Goofy Guy

I love all my kids -- no matter what.  Even when I'm ready to start screaming my head off because they left the fridge open AGAIN/hit their sibling AGAIN/left the water running in the sink AGAIN/spilled juice on my dinner AGAIN/knocked over wine at the grocery store AGAIN (and so on and so forth), I still love them.  And they know that (I hope).  

But other parents out there will understand that sometimes your kids do something that just makes your heart clutch -- a moment when a rush of love for your child dazzles you, where you want to laugh and cry and gasp, "I'm so happy you are mine!" all at the same time.  

For me, those moments with Boyo come when he comes in and says "I forgot my good night hug and kiss."  

Or when I hand him juice and I get an absent minded, "Thank you for my juice Mommy."  

Or when he can't decide what shoes to wear, so he wears one of each.  

Or when he puts his clothes on backward so "No one will see me coming."  

Or when he worries about rattlesnakes in the hotel.  Or bears on a camping trip -- in our living room.  

Or when ...

He wears his masks backwards so "I haf eyes in da back of my head."

He pretends to be a pirate.

He sets up his Lego guys so all the good guys are taking down the bad guys.  And makes the requisite "P-chew, p-chew" fighting sound.

His hair sticks out the back of his hat.

He falls asleep on my shoulder during story time.

He insists on a Star Wars pj shirt, Superman and Batman pj shorts, and Lightening McQueen underwear (not pictured) to sleep in so "All da good guys will keep me safe!"

These Two...

I love all my kiddos equally -- differently, but equally, because they are all different people. 

BabyBug is my little lovebug -- she is all squishy fat and a huge, toothless, drooly grin.  

BabyGirlie is an exhausting joy -- everything is so new and wonderous.  She takes such delight in the world around her. 

Boyo is my intense guy -- he doesn't handle change well AT ALL. He is also the one who comes running downstairs in the morning shouting, "I need my daytime hug!!"  Everything he does, he does with such PASSION and ENERGY.  If I could bottle and sell that, I would be a billionaire. 

Girlie is my angel baby.  My first.  My sweetheart who is so eager to please.  Who stalls bedtime by demanding extra kisses.  

I love them all so much.  I enjoy them too -- even when it seems like I don't.  But once a day I find myself stepping back, watching them with a big goofy grin on my face because they are so cool. 

But I do have to say that these two.... 

 

.. when they get together, WATCH OUT.

They spark off of each other.  Sometimes that's bad.  Sometimes that good.  I can't decide if they are honing leadership skills or cultivating criminal behavior in one another. 

But I know that of my four, these two will be the death of me.

Sentence Structure

BabyGirlie is beginning to understand the concept of sentence structure. 

She has moved from "No" being her favorite word to "I WANT IT" being her favorite phrase. 

And last week she realized that "I want it" actually means something. 

So she screams, "I WANT IT" as often as possible, while pointing to the object of her desire. 

And if I say no, because I'm a mean mommy and don't want her to die from a penny, Lego, knife, or whatever else she has decided she wants, the tantrum starts.

It begins with her face slowly crumbling, while she watches me with knowing eyes.

When I don't fall for the face crumble, one or two big, fat tear drops settle on her cheeks.

When I still don't budge, she begins to shake her head violently, screaming, "NO I WANT IT! NO I WANT IT! NO I WANT IT!" This part of the tantrum normally lasts for five minutes if I can't distract her.

Side note - five minutes is a very long time when you are in a grocery store and people are watching you.

After the face crumble, crocodile tears, and five minute scream fest, she stops, gains control of herself, and then puts her sweet little arms up and says, "Mommy up?  Mommy up?  Mommy I want up." 

So I pick her up and soothe.  She snuggles in, gives me a kiss, and pets my face.  And then she says, "Mommy, I see it.  Mommy, I want it."

And round two commences. 

Perspective

It's no secret that my family and I have had a run of bad luck this year. 

I've often found myself cursing the heavens, wondering, "How did I end up here?  How is this my life?!"

After all, I was supposed to be a Very Important Person with a briefcase filled with very important papers.   I was supposed to have designer everything and get to jet off to important places for work and travel to exotic locations for fun.  I was supposed to be In Demand at all times.  I was supposed to work in Congress, to have a law degree, to know very influential people.


And yet....

We have a roof over our heads.  Food in the pantry.  Money in the bank.  Healthy, happy children.  My husband and I love each other and treat each other respectfully (usually).  We have not one, but two, cars that work.  We have an idiot dog who is thrilled when we come home.  We travel to exotic locations in our living room -- places that my children imagine.  I am In Demand at all times and a Very Important Person -- just only to my 4 kids. 

We have family.  We have friends.  We have fun.  We have love.

This was made very clear to me the other night when I came upstairs.  I checked on the baby -- blissfully swinging away.  Boyo had fallen asleep with a book in one hand and a flashlight in the other.  BabyGirlie was tucked into her toddler bed, with a death grip on "Mimi" (Minnie Mouse), her legs tucked under her and her tush in the air.  Girlie was in our bed - again - sleeping diagnolly, her long, coltish legs sticking out from under the covers.  My husband was asleep at his desk.  I went to the counter where I emptied my pockets -- two angry bird pigs, a pink hair bow, a binky, a crayon, and a baby sock.  Everything was quiet and calm for once.

And I looked at the heavens and said, "Thank God this is my life"





 
 

Wordless Wednesday: Because even stuffed puppies named Pongo need houses

Love is a battlefield.

After Valentine's Day, Boyo sat down next to me with his Valentine's and sighed.

"What's up, buddy?" I asked a little absentmindedly -- I was working at the time.

"These are from my three girlfriends," he said.

Well, that sure got my attention.

"Three girlfriends?" I asked.

"Yes.  I have three," he said matter of factly.  "They are in my class."

"Girl friends or girlfriends?" I asked.

Apparently, the difference in definitions was lost on my 4 year old.  "Girlfriends, I guess," he shrugged.  Then he sighed again.  "It's really hard having 3 girlfriends."

~~~~~~~~~~

"Mommy, Joshua wants me to marry him," she told me.

"Oh.  Um, do you want to marry him?" I asked her.

"I don't think so.  I told him I wanted to be just friends."

Great.  My 5 year old has all ready learned the standard break up line.  If I ever hear her say "It's not you, it's me," I'm going to hide under my bed. 

Wordless Wednesday: Happy Valentine's

Found this written with bath crayons on my bathroom wall after our Valentine's Day Playdate. Love it.

What An "Annibersarry" Is...

My parents' 33rd wedding anniversary was on Saturday.  I thought it would be cute to get the kiddos to tell me what they thought being married, in love, and/or celebrating an "annibersarry" meant -- I would copy it down and send it to my parents.

Girlie, after thinking for some time, said: "Being in love means eating dinner together and loving each other and using good manners.  Being married means you live together!  And to celebrate an "annibersary" you have a party with Mickey and Minnie and Jake and a cake and cupcakes and juice boxes and pizza.  Oh, and you don't make fart noises at each other.  And being love means your prince comes and then you go to college and become a "Supeme Cut Justice" and you have babies and sometimes you kiss." 

Boyo, playing Angry Birds on my phone, looked up and said, "You don't shoot people." 

Awesome. 

And This is Why I Love My Husband

Getting dinner the other night, I lost my train of thought.

"What am I doing?" I mumbled to myself.

"I ask myself that all the time," my husband said.

"You ask yourself what you are doing?" I said, a bit absentmindedly.

"Nope. I ask myself what you are doing," he shot back with a grin.

Is it any wonder that I love that man?

Chronos and Kairos

Last Thursday, the kiddos and I decided to take it easy. I had spent first part of the week in an actual classroom and the kiddos had been shuffled hither and yon as I arranged day care for them.

But at about 11 am, Boyo started getting antsy. So I figured I would take them to the pathetic park in the middle of our neighborhood to get them outside but still take it easy.

They decided they wanted to ride their tractors. Fine.

Three houses down the street, they changed their minds. They wanted to ride their tricycles.

Mildly irritated, I turned the parade around to get their tricycles.

Ten minutes later, and five houses away from home, they decided we had to go back to get their scooters.

Extremely irriated, I once again turned everyone around to go home and swap out rides.

At that moment, my neighbor, who was leaving her house, called out, "I wish my kids were young again."

Yeah, I call bulls#$% on that one.

But it reminded me of an article I had just read about how some mother's don't carpe diem.

There is a parenting sub-culture out there -- parents who enjoy their kids all the time. Who relish every minute with their little rug rat. And it pisses me off.

Why? Because it makes me feel like the worst mother on the planet. It makes me feel rotten that I don't enjoy every moment, that there are some days where I am walking out the door as my husband walks in because if I don't, I'm going to lose my ever lovin' mind. The fact that I don't "Carpe Diem" makes me feel guilty and lower than slug slime.

Which is why Glennon Melton's argument really spoke to me. Yes, some days are hard. And yes, some days have more chronos time than I would like (read the article, people. I linked to it above). I can't "Carpe Diem." I can't focus on my kids every minute, because then I don't focus on me at all. And to be a good mother -- not perfect, that's impossible -- but a good mother, I need to focus on me sometimes. And on my husband. And our marriage. And work - if for no other reason than to keep my brain sharp.

Not only that, how are you supposed to "carpe diem" when your son is shooting a clone trooper gun at everything that moves, your daughter is whining that she wants Fruit Loops, the baby is screaming her head off, the dog is barking at the wind, your husband is texting to see what is for dinner, and your boss is calling? All at the same time. If you can sieze the moment in that situation, you are a better person than I am. (Or a liar.)

Don't get me wrong, I don't ignore my kiddos. I make sure that we experience kairos time together every day (seriously, read the article. Here it is again). Whether it's early morning snuggles, or sweet angel smiles, or cooking dinner together. Sometimes I'm thankful for them when they are sitting on my lap coloring while I'm pounding away at my keyboard. Or when my son brings me a flower and says, "It for yew." Or when my daughter grins up at me and says, "Mommy, you made today a really great day." Or when BabyGirlie smiles up at me all sneakily when she's nursing (normally right before she bites). That's my "Thank you for them, God" time. It's my kairos time.

But my kairos time is not going home for the third time to get scooters to ride to the park 15 houses away from ours.

Which is why I grinned at my neighbor when she told me that she wished her kids were young again. "I'll rent mine out," I told her.

She blinked at me and then smiled back. "I don't miss it that much," she laughed.

See? I found another mother who knows the difference between chronos and kairos time.

"Carpe a couple of Kairoses a day." ~Glennon Melton

Before and After

My husband rocks.

Wordless Wednesday

I found Girlie picking up her baby sister the other day. I am not sure who was more terrified -- me, Girlie, or Baby Girlie.

Merry Christmas from Our House to Yours!

Embrace the Chaos

~

A friend asked me what it was like to go from two kids to three.

This is my new mantra:

EMBRACE THE CHAOS

Life with three kids is exhausting.

And exhilirating.

And hilarious.

And frustrating.

And I wouldn't change it for the world.

So, I have learned to EMBRACE THE CHAOS

I let the little things go.

I make the big things a BIG deal.

Every day, though, I just want to accomplish one thing.

The dishes, the laundry, the dusting... just one.

But.

Every day, I remind myself they won't be this little forever.

And I don't want to be mad at myself for not snuggling with them on the couch when they wanted me to.

For not playing Barbies and cars, tea parties and light sabers.

For not reading Thomas and the Jet Engine and Ladybug Girl 20 thousand times. In a row.

For not teaching them how to kick a soccer ball and climb the monkey bars.

For not taking them for a walk and teaching them how to respect nature.

For not baking cookies and painting masterpieces with them.

Because in ten years, they won't want to hang out with me.

So as I look around my shoebox of a house, my eyes take in the dusty table tops, the cluttered floors, the dishes in the sink, the laundry piled in the hampers...

...And then I see three kids grinning up at me with angel smiles...

...And I hear the baby's giggles and Boyo and Girlie's delighted laughter...

And then I hear the wonderful demand:

"Come play with us Momma!"

So I play. And I ignore the mess.

Loving Your Babies

A few of my friends are pregnant. And The Inevitable Question has come up: "Do you want a girl or boy?" Some of my friends are adamant about one or the other. Others don't care. But The Inevitable Question has raised some interesting conversations - among them, how can you love your children the same?

You can't.

I love all three of my children equally, but I do not love them the same.

I can't.

They are different people and have different needs, different personalities, different mannerisms.

I love Baby Girl with the wonder of newness - since she is only 7 weeks old, everything about her is wonderful and new, everything is to be marveled at.

I love Boyo with a fierce intensity - the same intensity that he greets his life every day. He is constantly going, running, talking, thinking, loving. He sets a fast pace every day, and my love for him races to keep up.

But Girlie... I love her with a zealous passion that I think you can only feel for your first born.

Not that I love her more than her brother and sister, but there is a deeper bond that I don't have with my other two. Why?

She was my first.

She was the first child I carried under my heart and in my arms. She carved out the groove in my arms that the other two nestled in. She was the first baby to rest her head against my heart, in the exact same spot that her brother and sister would later easily find.

She was the first one to keep my up all night, the first one to smile at me with a look of total adoration, the first one that I worried for, the first one that I paced over, the first one that I bathed and fed, the first one that I dressed and snuggled. (It's not all hearts and flowers, though. She was also the first one to make me want to slam my head into a wall or scream at the top of my lungs.)

Girlie completed a part of me that I didn't know was empty - she made me a better person, a better woman.

My daughter made me a mom.

Life with a Newborn

When you have a baby, your mind plays tricks on you. It makes you forget things about life with a newborn... things that if you didn't forget, you would never have any more kids.

Things like:

1. You will get maybe 10 hours of sleep in the first three days. No, not 10 hours a night... 10 hours of a 72 hour period.

2. Newborn babies sound like baby pterodactyls when they cry.

3. Meconium. Enough said.

4. 2 hours of sleep + feeding + 2 hours of sleep + feeding + 2 hours of sleep + feeding does NOT equal 6 hours of sleep. It equals 3, two hour stretches of sleep. This is not enough.

5. I am a human pacifier.

6. Newborns have an innate alarm that triggers screaming the moment your head hits the pillow.

7. Umbilical cords are gross.

8. You know that whole - "Sleep when the baby is asleep" rule? Yeah, you can't do that when you have two other kids.

9. People who say that a breast fed infant's poop doesn't smell are liars.

10. Newborns peel. I forgot that that they peel. My daughter looks like an alligator.

But the reason you have more kids, even after you forget 1-10 listed above? Because of this:

Happy Father's Day, Honey!

"What Makes A Dad

God took the strength of a mountain,
The majesty of a tree,
The warmth of a summer sun,
The calm of a quiet sea,
The generous soul of nature,
The comforting arm of night,
The wisdom of the ages,
The power of the eagle's flight,
The joy of a morning in spring,
The faith of a mustard seed,
The patience of eternity,
The depth of a family need,
Then God combined these qualities,
When there was nothing more to add,
He knew His masterpiece was complete,
And so, He called it ... "DAD!"

Author Unknown

Wordless Wednesday

Wordless Wednesday

~
"I'll catch you, Momma!"


I fall in love with her more and more every day.

The Second Child

~
Sometimes, I feel awful for Boyo.

Not because he can be a stinker. Not because he is a bruiser. Not because his sister walks all over him. Not because he has to do what he's told.

I feel bad for him because he is the second child.

I feel guilty that he didn't get the one on one attention that his sister got when she was an infant.

I feel guilty that I didn't rock him for hours on end, singing lullabies to him.

I feel guilty that when he cuddles up to me on the couch, I only wrap one arm around him because my other arm is wrapped around his sister.

I feel guilty that I'm not as excited over his milestones as I was for his sister's.

I feel guilty that I'm not as patient with him because I know that while he is trying to decide on what truck/plane/car/ball to play with, his sister is wrecking havoc in the other room.

I feel guilty that I don't let him sleep in our bed as often as I do his sister.

I feel guilty that I don't read him 30 bedtime books a night, like I do for his sister. In my defense, he doesn't sit still for them. I'm lucky if I can get one in.

I just feel guilty.

And then...

...while I was feeling my most guilty...

...a friend said something to me. Okay, so it was an article in Parents Magazine. I'm lame. I know.

Basically, what the article said was: You love every child differently.

And this is true. I love my daughter with the wild abandon I think you can only feel with your first born, a type of disbelief that God has trusted you with this precious little person -- it's almost a fear that you will do something to mess this person up because you love them so much.

And while I love my son the same amount, I do love him differently. The way I love my son is similar to a boiling pot - as if all the love I have is in a pot, but he is the heat that makes it cook, that makes it boil and pop and spill over. I love him with a patient acceptance that I never had with his sister; I'm not afraid of him the way I was of her.

After reading that article, I realized that while Boyo doesn't get the same amount of Mommy/Daddy time that Girlie did/does, he gets something different, something Girlie didn't have until she was 18 mos.

He gets a sibling.

He gets his sister's love and attention in addition to Mommy/Daddy time. When he was born, he all ready had a friend in his older sister, ready and waiting for him to play. He has a partner in crime. He has a collaborator when working out a plan on how to score cookies from Momma. He has someone to play catch with, watch movies with, to twirl with, to play tag with, and to giggle with. He has a fan club. He has someone to talk for him and about him. He has a defender. He has this: