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.
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
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.
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
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/
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.
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!)
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
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.
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 -
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.
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