So, first, I’m just going to say it.  And then we can process it in a minute.

The Pope kissed my kid.  Like, the Pope Pope.  Pope Francis.  The most beloved Pope I can remember.  Pope Francis kissed my baby.  And then asked how old she was.  And then gave us a big smile.

You want photos?  Glad you asked.

I truly feel that all my time training as a photographer was for this moment.  I kid you not.  It was all in preparation for Adelaide to get kissed by the Pope.  But not any Pope.  THIS Pope.

Because I don’t care who you are or what your faith is- Pope Francis is an incredible man.  He’s humble, he’s loving, he is a true servant.  He’s everything a leader should be.  Not just a religious leader- a world leader.

And being there at that general audience, handing my baby girl over to a guard to present to the Pope, watching him kiss her and take an extra interest in her- it was the second most emotional experience of Adelaide’s life- the first, of course, being her birth.  I got her back in my arms, and I was a shaking, crying fool.  I was a complete emotional basket case.  I was so filled with pure joy, there was just no way to express it.

The beautiful women that were sitting near us- we were surrounded by fantastic women- women who loved Adelaide (they called her Adelina), who couldn’t stop cooing at her, calling her beautiful, and smiling at us.  Women who shared their stories, who came from all over Italy, who crossed the seemingly insurmountable language barrier to include us in the morning’s festivities- those beautiful TRULY BEAUTIFUL women, shared in our joy, which made it all the better.

After the high of Adelaide’s blessing, the rest of the general audience was also fantastic.  Pope Francis spoke about how dangerous it is to live in a society that values money over human and environmental welfare.  He said it’s horrible that a person dying on a doorstep doesn’t make news, but people are terrified when the stock market dips 10 points.  He called for us to stop wasting the creation we were given to protect- not exploit.  Loved it.

And then he gave a shout out to special people in the audience- including members of a Muslim Association he’s having theological discussions with (which I have since learned were started by Pope Benedict XVI).

He also specially welcomed a group of seminarians from Poland, who, in response to his welcome, sang him an impromptu song.  Now these men, who were over 100 strong, were not near microphones.  They weren’t particularly near the Pope.  I wonder if the Pope could even hear them very well.  I’m sure the Pope is very busy, and the general audience was already running quite long.  But Pope Francis patiently waited with a smile on his face as these men sang him their tribute.  I’m tearing up thinking about it.  It was a lesson for me to take time to acknowledge and appreciate gratitude- especially from my kids- in whatever form people choose to offer it.

Seriously, the whole general audience was amazing.  Really, more than amazing.  But words fail me.

When the general audience was over, we headed back to our flat to relax a bit, unwind, and think.  And think and think and think.

What did the morning mean?  What was it?  Why was it so special?

I am not Catholic.  I was raised Lutheran and now attend an Anglican church.  So, technically, the Pope is not my religious leader.  And while I completely respect Catholic beliefs, I don’t necessarily hold them.  So, why?  Why was this more special than anything else I could imagine?

I ran through it in my head.  I ran through all the world leaders I respect.  Would I feel the same if Hillary Clinton had kissed Ade?  No.  Obama?  No.  Bono?  No.

But why not??!

After much deliberation, I think I’ve arrived at this conclusion- it was the joy.  The near euphoria of the whole morning.  People were SO JOYFUL to be there.  They were so SO JOYFUL to be Catholic.  There was a priest there with cowbells around his neck, so he could cheer on the Pope as loudly and joyfully as possible.

And HE was joyful.  That’s it.  The Pope RADIATED joy.  You could tell that this part- meeting the people, blessing children, speaking to the Church- these weren’t chores to drudge through.  He LOVED this.  He LOVES serving his congregation.  He LOVES serving the church.  He’s FULL of joy.

I realized it’d been a long time since I’d been around that sort of joy.  And it was as if everyone’s joy around me- the Pope’s joy especially- was transferred to me.  His example of joyful servitude was so strong and so poignant and so needed.  Because what is a mother if not a servant?  I serve my kids to the best of my ability, but I don’t always do it joyfully or patiently.  I don’t always take the time to accept their hugs and kisses with the regard that I should.  But the Pope- THE MOST IMPORTANT RELIGIOUS LEADER IN THE WORLD- took time to kiss MY BABY GIRL.  To bless her. To ask about her.  And he didn’t do it rolling his eyes or sighing or looking at his watch or checking Facebook.  He did it with the most beautiful, joyful smile upon his face.

It was the joy.

And every time I look at this photo, I will remember that joy.  I will remember his example of joy.

]]> http://www.pikkuarkki.com/blog/adelina/feed/ 4 http://www.pikkuarkki.com/blog/months/ http://www.pikkuarkki.com/blog/months/#comments Sun, 02 Jun 2013 20:23:19 +0000 sarah http://www.pikkuarkki.com/blog/?p=4807 And this month, I feel like it’s more, “She’s ONLY three months old?!  How have I ever lived without her?”  She’s just such a special addition to my life.

The interrupted sleep is starting to take its toll on me.  I’m pretty much exhausted all the time.  But I’m just so happy to be with her that it’s okay.

Her smiles are amazing and plentiful.  She’s seriously the most smiley kid ever.

She’s a PRO at lifting her head- strongest neck on the planet.  Her neuvola nurse was mighty impressed.

She’s settled herself into a somewhat normal sleep schedule.

And her new trick is lifting her shirt above her head.  Looks like I’ve got to teach her modesty…

Happy Birthday, Ade.  Three months is no small achievement.

So, the first one is Henry.  The bottom 2 are Ade.  Do me a favor and cover their mouths and then compare.  Seriously.  The exact. same. child.

I was pushing Ade in the stroller the other day, and I couldn’t see her mouth, because of the blanket.  It was SHOCKING.  I could have sworn I was pushing my middle child.

Often, I don’t think they look alike.  I mean, there are people at church calling Ade Henrietta because they think they look so similar.  And, when I look objectively, of course I can see it.

But NORMALLY I see Ade.   I don’t just see her eyes and her nose and her mouth.  I see HER.  I see her sweetness, her inner happy glow.  And when I look at Henry, I see HIM.  I see the glint in his eye, I see his killer dance moves, I see his willful spirit.  I might liken it to a mother with identical twins.  SHE can tell them apart in a split second.

Because that is essentially what I am.  A mother of identical twins.  Who just happen to be born two years apart and of different sexes.  But identical twins nonetheless.

Perfect travel companions:  Check

Plenty of kids to play with my perfect travel companions:  Check

People willing to entertain ALL THOSE KIDS:  Check

Time in castles:  Check

Incredible scenic views of pristine English countryside:  Check

Bows and arrows:  Check

(Please note the look of ABSOLUTE PRIDE on Henry’s face.  I assure you, it was mirrored on my own.)

Trips through quaint villages- the kind with thatched roofs, and names for cottages instead of numbered addresses.  The kind that have a boat club and a local Bentley dealer.  The kind with sheep in backyards and pubs down the road:  Check

Food- spicy Indian curries, pizza, burgers, scones with butter, jam, and clotted cream, fish ‘n chips, crumpets:  Check (If you are what you eat, then my kids are walking PB&J sandwiches, and I’m fat.  I’m a walking stick of fat.)

Classic red phone booths:  Check

Good conversation with great friends:  Half check- there’s never enough time to see and talk to all the great people we’ve met in England along the way.  Never ever enough time.

Last weekend, we headed to England to commemorate our 10th anniversary of studying abroad.  10 years ago, Olli and I met amongst a group of fantastic friends.  10 years ago changed my life forever.

]]> http://www.pikkuarkki.com/blog/england/feed/ 2 http://www.pikkuarkki.com/blog/american-mother/ http://www.pikkuarkki.com/blog/american-mother/#comments Tue, 14 May 2013 18:56:26 +0000 sarah http://www.pikkuarkki.com/blog/?p=4772 Olli had better be careful, because each year the bar for Mothers’ Day Awesomeness gets raised a little higher.

Last year was our awesome trip to Linnanmäki.  This year, we got tickets to the USA v. Germany World Cup hockey game.

We got DECKED OUT for the occasion- America shirts, red hats, Ade was dressed head to toe in American flag coveralls.  We even made signs.  Our goal was to make it to international television so my parents could see us back in Arizona.

Well, the bad news is we didn’t make it on TV.  But that’s because our seats were in the FOURTH ROW!!  You guys, we paid 10 bucks for these tickets.  I was expecting the nosebleeds.  In fact, I’ve never been to a professional sporting event and sat on the main floor, much less in the third row!!  It was awesome!  We were too low for the cameras to capture us, but super close to the action.  An acceptable trade off.

Plus!  The security guard gave Henry a puck!  Which is super awesome!  It’ll go in a case next to the baseball Benjy got at his first baseball game.  Do you reckon someone will give us a free basketball at their first pro basketball game?  Are there display cases big enough for basketballs?

The boys eagerly dove into their new coloring gifts- at first using them to draw normally.  Benjy colored in a beautiful bird and Henry drew three “bears.”  And, yes, by bears I mean straight brown lines.

But then, as often happens with children, the box became far more interesting than the new toy.  Henry started it- making a claw out of the box and crayons.  Benjy soon followed suit, using the boxes as forearm shields in his suit of armor.

At what age does this end?  When does a box simply remain a box?  I fear that day.  I loathe it.

They’re anecdotal.  They’re witty. They’re cynical.

They’re really cynical.  They’re really, really cynical.

They’re nitty-gritty, in your face, isn’t parenthood just so damn hard, go away and leave me alone for AT LEAST FIVE MINUTES before I go totally mental, please pass the wine, and chocolate.  Cynical.

The antithesis of Leave it to Beaver.  The opposite of The Cosby Show.

And I get it.  I really, really understand.  Parenthood isn’t all cuddles and snuggles- it’s long hours, it’s constant negotiation, it’s frustration and boredom and isolation at times.

But it’s also really great.  Like, really, really great.  The greatest privilege I’ll ever have.

I feel like the trend nowadays is to one-up each other with the horror stories of parenting.  To commiserate about how much work we do without anyone appreciating it.

Yes, I’ve cleaned the kitchen three times today.  No, no one noticed.  And, yes, it’s tiresome, but PARENTHOOD IS STILL A PRIVILEGE.

And this Mothers’ Day, I just want to appreciate it.  I’m ready for an awesome day with my kids, eating unhealthy food, while watching America crush Germany in the ice hockey World Cup.

Tomorrow I will most likely change diapers, fold laundry, keep the boys from killing each other, make dinner, supervise bath time, read bedtime stories, and persuade (beg, cajole, threaten…) Henry to go sleep (please?  PLEASE stay in bed- I’ll take away your tutti- I swear I will.  Last chance…!)- but I hope I can do it with an extra dose of gratitude.

Tomorrow, instead of asking to be celebrated, I will celebrate the reasons I’m able to call myself a mother: the three best kids I could ask for.

Last week, Benjy started on his first ever soccer team.

And, really, he’s been preparing for this moment since birth.  He’s the most enthusiastic soccer player on that field, let me tell you.

Case(s) in point:

Last time Olli went away on business, he brought shin guards and soccer socks for the boys as gifts.  Benjy wore them to bed.  He wore them to daycare.  He wore them to church.  He wears them ALL THE TIME.

He’ll go up to random kids at the park- kids who are 2 or 3 or maybe 4 years older than him and ask to join in their game of soccer.  I’m so impressed with how brave he is, approaching new people all the time, undeterred if they don’t pass him the ball or include him.  He’ll run and run and run, and play his heart out.

I distinctly remember he was just over 2 years old, we were at a friend’s house for Thanksgiving, and chaos abounded.  Kids everywhere, food everywhere, toys everywhere.  But Benjy sat perfectly still, enthralled, watching a game of soccer on TV.

So, when he got to play his first REAL bit of soccer, he was STOKED.

They warmed up with a game of tag- running back and forth between goals.  The more kids that were tagged, the more that became “it” until everyone was “it.”  So, the kids are running helter skelter when Benjy trips and goes down hard.  And THIS is why Benjy entering soccer is also a journey for me.  I wanted to pick him up and dust him off.  At the very least, I wanted to shout, “It’s alright, Benjy!  You’re okay!”  But of course, I didn’t.  I sat on the sidelines while he picked himself up, dusted himself off, and kept running until he was safe.  It’s about letting go.  And I’ll do my very best.

Of course, since Olli was there as the Finnish-speaking parent, and I was there as the unofficial photographer, it meant ALL of our kids had to be there.  Ade, of course, was content being strapped to my torso, but Henry.  Oh, poor Henry.  He was NOT okay on the sidelines.

So, we found an empty net and borrowed a kid’s ball to keep him occupied.

Another mom at the practice said she had to put her second kid in a year early, because he’d been stuck watching his brother’s practice and couldn’t wait any longer.  I see her point.  This week we just kept Henry home with me, while Benjy went to the practice.  While Benjy made a hat trick at his practice.  While Benjy eagerly and intently followed every single direction uttered by his coaches.

I can’t wait for his first game.  Ain’t no one going to cheer louder than this soccer mom.

I love LOVE love this child.  Seriously.  If every baby were like her, there’d be a lot more babies in this world.

She sleeps a lot.  She snuggles a lot.  She smiles a lot.

She’s so alert.  She’s already babbling.

She’s my pal.  My constant, constant companion.  And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I am enjoying her so much. So, so much.

And so are the boys.  Benjy will sit with her so she doesn’t cry in the mornings while I get myself ready.  This evening, Henry found her a willing participant as he took his stethoscope and listened to her chest.  Both boys want to look at her and talk to her, both in their own way.  Benjy is quiet and loving, Henry is rough and tumble.

Ade had her first cold this week. It was really unfortunate, because she hasn’t yet learned how to breathe through her mouth. So, all week it’s been a lot of panicked snotty gurgling. Yuck, right?

Anyway, that’s the not the story.

The story is that on her first night of the cold, she had (I think) swallowed so much mucus (YUCK!) that she suddenly and very unexpectedly threw up everything she’d eaten in the past 2 feedings.

Okay, that’s not the story, either. Baby puke isn’t particularly noteworthy.

HERE’S the story.

The story is that Olli and I, three kids in and no stranger to sudden and unexpected bodily functions, were like puke cleaning CHAMPIONS. We, with a very limited amount of speech and absolutely no raised voices or panicked thoughts, were able to clean up ourselves and the couch and get Adelaide undressed and bathed and happy and sleeping in mere MINUTES.
When I think back the first time Benjy projectile vomited all over our bed in the middle of the night, I can see just how far we’ve come. Before, we were squeamish little wimps, afraid of a little blood, sweat, or poo. Now, we’re like highly trained soldiers who have made it through the rigors of baby bootcamp. No, we’ve graduated TOP OF THE CLASS from bootcamp and our superiors are considering sending us into special ops.