Deja Vu

2011 and 2014

Both really good years.

World Cup Fever

Fabio likes to joke that he's only Brazilian every four years for the months of June and July, and in a lot of ways it's true. We love the World Cup at our house! We even signed up for Dish just for the occasion.

Game day Green and Yellow Gaertner Family--

Vai Brasil!!

Jonathan has always been a soccer enthusiast--kicking the ball back and forth between the two little goals in our backyard--but that has only been amplified by our latest TV obsession. Now when he "scores a goal" he runs to us with his hands in the air yelling "GOOOOOOOL" (notice: no "A"; this is on purpose, he yells "goal" with a Brazilian accent). When Fabio is outside with him, he swings Jonathan around in the air as they celebrate together. After he runs around, he falls prostrate on the ground and basks in the glory of his triumphant victory. Then he gets up and kicks the ball across our yard into the other goal and does the same thing.

Yeah. He's been watching a LOT of soccer these days.

Of course, anytime Brazil (or any other team for that matter) scored, he yelled an enthusiastic "GOOOOOOL!" with a lap around the family room .

Jon even has a favorite player: none other than Neymar da Santos Silva Junior (if you aren't as consumed by the World Cup as we have been, you may not know he's the star of Brazil's team). J can be found marching around the grocery store in his Brazil uniform (known in our house as his "Neymar clothes") chanting, "I love Neymar! I love Neymar! I love Neymar!" He even yelled, "Go! Go! Go Neymar! Go!" whenever Neymar had the ball.

And so naturally, Neymar's injury also left a big impression. "Neymar's hurt, mommy? He needs a check up? Why is Neymar crying? He can't play any more? His mommy won't let him?" To the point that he told the poor girl cutting his hair all about it the next day. "Neymar played soccer and he was SO GOOD. And he got hurt by the other guy, and he needed a check-up, and the doctor said he can't play soccer today, and he had to go in a helicopter to the hospital. So he can't play anymore."

After 4 minutes of this narrative, she looked at me and mouthed, "Who's Neymar?" Because, you know, we live in Wisconsin, not Rio.

Ben doesn't talk about it as much, but he's obviously a big Brasil fan also.

And did I mention that Vovo was in town to help with B for the last week of the Cup, and so we also enjoyed her glorious rice, lentils, creme de milho, and kibi for the week--further immersing ourselves in all things Brazil?

"GOOOOOOL"

So even though more than 60 games in less than 30 days might not have ended the way we would have hoped (Brazil was eliminated in awful fashion in the semi-finals), we still had a lot fun--and we can hardly wait for June 2018 when we'll become completely consumed by our Brazilian side once more.

B already has big plans for his 4th birthday.

The Tomato

Jonathan has a new friend, "the Tomato."

He wakes up, climbs into our bed, and tells us about their escapades.

"I was outside and the Tomato was so sad, because he wanted to play in the water with me, but he couldn't and he was sad and SCARY. And then I said, 'Aww, Tomato don't be sad. I'll make you a snow cone!' So he wasn't sad any more and the snow cone was blue. And he wasn't scary. And we went to the store to see the toys. And we saw the BIG. RED. FIRETRUCKS! And we said, 'Can we pay for it?' But Dap said, "No." So we didn't get it. Then the Tomato found a train and Dap said, 'Yes!' So he got us the train. It was pretty cool."

The Tomato comes up other times, too.

Me: "Jonathan, come eat breakfast."

Jon: "Nope. The Tomato and I already ate breakfast."

Me: "You did?"

Jon: "YES!"

Me: "What did you eat?"

Jon: "I don't know. Well... we ate some cereal. And some toast. And something else. And the Tomato said, 'No! You please don't eat me, please?' And I just took a little bite. We don't bite our friends, Mommy? Then we went to see the firetruck."

Me: "Oh. Did the firetruck eat breakfast, too?"

Jon: (incredulously) "No. It's a firetruck."

Sometimes he plays nice.

"The tomato says, 'Can I play with your bulldozer?' Yes. You can. We can take turns. My socks are wet!"

Sometimes he doesn't.

"NO! TOMATO! You please stop doing that!!!"

But they always make up.

"The tomato doesn't want me to put on my diaper. So I won't. Okay.”

Because, you know, some kids have imaginary friends, others have imaginary pets, but not Jon.

Jon has an imaginary vegetable.

Two Weeks of Memories

Benjamin was two weeks old yesterday, but it feels like he's been a part of our family forever. And as time slips by faster and faster, there are just a few things I hope to always remember about these two weeks.

My perfect, darling, brown-eyed Benjamin

1. The easiest labor ever, and the breathless love that immediately followed. I honestly don't know how it happened--other than divine intervention--but Benjamin was the easiest delivery I've personally experienced or ever heard of from anyone else. They started the Pitocin at 10 pm (seemingly weird--it was scheduled for 11:30 am but I got bumped by women who were actually in labor). The contractions started to hurt at 2-sih so I asked for an epidural, and Fabio and I slept until 6, when I told the nurse I felt like I should push. She checked, was shocked to see I was dilated to a "10". She told me I could start pushing and when the baby was close she'd get the doctor. I pushed once and she exclaimed, "Woh, woh, woh! Stop pushing! DON'T PUSH! I'll go get the doctor."

Fabio and I looked at each other in total surprise. He shrugged and said, "Well, he has dark hair."

In less than a minute the doctor and residence were in our room and setting up. When they were ready, they told me to "go ahead and push." I did. Three times. And Ben was in my arms.

Maybe because it was such short and sweet work, I felt good enough to really be swept off my feet by such a perfect little miracle. It felt like he belonged with us, like we'd been missing him and not knowing it. There he was, tiny fingernails, toes, heart, even eyelashes, all in my arms for me to love and care for. I have no idea what anyone in that room did or said after that because I was so completely, utterly, and wholly smitten with 8 lbs and 10 ozs of Benjamin.

2. The moment Ben and Jon met. After a nap for Ben, Fabio, and I, my parents brought Jonathan to the hospital. I had agonized over that moment, reading articles and asking friends for advice about how to begin fostering a loving relationship between brothers while still helping the oldest feel loved. We read books together, we prayed together for Ben, we visited friends with new babies. And so when the moment of truth came, I was excited and nervous and curious...

But no need to be. Jonathan gave Fabio and I a big hug and asked, "Where's Ben?" Fabio picked B up out of the bassinet and crouched down so Jon could see. Jonathan took B's hand, smiled, and said, "Hi, Ben." Ben stretched, Jon's face lit up, he turned to me and laughed, "Mommy! He's so cute!" 

And he's adored this baby ever since.

(The picture I developed and laminated for Jonathan. 

He now takes it everywhere to show everyone.

The grocery store, church, his sports class... everyone.

"It's Ben and Jon," he says.)

In keeping with Gaertner family tradition, Ben and Jon exchanged gifts when they met. Jonathan picked out a stuffed green elephant for B, and he gave Jon a little red wooden ambulance. J loves it, and it is, and will forever be, known as "my amuuulance from Ben."

Jon checks on Ben when he cries, and at random times when he's sleeping. He brings Ben toys to play with, holds his hand, tells his friends about him. He even insisted on coming to Ben's first doctor visit and going into the exam room with us because he was worried Ben had to get a shot. When B cries, Jon comes to him and says, "Oh Ben, why are you crying? You don't need to worry. I'll help you."

They are brothers, and Jon loves it.

3. Bringing Ben home from the hospital. We loaded the boys into the back of our now-full car, and immediately Ben began to cry. Understandable. "What?!? For the first time in my life no one is holding me and to add insult to injury I'm strapped down???"

We drove for a few minutes with a sad Benjamin, then Jon said, "Mommy, Ben's so sad. Can we help him?" I told him babies like it when you sing to them, and Jonathan immediately began to sing, "I am a Child of God." He hadn't finished the first line when Ben stopped crying, and before the song was over he was asleep. Fabio took my hand, we exchanged "our life is perfect and awesome at this moment" looks, and spent the rest of the drive listening to Jonathan spot and comment on every construction machine and airplane we passed.

Until we could see the hill our house is on, at which point Jonathan said, "Look Ben! There's our house. That's where you're going to live. We made your room blue. It was green, but now it's blue. We have lots of toys. You can play with my firetruck, and my airplanes, and my aircraft carrier, and my esssavator, and my buldozer."

4. The perfect baby. Ben is easy--crazy easy. He falls asleep just being held, and stays asleep when you put him down, wherever that may be. He sleeps through the tantrums and laughter and silliness of his brother. He takes a room-temperature bottle, and never complains. He burps without fussing. He didn't cry at all for his first bath--just laid there and enjoyed the warm water. 

He sleeps for 3-4 hours, and goes right back down at night.  When he wakes up, he doesn't really cry. It's more like a little squeak/grunt as if he's saying, "Umm... excuse me Mom, but when you have a minute, I'm a bit hungry." To the point that sometimes I have a hard time falling asleep because I'm worried I won't wake up when he does.

5. He looks like his dad, and everyone thinks so--except Fabio. Everywhere we go, and every picture we send, people comment, "He looks just like his dad!" The doctor, aunts and cousins, neighbors, even strangers... the only person who can't see it is Fabio. He's convinced Ben is Jonathan (who is a Katie baby through and through) with brown eyes. Yes, there are a lot of similarities between Ben and Jon...

But seriously... look at these two!

6. Feeling rich at 5:50 AM. The other day, as I sat in my big fluffy chair in the early morning burping Ben, Jonathan woke up and stumbled sleepily into the nursery. "Mommy, can I snuggle too?" he asked.  And so of course I pulled him up with my one free arm, and rocked them both back to sleep.

I couldn't help but think of what Cornelia Africana supposedly said about her two boys, that "these are my jewels." I felt so blessed, so full, so content, so... rich, as my arms were full of the most precious "possessions" they possibly could be.

Thank goodness my sweet mom woke up a few minutes later to document the cuteness.

7. Being alone with Benjamin. It doesn't happen that often, as one might have guessed, but in those moments when I'm alone with Ben I can truly and fully enjoy his tiny soul and growing personality. He is so sweet, so bright-eyed, so dear. I laugh with delight at his itty-bitty yawns and sneezes, I talk to him about whatever comes to mind, and I sit in awe as I really, deeply, feel and sense his worth--as a human, a son, and on a more spiritual level a Son of God. There is a certain sacred reverence in his nursery at 3 in the morning, and I can feel something whisper to me, "You cannot comprehend how special this little boy his, and how much I have trusted you in sending him to you. He is precious because he is Mine."

Benjamin

On

June 9, 2014

at 6:23 am

our little Benjamin

joined our team.

At

8 lbs 10 ozs and 20 inches long

he has almost-black hair

navy blue eyes

and his brother's nose and mouth.

We are completely, utterly, overwhelmingly in love with our perfectly healthy Baby Ben.

The Boys' Rooms

Our baby will be here any day now!

My nesting started early--before we knew we were having a boy--so I started with Jonathan's room. As mentioned in my last post, it's no secret that J loves airplanes. He identifies the kind of airplane flying over him in the sky, he wakes up in the morning talking about the weather that day and how it will affect air traffic, and he makes anything he can get his hands on into an airplane... even the specials menu at Culver's takes off, lands, and flies around in "corkscrews" and "falling leaves" (actual terms for air show stunts).

So it wasn't really hard to pick a theme for his room.

Between some vintage airplane prints from Etsy and a wooden model plane hanging over his bed... it quickly became a very Jonathan room. And I'm so pleased with how it turned out! This is a big deal because decorating is not one of my natural gifts. I have to invest a lot of time, self-doubt, tears, and nail holes before I have something I'm happy with, and even then it's not a guarantee.

But more importantly, he loves how it turned out. He calls it the "airplane room," and still months later walks in and exclaims, "Woh! Yook at all dese airpwanes!" Such a happy little boy!

Then, when baby was definitely a boy, I could finally work on that baby room! And the first step was painting over the lime green... eesh.

Fabio was a great sport to take on the project (we are not at all DIY-ers), and it turned out really great! Is it sad we were both genuinely surprised by that? Again, decorating and DIY are not natural gifts for us, so to have two projects turn out AND with Fabio and I still liking each other after they're over is pretty awesome. (Never mind the 20+ brushes with death Jonathan had during the day and a half we painted and assembled furniture--from climbing the ladder with a screwdriver to eating styrofoam packaging, "cherries" in his words. Yikes! 2-year-olds are busy folks.)

At any rate, the ending was happy and my nesting was satisfied--for a few days. Then I moved on to another project. This little guy better hurry up and make his appearance because who knows how long a lucky streak like this can last?!?

Come on, baby--we are so anxious to meet you! (And Jonathan wants to show you his airplane room.)

2 and a Half

Dear Jon,

Oh, how I love you, little one!

You are funny, smart, sweet, careful, obedient, happy, and passionate. You continue to evolve from toddler to little boy as you grow taller and leaner, run with confidence, get your own straws from the kitchen, and open your own fruit snacks.

The weather has changed from winter to summer, with a brief brush with spring, and now you live to run outside--buying lemonade from our neighbor boy's lemonade stand, kicking your little soccer ball with your dad, blowing the seeds off dandelions, throwing rocks you find in the garden, chasing robins, and sitting on the back steps with me watching for airplanes that fly by.

Your favorite books these days are Goodnight, Goodnight, Construction Site, everything Pete the Cat, There's a Monster at the End of This Book, and Aces.

Aces is a book Dap (grandpa) gave to you. It's not a kids book, it's your great-grandpa's book about ace pilots from World War II and their planes. You flip through the black and white pages and tell me all about the "heroes" and their airplanes, several of which you can easily identify as "the Spitfighter,""Corsair," and so on.

You love, love, love airplanes. And we love that you love airplanes! You spend hours lining up your jet fighters, your "rescue helicopters," and your prop planes at the airports and aircraft carriers you make out of wooden blocks and pieces of cardboard. I'm amazed as I listen to you clear them for take-off and landing, give them rescue orders, and perfectly imitate the sounds of their different engines. You build different models of airplanes out of your wooden blocks. You ask to watch documentaries about airplanes and helicopters as if they were the newest Disney movie. And your go-to conversation starter with pretty much anyone is either, "Helicopters are pretty cool, aren't they?" or "Airplanes take off on the runway, and jet fighters have two jet engines."

Like I said: you're passionate.

You're growing to be more independent: you play by yourself longer, you trot into your Sunday nursery class with a smile on your face, you actually tell us when you're hungry or when you need a new diaper, you walk pretty much everywhere sans stroller, you own the playgrounds without needing a spotter, you put away your own dirty laundry, and you even "read" to yourself--reciting word for word one of your favorite books as you turn the pages. You have them so perfectly memorized, more so than I do, and often after reading just two or three times, that sometimes I actually have to take a minute and wonder, "Wait, can you actually read?" until I remind myself that you're two and you have a spooky-good memory.

You are getting to the age that you love, love, love your dad. He is the funniest, strongest, biggest guy you know, and you live to play basketball with him or chase him around the house and yard. You can hear the garage door from almost anywhere in the house, and when you do, you gasp, drop whatever you're doing, exclaim under your breath "Daddy's home!!" and run to the door to greet him and then the two of you go to the mailbox to get the mail together. Quite the thrill. But deep down, when it comes to sympathy when you "hurt the head," or "hurt the knee," or when you're tired or snuggly--you're still a world-class momma's boy and I wouldn't have it any other way!

You are my little friend, assistant and shadow everywhere I go--accompanying me to "Costco for snacks," Target, cleaning the house, making church visits, and more recently, the doctor's office. Lots and lots of doctor visits. You sit patiently next to me as they take my blood pressure, and when the nurse leaves you tell me, "Now we wait for Dr. Waters. He might take a minute because he's helping other mommies first."

You play doctor with your bear, wrapping his injuries with painter's tape, but most often you find the "baby's heart" by rubbing a stick around on bear's tummy, then suddenly stopping and making a sound just like baby brother's heartbeat on the ultrasound. Wearing a stethoscope and pajamas the entire time, of course!

You like to tell us "Baby Story," which is, "Dr. Waters says to Mommy, 'Okay Mommy, time to push!' And then baby comes to the hospital. And then we take him home to Mommy and Daddy's house."

You speak really, really well. People usually think you're a little three- (sometimes even four-) year-old because you know so many words, and you say them so well. At your 2.5 year check-up, the doctor started to ask me about your oral development when you told her that your toy airplane "was ready to take off from the aircraft carrier for a rescue mission." Your doctor just looked at me in surprise, laughed, and said, "Well, never mind. That answers that. How's he eating?"

Like your dad, you are a master negotiator: up-selling from "just one cookie," to "how about two cookies," to "five cookies," to "maybe eweben cookies?" Or suggesting "just one more Jon show."

But as you grow bigger and more grown-up, you continue to be the sweetest little guy. Playmates take away a toy while you're playing with it and you just shrug and find another toy. You are happy to help me with the laundry, with dinner, or "cleaning." If I ask you to clean up your toys for nap time, you say something like, "I don't want to, but... umm, okay." And then you clean up your toys. When you do disobey, you cry from your time out chair, "I want to say sorry and try again! I want to choose the right! Please? Can I choose the right?" You are quick to say sorry when you bump into someone, or something. You love to pray, and always thank Heavenly Father for your brother (and for the missionaries to find more bread to eat... they came to our house for dinner a couple months ago and ate over a dozen breadsticks each, you must have thought they were starving because it left quite the impression on you!).

And much to my relief, you are still a snuggle-bug. You nuzzle into the crook of my arm to read books, you climb up on my lap when you first wake up and rest your head on my shoulder for five or more minutes while you clear the cobwebs, more often than not your crises can be fixed with a long hug, and you've been so patient as my lap has slowly disappeared. You've adapted--and now you use my belly as a pillow to rest on as I run my fingers thru the hair in the cow-lick at the nape of your neck, slowly drifting off to sleep.

You are a dear. I love you more than words can say, and you bring me more joy than I ever could have expected or asked for. You are my shadow, my side-kick, my refining fire, my mirror, and my darling little friend. I am so lucky to spend my days with you by my side.

May you ever stay so sweet, loving, funny, and determined.

Love,

Your Mommy