A profile of Liza at 3

Liza turned three this Wednesday. She's a happy little girl, with a lot of personality and a sweet, gentle heart. Here's a little bit about her and her life, mostly for posterity. We're going to take a video today, too!

• She's about 3' 2", and she weighs 36 pounds... however, whenever she stands on the scale, it always reads "2 pounds." It's nice, because it reads "2 pounds" whether she's standing on it, or I'm standing on it, or Grandma's standing on it, and is a VAST improvement over her old mantra - "200 pounds!"
• She's a very good communicator. Not only can she express her needs concisely, but she also has a pretty good understanding of her own emotions, and can express them verbally - most of the time. Yesterday, she came into our bedroom and said, "Mommy, I'm feeling very sad today." She sat down and looked at the floor for a while, then sighed, and left the room, telling me "Well, I want a cookie." Fabulous! She'll also answer our questions; "Liza, what would you like for dinner?" "Mmmm.... How about yogurt?" "You have to have something else, too, Liza girl." "Oh, I do? Ok... How about yogurt?" "How about some chicken?" "No." "Well, chicken is what we're having tonight. You can either have chicken and some yogurt, or not." "Oh. Ok. How about some yogurt?" "... and chicken?" "Ok, and yogurt."
  
• She is loving. She wakes up every morning with a big smile on her face, and says, "Oh, good morning, Mommy!" She laughs like waking up and seeing us is the most exciting thing, and after she's done rolling over, rubbing her eyes, and stretching her arms up, she usually gives me a big hug and says, "I love you, Mommy..." before she exhibits this trait...
• She is a TALKER. Immediately following these sweet morning moments, there are, depending on the day, between two and four hours of seldom-interrupted chatter from her direction. She will talk about anything, but her favorite subjects right now are tickling, hiding, "you can't catch me," and Nana. She loves to talk about her friends (again, most frequently 'my friend Nana'), and when she's in a group of kids, she will do anything they like as long as she can talk while they're doing it.
  
• She is friendly. Very friendly. I'm not sure she's ever met a stranger. Every person around her size, she categorizes as either, "that baby," "my friend," or "the big kids," but she's never frightened of any of them.
  
• She is empathetic and sensitive. With her parents, with her friends, with babies she hears crying in the grocery store, she is sensitive and interested in their welfare. She "takes care" of us quite well - yesterday, I woke up not feeling well - "Mommy, do you feel good?" "No, I feel icky today, love." "Well.... would you like a cough drop? Here, here's a cough drop {shoves it in my mouth}. Now you feel better, Mommy!" A frequent refrain from her is, "It's ok, be happy!" to just about anyone, or to any child younger than her "Oh, baby, you're so CUTE!" (accompanied with a kiss). She loves the people around her to be in harmony and loving each other, except when
• She is Officer Elizabeth. She has a VERY solid moral center - an "Elizabeth, when you hit, it makes ______ feel sad. It's naughty, and not good to do. Please don't do it again." will usually do the trick for most things. While this does make her more easily correctable and simpler to discipline, it also makes her something of a little tattle-tale. Little story on this one - last night at her birthday party, her cousin bit her. We found out right away, because from the other room we hear in a scream, "NOLAN, YOU MUST NOT BITE!" Nolan said he was sorry, and gave her a hug, but she still came to me and had to tell me, over and over, "Nolan, he was naughty! He bit me! Nolan bit me, and that was naughty! Mom, he was naughty, he bit me!" It took a while to get her to acknowledge that he was sorry, and the issue was, for all purposes, closed now. This strong moral center also manifests itself in pretty funny ways. We were driving down the road recently, and she saw some graffiti on the side of a building - just a happy face. When she saw it, she gasped and said, "Mommy, someone colored on that brick wall!" It took me a while to find it, but I finally did, and acknowledged that they had, indeed, colored on the wall. "That is VERY naughty!" I told her yes, it was. "You only draw on PAPER!" her little indignant voice intoned from the back seat. It was really hard not to laugh, mostly at the thought of my three-year old chastising a group of vandalizers, telling them - "You only draw on PAPER!"
• She is SMART. As of her third birthday, she can count to 20 (and I think that the only reason she can't count further is because we haven't taken the time to teach her any more), she can solidly read the letters s, t, o, l, k, and m, and is learning q, h, x, and y. She loves to read to herself, and did I mention she is a pretty good talker?

• She's the light of Mommy and Daddy's life. We can't wait to watch her grow, and see what kind of loving, sweet woman she becomes. We are praying for God's ability and grace to raise her into that woman.
  

That is, of course, if we can ever get her potty trained!

Proud to be a teacher

It's late, and I've taken a sleeping pill, but I also started a great book three days ago and could not stop reading it. It's called "The Help," and it is fantastic. It's about two African American domestic servants in Mississippi in the early 60s, and one white women who sides with them to write a book about their experiences as maids in white households. Some of the main themes are, obviously, the cruelty and bigotry of segregation, the ease of influence of prejudice on susceptible and weak minds, all of those sorts of things you would expect from a novel based on race from that era.

Those things all effected me profoundly. But it wasn't until the very end that I just broke down crying. The main character, Aibilene, has raised this woman's little girl since she was an infant - the baby's name is May Mobly. May Mobly's mother doesn't hate her - it's almost worse, she is disgusted by her, wants nothing to do with her, and when she does have to associate with her at all, it's usually with insults or spankings. Every day, Aibilene goes to that house and tells May Mobly three good things about herself: "You is kind, you is smart, you is important."She knows that these are the opposite of the messages she is getting from the person she needs them from most. While she's cleaning the house so that May Mobly's mother can go to bridge club and get her hair done, she rains down affection on this little girl, teaching her how to be kind, how to use her sense, and how to have dignity. She tells her for years, every day, hoping that it will make a difference. At the end of the book, Aibilene, who has helped write the book about the white ladies in the town, gets fired for "stealing," but in reality for making the white women feel like fools, having to look at their real selves. May Mobly is desperate, crying, begging Aibilene not to go, knowing that with her goes the last vestiges of love for she'll receive in her own house.

Ok, now stop right there. Because that's what I did. I stopped right there and cried my eyes out at looking at this description of a small child being separated from love. It is half an hour to midnight, and I am crying quiet in bed so I don't wake up Kam. My heart is full and overwhelmed with this, which is definitely not the most cruel occurrence in this book, but the first which makes me break down.

I was talking to a friend today, and she said, "If I were ever to go off an be an activist about something, it would be ________________." I thought about that after I left, because I don't feel like I have many convictions I would like to put myself firmly forward with, saying that I am right about it, no matter what. I'm a pretty cautious person in that way - I HATE talking politics, in general. I'm not a minority, I have been persecuted in this country, I have opinions, but not strongly enough to get in people's faces about, and I have nothing to complain about generally. However, reading this book has made me realize the one thing that would drive me to activism. Children. I love children. I love that I get to get up every day and spend time with children, I love that God has let me be in a position to speak love into children's lives, however briefly. I love spending time with kids who don't get to have very much love, either in their families or with their friends. I love love love being a momma, because being Elizabeth's momma is what gave me my heart for other people's children, too. Being a teacher enables me to do all of that.

I remember, when I was in music school, there was a stigma about teachers; after all, "Those who can't do, teach." That stigma still haunts me from time to time, but then I wonder, "Isn't teaching, doing?" What am I doing? I'm loving children, encouraging them to not only like what they do, but like themselves while they do it. I may not have a very fancy job title, or a prestigious seat in a symphony, but would I trade teaching my kids for that?

Really. Would I trade what I have now for what I previously wanted so badly?

Not ever.

After I finished crying, I finished the book with this scene. Aibilene and May Mobly are in the kitchen holding each other, May Mobly on Aibilene's lap and sobbing into her shoulder. Aibilene looks into May's tear-swollen eyes and says, "You need to remember everything I told you." To which May Mobly replies, "You mean, always wipe real good after I go?" Aibilene says, "No, the other things. The things about you." And May Mobly, looking Aibilene straight in the eye, says, "You is kind. You is smart. You is important."

Can I be the sort of teacher that can give that sort of gift to a child? I hope so.

The Return of the Blog, part one

Well, Facebook has dominated the bulk of my computer-based connections with people, the result of which is that this blog has been largely ignored for... hmm, nearly five months? Time to jump back on the horse. Note to self: this is an EXCELLENT journaling opportunity, which you will happily look back on when Elizabeth is ten and is no longer saying "Mommy."

I feel like I should at least note what has been going on for the last half year - it will either be good therapy, or at the very least, a good source for when Kam and I get into the eventual "when did this happen?" argument.

January: Liza was 11 months old, and still not walking, but I wasn't sweatin' it too much at that point. A couple of times that month I started getting the baby fever, but it passed. I was at the peak in my music studio, with about 20 students and preparing for a recital in a matter of weeks.

That reminds me. This DID all start in January... I even remember, it was Tuesday, January 12th, because I didn't have to work on Wednesday so I was totally relaxed when I came home - I had the whole day with my baby. I was spotting a little bit, which is weird, because I'd never done anything like that before. So Kam said, "hey, let's go get a pregnancy test," and when I took it, it basically turned into a neon light that said "PREGNANT" on it. I was scared to death. I knew it was all over when I called Meg - I went to bed that night crying because our five year plan had included moving out of country so that Kam could get his degree. Wow, how things change - that plan is gone, and all I feel about that attitude now is chagrin. Although, I think the chagrin came about pretty much the next day.

The next day, the 14th, I spent the day at the Vowell's talking baby things. I was getting so excited, had names bouncing around in my head, started reworking our five-year plan in my head (because that's what I do to cope...) and had started calling family. I spent the whole day in a whirlwind of emotions, until sundown. I don't remember where Kam and I had gone, but wherever we were, I started bleeding, and when I called Meg on the way home, she said that I had most likely had a miscarriage. So, to repeat: sundown the 13th, find out I'm pregnant - sundown the 14th, find out I didn't keep it.

Hold on - there's a twist.

I called Katrina the night of the 14th because I just couldn't stomach the idea of going to work with a miscarriage. My emotions were... weird. Not crazy, not depressed, not even necessarily down, just... weird. When I woke up the next morning, I decided that I had to know, one way or the other, how things were going, so I called Megan and asked her if she could go to the hospital with me. Sweet lady, she did, which ended up being so good. I'm 21 years old, and I like to think of myself as a competent, together woman, but at that juncture I felt like I needed someone else to take care of me for a while.

I took Liza to have Mara watch her, and Meg and I went into the emergency room-- that's right, we had JUST gotten insurance, at the beginning of that month... thank the LORD! -- where they took some blood draws, told me I was pregnant, but that the bleeding indicated a miscarriage. Right. Got that. It's after they did the ultrasounds that the twist shows up. No baby. No trace of baby. Trace of something, but no baby. The lady doing the ultrasound was so great - probably her and Meg kept me from imploding. The story after the ultrasound really spans the next five days - in and out of the emergency room (probably too many times), a whirl of blood draws, ultrasounds, IV's and refrigerated examaning tools before the diagnosis: molar pregnancy.

Which, by the way, is not caused by bad flossing habits. Which was my initial impression.

Basically, material. That never lived. That I had been naming. Weird feelings got weirder. Because, how do you understand that?

In any case, I met with a very nice OB/GYN, Dr Drake, who recommended a very simple surgery to remove the material, one that they use to remove tissue from abortion (yeah, just throw that bit of knowledge into the soup as well), which I did about 4 days later. Those days were very memorable, for a few reasons. 1) I scared my husband to death a few times. No details in a semi-public blog, but it wasn't pretty. Poor guy. He's better now. 2) I felt very loved - a lot of people were very loving. 3) I didn't feel so hot. 4) I wasn't the most lively hostess. Poor James. I think it was around this time when he brought around his bachelor's version of a meal for the sick - I think it was two half-eaten bags of cookies, a half-eaten chicken (complete with bones, one can of soup, one frozen dinner, and some chips. He's so great - it was the perfect thing to bring over.

Anyway, the surgery was an outpatient procedure, so we were in and out within a few hours (it seems to me, anyway... but hey, I was out! What do I know?). I left with instructions to have my blood drawn every week to make sure that the hormone levels that indicate molar prenancy (beta hCG, if anyone is interested) were going down like they were supposed to...

Which, of course, I got too busy to do.

Dinner needs to be made. More journaling later........

Ah, winter

About two weeks ago, someone at the preschool said, "Well, if it snows next week, then what will we do about lessons?," referring to her son's piano lessons. Knowledgeably, I shook my head and said, "I've lived here just about my whole life. It won't snow - don't worry about lessons."

Eighteen inches later, my chagrin overwhelms me. I am not relishing the thought of seeing that lady in January.

But, besides the weather, things have been pretty good. Two weeks off! Actually, two and a half, as I had from Wednesday to Friday off last week due to inclement weather. In the grand tradition of the women of my family, I feel like I have done nothing, although my home is now (relatively) clean, I have multiple batches of soups, Christmas cookies, and baby food made, and all but one present bought and wrapped. My darling husband lovingly bought me a gift-wrapping set, which included a wrist tape dispenser, and two gift wrapping cutters which are ingenious. If I get nothing else for the holidays, those cutters ought to do me a good long while. I'm writing this, of course, where Kam will never find it. He likes playing games online, and doesn't really count on my blogging too much. :-)

Elizabeth is talking now - kind of. She's making intentional noises, which sound like words, and which the male members of the household relish, as they all tend towards "Dad" (full with a finishing consonant) and "Pa Pa," which my upstairs neighbor insists is GrandPa, if only we have ears to hear. She said both of these "words," of course, weeks before she decided to try out "Mama," but when she did my heart went aflutter and I got all choked up, so I don't think I'll probably forget the slight to my vanity until she's in high school and never spends time with me. Then, I'll slyly bring up that she didn't even say Mama until she'd already said Dad and Pa. I'm sure that Dr. Dobson would consider that good parenting.

Other than that, the big news on the Wilkinson Family Home Front is: As of January 30, we will be a completely debt-free family! YAAAAAAY! hip hip, HOOORAY! I finished my obligation to Central in November, and Kam has only two (albeit, rather large) debt payments to go, one this month and one next, and then all of our income that isn't going to tithe, utilities, food, gas, etc. will be savable, investable and OURS! And, seeing as I just had to close my piano and flute studio to any more students, and Kam is being evaluated for a raise, we should be in a pretty good situation.

Well, Liza's letting me know she wants to get started on her holiday excerpt, so this is the end of our family update!

Some autumn images

Fun at Nana's

Pure Delight

Happy with Daddy

Our Little Pumpkin

What a life!

I've sat down a few times to write since the last time I blogged (was it really July? Amazing how time flies when you're too busy to notice!) A lot of great things have happened, a lot of growing, and a lot of answered prayers.

Liza is now officially a kid. Well, in my eyes, anyhow. She's got four, count 'em, 4 teeth, two on top and two on bottom, which she proudly displays when she's tickled about something (or more frequently, by someone... most often, her momma). In fact, the only time she staunchly refuses to show off her toothers is when someone puts their fingers in her mouth to try to open it and view them. Not that I can blame her. How gross.

She can crawl up a storm, which makes her parents both sigh with joy and quake with fear. Her mobility has prompted Kam and I to teach her a few new words (besides, "Momma and Poppa love you" and "You little pooper"), words that she's not to fond of - namely, stern-sounding "No's." We try to teach her this word when she's exploring electrical cords, making a tentative go at the stairs, or deciding to nibble on mom. Her response is usually to look at us with a darling, but very serious, look of consideration and back off, in time. We thought for a little while that maybe she wasn't old enough to understand implications and consequences - how is an infant going to understand "No?" Then, yesterday, she started crawling for the stairs again, but right before she got there, she looked back at Kameron to see if he was watching her. When she saw that he was, she ducked her head under as if to hide herself, then crawled faster toward the stairs. We caught her just in time.

I'd say that she understands.

Kam has a new job that pays better, keeps him active, and is (best of all) DAYS! He's enjoying it, and I'm sure it won't take him long to become top employee - it's a habit of his. He came home on Friday to tell me, "I'm just sure that there's a better way to do some things around there!" Like Joseph, eh? What a great husband I have! And the best daddy, too. I should quit bragging...

My jobs are going well. I am really enjoying my work with the kids at the Montessori, and I find that it's helping me tremendously with my piano and flute lessons. And great news: my studio is FULL! 16 students fills up all of my slots for lesson times, and it's giving us an extra boost financially.

The only hitch in my giddiup has been a conflict that I forsaw a while ago, but will hopefully be resolved soon. Classes started this week, and results from auditions are back. Turns out, they want me to be principal in orchestra and band. This sounds more impressive than it is; there are only 6 flutes in the entire department, so even though I'm top man on the totem pole, relatively I'm not that far up from the floor. Besides being a huge time commitment, band falls right in the middle of my work schedule, three days a week. I'll try to keep you posted on how this works itself out (so far they're thinking that a scholarship will patch things up. I'm not so sure...).


Well, Liza is letting me know that my blogging break is over - better go be Mom!

A little chagrined...

I got convicted.

I went shopping last week - I had just gotten some new students, and I was in desperate need of some new shoes, fast. I found the ones I wanted: Fitflops, brand new thing, great arch support (which I don't think I've ever had in shoes), and supposed to work your legs out while you're walking, but definitely a splurge: $50.

I bought them in spite of the price, and walked out of the store a very proud lady. When I got home I noticed that from walking on some dusty ground, my brand new, white flip flops had gotten dirt on them. Immediately I got a paper towel and cleaned them off, careful to make sure I'd gotten every smudge, and then stood back and looked at them proudly.

Then I looked at the clock. 5 pm and my husband was still not up. Unfortunately, my first response was to get miffed. Hadn't Elizabeth been throwing fits all day, and I'd worked hard, while he got to lay around and sleep all day? Like I was going to let that slide for a minute. Never mind that he had worked hard on night shift and needed as much extra sleep as he could get. My back hurt, the baby was fussy and I was going to let him know it.

I got myself into a pretty good huff, and went downstairs. "Do you want to keep on sleeping?" Innocent words, but my sensitive man got the message loud and clear: "I'm not happy." He woke out of his sleepy haze long enough to ask, "What's wrong?" very nicely before I left the room, planning in my head how I could make him feel guilty for sleeping eight and a half hours instead of eight, when he could have been that spending time with me.

But as I left the room, I took a look at those shoes. Bright white and squeaky clean, they might as well have had this plastered across them:

"Am I more important than your husband?"

I felt that sinking feeling down in the pit of my stomach that I've come to know from doing more than one thing I'm not too proud of. Just as I had finished valuing some shoes by treating them well and keeping them up, I went and slung dirt on my husband's spirit. I'd been selfish and wanted my husband to fix my "bad" day, and I'd shown that material things meant more to me than someone infinitely more valuable.

I waited for Kam to get up, then I threw my arms around him and kissed him. "I love you, honey. Thank you so much for being great."

Of course, this totally threw him; he was still back in the "What's wrong with her?" scene. But I didn't explain. I just figured, I'll change.

And I have, and am.