Tickled Pink

Based on the following, one might think that I have a big thing for pink. img_3974And not that I have anything against, it, but pink is not exactly my favorite color to wear. But that’s the beauty of a bag, right? A chance to play with a color we might not normally put on ourselves. And in this case, these bags are just as bright and happy as their colors depict because today they represent adventure, learning, connection, and basic awesomeness.

Sound like a lot to project onto a pile of luggage? Yep, probably. But I’ll stand by my claims because today holds a lot. This, the final day of September, brings not only a Black Moon (the second new moon of the month), which is an incredible opportunity to begin anew, but it also brings me to my first solo yoga retreat.

That’s right! Mama gets to get away all by her big girl self for approximately 28 hours to attend an OMazing workshop with Lora McCarville who is guest teaching at {be} yoga studio in Sioux City, IA this weekend. I’m staying in a hotel and will get to see one of my faves from my 200 YTT group, and when you then take into consider the content of the workshop, everything just gets better.

img_3976We will be flowing and talking and working with ideas from the book Women Who Run with the Wolves, which I have started reading and for wow, this is a great resource about the innate, natural wildness and power that women have within them, and it couldn’t be a more perfect message for me this fall.

In a bit of synchronicity, I attended a fundraising event last night in Hastings for our beloved Prairie Loft that was solely for women and for wow again – when I look at the incredible talent and generosity that exists in this community, and the extent to which there are women out there supporting and uplifting and celebrating each other, I get excited. Excited for myself, excited for my friends, excited for my daughter. Excited for the future. There is so much potential when we come together to listen and love. It really does create a sense of wild freedom and power, with limitless possibilities. img_3975

So, even though I have all four kiddos home today while B is off at a professional day, I’m getting sh!t done around the house (including laundry with enough brainpower to not wash my name tag from last night) and getting my pretty in pink bags packed because this is a time of new beginnings. Of tapping in to self and center and growth.

And come this afternoon, I will hit the open road with my gear (and pump, of course), an audio download of a new bookclub selection, and the brand new Regina Spektor album (love Reggie! Love Spotify!), and I will take time for me so I can come home tomorrow, renewed and ready to care for myself, my people, and all that my heart is bursting to do.

Peace out, September!


Zip It, Lock It (send Mama in a rocket?)

Truth be told, the Welschies are doing well. We are handling the plate spinning and baton passing and are still smiling.

Perhaps the tone of the blog as of late doesn’t quite reflect that, but you know me – never one to shy away from reality, so in that spirit (and not one of flat-out complaining or hair pulling (no wait, the baby did pull out a fist full of my hair this morning! OUCH)), I present to you my two Littlest Men: The Somehow Suddenly has ALL the Clothes Issues Possible in a Toddler/Preschooler, and The Getter-Intoer of All Things Quick Guy.

First: The Won’t Zip It (because he won’t put it on) Dude.

Oh my word. You know about the pants debacles. Right? PANTS. Today it was also a long-sleeved shirt disaster. I remember these days from Harrison’s toddlerhood, so I know this too shall pass, but I need to find a way to make this go better without 1) wrestling him into the clothes and/or 2)S.O.S. texts to my bestie before 8 in the morning. Thankfully, the shirt thing was over soon (and all I did was ignore him long enough for him to finally stop pulling on the sleeves and put on his socks. Winning) and I was able to snap this happy pic of him: img_3963

But the shirt was actually a secondary issue this morning for LT. The REAL concern came from his swimming trunks as today is his first time for preschool swim lessons and Little Dude did NOT want to put on his trunks.

Now, Lincoln is my water guy. He LOVES the pool when we set it up in the backyard. But when we tried this summer to get him to stop wearing swim diapers, he flipped out, and so this morning’s reaction to our request of Here, put your trunks on so you can swim at school was not exactly a shocker. What was surprising was that I “lost.”

Yep. Even though we had the *#$# trunks on him twice before 8 a.m., they did not stay on, and I ended up taking him to preschool in his shorts (duh) with his trunks and towel in his backpack. Even with two hesitant swimmers in the past, this has never happened before, and I felt a little bit ashamed and embarrassed when I had to tell his teacher what the deal was. Side note: he was totally fine – thrilled, even – to be carrying his extra bag with all of his swim stuff in it. Thankfully, she was super gracious and said she would work on it with him and they would just see how things went. I wish her all the luck in the world and I will continue to shout it from the rooftops that we love our preschool so much, exactly for reasons like this. I am beyond curious to hear how it went when we go pick him up in an hour.

Second: The Door Opener Extraordinaire!

Oh, Trumy. Why? WHY must you be hell bent on all things not meant for you? img_3551This includes shoes, grass, rocks, small things, stairs, and yes, doors. Any door will do, but his favorites are of course the gate to the front door, the low cupboards in the kitchen, the pantry cupboard doors, and yes, the SHOWER.

How the eff does an almost 13 month-old open a shower he can’t possible even reach the handle of you, you might ask? With his perfectly sized to fit in the crack fingers where he can then pull and pop it open in two seconds flat. And naturally, to open the door is not enough. One must also venture through the door into the shower which is always wet in the morning and never a place I actually want him playing.

img_3964So yesterday, in a moment of brilliance and desperation, I went searching for a child-lock that I bought years ago for our fridge (I have forgotten which sibling was the culprit) but never used, and was able to find it (small miracles, my friends). And by another small miracle (and a lot of careful positioning because it had to be just right), I got it attached so that you can now in fact lock our shower from the outside. And it is actually even Truman proof! Winning again!

Oh, these children. Bless their hearts for keeping me on my toes always. And bless this space for being a safe zone for recording all of their shenanigans. Otherwise I really might be in a rocket to the moon by now. 😉



Don’t Blow Your Top

Believe it or not, from time to time, I stop and think, Should I really post that?? That being a status update or a picture I quickly snapped of my kid or sometimes even a blog post. Yes, there is in fact a filter in place. Occasionally I let the filter broaden a bit and I get a little more real because life ain’t always pretty. It’s just not.

You can consider this one of those less than pretty posts.

Actually, it’s not all that bad. OK – it’s not all that great either, but it is very much real.

In the last two weeks, our morning routine has been, ummmm, strained by the 3yo. Take your pick of the threenager vs. 3yos are a**holes debate as evidence that I am not alone here, but wow. When the 3yo decides to be VERY 3YO before 8 a.m., Mama about loses her damn mind. For one, I have not had my coffee yet by then because I have to wait for my first cup until after I nurse the baby down for his first nap. So, my Go Get ‘Em-ness isn’t quite functioning well, much less prepared for meltdowns and BATTLES OVER WEARING PANTS.

Yes, pants. PANTS have been the culprit of both of our disaster mornings with Lincoln here recently, and for the love of all things holy, can someone please explain to him that we live in NEBRASKA and WINTER IS COMING? He is going to have to start wearing ever-lovin’ pants and soon.

The second reason this crap makes me crazy is that it unfairly puts stress on Harrison as we are then late to get out the door and walked over to his school. He shouldn’t have to be counted tardy because of his brother, but we can’t just leave said brother at home in no pants, so we have to wait until I can get something on Lincoln’s legs and then get him hauled into the stroller.

This morning’s meltdown was heightened by the fact that when I finally got LT out to the stroller where the Bigs were waiting, I found that they had managed to break the only opener we have for our garage door by pushing it too many times.

I’m sorry. Am I the only one out there who is constantly amazed by all the shit kids can manage to break? Things you never could have predicted they would break? Kids break all your shit is a parenting Truth that all people should be warned of when they bring their first kid home. Honestly. [side note: please, do not take my reality sharing for lack of gratitude. I love and am thankful for my shit breakers, even when they are currently breaking my shit.]

So. Screaming/refusing to wear pants (I got him in shorts) 3yo, and shit-breaking Bigs. Not the best 7:40-7:50 a.m. I’ve ever had. And, because I am human, I got frustrated. And when I get frustrated, I tend to throw things.

Now, I’ve never been a hitter and sometimes a yeller, but here is the truth – throwing things happens. Normally I throw pillows. Yes, pillows, from the couches in my living room (you guys, I just realized they are called throw pillows, so I don’t think I am actually that off target here). I do not throw them at people, just as hard as I can at the floor and that usually helps.

Here comes the shameful part: today, because we were already in the driveway, I snatched HD’s backpack off the top of the stroller (Why? Because I suppose I was quite pissed about the garage door and wanted him to carry his own dang bag to school instead of making me do it?) and chucked it at the ground. And guess what happened next? Water started pouring from his backpack.

Yep, in my childish angst, I broke my child’s cheap-ass water bottle that was inside his bag. Awesome. What a terrible and immature lesson I just gave my kids, right? Right.

In panic and remorse and already late anyway, so why  not? mode, I went back in the house where lo and behold, we had an extra bottle that would fit the same nozzle and began to fill it up for HD. He followed me inside and, because kids are amazing like this, wrapped his arms around me as I filled up the “new” container for him. And he just held on until I got the task done and talked to him; when we left the kitchen – again – a minute later, we were both OK. I apologized and he apologized and we high-tailed it to school just fast enough to get there in time for a quick Kissing Hand before his class went in for the day.

img_3938So why I am sharing this? Because this is real. I had a crap moment and my kid forgave me anyway and I learned that the throwing has got to stick to the pillows. I don’t hit my kids because I don’t want them to hit others. I also shouldn’t throw their stuff because that’s not exactly teaching them to care for the belongings of others.

No pillows around? No throwing. Foot stomping and deep breaths, it will have to be. Because guess what? My kids are going to continue to break my shit. Apparently I am capable of breaking theirs too, and cripes, if that isn’t a kick in the pants moment of humility, I don’t know what is.


P.S. Ironically (not really – just a moment of No Mama Alone), my friend Kim just wrote about forgiveness and apologies and kiddos. You should check it out here.


Today was Bullshit

Today was hard.

Today did damage – to many things, but my maternal spirit perhaps most of all.

Today was bullshit.

Today was a day of a sick kid home from school but not sick enough to be sequestered to the couch, just really really whiney and demanding and clingy and whiney. So whiney.

Today was a day of a 3yo who not only colored his teeth – his TEETH – with a red marker that he then left uncapped on the bean bag, which bled so much that I turned six paper towels and my hands pink trying to clean it off before I gave up/had to move on to actual life essential tasks.

Today was a day of a school aged kid who was bouncing off the damn walls after he got home and apparently has never ever learned what the phrase listening ears actually expects. Holy mother of. 

Today my husband told me at noon that Wednesday

Where was this button today?
 was half over. I replied in my head, Bullshit. At noon on a day (night) when I teach, I still have eight hours of work ahead of me. Half my ass. 

Today, after being wiped out and totally depleted by this day, I had to put on my big girl pants (a dress, actually) and mascara (I understand that is a choice), and be not only a grown up but also a professional as I spend my evening attending to the lessons and needs of my students because I am busting my hump this semester to provide for the lessons and needs of my children who drove me batshit crazy this afternoon.

Today I typed a blog post with my thumbs because at this point it was write or explode. 

Today the baby and I are still friends. That is nice. 

What’s That SMELL?!

Here’s the deal. My van currently smells like feet. And as much as I love my kids’ feet (visually) and as much as I don’t think it is actually their feet causing the problem (we have yet to enter the world of smelly gym bags and whatnot), the odor is OFFENSIVE and concerning and totally unexplained.


So I didn’t actually ride in the van over the weekend and it was only used on Saturday, as far as I can recall, but I know the smell was not there last week when I was doing the normal preschool runs. Yesterday, though? The preKers and baby and I went to climb in to take RL to school and opening the door we were all like WHOA. Which is actually good because nine months post-sinus-surgery and I am still astounded on a regular basis by what all I can smell, so I figured there was strength in numbers if the kids could also detect it. But that is where things are actually bad because if the stench is strong enough for them to smell, too, we really have a problem.

img_3901My first attempt to clear the air was, after looking for the culprit and finding none, to leave the windows open all day until it was time to collect HD from school. And really, that seemed to do the trick. No one was super worked up about it  and I figured that was the end.

Until this morning, however, when we had a repeat of opening the door and WHOA except today the WHOA was actually WHOA, which, if you speak blogger, is pretty intense. Again — I looked and looked in the whole two minutes I had to spare before we were definitely going to be late, but nothing. I can see nothing that could be considered the source!

So where the eff is this coming from and how in the world do I make it go?!

Any theories? Suggestions? Remedies? My poor, super-sensitive uber nose (and those more mortal ones of my Littles) would greatly appreciate help here!

I Carry Your Heart

I’ve had a project in mind for awhile now (actually, I’m pretty sure I pinned it close to two years ago), and after Harrison’s sweet revelation yesterday, I decided that yesterday was in fact the perfect day to make it happen (laundry be damned). I had three kiddos at school and one kiddo napping for part of the morning and so, just like that, I started writing on the walls.

The Back Story: I have long loved this poem by e. e. cummings. Adored it, actually. And as I heard part of it spilling out of my mouth yesterday anyway (reassuring HD that even if I wasn’t with him with him, I was always inside is heart and he inside mine), I knew it was time to finally put it up where my loves and I could see it, read it, and know it all the time – right smack dab in our dining room (that has always been the most plain room in our house, wall-wise; see photo below for proof and evidence of life (a.k.a. mess)). img_3838

I have held off from this project in the past because I am not especially fond of my own handwriting and thought I should probably get someone else to put it up for me. It’s not terrible penmanship, but it isn’t exactly pretty either and I know nothing about fancy techniques and all that. But then I decided that doesn’t matter. What matters is that I am sharing words that have touched my heart so they deserve to be shared in my own hand. My kids don’t care if my lettering is the most glorious out there – they care that it is mine.

So with that little insecurity set aside, I assessed my wall, marked it out by lines, and started writing in pencil.


Side note: as much as this poem speaks to me, it did in fact kill me a little bit to stay true to the cummings’ theory of all lower case. You can best believe that my children will not write like this for their own English classes (or any classes) in the future unless they are in fact writing poetry! Also, because of our WELSCH sign, I took some creative liberty with the second stanza going across and back with the lines, so I will have to teach my people how to read this correctly, otherwise they are going to be terribly confused should they ever encounter it on their own/in school in the future. That being said, I choose my choice (is that a S&TC quote?) and really like it.

After the first draft in pencil came Sharpie Time. Had I realized how hard the next step – Erasing any remaining pencil marks – was going to be, I would have been more true to my original lines when going over them with the marker. Which reminds me that this is a good time to point out that the lovely walls in our old house are made out of lath and plaster, so it’s a darn good thing I wasn’t going for fancy writing because holy moly cow – these suckers were hard to write on as the texture and terrain were constantly changing on me! The first go with the maker showed me that I would definitely be doing two coats, as some of the words had this remarkable Swiss cheese look to them:


The lumps and bumps also made for tricky erasing, but after killing at least five cheap pencil erasers (sorry, kids) and part of a classic pink eraser, I finally got the job done and ready for the last layer of black Sharpie which I did some of last night and finished this morning between drop offs at school and preschool.

Another side note: when you, the grown up, put up “art” that really just looks like writing on the walls, your young children are going to want to do the same thing. Duh, right?! I fortunately kept them from helping me with any of the actual project, but we are totally going to have to have a sacrificial wall in our playroom downstairs that they can write/draw on because apparently if Mama does it, apparently we ALLLLLL need to do it.

So here is the finished product – in all its poetic glory:


Now, I realize that should we ever decide to sell our house or just simply want something else on our wall, we’re going to have to get pretty creative (and dark) with our cover up attempts, but I don’t mind. I love this and how it turned out, and most of all, I love that my heart piece carriers will slowly absorb these words and with them, the knowledge that I carry them in my heart, too.


It Goes to Show…

For the last four weeks, the kids and I have walked Harrison to school every morning (minus one, when Daddy did it). We meet up with friends along the way at the “walking spot” and then move as one big happy (and some days quite rambunctious) herd to the school where we get the kids to their respective lines to wait for the start of day.

While some of my friends have kiddos who always want them close as they stand in line, Harrison has been content 9/10 to run ahead, hop in line, and wait. I always go over (once I catch up) to give him a hug and a smooch – because I know my years (days?!) of him being OK with me doing that in front of his classmates and friends are way numbered – but then that’s it. I go back over to where the stroller is parked and we wait and hang out until his class goes in, but rarely does he even turn to wave at me, much less wave me back over for another check-in.

img_3835So imagine my surprise this morning when HD suddenly had small tears in his eyes as we loaded up in the van to do our very first “drop off” morning (thank you cool and drizzly and windy weather). I had no idea he would be bothered by the idea of my not being there as he waited in line, but when I questioned him about why he was upset, sure enough – that was it!

Was it simply the change in routine? Trust me, this mama had some anxiety about doing the first ever drive-by-drop because all those cars! All those people! (it was totally, fine, by the way – no one even honked at me), so maybe my big first grader was feeding off my worried energy a bit. And/or/but maybe he really does like the fact that we’ve been there every morning, even if it has been at a distance, because just the sight of us – should he needs it – is enough.

All I do know is that my heart is forever walking around with him (and his sibs) and today I am hoping his sweet heart is just as brave and big as it seemed when he jumped out of the car and took off at a run to get around to the playground and his line. And that the magic of the kissing hand really holds.

It just goes to show, you never know what seemingly small things you might be doing as a parent that are ultimately big and meaningful to your kiddos. ❤

Home + Ritual

Although I made an actual, real-life inspiration board prior to the semester starting, I did not write out a Tips for Survival list. I’ve had one rolling around my head, though, and if I were forced to put it down on paper (or in this case, the screen), it would look a little like this:

Having a rough day? Have you done the following??

  1. Breathe. Take three, deep belly-filling inhales. Extend the exhales.
  2. Meditate. The Insight Timer app is amazing. Keep using it.
  3. Yoga. Sore back? Mad shoulders? Take them to the mat.
  4. Reach out. Text, message, or set up a coffee date. Don’t forget your people.

Now, these four steps can’t fix everything every day, but they are an incredible help when the schedule and demands start to spin a little too fast. And here we are, three weeks into my semester of Biggest Adjuncting Ever, and my head has not popped off my shoulders, thank you very much, so clearly something is going right. 😉

Side note: you guys, one of the classes I am teaching this semester is Stress Management. Let’s keep in mind how ironic it would be if I let my own stress levels get the best of me this fall, shall we?!

Now, by going right do I mean all sunshine and roses? Goodness, no. With my exit from the studio and the start of preschool for the Middles and the littlest Little turning one, there has been a lot of energy, not to mention emotions, flying around lately. That is why the need for grounding and doing so through ritual is even more important than before, and I am thankful that I’ve finally reached a place where I can not only see that but go for it, too.

The biggest aid to this grounding (and hitting several of the steps in one shot), has come from spending time on our sun porch. In the winter, it houses our mini-trampoline so the kids can literally jump out the cabin fever and in the summer it is like a sweat lodge, but in September? In September, the sun porch comes into its glory and it is incredible. Some days might still be warm, but others are cool and the breeze blowing through is always appreciated. I can hear and see nature but nature can’t so much get to me (minus the crickets that I keep finding on the floor). I have plenty of space for my yoga mat, and when you add in a stick of incense and some good tunes, well, bliss comes to mind. It also happens to be a great spot for a cup of coffee and some writing time like I’m doing this morning. Essentially, all my happy things in one happy place. img_3802

And I am using it. As evidenced by the trail of incense sticks, I am showing up on the porch a lot these days and I think it is helping. In fact, porch time plus ritual might just be what is keeping my head firmly on my shoulders (so, you know, awesome!).

The most interesting part of this porch routine, currently, is my yoga practice. I started out the school year doing some of my fave videos online (Yoga with Adriene – whenever someone asks what videos they should do at home I always say these first because I adore them), but something shifted and now it is just me, some music, and the mat.

img_3780I go anywhere from 20-50 minutes and I literally go anywhere. I am not trying to plan a sequence or make anything fancy. A pose or a flow comes to mind and I play with it. I try to make my sides even. But other than that? I am just going where the practice leads me. I am almost three years into this yoga life (two into teaching) and it is remarkable how freeing it is to know enough about my body and the practice to be able to just trust that together they will take me where I need to be.

In the midst of all the things we’ve got going on right now, I am grateful that I have even the tiniest grasp on what I need to be doing for me. Insomnia and stress still flare up from time to time, but that is life. Stress does not go away (I’m going to hold on to hope that insomnia does). But how we process stress? How we perceive it? That makes all the difference.

Wishing you some peace + home + rituals of your own this fine, fall-feeling weekend!

Heart and Sole

As I tend to do around my baby’s birthdays, especially the first, this week of Truman turning one has been a reflective time. It was also incredibly full (you can substitute that word for any synonym of nuts if you’d like a more accurate description) with one of the agenda items being, not surprisingly, Trumy’s well baby appointment on Wednesday.

Side note: I left my house, went to the doctor’s office with two kids in tow, and returned to my house in less than 60 minutes’ time. Let us have both a moment of silence and go do cartwheels in the yard in honor of this, shall we?!

For the most part, everything is incredibly well.

Truman is still my laid back little dude, my smiley little yoga baby with next to no hair except some super long and super blonde locks on top of his head, who is overall so very good that he still makes me question whether or not we are done. I may have gotten some raised eyebrows when mentioning that fact out loud recently, but it’s true. If I could have 10 more just like him (kidding – just one more would be cool) and I could for sure get the whole no-morning-sickness thing again, I’d be totally down. But now I’m rambling, because tonight we’re talking Trumy and we’re talking that itty bitty part from the appointment that has the potential to be not so itty bitty.

Even though Mr. T’s muscles, both in the legs and stomach, are strong, and he is finally up and legit crawling now (up until a couple weeks ago it was still just incredibly fast army crawling), his gross motor skills continue to lag. The bright side of this is that, naturally, his fine motor skills kick ass. So even though I am totally OK with him not walking yet and know that some kiddos take way beyond a year to do so, I am trying to keep my concern levels in check when it comes to his legs.

Mr. Littlest Man does not like to put weight on his legs. He hasn’t ever (liked to that is). He’s tried it a few times, in the ExerSaucer and when I hold him under the arm pits above the ground at what should be standing height, but instead he just yanks both knees up and gets his little feet right off the ground as quick as can be, always.You should have heard the screams when our doc tried to get him to stand and walk in the exam room. Not pretty and definitely not happy.

To be fair, our doctor is not freaking out yet and isn’t trying to make me freak out yet either. This is just something we’ve been tracking for some time now and in the next few months, well, that is where it feels like things begin to shift; from here, it feels like the pressure is on. Most likely, because the hips seems fine and the strength is there, the issue is a sensory thing. Truman probably doesn’t like the way things (carpet, hardwood, plastic, anything) feels on the soles of his feet. While this is not the end of the world, it is something we are going to have to overcome in order for him to start pulling up beyond just his knees and actually start standing/walking.

And as it goes with anything where one of your kiddos is behind or struggling, this is panic and nervous making for a mama. I just want him to be OK and to be able to do it. Not anytime soon if he doesn’t want to – I am cool with waiting – I just want to know that he’s going to be OK. Of course, in this situation, OK might have to come with some work, so I’ve been trying to do some research on sensory play, specifically for the feet, img_3801because while we still don’t know much about his eating preferences, it seems to be just these appendages showing caution right now. If us trying to touch his feet (which he doesn’t hate) and putting his feet on different textures (that one is more interesting) don’t work, well, then we have to move on to the next level of help.

For now, I am going to try to figure out how fancy footwork plays into our current day-to-day while I continue to enjoy my incredibly sweet, still nursing, mostly sleeping OK, can’t-believe-he-is-already-ONE Truman. Goodness, how I love him so.

Bumps and Bruises

As anyone who has been around a 3yo lately knows, one of the many things they are (some sweet, some not) is clumsy. I mean, come on. Toddlers are by and large just coming into their own with body control and motor skills gross and fine, but the toddler who is also a preschooler who also no longer naps and has recently potty trained? Why don’t we just go ahead and say goodnight to physical grace, shall we?

As the parent of a current above described, I am finding myself watching my 3yo, who attempts to do ALL the Things (just like his big brother and big sister), with slightly held breath (I know – opposite of what I said about breath a couple weeks ago – it’s life). But seriously. We still crash and burn so often, I just never know when the next bump is going to come which turns all moments of coming and going and doing potential hazards.

img_3775Just walking through our dining room this weekend resulted in a 3-inch line imprinting itself on Lincoln’s forehead after he fell into our china hutch. Just coming to give me a hug before Trumy’s nap yesterday resulted in a bumped noggin for LT and a sore cheekbone for me. And just trying to climb up the stairs (in the semi-dark, mind you) to hang out with Sister while I put TJ down for nap this afternoon resulted in this crazy big goose egg from the handrail that he didn’t seem coming and caused him to fall back down two steps to boot.

And have I mentioned that the kid hates ice packs and comfort of any kind when he bumps? That makes it extra challenging to know what to do for him to ease the pain (not to mention lessen the severity of the marks these bumps leave in their wake).

But as with just about anything, the lesson for the big person comes from the tenacity of the small person.

Lincoln may get super upset. He may burst into tears and scream NO! at me when I try to hug or console him. He may choose to soothe with a book or by hugging the baby or just taking some space for himself. And all of that is OK. What matters is that he is processing the pain (and still gets to see that I am there for him, should he ever want or need me) and that each one of these multitudinous incidents does not deter him from life. I mean, Right? He just keeps running and playing no matter how many times he takes one to the face.

Get knocked down seven times? Get back up eight. That is life with a kiddo in this stage and it is a beautiful message, even though the bruises are less than so.