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/