Birth Story

As is often the case when a baby's first year comes to an end, I was reminiscing last week about John Paul's birth. I was in labour for what seemed forever and was in fact probably four days before he arrived. By the time I was ten days over-due and labouring on and off, I sure didn't believe all the stories I'd heard of second babies coming faster and easier.

The Friday before John Paul was born (when I was already a week over-due), my doctor told me that if there was no baby by Monday, she'd probably induce me; I was already having lots of contractions, so we might not make it until then. On Monday, she found me labouring on and off. Figuring I was sure to be in the hospital shortly after her advice to "walk lots" she let me go and scheduled an induction ("if there's no baby yet") for Wednesday. On Wednesday, she found me really in labour and said it was too late to induce. 

And after two sleepless nights because I was actually in labour all that time, John Paul Gabriel was born on Thursday morning after days of stupid labour and 3 1/2 hours of real labour.

We were delighted! And exhausted.

The First Year
We were so in love with our new little boy. Joseph was thrilled to have a little brother and constantly asked when he would be big enough to play cars with him. But we were exhausted. We thought Joseph was a difficult baby (and he was) when we spent over a month with serious colic that had him screaming from 4pm to midnight nightly. Looking back, Joseph had nothing on John Paul.

John Paul was colicky too, but never really got over it. It would take us hours to get him to sleep at night. We walked the circle from kitchen to living room and back again over and over. We took our screaming baby to the basement so he wouldn't wake his brother. Eventually, when he was all worn out, Dan would sit in front of the TV bouncing John Paul up and down for half-an-hour late a night and he would finally sleep. And whereas Joseph at three-months-old slept through the night twice (!) and usually woke up only once to nurse, John Paul still wakes up every hour-and-a-half to 2 hours to nurse all night long. (I know, something must be wrong with my mothering. Ha!)

Would we "send him back"? No, never. Even now, John Paul is what people must call a "fussy" baby. He wants his Mommy almost every second of the day and night; Daddy is a good substitute, sometimes. But he is so happy! As long as he's fed and attended to, he is the world's most smiley kid.

It's safe to say, we're still exhausted. But at the end of the day, when he's sleeping peacefully, it's so worth it.

(And now to follow up that complaint about exhausted parents with a photo of the culprit that will have you all questioning whether I'm sane or not... I mean, how could this kid with the gorgeous smile cause his parents any grief?!)





1-Year-Old
Just in the past few weeks, John Paul has been changing at a rapid pace. He's not a baby anymore and he's got such a personality!

After learning to crawl, John Paul was very quick to stand up holding onto things. He's a pro at walking along furniture, backing himself off beds, and standing on tippy-toes at the gate to say goodbye to Daddy. He can have entire bins of toys dumped within seconds, but also takes huge pride in cleaning up the toy cars when we have to toss them back in their bins; after every car, he celebrates with a "haaa!" and clapping. Ever the little helper, John Paul opens cupboards and empties out containers and bowls and the salad spinner.

The latest in his growing vocabulary, is the cutest little "noooo" you've ever heard. I mean, how can we possibly be upset that he's telling us "noooo" when he purses his little lips into an "o" and says it so sweetly? Actually, he doesn't really know what it means, but he can distinguish very well when we tell him "No!" sternly and, for now, he actually listens most of the time. His other words include: "Dada," "Do Do" (Joseph), "Mum" (which he never says), "Jesush," "nuh-nuh" (nurse) and "nana" (banana).

We're a little concerned that by age two he'll have eaten us out of house and home. "Nana" (banana) isn't one of his favourite words for nothing and John Paul can single-handedly eat an entire banana all by himself. I'm pretty sure he regularly out-eats Joseph too. Generally, he just never refuses food and can somehow sense from rooms away that someone is eating and determines he must go mooch.

If you ever wonder why in all our recent pictures of John Paul he's wearing a goofy grin, well, it's because it's a perma-grin (except, of course, if I'm busy making supper or doing dishes and he's whining at my feet). John Paul is a goofball, no doubt about it. He scrunches his nose and snuffles, he makes an "o" with his lips and says "ooo," he does whatever it takes to make every situation funny.





Party
The real reason you're reading this long-winded blog is to hear about the birthday party, right? We had a small party for John Paul on his birthday, with just Grandpa and Grandma Millette to add to our family (thank goodness they came!).

Joseph is really into celebrations at this age and was super excited to make and decorate a cake, don birthday hats, and have balloons everywhere. He even wanted to set up the Christmas tree because, well, we should really put John Paul's presents under the tree (just a glimpse into the workings of a three-year-old's mind). John Paul picked up on the excitement and was suitably impressed with all the to-do.

Unlike Joseph, who at one still got fed most of the time by his first-time mom, John Paul easily devoured his cake and loved every second of it.

And we even bought him a present. But not the one you see him opening in the picture above. 

My brother, John Paul's uncle, was appalled that we didn't buy him a Christmas present. It was just that he had lots of presents and really only cared about the wrapping and boxes anyway. But after the flack we got from Uncle Jim, we figured we'd better buy the poor younger son a birthday gift ;)

We bought the set of big Lego type blocks you see Joseph happily opening above. John Paul was interested in pushing it around, but needed some assistance to realize you're supposed to tear off the paper (obviously, because he'd never had a gift before!). But when we opened the box and realized they were smaller than our Mega Blocks and some were actually a choking hazard (oh, stupid parents), we packed it up again and returned it. John Paul finally got his real gift that he can keep today: a big machine truck with a scoop and dump truck bucket. He (and Joseph) are thrilled! (And we can now relax that we did the right thing and bought him a present).

And just because I know you'll all be wanting to see John Paul's new truck, after posting this blog (and when John Paul got up from his nap) we took a picture for you to see. I'm not sure who's more excited, but let's just say we've had to remind the "helpful" older brother many times that it is in fact John Paul's birthday present.

 And this lovely card arrived in the mail this afternoon from John Paul's godparents, Uncle David and Aunty Roxanne. Check out those two cute little boys on the front... the resemblance is striking! I guess our little guy takes after his patron in more than just name!

Brothers in Arms

It's strange to think of how we are just starting to see who John Paul is, even though he's been around for a year now (March 27th). Little newborn babies look like, as one professor of mine once described them, wrinkly little sausages. To be fair, this professor never had kids (but if he did, those kids would have perfect hair...). It's true though, newborn babies have a striking resemblance to a squished up something er other. And thus unfolds a great mystery. What I mean is, though a newborn baby is born, what they look like and act like on day one is nothing even close to who they are on day 365. They change so much. It's as if each and every day Becca and I are discovering who Joseph and John Paul are. Their little personalities. Their temperaments. Even their looks. Joseph is funny to the max in a dry-humour kind of way. John Paul is turning out to be a flat out goofball. Their births are only a beginning to knowing who they are.

One thing I've discovered is they both like my attention... in different ways. Now ideally when they are older I can go play football with them and they will both be happy. I then will be free to spend the rest of the evening on the couch with some beer and chips while watching T.V. and knowing I fulfilled my daddy-duty. During commercial breaks I can gaze at my "Father of the Year" plaque which will hang on the wall over the T.V. However, at the moment this is not the case. Joseph wants to play lego with me. Well John Paul can't even be in the same room with us while we do. So we lock him out, of course. After some severe and angry whining I finally go out and pick up John Paul. I discover he wants me to throw him in the air and catch him. Joseph gets jealous and starts jumping on me. I then put John Paul down and start reading Joseph a book. John Paul crawls to us and starts ripping pages and demanding attention. I read John Paul one of his board books. Joseph turns the pages for me which then frustrates John Paul. John Paul reaches out to hit Joseph. Joseph thinks this is funny and smacks him one back. John Paul cries. I yell at Joseph. Joseph cries. They both are crying. No "Father of the Year" award for me.

In the end as these boys get older, and learn to play together better, we will get to know them all the more. Who makes up after a fight (and thus takes up after their mother)? Who refuses to apologize (taking after me)? It's hard to believe they both were once wrinkly little sausages, but now are turning into energetic little "Dannys" (with a touch of "Becky"). And you know what? It's kind of fun seeing it all firsthand, everyday. It's kind of great, actually.

Even if it does mean I won't win the "Father of the Year" award anytime soon.

La Messe

We all know the saying: treat each Mass as if it were your first Mass, your last Mass, your only Mass. Words to live by.

It was 30 minutes before Mass. We had done remarkably well, I must humbly add. Supper was finished. Dishes done. The kids not only were dressed, but they'd had a bath beforehand as well. Why, we even had a clothing theme going on!







So I sat down and pulled out the remarkable book: "Preparing Yourself for Mass" by Msgr. Romano Guardini (1885-1968). I read a chapter on the importance of composure at Mass. Guardini explains that silence is not enough at Mass, our minds, bodies, and souls must be composed in such a way as to enter Mass despite the distractions around us (or within us). Beautiful stuff. I read the chapter, reflected on it for a while, and then proceeded to get everyone in the van for Mass. Truly this was going to be a Mass for the ages. How prepared we finally were! Composure. Got it.

There was a hiccup on the way. Joseph was being silly and not getting his coat and boots on like he was told to. No big deal. We still arrived a few minutes before Mass began.

And it began. We read the entrance antiphon. A beautiful antidote, often revealing a theme of reflection to keep in mind throughout Mass. With the antiphon completed, and my composure soaring high towards heaven, Father began with: "In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." And then everything went black.

It began with Joseph. He started bopping up and down. Moving around. Wiggling. Talking. Getting books loudly. Drinking water noisily. Not sitting where he was supposed to. Talking back to me. Pushing me away. I looked up and it was already time for the Gospel. I spent the entire Gospel trying to get him to stand up. Threatening him with a life of misery if he didn't stand. No story later. No snack. No hockey stick next year. No use of our vehicles when he's older. No university. To no avail. The Gospel mercifully ended. I think I heard the word "seed" in there. The way it dragged on leads me to believe it was from the Gospel of John. Not a great time for a deep theological reflection. But it was over. Exasperated I flung Joseph onto Becca and told her I couldn't handle him anymore. She took him from me and I sat down to listen to the homily. As Father began I heard Joseph laughing. His laugh produced a laugh in John Paul. John Paul! Where was he?! There he was, hanging out in the centre aisle. He seemed to be playing peekaboo with some of the parishioners. Joseph's laughing made him start to giggle and grunt (John Paul's a goofball). I immediately went to force Joseph to be quiet, only to see that Becca had already had her hand over his mouth, and he was laughing despite the lack of oxygen. Eventually I went and did the walk of shame down the aisle, picked up my one son, and took him to the back. John Paul screamed and kicked in delight.

In the back John Paul squirmed and kicked until I put him down. He immediately made a beeline to a candle on a little table. I fought it away from him, and he zipped over to the stairs. I shooed him away, and then it was off to the wheelchairs, then the children's mailboxes, the collection baskets... where were those darn Development and Peace pamphlets when I needed them!... he needed something to destroy. I scooped him up. He squirmed and kicked. The bell rang for the consecration. He quietly pointed to the front and whispered: "Jshsshsh" (Jesus). How holy of him. Then it was back to war. I looked up and saw Becca with Joseph in a headlock. Well, I could see the thought was in her eyes anyway. Finally we made it to go down for Communion. As I returned to the pew Becca quickly took John Paul from me. Translation: "Joseph's your problem now!" After Holy Communion I got into another war with Joseph over who he was going to pray for. Finally, with a defiant sarcasm I'm sure, he replied: "Daddy." Then Mass ended ("Thanks be to God."). But it didn't! Aha... there was a D&P prayercard in the pews. We all were to recite this prayer. So we stood there impatiently, as John Paul had a squirmy meltdown, while this endless prayer was read: "Sisters and brothers... seeds for sowing... we must change the world... us... as the rivers flow into the seas... waterbottles are evil... Amen." Now it was over. After Joseph blew out the candles we apologized to Father and went home. In the vehicle Becca and I reflected on how we didn't have a clue what the readings were, or homily, or anything. And it was at that moment that I recalled the need to be composed at Mass. Composure to be open to the sacred mysteries. I guess sometimes composure requires small steps.... I didn't kill my kids. Baby steps.

May my next Mass be treated like my first Mass, my last Mass, my only Mass... and especially not my recent Mass.

Amen.

Vacation of Marriage

I bumped into our neighbour the other day. He recently moved into the house across the street. The house was his cousin's, but she passed away during the summer. So now he lives there. All alone. Just the eerie blue glow of the T.V. at night to let us know he's still alive. I'm not creepy I swear.

So we, or rather mainly he, chatted for a bit. It was a friendly little chat. He spoke quite freely. Too freely, actually. I learned that he's from California. Goes to the Anglican Church. Is a Mason. You know, ordinary stuff. What? Huh!? Anyway, I helped pull out his recycling bin for him, and then went home.

But there was one part of the conversation I just couldn't shake. He very openly told me how he was in his 70s, got married 54 years ago, but then recently divorced his wife. Oh they still talk frequently on the phone. They have five kids and ten grandkids. All is good. But you know, he rather enjoys being on his own now. It's a nice free life.

Not that I by any means know his situation, yet I cannot fathom being married to someone for over 50 years and then simply getting a divorce and moving on. Yes our human love is finite, since we are finite creatures. But married love, with Christ in the centre, is meant to be elevated to the Divine. How does a marriage fall apart after 50 years?

It reminds me once of a story a good priest once told me. This priest knew another priest who taught for many years, and lived in good standing with the Church. When this teaching priest finally retired from active ministry he immediately requested to be laicized, and then he married some woman. Just like that. The story nearly caused the good priest who was telling me the story to despair. It was just so blatant an attempt to slap the Church in the face.

Speaking in general terms again (i.e. not judging individuals here), the moral of this is that there are no days off from our vocations; we are to persevere to the complete and bitter end. Now no one becomes suddenly bad. It develops over time, often without our knowing. I would suggest that no vocation goes suddenly awry either. But the signs of trouble must be noticed early, if not daily, and rooted out. Could such stories above happen to anyone? Well, but for the grace of God, there go I. In the end, a vocation is one that requires daily work. Daily effort. Daily prayer. Daily humility. Even after 50 years. Otherwise I suppose one could end up alone. With nothing but the eerie blue glow of a T.V. to let others know you're still alive. A tragic ending.

There is no vacation from your vocation.

Pithyful Sayings

Here's some pithy. I will write it in italics because it seems more profound like that:

Bob Marley's last words were: "Money can't buy life." Thank you to the grade 5 student for telling me that. And no, money can't buy life. Not even one extra minute of it. Go to confession.

It is perfectly normal as a dad of little kids to come home from work and begin by asking the wife: "So, any big poops today?"

I coach archery. I enjoy coaching archery. But I refuse to call my archery students "athletes" just because they do archery.

Exercise is like prayer. In the end you actually have more (quality) time if you do it.

My wife just brought me a cup of tea. I think she loves me. Or wants something from me.

My wife just asked me if I would buy her new pajama$s.

When I hear St. John Paul II speak of Divine Mercy my soul soars to heaven. When I hear Pope Francis declare a special year of Mercy I immediately begin worrying about how the German Cardinals are going to use "mercy" to try and change Church teaching.

Parishes without liturgy committees always have the best liturgies.

My wife says she is getting her taxes from the year before we were married re-assessed. She then told me that if extra money comes in from the re-assessment then it technically belongs to her from when she was Miss Mombourquette and not Mrs. Millette. Therefore she says she can spend it however she wants. I wonder if this will change the validity of our marriage? Either way, I say she's not allowed to play with my legos because they were mine from before we were married. So there.

When it is lent and I'm waiting in line to go to confession, and I just golly well gee want to feel convicted of my sins, playing loud Caribbean music on a CD player is not a great way to put me in the right frame of mind. And that statement is not obvious to some people. Particularly those on liturgy committees.

St. Patrick is embarrassed by St. Patrick's Day.

Elementary schools should be teaching logic classes. It would revolutionize the educational system. Plus it would give me something exciting to teach. That's right. Logic is exciting. It's hip to be a square (of opposition).

Ingratitude is a sign of a lack of humility. 

Thank you God for my humility.

Waiting for Spring...

Lent is a time of waiting... waiting for spring, waiting for Easter. But sometimes the wait seems so very long.

But we're half-way through Lent today, folks! Are you as excited as Joseph and Dan?

When Dan printed off our little pathway to Easter, he didn't realize that looking at that visual on the fridge every day wouldn't really be a nice little way to travel through Lent. Because when you see the long numbered days stretch out in front of you, it seems so long. Maybe now that we're past the half-way point it will begin to look more like a home-stretch.

"But this is Lent {fill in the blank}!" has been one of Joseph's favourite lines. Lent chips. Lent cake. Lent ice cream. Lent treats. Whether they're pretend or real, he has renamed everything to try to justify eating it during Lent. Little did we know that our 3-year-old was so addicted to treats. But (and I ask myself, should I reveal this secret?) he comes by it honestly: While I'm the worst for complaining when I'm sick, Dan has the hardest time with giving things up for Lent. Like father, like son.

We've been keeping our Lenten "activities" pretty long-key and minimal. I like to read a number of "Catholic Mommy Blogs" and there are so, so many ideas out there for all the different things you can do with your children during the different Liturgical seasons. Whether we keep things minimal around here because I'm lazy or because we just like the simple life... well, you can judge that for yourself.

Besides the pathway to Lent, Joseph has been very busy colouring the Stations of the Cross. So busy, in fact, that building Legos has played second fiddle to colouring for the past week. He finished this morning and we hung them up. "Can I pray to them now?" Joseph asked. A lesson in Sacred Images followed and he now understands (again, because we've been through this before) that we don't pray to statues and pictures. In case you were wondering, he is currently back at his favourite past-time: Legos.

We've had some beautiful (-10 to 5 degrees) spring-time weather here the last week or so. Unseasonably warm. Or maybe the past couple winters in Saskatchewan were just so cold. I'm not getting my hopes up (or our rubber boots out, yet), but maybe we'll have an earlier spring this year. That would be nice, because once you get a little feelin' of warm weather, it's so hard to go back to winter. Our snow has been melting and melting, although you might not know it because there's still so much everywhere. The east side of our roof is totally cleared off and shows a nice view of our new shingles. 

Warmer weather has meant we can stay outside longer. The other morning Joseph dressed himself in almost all his snow gear all by himself and came to me with the request to zip his zipper and let him outdoors. Unbelievable how a kid that whines every day that he can't put one leg in his ski-pants (which he can and I make him do) can suddenly dress himself! He was outside before 9am and stayed out for over an hour playing by himself (or, rather, with his "friends" as he told me). Every time I looked out the window to check on him, his mouth was opening and shutting talking to somebody.

"Look, Mom, I crunched-ed the ice," Joseph likes to tell me. We've been out walking all over town "crunching ice" and getting very wet and having lots of fun. He discovered yesterday that he (and not Mommy) can walk across the top of our snow in the backyard without going through the crusty surface. Sheer delight!

Of course, we can't forget about John Paul. Nor does he let us. He, too, is delighted with the warmer weather which means he doesn't have to have the stroller cover over him blocking out the wind. Better still, he gets to get out of the stroller and hang out with us. 

Joseph's Blog

Since this is known as the Millette Family Blog it is only fitting that we expand the blogging to include our sons. The following blog is filled with pictures taken entirely by Joseph (with Becca's expensive camera), and his words (I simply typed them up)...

It's a mess.... and happy birthday.

John Paul. John Paul all. Happy birthday again. Do you like him? Very well. That says Joseph's blog. Did you say thank you for my blog?

 There's mommy peeking! It's mommy blog. Dad why did you miss? You took the picture. You took the picture? I missed.

 Um, Zara's house, and a bird feeder. And a truck. And trees.

 I took a little picture of the gontar. There was a blanket.

Water bottle. Um, I got the water bottle from Pearson's. How much? Twenty thousand bucks. It was green. Yes. It was good. It was pretty good. Did we buy anything else? We bought a game for John Paul. Cost twenty bucks.

Um I took a picture of it. Of Jesus and Mary. It's called about the cross.

That's my lego. Lego. It's lego and the fire truck. Can you see it? I see it. 

 There's you and John Paul. Yeah I took a picture of you. Where's me? Can you see me? I can't see me. Can I take a picture of me? And then you'll see me.

T. V. I took a picture of the T.V. Where's me? Where's me? Did I back up? Jesus and Mary in the T.V. And Daddy and John Paul. Where's me?

I have a, I have, uh... I took a lot of blogs. Jo-o-seph, blog.


I want something to eat. I want more food. Do you want supper? I want snacks. Give me one. Um, snacks of.. this! I want coconut and apples.

Just an Ordinary Day

Recently, my mother-in-law was saying how nice it would be to see a "day in the life" kind of blog from moms. Little does she know that this is actually a "thing" for Mommy Bloggers to do.

This is our take: no words, just pictures. Just one version of an ordinary day.

We only captured from the time Daddy left in the morning until just before he got home in the evening. Of course, you don't see everything. Not the diaper changes, sleeping kids (can't risk waking them!), nursing baby or every little detail. (I was working on our taxes today, but realized the picture I took of the computer had too much information to put on a blog!) But it's a good idea of the stuff we do around here.