To a different blog location :). Fooled ya, didn't I?
I've been noticing that every single time I log in to write, I get a little nauseated by the title of my blog. Fishsticks just aren't appealing to me right now (and not I'm not pregnant). I started this blog on a whim and came up with the title based on what was happening on that day, but I never really thought about how the title would sit with me a few weeks later. And it doesn't sit well with me any longer.
So I wanted something catchy that describes this stage of life I'm in and the best I could come up with is Learning as They Grow. Because it seems that my kids are growing up before my very eyes and I'm constantly learning what it means to be a good wife, mom and most importantly, Christian woman in today's world.
I hope my faithful friends here will revise their links and hook up with me at
www.learningastheygrow.blogspot.com. That's where I'll be from now on.
Love ya!
Monday, February 16, 2009
My Sacrifice
Hebrews 13:15 NKJV
Therefore by Him let us continually offer the sacrifice of praise to God, that is, the fruit of our lips, giving thanks to His name.
Why is it that every time I...
mop the floor, someone spills something an hour later?
clean the bathroom, someone squirts toothpaste all over the sink the next morning?
wash a load of clothes, there's another dirty load right behind it?
make a meal, some part of it is burned or undercooked or one of the little people complains that he or she doesn't like it?
wake up early for quiet time or exercise, I inadvertently wake up Chancho, so not only do I miss my time alone, but I have a cranky toddler on my hands by 9:30 am?
go to the bathroom, I have at least a one-person audience, but sometimes two or three?
These are the questions I posed to my neighbor a few days ago. My home-schooling, organic living, bread baking, God-fearing, Catholic neighbor. The one who has so much on her plate all the times, yet she still finds a way to can her vegetable garden crops and mend her husband's shirts and listen to her pre-teen daughter's sob stories while making it look so easy.
Everything I do gets undone, usually right after I do it. Small tasks take forever because someone is always following me. And I'm growing a little weary from all of it.
Then she relayed a little bit of advice to me, which at first did not help at all. But it grew on me.
Try looking at all these little chores and inconveniences as sacrifices to the Lord. Every time you're cleaning the floors for the second time in one day or dealing with a cranky 2-year-old, say a prayer and praise God for the opportunity to make a sacrifice.
I guess the point of sacrificing is that it sometimes is not pleasant and sometimes we're giving up things that we really want. But an eager and willing sacrifice is pleasing to God.
As a stay-at-home mom, I sometimes feel that I don't have as many opportunities to serve as my husband does, or as other women who aren't chained to their houses do. But besides raising this next generation for Christ, I am sacrificing each and everyday for the advancement of the Kingdom. It might not seem like much, but these little chores have a purpose in the grand scheme God's plan.
I admit, I probably won't be praising God each time I'm scrubbing the floor, but I will do my best to have a joyful heart while I do it. Almost every time, I promise. :)
Friday, February 13, 2009
Big A Is Not the First
This has been one stressful week! As a stay-at-home mom, I don't have many weeks that make my head spin, but this was one of the worst. The kids' Valentine's parties were Thursday and as Bubby's classroom party planner, I was up to my eyeballs in conversation hearts and tissue paper. Sissy had been working on her valentines and box for days and still needed extra time to finish. We had playdates and lunchdates and a day off from school today that was spent at Chuck-e-Cheese and I was at the end of my rope when my husband strolled in the door at 5:13 this afternoon.
"I need some time away before I go nuts," I said. He knew the drill. He took the kids for ice cream and I left for Giant Eagle, Target and Kohl's.
While at Kohl's, I realized I had not yet purchased a special something for Valentine's Day night. Usually I'm on top of that much earlier, but with all that went on this week, plus the fact that my brother is living with us for a while and goes shopping with me everytime I go, I haven't been able to look for anything. The selection at Kohl's was pretty tame, but that was okay with me. I needed something cheap and in my size and I wasn't feeling very picky at all.
I chose the first thing that fit me and grabbed two t-shirts that were on sale and a cute cropped blazer that was 80 percent off (that I almost purchased three weeks ago for full price!). I made my way to the counter quickly, trying my best to hide the lingerie.
I don't know why I get so embarrassed about buying undergarments. It's not like we don't all wear them. But I hate for people to see me paying for them. I'm always afraid the cashier will hold them up and then call for a price check as the 20 people behind me stare at me.
But luckily, there were no people behind me. Slowly, the cashier rang up the shirts, then the blazer, and as the nightie lay on the counter with nothing to cover it up, I sensed a person behind me in line. I glanced back and wouldn't you know it, it's a friend from our church. A GUY FRIEND.
I smiled and said hi as I nervously tried to see if my undies looked more like a skirt. Yes, maybe it did look like I was buying a skirt. A see-through, black, polka-dotted skirt with underwires.
It was no secret. I was buying lingerie and he saw it. And not even sexy lingerie. He's probably feeling sorry for Big A right now. "Hmmph. What a lame Valentine's Day gift. Thank goodness my wife is a vixen," is what he was probably thinking.
As I drove home and my embarrassment faded, I wondered if I should tell Big A tomorrow night that he's not the first man to see me with this lingerie. I decided against that... for now.
"I need some time away before I go nuts," I said. He knew the drill. He took the kids for ice cream and I left for Giant Eagle, Target and Kohl's.
While at Kohl's, I realized I had not yet purchased a special something for Valentine's Day night. Usually I'm on top of that much earlier, but with all that went on this week, plus the fact that my brother is living with us for a while and goes shopping with me everytime I go, I haven't been able to look for anything. The selection at Kohl's was pretty tame, but that was okay with me. I needed something cheap and in my size and I wasn't feeling very picky at all.
I chose the first thing that fit me and grabbed two t-shirts that were on sale and a cute cropped blazer that was 80 percent off (that I almost purchased three weeks ago for full price!). I made my way to the counter quickly, trying my best to hide the lingerie.
I don't know why I get so embarrassed about buying undergarments. It's not like we don't all wear them. But I hate for people to see me paying for them. I'm always afraid the cashier will hold them up and then call for a price check as the 20 people behind me stare at me.
But luckily, there were no people behind me. Slowly, the cashier rang up the shirts, then the blazer, and as the nightie lay on the counter with nothing to cover it up, I sensed a person behind me in line. I glanced back and wouldn't you know it, it's a friend from our church. A GUY FRIEND.
I smiled and said hi as I nervously tried to see if my undies looked more like a skirt. Yes, maybe it did look like I was buying a skirt. A see-through, black, polka-dotted skirt with underwires.
It was no secret. I was buying lingerie and he saw it. And not even sexy lingerie. He's probably feeling sorry for Big A right now. "Hmmph. What a lame Valentine's Day gift. Thank goodness my wife is a vixen," is what he was probably thinking.
As I drove home and my embarrassment faded, I wondered if I should tell Big A tomorrow night that he's not the first man to see me with this lingerie. I decided against that... for now.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
The Toddler Years, Again?
I remember one day when my oldest, Bubby, was 18 months old and we were on our weekly grocery shopping excursion. With my lists in hand, I planned to make the usual rounds to two grocery stores and the meat store. I enjoyed these little outings because I loved how Bubby seemed to make everyone around him smile. With his red hair, he was a natural attention-grabber and with his his infectious laugh, he made instant friends with all of the elderly people we saw.
Until that one fateful day when he had his first tantrum. We were half-way through our first store when he spotted some sort of cookies on the shelf.
"Cookie!" he exclaimed.
"Not now sweetie, but maybe later," I said gently.
"Cookie, Mommy!" he screamed with more intensity than the last time.
"No no," I said as I tried to steer him into another aisle. "We have cookies in the car."
And then, he uncharacteristically threw his body backwards in the seat and wailed as his face turned red and he kicked his legs.
All I could think was that I had to get out of there quickly. So I paid for whatever groceries were in my cart and struggled to put his little body, stiff with contempt, into his carseat. Needless to say, my weekly morning o' shopping was cut short and I was certain there was something seriously wrong with my child.
So sure, I was, that I made an appointment to see the pediatrician the next day. I just knew Bubby had an ear infection or broken limb or something that would make him act out.
The doctor laughed at me.
Then he informed me that my son was entering the terrible toddler years and to expect much more of this behavior in the months to come. And he warned, "It will get worse before it gets better."
He was right and when Sissy turned 15 months old, I understood what was going on when she turned into "spaghetti arms" one day as we were leaving the library.
"No go," she said.
"We have to go home, Sis, and eat lunch," I replied, calmly, I might add. I grabbed her tiny hand and immediately, she went limp.
I had two choices: I could drag her out of the library by her spaghetti arm or I could pick her up and carry her. The latter was impossible because I had a bag of library books, my diaper bag and Andrew's hand to hold onto. So I tried to gently pull her by her limp arm.
Of course, it wasn't long before I was chastised by a mean lady for abusing my daughter. If there was ever a time I wanted to cuss, that was it. Instead, I continued to pull Sissy and within a few feet, she started walking again.
I was no stranger to the stares and remarks. I had become accustomed to leaving the grocery store halfway through shopping. And I gained the willpower to withstand the tears without giving in.
I endured a solid 4 years of tantrums, irrational behavior, yelling and tears (and the kids weren't angels either - ha!), so why am I so surprised that Chancho has embraced this stage of life with gusto? Did I really think I would escape it this third time around?
Yes, I did.
Before you think I'm crazy, allow me to explain. When Bubby entered the toddler years, I was pregnant and on bedrest. Then when Sissy arrived, he was competing with her for my attention. And when Sissy was a toddler, she was competing with him. Chancho, on the other hand, has so much one-on-one time with me while the older kids are in school, that he seems sick of me sometimes. He never has to ask for anything more than once. He's amply cuddled, forever showered with kisses and the focus of my attention for hours upon hours each day.
And yet, he's the mother of all fit throwers. And I feel less equipped to deal with him than I did with my other two. I was in the toddler mode with them. The schedules, the rules, the consistency and the constant affirmation were all routine. But as they got older, I was able to ease up a little. I didn't stop disciplining, but the process became less exhausting and time consuming. Now, however, I am starting from scratch... again.
So to my two dear friends who I met on two different occasions this week, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the embarrassment that we caused and if we made you uncomfortable in any way. I'm sorry that you had to see me in a moment of weakness as I fell victim to a toddler's tantrums. We may not leave the house for the next year, but I promise you I will prevail and Chancho will pass through this stage no worse for the wear.
And rest assured my dear friends, your time is coming. :)
Until that one fateful day when he had his first tantrum. We were half-way through our first store when he spotted some sort of cookies on the shelf.
"Cookie!" he exclaimed.
"Not now sweetie, but maybe later," I said gently.
"Cookie, Mommy!" he screamed with more intensity than the last time.
"No no," I said as I tried to steer him into another aisle. "We have cookies in the car."
And then, he uncharacteristically threw his body backwards in the seat and wailed as his face turned red and he kicked his legs.
All I could think was that I had to get out of there quickly. So I paid for whatever groceries were in my cart and struggled to put his little body, stiff with contempt, into his carseat. Needless to say, my weekly morning o' shopping was cut short and I was certain there was something seriously wrong with my child.
So sure, I was, that I made an appointment to see the pediatrician the next day. I just knew Bubby had an ear infection or broken limb or something that would make him act out.
The doctor laughed at me.
Then he informed me that my son was entering the terrible toddler years and to expect much more of this behavior in the months to come. And he warned, "It will get worse before it gets better."
He was right and when Sissy turned 15 months old, I understood what was going on when she turned into "spaghetti arms" one day as we were leaving the library.
"No go," she said.
"We have to go home, Sis, and eat lunch," I replied, calmly, I might add. I grabbed her tiny hand and immediately, she went limp.
I had two choices: I could drag her out of the library by her spaghetti arm or I could pick her up and carry her. The latter was impossible because I had a bag of library books, my diaper bag and Andrew's hand to hold onto. So I tried to gently pull her by her limp arm.
Of course, it wasn't long before I was chastised by a mean lady for abusing my daughter. If there was ever a time I wanted to cuss, that was it. Instead, I continued to pull Sissy and within a few feet, she started walking again.
I was no stranger to the stares and remarks. I had become accustomed to leaving the grocery store halfway through shopping. And I gained the willpower to withstand the tears without giving in.
I endured a solid 4 years of tantrums, irrational behavior, yelling and tears (and the kids weren't angels either - ha!), so why am I so surprised that Chancho has embraced this stage of life with gusto? Did I really think I would escape it this third time around?
Yes, I did.
Before you think I'm crazy, allow me to explain. When Bubby entered the toddler years, I was pregnant and on bedrest. Then when Sissy arrived, he was competing with her for my attention. And when Sissy was a toddler, she was competing with him. Chancho, on the other hand, has so much one-on-one time with me while the older kids are in school, that he seems sick of me sometimes. He never has to ask for anything more than once. He's amply cuddled, forever showered with kisses and the focus of my attention for hours upon hours each day.
And yet, he's the mother of all fit throwers. And I feel less equipped to deal with him than I did with my other two. I was in the toddler mode with them. The schedules, the rules, the consistency and the constant affirmation were all routine. But as they got older, I was able to ease up a little. I didn't stop disciplining, but the process became less exhausting and time consuming. Now, however, I am starting from scratch... again.
So to my two dear friends who I met on two different occasions this week, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the embarrassment that we caused and if we made you uncomfortable in any way. I'm sorry that you had to see me in a moment of weakness as I fell victim to a toddler's tantrums. We may not leave the house for the next year, but I promise you I will prevail and Chancho will pass through this stage no worse for the wear.
And rest assured my dear friends, your time is coming. :)
Friday, February 6, 2009
Kokomo - Part 2
Since I know everyone is dying to find out our decision about the anniversary trip, I thought I'd share with you all.
After much deliberation and a little prayer, WE (not just me), decided to go to Daytona Beach, FL. My only real desire was that we go someplace beachy and warm, and Daytona Beach has plenty to offer for tourists and sightseers for Big A. The price for our trip is much more reasonable than any of the other options and we don't have to leave the country (he pointed out that even though I was begging to go to the Bahamas, I would never actually go because I wouldn't want to be so far from the kids. That man knows me too well).
So I started looking at the locations my friend Karen suggested and as I was doing that, I came across a 2009 NASCAR schedule. Big A is a huge NASCAR fan. Huge. Unfortunately, we won't be in town for the Daytona 500, but it's quite possible I will win the Best Wife Ever Award because I'm secretly signing him up for the Richard Petty Experience. Big A's dream is to be a race car driver (though he'll never say it out loud). A few years ago, we even considered buying a stock car so he could participate in local races. If my plans work out, he will be able to do a ride-along on the Daytona track in a real stock car!
And wouldn't you know it, I'm more excited about this part of the trip than I am about the beach! I can't wait to see his face when he finds out. To think I'd miss his excitement if I would have pushed to have my way instead of finding a compromise.
After much deliberation and a little prayer, WE (not just me), decided to go to Daytona Beach, FL. My only real desire was that we go someplace beachy and warm, and Daytona Beach has plenty to offer for tourists and sightseers for Big A. The price for our trip is much more reasonable than any of the other options and we don't have to leave the country (he pointed out that even though I was begging to go to the Bahamas, I would never actually go because I wouldn't want to be so far from the kids. That man knows me too well).
So I started looking at the locations my friend Karen suggested and as I was doing that, I came across a 2009 NASCAR schedule. Big A is a huge NASCAR fan. Huge. Unfortunately, we won't be in town for the Daytona 500, but it's quite possible I will win the Best Wife Ever Award because I'm secretly signing him up for the Richard Petty Experience. Big A's dream is to be a race car driver (though he'll never say it out loud). A few years ago, we even considered buying a stock car so he could participate in local races. If my plans work out, he will be able to do a ride-along on the Daytona track in a real stock car!
And wouldn't you know it, I'm more excited about this part of the trip than I am about the beach! I can't wait to see his face when he finds out. To think I'd miss his excitement if I would have pushed to have my way instead of finding a compromise.
Monday, February 2, 2009
We'll Get There Fast and Then We'll Take It Slow....
That's where I wanna go.
I haven't written in a few days, because I've been using all my self-allotted computer time to try to plan a trip to celebrate a little event that's coming up: Our 10-year anniversary!
At a later date, I will write more about what this occasion means to me, but right now, I want to vent about how difficult it is to plan a romantic getaway to someplace warm on a limited budget. Oh, and also how difficult it is to compromise when I really want to go someplace warm and my husband isn't gung-ho about someplace warm and would rather spend four days being touristy instead of lounging on the beach.
You see, I hate the cold. Every year at this time, I wonder why I live in Ohio. The snow, the frigid temps, the ice, the cabin fever, are all things I despise. I've heard that people with hypothyroidism feel colder than people without, so I attribute some of my animosity toward Ohio winters to my health issues. But the rest of it I just attribute to hating winter.
So when the husband said, "we should go somewhere fun for our anniversary," I was stoked and started planning immediately. With the kids' spring break falling right on our anniversary week, it would work out perfectly. They could enjoy a few days with my parents while we could enjoy a few days alone.
The very first travel site I stumbled upon advertised $449 per person deals to the Bahamas. Ahhh... the Bahamas. For at least a day I drooled over the pictures of beautiful white sand while thoughts of all-inclusive meals and drinks and walking hand-in-hand on the beach floated around in my head like rose petals on a jacuzzi tub of warm water.
So what if the $449 was the pre-tax total and so what that the price didn't apply to the week we'd be traveling. We could still go to the Bahamas for less than $1300, plus the cost of passports and parking our car at the airport for four days and any sight-seeing excursions or souvenirs. Okay, we could go to the Bahamas for less than $1600, probably maybe.
Then there were the cruises. I typed in all of our information, minus our credit card number, on a cruise website to see what the cost for a cruise would be. Unfortunately, I typed in our phone number and we've had calls everyday for a week from a cruise rep to tell us about their latest deals. For around $1900, a 4 night, 5 day Caribbean cruise was the best they could give me.
But I didn't stop there. Key West was much more affordable. Yes, we would have to rent a car to schlep around in, but for about $1200 total, the trip would be a bargain compared to the Bahamas or a cruise.
I happily presented our options to Big A and waited for him to choose. I secretly hoped he'd pick the Bahamas, but any of the three would have been fine.
Instead, he burst my fun in the sun bubble.
"You really want to go to the beach? We just went to the beach last summer," he said.
We DID just go to the beach last summer. But going to a beach with kids is not the same as going to the beach on a romantic getaway. I tried to explain this to Big A, but the logic was lost on him. To him, the beach is the beach, and having been there two summers in a row, it was not his first choice. He's not a big fan of sand or the water, two things he should have revealed to me BEFORE we got married.
Then he gave me his ideas: See a concert somewhere or go sightseeing. To which I replied with a big YAWN. I should add that these ideas seemed perfectly reasonable before the images of sand and surf were etched into my brain. Now, I'm jaded.
Then he gave me his thoughts on our budget: The more we spend on this trip, the less we'll have to spend on a vacation with the kids this summer. This reasoning deterred me only a little.
The he gave me the line that I hate.
"But we'll do whatever you want."
I HATE when he pulls that card. Hate it. If we do whatever I want, we won't be doing what he really wants, and even I, in all my imperfect selfishness, do not think that's fair.
After about 45 more minutes of discussion, we were at a standstill. I want to do whatever he wants to do, as long as he wants to go to the beach. He will go to the beach, but he won't absolutely love it. So, our trip planning is put on hold for now.
I do know that we'll have a great time no matter where we go. I look forward to quiet dinners, dancing, romancing and all the fun couple stuff we seldom have time for lately. But everything would be so much sweeter if the outside temperature was in the low 80s.
I haven't written in a few days, because I've been using all my self-allotted computer time to try to plan a trip to celebrate a little event that's coming up: Our 10-year anniversary!
At a later date, I will write more about what this occasion means to me, but right now, I want to vent about how difficult it is to plan a romantic getaway to someplace warm on a limited budget. Oh, and also how difficult it is to compromise when I really want to go someplace warm and my husband isn't gung-ho about someplace warm and would rather spend four days being touristy instead of lounging on the beach.
You see, I hate the cold. Every year at this time, I wonder why I live in Ohio. The snow, the frigid temps, the ice, the cabin fever, are all things I despise. I've heard that people with hypothyroidism feel colder than people without, so I attribute some of my animosity toward Ohio winters to my health issues. But the rest of it I just attribute to hating winter.
So when the husband said, "we should go somewhere fun for our anniversary," I was stoked and started planning immediately. With the kids' spring break falling right on our anniversary week, it would work out perfectly. They could enjoy a few days with my parents while we could enjoy a few days alone.
The very first travel site I stumbled upon advertised $449 per person deals to the Bahamas. Ahhh... the Bahamas. For at least a day I drooled over the pictures of beautiful white sand while thoughts of all-inclusive meals and drinks and walking hand-in-hand on the beach floated around in my head like rose petals on a jacuzzi tub of warm water.
So what if the $449 was the pre-tax total and so what that the price didn't apply to the week we'd be traveling. We could still go to the Bahamas for less than $1300, plus the cost of passports and parking our car at the airport for four days and any sight-seeing excursions or souvenirs. Okay, we could go to the Bahamas for less than $1600, probably maybe.
Then there were the cruises. I typed in all of our information, minus our credit card number, on a cruise website to see what the cost for a cruise would be. Unfortunately, I typed in our phone number and we've had calls everyday for a week from a cruise rep to tell us about their latest deals. For around $1900, a 4 night, 5 day Caribbean cruise was the best they could give me.
But I didn't stop there. Key West was much more affordable. Yes, we would have to rent a car to schlep around in, but for about $1200 total, the trip would be a bargain compared to the Bahamas or a cruise.
I happily presented our options to Big A and waited for him to choose. I secretly hoped he'd pick the Bahamas, but any of the three would have been fine.
Instead, he burst my fun in the sun bubble.
"You really want to go to the beach? We just went to the beach last summer," he said.
We DID just go to the beach last summer. But going to a beach with kids is not the same as going to the beach on a romantic getaway. I tried to explain this to Big A, but the logic was lost on him. To him, the beach is the beach, and having been there two summers in a row, it was not his first choice. He's not a big fan of sand or the water, two things he should have revealed to me BEFORE we got married.
Then he gave me his ideas: See a concert somewhere or go sightseeing. To which I replied with a big YAWN. I should add that these ideas seemed perfectly reasonable before the images of sand and surf were etched into my brain. Now, I'm jaded.
Then he gave me his thoughts on our budget: The more we spend on this trip, the less we'll have to spend on a vacation with the kids this summer. This reasoning deterred me only a little.
The he gave me the line that I hate.
"But we'll do whatever you want."
I HATE when he pulls that card. Hate it. If we do whatever I want, we won't be doing what he really wants, and even I, in all my imperfect selfishness, do not think that's fair.
After about 45 more minutes of discussion, we were at a standstill. I want to do whatever he wants to do, as long as he wants to go to the beach. He will go to the beach, but he won't absolutely love it. So, our trip planning is put on hold for now.
I do know that we'll have a great time no matter where we go. I look forward to quiet dinners, dancing, romancing and all the fun couple stuff we seldom have time for lately. But everything would be so much sweeter if the outside temperature was in the low 80s.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Some Info About My Blog
Some of you who read this blog have asked a few questions that I thought I'd answer now.
The title of the blog came about one busy afternoon. I had just returned home after grocery shopping and was hustling to prepare supper. Everyone was starving, so I decided fishsticks would have to do. I felt so guilty for not whipping up something healthy and tasty and was beating myself up for always cutting corners. To my delight, when I served the kids their food, I was met with rave reviews.
"I LOVE the fishsticks that you make, Mommy," said Bubby.
"Ohhhhh. Fishsticks are my favorite," chimed Sissy.
And little Chancho just gobbled them up.
I felt so blessed that even when I'm not on top of my game, it's okay. God loves me and so does my family.
And as Romans 8:18 says: "For I reckon that the sufferings of the present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory about to be revealed in us." There it is, right there in God's word. Someday I will be superwoman.
The second and final inquiry pertains to me not using my family's real names. I've read a lot of blogs and it seems like a good idea to keep the names of my children private online. I don't mind using my own name, but I'm going to try to keep my hubby's name and kids' names secret. For the most part, the only people reading this will be loved ones anyway, but you never know who is lurking.
And that's all she wrote... for tonight.
The title of the blog came about one busy afternoon. I had just returned home after grocery shopping and was hustling to prepare supper. Everyone was starving, so I decided fishsticks would have to do. I felt so guilty for not whipping up something healthy and tasty and was beating myself up for always cutting corners. To my delight, when I served the kids their food, I was met with rave reviews.
"I LOVE the fishsticks that you make, Mommy," said Bubby.
"Ohhhhh. Fishsticks are my favorite," chimed Sissy.
And little Chancho just gobbled them up.
I felt so blessed that even when I'm not on top of my game, it's okay. God loves me and so does my family.
And as Romans 8:18 says: "For I reckon that the sufferings of the present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory about to be revealed in us." There it is, right there in God's word. Someday I will be superwoman.
The second and final inquiry pertains to me not using my family's real names. I've read a lot of blogs and it seems like a good idea to keep the names of my children private online. I don't mind using my own name, but I'm going to try to keep my hubby's name and kids' names secret. For the most part, the only people reading this will be loved ones anyway, but you never know who is lurking.
And that's all she wrote... for tonight.
Wii Are Done with Video Games
Wii've got problems here.
Last Wednesday, I couldn't get the kids out the door in time for the bus. We woke up on time, but the kids, mostly Bubby, we're not moving. Just as I was opening the front door, the bus was speeding by. She doesn't stop unless she can see the kids waiting by the mailbox. There have been a few times when we've had to run down the driveway while waving our arms and yelling, "STOP!!! WE'RE HERE!"
So we missed the bus and I had to take Sissy and Bubby to school. This wasn't a big deal and I really don't mind driving them. But I was a little annoyed with Bubby's attitude when we got to his classroom. He refused to go inside. Finally, his teacher saw us and he immediately followed her into the classroom. Then she said to me those words that no parent wants to hear: " Mrs. K, I think we need to have a talk."
We scheduled our talk for after school that day. For the entire day, I wondered what she wanted to talk about, and I was convinced that Bubby was going to be grounded forever for his offenses.
His teacher informed me that Bubby seems depressed. Depressed? Depressed.
"Lack of interest in activities. Constantly worn out. Doesn't participate. No sparkle in his eyes." And her list went on.
Then she asked me if Bubby has been having trouble sleeping. Yes. He was waking up at least three nights a week with nightmares. She wanted to know if he was engaging with us at home. Not really. He had been keeping to himself. Then she dropped the bomb.
"Has he been playing a lot of video games?" Well, I never! I was offended by her question. Of course I wasn't allowing him to play a lot of video games. I'm a much better mother than that. But then I thought about it some more. Maybe he was playing a lot of video games.
I was so excited in November to find a Wii video game console. I couldn't wait to give it to the kids at Christmas. It seemed like a perfect present... we could have fun, be active and play together.
I did notice Bubby's affinity toward the game. And I admit, we were a little concerned that he was playing it too much. But since he was up and moving with it, we ignored the concerns and focused on the positives. He was active and was never bored. After a few weeks though, we knew a problem was developing. He had this blank stare at all times, like he wasn't here. He didn't talk to us about his day. Each question was met with short, one word answers.
After talking with the teacher, Big A and I decided to ban the video games for a while, just to see what would happen. Two days later, Bubby was whining that he was bored.
"Why don't you draw a picture about something you did today at school? That would be fun." I encouraged.
And so he came up with this little drawing.
In case you're wondering what this picture means, allow me to interpret. Bubby drew a picture of himself, sitting in class, daydreaming about playing video games. If you notice in the details, his schoolpaper has an F grade and his video game has an A. He clearly wasn't happy with the video game ban and he still had games on his mind at school.
But now, just a few days later, we're noticing something. The old Bubby is back. He's happy. He's excited to read and participate in family activities. He's not constantly annoyed and most importantly, the distant, blank stare is gone. In less than a week, the teacher has already noticed an improvement in his behavior at school.
So for now, we're limiting the video games to 1 hour on Saturday and Sunday. And we've stocked up the art supplies, legos and board games so we always have something to do together. While I didn't agree with many things his teacher said that day, including her recommendations for counseling, I'm so glad we listened to her concerns about the video games. And we're reminded again as parents that moderation is key - a lesson that wii've been taught over and over since having kids.
Last Wednesday, I couldn't get the kids out the door in time for the bus. We woke up on time, but the kids, mostly Bubby, we're not moving. Just as I was opening the front door, the bus was speeding by. She doesn't stop unless she can see the kids waiting by the mailbox. There have been a few times when we've had to run down the driveway while waving our arms and yelling, "STOP!!! WE'RE HERE!"
So we missed the bus and I had to take Sissy and Bubby to school. This wasn't a big deal and I really don't mind driving them. But I was a little annoyed with Bubby's attitude when we got to his classroom. He refused to go inside. Finally, his teacher saw us and he immediately followed her into the classroom. Then she said to me those words that no parent wants to hear: " Mrs. K, I think we need to have a talk."
We scheduled our talk for after school that day. For the entire day, I wondered what she wanted to talk about, and I was convinced that Bubby was going to be grounded forever for his offenses.
His teacher informed me that Bubby seems depressed. Depressed? Depressed.
"Lack of interest in activities. Constantly worn out. Doesn't participate. No sparkle in his eyes." And her list went on.
Then she asked me if Bubby has been having trouble sleeping. Yes. He was waking up at least three nights a week with nightmares. She wanted to know if he was engaging with us at home. Not really. He had been keeping to himself. Then she dropped the bomb.
"Has he been playing a lot of video games?" Well, I never! I was offended by her question. Of course I wasn't allowing him to play a lot of video games. I'm a much better mother than that. But then I thought about it some more. Maybe he was playing a lot of video games.
I was so excited in November to find a Wii video game console. I couldn't wait to give it to the kids at Christmas. It seemed like a perfect present... we could have fun, be active and play together.
I did notice Bubby's affinity toward the game. And I admit, we were a little concerned that he was playing it too much. But since he was up and moving with it, we ignored the concerns and focused on the positives. He was active and was never bored. After a few weeks though, we knew a problem was developing. He had this blank stare at all times, like he wasn't here. He didn't talk to us about his day. Each question was met with short, one word answers.
After talking with the teacher, Big A and I decided to ban the video games for a while, just to see what would happen. Two days later, Bubby was whining that he was bored.
"Why don't you draw a picture about something you did today at school? That would be fun." I encouraged.
And so he came up with this little drawing.
In case you're wondering what this picture means, allow me to interpret. Bubby drew a picture of himself, sitting in class, daydreaming about playing video games. If you notice in the details, his schoolpaper has an F grade and his video game has an A. He clearly wasn't happy with the video game ban and he still had games on his mind at school.
But now, just a few days later, we're noticing something. The old Bubby is back. He's happy. He's excited to read and participate in family activities. He's not constantly annoyed and most importantly, the distant, blank stare is gone. In less than a week, the teacher has already noticed an improvement in his behavior at school.
So for now, we're limiting the video games to 1 hour on Saturday and Sunday. And we've stocked up the art supplies, legos and board games so we always have something to do together. While I didn't agree with many things his teacher said that day, including her recommendations for counseling, I'm so glad we listened to her concerns about the video games. And we're reminded again as parents that moderation is key - a lesson that wii've been taught over and over since having kids.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Lost
No, not the show.
I'm sure a lot of my lady friends can commiserate with my feeling of being lost lately. Not lost in the physical sense. I know exactly where I am. Not lost in the spiritual sense either. I know exactly where I'm going. But lost in the personal sense.
Somewhere between getting married and becoming a mom to three beautiful kiddos, I have lost a big part of myself. I don't know when it happened, so I assume it's been a gradual occurrence. But here I am, 32 years old, and not sure what I want to be or do. I feel, well, lost.
I am a wife and mother. I'm a servant of the Lord. I'm a daughter, a sister, a neighbor, a friend. But how can I be just me when I'm so many things to so many people?
I posed this question to myself yesterday as I stared at the blank blog page here. I started this blog because I LOVE to write. I need to write. God made me a writer and it stirs my soul to put words on paper. But as I looked around my house at the piles of displaced toys, stacks of papers, unwashed dishes, and semi-hungry, bored children, I had to make a decision. Do I write or do I take care of the million other things that need my attention? Sadly, I didn't write.
I thought that an earlier bedtime/wake time would solve this problem. So after Big A and I put the kids to bed at 8:30, I hopped in the shower, put my pajamas on and settled in for a 9:30 bedtime. My alarm clock was set for 5:30 the next morning - plenty of time to have a meaningful meeting with the Lord, an opportunity to write and a short workout before my real day begins. But at 9:30, my husband needed me. Not for anything in particular, but just to hold hands on the couch while we talked about our day. He gets less of me than anyone, so when he asks for my time, I always oblige. As a couple, we're under a lot of stress right now due to some unusual circumstances, so we needed this time. As I tumbled into bed at 11, I realized my 5:30 wake-up call was a mere 6.5 hours away and not reasonable. I can't be grumpy all day when I have a toddler to chase, so I reset the alarm and prayed that I'd come up with a solution today.
I have a few friends who seem so fulfilled to me. And what sets them apart from me is that they also have interests outside of their families. One is a budding photographer. One is an avid scrapbooker. One has an intense career. One spends an insane amount of time at the gym (but has a rockin' body to show for it). But the common denominator is that they make time for themselves. They have no qualms about letting the house go, or ordering pizza every now and then because they realize the importance of staying in touch with their own interests. Even my husband wants me to follow my heart and write, so the only one stopping me is (surprise) me.
I'm just starting to realize how very important this is, and I'm thinking that as with anything, I will have to find a balance. Maybe sometimes the dishes will have to wait while I write, or sometimes my writing will have to wait for the laundry. Maybe I'll just have to go to Target occasionally, alone, to clear my head while everyone else eats dinner. Would it really hurt any of us? I think not.
So there I have it. This little martyr deal is not working for me any longer. Giving up what I love every.single.time isn't fair to anyone and is only creating discontentment in my heart. How can I be all things to everyone if I'm not being me to me?
For the last 20 minutes, the dust has accumulated, the dishes have soaked in the sink and the phone hasn't been answered. But I have been soothed. And my home and family haven't suffered one bit.
I'm sure a lot of my lady friends can commiserate with my feeling of being lost lately. Not lost in the physical sense. I know exactly where I am. Not lost in the spiritual sense either. I know exactly where I'm going. But lost in the personal sense.
Somewhere between getting married and becoming a mom to three beautiful kiddos, I have lost a big part of myself. I don't know when it happened, so I assume it's been a gradual occurrence. But here I am, 32 years old, and not sure what I want to be or do. I feel, well, lost.
I am a wife and mother. I'm a servant of the Lord. I'm a daughter, a sister, a neighbor, a friend. But how can I be just me when I'm so many things to so many people?
I posed this question to myself yesterday as I stared at the blank blog page here. I started this blog because I LOVE to write. I need to write. God made me a writer and it stirs my soul to put words on paper. But as I looked around my house at the piles of displaced toys, stacks of papers, unwashed dishes, and semi-hungry, bored children, I had to make a decision. Do I write or do I take care of the million other things that need my attention? Sadly, I didn't write.
I thought that an earlier bedtime/wake time would solve this problem. So after Big A and I put the kids to bed at 8:30, I hopped in the shower, put my pajamas on and settled in for a 9:30 bedtime. My alarm clock was set for 5:30 the next morning - plenty of time to have a meaningful meeting with the Lord, an opportunity to write and a short workout before my real day begins. But at 9:30, my husband needed me. Not for anything in particular, but just to hold hands on the couch while we talked about our day. He gets less of me than anyone, so when he asks for my time, I always oblige. As a couple, we're under a lot of stress right now due to some unusual circumstances, so we needed this time. As I tumbled into bed at 11, I realized my 5:30 wake-up call was a mere 6.5 hours away and not reasonable. I can't be grumpy all day when I have a toddler to chase, so I reset the alarm and prayed that I'd come up with a solution today.
I have a few friends who seem so fulfilled to me. And what sets them apart from me is that they also have interests outside of their families. One is a budding photographer. One is an avid scrapbooker. One has an intense career. One spends an insane amount of time at the gym (but has a rockin' body to show for it). But the common denominator is that they make time for themselves. They have no qualms about letting the house go, or ordering pizza every now and then because they realize the importance of staying in touch with their own interests. Even my husband wants me to follow my heart and write, so the only one stopping me is (surprise) me.
I'm just starting to realize how very important this is, and I'm thinking that as with anything, I will have to find a balance. Maybe sometimes the dishes will have to wait while I write, or sometimes my writing will have to wait for the laundry. Maybe I'll just have to go to Target occasionally, alone, to clear my head while everyone else eats dinner. Would it really hurt any of us? I think not.
So there I have it. This little martyr deal is not working for me any longer. Giving up what I love every.single.time isn't fair to anyone and is only creating discontentment in my heart. How can I be all things to everyone if I'm not being me to me?
For the last 20 minutes, the dust has accumulated, the dishes have soaked in the sink and the phone hasn't been answered. But I have been soothed. And my home and family haven't suffered one bit.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Our Currency
If anyone ever asks me why my kids are so well-behaved (no one has ever asked me that, but I know it's on every one's mind), I will tell them about a little system I came up with last year.
As any parent of school-aged children knows, having the kids home full-time after they're in school for nine months is quite an adjustment. The lack of schedule, lack of constant friendship and lack of independence from mommy is often too much to handle all at once. For the kids and for the parent. The first week of summer 2008 was terrible for all of us. Bubby and Sissy, excited to have a break from kindergarten and preschool, expected to rule the roost the instant school was over. I was excited for the chance to sleep in and happy to have everyone home for a while. Within an hour of the start of summer vacation, we were all sorely disappointed.
There were fights, backtalk, disobedience, and that was just on my part. Between the kids, there were shouting matches, whining, refusal to eat anything healthy, and complete and utter boredom that could only be remedied with hours in front of the TV. I had all I could take one morning when after only two minutes in the shower, I was startled by Bubby's screams.
"She broke my nose!!!" he cried.
"WHAT?! I was away from you for TWO MINUTES!" I tore out of the shower and grabbed a towel in one motion.
Blood was everywhere and Sissy was hiding. Bubby's side of the story was that Sissy threw the remote control at him while he was being good on the couch. She said that he wouldn't let her watch her show and he was making fun of her red hair (he has red hair too, but whatever).
After we cleaned up the blood on Bubby and the carpet (his nose was not broken, by the way), I sent them to their rooms so I could think.
I mulled over my options. I could start spanking them on a regular basis for every infraction. I could take away everything and make them (and me) live in misery for the entire summer. Or I could be creative and think of some way to reward them for good behavior, keep them from spending hours in front of the TV, but also provide entertainment so they weren't always bored.
And the Mom Bucks System was born.
Mom Bucks is just a fancy name for pieces of paper that I wrote the words "Mom Bucks" on. Each of them started the week with 15 Mom Bucks. Every 30 minutes of screen time (computer, video games, TV) cost a Mom Buck. Every argument, disrespectful behavior, unkind word or other action that warranted discipline also cost a Mom Buck. They could also redeem their currency for prizes like an extra treat after dinner, staying up 15 minutes past bedtime or getting out of one chore for free.
To earn extra Mom Bucks, they could read four books in one day, learn an extra Bible verse, be especially kind to their siblings or parents and have a good attitude all day long. Potentially, they could earn up to 4 more Mom Bucks per day. This was obviously not very motivating as they never strived to earn the extra bucks. But oh well.
I had a feeling this system would work because it meshed perfectly with their personalities. Bubby loves to please me and being rewarded for doing so was just icing on the cake. Sissy is a shopper like me, so she was constantly looking for ways to spend her Mom Bucks. "Can I give you a Mom Buck so I can play with my Barbies?" she asked one day. "No sweetie," I replied. "You can play with your Barbies for free." So she spent a lot of Mom Bucks on extra treats.
When I started grieving over the summer, I took a hiatus from parenting for a while. I'm ashamed to admit that it was a free-for-all for at least a month. But when I saw how the lack of structure and rules was impacting the kids' attitudes, stomachs and relationship with me and each other, I reinstated the program. I dread the day when they realize Mom Bucks aren't really worth anything.
What I've found in all these years of parenting is that no one method has worked completely for us. I have tried it all, from time outs to spankings to toy and treat deprivation to grounding and was always left feeling inadequate or inept in my parenting skills. The one-size-fits-all approach never worked (especially in the difficult toddler years). I wished I could be like those parents who were strict from the beginning and only had to say one word to get their children to obey. However, as a new mom, I often struggled with finding a balance between being a dicator and being spineless. I was inconsistent and couldn't find an in-between.
Eventually, I realized that God made each kid different, and I learned to tailor my discipline to their needs. To do this, I also had to let go of my friends' and family members' expectations of what we should be doing. Bubby is much more strong-willed and often requires more lengthy discipline like groundings. Sometimes even the Mom Bucks don't work for him. Sissy is a softie. If we even look at her the wrong way, she hangs her head in shame and silently weeps in repentance. She usually only needs a stern warning.
But they both love to be rewarded and I always try to remind them that they're precious to God and to me. On top of all that, they get lots of hugs and kisses and band-aids for their invisible boo-boos. They don't always (or ever, really) obey the first time every time, but I can relate. My Heavenly Father knows how much I struggle with obedience too. So we just keep working at it and pray that Chancho will be a little easier because we have a lot more experience.
Maybe some day I'll tell you about the Wife Bucks. ;)
As any parent of school-aged children knows, having the kids home full-time after they're in school for nine months is quite an adjustment. The lack of schedule, lack of constant friendship and lack of independence from mommy is often too much to handle all at once. For the kids and for the parent. The first week of summer 2008 was terrible for all of us. Bubby and Sissy, excited to have a break from kindergarten and preschool, expected to rule the roost the instant school was over. I was excited for the chance to sleep in and happy to have everyone home for a while. Within an hour of the start of summer vacation, we were all sorely disappointed.
There were fights, backtalk, disobedience, and that was just on my part. Between the kids, there were shouting matches, whining, refusal to eat anything healthy, and complete and utter boredom that could only be remedied with hours in front of the TV. I had all I could take one morning when after only two minutes in the shower, I was startled by Bubby's screams.
"She broke my nose!!!" he cried.
"WHAT?! I was away from you for TWO MINUTES!" I tore out of the shower and grabbed a towel in one motion.
Blood was everywhere and Sissy was hiding. Bubby's side of the story was that Sissy threw the remote control at him while he was being good on the couch. She said that he wouldn't let her watch her show and he was making fun of her red hair (he has red hair too, but whatever).
After we cleaned up the blood on Bubby and the carpet (his nose was not broken, by the way), I sent them to their rooms so I could think.
I mulled over my options. I could start spanking them on a regular basis for every infraction. I could take away everything and make them (and me) live in misery for the entire summer. Or I could be creative and think of some way to reward them for good behavior, keep them from spending hours in front of the TV, but also provide entertainment so they weren't always bored.
And the Mom Bucks System was born.
Mom Bucks is just a fancy name for pieces of paper that I wrote the words "Mom Bucks" on. Each of them started the week with 15 Mom Bucks. Every 30 minutes of screen time (computer, video games, TV) cost a Mom Buck. Every argument, disrespectful behavior, unkind word or other action that warranted discipline also cost a Mom Buck. They could also redeem their currency for prizes like an extra treat after dinner, staying up 15 minutes past bedtime or getting out of one chore for free.
To earn extra Mom Bucks, they could read four books in one day, learn an extra Bible verse, be especially kind to their siblings or parents and have a good attitude all day long. Potentially, they could earn up to 4 more Mom Bucks per day. This was obviously not very motivating as they never strived to earn the extra bucks. But oh well.
I had a feeling this system would work because it meshed perfectly with their personalities. Bubby loves to please me and being rewarded for doing so was just icing on the cake. Sissy is a shopper like me, so she was constantly looking for ways to spend her Mom Bucks. "Can I give you a Mom Buck so I can play with my Barbies?" she asked one day. "No sweetie," I replied. "You can play with your Barbies for free." So she spent a lot of Mom Bucks on extra treats.
When I started grieving over the summer, I took a hiatus from parenting for a while. I'm ashamed to admit that it was a free-for-all for at least a month. But when I saw how the lack of structure and rules was impacting the kids' attitudes, stomachs and relationship with me and each other, I reinstated the program. I dread the day when they realize Mom Bucks aren't really worth anything.
What I've found in all these years of parenting is that no one method has worked completely for us. I have tried it all, from time outs to spankings to toy and treat deprivation to grounding and was always left feeling inadequate or inept in my parenting skills. The one-size-fits-all approach never worked (especially in the difficult toddler years). I wished I could be like those parents who were strict from the beginning and only had to say one word to get their children to obey. However, as a new mom, I often struggled with finding a balance between being a dicator and being spineless. I was inconsistent and couldn't find an in-between.
Eventually, I realized that God made each kid different, and I learned to tailor my discipline to their needs. To do this, I also had to let go of my friends' and family members' expectations of what we should be doing. Bubby is much more strong-willed and often requires more lengthy discipline like groundings. Sometimes even the Mom Bucks don't work for him. Sissy is a softie. If we even look at her the wrong way, she hangs her head in shame and silently weeps in repentance. She usually only needs a stern warning.
But they both love to be rewarded and I always try to remind them that they're precious to God and to me. On top of all that, they get lots of hugs and kisses and band-aids for their invisible boo-boos. They don't always (or ever, really) obey the first time every time, but I can relate. My Heavenly Father knows how much I struggle with obedience too. So we just keep working at it and pray that Chancho will be a little easier because we have a lot more experience.
Maybe some day I'll tell you about the Wife Bucks. ;)
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Title-less
I'm exhausted.
This week has been terrible. Over the course of the last seven days, all three kids have been sick. Sissy is the lucky one, as her sickness seems to be gone after just a day. Bubby and Chancho have this lingering illness that could be the common cold or croup, but it's hard to tell which. Everyone is cranky and whiney (including mommy and daddy) and I think we're all ready for spring to arrive.
But then I look outside at the 5 inches of snow on our deck and the complete whiteness of everything else, and I'm reminded that we've still got a lot of winter left.
I admit, I spend much of the winter wishing it was gone. I hate being even the teeniest bit cold. I hate bundling up. I hate icy roads and most of all, I hate being cooped up in the house and the germs that seem to feast on us when we're here. I just want sunshine and warmth and to wear flip flops and capri pants.
But the snow sure is pretty. And our front yard makes for an awesome sled-riding hill, which Sissy and I christened yesterday for 2009. And regardless of the temperature, the kids don't seem to mind the winter. They see the promise of fun and hot chocolate and a surprise snowday with every snowflake that falls.
So here I sit, the few minutes of sanity I've stolen for myself are being used up on the Internet. We won't be going to church today and I won't be making my weekly pilgrimage to Walmart. Instead, I'll be serving grilled cheese and soup to my patients and holding prayer vigils as I sit with them while they sleep on the couch. Maybe later, if I'm brave, I'll invite Sissy outside to hit the slopes with me. Or maybe I'll just turn up the furnace and pretend it's summer.
This week has been terrible. Over the course of the last seven days, all three kids have been sick. Sissy is the lucky one, as her sickness seems to be gone after just a day. Bubby and Chancho have this lingering illness that could be the common cold or croup, but it's hard to tell which. Everyone is cranky and whiney (including mommy and daddy) and I think we're all ready for spring to arrive.
But then I look outside at the 5 inches of snow on our deck and the complete whiteness of everything else, and I'm reminded that we've still got a lot of winter left.
I admit, I spend much of the winter wishing it was gone. I hate being even the teeniest bit cold. I hate bundling up. I hate icy roads and most of all, I hate being cooped up in the house and the germs that seem to feast on us when we're here. I just want sunshine and warmth and to wear flip flops and capri pants.
But the snow sure is pretty. And our front yard makes for an awesome sled-riding hill, which Sissy and I christened yesterday for 2009. And regardless of the temperature, the kids don't seem to mind the winter. They see the promise of fun and hot chocolate and a surprise snowday with every snowflake that falls.
So here I sit, the few minutes of sanity I've stolen for myself are being used up on the Internet. We won't be going to church today and I won't be making my weekly pilgrimage to Walmart. Instead, I'll be serving grilled cheese and soup to my patients and holding prayer vigils as I sit with them while they sleep on the couch. Maybe later, if I'm brave, I'll invite Sissy outside to hit the slopes with me. Or maybe I'll just turn up the furnace and pretend it's summer.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Under Construction
I thought I could easily change the layout on this blog, but I was wrong. I'll still be posting, but there will probably be a lot of craziness with the design for a few days because I really have no idea what I'm doing.
Thanks!
Thanks!
My Son, the Wordsmith
Bubby and Sissy are both home sick today. She had a fever this morning, and I suspected he only came down with a sore throat when he heard that she was staying home from school.
So I asked him to describe his illness in three sentences.
I guess his throat hurts and he needs water and he needs medicine.
So I asked him to describe his illness in three sentences.
I guess his throat hurts and he needs water and he needs medicine.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
The Night the Lights Went out in Rittman
Well, just on our tiny country road.
Today started out like any other day. A trip to Target, one of Chancho's little tantrums, cleaning the smudges from the sliding glass door. It was the usual humdrum. The big kids got home from school and our evening song and dance began. Except there's no dancing or singing, but there is occasional humming (usually to the tune of "Smoke on the Water" - don't ask me why it's one of the only songs my kids know because I've certainly tried for years to instill "Jesus Loves Me" in their little minds without success. They can, however, sing all of the freecreditreport.com jingles.).
But I'm getting off track. As I was making supper and chatting with my friend Tymara on the phone, I heard a loud BOOM. It made me jump and scream a little (and almost pee my pants, which is really no big deal because it happens more than I care to admit). Then the lights went out.
The computer clicked off, the TV shut down, and the frozen, pre-packaged meal that was cooking in the oven stopped cooking. Even the kids got quiet.
Chancho spoke first:
"Turn TV on Mommy," he said sternly. Never mind that it was dark in the house. He just wanted to finish his show.
"Our electric must have shut off guys" I said. "Don't worry, I've got flashlights."
But I couldn't find batteries, of course. So I fumbled around for some candles. After then fumbling around for a lighter, I called the electric company on our cell phone by the glow of candlelight. They said it would be about two hours before power would be back on. I could easily deal with two hours of darkness. We would be like pioneers. The kids would have a blast as they did their homework and ate dinner by candlelight. We would picnic on the living room floor with cereal and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or hotdogs on the grill. I would entertain the kids with scary stories and if the power didn't come back on, we would build a fire in our fireplace for warmth. This would be one of those nights they remember for years to come.
My excitement lasted for about 20 seconds, 30 seconds max. I have a toddler, I thought to myself. A toddler who at that very moment was trying to climb onto the counter so he could "see fire Mommy now." I could just picture our impromptu picnic going up in flames as I fumbled for the fire extinguisher. With suppertime and the blackness of night rapidly approaching, I knew I had to make a decision quickly or there could be dire consequences.
"Burger King or McDonald's?" I asked Big A.
A few minutes after we left for Burger King, the power came back on. Realistically, we could have turned around and eaten what I had already started preparing. But I was exhausted from that whole half-hour without power. It's a wonder we even survived out here in the dark. Our experience only confirmed what I've already figured out about myself: When a sticky situation arises, I have a tendency to be ineffective. I try really hard to save the day at first, but I give up pretty easily.
At least I know that when the chips are down, I usually have a supply of fast food coupons handy. Even if I don't have batteries for the flashlights.
Today started out like any other day. A trip to Target, one of Chancho's little tantrums, cleaning the smudges from the sliding glass door. It was the usual humdrum. The big kids got home from school and our evening song and dance began. Except there's no dancing or singing, but there is occasional humming (usually to the tune of "Smoke on the Water" - don't ask me why it's one of the only songs my kids know because I've certainly tried for years to instill "Jesus Loves Me" in their little minds without success. They can, however, sing all of the freecreditreport.com jingles.).
But I'm getting off track. As I was making supper and chatting with my friend Tymara on the phone, I heard a loud BOOM. It made me jump and scream a little (and almost pee my pants, which is really no big deal because it happens more than I care to admit). Then the lights went out.
The computer clicked off, the TV shut down, and the frozen, pre-packaged meal that was cooking in the oven stopped cooking. Even the kids got quiet.
Chancho spoke first:
"Turn TV on Mommy," he said sternly. Never mind that it was dark in the house. He just wanted to finish his show.
"Our electric must have shut off guys" I said. "Don't worry, I've got flashlights."
But I couldn't find batteries, of course. So I fumbled around for some candles. After then fumbling around for a lighter, I called the electric company on our cell phone by the glow of candlelight. They said it would be about two hours before power would be back on. I could easily deal with two hours of darkness. We would be like pioneers. The kids would have a blast as they did their homework and ate dinner by candlelight. We would picnic on the living room floor with cereal and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches or hotdogs on the grill. I would entertain the kids with scary stories and if the power didn't come back on, we would build a fire in our fireplace for warmth. This would be one of those nights they remember for years to come.
My excitement lasted for about 20 seconds, 30 seconds max. I have a toddler, I thought to myself. A toddler who at that very moment was trying to climb onto the counter so he could "see fire Mommy now." I could just picture our impromptu picnic going up in flames as I fumbled for the fire extinguisher. With suppertime and the blackness of night rapidly approaching, I knew I had to make a decision quickly or there could be dire consequences.
"Burger King or McDonald's?" I asked Big A.
A few minutes after we left for Burger King, the power came back on. Realistically, we could have turned around and eaten what I had already started preparing. But I was exhausted from that whole half-hour without power. It's a wonder we even survived out here in the dark. Our experience only confirmed what I've already figured out about myself: When a sticky situation arises, I have a tendency to be ineffective. I try really hard to save the day at first, but I give up pretty easily.
At least I know that when the chips are down, I usually have a supply of fast food coupons handy. Even if I don't have batteries for the flashlights.
Monday, January 5, 2009
Desperate Times Call for Desperate Measures
One of the most important lessons I want to teach my children is to always be truthful, even when it's not pleasant. That's why what I'm about to confess is especially shameful for me. Unfortunately, I've compromised my beliefs this week and I must get it off my chest.
Sissy, my beautiful 5-year-old daughter, needs glasses. She inherited my husband's family's bad eyesight, so since August, she's been wearing cute purple glasses for reading, school, church and watching TV. What once started out as a fashion statement has become a chore for her. She's always misplacing her glasses or just conveniently "forgetting" to put them on when we leave the house. She didn't wear them over the entire Christmas break so last week I wanted her to get into the habit of keeping them on because school was starting today.
Of course, she wasn't having that.
"I don't think I need glasses anymore. I can see just fine," she said.
"Okay Sissy. How many fingers am I holding up?" asked Andrew, holding up four fingers.
"Four," she replied.
"No, I'm holding up five. You do need glasses. You couldn't see the last finger," he said as he quickly put up an extra finger to make five.
After a little more arguing, I pulled out the last weapon in my mommy arsenal.
"Sissy, if you don't wear your glasses, you're going to have to get an eye operation someday to fix your eyes," I said with a sigh. I knew I shouldn't have said it, but I was out of options.
Now Sissy hates all things bloody and will literally cry for an hour over any speck on her body that resembles an injury, regardless of whether she's in pain or not. This is the girl who begged to get her ears pierced then begged me not to make her get them pierced when we arrived at the store (like I was forcing her).
I could see the wheels of her brain turning. She was panic-stricken. "I have to get my glasses," she said in desperation. There, I thought, mission accomplished.
However, the mission had only begun. For the next several hours, Sissy had many questions about her pending surgical procedure.
"How do they get your eyeball out to operate on it?"
"When they put it back in, will it fall out if you jump around?"
"How will I see if my eyeball has stitches on it?"
And on and on.
While I may have won the battle, I think I lost the war. She is now scared to death of a fictional eye operation and will probably never take her glasses off again. I can just hear her telling her school friends about the perils of not wearing your glasses at all times. I shudder to think of them telling their moms and their moms thinking I'm nuts.
All because I lied.
The lying didn't start there, if I'm being truthful (which I am, at the moment). I've routinely been lying to Chancho about a "guy" in the laundry room. Despite having a child-safety knob on the door, he manages to find a way in each day. So one morning, as I was re-folding the clean clothes that he had just dumped out, I said, "We better go. The guy will get us."
I'm not sure what "guy" Chancho is so afraid of, but he high-tailed it out of the laundry room. Now each time he aims for the door, all I have to say is, "Oh no! The guy." and Chancho runs away. This has also worked at the grocery store when he's trying to escape the shopping cart ("Oh no! The guy!") and the doctor's office when he's trying to escape the exam room ("Oh no! The guy!") and church when he's trying to escape the toddler room ("Oh no! The guy!"). Technically I'm not really lying. I'm just repeating a silly, made-up phrase over and over as I gasp! for emphasis. I'm guessing Chancho will be the child of mine who needs the most therapy since he'll probably be afraid of all men and never leave his house.
Even though Sissy needs to wear her glasses and Chancho needs to stop escaping every situation, I know that falsifying information to them is still not acceptable. One of my goals for this new year is to find more creative ways to parent so I don't have to resort to negative behavior like lying. Because if there's one thing I know for sure: "Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord." And for me, that is more motivation than "the guy."
Sissy, my beautiful 5-year-old daughter, needs glasses. She inherited my husband's family's bad eyesight, so since August, she's been wearing cute purple glasses for reading, school, church and watching TV. What once started out as a fashion statement has become a chore for her. She's always misplacing her glasses or just conveniently "forgetting" to put them on when we leave the house. She didn't wear them over the entire Christmas break so last week I wanted her to get into the habit of keeping them on because school was starting today.
Of course, she wasn't having that.
"I don't think I need glasses anymore. I can see just fine," she said.
"Okay Sissy. How many fingers am I holding up?" asked Andrew, holding up four fingers.
"Four," she replied.
"No, I'm holding up five. You do need glasses. You couldn't see the last finger," he said as he quickly put up an extra finger to make five.
After a little more arguing, I pulled out the last weapon in my mommy arsenal.
"Sissy, if you don't wear your glasses, you're going to have to get an eye operation someday to fix your eyes," I said with a sigh. I knew I shouldn't have said it, but I was out of options.
Now Sissy hates all things bloody and will literally cry for an hour over any speck on her body that resembles an injury, regardless of whether she's in pain or not. This is the girl who begged to get her ears pierced then begged me not to make her get them pierced when we arrived at the store (like I was forcing her).
I could see the wheels of her brain turning. She was panic-stricken. "I have to get my glasses," she said in desperation. There, I thought, mission accomplished.
However, the mission had only begun. For the next several hours, Sissy had many questions about her pending surgical procedure.
"How do they get your eyeball out to operate on it?"
"When they put it back in, will it fall out if you jump around?"
"How will I see if my eyeball has stitches on it?"
And on and on.
While I may have won the battle, I think I lost the war. She is now scared to death of a fictional eye operation and will probably never take her glasses off again. I can just hear her telling her school friends about the perils of not wearing your glasses at all times. I shudder to think of them telling their moms and their moms thinking I'm nuts.
All because I lied.
The lying didn't start there, if I'm being truthful (which I am, at the moment). I've routinely been lying to Chancho about a "guy" in the laundry room. Despite having a child-safety knob on the door, he manages to find a way in each day. So one morning, as I was re-folding the clean clothes that he had just dumped out, I said, "We better go. The guy will get us."
I'm not sure what "guy" Chancho is so afraid of, but he high-tailed it out of the laundry room. Now each time he aims for the door, all I have to say is, "Oh no! The guy." and Chancho runs away. This has also worked at the grocery store when he's trying to escape the shopping cart ("Oh no! The guy!") and the doctor's office when he's trying to escape the exam room ("Oh no! The guy!") and church when he's trying to escape the toddler room ("Oh no! The guy!"). Technically I'm not really lying. I'm just repeating a silly, made-up phrase over and over as I gasp! for emphasis. I'm guessing Chancho will be the child of mine who needs the most therapy since he'll probably be afraid of all men and never leave his house.
Even though Sissy needs to wear her glasses and Chancho needs to stop escaping every situation, I know that falsifying information to them is still not acceptable. One of my goals for this new year is to find more creative ways to parent so I don't have to resort to negative behavior like lying. Because if there's one thing I know for sure: "Lying lips are an abomination to the Lord." And for me, that is more motivation than "the guy."
Saturday, January 3, 2009
All I Want for My Birthday
Today is my 32nd birthday. I feel strangely disinterested in this fact because it truly feels like every other day. When did my birthday stop being my special day and start being like every.other.day in my life? The answer isn't surprising... when I became a mom.
During my first few years of motherhood, I think I expected the annual funfest to continue for me. I soon realized that this wasn't a possibility when I was still being asked to change diapers and make meals and clean up messes when I would have rather been relaxing or seeing a movie or dining out with my man.
The kids try. They really, really do. They want my birthday to be fun and exciting for them. Sissy just handed me a beautiful homemade card with a $20 bill inside. I graciously thanked her and told her to keep her money for something she wanted. She seemed relieved. Chancho just threw half-eaten apple at me as he exclaimed, "birpday!" Bubby is still asleep (lucky).
Even Big A, who knows me better than anyone, seems to not know me at all when it comes to gifts and celebrations. Last year, I made it clear to him that all I wanted for my birthday was a gift card to buy some outfits for church. I wrote down my wish on a piece of paper and reminded him several times, to which he replied, "I get it. You want a gift card to buy clothes for church." When my birthday rolled around, he presented me with... a desk chair. Maybe the store was out of gift cards and he decided to buy the largest item possible?
Last night, I pre-planned for today. I balanced the checkbook, washed and folded several loads of laundry and even emptied the dishwasher. With everything in place, I headed to bed. There is nothing better than waking up to a tidied house, especially on my birthday, and as I drifted off to sleep, I smiled at the peaceful morning that awaited me. However, the cleanliness of my kitchen really didn't make a difference when I was awakened at 5:30 am to find Chancho's binky, then again at 6:30 to look for his blankie. At this point, I surrendered.
Since I know today will be like any other day, I thought I'd make a list of what I'd really want for my birthday, if someone actually asked and listened.
- Two more hours in the day. Ha. Wouldn't that be nice? During those two hours, I would walk on the treadmill, take a long, uninterrupted shower, shave my legs and have a real quiet time with the Lord.
- No fighting. This is also my Christmas wish, Valentine's wish, Easter wish and Memorial Day wish. Try as they might, the kids can't seem to do this for me. My favorite defensive remark on this topic came from Sissy at Christmastime. "If I don't fight with Bubby first, he will try to fight with me."
- A laptop with wireless Internet connection. I know, I know - big-ticket item. But I spend most of my Internet time in fear of what Chancho is getting into. As soon as I sit at the computer desk, he disappears. I'll later find him surrounded by wet Q-tips, piles of diaper wipes, or any assortment of beauty products, Lego’s, gumballs, etc. If I could only be online while sitting next to him. Rather than purchase a laptop, I'm sure Big A would suggest that I'm not online so much. But that's just not realistic.
- A week of no meal planning or grocery shopping. This is actually my lifelong dream. I would love for Big A to make a meal plan, go through the sales flyers and shop for groceries for a week. I wouldn't even mind cooking what's on his menu if he did all of the legwork. Unfortunately, Big A seems to hate grocery stores and thinking of dinner ideas, so I'm sure this is a pipedream. But I'll continue to pray that one week, I won't have to set foot in Walmart or Giant Eagle.
- A good picture of me. Why am I the only one who can ever take a picture in this house? I'm always grabbing the camera when the kids do something cute or when they're playing happily. But no one ever takes pictures of me (except for the embarrassing dressing room shots that Sissy took with my camera phone last year, which reminds me that I should apologize to my mother-in-law for what she saw when she borrowed my phone). I'd like one good picture, either with the kids or with Big A, that I can proudly put on the mantle. I want it to be perfect, but not look posed and I want to look 10 pounds lighter and about five years younger. Is that really too much to ask?
A girl can dream, right? Now I'm off to wake Bubby up to see what he has in store for me today. Maybe he'll let me watch him while he plays the Wii... you know, because it's my special day and all.
During my first few years of motherhood, I think I expected the annual funfest to continue for me. I soon realized that this wasn't a possibility when I was still being asked to change diapers and make meals and clean up messes when I would have rather been relaxing or seeing a movie or dining out with my man.
The kids try. They really, really do. They want my birthday to be fun and exciting for them. Sissy just handed me a beautiful homemade card with a $20 bill inside. I graciously thanked her and told her to keep her money for something she wanted. She seemed relieved. Chancho just threw half-eaten apple at me as he exclaimed, "birpday!" Bubby is still asleep (lucky).
Even Big A, who knows me better than anyone, seems to not know me at all when it comes to gifts and celebrations. Last year, I made it clear to him that all I wanted for my birthday was a gift card to buy some outfits for church. I wrote down my wish on a piece of paper and reminded him several times, to which he replied, "I get it. You want a gift card to buy clothes for church." When my birthday rolled around, he presented me with... a desk chair. Maybe the store was out of gift cards and he decided to buy the largest item possible?
Last night, I pre-planned for today. I balanced the checkbook, washed and folded several loads of laundry and even emptied the dishwasher. With everything in place, I headed to bed. There is nothing better than waking up to a tidied house, especially on my birthday, and as I drifted off to sleep, I smiled at the peaceful morning that awaited me. However, the cleanliness of my kitchen really didn't make a difference when I was awakened at 5:30 am to find Chancho's binky, then again at 6:30 to look for his blankie. At this point, I surrendered.
Since I know today will be like any other day, I thought I'd make a list of what I'd really want for my birthday, if someone actually asked and listened.
- Two more hours in the day. Ha. Wouldn't that be nice? During those two hours, I would walk on the treadmill, take a long, uninterrupted shower, shave my legs and have a real quiet time with the Lord.
- No fighting. This is also my Christmas wish, Valentine's wish, Easter wish and Memorial Day wish. Try as they might, the kids can't seem to do this for me. My favorite defensive remark on this topic came from Sissy at Christmastime. "If I don't fight with Bubby first, he will try to fight with me."
- A laptop with wireless Internet connection. I know, I know - big-ticket item. But I spend most of my Internet time in fear of what Chancho is getting into. As soon as I sit at the computer desk, he disappears. I'll later find him surrounded by wet Q-tips, piles of diaper wipes, or any assortment of beauty products, Lego’s, gumballs, etc. If I could only be online while sitting next to him. Rather than purchase a laptop, I'm sure Big A would suggest that I'm not online so much. But that's just not realistic.
- A week of no meal planning or grocery shopping. This is actually my lifelong dream. I would love for Big A to make a meal plan, go through the sales flyers and shop for groceries for a week. I wouldn't even mind cooking what's on his menu if he did all of the legwork. Unfortunately, Big A seems to hate grocery stores and thinking of dinner ideas, so I'm sure this is a pipedream. But I'll continue to pray that one week, I won't have to set foot in Walmart or Giant Eagle.
- A good picture of me. Why am I the only one who can ever take a picture in this house? I'm always grabbing the camera when the kids do something cute or when they're playing happily. But no one ever takes pictures of me (except for the embarrassing dressing room shots that Sissy took with my camera phone last year, which reminds me that I should apologize to my mother-in-law for what she saw when she borrowed my phone). I'd like one good picture, either with the kids or with Big A, that I can proudly put on the mantle. I want it to be perfect, but not look posed and I want to look 10 pounds lighter and about five years younger. Is that really too much to ask?
A girl can dream, right? Now I'm off to wake Bubby up to see what he has in store for me today. Maybe he'll let me watch him while he plays the Wii... you know, because it's my special day and all.
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