cursing at inanimate objects

Those of you who know me or have read my blog in the past, know that I love nap time at my house. I crave that hour of silence and alone time in the middle of the day and I guard it jealously. Of course, sometimes things don't go quite as planned. 
A few moments after sitting down today, I heard Tru yelling for me. I went up to check on him and he informed me that he needed to use the bathroom. Fifteen minutes later, I finally had him back in bed. (He insisted that I could go back downstairs and he could take care of everything on his own but I know how that story ends.) Then, just as I was shutting his door, Jem peeks his head out and insists that he, too, needs to use the potty. He actually can be trusted to put himself back to bed, for the most part, so I headed back downstairs to salvage the rest of my time. 
Several minutes later, I heard the toilet flush two times in a row and then heard Jem call down to me that he was having trouble plunging the toilet. What!?! Trouble doing what now?! I ran upstairs to find water running across the bathroom floor, deep enough that the cuffs of my jeans got wet. I ripped the top off of the tank and pulled up the plug hoping that would help. It didn't. It just sent more water gushing out of the toilet. So I reached down and turned it off manually and then grabbed towels to try and soak it up. I told Jem to go change his socks and get back in bed and then went downstairs to investigate the curious "rain" sound that I was hearing. That was coming from our downstairs bathroom where water was leaking through the vent all over the floor. As I was sopping that up with towels, our upstairs smoke detector suddenly started going off. I ran back upstairs and started waving a towel at it. Why, you might ask? Um...because that is what we do when it goes off since it is normally caused by smoke from an overcooked meal. So even though I knew that there wasn't any smoke, I still fanned away. I then began yelling at it as two little heads peeked out of doorways to find out what was happening. 
I ran back down to the basement to get a step stool only to realize that the alarm was also going off down there. I was able to pull the detector off of the ceiling, intent on taking out the batteries but was dismayed to discover that it only had wires. 
This was the point when I called Sam a second time. I had called him once before and realized that there wasn't much for him to do. But seeing those wires and realizing that I couldn't make the horrid shrieking noise stop, I called again. He wasn't able to answer. I left a message that basically said nothing more than, "There aren't any batteries. I can't shut it off! Arghhh!!!!!" He called back a few moments later and said that he was on his way home. I guess telling your boss that your house is flooding with "poop" water and the smoke alarm is blaring and your wife might lose it qualifies you to leave a little early to deal with things. 
So on the downside, not only was nap time a complete bust, I spent it cleaning up dirty toilet water and swearing at our smoke detectors. On the upside, my hubby got home 1 1/2 hours earlier than usual and didn't make me feel like a complete dork for letting the afternoon unhinge me. 
By the way, the smoke detector was going off because somehow, someway, toilet water ran through it causing it to malfunction. 

starting over

A week or so ago, I was upstairs and I could hear Truett and Jem yelling at each other downstairs. I found myself cringing at the volume and tone of their voices as they argued over sharing the chair in front of the computer. I decided that it might be a good time to talk to them about how they speak to one another and to let them in on my goal of not yelling anymore.
So we sat down around our dining room table and talked about speaking with kindness. I told them that I was going to try really hard to not yell at them anymore but that there might be times when it still happened. I told them that anytime I started to yell they could say, "red dragon" to me as a reminder. (I took this idea from the orange rhino post I wrote about a few weeks ago.) I also told them that when they started yelling I was going to say, "little dragon" to them as a reminder.
The week went well. There were times when I could feel myself getting amped up but trying to take deep breaths or pausing before responding seemed to help. It was also helpful for me to notice times and events that seemed to bring out the desire to yell. Meal times and any time we are trying to get out the door seem rather stressful. I also don't handle impatience well in my kids. You know, when they ask you for something and you respond with "in a minute" and they continue to ask you every five seconds? Yeah, apparently I'm not a fan.
But it was still a good week. And then Sunday happened. Sunday did not go well so Monday became the new starting point of my 30-day challenge to not yell. Two days down. Twenty eight to go.

picture from:tvtropes.org

the difference in a "no"

I've said "no" to Caia several times. I had to use that word when she started pushing buttons on the dishwasher and when she started dropping food on the floor. I said it to her today when she let her apple juice dribble out of her mouth and down the front of her shirt. Typically she just smiles at me and finds something else to do.
Last week though, I learned that she reacts a little differently when her Daddy says no to her. Sam and I were sitting on the couch while Caia and Tru played on the floor. We both watched as Caia walked over to Truett and hit him on the back with a toy and we both immediately sat up and said, "No Caia!", in stern voices. And Caia turned and looked at Sam with shock and her lower lip started to quiver. Before I could even blink, she burst into tears, put her head onto the ottoman, and started to wail. I just looked at Sam and started laughing. Apparently, Daddy hasn't said no very often, if ever, and she did not like it. She lifted her head and, still crying, walked over to him and reached for him. She then needed to be comforted for several seconds before she pulled herself together. It was comical.
Who knew that the same word coming from two different people could have such a different impact? It's just another sign of Sam stealing her from me.

the dr. thinks i'm the worst

Some days, this job of being a parent is impossible to get right. There is no job description and just when I feel like I've got a handle on things, I realize that I am completely neglecting another facet of the job. And there is nothing like a trip to the Dr.'s office to make me feel like I've been sitting around eating bon-bons and watching tv for the last five years while my kids turn into complete disasters because I didn't do something that I was supposed to when I was supposed to.

-You haven't taken your kids to the dentist yet? Oh. You should do that. But they are taking fluoride vitamins right? Oh.
-So she really isn't saying anything at all? Mama? Up? Anything?
-How is she doing with using a spoon and a fork? You don't give those to her because it's messy? You should probably start doing that.
-How is he at spreading things with a knife?
-Can he skip? Can she walk backwards?

So apparently, I'm supposed to let my kid make his own pb&j and I should be taking mental notes every time he skips down the block. And I should also let my 17-month old throw yogurt all over the room because she needs practice with her spoon. Ugh.
I would stop taking my kids in for check-ups to avoid this but then that would have to go on the list of "things I didn't do" and I'm pretty sure I don't want to add more things to that list. As it stands right now, Caia will apparently still be eating with her hands and grunting at me when she is 15, and Jem will be toothless and the other kids will tease him because he can't spread peanut butter with a butter knife.

photo from: www.parentsavers.com

no more yelly mcyellerson

It seems as though we've regressed over the last week or so. Tru has reverted back to old habits; screaming and threatening and refusing to listen. Jem has been full of excuses for his bad behavior; claiming that he didn't see the book he was kicking around the room or that he didn't know they shouldn't secretly eat half a bag of chocolate chips. And I have resurrected angry Mommy. There has been yelling and exasperated huffing and frustration oozing out of me. And of course, there have also been many apologies and hugs and pardons, both given and received.
I don't like where we are heading. I don't like how easy it is to slip back into old patterns. Here I was, thinking that I've been doing so much better, when really it was just that my kids were behaving. The good behavior stops and I'm no longer calm and controlled. This isn't who I want it to be.
Today I came across a blog site called www.theorangerhino.com. A few friends had liked one of her posts so I decided to check it out. She set a challenge for herself to not yell at her kids (4 boys) for 365 days. She talked about the benefits she has seen from this challenge, besides simply not yelling at her kids, and it was enough for me to want to try it.
I can remember back to the first two or three years of my journey as a Mom. The idea that I would ever need to challenge myself to not yell at my kids would have seemed ridiculous. Yelling? Who does that? And then that day came when my composure snapped and I found myself with my nose inches away from my child's nose, screaming at him. I had yelled before, but never at my child. And then it happened again, and again until it became something that I now want to challenge myself to stop doing. So I am going to start with 30 days. I find I do better with that sort of thing if I set smaller goals for myself and work them into a bigger goal. If I can make it 30 days, then the next time I can make it 60 days. Eventually, it will add up to 365 days. An entire year without yelling. Today I feel like I have a better shot at growing a pair of wings but I'll never know unless I try. And this is something worth trying.

photo by gd427driver http://www.flickr.com/photos/gd427driver/3156345314/

betrayal

The other night I was sitting on the couch reading a book with Truett, while Caia stood in front of us peeking over the edge, when Sam walked in from work. He walked over to us and Caia looked up at him and said, "Dada" with a squeal of excitement and toddled around the couch to reach him. And my heart broke in to a million pieces. Oh, the betrayal! How could she do this to me? I was so sure that she loved me the most. But this seemed to be incontrovertible evidence that I might not be first and foremost in her affection.
How did Sam manage to steal her from me? Has he been practicing with her, teaching her to say "Dada" whenever I'm not around? Is he feeding her cookies on the sly? What happened!!! Maybe she is upset with me for piercing her ears or maybe she resents her nap time. At least she still smiles at me and reaches for me. I guess I still have that. But Sam and I will both know that her first word was his name and I fully intend to hold that over both of them until I die. That's how I roll.

announcement

So...I've been doing this blog for over a year now. It has definitely been fun and enlightening and challenging. I began with the intention of writing about things that I was experiencing as a mom in an open, honest, straight-forward way and I think I've done a fairly good job at sticking with that. But I have been feeling lately that the strain of trying to blog every weekday has been taking a toll on the quality of my blog. I do not want it to be a place for me to simply tell cute stories about my children, not because I have an issue with that but simply because it isn't the purpose. If the stories help to illuminate my own struggles and joys with parenting, then that is okay.
Basically, what I am saying is that I am going to take a break from blogging every day. At the risk of losing readers, I would rather write stuff that I feel good about, that I feel has quality to it, than to simply write something every day because I have to. My plan is not to drop off completely but to pare it down to a few times a week. So...enjoy the snow! (no idea how to end this one - sorry!)

the magic box

Before having kids, I was one of those people who vowed that my children wouldn't watch tv before they were two-years old. And then one day I discovered, quite by accident, that by pressing a button on the magic box, I was quickly left with a transfixed, enraptured child. Suddenly I could do things that had previously been impossible, like sitting down during the day.
To make myself feel better I set up strict rules about how often they could watch and the types of shows. One hour during the day and one hour in the evening. And for better or worse, I've stuck with that schedule. The temptation is always there; to let the tv replace me for a few hours but that isn't what I really want.
However today I broke my rule and pressed the button early. My excuse is that I woke up feeling sick; tired and achy. I struggled through the morning and when 10:30 hit, I was done. I was alternating between taking my turn in the Sneaky Snacky Squirrel game and lying on the floor. So I turned on the tv despite the raging guilt and the voice insisting that I was turning my child's brain into mush.
I can hear my mom clapping right now. She thinks I'm way too strict on the tv rule and often tells me it is okay to cut myself a break once in a while. But my fear is that one break will turn into two and that it will continue on in this downward spiral. At the end, I will be spending my day in bed while my kids sit and watch show after show, leaving permanent imprints of their tiny behinds in our couch. So today was an exception to the rule and tomorrow I will be back to ignoring the seductive lure of the magic box.

photo from: medheadlines.com

Sunday School according to Jem

Me: What did you learn about today?

Jem: About a blind man. He was blind. He couldn't see. 

Me: Okay. And what else?

Jem: Jesus came and helped him. There was dirt and Jesus spit in it. How gross is that! He put it on his face and the guy washed it off in a pond.

Truett: You mean a creek.

Jem: No. It was a pond. Or it could have been a creek or something. And then he could see!

I guess I should be glad that he thinks spitting is gross. I just wish he felt the same way about playing in mud, touching worms and chewing with his mouth open. Beggars can't be choosers. 

my achilles heal

Last night I discovered the Achilles heal of my mothering abilities and it's name is emesis. (That's just a medical term for puke. I looked it up and I'm using it because it just sounds better.) Anywho...

Truett started to call for us around 3 am. Sam got up and went to his room and, shortly after that, called for me saying he needed some help. I assumed that Tru had wet through his pull-ups and that Sam wanted me to change him while he changed the sheets. If only I had been so lucky.
Instead, Truett had thrown-up and it was everywhere. We had to strip the bed and him. I had to wash out blankets and sheets and pajamas before I could put them into the washing machine. I had to wipe down the carpet and the wall and the plastic bouncy horse that was unfortunate enough to be standing next the crib. Sam had to wipe down Truett and the bed.
It was awful! I'm fine with rubbing someone's back or putting a wet washcloth on their neck while they kneel over the toilet. I can deal with the noises. But cleaning it up was rough. Not quite cleaning-out-the-drain-in-the-shower-rough, but still fairly bad.
This was my first experience with this. Besides the typical baby spit-up and one incident with bananas, we haven't had any vomiting. And I always knew it was a blessing but never realized how much of one until last night. If I can go the rest of my life without ever having to do that again, I will consider myself lucky. Let me put it this way. I would rather come up with my own craft project for my kids, one that included glitter, than to do that again. Well, maybe.

photo from: sarah-aubrey.blogspot.com -

success

I share my failures quite often on this blog but today I thought I would switch it up a bit and share one of my successes. The other night, as we were cleaning up the kitchen after dinner, I looked over just in time to see Truett kneel on the open dishwasher door. The dishwasher lurched forward and the door bent at an odd angle. I said his name and he quickly hopped off and said, "Sorry Mom. I didn't see it there." I told him that wasn't true and he turned and walked away. I called him back and talked to him about how it wasn't okay to pretend that he hadn't tried to sit on it. He walked away again and I went back into the kitchen.
As I was finishing up some dishes, I felt a prompting to go and find him. So I walked into the family room. He was sitting in the recliner, still glowering. I got down on my knees in front of him and told him that sometimes people make bad choices. I make bad choices and he made a bad choice to sit on the dishwasher but that it was okay. He sat forward, threw his arms around my neck and said, "I'm sorry I sat on the dishwasher Mommy."
And I knew that I had made the right decision to go and find him and offer him grace. I didn't shrug it off and continue with my task. I didn't make excuses and say that I had already talked to him or that he wouldn't really understand it anyway. And his response showed me that he needed to hear those words. So my prayer for this week has been that God would continue to prompt me. That I would be able to notice the times when my children need a little extra grace and comfort and that I would step into those moments without reservation. Because that feeling of having his arms around me and knowing that I had just soothed his heart was fantastic!

photo from: thesideproject.me

an hour every day

There are days when the only word I can use to describe being a mom of such young children is exhaustion. Days when everyone seems to need all of me all of the time. Days when I could swear the clock is moving backwards and I'm just hanging on until bedtime.
I recently watched an episode of Dowton Abbey and there was a conversation between the Dowager Countess and Isobel. It made me feel so much better about those days.

The Dowager: One forgets about parenthood; the on and on-ness of it.

Isobel: Were you a very involved mother with Robert and Rosamund?

The Dowager: Does it surprise you?

Isobel: A bit. I'd imagined them surrounded by nannies and governesses being starched and ironed to spend an hour with you after tea.

The Dowager: Yes. But it was an hour, every day.

photo from:thekarmickitchen.blogspot.com

it's in the genes

It is interesting to watch your kids and see little gestures or facial expressions that remind you of someone else in your family. To see traits and be able to say that "they get that from so-and-so." It makes me feel connected and I love the sense of merging my family and our history and genes with Sam's family.
Caia is currently displaying a trait that comes from my side of the family. Her new favorite pastime is to put a small, yellow bucket on her head and walk around. She must be able to see just enough of her feet to steer clear of large objects. She thinks it is hilarious. Neither of the boys ever walked around at that age with buckets on their heads. But do you know who did? My brother and one of his girls.
And when I see one of my traits come out in our kids, I hold it over Sam's head. I use my Arnold Schwarzenegger voice to tell him that my powerful genes have defeated his weak ones. It's good stuff. Now I can only hope that a few of the more useful traits start to come through as well. Not that walking around with a bucket on your head doesn't require a certain amount of skill, but it really won't take you very far in life.

where did you hear that

One day, when I was around three years of age, I got out of the car and slammed the door. As I slammed it, I looked at my mom and said, with pride in my voice, "I shut that door damn hard." Mom thought she must have misheard me and asked me to repeat myself. I said it again with a little less confidence and quickly learned that was something we didn't say. Meanwhile, my mom went inside to call her mom and talk to her about watching her language around us kids.
Sometimes your kids say something and you're left trying to figure out where they picked it up from. Did they hear it on tv? Did someone say it at preschool? Did they hear it from a friend or another family member?
Then there are the times when the answer is obvious. My mom didn't need to think about it. She knew where I had heard that word.
The other night, Sam was putting the boys to bed and came across a large mess. Tru had dumped legos out in the upstairs hallway. Sam asked Tru to pick them up and Truett responded by yelling, "You're the worst Daddy! You're the worst!"
As you can imagine, that didn't go over well and there were some consequences. I spent some time thinking about it and wondering where Truett had heard that phrase. Then, the next morning as I was ironing a rather tricky sweater, I heard myself say, "Ugh, this sweater is the worst." As soon as it came out of my mouth I knew. I knew that I was the one who had introduced that phrase to my boy. It can be pretty wild to listen to your kids talk. They pick up on so much. And there are things that I say out of habit that aren't good things. I don't even realize it until I hear it coming out of their mouths. And then, suddenly, it isn't okay to say. I don't swear around my kids so I sort of assume that I'm doing good. But this showed me that I need to have more care with all of my words. It is so easy to call something stupid or say that it's the worst. It can be second nature to throw out a sarcastic, "really?" when something isn't going the way I want. And my kids pick up on it and echo it and use it in hurtful ways. So here's hoping that I can model some beautiful words for my kids to help replace the not so great ones I've already given them.

photo from:  cutecopy.com.au

watch your tone

I try to say kind things to my kids. Or at least to not say anything that is unkind or hurtful. I know the power that words can have, how something negative can stick in your brain and stay with you years after the fact. So I want my words to them to be uplifting and loving and true. And I obviously have to say things to them that they don't enjoy hearing like, "Please go pick up your legos" or "I need you to stop doing that." But even those sorts of things can be said in a loving way. And that is where I fall short quite often. My words may be neutral or loving, but my tone can be judgemental and harsh.
I hear it in myself and it makes me cringe. It's this tone that conveys exasperation or impatience. A tone that says, "Really? How could you not realize that?" even while my words are encouraging them to keep trying or assuring them that it's okay.
I don't know if the boys are old enough yet to have picked up on the subtle nuances of my tone. However, they are able to pick up that I'm unhappy even if they can't interpret it. And at some point, my tone will begin to carry more weight than my words and I will hurt my children. They will sense it and feel that they can never live up to my expectations. I don't know where the cycle goes from there. I just know that I don't want it to continue.
So my goal for this month and the next is to pay attention to those moments when my tone conveys something that I don't want it to. Or those moments when I use my tone to tell them how I'm really feeling and then tell myself it is okay because I didn't use any harsh words. If I don't pay attention to those moments, then I will just continue to do it without thinking about it. I doubt it will be a fun exercise but if the end result leads to me being more gentle and loving in both my tone and my words, then it is worth a few (or a lot) of moments of feeling like I've messed up again.

photo from: www.abccopywriting.com

mom brain

Sometimes, my logical normal-person brain gets overridden by my exhausted mom brain. Take today for example. We pulled into the garage after preschool and the boys asked if they could play outside. Logical brain said, "It just snowed last night and most of the snow has melted. That means a lot of mud which isn't a good idea." But exhausted mom brain just steamrolled over logical brain. There was the argument that the boys could wear their snow boots, thus keeping their shoes clean. That was followed by the idea that lunch could be made without someone asking when it would be ready every 15 seconds. Then there was the reminder that the boys have a lot of energy and it's good for them to be outside. Completing the whole argument was the plea for just five minutes alone. So exhausted mom brain won and I helped the boys put on their snow boots and went inside.
Ten minutes later, we were all in the laundry room. Tru was crying because he had to sit down to take off his mud-covered pants while Jem tried to wash his muddy hands off in the sink. I did my best to dance around both of them, reminding them from time to time to keep their hands off me. By the time we were finished, I had to run a load of laundry, both boys needed new pants, and the floor had to be scrubbed. Thanks a lot exhausted mom brain.

my hallmark moment

The other night as I was saying a goodnight prayer for Jem, I was reflecting on our day. It hadn't been a good one. He had been defiant and belligerent. I had gotten upset and used my angry voice. There had been struggles and apologies on both sides several times through the course of the day. As I thought about it and about how much I love him, I started to tear up. I said a quiet "amen" and then, as I was smoothing the hair back from his forehead I said, "You know what buddy? I love you. Even when I get angry with you, I still love you. I will always love you no matter what." And as I basked in the glow of that precious moment, my son looked at me and with a touch of exasperation said, "I know that Mommy. You've told me and told me. Like a bunch of times," and then rolled over to go to sleep. And my beautiful, touching Hallmark moment vanished.
I walked out of his room feeling embarrassed that I had actually started to tear up. Embarrassed that I had allowed my emotions to get the better of me because he obviously hadn't. Then I realized that his reaction was actually a gift of its own.  It was a confirmation that he has been listening, that he has heard me tell him that I still love him even when I'm upset or when he does something wrong. Maybe it wasn't the emotional bonding moment I had built up in my head but they don't all have to be
tearjerkers.

photo from: www.yourlogoresources.com

4 vs 3

Yesterday was Truett's 4th birthday. Don't worry. I'm not going to rant about birthday parties. We kept it low key. It was nice and I didn't feel guilty that it wasn't more planned out. He didn't seem to notice.
Instead I want to admit to an irrational hope. There was a tiny part of me that was hoping that Tru would wake up on his birthday and suddenly begin listening to me. The screaming would end. I wouldn't have to chase him around when he got into trouble. Instead, he would choose to be calm and to listen. He would realize that screaming didn't get him what he wanted and that running only delayed the inevitable.
I knew it wasn't logical. I knew that his birthday wasn't a magical day, that turning four wasn't going to change anything. I couldn't stop myself from hoping though.
And then Jem, my five and a half-year old, decided that he could talk back and have an attitude for most of the morning. That is when I realized that it might never end. I might be lying in bed every year on their birthdays saying, "This is the year." And in a sense, that will be true. Even though Tru didn't wake up completely transformed yesterday, he did wake up older. And at some point, he will start acting a little more like a four-year old and a little less like a three-year old. But his fourth year of life will bring its own challenges. Every year, he will begin to move further and further from the challenges of being a toddler and a preschooler and he will move closer and closer towards the challenges of adolescence. So the best that I can do is to take it one day at a time and to not put too much hope in a number. That being said, four has to be better than three, right? Right!?!

sunday school according to Jem

Today's lesson was on the Good Samaritan, although it seems that our Sunday School teachers added their own twist. So here it is, as interpreted by Jem.

Jem: A boy was going to his Grandma's and a bad guy came and beat him up.

At his point, Jem laid down on the floor and Truett was kind enough to come over and demonstrate the beating up part. Once they got past that, Jem finished the story.

Jem: And people passed by. There was a guy and then a cowboy passed by.
Me: A cowboy?
Jem: Yeah, a cowboy. Then someone helped me.  I had a lot of boo-boos so a girl helped me. She was from out of town.
Me: Why did you learn about that story? What was it about?
Jem: It was about helping people. We should help our brothers and sisters.

After Jem finished telling me, he and Tru grabbed their doctor bags (a craft from church), and proceeded to fix each other up.

2 birds, 1 stone, 2 sad boys

I'm not a fan of giving my kids candy. It's hard to avoid though. Halloween is the big one but there's also Christmas and Valentines and Easter. And then there are the birthday parties at school or the lollipops at the bank. I'm not a complete scrooge when it comes to candy, but I'd prefer that they don't eat it every day. And sometimes, I pull out their Ziploc bags that are still half-full of candy from Halloween and contemplate just throwing them away. Would they notice? Wouldn't it be better if I could say to them, "Sorry guys. We don't have any candy. How about an apple?"
Yesterday, Jem had his Valentine's party at preschool and came home with a bag of candy, stickers, tattoos and pencils. The boys were occupied for quite some time, sorting through everything and deciding what they wanted to have. I told them they could each have one piece after they finished their lunch. Then we put the candy back into the bag.
This morning, while the boys were getting dressed, Jem started talking about chocolate. I turned and asked him if he had eaten any of his candy this morning. The hesitation was enough to tell me the answer. I asked him what he had eaten and again there was a long pause. He decided it would be easier to just show me. So I followed both boys into the playroom where they lifted up the bean bag to reveal their pile of trash.

They had consumed every single piece of candy, including: 2 tootsie rolls, 1 tootsie roll lollipop (don't even ask me how they managed to get through one of those giant things), 2 or more Hershey kisses, a large lollipop made out of chocolate, 3 other small heart-shaped lollipops, some candy hearts, and a few other items that were unidentifiable.
I had them clean up the mess and they then offered to go sit in time-out. I let them know that they didn't need to do a time-out; that instead, their punishment would be something different. Sneaking candy? Eating all of it? That seemed to call for a more drastic consequence than a time-out or no more candy for the day. So I thought I would kill two birds with one stone. In one stroke I would rid our house of the sugary stuff that turns my kids into hellions and also let my boys know that their behavior wasn't okay in any way. Their candy bags went into the trash along with the candy that Tru brought home from his valentine's day party. It was a hard lesson for them but one that I'm pretty sure they'll remember. And before you start to feel bad for my kids and run to your pantry to make a gift bag of candy for them, keep in mind that Easter is only a month or so away. The candy bags won't remain empty for long.

sooner than expected

It happened today. It was always a question of when, not if, and today was the day. I was sitting on the couch with the kids. We were wrestling and tickling. It was going well until I needed the boys to sit up for a moment so that I could pull Caia up to join us. As I lifted Jem off of me, he looked at me and said, "I hate you."
I always thought the first time one of my kids said that to me it would be in the middle of a huge argument or after I had forbid them from doing something. I imagined emotions swirling around and hoped that I could keep my response in check. But this? This was just sad and strange.
I'm sad that that word has entered our vocabulary so soon. I'm sad that my little boy said it to me. He doesn't understand the full meaning of it, but he knew enough to know that it was unkind. And it was strange to me that it happened over such a small thing. At least it was small in my eyes.
We had a discussion about what it means to say that to someone and how it made me feel. He cried. Not because he felt badly but because he could hear Scooby Doo playing on the tv in the other room and knew he was missing it. I checked.  
The redeeming part is that I was able to moderate my emotions. There was no heated argument or dramatic tears. Just my little boy saying something to me out of frustration and anger. I know it isn't the last time that I'll hear it. People say things when they are angry and hurt. At least, I do. All I can hope for is the ability to receive it with love instead of returning the anger and for my children to have soft enough hearts to regret that their words hurt.

photo by: kraupu   http://www.flickr.com/photos/kraupu/1192096298/

delight

As I was making lunch today, Caia walked up behind me. She wrapped her pudgy arms around my legs and buried her face in my legs. And then she laughed. She did it three times. She would wrap me up, burrow into me and laugh and then let go and wander away. It was lovely.
Such a simple thing and yet it made my day that much better. I know that my boys love me but they show it in different ways. I get hugs and kisses before bed and I get to hold them when we wrestle and sometimes when we read books. Mostly though, their love comes in their desire to be with me and to have me notice them. And I love that. But sometimes you just need someone to hug your legs and laugh in delight.

rescuing spiderman

Getting everyone into the van can be a process. I open the doors and the boys climb in while I buckle Caia into her seat. Then I have to go around to the other side to buckle Tru in and that's assuming that he actually got into his seat and I don't have to go outside to find him. Once they are buckled in, I go back around to the drivers' side and hop in. Every once in a while though, Jem has trouble with his buckle. When that happens, I have to take a deep breath and go around the back of the van to help him with his belt. Last week, we had one of those mornings. We were already running late and Jem's seat belt kept sticking. I finally got him buckled in and ran around to my seat to hop in. I had just managed to pull out of the garage and put the car in drive when Truett started yelling. He had been smacking his Spiderman toy against the side of the window and lost his grip. The toy had fallen down on the floor, out of his reach.
This is the point when I was faced with a dilemma. Rescue Spiderman or just keep driving? I chose to keep driving even though I knew it would mean more screaming and a torrent of tears. I possibly would have stopped the car and retrieved it for him if we weren't already late and if it wasn't a five minute drive and if he hadn't been smacking the window with it, which he knows is wrong. But we were late and I do expect that my kids can last five minutes without a toy. Plus, sometimes the best discipline comes from natural consequences, like dropping your toy when you are whacking it against the window.
I think Sam would have stopped the car and gotten the toy. Maybe some other people would have as well. But not me. I hunched my shoulders against the onslaught of tears and drove like the dickens. And I wondered if I had made the right choice. I still don't know. It haunts me. Stupid Spiderman.

sunday school according to jem

Me: So what did you learn about today in Sunday school?
Jem: Maybe we learned about a boy. And he was done with all of his money so he asked a farmer for job.
Tru: Yeah, and there was yucky sloppy stuff and he was going to eat it.
Jem: The farmer told him to feed the pigs and the boy was going to eat it because it looked yummy. It was sloppy, like sloppy joes. It had slop in it like a sloppy joe but it was slimy and gross.

This was around the point where I figured out that we were talking about the Prodigal Son. Sometimes, it takes a few minutes before I can connect what they are saying to a bible story. My kids don't always tell stories in sequential order.

Tru: The boy threw his money away. He wasted it because he bought food. (thank you teachers for making it about food and leaving out the other things he spent his money on)
Jem: And the dad looked for him. He looked and looked like you would look for a boy or maybe a kitty cat. And then he picked him up and hugged him.
Me: What does that story have to do with God?
Jem: Well, God told it because He loves His people.

Well said, Jemmy. Well said.

photo by: htomren    http://www.flickr.com/photos/htomren/8028379483/

the shallowest monster

Right now the boys are really into books about monsters. This past week, we went to the library and got out seven books with a monster theme. Nothing scary of course. Just fun stuff. And most of them have been enjoyable. I do have to complain about one of them though and it has nothing to do with the monster theme.
This particular book is all about the different choices that a monster can make and how each choice can lead to a different ending. For example, the monster could eat you or it could become your friend. If it eats you, the story is over. If it becomes your friend, you can take it to school where it faces the next choice of fitting in or eating the principal.
Halfway through the story, the monster meets a girl and either scares her away or gives her a rose. If he gives her the rose they fall in love and kiss. When they kiss either he turns into a handsome young man and the story ends or she turns into a monster. And here is the part that rubs me the wrong way. When the girl turns into a monster, the two possibilities are that the monster will say that they are both monsters and should just get married or that he will say, "Uuuuuuurgh!!! You look horrible now!"
So one page before that, the monster gives her a rose and they fall in love. And now, she looks just like him and suddenly he is saying that she is too unattractive to be with. What?! I find myself wanting to yell at this fictional monster. I want to ask him what his deal his. Is he really that shallow? And yes, I get that it is just a kids' book and I'm getting all worked up for no reason but I can't help being angry about the message it sends. Of course, my boys have no idea that it is implying that looks are more important than anything else. They just see a book about monsters and think it's wonderful. I hope they stay ignorant of those types of things for a long time yet but this book doesn't help.

learning no

Caia has become fascinated by the dishwasher. This means that she toddles over to it and presses buttons. And that means that I have been going over many times during the day to set the child lock. For some reason, my dishwasher's child lock can only be set when the dish washer is powered on and it will then shut itself off after a few minutes of not being used. Works great for the times that I'm running a load of dishes but rather impractical otherwise.
Today, instead of walking over and setting the child lock and continuing to let her push the buttons, I used my arm to block her from the buttons and firmly said, "no." She smiled up at me sweetly and turned away from the dishwasher and left it alone for the rest of the day.
Okay, that isn't how it happened. Actually, she screwed up her face in frustration and anger and tried to pull my arm out of the way. After several seconds of this, she realized that I wasn't going to move and threw herself onto my legs in a fit of tears. We had to repeat the whole scene several times and I'm sure we will continue to repeat it. Part of me wants to just put the child lock on because it means I don't have to stand there and it means that she won't cry. But another part of me knows that sooner or later, she will need to learn the word no. She will have to realize that her big blue eyes and dimples won't get her everything she wants and that some things are off-limits. It's not a fun lesson but lessons rarely are.

to ask or not to ask

I have a hard time asking for help. Take this morning for instance. I was in the middle of feeding the kids breakfast when the phone rang. I was surprised to see Sam's name on the caller id. I thought he had maybe forgotten something or possibly had some news on our still unsold house. Instead, he greets me with the news that he is on his way to the ER because the stomach cramp he mentioned earlier that morning had gotten much, much worse. I asked him if he wanted me to come with him and he said there really wasn't anything I could do. Besides, I had all of the kids and I knew he was right. I wouldn't be able to do anything for him except be there. But I really, really wanted to be there and the only way to make that happen was to ask for help.
I'm ashamed to say that there was a moment, just a moment, when I thought about taking Tru to school and going to the ER with Jem and Caia in tow. Simply because I didn't want to call and ask for help. I didn't want to interrupt someone else's day, someone else's plans. I didn't want to be a burden. I was worried that it might come off as me simply trying to get some free time away from the kids. But I swallowed all of those things down and picked up the phone and made some calls. Because I've learned that while asking someone for help, especially the take-my-kids-for-me kind of help, might inconvenience them, it can actually be more damaging to not ask. When I refuse to ask for help, I keep myself distant from the people around me. On the other hand, when I ask someone for help, I give them the ability to come alongside me and share in my journey. I give them the opportunity to be a blessing and I learn the humility that comes with needing to be blessed.
So today, I share this along with my sincere gratitude to my mom, my mother-in-law, and my father-in-law. They allowed me to interrupt their days and gave me the time and freedom to go and sit with Sam at the hospital and to be with him at home without needing to care for anyone else. They blessed me with their willingness to watch my kids. So to them I say a simple but heartfelt thank you!

photo by:LiminalMike  http://www.flickr.com/photos/revcyborg/5228173/

sneaking food

Yesterday morning, I came downstairs to find Truett lying behind the couch, with an empty honey bottle dangling from his hand, honey dripping from his chin. I briefly considered turning back around and pretending that I hadn't seen anything. Avoidance and ignorance have their benefits. But then I came to my senses and realized that I couldn't let this go. So I walked closer and waited for Tru to realize I was there. He started guiltily but couldn't keep the smile off of his face. I asked him what he was doing and he said, "Eating some honey." (Kids are always so good at stating the obvious.)
We had a chat about why taking the honey off of the counter and drinking it was wrong. Thankfully it had been mostly empty anyways but still. He was told that he couldn't have any special snacks for that day and that he shouldn't take food without asking.
Then, a few days later, I came downstairs to find the step stool sitting in front of one of the kitchen cupboards. Sam had been using it the night before to hang curtain rods and had left it in the dining room. Tru had been upstairs with me so I knew he wasn't the culprit. I looked at Jem and asked him why he had moved the stool. He hemmed and hawed for a little bit and then admitted to taking a piece of gum. So I went through the same thing with him.
These are really the first food sneaking incidents that we've had but I know more will be coming. I used to sneak food and so did my brother. I remember sneaking chocolate chips when I could find my dad's secret stash. My brother hid cans of cranberry sauce in his room one year, worried that he wouldn't get his fill at Thanksgiving. In fact, if I'm being honest, I still do it. I grab something that I don't want the kids to have and try to eat it while they are out of the room. It must be in the genes.
It definitely makes me more careful about what I leave out on the counter top and it also motivated me to put the step stool away rather than just continuing to walk around it. There is always a bright side to everything it seems. Who knew?

photo by: danmachold  http://www.flickr.com/photos/mybloodyself/2085880298/ (changes by me)

sunday school according to jem

Me: What did you learn about today buddy?
Jem: We learned about sheep and shepherds. The shepherd had to find his sheep because one was missing. And there was another guy who wanted to jump so high and run so fast and he got stuck in a deep hole.

There was some silence after that as we tried to figure out how the guy who fell in a hole fit in with the sheep. We couldn't quite figure it out so Sam asked him instead about the craft he did. Both boys came out of Sunday school with a ruler.

Sam: What is the ruler for?
Jem: To measure things Dad. (obviously)
Sam: Yeah, but why did you get one today?
Tru: Because God's love is so big that we can't measure it.
Jem: You can't measure God. You would need twenty three forty rulers. (Jem hasn't quite figured out large numbers yet)
Me: Wait, tell me again about the man in the hole.
Jem. He tried to run farther and jump higher than any of the other sheep and he got caught in the woods.
Me: Okay, so was it a man or a sheep? Maybe you were learning about the lost sheep.
Jem: It was maybe a sheep or maybe a man.
Tru: It was a sheep Mom.

photo by: staflo  http://www.flickr.com/photos/staflo/6227690623/

en garde

The boys are starting to become more and more interested in imaginative play. I am so excited. I love to listen to them play out scenarios which more often than not include heroes and bad guys or monsters. I love that they are using their imaginations and being creative. I just wish they would wait a few more years before they ask me to join them.
It isn't that I don't enjoy playing with them. Want to go on a treasure hunt? Sure! Want to pretend that you are a monster and chase us around? Sounds fun! Want to play with my Lego men and pretend that you are the bad guy and I'm the hero? Um...no. Why don't I just turn the tv on for you sweetie.
Right now, playing with Lego men means that I stand my Lego man in one place while Jem defeats him by plowing into him. There is no back story, nothing beyond "I win. You lose." And really? How long can that go on? After two minutes I can feel my brain shutting down, waving goodbye and saying, "Well, if you don't need me..."
I know that at some point, their pretend play will become more involved. I remember playing with barbies and G.I. Joes and he-man (I had an older brother). There would be elaborate scenarios of danger and rescue. Epic battles were fought and undying love was sworn. But that won't happen for them until they are older. (The undying love thing probably won't happen at all. I have a feeling that might be mostly a girl thing.) So for now, it means that playing with the Lego men is a fairly uncomplicated thing, one that I do not enjoy.  
It's quite possible that this is another place in my parenting journey where I can mark myself down as sub-par. Maybe I'm supposed to be completely engaged with the Lego men. Maybe I'm supposed to enjoy it simply because my child does. But that isn't how I think parenting works. I will continue to play with the Lego men because my child asks me to and because I know that he enjoys it. However, I think it might be okay that I'm not really a fan. I'm not a fan of scrubbing toilets but I do that once a week. I'm not a fan of driving a mini-van but I do that every single day. There are some things that I simply have to do, not because I love doing them but because I love my family. And that has to count for something.

truett's trail

Tru has always been a little bit doppy. Until just recently, he had a tendency to fall down a lot. He is one of those kids who runs while looking at stuff all around him rather than his destination. He once drove a friends kid-sized four-wheeler into the broad side of their very large shed, simply because he was looking down at his feet instead of in front of him.
Now the doppiness is mixing in with the impulsiveness and creating quite a few messes. A few nights ago he decided to throw a pillow into the air while he was watching shows. He can't throw it up and catch it so of course it went careening into the end table and knocked over a glass of ice water.
Today at lunch he wanted to know what kind of chips were on the counter. The impulsiveness means that he couldn't just ask. He had to touch it and lift it up. And the doppiness or lack of concentration means that the bag ended up on the floor, chips spilling everywhere. This was followed by a half-eaten strawberry that was dropped on his Oma's beige carpet and a bowl of m&m's that went tumbling off of the table because he can't sit in his seat without wiggling around.
This is another one of those places where I'm stuck. I'm trying to figure out how to curb the impulsiveness without destroying the inquisitiveness. I want him to be curious about things and to explore. I just wish he could do it without leaving a trail of destruction behind him.

photo from:  www.come-over.to -  

dinner fail

I like to try new things for dinner. I guess it would be easier to just have the same thing but I like to cook and I like to experiment with new recipes. So while I do have my staples, I also like to try something new at least one night a week, if not more. Most of the time, it pays off and we have a new dinner to add to the recipe book. Sometimes though it doesn't go well at all.
Last night was one of those nights. I decided to try a new recipe from one of my go-to recipe sites. It called for 2 cups of fresh Parmesan cheese. Normally, I would just throw in the generic stuff, because $6 for a wedge of cheese is a little salty for me. But I wanted to stick to the recipe, especially on the first try so I asked Sam to pick up some real Parmesan for me.
My first clue to the possibility that dinner might not be a hit came while I was shredding the cheese. I don't know what is done to the generic, shake-it-out-of-the-jar stuff but real Parmesan is kind of, well, stinky. If you don't believe me, just ask Truett. He came into the kitchen after I was finished grating and demanded to know what the horrible smell was. "Ugh! Mom! Ugh! What is that?! Ewww!!" And he doubled over with his hands over his nose and ran from the room.
That was followed by Sam coming home from work and asking me what the smell was. I told him it was the cheese and he responded with, "Oh, I thought maybe somebody threw up today." And the sad part was that he was right. It did smell like that. And our dinner was covered in it.
Thankfully, it didn't taste like it smelled. There was still a bite from the cheese but nothing compared to the smell. The one silver lining to the whole thing was that the boys came into the kitchen for dinner, took one smell, and ran off. And for once, Sam and I didn't call them back. We just sat down and enjoyed a quiet dinner by ourselves. The boys eventually returned and each ate three bites (Jem cried the entire time and gagged it down with water) and then had a bowl of cereal. I guess fresh Parmesan is an acquired taste, one that we aren't ready for yet.

i'm the best

Over the past few days, Jem has experienced a surge in confidence. It started out with his lego- building skills. And this morning, while we were coloring at the table, it progressed to include coloring, playing computer games, and cutting things out. In Jem's own words, "I'm the best at all of that stuff."
So now I'm in this quandary of how to handle this. I want my kids to be confident. I want them to have some pride in the things that they work hard for and achieve. But confidence can so easily tip over into arrogance and I definitely don't want that. How do I teach my kids to be confident, to acknowledge their abilities, without bragging or being prideful?
One option could be telling him that he really isn't the best at all of those things but that didn't seem like the way to go. Instead, I tried to temper his bragging in two ways. First, I asked him if he could name some things that Truett was really good at. I thought that thinking of other people's gifts might help take the self-love down a little bit. He wasn't able to come up with anything that Tru was good at. Not surprising.
So then I thought I would ask him to name a few things that he wasn't as good at, things that maybe he needed to work on or practice some more. I was thinking of actual activities, like swinging a bat at a ball or recognizing sight words. He thought I was asking about behavioral things and told me that he could work on being a better listener. (Right answer, wrong time)
Eventually, I just let it go and reminded both boys to only say things that they would want someone to say to them. If it continues, then I guess we will have to have a chat about bragging. Until then, I will just have to hope that he only feels confident enough to say stuff like that at home.

sunday school according to Jem

It is Monday, which means it is time for the next installment of Sunday School According to Jem. Enjoy!

Me: So Jem, what did you learn about today in Sunday School?
Jem: Um...I don't know.
Truett: Let me tell you Mom. There was a guy with legs that didn't work. He couldn't dance or jump a rope.
Jem: Oh yeah. And he went to this church place and asked people for money. Sometimes they gave him some and sometimes they didn't. And Jesus' really good helpers walked by him and they didn't give him any money but they said that he should talk to Jesus.
Sam: So what did Jesus do?
Jem: He gave him a new set of legs!
Tru: He healed him!
Jem: Yeah, Jesus made the legs and put them on the kid and then he could do everything. He could dance, jump rope and bounce up and down. See? I made my guy with bouncy legs. And a sunburn.

he wants to be an artist

On Tuesday, as Jem and I were heading into the playroom, he said, "Maybe I'll be an artist when I grow up Mommy." I replied by telling him that sounded like a great idea and we continued on with our play.
However...inside I was not all about the artist thing. It was like some old woman had risen up in me shouting all sorts of things like:
~that's a hobby, not a career

~you'd better have a back-up plan

~I hope you don't think you're living here when you're in your thirties

~wouldn't you like to be something steady and dependable, like an accountant

~hippie!

Thankfully, I was able to wrangle the old gal and keep quiet. Yes, I know the practical difficulties of being an artist. There are a lot of career paths out there that come with difficulty and don't really lend themselves to finding steady employment. But I also know that there are a lot of years between now and the time when Jem needs to worry about supporting himself. A lot of years before he will decide a career path. So the logical, pessimistic arguments can wait. For now, I can let my boy dream.

i'll show you

This morning at breakfast, Truett decided that he wanted to sit at our little, two-seater cafe table with me and leave Jem alone at the bar. Jem, of course, didn't like the idea of eating by himself, even though we were all still in the same room. So to avoid a meltdown by either one, I explained to them that Tru could eat at the table for breakfast and then Jem could eat at the table during lunch time. And I explained that I didn't want to have any whining or arguing about it. This was mostly directed at Tru and he knew it. He looked up from his oatmeal and said, "I'm going to sit down at the bar for lunch and I'm not going to cry and I'm going to listen to you." Pretty cool, right? Except for the fact that he said it in a threatening tone with his eyebrows lowered and his shoulders hunched. It is the same tone and posture that he uses when he is threatening to throw something. It was a weird moment to realize that he was threatening me with good behavior. Almost as if he was trying to defy me to believe that he could ever be angry or misbehave.
I looked at him and asked, "Are you threatening me with good behavior", to which he calmly replied, "Yes. I am".

a big bowl of awful

One of my challenges this month is eating better. I met with a nutritionist at the beginning of the month to help get me started on the right track. I'm doing my best to stick to my approved foods but it hasn't been super easy.
One of my approved snacks is a serving of plain greek yogurt with some added fruit. I decided to give it a shot today during my morning snack time. Jem sat down at the bar with his bowl of normal, flavored yogurt and I sat down with  my bowl of plain greek yogurt with some banana slices in it. It looked suspiciously like sour cream and I said so jokingly to Jem. Then I tasted it and realized the resemblance to sour cream didn't just start and stop with appearance. I looked at the container and compared it to my container of sour cream. Do you know what the difference is? Active yogurt cultures. That's it. And let me tell you, those active yogurt cultures do not alter the taste. Yuck! Maybe it is because I am used to yogurt that tastes like peaches or strawberries. Maybe it is because I file yogurt under "sweet snacks" in my brain. Maybe it is because I don't want to eat a bowl of something that I could top a baked potato with. Whatever the reason, I am not into plain yogurt. I had to add some honey to it just to get it down and I'm sure that is not on my approved list of foods. Oh well. I bet I can use it in place of sour cream to make sour cream pancakes. And those get covered with butter and warm, syrupy syrup. Yum! Also not on my approved list of foods. But at least I'm eating my yogurt, right? Right?!

it's sleepy time, right?

I have a feeling that tonight might be a rough night. I've decided that I finally need to crack down on Truett's sleeping habits, or non-sleeping habits. He struggles to stay in his bed. And when he does manage to stay in his bed, he is yelling for us on a consistent basis for about an hour after we've laid him down. It might be to tell us that he needs to use the potty, even though he went right before bed. Or it could be that his water cup is empty or his blanket isn't covering his feet. Last night he needed a band-aid on a scratch that had already scabbed over. That was the first time. The second time he told Sam that his pillow was too itchy. Last week he called me up because he couldn't get his zip-up pajamas back on. He had taken them off to scratch his back. He will wake me up in the middle of the night to tell me that his nose is dry or scream down during nap time to ask me if I will wake him up before it gets dark.
It is constant and unpleasant. And every time he yells we go into his room because we don't want him to wake up the other two. But it has to end and tonight is the start. Ugh. This is going to be bad. But it is my own fault and now I have to deal with it. Bedtime issues are the worst! I completely understand how parents end up sleeping in their childrens' beds instead of their own. By the time the day is done, all you want is a little time to relax and unwind before you go to bed and get up to start the next day. Fighting with a preschooler at 9:30pm is not a good way to relax and unwind and the easy way out looks so tempting and, well, easy. We never actually progressed to sleeping in their rooms or beds but we still managed to get ourselves into this predicament. It's a slippery slope and it is going to be a hard climb back to the top. I'm tired already. :(

photo from:  parentingscience.com