Happy Birthday, Kadee Joy!

My girl. She is so beautiful, so intelligent, so crazy, so outgoing, so much potential wrapped into such a little person. I love her so much, and cannot imagine life without her. Happy Birthday, Bug!


Our first real look at each other.



Around six months in her butterfly glasses.

In her mommy's bonnet.

Shortly after her hair was long enough to be put in pigtails.


So cute! Around 16 months.



1st birthday with Jenny's Monkey Cake

Around 20 months at Bomma's house with Cousin Isaac.


Almost three years old.

3rd Birthday


4th Birthday at Red Robin (Birthday party number one out of three)

The victory (don't get too excited)

So I wouldn't be a true mommy to toddlers without having a blog about potty training at some point. I'm not going to say that it's the hardest thing about being a mom. I'm also not going to be one of those moms (no offense if you're one of these) who is like "Oh, yeah, potty training was the easiest thing ever. My one year old did it on his own!"

So with that said, let me just say that for my family, the diaper part of life has always been filled with nasty adventures. My daughter, beautiful child that she is, used to paint her walls with the materials found in her diapers. My son Andrew doesn't so much like to paint the walls as he does his stuffed animals. Jeffy has yet to discover any of this and I'm very much hoping that he skips this phase altogether.

Kadee Joy literally potty trained herself, but not until pretty late in her toddler life. I tried without success the entire time she was two years old. She just didn't feel the physical urge to go the bathroom, and after a few too many tiresome times of sitting on a toilet without success she began to fear and protest the bathroom. So it was given up. Right after Jeffy was born our household officially consisted of three kids in diapers, and the financial strain and and ridiculous amount of time spent changing kids began to take a toll on Mommy and Daddy.

Then, just a few weeks after Jeffy's birth, Kadee Joy began saying "Mommy, I need to go potty!" So we would run, and she would go. And that was it. Done. She still had to wear a diaper at night for a short time, but quickly thereafter became fully potty trained. And I must say that it does make life 100 times easier as far as taking care of her.

Mr. Andrew has recently developed a new system for letting me know that he needs to go potty. He drops his semi-filled drawers and, unless I catch him before, watches the fountain he is able to make while he pees on the floor. Of course, I usually hear what sounds like running water (and is, I guess), and come running to find the newly dampened carpet with Andrew smiling. So I run him to the bathroom, put him on the toilet, and he finishes the job, giggling with delight at his magical ability to create a fountain. Then I put a new diaper or pull-up on him, send him running, and go find the spot and clean it up. We have refilled our entire bottle of carpet cleaner over the last two weeks. We're hoping it slows down.

However, he does not have an aversion to the toilet which is HUUUGE. And his all-consuming desire for liquids means that there is generally always something he can deposit in the toilet.

We had a major victory just a few minutes ago. Andrew dropped his diaper and sat down, but luckily I was close by. I grabbed him and planted him on the toilet, which he promptly filled. He rediscovered the incredible ability to aim his fountain, giggled, and then said "Ah dun." I took him off, clapped for him, and put a new pull-up on him. His pullups have the red car from "Cars" (sorry I'm blanking on his name, and Kadee Joy also calls him "red car"), and so in putting them on he always quotes "Oh, yeaaaaah.". I then checked his old diaper, which was to my astonishment and delight was still dry!

So our next step is working on the signal. It usually takes a good six months of daily practicing and prompting for Andrew to be able to add a new word to his vocabulary. He already uses the word "Poo Poo" for "Blues Clues", so we're stuck with "potty." I'm trying to think of a potty song, because he'll pick up on songs after only two or three times of hearing it.

My goal is to have him potty trained before he goes to school in the fall (his preschool for kids with developmental delays), but we'll see. It's a little tough, because he has difficult connecting both rewards and punishments with their related behaviors. However, it may just be that being able to sit on a toilet and make a fountain will be all the reward Andrew needs. Let's hope so!

A Rough Day

So let's talk about yesterday. It was in some ways a truly awful day. I woke up very excited because the kids and I were going to a play party with the families of the other kids in Kadee Joy's preschool class. Kadee Joy LOVES preschool, and seems to get along with most of the kids fairly well.

Now I am one of those mothers, due to the nature of my job, who is only able to come to the preschool on things like field trips and parties. I didn't realize that was a type until one my well-meaning teacher friends used it as an example of parental types, and apparently it's kind of a bad thing...At least that's what it sounded like. Most of the other mothers of the preschoolers in the class come and help out with the class itself at least once a month, while another of the mothers helps out everyday. Kadee Joy LOVES this mother. And it's easy to see why. This mother is extremely interested in all of the children, very patient, loving, etc... The play party was at her house. I was hoping to get to know some of the others better and show them that I really wasn't a bad mom...just one who had to teach while her child was at preschool.

Now this is where we start our bad day. We drove up to this beautiful house in the middle of a bunch of land with horses, cows, dogs, etc. It was as I said a beautiful house with an immaculate kitchen, living room, you get the idea. I was still excited as I saw a little pool for the kids to play in, the horses close by (which Andrew has a big fixation on), a slip and slide, a whole bunch of friends to play with, beautiful weather...seemed like it would be an awesome experience.

We got out of the car and both Kadee Joy and Andrew high-tailed it for the horses. Kadee Joy kept going back to the horses throughout her time there. She had no fear whatsoever, and kept feeding them hay directly from her hand. What a good girl!

Andrew stayed with the horseys for a little while, and the went into the very cold pool. He was the only kid in there for quite a while, as he was the only one who didn't seem to notice how cold he was (a sensory issue relating to his autism).

Jeffy was miserable. He'd woken up only right before we left, and had puffy eyes, a slight fever, and was pretty lethargic. A better mom might have just canceled the whole trip. I took him anyway and ended up holding him most of the time. He was a very good boy, but definitely not his usual smiley self.

About 30 minutes into our trip, Andrew made the discovery that would result in our early departure from the party. Just last week we'd gone to the Kilchis River in Tillamook where Andrew spent the entire time throwing walks into the water. For some reason, he loves this process.

Well located directly next to the pool was a HUUUUUUUUUUGE pile of rocks. Little rocks, big rocks, and HUUUUUUGE rocks. You see where this is going.

When I say little pool, I mean little. I think that eight preschoolers could fit in it if they all stood up. And as it happened, shortly after Andrew had gotten out of the pool, about four boys got in. Some of them were preschoolers, some of them were in elementary school. Right after they got in, Andrew got his idea. He started with sand...Big handful of sand, dumped right into the pool. This behavior was immediately corrected by both me and the mom at the house. He took this news fairly peaceably, and I went back to pick Jeffy up and try to talk with the other moms.

I didn't last long. About a minute later Andrew was hoisting a huge rock up and running towards the pool. Me shouting his name doesn't do anything normally, but I thought I would try to at least show that I didn't think it was okay for him to put the rock in the pool. Naturally he totally ignored me, and launched the rock into the pool. The boys in there looked down at the rock, and then looked at Andrew like he was a creature from another planet, and then looked at me to see what I was going to do about this child's naughty behavior. I took Andrew by the hand, and said "NO ROCKS!" I then took him to the slip and slide to try and divert his attention. He played on the slip and slide for a minute or two, and I resumed my attempts at socializing.

Again, this did not last. A couple of minutes into his slip and slide experiment, he ran back to the rock pile. This time I managed to intercept him before he got to the pool and bodily forced him to put the rock back. He was not a fan of this and immediately went into tantrum mode, which includes ear piercing shrieks. The whole party stopped to look at Andrew.

This scene repeated itself about 10 times. Andrew just didn't understand why throwing rocks in a pool would be any different from throwing rocks into a river. Many of the moms tried to go up to Andrew and explain why he couldn't throw rocks in the pool. For a child with autism, verbal communication has very little meaning, and including hurting people in the explanation means even less. For children with autism, people generally hold the same position as any other object. The kids in the pool might as well have been trees.

So the tantrums continued until Andrew was completely beside himself. I took him over to the shade and tried to give him some food. The only thing he would take was a cookie, which unfortunately had M&M's in it. He would spit out the M&M's as they were a texture he didn't like. Everything else had textures Andrew refuses to eat at well, so even food was a source of conflict for us.

Finally, after yet another tantrum, I picked up both Andrew and Jeffy and told our hostess that we would be going. She seemed very distraught about this, but I tried to let her know that it was for the best as Andrew was having such a hard time and Jeffy was still feeling sick. I called Kadee Joy at that point to let her know that we were going, and immediately one of the mom's came up and asked where we lived, and let me know that she would take Kadee Joy home when the party was over if it was okay with me. That was very nice. So Kadee Joy got to stay while I packed up a very sick Jeffy and a very angry Andrew. I was shocked to see the only an hour had past since we'd arrived at the party. It had felt like a good two and a half hours.

So we got home, Jeffy immediately went down for what turned into a four hour nap, and Andrew got changed and turned back into his normal, happy self. He easily went down for his nap, and so I got about an hour of rest on the couch, which helped the blinding headache I had developed by that point.

As I lay resting on the couch, several things were coming to my mind and attacking my self-confidence. I looked around my messy house and wondered how the mom at the home we were just at kept everything looking so, well, perfect. My house has NEVER looked that put together. I'm at home all the time now, and my house seems no more organized than it does when I work outside the home full time.

Then I started thinking about my Andrew. I once again worried for his future, wondered how in the world he would be able to be around other kids in a school setting, stewed over what the other mothers were probably saying in my absence. Once again, I had left early, and my daughter was left to someone else's care.

Chris and I had ridiculous fights the few times we saw each other, which naturally makes me feel like a terrible wife. It's not that I think I was wrong in what I was saying, but my tact has never exactly been the best.

I did get to go roaming around Boise with a friend of mine without my kids later in the evening, where I got to spill my guts and get some frustrations out. It was funny because she had called wanting to talk about how to be supportive to her husband in his job frustrations, and that was exactly what I was trying to figure out how to be with Chris. Of course it was God bringing us together in that moment. We prayed together, and then went on our merry way. Of course, the big fight came to a head after we got back. I should have stopped and prayed with Chris before we started what should have just been a conversation. But I didn't. I just plowed through after things started getting a little heated and ended up in tears and silence.

So here I am this morning. Andrew's in the bath after making a mess with his diaper...again. This has been one of his new things, along with stripping down into nothing and coming out of whatever room he was playing in with a big smile on his face. Jeffy is feeling much better and is back to his usual happy self. Kadee Joy is doing pretty well, although a little sunburned from her extended excursion yesterday. And I feel...overwhelmed. Overwhelmed with the house, with Andrew, with the silence that is still ensuing. So I'll go and do what I should have done in the first place...read the Word, pray, and trust that God will bring me through these feelings as consistently as he always has.

"Though nothing can bring back the hour..."

I remember the day my childhood as I knew it left. We got a call early in the morning, and from that point on, I became a person who looked on the period before it as my consistently happy time.

My Poppa was an extraordinary man, at least from what I knew of him at the time and what I have gathered since then. From him I obtained my love of classical music, the ability to sing (this I got from my mother as well), and a legacy of faith. I have no bad memories of him. I remember being excited weeks in advance to go see him and the rest of my dad's extended family. It was a safe place, a place where I belonged, and I disliked living so far away from him.

The call came when I was eight years old. My own dad had been been up visiting Poppa (his dad) for what might have been a few days or a few weeks. My memory fails me on that point. The day before the call, my entire extended family was at Poppa and Grandma's house on the southern Oregon Coast. Everyone except for my siblings and my mom. We were still in California, as school wouldn't be out for another week or two.

The day we got the phone call, I was woken up quite early by my mom. She pulled my siblings and I together and let us know that Poppa had died. He was 57 years old, and had suffered a massive heart attack.

I was only 8, but the impact of his death immediately took shape for me. We had pictures of him all around our house, and I went into hysterics as I realized that the man in those pictures was no longer on earth. I took no cue from adults on how to grieve. I was wrapped up in my own very real and tearing grief. It would not leave me for years.

I don't know why his death affected me so, but I do remember it changing my overall perspective of life. I started to view life much less optimistically, and begin to refer to everything in my life in comparison to the perceived perfection it had been before. I feared my dad reaching the age of 57 and dying. He didn't make it that long, and was taken 10 years before he would have reached it. The day he died was the day my childhood really ended. I still search for the feeling of the safety coming home to Dad gave me.

We went to Tillamook this weekend. The sights and smells of the Oregon coast in the summer always brings back childhood memories. It was strange to see my daughter experiencing the same things I did. I sometimes still feel so much like that child I used to be, and long for the freedom to roam the forests, pick wild berries, make shelter in houses of ferns and trees, and make daisy rings for my hair. I remember the stories I would create as I looked up into the dark woods, imagining myself a princess some days and an explorer the next. I remember tromping through swamps with my cousins, pretending to be on our own, looking for various treasures and making plans for the future.

But reality comes crashing back to me as I run after Andrew, go wading with Kadee Joy, try to keep Jeffy from digesting a rock or piece of bark. And I don't mind it. I enjoy the fact that I can create a safe world for my children, that I can open up doors for them into new worlds, both imagined and real. I relish the fact that my husband and I are in a place in our relationship where we can be examples of how to love and be loved. I look forward to today, and to the days ahead.

I remember hearing the quote from Wordsworth for the first time, and the immediate connection it created for me.

"What though the radiance which was once so bright be now forever taken from my sight. Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendour in the grass, glory in the flower. We will grieve not, but rather find strength in what remains behind."

The second part of the quote took me years to come to terms with. I grieved for the past long and hard. Finding strength in what remained was too difficult. I couldn't find strength in it. I wanted the past back. I wanted my dad back. I wanted my Poppa back. I wanted my childhood back.

But now I have finally reached a place where I am not just okay with being a wife and a mother. I actually enjoy it.

I think that there are people who quickly put behind their grief and chase after new dreams. For better or for worse, I am not one of those people. I hold on to the ideals of my childhood, and bury them after many, many battles with reality. Tromping through the forest and dreaming of fairy tales is not possible in the life I live...and would cause me to miss the many joys that each day brings me in the reality of my life.

Home has been an ever evolving place in my life. Home has ceased being the house of my parents. It is ever more closely resembling the place I live now. It is detached from the past, and knit tightly in the present. I don't know what the future holds, but I know that the past can no longer be where I choose to cling to.

So I head into the morning trying to not just find strength in what remains behind, but to find joy in it as well. It will not be the unfettered joy of childhood, with its' ideals and soft landing places, but it will be a joy of sorts that cannot be taken away by winds that blow both now in the present and the storms that will come in the future.

Jeffy, Jeffy, Jeffy

My third pregnancy was neither planned nor welcome. We found out that we were pregnant with Jeff just one short year after we'd had Andrew. Chris and I were both extremely unhappy and dissatisfied in our marriage. Another child seemed more like a punishment than a blessing.

I was in the midst of what was at the time an undiagnosed case of depression. My morning sickness hit hard, and it hit early. Alone at home often, and with two kids who seemed to love eggs above any other food, I could not keep my own food down, and with that added to my depression, I quickly started losing weight. If you know me, you know that losing weight is never a good idea. Losing weight when you have a human being inside you needing nourishment just shouts disaster.

Once our marriage hit the crisis point, my weight loss got more drastic. At just 90 pounds and in a constant state of anxiety which led to being unable to sleep I was an absolute wreck. My doctor saw me at my 8 week appointment and was shocked. She quickly put me on an antidepressant that, as I've written before, very quickly helped me in being interested in food and being able to sleep again.

I have heard people tell me that they wish they didn't have the desire to eat so that they would be able to lose weight. I've also heard doctors say that you know you're really sick when you no longer wish to eat. The second statement was very true for me. It was very scary to be unable to eat or sleep. I had seen both my father and grandfather get to that point shortly before their deaths. While my death was not imminent, the life of my tiny son's certainly was unless something drastic happened immediately. My doctor gave me several immediate goals to ensure the protection of my child's life.

Two weeks later, after a life-changing week at my dad's brother and sister-in-law's house, in which I received wonderful loving, Christ-filled attention which included lots of fresh air, attempts at rest, time to read the Word, and of course many tempting, calorie filled foods, I came back...and still weighed only 90 pounds. But my doctor was pleased that I had at least stopped losing weight. I continued to gain weight slowly, and eventually was able to sleep more than my (at the time) usual 2 hours a night.

Three weeks later, after my marital crisis reached it's lowest and most painful moment, I once again lost 10 pounds, and once again was unable to sleep. I had dear friends come and take care of me and the kids, and I struggled to keep from losing additional weight.

I don't know what would have happened had Christ not stepped in when he did. He restored my marriage, and within a few days restored my ability to eat and to sleep. I returned back to the weight I had been at the beginning of my pregnancy. One week later we went to our first ultrasound where we saw for the first time our miraculously healthy baby boy, kicking and moving normally. I had been praying specifically for our child since I'd first found out we were pregnant. I now changed my prayers to pray specifically for our little boy.

And that was Jeffy. We had initially planned on naming our first boy Jeffrey but as I wrote earlier, Dad's death automatically put that plan on hold. So this boy was to have that name. He has a few different namesakes. Jeff Wilson and Jeff Miller are where the Jeff came from. David was originally part of the name, but had more emphasis on it after my life-changing stay at Uncle David's house. And so Jeffrey David Wirick Tiner was born on my birthday. And what a wonderful gift he has been. He was and is still the tiniest of the Tiner children.

Jeff has never been a boring child. He was born with what the doctors professionally called a "HUMONGOUS" hernia. So he had his first surgery at the ripe old age of 4 months. Right before this surgery it was noted that his forehead had an unusual ridge on it. The ridge became more pronounced as he got older and then he received the official diagnosis of metopic craniosynostosis. He would need fairly extensive skull and brain surgery to correct it. And so at the riper old age of 6 months, he went back under the knife. The whole process felt excruciatingly slow during the time, but now seems to have raced by. The outpouring of prayer and love that was placed on this little boy was phenomenal.

I always tell people that it only took $60,000 of plastic surgery for Jeffy to be as handsome as he is now. But he really is a handsome boy, full of smiles and giggle, and is by far the most ticklish child I have ever met. He's still a little behind on the crawling game as he was not allowed to be on his stomach for the first 2-3 months after his surgery. However, he's way advanced in the flirt game. I'm pretty sure most of the women in my church have a big crush on him.

I have no doubt that God has big plans for this little boy. He has been through quite a bit in his short life, and death has lurked around the corner in several instances. But God is faithful, has brought him into this life with gusto and blessing. I cannot imagine our life without him. Again, I am so grateful that God knows us better than we know ourselves, and even when we think we have the best plan of "timing", he uses our doubts and fears for his glory.

Thank you Lord for our Jeffy.