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Today is Words Become One’s ninth anniversary, so let’s celebrate by getting out of town, shall we?

In January, Mike and I had our ten year anniversary, and his parents generously invited us to join them at their two condos in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico for a week of fun.  We were bringing the kids, so it was a week of fun with the major parenthesis of a boatload of work, but we were determined to make the most of it.

Before I go any further, every mother reading this knows the sweat, angst and gnashing of teeth that goes into packing for one’s children and oneself.  I wrote a separate post about the ins and outs of preparing to travel and traveling with children.  Head there for the details.

Away we go!

And just like that, hours later we were like this!

Only if by “just like that” I mean one plane ride, an overstuffed carseatless shuttle, an interminable wait for our rental SUV, a 35 minute drive to the resort, a (wise) rejection of the fourth-floor kids-could-fall condo, and a settling into a wonderful first-floor kids-can’t-fall-from-the-balcony three bedroom condo.  Just like that!

The units themselves were ideal for our bigger family.  A master bedroom with en-suite, two kids bedrooms with their own bathrooms, and a kitchen and living room.  Glenn and Colleen had the same setup right above us, which we loved because it gave them their own space to have peace and quiet and a break from the kiddos.  That and Henry would race up there every morning after getting dressed, usually followed by Hunter and Arden.  Wouldn’t want them having too much peace and quiet, after all!

Nana and Papa brilliantly asked for units next to the children’s pool area — a place with a huge pool, water slide, and in-ground shaded trampoline.  It even had a kids indoor area for artwork and creative play.  We thought it would be unbelievably crowded, and instead no other kids were around.  This must be the result of traveling outside of holidays and spring break.

It was really peaceful, which was the last adjective we expected to employ on our first day.

So peaceful in fact, that we promptly shattered the serenity by Hunter slipping and busting open his lip, blood dripping out of his mouth.  Nana and I rushed to attend to him, not realizing Mike had stepped aside to order beverages by the side of the pool.  At the same second Hunter tripped, Mike walked back along the pool edge and saw Henry tiptoe closer to the deep end, his little chin in the air.  He threw the drinks to the side and ran in, scooping him up in one of the scariest moments of his life.  He ran over to us only to realize we never saw a thing — we were still holding paper napkins to the lips of a sobbing Hunter.

We were all devastated that so much could happen in seconds, and it shook the casual relief of our resort arrival into soldier-like attention at every moment.  We’d had several conversations about man-to-man water coverage, but we learned when an accident happens it can pull us away just long enough for disaster.  We were deeply shaken and prayed thanks for protection of both our sweet boys, while vowing to do much better.

After many long breaths in and out…

It took the kids no time at all to adjust to a life of wake, eat breakfast at a restaurant, swim, beach, eat lunch at a restaurant, nap, swim, jump, eat dinner at a restaurant, sleep.

Not surprisingly, it took the two women on the trip who cook all the food at home no time to adjust either.

I know this picture looks entirely staged, but Henry really was acting 40, unbeknownst to him, and we laughed out loud.

All parents know that “vacationing” with kids is taking a trip — you’re not vacationing from the work involved with caring for kids.  That certainly applied here.  However, we thought one way to make it feel like a vacation would be not going to Costco, meal planning and cooking.  So we opted for the all-inclusive, a first for us.  Considering kids are free, I’m certain we won out on eating and drinking more than the daily price we paid.  That resort didn’t bet on four kids.

Major-eater infant not pictured.

Also this is Hunter’s signature move; he puts both hands into “I love yous” and sticks his tongue out.  Only Hunter could make it look like gang signs.

One of the days the gentlemen watched the kids while we ladies had a lovely few hours getting massages and hanging at the spa. The next day, we watched the kids while the men did their version of the spa.

We made the most of the outnumbered childcare situation by taking ourselves to lunch.

Note my non-non-alcoholic raspberry mojito.  It was necessary because of this:

Do your sons wait for their food this way?  No?  Just us, then?

In the middle of the week we had a day of hard rain.  This is very rare in Cabo. We know because the staff told us twenty-five times.

We asked for ponchos to get through breakfast, which the kids found HI-larious.

Then we headed inside for some art and movies.  Even though kids love non-stop activity, they thrive when the pace changes and they can just chill.  They’re surprisingly like adults that way.

Unquestionably, the best part about the downpour was the golf cart rides from condo to restaurant and back.  The kids were squealing with delight, particularly when it rained so hard they zipped the plastic drapes so we were cocooned inside.

The couple of cloudy days were also vastly improved by hot tubs.

I don’t know how to say this without sounding like a moron, but a few days into the trip I had the following thought: this trip is one hundred percent about the children.  We are doing nothing but entertaining them from sunup to sundown.  It’s just one kid-bliss activity to the next.  I knew this before coming here, but how did I not truly KNOW this?

Mere hours later, Mike came up to me and said, “I know how dumb this sounds, but this trip is entirely for the kids.  Like we are just service vehicles on their parade of fun.  It’s insane.  Is this what our parents felt on every vacation!?”  I smacked him on the arm and yelled “I KNOW!” totally elated that our parental wavelength was still so completely synced.  I wasn’t the only idiot who has been a parent for four and a half years and is still surprised by the parenting commitment being TOTAL.

 

OG Hunter strikes again.

The intense guarding of four kids by the water was nerve-wracking, but we tried to breathe into it by taking turns, ordering beverages, and shuffling them over to the trampoline when our inner lifeguards were wiped.

On our last full day, Mike gave me a break during the kids’ naps to go lay by the pool.  I thought I would burst from the happiness and disbelief of actually being alone poolside, and walking the beach just thanking God for His grace and this stunning beauty.

I am not a selfie taker, but exceptions must be made.  I wanted to remember being this giddy.

That evening, Glenn and Colleen stayed in and we took the kids down to the beach for a special moment we wanted them to participate in.  We brought our vows to recite them to each other again, just as we have nearly every year, but this time with our own children as our witnesses.  It was pretty surreal and, to the two of us, quite profound.

There wasn’t one other person on the beach, so we asked Arden to take our picture while we spoke.  Then we tried to gather the kids together and squeeze for an impossible selfie, but it just wasn’t working.

Right then, a kind-looking, well-dressed man approached, walking around the boulders near the entrance to the beach, and smiled at us.  We were sort of embarrassed he saw us wrangling the kids for a picture.

“I had to come down here,” he said.  “I’ve been watching you from the restaurant and I felt I had to come take your picture for you.”

The restaurant wasn’t adjacent to where we were; it’s a good walk back to the resort and up a flight of stairs.  He had to have left his seat before we even began taking a picture.  I just stared at him, stunned.  Then I told him how incredible it was that he came down because we were just renewing our vows and wanted a photo.

“Wow, really, wow.  You have just the most beautiful family, and it’s just the best thing.  Really, you’re blessed!  I’ll take your picture!”

I beamed at him, totally grateful, absolutely aware that this man was responding to a prompting in his heart, one the Lord nudged him to.  It still brings tears to my eyes.

We handed him our phone and the chicks gathered around and he took our photo.  We thanked him profusely, telling him we couldn’t believe he would leave his dinner at the fanciest restaurant on the property just to take our picture.

“I’m so glad I did,” he replied, smiling at each of the kids.  “I’m thanking you for this.  It’s just so beautiful, your family, thank you so much.”

He smiled sincerely and then turned to walk back up the beach toward his dinner companions.  Mike and I looked at each other, amazed, so sure of the Lord’s presence with us on that beach.

This picture means more to me than I can say.

God wasn’t done showing off, because that night at dinner there was this sunset.

It was heart-stopping.  We just stood there and stared and stared.

Hunter, of course, flashed his signs.

By this point of the vacation, Henry and Arden were over everything.  Nothing was amazing anymore.  They even told me by the fourth day they didn’t want to eat in one more restaurant.  “Not ANOTHER restaurant, Mom!  Not AGAIN!” This from the two people who ask to go to restaurants five times a week.  See those faces above?  Same.  Sunset?  Sigh.  Eyeroll.  Another sunset.

I do the same thing to Jesus all the time.  Another day where my kids are healthy and there’s food on the table and heat in my vents?  Same-sauce, man.  Whatevs!  Observing things like this in my kids is the quickest heart-change.

One of the nights, my in-loves had a lovely date night dinner alone, which they more than earned for putting up with our chaos.  They shared the favor by giving us one to celebrate our anniversary.

This trip could not have happened without them, not nearly — we’d never have attempted it. We’re so grateful they were willing to spend a week on a trip with us, rather than a vacation in peace and leisure like they deserved to.

We had a couple of hiccups and close calls, but really it was such a happy time, full of memories being made by the minute.

Thank you, Mama and Papa-in-love, for such an awesome first vacation/trip adventure.  Twice a day I’m fielding the demand, “I want to go back to Mexico!”  Looks like two people got over their restaurant satiation.

So…January 2019?  What?  Too soon?

 

We recently took our first big family “vacation” (cough trip cough) to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico, and it was no small undertaking.

I’m a recovered over-packer and panicked-packer, which is a relief because if Abby at 18 or 25 were packing for five people, she’d be manically pacing in her room for days while consuming processed sugar.

Instead, I try to be minimalistic and regimented about packing the kids, because the only thing worse than packing before the trip is packing to return home.  To make my future self happy, I try to reign it in before departure.

These are the keys: two bag max for the kids (two kids to a bag) and carry-on only for me and Mike.

The kids bags look like this from Land’s End:

They are enormous, they zip closed, they have interior pockets, they smoosh into an overhead bin, and you can choose colors and initials.  (Also they’re on sale right now which is rare [I’m not paid to post this; I’m not that cool].)

A fellow mom gave me two bags when the twins were born and said they were the perfect bag for everything, and she was right.  Each of our kids has one, but we only bring two on trips.

How do we fit all their things?

Enter these brilliant AmazonBasics packing cubes (not sponsored):

These have changed my travel life.  No exaggeration.  I bought a different colored set for each child (yes, the same color as their tote bag…I can’t stop myself), and then I fill each cube by category — one with shirts/dresses, one with shorts/pants, one with underwear/socks/pajamas, one with shoes/hats/swimsuits/sunglasses/anything random.

Imagine: your kid asks you for his blue striped shirt — locate his color cubes, peer through the mesh to see what that cube holds, and you’re handing your kid their shirt within seconds.  This saves you from the standard chaos of the two of you pawing through an enormous bag of not just their clothes, but their siblings’ as well, digging for long minutes while you ask why they even NEED that shirt.

On weekend trips I keep their clothes in their cubes, tossing dirty laundry into the big tote bag. On longer trips I unpack their clothes into dressers, but when it’s time to repack, it’s infinitely easier and organized.

There are still the random items (I’m looking at you, stuffed animals) that won’t fit in the bags nicely, and on this trip my dear in-loves brought an extra bag for us to fill because they have free checking.  What blissful words those are.

Each kid brings their own tiny backpack which has their snacks and books, and a spare pair of pants and shirt, in case of airborne barfing.  Turns out Hunter needed his on his descent into Cabo…what a champ.

We got them each a pair of AmazonBasics kids’ headphones (not sponsored) so they can watch things at the same time (using a splitter) or on their own screens in front of them.  Mama doesn’t need fighting for audio mid-flight.

No fear on those faces!  Actually, we can’t see Jameson, so maybe he’s full of airplane dread, we’ll never know.

Lastly, we bring the Ergo to keep the baby on my chest, and one umbrella stroller for cruising Hunter through the long airport lines and walking distances.  Of course on this trip we left it in baggage claim, but the kind people of Los Cabos International Airport had it waiting for us when we returned.

The main thing that keeps me from lighting my hair on fire while we check in/check bags/go through security is having our IDs and tickets in one zipped bag. No digging or panicking = mama feels like she’s already in margaritaville.

I’m certainly not trying to paint a still life for you when traveling with kids is, in fact, more like a Jackson Pollock.  No amount of organization can guarantee an easy time, but for me it goes a long way in assuaging my anxiety.

It’s my inner Girl Scout blooming in adulthood.  I can’t control what happens, but I can prepare.  Kids will upchuck, kids will cry, kids will not sleep when you want them to and then pass out precisely when you don’t (landing).  But when my side of the fence is in order, I’m less likely to melt down right alongside them.

Go for it; the more you do it, the more “normal” and easier it becomes.  Fear not, travelers with tots!  Travel on.

To commemorate Jameson’s birthday, I’m finally sharing his birth story.  Fear not!  It does not involve wince-inducing bladder ruptures nor hours of fruitless pushing.  All goes well!

I just saved you ten minutes, if birth stories aren’t your cup of tea.  If they are, then please accept this steaming cup of Earl Grey, one sugar.

~~

Because of my complicated twin birth and borderline outrageous second birth experience, my OBGYN explained that should we have a fourth baby, it would unquestionably be a scheduled cesarean section.  In fact, he drilled this point home while I was still in the hospital after having Hunter, before my bladder ruptured.  Apparently birth isn’t like baseball — two four-hour pushing strikes is all you get before you’re out of the “natural” attempt forever.

Of course, after all I’d been through, I was in full agreement.

So in the early morning of March 23, we left our home and arrived at the hospital.  We knew our nurse was going to be an earthly angel because my amazing nurse from Henry and Arden’s delivery reached out to me and said, “What’s your section date?  I’m choosing the greatest nurse available for you — I got this.”  It was a significant blessing on a day full of them, thanks to the chorus of prayers we had rallying around us that week.

On our way to the antepartum wing (that’s where you go when you have a scheduled surgical delivery, rather than the labor and delivery wing), we had to pass through the NICU.  We hadn’t anticipated this, and we caught our breath as we passed the doors we’d been buzzed into countless times during Henry’s 17 day stay.  There was the basin where we’d scrubbed our hands dozens of times; there was the check-in desk where we’d received 17 stickers signifying our security clearance.   And now, here we were, with our NICU baby age three and a half, healthy and home asleep, about to receive a new baby sibling.  We felt down-to-the-bones grateful.

After we met the sweetest nurse imaginable, she took us to our room and I got into my gown and hooked up to the monitors and IV.

This is a smile of joyful peace; of a woman who knows she’s not going into labor.

That belly!  I know pregnancy is misery for many, but I love it so much.

We met with each doctor involved, and then, like we were going to brunch, they all said, “Okay, let’s go have a baby!” I hopped out of that bed ready to rock because I felt a supernatural peace.  So many people sent us messages of prayers and so many had committed to praying for us that morning that there wasn’t room for nerves or fear.

We all walked to the surgical room together, laughing, joking, chatting like one of us wasn’t about to drug another of us, and one of us wasn’t about to cut another of us open.  It helped me relax, but heightened how surreal it felt.  Where was the drama?  The urgency?  The pain?

Absent.  Answered prayers, all.

They administered the anesthesia, and as I laid back against the table, I repeated aloud the verse I’d used to prepare for this day: “She who dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.” (Psalm 91:1)  Mike said a prayer and after the surgical pause, they began.

In our other experiences, this portion of the show was incredibly fast.  In this case, they were much slower because it wasn’t urgent, and also they had to work through all the scar tissue they discovered on their way to my uterus.  They explained this, but I found it a little woo-woo to hear graphic details of my insides while I was still awake on the outside.

Before we knew it, they told us they were reaching inside to bring out our baby.  I felt an enormous pressure, and then heard a healthy, perfect cry as Mike looked over the curtain and laughed, “It’s a boy!!!”

“A boy!!!” I replied, because I truly had no instinct this time, and hearing that our “who” was a “he” was overwhelming, heart-happy news.  He came cruising over the curtain to the nurses station and then right back to me seconds later — and that’s when I saw his handsome face as they placed him on my chest.

“Hi Jameson, hi baby,” I said over and over.  “He looks exactly like Hunter!” Because he did — it was remarkable how alike their big puckered lips, noes and cheeks were.  It was a spellbinding feeling to see such similar features between babies we’d created.

The funny thing is now I look at these pictures of that same little face and all I can see is Jameson.  It’s distinctly him and that demonstrates what a year of getting to know a little person can do to your heart and your eyes.

After skin-to-skin time, the nurses cleaned him up, measured him, and made sure all was well.  Then they swaddled him tight and covered me with heated blankets and returned him to us.

The proud Dada, father of four.

Then it was just us; mama, dada, baby, cooing to comfort our new little life.

This was the first moment of pure bliss.  My baby’s cheeks next to mine, his cries stopping completely when he heard my voice.

My mom, Jameson’s Nonni, was his first visitor, and also first photographer.  She joined us in surgery to capture his birth, and we’re so grateful to her that we have these priceless photos.

After they stitched me back up, we were wheeled back to our room where the rest of Jameson’s grandparents were waiting to meet him.  They were so excited, they had left the room to meet us down at the end of the hall to find out who this little baby was.

Nana and Papa!  At this point Jameson had no idea how amazing his paternal grandparents are, but good things come to those who wait.

Grandpa!  My dad has three daughters, (who are top-notch, natch), so finding out he had a third grandson was like an embarrassment of riches.  Amiright, Dad?

Auntie Rae Rae!

Auntie Erin!

See the smiles all around?  That is how the whole day felt.  It was just happiness.  As each family member came into the room, they didn’t know who the baby was going to be, and it never got old sharing, “It’s a boy!  His name is Jameson Wendell!” and celebrating all over again.

I was so grateful to FaceTime with Siri and Amy so they could meet him.  I marveled that my best friends were states away, but so close I could feel them in the room with us.

And then the moment my heart had waited for — introducing Jameson to his sister and brothers.

Hunter was only 22 months old, but he still dove right for us.

Henry, 3.5, was next, and was unsettled by the cords attached to me, so in addition to baby, we talked about that.

Mike and my dad reassured him, and told him when he visited the next day I’d be far less plugged in.

When it was Arden’s turn, she was enamored from the first, not at all dismayed that she was meeting a brother and not a sister like she’d hoped.

And one touch was not enough.  Homegirl was over in that hospital chair ready to hold him in two seconds.

She’s like auntie, support the head.  I’ll show you.

Apparently he follows sister’s lead.

Auntie Sam!  Under Arden’s watchful eye, of course.

The. Boy. Is. Mine.  She’s 19 years late for Brandy and Monica, but she gets it.

Uncle Aaron managed to get a moment with her little bundle, however!

And later that evening, Cousin Lillian!

Later that evening my girlfriends arrived, complete with Meredith FaceTiming in.  I was full to the brim with joy after such a spectacular day, and having them there was my cup running over.

The next morning, Auntie Lindsay came to visit, having traveled all the way from San Diego!  It was amazing to have her there to greet our little blondie.

I don’t believe for a minute that Jameson’s birth was about me — this is his birth story, not mine. His safe arrival was the essential priority of the day; that it helped heal and redeem our harder birth days is just the way our God works. He takes what is already profoundly good, and uses it as a tool to bring new life elsewhere; in this case, my worried heart. He makes the broken beautiful again.

Before the kids had left, we huddled for a first family photo, and Mike and I could hardly believe this was our life — four kids!  It is outrageous and funny and wonderful and intimidating to us that we had four kids in three and a half years, but we are so, so happy we did.

Jameson took his place in our circus with aplomb, and we can’t imagine our lives without him.