Problem solved

When he does take his bottle, Jacob doesn't like to be cradled in my arms like a normal baby. He prefers to be propped up on my knees facing me, so instead of gazing at his adorable face, all I get to see is the bottom end of the bottle staring up at me. Since I spend so much time looking at the bottom of a piece of plastic, and since feeding time lasts forever and makes up the most stressful part of my day, I took a permanent marker to the bottom of all of those bottles and made myself a little reminder.

For over a month now, I've been staring at the inscription "2 Cor. 4:1" during our frustrating feeding times, and I've tried to live out the verse "Therefore since through Christ's mercy we have this ministry, we do not lose heart." I have tried to be patient as I've prayed for Jacob to eat better, to take a few more sips of formula, or to open his mouth for a spoonful of sweet potatoes. And my God has been faithful.

We're still not where we should be, but my little boy has turned a corner. Each day we see a little improvement. A full bottle finished with minimum fussing. A tablespoon of carrots eaten and a baby hungry for more. A day that goes by without any spitting up. The realization that he seems to be getting a little chunkier. Small victories, each of them, but reminders that I am not to lose heart as I pray, and wait, and hope for Jacob's poor eating habits and upset tummy to go away.

The x-ray we subjected him to yielded no answers. The powerful drug we switched him to didn't really change anything. So I'm following my mommy instincts, and taking things one day at a time. And I'm continuing to pray, which has been our most productive course of action to date.

In the meantime, a slice of watermelon on a hot day seems to go down just fine.

After dinner

To kill time between dinner and bedtime, we like to head into the backyard and greet the local wildlife. We've found that the best way to get close to them is to put a hook through their mouths.

This little catfish couldn't resist the little piece of bread dangling from my pink Dora fishing pole.

Special thanks to Justin for dehooking that one for me.

Bad timing

It was supposed to be the kids' first Varsity experience, and all signs were pointing to it being a good authentic one. We were greeted by a cacophony of "What'll ya haves?" and promptly placed our order for chili cheese dogs and a frosted orange. And that's where things started to go downhill.

It would have been okay, really, if we had gotten there about a minute earlier. Instead, we arrived at the same time as the thunder and lightning, and just in time for the power to go out. So instead of sharing french fries, we played with straws and tried on those awesome hats while we waited for the storm to pass.

In the dark.

And when the rain let up a little, we went out for pizza instead.

All things considered, I'd say the kids were not that impressed with The Varsity. Maybe next time.

Winding down

About 15 minutes before bedtime, I realized the mattress was missing from Caleb's bed. Also, there was this uncontrollable giggling coming from the stairway outside the kids' rooms.

"Whatever could that be?" I wondered.

Turns out it was just Justin, working on getting the kids settled down before bed.

No wonder they like him better.

Stating the obvious

Caleb loves trucks.

(No, wait. I don't think you understand.)

This boy loves trucks.

Like fish love to swim. Like a bear loves honey.

Like a father loves his children.

Yep, that's it. Caleb loves trucks like his dad and I love our children. Just like we love our children.

He plays with them. He carries them around when they get tired. He protects them from rambunctious siblings. He reads to them. He patches up their booboos (with a little help from mom). He's sad when they're broken, and he's excited when they get to do something new (like go down a big slide, or race across the kitchen floor).

And when they get tired, he does what any good dad would do. He finds a nice place for them to rest, and tucks them in with his favorite blanket.

Good night, truckie.

How to anger an infant

A nurse took them down a long hallway to a room where she gave George something to drink that looked white and tasted sweet. "It is called barium," the nurse explained. "It helps the doctors find out what is wrong with you, George."

In the next room stood a big table, and a doctor was just putting on a heavy apron. Then he gave the man one just like it. George was curious: Would he get one too? No, he did not.

"You get on that table, George," the doctor said. "I am going to take some X-ray pictures of your insides."

--from Curious George Goes to the Hospital

Jacob's experience was a little more traumatic than George's, I'm afraid.

Maybe it was that we starved him for three hours first.

And then stripped him down to his skivvies, and laid him down on a cold exam table.

And took his his puppy away.

And allowed strangers in lead aprons to restrain his hands and feet.

And covered him with a huge blinking metal box.

And allowed another stranger to pour barium down his throat, rotating him from side to side while a man in a white coat pressed a button that made a terrifying beeping noise.

This morning's upper gastrointestinal X-ray was not an altogether pleasant experience for young Jacob. Particularly the part where he refused to drink the barium, so they just squirted into his mouth until he choked on it and swallowed some by accident. Come to think of it, watching the procedure wasn't an altogether pleasant experience for me, either.

Maybe now we'll get some answers as to why this adorable baby has such disdain for eating.

Now she knows how I feel

"Hold still baby. I'm trying to take your picture."

More from the Abby Jean photo gallery:

Busy

Dear Mom and Dad,

If you need us, we'll be up in Caleb's room reading some books.

Sincerely,

The Kids

Never a dull moment

"Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged.

They always say, 'Do it again'

and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead.

For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony.

But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony.

It is possible that God says every morning, 'Do it again' to the sun;

and every evening, 'Do it again' to the moon.

It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them.

It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we."

— G.K. Chesterton

For all the times I have to tell her not to squeal in the house, I'm thankful I'm Abby's mother.

For all the times I have to remind him not to pick up spiders, I'm thankful I'm Caleb's mother.

For all the times I have to change my shirt because he spit up on me again, I'm thankful I'm Jacob's mother.

For all the times she holds my arm and tells me she wants to keep me forever, I'm thankful I'm Abby's mother.

For all the times he sneaks up on me and snuggle pounces me from behind, I'm thankful I'm Caleb's mother.

For all the times his face lights up when I'm the first person to greet him in the morning, I'm thankful I'm Jacob's mother.

For all the times she pushes me to my limits and then asks "why?" once more, I'm thankful I'm Abby's mother.

For all the times he runs away when I ask him to come here, I'm thankful I'm Caleb's mother.

For all the times he writhes and cries and refuses his bottle, I'm thankful I'm Jacob's mother.

For all the times they lay heavy on my chest and rest their heads on my shoulder, I'm thankful for these children God has entrusted to my care for a little while. Because through all the why's and the whining, through the fun and the laughter, through the discipline and the monotony of motherhood, I'm reminded that God has uniquely gifted me to care for these specific children for reasons known only to Him. It is not for me to throw up my hands in frustration or to grow weary with the repetitive nature of parenthood, but to delight in the monotony, for though the hours may seem to drag on, the days are going by so quickly. And what I wouldn't give to have just one tiring moment with the little one I lost.

How quickly I forget that it was not just yesterday that my firstborn was placed in my arms. No, years have passed since then, in what seems like the blink of an eye, and stages that seemed as if they'd never end have come and gone. And I've survived, though at the time it often seemed so unlikely we'd ever get through this or that.

The minutes seem sometimes to tick by so slowly as I wait for a 6-month-old to finish eating, or for a two-year-old to put on his own shoes, or for a three-year-old to button her own pajamas. And when the task is done, and undone, I know we will do it again tomorrow, and the day after that.

But there will come a day when teenage boys will threaten to eat me out of house and home, and their big shoes will litter the garage. And the little girl in the frog pajamas will be replaced by one who won't care for my praise when she gets herself dressed.

So on this mother's day, I pray the Lord will help me to exult in the monotony of my days, and to always remember what a great honor and privilege it is to be raising these little children He's given me. I pray that He will be glorified where I succeed, and that His grace will be evident where I fail, so that one day my children will look back and know the hope that was within me as I tried to raise them right.

Let him eat cake

The good news is that we finally found something our little picky eater likes.

The bad news? That something is birthday cake with chocolate frosting and sprinkles.

And just why did we feed our refluxy baby a cake with chocolate frosting and sprinkles?

Because it's Jacob's half-birthday, of course. And having made it to the six-months-outside-the-womb mark is cause for celebration around here. (Any excuse for a party, right?) So I baked my traditional half-birthday cake, ignored the fact that he's barely touched his formula or his rice cereal for the past few days, and watched with delight as his dad fed him chunks of cake on a tiny fork.

At six months, he's still just as easy going and adaptable as he's always been. He puts up with being shuffled to and from the car, the exersaucer, the jumpy thing, a blanket in the backyard, and from hip to hip as I go about my day dealing with his much more high maintenance older siblings. He's happily along for the ride in his ergo carrier as I wander through the grocery store, chase toddlers at the park or wade in the creek.

Jacob has always loved people and attention, and he gets plenty of both around here. A glance in his direction is all it takes to put a smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. And a visit from the "tickle worm" (that pesky wiggly index finger) is sure to bring about a major case of the giggles. (Abby and Caleb are experts at tickle worm attacks, and amaze me with how gentle they can be with their brother and how quickly they can pinpoint his most ticklish spots.)

He's a charmer in the church nursery, the doctor's office, and our local hardware store (where they're beginning to know my children by name). With those big brown eyes and that adorable little dimple in his left cheek, it takes just moments for the people he meets to fall in love with him. Jacob is certainly our most relaxed baby, by far, and has made the transition from two kids to three far easier than I had ever imagined it could be.

He's a champion roller, and the fact that he's learned to roll from his back to his belly and from his belly to his back means that anytime I put him down, I'm guaranteed to find him later a few feet from where I left him, and often under a piece of furniture or stuck in a corner.

He loves to reach, hold and grab whatever's nearby, be it a blanket or his sister's hair. The older two are learning quickly to give him a wide berth if they want to maintain possession of their stuff. He loves to snuggle his blankie, and it's the first thing he grabs when we lay him down for a nap in his crib. With his left thumb planted firmly in his mouth, he maneuvers the blankie with his right hand until he finds the silky edge, then transfers it to his left fist where it stays tucked against his cheek as he falls asleep.

Following the tradition of fantastic Fisher babies, he's a great sleeper and a consistent morning and afternoon napper. Sometimes he'll still throw in a little evening catnap between dinner and bedtime, just to mix it up a little, but generally he's too excited to hang out with daddy in the evenings to close his eyes until it's time for bed.

He's truly captured our hearts and it's only taken these short six months for me to forget what life was like without our little Jacob in it.

Happy half-birthday, little buddy!

Fully capable

I've known for some time that my three-year-old is intrigued by grown-up things. We eat with bigger forks, we drive cars and stay up past her bedtime, we read books with no pictures, and she finds all of this very, very interesting. She desperately wants to know how and why I do the things I do, and wants to be involved if at all possible.

Today, I made her dream a reality. And in her beautiful little girl mind, she thinks the fact that I let her be a part of Laundry Day is the greatest thing ever. She waited patiently for the dryer to stop spinning, and held out her hands just the way I showed her to catch the pile of towels I would pile onto her skinny arms. She set them down gently and, with surgical precision, gingerly folded each wash cloth and dish towel, carefully matching corners and edges until she had them all folded into what she declared to be perfect little packages. They were not folded the way I usually fold them, but I'm happy to rearrange the symmetry of the linen closet to accommodate her methods.

She carried the dish towels into the kitchen and followed me across the room like a duckling learning its way around a pond so I could show her which drawer they belonged in. She pulled it open and noticed that the other dish towels were rolled, not folded the way hers were. I watched, silently, to see what my little perfectionist would do. Without saying a word, she unwrapped her perfect little packages, smoothed them out on the floor and set about folding them in half, first lengthwise, then end to end, so that she could make them match the towels already in the drawer.

"Look Mommy," she declared, holding her first rolled towel up for me to see. "I made little burritos like yours!"

She reached into the drawer and placed her towel burrito in its place next to the others. She paused to review her work, and once she was satisfied she proceeded to put away the remaining towels for me.

The whole process took about four times as long as it usually does. I learned patience, and she learned the value of helping mommy with the housework. And for her first try at household chores, I'd say she did a pretty fantastic job.

Heavy lifting

When you're two, there's really nothing better than watching a 70-ton crane in action.

Unless that 70-ton crane is in your front yard, hoisting enormous pine trees over your house from your backyard. And your dad lets you get real close to the action.

Yeah. That might be better.