Pink is for Girls, Blue is for Boys, Right?

Pink is for girls, blue is for boys. Right?

I guess so, but even when they were babies, I dressed my girls in things that were considered somewhat less than girly (they had a green camo outfit that was always a favorite.) I painted their rooms pale blues and greens. I chose a jungle-themed nursery followed by one with cute little bugs. I went with a gray and black stroller and a beige car-seat.

No, I haven’t purposefully steered my daughters away from trains and toward tiaras. I haven’t hidden the Barbies from 2-year-old Jedidiah and tried to force him toward toy trucks. I've tried to remain neutral.

But, honestly, it doesn’t really seem to matter.

With no urging from me, my girls want to wear fancy dresses every single day of their lives. For hours, they will sit and color beautiful pictures of unicorns, rainbows and princesses. They want to wear sparkly jewelry and lip gloss and high heeled shoes. They like to paint and make all sorts of crafts. They sit still and listen during Storytime. They like to talk. And talk and talk and talk. They love to play dress up and have tea parties. They read and play Candyland and bake cookies. They build tents in pretend jungles and they pretend to be mommy lions with lots of little baby lions. They like to sew and wear aprons and look for fairies.

Jedidiah, who doesn’t even know what a sword or a gun is yet (he’s two) turns half of the things he picks up into weapons and the other half into “choo-choos” or “aiwpwains.” One of the first words he ever said (if it’s considered a word) was “vroom.” He doesn’t care much for books, unless he’s using one as a projectile. He doesn’t like to color – on paper anyway. He prefers a nice clean wall or an unsuspecting dog. He runs at all times. He covers himself in mud and splashes all the water out of the bathtub. He loves sticks and balls. If he sees a button, he has to push it. If he sees a DVD player, he is compelled to stick something in it (usually something other than a DVD.) If it’s on, he has to turn it off. If it’s full, he has to dump it out. He wants to climb up the tallest slide on the playground and hurtle himself down at top speed.

I wonder if these characteristics have been influenced by my children's families, their peers, their church, the gifts they received when they were babies - or are their little brains hardwired to be this way?

It’s weird. My girls will wear their fancy dresses even while they’re climbing trees, making mud pies, playing Legos and watching Lord of the Rings.

And Jedidiah is 100% boy, but he loves to use the Dustbuster and help cook in the kitchen. He likes sparkly things, stickers, fluffy stuffed animals and pushing his little baby doll around the house in the stroller.

I love the way they don’t care one bit about gender stereotypes. They like what they like, period. And as for me, I’ve come to this conclusion:

So what if my girls want to take archery lessons or gut fish? Who cares if Jed thinks it’s funny to try on his sisters’ shoes or put a hair-bow on his head once in a while?

They are learning to be who they are – and that’s exactly who I want them to be.

-from my 1/27/13 post for www.mentorpatch.com 

Carrot airplane

Jed has become quite the little comedian in the past few days. I walked into his room to get him up from his nap and he peeked at me from under his half-closed eyelids then closed them tight and commenced to fake snoring. Then he laughed and laughed.

Then he popped my bra strap and cracked himself up over and over. You'd think he was in 5th grade instead of being 2.

Josie snuck into his room while he was playing and said, "Boogity!" He jumped and then almost cried. Then he decided he was mad instead and he shoved her out the door and said "OUT! WOOMB!"

As I was reading Jed's ABC book to him, he pointed at a picture of a carrot and said, "Aiw-pwane." I said, "That's a carrot." He said, "No, Aiw-pwane!" "No, it's a carrot." "AIW-PWANE!" Apparently it's a flying carrot.

I smell fear

After Josie and Sadie helped Jesse set 9 mouse traps all around the house and the basement (and baited with peanut butter) because of some "unsightly sightings," we caught FIVE in two days! Jesse brought a little carcass up from the basement and Adelaide wanted to look at it. She so sweetly said, "He's awake!" because his eyes were open. Jesse told her that he was sleeping (because he wasn't moving!) A few minutes later she came up to me and (SO SWEETLY) looked up at me and said, "Mommy, why do mouses sleep with their eyes open?"

Adelaide: "I smell fear."

Poor Adelaide is trying her best to RHYME but she just hasn't quite gotten it yet. Josie and Sadie were rhyming away in the car - "have you ever seen a bear combing his hair? Have you ever seen a duck down on his luck?" etc. Adelaide tried countless times but always ended up with things like, "Have you ever seen a lamp wearing some socks? Have you ever seen a bear eating some cheese? Have you ever seen a fox kissing a rat?"

Things I love

Things I love:

Snuggling with Sadie and Josie while watching documentaries on Mount Vesuvius.

Playing "Don't wake the Tickle Monster Game" with Josie, Adelaide, and Jed.

Listening to Adelaide say lasagna "Bazanya."

Sadie, in regards to marshmallows in hot chocolate -
"Which is healthier? Pink or white?" Neither. "Okay, I'll use both."

Just say yes.

Lately I’ve been thinking about how much I say no.

That word – no – just seems to naturally roll off my tongue. I’m not sure why, but it seems like my default setting is no.

I tend to say no first and ask questions later (or think about why and perhaps change to yes later.) Sometimes I have legitimate reasons for this – like maybe I’m in a bad mood. But sometimes, I’ll admit that I say no for no reason.

Why, I wonder? Shouldn’t yeses -- or yesses, whatever that plural is-- come easier? I mean, I love my kids like crazy. I want them to live joyfully and to be happy. I want to give them as much freedom as possible to make their own decisions. I want them to love learning and fill their days with things that are important to them, so why so many no’s?

Maybe I have a subconscious need to keep up with the status quo. As I say no, sometimes I think, “Why am I saying no to this? Is it really wrong?”

Usually it’s not. Usually it’s more like “The other moms don’t do it this way! My friend doesn’t do it this way! My mom, my grandmother didn’t do it this way! So I shouldn’t let my kids do it this way, either!”

Right?

Wait a minute, though. My 7-year-old is not like yours, or another moms’, or even like my mom’s or my grandma’s 7-year-olds were. Nor is she like any other child in the entire world.

If she wants to wear a Viking helmet on her head and play the banjo on the way to the grocery store, why don’t I say yes? If my 8-year-old wants to fill a dozen egg cartons with the dirty rocks she dug up outside and sort them for hours in her room, why don’t I just say yes? If my 4-year-old wants to climb trees in a tutu and poke Cheerios down a chipmunk hole with her umbrella, what exactly is wrong with that?

I want to say yes more often. I really do.

I guess that sometimes I think my kids care mainly about the things I give them. But in all honesty, they probably care a lot more about the answers I give them. The yeses.

So when are some of the times when I should start saying yes when I usually say no?

Probably the times when I hear questions like these: Can I dig a big hole in the yard with this spoon? Blow bubbles in the car? Play with Play-doh in the kitchen? Dump the clothes out of the laundry basket and use it as a boat? Be the one who makes lunch for everybody? Play the drums? Stay at the library longer? Build a tent in the living room? Read just one more story? Decorate the house for a tea party? Make Jello? Have breakfast for dinner (again)? Stay up late and look at the stars?

These things might be messy or inconvenient or even downright annoying. But when I see the looks on my kids’ faces when they get a yes, it’s always worth it.

I know that my kids and my husband are gifts from God. I firmly believe that my purpose at this point in life is to be a mom (and admittedly not very much else!) If I view them and God (since I’m a Christian) as my main priorities, then I should be able to put them first and everything else to the side, right? Everything else should be secondary.

Interruptions, messes and inconveniences (which happen at my house all the time) can be moved to the back burner if I decide to stick to my priorities. If I decide to say yes.

And even though there will always be times to say no, next time I want to catch myself and make sure I have a good reason for it.

Surprise your kids (and yourself) with some unexpected yeses and see what happens. Maybe it will be a moment of unexpected joy! And don’t we all need more of those?

YES.

-from my 1/20/13 blogpost for www.mentorpatch.com

Adelaide's Antics

Adelaide, practicing the 12 disciples song: "Rupert, Simeon, Levi, Judah...."

One day, Adelaide found a little cup full of Chuck E. Cheese tokens, which she immediately started handing out to everyone in sight, saying "Money for the poor! Money for the poor!" I said, "Hey, I wish a real person was doing that!" She stopped and looked at me and said, "Excuse me, but I AM a real person!"

Adelaide is a big fan of the Yoga class we started taking. She gets a big kick out of pretending to be a tree, a cobra, lion, etc. A few Fridays ago we went to Yoga and we watched Life of Pi. She informed me the next day: "Hey, guess what? I liked BOTH of those things we did yesterday, yoga AND the movie!"

A Year of Funnies

Every year we send out a family newsletter, and everyone’s favorite part always seems to be the list of one-liners my kids have come up with throughout the year.

This is part of that list; I hope these will help you start your year with a smile.

On the way to the doctor with Adelaide, I said, "Please do not toot on the
doctor this time." Adelaide: "Or he will not give me a sucker?" Me: "Would you give someone who tooted on you a sucker?" Adelaide: "Yes, if they were behind me."

Overheard during bathtime: Adelaide: "Are you scared of ovarians?" Josie: "Ovarians? You mean barbarians?" Adelaide: "Yes, barbarians. Are you scared of barbarians?" Josie: "No, not really."

Mom: "Good morning, my little sunshine." Josie: "I’m not sunshine. I’m moonshine."

Adelaide handed me a fortune cookie and said: "Here, Mom. Can you get the directions out?"

Mom: "Well, if you must." Josie: "I must."

Sadie: "God is like a genie, but better."

Adelaide, in the bathtub: "It's raining, it's pouring, the dinosaur is snoring."

Adelaide: "Mommy, sometimes you are allergic to fun."

Mom: "On top of spa-GHETTI, all covered with CHEESE, I lost my poor MEATball..." Josie: "Don't sing that song. It makes me sad."

“Blood in the Water. I think that’s what I’ll call my book.” - Sadie, after picking a scab off her knee in the bathtub.

Adelaide, while putting together a Wizard of Oz puzzle: “Hey! Here is a piece of the Ella Fa Krode!"

Josie, in response to me saying that she was a big girl: "I am not a big girl. I am a tiny woman."

Adelaide, gazing up into the blue fall sky: "Hey, look! A bird herd!"

Sadie: “Hey, Mommy, did you hear some crying coming from the direction of the
refrigerator? I think maybe it was the SCREAM cheese."

Mommy to a crying Jed, after he fell off the couch and bonked himself: "Oh,
Jeddy, what did you hit?" Adelaide to Mommy: "I think it was the ground, Mommy! I think the ground."

Adelaide asked for more ice cream after already having a whole big bowl. I said, "MORE? Are you kidding me?" She said, "Ha ha, yeah Mom. No, actually, I'm not."

Grammie tried to take Josie's picture but Josie threw her arms up in front of her face and said, "No geography, please!" Grammie: "Don't you mean photography?" Josie: “Whatever.”

My 3 girls had a "sleepover" in Adelaide's bedroom floor. I went in to kiss them goodnight and accidentally stepped on Sadie's leg. She said, "Ohhh! That's my bad hip!" She's 8.

After reminding my two oldest daughters that they need to be nice to their little sister even when she's a pest, Sadie informed me, "But Mom! She keeps persecuting us!"

Josie to Adelaide (in a frustrated voice): "Adelaide! Can you PLEASE talk inside your head?"

Reading Adelaide’s ABC book at bedtime: “Mommy, do not tell me the letters. I can do them. That’s A. That’s B. That’s C. And that one– don’t tell me—that one is 2.”

Josie, upon being told that we were out of milk: “NOOOoooo! Say it isn’t so!” Me: “It’s so.” Josie: “Well, can we make a little memorial for the milk? Like with a little cow and an empty carton?” Me: “I didn’t know you knew the word ‘memorial.” Josie: “Yeah, well, I’m just full of surprises.”

Mom: “Do you want to do this the easy way or the hard way?” Adelaide: “I want to do it NO way!”

Adelaide, after too much Halloween candy: “Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet, eating her Nerds and Milky Way….”

Josie: "Baton Camp makes me feel happy and joyous. And also less grumpy."

I hope your year is less grumpy than last year – and that it’s happy and joyous,
too!

-from my 1/13/13 blogpost for www.mentorpatch.com

Rupert

Adelaide is learning to recite The Twelve Tribes of Israel by singing a song. If you’re a Bible scholar, you know that Jacob’s first son was named Reuben, then Simeon, then Levi, etc. Adelaide couldn’t think of Reuben’s name so she started her song like this: “Rupert, Simeon, Levi, Judah….”

Josie reciting The Lord’s Prayer: “And delete us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.”

Lub in NC

When we were in NC over Christmas, Jesse discovered that his son is a Human Change Sorter. Jed snagged someone's change and stuck it down his footie-pajamas so that it fell down into his feet... dimes and quarters in the right foot and pennies in the left.

Jed was a very bad sport when he was playing an Indiana Jones game with his cousin Caleb. He wanted to use the spinner and when Caleb was trying to show him the right way to do it, Jed dumped out all the other pieces: Jed is a bad sport

When the three girls spent the night with Cameron and Caleb (they all conked out on sleeping bags in the basement floor), they had a great time - Angela let them have cookies at bedtime, though, and Crazy Cookie Josie went a little overboard, saying, "I'll have this and this and this and THIS. And I thank you!"

I liked watching all of them run down the hill at Angela's house - it was very "Little House on the Prairie-esque." 

We finished reading "The Christmas Barn" while we were on our trip and we all loved it. Sadie let Mamaw have a break from telling her stories and she told Mamaw and Papaw the whole story about the panther on the roof from the book. She remembered every little detail and it was fun to listen to her relate it with such zeal and vocal intonation. 

Adelaide had lots of fun wrestling with Scotty and with Uncle Thomas - and having tickle fights with Papaw.She is a hands-on kid, once she gets to know you. I just love her goofy laugh and the way she scrunches up her little nose - her eyes almost disappear and all you can hear is her silly cackling.

Jed decided that he likes the big water wheel that Papaw made - every time we went over to their house he had to go over check it out while he stood there with his little hands stuck down in the pockets of his camo coat. 

All three of the girls went over to Courtney's house to play when we first got to NC. They had lots of fun over there - they all three just love their long-distance cousin!

Speaking of long-distance cousins, Jed just couldn't get enough of pulling Cameron and/or Caleb this way and that way - wherever he wanted to go. Upstairs, downstairs, on the bunk bed, on the Foof in the basement, on a piggy-back ride... he didn't care, as long as he was goofing off somewhere with his cousins.

After Great Grandma's big 80th birthday bash on Sunday (the girls sang for her in front of everyone... they had a really good time hanging out with the family and helping decorate for the party), Jesse and Grampie Don headed back to Ohio and we headed to the YMCA for Hailey's birthday party. Sadie made a new friend there who seemed to be totally smitten with her. He kept following her around and when I went to sit with them during the birthday cake, he grinned and informed me, "I like root beer and country music and dancing." This is funny, because he was making sure that HE had exactly the same interests that SHE has. When I told her I wasn't sure about when we were going to go home, the little ladies' man piped up, "She can stay all night at my house!" Um... oh no she can't! :)

One morning when Jed woke up, he came to snuggle with me in bed. He was sucking his fingers (as usual) and I said, "Are those fingers good?" He said, "Mm-hmm" stuck his slobbery slimy fingers right in my mouth before I knew what he was doing. He learned to say a lot of things while we were there (as usual): Hoppit rabbit, My turn! Buckle! Let's go! Bye Josh!" He also learned a hilarious little "shuffling soldier" walk from Grampie Don - he takes dozens of little tiny steps close together, then turns and goes the other way.

Josie sang along with Papaw's guitar and then fell asleep on the floor at his house as we listened to him tell stories about when he was little - the two hogs and the umbrella and the barn loft stories - and about how he threw away my wooden clog shoes because he was so mad that they made me fall down. The girls thought that was funny!



Go kart, I know we were better than her

On New Year's Eve, the girls and Cameron and Caleb and Grammie split a bottle of sparkling grape juice. I asked Adelaide what you're supposed to say when you clink glasses (thinking "cheers"). Instead, she raised her glass and said, "Bottoms up!" 

Hailey at cfa, Josie let little boy have it when he hurt Adelaide
We went out to lunch with our "Church cousins" at Tiptons. All of the kid-cousins came along with Heather, Kristi, and Angela. It was fun... Jed sat at the girls' table, though - but he really likes his boy cousins - especially Grayson and Bryce. He does seem to like the "big boys." The girls rode home with Heather and we had some play time over there while she gave me lots of clothes. Yay!

There were lots of fun moments during our trip: dancing with Ada in Great Grandma's living room, sleeping next to Grammie on the floor on a bed made of couch cushions, Josie crashing onto the toilet with her head (okay, THAT wasn't so much fun), Josie learning to play LOTR on the computer with her dad just like Sadie learned last year at Christmas, Adelaide giving her brother the new name of "Jay-ud," Sadie searching for stuff in the yard and in Papaw and Mamaw's yard with the "Dad gum metal detector" that wouldn't detect anything....

And last, but certainly not least... I had one of those moments with Jed that makes all the work of parenting worthwhile. As we snuggled in bed, he reached over and put his soft little hand on my face and kissed my cheek and said, "Lub you."

Lub, lub, lub being a mommy. 

Resolved to be Unresolved

I've decided not to make any New Year's resolutions this year.

I think they might be a bad idea.

My Sadie will be nine in 2013. She only has only one more year until she's into double digits. My Josie will be 8. My Adelaide will be five. And my sweet baby boy will be three.

Three!

I'll be 37. And my husband and I will have our 12th anniversary. Wow.

Time really does fly, doesn't it? Whoever came up with that one wasn't kidding.

So when it comes to resolutions, I've decided that they just don't make sense for me. I can't even live a day or a week or a month at a time, so how can I decide today what's going to be important to me a whole year from now?

Looking back, it's been a rough year. Sickness, death, family problems, social upheaval, depression, health issues, financial problems, political issues, shootings, disasters, accidents, spiritual issues and a myriad of other things seem to have run rampant this past year - not only in my life, but in the lives of many. Maybe even in yours.

Times are hard. Life is hard. Being a mom is hard.

I've heard that what makes you who you are isn't about what happens to you, but about the way you choose to handle what happens to you. That's a huge realization for me.

Sometimes I feel like life is flying past me and I'm not really living it. It's just happening to me.

But if the past year has taught me one thing, it's this: we can only live in the moment. We aren't guaranteed another day. Another hour. Another minute.

And even though life is tough, there are still amazing things happening all around us.

The beauty of the sunset. A child's smile. A sloppy baby kiss on my cheek. A soft little hand in mine. A shared memory. An unexpected "I love you." A true friend. A belly laugh. A stranger holding the door for you. The smell of rain. A favorite song. A warm bed after a long day. A quiet moment.

So my goal (not resolution!) is to choose to have many good, beautiful and peaceful moments this year. To choose to grab onto those moments and really feel them - live them.

Because it's all about our choices, isn't it?

Happy New Year to you - I pray that you have a year full of good moments too.

-from my 1/6/13 blogpost for www.mentorpatch.com

Christmas Memories

This week Sadie suddenly waxed poetic in her 8-year-old way:

“One of my favorite things about Christmas is listening to the oven beeping, because I know that something yummy is baking and it’s almost ready to eat. And I like the way the trees smell. And I like to decorate and use all the sparkly glitter and pretty ribbons.” (She frequently asks the dreaded question: “Hey Mom, where do we keep all the glitter and the glue?")

“And I like the sound of bells and the smell of snow outside. And I like the way Christmastime looks – the dim lights and the lights outside and the way the snow sparkles in the sun.”

Wow. It appeared that she had been giving this list of Christmas favorites a lot of thought.

When she was three, she loved to sing “Have a holly jolly Christmas, have a holly jolly Christmas, have a holly jolly Christmas…”

Those were the only words she knew. She loved to look at Christmas lights and she’d say, “Oh, the lights are be-yoo-tiful!” Once when she saw an especially well-lit house she said, “Hey, look at that house! Those people must really love God!”

Her reminiscing led me to ponder my other kids’ favorites – and my own.

Josie loves the smell of pine trees and apple cider. She likes drinking cocoa, eating pumpkin rolls, sledding, playing with my Russian nesting dolls, and going to see Christmas lights with her Grandma and Grandpa. She loves when we drive all night to NC and she hears the turn signal tick-tick-ticking as we turn in to Great Grandma’s driveway. She likes to sing along to The Little Drummer Boy, Feliz Navidad and Silver Bells. When she was younger, she always said, “Oooh, ahhh” when she saw Christmas lights. She was convinced that Baby Jesus’ earthly parents were named “Mary and Jofus” and that “Frosty the No-man was a jolly happy SO.”

Adelaide loves making Christmas cookies and eating candy canes. She loves opening presents and helping to wrap gifts. She likes leaving cookies out for Santa and carrots for Rudolph and reading Christmas books from the library. She likes seeing Baby Jesus in the manger, going to Journey to Bethlehem, Christmas angels and singing Silent Night. She loves wearing new poofy Christmas dresses and sparkly shoes. This year she said, “Did you guys see that lit-up house? It was just faj-a-lous!” She also likes to sing her own version of the Elves’ song from the Rudolph movie: "Ho ho ho, Ho ho ho, Santa smells himself." Last year she sang “It's the most WONDERFUL time of da YEAR! Of da YEAR!” When her sister told her she was weird, she said, “No, I am not. It IS the most wonderful time. Of da year.”

Jedidiah is thoroughly enjoying this Christmas season. He rode a Christmas Train (“choo choo!”), ignored Santa when given the choice between sitting on his lap and eating a candy cane, and he learned four new words: “So-man!” “What!” “Why?” and “A coo-kie!” He made us laugh this year anytime we were riding together in the car because he likes to point out the window and say, “Ah, wights! Ah, wights!” and (wait for it) “Ahhh! Wights!”

And me? The old Disney's The Sounds of Christmas album is my absolute favorite Christmas-y thing. I listened to it every single Christmas until I was grown up, and now my kids listen to it with me.

On Christmas Eve, I always got new pajamas from my Grandma. I was never sure if I couldn’t sleep those nights because I was so excited or because the new pajamas were itchy.

I remember my mom hanging our little red jingly cuckoo clock bell from the doorframe and my daddy hitting his head on it every time he walked through the hall. I have that bell now, and that tinkling sound still takes me back.

I loved this weird “bird ball” that plugged in to the wall and made a crazy “woop, woop, wooo-ooooop woop woop” sound. When I was six, I was convinced that a tiny (yet very loud) bird actually lived in that little green ball. I always wanted to see what was inside, but I never did. Maybe it was a real bird.

I loved treat bags from my church, finding out what was in my stocking, calling my cousin to swap stories on Christmas morning, and listening to my Grandpa read the second chapter of Luke from the Bible. I loved doing skits with my cousins and staying up late on Christmas Eve and singing songs with my daddy and his guitar. I remember my mom hiding and jumping out to take my picture every Christmas morning and the year we got matching red and white striped footie pajamas WITH a trapdoor in back.

I remember parties and wrapping paper fights and Rudolph and Hermey the Elf and Frosty and acting out The 12 Days of Christmas. I remember looking up in the cold winter sky for the Christmas Star and singing Away in a Manger as I prayed and desperately wished for a southern snow.

And every year, I remember reading my favorite passage from The Best Christmas Pageant Ever by Barbara Robinson: "But as far as I'm concerned, Mary is always going to look a lot like Imogene Herdman - sort of nervous and bewildered, but ready to clobber anyone who laid a hand on her baby. And the Wise Men are always going to be Leroy and his brothers, bearing ham."

These are some of our Christmas memories. I hope that you hold your Christmas memories safely in your heart – they are truly your very own.

May this holiday season leave you and your family with more precious memories and plentiful blessings for the New Year.

-from my 12/30/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Hedge of Protection

Like every other parent in the country -- or maybe even the world -- I've spent the last week reevaluating.

Crying. Praying. Holding my children close. Breathing them in. Thanking God that they are still here with me.

In moments when I am alone, I find myself with unbidden tears streaming down my face. I don't even realize they are there until they start dripping onto my shirt and then I remember.

I can't stop thinking about it. Even when I don't think that I'm thinking about it, it's still there, niggling away at my subconscious. Those names. Those faces. Those ages. The same age as my sweet Josie.

I ache for those mommies and daddies. Those brothers and sisters and grandmas and grandpas and aunts and uncles and cousins and friends. I keep feeling like I'm going to throw up.

I want to sleep. To forget. To go back in time.

That day, that horrible day, my two oldest girls came and sat with me on my bed and we hugged each other and cried. They are 8 and 7. I can't figure out how to explain to them that we are living in a world where things like this happen.

Someone once said that whenever bad things happen, you should always look for the good. Look for the helpers, because someone will always be there helping. And it's true. There are moments of good in all bad situations. I try to tell them this. I try to remember it myself.

But on the inside I'm thinking, "Is it safe to go to the library? Should we go to the movie theater? Are we safe at the mall? At church? At a Christmas play? Anywhere?"

And I don't know the answer.

A friend of mine told me that her mom used to pray for a hedge of protection around each of her children and for an angel to stand guard at every window and every door. That's seems like such an old-fashioned notion, doesn't it?

You may or may not be a Christian or believe in God, and that's fine. But this past week has just been too much for me to stand. I'll admit that I have fallen to my knees more than once. I always seem to return to the question of "why?" and I guess that's just not for me to know.

We pray for miracles. We hope for them and we cross our fingers and we bargain with God and we wish on stars.

But maybe the miracles are happening all around us. Maybe every single minute that I get to spend with my four babies is a miracle. I never really thought about that before this week.

What if they were gone tomorrow? Did I do enough? Did I hug them tight enough? Did I help them feel special and happy and important? Did they know that they mean EVERYTHING to me? Did I make it clear enough to them?

Probably not. I probably said something like, "Stop whining!" or "Quit being a pest!" or "I can't pick you up right now," or "Shhh, Mommy's on the phone" or "wait until I'm done with my email" or "I'll color with you after I check Facebook" or something else that, in retrospect, is ridiculously stupid.

What is wrong with me? Where are my priorities? What wouldn't these parents give for just one more minute with their precious little babies?

As I check on my children while they sleep (because I can't), check the locks on the doors, check the alarms, and check on my children yet again, I pray that God will help me to appreciate the miracles that are in my life this Christmas. There is no guarantee that they will be here next Christmas - or even tomorrow.

And I'm praying something else, too - an old prayer that's new to me... I'm praying for a hedge of protection around my children, please God, please. And for an angel at every window and every door.

-from my 12/23/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Yes Indeed I'm Laughin'

Sadie to Josie: You are the weirdest person I have ever met.
Josie: Yeah, I know. I try.
Sadie: See, that's just weird.

Adelaide, singing her own version of the Rudolph/Santa song: "Ho ho ho, Ho ho ho, Santa smells himself."

Mommy: Ooh, Jed, aren't those new socks pretty? Can you say pret-ty?
Jed: Uggie.

The Nutcracker

Before last weekend, I’d never been to a real ballet.

And to be honest, I’ve never been that much of a fan. Too long, too boring, too many people, too much traffic… you know what I mean.

I couldn’t understand why people would actually go to see The Nutcracker every single year and make it a holiday tradition.

My two oldest daughters, though – Sadie, age 8 and Josie, age 7 – are big fans. So to kick off the holiday season, my mother-in-law took the three of us to see The Joffrey Ballet’s version at Playhouse Square.

None of us (besides Grandma) had seen The Nutcracker before. The girls donned their new Christmas dresses (they’re always looking for a reason to dress up), and we headed downtown. There were several events going on, so it was really busy and very crowded with other holiday merry-makers.

After we saw the lights at Public Square and the decorations at what used to be Higbee’s, we finally found a parking spot and made our way through the crowds to the theatres.

Once inside, we marveled at the beauty of the State Theatre. Decorated for Christmas and with a gigantic beautiful tree right in the lobby, the theatre immediately evoked festivity and Christmas-y-ness. I began to realize how lucky we are to have such a place (and cultural events like the ballet and The Cleveland Orchestra) nearby.

We pushed our way past the Bavarian pretzels and hot cocoa carts with little time to spare. As we made a desperate last-minute trip to the potty (we didn’t want to miss anything!) and found our seats, the excitement kept building. “Is it time? How much longer? Is it time yet? Did you see that? I think the curtain moved!”

When the lights finally dimmed and we saw the first set, a gorgeous Victorian parlor decorated for Christmas, I realized that this was no ordinary ballet. The scenery was incredible. From the growing candlelit tree to the life-sized white horse to the candy forest, the whole thing was a feast for the eyes.

At certain points, it was almost too beautiful to look at. I know it sounds silly, but I actually found myself having trouble catching my breath.

I was almost unable to believe what I was seeing. If you’ve seen The Nutcracker, or at least a great production of it, you’ll know the part I’m talking about – with the glittering white wood sprites and the waltz of the snowflakes and the swelling music of Tchaikovsky and the snow falling; it literally took my breath away and brought tears to my eyes.

When I was able to tear my eyes away from the stage, though, what I saw was just as beautiful to me. My two girls, not fidgeting, not talking, not whispering or saying that they’re hungry or that they have to go to the bathroom – no, my two girls, staring, wide-eyed, rapt, craning their heads from their little theater-issued booster seats, not wanting to miss a single solitary second. Eyes riveted. Mouths in perfect little O’s.

It was, simply put, magical.

Afterward, I asked what they liked best (I liked the giant teapot and the Chinese Tea Dance.) Josie, without hesitating, said, “I liked it when the nutcracker doll turned into a real guy! Poof! First he’s a doll, then there’s some smoke and he’s a guy! How do they DO that? And then I liked the giant doll lady (Mother Ginger) with all the kids running out from under her skirt!”

Sadie, though, said she couldn’t pick a favorite part. My dreamy-eyed, ballet-loving 8-year-old said, “I loved it all. Every minute of it. Every second.”

Now I understand. It’s really no wonder that people make it a holiday tradition.

Traffic was terrible. Parking was terrible. The crowds were terrible.

But the ballet – the ballet was magnificent.

-from my 12/16/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Mommy Guilt and the Flu

At our house, we are suffering through what will henceforth be (un)affectionately known as The Plague of 2012. And when I say “we,” mostly I mean the two adults in the family.

Chills. Shakes. High fevers. Aches. Pains. Nausea. Swimmy head. Coughs.

Misery.

I can't unwrap a cough drop without my knees knocking, teeth chattering and hands shaking.

My 7-year-old even looked at me in dismay and said, “I’ve never seen you like this before, Mom.”

My husband -- conked out on the bed thanks to some Nyquil -- snored in agreement.

The only thing worse than having the flu is the flu coupled with Mommy Guilt -- which is, for those who do not know, that gnawing feeling that your slacking on your mothering.

For the past two days, my poor children have subsisted on a nutritious diet of animal crackers, water and the occasional e-z-peel tangerine.

I’ve shoved so much extra Vitamin C in my children’s direction that they are probably going to sprout orange boughs out of their ears in the spring.

While I'm too sick to mother, my kids read books to each other. They watch Wild Kratts on the TV and birds at the feeder, make up games, draw pictures, write to their pen pals, keep their baby brother out of trouble,make crafts and do their best to pitch in.

Today, Josie tied her little apron on and made lunch for everyone. I hear their voices through my cracked bedroom door.

Sadie, my 8-year-old, just informed me that she wiped the table, wiped off her brother, put the dishes away, sprayed Lysol on all the doorknobs and cleaned up the kitchen. Now she’s on her way to wash her hands yet again.

They are being so helpful and empathetic that it makes me feel even worse that I haven’t been able to “be there” for them for the past few days.

Thank goodness for Grandma, who braved the noxious germ fumes, closed us in our room, fed the kids and put them to bed for us before vacating the premises.

The other Grammie also visited with reinforcement tissues, juice and chicken noodle soup. She left them at the kitchen door, rang the doorbell and fled before she could be contaminated. I saw her through the window as she jumped back in her car and made a hasty retreat.

Even my sick husband – who grudgingly admits that I’m sicker than he is – has pitched in despite his illness. He checks in on the kids for me from time to time and changes a diaper or two. He brings chicken tortilla soup home for supper, which the children fall on and devour like they are a pack of wolves (wolves that have been eating nothing but animal crackers.)

Meanwhile, I feel like I can't move. And, when I do move, it's in slow motion.

All I want to do is play with my children, read to them, be mom to them.

Tomorrow I’m planning to tear open the shutters and throw up the sashes (which is a heck of a lot better than what I’ve been throwing up, pardon the pun) and exorcise this house of all the germs so we can get on with a happy holiday season.

The flu's got nothing on Mommy Guilt.

from my 12/9/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Just Give Up

Adelaide, "Last night, Mommy came and slept with me for a while on the Fruiton. But I wouldn't quit wiggling, so she left." Josie: "FU-TON." Adelaide: "That's what I said, the FRUITON." Sadie: "Just give up."

Josie, singing the 12 Tribes of Israel:
Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Issacher, Zebulon, Dad, and... Dad? DAD?"
Sadie: "These are the sons of Jacob!"

Josie: "OW! I fell and now my butt hurts!"
Sadie: "Well, now there are TWO ways that you are a pain in the butt."

Hamster Thanksgiving

The ridiculousness that is my life never ceases to amaze me.

Picture it: It’s the day before Thanksgiving. Adelaide is playing with a ZhuZhu pet – a fuzzy little brown hamster with wheeled battery-powered feet. She’s holding him and letting him run around on the floor, over the couch, up my leg and (I should’ve seen it coming) onto my head.

The hamster is running.

The wheels are turning, and they are turning fast.

His little wheeled feet wrap my curly frizzy hair around them 30 times in 3 seconds. That hamster winches himself down flat against my head before I even know what has happened.

Do you understand what I am saying? I have a hamster attached to my head.

The little sucker is not about to come off. He is hopelessly entangled right on top of my head.

I scream. Then I cry (yes, I know, I’m an adult, but it hurts!) Adelaide and Jedidiah point at me and laugh. I send them to their rooms. I know I have to think fast, and having a four-year-old and a two-year-old laughing and pointing at me doesn’t help my ability to concentrate.

Now I’m alone in my predicament and I try to assess the situation. Not only is the constant pressure slowly yanking my hair out by the roots, but the battery compartment is stuck down so tight against my scalp that I can’t pull it away even the tiniest fraction of an inch (which would probably be enough to turn the thing off.) So not only is it yanking my hair out, it’s getting hotter and hotter by the minute because the battery is still engaged.

I consider my options.

If I yank it out, I’ll have a bald spot on top of my head.

If I cut it loose, I’ll have a sticky-up cowlick for months.

I can’t break his feet off because they are too close to my head.

The reality seems to be that I have a smoldering rodent permanently ensnarled in my hair.

I look in the mirror. I can’t help but laugh. I’m crying and laughing at the same time because a) it hurts, and b) I look absolutely absurd. I look like a crazed serial killer. Apparently, head vermin make you go insane fairly quickly.

I don’t know what else to do. I give up and call in the cavalry (to wit, my husband.) He can barely understand what I’m telling him through my hysterical sobbing and maniacal laughter. All he hears on his cell phone is “hair,” “hamster,” “help,” “hurts!” and “ridiculous.”

Yes, my husband actually has to come home from work and save me from a hamster.

He calms me down (somehow he does it without laughing) and sets to work on my head with several kinds of pliers and a screwdriver.

My hero dismembers and guts the offending rodent of its batteries. It proudly holds onto its trophy, though: a big hairball around one little wheeled leg.

Only I, who already have pretty much every weird phobia in the world, could be attacked and subdued by a ZhuZhu pet.

Look out, folks: It’s a Hamster Holiday.

from my 12-2-12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Unanswered Prayers

There’s a Garth Brooks song that says “some of God’s greatest gifts are unanswered prayers.” It took a lot of growing up for me to really understand these words of wisdom, but now I think I finally get it.

I’m thankful that I’m an only child. If I had siblings, I probably wouldn’t be nearly as close to my cousins.

I’m thankful for all the times that my daddy said no when I asked permission to do something – he saved me from a lot of danger, heartache and tears. All of those no’s meant that he loved me – that he cared.

I’m thankful that my parents divorced. If they hadn’t, I never would have known my stepmom or my stepdad and my kids would have missed out on two wonderful grandparents.

I’m thankful that I didn’t marry my high school boyfriend, because I wouldn’t have ended up with the husband and the children that I love more than anything.

I’m thankful that I had relationships with some real jerks who treated me terribly (and some crazy people who scared me) because now I know what I “missed out on.” Without those people, I would never be able to truly appreciate my husband.

I’m thankful for my crazy, frizzy, unmanageable, curly hair. It’s part of my personality and it means that I haven’t lost it due to some terrible illness.

I’m thankful that I didn’t get the promotion I desperately wanted when I was still working – if I had climbed further up the corporate ladder, I probably would never have become a stay-at-home mom.

I’m thankful that our bid wasn’t accepted on a house that we loved – in hindsight, it would’ve been a horrible mistake to buy that house. The payment would’ve been more than we could have afforded and we would have been under tremendous financial strain.

I’m thankful that we packed up and moved away from all of my family and friends – if we hadn’t, I never would have met and grown close to all of the wonderful people that have become part of my support network. I’m thankful that I cried every day for months because I was so homesick – now when I visit, I truly appreciate the loved ones that I don't get to see often enough.

I’m thankful that we lived with my in-laws for a year and a half. It was really hard not having my own house for that long, but we forged a "Walton-esque" bond that would never have been as strong otherwise.

I’m thankful that it took so long for us to find a house – it taught me patience and it taught me to trust my husband’s instincts. Eventually, we found the house that was perfect for us and in our price range.

I’m thankful for all of the times that my heart has been broken – either by someone else or because of my own foolishness. I’ve learned from my mistakes.

I’m thankful for stretch marks and leftover baby weight and memories of morning sickness – they mean that I had the blessing of growing four beautiful human beings right underneath my heart.

I’m thankful that I don’t have a new car – it means that I don’t have to worry about a car payment and that I don’t stress about one of my children spilling something on the seats.

I’m thankful for the tears that I’ve cried, the chronic back pain that I have and the injuries that I’ve suffered. They’ve shaped me into someone who is empathetic to others.

I’m thankful for being lied to and used and hurt – those times have taught me who I can trust.

I’m thankful that sometimes the power goes out and that sometimes money is tight. These things remind me that in reality, the only things that are real necessities are the people that I love.

I’m thankful for a tired body and for the circles under my eyes. They mean that I have precious peaceful moments in the middle of the night when I can hold my children in my arms.

I’m thankful for all of the broken glasses, grape-juice stained shirts, and markers on the walls. They have taught me that things are just things and they can be replaced.

No, maybe what we think is best isn’t best for us at all. Though usually it’s very hard to see at the moment you’re asking, sometimes no really is better than yes.

Thank You, God, for all of the times that You've answered my prayers with a “no.”

from my 11-25-12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Thankful for Funnies

Adelaide and I were reading Goodnight Moon. She had a hair stuck to her lip and kept trying to get it off. When we got to page 3 she read, "And there were three little hairs sitting on chairs." Then she CRACKED herself up.

On Thanksgiving night, we were watching the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade together when she and Jesse got home from Beth and Roy's (Sadie and Josie stayed the night and Jed and I came home early). She snuggled in next to me and said, "Oh, you are warm and toasty. You are as cozy as a warthog!" Then she said, "Hey! That giant balloon is Hermit the Frog!" She's saying funny stuff so fast I can barely keep up with her!

Later when we said prayers, she thanked God for all of her body parts, all of her family, her bed, the bookshelf, windows, hair, and "thank you God, for all the things that are funny. Amen."

Be assertive

A friend of ours from church sent us this really cool song called "God and Dog" about the similarities between God's love and your dog's love. It honestly almost made me cry AND it even made me like Roscoe better too. Well, Josie, taking after her father and her Weird Al penchant, took the part of the song that says "I look up and I see God, I look down and see my dog...." sang her own version: "I look up and see a bird, I look down and see a turd." Great.

A few weeks ago Sadie wanted some fish from Long John Silvers but all of the kids were in the car and I told her she would have to go in by herself while I watched her through the window from the car. I've been trying to teach them to look people in the eyes and to be assertive. Not rude or demanding, just assertive. I told her to say, "Hello, I would like some fish please!" She and Josie cracked the heck up and now every time I tell them to be assertive, they talk in a funny accent and say realllly loudly, "HELLO, MY NAME IS SADIE! MAY I HAVE SOME FISH PLEASE!?"

I was cleaning the bathroom upstairs and I was holding Snoopy in my other hand. When Sadie walked by and saw me, she said, "Hey! Nobody puts Snoopy in a toilet!" Right. And nobody puts Baby in a corner either.

Jedidiah has started turning his little hands palms up and humming the "I don't know" sound. It's so cute when I ask him something - he looks around and says "I don't know."

Thankful that I'm a Mom

I’m an only child.

So when I had my second child, I naturally assumed that she would be just like my first. Little did I know that they would be complete opposites.

It turns out that all four of them are as different from each other as morning, noon, night and naptime.

It’s humbling to think that out of all of the other moms in the world, God chose me – me – to be their mother. Me, with the not-so-idyllic past. Me, with the back problems and the weird propensity for popping my bones out of joint. Me, with the strange fears and the ridiculous built-in klutziness factor. Me.

Shouldn’t they have gone to someone better? Someone more capable?

Yet even when it’s a rough day (and we’ve been having a lot of those lately) I am still thankful that they are mine. Even when they are driving me completely crazy, they have an uncanny ability to keep me smiling.

They constantly amaze me with their own unique personalities.

Sadie has the most amazing memory that I’ve ever encountered. She remembers things from when she was only two, and usually it’s stuff that even I’ve forgotten about. She has a gentle spirit and a kind heart, and she longs for beauty in everything she sees. She loves to decorate, dance, hear the stories that her grandparents tell, plan parties, make floral arrangements, paint and read. Watching her grow from my first-born baby into a sweet young lady is such a privilege for me and I am so proud of her.

Josie lives life more than anyone else I know. She feels things deeply. Certain movies, songs, stories, events and even memories pull at her heartstrings and her feelings (happy or sad) often come out as tears. She’s an optimist; she always sees the bright side of things. She loves making new friends, drawing, making people laugh and figuring out puzzles. She wants to change the world and help little kids by raising money to help dig wells in third-world countries. Knowing Josie – and the beautiful light that seems to shine from her – I’m sure that she’ll do it.

Adelaide is a natural drama queen. She loves to memorize and recite stories, poems and Bible verses. She likes to dress up and stay “in character” for days at a time. She loves to play games, talk in funny voices, watch movies and use her imagination. She believes that everything is magical and she has the ability to find something fun in just about any situation. She’s incredibly strong-willed, which I know is a quality that will serve her well later in life. She’s happy when she’s with her family. When she hugs me at bedtime, she likes to whisper, “I’ll never let go.” I hope that she doesn’t.

Jedidiah has such a sweet and happy disposition. He always wakes up ready to face the day with a chubby-cheeked smile. It’s like he knows that something wonderful is going to be waiting for him around every corner. He’s always in a hurry, running here and there to make sure that isn’t going to miss anything interesting. He wants to touch, taste, hear, see, smell and experience everything in the world. He loves to dump things out, tear things up and generally wreak havoc. He is curious, smart, funny and oh-so-squeezable. If I could keep him just like this forever, I’d do it in a minute – crazy messes and all.

I can’t say that I haven’t made my more than my fair share of mistakes. I have.

Looking at my children not only makes me feel a sense of accomplishment, as if I may actually be doing something right, but also a sense of wonder. They aren’t doing this well because of me, but in spite of my mistakes. The people they are becoming – no, the people they already are – are teaching me more about life and beauty and love and joy than I’ve ever known.

Learning to be a mother was – is – the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

But, during this week of Thanksgiving, I am so thankful that I’ve been given the chance.

-From my 11/18/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Halloweened Out

I am completely Halloweened out. With the storm, losing electricity and all of the rescheduling due to bad weather, it seemed like “Halloween season” was interminable this year.

My girls even got tired of wearing their costumes, if that tells you anything.

We went to a local church’s festival one week and to the mall trick-or-treat event the next.

We went to Halloween Story Time at the Library. We watched “It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown” and “FrankenPooh.”

Then I decided that I hadn’t suffered enough so I threw a big Harvest Party on the last day of October. Our power had JUST come back on after the hurricane, so I looked inadvertently scary to the neighborhood children – I wasn’t really in costume but I did bear a close resemblance to a sleep-deprived zombie. There were some close calls involving our homemade piñata stick and our pumpkin bowling game, and one of the little boys looked at my hand-drawn pin-the-crow-on-the-scarecrow poster and said, “What is that?” But nevertheless, it was a fun party.

Last but not least, we participated in our neighborhood’s regular trick or treating this past weekend. It was pretty cold and Jedidiah had decided he was done being Yoda so I ended up taking him home. I bundled him into the car and we drove around the neighborhood until we spotted his dad and sisters so we could give them a ride home (it’s hard to walk in Queen Amidala’s shoes.) The girls could barely haul their candy bags into the car. It turns out that the generous people in our neighborhood gave out full-sized candy bars! Full-sized! I don’t remember ever getting a full-sized candy bar when I went trick-or-treating as a kid.

Through it all, there have been gobs of leaves, broken branches, a couple of rotting pumpkins (remember all of the warm days we had a couple of weeks ago?), some scarecrows, a little witch, a squishy muddy pond, a downed light pole, a giant capsized tree, some questionable power lines and who knows what else lying around in our yard.

Inside, there’s a dangling skeleton (we usually use it to learn about bones when we’re talking about science) and seven pumpkins, including two fake pumpkins and various and sundry gourds. Light sabers are now a fixture behind our kitchen door, right next to the umbrellas.

A gigantic pile of Halloween props has taken up permanent residence in my bedroom closet. There’s a Darth Vader helmet, a cane, three headpieces, four candy bags, two pairs of fuzzy boots, several capes, clip-on earrings, green paint, Ewok ears and who knows what else.

It looks like a candy bomb has exploded in our house. Candy is EVERYWHERE. Even though the girls have their own individual trick-or-treat bags in their rooms, pieces of candy are in the kitchen, in the pantry, on the stairs, in coat pockets, in the car – EVERYWHERE.

Every five minutes (and I am not exaggerating) Jedidiah comes to me holding up a new sucker or a roll of Smarties that he has found squirreled away in someone’s stockpile. He begs me to open it, doing the cute little bendy-kneed “candy-dance.” This is inevitably closely followed by the “fall-in-the-floor-and-scream-because-you-can’t-have-it-dance.”

Let’s just say that Mommy is tired of both dances.

The pumpkins? To the compost pile!

The scarecrows? I say we just put some aprons and shoe buckles on them and call them pilgrims.

The candy? I want to throw it all in the trash and hide. And also brush my teeth.

I have never been so ready for Thanksgiving – and one thing I’m thankful for is that we are finally done with Halloween.

from my 11/11/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Mommy Brain

I’ve always thought of myself as a fairly smart person.

I made straight A's in school (well, except for Algebra). I graduated early from college.

I like to learn. I like to read. I like useless information. I like watching biographies. I like taking IQ tests (or any test, really).

But lately I feel like I have nothing to contribute.

As far as having a grown up conversation, that is. I mean, what do I have say?

Jed’s poop was kind of green today.

Adelaide used the self-checkout at the grocery store today.

Sadie learned the word “collinear” today.

Josie figured out how to make paper airplanes today.

I made a bushel’s worth of applesauce today.

Not the greatest topics for a cocktail party (not that I ever go to cocktail parties). I know that I am blessed to have the opportunity to stay home with my children; I know some moms can't or don't choose to, but I love being a stay at home mom. I love being a homeschooling mom. But I kind of feel like I’m getting dumber and dumber. Am I the only one who feels this way? Am I the only one who puts the milk in the pantry and the cereal in the refrigerator? Am I the only mom who runs a complete cycle through a completely empty washing machine?

For almost 20 years, I worked either in an office, at a school or in retail. Staying home has been a total identity change for me. I no longer have to get dressed up to go to the office. I don’t have to get dressed, period. As a matter of fact, I’m writing this while I’m wearing my PJs and it’s 4:00 in the afternoon.

I knew that staying home would have different types of challenges and rewards. I was prepared for that. But I’m not sure I was prepared for all the potty talk, the toddler’s constant eating of acorns or the interminable craft projects.

And I don’t think I was really prepared for my own brain turning to mush, or for the judgment I sometimes encounter when I venture into the outside world (outside my house, that is).

Sometimes there seems to be a public perception of stay at home moms… maybe a subconscious stigma that we are “uneducated” and we “have no drive” or maybe we have a lower IQ.

A lot of times when I meet people and they learn that I am JUST a stay at home mom, they seem to write me off as someone who has nothing to contribute to the conversation. And sometimes, maybe I don’t.

But if I do speak up and I happen to remember some of my “big words,” they are shocked. It’s like they’ve suddenly run across a chicken who can speak French.

Sometimes I feel like I should introduce myself like this: “I’m a stay at home mom now, but I USED to work in merchandising for a Fortune 100 company.”

Has my career change (and yes, I consider myself as a professional mother now) really reduced my IQ?

Do people think that because I’ve chosen to stay home that something must be wrong with me? Or that my brain just isn’t working right anymore?

Maybe it isn’t. Maybe my IQ is lower. But I still want to stay home with my kids – even if it means sacrificing some more of my brain cells for the next few years.

If you aren’t busy, though, perhaps I could I interest you in some intriguing anecdotes about a diaper, some acorns, a plunger and a roll of scotch tape.

--from my 11/4/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Adelaide is changing a little bit more each day. I know kids grow up slowly and they're changing all the time, but sometimes it seems like they'll hit a certain season and it's like warp speed. Adelaide has hit some kind of stride and she's suddenly a grown up 4 year old. Her chubby cheeks aren't quite so chubby, her crazy laugh isn't quite so crazy. Her little Wizard of Oz munchkin voice is changing - oh, so subtly, but it's gradually going away. Wow. I wish I could just grab her and keep her the way she is (even though sometimes she drives me nuts) but still... she would keep on changing. My baby girl.

Tramp-o-Ween

When did Halloween become “How Trashy Can I Look Night?”

Maybe this has been going on for a long time and I just never noticed it.

Maybe it’s because my oldest daughter is just now getting old enough to wear a costume other than a fuzzy unicorn or a bumblebee, but we’re dressing up to go on hayrides and get some free candy. So could someone please tell me why most of the girls that I've seen this year look like they're on their way to film some creepy adult movie?

When did Snow White add fishnets to her royal attire? And why do the fairies have more than their sparkly wings out on display, if you know what I mean? When did Alice decide that stilettos are proper footwear for prancing around through Wonderland? Look around you this Halloween. There is a latex-wearing nurse in a garter belt! There is a Pocahontas in hot pants! It looks like everyone is headed to the haunted Playboy mansion!

Even worse, who ever decided that angels – ANGELS – are supposed to wear nothing more than some feather underwear and a cape? Is that the kind of angel you want guarding your kids’ bed at night? I don’t think so!

I’m not sure how this little trend began, but I am sure that Halloween is not the most appropriate time to strut your stuff. How is it that in order to get a pack of M&Ms, our cute little Strawberry Shortcakes and mini football players have to wade through a sea of cave girls with nothing on but a pillowcase and a spray tan?

My kids (and yours) deserve to go out for an evening of PG fun without being forced into the Pay-Per-View adult channel.

While looking for costume ideas (before we settled on Star Wars) with my 8-, 7- and 4-year-old daughters, we came across the following outfits: a black and hot pink corset for a Barbie Diva, a mini skirted Little Red Riding Hood with a red bra on top, a VooDoo Vixen and a Hot Little Devil costume with a halter top and a skin tight skirt. These are marketed toward and sold to young girls!

I must tell you that I am completely disgusted by this. Maybe I’ve been living under a rock for a while, but now I've crawled out and I am appalled. Stuff like this is a child molester’s dream! Do people really let their daughters wear these things? Whose idea was this? Why do we want our daughters to look like full-grown – not to mention immodest – women?

What’s even more disturbing is that this isn’t just a problem with our teen girls (which is bad enough.) If these costumes are being made available to our little girls, what the heck are our high-school aged girls supposed to wear? I'm having a hard time believing that parents are condoning these things.

I don’t know about you but I would like for my little girls to stay little as long as they possibly can. I’m certainly not going to buy them a “Vamp in a Box” costume.

Now don’t get me wrong – I’m all for personal freedom. Wear what you want, but for Heaven’s sake use good judgment for yourself and your girls. Is a harvest party or the trick or treat event at the mall really the right place to accidentally trip over your own stilettos and flash someone? We are in Northeast Ohio, not on the Vegas strip.

I realize that Halloween is a huge business. People spend millions and millions of dollars on costumes every year. Businesses are cashing in on the “sexification” of every single profession in the book, not to mention all of the Disney princesses!

I don’t know about you, but I have a problem with my daughters trick or treating next to a woman wearing nothing but a wig and a Rapunzel tube top. There’s a time and place to learn about things like that, but it’s not while you’re out in broad daylight. And it's definitely not while you’re asking your neighbor for a Snickers bar.

Everyone has their camera out and at the ready on Halloween. There is an astronomically high chance that a video of these girls fumbling around in ridiculous high heels is going straight onto YouTube and Facebook with their Halloween goodies out for all the world to see.

This is a holiday to have a little fun, to get a little spooked and to see how much candy you can gather up for free. It's not a contest to see who can tip the Skimpy-scales.

We are having a Harvest Party with our friends and neighbors. We’re going to carve pumpkins, build a fire, and eat too much sugar. We’re going to go trick or treating, and we are wearing costumes.

And I don't mind saying that the only thing we want to see bobbing at our party are the apples.

--from my 10/28/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Jed's Poem

One blue fingernail
Ewwww
Fingers up the nose
and in the ear
Belly laughs
Bumps. Hurts!
Boo-boo, kiss it!
Give a hug - and some pats on the back
Give a kiss, it's fun through the crib slats
Give high-fives
Get my own water
Get my own snacks
Get my own candy - from EVERYWHERE
Palms up, hums "Idon'tknow"
Climbing up the stairs
Climbing on the counter
Climbing into the bookshelf
Turn on the faucet
Turn on the toaster
Turn on the charm
Running/skipping
Arms akimbo
Jump up and down, so excited for a popsicle
Life is so exciting, "Ah! Dat!" Pointing
Let me get my shoes
And "sots"
Hand in the toilet
Go get a mop.
Peanut butter head.
Life is a blessing.

Yodalaide

I know that there is a very limited time frame in which our kids will willingly participate in themed Halloween costumes for the whole family, so we’re going gung-ho while it lasts.

This year, we are all going as Star Wars characters. (Oh, yes, the force is strong in my children.)

My husband says he’s going to be Jabba the Hut. I’m planning to go as Darth Vader, although my mask has weird lenses in the eyeholes that make me feel more like “The Fly” than Darth.

Sadie wants to be the blue Amidala. At the thrift store we found a beautiful dress, a velvety robe and some great fan-shaped earrings for her. We also are working to turn a tiny wicker chair into her hair-piece. (Don’t ask.)

I made a cute little Ewok poncho-hat for Jedidiah, but he seems rather reluctant to wear it… in other words, he screams, yanks it off, throws it on the ground and runs away. I’m not sure if it’s because he thinks it’s too girly or just because he hates ponchos.

Josie is going to be Princess Leia-in-Somewhat-of-a-Disguise. She has a storm-trooperish white jumpsuit, a laser gun made of tin foil, and the perfect tall white boots. She and her grandma made a white cape which she’s been testing out around the house.

As we worked on our costumes, Josie (we thought about naming her Leia when she was born) came to me, snickering: "Mommy, I was telling Adelaide how you were gonna name me Leia when I was born, and she said, "'Oh yeah? Mommy was gonna name me Yoda.'"

Well, not exactly, but the plan is for Adelaide to be Yoda. She’s just the most Yoda-esque person in our house. She already talks funny and is super quirky. Adding some pointy ears is really not that much of a stretch.

After making the other costumes, I was somewhat crafted out. The girls and I decided to go out on the town to find some Yoda ears and Leia hairbuns.

After looking several places, we ended up at the Halloween store. I remember taking Josie there to find some Groucho Marx glasses when she was even younger than Adelaide, and she thought the whole thing was great. I should’ve also remembered that Josie does not have the same personality as Adelaide.

Before we went inside, I gave a little speech about how everything in there is just pretend, and nothing is real, and nothing can hurt you, and I’ll be with you the whole time, etc.

But as soon as we walked through the freshly manufactured fog, I could tell that Adelaide was not impressed. The further we went into the store, the less she liked it. Clowns are scary. Bats are scary. Vampires are scary. Werewolves are scary.

The Monster Mash song playing in the background did not help at all. I tried to point out some harmless Strawberry Shortcake outfits to her, but she refused to take her hands off her eyes (which was a problem since she kept running into things.)

Josie, on the other hand, was fascinated with all the creepy plastic zombie babies lined up on the fake tombstones. Sadie gazed around in digust at the wicked witch and the hacked up Dorothy lying in the bed next to her, but she was appreciative of the nice assortment of sparkly wigs and fairy wings.

Adelaide, however, was petrified. She screamed at a scary skeleton that cackled at her. When Sadie accidentally put her foot on a rug that read STEP HERE and a giant spider jumped out and landed on Adelaide’s head, she catapulted herself into my arms and declared tearfully that she’d had enough.

After all of that trouble, they only had Clone Wars costumes, which did not help us at all. Sadie and Josie felt sorry for their shaking little sister. While Josie kept her hand over Adelaide’s eyes, Sadie gave her a piggyback ride to the car and they even let her sit between them in the backseat on the way home.

After a night of letting her sleep with all the lights on, I asked Adelaide the next morning:

“So, do you still want to be Yoda?”

She said, “Yes, but, well, do you know that Halloween store? That scary Halloween store? Yeah, well, I am never going in THERE again.”

And in true Yod-a-laide fashion, she added,

“Forget it, you can.”

--from my 10/14/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com (obviously, Jed wouldn't cooperate as an Ewok, so we had to change things up a little :)

Poem for Josie, Age 7

Josie
Loves her little animals
Loves her little brother
He makes me laugh every day, she says.

Josie
Gets up early every morning
Gets her hair combed and her teeth brushed
And does her chores without being asked to.

Josie
Likes to practice her handwriting
Likes to take her notebook off by herself
And draw up her plans for life.

Josie
Says she's going to change the world
Says she's giving everyone clean water to drink
And I think she'll probably do it.

Josie
Asks me if I'll snuggle with her
Asks if she can have a hug every day
And I grab her quick and say 'what kind of a question is that?'


Josie
Acts like a goofball when it's bedtime
Acts like she's older than her years
But I think she's near perfection at seven.

J and A

Josie came to me, laughing and snickering: "Mommy, I was telling Adelaide how you were gonna name me Leia, you know, how it was on your list, and she said, "'Yeah, Mommy was gonna name ME Yoda.'"

Josie to Adelaide (in a frustrated voice): "Adelaide! Can you PLEASE talk in your head?"

Adelaide, gazing up into the blue fall sky: "Hey, look! A bird herd!"

I asked Josie, "What day is it, anyway?" Josie, in her best Lion King - Scar voice "I have no idea."

Thy Kingdom Come .

Josie likes to talk about the kingdom of God. She is constantly asking questions about the kingdom, and heaven, and what will happen when Jesus comes back, and all kinds of things like that. One day she really got excited and told me how she is going to do everything she ever wanted to do, like swim with the dolphins and explore way down deep in the bottom of the ocean and collect seashells from down there and fly around in the sky and jump around on the clouds, and best of all, she's going to sit on Jesus' lap and she's going to meet Great Grandpa Ralph. The child never ceases to amaze me. Then she asked, "Mom, are we going to look the same when Jesus comes back? Will old people still be old? And babies, will they still be babies?" I told her that the Bible says that we will have new bodies, and I think that we will be the very best that we've ever been. She said, "So, like 7?"

I'm Not a Professional

Last weekend a friend invited me to attend a scrapbooking retreat with her.

My reaction: A what? I didn’t even know something like that existed.

She told me to bring lots of pictures and the pages that I was working on. So I packed up about 200 pictures, along with three books that I keep trying to read.

I figured I could get some reading in once I finished with all of my pictures I mean, there was no way that I wouldn’t finish – not with 2 days of nothing but scrapbooking going on. There was just no way. Right?

Ha!

When we arrived at the hotel conference room, I was overwhelmed. It was filled with rows and rows of tables and what looked to me like a million dollars worth of fancy equipment, accessories, cutters, paper, stickers and tools. I had never seen so much scrapbooking stuff in one place. Not even at the craft store.

I, on the other hand, came armed with nothing but my scissors and a Sharpie.

To say that I was out of my league is an understatement. These people were serious. They were not your average scrapbookers. For me, the emphasis is on SCRAP.

Yes, I am what you would call a “green scrapbooker.”

In other words, I am a cheap scrapbooker.

I use old birthday cards, wrapping paper, parts of magazine pages, ads that come in the mail… stuff that I find. NOT things that I buy.

My friend Terry knows this about me, and so she kept offering me her trash. “You’re not going to use that?” I would ask her incredulously. It became the running joke of the weekend.

Terry never said that I embarrassed her (after all, she actually knew these people) but she did warn me that she was drawing the line if she caught me face-first in one of the big community trash bins by the door.

A lady named Cricut Jackie (so named because of the little cutting machine she is so adept at using) had an amazing collection of die-cuts and stickers in a gigantic album. She told me that she was trying to get rid of some diecuts and stickers and that I should come to her table and look through them.

She didn’t have to ask me twice. I even told her -- in my mommy voice ( because it’s hard to change your stripes -- that they were both “very good sharers.”

We spent most of our time drinking coffee (I took a giant size carmel macchiato creamer along with us to share… nobody likes plain hotel coffee) and listening to doo-wop music at our table (am I the only thirty-something who knows every word to the entire Stand By Me movie soundtrack?)

We wore yoga pants, slippers and cozy jackets and pigtails. People were up until 2 a.m. scrapbooking, and I did not make very much progress because I was in a constant state of amazement.

I used cutters that I didn’t even know existed -- fancy little corner-cutting doodads and heart-shaped punches and stars that you can layer and circle cutting tools and all kinds of neat stuff that I had no idea that I needed.

For example, I didn’t know that I needed a tiny little paper cutter with a tiny little swinging arm like a tiny little guillotine. But I do! I need one!

And I didn’t know that I needed a fancy album that you can have your kids portraits printed on (the most I ever paid for an album was $19, and I thought I was getting ripped off with that.) But I do! I need one!

And I need pages that lay flat and don’t make my scrapbook look like it’s going to bust a gut and pop loose at the seams! I need a good binding that doesn’t consist of an old bootlace!

Wow. This little weekend changed the way I look at certain things regarding the life of my scrapbook. There is a whole sub-culture out there of serious scrapbookers.

I aspire to be like them. And yes, maybe I even covet their stuff.

But I confess – I’ll probably keep on digging through the trash.


--from my 10/7/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Sick and Tired

Sadie has been sick for 9 days now. It's felt like the longest 9 days EVER for ME, so I can only imagine how SHE must feel. She looks like she's dropped 10 pounds and she seems so fragile and so scrawny to me. At first, she had a fever and she kept throwing up (from the fever, I imagine, don't think it was ever a stomach bug). Then she developed this cough that kept making her sick. Now everything else seems to be gone, but the stupid cough has persisted, making it nearly impossible for her to sleep and keeping us all trapped here at home day in and day out. And we are missing the fall, which is everyone's (especially mine and Sadie's) favorite time of year! We are getting really mad and frustrated.

But one of the good things about her being sick is how she says, "I guess the only thing that would really make me feel any better is for you to come and sit on my feet and snuggle with me, Mom. And maybe read to me." So one day, I was working on my Bible Study book and so I started reading to her out of the book of Matthew. Something struck me from the chapter I was reading (4:16) "the people living in darkness have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of the shadow of death
a light has dawned.” I started thinking about it, and I talked to her about it a little bit, and then I got kind of teary eyed and she rolled her eyes and said, "Sheesh, Mommy, everything makes you cry." I kept talking and talking and finally she said, "Okay, Mom. Less talking, more reading." hahaha!!! She has a point. I certainly do tend to ramble.

She did stop me later on and say, "Hey, did you hear some crying coming from the direction of the refrigerator? No? Maybe it was SCREAM cheese." As I watched her laugh to herself from her own joke, I was reminded of myself!

20 Minutes of... Peace?

My husband isn’t working today. And he has taken pity on me.

He just pulled out of our driveway in the minivan with all four of our kids. They are going to the hardware store down the street.

Do you understand what I am saying?

I have 20 precious minutes all to myself! Now, how to spend them….

The sheer thrill of it is almost too much for me. I am overwhelmed with the quiet.

I compulsively wipe the kitchen counters. Then the table. Then the counters again.

What am I thinking?! Now I only have 18 minutes left.

What to do, what to do.

I guess I could wash my hair for the first time in three days, but I’m all out of shampoo and I’d have to use no-tears bubble bath. That probably wouldn't help much with the frizz factor.

But look at this floor… it looks like an army of ants could stage a hostile takeover at any moment. Jedidiah must’ve been eating leftover toast crust out of the trash can again. I should get the broom…

No! This is my time. My own time.

I could watch TV, I guess, but that would involve the risk of seeing some fashion-forward twenty-something in skinny jeans talking about how she’s stressed because her favorite designer is on strike and how full she is because she just ate a carrot. I just don’t think I can handle that right now.

I’ve got it. I could read my Bible. I could get some prayer time in – you know, something besides, “Lord, please let me be able to sop up this milk out of the couch cushions before I freak out and lock them all out of the house” or the big one where the stars are all aligned: “Please, God, let their naptimes coincide today.”

Or maybe I should get on the elliptical machine and work on getting rid of some of this leftover baby fat.

Eh.

Oh no! The dog just barked! Does that mean they are pulling back in the driveway already?

It can’t be! I’ll run and peek out the window. Whew. Just a UPS truck driving by. Okay. I still have ten minutes. Ten minutes alone is like an eternity when you haven’t been alone in weeks. I can do this. I can make it count. I’ve really got to make a decision here, though. Okay, go.

I could take a nap. I certainly could use one. The bags under my eyes have made the switch from Ziploc-size to backpack size. I collapse onto the bed and close my eyes. Will I really feel any better after only a ten (make that eight) minute nap? Probably not.

I sit up.

Eureka! I’ve got it. I’ll make myself a French Vanilla coffee and read the first chapter of the book I checked out at the library seven weeks ago.

Ahh. Coffee in hand. Turn the page. Chapter One.

“Woof!” says the dog.

And… they’re back.

So much for my twenty minutes.


---from my 9/30/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com

Halloweenie

Adelaide, who is four, is like the best possible 4 year old that she can be. She talks funny (and cutely). She mixes things up that crack me up all the time. She makes me laugh every single day. She says "You're opposed to do this" and "You're not opposed to do that." She grabs me around the neck at bedtime and squeezes and says, "I'm not letting go." And even though I'm super tired and really DONE for the day and ready for some Mommy time, I realize that I don't really ever WANT her to let go.

The other night we were looking for some Yoda ears and some Leia hairbuns for our Halloween costumes (we have since made our own). We ended up in the Halloween store and Adelaide was even more petrified than I thought she would be. I NEVER should've taken her into that store, but I remembered taking Josie when she was about the same age, and she thought the whole thing was great (and even funny). Of course, I have to keep reminding myself that Josie is not your typical child.

Anyway, we went into the store (Jedidiah was home with Dad) and Adelaide immediately was not impressed. The further we got into the store, the less she liked it. Josie was fascinated with all the creepy zombie babies, Sadie gazed in digust at the wicked witch and the hacked up Dorothy lying in the bed next to her, and Adelaide screamed her head off and catapulted herself into my arms when Sadie inadvertently stepped on a sign that read "STEP HERE" and a giant spider jumped out at them.

Sadie and Josie took good care of her from there on out. Sadie even carried her on her back till we got to the car and Josie covered her eyes. They even both sat in the backseat with her in the middle and told her how there's nothing to be afraid of.

Adelaide, nonplussed, has this to say about the matter, "Well, do you know that Halloween store? That scary Halloween store? Yeah, well, I am never going in THERE again. You can just forget it."

Goldy Frizzhead

I am southern.

I was born in North Carolina, as was my entire family. Therefore, I have the freedom to make fun of my southern heritage (don’t get me wrong – I completely love my southern roots, family and friends. Nobody else can make fun of us, but because I am one, I can.)

The other night my mom told my kids a story in her southern mountain twang. Here’s a hint: if you can’t figure out what it says, just read it out loud.

Okay, here it goes:

This here is the story of Southern Goldilocks.

Now, Southern Goldilocks had real purdy golden hair, but down in the south, curly hair don’t do too good. Nope, all that dern humidity’ll gitcha ever time. So Southern Goldilock’s mama, she didn’t call her Goldilocks. Naw, she started callin her “Frizzhead.” You know, cause of all the humidity.

So one day, she said, “Hey Frizzhead, come on in here and git this basket’a biscuits and this here thermos’a gravy and take it on down yonder to your granny’s house. And don’t go poking your nose where it don’t belong and peeking around in other people’s windows again this time. Got it?”

So Goldy Frizzhead took the basket and the thermos and she headed out down the dirt road that cut across the woods.

And lo and behold, she saw a little ole cabin out-tere that she’d never laid eyes on before. And of course, she plumb forgot all about what her mama'd told her and she went right up to that cabin door and peeked right in. Didn’t look like nobody was home so she set her stuff down on the porch. Then she wiped the red dirt off her feet (she did have some manners after all, thank you very much) and proceeded to open up the squeaky screen door. Then she went right on in.

Well, right there in front-a her on the kitchen table were three big bowls-a grits. Well, anyone who’s anyone knows that you don’t just go traipsing off and leavin your perfectly good grits to go to waste. So Goldy Frizzhead did them folks a favor and she set down and gobbled all them grits right up.

Then, she headed into the living room but it didn’t look too interesting to her – there weren’t nothing there but some deer heads and a gun cabinet and a few empty Orange Crush bottles on a TV tray.

So she went over to the stairs and started climbin. And wouldn’t you know it? At the top of the stairs, she found a bedroom where the A/C was turned on full blast and there was a great big ole waterbed just awaitin for her to lay down for her morning nap (all them grits was setting mighty heavy in little ole Frizzhead’s belly at this point.)

So she laid down and she covered up with a Braves blanket she found at the foot of the bed, and before you knew it, she was out. Frizzhead was just-a sawing logs, let me tell ya. And then, I guess you probly can figure out what happened next.

The three bears – a great big Daddy Bear, a regular-sized Mama Bear and a tee-niny little Baby Bear came up out of the woods and they was hungry. Naw, they was HONGRY. Hongry for their grits.

Well, when they got up on the porch, they saw the biscuits and gravy settin' there and they thought somebody had done gone and brought em some breakfast. So they headed into the kitchen, ready to fill up on grits and biscuits and gravy, and then they saw that their grits was gone.

Well, Daddy Bear went all to pieces and headed over to the gun cabinet just in case the Grit Thief was still in the vicinity. Then they all went up the stairs and Baby Bear peeked in and saw Goldy Frizzhead laying there on the waterbed. Well, of course Daddy Bear wadn’t gonna hurt a little ole’ girl, no matter if she DID look like a frizzy-headed coconut and was a grit thief, bless her heart.

So they let her git her nap out, and then they invited her down to eat lunch with em, since Mama Bear had done put a ham in the oven and the beans was ready.

The end.


--from my 9/23/12 article for www.mentorpatch.com