Acts of Kindness

One week, perhaps midway through the eighth grade, we were told that we would be abdicating our privileged choir seats at Chapel and turning them over to the fifth graders; my brothers class. It was Random Acts of Kindness Week and they had a special program planned. That Thursday, their class did the readings, delivered the homily, sang 'Let There be Peace on Earth' in two-part harmony, and handed out pins saying 'Practice Random of Kindness' following the service.

I remember the whole thing making me a little teary. It could have been an early bout with hormones, but more likely, the melodic plea from my brother and his classmates struck a chord. They suddenly became the most mature voices in the sacred space. The congregation turned inward, investigating how peace could begin with us.

I took the pin home with me and put it on my bulletin board. It stayed there throughout high school, then came to college with me, lived in the South Side, went back to Notre Dame, and now currently resides in my cubicle at work. It's a constant reminder of that time my brother told me to be an instrument of peace; and an impetus to always practice kindness.

Throughout the years, I've complied; opening the door for a stranger, sending a hand written note to a loved one, giving someone a ride home, buying a drink for a friend, offering some professional advice to a recent college graduate. They were always little things - nothing heroic - but I was hopeful they were meaningful to the recipient.

***

This week, Mary seemed to get the hang of our new routine around the house. Things just seemed to click in her little mind.
'Two babies!'
'Yes honey, I have two babies.'
'Cute.'
'He is, isn't he.'
'Robert hungry.'
'Yes, Mommy needs to feed him.'
'Robert hiccup. Hehehe!'
'Isn't he funny?'
'Robert sleeping.'
'Shhh.'
'Mommy tired.
Mommy night night.
Daddy play. Basement.'
'Good idea.'

Mary was spot on. Exhaustion compounded by 'snow days', cluster feeding, (very) little sleep, and a high-energy toddler defined the week. Our Pediatrician could see it in my eyes and commented on it yesterday morning. Note to self: wear makeup.

Which is why on Monday, when a random act of kindness knocked at my door, I nearly lost it.

A couple months ago, we got new neighbors: two Domers with four children who like to reenact Notre Dame's fleeting highlights in their front yard. I knew they were nice people from the moment we met, but this week their true kindness was revealed. On Monday evening, around hour 48 of being snowed in by Chicago's fifth worst blizzard, I answered the door. It was Mrs. Domer, delivering dinner: chicken tetrazzini with a note to heat it at 350 degrees for thirty minutes, a salad with dressing on the side, crusty bread, mini ice cream cones for dessert, a juice box for Mary, and WINE(!) for Peter and I.

I was speechless. I had only talked to the woman a handful of times on the street, but I gave her the kind of hug I would give my Mom. Her thoughtfulness and generosity were remarkable to me. It was an act of kindness that blew my piddly ones out of the water, and I didn't know how to thank her other than a note. But she didn't seem to expect anything in return. I guess she has a bigger placard than mine.

So now I have a pin and a glowing example of how to practice kindness in completely unexpected ways. And in a couple months, when I regain some sleep and energy, I promise to pass it on. I know a couple soon to be new mommies in Chicagoland that might just need a home-cooked meal or two. And I'm guessing the kids next door like chocolate chips.

For now, my hourly acts of kindness will be dedicated to this little one's mouth.

Thank you again, a million times over, new neighbors.

Lo.

Survival of the Cutest

Last night, after we had read Curious George; Plumber's Helper for the third time in a row, I told Mary, lights out, bed time. (Typically, at this time we move from my bed to my rocking chair where we sing a couple songs that ultimately lull her to sleep.) I told her that Daddy was going to take Bobby downstairs and it was just going to be the two of us. She laid down next to me, hugged me tightly, and didn't let go for a good ten minutes. I mirrored her embrace and didn't hurry her along to the crib. A lot had happened in the past five days, and I knew she needed an extra second to absorb some of my strength. This week, I knew I was going to be dealing with a very fragile newborn, but I didn't anticipate that all of us would be a little more delicate as we adjusted to life as a household of four.

On Sunday, I left the hospital with a helpless little six-pound baby that needed my constant attention, as well as warmth, milk and shoulder to spit up on. And I returned to a household that needed me for a whole lot of other reasons.

Even though Bobby's discharge weight was more than a pound heavier than his sister's, I had the same don't-break-the-baby mantra ringing through my head. I was nervous I would break one of his little legs when changing him; I was afraid I would drop him; and I was afraid his sister wouldn't quite understand just how gentle she needed to be around him.  But I soon realized, that we were all susceptible to a little breakage this week.

In a way, we were all in survival mode. And getting through it depended on all of us working together, communicating as well as we could, making sacrifices here and there, and understanding that patience isn't just a virtue, it's a necessity.

As Peter returned to work, it meant securing that Mary would sleep through the night through continuous reinforcement and praise, especially after one very tumultuous tantrum filled night on Sunday.

For Mary, it meant stealing as many minutes walking, dancing, taking bath time swim lessons, singing Cinderella songs, and snuggling with Mommy as possible.

For Bobby, it meant staying out of his sister's line of vision at feeding time.

And for me, it meant listening to my Dad's sage medical advice to not overdo it - to stay off the jogging path, despite my mind's desire to push a little further. Resting when I could were doctor's orders.

Some other things helped as well ...

A sweet incentive here and there: mint chocolate chip ice cream, Hershey's kisses, and BB's magical donuts all did their share.

Extra love from 'two Opas!', Nana and Mimi.

Welcome to the world hugs from Aunt Claire and Uncle Trent ...

  

Soaking up four generations of family with Oma. 

Bending the rules. Slightly.

Help. More help. And some very thoughtful presents from some very thoughtful relatives.

And just looking at the cutest little face in the world, which melted all of our hearts and quickly erased any sleep deprivation, pain, or heartache that we felt,

Today, we're all one week stronger, happier, healthier, and more in love with baby brother. 

Lo.  

Hello Bobby

They say you know that baby is bound to arrive any day when you feel a strong nesting impulse kick in. Perhaps because I neglected the urge to bake nut rolls, cook piles of freezer bound goulash, and clean the house from top to bottom this week, I had no sense of when baby #2 would actually make his appearance.

The efforts I did make were less focused on the place we live, but on the people who live it. I made sure Mommy and Daddy got enough sleep. And I took a stab at transitioning big sister from a toddler to a little girl. We tried out her big girl bed, we've been attempting the potty, and I've been bartering away the bottle. She's learned the words patient, and frustration, and gentle, gentle, GENTLE! But unfortunately, she's still sleeping in baby's crib, drinking milk out of baby's bottle, and cramping the space in baby's diaper drawer with her own.

Regardless, when you surprised us by coming into the world yesterday, we were ready for you. 100%. Our loving embrace couldn't have been more eager to snuggle you away from the cold Chicago winter. And along with the camera, which was packed in my hospital bag for the past couple days, I brought a placeholder bedtime book to help reinterpret your birth story.

Good Afternoon Bobby
Loosely based on Goodnight Moon 

In Mommy and Daddy's blue room.
At 1:30 AM, Mommy broke her tummy's water balloon.
And she woke up Daddy to go vroom vroom!
And your sister was sleeping, sound in her bed.
And Mimi was on her way to watch her in our stead.

At the hospital, I was introduced to the delivery room
Where there was a nurse named Martha
And a Dr. named Schied.
And sweet thoughts of your welcome to the world cries.
I laid there waiting for the regular pains to commence.
Schied said we'd be there all day, so they gave me 'pid' to hop the fence.
And then they came. Oh, how they came fast.
And Mommy called for them to bring her relief at last.
Dr. Johnson took his merry old time. But at last he made it.
A prod and pinch later, labor became easy with his cool kit.
I still shivered. I still grasped the bed in pain.
But in comparison to your sister, I stayed perfectly sane.
Before long, it was time to push.
Dr. Halperin told me to do it from my tush.

You were born at lunchtime. 12:41 PM to be exact.

Weighing a whopping 6 pounds, 7 ounces.

Measuring 20.5 inches long.

The sun is coming out. It's a chilly, Chicago day.
So I won't say goodnight, I'll say hello if I may.
Hello Mommy.

Hello Daddy.

Hello Drs. and Nurses.

Hello food. And warm bed.

Hello to TWO Opas.

Hello Mimi and Nana.

Hello Eva.

And Mary.

Hello possibilities, hopes and dreams.
Hello World.
Meet my little Bobby.

I couldn't love you anymore, sweet little boy.

Lo /  Mommy.

Mine

The other day, Peter, Mary and I were walking to the park. The top of a pine cone was sticking out of the snow. Peter picked it up and gave it to Mary.
"Do you know what this is?" Peter asked.
"Yeah!" (Her typical confident response.)
"It's a pine cone."
"Yeah. Mine cone."
"No, PINE cone. With a P."
"Mine cone."
She grabbed it and walked on.

In relatively recent news, Mary learned the word mine. Over the past couple months, she has been polishing an understanding of the possessive and with it commenced bold negotiations to claim everything in sight.

On a daily basis, Mary takes pride defining just what is Mary's.
Mary's boots. 
Mary's bed. 
Mary's book. 
Mary's potty.

And in contrast, what is Mommy's. Or Daddy's. Or Goofy's for that matter.
Mommy's boots. 
Mommy's bed.
Mommy's book.   
Mommy's potty. 

But sometimes she oversteps her bounds. Say, when I bring home presents for Bobby from my co-workers.
My piggy. 
No, that's Bobby's piggy bank. 
No mine. I hold it. 
No honey, you can't. It's breakable. 
Tears.
Hugs.
Piggy needs to go back in the box. 
No mine. 
Bye bye, Piggy. 

Or say, when Peter comes home, looking for a kiss from his obliging wife, and Mary runs over to break up the embrace.
"No mine," she says.
"Yours?," I say taken aback. "I'm not yours, honey ... I'm Daddy's too." 

As any parent of a toddler can attest, delivering an education on yours, mine and ours can be challenging. And if you're like me, you dread the first time your child uses the word 'mine' in front of her peers, pushing another little boy away from the monkey on the mural at the public library, laying claim to the place she likes to sit and read. I'm told it's a phase and part of her development and it takes time; that talking through the concept of sharing and taking turns and other kids getting in your space will eventually make the over aggressive possessive disappear. But I'm getting a little anxious.

The problem is, it's crunch time in our household. In just a couple weeks, Mary will need to take turns in a way that she has never experienced before. And I don't mean with her toys; I mean with me. Sure, she's familiar sharing me with work, and the stove, and the running trail, but generally speaking when I'm home, I'm hers. And I have to say, I'm already starting to feel bad; I already feel like there won't be enough of me to go around.

I'm afraid that I'm going to have to postpone doughnut dates, that Minnie and Goofy will go mute, that snowmen won't get built in a timely fashion, and that I won't be there in time to give a hug or dry a tear.

So we've been practicing: the word patient, the concept of frustration, and other people jumping in when a very pregnant Mommy needs a break. At this point, I'm telling myself that it will all work out, and that my big baby will quickly mature into my little helper, eager to share her world with her little brother. But nonetheless, I want her to know that even though at first it might feel like Mommy is a shared commodity, my heart and my calendar will always have a special place just for Mary. I want her to know that my love for her is endless. And I want her to know that she will always be mine as I will always be hers.

Lo.

Back to Work

This morning, Mary came downstairs, peaked into the sun room and said with alarm, 'party all gone!' After I started explaining that our Christmas Tree had to return to the North Pole, I realized she was talking about her new tea party set, which I had packed up and put in her room last night. I told her that she could go have her party upstairs and up she went.

Her omen was true though; the party had ended as of this morning. When I woke up, the house seemed quieter, cleaner, and colder than it's been in a while. Partially, because last night another arctic blast descended on Chicagoland and our prewar insulation doesn't fare well against temperatures hovering in the negative digits. But mostly, because the soft glow and verdant warmth from our Christmas tree are gone, along with all the other Christmas decorations, music, books, cookies, and parties.

Looking out the window, I could see it was a sad morning across the neighborhood. Trees once loved and trimmed with shiny ornaments, twinkling lights, and cascading amounts of presents under them were at the curb. Bare, chilled, and alone. It inevitably made me a little teary.

Beyond just a religious celebration, Christmas and all that it brings to a household seem to symbolize the culmination of one year and the transition to another. You blow out one and ring in the other gilded in grandeur.

My grandma used to say that whatever you do in the New Year, will follow you through the remainder of it. So naturally, I took her counsel to heart, and put my best foot forward. I cooked and baked. I nearly reached senior status with the amount of times I went to Church. I read and relaxed and answered the call to 'Mommy, play' as much as possible. I celebrated with family. Again and again. I welcomed friends to partake in a hunk of good luck twisted into the shape of a pretzel. We took Mary to museums, went sledding, dressed up, danced, and found one more reason to throw a party with Christmas as the backdrop.

The one thing I didn't do throughout my holiday staycation, was think about work. Until last night as I tried to ease the transition back to burger land by getting my creative juices flowing on the griddle once again. I smashed chuck; cooked it on steel; stacked it up per Jamie Oliver's recipe; and bit into one of the reasons I love my job.

After my somber parade of abandoned Christmas Trees / commute to work, it took me all of one hour to get out of my seasonal fog and back into business today. And it completed my stellar start to 2015, affirming my resolution or rather ongoing solution for finding happiness in life: balance - between work, play, parties, and being the best mom and wife I can be.  

Lo.