Iron (wo)Man. Or Not.

I realized the other day, as we were sitting in our Sunday School class, that I have never taken my husband's shirts to get dry cleaned.  I know, I lose points for not paying 100% attention in church of all places, but I couldn't help it.  There we sat in a room full of people and almost all of the men had beautifully ironed and starched shirts.  The kind you could tell had been pressed by one of those industrial pressers, not the iron-at-home-kind.

This is a Dry Cleaning Press. Beautiful, isn't it?

I began to go around the room and take note that these men, whose shirts alone made them look like they could run for a seat in the Senate, must have good wives.  "Oh!," I thought to myself upon looking at one particular fellow, "he must have a good wife.   I can just tell she cares."  I guess it's a woman thing.  I don't know. But that was my thought.  And I looked back at my husband, sitting next to me clueless as to what pointless thoughts were swirling in my brain, and my smile waned. I realized that not once in over 8 years of marriage had it even occurred to me that my man might like a nicely ironed shirt.  Not everyday, mind you.  We don't have one of those money trees growing in our backyard.  But perhaps every once in a while?  Maybe he too, like me, would appreciate the complete disappearance of any unwelcome wrinkles or creases in his shirts.

And again, I looked at Ryan, the one who still takes my breath away every day, and I felt a little sorry that he'd gotten stuck with me and my cleaning abilities, or lack thereof.  A gal who, even on my best days, can't iron a lick, and relies almost entirely on my dryer to get rid of those stubborn wrinkles.  That's right.  I am the kinda gal who will dampen a wrinkled shirt and stick it in the dryer with a towel or two.  Phew...feels good to finally admit that.  (Did anyone else just hear my mom start crying? Sorry mom.  This is not your fault. You tried.)  Can I also admit that the iron comes out in 911 cases only?  It does.  Emergencies only. Here she is. My iron:

But, to give myself a little credit, I also realized as I was sitting there that this man I married could truly care less. It's just not who he is.  And because his job requires him to wear jeans and get dirty most days, ironed shirts are definitely not at the top of his priority list.  Clean socks? Now that's a different story.  That is priority numero uno.

And so, sitting there in Sunday School, I reconciled within myself that I was, in fact, not the worst wife ever to grace this world.

And then I looked down and saw the stark white socks my husband was wearing with his black dress pants and black dress shoes.  I realized immediately that I had forgotten to do the dark laundry and my husband was forced to wear the white socks.  I am grateful that he could care less about things like that.  I, on the other hand, feel like this is a direct reflection on me.  I sank a little lower in my seat at this moment.

So, as soon as church was out, I promptly went home and did laundry.  I also took a few of his shirts to get dry cleaned.  Because that's also the kind of gal I am.

Please notice the ironed shirt he is wearing.

I think he still likes me.  

Trying For The Girl?

I should have seen it coming. I should have realized that it usually happens around your child's first birthday that people start asking the famous question: "so, are y'all gonna have more?"  Although, in our case, the question has now lovingly been rephrased to, "so, are y'all gonna try for the girl?"

Before I get any farther, let me give a "solid answer" to those wondering about the future of our family: the jury is still out on babe #4.  Honestly, this is more so because my husband needs to wrap his brain around the idea of a fourth child.  Not just to love and nurture.  But to feed and clothe and insure and feed and send to college and feed.  (Did I already mention that last one? It's a big one around here because I have gradually, or not so gradually, watched our grocery budget extend to more than twice what it used to be when it was just the hubs and me.  Sometimes, when I get the odd chance to go to the grocery store alone, I stand in the aisle and wonder, hopefully not out loud, how in the world our 3 boys eat as much as they do.  You might be thinking that one of those 3 boys is a mere baby so he probably isn't eating all that much.  Let me go ahead and nip that thought process in the bud.  Seth eats.  Oh, how eats.  Can I get an amen from other moms of boys?  You know exactly the feelings of which  I speak).

Anyways, it isn't just the cost of another child that has my husband (and me) teetering back and forth. It's the fact that chances are we will have another boy.  The odds are against us in the whole "trying for a girl" process.  So the question isn't "are you going to try for the girl?"  The real question is "are you okay with trying for a girl but more than likely ending up with another Friesen boy?"

Do you see that? Those three beautiful faces? How, I ask you, could I not be okay with another boy?

Or course I'd be lying if I said that having a girl has never crossed my mind (see my last post about my mom.)  Has there ever been a woman in existence who didn't want a daughter?  It's a hard thing to explain because, I truly believe, it's a God-given desire inside of us females.  And, fortunately for me, I have a husband who understands that, although I love our 3 boys, that feeling that "our family is complete" hasn't hit me yet.   I hear stories of women who do, in fact, try for the girl and end up with 9 boys (true story) or 13 boys (true story).   That, I can promise you, will NOT be me.  

So, where does that leave the Friesen five?  Ryan and I are not only considering having a 4th baby, but adopting a little girl.  It's something we've always talked about.  But after having Seth, the discussion became more serious.  It's something we are praying about these days.  Adoption is such a special thing because of our relationship to the Lord.  He adopted us into his family, as sons and daughters.  Not because we deserved it.  He did it out of love.  And there are so many little ones out there who need a home, who need love, who need an adopting family.  And love is something we are definitely not short on.  

The biggest thing I'd have to let go of, if we adopted a baby girl, is wanting to know what our biological daughter would have looked like.  So, thanks to the magic of the internet, I morphed a baby girl out of me and Ryan's faces.  Here she is:

And just because I had to know how accurate it was, I also morphed a boy baby.  Because I definitely know what our boy babies look like.  Here's how "he" came out:

That's not too bad, huh?  I thought it actually looked like Seth a bit.

So, to answer the question of today's blog:  We are not trying for the girl. Yet. We are praying. We are waiting.  We are doing one of the things that I am not very good at: being patient.

I Blame My Mother...

 This is my mom.  

I like this picture of her.  It says so much about who she is.  Not only is my mom stylish (check out the boots), but she's also practical, nurturing, and beautiful. See her holding my sons hand?  That's not for the picture.  She's doing that because that's what she does. She holds hands, gives hugs, and loves more unselfishly than anyone I know.

My Mom (aka: Mimi)  and Caden, my nephew.

It's no secret that I have three boys whom I love and adore.  But if I have to be completely honest with you, I will tell you that I do dream of having a little girl one day. I have dreamed of having a daughter for as long as I can remember.  Little girls don't often dream of growing up, getting married, and having a house full of boys.  At least I didn't.  No, my perfect world involved a daughter who would grow into my best friend.

I blame my mother for this.  I don't think I would have wanted a daughter nearly as badly if I hadn't had such a good mother as an example.

She is my best friend.  And I wanted the chance to have that relationship with my own little girl.

Mimi reading to Noah 

My mom taught me the little things like writing thank you notes, tipping your hair dresser, and how to set a table (forks on the left, everything else on the right, people.  See below.  I want you all to know this.  It's important!)

My mom also taught me about the big things in life.  Like modesty.  That it's not only okay to cover-up and be cute, but it's Godly.  While I was growing up, my mom's rule was that I had to dress to please my dad.  That has since carried over into my marriage and I try to always be mindful of my husband when trying on clothes.  If he would be uncomfortable seeing me in it, then I don't buy it. Period.

My mom taught me to be a friend.  To love those who were considered the outcasts.  To stay away from gossip.  To give generously and without expecting anything in return.  To forgive and extend mercy, even where none is due.  To be content with little or much.  To listen quickly and speak slowly.  

It's funny.  Growing up, I thought that all of those qualities were just a part of who my mom was.  I didn't realize that she was purposely living her life before me as an example of what Christ wanted me to be.  She wasn't just born with all of those qualities.  They came from years of walking with the Father, and she mothered me the best way she knew how: by living out loud.  

 She was (and is) a great mom to my brother and me, but as girls to moms go, she's at the top somewhere.  With an example like that, how could I not desire my own daughter?

My mom is, simply put, one of the best people I know.  I am honored to be able to call her my mom!    

Mimi holding Seth

And Speaking of Mothers....

When we were pregnant with Seth, we didn't know if he was a boy or a girl, so for the first time, we got to pick out a girl name for our baby.  The girl name was after my maternal grandmother who is much to blame for how great my mom is.  I wish I had a picture of her to share with you.  She was beautiful, inside and out.  Her name was Jo Helen, and our little girl was going to have that "Jo" in her name.  The name is so special to me because the memory I have of my grandmother forever etched in my mind is of her, at the end of her battle with cancer, sitting in her bed, unable to eat or drink.  But she found the strength to lift her hands, and sing to the Lord with all her might.  I remember feeling so close to the gates of Heaven that night, standing next to someone who was within hours of going to her eternal home with Jesus.   I remember feeling that this was the purpose of life, to glorify my God, and I didn't want to miss it.   "Jo" means "God will increase."  I decided that night that if we ever had a girl, she'd carry on my grandmother's legacy.  Ryan and I wanted our little girl to inherit that strong name from my grandmother.

We had also decided to use the name "Ella," after Ryan's grandmother who passed away in 2009.  Grandma Low, as we called her, was a tremendous example of faith.  I always think of Grandma when I'm in the yard or the garden.  Teaching my boys about weeding, watering, and waiting.  There are so many life lessons that can be learned from working in the soil of the earth.  I think Grandma knew this and that's part of the reason she was so fond of gardening.  Here she is a few months before she passed away:

 As mother-in-laws go, I've got a pretty great one.  She is my second mom, really, and also a great friend.  Here she is:

To her credit, she welcomed me into her family when I was only 17 years old  (just to be clear: that's when I met Ryan, not when we got married. I was much older. I was 19.)   In retrospect, I imagine she must have been thinking, "WHAT?!"  But she never once made me feel anything but at home.  I fell in love with Ryan's family, just as much as I did him.  I have a tremendous amount of respect and compassion for my mother-in-law.  She is the one who chose to give him life, nurtured him for 20 years, and then let him go.  He left home, family, and country for me.  (Have I mentioned my man's Canadian? Oh he is.  As Canadian as a Canadian can get. Whatever that means.)

 I have learned a lot from my mother-in-law.  I strive to have a home as organized as hers.  Every thing, even the random nik-naks, have a place in her house.  It's kind-of amazing.  It's a goal of mine to be this organized, but I doubt I'll ever reach it.  Have I mentioned I have 3 boys?  I should probably stop comparing myself to a woman who starts packing 2 weeks in advance of a trip.  I should just throw in the towel now.  But, seriously, the one thing that sticks out is her love and devotion to family.  She's fiercely loyal, a trait that I understand and love about her.

So, you see, my desire for a daughter is completely and utterly selfish.  I want one so I can pass on the legacies of these beautiful women and all the things they've taught me.

"She is clothed with strength and dignity...when she speaks, her words are wise, and she gives instructions with kindness...Her children stand and bless her.  Her husband praises her...Charm is deceptive and beauty does not last, but a woman who fears the Lord will be greatly praised.  Reward her for all she has done.  Let her deeds publicly declare her praise." 

Proverbs 31:25, 26, 28, 30-31

Birthdays and Babies

Seth, the youngest in our little family, turned 1 last week.  Even though he is baby #3 and I should be used to this by now, can I admit that I'm not?  I'm not used to them growing up so fast and time going by so quickly.  I guess this is the plight of all parents.  We never get used to them going from this:

To this in 12 short months:

I know I've mentioned a portion of Seth's story before (find it here: "the line up" ), but just in case you missed it, Seth was a bit of a surprise for my husband and I.  Okay, a lot of a surprise. In fact, let's just go with shock.  I was shocked to find out I was pregnant again.  Having said that, Seth is the best surprise of my life.  And possibly, our last child.  So we had to make his first birthday party a big deal! Check out the images our friend Jessica Henderson took for us:  

I randomly found these chinese take-out boxes in one of my closets from my old wedding planning days.  I stuck cheerios inside for the guests.  The thank-you stickers were designed by friend, Amanda. Thanks Amanda! :)

And my good friend Katherine, owner of Wiggles and Giggles, made this for Seth.  Thanks Kath!

Check out these cuties!  All the moms of these kids are in my Bunko group (see this post about my bunko group) and all of us were pregnant at the same time!!! The oldest was born in March and the youngest in October.  SO FUN!

I love going to a child's first birthday party.  Seeing them inhale a whole cake for (hopefully) the first time in their life is so fun.  And, don't tell anybody, but I always find myself getting a little jealous that this tiny person can eat a whole cake by themselves and they can't even appreciate what it is they are eating.   My boy did me proud, though.  Here he is, post-cake:

 In the spirit of celebrating my kids birthday, I've gotta be sentimental here for just a minute.  It's such a bittersweet thing to watch your kids grow up.  On the one hand, I can't wait to see what kind of men they will grow up to be. What will they do with their lives?  Who will they marry?  How many granddaughters will they give me?   Ok, so that last ones a joke (sorta), but only once you are a parent do you realize what it is to dream for your kids.  

I suppose I may dream differently for my boys than most parents.  I do not dream for my kids to go off to college and get great jobs and marry and settle down.  Not that any of those are bad things.  That's certainly the way my life unfolded (except the whole getting a great job thing. I left that up to the hubs).  Here is what I dream for my boys:  that they will go out into the world equipped by the Lord and by His Spirit, and rise up from among their generation and lead it.  If that means not going to college or not having a great-paying job because God has a different plan for them, then that is more than okay with me.  But let me be clear about this: Ryan and I knew before these kids ever arrived into this world or into our lives that they were not ours.  That they belong to the Lord and he loves them so much more than we ever could.  And I am content to rest in that knowledge and let him lead them wherever he sees fit.  

But for now, I am so happy to just sit with them in my lap, reading stories of pirates and dreaming with them about the kind of superheroes they will grow up to be.   

Seth and me on day one. This...THIS is what makes it all worth it. 

One of Those Days...

 Today has been one of those days for me.  You know the ones.  Where nothing seems to work in your favor, nothing of any real importance is accomplished, and every square inch of your house is covered with dirt, dust, or a spiderman toy.  (That's not just my house, right?)

I woke up this morning with such high hopes!  I was in a rather chipper mood and, after having my much-needed cup of coffee, I was determined to get some big items checked-off of my to-do-list.  (Are you a to-do-list person?  I so am.  There's just something gratifying about crossing off things I've needed to get done.  It's the little things in my life, ok?)  The biggest things on my list had to do with Seth's upcoming first birthday party. Part of my plan was to set up our dining room.  Here's how it looked at the beginning of the day:

So, I set out with these things to do and that may have been mistake #1.

Who knew that 2 out of my 3 boys would wake up with pink eye?  Or that the 3rd one, the only one without pink eye, would throw up in the very back of my car in the middle of traffic?  Who knew that after a seemingly innocent trip to Hobby Lobby I would wind up back in my car (the throw up car) crying a flood of tears because they refused to accept my return? These are the things nobody tells you to expect at the beginning of a day.  Although, as a mom with 3 kids five and under, shouldn't I expect these things to happen every day and be excited when I have a "normal" day?  Maybe my perspective needs to change.

Needless to say, my to-do-list is staring at me right now.  Untouched. Not a line crossed off. This is what my dining room currently looks like.  I'm sure you'll notice the huge change:

Thankfully, I don't have too many of these days.  But it's on days like these that I do wonder how people manage without a relationship with Christ.  I know that even on the terrible-horrible-no-good-very-bad-days, these little hiccups (and they are indeed very, very little) draw me to a closer walk with my Savior.  He teaches me so many lessons on days like this!  If I pray for patience, as I so often do, will God simply grant me patience?  He could, but I don't think that's how he chooses to work.  Instead, when I pray for patience, he gives me an opportunity to be patient.  Or when I pray for joy, he gives me an opportunity to be joyful.  And it almost always happens in moments where I'd rather be anything but joyful.  Like when my kid pukes in the car.

Jesus teaches me in these moments.  And he gives me hope for a new tomorrow! (Hopefully one that includes a clean(er) house, no pink eye, and a little less throw up).

"I wait quietly before God, for my hope is in him.  He alone is my rock and my salvation, my fortress where I will not be shaken." Psalm 62:5-6  

My heart is so completely content in knowing that HE is my rock, my fortress.  And that while days like today shake me up, they don't shake him up at all.

Guess what else I didn't know would happen today?  Who knew that my sweet, wonderful 5 year old son would see my stress-level rising and take it upon himself to cheer me up with this:

4 "flowers" from my boy.  We'll wait till he's a little older to tell him that those are, in fact, weeds.  But, those weeds, they made my day.

Noah...I love him.  Puke and all. :)

                                    

Boys and Manners

I realize that as a mom to 3 boys there comes a time, and rightly so, where I can no longer instill certain qualities into them, but my husband can. That a time comes, for all boys, where they start clinging to dad more and wanting to participate in the "guy-things."  And this is right, it is natural, and I am all for it.  But during those few precious years that they actually desire to be with me more than anyone else, I am determined to instill certain elements of refinement into them.

Manners, for instance.

We are big on please and thank you.  And I am a southerner, so having my boys say yes-mam, no-mam, yes-sir, and no-sir are at the top of the priority list for me.  I also have a running list of things we do not say.  "Gentlemen," I assure my boys, "do not say fart in front of a lady.  And I am a lady."

I try my best to influence this house full of testosterone toward a civil and respectable upbringing.  But occasionally it works the other way around and I find myself saying things that only a boy should say.

For example: this past Friday I got together with my Bunko group.  They are 16 of the most beautiful women I know (inside and out).  I could write a whole blog bragging on how great each one of them is.  Maybe I will one day.  But I digress.  Bunko is the night each month that I desperately need both as a mom and a woman.  It's nice being around other humans who appreciate the finer things in life.  Like lipstick and flat irons.

Anyways, we get together once a month for dinner and to play bunko.  This past Friday, towards the end of the evening, we were looking for one of our girls who'd gone missing somewhere in the house.  We couldn't start playing without her.  And before I knew what was flying out of my mouth, and before reason could take over, I yelled (at an awkwardly quiet moment), "MAYBE SHE'S ON THE POT!"  As soon as I said it, I ducked my head in shame and horror.  And I quickly reminded my 16 friends (well,15...one was on the pot, remember) that, pardon me, I live with 4 boys, sometimes I have no manners.

This bothers me on 2 levels: (1) that I said it. (2) that I would even think to say it.

What's funny about this entire scenario, though, is that we do not say "pot" in our house.  If, in fact, one of my boys ever tried to refer to the toilet as a pot, I'd correct them.  And here I am, a full grown "lady," and I didn't just use it in a casual conversation, no. I yelled it in my friends house in front of women who, prior to that moment, probably thought of me as someone with pretty good manners.  Internally I tried blaming it on the fact that there's no other estrogen in my household besides my own. That I'm outnumbered. That this was bound to happen.  I am becoming like them!

But of course, that's not the truth.  I am still determined to teach my boys a little about refined things.  These are the things, I know, that do not necessarily make or break a man's character. But for my sake, and the sake of my future daughter-in-laws, I am working hard to get these good habits into my boys. To teach them about manners and decency.  To not burp at the dinner table. To put their dishes away after every meal.  To put the seat down after using the pot.  Er....toilet.

                             p.s.  This sign might need to be posted in every little boys bathroom.

The Line-Up...

Because the main idea of this blog is to document the strange and hilarious things my boys do, and because I think they are so darn cute, I thought it would be appropriate to officially introduce them to you. So, here's the line-up:

This is Noah: our first-born, the one who first made us happy to be parents, the one who still makes us laugh everyday.  It's been amazing to see how all of our kids, but particularly Noah, have embodied the meanings of their names.  Noah means "to bring rest and peace to God's people." And while he is every bit a 5 year old little kid who likes to catch bugs, jump in any puddle he sees, eat worms (yes, you read that right), and play in the dirt, Noah has always had this underlying desire to be peaceful.  He's had more of an opportunity to do this as he now has 2 younger brothers. But even back in the days when it was just me, the husband, and Noah (what sweet days those were!), he had a peaceful spirit.  He really made the transition into parenthood easy for us.  And then along came our next little guy...

Here's boy #2: Jackson. Oh, how to describe Jackson?  Let me just say this about our sweet 2 1/2 year old middle child: he taught us, and continues to teach us, that no two children are the same.  I'm not sure what I expected after having such an easy first child, but I guess I sorta thought they would  have similar personalities.  WRONG.  Dead wrong.  From the blonde curly hair and fair skin, to the strong-headed, do-it-himself personality, Jackson is his own person.  As he's gotten older, it's plain to see that he is taking after his dad.  He loves motorcycles, guitars, and any sport that includes a ball. ( He also loves to dance.  And I have no idea where he gets that from.  My husband denies this trait, but I have my suspicions.) Jackson has taught me patience and more than anything else, grace.  Grace for him, but especially for other parents who have strong-headed children. Gone are the days where I look at people in Wal-Mart with a screaming kid and think "they must be bad parents."  Because, not only has it happened to me, but chances are it will happen again. And I could sure use people looking at me with a little grace as I do my best to teach Jackson, even in Wal-Mart, how to control the fire God has put in him.   And that brings me to our newest little guy...

Meet Seth.  He is 11 months old at the moment and will be celebrating his first birthday in a few short weeks.  He has an uncanny resemblance to his bigger brother, Noah, and his personality, thus far, sure is a lot like Noah, as well. Seth was a surprise for us from the moment we found out I was pregnant to the moment he was born.  Unlike the previous pregnancies, we decided to wait until his birth to find out the gender of this surprise child I was carrying.  My sweet husband was convinced this was our girl.  I, however,  was in limbo the entire time.  I had no idea, much to my frustration, what was inside my belly.  And then, after 9 brutal months of wondering and waiting, he arrived.  My awesome OB let my husband be the first to see the baby's anatomy and then announce it to me.  I will never forget my husband as he said "It's a...a boy? What?"  I love that he phrased it in question form when he announced it to me, as if there may be some dispute about it.   And as I recall I laid there and said "of course it's a boy" as if I'd known the entire time.  Of course, I had no idea, but still it was as if it settled on me in that instant that this was my life. A life destined for camping trips, baseball games, and blue jeans.  Or maybe that was just the morphine talking. I can't be sure.  But Seth, our sweet little Seth, has been the perfect surprise for us.  He is what made us the Friesen Five, after all.

Brothers.