Days. Days. Days.
We all have them. Some are good. Some are bad. Some are just normal. You know, the not stand-out-forever-in-our-memory kind of days. Days that just evaporate into history without any indelible impression.
Pick up a calendar from last year and randomly pick a day in May. Pick a Tuesday. Or a Thursday. Don't pick a birthday. Or anniversary. Or anything special. Just pick a random day. What were you doing that day? Was it cloudy? Did your husband take the garbage out? Did the kids clean their rooms? Did you get all your housework done?
Yeah. You can't remember. Can you?
But maybe it was a random, normal day that you chose to make extraordinary. You took your kids and included them in a project around the house. And then typical you, who isn't organized or remembers to record things, forgot to write the fun day on the calendar. But your kids remembered. They still talk about it. Yeah, you could've gotten the job done so much faster by yourself but really, it wouldn't have been worth it. TIME with your kids was worth it.
TIME making memories is what makes doing chores important. It's not the act of the chore that's a success; it's the concept learned, the wisdom shared, the vision passed down and the sense of accomplishment celebrated that we aim for in training our kids. A clean room is NOT the goal. That's just a bonus.
In the moment, it feels daunting and tiresome. But so many of our entire DAYS will be forgotten in our memory. They'll just fall into the Mundane and Normal file where all everyday days go.
But today happens only ONCE. My baby is only 4 months, 1 week and 3 days old TODAY. Tomorrow she will be 4 months, 1 week and FOUR days old. Yeah it's only one day but pile those days up a little and pretty soon you have 30. Or 365. Or more.
Perspective is everything though. Like my laundry for instance. It's clean (score). It's all in the laundry room (score). In baskets (score). But it's unfolded. Fail.
But I decided that since we have a laundry room, what else should be in it but laundry. Right?
This weekend was fun. One of those "Ah, now I remember why I love being a mom" weekends. My husband doted on me. My kids were.... well, my kids. And my baby added a few more ounces of fatness to her luscious rolls. My house is pretty much a mess (but the garage is clean) and the laundry has maxed out the very last laundry basket I own.
But I don't care.
Because a year from now, I won't remember that I didn't have all our laundry folded and put away. But I will remember all the fun we had just being together.
Happy Mother's Day!
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Monday, May 09, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
In Which She Complains About A Good Life...
It's Monday and I feel grumpy.
So I sat down and started thinking about howhorrible my life really is. And all the reasons why I'm allowed to complain and have a bad attitude.
#1: I'm tired. I was up a lot with a baby last night. And the night before. And all the nights before that since December 28th of last year. A baby that wanted to eat and add to her squeezable, kissable rolls of soft, baby fat. The nerve! What's so bad about a healthy eating baby and the ability to provide nourishment for the fat little thing? Some couples don't even have a baby.
So IF I didn't have a baby and had no hope of ever getting one, THEN I could be in a bad mood.
#2: My house is a wreck. When I look at the cause of each mess, I see a consistent trend. Toys, dirt, remote controlled car, a little red boot, dolls, scraps of papers decorated with 5-year-old penmanship, a tiny sock, an art project... on and on it goes. Clearly, there are children in this house and obviously, the children are healthy, robust and lively. Why would I complain about normal, healthy kids when some parents are sitting in a big sterile hospital watching their sick, weak child lay in a hard white bed with cords and wires and noisy alarms that constantly flash information confirming the sickness of their beloved child? That mom would give anything to trip over a pile of toys in the middle of the dining room.
So IF one of my kids were sick and perishing from an illness only known by a handful of highly educated specialists, THEN I could be in a bad mood.
#3: My husband doesn't understand. If he did understand, he would just do the laundry. And home school the kids. And wash the dishes. And offer to make supper. But would he really? Just because he doesn't offer to do all that stuff, doesn't mean he doesn't care. He's a guy. Not one iota in his body is geared towards being a housewife. If I wanted a Superwoman for a husband, I should've married something else. And besides, when I ask him to help, he readily jumps up and gets a job done without complaining. His smiles affirm me and his love supports me. I'm a mom to four kids but only because their dad is the man he is. Some women have the kids but no support from a man who's there for her every step of the way.
So IF I had a family with no real father, THEN I could be in a bad mood.
The bottom line is I have a sturdy, warm house, sun streaming through my energy efficient windows, a troop of healthy and adventurous kids, a strong and loving husband and a cute, fat baby wrapped in a pink blanket, topped with a soft tuft of dark, messy hair.
My freezer is full of food (no excuse for not being able to cook), my wash machine and dryer work (when I do get a load put through), the toilet, sinks and shower all function properly (even if they do need to be cleaned) and a vacuum and broom work wonders (when they do finally get used).
Why am I complaining then?
That's a very good question.
So I sat down and started thinking about how
#1: I'm tired. I was up a lot with a baby last night. And the night before. And all the nights before that since December 28th of last year. A baby that wanted to eat and add to her squeezable, kissable rolls of soft, baby fat. The nerve! What's so bad about a healthy eating baby and the ability to provide nourishment for the fat little thing? Some couples don't even have a baby.
So IF I didn't have a baby and had no hope of ever getting one, THEN I could be in a bad mood.
#2: My house is a wreck. When I look at the cause of each mess, I see a consistent trend. Toys, dirt, remote controlled car, a little red boot, dolls, scraps of papers decorated with 5-year-old penmanship, a tiny sock, an art project... on and on it goes. Clearly, there are children in this house and obviously, the children are healthy, robust and lively. Why would I complain about normal, healthy kids when some parents are sitting in a big sterile hospital watching their sick, weak child lay in a hard white bed with cords and wires and noisy alarms that constantly flash information confirming the sickness of their beloved child? That mom would give anything to trip over a pile of toys in the middle of the dining room.
So IF one of my kids were sick and perishing from an illness only known by a handful of highly educated specialists, THEN I could be in a bad mood.
#3: My husband doesn't understand. If he did understand, he would just do the laundry. And home school the kids. And wash the dishes. And offer to make supper. But would he really? Just because he doesn't offer to do all that stuff, doesn't mean he doesn't care. He's a guy. Not one iota in his body is geared towards being a housewife. If I wanted a Superwoman for a husband, I should've married something else. And besides, when I ask him to help, he readily jumps up and gets a job done without complaining. His smiles affirm me and his love supports me. I'm a mom to four kids but only because their dad is the man he is. Some women have the kids but no support from a man who's there for her every step of the way.
So IF I had a family with no real father, THEN I could be in a bad mood.
The bottom line is I have a sturdy, warm house, sun streaming through my energy efficient windows, a troop of healthy and adventurous kids, a strong and loving husband and a cute, fat baby wrapped in a pink blanket, topped with a soft tuft of dark, messy hair.
My freezer is full of food (no excuse for not being able to cook), my wash machine and dryer work (when I do get a load put through), the toilet, sinks and shower all function properly (even if they do need to be cleaned) and a vacuum and broom work wonders (when they do finally get used).
Why am I complaining then?
That's a very good question.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Mother of Four
So. Now I'm a mother of four. Two boys and two girls. I love my life and all it's craziness. Yet I feel too young to be the mom of four kids. Just yesterday, I was a kid myself. Wow.Now that I've had kids, I have to say that the fourth child feels like the ultimate adjustment.
No longer will we fit in a 5-seat pick up truck.
Or a normal sized restaurant booth.
Or be considered a small/normal sized family.
Or fit comfortably in a small house.
Or have ample room in our mini-van.
Or evenly sandwich ourselves, kid, parent, kid, parent, kid in family pictures.
Or all fit on a normal size couch.
But I love it. I love that our days, activities, life and vehicles are overflowing with these little people. From the robust hollers of morning breakfast to the tiny, sleeping cherub faces at night, each moment is an adventure and frequent reminder to the busy-ness and crazy-ness of life with little people.
It's been seven weeks since I took on my new title as Mother of Four. Seven exhausting yet blissful weeks. From 8lbs 5oz all the way up to almost 12lbs, this little person keeps changing our world.
Korynne Elizabeth Nelson greeted our lives on a chilly, winter morning (12/28/10) after putting in her leave of absence notification 26 hours earlier. It was a long and exhausting journey but the bright eyes and bushy head of hair, complete with the fattest cheeks ever, soon peered up at our tired faces and made the whole process worth it a hundred times over. 
Since that moment, she hasn't stopped demanding food, accepting our kisses on her fat little cheeks, screaming night and day for all the things little babies scream for and filling our house with the heavenly scent of Baby.
The sleepless nights with our littlest person, are soon coming to an end. The bright eyes and alert attentiveness that happens on that precious little face in the dead of night, will soon be taken over by "normal" sleep patterns. And these newborn days will be over.
Earlier this week on the morning of our 8th Anniversary, little Korynne was in a deep conversation with her daddy. Of course, all the conversing was taking place on the daddy end of the conversation but suddenly, that little girl wrapped her daddy even tighter around her fat little finger and let out a cute little baby coo. 
And that daddy, while wrapped snuggly around that tiny finger, gushed and swooned despite his manly, athletic, six-foot, four-inch frame and in the most excitement I've ever seen that man in, said, "Honey! She said her first word!"
Yes, being mommy of four, really can't be better than this.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Cherishing the Chaos
For some reason, I always had this lofty idea that being a mom meant reading good quality books to your kids, tucking them in at night with heirloom quilts and admiring their cherubic faces as they slept on soft, fluffy pillows covered in happy colored pillow cases.
What I didn't know was that good quality books quickly turn into well used and over-read-dog-eared-paged stacks of paper that used to be bound in those novel things call "books."
And as for tucking the said kids at night, using heirloom quilts on beds that tend to be frequently washed, is a recipe for extinguishing all heirloom quilts from our generation. Besides, whatever type of blanket or covering you use to tuck your kids in at night with, that article of bed clothing soon takes on an heirloom look with all the washings and forts and tents and tug-a-war games that it ends up being used for.
I never realized how drab looking the brightly colored pillow cases get with many washings. Or the bloody-nose stains that are sure to happen. Or how long it takes for their faces to become cherubic looking after they finally lay their sweet heads on the fluffy pillows. I didn't realize that drinks and bathroom runs and "Mom! I'm scared" and "DAAAAAADDDDDYYYYY! There's a lion in my room" sobs that would trail out the dimly lit bedroom doors long after bedtime. Oh, and the spiders that always appear right at bedtime, right along with those lions.
But the smiles these kids greet you with just after the rising of the sun the next morning, now THAT'S what motherhood is all about. And the hugs and the snuggles. And the "Mom, I wuv you so much!" are the words that put perspective on each trying circumstance that may happen between morning and bedtime.
And someday, I just know, our bookshelves will be lined with pleasantly bound books. And brightly colored pillowcases will grace the heirloom quilted beds. And I'll go to bed at night and my house will be quiet and the chatter and cries from those toy-strewn bedrooms will be silent. No spiders or lions will plague my quiet evening. And I'll be able to relax, put my feet up and not have to endure the endless era of bedtime that used to happen every night.
Then the next morning, I will greet the day alone. Without the heralding laughter of kids and toys and noise and breakfast cereal strewn all over the dining room table.
And I'd give anything to hear the "Mom, I wuv you so much!" tokens of bliss that used to fill my days. Yes, I'd even give up my neatly kept, heirloom-quilted-bedrooms of silence for just one more disruptive and chaotic evening.
Because motherhood ends way too fast.
What I didn't know was that good quality books quickly turn into well used and over-read-dog-eared-paged stacks of paper that used to be bound in those novel things call "books."
And as for tucking the said kids at night, using heirloom quilts on beds that tend to be frequently washed, is a recipe for extinguishing all heirloom quilts from our generation. Besides, whatever type of blanket or covering you use to tuck your kids in at night with, that article of bed clothing soon takes on an heirloom look with all the washings and forts and tents and tug-a-war games that it ends up being used for.
I never realized how drab looking the brightly colored pillow cases get with many washings. Or the bloody-nose stains that are sure to happen. Or how long it takes for their faces to become cherubic looking after they finally lay their sweet heads on the fluffy pillows. I didn't realize that drinks and bathroom runs and "Mom! I'm scared" and "DAAAAAADDDDDYYYYY! There's a lion in my room" sobs that would trail out the dimly lit bedroom doors long after bedtime. Oh, and the spiders that always appear right at bedtime, right along with those lions.
But the smiles these kids greet you with just after the rising of the sun the next morning, now THAT'S what motherhood is all about. And the hugs and the snuggles. And the "Mom, I wuv you so much!" are the words that put perspective on each trying circumstance that may happen between morning and bedtime.
And someday, I just know, our bookshelves will be lined with pleasantly bound books. And brightly colored pillowcases will grace the heirloom quilted beds. And I'll go to bed at night and my house will be quiet and the chatter and cries from those toy-strewn bedrooms will be silent. No spiders or lions will plague my quiet evening. And I'll be able to relax, put my feet up and not have to endure the endless era of bedtime that used to happen every night.
Then the next morning, I will greet the day alone. Without the heralding laughter of kids and toys and noise and breakfast cereal strewn all over the dining room table.
And I'd give anything to hear the "Mom, I wuv you so much!" tokens of bliss that used to fill my days. Yes, I'd even give up my neatly kept, heirloom-quilted-bedrooms of silence for just one more disruptive and chaotic evening.
Because motherhood ends way too fast.
Sunday, May 09, 2010
Happy Mother's Day!!!
So there was this day I woke up and suddenly became a mom. Diapers and laundry and sleepless nights hit me with a fury and I wondered what in the world had happened to cause the earth to quit turning on it's axle. Time didn't necessarily stand still. Rather, time ran on and on into itself and never separated itself with proper punctuation. (Such as rest, sleep, sanity, etc.)
Rather than sitting there in shocked disbelief at the wild fury that clung to my life, I flung myself into the whirling merry-go-round of motherhood and hung on for dear life. Diapers and laundry and sleepless nights all flew around my head in a merry little circle of chaos.
And then it happened. The merry-go-round slowed to a nostalgic carousal trot. A sing-songy tuned played pleasantly in the back of my existence. And I loved and adored and cherished this whole thing called motherhood. Simultaneously, suddenly I was struck with a chance to breath, think, rest, enjoy my life, etc... and etc. My "babies" became toddlers and soon and my toddlers became kids.
And you know what happened next?
I began to wish for the diapers. And that laundry. And those sleepless nights.
What is it about babies that just make us WANT them?
We're looking forward to our new surprise expected to arrive the beginning of January... smack dab in the middle of Cabin Fever Season. (I think I found my own personal cure for that disease... a BABY!)
And we're tickled pink. (or is it blue?)
Rather than sitting there in shocked disbelief at the wild fury that clung to my life, I flung myself into the whirling merry-go-round of motherhood and hung on for dear life. Diapers and laundry and sleepless nights all flew around my head in a merry little circle of chaos.
And then it happened. The merry-go-round slowed to a nostalgic carousal trot. A sing-songy tuned played pleasantly in the back of my existence. And I loved and adored and cherished this whole thing called motherhood. Simultaneously, suddenly I was struck with a chance to breath, think, rest, enjoy my life, etc... and etc. My "babies" became toddlers and soon and my toddlers became kids.
And you know what happened next?
I began to wish for the diapers. And that laundry. And those sleepless nights.
What is it about babies that just make us WANT them?
We're looking forward to our new surprise expected to arrive the beginning of January... smack dab in the middle of Cabin Fever Season. (I think I found my own personal cure for that disease... a BABY!)
And we're tickled pink. (or is it blue?)
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Polk-a-dot Painting Project
I love painting. I love polk-a-dots. And I love my kids. Not in that order (most days) but you know what I mean.
So one day I decided to combine all three.
And my kids were thrilled.
We laid newspaper on the floor to make it look like we were taking cautionary preventative measures and actually serious about only getting paint on the walls.
Then we put on paint clothes, selected some brushes and began to splash colorful and bright dots on our family room wall.
Amazingly, the paint only went from their little red cups, to their brushes, to the walls. I was very pleased with their "carefullness" and it made me realize that little projects like this, not only showed me what my kids were capable of being responsible for but also showed my kids what they could be trusted with when they can prove their responsibility.
Everyone had their designated circles. And I had the honors of cleaning up edges and reaching the high polk-a-dots.
The results were better than I expected, which was a good thing since I had my "I'm Blogging This" shirt on. It inspired me to make a blog post out of our project. And even more so since I love our polk-a-dot wall. 
But, my favorite part about it is that someday when my kids are old and they have kids of their own, they'll be able to say, "When I was a kid, my mom let me paint polk-a-dots on a wall in our house... what was she thinking?!"
It makes me smile every time I walk through our family room.
And not only does it look fun and happy, it was a fun and happy project to do. With my kids.
Yeah, I could've gotten it done twice as fast by myself without their "help." And maybe wouldn't have had to touch up so many spots.
But I wouldn't have the sweet memory of it had I crammed them off to their rooms and told them to not touch mommy's paint.
Polk-a-dots are supposed to be fun, right?! And these definitely were.
When I see the fun polk-a-dots dancing on our family room wall, I don't even think about the fact that I let my kindergartners get in close range to our new couch and brand new carpet with wet, live paint. Instead, the memories of our fun polk-a-dot project, are timeless. And sweet.And not only does it look fun and happy, it was a fun and happy project to do. With my kids.
Yeah, I could've gotten it done twice as fast by myself without their "help." And maybe wouldn't have had to touch up so many spots.
But I wouldn't have the sweet memory of it had I crammed them off to their rooms and told them to not touch mommy's paint.
Polk-a-dots are supposed to be fun, right?! And these definitely were.
That's the way polk-a-dots are supposed to be. And raising kids is supposed to be that way too.
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
They're Only Kids Once
Sometimes I look at my kids and wonder.... how did you become mine? Who are you? What will you become someday? Is your childhood going to be one filled with good memories or will it be a passing phrase in time that you were glad to see go?
I wonder: am I cherishing each day? Living it to the fullest? Are my priorities righted? Do I have a vision of the future? Of hope? Of my children's lives?
Often I think about the fact that I wanted to grow up, get married and have kids. I did all that. And now that I'm in the "have kids" era, it's no longer about me. Now my kids have their own goals. Their own lives. Their own thoughts and desires. Their own "when-I-grow-up-I-want..." dreams and plans. This is IT for them. This is the real thing. It's not all about me living the life I always wanted anymore; it's about them being shaped for adulthood.
It's not possible to push a "record" button when we go to the zoo or park or have a birthday party and know that only what's played out during that time will be recorded as a keepsake childhood memory. The "record" button is not optional: it's down all the time. I can't "stop" the tape. The days I'm tired or distracted or preoccupied with my own things, are days their childhood memories are being made.
Each day is another chance for adventure. Another page in their life story. Another captured time in memory that they'll pull their childhood recollections from. What happens TODAY will hopefully cause nostalgia for them in twenty years.
I hope and pray their quickly-fleeting-childhoods will be but a bright spot in their lives, filled with direction, hope, bliss and love that shaped their perspective for the promising future.
Because nothing is quite as good as it was when you were a kid. And I'm making that count, today.
I wonder: am I cherishing each day? Living it to the fullest? Are my priorities righted? Do I have a vision of the future? Of hope? Of my children's lives?
Often I think about the fact that I wanted to grow up, get married and have kids. I did all that. And now that I'm in the "have kids" era, it's no longer about me. Now my kids have their own goals. Their own lives. Their own thoughts and desires. Their own "when-I-grow-up-I-want..." dreams and plans. This is IT for them. This is the real thing. It's not all about me living the life I always wanted anymore; it's about them being shaped for adulthood.
It's not possible to push a "record" button when we go to the zoo or park or have a birthday party and know that only what's played out during that time will be recorded as a keepsake childhood memory. The "record" button is not optional: it's down all the time. I can't "stop" the tape. The days I'm tired or distracted or preoccupied with my own things, are days their childhood memories are being made.
Each day is another chance for adventure. Another page in their life story. Another captured time in memory that they'll pull their childhood recollections from. What happens TODAY will hopefully cause nostalgia for them in twenty years.
I hope and pray their quickly-fleeting-childhoods will be but a bright spot in their lives, filled with direction, hope, bliss and love that shaped their perspective for the promising future.
Because nothing is quite as good as it was when you were a kid. And I'm making that count, today.
Thursday, February 04, 2010
Random Things I Tell My Kids
"Yes, we'll still be your mom and dad when you have kids someday."
"No Alex, you may not curl your hair."
"Watch where you're peeing."
"No, you may not put your finger in my nose."
"No, I don't want you to stand on those books."
"Hey! WHAT are you pounding into the wall?"
"Stop peeling paint off the walls."
"Why do you keep calling your brother 'kid'?"
"Do you plan on tying those ropes around your neck? Because that would not be a good idea."
"Are you TRYING to break that laundry basket or is it just breaking by itself?"
"Um, no... you don't pull him down the steps in that laundry basket."
"Hey, why doesn't the 't' key on the computer work anymore?" (Landon: What's a 't'?)
"Are you TRYING to break that couch?"
"WHY is that leg off the table?" (Landon: I don't know... it just fell off.)
"Stop flipping that table over; it's not supposed to be like that."
"Isn't that like the second time he fell down the stairs in the last ten minutes?" (Landon: No, he fell down twice.)
"Do you guys plan on taking ALL the furniture apart in our house?"
"Get the oranges off the toilet."
"You don't need to eat in the bathroom; that's what the dining room table is for."
"Don't bite that chair."
"WHO broke this?!"
"Just because you can reach something, doesn't mean you can wreck it."
"Are you TRYING to break that window blind?"
"No... STOP cutting the table!"
"Wash your hands with soap AND water!"
"Watch out for that floor: it'll jump up and hit you right in the face."
"No Alex, you may not curl your hair."
"Watch where you're peeing."
"No, you may not put your finger in my nose."
"No, I don't want you to stand on those books."
"Hey! WHAT are you pounding into the wall?"
"Stop peeling paint off the walls."
"Why do you keep calling your brother 'kid'?"
"Do you plan on tying those ropes around your neck? Because that would not be a good idea."
"Are you TRYING to break that laundry basket or is it just breaking by itself?"
"Um, no... you don't pull him down the steps in that laundry basket."
"Hey, why doesn't the 't' key on the computer work anymore?" (Landon: What's a 't'?)
"Are you TRYING to break that couch?"
"WHY is that leg off the table?" (Landon: I don't know... it just fell off.)
"Stop flipping that table over; it's not supposed to be like that."
"Isn't that like the second time he fell down the stairs in the last ten minutes?" (Landon: No, he fell down twice.)
"Do you guys plan on taking ALL the furniture apart in our house?"
"Get the oranges off the toilet."
"You don't need to eat in the bathroom; that's what the dining room table is for."
"Don't bite that chair."
"WHO broke this?!"
"Just because you can reach something, doesn't mean you can wreck it."
"Are you TRYING to break that window blind?"
"No... STOP cutting the table!"
"Wash your hands with soap AND water!"
"Watch out for that floor: it'll jump up and hit you right in the face."
Saturday, October 31, 2009
When a Friend in Labor, Piano Tuning, Kittens and Evening Plans Collide
Do you have any idea how many times I've come to blogspot.com just to blog something and all I do is type in a fury and then delete it? Or I stare at the screen and wonder what kind of life people must have before they're entitled to having something to blog about? And then there's the time I stare at the very blank blog screen and line it up to match perfectly with my very blank brain. I've learned that as honest and open as that may seem, that blank screen doesn't produce a blog post either.
My days are busy and full but not much worth mentioning in a blog post. At times, the day's happenings seem almost too crazy to blog about. Anyone in their right mind would read what I'd say and go, "Wow, she has issues." And believe me, I do have issues.
Like the evening my husband came home from work and said, "Hey, let's go out for supper tonight." And I happily said, "Sure! Great idea!"
But then I had to finish up the closet organization project that was all over our bed while dealing with the allergy attack the cleaning had given me.
And I also had to finalize things with the blind piano tuner guy that was sitting at the piano, making out-of-key "dah-dah-dum" sounds over in his corner with the piano.
Plus, a lady was coming to look at 2 of our kittens and before she could see them, I needed to extract the kittens from their hard-to-reach corner in the garage and make sure they didn't look like orphaned kittens or anything.
Meanwhile, friends had brought the piano-tuner-guy over and we were thinking of working out supper details with them for the evening.
On top of it all, a friend of mine overdue to have her baby was having contractions. I had offered to watch their other child for the delivery so I was pretty much on-call for babysitting.
So, I squared away the kittens. Got in touch with my laboring friend just in time to hear her say, "Yuck. My water is breaking." And then showed the blind piano-tuner-guy to the bathroom.
Realizing the imminent reality of birth just around the corner for our friend, my husband came up with plan B.
I would stay home with Alex.
He would take the older two kids to town to get the errands done.
I would call our friends to cancel supper plans.
He would take the truck so I'd have a vehicle to go get my laboring-friend's child.
I would stay home long enough to pay the piano-tuner-guy and make sure his ride came.
The kitten lady would come to pick out her kittens.
I would go pick up laboring-friends' child.
Now, does any of the above make sense? In the 2 hours the above entire post took place in, it made no more sense than it does to you on paper. (Or computer screen, however you want to look at it.)
That was my evening.
Except the highlight happened when less than 2 hours after I picked up laboring-friend's child, I heard my no-longer-in-labor friend's bright and cheery voice on the other end of the phone say, "We have a little girl." Her voice, her chipperness and her tone made me think her evening had been far more relaxing than mine.
So maybe the next time we decide to have a quiet evening together, I'll just go in labor and have a baby.
(Now you believe me when I say I have issues, don't you?)
My days are busy and full but not much worth mentioning in a blog post. At times, the day's happenings seem almost too crazy to blog about. Anyone in their right mind would read what I'd say and go, "Wow, she has issues." And believe me, I do have issues.
Like the evening my husband came home from work and said, "Hey, let's go out for supper tonight." And I happily said, "Sure! Great idea!"
But then I had to finish up the closet organization project that was all over our bed while dealing with the allergy attack the cleaning had given me.
And I also had to finalize things with the blind piano tuner guy that was sitting at the piano, making out-of-key "dah-dah-dum" sounds over in his corner with the piano.
Plus, a lady was coming to look at 2 of our kittens and before she could see them, I needed to extract the kittens from their hard-to-reach corner in the garage and make sure they didn't look like orphaned kittens or anything.
Meanwhile, friends had brought the piano-tuner-guy over and we were thinking of working out supper details with them for the evening.
On top of it all, a friend of mine overdue to have her baby was having contractions. I had offered to watch their other child for the delivery so I was pretty much on-call for babysitting.
So, I squared away the kittens. Got in touch with my laboring friend just in time to hear her say, "Yuck. My water is breaking." And then showed the blind piano-tuner-guy to the bathroom.
Realizing the imminent reality of birth just around the corner for our friend, my husband came up with plan B.
I would stay home with Alex.
He would take the older two kids to town to get the errands done.
I would call our friends to cancel supper plans.
He would take the truck so I'd have a vehicle to go get my laboring-friend's child.
I would stay home long enough to pay the piano-tuner-guy and make sure his ride came.
The kitten lady would come to pick out her kittens.
I would go pick up laboring-friends' child.
Now, does any of the above make sense? In the 2 hours the above entire post took place in, it made no more sense than it does to you on paper. (Or computer screen, however you want to look at it.)
That was my evening.
Except the highlight happened when less than 2 hours after I picked up laboring-friend's child, I heard my no-longer-in-labor friend's bright and cheery voice on the other end of the phone say, "We have a little girl." Her voice, her chipperness and her tone made me think her evening had been far more relaxing than mine.
So maybe the next time we decide to have a quiet evening together, I'll just go in labor and have a baby.
(Now you believe me when I say I have issues, don't you?)
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Dogs Really Don't Go To Heaven After All
Sometimes I have those days where nothing seems to go right. I wake up in the morning to the sound of the dog barking and kids frantically chattering. That's a bad sound combination to wake up to. I've learned 2 things from those kinds of days:
#1: Always wake up before the kids
#2: Never sleep later than the kids
As I looked out the window on that bright sunny morning that I just happened to commit both
You try waking up and the first thing you see is a headless, dead kitten hanging out of your dog's mouth. Seriously, try it. See if your day turns out nice.
After bucketing the fragment of the once-cute-kitten, we went inside for breakfast. I pretty much had no appetite after seeing that disgusting kitten but the kids seemed undaunted. In their enthusiasm to eat, an entire bag of cereal spilled gracefully all over the badly stained carpeted dining room. Which, reminds me... don't get me started on carpeted dining rooms because I really don't have too many good things to say about them. Or the people who would even think to put carpet in a dining room.
From then on, the day went down hill. If it wasn't one catastrophe, something greater and more dangerous was happening. Of course it sulked me into a "why is this happening to me" mood which made me feel guilty because I frequently like to remind myself of all the true hardship in the world and the fact that I really have NO hardship at all compared to other mothers. Like my poor mother cat... her darling baby had just been killed by a ravaging dog. At least all my children's heads were accounted for.
Seriously though, there are mothers all over who have it far worse than I... either they live in a battle torn country or they have a terminal illness or their children have all died or they have no home to raise their children in or they have no loving father to share parenthood with or they have no understanding of how to raise children or they're lonely childless women, arms aching to hold a child. I knew I didn't have it bad so I scolded myself soundly for sulking.
It was also about 100 degrees that day with full sun. My brave husband was battling a high, hot roof a good distance away and being the good husband that he is, I wanted to reward him with a cool refreshing drink.
So, I packed up the kids, departed from our comfortable air conditioned house and we began our little journey. Now, in case you think this seems mild and peaceful and mothering and kind, I think you should understand that you have no idea what it's like to ride in our van when all the kids are in there. And they're not sleeping. Or eating.
First of all, they yell (in order to be heard, of course), "Cold air on please" over and over until you turn the cold air on. And "cold air on please" literally means, turn the thermostat to 60F and turn the fan on full blast. If you adjust the fan at all or make the air slightly stray from freezing cold, you will immediately hear a simultaneous, "coldaironplease" chorus from the back of the van.
And they do this of course, to survive because if for some reason there should be any trace of anything warm in the van, they will surely die of a complete heat stroke. So we "coldaironplease" all the way to our destination and we "coldaironplease" all the way back home again.
While their hair is standing on end from the force of air blowing on their little heads, they begin a series of lessons. They question about all the deer in the woods. And what would we do if there was a bear trying to get in our house. And how many lions are probably over in that field. And what kind of thing is that tractor pulling? And why do we have to take the semi road? (Interstate) And why are they building a field with all that dirt? And "Mom are you going speed limit?" And what kind of plants are in that field? And what would happen if we turned the head lights off and drove in the dark. And WHO put that moon up there. And do skunks bite?
You must understand that these questions are being bombarded to the front of the van over the roar of the A/C fans. If there's any music or radio on at the same time, they just yell their questions louder. If they can't hear your answer (which is typical), they will repeat the question as many times as they need to. Pretty soon everyone in the van is hollering and yelling in an attempt to achieve ultimate communication and we travel merely down the road like one, little, happy family.
Alex chimes in quoting a phrase from a little "Old McDonald tractor" that goes, "Uh-oh, I can't drive" when you put the cow or the duck or the pig in the driver's seat. Like a broken record, he repeats that over and over from his cracker crumbed carseat.
It usually goes like this until Janae has to puke, which happens on any ride over 5 minutes long. There's usually a mad scramble for a cup or a bag or a box or a something to toss back to her. She then hangs her mouth over the cup or the bag or the box or whatever it is and sits there mostly quietly for the rest of the trip, giving us a running dialogue on the puke situation.
Funny thing how she never has puked in the van, except for the one time she was sick with pneumonia. The puke-into-object is completely psychological and we only give it to her for her own peace of mind. And our sanity. Hearing, "I need to go puke" mile after mile gets a little disturbing. The situation is purely mental on her end but anything to squelch her mad puke panic gives us a better ride. And helps us not go mental with her.
Of course, on such days as we were having that day, Landon and Janae gained another 7 notches in their brain capacity and began to delve into the deep questions. Like "where's hell?" And "how do we go to heaven?" And "how do we sin?" And other such brain exercising questions. While mentally trying to lead my children through the Romans road... or some other such process of salvation, I was rather overwhelmed by their barrage of comments revealing their understanding of the whole situation.
Meanwhile, I was trying to stay on the road and find the job site with no directions. And little cell phone coverage. And no GPS.
I was deep in thought and trying to capture the moment to the best of my ability. I mean seriously, when someone asks you how to know God, don't you just tell them? Realizing that my children are quite young and have a very impressionable mind, I had to make this moment count. I thought I was answering them well enough until I heard Janae start tattling...
"Mom, Landon is going to send me to hell... Landon is going to send me to hell... Mom, Landon is going to send me to hell..."
I scolded Landon and assured Janae no such thing would happen.
He argued back, stating he COULD send her there and would because of what she had done to him. (Some minor offence... I'm sure. I don't remember the details now.)
I explained only God sent people there and actually, He doesn't really send them; they choose to go by not accepting God's love for them.
Landon had a reason why Janae fell into the same category and assured Janae again he was sending her to hell.
In case you are concerned about my son's ability to show love and forgiveness, you need to understand he had no concept of hell at that point. Hell was just a bad place for bad people. And in the process of understanding his mind on the subject and the fact he wanted to send his sister there, whom he really does love, I grew to understand a child's idea of God, hell and heaven.
My mind failed to reach into the innermost parts of my being and recollect a good way of explaining to my kids right then in the middle of our errand HOW bad hell was, WHY people go there and WHAT God has to do with it. So I copped out. I told them both that no one knows for sure where hell is.
The bright and brilliant boy in the back seat exclaimed, "Well, I can find it then and Janae's going there."
Keeping myself upright in my seat in order to keep from pounding my head on the dashboard, I concentrated on not driving off the road. My head pounded from the noise and din of the van and I was overwhelmed with the responsibility of cementing into my children the concept of a loving God, heaven and hell. It was a complex situation and as I explained in even greater detail how BAD hell is and how GOOD God is, I realized even more that in order to really understand the horribleness of hell, you must understand the loveliness of God. And when you understand how loving God is, you have a better understanding of how awful hell is. Both go hand in hand. I kept it simple and filed the whole topic away with plans to bring it up later.
I thought they understood it all better and felt content with the level of understanding in the conversation. I was equally pleased Landon was no longer sending Janae to hell and was relieved to have that discussion over with. As we left the job site, I heard an ongoing argument happening over the din of the fans in the back seat...
"Janae, listen to me: Elly (the dog) is NOT a Christian," Landon said, quite strongly.
She retorted with a smart remark and made Landon even more firm. He sighed heavily to reinforce his statement and said, "NO Janae: dogs CANNOT be Christians!"
Landon seemed to be handling his own but I backed him up. We began to discuss that dogs aren't Christians, therefore they're not going to heaven. Who would've thought on a mild little errand to bring water to their daddy, these 4 and 5 year olds would explode into such complex little beings?
As we "coldaironplease" all the way back home, deeper and more difficult questions circled our little van. After completing our errand and putting the littles down to bed (which was no small feat), Landon and I went out back to bury the kitten.
After listening to him eulogize the kitten all day about how she was his best friend and how nice of cat she was and how much we needed to shoot the dog's brains out since she wasn't thinking when she killed the kitten, I assumed the burial would be somewhat emotional.
It wasn't.
Landon recommended putting a sign up for everyone to read that said 'the kitten was buried here.' When I constructed a little cross, he thought that was a neat sign to put over the kitten's grave. That way no kids would dig a hole right there and end up digging up the kitten, or so he said. He was really concerned about stray neighbor kids digging a random hole that would end up right over that kitten. She stunk badly by this time so Landon wanted to be sure she stayed under the ground where no one could smell her.
As the day drew to a close, I ended up making another errand up to my hard working husband. He asked me to bring supper up to the crew working so I obliged and made the trek again in my "coldaironplease" van with my chattering children. On our way home, I listened to a story on the radio about a man who's wife and 4 children were swept away in a flash flood.
Just like that, his perfect, wonderful world was gone. Gone.
It was pounded into me again that as long as I have my dear children and adoring husband surrounding and overwhelming my life with all their goodness and personality, I am one blessed woman. Never mind the fact I feel like pounding my head on the dashboard. Or wake up to a dead kitten. Or grow tired after listening to a barrage of questions about the moon. Or hell. Or dogs being Christians. Life is good.
And you know what? Even if dogs really don't go to heaven, life still is good.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Keeping Perspective on Motherhood
So much of my day, my life, my world, revolves around mundane busy-ness. Like unfinished laundry, messy house, smelly messes, naughty kids, tiredness, unfinished projects, etc.
But, when I think about the family who's blog I visited that had just lost their second child a few months ago and are now close to losing their first daughter due to pregnancy complications, I really don't have it bad. I mean, I'm living the dream that expecting mom has: to be a busy wife and happy mother of children.
I read stories about families who have genetic problems. All their future children are at a high risk of developing health problems that will likely not allow them to survive infancy. I know that mom would give anything to have toys strewn all over her house, thanks to the fact that she has a house full of healthy children. Instead, she brings flowers to a grave while I bring a hungry baby to a high chair.
What about the mom just down the street that lost her son a couple months ago to a tragic car accident? She worked hard to bring him through infancy and then childhood and he was just working on getting his driver's license. Now he's dead. She would give anything to have extra laundry, a full school schedule and the opportunity to wrap her entire existence around her boy. But, it's over because he's gone.
Does it really matter that I have a never ending pile of laundry? That my house never stays clean? That I no longer get one meal done and it's time to plan another? That I have lists of shopping to do but no way to get out of the house because of my kids? No. It doesn't matter. As long as I keep my perspective and remember that I will experience this season in my life and my children's lives for a very short time.
And then it'll be over and I'd give all the world to have them little again. To have that messy house again. To wash the dirty jeans of that kid who was told to stay out of the mud. To wash the sticky face of the girl that was told to stay out of the candy. To vacuum handfuls of cracker crumbs from the van. To comfort that wailing baby. I'll wonder how I ever lost perspective while living the life I always dreamed of living.
But, it's not over. I am living that life. And I'm going to enjoy the reality of each one of those dreams. Crumbs, mud and tears will never daunt me. They are only the dross of the gold hidden deep within each one of the children I call my own.
And those are little things compared to the reality of the dream I'm living called, motherhood. When I look back in time, I don't want to see the distractions of life; I want to see a happy child, a joyful mom and a loving home. Yet in the busy-ness of life, I never want to lose focus on the fact that we're making those memories today.
But, when I think about the family who's blog I visited that had just lost their second child a few months ago and are now close to losing their first daughter due to pregnancy complications, I really don't have it bad. I mean, I'm living the dream that expecting mom has: to be a busy wife and happy mother of children.
I read stories about families who have genetic problems. All their future children are at a high risk of developing health problems that will likely not allow them to survive infancy. I know that mom would give anything to have toys strewn all over her house, thanks to the fact that she has a house full of healthy children. Instead, she brings flowers to a grave while I bring a hungry baby to a high chair.
What about the mom just down the street that lost her son a couple months ago to a tragic car accident? She worked hard to bring him through infancy and then childhood and he was just working on getting his driver's license. Now he's dead. She would give anything to have extra laundry, a full school schedule and the opportunity to wrap her entire existence around her boy. But, it's over because he's gone.
Does it really matter that I have a never ending pile of laundry? That my house never stays clean? That I no longer get one meal done and it's time to plan another? That I have lists of shopping to do but no way to get out of the house because of my kids? No. It doesn't matter. As long as I keep my perspective and remember that I will experience this season in my life and my children's lives for a very short time.
And then it'll be over and I'd give all the world to have them little again. To have that messy house again. To wash the dirty jeans of that kid who was told to stay out of the mud. To wash the sticky face of the girl that was told to stay out of the candy. To vacuum handfuls of cracker crumbs from the van. To comfort that wailing baby. I'll wonder how I ever lost perspective while living the life I always dreamed of living.
But, it's not over. I am living that life. And I'm going to enjoy the reality of each one of those dreams. Crumbs, mud and tears will never daunt me. They are only the dross of the gold hidden deep within each one of the children I call my own.
And those are little things compared to the reality of the dream I'm living called, motherhood. When I look back in time, I don't want to see the distractions of life; I want to see a happy child, a joyful mom and a loving home. Yet in the busy-ness of life, I never want to lose focus on the fact that we're making those memories today.
"Time doth softly sweetly glide, when there's love at home!"
Wednesday, June 04, 2008
Baby Elysha
We do everything to protect our children. To insure their health and safety. To keep them from harm. And to make them know without a doubt that we love them with a love that only a parent can have.
But, when you've done all you can and there's nothing more you can do, relinquishing a child; a little baby girl, to the Arms that created her precious life, has got to be the most heart breaking experience known to mankind.
Maybe it's because I have my own chubby baby just a few months older than Elysha that the thought of having to plan his funeral while he's still alive, makes it seem almost surreal to know that death is imminent. To know that time is so short, counting his breaths would be a treasure to cherish. And to know that memories are all I'll have in just a few short days.
Yet to remember that no matter how much a mother loves her child, God loves that child even more. And has a place not only in His heart but also in His kingdom where no harm can come to the child. Where all is peace and joy and love. I can't imagine knowing my child could be as safe as Elysha is destined to be in a few short days. But the aching arms left empty by her passing will need a sweet relief that only comes from The One who gives hope.
Even if you don't know this young family, keep them in your prayers.
But, when you've done all you can and there's nothing more you can do, relinquishing a child; a little baby girl, to the Arms that created her precious life, has got to be the most heart breaking experience known to mankind.
Maybe it's because I have my own chubby baby just a few months older than Elysha that the thought of having to plan his funeral while he's still alive, makes it seem almost surreal to know that death is imminent. To know that time is so short, counting his breaths would be a treasure to cherish. And to know that memories are all I'll have in just a few short days.
Yet to remember that no matter how much a mother loves her child, God loves that child even more. And has a place not only in His heart but also in His kingdom where no harm can come to the child. Where all is peace and joy and love. I can't imagine knowing my child could be as safe as Elysha is destined to be in a few short days. But the aching arms left empty by her passing will need a sweet relief that only comes from The One who gives hope.
Even if you don't know this young family, keep them in your prayers.
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Definition of Catastrophe
The following story is not based on a true story; it IS a true story.
I stepped out of the room for approx. 30 seconds. I had to tell Toby an important detail or piece of information that is totally failing my memory now. It must've been important at the time though because I was sacrificing my constant vigil on the kiddos in order to tell their dad something interesting for 27.9 seconds.
So, I finish telling him, and then wearily muse to myself (but out loud) that I had to get back to the kids because somebody was probably dying by now.
Landon heard me and said, "What? Somebody is dying, Mom? Who's dying?"
I didn't have time to answer because I looked into the living room and saw Alex (8mo. old) laying on the couch on his belly with a pillow on top of him while he chewed on my shoe.
Okay, when I left Alex, he was safely sitting on the floor with a blanket several feet from the couch.
I don't leave my shoes on the couch.
I don't put the baby on the couch and then leave the room.
I don't put pillows on top of the baby while he lays on the couch when I'm not in the room.
And I definitely don't let him chew on my shoe.
Landon was very quick to inform me that he put Alex there and by the look on his face, I could see he thought it was a great idea.
"Mom, I picked him up really tight," was his explanation that I guess was supposed to help me not be alarmed by the situation.
As if this wasn't enough excitement, I decided to go tell Toby what happened.
I came back through the dining room on my way back from Toby (I was gone for about 7.5 seconds that time) and what should I find but Janae awkwardly lumbering about in boots on the wrong feet.
I told her to take the boots off.
She turned around to do that (or so I thought) and took off running, tripping, falling and landing with one boot flung off, one boot stuck on and one very sore foot. Oh, and she was in tears too. Lots of tears. Loud tears, by the way.
This time, Toby came to the situation (the tears were loud, remember?) so I didn't have to risk anybody else's life in order to inform him of the family happenings.
And then, to end our story, let me tell you about what happened next.
I was blogging here for just a moment. Alex and Janae were both feet away from me right in my line of vision. What should happen but Alex started choking and coughing and gagging and gasping and eventually swallowing something mysterious.
I'm not even going to tell Toby this part in our story today but trust he will just have to find it on this blog; I can't risk blinking my eyes for a second let alone leaving the room for 2 seconds.
That's why I blog. So Toby (and the rest of the world) won't wonder what made me go crazy the day I end up in the nut house. And it also keeps him (and you) updated on the unbelievables that actually happen behind our closed doors.
I stepped out of the room for approx. 30 seconds. I had to tell Toby an important detail or piece of information that is totally failing my memory now. It must've been important at the time though because I was sacrificing my constant vigil on the kiddos in order to tell their dad something interesting for 27.9 seconds.
So, I finish telling him, and then wearily muse to myself (but out loud) that I had to get back to the kids because somebody was probably dying by now.
Landon heard me and said, "What? Somebody is dying, Mom? Who's dying?"
I didn't have time to answer because I looked into the living room and saw Alex (8mo. old) laying on the couch on his belly with a pillow on top of him while he chewed on my shoe.
Okay, when I left Alex, he was safely sitting on the floor with a blanket several feet from the couch.
I don't leave my shoes on the couch.
I don't put the baby on the couch and then leave the room.
I don't put pillows on top of the baby while he lays on the couch when I'm not in the room.
And I definitely don't let him chew on my shoe.
Landon was very quick to inform me that he put Alex there and by the look on his face, I could see he thought it was a great idea.
"Mom, I picked him up really tight," was his explanation that I guess was supposed to help me not be alarmed by the situation.
As if this wasn't enough excitement, I decided to go tell Toby what happened.
I came back through the dining room on my way back from Toby (I was gone for about 7.5 seconds that time) and what should I find but Janae awkwardly lumbering about in boots on the wrong feet.
I told her to take the boots off.
She turned around to do that (or so I thought) and took off running, tripping, falling and landing with one boot flung off, one boot stuck on and one very sore foot. Oh, and she was in tears too. Lots of tears. Loud tears, by the way.
This time, Toby came to the situation (the tears were loud, remember?) so I didn't have to risk anybody else's life in order to inform him of the family happenings.
And then, to end our story, let me tell you about what happened next.
I was blogging here for just a moment. Alex and Janae were both feet away from me right in my line of vision. What should happen but Alex started choking and coughing and gagging and gasping and eventually swallowing something mysterious.
I'm not even going to tell Toby this part in our story today but trust he will just have to find it on this blog; I can't risk blinking my eyes for a second let alone leaving the room for 2 seconds.
That's why I blog. So Toby (and the rest of the world) won't wonder what made me go crazy the day I end up in the nut house. And it also keeps him (and you) updated on the unbelievables that actually happen behind our closed doors.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Enjoying Motherhood but Burdened by the Work
Monday mornings... oh! I love them! Just kidding. I am not a I-hate-Monday-morning-kind-of-person but lately, I could do without them very much, thank you.
Today began in earnest around 6AM. The phone was ringing, the radio was on, Toby was running around turning on lights, getting half dressed to get a fax, couldn't find his cold-weather overalls and leaving his alarm beeping endlessly. After a night of fitful sleeping (thanks to a teething 8 month old) I felt rather shell shocked. Or like adrenaline had been surging all night and thankfully was still in effect. Or like I was stunned. Or dazed. I should've felt tired but didn't. It suddenly dawned on me that I needed to make coffee and Toby's lunch so I groggily realized the brevity of this Monday morning and faced it bravely while stumbling in the dark trying not to wake the baby. Again.
The baby is still zonked and the kids are still sleeping so at least it's quiet. I can make a slow adjustment to the day without feeling like I opened my eyes to the earth crashing down on my face.
The house was a wreck. Notice I say "was." Groceries still sat on the floor from the late night shopping trip the other night. Dishes still littered the sink from the late night shopping trip I was on while my family enjoyed supper at home. Laundry lay scattered everywhere from my late night shopping trip that I should've skipped in order to get the laundry done. Sunday School papers lay unread. The Sunday paper looked like it had taken over the house. It was a disaster. A few minutes of uninterrupted cleaning and picking up made the house look transformed.
And I guess that's what I was thinking about when I came to my blog today. How can I get everything done in a day that I need to get done when I have 3 little kids pulling me 3 different directions all day long? I can get up early and spend 5 minutes getting something done alone that normally would take me an hour to do after the kids are up but once they're up, a lot of stuff gets un-done. Even with constant surveillance! It is a source of frustration because it makes the effort I put into work pointless. Like I'm wasting my time trying to keep things picked up.
A few of the things I've tried:
A toddler "chore" chart.
(this takes a lot of MY concentration that it fails to really contribute to the day in a positive way.)
Locking all toys except Legos in a closet.
(literally, locked the door and forbade entrance to anyone but an authorized person.)
Do it myself.
(this fails to teach the kids personal responsibility.)
Repeat doing it myself.
(this also fails to teach the kids personal responsibility and can produce a lot of maternal frustration.)
Ignored the work and played instead.
(this can be relaxing for about 2 minutes but after that, the chaos it ensues is not worth the brief relaxation.)
Do it when they're gone/sleeping.
(this is the only thing that works but considering my kids are not usually gone and don't sleep all day, this isn't a very reliable choice.)
I noticed a lot of young moms with young kids put a comment on my "Knock, Knock" post. I need advice. What have you guys found to work? Any seasoned mother's advice would be great as well.
A few contributing factors would be:
-Toys are all stored in childrens' rooms; continually spilling into living room. Our house is small so this is a big thing-- toys seem to be everywhere and my kids only have a few they play with.
-Another thing that is an issue is the size and set-up of our kitchen. I used to have Landon (Janae was still pretty young) "help" me in the kitchen. He would stand on a chair at a work area and peel potatoes, dump flour, stir dough and batter, "cut" veggies, etc. I have no work place in this kitchen so the only thing I can have the kids do is line muffin tins with papers... out in the diningroom. Otherwise, if they bring a chair into the kitchen (make that 2 chairs now since Janae likes to "help" if Landon gets to) there is hardly room to work let alone counter space to work at. It is a good source for frustration.
So, I am greatly looking forward to a new kitchen. We had even contemplated making a work counter below standard in order to make it more "kid friendly" but decided against it since they'll grow into a standard height soon enough. I can't imagine having all those counters to work at and can hardly wait to make use of everyone of them just for one meal. It will be glorious.
In the meantime, I am looking for ways to incorporate my kiddos into the daily affairs of this household and not make them just another "thing" on my to-do list. I think a 3 yr. old has a lot of capability for small chores but it's been a challenge to figure out how to do those without losing order somewhere else. Bear in mind that anything Landon does, Janae has to do... or at least be distracted somewhere else while he does his work. Also, a baby added to the mix makes me feel pulled in 3 directions at once. Sometimes I simply function on reflex and put fires out all day instead of being a step ahead of the kids. I need creativity and tact. My kids need order.
What would you do?
Today began in earnest around 6AM. The phone was ringing, the radio was on, Toby was running around turning on lights, getting half dressed to get a fax, couldn't find his cold-weather overalls and leaving his alarm beeping endlessly. After a night of fitful sleeping (thanks to a teething 8 month old) I felt rather shell shocked. Or like adrenaline had been surging all night and thankfully was still in effect. Or like I was stunned. Or dazed. I should've felt tired but didn't. It suddenly dawned on me that I needed to make coffee and Toby's lunch so I groggily realized the brevity of this Monday morning and faced it bravely while stumbling in the dark trying not to wake the baby. Again.
The baby is still zonked and the kids are still sleeping so at least it's quiet. I can make a slow adjustment to the day without feeling like I opened my eyes to the earth crashing down on my face.
The house was a wreck. Notice I say "was." Groceries still sat on the floor from the late night shopping trip the other night. Dishes still littered the sink from the late night shopping trip I was on while my family enjoyed supper at home. Laundry lay scattered everywhere from my late night shopping trip that I should've skipped in order to get the laundry done. Sunday School papers lay unread. The Sunday paper looked like it had taken over the house. It was a disaster. A few minutes of uninterrupted cleaning and picking up made the house look transformed.
And I guess that's what I was thinking about when I came to my blog today. How can I get everything done in a day that I need to get done when I have 3 little kids pulling me 3 different directions all day long? I can get up early and spend 5 minutes getting something done alone that normally would take me an hour to do after the kids are up but once they're up, a lot of stuff gets un-done. Even with constant surveillance! It is a source of frustration because it makes the effort I put into work pointless. Like I'm wasting my time trying to keep things picked up.
A few of the things I've tried:
A toddler "chore" chart.
(this takes a lot of MY concentration that it fails to really contribute to the day in a positive way.)
Locking all toys except Legos in a closet.
(literally, locked the door and forbade entrance to anyone but an authorized person.)
Do it myself.
(this fails to teach the kids personal responsibility.)
Repeat doing it myself.
(this also fails to teach the kids personal responsibility and can produce a lot of maternal frustration.)
Ignored the work and played instead.
(this can be relaxing for about 2 minutes but after that, the chaos it ensues is not worth the brief relaxation.)
Do it when they're gone/sleeping.
(this is the only thing that works but considering my kids are not usually gone and don't sleep all day, this isn't a very reliable choice.)
I noticed a lot of young moms with young kids put a comment on my "Knock, Knock" post. I need advice. What have you guys found to work? Any seasoned mother's advice would be great as well.
A few contributing factors would be:
-Toys are all stored in childrens' rooms; continually spilling into living room. Our house is small so this is a big thing-- toys seem to be everywhere and my kids only have a few they play with.
-Another thing that is an issue is the size and set-up of our kitchen. I used to have Landon (Janae was still pretty young) "help" me in the kitchen. He would stand on a chair at a work area and peel potatoes, dump flour, stir dough and batter, "cut" veggies, etc. I have no work place in this kitchen so the only thing I can have the kids do is line muffin tins with papers... out in the diningroom. Otherwise, if they bring a chair into the kitchen (make that 2 chairs now since Janae likes to "help" if Landon gets to) there is hardly room to work let alone counter space to work at. It is a good source for frustration.
So, I am greatly looking forward to a new kitchen. We had even contemplated making a work counter below standard in order to make it more "kid friendly" but decided against it since they'll grow into a standard height soon enough. I can't imagine having all those counters to work at and can hardly wait to make use of everyone of them just for one meal. It will be glorious.
In the meantime, I am looking for ways to incorporate my kiddos into the daily affairs of this household and not make them just another "thing" on my to-do list. I think a 3 yr. old has a lot of capability for small chores but it's been a challenge to figure out how to do those without losing order somewhere else. Bear in mind that anything Landon does, Janae has to do... or at least be distracted somewhere else while he does his work. Also, a baby added to the mix makes me feel pulled in 3 directions at once. Sometimes I simply function on reflex and put fires out all day instead of being a step ahead of the kids. I need creativity and tact. My kids need order.
What would you do?
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
The Occupation You Can't Get A Degree For
I love that store in the mall, Motherhood Maternity. You walk in and the clerk greets you with, "Welcome to Motherhood." It always takes me back and makes me smile. How theatrical it would've been to hear someone say that the day I stepped into the real life of motherhood. But nobody needed to say anything; reality was screaming it and has been every since.
I thought I was ready to get married and start a family when Toby asked my dad if he could court me. I thought I was. In many ways I was. I was good at what I did and compared to a lot of girls my age, I was more than good: I was experienced.
I could cook. I could cook without a recipe. I could cook meals and put them in the freezer. I could plan menus. I could by food in bulk. I knew the best prices. I could can the food I cooked. I loved cooking and baking.
I could clean. I could clean fast. I could organize and clean. I could disinfect and clean. I could bleach without getting it on my clothes. I could clean charred ovens by hand. I could clean toilets and loved it. I could clean grimy sinks and loved it. My two favorite things to clean were (and still are) toilets and sinks.
I could do laundry. I could run a top loader with a sud saver. I could run a top loader without a sud saver. I could run a front loader. I could do 14 loads of laundry a week in a wringer wash machine and then hang it by hand in the basement. I could make laundry soap. I could be frugal about laundry.
I could babysit. I could babysit for days on end by myself with no adults around. I could take care of kids without flinching. I was a natural with small children.
I could change diapers. I could change disposable diapers and cloth diapers. I could make home made wet wipes and use them. I could change diapers for years on end without thinking twice about it.
I could give bottles. Take temperatures. Administer breathing treatments. Look for good color in a baby's skin. Feed children. Garden. Farm. Milk goats. Sew. Quilt. Organize. Run a household. etc.
And then I got married. And had a baby. And I found I was a novice. Completely unprepared. I had no idea motherhood was as heavy a load as it is. Not that it doesn't have it's joys and blessings (it has more than I thought possible) but it is the hardest occupation anyone can pursue.
I had this comment in my comment box recently from a reader who's daughter-in-law is in the throes of motherhood right now....
"She had a problematic day yesterday. All was going well, and in 5 minutes everything fell apart. Is there a high school class for this profession?"
I couldn't agree more. There should be a class for it. Or an entire school. Or at least some time in a boot camp. Seriously.
If a man is going to cut into your brain, he will first go to school for it. If a woman is going to draw blood from your arm, she will first go to school for it. If a man is going to fly to the moon, he will first go to school for it. If a woman is going to teach your kids their ABC's, she will first go to school for it. If a man joins the army, he will first spend weeks of intense training before going into battle. If a woman is going to decorate your house, she will first go to school for it. If a man cooks you a meal at a fancy restaurant, he will first go to school for it. All these occupations require training, learning and provide the student with much information. They also usually guarantee some type of retirement so that in the end, you're prepared to live off your past income.
But, if you decide to spend the next 25 years of your life working night and day, everyday of the week putting on band aids, enduring pregnancy and labor, explaining to your 3 year old why the moon can't sit in the back yard, cooking three meals a day, taking care of your house, saving the life of your 2 year old five times a day and staying up most of the night with your baby, you're on your own. There is no school for you honey. If you can't figure something out, sorry. Just keep trying; you'll get it at some point. Whether you succeed or fail, you won't be paid with money either.
Though motherhood is not a job you can get a degree for beforehand, it's definitely a school within itself; the School of Learning. And we all know we can never graduate from Learning. From what I've learned though, it's the most rewarding job a mom can have. I'd have to admit that though Motherhood is hard and can be unsuspecting at times, it's highly under rated. You have no idea the joy at the end of the day when you look at the day behind you and see what all it held. "Her works shall praise her," is enough of a reward for me.
I thought I was ready to get married and start a family when Toby asked my dad if he could court me. I thought I was. In many ways I was. I was good at what I did and compared to a lot of girls my age, I was more than good: I was experienced.
I could cook. I could cook without a recipe. I could cook meals and put them in the freezer. I could plan menus. I could by food in bulk. I knew the best prices. I could can the food I cooked. I loved cooking and baking.
I could clean. I could clean fast. I could organize and clean. I could disinfect and clean. I could bleach without getting it on my clothes. I could clean charred ovens by hand. I could clean toilets and loved it. I could clean grimy sinks and loved it. My two favorite things to clean were (and still are) toilets and sinks.
I could do laundry. I could run a top loader with a sud saver. I could run a top loader without a sud saver. I could run a front loader. I could do 14 loads of laundry a week in a wringer wash machine and then hang it by hand in the basement. I could make laundry soap. I could be frugal about laundry.
I could babysit. I could babysit for days on end by myself with no adults around. I could take care of kids without flinching. I was a natural with small children.
I could change diapers. I could change disposable diapers and cloth diapers. I could make home made wet wipes and use them. I could change diapers for years on end without thinking twice about it.
I could give bottles. Take temperatures. Administer breathing treatments. Look for good color in a baby's skin. Feed children. Garden. Farm. Milk goats. Sew. Quilt. Organize. Run a household. etc.
And then I got married. And had a baby. And I found I was a novice. Completely unprepared. I had no idea motherhood was as heavy a load as it is. Not that it doesn't have it's joys and blessings (it has more than I thought possible) but it is the hardest occupation anyone can pursue.
I had this comment in my comment box recently from a reader who's daughter-in-law is in the throes of motherhood right now....
"She had a problematic day yesterday. All was going well, and in 5 minutes everything fell apart. Is there a high school class for this profession?"
I couldn't agree more. There should be a class for it. Or an entire school. Or at least some time in a boot camp. Seriously.
If a man is going to cut into your brain, he will first go to school for it. If a woman is going to draw blood from your arm, she will first go to school for it. If a man is going to fly to the moon, he will first go to school for it. If a woman is going to teach your kids their ABC's, she will first go to school for it. If a man joins the army, he will first spend weeks of intense training before going into battle. If a woman is going to decorate your house, she will first go to school for it. If a man cooks you a meal at a fancy restaurant, he will first go to school for it. All these occupations require training, learning and provide the student with much information. They also usually guarantee some type of retirement so that in the end, you're prepared to live off your past income.
But, if you decide to spend the next 25 years of your life working night and day, everyday of the week putting on band aids, enduring pregnancy and labor, explaining to your 3 year old why the moon can't sit in the back yard, cooking three meals a day, taking care of your house, saving the life of your 2 year old five times a day and staying up most of the night with your baby, you're on your own. There is no school for you honey. If you can't figure something out, sorry. Just keep trying; you'll get it at some point. Whether you succeed or fail, you won't be paid with money either.
Though motherhood is not a job you can get a degree for beforehand, it's definitely a school within itself; the School of Learning. And we all know we can never graduate from Learning. From what I've learned though, it's the most rewarding job a mom can have. I'd have to admit that though Motherhood is hard and can be unsuspecting at times, it's highly under rated. You have no idea the joy at the end of the day when you look at the day behind you and see what all it held. "Her works shall praise her," is enough of a reward for me.
Thursday, February 07, 2008
The Gift of Today
Oh man. Some days are just strange. Like today for instance. I had all the ingredients for a good day -- 3 healthy children, full health myself, productivety, good marriage, tons of laundry (not that tons of laundry is actually a "good" thing but it does indicate that we are a healthy, bustling family that is alive and well), a borrowed afternoon housemaid, warm house, etc. misc. etc. -- but it was just not one of those top-of-the-list good days.
It probably had something to do with yesterday. Yesterday was supposed to be the best day of the year (so far) or at least the most relaxing or the most get-in-touch-with-yourself I've had in a long time days or basically, the most kid-less day I've had since having kids 3 years ago. But I wrecked it by (get this) spoiling the opportunity to be productive by spending my energies on a dress pattern. A stupid, no good, dress pattern. I have about decided to make a vow before a great congregation to never again touch a sewing machine, piece of fabric or a dress pattern again. In my life. Ever. Again. I will file for restraining order that will forever hereafter forbid me from entering a fabric store again. In my life. Ever. Again.
I really should do that because this morbid depression has wrecked one entire day of my life. All because of a dress pattern, two precious days of my life were wrecked. FOR NO GOOD REASON.
So. That day was shot and it should've been a good day. But actually, in truth, it really was a good day. I could sit in quiet and just think. I could sew without interuption. I could contemplate my surroundings. I could listen to preaching. And I could find out that yet another dress pattern in my pattern bin does not work. So, that's good. Never make the same mistake twice on a pattern when you spend all day working on it.
Then today came. Yes, today. Today was just "one of those days." I did not look forward to today before it even started. I guess that set the tone. I should know better than to do that but really, I guess I forgot. Dumb reason, I know. My attitude wore off on the kids and that is not good. Everything was a downhill battle. Eat your food (and it wasn't). Go to bed (and they cried). Clean your room (and she bit him). Don't go outside (and the dog came in and peed on the floor.) Play with your toys (and he got busy playing with a knife). Etc. Stuff like that all day long wore me out.
Now it's evening. The kids are tucked in bed ALL THREE SLEEPING and looking the perfect pictures of innocence. I have my computer in my lap for the first time in a long time (it should feel honored that I didn't just throw it out in the snow bank) and I'm relaxing in a nice, big, soft recliner. I'm uncomfortable though and can't sit still. Toby would be going nuts if he was next to me right now..."Can't you just sit still?" He would say lovingly. And I would say, "No, I can't. I tried." And he would say, "Geeez, just hold still for 2 minutes." And I would say, "I can't; I must have that Restless Leg Syndrom." And he would say, "Just don't move your legs then." And I would say, "It's impossible; I can't get comfortable." And he would say, "You're worse than a little kid." And I would say, "I know." And he would say something I'm sure because he always says something and I would probably say something then since I always say something and we would be having this conversation not getting anywhere but feeling content that we were making important and valid points to one another.
But instead, I sit out here alone. With my unfaithful computer. Tossing and turning in this chair. Reclining and sitting up. Kicking my feet. Holding my feet still. My lap is too hot from this computer. My feet are too hot (they always get hot when I sit in this chair for some reason) My heel is cracked and throbbing. My toe itches (I hate that). My eyes are tired.
And tomorrow is another new day. Another day to be a mom. To be a wife. To run a house. To set the tone. To remember the better part.
To only remember that the better part is often in the most hidden places. The places that I overlook when a pile of dishes threatens an avalanche. The places that I can't see beyond that mountain of laundry. The places that hide underneath those mischevious eyes. The places that disappear when I lose patience. Yet I can easily find those special places when I remember the Source. And that I am a mom yes, but I am first His child.
It probably had something to do with yesterday. Yesterday was supposed to be the best day of the year (so far) or at least the most relaxing or the most get-in-touch-with-yourself I've had in a long time days or basically, the most kid-less day I've had since having kids 3 years ago. But I wrecked it by (get this) spoiling the opportunity to be productive by spending my energies on a dress pattern. A stupid, no good, dress pattern. I have about decided to make a vow before a great congregation to never again touch a sewing machine, piece of fabric or a dress pattern again. In my life. Ever. Again. I will file for restraining order that will forever hereafter forbid me from entering a fabric store again. In my life. Ever. Again.
I really should do that because this morbid depression has wrecked one entire day of my life. All because of a dress pattern, two precious days of my life were wrecked. FOR NO GOOD REASON.
So. That day was shot and it should've been a good day. But actually, in truth, it really was a good day. I could sit in quiet and just think. I could sew without interuption. I could contemplate my surroundings. I could listen to preaching. And I could find out that yet another dress pattern in my pattern bin does not work. So, that's good. Never make the same mistake twice on a pattern when you spend all day working on it.
Then today came. Yes, today. Today was just "one of those days." I did not look forward to today before it even started. I guess that set the tone. I should know better than to do that but really, I guess I forgot. Dumb reason, I know. My attitude wore off on the kids and that is not good. Everything was a downhill battle. Eat your food (and it wasn't). Go to bed (and they cried). Clean your room (and she bit him). Don't go outside (and the dog came in and peed on the floor.) Play with your toys (and he got busy playing with a knife). Etc. Stuff like that all day long wore me out.
Now it's evening. The kids are tucked in bed ALL THREE SLEEPING and looking the perfect pictures of innocence. I have my computer in my lap for the first time in a long time (it should feel honored that I didn't just throw it out in the snow bank) and I'm relaxing in a nice, big, soft recliner. I'm uncomfortable though and can't sit still. Toby would be going nuts if he was next to me right now..."Can't you just sit still?" He would say lovingly. And I would say, "No, I can't. I tried." And he would say, "Geeez, just hold still for 2 minutes." And I would say, "I can't; I must have that Restless Leg Syndrom." And he would say, "Just don't move your legs then." And I would say, "It's impossible; I can't get comfortable." And he would say, "You're worse than a little kid." And I would say, "I know." And he would say something I'm sure because he always says something and I would probably say something then since I always say something and we would be having this conversation not getting anywhere but feeling content that we were making important and valid points to one another.
But instead, I sit out here alone. With my unfaithful computer. Tossing and turning in this chair. Reclining and sitting up. Kicking my feet. Holding my feet still. My lap is too hot from this computer. My feet are too hot (they always get hot when I sit in this chair for some reason) My heel is cracked and throbbing. My toe itches (I hate that). My eyes are tired.
And tomorrow is another new day. Another day to be a mom. To be a wife. To run a house. To set the tone. To remember the better part.
To only remember that the better part is often in the most hidden places. The places that I overlook when a pile of dishes threatens an avalanche. The places that I can't see beyond that mountain of laundry. The places that hide underneath those mischevious eyes. The places that disappear when I lose patience. Yet I can easily find those special places when I remember the Source. And that I am a mom yes, but I am first His child.
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
What A Beautiful Morning...
I get up in the morning and the sound track begins to play. Actually, it usually starts to play before I get up...
"Waaa, Waaa, Waaaa, Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."
Eventually, two wet-pull-up kids meander out to the land of the living. I direct them in the ways of proper hygiene: discard pull-up and put on underwear/clean pull-up. (depending on the child's personal bladder success.) When I step on a squishy, wet, gross peed-in-all-night-pull-up later that morning, I realize an act of disobedience was committed. I am considering taping a small trash can to my kid's bottom so that they will remember to THROW THE STINKIN' PULL-UP AWAY.
Yawn. Where's the coffee?
"Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom."
It's amazing to me that with most kids, any dislikes they may be experiencing when they wake up in the morning can be calmed by food. So, I usually nurse first thing in my day and then feed the other kids. Then the tune of my sound track changes...
"We were going to have hot cocoa! You said last night that when it's light out we could have hot cocoa! I want hot cocoaooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo."
"I need to go to the bathroom."
"I need a kleenex," said by a high-chair-confined-snot-nose-dripping kid.
"Waaa. Waaa. Waaa. Waaa. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..." etc.
Ring, ring, ring, ring.
"Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom, can I go downstairs and ride my bike?"
(this repetitious Mom. Mom. Mom. stuff has got to stop.)
Said by Mom in about 2 seconds:
"Child number 1, get off the baby."
"Child number 2, get off the dishwasher. "
Sigh.
"Hey Mom, do babies fart?"
Yes.
"Hey Mom, do ducks fly?"
Yes.
"Mom, do ducks FLY?"
Yes.
"Mom, do ducks FFFLLLYYY?"
Um, yes.
"No Mom, do ducks FLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?"
Yes Landon, they fly.
"They do?"
YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!
Cat runs through house just then. Confiscate her quick before the leather recliner sports any new holes.
Baby bumps head. Pat his bottom for comfort.
Get Janae off dishwasher. Again. She is putting dishes away.
Duck flies past my head... "Hey Mom, he's flying!"
(it's about time.)
Blocks begin spilling all over living room floor: clean living room, may I add. House stinks like poop/dirty diaper. Cat runs through house again. Baby cries.
Child puts on sandals and heads out the back door to play in the barely-above-zero weather. The non-house dog walking in the kitchen alerts me to the fact that a door was open, a child probably left and the possibility that the dog already peed on the floor is pretty great.
"Mom, I'm going outside and I won't freeze that bad though."
Baby cries.
"Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom."
What?
"Can we have hot cocoa now? You said when it was light out, we could have hot cocoa."
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."
Janae, keep the cat down stairs.
"Mom, dis my babeeee!" she tells me with the fur ball cradled in her arms.
"I'm really firsty!"
Get a drink.
I look up in time to see a kid precariously teetering on the edge of the sink, crawling from one side of the sink to the other.
MEOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. (live sound effect of live cat being caught by live two year old.)
3 year old wrestles with baby. He tells me he did this when he was big and had his own kid. (Not sure where this reincarnation philosophy is coming from.)
"That's NICE!" I hear Janae saying from kitchen as he admires her cup of water. She needed a "rink" too.
3 year old attempts to steal cup from 2 year old.
"MINE!"
"Can we eat hot chocolate now?"
No, not yet.
"UH! that's what you said...."
Yes, I know... when it's light out we can have hot cocoa.
Children began digging in tool drawer. A paint brush flies across the living room. A screw driver attempts to take the door of a china cabinet off. A chisel scrapes across a piece of furniture. Baby blows bubbles on the kitchen floor and officially scoots himself for first time from one dirty spot on the floor to another dirty spot. Baby bumps head. Kids go down stairs to play.
"MOM! There's a boogy man in the basement so I need to get a gun!" (he heads for some of the vacuuming cleaner hoses.)
"MOM! Boogy man!" A wide eyed blue eyed girl explains with shock on her face.
Not the vacuum cleaner. Do not touch the vacuum cleaner.
"I'm going buh-bye," Janae informs me.
You're leaving?
"Yeah, she's going buh-bye," Landon explains.
I smirk.
Water spills. Landon wrestles the baby again. Baby cries. Cat tries to get upstairs. Again. Janae wants to get dressed. She's leaving, remember?
The sound track starts the next track. Kids play with toys nicely. Baby quits bumping his head. The phone isn't ringing. Cat stays down stairs. A lit candle takes care of that poop smell. What a picture perfect morning!
Is anybody ready for hot cocoa yet?
-------------
This account is based on a true story. All names, dates, places and occurrences are not author's imagination. Any link to persons known or unknown is not coincidental. Use discretion if under 3: asking your mom for hot cocoa a million times a day just because she said you could have it the night before, does not warrant a good enough reason to drink the stuff at the crack of dawn. And saying Mom. Mom. Mom. (rinse, lather, repeat...) is an unkind act in an attempt to destroy a loved one's sanity.
"Waaa, Waaa, Waaaa, Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."
Eventually, two wet-pull-up kids meander out to the land of the living. I direct them in the ways of proper hygiene: discard pull-up and put on underwear/clean pull-up. (depending on the child's personal bladder success.) When I step on a squishy, wet, gross peed-in-all-night-pull-up later that morning, I realize an act of disobedience was committed. I am considering taping a small trash can to my kid's bottom so that they will remember to THROW THE STINKIN' PULL-UP AWAY.
Yawn. Where's the coffee?
"Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom."
It's amazing to me that with most kids, any dislikes they may be experiencing when they wake up in the morning can be calmed by food. So, I usually nurse first thing in my day and then feed the other kids. Then the tune of my sound track changes...
"We were going to have hot cocoa! You said last night that when it's light out we could have hot cocoa! I want hot cocoaooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo."
"I need to go to the bathroom."
"I need a kleenex," said by a high-chair-confined-snot-nose-dripping kid.
"Waaa. Waaa. Waaa. Waaa. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa..." etc.
Ring, ring, ring, ring.
"Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom, can I go downstairs and ride my bike?"
(this repetitious Mom. Mom. Mom. stuff has got to stop.)
Said by Mom in about 2 seconds:
"Child number 1, get off the baby."
"Child number 2, get off the dishwasher. "
Sigh.
"Hey Mom, do babies fart?"
Yes.
"Hey Mom, do ducks fly?"
Yes.
"Mom, do ducks FLY?"
Yes.
"Mom, do ducks FFFLLLYYY?"
Um, yes.
"No Mom, do ducks FLYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?"
Yes Landon, they fly.
"They do?"
YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!!!
Cat runs through house just then. Confiscate her quick before the leather recliner sports any new holes.
Baby bumps head. Pat his bottom for comfort.
Get Janae off dishwasher. Again. She is putting dishes away.
Duck flies past my head... "Hey Mom, he's flying!"
(it's about time.)
Blocks begin spilling all over living room floor: clean living room, may I add. House stinks like poop/dirty diaper. Cat runs through house again. Baby cries.
Child puts on sandals and heads out the back door to play in the barely-above-zero weather. The non-house dog walking in the kitchen alerts me to the fact that a door was open, a child probably left and the possibility that the dog already peed on the floor is pretty great.
"Mom, I'm going outside and I won't freeze that bad though."
Baby cries.
"Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom."
What?
"Can we have hot cocoa now? You said when it was light out, we could have hot cocoa."
"Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa."
Janae, keep the cat down stairs.
"Mom, dis my babeeee!" she tells me with the fur ball cradled in her arms.
"I'm really firsty!"
Get a drink.
I look up in time to see a kid precariously teetering on the edge of the sink, crawling from one side of the sink to the other.
MEOWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW. (live sound effect of live cat being caught by live two year old.)
3 year old wrestles with baby. He tells me he did this when he was big and had his own kid. (Not sure where this reincarnation philosophy is coming from.)
"That's NICE!" I hear Janae saying from kitchen as he admires her cup of water. She needed a "rink" too.
3 year old attempts to steal cup from 2 year old.
"MINE!"
"Can we eat hot chocolate now?"
No, not yet.
"UH! that's what you said...."
Yes, I know... when it's light out we can have hot cocoa.
Children began digging in tool drawer. A paint brush flies across the living room. A screw driver attempts to take the door of a china cabinet off. A chisel scrapes across a piece of furniture. Baby blows bubbles on the kitchen floor and officially scoots himself for first time from one dirty spot on the floor to another dirty spot. Baby bumps head. Kids go down stairs to play.
"MOM! There's a boogy man in the basement so I need to get a gun!" (he heads for some of the vacuuming cleaner hoses.)
"MOM! Boogy man!" A wide eyed blue eyed girl explains with shock on her face.
Not the vacuum cleaner. Do not touch the vacuum cleaner.
"I'm going buh-bye," Janae informs me.
You're leaving?
"Yeah, she's going buh-bye," Landon explains.
I smirk.
Water spills. Landon wrestles the baby again. Baby cries. Cat tries to get upstairs. Again. Janae wants to get dressed. She's leaving, remember?
The sound track starts the next track. Kids play with toys nicely. Baby quits bumping his head. The phone isn't ringing. Cat stays down stairs. A lit candle takes care of that poop smell. What a picture perfect morning!
Is anybody ready for hot cocoa yet?
-------------
This account is based on a true story. All names, dates, places and occurrences are not author's imagination. Any link to persons known or unknown is not coincidental. Use discretion if under 3: asking your mom for hot cocoa a million times a day just because she said you could have it the night before, does not warrant a good enough reason to drink the stuff at the crack of dawn. And saying Mom. Mom. Mom. (rinse, lather, repeat...) is an unkind act in an attempt to destroy a loved one's sanity.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Potty Training: Does It Ever End?
WHY do kids go through a stage where they HAVE to tell you that they need to go to the bathroom? And it's not just a, "hey mom, if you're wondering where I am, I'll be on the pot" kind of a thing. It's a an alert. A life and death warning. A if-you-don't-know-I-have-to-go-to-the-bathroom-now-this-might-be-the-last-time-we-see-each-other-on-earth kind of notification. Same idea as when the Tax Man audits you. That gut wrenching, heart breaking information.
I have seen kids walk past the bathroom while having to go really bad. Where are they going that is more important than just going? Let me guess... they are on their way to tell their mom they have to go to the bathroom.
It sure would be nice if kids did that about other things. Like say for example, eating dog food. They walk past the dog food to ask if they can eat the dog food. And then you can know they are wanting to eat dog food and are able to stop them in time from contaminating themselves with dead meat in the dog food.
Or why not ask if they can bite their brother? When they suddenly feel the urge to bite their brother, they could ask you instead. Wouldn't that be nice? Just think of all the quarrels you could prevent, let alone the human mouth shaped teeth marks on your son's arm you could stop. That would be nice.
But, no. They only ask about the bathroom. Why is it an universal thing too? I have seen kids all over the country, the world, from many different homes, from many different nations ask their mom if they could use the bathroom.
I had thought for awhile we had evaded this stage of parenting/childhood with Landon but it looks now like we haven't. He is exactly almost 4 years old. I wonder if that's the normal age to start this stage or not?
I am thinking the next time Landon asks me if he can go to the bathroom, I will just say no. Absolutely not. "I am so glad you asked me if you could go because I had been meaning to tell you that today, you are not allowed to pee...." OF COURSE YOU CAN USE THE BATHROOM!
I have wondered if kids just want a personal escort to take them to the bathroom. Or if they were afraid of the darkness of some windowless bathrooms. Or if they needed to know that somebody cared about them. Or if they were afraid they'd sit on the big open expanse of the pot and out of the blue fall in and disappear forever down that cold, dark hole. Or if they are just testing our patience as time after time we point out the obvious... "For Pete's sake the bathroom is right there behind you and it has your name written all over it."
There are so many reasons that could be why kids have to notify their mom about their need to use the home's toilet facilities. I am just not sure if we know of all those possible reasons yet.
So, I scheduled an interview...
Me: Landon why do you tell Mommy when you have to go to the bathroom?
Landon: 'Cause... So when I poop you can know when you should come and do me. (by "do me," he means wipe.)
Me: Is that all?
Landon: No.
Me: What are the other reasons?
Landon: Because then you know how I'm done. And when I get off the potty chair, that's disobeying.
Me: Why is that disobeying? (I am wondering where this is going and where it came from.)
Landon: Because then you're gonna get a spanking. I'm serious. My dad used to be older (he means younger) and he got off the potty chair. When he was a little boy, I was big. I wasn't the little boy, Daddy was.
Me: What does Daddy being on the potty chair have to do with why you tell Mommy you have to go to the bathroom?
Landon: (he began to tell me about the UPS man (the SRP truck, as he calls him). I get him back on the subject at hand...) I don't know because... then you will come and wipe me. You have to come in about 3 minutes. Like today we went all potty in my potty chair... 2 of them. (he means he went twice but I'm not sure about the "we" part).
Me: Why do you tell Mommy when you just have to pee?
L: Hey Mom, let's talk about the monkey that peed...
Me: No, let's talk about why you ask Mommy everytime you have to pee.
L: Because.
Me: When you have to go potty, why do you tell mommy?
L: Because then I don't know what I have to say.
Me: Do you have to go potty right now?
L: No. I'm writing. (he was addressing his mail.)
Me: Well, Landon when you have to pee in a little bit, are you going to tell Mommy?
L: No. When I'm older then I'll go poop. (he then got up to get the stamps.)
Me: Landon, Mommy needs to talk to you about something... just like I talk to Daddy about things sometimes... why do have to tell Mommy that you're going to the bathroom?
L: Because then I won't understand you. And I'll talk to you... "Mommy I'm done." (he means he sits in the bathroom and says, "Mommy I'm done.)
I ask him again.
L: Because then I won't understand you and you won't come and I'll have to keep asking and asking. And you won't come because you're not...
Me: (a little King James speech there... "because she was not.") Okay, but why when you just pee?
L: Becaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaause... the monkey peed.
Me: (okay, if you want to talk about the monkey, we'll talk about him...) Did he tell his mom?
L: Um, or his daddy. Or his friend.
Me: Really? So is that why you tell mommy?
L: Ummmmm. Uh-huh.
Me: When you ask me again if you can go to the bathroom, I'm gonna say no. Then what will you do?
L: Spank you.
Getting a little weary, I repeat my question one last time.
L: Because then...(his voice trailed off)... I don't know.
So, there's our proof. These kids really don't know. It's not some irrational fear that makes them tell us they have to go to the bathroom. It's not the dark. It's not the cold toilet seat. It's not their fear of forever being gone from us and getting flushed right down the toilet with their pee. It's not that they need permission.
The reason is because.... well, they don't know either.
I have seen kids walk past the bathroom while having to go really bad. Where are they going that is more important than just going? Let me guess... they are on their way to tell their mom they have to go to the bathroom.
It sure would be nice if kids did that about other things. Like say for example, eating dog food. They walk past the dog food to ask if they can eat the dog food. And then you can know they are wanting to eat dog food and are able to stop them in time from contaminating themselves with dead meat in the dog food.
Or why not ask if they can bite their brother? When they suddenly feel the urge to bite their brother, they could ask you instead. Wouldn't that be nice? Just think of all the quarrels you could prevent, let alone the human mouth shaped teeth marks on your son's arm you could stop. That would be nice.
But, no. They only ask about the bathroom. Why is it an universal thing too? I have seen kids all over the country, the world, from many different homes, from many different nations ask their mom if they could use the bathroom.
I had thought for awhile we had evaded this stage of parenting/childhood with Landon but it looks now like we haven't. He is exactly almost 4 years old. I wonder if that's the normal age to start this stage or not?
I am thinking the next time Landon asks me if he can go to the bathroom, I will just say no. Absolutely not. "I am so glad you asked me if you could go because I had been meaning to tell you that today, you are not allowed to pee...." OF COURSE YOU CAN USE THE BATHROOM!
I have wondered if kids just want a personal escort to take them to the bathroom. Or if they were afraid of the darkness of some windowless bathrooms. Or if they needed to know that somebody cared about them. Or if they were afraid they'd sit on the big open expanse of the pot and out of the blue fall in and disappear forever down that cold, dark hole. Or if they are just testing our patience as time after time we point out the obvious... "For Pete's sake the bathroom is right there behind you and it has your name written all over it."
There are so many reasons that could be why kids have to notify their mom about their need to use the home's toilet facilities. I am just not sure if we know of all those possible reasons yet.
So, I scheduled an interview...
Me: Landon why do you tell Mommy when you have to go to the bathroom?
Landon: 'Cause... So when I poop you can know when you should come and do me. (by "do me," he means wipe.)
Me: Is that all?
Landon: No.
Me: What are the other reasons?
Landon: Because then you know how I'm done. And when I get off the potty chair, that's disobeying.
Me: Why is that disobeying? (I am wondering where this is going and where it came from.)
Landon: Because then you're gonna get a spanking. I'm serious. My dad used to be older (he means younger) and he got off the potty chair. When he was a little boy, I was big. I wasn't the little boy, Daddy was.
Me: What does Daddy being on the potty chair have to do with why you tell Mommy you have to go to the bathroom?
Landon: (he began to tell me about the UPS man (the SRP truck, as he calls him). I get him back on the subject at hand...) I don't know because... then you will come and wipe me. You have to come in about 3 minutes. Like today we went all potty in my potty chair... 2 of them. (he means he went twice but I'm not sure about the "we" part).
Me: Why do you tell Mommy when you just have to pee?
L: Hey Mom, let's talk about the monkey that peed...
Me: No, let's talk about why you ask Mommy everytime you have to pee.
L: Because.
Me: When you have to go potty, why do you tell mommy?
L: Because then I don't know what I have to say.
Me: Do you have to go potty right now?
L: No. I'm writing. (he was addressing his mail.)
Me: Well, Landon when you have to pee in a little bit, are you going to tell Mommy?
L: No. When I'm older then I'll go poop. (he then got up to get the stamps.)
Me: Landon, Mommy needs to talk to you about something... just like I talk to Daddy about things sometimes... why do have to tell Mommy that you're going to the bathroom?
L: Because then I won't understand you. And I'll talk to you... "Mommy I'm done." (he means he sits in the bathroom and says, "Mommy I'm done.)
I ask him again.
L: Because then I won't understand you and you won't come and I'll have to keep asking and asking. And you won't come because you're not...
Me: (a little King James speech there... "because she was not.") Okay, but why when you just pee?
L: Becaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaause... the monkey peed.
Me: (okay, if you want to talk about the monkey, we'll talk about him...) Did he tell his mom?
L: Um, or his daddy. Or his friend.
Me: Really? So is that why you tell mommy?
L: Ummmmm. Uh-huh.
Me: When you ask me again if you can go to the bathroom, I'm gonna say no. Then what will you do?
L: Spank you.
Getting a little weary, I repeat my question one last time.
L: Because then...(his voice trailed off)... I don't know.
So, there's our proof. These kids really don't know. It's not some irrational fear that makes them tell us they have to go to the bathroom. It's not the dark. It's not the cold toilet seat. It's not their fear of forever being gone from us and getting flushed right down the toilet with their pee. It's not that they need permission.
The reason is because.... well, they don't know either.
Monday, December 10, 2007
Blessings and Burdens of Motherhood
I couldn't figure out why a level of frustration and despair had risen to a new level in our home recently. Was I losing my mind? Were the kids really that bad? Was I becoming the parent I never wanted to be? What was happening in the life I had always dreamed of having and actually had? Why wasn't motherhood manifested in more blessings than burdens? Why was I so weary?
These honest questions were on my mind as I woke up early one Monday morning. I determined to make this week better than the week previously had been.
So. I forsook my bed. I forsook the phone. I forsook the computer. I forsook all my preconceived plans and determined to just do what needed to be done to keep peace in my home. I forsook everything that, you know, busy mothers really shouldn't do when they have small children.
And then Janae got up. That was fine until the baby got up. Even that was fine until Landon got up. And then disaster struck.
Just so you know, I have a confession to make. I had taken a short shower. I know. That was bad and selfish of me. But, I guess I really just thought it was a good idea at the time. For a brief 10 minutes, I splurged in warm, clean water. I don't mean to be defensive or anything but while I was in the shower, I really tried not to be too selfish. I had Janae come in the bathroom and play on the floor with her toys. Landon wasn't yet up and the baby was secure in his swing. So, it should've been alright, right?
It wasn't. It was as if the walls of this house heard the shower as their cue and said, "Look at that girl run off to the bathroom like that! Let's get her before she has too much fun." That short shower was the only extra thing I did. Seriously. I had poured a cup of coffee earlier and didn't get to even sip it until 2 hours later.
At the dusk of my destructive shower, Alex began crying for his second breakfast and for his diaper to be changed. Landon woke up bawling because his groin area hurt from a fall he had sustained the night before in the bathroom while using the toilet. (don't ask... I have no idea how it happened.) Janae decided that right then was a good time to throw a fit.
I wasn't even dry let alone dressed yet. Who do I help first?
As I groped around for my clothes (read, house coat), I began to fill the tub for Landon to have a warm bath in hopes that would soothe his soreness. Janae wanted a bath too. Alex's diaper was oozing into the new outfit he had on. Landon didn't want a bath and declared that thoroughly through his tears. Janae wanted to watch Landon take a bath (read, get wet playing in water) and declared that thoroughly through tears. Alex needed his diaper changed and was starving and declared that thoroughly through tears.
Where do I start?
I quickly pulled my clothes on, stepping into my underwear while walking out the room. Couldn't waste anytime, you know. Nothing like killing two birds with one stone.
I finished the tub and got the boy in.
I changed Alex's diaper.
I washed the poopy clothes out in the bathroom sink.
I listened to Alex screaming in our room.
I listened to Janae throwing a fit because she couldn't have a bath.
I secured Janae in her room.
I found the baby and started to feed him.
For a few seconds, no body was crying! I couldn't believe it.
Meanwhile, the kitchen was a mess with dirty dishes stacked from the day before. I couldn't start breakfast until they were put in the dish washer. I couldn't put the dirty dishes in the dish washer until the clean dishes were unloaded from the dish washer and put away. And I couldn't do that until the baby was fed.
So, to all you people out there who think that motherhood is only baby lotion, cuddles and kisses and at it's worst, a few poopy diapers, I am sorry to burst into your dream and be the first to admit that it's actually a little different than that. If you don't understand, that's fine. Not even spellchecker knows about poopy diapers but "poopy" really is a word. Just so you know, I love being a mom. But, I am learning that loving it is a lot different than I thought it would be. I love things that I never even knew existed.
Like the joy of coming out to the kitchen and letting Janae empty the dish washer. She has so much fun that I have to stop her when it's empty; she'd reload and re-stack all day if I let her. Or the joy of kissing my little boy goodnight and having him ask me to stay in his room for a little bit so we can talk about the moon some more. Or, even the joy of getting up in the middle of the night to get a baby from his swing and tuck him in bed with me so he can nurse.
It did me good this morning to realize that having 3 little people living with me, all under my care and all age 3 and under is like living 3 lives at once. Plus living my life too. It just takes a lot of work and concentration. It's hard to think of everything that I must do in a day, let alone everything a 2 year old will try to get done. I am the kind of person that hates leaving things undone so it's hard to let one thing go just because I'm too busy to finish it. No wonder why I feel so weary.
A good friend asked me recently if I feel like I babysit all day long. Actually, I don't. I feel like I save lives all day long. I'm a Lifesaver, not a Babysitter. I couldn't count how many times I've walked in on somebody on the brink of killing themselves (unintentionally) or finding someone just seconds away from permanently brain damaging their brother.
And then there's the laundry that perpetually threatens to grow mold and mildew. Or the dishwasher that always needs to be emptied/loaded/emptied/etc. Or the dining room floor that must literally grow spots on the carpet. (carpeted dining rooms should be illegal). Or the sheets that always get peed on the morning after they were changed. Or the toilet that never-endingly needs to be cleaned. Or the meals that are almost forgotten to be made. Or.... you get my point.
I don't want to sound like I have answers or anything because I don't have any. The only thing I can conclude right now is that I need to sign off here and put my baby to bed before he starts bursting windows from the decibel of his voice. He was sitting here fine until I got to the end of that last paragraph. That's how mother hood is though... it never stays the same. As soon as you think you have the answers, it throws you for a loop.
Like just now, the baby got quiet and so did Janae. I caught her just in time before she bit the baby's toes. Just for the fun of it. She wasn't mad or anything. I guess his toes just looked too good to not eat.
For me, the hardest thing about motherhood is realizing the challenge that the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world. I'm rocking 3 cradles right now... what will this world come to?
These honest questions were on my mind as I woke up early one Monday morning. I determined to make this week better than the week previously had been.
So. I forsook my bed. I forsook the phone. I forsook the computer. I forsook all my preconceived plans and determined to just do what needed to be done to keep peace in my home. I forsook everything that, you know, busy mothers really shouldn't do when they have small children.
And then Janae got up. That was fine until the baby got up. Even that was fine until Landon got up. And then disaster struck.
Just so you know, I have a confession to make. I had taken a short shower. I know. That was bad and selfish of me. But, I guess I really just thought it was a good idea at the time. For a brief 10 minutes, I splurged in warm, clean water. I don't mean to be defensive or anything but while I was in the shower, I really tried not to be too selfish. I had Janae come in the bathroom and play on the floor with her toys. Landon wasn't yet up and the baby was secure in his swing. So, it should've been alright, right?
It wasn't. It was as if the walls of this house heard the shower as their cue and said, "Look at that girl run off to the bathroom like that! Let's get her before she has too much fun." That short shower was the only extra thing I did. Seriously. I had poured a cup of coffee earlier and didn't get to even sip it until 2 hours later.
At the dusk of my destructive shower, Alex began crying for his second breakfast and for his diaper to be changed. Landon woke up bawling because his groin area hurt from a fall he had sustained the night before in the bathroom while using the toilet. (don't ask... I have no idea how it happened.) Janae decided that right then was a good time to throw a fit.
I wasn't even dry let alone dressed yet. Who do I help first?
As I groped around for my clothes (read, house coat), I began to fill the tub for Landon to have a warm bath in hopes that would soothe his soreness. Janae wanted a bath too. Alex's diaper was oozing into the new outfit he had on. Landon didn't want a bath and declared that thoroughly through his tears. Janae wanted to watch Landon take a bath (read, get wet playing in water) and declared that thoroughly through tears. Alex needed his diaper changed and was starving and declared that thoroughly through tears.
Where do I start?
I quickly pulled my clothes on, stepping into my underwear while walking out the room. Couldn't waste anytime, you know. Nothing like killing two birds with one stone.
I finished the tub and got the boy in.
I changed Alex's diaper.
I washed the poopy clothes out in the bathroom sink.
I listened to Alex screaming in our room.
I listened to Janae throwing a fit because she couldn't have a bath.
I secured Janae in her room.
I found the baby and started to feed him.
For a few seconds, no body was crying! I couldn't believe it.
Meanwhile, the kitchen was a mess with dirty dishes stacked from the day before. I couldn't start breakfast until they were put in the dish washer. I couldn't put the dirty dishes in the dish washer until the clean dishes were unloaded from the dish washer and put away. And I couldn't do that until the baby was fed.
So, to all you people out there who think that motherhood is only baby lotion, cuddles and kisses and at it's worst, a few poopy diapers, I am sorry to burst into your dream and be the first to admit that it's actually a little different than that. If you don't understand, that's fine. Not even spellchecker knows about poopy diapers but "poopy" really is a word. Just so you know, I love being a mom. But, I am learning that loving it is a lot different than I thought it would be. I love things that I never even knew existed.
Like the joy of coming out to the kitchen and letting Janae empty the dish washer. She has so much fun that I have to stop her when it's empty; she'd reload and re-stack all day if I let her. Or the joy of kissing my little boy goodnight and having him ask me to stay in his room for a little bit so we can talk about the moon some more. Or, even the joy of getting up in the middle of the night to get a baby from his swing and tuck him in bed with me so he can nurse.
It did me good this morning to realize that having 3 little people living with me, all under my care and all age 3 and under is like living 3 lives at once. Plus living my life too. It just takes a lot of work and concentration. It's hard to think of everything that I must do in a day, let alone everything a 2 year old will try to get done. I am the kind of person that hates leaving things undone so it's hard to let one thing go just because I'm too busy to finish it. No wonder why I feel so weary.
A good friend asked me recently if I feel like I babysit all day long. Actually, I don't. I feel like I save lives all day long. I'm a Lifesaver, not a Babysitter. I couldn't count how many times I've walked in on somebody on the brink of killing themselves (unintentionally) or finding someone just seconds away from permanently brain damaging their brother.
And then there's the laundry that perpetually threatens to grow mold and mildew. Or the dishwasher that always needs to be emptied/loaded/emptied/etc. Or the dining room floor that must literally grow spots on the carpet. (carpeted dining rooms should be illegal). Or the sheets that always get peed on the morning after they were changed. Or the toilet that never-endingly needs to be cleaned. Or the meals that are almost forgotten to be made. Or.... you get my point.
I don't want to sound like I have answers or anything because I don't have any. The only thing I can conclude right now is that I need to sign off here and put my baby to bed before he starts bursting windows from the decibel of his voice. He was sitting here fine until I got to the end of that last paragraph. That's how mother hood is though... it never stays the same. As soon as you think you have the answers, it throws you for a loop.
Like just now, the baby got quiet and so did Janae. I caught her just in time before she bit the baby's toes. Just for the fun of it. She wasn't mad or anything. I guess his toes just looked too good to not eat.
For me, the hardest thing about motherhood is realizing the challenge that the hand that rocks the cradle is the hand that rules the world. I'm rocking 3 cradles right now... what will this world come to?
Saturday, November 17, 2007
That To-Do List... Again
Okay, so I remembered my to-do list again. This time, I decided to revise it and make it a little more like something the average person could get done in one day.
So it goes like this:
Get up (check)
Make lunch for Hubby and Son (check)
Find Son's only winter coat - it could be any where in house (check)
Remember forgotten spoons for the lunch box before Hubby drives off (check)
Drink coffee (check)
Check email (check)
Do you get my drift? This is actually a new version of a to-do list; more accurately, we could call it a "it's done" list. My long and endless and never getting-anything-checked-off-to-do list was really depressing me. So, instead of dealing with the depression, I dealt with the list.
No seriously. I mean, yes seriously.
But, in all honesty, my plans today include laundry (and all that entails) and painting the window trim in our dining room. After that, I will be a happy person for actually getting something finished. Done. Completed. Checked off.
Did you notice a very important aspect to my day? Above in my "it's done" list, I mentioned packing lunch for Hubby and Son. Of course, the "Son" part is singular and not plural and since I do have two sons, you will be wise to remember that it's only one son that is with his dad today. But still. Since the other son was up most of the night (don't ask why because I just honestly do not know and if I did, I would make sure that doesn't happen anytime soon again), I should have several hours filled with the prospect of work completed because that son is now finally catching up on a sleep. (Wouldn't that be nice to catch up on that?)
As for that girl who's arm falls out of socket, yes, she is here today. (Read previous post.) But, we are treating her carefully. I decided to put a "Fragile: Handle With Care" sign on her and maybe a couple "This Side Up" signs on her as well. I'll wrap her in "Caution" tape, bubble wrap her head (not her face) and give her some Sleepy Time Tea.
If only I could funnel her energy and use it on my own to-list.
So it goes like this:
Get up (check)
Make lunch for Hubby and Son (check)
Find Son's only winter coat - it could be any where in house (check)
Remember forgotten spoons for the lunch box before Hubby drives off (check)
Drink coffee (check)
Check email (check)
Do you get my drift? This is actually a new version of a to-do list; more accurately, we could call it a "it's done" list. My long and endless and never getting-anything-checked-off-to-do list was really depressing me. So, instead of dealing with the depression, I dealt with the list.
No seriously. I mean, yes seriously.
But, in all honesty, my plans today include laundry (and all that entails) and painting the window trim in our dining room. After that, I will be a happy person for actually getting something finished. Done. Completed. Checked off.
Did you notice a very important aspect to my day? Above in my "it's done" list, I mentioned packing lunch for Hubby and Son. Of course, the "Son" part is singular and not plural and since I do have two sons, you will be wise to remember that it's only one son that is with his dad today. But still. Since the other son was up most of the night (don't ask why because I just honestly do not know and if I did, I would make sure that doesn't happen anytime soon again), I should have several hours filled with the prospect of work completed because that son is now finally catching up on a sleep. (Wouldn't that be nice to catch up on that?)
As for that girl who's arm falls out of socket, yes, she is here today. (Read previous post.) But, we are treating her carefully. I decided to put a "Fragile: Handle With Care" sign on her and maybe a couple "This Side Up" signs on her as well. I'll wrap her in "Caution" tape, bubble wrap her head (not her face) and give her some Sleepy Time Tea.
If only I could funnel her energy and use it on my own to-list.
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