Mommyhood

5 minutes.

The time that goes by without an interruption, or an explosion of

"MomEEEE!!!!".  

It doesn't matter what I'm doing.

Cooking.

Cleaning.

Folding laundry.

Writing.

Reading.

Taking a bath.

Interruption.

"She took my doll."

"She won't get out of my room."

"She hit me."

"She... They... But can I... Why won't you... Why NOT?!?"

At the end of my rope I grasp, losing my sanity. I can't do this Mommy thing!!  I can't be patient when I need to be. I can't use calm, yet assertive words to get my point across!!!  I can't have a thought long enough to keep it as my own before it is robbed from me!!!

And just when I think I've had more than I can handle, one of them comes to me and says- out of the blue, in the midst of my chaos,

"I love you!!  You're the BEST mommy in the world!!!"

And it all disappears. The frustration melts away, and I am suddenly refreshed with more will, and more strength to live up to what they believe to be true.

I'm a good mommy??

No.  

I'm the BEST mommy!!  

Insecurity: Reader's Digest Version

(minus the preface- because I got a little wordy).


In the 7+ years since I last 'worked' a regular job I have found that my security is still often found in affirmation (or the lack-there-of).  Each and every time I find myself doing something 'new', I look around like a lost child for somebody to 'help' me.  Someone to tell me I'm "doing great".  Someone to rate me.  Someone to constructively criticize me.  Someone to pat me on the back, or kick me in the rear.  I suppose in all actuality, I wasn't just looking for affirmation- I simply looking for something to help me know "how I was doing". 

As a mom, it's hit or miss  (mostly miss) as to whether or not I'm going to get that needed "good job! you're great! I like what you're doing.".  I've learned to look for it in different ways.  Maybe it's when my 7 year old hits a maturity-growth spurt and I see her flourishing as she interacts with her friends at school instead of pouting or whining.  It may be when my 5 year old bounces around the house like the tender-loving-goof-ball that she is singing "I love you, Mommy!  I love you!"  And at times, it's when my 3 year old is quietly playing with blocks instead of deconstructing our living room with markers and paint.

And I am so quick to shoot myself down, so quickly I find something that I lack, something that makes me less-than-decent, I find all of the wrong that I've done, and I see all the ways that I fail. 

I see piles of laundry that beat me down with their odorous stench, reminding me of just how terribly Ido manage my time and my resources.

I see cluttered floors that trip me up and take me further down a few notches, telling me that I should be able to keep a clean house like a 'normal' stay at home mom does.

I see a blog with empty and unfinished post and a book yet to be written half way through, helping me to realize that being a writer isn't where I'm going to find myself anytime soon.

I see chubby thighs and flabby arms that harshly encourage me to forgo my sloth and hit the gym (and stop eating so many Cheez-Its forGoodnessSAKE!).

But if YOU were to tell me all of these things about yourself, I'd knock you off your pity party and remind you of how unfair you were being to yourself.  HECK!  If YOU were to tell me all of these things about MYSELF, I'd defend my cluttered floors and chunky butt with ALL of the reasons why I shan't be made to feel less-than-what-I-am.

Isn't in interesting?!  How insecurity plays tricks and manipulates our thought!?  Isn't it interesting that, in everything a person can accomplish- it's rare to find a true sense of security in so many of us human beings!

I've never looked at a Lion and thought
"Awww.  She'd be able to kill that little baby deer if she'd just stop feeling so badly about herself." 

Lord, NO!  A Lioness knows that if she's hungry, she's gotta hunt, and once she sets her eyes on her meal, she's gonna be eatin'.  And I'm willing to bet that she doesn't feel a bit of insecurity about her ability to feed her lion mate or train her babies to be great lions and lioness'.   

Perhaps that's the problem?  Perhaps I was never trained to be a great mother.  Or a great wife.  Or a great writer.  Perhaps I don't know what I'm suppose to be doing, or how I'm suppose to be doing it.  Perhaps my insecurity comes from something as small as "not knowing". 

That's where the enemy grabs up some trampling ground.  The bible says that Satan is the "author of confusion".  It's true.  He wrote a novel pinpointing all of my insecurities, all of my short-comings, all of my "I don't know what I'm doing's", and he reads it to me daily. 

My failure isn't anything that he says it is.  My failure is simply allowing that 'novel' to be read to me by the author of LIES.

Here's what I know:

God directs my path. 
He will make a way for me. 
He is the official author of Truth, and Love, and Security.


I forget this often.  I am who I am because HE made me who I should be.  If I fail- it's a blessing to learn from my mistakes- not an option to beat myself up.  If I prosper- it's a blessing from HIM and not an opportunity to boast in my ability; but that doesn't give me the right to tear myself down, either.

The Lord used a situation that I was in recently to reveal just how terribly insecure I really am.  I had been starving for an affirming word to the point of tears, and had gotten myself into a pit of emotional malfunction.  God kept whispering "Hey- why are you hoping to find your security in that?"  and I kept ignoring His question. 

Finally, He roared in my heart
"DO NOT FIND AFFIRMATION IN THOSE THINGS!!!  FIND. IT. IN. ME."

I heard Him loud and clear.  And found myself asking questions and hearing answers.  I discovered a few very important life-points that I hope to remember.

A.
If I'm doing anything, I have to be certain that I require no affirmations afterward.  Furthermore- I should expectnothing in return.    Whether it be cooking my family a meal, or building somebody a house.... If I do anything it needs to be out of a genuine heart to "do" and not to "get".

B.
If ever (whenEVER) I find myself in a pit- I have GOT to remember to check the reality of why it is that I'm in that pit.  Did I mess up or am I just being insecure? 

C.
Take the 'playback' and 'predict' off of my options menu. 
DO NOT play back situations that you were in and pick yourself apart.
Stop predicting what someone is going to say and/or do as a way to convince yourself that you shouldn't approach and/or move forward with something you know you should do.  Example: If you need to apologize, don't assume it's going to be a waste of your time because you "know" the other person is going to rip-you-a-new-one.  Just apologize.  


It seems as if many of us are insecure.  I know that among the friends and family that I have, at least those who are willing to admit it, that this is a true statement.  It's not just women, either ya'll.  Men, too.  Maybe even more so.

So I'm not alone in my insecurity.  But I don't want to stay in it, either. 

Reading Above the Lines

My 7 year old is in 2nd grade.  She's been reading above her grade level, and her age since Kindergarten.  We have come to realize that she, somehow, beyond anything we had done,  chose to be exceptional.  She clearly wanted to read, and- per her strong willed personality, she did.  The end.  That's our Butterfly.  That's how amazing she is.

She loves information.  Any and ALL information.  That's why she reads.  That's why she LOVES to read.  Her hunger for knowledge drove her to our bookshelf, time and time, and time again.

And then, there's our Happy Girl. She's 5.  She's in Kindergarten.  She is equally as strong willed.  Equally as determined.  Equally exceptional.  Equally as amazing as her big sister.

 She loves to be involved.  She wants to do what her big sister is doing.  She wants to do what her little sister is doing.  She wants to be able to do what she sees anyone else doing.

At the start of the year, our Happy Grl was one group under the top reading group in her class.  Her teacher saw how capable she was, and requested to move her up to the top group.  This group sped through the Kindergarten reading curriculum and finished it up by the time we reached the half way mark of the school year.  By the end of their Kindergarten career, the group has already jumped into the 1st grade reading curriculum.

Happy Girl wants to succeed!  She wants to do her best, and be her best, and try her best.... IF  (and that's a BIG "IF") it's something that SHE wants to do.  She doesn't want to succeed to impress anyone else.  She doesn't want to be better for anyone else.  It's her own, personal ambition that pushes her to be her best.

We are closing out the school year for 2010/2011.  I met with Happy Girl's teacher today, and was astonished to hear her teacher explain where she had been placed on the "DRA Level" chart.

"By the end of the year, our county students are expected to be at a "4" on this chart.  The students at this school should be at a "6" due to the nature our curriculum.  Happy Girl is at level '20'.

(I scramble pick my jaw up off the floor, and keep my bottom on my seat as she continues to explain the system.)

"Now?   20 is the cap.  It's the highest that we are allowed to place her. She may, actually, score higher than that. But we aren't allowed to test further to see exactly where she's at."


Rewind to the middle of the year.  I had a similar conversation with Butterfly's teacher.  She needed to be at level 20, and she was at level 42.  I did a little dance to my mini-van after I heard this news.  I did a little jig to my car after I heard the news of Happy Girl's accomplishments today.

I found myself questioning how it is that we have these exceptional readers in our house.  I found myself wondering what the KEY to their growth in this specific area stemmed from!?

It's not because I read with them.  I did, a little bit, but not much.  I had plenty of BOOKS available to them, for them to look at, but we didn't do the "every night before bed story time".

Ya wanna know what I concluded?  What I assume is the key?   I'll tell ya about it next time.

I Used to Be Me

I used to have giddy, goofy, dorky, laugh-til-I-almost peed-myself moments.  Out of nowhere, for absolutely NO good reason at all- I'd jump into "I'm such a big DORK" mode and act-a-fool.

I miss that relaxation.  Laughter is the best medicine?  Hook me up to an IV please.   I know it's a season, and I know it's a tough one to be living in right now, but I am missing out on my use-to-be ability to be a free spirit.  I'm still tired and foggy-minded, and slow to gain energy and emotionally blah and high and low.  There hasn't been much room for giddy-goofy dorky me.

That person is still in me, though.  The 20 year old that didn't have any real responsibilities.  The younger me that didn't overly concern myself with when laundry was going to get done, because mine was the only  load that needed to be washed, or what to cook for dinner, because a bag of Cheetos would do just fine.  There's still a non-sleep deprived human being living in me somewhere- somewhere- somewhere?

Taking care of  a family is the MOST thankless job that could ever exist.  We know this to be true.  There is no reward for being a parent.  Nothing tangible.  Nothing concrete.  We can't assure ourselves that our children are going to grow up to be well-rounded individuals.  For GOODNESS sake, that may be the very reason my head is half-gray at 30; fear and stress over whether or not I'm accomplishing much-of-anything good in my motherhood?

It's easy to become consumed.  I talk about this more than I should, but it's just the plain-ol-ugly truth.  It's hard-HARD hard so-dang-hard to do this parent thing.  This mom thing is just hard.

I've never been a 'working' (outside the house) mom, but there are times I wish I had chosen that road.  To be out of our house, working a job that thanked me for my efforts with a pay check and an annual review complete with a written report that stated how awesome I was, and in what ways I can improve.

Wouldn't that be great?! To have an annual review of our parenting?
"Well, Mommy? I've been really happy with breakfast and lunch... but dinner needs some work.  Lighten up a bit on the garlic, and serve more chocolate... Oh, and the way you helped me deal with that girl from school that called me a poo-poo head- that was great! It really helped me to hear that I am really NOT a poo-poo head, and that I shouldn't worry about somebody saying that I am..."

I think that's the toughest part.  I don't know how I'm doing.  I don't know WHAT I'm doing.  I don't know what the results are going to be, I don't know where I'm failing or how I'm failing or how I'm excelling or....  anything!

It's hard to relax when the lives of 3 human beings are on my shoulder.  There are times that the tension in my heart is so great that I literally find myself holding my hand to my chest, wondering if God made some huge mistake in giving me these children.

And, as I write this, He reminds me that I have to be willing to turn THEM over to HIM, trusting that HE will take care of the short-comings that I am sure to meet in raising these girls.  I can't be perfect.  They  won't be perfect.  I have to hand them over..... I have to STOP being insane and stressed and gray-hair-breeding.

I need to be the way I use to.... or something close to it.  Serious, yet Dorky.... Giddy and Goofy...  with a hint of Structure and a side of Carefree.

Taking care of one's self is harder to do when that self has 3 other little lives to care for.

I forgot that I use to be me....

Tell Me I'm Amazing

"Look at me!  Lookatmeeeeee!!!!  Look what I can do!  See?! See!?!  See!"  as my 5 year old, curly blonde haired, gorgeous and stunning blue eyed sweetness  twirls around the living room.

Remember doing that when you were a kid?

I do.

I remember doing the lamest and goofiest, non-awesomest things when I was younger, all the while squealing at the top of my middle-child lungs "Look!!! LooK!!!!!" hoping for a glance from my parents and an "Amazing!!  You're amazing!!" word of encouragement from their lips.  Rare to be found, those words.  I was in competition between an artistic older brother, and an angelic vocalist younger sister.  (I had nada).

I'd try and try to find my place in the talent that seemed to fill my family tree by dancing like a ballerina and pretending that I knew how to play the piano- but instead of getting happy back pats from my parents, I seemed to annoy them more than anything else.

I didn't know where I belonged, and I wasn't sure what I needed to do to be the kid that got the praises that I so wanted to get.  I heard a lot of "you're so pretty" and "nice try", but not much of that strong, sincere "Whoo HOO, Good JOB!".

I've been wondering if maybe I project much of my childhood miss's on my children?
For example: My oldest is super artistic and an outstanding reader.  We praise her ability and tell her how amazing she is- and include character compliments and gratitude for her willingness to be such a great helper to her mommy and daddy.

My youngest is just CUTE and sweet and super adorable.  She's fun (and exhausting) and silly;  We tell her by the attention that we give her just how great  we think she is.

And then there's our middle child.    Anyone that's EVER been a middle child is already putting your hearts pity toward our precious 5 year old.  You know what it feels like, don't you?  The Middle Child.
Not old enough to get the priveledges, and not young enough to get away with ANYTHING!

Without filling her with fluff (because I refuse to lie to my children about WHO THEY are) I try extra hard to find ways to tell our middle that she's awesome.  Yes- she's a great reader and a great artist, too- but those are the thing she's heard her parents say to her sister (they don't seem to 'belong' to her).  And she is SO cute and silly and fun (and exhausting), but again- she hears those things about her little sister.

Our middle needs to find her individuality, the same way that I wanted to find my own- and it's a big job for this Mommy to stand beside her, cheering her on, while she finds it.

 It's true that her older sister can easily "outshine" her and her younger sister can quickly pull attention "away" from her-  so she most definitenly needs extra doses of encouaging words and one-on-one focus from mommy and daddy.

When we are consistent in telling our 5 year old how GREAT she is, I see a difference in her joy.  When our 5 year old is driving us CRAZY with disobedient behavior and a bad attitude- thus causing her to get in more 'trouble' than normal, I see a SERIOUS difference in her joy.

All she wants is to hear "You. Are. Awesome."  She lives for pleasing and pleasant and loving words from her parents, her peers, and her authority figures.  Is that a middle child thing? A girl thing? A personality thing?

I don't know- but I just realized that I can relate to my little girl very well.

I want to hear that I am amazing from my husband, and my peers and my authority figures.  NOT only do I want that encouragement, but I wanna know ALL ABOUT why it is that somebody thinks I'm amazing- details, details, details.

Who doesn't want to hear an edification?  Especially "us" Mommy's.  We are HUNGRY for that affirmation.  Some of us may have husbands that are super at complimenting the 'good works' we've done, and there are some of us that have to pull the eye teeth from our spouses to get them to recognize that they might possibly need to be a little bit more giving with their affirming words.

Either way- I've come to the conclusion that whether it be a girl thing, or a middle child thing- a mommy thing or a personality thing- we ALL want somebody to tell us that We Are Amazing.

I'm so glad that God thinks I'm amazing, and that my children believe that I am, too.  And (when he remembers to voice it) that my husband does, as well.

Now? I have to be willing to Tell "ME" that I'm amazing (and believe it).

BLINK 12/15/08

From December 15, 2008- back in the day when I blogged on Myspace.

"Blink"

I passed through some pictures from just a few years ago.  And I kept thinking to myself, "Why didn't I savor these moments".

Yet, here I am, in THIS moment, consumed by every day life.  Consumed. Incapable of savoring anything.


I think about the baby days from Kyla, just 5 years ago, and I can primarily remember the challenges we were facing that made being a new parent so much harder.
We were trying to decide on a career, because we agreed that being home with our daughter was the best thing for her, which led to living in a home with too much baggage attached to it, (to say the least), and an unbelievable financial struggle.

I remember little things, but I can't remember peace or excitement. I can't remember having the time of my life just because I was playing with my first born daughter.

And I remember being pregnant with Zoe, and in the midst of that, needing to find a new home, and moving into our first purchased home, while continuing to deal with  baggage .  I remember facing struggles the second we came home from the hospital, literally, as we walked into our door we had to deal with conflict and stress.  I remember so little about those first few months.

And here I am now, though able to remember the infancy of my third born child, because it was just a short year ago, but also realizing I've missed the toddler and little girl ages that Kyla and ZOe are in due to a vast amount of... you guessed it... stress. 

I've been consumed.  Desperate to have peace in our home, to get harmony in this teeny tiny house.  From the disorganization to the clutter, atop the screaming drama associated with a 3 year old and a 5 year old cat fight, to the spats with my spouse and the never ending to do list.

I want to enjoy my babies.

I want to savor this short period of time that I have to watch my children grow.

I want to get giddy when my Kyla reads me a book, and when my Zoe does something goofy, even if it involves permanent markers and a freshly painted wall. 
I want to rock  baby Leah just because......I want to hold her and crawl around on the floor with her just so I can hear her little "I'm crawling as fast as I can so you'll chase me" squeal.

And though I realize that there are savored moments I have to cling to, I'm sad because those moments are too few.

Why-i can't I be still, and silent, and enjoy this life?  I do not understand why I seem to consistently feel a knot in my gut due to an extreme amount of unnecessary stress.  My thoughts are filled with "if only he would do his part" "if only they would obey me & quit peeling the paint off of the wall" "if only I could get this house clean and organized"  "if only i ...... if only they..... if only, if only, if ONLY"

Some people are just cool, passive, let it all roll of your shoulder folks, and I wish my daughters had a low stress easy going mama.

 There are too many times I feel at the end of my rope, 

with my fingernails just slightly grasping a tiny thread 

on the very end 

(of that rope).....
 

I don't know how to get to easy, it may not exist

I'm willing to settle for less stress, less chaos.

And even being willing to SETTLE for that, I still have no clue how to get there; and honestly, that freakin SUCKS!

Extreme Girl (Kyla)

Kyla.  She's 7.  We've had big dreams for her before she could even crawl
Well?  I won't call them "dreams", per say, more like "ideas".  Guesses.  Assumptions based on actions.
There ya go.  We've had many "Assumptions" as to what she is going to do, based on her actions...

We assumed she would do something creative with her hands:
One afternoon we found her belly-scooting along the floor toward a sticker that (somehow?) had made it's way onto the linolium.  Her tongue was all but sticking out of her little 5 month old mouth working her teeny fingers over that sticker, diligently maneuvering the end up so that she could peel it back, off of the floor, turn her head over to look at her parents as her hand made it's way to her mouth just before we jolted up from our seats to rescue her  from the germy germs that were about to invade via that oddly placed sticker.
She cried and cried.
I didn't blame her.
She had worked SO VERY hard to get that sticker.  We robbed her of her reward.
And creative she is.

we assumed she would be athletic
She took her first steps at 13 months.  For the first born, we assumed this was quite the late start.  New parents hope for those first steps to take place well before that first birthday.  Our daughter? She didn't need to walk.  She CLIMBED.  On. EVERYthing!
At 7 months, she made her way over to a laundry basket, which had been placed in front of a chair; the chair was beside a small table.  The memory is clear- because we (her parents) were both so very shocked that it had happened.  
We returned to our living room, where we had left our crawling baby, to find her sitting atop aforementioned table... just... sitting there.   
And over and over we watched her master her mountain climbing; atop the laundry basket, into the chair, and then to the table.  We "rescued her" down to the floor (where safety belonged) and she speed-raced back to the laundry basket, and then into the chair, and then to the table... 
Now? She lies down on the floor to do situps and pushups, and races down a snowy bank on an inner tube, running back up the hill over and over, never seeming to tire.  
She randomly runs 7 laps around the outside of our house, and concocts different ways to climb on her swing so that she can hang upside down and flip and twist and scare-the-living-day-lights-out-of-me.  She throws ropes over tree limbs and designs a way to "swing like a monkey"....  She. Is. Athletic.  And creative in doing so.

we assumed she'd be artistic
In an abstract artist sort-of-way.  She drew and colored and she built with blocks, and she did all of those typical toddler things-but she did them all so very uniquely.  She dressed herself by the time she was 2, and seemed to always find a funky hat to go with her funky clothes.  She wore her sunglasses upsidedown, and NO, it was not okay to turn them the right way.  
Now, at 7- she glues things to other things and creates sculptures.  She molds playdough into snowmen, and then transforms them into "snow man penguins"- complete with penguin noses and penguin feet.  She uses charcoal pencils and mimicks a picture I had drawn, and colors stars in gold marker- and uses a black marker to fill in the white paper to make it appear to be a starry night.  


Our daughter is reading above her grade level.  She is WRITING above her grade level.  She is creating stories, and had independently chosen to journal.  In her journals she draws pictures.  Once- she created a clever comic strip.
Our daughter can SING.  Beautifully!!  


It sounds as if I'm rambling on how great she is.  Don't get me wrong.  She is DIVINE.  
She's multi-talented, wildly creative, extremely intelligent.... and compassionate and tender hearted to boot.


As her Mommy, as half of the parental unit- I'm finding myself at a loss.  
How do we help her hone in on the things that she is interested in?  She-Is-Interested-In-EVERYTHING.  
And we cannot DO everything.  
So far she wants to:

Be a dancer (ballet, please)
Be a cheerleader
Take karate
Do "sketches"
Be an inventor 
Play baseball
Take Yoga
Paint
Play guitar
Play piano........


And these are the things she's talked about for OVER a year now.....  

... And Then We Were Speechless

We were in our family van, like any normal Saturday evening.  On our way home from a long bout of errand running.  The grown ups were done.  So were the kids.  Chicken Fried- over cooked- DONE. DONE. BURNT WELL DONE!

We had a fun time out; purposefully shopping for snow mittens (didn't find any), warm hats (found 2), and so forth on the things we needed for the upcoming snow storm.  (In Georgia.  Ya.  They didn't have any milk or bread anywhere either.)

Perspective: Shopping with 3 young girls (ages 3, 5, and 7). More than 3 hours. 

Not serene.  Slightly painful.

The grown ups said,  "Ok.  There is NO talking in this car.  None.  No. One. Is. Talking! Shhhhhhhhhhhh!!"

Our eardrums hurt.  3 girls.  I probably don't have to explain myself as to why we forced quiet time.

This never works. Quiet time.  It's a good theory.  Good idea.  But? It never works.

 Eventually, somebody (a witty one) says something cute or silly, and then it's okay for them to talk, because... well...... they're NOT whining or screaming, or fussing or fighting or being mean to one another.  

It doesn't hurt our ears to hear cuteness. 

We like cuteness.

On this occasion, our eldest (Kyla) spoke first:

  "We really  need to save our money for kids in other countries that have bad teeth.  It's only $250 and we really, really, really need to do it."

Our middle (Zoe) piped in: 

"YES! We do!  And they look really weird and they need to have their teeth fixed really really bad!!."

Kyla said 

"I want to start saving all of my money that I get until I get $250 so I can help them."

(prior to, she had been saving all of her money for an iPod touch.)

"Well? We should actually carefully consider saving money for your teeth just in case you need braces, baby." (Sigh..... )

Kyla replied:

"No, Mommy.  I don't want to just think of myself.  I want to help those kids.  They really need our help, Mommy."

(My head is hanging lower and higher all at the same time as I write this.  

Ashamed that I was so selfish.  Proud that she was firmly selfless.)

"So, what exactly are you talking about? They need their teeth fixed? What do you mean?"

Both girls explained that it was in a magazine I had laying on our couch (you can call it a sofa if you want) and they'd show us the picture when we got home.

Several months ago I bought a Good Housekeeping magazine.

I never read it.  

Forgot that I had it.

Maybe I had stuck in the bathroom? 

They found the magazine and skimmed it over.  

Toward the back they saw a picture that looked something like this:

HOW OFTEN TO YOU GET A CHANCE 

TO SAVE A CHILD'S LIFE FOR $250? 

  

We got home and they enthusiastically showed us their treasure, as if pointing out a new toy that they so desperately wanted; their eyes were filled with anticipation and hope: Can we, Can we, Can we PLEASE!?

And then we were speechless. 

 Us grownups.  Us know-it-alls.  

Us "quiet in the car there is NO talking".

We were blown away.  We were in awe and humiliated. 

Alright.  Forget the past tense- I am still blown away.  

We are STILL speechless. Still in a state of "Wow?"

Our kids? Our girls? These are ours?  

Nope.  They're not.  Well? They are. But- no. And yes. It's yes and no.  The are- but not fully.

We did this whole "Dear God, these are YOUR kids on loan to us. They belong to You.  Use them.  Teach them.  Mold them.  Get us out of the way if need be. Thank You for allowing us the pleasure of raising them.... ." and- stuff- like- that- kind- of- prayer.   

IT wasn't a one time prayer.  It's one of those 'without ceasing' prayers.  

Especially when we're really roughing it: "Lord!?  These are YOUR children... tell. us. what. to. do.  We are FAILING. We gave them to YOU, remember?! Helllllllppppp. US!!!!!!!!!!"

Ya. It makes more sense to me now that I'm writing it all down.  God took us up on our offer.  We opened our hands and let them go- over to Better Hands where they belong.  And HE is using THEM to minister to US!

Are YOU speechless? 

I Am.

So we have a jar.  

And I'm so stoked to follow my children on their journey of giving.  I'm gonna take some notes.  

I'm sure they're gonna teach me a thing or two.....

Surprise!!!!!!!!!!!

We spoke of how much we wanted it.  (He more than I.)
"Well? It'd be a lot of work...." "I know!!! But it'd be really nice to have...."
Ya.  We talked about. But no plans were made.

I decided to just go ahead and do it!!!   It would be a surprise.
(I'm giddy... excited to surprise him.).

After school I let my 7 and 5 year old in on the secret.
"Shhhhh.  Make sure you keep quiet.  Don't say anything about it, okay?!"
"OK MOMMY!!!  WE WON'T SAY A THING!!!!"
We worked hard on our special surprise; I more than they.
It was sweeter to have helping hands in my way so that it could be "from them", "for him".

He was going to be late getting home.
We hid every-single-possible-ounce of evidence as to what his surprise might be.

The girls were instructed "We can't show him until AFTER dinner.  Right? Don't say anything til' after OK?"
"OK MOMMY!!  WE WON'T SAY A THING!!!!!!"

To make it even sneakier, each girl colored a picture for their Daddy, so that when he came home we could announce "We have a surprise!  FOR YOU!!!" and then gift him with their uniquely creative art.

"SHHhhhhh.  Zoe, quit talking about what his surprise is.  When he comes home, we're going to give him his pictures, but DON'T FORGET we aren't going to tell him what his surprise is until after dinner."

"OK MOMMY!!!  I WON'T SAY A THING!!!  I promise.  I won't tell him.  Ok?!  Don't WORRY."

He was later than we thought- so we started eating before he came home.
It was very late for little girls that needed to be snuggled in bed an hour after.
Secret smiles were passed back and forth; fingers to lips when we saw the truck pulling into our drive way.  "Shhhhh.  Don't tell....."

Squeals and excitement when he opened the door,
"DADD-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!!"
Kyla is a fantastic secret keeper.  She loves surprises.  She had her picture ready to hand over, and a secret smile pursed onto her oh-so-precious lips.

And Zoe.  She had already lost her picture.
She was the first to greet him at the door.......
"WE-HAVE-A-SURPRISE-FOR-YOU-AND-IT'S-CAKE, DADDY!! WE-MADE-IT-FORYOU."

(Sigh.)

She was too bouncy and smiley and excited and overjoyed for us to convince him otherwise.
We tried.
Kyla had drawn him a beautiful picture of cake.
"Oh. Ya. See!  Look.  Kyla colored you a picture of cake...."

His grin made it apparent that he wasn't buying it.

But it was, indeed, a special home-made cake.  For him (ahem... and them, the girls).
And we made it together for him.
And we knew exactly what his very favorite cake was.
Chocolate. With chocolate. And a lot more chocolate.

Zoe cut open the mix.
Kyla cracked the eggs.
Zoe measured the water.
Kyla retold yesterdays joke as she was whisking the eggs and oil and water together:
"What does a chef do when he's angry?"  "He beats the eggs and WHIPS the cream."
I laughed again.  She's so witty.

I made the icing.
No recipe, and a lot of "Dear Jesus please make this the yummiest icing we've ever tasted."

The girls licked the spoons and confirmed that God hears us when we pray; big or small.

And it was sweet.  The time we spent together....  The surprise that we made just for him....

Oh!!!  The Cake, too.  It was sweet. Yummy.  And Delicious.

Spider Squisher

Who cares- if it's with in eye sight- I squish whatever bug I can.

I'm not that girly- but bugs- eeeeeK.  I don't like 'em.

My 4 year old has named any, and all black ants "Esa" (eee-suh).  The little red fire ants?  They are "Esa's babies."  Last year (age 3) she decided (through trial and bug-bitten error) that "Esa's babies are MEAN!".

My 2 year old is a copy-cat.  If she hears it, she says it, and claims it as her own.  She now calls black ants "Esa".

Today, in our foyer, "Esa" was crawling around.  She was watching him/her and said "It's Esa.  It's Esa.  See it?  See it, Mommy?"  And- with out thinking, I squished Esa.  (Yay me for winning Crappy Mom of the Year award.)  Thankfully- Leah is cool.  Had it been Zoe, it would have been a SCANDAL for me to have (innocently) squished Esa.  Leah?  She just walked away, started walking up the stairs, turned back to me, and said "Esa?  He's on your shoe?"  (I lower my head slightly- ashamed) "Yes.  Esa is on my shoe."

Her response?  "Okay."

Phew!  I need to me more careful with my squishing.

Decisions. Decisions. What AM I doing?!?!

I'm going to homeschool.

Nope.  I'm not.  I'm putting my kids in public school.

Nah.  I'll home school.

Nuh-Uh.  No way Jose'.  We're NOT home schooling for atleast TWO YEARS.



What AM I DOING!?!??!?!?!

Oh geesh.  Golly-Jeepers-Oi'Vay.

Over here I blogged about how I felt certain that God showed me that I was- for sure- s'pose to home school for the upcoming (next) school year.  I mean? It was all so clear.  It was going to be possible to educate my daughters in a way that was going to work for ALL of us.  Ahhhh.  Big sigh.  What a relief....

And then.... over here.... I'm confused all over again.

And then, over the past week, I had a peace about sending my daughters to a public school (outside of our county) that just happens to also educate THREE of my daughters (first) cousins.  One of those cousins will be in the same grade as my (almost) 2nd grader.  They could be in the same class.... we could carpool... and help each other out with field trips... OH THE GLORy of it.   Eeeeeeee-NT!  No.   Nope.  TODAY I found out that the "out of county" tuition cost (per child) would be a mere $4279.35.


You know.  JUST a few hundred bucks short of NINE THOUSAND DOLLLARS!!!!!!




What am I going to do?!  


What?


WHAT!??!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Why Can't I Be HER?!?!

You know who she is.  She's that mom.

The one that would sit on the floor the entire day, playing with her bundle of children in whatever sort of silliness they could put themselves into.

She's the one that dumps out blocks and baby dolls and brings down the finger paint from that way up high place.  She squishes her fingers into the gooey-gross-fun-ness of the purple and the green, and paints right along side her preschoolers and toddlers, and all the others above or in between.   It's HER idea to take off the shoes and the socks to paint their feet and let them walk all over layed about papers to create a fun path of footprints.  And there isn't a square INCH of her that cringes when the paint finds itself all over the floor, and the walls, and their clothes, and her new white blouse.

Why can't I be that Mom?!

Why can't I crave snuggle time on the couch with all 3 girls, and have this "Mom-Like" desire to read bedtime stories and tell silly jokes, and talk about how Cinderella has the beautifullest dress and then dream up ways we could all have a pretend play about all the forest animals (that live in the forest).  Why can't I make it awesome for my girls to extend their imagination beyond an Adventures in Oddysey tale, or a Veggie Tales dvd?

And furthermore... why can't I be that "Homeschool Mom".

The one that thinks of crazy-awesome science projects and takes her children on 4 hour long nature walks... out in.... NATURE.

The one that can wrangle the 6 year old into a Math Mode, while encouraging the 4 year old to write her letters in fun sing song-ways (Z.  Zig. Zag. Zoo) and allow  the 2 year old to spill out the "school drawer" in search of her school work?!

Why can't I be her? That mom?

Why can't I befriend my 6 year old the way her (favorite) Aunt can?  And engage in fun conversation, and bypass the annoyances of her "know-it-all" attitude.  I'm HER mom for-goodness-sake.  Why can't I ACT like it?
Why can't I figure out a way to let her be her without bringing her down (like almost everyone else does).  Why can't I be the one to lift her up, and build her up, and over and over and over again encourage her in all that she IS, rather than all that she ISN'T?

I want to be that mom!

I want to  functionally, and productively BE. A. GOOD. MOMMY.
Not just a mom.  A MOMMY.
A Good Mommy.

I want to be her.

God has so much work to do on me.  I hunger for HIM to transform me.  I say hunger... I mean... I'm skin, and bones  STARVED and desperate for Him to change me.

I don't want to be the other her.

The one that sucks.

The one that scars her perfectly-perfect children for a lack of effort, or a lack of education (on the mom thing), or a lack of selflessness, or a lack of EVERYTHING that a Mom needs.  I'm already showing signs of being her.

The one I grew up with- because she didn't have an IDEA as to how to be a Mommy.  She had the poorest of examples through her mom, and did all she could, with all she knew how to do...which wasn't much....  and that certainly wasn't good enough to produce a 1st generation "good mom".

I don't even have the luxury of operating with a blank slate on this whole "mom" thing.  My slate is all warped and mangled and missing quite a few tiles.

Bring on the Outlets!!

My Thursdays are about to change.  I found out that a local church offers the Mother's Morning Out program from 9:00-1:00 every Thursday.

One day a week!!!!  ONE WHOLE DAY to accomplish something in a 4 hour window.  Wow!  I'm stoked!

A friend is going to be having a Beth Moore bible study in her home on Thursday mornings from 10-12 soon.  This is how I found out about Mother's Morning Out (MMO).  It's so cool how God lines stuff up for us in perfect timing.  I've been needing an outlet.  I've been needing SOMETHING for so long.  And here it is;  2-in-1 .  A small group setting and the opportunity to break-free from 'Mommy World' for a small portion of the week.

I know it'll be a bit of a challenge to get into the groove of leaving our house by 8:30 in the A.M fully dressed, lunches packed, and so on.  BUT HEY!!!  It's a lot better than regular school hours of waking up at 6:00 AM every Monday through Friday.  I also believe this is an option for me to find some sanity- to get a cool down from the daily grind.

I might also be able to actually get on some sort of scheduling accomplished for our life, too!  Wow!  A schedule- Oooh-Lah-lah.


And.  Also.  I will be spending my next (3) Monday and Wednesday evenings taking guitar and piano lessons at the YMCA.  I'll get a total of 6 nights away in a 3 week period.  Hopefully the classes will start over again after the session ends, because I really do want to move forward and excel in the piano.  We don't have a keyboard (yet) but if it turns out that my fingers like moving across the keys well enough to match up with my brain- a full keyboard will be our next investment.  The kind that has recorded playback.... and maybe even a microphone.

I'm looking forward to these outlets.  Really looking forward to them!!!!

Hypocritical Parents

I'm a hypocrite.   I realized it the other day- all of a sudden- when my 2 year old (who is learning to NOT poo-poo in her diaper) walked into the bathroom.  

I have no privacy.  What bathroom door??  I think my kids walk through them.   Anyway.  My 2 year old walks in- just as I am finishing up-uh?- my bathroom 'stuff':

 "You usin' the pot-tee?"  

"Yes. Mommy's using the potty"

And she walks over to stand in front of me- and looks down at my recently placed "special" napkin.

She looks back up at me.  She's confused.  She looks back down at my 'napkin' and says "Not pee pee in your bi-per, Mommy.  In the pot-tee!!"     And she leaves the bathroom.  

I'm a hypocrite in her little eyes.

 

And I tell my middle child:

" Use nice words.  Don't talk mean to your sister.  Stop screaming.  Stop yelling.  It's not nice.".

5 minutes later.... I've lost my patience.  I have had it!  You might find me hollering from the bottom of the stairs:   "ZOE!!!  What. DID! I TELL YOOOOOOO!??!?!?!??!?!   USE.    NICE.  WORDS!!!!"

Yup.  I'm a hypocrite.

And to my 6 year old I instruct:  "It's important to use our time wisely.  We shouldn't play around when there's work to do.  Let's focus on school."   She later finds me on Facebook being a total slacker while there is a pile of dishes in the sink; growing mold.

And.... I'm a hypocrite.

Sheesh!

NO Desert Islands

Just to confirm.  Nope.  I won't need to high tail it (any time soon) to a near by deserted island.   My friend T.O.M. stopped by the other day- the DAY after I peed on a stick that digitally told me "Not Pregnant".

Phew!

I just posted something about Growing Pains- and the fact that my children are growing up way too fast.  I really wasn't ready for another emotional journey of the pregnancy-kind.

Thanks, God.

(P.S.  My 6 year old was recently asked to 'please stop praying that mommy and daddy have another baby'.  She confirmed that she wouldn't be praying for that any more.)

Now?  She's praying for a new kitten.  (I can handle that.)

Growing Pains

"The pain associated with the fact that your kids are growing up too fast." a.k.a.

In my past life (the one I had before I became a Mommy) I worked with senior adults.  I did it all!  From hands on care giving of the senior that had lost the ability to care for herself at all- to the directing of activities for the active senior that no longer wanted (or could) live alone.

My favorite part of Senior Adult Care had to have been when I was an Activities Director for an assisted living facility.  I basically 'hung out' with wise men and women in my day to day.  We went to lunch.  We played Bingo.  I gave them manicures and pedicures, and I sat on the side of their beds when the were too depressed to leave their room.

In my (short few) years in that particular career; I never.... NOT ONCE.. heard anyone say
"If I had to do it all over again I'd: have worked harder on my career; made more money; bought a bigger house; had more 'stuff'..."

To the contrary- it was opposite: "I shouldn't have spent so much time working; I never needed that big house...."

What I heard every time a regret was mentioned always had to do with family.    "I wish I'd have been closer to my family." or "I wish I had spent more time with my kids."

Have you ever noticed how a young child can usually turn the face of a sour old grump into a soft, sweet smile?  Isn't in interesting that most older/senior adults coddle and coo and swoon over babies, toddlers, and small children?

Why is it that Grandparents often say "The reward of being a parent is getting to be a grandparent?"

I have no degree to prove my theory- but I believe it has to do with the fact that most of 'us' parents are flying through life- just trying to make ends meet and keep the gray hair growth at a minimum during the years we are raising our kids.

I realized tonight- through a soggy face full of tears and a throat that couldn't quit hiccuping- that the first 2 years of (each) of my (3) children's life seem to have gone by with out my noticing it.  My oldest- I can remember the most.  It was the most emotionally charged!  We had no idea what we were doing.  Everything was scary, and amazing all in the same breath.

When my middle daughter came along 2 years and 2 months later- it was easy.  We considered infancy a piece of CAKE (compared to numero uno).  In looking back at photographs, I can honestly say that I don't have very much recollection of her time as a baby or a toddler.  It disappeared.  I only have pictures to prove that we went through the infant stage on up to the 2 year old stage with her.

And here I sit.  My 6 year old daughter  is snoozing in the bed below my 4 year old daughter while my 2 year old baby girl quietly snores in her crib.   My children are still young, aren't they?  They are.  So what am I going on about?!?!

I'll tell ya!!!

I missed a part of my children's life!  I missed out!!

Stress.  Financial struggles.  Marriage woes.  Life's "stuff" tricked me into robbing myself of the precious time I could have spent savoring my children's stepping stones.

I keep coming back to this.  Every year.  Every single year I find myself chastising (myself) for not slowing down.

Slow down, Amber.  SLOW DOWN!!!

Wisdom has already been past down to me.  "Savor your family.  Spend more time loving and getting to know your children."

Everything else the world has to offer is secondary.  An 'old' lady will confirm this truth!


  

Sker'd

My daughter.  The eldest.  My first born.  She's a "little mommy".  She was born a nurturer.  Give her an animal to coo over, and she's happy.  Her very first pet was a Roley Poley.  She was 2.  We had to put it in a basket and watch it roll up and down.

She's collected bugs and worms.  She's kissed smelly dogs straight on the mouth and still cries over her 'kitty' who had to live elsewhere (crazy- cat couldn't keep his CLAWS off my sweet babies- My daughter was very willing to allow her younger sisters and herself get clawed if just for the chance to keep her 'Kitty'.)

And my daughter.  My first born (of 3)- the little mommy.  The one I adore.  The one I cry for because I think that 6 years has gone by way too fast, (and I want some of that time back... Booh Hooo!).  My  daughter has been fervently praying......for quite some time now...... for...... 'another baby'.  Specifically- she wants a brother.  Sometimes- she wants a brother and another sister.  Mostly.  She just wants another baby.

And tonight.  I'm a little nervous.  I always get slightly nervous toward the middle of the month (around the 20th) because I would really rather remain a "Mom of 3".  I'm getting 'those' symptoms, though.  The weird ones that typically cause a $10 deduction from our checking account.  And- for the past 2 + years- I've been thankful to fork over my ten dollars and read a 'negative'.  So.  SO. Thankful!!!

But my daughter- my sweet dark eyed baby girl- she's been praying!!!  And when she prays... GOD hears her heart.  He has (time and time and TIME again) made it clear.  He hears her.  He answers her.  And he USUALLY says "Yes!"

My daughter.  My Jesus loving little girl.  She has THE  true FAITH of a little child.  There's no question in her mind.  If she prays- she knows God will hear her.  And He will answer her.  And she is most content in knowing that He will provide her with her every need.

As a matter of fact- during a conversation about her desire to have a 'nother baby' I made it clear "Sweet girl- we're not having any more babies.  I'm sorry."  And my daughter.  My intelligent, beautiful child.  She casually passed her hand through the air, "Well.  I've been praying for it.  So.... you know...."  (As if to push the subject aside.  As if to say "It doesn't matter what you say, Mommy.)

And what I'm praying for.  What I hope more than anything for this time in our life- for this season.  I pray that God tells my first-born.  "I heard your prayer.  Thank you for your request.  But!  My answer is NO."

And now- I'm going to sleep.  And I'm going to rest. And in the morning- you know- I'm gonna pretend like my brain was NOT playing tricks on me- and that I was NOT experiencing any strange symptoms.  And I'm going to drink my highly caffienated coffee- and wait a few more days before I let myself totally freak out.

And dont' worry.  There will be no need to ask.  Once I realize I was just being sker'd, I'll post about how LAME I am for being paranoid about something that we have been SUPER DUPER extra carefult to prevent.

And if I happen to NOT post again- it's because I've found a deserted island to abandon myself on til Jesus comes back lest I totally lose my mind in ridiculous insanity.

Tales of a Destructo-Baby

That's right.  I'm talkin' bout Leah.  It's daily..... and I mean DAILY......  that Leah gives us cause to stare.....mouth wide opened- heart skipping and pounding- and brains calculating the cost of what she has recently destroyed.

Oh?  Are you new to this list?  You may not know our story.  Let me just clarify.  Leah: Our 2 year old caboose.  Sweet baby girl.  The cutest little thing you'll ever see.

So.  For the most part of 'little-bit's' walking world, she was taking on only small-scale-demolition projects.  Emptying cereal boxes, or pulling toilet paper off the roll, pulling books off the shelf- (ripping said books in half causing her sisters to run in terror, their 'tattle-tales' wagging behind them).   Like I said- small scale.

And then- our adorable 3rd (and final) little girl started taking on heavier projects.  Taking her diaper off after a 'shoo-shoo' and.... well... let's just say that mess is bigger than any emptied out cereal box.  Flower pot on the window-sill?  Not anymore. That black soil that was in it?  Gone.  It's all over the floor, the clean laundry (folded neatly in the basket) and all over the bed.

Baby powder.  Not once.... not twice... NOT-EVEN-just-THREE-times.... time and time again, she sought out the baby powder container (picture short-stuff climbing atop a tall dresser, drawers pulled out as her stepping stool- just to reach the top and empty out that baby powder).  The greatest mess of all time.... again... and again.

We have to lock all bathroom doors from the inside out.  Imagine a small bathroom- with a small sink- and a smallish curly headed girl.  The sink's plug gets pushed down, the water is turned out.... and 2 rooms are flooded.  The bathroom is tile.  The 'play' room?  Not.  Wooden floors are buckled.  And our 2 year old looks at us as though to say "Hey. What? This is fun, right?  I'm so cute.. you couldn't possibly be mad at me."

And it's true.  All of the destructo-baby things out 2 year old is taking on are all- very simply- just the effects of being TWO.  She is the cutest.  I'm telling you.  Could your heart do anything other than melt when you hear these adorable words:
__________________________________________________________________________________


"Thank You, Mommy for my yummy gwapes."
"I sing song to Daddy, K?  It's our time... to siiiing to Daaaaaaad-eeeee"

and spontaniously, she breaks into the cutest song from Signing-Time "Whoa!!! Whoa!!!!  Look atmy hands.... look atmy hands thew dew-tee.  WHOA!!! WHOA!!!! Look at my hands- look atmy hands thew CWEAN!!!   Soap and water.  Soap and water... WHOA WHOA!!!!!!! Look at my hands. "

"That yours shoes, Mommy? I get them.  Oh.  They heah-bee.  They heh-bee!!!!"  (heavy)

"My 'carf...  my carf... I need my 'carf!" (scarf)

And should a burp let itself out of my mouth- she reminds me "Say scuse me, Mommy!!!!  Say SCUSE me!" (excuse me)

Or last night- when she was coughing and coughing and Coughing- waking up and crying, and eventually, her and I both took a spot on the recliner so she could be elevated enough to NOT cough (as much)....

When we settled in, and were laying still- she looked at me- eyes groggy,  though SMILING, she announced (in scraggly pitiful voice) "I Fah-Ted"  (farted)

Destructo-Baby.  Yes she is.  Heart-grabber.  Most definitely.  Can we get mad at her?
NOT-A-CHANCE!  She's just toooo cute!