Wait Just a Minute

It’s going by just a little bit too fast.

I’ve been a mom for over nine years now. Of all the jobs I’ve ever had, being a mother is the hardest, the most demanding – and the most rewarding. I can’t imagine my life now without these little people in it.

As the days and months – and years – go by, it’s becoming all too clear how fast the time goes.

"Did you organize that I could run so fast?"

When I was little, I used to hear my parents talk about “how fast time flies.” I never agreed with them. Time CRAWLED by back then… my birthday always seemed like it would never come, and Christmas was even worse!

But now? Wow. Now I get it.

I took Sadie shopping for clothes the other day in the Juniors’ section – she can’t find anything that fits her long legs in the Girls’ section anymore.

Josie went to a horse riding class all by herself and she was perfectly fine without me. She made two new “best friends,” and she even got their phone numbers.

Adelaide turned five this week – my little baby girl is FIVE. She’s already lost two teeth and she’s starting to learn to read.

Jedidiah, my baby boy, now talks in complete sentences. As we went past the bakery in the grocery store yesterday he informed me: “I want some cake. In my mouf!”

I used to think that their littleness – their “kid-ness” – would go on forever. But now I see that it won’t. They really are only little for a little while.

They don’t understand that most days I just want to catch them and somehow freeze them in one of their amazing moments:

Jed, red-faced and exuberant, swinging his arms and jumping with both feet (clad in his favorite snowboots) from the lawn chair into the grass, yelling, “Wook, Mom! I DOOoooo it!”

Adelaide, giggling madly with squinched-up eyes, running through the yard wearing a puppy dog t-shirt, a long skirt and bare feet, tossing a “Did you organize I could run so fast?” over her shoulder as she passes by in a blur. (She substitutes “organize" for "realize.")

Josie (wearing her pirate eye patch), lovingly concentrating on her latest bug capture, building it a habitat and letting it crawl all over her arms while she digs her toes into the dirt and sings (loudly) to the wind: “Duke Duke Duke Duke of Earl, Duke Duke….”

Sadie, flitting from her garden to the flowerbeds with a watering can, a butterfly net, a paintbrush, and a bucket of rocks, saying, “Mom! You have GOT to come see this! I cracked that boulder open with my rock-hammer! Oh, and how do you spell chrysalis?”  

And now… now that chances are very slim that I’ll ever have another baby, it makes me sad to know that they are growing up a little more every day. And the days are almost a blur.

I don’t really know who I am anymore, aside from them. They have, to an extent, consumed me.  

But they are still my babies. I love the excitement they bring to my life – the chaos, the newness, the imagination. I love watching them overcome every obstacle. I love how they are constantly reinventing themselves, conquering their fears and trying scary, intimidating things.  

It scares me a little that they are growing up – that every step they take from now on will be a step further away from me. Fortunately, since this is also the busiest I’ve ever been, I really don't have much time to dwell on it.

Sometimes when I’m tucking them in at night, I sing them this little song I made up (which they think is sappy but they love that it makes me cry): “Please stay little just a little while longer… don’t grow up so fast
Please stay little just a little while longer, I want this moment to last.”

Yes, time is flying, and some moments are harder than others, but I wouldn’t trade this time for anything.  

Not one minute of it.

--from my 5/29/13 post for www.mentorpatch.com

I'm Not That Simple

Men are simple creatures, aren’t they?

I don’t know about you, but I used to operate under the assumption that my husband was somehow always in deep thought. He would sit there, looking all introspective, and I’d ask him, “What are you thinking?” He would usually glance up and say, “Huh? What? Nuthin.’”

And honestly, I used to think he was keeping something from me. Something deep and, well, profound. Meaningful. At least thoughtful. But after almost twelve years of marriage, I’ve come to the conclusion that usually he really IS thinking about “nuthin.’”

Once I figured this out, I decided to explain to him that women, too, are simple. After this long, he should really be an expert about me, for Pete’s sake. I wanted him to understand that I am easy to please. I am a “what you see is what you get” kind of girl.

Then I realized that I was wrong.

For example, if he comes home and finds me face down on the bed crying, his simple mind assumes that something must’ve happened to cause the crying. He asks:

“What’s wrong?”
To which I respond, “Noth-th-th-ing!”
“So why are you crying?”
“I don’t – I don’t – I don’t KNOW!”
“Then stop it!”
“I want to, but I – I – cannnnn’t!”

He walks out the room with a big sigh, shaking his head and muttering something unintelligible.
He also mutters at me for other reasons:

“I have to take Sadie to the dentist and Josie to sushi night and Adelaide to the library and I have to get Jed’s hair cut and I have to get to the grocery store before the deli closes and I need to take a shower and the laundry isn’t done and I still don’t have my article written!”
 “So why don’t you just reschedule something?” he asks calmly.

“I can’t! I can’t just reschedule!”

Arrrgh. Why can’t he understand that I don’t want his help to solve my problem – I just want him to commiserate with me. To feel my pain.

Or, for instance:

“They don’t like me! I am so upset! I just don’t understand it….”
“So? Who cares if they don’t like you? Don’t like them back!”
“That’s not the point!” You see, I just want him to reassure me. To tell me that anyone who doesn’t think I’m fantastic is just completely crazy.

He’s very plain and simple. His logic is completely crazy in all its simplicity, if you ask me.

Sometimes I do wish that I were a little less complicated. But the mind of a woman just isn’t meant to be figured out. It’s not going to happen.

Simple as that.

--from my 5/23/13 post for www.mentorpatch.com

He said, she said

"Jed, how did you get out of your bed?"
"I climb out."

"Jed, where's Grampie Don?"
"Work. You killin' a- me!"

Jed:
"I do it!"
"More time!" (as in, one more time!)
"Guys doin'?" (to his sisters)
"Sew Boots!" (what shoes do you want to wear? It's ALWAYS snow boots.)
"Too bad."
"I seepy too."

Adelaide:
"Hey, I didn't organize that Grampie was home today!" And she didn't realize it either. 
"And now I will repair for take-off." And hopefully prepare, too.

Adelaide to her big sister, as Sadie worked hard to build a fire in the firepit:
"Sadie, you are the best fire-pit builder EVER. When I grow up, I'm going to be a good fire-pit builder just like YOU." 

Josie, to me, as I ran alongside the Powerwheels Jeep carrying her and Jed and chased Adelaide on her bike: "Yah, mule! Yah!"

"Sadie, do NOT take any more blankets in the living room to pile up for your sleeping pallet!"
"But MOM, the flord is har!"
"But Sadie, you are a pat rack!"

What a Mess!

“Look at this mess!”

How many times have you caught yourself saying this, moms?

I don’t know about you, but I seem to channel my mother’s voice at least twice a week. Here are some of the messiest messes that I’ve run (stumbled, slipped, slid) across in my tenure as a mom:

Washing a diaper in the washing machine. This is SO annoying. You open the washer, start taking out your “clean” clothes and find a billion little sticky gel balls all over EVERYTHING. Not only do you have to rewash the load of laundry, you have to spend 45 minutes cleaning “super-absorbent power crystals” out of the holes in your washing machine. And you can only hope it was a clean diaper.

Eggs. My little girl opened the refrigerator door and an entire carton of eggs somehow fell out and landed on the floor with a splat. It was such a sticky, slimy mess. I just stood and looked at it. I mean, how do you even begin to clean something like that up? Paper towels don’t help one bit. You try to wipe them up and those eggs just slide right out of there. I ended up using the dustpan and a LOT of Clorox wipes.

Dog poop on shoes. Whether it’s from your own (pre-scooped) yard or from an irresponsible dog-owner in the park, your child’s shoes (especially boots with thick tread) are a magnet for dog poop. There’s just no easy way to go about digging the poop out from between those crevices. A stick? A pencil? A Q-tip? Doesn’t matter. It’s all disgusting, and no water hose has enough pressure to give you adequate help.

Prickers. Last fall, my daughter ran into a pricker bush (I don’t know the scientific name) next to our garage. This particular bush has very pretty flowers in the summer, but in the fall, it becomes a gigantic evil reverse-porcupine pincushion. She had on, of course, a pink fleece coat. Those prickers got stuck EVERYWHERE. After we both worked on plucking them out for hours, I just eventually gave up and got her a new coat.

Oh no.. they were all in one basket, too.

Play-doh. Every kid loves Play-doh, right? And I must admit, it does keep them busy (and even quiet!) for hours. But is it worth it when you find the leftovers dried up and ground into the carpet? It’s impossible to get out, so you step on a hard, crusty reminder of all that fun every time you walk barefoot down the hallway.

Sugar (or flour). My kids love to cook and bake. I like for them to help, too (it’s always one lesson closer to them doing all of the cooking instead of me!) One of my favorite messes has to be when sugar gets all over the floor. Don’t you just love the gritty, crunchy feeling of walking around on that stuff on your kitchen floor? I know I do.

Poop under fingernails. Have you ever been a little less careful than you should have been while changing a stinky diaper? I have. Have you ever had baby poop under your fingernails? I have.


Throw up. Every mom has been through her share of midnight cleaning raids, aka “a stomach bug.” Cleaning up “throw up” is, in my book, the most disgusting thing in the world. Slimy. Stinky. Uncontainable. Gagworthy. Everywhere.

Goldfish crackers in water. Maybe I’m the only one that this has happened to. I hope so. My girls put some goldfish crackers in a cup of water on the top bunk of their bed, then proceeded to forget that it was there. That is, until they accidentally kicked it over and it dripped all over the bed, down the side rails, and onto the bottom bunk. Nasty, days-old cheddar goldfish cracker soup smells like you would not BELIEVE. We had to fumigate their room for DAYS.

Glitter, mud, strawberries, sprinkles, diaper cream, syrup, toothpaste, milk, Styrofoam “beans,” toilet paper, bubbles, painting the dog… I could go on and on.

Parenting is a messy business. Children are not for the neat!

What’s the biggest mess you’ve ever had to clean up?

The Drama from Your Mama

Being a mom is very confusing.

One minute, my daughter was dancing around without a care in the world, singing, "This is the best day of my life!" and the next, she was throwing herself face-down on the bed while moaning, "Nobody likes me! I should just go eat worms!"

Girls seem to be a bit over-dramatic – at least mine are.

And I have THREE of them.

My 4-year-old was upset over some injustice (wrought by Yours Truly) and she sobbed, “You are the baddest mom in the world! Even in the whole LAND!”

Wow. In the whole LAND, people! I guess I might’ve lost sleep over this, had she not changed her mind roughly 12 seconds later and exclaimed, “You are the very best mom! I am going to hug you and never let go!”

With this sort of thing going on, I'm not sure exactly what's going to happen around here as they get older. When they become teenagers (they will all be teenagers at the same time for several years) and the hormones really start flowing, is my house going to implode or something? Is the roof going to blow off?

Today while building a garden box with her dad, my oldest ran into the kitchen and proclaimed, “I am a horrible, awful, terrible, completely worthless gardener! I spilled dirt everywhere, I keep dropping every single thing I pick up and I almost hit Daddy in the face with the rake! I am the worst!”

Five minutes later, she ran back outside, nonchalantly informing me: “Gotta get back out there! I’m the best gardener ever, you know.”

My husband has already told me that I'm just going to have to handle “those teen years.” He says that he's going to go into the bedroom, close the door and not come out until after they all turn 18.

One night after watching a particularly dramatic sob, flounce and exit sequence, I asked him, "What makes you think that I know how to deal with this?"

He answered, "Because you are exactly the same way.”

But I am definitely NOT. He is the worst husband in the whole LAND and I think he should just go eat worms.

--from my 5/21/13 post for www.mentorpatch.com 

13 Ways Moms are Like Celebrities

Happy Mother’s Day to all of you over-working, under-sleeping, multi-tasking, laundry-doing, ever-loving moms!

Today I’d like to turn your attention to how WE, the moms, are like celebrities. No, we don’t have tons of money and we don’t spend $500 on a new purse. But take a peek at these striking similarities:

1. Your name is a household name. Let’s face it. Everyone knows you’re a mom. You have that “mom look” about you. And anywhere you hear your name (even from complete strangers at the grocery store, the library, the park) you always look up and answer, “What?”

2. People follow you around everywhere. You have your own special version of the paparazzi. They always know where you are. They show up uninvited and usually, they make a nuisance of themselves.

3. Wherever you go, people scream and cry for you. Your time and attention are in high demand. You are number one on the Most Desirable People List.

4. You have a chauffeur. Oh, wait – I meant you ARE a chauffeur.

5. You have your own talk show. It’s called Sit Down for Dinner, and you, the host, spend half an hour trying to interview unforthcoming people to find out what the heck they have been up to and why. Sometimes, they jump up and down on your couch like Tom Cruise.

6. You spend thousands of hours “on the road.” Granted, you’re not going to Aspen, Rome or the French Riviera. But play group, Sunday School, the museum and summer camp are close seconds.

7. You have to entertain crowds of screaming fanatics (and sometimes, all of their friends.)

8. You get no privacy. Not even in the bathroom. If you lock the door, someone can usually figure out how to unlock it from the outside. Otherwise, you’ll be able to see their fingers sticking through under the crack at the bottom . Come on, they just want to be close to you.

9. Someone is always pulling at your clothes or throwing their (dirty) underwear at you. Or socks.

10. You set trends. You come up with fashion-forward ideas like matching holey yoga pants with mismatched flip-flops in the dead of winter. Or this season’s newest look: coffee-splattered t-shirts half-tucked into mud-splattered jeans with cowboy boots. And trending for summer: hair that sticks up in front and looks like a rat’s nest in back along with a great-looking sunburn because you used up all the sunscreen on your 2-year-old’s voluminous cheeks.

11. You’re always being quoted. Quotes will usually be unforgettable gems starting out with, “But Mo-om, YOU said….” or any random bad word that has inadvertently come out of your mouth sometime in the past six months. Quotes are usually conveniently remembered either during prayer at church or at your in-laws’ house.

12. Your fans adore you. They want to be just like you , so you better be careful what you say, do, eat, wear, read, watch…. Oh, forget it. Just be careful how you live.

13. And the best thing about being a celebrity mom? You already know it. You love your biggest fans more than anything else in the world. 


--from my 5/21/13 post for www.mentorpatch.com

A Mom's Rant: Brought to you by Girls' Clothing

I am annoyed by many things.

Here’s a short list: whistles, whining, garden hoses that won’t un-kink, Christmas lights of any sort, electrical cords, people who yell at other people that they are “intolerant” (doesn’t this neutralize any “intolerance” that they themselves claim to have?), dog poop, pens that don’t work, shoestrings that are too short, people who don’t pull over to the curb when they are getting a ticket, repetitive noises, car alarms, dead batteries, bullies, Abercrombie & Fitch, weeds that grow between bricks, when people think I’m ignorant because I have a southern accent, radio commercials, pollen, background TV noise, caution signs that read “BUMP” (seems like it would be just as easy to fix the bump as to put up a sign) and a myriad of other things.

However, since summer is coming up and I have three daughters, I have decided to focus my annoyance on one thing (for the moment, anyway.) That thing is: girls’ clothing.

Shopping with my daughters should be fun. Usually it is, but the other day as my 9-year-old and I looked through row after row of skimpy swimsuits and super short summery shorts, she asked, “Why do they sell stuff like this for kids?” She’s a smart girl, and that’s a good question. She seemed curious and frustrated at the same time when she found a section of padded bikini tops in the girls’ 8-10 section. “This stuff doesn’t seem very modest,” she added, with a roll of her eyes.

I would have to agree. When I was growing up, if I had tried to leave the house in some of the things being marketed to our young girls today, my daddy would’ve sent me straight back to my room to change and/or put on a sweater.

I am annoyed – and offended, I might add – that so many of today’s stores and designers seem to be selling sex to our daughters. Don’t they grow up too soon as it is? Why would we want to buy them underwear printed with the words “Feeling Lucky?”

I’ve said it before (When Did Halloween Get So Trashy?) and I’ll say it again:
Whose brilliant idea was it to start dressing our little girls like grown (and immodest, at that) women? Why is this okay?

Call me old-fashioned. Call me style-less. Heck, just call me crabby. I may very well be all of these things (and worse), but it’s not just about clothing. Being modest is about so much more than that. It’s about self-respect. It’s about dignity and having people like you for YOU, not for what you’re wearing (or NOT wearing.)

I’ll be honest with you – as the mother of three girls, I’m worried about this issue. As styles get skimpier and skimpier and the whole “sex sells” idea permeates more and more of our culture, it’s getting harder and harder to teach girls that they are MORE than just a pretty face – more than some boobs and a perky backside. It’s getting harder and harder to convince them of the truth: that their worth isn’t based on their outward appearance and that they do not have to believe what they hear (or see)!

I know that’s “what’s in the stores.” I know that it’s hard to find other styles. I know that girls want to wear stuff that’s “in,” stuff that’s popular – stuff that people in magazines are wearing. But newsflash: we don’t HAVE to buy that stuff. We are the parents. We have the money. If the stores aren’t moving the short shorts and the skimpy, low-cut tank tops, then they WILL get something different. If we complain, if we tell the manager, if we write some emails to corporate offices… we could really change some things.

Of course I’m not suggesting that girls need to wear puritanical dresses and veils, but we have to teach our girls to be strong minded individuals who value themselves and are capable of making rational decisions about their bodies and yes, even their choice of clothing. Yes, I know that as their mother, it’s my job to do that. But the fact is that they LIVE in the culture that surrounds them. No matter what I teach them, they will (in some way or shape or form) be affected by our culture, and to put it bluntly, this part of our culture is just stupid.

Is it any surprise that the US is full of thousands and thousands of young girls who are suffering from eating disorders? Or that kids are having sex at younger and younger ages? In a world where sexual exploitation and “gendercide” of females are taking place at an unbelievable rate, shouldn’t we have something better to offer as role models than unrealistically thin models dressed in string bikinis? Shouldn’t our stores offer little girls’ clothing that looks like it should be worn by (gasp) LITTLE GIRLS?

Make no mistake – our children are being objectified by retailers and we are PAYING them to do it.
Shouldn’t parents be infuriated by this? Or at the very least, annoyed?

Our daughters deserve better.

Diah Hayes

I love that boy so much I can't stand it.

Yes, I think I'm completely in love with a 2 year old.

I love the way he looks in my eyes and laughs this silly little giggle.
I love the way he grins and slyly says, "Peeeease? Pease, Mom?"
I love the way he runs with this weird little "hitch in his giddy-up" and holds his arms bowed out to the sides.
I love how says his sisters' names: Addy-aide, Docie, Say.
I love how he saunters in and says, "ROCCCCO! We home!"
I love his question words: "Whure? Who? What? No? (which means "I don't know)
I love how he says his name: "Diah Hayes" or, more recently, "Boy."
I love how he yells, "I wub YOUUUUUUU!" through the door when I put him down for his nap.
I love how he comes into the room and says, "Hey-doh."
I love how he sneaks into my bed and says, "I snuggle. Nursey! Read. Book."
I love how he yells "Ant! Ant!" and will stare at bugs for half an hour at a time.
I love his crazy hair and his chubby hands and his big feet and his fat little knees.
I love how he says "Whure Dad?"
I love how he sneezes and says "Bess you!" to himself.
I love how he kicks his toys to the side and says, "Scu me" to his fire truck. 
I love how he dances a crazy dance with his hands on his hips and a giant smile on his face.
I love his pointy, Christian Bale-like teeth and his teeny little dimple.
I love how every morning, he pulls "a fuzzy" from his blanket and carries it around with him.
I love how he gives in when he thinks someone is crying and how he is so SWEET.
I love how he says, "I pray! God, pray, God, Donut, God. Amen."
I love how when he falls down sometimes he jumps right back up and says, "I fine!" 
I love how he gives hugs (and pats on the back) and smooches.
I love how he says "I do it. I DOOOOOO it!"

I do NOT love how he steals the Power Wheels and tries to drive into the street or how he grabs handfuls of dirt and THROWS them into the air or how he takes off his own diaper and pees in the floor and laughs or how he climbs on top of the refrigerator or takes Daddy's tools out to "fix" things, or sticks the keys into the ignition of the car and says, "I DRIVE!"

But, oh, how I love him. 

EMPHasis

Sadie on her first ever motorcycle ride with her dad:
"Believe me, it was a lot of fun. It was the best time I've ever had in my LIFE."

Josie to Grammie and Sadie, who were talking about what slowpokes we are when we were lagging behind them in the parking lot at The Natural History Museum:
"I HOPE THAT YOU REMEMBER THAT I HAVE EXCELLENT HEARING!"

Sadie, in a thwarted compliment attempt:
"Mom, you are a handsome woman!"

Josie, in an attempt that went just as awry:
"You're like a cow, Mom. You're a good mom. Like a cow." 

Adelaide's ideas

"There's a little man that lives inside all of us - and his name's Plaque. I learned that in my Teeth Class."

Adelaide pulled her toy sword out of the crack in the ottoman, held it over her head, and said, "I'm Queen Arthur!"

Chicken Code

“I want to raise chickens because I want to gather eggs. And sell them to our friends and neighbors.”

This is the answer I got from my 8-year-old daughter when I asked her why she’s become so obsessed with chickens.
 
Right now when we “gather eggs,” I send one of the girls out to the extra refrigerator in the garage. They fill a little basket with the eggs they get from the giant family-sized 3-dozen carton from Sam’s Club.

This "egg-substitute" is not cutting it for Sadie. What she really wants to do is gather eggs from actual chickens.

We have plenty of room, plenty of land, a handy dad who can build a proper enclosure and some kids with a great deal of enthusiasm and “want to.”

We homeschool, so this would be a fantastic opportunity for my kids to learn about responsibility, animal husbandry, buying and selling, making a profit and dealing with the public when they possibly might show the birds at the county fair.

So I called the city. I was told that we are not allowed to have chickens at all. Hmm. I was surprised and, honestly, somewhat annoyed. A) I really don’t like being told what I can or can’t do on my own property and B) I don’t want to train my kids that you’ve got to go and ask the government for “permission” to feed your family. Granted, this isn’t necessarily something that's going to keep us from going hungry, but you understand my point.

Don’t get me wrong – I understand zoning. I understand that I shouldn’t be allowed to raise rattlesnakes in my backyard or set up a mobile home next to my garage. I can even understand why we shouldn't have a rooster because, let's face it, roosters are loud (we used to live next door to someone with a rooster in NC and he woke us up every day.) But I don't understand why, if we have plenty of land (we do) and plenty of space between neighbors (we do) and a very willing and eager 8-year-old who actually wants to work and learn about sustainable, renewable resources - why can't we (legally) own three little chickens?

I did some research. In other large cities like New York and Philadelphia, they are beginning to adopt rules that allow chickens within city limits. According to backyardchickens.com, in the city of Cleveland (where most yards are tiny) you can legally have up to three laying hens. But in Mentor, where I have a humongous yard, you can’t have any.

I’m not trying to start a debate or anything. I’m just asking, why?

I decided to write to my very kind and helpful City Councilwoman. She informed me that at this time, there isn’t a Council majority of at least four members that would vote to change what I’m henceforth referring to as the “Anti-Chicken Code.” I also found out that at least a few other people in the area would be interested in changing the code.

I love living in Mentor. I don’t want it to become Farmville or anything like that. I’m not really sure how to go about this, but I think maybe we could initially draft an ordinance to allow citizens in residentially zoned areas to raise a maximum of three hens per household in a well-maintained coop. If necessary, residents could even apply for a permit or receive approval from half of their adjacent neighbors (I bet a dozen fresh eggs would go a long way with some neighbors!) There could be distance restrictions between chicken coops and neighboring properties.

Some friends of mine were allowed to raise chickens in Painesville when it wasn’t technically “allowed” because it was a special project for 4H and homeschooling (even the initial petitioning of the city would be a great learning experience for us.) I wonder if we could we allow it in Mentor for special circumstances, too?

One more thing – I’m not sure I want to try to change a rule if my kids and I are the ONLY ones who want to change it, so I’d really love to hear your opinion – even if it's different from mine.
What are your thoughts on the “Anti-Chicken Code?”

from my 3/22/13 post for www.mentorpatch.com 

Jeddaboody

Whenever we come home from somewhere, Jed runs into the house and yells, "RO-CCO!" We home!"

"I go updairs."

When he was mad at me because I wouldn't give him any candy, he stuck out his lower lip and said. "Whure Kim? Go see Kim."

When he wants me to hold him, he says, "Up! Mama! Up dere!"

Things he likes to say:
"Dog book, Cow book (including looking for the 'bousie' - squeak squeak!"
"Wormer? Wormer?" (his word for caterpillar, which he is obsessed with.)

"Crack my up, bonky head!"
"I seepy too!"

He cracks up when he pulls the hair down into my face and then I blow it back out of my face.

I asked Jed, "Do you like Mommy?" "Yeah." (in his deep voice) "Do you like Dad?" "Yeah." "Do you like Sadie? Josie? Adelaide? Roscoe?" "Yeah." "And what else do you like? "Chicken wings. Pizza."

Jed likes to sing a little song that goes something like this:
"A cracker bowl.
A chicken wing.
A fishin' pole."

There's Magic Everywhere

Last year my girls tried to catch a leprechaun.

The sneaky little fellow refused to be caught, though. That failure resulted in some extensive planning; my girls have been hoping that he would make not only a return trip, but also some mistakes.

Sure enough, last week some “evidence” starting popping up. Sadie, who is 8, discovered some tiny paper shamrocks on the bookshelf that weren’t there the night before. 7-year-old Josie found some magically delicious marshmallow clovers from a box of Lucky Charms in the mailbox. And someone mysteriously repaired the torn picture of a rainbow and a golden egg in one of Adelaide’s books.

After writing down a list of evidence, Sadie asked, “Mom, why do so many magical things happen at our house? I mean, seriously, think about it: fairies, leprechauns, elves, Santa…we’ve got it all. There’s magic everywhere.”

My reply: “I’m pretty sure it’s because your mother has a great imagination. Or maybe it’s just because she’s nuts.”

Earlier this week, all three of the girls went to the library with their dad to build new (and hopefully improved) leprechaun traps. They also got to play games, learn interesting St. Patrick’s Day facts and bring home their own box-propped-up-with-a-stick-traps, “gold coins” and glittery shamrock stickers.
When they got home, they burst through the door to show me their treasures. I heard Sadie explaining to one of her sisters, “Unfortunately, this trap is not what you would call an automatic trap. Since the string is tied to the stick, someone has to man the trap. And I am pretty sure Mom is not going to let me stay up all night to pull this string myself. Maybe the leprechaun will trip on the string and trap himself.”

As they were baiting their traps, Sadie told me, “Leprechauns are born cobblers, you know. They love to make shoes. So he’ll know which one is mine, because mine is very fashionable.”

Josie set hers up in the hallway. She explained: “Well, I have decided that I need to bait it with more than just food, since last year’s didn’t work. So I’ve put in a little bed, a tiny pillow, a picture of a shiny shamrock on the wall and some Lucky Charms. What leprechaun can resist this?”

Adelaide showed me (very specifically) how to set up her trap: “Well, you take this thing and you put it here like this and then you turn this thing this way and put this thing over there and then you set it up like this and then when the leprechaun comes, you yank the string and then BOOM! You got him!”

Then she informed me that when you trap a leprechaun, “you have to lick him on the eye when you catch him. Like this.” She squinched her eyes shut and darted her little tongue in and out like a lizard.
“You do what!? Why?” I asked, completely baffled at this bizarre leprechaun-catching strategy.
“I don’t know… that’s just what the library lady said. To lick him on his eyes.”

After a sudden moment of silence, Sadie and Josie simultaneously burst into laughter. Doubled over, Sadie managed to get out the words, “Not LICK him on his eyes! Haha! LOOK him IN his eyes! Hahaha!”

Adelaide processed this and responded, “Oh. Whatever.”

I told them that I hope they catch one, because I could sure use some gold. I was reprimanded: “They don’t carry their gold around with them, silly. It’s at the end of the rainbow!”

Regardless, there are three new (and improved) traps set all around my house. Here’s hoping that I’m one pot of gold richer by the weekend.

And even if I’m not, there’s magic everywhere.

-from my 3/17/13 article for www.mentorpatch.com 

You're Gonna Miss This - Well, Maybe Not ALL of it...

After all the responses I received to “The Mother of All Playlists,” (including additions like John Mellencamp’s “Authority Song” and Dierks Bentley’s “What Was I Thinking?”) I decided to keep this list thing going for another week.

Here are some other song titles that directly coincide with my motherhood experience. I’d love to hear the “mommy songs” that are on your playlist.

The Gambler – Kenny Rogers
What you become when you try to decide whether or not to smuggle the newborn into the movie theater in her car seat or risk taking the three-year-old into a nice restaurant. Know when to walk away and know when to run – running would probably be the better choice if she has created a gritty, Hiroshima-type cloud from the contents of the pepper shaker and most of the Equal packets.
Something’s Always Wrong – Toad the Wet Sprocket
Well, that’s an understatement. Someone always has a splinter, a hangnail, a loose tooth, a tummy ache, a stubbed toe, an attitude problem, some eggs on their head or a bunch of poop in their diaper.
Shower the People – James Taylor
When you stick all of the kids in the shower at the same time and hose them down. Also the idea that my son gets every time he grabs the sprayer from the kitchen sink.
A Bad Goodbye – Wynonna
When you’re trying to go on a date with your husband and your kids don’t want you to leave. You say, “Love you! See you in a couple of hours!” They say, “NOOooooo! Don’t weave me! WAaaahhh!”
If You Leave – OMD
Usually happens after A Bad Goodbye. Go ahead, hum this one: “If you leave, I will cry, I will dump popcorn on the floor, I promise to open the cupboards and climb in the refrigerator… I’ll paint the dog and jump in the bathtub – with my PJs on… every second, every moment – I’ve got to, I’ve got to make you come home….”
Are You Lonesome Tonight? – Elvis Presley
"Because I am! As a matter of fact, I’m SO darn lonely that I’m going to bang my forehead against the slats of this crib until sometime comes in here and gives me some attention!"
Walking After Midnight – Patsy Cline
When the baby won’t stop crying after you feed her, rock her, sing to her, swaddle her, beg her, do magic tricks for her and stand on your head for her. Sitting down would just be unacceptable, so you go walking up and down the hall – at midnight, at 1:00am, at 3:00am – you get the idea.
Lion Sleeps Tonight – The Tokens
When your grumbly, roaring, haircut-needing, biting little monster FINALLY conks out for more than 3 hours at a stretch.
Just to See you Smile – Tim McGraw
A mom will do ANYTHING to see her baby smile. Goofy dances, crazy faces, bad celebrity impressions, ridiculous songs, corn teeth (or maybe that’s just me). Anything.
Here Comes the Sun – The Beatles
The last thing you want to see through the blinds when your eyes are still matted together, you’ve slept for all of 47 minutes, your hair still has toothpaste in it from a toddler altercation the night before and you do NOT feel like making breakfast.
I Want To Hold Your Hand – The Beatles
What you sing in the grocery store parking lot when everyone jumps out and takes off for the candy machines by the entrance.
Saturday Night Fever – The Bee Gees
This dreaded song is usually accompanied by throwing up, a frantic search for Tylenol, a midnight run for some Ginger Ale and some sweaty, stinky snuggling – in YOUR bed.
Call Me Maybe – Carly Rae Jepsen
Your cell phone rings and all you hear is loud breathing, some thumps, a crash, a squeal, a little voice saying “Mamamamama! Poop! Googie!” followed by Grammie’s voice saying, “Hey, when did you learn to push redial?” Click.
Just My Imagination (Running Away With Me) – The Temptations
“A gigantic spider! On the ceiling! A sound! I heard a sound! Something is in my closet! There’s a bird in here! There’s a skunk in the basement!”
Peaceful Easy Feeling – The Eagles
When you’re finally outside in the sunny yard on a blanket watching the kids eat popsicles and play in the baby pool. You have nowhere to go, nowhere to be, a glass of iced tea in one hand and a book in the other. No one is crying – for the moment – and dinner is already in the Crockpot.
You’re Gonna Miss This – Trace Atkins
It’s hard to believe when you’re dealing with a tantrum, a sinus infection, a broken collarbone, a biter and a late night pee-in-the-bed incident, but truer words were never spoken. If you’ve never heard this country song and you’re a mom, well, all I can say is: get yourself some tissues and listen.

--from my 3/3/13 post for www.mentorpatch.com 

Sadie and a Haircut, 2 Bits

Tonight I took Sadie to get a haircut. She decided she wanted it short in the back and long in the front. It looks pretty cute on her - she's growing up so fast now that I don't really know how to deal with it. I've been trying to talk to her more about things, though. Like tonight, when we got finished at "the haircut store," we went over to the mall. I had to go in Victoria's Secret (which I try not to do) and so we had a nice discussion about modesty and keeping your body as a special gift for your husband. I tried to explain it like if she had a special present that she'd been saving and saving for a long time for just the right person, she wouldn't want to just run out and give it to the first person she saw walking down the street. She'd want to make sure she gave it to just the right person - one who would appreciate it and not take it for granted and who would LOVE her so much.

Anyway (after a pretzel and a Julius), she also wanted to stop in at the Kidgits Playground - even though there was no one else with us. So we did, and even though she was the biggest kid in the playground, she got right in there and started running around just like always. She jumped off the big baseball, she climbed up on the Cow that Jumped Over the Moon, she climbed in the rocket and tried to fly it. Then she went right over to the little kids that were playing... she helped a little 2 year old boy climb up on the cow, then she climbed up behind him and held him so he wouldn't fall off. She played with a little 4 year old girl who totally took right up with her - she kept turning upside down on the tunnel and yelling "Boo!" and the little girl would just crack up. I loved watching her with all these kids - from 1 all the way up to 5 or so... Sadie towered over all of them, but she had the sweetest look on her face - you could tell she was just happy to be playing with them. And they all followed her around like she was the Pied Piper or something - she had them playing tag and holding hands and playing "the jumping game" and she made sure no one was left out. I guess little kids can tell who is gentle - and who is a friend - right away. I just love that girl.

What's your name?

A big "T" comes on the screen of our new TV when you first turn it on.

I said, "What is that T for?"

Sadie replied, "Oh, that's just the name of the TV. Its first name is 'T.' Its last name is 'V.'"

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 Now, whenever I ask Jed what his name is, he replies, "'Diah Hayes." Cutest thing ever... but why doesn't he just say, "Jed?" Have I already resorted to calling him by his full name??

Mother of all playlists

Earlier this week I looked through my iTunes playlist to see if there was anything I could delete (I’ve become somewhat addicted to Pandora, so I need more space for new songs – ie: anything by Zac Brown.)

As I scrolled through, my kids were chattering away in the background (as usual.) I happened to come across the old Eric Carmen song All By Myself and I thought, “Wow, being all by myself sounds pretty darn good at this moment.”

This led me to my newest list:

Songs for Moms. I had so much fun with this that I think I might have to do two lists.
Now, the lyrics of these songs do not necessarily coincide with the plight(s) of motherhood. It’s more the titles that I’m interested in. Keep in mind that this list came from my personal music collection. Therefore, you’ll probably think it’s pretty lame. I tend to like old stuff, since I am old myself.

All By Myself – Eric Carmen
Isn’t this every mom’s dream? I wanna be… all by myself! In the bathroom, all by myself!
Beast of Burden – The Rolling Stones
This is what I have become. I find myself carrying diaper bags, overnight bags, at least one kid, a purse, a set of keys, a violin, some yoga mats, a water bottle and a box of animal crackers pretty much everywhere I go.
Somebody that I Used to Know – Gotye
Not only is this my 4 year old’s “very favoritest” song, but this is also what I sing when I look in the mirror. Who is this person with the frizzy hair, the dark circles under her eyes and the flab from four babies where her jeans should be zipping? Yeah… let’s top that off with my mother’s voice is coming out of her mouth, too. Yep, I’ve turned into somebody that I used to know.
Pour Some Sugar on Me – Def Leppard
My 2-year-old son’s theme song. He chases me around the house saying, “Can-nY? Can-nnYYY? PEASE! Do-dut! Ice Cweam! Want some!”
Don’t Stop Believin’ – Journey
You sing this to your kids when their cousins tell them that there is no such thing as Santa Claus.
Mama Said – The Shirelles
The answer to pretty much every single “Why?” question that I hear throughout the day. I counted once – it’s roughly a total of 237.
Every Little Thing She Does is Magic – The Police
What you think about your little girl when she starts cooing, laughing and babbling. And then again when she’s five, gets a $4 magic set and says, “Hey! Watch this twick!” every five minutes.
Feels so Right – Alabama
What your 4-year-old tells you when she just CAN’T figure out which shoe goes on which foot – after you try to teach her EVERY SINGLE DAY for the previous SIX MONTHS. It’s on the wrong foot! “But, Mommy, it doesn’t feel wrong! It feels so right!”
Every Step You Take - The Police
Every move you make, every breath you take, every step you take – they’ll be watching you. Yes, they are, in fact, little pint-sized stalkers.
I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For – U2
I put the cereal in the dishwasher and I put the milk in the microwave. I put dirty clothes in the bathtub and I put yogurt on the washing machine. I put my iPad in my sock drawer and I put my Bible behind the coffee maker. I doubt I’ll ever find my original set of keys and there’s absolutely no hope for that earring I misplaced last week.
First Time Ever I Saw Your Face – Roberta Flack
This one’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? I’ve loved all four of my babies with a desperate, heart-wrenching love from the very first moment I saw their scrunched up little faces in the delivery room.  These lyrics have been printed out and permanently attached to every “Baby’s First Year” book in this house.

from my 2/24/13 post for www.mentorpatch.com 

You're Not That Special

It seems like some people only think about themselves.

You see the evidence everywhere these days: rude drivers, foul language, bad tempers and frivolous lawsuits. I'm guilty of selfish thinking, too – I’ll be the first to admit it.

Where does this behavior (in adults, especially) come from? It had to start somewhere.

I want my children to grow up to be good citizens, good people, good friends. I certainly don't want them to end up with a “me-first mentality.”

How to avoid it, though? How can I train them to avoid being contaminated by the selfishness that's around us every day? I can’t help but think of how we are constantly bombarded with reality shows, teased by ads for $2500 shoes and made aware of millions of political campaign dollars spent recklessly in our country while thousands of Americans are out of work, cold and even starving.

At the risk of sounding like an old fogey (do people even use that word anymore?) I've noticed that "kids these days" seem to be entering young adulthood with a sense of entitlement. They expect success (and the accolades and rewards that come along with it) even if they've done nothing - or very little - to earn it. They think they’re special - and then when they aren't treated that way in “the real world,” they become highly offended, dejected – even despairing.

Why?

Other than the obvious media hype, there must be other things, too. I've been thinking about this. I try really hard to make my kids feel like they’re special. They are special to me, to their families, to their friends, to God.
But are they better than anyone else? Nope.
Wow. Now that I type that out, it seems much more like a concrete truth. I don't want to raise them with a sense of entitlement. How can I teach them that while they are important – and even “special” – that they don't deserve "special treatment?"

These days, it seems like there’s a trophy for everyone. No one wants to feel bad – and of course no one wants their kids’ feelings to get hurt, including me. But guess what? If my child never feels bad – if she never has to learn to deal with feelings of rejection or sadness, then how the heck is she supposed to deal with those feelings when she’s an adult? Childhood is training for life!

I guess what I’m trying to say here – even to sort out in my own mind – is this: am I doing things that might cause my kids to be inconsiderate? To feel entitled?

I recently read something along the lines of this: If a little bit of praise is good for a child’s self-esteem, then a LOT of praise must be great for a child’s self-esteem. Right?

Hmm. I don’t think so. If I praise my child for regular old everyday things, like: “Hey, good job brushing your teeth! Good work hanging up your coat! You are the best scooter rider ever!” just so they’ll feel good about themselves, doesn’t it downplay the times when they actually work hard to achieve something? In their heads, they must be thinking, “What’s the big deal? Anybody can brush their teeth. Sheesh.”

I don’t want them to feel good about themselves because I am proud of them. Who knows? I may not be around forever.

No, I want them to feel good because they are proud of themselves.

I want them to feel good because they earn that feeling – because they actually accomplish something or they help someone or they stand up for what they believe is right.

Not because they are entitled.

-from my 2/24/13 post for www.mentorpatch.com 

Self-Esteem Building with Adelaide

Today's self-esteem builder, brought to me by Adelaide, age 4: 

A: "Hey, you don't look like my mom."
Me: "Oh? Who do I look like, then?"
A, in all seriousness: "Well, kind of like a witch."

Adelaide has seen the wind!

She's got it! Adelaide has finally "got" rhyming. No more weird "Have you ever seen a bear eating some cheese?" or "Have you ever seen a dog wearing a hat?" Nope! She's got it! "Have you ever seen a goat riding a boat?" and "Do you ever see a chair wearing underwear?" Down by the bay! Yahoo! She's got it!

I was beginning to wonder... I think it helped that she memorized "The Wind" by Christina Rossetti.

Poetry "reading"

Family Valentines

I’ve always loved Valentine’s Day.
 
When I was a little girl, I loved signing teeny little cards and sealing them with teeny little stickers. I loved putting notes in my friends’ cardboard mailboxes, and I loved reading all the valentines I would get in return from them.

I loved the big red paper heart my mom always put on the kitchen door and the cupcakes she made for me with heart-shapes stuck in the icing.

I remember getting a gift from my daddy every year: flowers, a basket holding two little stuffed white kittens with pink ribbons around their necks and a little pin with two teddy bears sitting on a loveseat (I still have it, thirty years later.)

When your parents make you feel extra special, those times that stick with you.

This week, my husband took our three girls to a program at the library called Chocolates for Dads and Daughters. Together, they taste-tested all kinds of chocolate, played a guess-the-candy game (think Swashbuckling Trio = Three Musketeers) and then the four of them made chocolate-dipped spoons (with sprinkles!) and little Hershey Kiss rose bouquets.  

When I asked 7-year-old Josie what the best part was, she thought for a second. Then she said, “Well, I liked making the roses, but my really favorite part was having Dad there. He acted like a kid. He did crafts with us and everything.”

Later on in the week, we spent an entire evening making homemade valentines (and I don’t mean Martha Stewart homemade. I mean pink-construction-paper-stickers-and-creativity-homemade.)
It was fun to see their final products, though: little lop-sided happy faces, slanted hearts and squiggly handwriting proclaiming “I love you Mom!” or “You’re cute!” or “I love my family!”

This is the first year that 4-year-old Adelaide has been able to sign her own name and use scissors well enough to cut hearts from paper (well, sort of.) She also made a collage with pretty valentine-y pictures she found in a magazine.

Jed, her 2-year-old brother, “helped” her by stealing the glue-stick and rubbing it all over the table and then his head. He also tried to swipe her scissors while yelling “I cut! I CUT!”
8-year-old Sadie, decorator extraordinaire, put herself in charge of covering the kitchen and family room with hearts, cupids and pink paper lanterns.

Once the house was appropriately decorated, we played a game I found on-line called “Don’t Eat Pete.” It’s very simple – just a sheet of paper with 9 cute little Valentine monsters on it. After we put a little candy conversation heart on each monster, one person had to leave the room. Everyone else looked at the paper and decided which monster was “Pete.” Then the child who left the room came back in and started taking the hearts off one by one. But if the child grabbed the heart on the monster designated as “Pete,” everyone else yelled “DON’T EAT PETE!” and cracked themselves up.

The game was a rousing success. We would’ve played longer, but after our fifth round, Jed gobbled up half the candies while we were trying to decide which monster was going to be Pete.

Later, we made heart tarts with puff pastry and strawberry jam, and then the girls helped their dad make some chocolate-covered strawberries and bananas for me.

Now, I like a chocolate-covered strawberry just as much as the next girl, but one thing I’ve learned about Valentine’s Day over the years is this:

The sweetest thing of all is spending time with my family.

-from my 2/17/13 post for www.mentorpatch.com 

Investigations by Josie

Josie now calls her brother "Sonny Boy." Her brother, in return, goes around saying, "My turn! My turn! My turn! My turn!"
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She also recently learned to do 3 digit addition. This is the strange conversation we had that followed her first page of them: "Mommy, PLEASE can I have more math problems? PLEASE!!!?"
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Adelaide wanted to use the battery-powered screwdriver that Jed and Josie were using to "work" on a block of wood in the family room floor. It was rightfully her turn, and she told Josie so. Josie told her, over and over, "Wait! Can't you see that I'm INVESTIGATING something!? I will let you have it when I am done with my INVESTIGATION! Seriously! This is a serious INVESTIGATION that I am INVESTIGATING!"

************************

And Josie still says "Breftast" and "Callapillar." I don't correct her anymore because, honestly, I don't want her to stop saying it that way.

Do Storks Honk?

My kids and I recently started a yoga class.

It’s really for kids, but moms like to join in and pretend that they are working out. At least that’s what I do.

My girls were skeptical at first. They didn’t want to go, they weren’t sure about taking off their socks, they didn’t know the poses, blah blah blah.

I’m pretty sure I was even more skeptical than they were. A yoga class for KIDS? How can kids do yoga? Isn’t it all about breathing, peace, quiet and relaxation? (These are four areas in which my children do not tend to excel .)

Today when we arrived, Jedidiah (age 2) took off his coat and yelled “Soos! Off! Soos!” then he stole his sister’s mat and draped it over his head.

Then there was a minor incident amongst my daughters regarding who would get the dark purple yoga mat and who would get the light purple yoga mat. (Really, people?) Finally, everyone found a spot and sat down.

The teacher was great. She kept them focused, interested and laughing. She explained how each of us is like an onion with three layers: spiritual, mental and physical. Yoga helps rejuvenate and sustain each layer.
She started off the class by having everyone wake up their entire bodies. As you can imagine, this involved a lot of jumping, wiggling and spinning.

Next was the fireworks pose. Zip! Hands zoom into the air. Boom! Hands clap over heads. Woooooooo. Hands fall back down to sides. This was a major hit.

After that was the lion pose. Apparently, it’s really fun to stick your tongue all the way down to your chin and ROAR like crazy.

Then they flapped their arms while they did the stork pose. There were a couple of honks from the back of the room. (Do storks honk?)

They enjoyed practicing what she called the “downward-facing doggy-dog” position. Jedidiah copied his sisters. He bent over, head between his knees, little butt up in the air. This was followed by a loud, inevitable toot – which was then followed by inevitable giggling.

They turned into cobras, flat on their stomachs with their heads up – searching for (nonexistent, thankfully) rats and mice.

They balanced on one foot to do the tree pose. The teacher said, “What beautiful trees! Look how those branches sway in the wind!” Someone lost their balance and called out “Timmm-ber!”

She also taught them a modified frog pose, which really worked out the old thigh muscles. The kids cried out for more, but the moms cried out, “Please stop!”

My favorite part of the whole class was the last pose, called Shavasana. You are supposed to relax and feel yourself melt into the floor. Everyone is supposed to be quiet and calm.

I have a sneaking suspicion that it was every mom’s favorite part. I wish it lasted longer.

The teacher rang the chimes. Then we bowed and said “Namaste,” which means “My soul bows to your soul.”

Afterward, the kids ran around playing freeze tag. I heard the occasional shout of “Namaste!”
I guess it can also mean “My soul unfreezes your soul.”

It just goes to show you – you can take the kids to yoga, but you can’t calm them down.

-from my 2/10/13 post for www.mentorpatch.com 

February Funnies

"I am not a nomad! I'm an Egyptian!" "Well, I'm an Indian princess from Pondicherry!" "No, I'm the president!" "Well, I'm a teenager, so there!"
*********************
 Discussion of a possible beach trip: Me: I hope there are tide pools close by! Josie: I hope there are lots of seashells! Adelaide: I hope there is a squished dead bird head! ....
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Sadie, pointing to the back of her knee: "This right here is my leg pit." 
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So my iPad (Siri) just called me Monkey Butt Stinkhead Poop Face. Looks like I'm going to have to use a passcode....
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Adelaide: I hurt my finger in the door! Me: should I kiss it? A: no. Me: should I laugh? A: no. Me: should I cry? A: no. Me: well, what should I do then? A: "You should call on The Lord, that's what! And say, hey, oh Lord, come over here and help me with my finger!"
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Jed just came into the kitchen with his toy hammer and said (I kid you not), "hammer time!"
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Jed: "I hungie." Me: "What do you want to eat?" Jed: "FOOD!"
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I love the color-blindness and sweet innocence of children. Today when we were talking about civil rights and Dr.MLK, Adelaide said, "Wait... We're WHITE?"     

Solutions for Chubby Moms

I’m not fat.

Okay, so maybe I’m a little bit fat.

I had four 8-pound babies in 6 years – all of my deliveries were C-sections because I have a spinal deformity. I gained 40 pounds with each pregnancy.

I’d lose 30 fairly quickly each time, but then hold on to the remaining ten. Let’s see… 10 lbs. x 4 kids = 40 pounds more than I’d prefer.

I experienced some depression after my last baby. Having weird post-partum hypertension headaches and carpal tunnel in both arms did not help matters. I’m also not one of those moms who shed pounds like crazy while breastfeeding. I was ravenous.

Anytime the babies were nursing, I’d be shoveling food into my face faster than they could suck it out (please pardon the visual.)

My oldest is now 8, my youngest now 2 – and I still haven’t been able to lose all of the baby weight. With my back issues, some days I’m barely able to walk, much less hit the gym early in the morning.

I’m not obese. I don’t eat horribly and I’m not lazy. I ride my bike when the weather allows. I swim when I can. If given the choice between fried or grilled, I choose grilled. I eat vegetables. I drink water. I rarely eat dairy.

But I don’t want to break my leg and have gravy fall out, if you know what I mean.

So, sometimes I’ll eat the watered-down version of what I serve to the kids. For example, if they have cheeseburgers with lettuce, I’ll have…lettuce.

Or if they have PBJs, I’ll have a turkey on wheat.

But when I sit down to eat (which is a rarity, as all moms know), I am constantly distracted by spilled drinks, strange questions, flying forks and requests to go potty. Usually I get up from the table and think, “Wait…Did I eat anything?”

Then I proceed to scrape the leftovers into the trash can – otherwise known as my mouth. Cheese! Gooey peanut butter crust!

I’m pretty sure this is how calories sneak into my body. They’re very stealthy, those calories.

That has to be it, because I’ve stopped eating Oreos. I haven’t had Crab Rangoon in months. My taste buds have forgotten the frozen deliciousness of Mountain Dew Slushies.

Why?

Because I want my kids to make healthy choices. When my little one asks for more cauliflower or says how great the broccoli is tonight, it totally makes my day. But I also want to lose some weight. Not so much for the sake of appearance, but because I need more energy.

So I looked for advice. I came across a study which informed me that moms of children ages 6 and younger are eating worse, getting less exercise and therefore gaining more weight than women who don’t have children.

Wow. Really? This is news?

The main problem I had with this study was the fact that they didn’t even address the extra weight that moms gain while they are busy GROWING A NEW HUMAN.

The study also mentioned that “mothers had a slightly higher average body-mass index than childless women — 27 versus 26.” Gee, a whole point? We are really beefing up. I find it rather hard to swallow (no pun intended) that it’s necessary to make us feel bad over one measly point.

The study went on to say that they weren’t trying to blame moms (oh, thanks very much), but warn them so that they can figure out some solutions. Looking for solutions, are they? How do my solutions sound to you, moms?

• Two years of paid maternity leave, so we don’t have to a) go straight back to work and stress out over breastfeeding, pumping, childcare and housework OR b) stay home and stress out about money, bills and threat of foreclosure. In either case, most of us sacrifice ourselves on the altar of neglect - in favor of our babies, of course.
• A free personal chef/nutritionist/trainer that can single-handedly turn us into the hard-bodied stereotypes that the media wants us all to perceive as “ideal women.”
• Paid time off for new dads, so we can have help with the laundry and fifteen minutes to ourselves once in a while instead of gorging on chocolate and Red Bull just to keep ourselves going past two in the afternoon.
• Healthy food on the value menus at every drive-through. Let’s face it. Sometimes there just isn’t enough time to prepare healthy meals. And why are salads so much more expensive than cheeseburgers?
• Free baby-sitting, so we don’t have to pay money that we don’t have in order to go to a Pilates class (also costing money that we don’t have.)
• Someone to take over at night so we can get more than 3 hours of sleep at a stretch. Did you know that lack of sleep is directly related to weight gain? I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in eight years!

The point is, we all have issues with our bodies. We could all probably eat healthier, live healthier, be healthier. But the focus on my weight – I think I’m just about over it.

Could I stand to lose a little? Yes. Would I feel better? Definitely.

Do I feel bad about that one extra BMI point? No way!

And neither should you.

-from my 2/3/13 post for www.mentorpatch.com 

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.