As if dead birds aren't enough, a few days ago the boys found an old skeleton of some sort in our yard. It might have been a groundhog or a cat or maybe a rabbit. I don't really know. What I do know is that they dug up a bunch of pieces and proceeded to play with them. Pieces with tufts of hair still clinging to them. (shudder!) But they were so enthralled with them and it kept them occupied for a good bit of time. I should have taken them away but I knew I would have a battle on my hands. So instead, I just met them at the door with orders to wash their hands and then come back and use disinfectant.
Thankfully, someone mentioned that we could throw the bones into a bucket of bleach. It would kill all of the germs and then the boys could play without me feeling like an awful mom for screeching at them to get that piece of germ-covered vertebra out of the house. So I put the bones into a bucket of bleach and they've been soaking for the past two days.
Yesterday, the boys got ahold of the bucket. And of course, even though there had been warnings, Tru stuck both hands into the bucket to show the bones to his Opa. I wouldn't have even known except for the pink splotches on the back of his shorts. 
Honestly, when I had Jem I never dreamed I would be bleaching animal bones so that my kids could play with them. I had visions of burying plastic dinosaur bones in a sandbox and helping him dig them out. But real bones from some animal that died in our backyard? No way. And yet here I am, bleaching bones and encouraging my kids to take as much time as they need to try to fit the poor dinosaur back together.

is that you God or am i just getting sick?

I read a quote today about the idea that people face resistance when they are trying to create something good and that this resistance tells you that you are on the right track. And after I read it, I sat back and thought about it and wondered how it is that you tell the difference between resistance, God, and good old-fashioned fear.
Let's say I'm thinking of joining a dance troupe (I'm not, by the way) and I have a sick-to-my-stomach kind of feeling about it when I turn in my application. Am I experiencing resistance to my desire to create something good in my life? Or is it God gently reminding me that I am not gifted in that area and should move on to something else? Or is it just my normal life companion, fear, who sticks with me every step of the way?
If I'm honest, like completely 100% honest, I'd have to say that fear rules the day. That most of the time, I don't even stop to consider any other option. I just feel that feeling in my stomach and know I'm done. What's a life of creativity and beauty and risk compared to the possibility of failure and humiliation and embarrassment?
I think I'd like to change. I know I'd like to change. I'd like to push through the fear and push past the resistance and trust that God can change my path if He needs to. I don't think God cares if I join a dance troupe and make a fool of myself. I think God cares more about the fact that I wouldn't join the dance troupe out of fear of what others might think of me. I don't need life to throw resistance at me. I make enough of my own.

photo from: sciencephoto.com

who i want to be

I want to learn to be a mom who is able to look past the mess and praise the creativity. I want to see opportunities to enjoy my children instead of focusing on the inconvenience of allowing little hands to stir the batter and crack the eggs. 
I am not this type of mom. I am scheduled and focused. I have a picture in my head of how the day will go and I can get bent out of shape when it doesn't happen the way I wanted. 
I see the creativity but only after I've reprimanded them for making the mess. I notice the play doh all over the floor or the chalk all over their clothes and then I notice the robot they've built or the dragon they've drawn. And by then, it's too late. I've already made it clear to them that I value my agenda, my workload, over their hearts. 
This motherhood thing is hard in ways that I never even imagined.

making superheroes

I just read an article on MSN about discipline tips from teachers. I figured it was worth a read. I'm always open to learning new ways to be a better mom. And there were a few things that seemed to make sense, like changing "go" to "come".  For example, instead of telling my kids to go sit down at the table I could ask them to come with me to the table. Less of a command and more of a request.
But the one that  made the most sense to me was all about teaching them when and where to use their superpowers. I have two boys who love to dress up as knights and slay monsters. They love pretending to be superheroes and saving me from monsters. So this seemed to fit. You help your child find their superpower, like energy or making people laugh or creativity, and then give them tasks and opportunities to use that power. And if they use it at the wrong time or in the wrong place, you can gently remind them that they are using their superpowers incorrectly. It was a good reminder that the things that make my children unique should be celebrated. It was also a good reminder that even energy and goofiness have a place and time to be used.
Now I just have to figure out what their powers are and how to give them times and places to use them. Tru's would most likely be energy or passion. And Jem's would be creativity. Yikes! I'm slightly lacking in all of those things right now. Why couldn't their superpowers be reading quietly or sleeping? That's what I'd like: Super Reading Man and Captain Sleepyhead.

the dead bird hunt

Last week the boys discovered an injured bird on our front walk. My sister-in-law was over and used a cardboard box to transport it to the back yard. She then helped the boys collect worms and bugs for the bird to eat.
By the next morning the bird had died and I had to tell the boys. They weren't overly concerned. Jem talked about the bird going to heaven and being happy there with God. I told them that they could look at it but then they needed to leave it alone and they definitely weren't allowed to touch it.
Later in the day, they both ran into the house and told me that they had fed some worms to the bird. I reminded them that the bird was dead and couldn't eat. And they said, "That's okay Mommy. We just put them in its mouth and moved it's beak up and down." Yuck!!! I made them come inside right away and disinfected their hands while trying not to be grossed out.
I took the time to hide the bird while they were sleeping. Obviously telling them to stay away from it wasn't going to work so I moved it to a different spot in the yard. When they woke up they immediately ran outside to look for it and Jem quickly came back in to tell me that he was really mad at me for taking the bird away. He started looking through our trashcan for it. I told him that I didn't put it in the trash and Tru said that I put it in a different bush so they both ran back outside to search for it. When Sam came home from work he found both boys outside with their heads in different bushes hunting for a dead bird. I'm happy to report that their hunt was unsuccessful.

i took the pillow

 

A few months ago Sam and I were shopping for some new pillows. Our old feather pillows were pretty much shot and it was time to trade them in. We ended up buying a Tempur Pedic pillow. It felt so soft and lovely in the store but when we got it home it was like sleeping on a rock. They apparently take a long time to break in and it ended up being pushed on to the floor. Eventually, Jem discovered it and claimed it for his own and loves it.
Fast forward to tonight. Once again, the boys were jumping in their beds and being noisy and loud. They had been warned that there would be consequences if they continued and they chose to continue. So Truett was taken over to the play room and put into his old crib but I wasn't sure of what to do with Jem. Truett is the main culprit usually, but Jem instigates. As I walked back towards his room, I had the thought to take his pillow away. He was already waiting for me, his pillow and bear in hand, ready to climb into my bed instead of his own. I told him that he could go back to his bed but that he couldn't take his pillow and I handed him a different one. And he absolutely fell apart. I felt a little bad for him but realized that I had hit on a new tool for my toolbox. I love finding new tools for my toolbox. Who would have thought it would take the form of a pillow? That pillow was worth every cent.

the core

Sam was away on a business trip the last few days. It is always hard when he is gone. I can't look forward to any help in the evenings, I don't sleep well, and I have a tendency to get a little short-tempered. (I know you're shocked) And this particular trip happened to fall over the same period of time that most of the other people I look to for help were busy. It wasn't the easiest but we all survived.
Yesterday, my mom came over to my house to give me a break. I had a few hours to go out and relax and also grab some groceries. The sun had started to set by the time I got back to my house and as I walked up onto the back porch with my grocery bags, I could see my family sitting in the family room. The boys were watching TV and Caia was crawling around on the floor. And there was this moment of feeling so immensely grateful at this life that I've been given. I will admit that those moments don't come often. I am more often thinking about how soon I can put the kids to bed or hoping that they take a long nap or being thankful that they are content without me for a few moments. But last night, as I looked in on them, I was struck with how much I love them and how much I love being their person. It is a feeling that is always there but can be covered up by the day-to-day frustrations and tasks. So I stopped on the porch and watched my family and allowed the feeling to wash over me. It was a fleeting feeling and I didn't wake up this morning with the same sense of gratitude. I did however, wake up this morning with the memory of that feeling, knowing that no matter where the day took us, there was still gratitude and love at the core of this life we are trying to muddle through together and that is enough.

deal breaker

Last week I decided to take the kids over to the library. Our old house was a few blocks away from the main library in our county and it was great. There was a fantastic kids' area with a fish tank and a playhouse and a train table. And there were plenty of books. But now that we've moved, that library isn't close and we will be using a different one.
We all piled into the car and I followed the directions, turning onto the road the library was on. And there it was. A beautiful brick building with glass doors. It was much bigger than I thought it was going to be. Then, as I continued to scan the building and the area, I noticed that the library sign wasn't pointing to the big building. Instead, it was pointing to the double-wide sitting at the end of the parking area.
My heart sank but I thought maybe it was bigger on the inside than it looked. It wasn't. You can see every single book this library has to offer before you even step out of the doorway. It is literally a double-wide. Just one big space with books lined against the walls. I wanted to cry. The ladies working there were super nice but it didn't make up for the lack of books.
As we drove back to our house I realized it was a good thing that I didn't know about that sad little library before we signed the papers on our house. Because I can't deny that it might very well have been a deal breaker.

other kids - exhibit B) the diva

Shortly after I had put the boys on the tire swing, I looked over and noticed two girls standing in front of it. I watched as they got closer and closer until they were standing close enough to touch the boys. The one might have been nine and the other was around five or six. They stood there with their arms crossed, obviously waiting for a turn on the tire swing with about as much attitude as possible. I heard one of them say, "We're standing right here." As if my boys would have any idea what she meant by that sarcastic remark. They just continued to spin, happy as larks.
I decided it might be time for me to intervene so I walked over to the swing and let the girls know that my boys weren't finished yet with their turn but that they (the girls) could get on as soon as they were done. The six year old, who still had her arms crossed over her chest, looked at me and said, "We've been waiting a long time." And, I kid you not, she rolled her eyes. At that point I felt it necessary to inform her that she had only been waiting for about a minute and that she could continue to wait until they were done. I really, really wanted to push the boys some more just to make her, and her little snarky attitude, wait even longer but, to my dismay, Jem announced that they were finished about 30 seconds later. The boys wiggled out of the tire and ran off. I let the girls know that they could have their turn and also let them know that they could work on being patient. (I know. I just couldn't help myself.)
As I was walking back over to where Caia was sitting, the younger one was trying to get onto the swing and having a tough time. She looked over at me and said, "It's hard to get on this swing." And that is when I became the horrible lady who doesn't put a kid on a swing. Instead I just looked at her and said, "Yeah, it is." And even that wasn't enough for her. Once she managed to get herself onto the swing with her friend she looked at me again and said, "We could use a push over here." It was another one of those "are you kidding me" moments. Was this little six year old really going to ask me to push her on the tire swing after she was rude and disrespectful to me not even a minute prior? No freaking way was that going to happen! She didn't even ask me. It was more of an order or a command. And my own inner six year old came out and said, "Well, you're not getting one from me." Actually, I wanted to say much worse to her like, "You're awful!" or "I'm glad you aren't my kid." I wisely kept my mouth in check and just allowed the moment to make me thankful that I have worked so hard with my kids on being respectful of others. Does it always go the way I want? Of course not. But I can't imagine my children ever speaking to an adult that way. I'm sure it will happen at some point and I can only hope that I am there to put a stop to it and correct the behavior.
I did learn one great lesson from our day at the park. If you are feeling discouraged about your kids, just go somewhere and watch other people's kids for a while. You will undoubtedly come across some sort of horrible behavior that you would never allow and you'll suddenly feel like a superstar parent. Right up until the moment when it's time to leave and one of your sweet little angels has to be carried to the car kicking and screaming. But at least that will make some other stressed out mom feel better about herself and her kids. It's a cycle and we're all in it together.

other kids - exhibit A) the toxic loner

I've written before about my love/hate relationship with parks. Lately, we've been going to smaller, out-of-the-way parks and they are almost always empty. I love empty parks. But I will admit that I've found myself occasionally wishing for a few more kids. My boys love to run around with each other and play but they will be much more engaged in the park if other kids are there. They are less apt to come to me five minutes in and complain of being thirsty or tired.
So last Friday, I thought I would head to one of the big parks, hoping for a few kids to be there. I should have known that I would once again stumble upon a park that was in use by some sort of camp. There were kids everywhere. I was feeling leery of the whole thing but thought I would give it a try. The boys played well together and Caia was enjoying the baby swing. Overall, a good morning. And then the interactions with other children began and our good day took a turn.
The first was with a boy who was around the same age as my boys, three or four. I had noticed him earlier in the day when he ran up to the tire swing and climbed onto it despite the fact that another boy was already on it. His grandmother was tagging along and quietly told him that he needed to wait his turn but the other boy had already jumped off and said it was okay. He was on the tire swing for a few minutes and when he got down he wandered over towards where I was sitting on a blanket with Caia. The boys were right in front of me picking up rocks and when he walked over he said, "Get away from me," to them. His grandmother didn't hear him but I did. And, thankfully Jem and Truett just ignored him. He walked closer to them and, without even looking at them, said, "I don't want you near me. Get away from me." That time Grandma heard and gently scolded him for speaking that way to someone.
I had already decided that I didn't really want my boys near him so I asked them if they'd like to ride on the tire swing. As they started to climb on I saw the little boy turn towards us and start to run towards the tire swing. And in my head I was thinking, "Are you kidding me right now? There is no way I'm letting you on this swing with my kids after you just told them to get away from you." Thankfully, Grandma stopped him and told him that it wasn't his turn so I didn't have to be the horrible lady who doesn't put a kid on the tire swing. (I got to be that lady later but that is tomorrow's post) She walked away with him and he found someone else to be mean to.
Later, I watched as she dragged him out of the park by his arm while he kicked and screamed. I wasn't sorry to see him go.

cooperating brain not is

I keep trying to write something and nothing is coming out right. Maybe it is the accumulative lack of sleep over the past several weeks (curse you NBC and your ridiculous Olympic coverage). Or maybe it is the stress of living in a new place, making meals without counter tops, boys who wake up at 6:30am, and still not being able to find one of my favorite pairs of shoes. Maybe it's that our computer crashed the other week and now I have to wait until Sam brings his laptop home to write my blog, which means waiting until the kids are in bed and all I want to do is sit on the couch and do nothing. Whatever it is, my brain is in full shut-down mode and I'm going to let go of the guilt and just let it be. So my apologies for the non-blog. Hopefully, next week will be better.

silent treatment

Did you ever give anyone the silent treatment? I remember being ignored by a girl I was friends with in junior high. We would be fine and then she would suddenly stop speaking to me. There was never any explanation. She would simply act as though I wasn't there. It would bother me and I would try to talk to her only to be ignored. Needless to say, our friendship didn't last past that year. I wasn't interested in giving someone that kind of power over me and I knew better than to stay in that kind of friendship.
So it is with trepidation that I admit that I pulled out my silent treatment skills this morning. It wasn't done to hurt someone. It was done to move my child towards obedience. I was hoping that it would succeed where other disciplinary tactics have failed. If there is one thing that Truett loves, it is being noticed and having attention so it seemed like a good way to go.
He has been struggling with getting dressed in the morning. He will ignore my directions and roll around on the floor or jump onto his bed. And if I leave the room to do something else, he screams and cries and throws himself on me, begging me to please stay with him. Yesterday I told him that I wasn't going to sit and wait for him; that he would have one shot to obey. I reminded him again this morning and he chose to take his time and not listen. So I walked out and told him that he could come downstairs and join the family once he was dressed.
What followed was a half hour of Truett screaming at me, hitting me, pushing over chairs and throwing himself onto me. I calmly peeled him off of me and ignored him while I fed Caia and ate my breakfast. It was not a pleasant 1/2 hour. Eventually, Truett wandered upstairs, got dressed, and came back down as though nothing had happened. We then had to go and have a talk about how he had behaved and then proceeded to have a good day together.
Did I make the right choice? I don't know. But that is the thing about being a mom. Most of the time, you are making it up as you go. I can borrow from the things my own mom did or talk to my friends about stuff but I'm the one dealing with it in the moment. And sometimes it is hard to tell the difference between a tactic that works and a tactic that works and helps to create better character in your child and in you. I will never use the silent treatment on my kids as a way to make them feel bad. But I won't allow my three-year old to set the pace for my day. It is a rough road and I can only do my best and trust God to cover my failings.  

boo august

Before I had kids, January and February were tied for being my least favorite months of the year. They were both so dreary and cold. Plus, there were barely any holidays to speak of, so days off were few and far between. They seemed to just drag on.
But now that I've had kids, August has definitely taken over as my least favorite month. The summer is winding down. The kids are over the novelty of being able to go to a park every day. They aren't as enthralled with their bikes or blowing bubbles or sidewalk chalk. But it is either too early or too late for anything else. Most VBS programs happen in June or early July. School won't start until after Labor Day. It just seems like there is nothing going on in August which means I feel like I'm going to go crazy. And the new house doesn't help. It still feels like a new house. I sort of feel like a squatter, with my card tables set up in the kitchen and boxes stacked in the living room. There is that feeling of upheaval.
So yeah, August isn't shaping up to be super great right now. But September will bring the start of preschool so it is quickly moving up in the ranks as one of my favorite months. Three cheers for September.

the farmer's gift

I took the kids over to a park today to play. When we got there, the boys were delighted to see a large tractor out mowing the field next to the park. They are in love with tractors. They watched for a while and then set to work on playing. I pushed them on the swings, running back and forth between Caia in her baby swing and the boys on the regular swings. (They haven't quite mastered the art of pumping their legs yet.) They climbed on the equipment and raced down the slides. And, after I had spread out a blanket in the grass for Caia to sit on, they asked me to chase them around. In truth, I just wanted to pull out my book and sit down for a few minutes. But I hoisted myself up and we ran around in the grass. At one point, while I was sitting in the grass being tackled, I looked up to see the man who had been driving the tractor approaching us. He looked every bit the farmer. Dark, tan skin creased by weather and age. A John Deere hat, t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and dark jeans. I thought that he was maybe stopping for a drink but then he walked right over and asked me if I was "babysitter or mom?" I told him that I was Mom and he took a step back and said, "Wow! I'm just amazed that you are playing with your kids. Where do you find the energy? That's just fantastic." I assured him that it wasn't this way everyday. He told me that he rarely sees moms playing with their children and that he had been watching us as he mowed the grass and wanted to come and tell me that I'm doing a great job. He then walked back to his tractor and finished his work.
As I sat there I was thinking that if he only knew that I really wanted to read a book, he wouldn't have come over. Or that he simply caught me on a good day. But then I decided to simply take it at face value and accept the gift of his words. He went out of his way to come over to me and encourage me. And he didn't know me. It wasn't a relative or good friend telling me that I'm doing a great job and helping me to push on. This was a stranger who saw value in me rolling around in the grass with my kids. I know a gift when I see one and that was a gift.

moving

When I was 2 1/2 my parents packed up everything and moved us from Michigan to Pennsylvania. There had been a few rough years on the farm and the debt was too big to overcome. So they threw all of our belongings into a moving van and the pickup truck and drove over 8 hours to a completely new place. There was no family waiting to help them unload. No friends to bring over meals. 
Just this past Saturday, Sam and I moved 20 minutes across town. We had family and friends helping us pack and unpack. We had lunch brought to us. We had someone caring for our kids and it was still completely and utterly exhausting. I can't imagine doing what my parents did. I think my brain would shut off.
So yes, we have officially moved into our new house. My mom came over on Friday and helped me pack up our belongings. Then on Saturday, while Sam and a crew of awesome guys loaded everything into vans and trucks and brought it over, my mom and my sister-in-law helped me organize the chaos at the new house.
Everything was out of the old house and into the new house by noon. It was a super efficient and went better than anticipated. Don't misunderstand me though. There are still boxes everywhere. I can't find the majority of my shoes or our new bedsheets. I still don't know which light switch works which light and we don't have any curtains up which means that I have to be very careful about where I walk when I'm in my jammies. My fridge is in the garage and my beautiful breakfront that is supposed to be displaying wine glasses and china is now filled with canned goods. The next few weeks will be a good lesson for me on going with the flow which apparently I need.

blog envy

I don't follow any blogs. I barely have time to get mine written, let alone sit down and read other ones. But every once in a while, someone will tell me about something they read on so-and-so's blog and how great it was and I decide to check it out. And that is usually when the envy begins. Maybe their blog has pretty pictures or a nice set-up. Maybe it has an intriguing name. But usually the envy has to do with the content or the style of writing. There are some great blogs out there. People writing about life and doing it in a way that touches your heart and challenges you and brings a tear to your eye. And I can't help but compare my writing, my subjects, to theirs. I will read a blog written by a mother who is facing similar challenges to me but the way she words it makes it sound so inspiring. Or I will read someone's take on our culture's obsession with appearance and it will make me feel so silly for rewriting "My Favorite Things." I will start to worry that my writing isn't up to par or that I should be more eloquent and less off-the-cuff.
Thankfully, the envy doesn't last. I remind myself that different doesn't mean better and that people respond to different styles of writing. So I've decided that instead of wallowing in my blog envy, I'm going to turn it into praise. Now, when I run across a blog that inspires me or challenges me, I'm going to give it a shout-out so that other people can benefit from it.
My very first shout-out is for the ladies. I read this gal's take on skinny jeans and I was so thankful for the reminder that I don't have to choose society's definition of beauty. I don't have to measure myself by their standards. So, if you have a spare moment, take a look at this blog post. Hopefully you will find something in it that speaks to you.

http://redefiningfemale.wordpress.com/2012/08/06/the-battle-we-find-ourselves-in/ 

the way it is

I spent every moment of my free time today packing. But if you were to walk into my house right now, it would look like I had done nothing all day. I worked on packing up our cupboard contents today; pantry items, pots and pans, tupperware, plates and glasses. All stuff that can't be seen. And the rest of the house looks like you might imagine a house would look if there were two young boys running around, a baby exploring every nook and cranny, and a mom frantically trying to pack while still taking care of everyone. In short, my house is a disaster and it is hard to look around and feel like I didn't accomplish anything because of the way it looks.
But that is sort of what most days are like for me. The most tangible things I do in my day need to be done over and over, like dishes, so that I never quite feel like I accomplish anything. I sweep the floor after breakfast knowing that in a few hours we will eat lunch and it will look like I didn't sweep it in the first place. I finish folding laundry only to have the boys run into the house covered in dirt. That's just the way it is.
It's an adjustment. I've entered into a world of service and placing others first whether I want to or not. It is a continual lesson in dying to self, one that I don't often get right. But, as with most things in my life right now, all I can do is keep trying and remain confident in the fact that God can cover me in the areas where I fail.  

no...I mean yes

Yesterday, I told Jem that it was time to head up for naptime and he responded in a different way from usual. He started off with his typical "But Mommy..." and then, amazingly, he corrected himself and said, "Yes Mommy." He corrected himself! It was like a little tiny miracle. I have been working and working with the boys on how they should respond when I ask or tell them to do something. I normally hear excuses and sometimes I get flat out refusals. There are even times when I am ignored completely. Each time, I remind them that the correct response is to say, "Yes Mommy." It sounds a little formal but my friend suggested it. It helps me to know that they heard me and it helps them to learn that they need to respect me and that they need to listen and obey. But it has felt like an uphill battle; a lesson that they will never get. And then my boy corrected himself and he was so proud too. It was just a wonderful little gift. A reminder that it takes time to develop a new habit and my kids can only benefit if I continue to expect good things of them.

not pregnant, just fat

It was bound to happen. Outside of my brief, and unsuccessful, stint on the Special K diet, I haven't done anything to get back into shape. I gained over 50 pounds during my pregnancy and carried an 11.1 pound baby that the doctors cut out of me. And much to my dismay, the weight has mostly dropped off but the belly hasn't. So I can't say that I was surprised the other day when a lovely shop owner said, "Is that a baby bump I see?" I told her no and laughed it off, hoping to make her feel a little less awful for insinuating that a non-pregnant lady could pass for a pregnant one. And honestly, I didn't feel completely depressed. Now before you start thinking that I have matured and come to accept myself flaws and all, I have to say that I think I'm just tired and stressed and that, for the time being, I've given up. With the week that I had, being called out for looking pregnant was just par for the course. And right now, I don't have time to worry about my appearance. I do have plans to start running again when we move to our new neighborhood. I have plans to stop eating so much ice cream. I have plans to never buy a pair of mom jeans. But I also had plans to only gain 25 pounds with my last pregnancy and plans to lose a few pounds on my aforementioned diet. So best laid plans...and all that stuff.  

5 days

Last week was not a good week. It was one of those weeks when I just seemed to continually run up against all of the worst parts of myself. And by the end of it, I was ready to go into hibernation and swear off human contact for the next three months.
Maybe it is the stress of moving. There are only five days left until we move to our new house. That means I have five days to pack up the old house. It sounds like a decent amount of time until I figure out that I can really only pack during the hours that all of my kids are sleeping and I'm awake. That takes it from five days down to 15 hours. And I still have to make dinner, do laundry, return phone calls and emails, and all of the normal stuff I do in those free hours every day. So I'm feeling the pressure and it isn't pretty. I've had numerous moments of having to go back to someone and apologize for being ungrateful, harsh, snappish, etc. I've thrown massive pity parties for myself and spent way too much time focusing on myself. It has been sad.
And the stress won't magically end in five days. Because once we get to the new house, I have to unpack everything. Throw in the fact that I won't have any kitchen cupboards or counter tops and it goes to a whole new level. I have no choice but to put my head down and push through.
The only redemptive part of this is that I haven't gone through it with my eyes closed. I've been very aware of my faults and how they are surfacing. It has made for a tough week, a week that I'm coming out of feeling as though I could do nothing right and every day was a failure in some way. But if I can recognize those times that I'm sliding into self-pity or ingratitude, the times that I'm inflexible and unsympathetic, then maybe I can begin to work on them. If I notice them, then I have the chance of possibly being better. So here's to hoping that these five days bring me plenty of opportunities to change the way that I react under stress. I'm hoping that these five days can be days of grace for myself and the people I encounter.  

Ah

Tonight I had four hours during which I wasn't Mommy. I had dinner with some wonderful ladies. We laughed and shared stories. We ate some great Thai food and caught everyone up on what has been going on in our lives. I didn't have to cut anyone's food or wipe anyone's hands. No one cried or threw food on the floor. It wasn't a big deal that dinner took twenty minutes to arrive at our table.
After dinner, I met up with two girlfriends at an ice cream shop. We sat outside and enjoyed the gorgeous moon and the warm evening. We chatted and relaxed. I didn't have to worry about anyone's bedtime but my own. I didn't have to try and keep an eye on little ones to make sure that they weren't wandering off. I could sit back and enjoy my time knowing that Sam had everything under control at home.
I will always be a mom and I'm so grateful for that. But I'm also grateful for these small times when I can take a short break from being Mommy. I can remember that there is more to me than making sandwiches, changing diapers, reading stories and refereeing disputes. And I can enter back into my role of Mommy tomorrow morning feeling refreshed, which is always good for everyone.

singing my feelings

So...I was feeling a little bit adventurous today and decided to do a song parody. You'll have to sing it to yourself because I'm certainly not going to post a video of myself singing. I'm proud of myself for simply posting pictures. Enjoy!

Reasons I'm Losing My Mind (to the tune of My Favorite Things~you know, the "raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens" song)

Toys thrown in anger
and books ripped to pieces
No manners to speak of
No thank you's or pleases
Mean, hurtful words and being unkind
These are the reasons I'm losing my mind.

Whining and moaning
and making poor choices,
Running and screaming
without indoor voices,
No possible way to keep them confined,
These are the reasons I'm losing my mind

When they're all content
When they all have dined
When I'm alone at last
I simply enjoy it as much as I can,
Because naptime goes so fast.

I had a good day with the boys today. No, you don't need to reread that last sentence and check for a typo. I don't often write about the good days because they don't usually provide good fodder for blogging. Especially since the point of my blog is to share my struggles on this journey. But I figured it might be good to acknowledge the good days every once in a while.
It wasn't a perfect day. There were still some time-outs. I had to repeat instructions. There were reminders about having bad attitudes and whining. So yeah, not perfect. But it was a good day.
And maybe that is the issue. Maybe I'm so busy looking for a perfect day, where my kids get along and obey me and no one gets into anything they shouldn't and we have fun together, that I miss the good days. If I set my expectations on having a perfect day or even a super great day, then the first thing that doesn't go the right way means the day is a failure. Perfect days don't exist. But good days are plentiful and maybe I'll have a better chance at spotting them if I give up on perfection.

photo by: ddot.  http://www.flickr.com/photos/mouthingthewords/577460704/