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
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 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.
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
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
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.
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
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!?!
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.
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.
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/
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.
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.
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/
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.
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.
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/
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)
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/
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.
