Letter 29

Dear Lincoln,
Let's get this "potty" started! It's about time I sit down and write about this week. =) Friday night, Papa and I went to the see a movie and afterward headed to Walmart to fill our cart full of candy, juices, toys and (drum roll).... toddler underpants! I stayed up till 1:30 am (bad idea!) reviewing key notes from our training guide and making sure I had everything ready. Saturday morning, Papa took Shea over to Grandma and Grandpa O's house while you and I locked ourselves in the bathroom and began our potty boot camp. It was hard. Very hard. I was nervous, frustrated, tired! and worried you were just imitating but not learning. I let the title of the book (Toilet Training in Less Than a Day) put too much pressure on me. Plus, I was getting lightheaded from using that high pitch soprano praise voice for three hours (and I'm sure those sugary drinks we were throwing back didn't help either). Even so, you were wonderful; quite the trooper. Sure, you threw a tantrum around the 4th hour and itched to get out of the bathroom, but overall you were great. Within that first four hours you learned all that your crash course had set out to teach: run to the toilet, pull down your underpants, sit on the potty, wipe, pull up your underpants (though you needed help with this every time) flush and wash your hands. Who wouldn't be pleased! Your only handicap was not getting to the potty in time. We went though 6 pairs of underpants that could have been saved given 4 more seconds. You went potty twice, successfully, pooped, and napped two hours without an accident.
Day two, however, was more difficult than the previous. Papa took Shea to church so we could avoid any kind of traumatic experiences that would scar your potty training permanently. It's a good thing too, because I'm convinced you had stored everything into your short term memory. I grew increasingly frustrated and so did you. I could tell you were disappointed in your inability to hold your urge to go before you got to the toilet and I tried not to heavy that load with my own disappointment. I had spoke so highly of this book and I knew others were waiting, earnestly, for the show and tell or crash and burn of this pedestal. I prayed for the fruit of the spirit and stacked your fruit of the looms in the bathroom as we took two steps forward and one step back. By the end of the day, something clicked. You not only knew "wet bad", "dry good" and the mechanics of using the potty, but you had figured out the timing.
Today is day five and you are having rare accidents (Three in the last three days but two of them were more my fault... taking you to the park and not getting you back to the house in time, etc.).
I'm so proud of you. You are proud of you too, which is sweet. Every time you run out of the bathroom you clap and gleefully inform everyone of your business. Ha!
Of course, with this new territory comes new discipline. You've already started coming out several times after you've been put to bed saying you have to go potty. So sneaky! You've also sat down and pretended to go potty followed by a, "I wanta sum cannndy!" Talk about behaviorism to the MAX. Ha.
I'd take that over potty training for another month (or more!).
All in all, I'd say this was a pleasant experience, of course, that's in hindsight...

To my trained tinkler, I love you!

Letter 28

Dear Lincoln,
It's been said that a picture says a thousand words...

I love you my little "glass-act"!

Letter 27

Dear Lincoln,
There is so much that I can write to you about with our vacation last week, and yet, I've neglected to sit down and do so. I keep thinking of the car ride (you did really good) and specifically of you and your monkey. It's been your lovey for quite some time. I'm thankful you're not super attached to it, in a way that would handicap you from your normal routine if you didn't have it (I've heard such stories of mom's desperately searching for some toy or bear so that their child will take a nap), but you did cuddle up with it (as best as one can sitting in a car seat for 5 hours)to fall asleep. At one point you put your lovey in the cup holder like it was riding sidecar. It was adorable. Anyway, that is what I was thinking about today and I wanted to tell you.

I love you chunky monkey!

Letter 26

Dear Lincoln and Shea,
You can tell the days I'm tired and anxious for my head to meet my pillow. I call it the 6:59 vs 7:35 day. Those are the days when I tell myself only 6 more minutes until bedtime and it's 6:54. Then there are the days when I can't get enough time with you two; it's 7:35 and I'm wondering why you have to go to bed already... We are up at the Hobin (my parent's lake house in Rice Lake, WI)and it's even easier to do away with any kind of schedule. There's something about being on the lake and watching the sunset or making a bonfire and getting out marshmallows, that make ending a day the last of your priorities. Today was an 8:30 day.

awake for my sake, I love you!

Letter 25

Dear Lincoln,
I think we need to talk about the way you eat an apple. It's strange. I never assumed that one would have to teach their child how to hold an apple ergonomically correct,(gripping the top and bottom with your thumb and middle finger, using index finger for support and rotating, of course!) but apparently this is not born knowledge. You like to take a different approach. A "just get to the core" approach. Literally. You eat from the top down. It makes me laugh (and cringe) everytime. What I do love about you eating apples, is the song we sing during the process; the Johnny Appleseed song. When I was in Sunday school we used to sing it before snacks. I think it was also one of those VBS things you can't really get out of your head.


To the apple of my eye, I love you!

Letter 24

Dear Shea,
It is said that you shouldn't cry over spilt milk. I beg to differ. What if it is pumped milk? What if I labored over getting the milk available for you, spilled it and had nothing to offer; surely there is reason to cry? Reason or not, I have cried for this very thing. You were only a few weeks old and I didn't realize the bottle I had prepared for you wasn't sealed... I thought you were gulping it down, but it turns out your bib got most of the nutrition. When you cried. I cried.
Today was not as dramatic. Today you got a hold of Lincoln's sippy cup and somehow pried it open. I found you splashing in your creation. If anyone cried, I think it was Lincoln.

To my thrill spill Shea, I love you!

A letter to my husband: scattered thoughts for you today

Today, on a humid July afternoon, I look at the calendar date and sit thinking of the man whose eyes hold me and smile undoes me. Today is our anniversary. Four years.

It’s only been four years, but the young girl he met and married is someone else now. He's made me a woman: forced me to grow, matured me, pruned me. I think of our vows; we've had many "worse,” yet have always made it "better".

I asked him one time if he would have stayed with me, had he known we thought so differently on things. It's a trick. He can't say yes. It would crush me. He can't say no. It wouldn't be the truth. He answers perfectly. "I didn't love you as much then as I do now." His answer gives me goose bumps and misty eyes. God knew what he was doing bringing us together.

He knew my thick and yet weak skin would need him. That he was the only man who could break me and love me doing so. Thank you Lord for this man.

Patrick has taught me that a marriage isn’t made up of love letters. The words that matter most are the ones that we live. Our marriage isn’t made up of love letters, but it is one.

I've never believed that you could marry the wrong one. God is too big. But I have learned that you grow into being the right one. I wasn't the proverbs 31 when he married me, but God can get me there.

I will sit and watch our wedding video today. It’s a tradition. One I look forward to every year. It makes me laugh and cry and think and thank God.

I pray our marriage will bring ever increasing spiritual significance and glory to our Heavenly Father.

Thank you for being a husband with honor and integrity. For loving me beyond reason. For always being my best friend. I love you.

Letter 23

Dear Lincoln,
Tonight it was raining in buckets. You and I enjoyed, as we do for most storms, sitting in front of the sliding glass door watching the rain fall. A couple of times I would open the door so I could hear the pounding of the rain and breath in its smell. Every time, you would jump up and beg to go outside. Out of habit, I told you that you had to have your shoes on to go outside. As soon as I said it, I realized that this permitted you to go outside. While you struggled to find your shoes, and I struggled to find my sense of humor, I debated on whether or not to let you out into the monsoon. Moments later you were pulling on my shorts and pointing at your feet. You had your shoes on. They were on the wrong feet, but that only made it more perfect. I opened the door and followed you out onto the wet cement. I stared at our art work from a few days prior as the colors smeared and disappeared with the rain's beating. You touched your toes. "Wet." At the first roar of thunder you quickened to the door. I laughed. Then we found our places back in front of the closed sliding glass door again.

My thunder boy wonder, I love you.

Letter 22

Dear Lincoln and Shea,
Fireworks were tonight. I am exhausted. There were so many sweet moments in the midst of chaos and a zoo of people, that I wanted to take a minute (and honestly just that) to say that today wasn't taken for granted. I paused and appreciated not just the fireworks, but being with family and friends and our growing love for one another.
Lincoln, I love how you were scared of the "booms" from the fireworks, until we started calling them drums. Shea, I love how you would not fall asleep prior to the fireworks regardless of what I did. I also love how you stared at the sky with your big eyes when the show started and then let them close into the deepest of slumbers. (I moved you from the blanket, to my bjorn, to the car, out of the car to the changing table... and still you slept).

To both of my little firecrackers, I love you!

Letter 21

Dear Shea,
I'm so glad you're a water bug. I admit, it's hard to tell that you like the water, being that you don't smile at all while in the pool... but you don't cry either; and that's a pretty good indication you're happy. Today I took you to Gina's pool with Kendal and Anthony. Grandma and Grandpa O borrowed Linc for the day, so it was a great opportunity for a mother daughter date. I had originally planned on going to the public pool, kind of like a practice run with just one kid, but it didn't work out. (Honestly, I don't know how they can charge a parent $5 to sit in a 1 foot pool) Oh well. We had a great time at Gina's, and as expected, I thoroughly enjoyed spending the whole day with you. You just cruised around the pool in your floaty and pinched at the water with your fingers. This may not seem very memorable to others, but I know all too quickly you'll be grown up and crazy in the pool and I'll look back quite fondly at days like today. Ha!

I love you water daughter!