Nocturnal living

There's been a lot more pouting than usual around our house lately, and I am just as guilty as the two-year-old here.

This week Erik started a 6-week-long night float duty at the children's hospital. We got a little taste of this kind of schedule last month, but this is the real deal.

I'm not the whining type, but if I were....Ok, so I am the whining type! And this night float business is not fun. I could go on and on about why I don't like it, but I won't because I know we're not the only family who has to endure a crazy schedule during the husband/father's vocational training. Fortunately, this blog is not my only means of venting. I regularly get to exchange sob stories with wonderful sisters and sisters-in-law who are all going through similar circumstances. Suffice it to say that this schedule is tough.

I think one of the hardest things to deal with is Abigail's response to this upheaval. She gets absolutely ecstatic when Daddy walks through the door at 9:30 or 10 every morning. She runs to him with a big hug and lots of news about potty-training progress, our plans for the day, what we ate for breakfast, etc. I can usually persuade her to let him eat something (as long as she can sit on his lap and "share" whatever it is) before she grabs him by the hand and drags him away to play with her. Erik's been such a sweetheart. I don't know what he's going on, but he always plays energetically with her and gives her his undivided attention. And when he does finally get into bed, Abigail follows him, insisting that she wants to go to bed too. She's invented a new game for them. She'll get under the covers with Erik, tell me they're sleeping, and after about five seconds, she'll pop out of the blanket yelling, "Berrrrrrriiiiinnnng!! Berrrriiinnnng!! Time to wake up!" To be repeated ten times. Now isn't that just the kind of game you would want to be playing after being on your feet all night? But you'd think from watching those two that there isn't a thing on earth that Daddy would rather be doing.

Unfortunately, though, Mommy intervenes eventually so Daddy can get some rest. But how do you explain to a two-year-old why Daddy suddenly starts showing up in the morning but can't play because he has to go to bed? And why we have to try to be quiet so he can sleep all day, but when he finally wakes up, the fun and games have hardly started before he has to shower, eat dinner, and go back to work? This must all be very confusing...

When it's time to say goodbye, Abigail grabs Erik's hand and says, "No, Daddy! No go to work! Stay here!" After he leaves she turns to me and starts to cry with such genuine disappointment that I am often at a loss for words and can only reach out and offer her a hug. Then she'll do something dramatic like throw herself on the floor or run and bury her face in the couch, and at this point the pregnancy hormones inside me have kicked in, and I start to sob as well. Without exception, this instantly quells the toddler tears as Abigail looks up at me with frightened red eyes and asks, "Are you happy?" When my only response is a trembling lip, she bursts into fresh sobs and says, "Mommy, be happy!" Then she runs to me, I scoop her up, and we cry on the couch together until Mom pulls it together, and then we have a very composed and mature discussion of why Daddy has to go to work.

I must say, though, that my job of explaining to Abigail why it's important that her daddy goes to work must be a lot easier and make at least a little more sense to a two-year-old mind than it would be if Erik weren't a doctor. I mean, doesn't "Daddy has to go take care of sick babies" sound pretty legitimate?

What do you say when Daddy has to stay late to work on somebody's taxes? Shannyn?

Abigail's been singing "If You Chance to Meet a Frown" a lot lately. Hmmm....

Traditions

One of my New Year's resolutions for 2009 was to bake bread instead of buy it. Unlike most of my resolutions, I have actually kept this one and am pretty proud of myself, especially since there were many times when I was morning sick that I really didn't feel up to it but did it anyway. I have to say that my greatest source of motivation on those days was my mother.

My mom has made bread for our family since she got married. It was one of those things I didn't think anything of when I was young because I saw it all the time and thought it was something all mothers did. As I got older, I learned to appreciate it more. But at first my appreciation was only for how delicious it tasted. Nothing in the world was so appealing to the senses as the sight, smell, and taste of fresh, warm wheat bread! I remember so many times coming home tired and discouraged from a long day of school, opening the door and finding myself enveloped by that warm aroma. On those days, mom's homemade bread was more than just a yummy after-school snack; it was...How can I describe it? It somehow represented all that was unchanging, familiar, and comforting about home. In my teenage world where there were so many variables and changes and things that didn't make sense, home was my refuge--my anchor. And the smell of warm bread at the door was like a welcoming voice saying, "You're home! This will always be here."

During my teenage years, I think I started to realize that homemade bread was something special that not everyone had. I started to think of it more as a tradition.

Whenever new people moved into our neighborhood growing up, Mom and Dad always made a point of taking the family to visit them. Mom always had a fresh loaf of bread to give them. Again, that didn't strike me as anything unusual at the time. In fact, I probably sometimes wondered to myself, "Why can't we ever bring something cool...like cookies or something?" But now I realize what a special and wonderful tradition it was, and I can imagine a little better now how warm a gesture it must have seemed to those new families. And the first time I took a fresh loaf of my own homemade bread to one of our neighbors, I also began to sense the fulfillment my mom must have felt over the years.

Don't get me wrong. I don't imagine my mother experienced a warm, fuzzy feeling every time she made bread. And I bet there were days when she didn't even feel like doing it. But she did, and I never remember her complaining. I wish I'd thanked her more. However, keeping her in mind on the days when I don't feel like doing something--whether it's making bread or cooking dinner or just getting up in the morning to take care of our family--has helped me learn to do hard things.....or easy things on the hard days....and do them cheerfully.

However, I really do get enjoyment most of the time from making bread. One of the things I enjoy is the opportunity it gives me to reflect on things. Sometimes I prop up a hymnbook and memorize some of my favorite hymns. Other times I just let my mind wander. But almost every time, at some point, my thoughts turn to my mom.

I see myself as a little kid, playing in the kitchen while she had the wheat grinder going. I liked the sound of it. I picture my mother's sweet face, glistening in sweat, her strong forearms (which I wish I'd inherited) covered in flour dust as she worked. I recall countless conversations with her, exchanged through the gap between cabinets and counter-top as I sat on a stool in the adjacent dining room, elbows propped up on the counter to support my chin. Some great teaching moments happened then, as I watched my mother knead bread and listened to her. I appreciate so much that she always took the time to teach, no matter what she was doing. And although I probably didn't realize it until later, she was teaching me not only through her words but through her hands, which were always busy doing something to serve others, usually our family.

As I've reflected on this tradition, it has made me think of other traditions my parents established in our home which I want to carry on in my own family. It's also made me reflect on what kind of traditions I want to start. Erik and I love the idea of our kitchen being a kind of "gathering place" for our kids and having the tradition of cooking together. Maybe it's good that we're starting out with two girls who can set the example and show their younger siblings that helping in the kitchen can be fun!

I try to encourage Abigail to join me whenever I'm making meals or baking things. She doesn't need much encouragement, though. She loves to be involved.

These pictures remind me of one of Abigail's favorite stories of late, "The Little Red Hen." Abigail loves to point out on each page that the cat, the dog, and the pig are not helping, but the Little Red Hen's chicks are!

My helpful little "chick." She has really enjoyed watching the wheat grinder at work since I got it back in May (from my grandpa's barn, where it had been stored--brand new--for 30 years! It was a little dusty but works beautifully!) I have consciously tried to make our bread-making a good bonding experience for us by giving her some latitude to participate. Sometimes it's a little hard, but I just remind myself of how much I want her to have fond memories of our time in the kitchen together.Keeping that in mind has really helped me not stress out as much or insist that things are done my way. It's helped me keep things in perspective and focus on enjoying being with her. Now it's easier for me to smile when she insists that we need every measuring utensil out on the counter and laugh when she tries to pinch off more of my dough (I always give her her own little portion when it's time to knead) because she needs to make "little baby ones" for her big "mommy one."

And I try to be patient when she asks for more flour every thirty seconds for her teeny piece of dough that's already caked in it.

I try to explain it, but she still doesn't understand why, after an hour, the dough in my bowl has risen while hers, which she has carefully placed in a measuring cup and covered with a napkin, is still just as stiff and flat as before.

I love this stage. There's just something very satisfying in seeing the loaves all lined up, perfectly risen, ready to go into the oven.

Mmm....

Thanks for this special tradition, Mom. And many more...

General Conference weekend

We had a wonderfully relaxing three-day weekend with Erik last week. We felt very fortunate that he was able to get this particular weekend off, since he only gets one "Golden Weekend" each month. We were happy to get this one because it was General Conference for our church, when we get to hear from our prophet and apostles.

Since the first session of Conference doesn't start until 12 on Saturday, we took a nice family hike at Stone Mountain in the morning. The weather was beautiful and I always enjoy hiking, but by far, the best thing was having Erik with us! The last few months have been so busy for him.

Enjoying the sunshine while we waited for the choo-choo train, which was probably the highlight of the morning for Abigail. She's hiding my big belly, by the way.

Taking a little snack break (sorry for the lighting in these pictures!)

Helping Daddy up the mountain

Most of our hike was in the woods. (Whenever we go into any forest, Abigail asks if it is the woods where Joseph Smith prayed.)

Conference was rejuvenating and inspiring, as always, and we enjoyed spending time with both our families over the weekend.

While we're on the subject of General Conference, I should mention that Abigail has a great love for the prophet and apostles. Before April Conference this year, she became very interested in them and wanted to learn all their names. So we got a picture of all of them, and I taught her their names and a little bit about them. I used a song to teach her the names. Abigail can learn just about anything, it seems, if you put it to a tune. She still frequently brings me the picture and asks me to sit with her and look at them while we sing the song. She knows all their names and faces, and she positively lit up during Conference whenever she saw one of them. She would turn to me with astonished delight and scream, "President Eyring!" (or whoever it was at the moment)

I made a little list of all the words and people she recognized during Conference. Good thing we were watching it with very patient people (mostly family members) who didn't seem to mind her frequent outbursts.

So here's Abigail naming the apostles. (She has a little trouble pronouncing Elder Christofferson's name...) She sings the song at the end.

For Grandpa

Well I guess it's about time I posted some pictures on this blog I've been neglecting. My sweet grandfather in Arizona (who never complains, as he reminded me), is starting to complain and has made some serious threats if I don't do something before the end of the month. So, punctual as always....I am putting up some pictures on this, the last day of September.

Here are a few highlights from our summer we haven't covered on the blog:

May/June

We enjoyed some wonderful family reunions during these months--a Weiler reunion in Pennsylvania in May and one in Charleston for the Heisses in June. I have a long, unfinished post I started about the Weiler reunion. I'm sure one of these days I'll get around to posting it, so I'll save the pictures for then....

We also planted a garden in May! I use the word "garden" to make myself feel good. Our garden consisted of three plants: a tomato plant (which we were given), a red bell pepper plant, and a basil plant. Our harvest to date? One delicious and beautiful tomato and one delicious and beautiful red pepper. Our basil has done pretty well. We've had it in salads and pasta and made one batch of yummy pesto. I could've harvested more of the basil, I'm sure, but I didn't always think of it. In fact, several times a neighbor of ours would actually come knock on the door and tell me something was ready to harvest. She would water the plants sometimes too. I suppose I ought to be embarrassed, but we have a really good relationship with her (mainly because she's a retired Montessori teacher and is in love with Abigail) and gardening is her big hobby. Plus I was morning sick. I can always use that excuse, right?

Erik and I have wanted to have a garden since we got married, but I always dismissed the thought since we live in a condo. However, when someone offered us the tomato plant, I decided we could use the space right outside our front door since we're the only ones who live downstairs in our building and no one would really care. So we bought the basil and pepper plants, along with several different herbs I forgot to mention (because they all died....), and thrust in our sickles with the intent to gain a little knowledge and experience and have fun doing something as a family. I am pleased to report that we met our objectives 100 percent, and we got a tomato, a pepper, and pesto to boot! So it was worth it to us. We did learn a few things from our mistakes, though. Most importantly, I learned that a desire to have a garden and happy visions of it being a unifying family experience will not yield herbs and vegetables. Next time, I need to do more homework and be consistent in tending the plants. Also, we will never try to grow cilantro. I just hope we always live near a farmer's market.

July

Erik became an official pediatrics resident at Emory on July 1st! It was only slightly anti-climatic since "orientation" started in mid-June. We are very proud of him. To say that he is working hard would be a gross understatement, but he's been cheerful and energetic (ok, except for post-call days...) and positive. I'm grateful for how hard he's working to be a good resident and provider for our family, but I'm especially grateful for his continued efforts to be a good husband and father. This month he's been averaging 75 hours a week (on night-float week, he was putting in 14-19 hours a day...or...a night...), but I complain about his schedule a lot more than he does. What a trooper! We love him so much and always look forward to the time we get to spend with him.....even if it's just for family prayer and bedtime songs at night.

July 16th--Happy birthday, Erik!
(He's still 25, in case you were wondering.) We enjoyed a nice dinner with his family to celebrate.

"Abigail, how many watermelon slices is that for you?"

Waiting to cut the cake...

August

Back to Seabrook! Erik's first week's vacation (he gets three a year) was in August, so we enjoyed another brief visit with his grandparents. Erik's cousin, Kaitlyn, also got to come down with them from Michigan (where they live for half the year), and she's wonderful with Abigail.

Here we are, on a very humid morning, at the original Charlestown Landing.
Fearless...

Cute little beach bum
Here's a delighted Abigail, swimming in a little hole daddy dug for her. Erik is in heaven at Seabrook. Brings back many pleasant childhood memories for him.
Abigail's not that into castle-building yet, but I'm sure Erik's enthusiasm for it will rub off on her some day...How do you like this Gothic masterpiece?

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So after a busy and eventful summer, things have settled down quite a bit here. Our pregnancy is going very well. For those who don't know, we are having another girl! We're thrilled that Abigail will have a sister close in age to her. I'm sure we'll all go through the normal adjustments once baby sister actually gets here, but right now Abigail speaks excitedly about being a big sister. Today she said to me out of the blue, "I love baby sister. Can she come out.....now?" She consistently tells me that she's going to "teach baby sister how to play with the dollhouse." And she can't wait to hold her.

As for baby sister's name, still pending....(read Erik won't cooperate!)

Although I don't get around to blogging about it much, I am loving life right now. Abigail is just delightful. Honestly, who came up with "terrible twos?" I'm not saying my daughter never does normal two-year-old things, but it's like saying motherhood is all about laundry and changing diapers. Those things come with the territory, but there are simply way more of the delightful aspects than there are of the mundane and dreary ones. I am just in love with my two-year-old. I think it's a wonderful and adorable age.

Our lives are very simple right now, and I am grateful for that. We stay busy taking care of Daddy and the house and the finances (it's so wonderful to have a paying job!! But how does it all go so quickly??). We stay at home together most of the time. One of my favorite parts of the day is reading with her. That's what she wants to do right when she wakes up. She brings a stack of books to me on the couch, and we cuddle up and read until she loses interest or until mommy's pregnant tummy can't delay breakfast any longer.

She loves playing "mommy-and-baby" games with whatever strikes her fancy or happens to be on hand--the usual baby dolls and dollhouse people and stuffed animals of course, but also pieces of her peanut butter and jelly sandwich, smiley face stickers, crayons and pencils, you name it. She also loves to sprinkle everything with pixie dust and fly around the room saying, "Off to Neverland!"

We also get to spend a lot of time with Abigail's favorite playmate/cousin, Clark. What a blessing for them (and their mommies!) that they live across the street from each other! My brother Caleb and his wife, Shannyn, moved to Atlanta in January, and it's such a treat to have them close by. Clark calls on the phone to talk with Abigail regularly, and they get together to play often. I think Shannyn and I both use each other's children as emergency escape routes when our own get too restless or bored at home.

Abigail holding cousin Jane (Clark's younger sister)
A very typical Clark-and-Abigail moment (can't remember why their shirts are all wet)
After making serious threats if they didn't cooperate for this picture. (They're wearing the Pennsylvania t-shirts my grandparents gave them after the reunion.)

With both sets of grandparents living only half an hour away, we spend a good deal of time over there as well. Sunday family dinners have become an informal tradition. What a blessing to have our families close by during residency! We sure have fun with them.

Last Thursday we took advantage of Bruster's "Banana Thursday"--half price on banana split if you bring your own banana. Erik got home "early" (before bedtime), so we had him with us. What a special treat! Ice cream and Daddy! Couldn't ask for more.

I'm including two little videos, mainly for a sweet Abigail-starved-great-grandpa who never complains...

Joy in Every Sound

I have been feeling like a different person lately. And it has nothing to do with pregnancy hormones or my newly-expanding waistline.

I've just felt more cheerful. More motivated and hopeful. More delighted with being a wife and mother. It's not that I didn't have those feelings before; it's just that I feel them more strongly and constantly now, with fewer waves of discouragement and self-doubt. When I look back over the last few years, I can see that I have slowly been changing. My nature has changed. My perspective has changed. And the changes are becoming more noticeable to me, which is encouraging and motivates me to continue changing.

Besides the many experiences that come with marriage and motherhood that have taught and stretched and shaped me over the last three years (and those last two descriptors are used only figuratively...), there have been some other powerful influences that have sparked these changes. They all come in the form of General Conference talks. I would highly recommend them to anyone, but especially mothers.

Here are the links:
"Mothers Who Know" by Julie Beck
"What Latter-day Saint Women Do Best: Stand Strong and Immovable" by Julie Beck
"Daughters of God" by Elder M. Russell Ballard

Then during last October's General Conference, President Thomas S. Monson, our prophet, delivered a message that hasn't left me. I think about it almost every day. He entitled his talk "Finding Joy in the Journey." You can read it here. The funny thing is that his message wasn't anything "new" or earth-shattering. It contained principles I've heard all my life. But I guess I was just in a more "ready" state to hear them this time, and they really sunk in.

The following excerpt could provide a brief summary but really doesn't do his message justice. I would urge you to read (or reread) the entire talk.

"This is our one and only chance at mortal life—here and now. The longer we live, the greater is our realization that it is brief. Opportunities come, and then they are gone. I believe that among the greatest lessons we are to learn in this short sojourn upon the earth are lessons that help us distinguish between what is important and what is not. I plead with you not to let those most important things pass you by as you plan for that illusive and non-existent future when you will have time to do all that you want to do. Instead, find joy in the journey—now."

And there's this line, of which I remind myself almost daily:

"If you are still in the process of raising children, be aware that the tiny fingerprints that show up on almost every newly cleaned surface, the toys scattered about the house, the piles and piles of laundry to be tackled will disappear all too soon and that you will—to your surprise—miss them profoundly."

Fingerprints and dirty laundry don't really overwhelm me at this stage of motherhood. But there are definitely other things--little things--that can, if I let them. I could write lists, but most of you have probably already experienced them.

Ever since I heard President Monson's address, though, things have changed. I have changed. The way I feel when I get up in the morning has changed. The way I look at Abigail has changed. The way I view our time together each day has changed. The way I respond to temper tantrums and two-year-old defiance has changed. I have prayed daily since hearing that talk for the Lord to help me remember it, and I have tried harder to look for and take advantage of the little daily joys of motherhood. When you are looking for them, they're easy to find.

I show more affection--pure and unrestrained. I tell Abigail at random moments--when she's holding my hand in the parking lot, when she's climbing onto the couch to read with me, when we're sitting down to lunch together--that I love her and being her mommy makes me happy. And the wonderful, unexpected result is that now she tells me the same thing, and not just after I say it to her. Last night, I was singing her a bedtime song in the rocking chair, and she suddenly took my face in her little hands and said, with the biggest smile, "I love you so much!"
I listen more. I play with her more. I chase her around the house more. When she asks me to repeat a silly phrase or run around in a circle with her in the living room (or sit on her favorite window sill with her), I do. I include her more in the things I do, instead of trying to distract her with something else so I can get my work done. I write down the funny things she says and does. Or take pictures of them. (Ok, that's nothing new...)

I rejoice more in her accomplishments. (Sorry, couldn't resist.)

I try to invent more fun (and simple!) things for us to do together during the day--like picnic lunches at the park! (The enormous basket on the left provided ample room for our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but Abigail insisted on carrying her own little picnic basket as well. Cutie.)

The result of my efforts is that I feel greater love and joy and fulfillment than ever before. And on the days when Abigail exhibits the classic "terrible two" behavior or the days when I don't accomplish all the things I wanted to or the days when I'm just not looking or feeling my best, I take comfort in reminding myself that I am focusing on the most important things in life and finding joy in them.

Abigail's favorite song of late is one of our church hymns, "Love at Home." I think this is a fitting little clip to conclude this lengthy post. In case you can't understand her, she is singing a line from the chorus,

"There is joy in every sound, when there's love at home."

I guess that's a good note to end on.

Another doctor in the family!

I failed to document a very important event in our lives: Erik's graduation from Emory Medical School on May 11th! I had good intentions of putting pictures up that week....but it was a busy week.

However, I did get up with him at 6 am that morning and get him to school for pictures by 7. And I did show up on time for the 8 o'clock ceremony. AND I did my hair and smiled in the pictures.

What more can you ask of a morning sick wife?

The first ceremony that morning was the all-campus graduation. Former President of Mexico, Vicente Fox, was the guest speaker. Here is Erik's class standing for the bestowal of their degrees. Erik received two degrees that day: his M.D. and a master's in public health.

Dr. and Mrs. Heiss (Jr.)

Erik's proud parents, Dr. and Mrs. Heiss, Sr.

And here are two devoted younger siblings, Cindy and Ben, who also got up bright and early to attend the graduation (Erik's other sister, Kris, was watching Abigail, bless her!). We sure appreciated the family support.

We were delighted that my parents could make it as well. Although my mom sometimes gives Erik a hard time about going into pediatrics now that it's not useful to her, she and Dad are very proud of him.

Dr. Heiss, Sr., sporting his Michigan robes, actually got to hood Erik during the private medical school graduation ceremony that took place later that morning. It was pretty special for both of them. Of course every last one of the pictures I took turned out either dark or blurry. The chapel had funky lighting. Or I don't know how to use my camera.

Erik's dad works at Egleston Children's Hospital as a pediatric surgeon. It was always a neat experience for Erik to be in the OR with his dad during medical school. Kurt Heiss is a well-respected name there.

And here's a little countdown chain that Abigail and I made before graduation.

Erik started his three-year pediatric residency on July 1st. We haven't really gotten a taste yet for what it will be like during those three years, since he only worked for two days last week before getting a three-day break for the holiday! He is starting out in the nursery at Grady and has been enjoying it so far. We'll see how the rest of the year goes!

We're sure proud of our doctor!

Motherhood

I went in for my first OB visit yesterday, at 15 1/2 weeks. It feels like just the other day I was there for Abigail! I had forgotten how weird and uncomfortable it is to get a pap smear...That is definitely not my favorite procedure to sit through. But I'll tell you what is my favorite and what makes sitting through the pap smears and all the other unpleasantries of OB visits worth it: getting to hear the heartbeat.

I have been looking forward to that all these weeks. I can't explain the rush of emotion that floods my entire body as soon as the Doppler picks up that rapid thumping--coming from my body but someone else's heart. A tiny someone I haven't even seen or felt and yet already love. Although I hear it at every visit, that beautiful sound never loses its novelty for me.

An even bigger treat, which I wasn't expecting at this first appointment, was an ultrasound. My midwife offered to bring in the machine so we could have a look at the baby. She is not a technician and couldn't do any measurements, but of course I was still delighted.

Having already confessed how emotional I feel over a heartbeat, you can imagine how I felt at seeing a perfect little body--with tiny arms and legs and hands that were moving!

"Aww," the midwife said, "don't you just want to hold him?"

That evening I was having slightly-less-than-tender feelings toward my two-year-old as I chased her around the house with pajamas and toothbrush in hand. I managed to wrestle her into her pajamas while she took a turn brushing her teeth. Afterwards when she refused to surrender the toothbrush so I could have a turn, I told her that she would lose her bedtime story if she chose to disobey.

She chose to disobey. So we went to her room without a story, which, of course, caused a major meltdown. As I tried to put her in bed, she told me she needed to give Papa a kiss. Well, I'm a sucker for that stalling technique. So we went and found Erik, but she decided she didn't want to kiss him goodnight after all. Of course as we walked back to her room, she changed her mind. "Sorry," I told her, "we lost our opportunity." Another meltdown. Of course when we got to her room, I changed my mind. (Did I mention I'm a sucker for this stalling technique?)

"Ok," I said, "I will give you one more chance to kiss Papa goodnight." She calmed down and gave Erik a kiss and then waved to him sweetly as we headed back to her room. I sat with her in the rocking chair and sang a few songs. She curled up in my lap and laid her head on my chest. Then she looked up at me with the sweetest smile and said, holding up an index finger, "Mommy, sing ooooooone more song!" Well, I'm a sucker for this stalling technique. So I asked her what song she'd like me to sing. "The mermaid song!" Little Mermaid it was.

As I sang it for the third time (did I mention I'm a sucker for this particular stalling technique?), she looked up at me and said brightly, "Mommy, you really good singer!"

Sometimes--like when I'm chasing Abigail through the parking lot with an armload of groceries or wrestling her into her car seat while she's throwing a tantrum or struggling to get out the door on time to church as I balance a million books and bags in my arms and try to move my toddler gently up a huge flight of stairs with my foot because she's pausing to admire every ant and leaf along the way--I wonder how on earth I'm ever going to manage two children. (What I really start to wonder is how on earth my mother managed ten!)

But other times--like when I'm watching Erik and Abigail laugh their heads off at some game they've invented or when I listen to Abigail sing or when we snuggle on the couch together to read or when she "helps" me in the kitchen while I'm baking bread or making dinner or when I'm looking down at her as she's sleeping peacefully in her bed--I think there's nothing on earth as wonderful and fulfilling as being a mother. And I want to be one again. And again. And again.