddy.  Happy, happy Birthday!

Day One with G-Man

Yesterday was the first day back to work for my sweet daughter-in-law Preciosa, the wife of son #3 and the doting mother of our precious new grandson, G-Man.  So it was also the first day of my month-long stint as his live-in "nanny."

The little guy hit the three-month milestone yesterday, causing his parents to remark on the fact that time is absolutely flying, at warp speed.  This is a phenomenon of which all parents become much too aware, as they watch the babies they fed and burped and changed grow up in what seems like about three weeks (in hindsight, anyway) and move out to start lives of their own...and then become parents themselves.  I read this line somewhere, and it's so very true: when you are raising children, the days are long but the years are short.  Exactly!  How can it be that sometimes when you're surrounded by cranky toddlers, bedtime can't seem to come soon enough; yet in the blink of an eye, your children have suddenly morphed into marvelously mature 18-year-olds and they're heading off to college?!

But let's not get ahead of ourselves with little G-Man, who's got a few years to go yet before we have to worry about that!

Here are a few pictures of Grammy's little guy, during our first day together.  (Papa and Uncle J were here with him, too; so pardon me if I sound a little possessive!)

It's a tough job, but somebody's got to do it!  ;)

 

In case you're wondering how in the world I got a blog post written already (which you probably aren't, but bear with me), I'm actually up before the baby today, since I arose at the crack of dawn to see my husband off.  The poor guy has to go back to work, so he's going to miss out on all the fun around here for the next few days.  But that's my guy, always toiling away to make my life easier.  The sacrifices he's made over the three decades of our marriage--always putting himself second in order to take such excellent care of his family--are nothing short of heroic, in my book; and I can never adequately thank him for giving me the opportunity to stay at home with my boys when they were growing up.  He is my rock and my hero.  And it looks like G-Man's daddy is following in his father's footsteps, now that he has his own family to care for and protect.

 

My blogging output will most likely be a tad spotty for the next few weeks, but at least I'm off to a good start here!  And I hope your New Year is off to a good start as well.  

A Lot Can Sure Happen in a Year!

One year ago today, our middle son married his Preciosa.  It was an extraordinarily beautiful day, and the start of an extraordinarily beautiful life.

These two kids are perfect for each other, in every possible way.  Both have happy dispositions.  They are both the type of people who make friends easily and love to plan fun outings.  They are both passionate about college football (and live in a house divided, with Preciosa rooting for her beloved Seminoles, while son #3 wonders what ever happened to the luck of the Irish!).  They are fiercely devoted to whomever and whatever they love...and more than anything, they love each other.

I'm so proud of these two young newlyweds, who found each other on CatholicMatch.com--because out there in the post-college world they just weren't meeting the kind of people with whom they felt they could share their futures.  They were looking for faith-filled mates who shared their love of the Catholic Church and its teachings, and who would take seriously the sacramental aspect of marriage.  And what's especially refreshing in this day and age is that they wanted to put themselves 100% in God's hands, knowing that He alone is the perfect "family planner" and would send them children when they were ready.  Well...

Less than two months after they recited their wedding vows, they got the joyful news that their first child was on the way.  And this absolutely adorable little guy was their reward for their trust in God's will for their marriage.

Is that not THEE cutest face you've ever seen?  (Tied with three other faces, actually--said this proud Grammy.)  He often seems to be the spitting image of his dear old dad at that age; but other times, we can see his mommy in that expressive little face.  He's part dad, part mom--but he's ALL G-Man!  And like all of God's creations, he is utterly one-of-a-kind.

A lot can sure happen in a year's time, can't it?

Happy anniversary to my sweet boy and his sweet girl.  You have made a beautiful start on what I pray is a long and happy life together, and I couldn't love you more or be more proud of you. 

(Now kiss that little boy's cheeks for me, and tell him Grammy can't wait to see him in a few weeks!)

Happy 28th Birthday to My Middle Son

Today is the birthday of our middle son, #3 of our five, who joined our family when his older brothers were 2 and 1/2 and 15 months.  (Three kids in 2 and 1/2 years: shouldn't there be a special name for that, like "Irish triplets" or something?)

When this sweet baby boy was born, his father and I were not even 28 yet ourselves (we would both celebrate our 28th birthdays within a few months of his birth).  And now he's turning 28!  It's utterly mind-boggling.  (Did you read my posts yesterday, and the day before?  And here I am again, talking about time, and its apparent ability to fly--at supersonic speeds.  That appears to be my theme this week!)

When this happy-go-lucky, the glass is always half-full, eternally optimistic lad of ours, with the twinkliest blue eyes, the sunniest smile, and the most infectious laugh you've ever heard--not to mention an impressive encyclopedic knowledge of all things sports-related--was born, his father was young and gorgeous and tan...and moustachioed (along with every other young Naval aviator we knew back then).

His mother was young and tired-looking (three babies in 2 and 1/2 years, remember?) and liked to wear glasses the size of ski goggles (and over which no ski goggles on earth would ever fit).  She was on a cloud when this picture was taken--don't let her haggard appearance fool you--and already totally in love with her newest little angel.

At 9 lbs. 13 oz. and 22" long, he was a big 'un, but it was a relatively easy labor and delivery.  In fact, as I was lying on a gurney being wheeled from the labor room to the delivery room, the nurse was assuring me that baby #3 would be born "any time now," but I didn't really even feel like it was all that close!  And I remember saying to my husband, "They better not be messing with me!"  (They weren't.)  The only tough part was at the very end, when it appeared that his shoulders were too big and the doctor might have to break them so that he could make it through the birth canal.  But luckily, that didn't end up being necessary.

However, he had a bit of fluid in his lungs from the distress of being hung up for a bit, so they whisked him down to the nursery for about six hours.  My arms were achingly empty and I missed him so much that I didn't sleep a wink waiting to get him back in the room with me.  (Thus the very puffy-eyed, sleep-deprived countenance in the above picture.)  But while he was down in the nursery, his big brothers got to go and get a peek at him through the window.

Babies checking out babies!  They were so young themselves to be thrust into big brother roles.  But it's amazing that when #3 was a newborn, suddenly these two little towheads looked like giants to me.

Son #3 has always loved perusing a good photo album.  I used to keep them up-to-date, back in the olden days before the dawn of digital photography (which makes it so easy to take thousands of pictures, but so hard to decide which ones to print and put into albums).  So I thought he might enjoy this little look back at the day he was born--he probably hasn't seen these grainy snapshots in years.  (Happy Birthday to you!  You're welcome!)

The amazing thing is that in a matter of about five months, this middle son of ours is going to become a daddy himself!  Wasn't he just born--I don't know, yesterday?

He was an easy baby--so quiet and content in his little infant seat, as his older brothers squealed and yelled while they played and/or fought, that we even worried that he might be deaf.  Nope.  His hearing was perfect.  He was just that easy-going.  That personality trait was there from the very beginning.  Life was good for that little man.  He was--and still is--a pretty happy camper. 

I love this boy, to the moon and back.  He has been a complete joy to his dad and me since this momentous date in 1986, when he came into our lives and made the whole world a better place.



Thoughts from the Empty Nest (Part II)

Yesterday in Part I of this post, I talked about how very fast the years fly by when you're raising children--and the inescapable fact that if you've done your job right, they will suddenly be all grown up and moving out: going to college, getting jobs, getting married, starting families.  It's exactly what you dream and hope for them when they're little, and yet you dread it in a way, too.

Sometimes their new grown-up lives take them far away from the cozy nest you've lovingly built for them, stick by stick--making daily (or weekly, or even monthly) in-person interactions with them a thing of the past.  Phone calls are great, and FaceTime or Skype sessions are even better.  But it's not the same as having them in hugging range all the time...not even close.  [Sigh...]

And the years really do whiz by (even though while you're in the trenches it seems that some days are much too long and bedtime can't come fast enough!).  That Kenny Chesney song, "Don't Blink"--so true.  So very true.

HOWEVER, I want to tell you what an indescribable joy it is to watch the children you raised strike out on their own and make their way in the world, to watch them figure out how to do all the things their mom and dad used to take care of for them.  Heather, a fellow mom of mostly grown sons, put it perfectly in my combox yesterday:  My pride in them far outweighs my longing to gather all my chickees back into the same nest...I used to tell first time moms that they would be shocked by how intense their love would be for their baby but it's a feeling you can't explain until you experience it. Having grown children is the same... every time they repeat a tradition from childhood or call to ask for a recipe or eagerly share old photo albums with girlfriends... my heart just bursts!

What she said.

If you're currently surrounded by wee ones who won't let you out of their sight (even to go to the bathroom!), and you're already sort of dreading the day they'll fly away from you, thinking they won't need you anymore, trust me on this: your kids will always need you.  Our boys still call their dad often, for advice about finances and building things and whatnot, and they (or their girlfriends/wives) also call Mom for recipes.  They want to pick our brains about parenting ("Did you and Dad ever let us cry ourselves to sleep when we were babies?").  They still need us, and I think in a way they always will; but they're leading their own grown-up lives now (all but the baby, who still has a year of college to go), and they're handling everything beautifully.  We couldn't be prouder of them.

So.  For all you moms reading this whose nests are currently quite full and who worry about what it will be like when they're emptied out, I want you to know this: there are SO MANY WONDERFUL THINGS in store for you when your chicks are independent grown-ups, so many blessings to look forward to.  I can't stress that enough and I can't possibly list them all here.  But I thought I'd give you a few examples (from the perspective of a mom with all boys).  And I'm going to let the pictures do the talking.

You'll watch your boys fall in love, and see them happier than you ever knew they could be...

You'll see the pure elation on their faces on their wedding days, as they gaze at their beautiful wives (your new daughters!), and it will make you cry...

Then you'll dance Mother-Son Dances and cry some more (but they're happy tears)...

They might even get married in the same church where you and your husband exchanged your vows, 33 years earlier...

They'll start building their own nests--and when they move in, the first things they'll set out will make you realize that you must have done something right, because their priorities are in order...

They'll beg you to visit them, and when you arrive, you'll find sweet notes on the fridge...

Or flowers and treats set out to welcome you...

They'll call with the exciting news that you are going to be blessed with a grandchild.  Then you might see your boy with his hand caressing the belly of his pregnant wife, like this--and remember those happy tears?  They're flowing again...

Your boys will become fathers, and you'll become a grandparent--a joy that is impossible to describe, it's so wonderful.  There will be little people in your life again, and you will love them fiercely...

Your sons might follow in their dad's footsteps and go to his alma mater.  They might grow big and strong and taller than their dad, but they're always going to  be your babies, no matter what...

Their senses of humor will mature with the rest of them, and those 8-year-old-boy jokes (bathroom humor, anyone?) will be replaced by the kind of comments that will make you throw your head back and laugh...

But no matter how grown-up they get, there will always be a bit of little boy inside your men (thank goodness)...



And they'll always love their mommy, no matter how old they get...

Would I turn back the clock, so that I could have all of these precious souls I had the privilege to raise around me all the time?  Never.  Think of all the great things I would miss if I did!

There is a season for everything in life, and you know what?  I like where I am.  The nest might be empty, but my life is very full.  God is so very good, isn't He?

But before I go, a note to my boys: there's a house for sale just down the street--I mean, if it's favorite status you're after...(Just kidding...I think.)