a gift

Yesterday was not a great day and I was already despairing over what our summer is going to look like. Today, I was determined to get the boys to a park even though it had rained buckets last night and I was sure the playground would be muddy. But for the sake of our sanity, I thought it best to brave the mud.
So we set off and drove to the nearest playground. When we got there, we were dismayed to see, yet again, some sort of birthday party/get-together. Just my luck. But then, I saw a woman walking towards me and recognized one of the moms from Tru and Jem's  preschool. Her oldest son is in Jem's class and Jem talks about him all of the time. Her youngest son is in Truett's class and apparently, he talks about Tru all of the time. And her daughter was born one day after Caia. So you could say that we are right in step with one another. She came over and pointed out that her boys were crouched behind the bench that we were sitting on, hiding from Jem and Tru. The boys ran off to play together and she and I talked. She had a blanket that we laid out in the shade and sat the girls on. And as we talked, we both admitted that yesterday was a rough day and that we are both a little nervous about the summer. It was nice to hear that someone else has the same thoughts. It was also nice to hear that there are other moms out there who are just trying to get through the day and not building puppet theaters and sewing princess costumes every day.
As she left, she said that we should get in touch and do the park again since we both want to keep our kids busy.
All I can say is, "Thank you God." The day after I'm freaking out because I don't know what to do with my kids, I run into a mom who has boys the same age as mine. They already know each other and enjoy spending time together. And she wants to meet up again. I know a gift when I see one and that is a gift.

photo by: wedding musings  http://www.flickr.com/photos/27812617@N07/2625760660/

day 1

Today was the first day of our summer. It was the first day that neither boy had preschool, we had no scheduled play dates, and we had nothing to do other than be at our house. It didn't go well.
I swear my kids don't play with their toys anymore. If they are in the house, they are either chasing each other around or getting into trouble: pulling utensils out of the kitchen drawers, cutting up paper, pulling all of the toys out of their toy bins and putting them into laundry baskets. If they are outside, they are either looking for bugs or whacking each other with sticks. And I can't get two seconds to myself to make a phone call, clean up from breakfast, or even use the potty.
By the time 10 am rolled around, there had already been an incident with the water hose and one with a gas can. There were several time-outs, one spanking, and a few moments of me needing to leave the room.  Crying was had by all and fun by none.
I've heard other moms talk about how excited they are for summer. Their kids are older and they are just glad to have them home from school. Will I feel that way when my kids are all old enough to be in school? Is this just part of the stage I'm in? I only know that my friends who have kids the same age as mine are signing up for every VBS they possibly can. The thought of two days in a row without anything planned is horrifying.
Why did God design it this way? This is the time in their lives that my kids want to be with me the most. They want to play with me and read books and have me watch every single thing they do. Every other moment is filled with, "Watch this Mom" or "Look what I found Mom." And this is also the time when there is so much to do because they can't do most of it themselves. I feel like I can never catch up with anything. And then, when they are older and are finally more self-sufficient, and I have a bunch of free time, they won't want to spend time with me. And all the moms with older kids are saying, "More free time? Oh, this poor gal doesn't have a clue about what she's in for."

photo by: i_am_amy  http://www.flickr.com/photos/i_am_amy/2442384590/

narcissist

Truett has been acting a little strange at mealtimes lately. I've started noticing that sometimes, when he speaks, he turns his head to the side and looks left.  He doesn't do it every single time but often enough that it is noticeable.
It took me a while to notice it and then a little longer to figure out what was going on. Tru sits in the same seat for every meal and it happens to be next to our china cupboard. Our china cupboard has glass doors and a mirrored back. My little narcissist is watching himself in the mirror. He watches himself when he laughs, when he screams in frustration and even when he is simply waiting for me to bring him an apple. He will say something to us at dinnertime and then turn and look at himself in the mirror while Sam and I sit and chuckle to ourselves.
I understand that he is young and at an age where seeing himself is a novelty. But I'm worried that we are going to have to move his seat before he starts spending all of his time sitting in his seat, gazing upon his adorableness.

photo by: The Alternative to Real World  http://www.flickr.com/photos/thealternativetorealworld/5029955613/

being tested

It seems like anytime you make up your mind to do something that is outside of your normal mode of operating, you end up being tested. Is your conviction strong enough? Do you have enough faith to see you through? Can you push past setbacks and not let failure stop you in your tracks? Or will you fall back into old patterns?
Last week, after a particularly awful night where Sam and I traded off on being the unhinged parent, I made a decision to tamp down on my anger. I decided that I wanted to be calm and collected and matter-of-fact with my kids. If they chose to disobey, then there would be a consequence. There wouldn't be warnings or discussions and there wouldn't be time to get ramped up and angry.
And, almost as if they knew, my kids threw everything they had at me last week. Screaming, hitting, name-calling. And the cherry on top of the bad behavior sundae was finding them in the bathroom on Saturday morning. The sink was stopped up with water, they had emptied out four different tubes of toothpaste, and the roll of toilet paper was nowhere to be found. It was 7am. I was tired and I wanted nothing more than to let loose and rage around. But, by the grace of God, I was able to remain calm.
It is nice to know that I can discipline my kids without getting angry. Because when I get angry, I tend to hold on to it for a good part of the day. I allow it to affect how I treat my kids for hours after the offense. But when I'm calm, I can discipline them and then move on. I don't hold on to the behavior and I'm able to meet the next bad behavior from a place of normalcy. Because the next undesired behavior is never far behind the first one. It's a fact of life.

photo by Dandy Dons Ice Cream  http://www.flickr.com/photos/dandydons/3547146127/

tricky, tricky

Alright. I admit it. I was taken in by advertising. I kept seeing the commercials of the happy women in their red bathing suits eating their Special K and thought, "I want to be happy and wearing a cute red bathing suit. I guess I should eat Special K." Plus, they promised me that I could lose six pounds and one to two inches off of my waistline in just two weeks. Six pounds? One to two inches? Sold!
This is how I now find myself on the Special K diet. I'm allowed to have a cup of cereal for breakfast and a protein bar or protein shake for lunch. I can also add in two snacks and some fruits and veggies. Dinner can be something sensible, like a boiled chicken breast and broccoli. This is my very first foray into the dieting world, (don't hate me!) and I'm not a fan. Of course I'm going to lose some weight. I am eating cardboard for breakfast and candy bars and chocolate milk for lunch! Oh sure, they label them as meal bars and protein shakes, but please. I may have been taken in by their slick advertisements but my body knows when it is eating junk.
I want to lose those six pounds. I want my waistline to come back. But I'm not sure if it is worth this. Wouldn't I be better off to just have a salad for lunch? Or maybe two slices of turkey wrapped around some cheese. Isn't that better for my body than chocolate pastry crisps and honey almond meal bars drizzled with icing?
Unfortunately, I just started my diet on Tuesday and I bought enough stuff to see me through at least one week. So I am going to finish out my first week because otherwise I would have wasted a bunch of money. But then I think I might just start eating stuff that is healthy and doesn't come in a plastic wrapper. And maybe I'll just forget about my old waistline and make friends with my new one. I have a feeling it might be hanging around for a while.

swearing off anger - part 2

I'm trying to switch tactics from being angry to being matter-of-fact about things. Instead of allowing myself to become overly frustrated, I want to simply handle the moments of defiance and disobedience with a calm, no nonsense demeanor. My boys will still know that I mean business because they will find themselves in time-out or losing tv privileges or missing out on dessert. But there will be no room for them to push me into freak out mode because bad behavior will be dealt with immediately. There will be no warning, no "if you do that again..." There will be behavior and consequence.
Sounds pretty nice in theory, right? The problem is that, as I sit here writing this, I know that I am completely incapable of following through on it. I tell myself that if I only had one kid I could manage it. But I'm not sure that is even true. What is true is that I am a controlling, self-centered person who is now dealing with creatures who are even more self-centered than I am and who, for some reason, dislike being controlled. It seems like a no-win situation.
But I believe that God made my kids and me. And I also believe that He is bigger than temper tantrums and crying jags. My kids are ultimately in His hands so I have to trust that He will give me what I need to take care of them while they are on loan to me. And right now I am trusting that He can give me determination and the ability to stay calm. Something tells me that I will have to ask Him for help with this often. Very often.

photo by Passive Income Dream.com http://www.flickr.com/photos/incomedream/5551082598/

swearing off anger - part 1

I have never thought of myself as an angry person. I get frustrated and I can get snippy but it usually takes a lot to push me into angry. At least, it used to take a lot. Now all it takes is hearing the word "no" too many times in the same day. Or seeing one of my kids smile while they are being disciplined. The frustration builds and simmers and boils over into anger.
There are two problems with this. The first is that I don't like who I am when I'm angry. I don't like the tone that I use or the way I feel. The second is that it doesn't seem to accomplish anything. It just teaches my boys that they don't have to listen to me until I start yelling. It teaches them to flinch away from Mommy because you might get your hand smacked. It teaches them that yelling is an acceptable way to deal with problems.
When I get angry, the problems don't go away. They just escalate. My kids start yelling or become even more defiant and I get angrier and it becomes a cycle that ends with at least one person in tears.
The other night when Tru decided to empty out his diaper, there was a lot of anger going around. And as Sam and I sat on the couch afterwards and talked about how defeated we feel, I told him that I think we are messing up. That we might actually be making things worse. We have become the kind of parents who get angry and use threats. They don't go to sleep so we go stomping upstairs and tell them to lay down and be quiet or else. It doesn't work and it's exhausting.
So I'm switching tactics.

photo by: DaveJC90  http://www.flickr.com/photos/33607628@N02/5323254577/

scapegoat

Sam is blaming me. He says that it is all my fault because I just had to go and say, "I don't have anything to write about on my blog." He claims that is the reason that we went upstairs last night to find that Tru had pooped in his diaper and then taken the poop out and thrown it onto the floor. He also managed to smear it on the slats of his crib, his sheets and his tent. In the meantime, Jem decided that he too needed to go and went in the tiny elmo potty despite being told numerous times that he is a big boy and can go into the bathroom and use the real toilet. Needless to say, their room smelled like you know what and Sam and I had to spend the next half hour cleaning Truett up, dumping out the contents of the elmo potty, removing the now unusable crib tent (no!!!!!) and scrubbing down the crib itself. We then spent the half hour after that sitting downstairs talking about what in the world we should do with that child. I cried and felt like a failure as a mom, not because of what Tru did but because his reaction to the entire thing was to laugh, and because when he laughs, I get angry.
And as we climbed into bed feeling exhausted and frustrated and beaten down, Sam turned to me and said, "This is all your fault you know." Lucky for him, he was being facetious.

photo by jclutter  http://www.flickr.com/photos/jclutter/4422515505/

not what I had in mind

I've always wanted to be bilingual. I know a smattering of phrases and words in other languages. I can say be careful, praise God, and eat fish in Indonesian. I can say darn it in French thanks to a very animated, somewhat crazy french teacher in high school. I can greet someone in Thai and say goodbye in Russian. I can sign my name and say thank you in ASL. I can say a phrase or two in German that would make me blush to say in English compliments of an exchange student. I also took three years of high school Spanish which, as everyone knows, equates to being able to introduce myself and ask where the bathroom is. But sadly, these small feats do not even come close to making me bilingual.
But you know what does? Being a mom. When your kids first start talking you suddenly find yourself in the position of having to translate for everyone. Your little treasure asks for something and Grandma turns to you for clarification. Or you notice the way that other people will simply nod and smile and say things like "really?" when your child talks. Clearly they have no idea what your child has just said to them. And you become the expert translator.
Eventually, other people pick up on what your child is saying and your skills aren't as necessary. But then a new stage of being bilingual kicks in. You begin to give your child directions and he doesn't comply. He simply continues on with whatever it was that he was doing before. That is a frequent occurrence at my house. It happens so often that I can only determine that I am speaking a different language. It sounds like English to me but there must be something else coming out of my mouth because my kids look at me like they don't have the first idea of what Mommy is talking about.
This wasn't what I thought being bilingual would be like. It is a sad substitute, but these days I'll take whatever I can.

Of all the animals, the boy is the most unmanageable.

                                                                       ~Plato

I probably shouldn't compare my kids to animals. A super awesome, "I have all my stuff together" mom would never do that. Lucky for me, I am not that kind of mom. I'm a really good mom who also happens to be a bit of a failure and occasionally ends her day in tears wishing that wine didn't taste so darn yucky.

And so I'm okay with comparing my boys to wild animals and I have to say that I wholeheartedly concur with Plato on this one. Having a lion as a pet, while somewhat daunting, in no way would compare to raising these little men. My lion would have to be fed and I would have to clean up after him. And while I would have to worry about his claws and his teeth, I wouldn't have to worry at all about his heart. When he attacks his stuffed teddy bear and rips it to shreds, I wouldn't have to sit down and talk to him about his anger. When he growls at me, I wouldn't have to give him a time-out and then sit and talk to him about how his behavior makes me feel and what it means to treat others with kindness. And no one would expect my lion to be well-behaved.

Compared to everything that I'm expected to do as a mom, that sounds like a cake walk. I can't manage my boys. I can only do my best to keep up with them, love them, teach them, and then get out of the way.

photo by: Cybershot2012  http://www.flickr.com/photos/65769635@N06/5985934280/

innocent mistake

The other night before Jem's spring program, my mom came over for dinner. As we were sitting around the table, Jem started talking about his program and how everyone should come. He invited my mom. She told him that she would love to come and then asked him if he would introduce her to his girlfriend. Jem immediately replied, in a very serious manner, "Gaga, I don't have a girlfriend. I have a boyfriend." Mom and I busted out laughing. 
Girlfriends aren't something that we talk about. We don't ask our boys which girls they think are pretty. Even after finding out from the teacher that Truett has a budding romance, we still don't talk to him about her. We figure there will be plenty of time for that stuff when they are older. So his comment was just a reminder of how innocent he is and how I hope that he can stay that way for a long time.

playground (part 2)

I was explaining yesterday why I prefer empty playgrounds to ones that have a lot of kids running around. I do appreciate that my kids can learn about sharing, taking turns and how to treat others kindly. But I want to go to the playground and just let them play without having to worry about teaching them life lessons.
Given my preference for empty playgrounds, it is astonishing how often I end up at ones that are extremely full. I seem to have really bad luck with this. I have found myself in the midst of playgroups with eight moms who all know each other and each brought at least three kids. So my boys are running around with other kids who all know each other and the moms are all standing in a little circles having conversations about their husbands or how much they dislike watching the same episode of Dora over and over again while I do my best to keep an eye on my kids and not feel like a total dork without any friends.
I've also managed to hit playgrounds that are empty only to suddenly find myself surrounded by 40 plus kids who came to the playground for their end of preschool party. And suddenly I can't even locate my own preschoolers in the midst of all the other ones. When that happens I tend to hover around the exit. Finding them is a lost cause but I can at least make sure they stay at the playground. 
Just this past week I pulled up to a playground with only a few cars and was feeling pretty lucky. But then I noticed a few more cars pulling in and people getting out carrying bags and cups and plates. We had stumbled onto a birthday party. Not only were there a bunch of kids running around but my boys then had to watch as every single other child in the playground sat down to eat ice cream. That was super.
I really don't hate playgrounds. It's just that they are one more place where my ability to control the situation becomes fairly obsolete. And for a mom who is hanging on by a thread most days, that is the last thing that I need. I wonder if other moms feel the same way or if I'm just weird. Just another place where motherhood brings out a new side to me.

photo by alex korting  http://www.flickr.com/photos/alexkorting/3394951937/

I rant - playgrounds (part 1)

I love pulling up to a playground and finding it empty. It's like winning a mini-lottery. I'll even take one or two other cars but when an entire herd of mini-vans is squatting in the parking lot, that's about the time when I turn around and drive across town to a different playground.
Why? Several reasons:
1. Playing with a bunch of other kids on the playground is like sending my kids to a class titled, "Behaviors You Wish Your Children Hadn't Picked Up". Playgrounds are where my kids have learned to spit, call other kids names like stinky-head, stick their tongues out at other kids, block other kids from going past them in the tunnels or on the bridges, and tackle kids on the slides. I feel like I have to retrain them once we get back home.

2. There are always those parents who have their nose stuck in a book or who are chatting with friends. In the meantime, little Timmy is tackling other kids or Susie is throwing sand at my kid's face. And I'm left trying to explain to my boys why I don't really want them to play with Timmy or that maybe we should stay out of the sandbox for a while. And yes, my boys behave poorly at the park sometimes. I have to correct their behavior or remind them of our park rules. We even have an occasional time-out and there have been times when leaving the park seemed like the best idea. Every child misbehaves and has bad days. I just don't want to have to deal with it from kids who aren't mine. I want the parents to occasionally look up from their book and check on what their child is doing.

3. I'm convinced that the majority of playgrounds were designed by people who never had kids. Metal staircases? Openings for ladders that allow a toddler to step off into space from fifteen feet up? Wooden tunnels and towers that make it impossible to find your kid and that are way too big for an adult to get into? Add to that a bunch of other kids who are running and not completely in control of themselves and it's an accident waiting to happen. On second thought, maybe playgrounds are designed by health insurance companies looking to make a few extra bucks.


To be continued...

photo by erink1976  http://www.flickr.com/photos/42046355@N06/5545197659/

my moms

Both my mom and my mother-in-law had less than ideal upbringings. I don't want to go into details but I will say that love, safety, compassion and normalcy weren't constants in their lives. There was anger, chaos, and absenteeism. Their families were living out a pattern, trying to be better than the generation before but struggling. And yet, both of these women chose to do things differently with their own families. They made conscious choices to break out of the patterns and redefine what it meant to be a mother. Their determination and love has made me a better person and continues to shape the way that I parent my own children.
One of them has taught me how to be strong. She has showed me my value and my worth. She provided me with safety, a place to go when I was hurting or confused. She gave me rules and consequences formed out of love with the intention to make me a better person and teach me about responsibility.
The other has taught me that serving others without recognition does not demean me. I do not become less by making others more. I become less by believing that I am more important than the other people around me. She has helped me to temper my strength with compassion and service, something I'm still learning and that I don't often do a good job with. Just ask Sam. :)
I am so grateful for these two women. The one shaped my core, gave me strength, and continues to be a place of safety and love. The other taught me that strength can have a softer side and gave me a new perspective on what influence is. Thank you to my moms for making me a better person. I love you both!

photo by Green Wellies   http://www.flickr.com/photos/greenwellies/1363263123/

one hour

I get up early on most mornings to have a little bit of time to myself before the day begins. Sometimes I exercise, sometimes I get a few things done around the house, and I always have a cup of coffee and have my quiet time. By the time the kids wake up, I feel like I've accomplished something and I feel ready to take on the day.
And then it's nine o'clock and I'm huffing at Truett for not standing still when I'm trying to put his coat on and I'm letting out my breath as Jem decides that he has to use the potty the instant I open the door to lead everyone out to the car. In a word, I'm frazzled and it only took one hour. In that hour I can feel my blood pressure start to rise as I try my best to meet everyone's needs and still find myself with unhappy kids.
It starts with the tiniest of things and just escalates from there. Truett puts his underwear on backwards, again. He gets bent out of shape at having to take them off and put them back on. Jem puts his pants on over top of the shorts he wore to bed. He is okay with having to do it all over again but loses it when I ask him to try to take off his own shirt. Meanwhile, Truett has moved into the bathroom to "brush his teeth" which consists of him standing at the sink playing with the water while his toothbrush sits in his mouth. I hustle him out of the bathroom and tell him to go downstairs. I check on Jem who is still crying about his shirt. Truett has ignored my directions and is in Caia's room. I get her up and take her downstairs and Tru follows. I leave Jem upstairs to finish getting dressed.
I change Caia. Truett wanders back upstairs which freaks Jem out for some reason. I call to Truett that he needs to come back down. He responds by saying no. Big surprise. I tell him to come downstairs again and ask him to make a good choice. He reluctantly shuffles back down the stairs. I get Caia's bottle ready and fix breakfast for Truett. Instead of getting into his seat he opens the back door and climbs around on furniture. I have to remind him that he is supposed to be getting into his seat which he promptly does.
Jem finally makes an appearance so I have to fix his breakfast. Caia is crying because she has seen her bottle and thinks that it should be in her mouth at that very moment. I get Jem all set with breakfast and sit down to feed Caia. She takes two strong tugs at the bottle before Truett announces that he is done with his pancakes and would like something else. And it continues.
During that hour there is not one single moment when someone is not asking me for something: a drink of milk, help with shoes, permission to get down from the table, etc. I don't feel like a mom during that hour. I feel like a machine that has been given too many tasks at once and is going into full melt-down mode. Some days I do a good job of regrouping and getting back in there. And other days I want to tell my kids to go play outside and lock the door behind them.

photo by picasnpoints  http://www.flickr.com/photos/picas_and_points/316100209/

my boy

Jem had a spring program at his preschool tonight. Families gathered in the sanctuary and listened as the kids sang songs about frogs, the days of the week, and catching bumble bees. And it was everything that I expected from a preschool program. There was the boy who danced through the whole performance with a huge smile on his face. There was the girl with a huge flower in her hair, white gloves on her hands, and a floral dress with a white button-down sweater. There was the boy who stood with his hands in his pockets and a look of extreme pain on his face. It was hard to understand most of the songs as the kids would be really loud on some parts and then mumble through others. It was fantastic and entertaining.
And there was a moment when I watched my first-born singing about a shark and I began to picture him standing on stage at his high school graduation. My eyes started to tear up and then I pulled ittogether and reminded myself that just one hour earlier at dinner he was laughing hysterically at the idea of being named Stinky. High school graduation is a long way away.

tea for two

Today, I was invited to a Mother's Day Tea at Truett's preschool. We are coming down to the end of the school year and the kids in the older classes have spring programs. Trying to get a bunch of two and three-year olds to sing songs and stand on stage seems a little daunting so they do the tea time instead.
We met in a little lobby area right outside of the classroom. Tru ran out to me and asked me to sit next to him. Then the teachers served us cookies and iced tea. Each child had decorated two cookies, one for them and one for their parent. It was a generic sugar cookie, the kind with giant sugar granules on top that someone decided should be dyed yellow. And to that the kids added white frosting and rainbow sprinkles.
I am a fan of sweets. You will always find a bag of semi-sweet chocolate chips in my house and I believe there is a special place in my stomach just for ice cream. But this cookie was over the top. I took my first bite and wanted to gag. It was like dumping a sugar packet into my mouth and finishing it off with a hefty drizzle of honey. Blech! But my baby made that cookie for me so I was determined to eat the entire thing and smile while doing it. So I took bite after bite of my sugared-up sugar cookie that seemed to never get any smaller. And I smiled, and talked to Tru about his day, and read a book to him, and stole a pretzel off his plate because oh my gosh I needed something salty to cut all of that sweet. And I finished that awful cookie and had a fabulous time hanging out with my baby boy.  


photo by leuwam  http://www.flickr.com/photos/hotbikes/3724077212/

Yesterday, a friend stopped by with her kids. Both of our husbands were out for the morning so I invited her to come over and let her boys run around in the back yard. It can make such a difference in the day just to spend one to two hours with another adult, even if most of that time is spent refereeing arguments.
At one point yesterday, she had her oldest son,who just turned five a few months ago, come and sit on the porch with us. He was having a rough morning, as all kids do once in a while, and needed to take some time to cool down.  As he was sitting there, mumbling about not needing a time-out, he suddenly belted out, "Damn it!"
I looked at her and she just shook her head and said, "Yep, that's the latest." She thinks that he picked it up from watching A Bug's Life which they watched the previous week. She didn't know that there was any swearing in the movie and why would she? It's supposed to be a kids' movie. She shrugged and ignored him and he didn't say it again.
Watching her, I started thinking about what I will do when my boys say their first swear word. So far, I haven't had to deal with any swear words. But as the boys get older and start hanging out more with other kids, I'm sure they will pick up some less-than-ideal phrases and words. The worst thing I've heard from them so far is calling each other stupid heads or saying that they are going to hit me in the face. I can't imagine having one of them yell out a swear word. It will just seem so strange and wrong coming from their tiny mouths. And I know that I'm not supposed to make a big deal about it because otherwise they will realize that it gets Mommy upset and will use it more often. But it might be really hard to be calm about it. That seems to be a theme of my journey into motherhood; trying to be calm when really I just want to freak out most of the time. And the truth is that I have no idea what I will do when it happens. I'm sure that will be a whole new post where I again confess my utter failing as a human being. Can't wait for that one. :) 

photo by bill barber  http://www.flickr.com/photos/wdwbarber/2516333685/

content with scraps

Today, while at my parents' house, the boys were begging Sam to go downstairs to the basement with them. My parents recently purchased a new townhouse with a really nice finished basement. It is a great place for the boys to play and their favorite thing is to have Daddy throw pillows at them while they run around in circles. It gets them moving and tires them out, so I'm all for it.
Sam decided that the boys needed to give me a kiss and a hug before he would go downstairs with them. Yes, we sometimes stoop to bribing our kids for hugs and kisses. Tru ran right over and gave me a huge hug and nice, wet, sloppy kiss. Jem, however, decided that playing in the basement with Dad wasn't worth hugging and kissing Mommy. So while Sam took Tru downstairs, Jem stood by the basement door and cried. We asked him what was wrong and his response was, "Mommy only gets one kiss. I can't kiss and hug her."
As a mom, it is sometimes hard not to take things personally. Like when my kid would rather cry than give me a hug. That definitely feels personal. But I also have to remember that he is learning how to be his own person. He is trying to figure out where the boundaries are and he doesn't always do a good job of choosing his battles. Plus, I am the easiest target for his anger and frustration. He knows (I hope) that I will always love him and that I will always be there for him.
For today, I just let it go and decided instead to be thankful that Truett wanted to hug and kiss me. It can be either feast or famine and I take whatever scraps I can get during the famine periods.

good day

I was a little worried when I woke up this morning and saw that it was raining. Rainy days are the worst. Little boys have an amazing amount of energy trapped inside and it must come out. And expelling all of that energy indoors can be tricky. But today was a good day. I called my mom and she came along with us to a local park with a great indoor learning area. I carried Caia around in the front pack and we let Tru explore and lead us around. (Jem was in preschool)
Truett watched snakes slither in their cages, dressed up like a spider, crawled through a salamander tunnel and looked for salmon in the river. He was a good listener, he was eager to share things with us, and he was continually asking us to look at something or come with him.
This morning was just a good reminder of who my little boy is apart from all of the discipline issues. He is loving and curious and eager. He is a goofball with a fantastic smile. And sometimes it is easy for me to just brush a day like today aside, saying, "Thank goodness, I made it through today and it wasn't too terrible." I forget sometimes to look at it as a gift, a small reminder that being a mom is the best job in the world.

photo by: pmgnilre  http://www.flickr.com/photos/72758567@N06/6564024403/

seduced

I am a big believer in breastfeeding but, oh my goodness, I am in love with bottles! Let me first say that if I had a chance to do it all over again, I would do it exactly the same way. For me, personally, breastfeeding was the best option and I truly thought that it was the best thing that I could do for my kids. But it really sucked, no pun intended.
All three of my kids were barracudas, which is an actual classification for a breastfed infant. Just like it sounds, barracudas are aggressive eaters which translates into pain for the mom. Toe-curling, swear-inducing pain. It passed eventually, but the first two weeks were awful. I would dread the moment when my sweet babies would wake up and demand to have another crack at my pain-ridden decolletage.
I was also a huge spaz. For some reason, I could not get the knack of just letting my baby latch without some sort of guidance from me. I was not one of those moms who could just pop the baby under her shirt and let him root around and figure it out. I needed to be able to see what was going on at all times which was nearly impossible to do unless I didn't have a shirt on. The need to be semi-unclothed limited my feeding locations. So at family gatherings, I would have to take myself off to some room by myself while everyone else sat around and enjoyed each other's company. Or I would have to be home by feeding time because feeding in a restaurant or store wasn't possible. Like I said, huge spaz.
And while a bottle has some inconveniences, like needing to be heated, having to remember to pack one just in case, and the ridiculous cost of formula, it has still been fabulous. Before it was all up to me. Now I can hand her off to whoever is closest and they can feed her. I can be out of her presence for more than four hours at a time and I don't have to worry about pumping when I come back. There is no pain involved, no worry about what will happen when that first tooth comes in.
I'm glad I didn't know about all of this with my first child because it would have made going back to breastfeeding super difficult. I would have done it, no doubt, but I would have been daydreaming about powder in a can the whole time.


photo by fragglerawker_03  http://www.flickr.com/photos/fragglerawker/2527508557/

glimmer of hope

Last weekend, I read an article on MSN and watched the accompanying video. In it, Dan Savage, who started "It Gets Better", was speaking at a high school journalism convention. Dan is an activist for gay rights and during his talk he began to disparage the bible and anyone who believes in it and uses it to defend their actions. There is a whole bunch of things that I could say about his comments but that's not what this blog is about. As Dan was ranting about the bible and the audience was cheering and clapping, a group of students quietly stood up and walked out. It was obvious that they did not agree with what he was saying and chose to leave. That is what this blog is about.
When I have a moment to envision what life will be like out of this stage, I often find myself worrying about my kids. Who will they become? Will they succumb to the pressures of trying to fit in and going along with the crowd? Will they be the ones who bully others, the ones who stand by and watch, or the ones who befriend those who are friendless? Will I be able to impart strength to them? Will they have courage and the ability to love themselves for who they are? These are things I think about and I usually come away from it feeling a little despondent. The only stories I hear about teenagers anymore are horror stories. Bullying, suicide, murder, sex scandals, hazing rituals, drugs, the list goes on and on.
But watching that video, I saw strength and courage. I saw kids who walked out knowing full well that they would probably be the butt of jokes. I saw a group of kids who knew what they believed in and weren't ashamed of it. Watching that video, oddly enough, gave me hope.



photo by segolily  http://www.flickr.com/photos/59339563@N00/3424135463/

sorry

Lately I've been noticing a disturbing pattern in my day. More and more often I find myself needing to apologize to Truett. Because more and more often I am reacting to him out of frustration or anger. So I have to go back and tell him that I'm sorry for the way I acted or the way that I spoke to him. He always tells me it's okay and then apologizes for his part in the altercation.
It's no secret that I struggle with this child. I love him fiercely and yet I struggle. He is strong-willed and the non-stop battles are exhausting the thought of one more outburst of moment of defiance becomes overwhelming. So I start to power-up, to try and shift his behavior through aggression and dominance rather than with firmness and love. I'm teaching him that the stronger, bigger, louder person wins instead of teaching him that respect is a mutual thing.
I hate being this person. I hate that I allow a three-year old to push my button and that I stoop to his level. But I do, which means apologizing. We will continue to battle and I will continue to make mistakes with him but the day that I stop apologizing is the day when I've lost the war. That apology is humbling but it is a reminder to me that I, too, am a work in progress.

photo by KidEvil  http://www.flickr.com/photos/kidevil8988/3837187913/