being lazy

On Saturday morning Sam took the boys out to run a few errands, leaving me at home with Caia. After he left, I looked around the house and realized that there wasn't anything that urgently needed my attention. I had vacuumed and mopped and scrubbed the day before. The breakfast dishes were clean and the house was generally picked up. So I sat down on the floor in front of the couch, so that Caia could use me as her own personally jungle gym, and turned on the tv. I pushed aside the nagging voices that told me I should organize someone's winter clothes or clean out the toy bin in the family room. I ignored the voice that told me that Sam would think less of me if he came home and found me watching tv. I looked back at the previous week and a half that had been filled with sick kids and a sick husband and day after day of being in the house, and I gave myself permission to do nothing. It was the most unproductive day I have had in a long time, if you don't count last Saturday when all five of us were sick. I even convinced Sam to order pizza for dinner.
And guess what? The world didn't spin off its axis. My house did not come crashing down around me. My family survived and I woke up the next day and slipped back into my normal routine. Maybe a lazy day is called for every once in a while. A day to lessen the intensity of every day life and just be.

photo from: bakersfieldmom.com

oldie but a goodie

One morning last week, Tru was having a rough time. I had sent him upstairs to get dressed for the day and he came back down completely naked except for one sock that was only half-way on. I told him that I would help him with his socks once he was dressed but he had it in his head that his socks needed to be on first. It became a battle of the wills. I remained calm while he screamed and cried and hit me.
It just so happened that I was on the phone with my mom while this whole thing was taking place. It isn't easy to have a phone conversation while your child clings to you sobbing about his socks. And while I was telling him again that he couldn't hit me, my mom said, "Brooke, why don't you strap him into his chair?"
I haven't strapped Truett into one of the booster seats in months and months. The only reason we still even have them on is because our chairs have fabric seats and we don't want the boys sitting on them until they're about 16. It hadn't even crossed my mind in the longest time to use it for discipline, but I thought, "why not" and picked him up. As soon as he realized where we were going the screams changed. Now instead of screaming about his socks he started screaming, "Don't put me in the chair naked! I'm naked! No! I'm so cold Mommy!"
Since that morning I've pulled the chair out several times and it has been effective. I put him in the hallway where he can't reach anything and where he can't see anyone and then I wait for him to stop yelling. Sometimes it takes a while but he gets there eventually and then we have a calm, short discussion about what he did to be put in the chair, what he can do next time instead, and what he needs to do to make it okay.
So thank you Mom for the suggestion of pulling out an old discipline method and thank you to the makers of my little booster seat. You have given me a new level of sanity.

the day after Christmas

Twas the day after Christmas and all through the rooms

children ran about with great zips and great zooms.

The stockings were still hanging on the mantel because

cleaning up quickly isn't what Mommy does.

 

The children woke early from their snug little beds,

with visions of new toys dancing in their heads.

And I in my yoga pants, hair all a mess

laid out their clothes and helped them to dress.

 

We stumbled downstairs to begin the day

And opening the cupboards found with much dismay,

That I had been lax on my last grocery store trip

and our cereal supply had taken a dip.

 

We made do and breakfast was eaten quick as a wink

And the boys were off playing before I could blink.

I took a moment to appreciate the gift of new toys

and the way that they occupy busy, restless boys.

 

No cries today of "I'm bored" or "What can I do."

Instead, I just dealt with "I want to play with that too."

We talked about sharing and trying to be kind

and that greatly lessened the cries of "That's mine!"

 

So thank you to Santa for visiting our place

and bringing such a huge smile to my face,

for while Christmas itself can sometimes be taxing

the day after can be somewhat relaxing.

 

 

 

 

photo from: 123rf.com

 

 

 

May your day be filled with love, joy and peace.

 

Merry Christmas!!!

photo from: bestclipartblog.com

not happening

I have a sick kid and sick husband. I have nothing to give to this blog tonight. All of my energy and focus and brain power has already been sucked out of me. I am just barely hanging on, praying for the end of this day and praying that tomorrow dawns with everyone feeling better. And if not, that God gives me an extra dose of energy and sanity and patience and love and basically everything so that I can make it through without going off the deep end.

a beautiful glimpse

Truett is feeling under the weather today and while I hate for any of my children to be ill, it has been a blessing in an odd sort of way. As we were making our way downstairs for breakfast, Tru suddenly got sick. I hurried downstairs to put Caia into her play area and then back upstairs to clean Tru up. I put Tru in the bathtub and then started scrubbing half-digested banana out of the carpet (yes, it was as gross as it sounds).
Jem, who was standing at the bottom of the stairs watching me, said, "Would you like some help with that Mommy?" My kid asked if he could help me scrub vomit out of the carpet. I thanked him for his offer and assured him that I had it under control. So while I scrubbed and Truett washed, Jem gathered some things to make a bed for Truett on the couch. He grabbed a soft pillow, a blanket, and Tru's stuffed puppy. Then, after I had gotten Truett dressed, Jem led him downstairs and told him that he needed to rest.
So while one child was displaying a runny nose, fever and cough, my other child was displaying a compassionate heart. I can't even tell you how many times I see my boys take toys from one another, pull hair, get into wrestling matches and treat each other unkindly. It is discouraging and I often worry about them. But today showed me that there is more to them than rolling around on the floor and fighting over a toy. Today gave me a glimpse into the heart of my oldest boy and it was a beautiful sight.

reclaiming me

Sometimes the smallest things can make a difference. Today I painted my fingernails. I haven't painted my fingernails since before Caia was born. That's right. It has been over a year since I have put any nail polish on. I just didn't see the point. I spend my day washing dishes, washing faces, and wiping down counter tops. Polish doesn't last when your hands are immersed in water for what seems like 75% of the day. So why spend the time when they just chip and look terrible the next day?
Maybe because when I was washing the dinner dishes tonight with my newly polished fingernails, I looked down and saw pretty, feminine hands. Not frumpy mom hands. I'm not saying that having unpolished nails makes you frumpy. I'm just saying that, for me, not painting my nails was just one more instance of giving up and settling in on my personal train to frump town. Before long, I will be wearing housecoats and slippers all day long. Okay, maybe I'm exaggerating but I just wanted to remind all of the young moms out there that you are more than just a mom. You are a woman. So go ahead and do something that reclaims a little bit of who you are outside of being a mom. Paint your nails, curl your hair, buy a new pair of impractical shoes. Fight the frump!

photo by: kate e. did  http://www.flickr.com/photos/katej/979719707/

tears

I keep thinking about the Christmas presents. All of the toys and books and clothes, chosen with care and love. Only now, there is no one to give them to. No eager hands to tear off the paper and gush over the gift. Now, they just sit there; a reminder of the loss along with the stocking hanging from the mantel with their name written in glitter or stitched into the fabric. The empty bed. The empty place at the table. The grief must be staggering.
I want to stop reading the reports. After all, there isn't really anything that I can do. It would be easy to pass by the headlines and wall off my little corner of the world and continue getting ready for Christmas. To say how awful it all was and then move on.
But I don't want to take the easy way out. I want to grieve for these families that I will never meet because it is the one thing that I can do. I can have compassion and I can pray for them even as I struggle to understand why it happened. My tears will not ease their pain, but every time I cry for them, I gain more compassion and love and move closer towards becoming someone who reflects the face of Jesus. And if there is one thing that this world needs, it is more Jesus.

photo from:  mosaicdurham.com

it begins

I thought I would have more time. I mean, I know it is an inevitable fact of motherhood that at some point my children will find me embarrassing. They will roll their eyes and say, "Mom! Ugh." They will walk ten feet behind me at the mall or ask me to drop them off half-way down the block. There won't be any more good-bye kisses when I drop them off at school. I understand how it works. Even if I am the most on-trend mom in the world, at some point my kids will look at me like I'm the walking plague. But I really did think I had a couple of years left. Then, this past Friday, I was doing some work on the computer and Jem was standing next to me waiting to play a game and he says, "Mom. You're so embarrassing."
What?! First of all, where did my kid pick that up? Secondly, how am I embarrassing him by working on the computer? When I asked him to clarify he told me that I was going so slow. At least he didn't say that my hair was weird or my outfit was dorky.
I'm pretty sure he doesn't fully understand the concept of being embarrassed. My grandma nicknamed me Boo when I was little and my mom would sometimes lengthen it and call me Boobie. Yep. Try being called Boobie in front of your friends when you are thirteen. Now that is embarrassing.
Maybe I'm looking at this the wrong way though. Since I know it is inevitable, maybe I can have a little fun with it. I can buy some mom jeans and call them silly nicknames and leave red lipstick marks on their cheeks. This could actually be a lot of fun.

photo from: www.almightydad.com

extremes

It has been a day of extremes for me. The morning started out rough. The demands were plentiful and gratitude was in short supply. And when I tried to explain to my boys that it hurts my feelings when they disrespect me, it went in one ear and out the other. So I spent the drive to preschool feeling wounded and daydreaming about kindergarten.
Then I stumbled across a video clip on facebook about a couple who had adopted nine children, some with severe disabilities. I watched it and cried and thought about emailing Sam to tell him that we needed to adopt a child. Not now, of course. I'm not completely insane. But the video led me to the website  http://ilikegiving.com/ and I read more stories and watched more videos about people living generously and I felt encouraged and uplifted.
This was followed by some play time with Jem and a hand-made ornament from Tru. And I found myself looking forward to going up to the playroom with them after lunch. Then I saw the wooden chest with its lid hanging askew, screws on the carpet, pieces of wood that had been snapped off. Another thing that one of them destroyed on purpose. And as I was on my hands and knees looking for the other tiny screw, I looked up and saw the snow man that one of them had drawn on the wall with a pen.
I am emotionally spent and there are still many hours left in the day. Sometimes, being a mom feels like a train ride to crazy town.

photo from:  proverbsofeustace.blogspot.com

room for both?

So I find myself in this place where I have been sort of half-you-know-what-ing it on the Santa thing and it is starting to be a problem. All the years before this, the boys weren't really that into it. They would ask a few questions now and then but nothing major and I was foolishly hoping that it just wouldn't be a big thing. Then this year came when Jem is looking at the flu in our chimney and asking how Santa is going to get in if we "have a wall in our chimney." He is asking to go see Santa so that he can tell him what he wants. He wants to know how Santa fits all of the toys into his bag. And suddenly my normal answers of "That's nice sweetie" or "Yep, uh huh, Santa's great" just aren't cutting it.
Here's the thing. I love the idea of Santa. I love the sense of wonder and magic that he brings. The real world catches up soon enough. However, I also know that Santa, with all of his presents and decorations and cheer, isn't the real reason that our family celebrates Christmas. And I don't want my kids to lose the even greater wonder of a Savior being born in the face of a guy who comes down the chimney with toys.

I'm finding it to be a hard line to walk. And I'm asking myself the question of whether or not Santa and the nativity scene can share space on the mantel?

someday

Sam came downstairs this morning looking absolutely bewildered and asked me what was wrong with my kids. I just looked at him and he proceeded to explain. He had gone into the playroom this morning to find both boys lying on the floor. They were wrapped up in their comforters, looking at books. No one was running into walls. No one was screaming out nonsense words and laughing hysterically. They weren't dismantling a table. There wasn't a giant pile of toys in the middle of the room being used as monster food. No one was crying or threatening to hit anyone else. They were just lying on the floor, quietly looking at books.
It didn't last. Before too long they had wandered downstairs and were chasing each other around. But for a brief, shining moment I glimpsed a bit of the future. And it was beautiful.

photo from:  phonearena.com

living out of who i am and saying no to craft cupboards

Guess what? I don't have a craft cupboard. I don't even have a craft bin. I have a bottle of glue and some cotton balls and that is the extent of my craft supplies. No google eyes. No pipe cleaner. And definitely no glitter.
I didn't even know that I was supposed to have a craft cupboard until I read about one in a magazine. The author just assumed that I would be in possession of one and that it would be filled with all sorts of crafty supplies.
And I took it as just one more thing to measure myself against. One more place to fall short. There are just so many bars to reach for with motherhood. Keep a clean house. Read to your kids, especially at bedtime. Play with your kids but also give them time to play alone. Feed them healthy, well-balanced meals, preferably with ingredients that came out of your garden. Dress them nicely and comb their hair. Play outside with them. Take walks with them. Teach them everything. Sing to them. The list goes on and on. And now I can add "have a well-stocked craft cupboard" to it.
But here is what I realized. I am not a craft cupboard type of mom. I don't mind trying a craft out every once in a while but it isn't really one of my strengths. And it's okay that I'm not a craft type of mom because I have other strengths to bring to the whole motherhood role. I don't have to live up to anyone's idea of what a great mom is, even my own. I simply have to live out of who God created me to be. He gave me these three beautiful children and He knows my strengths. He knows that crafts make me break out in a sweat. And He sees me compare myself and hold up impossible standards and sends me friends and moments and love to show me that there is another way.
I will continue to do my best and I will continue to make mistakes along the way. But the journey will be much easier if I focus on being who I am and let my friends who do have craft cupboards host craft days.

picture from: livingonalatte.com

having boys

Caia received a new toy at an early family Christmas party this year. It's a cow that shakes and giggles when you push its nose. And of course, because it is designed for a 12 to 18 month old, the boys are fascinated with it. I was fine letting them play with it until the other day in the van. We were on our way home from somewhere when a small voice filled with laughter called out to me from the back, "Mom. The cow is tickling my bird!" To which I promptly replied, "That's not what the cow is for buddy." (And yes. I am one of those moms who doesn't use the proper terms for anatomy. I never planned to be this mom but this is where I find myself.)
I tried to not make it into a big deal. But it was my first experience with one of my boys and that type of thing. I was partly horrified, thinking, "Not yet! I'm not ready for this." And I was partly resigned,  thinking, "Of course. What boy wouldn't put a laughing, vibrating toy cow in his lap?" And so it begins.
The cow no longer travels in the car with us.

a little help please

I mentioned in a previous post that I sometimes become frustrated with Jem's inability to buckle his seatbelt. He sits in the very back of the car so getting to him isn't super easy. And sometimes he pulls his seatbelt across and snaps it into place without a hitch. Then there are the other times when he can't seem to get the buckle to click into place or he doesn't really even try. He just flails around.
When that happens, I don't always react super well. Today, after picking Truett up from preschool, Jem couldn't manage to buckle up. It didn't help that there had been some earlier behavioral problems. This was just icing on the cake. I found myself leaning over Caia's seat to reach back to him and flapping my arms around like some deranged lunatic because I was so frustrated that I couldn't manage anything else. And do you know what happened? He laughed. And why shouldn't he? It was ridiculous.
So why does it happen? Why do I get worked up over a seat belt? I think it is the same reason that I sometimes get worked up over Truett not being able to put his pants on. I've seen him do it so many times so I know that he can do it. And yet, there are those days when the legs get twisted. Or those days when nothing seems wrong but he still insists that he can't do it. The frustration comes because it feels like a step backward. I finally have the freedom to lay out clothes for my kids and trust that they can put them on without needing help. I can finally open the door to the car and expect that one of my children can get in and get himself buckled. So when that doesn't work, it can throw me out of whack, especially on a day when they simply refuse to try.
Thankfully, I'm still learning and growing. And today, when my five-year old laughed at me for being insane, I realized that it's just a seat belt. I also discovered that perhaps there are times when my children magically lose the ability to do something because they just want to be a little kid who needs Mommy's help.
The seat belt may have won today but next time I'm going to take it as a chance to look at my boy and say, "I would love to help you."

five signs

Five signs that you've fallen behind in the housekeeping department:

1. You can't find your vacuum.

2. You walk into the bathroom to get a drink of water for one of the kids and your shoes stick to the floor in front of the toilet.

3. You have to wash your baby's hands after she crawls around on the kitchen floor.

4. You still have small piles of laundry sitting on your window seat from four days ago and one load still in the dryer.

5. Once you finally locate your vacuum, you use it on the carpet in your child's bedroom and it sounds like you are vacuuming at the beach. You haven't been to the beach.

apparently it's all in the timing

Did you know that the most loving moms are the ones who read to their kids at night before bedtime? It's true. I just read it in a book. And suddenly all of my hours of morning and afternoon book reading seem completely pointless. Here I had thought I was doing something fun and educational and loving with my kids. We head to the library every two weeks and pull out eight to twelve books. Then we sit on the couch, one boy on each side, and we read them. All of them. Day after day. Come to find out, I had the time of day wrong and now their tiny hearts are starving for love.
I guess I should clarify by saying that I read that statement in a novel and, yes, I do know the difference between fiction and non-fiction. But still. I read that and suddenly found myself wanting because, according to this author, the only proper and loving time to read to kids is at bedtime. And in case you haven't figured it out, I usually don't read to my kids at bedtime. Every once in a while we have story time but it isn't a part of our routine. Maybe when the kids are in school all day, we will shift our reading time to the evenings.
To this author I'd like to say, "Shame on you for making such a sweeping statement about moms loving their kids." And to myself I'd like to say, "You are awesome! And it was only a novel so you can let it go now."

photo by: My hubby. The role of Brooke is being played by Opa.

but it's december

I have heard a few complaints about the weather today. Yes it is December and it is strange to walk around the neighborhood to look at Christmas decorations and not need to wear a coat. I know December is supposed to be cold and that some people think a warm day during this month signals the end of the world. (polar ice caps melting and all of that stuff) And I know that when the weather heads back down to the 30's and 40's in a few days, people will probably get sick and runny noses will abound. But if you are one of those people who is shaking your fist at the blue sky and saying, "Curse you beautiful day!" or something like that, then you are a December purist and probably don't have preschool-aged boys. Because as a mom of two preschoolers of the male gender, I can say in all honesty that this day is a blessing from God. He has seen the plight of the weary, down-trodden moms who know that winter is coming and that there is no proper way to release a four-year old's energy inside of a house. You might think you've gotten him worn down with a rousing game of monster chase or tag but you'll be wrong. And the energy will build exponentially until he explodes.
Today was a day to push the kids out of the house, to take a walk, to play on the swings. Today was a chance to burn off some energy and enjoy nature. Today was God's nod to the stay-at-home moms. And I, for one, am very thankful.

photo by: immagina http://www.flickr.com/photos/immagina/163899554/

setting the standard

Sometimes, as a parent, the best you can hope for is that someone else's kid will do something worse than what your kid just did. That you can go home saying, "At least little Timmy didn't do that." You can pat yourself on the back for being such a great parent and breathe a sigh of relief, all the while knowing that the next time your kid might be the one everyone else is thankful for because he/she made their child look like an angel.
On Saturday night we had a family Christmas party with my mother-in-laws extended family. We see most of them once a year at this party and there are a number of young kids. We have a big potluck dinner and then Santa comes and hands out a few gifts to the kids. As we were heading down the table, filling plates for the kids, I looked over to see Truett sticking his tongue into the newly opened tub of country crock. He couldn't just stick his finger in it. He had to go straight for the tongue. I told him to stop immediately and he looked at me sheepishly and said that he was sorry. I then proceeded to scoop off the top layer of the butter tub with a big spoon and apologize to anyone that was within earshot, especially the people coming next in line. I'm guessing they skipped the rolls.
So yeah, on Saturday night Truett was that kid. All other children were judged by his tongue-in-the-butter measuring stick. And they came out looking like champs.

photo by: drinkerthinker  http://www.flickr.com/photos/drinkerthinker/143153733/

today

Today was a good day. It wasn't a perfect day but it was a good one. Jem still struggled with his attitude. Truett didn't obey the first time or the second time or the third time. Caia is pushing some teeth and not sleeping well. And I still got frustrated by Jem's inconsistency with being able to buckle his own seat belt. So yeah, not perfect.
But there was that stretch of 15 minutes when Jem came downstairs from his nap and found me watching Chopped on the couch, because where else would I be, and he curled up next to me and we watched together. And there was that moment during breakfast when Tru just looked at me with that little smirk he has and I felt overwhelmed by how much I love him. There was the moment when Jem told me he had learned how to read and proceeded to read a book to me that he has memorized, checking with me every few pages to make sure he hadn't missed a word. And there was the excitement in Tru's voice when I arrived at preschool to pick him up. Add in a little girl who is standing next to my chair, clutching her monkey with the pink bow and staring up at me, and how could it not be a good day?

picture from: shirtoid.com

big plans

Good intentions. I have them. I swear I do. But they don't mean anything unless I follow through on them. So that idea I had to start a good behavior chart for the boys? Didn't happen. And the family reading time after dinner? That went the way of starting to have the boys do some chores, setting aside "school time", and teaching Jem to read.
I want to make some Christmas crafts with the kids. I'd like to do a better job of reading to them at bedtime on a consistent basis. I was planning to start cutting back on the amount of sugar we eat as a family. I also am still intending to workout more, finish covering the switch plates, and sew a stocking for Caia.

But nap time rolls around and the gravitational pull from the couch is just too much to resist. So I sit down, just for a minute, and the minute turns into an hour. Suddenly all thoughts of creating the chore chart have fled completely as I do my best to clean up the house in the 15 minutes before Sam walks through the door.
My new plan is to take it one step at a time. Maybe instead of cutting out sugar, I'll just eat one less cookie. Maybe instead of creating an entire chore chart, I'll just ask the boys to put their shoes away. Maybe instead of working out tomorrow, I'll park further away from the grocery store entrance. And if you stop by and see me lounging on my couch eating cookies and reading a book, just know that I have really good intentions of accomplishing all sorts of wonderful things. Really, it would blow your mind if you knew how many things I have planned.

photo from: thescrib.com

motherhood with a side of guilt

I've started to notice a trend. The theme of my journey into motherhood seems to be guilt. I want to say it's love or joy or tenderhearted moments. But it isn't. It's guilt.
It started at the hospital. I felt guilty for sending my babies back to the nursery at night time instead of sleeping them in my room. And it just continued from there.  
-I felt guilty for thinking breastfeeding was a duty and not understanding those moms who talked about it like it was the most beautiful thing in the world
-I felt guilty for signing my kids up for preschool and being excited for the break
-I feel guilty when I don't read them a bedtime story
-I feel guilty when I let them watch an extra tv show
-I feel guilty when I don't let them help me make pancakes
-I feel guilty when I lose my temper
-I feel guilty for not having a craft closet
-I feel guilty for not sitting by the bathtub and playing pirates with them during bathtime
-I feel guilty for praying that we don't have a snow day
-I feel guilty for wanting them to just sleep in
-I feel guilty for needing nap time so desperately

This is what motherhood has become for me. It comes from this idea I have in my head of what a mom should be. Some of it is perpetuated by my culture and the people around me. Some of it comes after reading blogs with moms who homeschool eight kids and make it seem like every day is rainbows and kittens. Sometimes it hits me after hearing other moms talk about how glad they are to have their kids home from school for the holiday. The guilt creeps in and tells me that I'm not doing a good job, that I'm not paying enough attention to my kids, that if I was only a better mom I could fix that behavior. It tells me that my kids won't be okay because I couldn't meet the standard.
Sometimes the guilt is good. It can be a reminder to me that I want to try harder and I want to be the best mom that I can. But, more often than not, I allow the guilt to paralyze me. I use it to chastise myself. It doesn't improve my parenting. How can I be a better parent when I'm telling myself that I'm terrible at it? Doesn't exactly build confidence.
I want to let go of the guilt. I want to take this one day at a time and be okay with the emotions that come along with it. I want to enjoy my kids and be okay with those moments when I really want a break. I want to make pancakes by myself but also take time to let my kids help me once in a while. I want to be confident in my skills as a mom and know that I'm doing a great job.

photo from: nathanrouse.org

cookies

I spent the morning at my mother-in-law's house baking cookies. It has become a tradition. The Monday after Thanksgiving, the ladies in the family meet at her house and we churn out chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin cookies, ginger snaps, sand tarts and cherry winks. It is a lot of fun but also tiring. We spend hours on our feet, mixing batter, putting cookie trays into the oven and sampling our wares.
I think that this year is the last year that I'll be able to leave Jem at home. Both boys have expressed an interest in baking and cooking. It is a natural thing for them to be curious about something that their mom does often. And they both love cracking eggs and pouring things into bowls. They want to watch me cook oatmeal and flip pancakes. And I don't let them help me that often. It is hard when I know that the mess will be larger or that some of the batter will fly out of the bowl because they still don't have control over their movements at times. But today I realize that I wanted to make cookies with them here at home. I know that they will enjoy it and that they will be so excited to see the cookies come out of the oven knowing that they had made them.  I think I might have a touch of the crazies because this idea sounds insane. But maybe if I let them help me more often it might become easier to see the beauty in spite of the mess. Maybe making cookies will teach them patience and obedience while it pushes me to give them grace. Or maybe it will be a disaster but at least there will be cookies at the end.

picture from: noregretsliving.wordpress.com

what did you call me?

Today at lunch time, the boys asked me if they could have a cookie. I said no and Truett immediately demanded to know why. Before I could even take a breath to explain, Jem answered him by saying, "Because Mommy's a dummy."
I'm not sure what my face looked like when I turned towards him but it must have been pretty bad because he was already trying to back away from me before I even started reaching for him. I pulled him out of his seat and sent him upstairs to his room to give myself time to calm down.
When I talked to him later, he didn't even remember what he had said. He told me he had called me silly or maybe stinky and I realized that he had probably heard it somewhere, school or tv, and didn't really understand what it meant. He knew enough to realize that it was unkind and we talked about how it hurt my feelings.
In reality, it caught me off guard and made me angry. It is hard to do so much, to try so hard, and to hear something like that. And I'm a little worried too because I'm sure worse things are coming. I can only hope that I am raising my kids to be kind and to consider their words. I can only hope that I can let those comments roll off my back and remember what it is like to be a kid and to disagree with your parents' decisions and that I can offer them grace even as I do my best to make sure it doesn't happen again.

photo by: drbexl  http://www.flickr.com/photos/drbexl-/4298144089/

ch ch ch changes

Tonight, after we finished eating our Thanksgiving meal, Caia decided to start walking. She took a step and fell into my arms and then wanted to do it again...and again...and again. So we got out one of the old walkers that the boys had used and put her behind it. She took one step and toppled over which is what I expected. My mom picked her up and put her behind it again and within a few minutes, Caia was walking around the room behind the walker.
I watched her, delighted at how much she was enjoying herself. And I watched her knowing that this was the start of a big change in our lives and not quite sure that I'm ready for it. But change is inevitable. Am I looking forward to chasing around a toddler? Not really. But I am looking forward to watching her try and succeed and being there to catch her when she stumbles.

Happy Thanksgiving!

May your day be filled with love, your heart with gratitude, and your belly with turkey. Mmmmm...turkey.

 

photo by: The Texas Collection, Baylor University  http://www.flickr.com/photos/texascollectionbaylor/5184440287/

gratitude, mom style

Since Thanksgiving is almost here, it seems appropriate to write a post about things I'm thankful for. And since this blog is mainly about my misadventures in motherhood, I thought I should list things that I'm thankful for that are focused around that. So here is my list of things that I, as a mom, am thankful for this year.

I am thankful ~

~ for my kitchen counter tops that hide dirt so well that I don't even realize they're dirty until I've leaned across them to grab something and my shirt sticks to them.
~ for nap time
~ that no one has flushed anything, besides toilet paper, down a toilet in the past 6 months, at least not that I'm aware of
~ that my boys have listened to the rule about not bringing bugs or worms or salamanders into the house
~ for that one magical night when we sat down to dinner and no one said "this is disgusting"
~ that I only have one child left in diapers
~ that my child only threatens to punch me in the face and that he doesn't actually attempt it
~ for big, round cheeks that are just dying to be kissed
~ for whispered prayers and goodnight kisses
~ for those moments when my children do the right thing without needing to be reminded
~ for preschool
~ for play dates and time with other moms who help remind me that I'm not alone
~ for 5:30 pm when the reinforcements arrive
~ for Jem, Truett and Caia, who fill my life with love, laughter, messiness, challenges and joy and who are training me to be a better person every day

photo by: Madison Faith  http://www.flickr.com/photos/madisonfaith/8145101096/

hide and maybe I'll find you

I was playing hide-and-seek with my kids last week which involves a bunch of running around and my boys hiding in very obvious places while yelling out "you can't find me." Then I pretend that I don't see their feet sticking out from underneath the ottoman or that I can't see them scrunched up under the table. But this time, I heard their feet heading up the stairs and I confess that for a moment, a brief tiny moment, I considered not looking for them. *Gasp* I considered laying down on the couch and letting them giggle and snicker and be amazed at how they must have done such a great job of hiding because Mommy couldn't find them. It was either a moment of weakness or genius. However, I ignored my impulse and went upstairs to continue our game. But it was a beautiful, albeit selfish, thought.

photo from: mcq.org

reaching for the stars

Last week during dinner, Sam asked Jem what he wants to be when he grows up. For a while, his standard response to that question was "a train." We didn't bother to explain to him that people can't actually be trains or fire trucks or other inanimate objects and just figured he would grow out of it. And I am happy to report that he has finally moved past his desire to be some sort of vehicle and now wants to be a chef. (That might be partly due to the fact that I let him watch Chopped with me every once in a while and he used to watch Ina and Paula with me.)
He quickly changed his mind though and declared that he actually wants to be a super hero when he grows up. Sam suggested that he be a super hero chef but Jem wasn't into that. So I explained to him that he could be a chef during the day and a super hero at night, sort of an alter ego thing. And my ambitious first-born replied, "Huh, that sounds like a lot of work. I should probably just sell hot dogs." Apparently my lazy gene didn't skip a generation. 

photo by: tbone_sandwich  http://www.flickr.com/photos/70267096@N00/4171044902/

say what?

This morning, while I was getting the cereal out of the cupboard, Tru asked me if he could have a banana. I told him he couldn't have one now and he said, "Okay Mommy."
Now, this is important and you might have missed it so I'm going to tell you again. My three-year old, the one who screams at me, throws things and knocks over chairs, was denied a request and responded by saying, "Okay Mommy." Do you know what the normal response is to being told that he can't have a banana at the precise moment that he wants one? On good days it's clenching his fists super tight and making the veins on his neck stand out while he yells, "You're so mad Mommy/I'm never talking to you again/Argh!" On bad days it's throwing something that happens to be within his reach or threatening to punch me. But today, it was a simple response. One that I have drilled again and again with both boys. When I say no to a request their response should be, "Okay Mommy." There shouldn't be whining or yelling or throwing of things.
Here's the kicker though. That beautiful response from my dragon went in one ear and out the other. I didn't even notice it. Truett actually pointed it out to me. "Did you hear what I said Mommy? I said okay Mommy." I am so used to the complaints and threats and anger that I completely missed my little boy offering me a good response. I missed that moment of praising him and making a huge deal out of it.
I'm so glad that he pointed it out to me. I'm so glad that I had the opportunity to tell him what a great job he did and how proud I was. But I wish that I had heard it on my own. I wish that I wasn't now wondering how many other opportunities to praise my boy have passed me by because I'm so tuned in to the inappropriate behaviors and responses.
That being said, I'm also just so glad that I had that moment to hold on to today. That moment of knowing that my kids do listen to me and that there is hope at the end of the tunnel.

photo from: davidpenglase.com.au

jiminy vs the dragon

I really don't like apologizing. I can't imagine that anyone does. Having to apologize means that you did something wrong, and I don't like other people to know that I mess up. The words are simple. "Please forgive me for..." It's the feelings and thoughts behind them that are so complicated and yucky. There can be a lot of justification, blame-shifting and shame. It's not easy to admit that you are wrong or that you've hurt someone.
This morning, I waged an internal battle with myself. I knew that my tone of voice and my exasperation with Jem warranted an apology. I fought it all the way to preschool.  
 Conscience: You should really say sorry to Jem. You weren't very nice to him.






Angry Monster Mom: Be quiet conscience or do you want some of this too?

                                               ~Silence~

Conscience: You should really say sorry to Jem. You weren't very nice to him.






Angry Monster Mom: Ugh. Seriously? The only reason I was gruff with him was because he wasn't listening and he was messing around. I mean, how hard is it to put your shoes on? Just sit down and put them on? And what was with the bike riding in the garage when he was supposed to be getting into his seat in the car? And really? All of a sudden he can't buckle himself in?! It's called trying!
                                              
                                              ~Silence~

Angry Monster Mom: But he won't say sorry for the things he did unless I tell him to. Why should I apologize when he won't?


Conscience: How else will he learn to accept responsibility for his own actions without blaming others unless he sees it in action?



Angry Monster Mom: Stupid, dumb logical conscience.







I so didn't want to apologize. Not because I didn't think that I was wrong but because it really stuck in my craw to know that he wasn't going to take any responsibility for what had happened that morning. And yes, I know he is five. But still. It isn't easy to take the blame for something and know that the other party involved also carries some of it but won't or can't acknowledge it. However, I do want to teach my boys to accept responsibility for their actions so I swallowed my pride and climbed into the back of the car and asked Jem to forgive me for losing my patience with him. He accepted my apology and, just as I knew he would, offered none of his own. There will be other times when this will happen again and I will prompt him to think of what he might have done wrong in the situation. This time though, I let it go. This morning's lesson was for me.

photos by: L-T-L  http://www.flickr.com/photos/rwjensen/2296819717/ and gd427driver http://www.flickr.com/photos/gd427driver/3156345314/

he has to clean everything!

Right now I'm listening to my oldest child and trying not to laugh. He is upstairs cleaning his room, the bathroom and the hallway. We had been spending time in the playroom and everything was going well until I took away a plastic water bottle that he was pretending to throw at me. Since my experience with my kids and throwing things isn't the greatest, I didn't really feel like flinching every few seconds just in case he actually did throw it. And suddenly our good time was no more. He got angry and I asked him to go to his room and think about his behavior. That led to a tirade during which he threw stuff around the hallway, pushed everything on the bathroom counter into the sink, and tore his room apart. That is why I am downstairs and he is upstairs cleaning.
At first, it started out as aggressive cleaning. I could tell that he was putting things back in their place with a little more force than necessary. That was when the mumbling started. "I have to clean everything! Clean, clean, clean! Clean this!", etc. It started out angry and grumpy and now has morphed into whiny and tearful. I can just picture him up there, crying about having to clean while he puts his comforter back on his bed. It's a tough life that he leads. And I promise, that is one thing he didn't pick up from me. I might not enjoy cleaning but I don't cry and I don't mumble about it under my breath. Although, I'm tempted to give the aggressive cleaning a try.

photo from: someecards.com

he's not mental, he's three

A sample of my day with Truett:

-As he was pulling his pants on this morning he calmly said to me, "Mommy, I don't love you. I love Daddy but I don't love you."

-After his pants were on, he asked me to button them. I told him that I would help him after he put his shirt on since I was in the middle of getting clothes for Caia. He found this unacceptable and proceeded to scream at me, "You have to button my pants! Button my pants!" He followed me downstairs and pummeled me with his tiny fists while I changed Caia's diaper and got breakfast around. When he started pulling magnets off of the fridge and throwing them around, I grabbed him and took him upstair, laid him on the floor, and told him that when he put his shirt on I would be happy to help him with his pants. He came back downstairs about a minute later with his shirt on and acted as though nothing had happened.

-When I told him that we were going to meet some friends at the park he said, "Sometimes I like you Mommy."

-He told me he was going to kick me after I told him that I couldn't play outside with him.

He was demanding and angry and self-absorbed and, sometimes, downright mean. And I realized that in anyone else that kind of behavior would be a sign of severe mental instability but for a three year old, it's just par for the course. Lucky me.
Thankfully not every day is so chock filled with these sort of things, but it happens more often than not. And all that I can do is try my best to meet each demand, each moment of anger, each unkind comment with love. I also have to continue to look at myself and see where Truett's behaviors are reflecting mine. Is he seeing me lose my cool and assuming that he can do the same? Do I give him the attention and focus that he needs so that he is able to think of other people and not only himself? Do I reflect a demanding or mean spirit? I'm not sure. I know that I don't always bleed love when Truett wounds me. Far too often I bleed anger and frustration.
I have no doubt that God gave me Truett for a reason. As I'm doing my best to navigate these tough years with him, he is shaping my character. Whether it's being shaped for the better or for the worse is entirely up to me and how I choose to respond to him and to myself when things are tough.

learning lessons

I get really frustrated with the way my boys treat their toys. They still lack a sense of responsibility when it comes to taking care of them. Inside toys are left outside to be ruined in the rain. Toys are thrown, sat on, used as swords and stood on. Things get broken and the attitude seems to be that it isn't a big deal because a new toy will come along to replace it.
They can also be very careless with other things. They've stretched out some of my bracelets, snapped a headband in two and broken two pairs of kitchen tongs. I feel like my house is the place where nice things come to die.
A few weeks ago, I was at my breaking point (no pun intended) with their destructiveness and informed them that the next toy they broke would go into the trash followed by one of their favorite toys that wasn't broken. Our toys have remained unscathed since then. And when Tru snapped my headband in two, I snapped one of his toys in two. To say he was unhappy was an understatement but he hasn't touched my things since then.
The other day though, it hit me that my kids aren't the only ones who lack responsibility when it comes to stuff. I was sitting in my family room and looking around and realizing that by not picking up and cleaning my house, I'm being irresponsible. And let me be clear that I am not saying that taking a break or skipping the dusting is a bad thing. There are those days when the best thing I can do for everyone is take some me time. However, it is far too easy for me to justify skipping out on my housework and it is far too easy for me to forget that owning a home is a blessing, not a right.

I want my boys to learn responsibility. I want them to be good stewards of the things that they've been given. And, as seems to be the case quite often lately, I'm learning that I need to have the same expectations of myself. I need to view my home and this role I have as a stay-at-home-mom as a privilege. I need to be a better steward of the things around me and right now, in this stage of life, that looks like staying on top of my housework, even if it feels pointless sometimes.

photo from: pinterest.com

dying by comparison

I compare myself to other people a lot. It's almost an unconscious thing. Sometimes I come out on top and sometimes I come out on the very, very bottom. It could be comparing my appearance, my skills as a mom, my cooking, the way I run my house, the car I drive, the books I enjoy. You name it and I've probably used it as a way to place myself into a pecking order.
I compare myself to the other moms at preschool. You know, the ones who look like they are going to work at Glamour Magazine after they drop their kids off. And I'm there in my yoga pants and one of Sam's sweatshirts, congratulating myself for running a comb through my hair before I headed out the door. I come out on the bottom end of that comparison.
I compare myself to my ideal of what a good mom looks like. That betty-crocker-baking, flour-on-her-nose, smiling-as-she-folds-laundry, scrubbing-the-floor-with-a-sponge, craft-making, song-singing, game-playing, book-reading monstrosity that I just can't seem to live up to. Oh, and on top of all of that, she never loses her temper, she's always pleasant to be around, and she's never tired. Guess where I end up on that comparison?
I compare myself to friends, strangers, family members and fictional characters. If you've met me, at some point I have compared myself to you in some way. Don't worry. I pretty much always pick out great traits in other people to compare to the things I struggle with in myself. It is exhausting.
And I know I'm not alone in this. I know of many other women who do the same thing. We take away from our own value because it doesn't look a certain way. I hear another woman complimented on her beauty and automatically think that mine must not match up. My friend is complimented on her baking skills and I just know that I must not be up to par. Comparing myself with others doesn't allow me to rejoice in their gifts and abilities. I'm not able to thank God for their ability to make amazing artwork or their gift with hospitality because I'm too busy seeing the lack in myself.
I want to be better than this. I want to come to a place where I can celebrate other people for who they are and know that it doesn't detract from who I am. And I want to figure it out sooner rather than later so that I can help my kids to avoid that feeling of dying by comparison.

photo from: photobucket.com

things...

Things that I just can't seem to get the hang of:

1. Using a leaf blower ~ Sam bought a leaf blower a few weeks ago since our new backyard has a lot of trees. He showed me how to turn it on and I watched him blow the leaves into a big pile. Looked easy enough. So the other day I figured I would help him out and blow a few leaves. I turned it on, which was hurdle number one. And then I proceeded to blow some leaves. The problem is that all I managed to do was blow the leaves around the yard. Apparently, getting them into a pile isn't a given. After watching leaves swirl around me and fly to all corners of our yard, I finally put the blower down and just pulled out the rake.

2. Folding bottom sheets ~ How in the world do you fold a fitted sheet so that it doesn't look like a four year old did it? I've seen nicely folded bottom sheets and I just don't understand how those women do it. Maybe the elastic corners aren't as tight as mine. Maybe they have super long arms that just allow them to hold the sheet taut and fold it at the same time. Or maybe it's just another skill set that I seem to lack.

3. Making friends with the other preschool moms ~ I'm not sure how friendships are born out of those two minutes that we all stand out in the hallway waiting for the doors to open. How do you get to know enough about a person in that short time to know that you want to see them outside of preschool? It sort of seems like speed dating. And most of the conversations that I hear or participate in have to do with the weather or asking how old the baby is that they are holding or speculating about when the door will finally open. Not really the sort of conversations that lead to more.

4. Cooking the right amount of pasta for my family ~ I always make too much for one meal but not enough for leftovers. Seems pretty simple but I mess it up every time.

photos by: alexabboud http://www.flickr.com/photos/alexabboud/5948634869/
                  andrew coulter enright  http://www.flickr.com/photos/andrewcoulterenright/11872109/
               baptistseminary.edu
                  foodiesathome  http://www.flickr.com/photos/thewrittengeek/4704626393/

my helpful menfolk

A few weeks ago Sam asked me if I could make a list for him of small jobs that need to be done around the house on a consistent basis. That way, when he has some down time he can clean something. Let me say that Sam always helps me whenever I ask him to. He doesn't complain when I ask if he can pick up the family room or put dinner away. But...he usually doesn't ask me to make him a list of every day chores that he can do. Okay, I'm pretty sure he has never asked me to do that. So you can imagine my surprise.
Then, yesterday Jem came downstairs from his nap and said, "Mommy, I could pick up the family room for you. Actually, maybe I should go up and clean my room first." And then he went upstairs and cleaned his room. Let me repeat that. He cleaned his room. By himself. Without me asking him. Without me standing over his shoulder telling him what goes where. That has definitely never, ever happened before.
I was slightly confused and suprised by all of this but I also started to feel like life was taking a giant turn for the better. But then Truett threatened to punch me in the face if I didn't give him a snack and I came back to my senses.

Photo by: Dave77459  http://www.flickr.com/photos/dave77459/2851799930/