K.

It's taken me a while to get to writing this. But it would seem neglectful and cold not to write anything.

On Oct. 16, 2010, Austin Jon Pollock died. He was just 18 years old, just getting ready to start his life. He graduated from high school in May. He was set to start Marine boot camp in February. And in an instant, it was all taken away.

Austin was my oldest son's friend. They weren't best friends, but at one time they were. They met when Anthony was just 9. Austin was 10. They rode the bus together, played video games, had sleep overs, and all the stuff that boys do. On Anthony's 11th birthday and Austin's 12th, they shared the celebration. Their birthday's were only a 13 days apart, and they would be inviting all the same friends, so it just made sense. They grew apart as they grew older, but they would touch base with each other over a burger or pop every month or so. Anthony is heartbroken. But he is handling his friend's loss with more grace, depth and maturity than I ever thought possible. More than most adults.

Austin was also the son of one of my best friends. Donna and I met through our kids. And as she told me the first time we met, "Adults would never make friends if it weren't for our kids forcing us to socialize." Austin was Donna's only son. He was his parent's pride and joy, of course. Donna has been such a rock in my life for years. She was my maid of honor, my rock and my sounding board. After all she's done for me, I'm helpless to do anything for her other than bring down re-heatable casseroles for her and her husband to eat -- though I imagine their grief is too raw, too consuming to even begin to think about eating more than a few bites. It seems despicable, cruel and beyond tragic that a mother would have to bury her child. I know it's been said before, but it just seems so unfair. So wrong. Heartbreaking does not begin to describe what I imagine Donna's feeling. I pray each night for her to find peace, and that I might come up with some magical words to bring her some comfort. I am failing so far.

To me, Austin was an awesome kid. Always happy, always up for anything, outgoing to the max, polite in an Eddie Haskell kind of way, and a total smart ass. Through all my memories of Austin, he always has a mischievous grin on his face.  He was an Eagle Scout, an avid -- well, an avid EVERYTHING -- hiker, wrestler, four-wheeler, fisherman, runner, lawn mower ... everything. You name it. He did it.

From time to time, I check Anthony's Facebook page. Up until a couple weeks ago, Anthony's page was littered with comments from Austin Pollock. And apparently, Austin was famous/infamous for his signature comment. At just about every opportunity, Austin would comment, "K" on each of his friends' actions. At his funeral the largest floral display was a cluster of purple flowers shaped as a "K."

I will miss Austin.

Uncut.

Shortly after Esai was born -- like many boys, he was circumcised. We didn't put much thought behind the decision. We wish we had. The next 12 hours were miserable for my baby. To say he screamed would be an  understatement. He could not be soothed. He didn't want to nurse. Eventually, after some Tylenol and hours of rocking him, he was fine. Nothing went wrong with the procedure. It was just painful after the anesthetic wore off. Come to think of it, why wouldn't it be painful?

If you've never witnessed a circ, let me set the stage for you: Your sweet baby is strapped down to a table -- his arms and legs fastened and spread out. He's screaming. At this point, it's not pain. It's fear and discomfort. The procedure itself is not pretty to watch. Though, at least the baby receives a topical anesthetic; so there it's unlikely there's any immediate pain.

In a word: Horrible. Mostly for the baby. But heartbreaking for a parent.

But, we thought this was the normal thing to do. Rene is circ'd. Everyone we knew said it was normal.

Well, it's not something we wanted to put our next son through. We did some research. Wow. How times have changed. Circumcision isn't what it used to be. With only 56 percent of U.S. boys being circ'd in 2006, there really isn't concern about locker room teasing. We'd heard that there was a hygiene issue. Nope. Esai and Matias require the exact same amount of maintenance in the bathing department. And though it used to be thought that caregivers needed to retract the infant's penis, that is no longer the case. The boy will retract his own penis all on his own through the course of self-exploration (if you have a boy, you know what I mean) -- usually by the age of 4. Additionally, health concerns are minimal. There is a very, very slight risk of UTI's'; however our pediatrician there are plenty of health risks for circ'd boys, too.

We had some family members question our decision. We told her that it should be Mo's decision to make when he's old enough. Her response was: "Well, that would hurt! Why would he do that?" Bingo! If an adult wouldn't choose to put himself in pain that way, why would a parent choose to harm her child?

Making Friends

Esai's first day of preschool was today. He was so ready for this. He's been asking to go to school for over a year now. And as he hopped out of the Saturn, he merrily trotted toward Mrs. Herbig without a look back at mom.


We didn't have much time to prepare (emotionally) for this day. We started out thinking that Esai would do a Mommy-and-me preschool through the Wichita school district. One more year of Mommy-and-me. One year to prepare for independent learning, right? Wrong. It turns out Matias didn't like that idea at all, and screamed his little lungs out during the 90 minutes he had to endure daycare. It occurred to me that it wasn't making sense to send my high-needs child to daycare, while I stayed with my independent (yet, still healthfully attached) child. So, Esai was enrolled in Ascension Lutheran Church preschool, 9 to 11:15 a.m. Tuesday and Thursday.

As we drove to the preschool this morning, Esai chatted excited about what he hoped to do today, which  mostly involved playing on the school's playground and peeing in the school potty. We pulled up in front of the school and waiting in the long line of minivans. I watched as little ones emerged from their moms' vehicles, bursting with anticipation. I let Esai crawl into the front seat as we waited our turn. It was at this point, I noticed he had dog poop caked in his shoe. Well, crap! I hope the teacher doesn't notice.

The Bug kissed Matias goodbye, then me. Then bounced out of the car ... on his way to a new adventure.

Two hours later, Mo and I lined up again -- this time eager to greet our new preschooler. Esai bounded into the car, gave me a big hug and kiss and nestled into his car seat.

Me: Hey, baby! How was your first day of preschool?
Esai: It was soooooo fun!
Me: What'd you do?
Esai: Well, I did math and learned stuff.
Me: What kind of math?
Esai: It was regular math. We do regular math at preschool.
Me: Did you make anything today?
Esai: I made friends.

:::: snort! ::::::

Me: What were your friends' names?
Esai: There are two Olivias. But there are too many boys, so I just played with Olivia. We had snacks.
Me: Did you read any stories?
Esai: Yeah, we read about an alligator that lives under a boy's bed.  His parents put him back int the zoo.
Me: Did you do any crafts?
Esai: Yeah. I made a hand.
Me: Did you like your teachers?
Esai: Yes.Did you miss me, mama?
Me: Of course I did. But I'm also very proud of you.
Esai: So you're happy-sad?
Me: Yes. Sad because I miss you, but so proud of how much you're learning and making new friends.

And so it went on. And so it will.

The Babies Wore Prada

Back in 2000, I went to Europe. I spent some time in Italy and ducked into the House of Prada. I bought two scarves, because that was pretty much all I could afford. For some reason, I felt compelled to get something there. I've never had much use for those scarves. 

Recently, while clearing out for our garage sale, the boys found them. Those scarves have been a source of endless imagination and entertainment for them. They've been magicians, birds, turtles and ghosts. The scarves have doubled as lily pads for the frogs that bound through my living room; hideouts for the peekaboo bandits; parachutes and flags.

So in a living room filled with so many toys it looks like Babies R Us exploded, the two scarves I bought in 2000 are probably the most loved. I doubt the folks at Prada would approve; but if they witnessed the innovation that I see every day from my boys, they couldn't help but to be charmed.

I love waking up in heaven!

You know what's nice? Waking up sandwiched between my two babies. I'm sprawled on my back, while both boys rest on my arms -- Mo latched on (of course) and Esai holding my bellybutton. It is truly my happy place.

My thinker and my doer.

Esai was and is an easy child. Yes, he has his moments. But for the most part, he's laid back. He concentrates really hard on things; so when I needed to shower (when he was littler), I would just put him on the floor with a toy, and he'd be fine for 20 minutes or so. He would sit on my lap for an hour asking me to read book after book. He's very independent; and while he loves to interact and play with me, he's just as happy making up scenarios and playing in the yard by himself. He was a "late" walker at 15 months. Not because he couldn't. He just didn't want to. He is a happy child, but not giddy. He smiles and laughs, but only at things that he really thinks are funny. He doesn't offer the polite, courtesy laugh.

Just very content. He is my thinker.

And so I thought, this was how all babies are.

Enter: Mo.

He is my doer. He wants to go-go-go. He's walking at 10 months. Seriously. And climbing. Oh my does that child climb. And he's clever in his endeavors. He will turn things over, stack things, pull things and push things ... all in his efforts to climb higher and higher. Everything is hilarious, especially his brothers. He's quick with a smile. As much as Esai loves to read, Mo will not sit still for a book. Taking a shower is a race for mom. I've taken to washing my hair at night, then just rinsing off in the morning; as taking a 10-minute shower would undoubtedly give Matias enough time to build a ladder rivaling the Tower of Babel.

But I have to say, I appreciate the differences of both the boys. It's relaxing to just chill with Esai; but exciting to chase Matias. And watching them play together -- their opposite personalities fitting together like puzzle peices -- my heart runneth over. This, my friends, is bliss. Each night I pray that I can make my boys as happy as they make me.

They grow up too fast.

My sweet Mo has teeth. Two of them. I'm going to miss his gummy grin.

And ... now he crawls, too. ::: sniff :::

Esai's all potty-trained and dressing himself. He's so independent.

Ant's getting college- and military-recruiting materials.

They all have such bright futures. I'm so proud of each of them. I wish I could take a picture to capture every moment of their lives. Each moment is so precious ... so fleeting. Watching them grow, struggle, succeed, fail and learn is such a blessing.

Thanks, God.