We were thick in the newborn haze, 

the hot summer days and nights running from one into the next.  

We were learning to navigate new levels of exhaustion and love, 

digging deep into reserves we didn't even know existed.

They're treasures to me.  

That phase, that moment, bottled up and preserved to transport me back 

and remember when mothering feels too much about me and not enough about them.

I didn't know what the long days and nights ahead held for us, but I look at these, and I don't think about the hard things, the tantrums I'm sure were thrown, the tears and timeouts, the endless diaper changes between two girls, potty training messes, botched dinners, toddler standoffs, and two parents too tired and at times too overwhelmed to be tender and take care of each other. 

Instead, I think about the good.  

They bring back a flood of memories, feelings, sounds and smells, tucked away that rush back to the surface when I need them the most.  When it's hard, they're here.

I'm reminded of the beauty among the chaos.  

That there is good in even the hard days.  

I know years from now, the stories that are our every day right now, the idea of the round-the-clock sprint we do day in and day out, these toddler tales and sleepless nights will sound outlandish, almost too ridiculous to believe. 

We will be too far removed from the monotonous tasks of raising littles, 

dependent in every way imaginable.

We'll be needed in different ways, and these photos will take us back.

To the good.

To falling in love all over again, 

to doing hard things to make the good things that much better.

To being a little wistful how quickly it's behind us, 

acknowledging the growth and life that's happened between, 

and appreciating all the good, so much good that we've been given. 

I just got all three kiddos settled into beds for afternoon naps, and was making my way to the basement, determined to blog today because my little space of the Internet has been more or less abandoned over the past month or so, when I all of a sudden 

I realized my socks were feeling wet.

Sure enough, I stepped in a puddle, thankfully, of just water.  (Andrew just caught Henry peeing in the garage yesterday ON PURPOSE so I'll take stepping in water over urine 

as a huge win.)   

 

But even so, a huge massive puddle almost the length of our table, caused by a knocked over sippy cup that shouldn't be able to leak, but yet it ALWAYS DOES.  

And so, I was sidetracked yet again.  

It feels like this half of winter, has been one sidetrack after another, 

and I'm kind of beat.  

 

But I think I'd much rather prefer all of these interruptions to my usual reason for my disdain of this time of year, typically stemming from raising the white flag to never-ending germs and bitter temperatures.  

 

Our winter has been so mild compared to years' past, and knock on wood, we've only had a few run-ins with minor illnesses that have spared us from the never-ending cycle of one kid sick, then the next, then the next, and finally Andrew and I getting the tail end of the crud, only to cycle its way back through again.  

I'm so thankful for our overall health and more days of sunshine than not.  

Yet, even with those gifts, I'm feeling a little uninspired.  

More specifically, by the end of every day, when I try to find some writing time, I don't want to do anything.  Because while we have avoided most illnesses, Henry did have one of his ear tubes fall out right around Christmas time, which resulted in back-to-back ear infections.  To say, he's been a little difficult since would be laughable.  

What's stronger than difficult?  Defiant?  Challenging?  Demanding?

Yes, all of those.  IN ALL CAPS.

There's been too many skipped naps to count, resulting in a complete lack of his inhibitions and control and 6:15pm bedtimes because the meltdowns just get more and more monumental after that.  Lots of aggression, pushing buttons, picking on sisters, smiling and laughing after being disciplined, listening skills comparable to a brick wall, and escapes from the backyard through a padlocked gate.  

So.  

There's that.

Sometimes I tell myself to suck it up, because I fully understand a good dose of perspective and vowing to have a better attitude can change the course of my day in a matter of mere moments.  And other times, I'm just okay with wallowing for a bit in this season, acknowledging that no, it's not that bad, but it's not easy either, but most of all, reminding myself that even the hardest days end...nothing lasts forever.  

Henry may have been in timeout too many times to count this past weekend, but he did wake up on Valentine's morning saying "I love you mama!" before anything else.  He tackles Nelle so much, she may end up with a concussion before her third birthday, but he makes June belly laugh bigger than anyone else in our family.  He rarely sits down to eat at dinner, and almost never with a fork, but he does eat pretty much whatever we put in front of him.  There's been spitting, kicking, biting, pushing, pulling, throwing, and hiding.  Conversely, there's also been hugs, kisses, snuggling, and that day I came to his preschool for Parent Day, and later when I asked him what his favorite part of the day was he replied with, "when you played with me at peeeeschool."  He paves the way for our little brood and then some. 

 

Tomorrow he's having his THIRD set of ear tubes in three years surgically placed.  I keep repeating to myself that it's not a magic potion, and he won't wake up completely docile and compliant.  Because that's not Henry.  In fact, he flails and screams and is not exactly a happy camper when coming out of anesthesia.  We wouldn't want him any other way because his spirit, problem-solving nature, and acceptance of every challenge (actual and perceived, i.e. McGyvering his way out of bedroom locked from the outside without fail) are what make him Henry and are the things we love most about him.  But surely when he's feeling 100%, without fluid built up in his ears, his behavior might improve a little?  

There's always the promise of a new day tomorrow, a new season ahead. 

Until then...a sidetrack.  Henry's banging around in his room instead of napping, and if I had to guess he's taken his mattresses off his bed, his clothes out of drawers, and his books off his shelves.

 

Not that I know from experience.