I wasn't a perfect child, but I was pretty good. Yes, I remember getting spanked, and yes, I got my mouth smacked a time or two (okay, daily), but overall, I didn't give my parents too much cause for worry. I was generally respectful, and I was definitely a rule follower. That's why I simply can't understand my current situation. God saw fit to not give me easy children. I didn't get easily compliant or easy going kids. I got Hallie and Leah. When I was pregnant with Leah, I figured God would have to have some mercy on me and give me one child that I could handle, but I see now that He was only laughing at me behind my back. I would like to think that He gave me these two girls because He believed I was such an amazing mother that I could handle it, but deep inside I know that's just wishful thinking.
As always, I feel like I have to stop here and interject that the reality is I LOVE my children. There probably have never been two children better suited to me in the history of the world. I think it's the very qualities that make them so difficult that also make them so amazing. And I try to remind myself that in the midst of the chaos.
It's just that the chaos is so frequent. Now that I've started back to work, I don't get to see my kids as often, which because I'm a glutton for punishment, makes me very, very sad. Leah has been staying with April on Thursdays. It's one of her favorite days of the week (Leah's, not April's). I, on the other hand, dread it. The other day, I went to pick her up, and as soon as I walked through the door, she started crying. No, not crying. Screaming. Immediately, April says, "I don't know why she does that. She's been so good all day." Of course she has been. As I'm trying to calm that storm, Hallie comes in from outside where she's been playing with Brock. She's pouting and finally tells me it's because Uncle Paul made her come back inside because she called Brock a "dumb boy." I'm not really sure what happened from there. It all happened so fast. There was a slamming bathroom door. A very angry mother. A spanking. A screaming child (the second one in 10 minutes). So, now I have two screaming children, and I'm sweating and trying to get everything together to leave. I wildly throw belongings and furious children in the car and peel out without much more than a "thanks" and "bye." We all three cry all the way home.
For another example, I need only look to last night's soccer practice. We had been having a pretty good afternoon. We were even early to practice. I should have known it couldn't last long. Let me set the scene for you. My wonderful friends were all there decked out in workout apparel, ready for a 7-mile walk after practice. They looked amazing, fit and skinny. My Goodmoodometer ticked down a few ticks. I was in danger of sliding into 'feel sorry for yourself' mode, but I was keeping it together. There's a blanket set out and the children were playing merrily with blocks and toys. As I looked out over everyone's children, I could almost see the sun glinting off their halos. Then, here comes Leah. You know that movie where the baby becomes huge and walks though town destroying everything while people run in horror? Well, that's how I imagine what happened next. She smacks a toy out of someone's hand, she takes a toy from one child and throws it, then she cries so loudly that she makes another child cry. I grab her and tell her to sit in her chair until I tell her she can get up. She promptly says, "I'm gonna get up, Mom." I tell her if she does, I'll spank her. She does, and I do. I put her back in the chair. She looks at me, smiles, and gets back up. I spank her again. Repeat a third time. Even though I try to be inconspicuous and take her away from the crowd, I feel the uncomfortable stares, and I'm totally imagining the worst of what everyone is thinking. My Goodmoodometer is completely broken by this point, and there's really no hope of getting it fixed any time tonight. Again, I'm throwing kids in the car trying to make a quick getaway. I'm white-knuckling it while Leah cries all the way home.
Wonderful, well-meaning people smile that "you poor thing, you just really aren't a very good mother" smile and say things to try and make me feel better like, "We've all been there," and "No child is perfect. Our kids act like that sometimes, too." My question is, WHEN? Does it happen in some bizarro world where everything is opposite because I've surely never been there, thought I think I might like to visit. Soon.
Cut to this morning. I'm sitting here typing, and Leah comes up to me with a book. "Read to me, Mama," she says. I look into those big, brown eyes, and my heart melts for her. I'm so in love with these whining, crying, complaining, spoiled children that my heart hurts. Intellectually, I know I'll look back on these days and be sad they're gone. I'm already a little sad the girls are 5 and 2. No, I don't look like I want to, and yes, my kids are unruly, but this really is the good life. I'm blessed beyond measure. Now, if I make it through raising children, I think I'll choose to look back and remember only what I want to. Probably much like I did with my own childhood.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
Wednesday, August 10, 2011
Hi ho, hi ho...
You see, I love my job. I really do. I can't think of anything else in this world that I would rather do as a profession, though I must admit to scanning the Help Wanted ads from time to time. And after a particularly difficult day, I've stronly considered the greeter's job at Wal-Mart. Deep down, though, I believe that teaching is my calling, and while I think I'd make a heck of a greeter, I'm going to stick to the teaching gig.
Coming off one of the best summers I've ever had with my kids, though, going back to work sure was hard. My children, being the considerate angels I've taught them to be, tried every way they could think of to make my transition easier. They spent the last few days of our vacation executing "Operation Help Mommy Want to Go Back to Work." This covert operation included screaming endlessly for no reason, crying at the drop of a hat, physically attaching themselves to me whenever possible, fighting over toys, and general unruly behavior. I'll tell you that their plan did help. After those few days, I was scratching at the door to get back to work.
That is, of course, until the morning I actually had to go back. I thought this process was supposed to get easier as my kids got older, but it hasn't so far. I dropped them off in capable hands, shut the door behind me, and cried all the way to work. Being a working mom is not an easy job. Now, let me insert a disclaimer here. I am about to expound upon the woes of being a working mother. If you are going to have a hard time reading someone who works full-time and raises kids complain about working full-time and raising kids, you might want to stop reading now. This blog will only frustrate you. If you, however, can enjoy reading about one mother's perspective on work and kids, then by all means, carry on.
The hardest part of being a working mom is giving everyone 100% all the time. I'm just going to tell you that it's not possible. On any given day, somebody's going to come up short. I try my very best to make sure it's someone other than my children, but that's not always possible. Most days for me, that means my house is a wreck and I smell my children's dirty clothes to see which ones I can get by with putting back on them the next day. After being away from my children all day, my time at home belongs to them. I'll clean the house and do laundry in 16 years when they're off at college. Right now, I'm going to step over those cracker crumbs on the carpet and sit in the floor and play Barbies and read books.
That does paint a lovely picture, doesn't it? Here's how that actually plays out (an example from just today): I'm tired from work, but I can't wait to see my girls. I leave work as soon as I possibly can so I can get the girls home to play with them before church. I open the door at Mrs. Heidi's and they both yell, "Mommy" and come running into my arms. There's much hugging and kissing and laughter. We gather our things and head to the car. I get both girls strapped in, start the car up, and Hallie asks me if we can go get ice cream. I tell her that I don't have any money and I'd rather not stop today, but maybe we could do that tomorrow. A compromise. Hallie wads my compromise up into a tiny ball and hurls it back at me in the form of whining, crying, and pushing on the back of my seat with her legs. Leah begins to mumble something at me that I can't understand because she's 2 and Hallie is loud. Taking her cue from big sis, because I can't understand her, she gets frustrated and starts to yell at me. This continues for much of the trip home until I've taken ice cream off the table for tomorrow and tell them both it's in their best interest to be quiet. We do play nicely upstairs together until Hallie decides she wants a snack, which I get for her and Leah. One snack isn't enough, though, so she asks for another. I tell her no because it's too close to dinner. She promptly goes downstairs and comes back up with a cereal bar. Another skirmish. So far, I've been with my children for about an hour, and we've fought for 45 minutes of it! After that she wants crackers. I'm not sure why my message isn't getting through. More arguing.
Now that it's time for church, I get a kicking and screaming Leah dressed. I'm thinking she doesn't want to stop playing to get back out. We finally make it to church for the meal. After Leah eats her token one bean for dinner, she decides to get down. She falls. She screams. People stare and give me that half-smile, half-pained look that means something like, "I'm sort of smiling so you'll think I think she's cute, but really she's just being loud and getting on my nerves so will you please get that screaming baby out of here because you're ruining my dinner!" Now, if you know me at all, you'll know that calling attention to myself in any form is my absolute worst nightmare. So, I'm tired, I've been fighting with my kids since I picked them up, and now everyone is staring. I'm trying very hard not to cry, and by the time I make it back to my seat, Leah is ready to go play again. When I hear another child screaming just minutes later, I start to do that half-smile, half-pained look at the poor mother (mainly just to make myself feel better) until I realize, crap, that's Leah again. Fabulous. I walk through the stares again to retrieve her, and some poor soul asks if she's hurt. I want to say, "No, this is just how Leah communicates. Some kids know sign language, Leah cries." And although that is completely true, I choose instead, to rush with my head down, mumbling something about "why's everybody staring at me" back to my seat.
By the time I get these kids home, it's all I can do not to drop them off at the foot of the stairs, pat them on the rear, and instruct them to run along and put themselves to bed. Instead, I put on my happy mommy face, give lots of kisses and hugs, zip Leah up in her little crib cage, and tuck those sweet babies in bed.
Tomorrow, I'll get up and do it all over again. I'll go to work, come home and play with my kids, and have a conversation with my husband when the kids go to bed, all the while, trying to do it everything perfectly. I will fall short on many levels. I won't be the mom, teacher, wife, housekeeper, cook, or friend I'd like to be. I'm not sure what the answer to that is; I'm just hoping that my kids have short memories and low expectations.
Coming off one of the best summers I've ever had with my kids, though, going back to work sure was hard. My children, being the considerate angels I've taught them to be, tried every way they could think of to make my transition easier. They spent the last few days of our vacation executing "Operation Help Mommy Want to Go Back to Work." This covert operation included screaming endlessly for no reason, crying at the drop of a hat, physically attaching themselves to me whenever possible, fighting over toys, and general unruly behavior. I'll tell you that their plan did help. After those few days, I was scratching at the door to get back to work.
That is, of course, until the morning I actually had to go back. I thought this process was supposed to get easier as my kids got older, but it hasn't so far. I dropped them off in capable hands, shut the door behind me, and cried all the way to work. Being a working mom is not an easy job. Now, let me insert a disclaimer here. I am about to expound upon the woes of being a working mother. If you are going to have a hard time reading someone who works full-time and raises kids complain about working full-time and raising kids, you might want to stop reading now. This blog will only frustrate you. If you, however, can enjoy reading about one mother's perspective on work and kids, then by all means, carry on.
The hardest part of being a working mom is giving everyone 100% all the time. I'm just going to tell you that it's not possible. On any given day, somebody's going to come up short. I try my very best to make sure it's someone other than my children, but that's not always possible. Most days for me, that means my house is a wreck and I smell my children's dirty clothes to see which ones I can get by with putting back on them the next day. After being away from my children all day, my time at home belongs to them. I'll clean the house and do laundry in 16 years when they're off at college. Right now, I'm going to step over those cracker crumbs on the carpet and sit in the floor and play Barbies and read books.
That does paint a lovely picture, doesn't it? Here's how that actually plays out (an example from just today): I'm tired from work, but I can't wait to see my girls. I leave work as soon as I possibly can so I can get the girls home to play with them before church. I open the door at Mrs. Heidi's and they both yell, "Mommy" and come running into my arms. There's much hugging and kissing and laughter. We gather our things and head to the car. I get both girls strapped in, start the car up, and Hallie asks me if we can go get ice cream. I tell her that I don't have any money and I'd rather not stop today, but maybe we could do that tomorrow. A compromise. Hallie wads my compromise up into a tiny ball and hurls it back at me in the form of whining, crying, and pushing on the back of my seat with her legs. Leah begins to mumble something at me that I can't understand because she's 2 and Hallie is loud. Taking her cue from big sis, because I can't understand her, she gets frustrated and starts to yell at me. This continues for much of the trip home until I've taken ice cream off the table for tomorrow and tell them both it's in their best interest to be quiet. We do play nicely upstairs together until Hallie decides she wants a snack, which I get for her and Leah. One snack isn't enough, though, so she asks for another. I tell her no because it's too close to dinner. She promptly goes downstairs and comes back up with a cereal bar. Another skirmish. So far, I've been with my children for about an hour, and we've fought for 45 minutes of it! After that she wants crackers. I'm not sure why my message isn't getting through. More arguing.
Now that it's time for church, I get a kicking and screaming Leah dressed. I'm thinking she doesn't want to stop playing to get back out. We finally make it to church for the meal. After Leah eats her token one bean for dinner, she decides to get down. She falls. She screams. People stare and give me that half-smile, half-pained look that means something like, "I'm sort of smiling so you'll think I think she's cute, but really she's just being loud and getting on my nerves so will you please get that screaming baby out of here because you're ruining my dinner!" Now, if you know me at all, you'll know that calling attention to myself in any form is my absolute worst nightmare. So, I'm tired, I've been fighting with my kids since I picked them up, and now everyone is staring. I'm trying very hard not to cry, and by the time I make it back to my seat, Leah is ready to go play again. When I hear another child screaming just minutes later, I start to do that half-smile, half-pained look at the poor mother (mainly just to make myself feel better) until I realize, crap, that's Leah again. Fabulous. I walk through the stares again to retrieve her, and some poor soul asks if she's hurt. I want to say, "No, this is just how Leah communicates. Some kids know sign language, Leah cries." And although that is completely true, I choose instead, to rush with my head down, mumbling something about "why's everybody staring at me" back to my seat.
By the time I get these kids home, it's all I can do not to drop them off at the foot of the stairs, pat them on the rear, and instruct them to run along and put themselves to bed. Instead, I put on my happy mommy face, give lots of kisses and hugs, zip Leah up in her little crib cage, and tuck those sweet babies in bed.
Tomorrow, I'll get up and do it all over again. I'll go to work, come home and play with my kids, and have a conversation with my husband when the kids go to bed, all the while, trying to do it everything perfectly. I will fall short on many levels. I won't be the mom, teacher, wife, housekeeper, cook, or friend I'd like to be. I'm not sure what the answer to that is; I'm just hoping that my kids have short memories and low expectations.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Me Time
What do the Yeti, the Loch Ness Monster, aliens, and time to myself all have in common? That's right. They don't exist.
Now, if you know my husband, you'll know that he believes in each of these mythical ideas, including the concept of "me time". Bless his heart, he means well. I love when he recognizes that I might be a little worn thin and takes the girls outside to play. He always comes back in the house later and, very proud of himself, proclaims, "Aren't you glad I took the girls outside? Did you enjoy your time to yourself?" Here, I have to smile appreciatively and say, "Yes. Thank you. I did enjoy that," while I'm really thinking, "Yes. Thank you. Catching up on the laundry was really fun, but I think I enjoyed emptying the dishwasher even more."
Even when I'm sleeping, I always have one ear open, for at any time Hallie may come downstairs. There is no such thing as "me time." Honestly, most days that's okay. I love my girls more than any mother has ever loved her children, and I truly enjoy spending time with them. However, some days, I would be exceedingly happy if they could just take care of themselves and leave me the heck alone.
Today was one of those days. I actually decided to make myself useful today and get a few things done around the house. I didn't have much to do, but when I get focused on a task, I don't like for my attention to be diverted. I started first by emptying the dishwasher. A 5 minute job, right? Wrong. In order to keep Leah from climbing into the dishwasher, I had to sit her on top of the counter while I unloaded. With her dirty feet dangling all over the clean dishes in my open dishwasher, I finally decided that might not be the best place for her. I tried just moving her feet, and then she started sticking her hands in there, touching every glass she could get her hands on. She tired of that after a few minutes and moved on to the sink to turn the water on and off. Of course, I had to put her back on the floor, but that only angered the beast, so she stood at my side crying and begging me to pick her up. Emptying the dishwasher one-handed takes a long time.
Next, I moved on to some laundry. As I sat in the floor folding clothes, the children decided this would be the very best time to play a rousing game of tag in the 2-feet of space surrounding me, effectively unfolding the clothes I had previously folded and carefully placed beside me. I don't like folding clothes once. I hate folding clothes twice. After I got most clothes put away, I moved on to some other task. After only mere minutes, I went back into Hallie's room for something, and discovered that she had tried on and discarded onto her floor at least four outfits. Yes, I put the clothes away. Now, please no lectures here about how I should have made Hallie come back in her room and put all those clothes away herself to make a point. I already know what I should have done, but I also know that, so far, 20 minutes worth of chores had already taken me over an hour, and frankly, I just wanted to get it done. There will be plenty of time for a teachable moment later. Not today.
Finally, after the girls ate lunch, I thought I was going to get one of those precious moments to myself. The girls ran outside to play, and I sat down at the kitchen table to eat my soup and read my e-mail (okay, okay I was totally checking facebook). I watched the girls playing together outside and smiled happily, relishing my moment of quiet. Until, of course, after about 13 seconds when the girls started fighting over a sand toy, Leah came in the house screaming, and Hallie came in after her telling me why whatever happened wasn't her fault. My quiet lunch turned into me eating soup one-handed while Leah sat in my lap sniveling, and Hallie booted me off the computer so she could play her Disney dress-up game.
The rest of the day was full of "get me juice," "get my blanket," "I'm hungry," "swing me," etc. I'm sorry to admit, I was more than ready for bedtime when it rolled around. I prompted the girls to run upstairs and put their pajamas on, and I would be up directly. When I got upstairs, I found two very naked girls in Leah's floor reading a book. Not exactly what I said to do, but close enough. At least they were upstairs in someone's bedroom, one step closer to being in pajamas. It's usually at this point in my day when I feel very fortunate and blessed to be the mother of these two amazing girls. Today, I just wanted those amazing girls to go to bed. We read our books, and I turned out the lights to sing them a song. I chose one of my favorites tonight; one that my own mother used to sing to me. I'd like to share that song with you now.
The cruel war is raging. Johnny has to fight. (Hallie, sit still.)
I want to be with him from morning 'til night.
I want to be with him (Leah, your blanket is right here.) it grieves my heart so.
Won't you (shhhhh) let me go with you?
No, my love, no. (I don't know why he won't let her go. Be quiet.)
Tomorrow is Sunday (No, not really, Hallie. Tomorrow is Tuesday.), Monday is the day
That your captain will call you, and you must obey.
Your captain (Where are you going, Leah?) will call you. It grieves my heart so.
Won't you let me go with you? (I told you I don't know why. It's just a song. Hush.)
No, my love, no.
I'll tie back my hair (Stop making that noise, Hallie.), men's clothing I'll put on.
I'll pass as your comrade (I said stop, Hallie.) as we march along.
I'll pass as your comrade, no one will ever know.
Won't you let me go with you? (If you don't stop, you're going to have to leave the room.)
No, my love, no.
Oh, Johnny, oh Johnny (Oh, nevermind. Just forget it! Get in the bed!)
Well, now the girls are in bed, and I'd like to think that I'm headed downstairs to have a little "me time." But as you and I both know, this is a mythical idea. It doesn't exist. I'm not even fully in the kitchen, and Kevin is already talking to me. At one point, he actually asks me the question, "What is your idea of a perfect husband." Right now, my answer? A quiet one.
Now, if you know my husband, you'll know that he believes in each of these mythical ideas, including the concept of "me time". Bless his heart, he means well. I love when he recognizes that I might be a little worn thin and takes the girls outside to play. He always comes back in the house later and, very proud of himself, proclaims, "Aren't you glad I took the girls outside? Did you enjoy your time to yourself?" Here, I have to smile appreciatively and say, "Yes. Thank you. I did enjoy that," while I'm really thinking, "Yes. Thank you. Catching up on the laundry was really fun, but I think I enjoyed emptying the dishwasher even more."
Even when I'm sleeping, I always have one ear open, for at any time Hallie may come downstairs. There is no such thing as "me time." Honestly, most days that's okay. I love my girls more than any mother has ever loved her children, and I truly enjoy spending time with them. However, some days, I would be exceedingly happy if they could just take care of themselves and leave me the heck alone.
Today was one of those days. I actually decided to make myself useful today and get a few things done around the house. I didn't have much to do, but when I get focused on a task, I don't like for my attention to be diverted. I started first by emptying the dishwasher. A 5 minute job, right? Wrong. In order to keep Leah from climbing into the dishwasher, I had to sit her on top of the counter while I unloaded. With her dirty feet dangling all over the clean dishes in my open dishwasher, I finally decided that might not be the best place for her. I tried just moving her feet, and then she started sticking her hands in there, touching every glass she could get her hands on. She tired of that after a few minutes and moved on to the sink to turn the water on and off. Of course, I had to put her back on the floor, but that only angered the beast, so she stood at my side crying and begging me to pick her up. Emptying the dishwasher one-handed takes a long time.
Next, I moved on to some laundry. As I sat in the floor folding clothes, the children decided this would be the very best time to play a rousing game of tag in the 2-feet of space surrounding me, effectively unfolding the clothes I had previously folded and carefully placed beside me. I don't like folding clothes once. I hate folding clothes twice. After I got most clothes put away, I moved on to some other task. After only mere minutes, I went back into Hallie's room for something, and discovered that she had tried on and discarded onto her floor at least four outfits. Yes, I put the clothes away. Now, please no lectures here about how I should have made Hallie come back in her room and put all those clothes away herself to make a point. I already know what I should have done, but I also know that, so far, 20 minutes worth of chores had already taken me over an hour, and frankly, I just wanted to get it done. There will be plenty of time for a teachable moment later. Not today.
Finally, after the girls ate lunch, I thought I was going to get one of those precious moments to myself. The girls ran outside to play, and I sat down at the kitchen table to eat my soup and read my e-mail (okay, okay I was totally checking facebook). I watched the girls playing together outside and smiled happily, relishing my moment of quiet. Until, of course, after about 13 seconds when the girls started fighting over a sand toy, Leah came in the house screaming, and Hallie came in after her telling me why whatever happened wasn't her fault. My quiet lunch turned into me eating soup one-handed while Leah sat in my lap sniveling, and Hallie booted me off the computer so she could play her Disney dress-up game.
The rest of the day was full of "get me juice," "get my blanket," "I'm hungry," "swing me," etc. I'm sorry to admit, I was more than ready for bedtime when it rolled around. I prompted the girls to run upstairs and put their pajamas on, and I would be up directly. When I got upstairs, I found two very naked girls in Leah's floor reading a book. Not exactly what I said to do, but close enough. At least they were upstairs in someone's bedroom, one step closer to being in pajamas. It's usually at this point in my day when I feel very fortunate and blessed to be the mother of these two amazing girls. Today, I just wanted those amazing girls to go to bed. We read our books, and I turned out the lights to sing them a song. I chose one of my favorites tonight; one that my own mother used to sing to me. I'd like to share that song with you now.
The cruel war is raging. Johnny has to fight. (Hallie, sit still.)
I want to be with him from morning 'til night.
I want to be with him (Leah, your blanket is right here.) it grieves my heart so.
Won't you (shhhhh) let me go with you?
No, my love, no. (I don't know why he won't let her go. Be quiet.)
Tomorrow is Sunday (No, not really, Hallie. Tomorrow is Tuesday.), Monday is the day
That your captain will call you, and you must obey.
Your captain (Where are you going, Leah?) will call you. It grieves my heart so.
Won't you let me go with you? (I told you I don't know why. It's just a song. Hush.)
No, my love, no.
I'll tie back my hair (Stop making that noise, Hallie.), men's clothing I'll put on.
I'll pass as your comrade (I said stop, Hallie.) as we march along.
I'll pass as your comrade, no one will ever know.
Won't you let me go with you? (If you don't stop, you're going to have to leave the room.)
No, my love, no.
Oh, Johnny, oh Johnny (Oh, nevermind. Just forget it! Get in the bed!)
Well, now the girls are in bed, and I'd like to think that I'm headed downstairs to have a little "me time." But as you and I both know, this is a mythical idea. It doesn't exist. I'm not even fully in the kitchen, and Kevin is already talking to me. At one point, he actually asks me the question, "What is your idea of a perfect husband." Right now, my answer? A quiet one.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Doing the Right Thing
It was always so simple for my Dad. Whatever the problem might be, the advice was the same. "Just do the right thing," he would say.
This is not good advice for a 5-year old. I know this because this is the advice I gave a certain 5-year old just today. It seems that "doing the right thing" isn't necessarily the same thing for a child as it is for an adult. For all of you who already knew this, congratulations. You have far surpassed me in your knowledge of children. It just sounded like such good advice at the time.
In my efforts to find that little gem of discipline that will finally work and encourage obedience every time, I go back and forth. I am, as you would say, both the good cop and the bad cop. I have been known to both spank and to give a motivational speech. Today, I chose a mixture of the two with less than favorable results. Being Tuesday, it was swimming day at Debbie's house in McMinnville. April and I packed our kids in my van, and headed out for a day of fun in the sun. Today was even a little more special because Brock and Hallie each had a friend along.
The good times always begin in the car. Today was no exception. Hallie was foul first thing this morning (never a good sign) and before we had even reached April's house, I had to pull over on the side of the road for a stern talk. Lame, I know. I should have just spanked her then and gotten it over with, but being the sensitive mother that I am, I was trying to spare her feelings in front of her friend (who was at the time the unfortunate brunt of Hallie's bad mood). That was mistake #1. Oh, I hoped that would nip the problem, but then again, I've been Hallie's mom for a while now, and I should have known better. By the time we got to April's house, you could just see the storm behind her eyes. My kids got out of the car for a potty break before heading to Debbie's while April and I loaded the car. We left all the kids alone inside. Mistake #2. Mere seconds later, we heard howls from inside the house. Apparently, Aida had somehow offended Hallie, who decided the proper course of action was to squeeze Aida's head. Really? Squeeze Aida's head? Naturally, I was provoked to exercise my superb parenting skills once again, so from my little bag of parenting tricks, I pulled out the spanking that I should have given her several minutes before on the side of the road.
There. That'll do it. Thinking that was mistake #3. More brooding on the way to Debbie's. This time her brooding was accompanied by taunts and smart-aleck comments (I truly do NOT know where that child gets that from...), and after much threatening by me (yet another award-winning parenting technique), we finally get to Debbie's. I think the gleam from the cold pool on this scorching day had a magical effect on her, and she suddenly became very agreeable. I call this the Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde Effect. Much fun was had by all for a good, long time.
Later, in the house, she decided that it would be a great idea to open the door on Brock's friend while he was using the restroom. Not so funny if you're a third grade boy at a stranger's house. Looking in my bag of parenting tricks, I find that now it's completely empty. I don't know what else to do. Until I remember my Dad's "Do the Right Thing" speech. I'm feeling good now. I know just what to do. I call her in, sit her down, and have the talk. It's a simple message, really. You know, the one where you just tell the kid what a good kid they are and that they know the difference between right and wrong. You encourage them to think before they act and then make the right choice. It's simple. It's true. It's genius. The only problem, as I stated earlier, is that it doesn't work on 5-year olds. Where is my evidence? Read on.
Allegedly, Brock pinched her under the water. Witnesses claim that they saw nothing, and the accused vehemently denied the allegations. The ruling of the court was that Hallie should stay away from Brock for good measure. Not finding the justice she sought, Hallie took the law into her own hands. I guess she was going to do what she considered the right thing. Pretty soon cries of, "Hallie pinched me!!!!" could be heard around the pool. Of course, I called her over and asked her why she did that. Her answer? Sit down, folks. "Dad said if anybody does anything to me, I should do it back to them." Dumbfounded, all I could think of to say was, "Your Dad gives really bad advice. Go sit on the porch until I tell you to get up." Moments later, I look over and she's sitting just off the porch, mind you, singing happily about the love of Jesus. Not exactly the kind of penance I was looking for.
Now, let me just say here that I LOVE this child with every fiber of my being. I could list a million strengths she has, but I told you when I started this thing that I was going to be brutally honest about the struggles I face as a parent. It's cathartic for me, so if you have it all figured out, keep it to yourself. I don't need that kind of pressure. Most days I'm just doing the best I can.
Both girls are spending the night away tonight due to an inservice I have in the morning, and in spite of a very long and trying day, one thing is for sure. I miss those girls. The house is too quiet, and somehow I miss every part of them. I am obviously a glutton for punishment.
This is not good advice for a 5-year old. I know this because this is the advice I gave a certain 5-year old just today. It seems that "doing the right thing" isn't necessarily the same thing for a child as it is for an adult. For all of you who already knew this, congratulations. You have far surpassed me in your knowledge of children. It just sounded like such good advice at the time.
In my efforts to find that little gem of discipline that will finally work and encourage obedience every time, I go back and forth. I am, as you would say, both the good cop and the bad cop. I have been known to both spank and to give a motivational speech. Today, I chose a mixture of the two with less than favorable results. Being Tuesday, it was swimming day at Debbie's house in McMinnville. April and I packed our kids in my van, and headed out for a day of fun in the sun. Today was even a little more special because Brock and Hallie each had a friend along.
The good times always begin in the car. Today was no exception. Hallie was foul first thing this morning (never a good sign) and before we had even reached April's house, I had to pull over on the side of the road for a stern talk. Lame, I know. I should have just spanked her then and gotten it over with, but being the sensitive mother that I am, I was trying to spare her feelings in front of her friend (who was at the time the unfortunate brunt of Hallie's bad mood). That was mistake #1. Oh, I hoped that would nip the problem, but then again, I've been Hallie's mom for a while now, and I should have known better. By the time we got to April's house, you could just see the storm behind her eyes. My kids got out of the car for a potty break before heading to Debbie's while April and I loaded the car. We left all the kids alone inside. Mistake #2. Mere seconds later, we heard howls from inside the house. Apparently, Aida had somehow offended Hallie, who decided the proper course of action was to squeeze Aida's head. Really? Squeeze Aida's head? Naturally, I was provoked to exercise my superb parenting skills once again, so from my little bag of parenting tricks, I pulled out the spanking that I should have given her several minutes before on the side of the road.
There. That'll do it. Thinking that was mistake #3. More brooding on the way to Debbie's. This time her brooding was accompanied by taunts and smart-aleck comments (I truly do NOT know where that child gets that from...), and after much threatening by me (yet another award-winning parenting technique), we finally get to Debbie's. I think the gleam from the cold pool on this scorching day had a magical effect on her, and she suddenly became very agreeable. I call this the Dr. Jeckle and Mr. Hyde Effect. Much fun was had by all for a good, long time.
Later, in the house, she decided that it would be a great idea to open the door on Brock's friend while he was using the restroom. Not so funny if you're a third grade boy at a stranger's house. Looking in my bag of parenting tricks, I find that now it's completely empty. I don't know what else to do. Until I remember my Dad's "Do the Right Thing" speech. I'm feeling good now. I know just what to do. I call her in, sit her down, and have the talk. It's a simple message, really. You know, the one where you just tell the kid what a good kid they are and that they know the difference between right and wrong. You encourage them to think before they act and then make the right choice. It's simple. It's true. It's genius. The only problem, as I stated earlier, is that it doesn't work on 5-year olds. Where is my evidence? Read on.
Allegedly, Brock pinched her under the water. Witnesses claim that they saw nothing, and the accused vehemently denied the allegations. The ruling of the court was that Hallie should stay away from Brock for good measure. Not finding the justice she sought, Hallie took the law into her own hands. I guess she was going to do what she considered the right thing. Pretty soon cries of, "Hallie pinched me!!!!" could be heard around the pool. Of course, I called her over and asked her why she did that. Her answer? Sit down, folks. "Dad said if anybody does anything to me, I should do it back to them." Dumbfounded, all I could think of to say was, "Your Dad gives really bad advice. Go sit on the porch until I tell you to get up." Moments later, I look over and she's sitting just off the porch, mind you, singing happily about the love of Jesus. Not exactly the kind of penance I was looking for.
Now, let me just say here that I LOVE this child with every fiber of my being. I could list a million strengths she has, but I told you when I started this thing that I was going to be brutally honest about the struggles I face as a parent. It's cathartic for me, so if you have it all figured out, keep it to yourself. I don't need that kind of pressure. Most days I'm just doing the best I can.
Both girls are spending the night away tonight due to an inservice I have in the morning, and in spite of a very long and trying day, one thing is for sure. I miss those girls. The house is too quiet, and somehow I miss every part of them. I am obviously a glutton for punishment.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Battle of the Bath
If you have ever seen my children and thought that they looked, well, a little dirty, I can totally explain.
You see, I hate bath time.
I'll admit it - I don't necessarily bathe my children everyday. It is completely dependent on the level of dirt I perceive to be on them or the next day's planned activities. On those unfortunate days when there's just no getting around it, into the bath they go. It usually goes a little something like this:
I announce to the girls that it's bath time. I am greeted with cheers and laughter, since they love bath time (and have very short memories as to what has happened during every bath for the last many years). They go skipping merrily hand-in-hand to the bathtub, giggling and singing. (Okay, I'm exaggerating a bit here, but I'm trying to paint you a picture...)
It usually doesn't take long for the bubble to burst. I generally like to let them play for a few minutes before I begin the grisly task of washing. If they're not fighting over the toys, then they're having such a glorious time that they apparently lose all control of their mental faculties. This is usually when the splashing begins. I yell for the splashing to stop and furiously try to dry the water off the floor with the clean towel I had intended to use to dry them off with. They also like to fill up little bowls and place them on the side of the bathtub. 9 times out of 10, these little bowls get knocked off onto the floor, adding to both the mess and my frustration.
Now, if they're taking a bath in my bathtub, the problems only multiply. I have a huge soaking tub, and the girls love to take their baths in it. On more than one occasion, someone has "accidentally" pushed the button that activates the jets, and since I only fill the tub up to just around the jets, water is sent flying all over me, the floor, and the wall on the other side of the room until I can scramble to push the button to turn them back off. After I change clothes, a trail of wild laughter following me, I come back in to wash the girls. This is right where the fun stops. Hallie wants me to wash Leah first. Leah doesn't want to be washed at all, and scurries to the back of the tub where I can't reach her. I'm a problem solver, though, so I shed my pants and socks and climb in after her. Picture Leah running around the bathtub, me chasing her in a t-shirt and underwear, and Hallie yelling, "I'll save you Leah." Soaped up, a 2-year old is hard to hold on to. By this time, I'm sweating and the girls are crying because I'm no longer interested in taking care to keep water out of anyone's eyes as I rinse.
This is usually the point where I'm questioning the value of baths in the first place, and now that I'm thoroughly over this maddening process, I'm angrily ordering everyone out of the tub. I get out and dry off my legs (more giggles because, hey, what could be funnier than a mad mommy half-dressed exiting a bathtub?). While I'm drying Leah off, Hallie decides that what she needs is a little "saving" and begs me to baptize her just one time before she gets out. Because I know my Hallie, I know that this whole process will go a lot more smoothly if I just humor her, so I say those special words through gritted teeth, baptizing her in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit while she dunks herself under. When she comes out of those holy waters, I'm ordered to clap and sing a chorus of "Jesus Loves Me," and by this time, I'm just hoping that the Holy Spirit will keep me from completely losing it.
I do love a clean baby, so just when I'm ready to admit that the whole chaotic process was worth it, it's time to comb hair...
Fresh off a bath tonight, I think we'll just stay inside tomorrow and not get dirty.
You see, I hate bath time.
I'll admit it - I don't necessarily bathe my children everyday. It is completely dependent on the level of dirt I perceive to be on them or the next day's planned activities. On those unfortunate days when there's just no getting around it, into the bath they go. It usually goes a little something like this:
I announce to the girls that it's bath time. I am greeted with cheers and laughter, since they love bath time (and have very short memories as to what has happened during every bath for the last many years). They go skipping merrily hand-in-hand to the bathtub, giggling and singing. (Okay, I'm exaggerating a bit here, but I'm trying to paint you a picture...)
It usually doesn't take long for the bubble to burst. I generally like to let them play for a few minutes before I begin the grisly task of washing. If they're not fighting over the toys, then they're having such a glorious time that they apparently lose all control of their mental faculties. This is usually when the splashing begins. I yell for the splashing to stop and furiously try to dry the water off the floor with the clean towel I had intended to use to dry them off with. They also like to fill up little bowls and place them on the side of the bathtub. 9 times out of 10, these little bowls get knocked off onto the floor, adding to both the mess and my frustration.
Now, if they're taking a bath in my bathtub, the problems only multiply. I have a huge soaking tub, and the girls love to take their baths in it. On more than one occasion, someone has "accidentally" pushed the button that activates the jets, and since I only fill the tub up to just around the jets, water is sent flying all over me, the floor, and the wall on the other side of the room until I can scramble to push the button to turn them back off. After I change clothes, a trail of wild laughter following me, I come back in to wash the girls. This is right where the fun stops. Hallie wants me to wash Leah first. Leah doesn't want to be washed at all, and scurries to the back of the tub where I can't reach her. I'm a problem solver, though, so I shed my pants and socks and climb in after her. Picture Leah running around the bathtub, me chasing her in a t-shirt and underwear, and Hallie yelling, "I'll save you Leah." Soaped up, a 2-year old is hard to hold on to. By this time, I'm sweating and the girls are crying because I'm no longer interested in taking care to keep water out of anyone's eyes as I rinse.
This is usually the point where I'm questioning the value of baths in the first place, and now that I'm thoroughly over this maddening process, I'm angrily ordering everyone out of the tub. I get out and dry off my legs (more giggles because, hey, what could be funnier than a mad mommy half-dressed exiting a bathtub?). While I'm drying Leah off, Hallie decides that what she needs is a little "saving" and begs me to baptize her just one time before she gets out. Because I know my Hallie, I know that this whole process will go a lot more smoothly if I just humor her, so I say those special words through gritted teeth, baptizing her in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit while she dunks herself under. When she comes out of those holy waters, I'm ordered to clap and sing a chorus of "Jesus Loves Me," and by this time, I'm just hoping that the Holy Spirit will keep me from completely losing it.
I do love a clean baby, so just when I'm ready to admit that the whole chaotic process was worth it, it's time to comb hair...
Fresh off a bath tonight, I think we'll just stay inside tomorrow and not get dirty.
Friday, July 8, 2011
Housekeeping, a nice, hot shower, and a bit of brutal honesty
My day began much like every other day this summer, with Hallie's subtle hints to coax me gently out of bed. "GET UP, MOM! Will you get me some juice and turn on cartoons for me?" Ah, good morning to you, too, Sunshine. Now, I've never been one to wake up whistling, but I've always tried very hard to put on my happy face and make nice for the kids. First impressions are important, after all, and I always want to set a positive tone for the day. So, I greeted her "enthusiasm" with a smile and a big hug. She returned my efforts with some comment about me needing to take a shower. People who say things like, "You've got to love the honesty of children" clearly don't have brutally honest children, or at least aren't the brunt of said honesty. Nevertheless, Hallie began the day in a good mood, so I had high hopes for a great day.
I wasn't disappointed. It was a great day! It was one of those days, though, where you feel like you moved around all day but when you finally look around, you can't see even one productive thing you actually did. My only real goal for the day was to clean the kitchen and straighten the den. Due to a variety of distractions, both self-imposed and child-created, this took me all morning. Leah did her best to help by starting the dishwasher (that was, incidentally, full of perfectly clean dishes), dusting the floor in the den with Pledge - lots and lots of Pledge (this created quite a treacherous pathway from my bedroom to the kitchen), and helping with the laundry (which was actually just her unfolding a bunch of already folded clean clothes). I finished off the morning with a nice, hot shower accompanied by the sounds of a chorus of angels singing to me from the other side of the shower door. Well, it wasn't exactly a chorus of angels. It was just one angel, Leah, and she wasn't exactly singing. She was screaming. Mad at me, of course, because I wouldn't let her in the shower with me. She tired of that after a few minutes, though, and ran off to find Hallie. After my shower, I found her playing happily in the backyard with her sister. Buck naked. Would've been better off letting her in the shower with me.
The day ended on a high note when Hallie proclaimed a great and noble truth. Her father had highly offended her delicate sensibilities when he ordered her to put on her pajamas for bed. I had already told her once to do it, and she was taking her time getting to it. When Kevin made his "suggestion" that she get a move on, she became very agitated and with a huff and a puff stalked over to me. Obviously exasperated with her Dad's attempt at controlling her, she loudly cried out, "Mom, he thinks he's the boss of this house!! YOU'RE the boss of this house!!" Ah, now there's some brutal honesty I don't have a problem with.
I wasn't disappointed. It was a great day! It was one of those days, though, where you feel like you moved around all day but when you finally look around, you can't see even one productive thing you actually did. My only real goal for the day was to clean the kitchen and straighten the den. Due to a variety of distractions, both self-imposed and child-created, this took me all morning. Leah did her best to help by starting the dishwasher (that was, incidentally, full of perfectly clean dishes), dusting the floor in the den with Pledge - lots and lots of Pledge (this created quite a treacherous pathway from my bedroom to the kitchen), and helping with the laundry (which was actually just her unfolding a bunch of already folded clean clothes). I finished off the morning with a nice, hot shower accompanied by the sounds of a chorus of angels singing to me from the other side of the shower door. Well, it wasn't exactly a chorus of angels. It was just one angel, Leah, and she wasn't exactly singing. She was screaming. Mad at me, of course, because I wouldn't let her in the shower with me. She tired of that after a few minutes, though, and ran off to find Hallie. After my shower, I found her playing happily in the backyard with her sister. Buck naked. Would've been better off letting her in the shower with me.
The day ended on a high note when Hallie proclaimed a great and noble truth. Her father had highly offended her delicate sensibilities when he ordered her to put on her pajamas for bed. I had already told her once to do it, and she was taking her time getting to it. When Kevin made his "suggestion" that she get a move on, she became very agitated and with a huff and a puff stalked over to me. Obviously exasperated with her Dad's attempt at controlling her, she loudly cried out, "Mom, he thinks he's the boss of this house!! YOU'RE the boss of this house!!" Ah, now there's some brutal honesty I don't have a problem with.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
The birth of a blog
It's 12:17 a.m., and I sit here in the dark on the couch with only the light from a muted TV to see by. I'm not sure why I'm still up, and I know I should go to bed, but the truth is I can't pull myself away from my computer. The house is quiet. Perhaps that's why I'm savoring this time. As anyone who currently has or has ever had small children understands, this is the only time that my house is without noise. Normally, a myriad of sounds may be heard: laughing, crying, yelling, singing, arguing, more crying... These are the sounds that, as a mother, I've learned to enjoy (and often ignore). With my babies in bed, I wonder if they're having sweet dreams, hope they're not too hot or too cold, etc. And I even look forward to hearing their sweet voices the next day.
That is, of course, until the next day. The sweet voices I imagined the night before become the cries and demands of reality. My reality: I'm raising children. And what a sweet reality it is!
After reading some on my facebook posts, a few people have suggested that I create a blog. I was very reluctant to do this because, honestly, I can't imagine why anyone would want to read what I have to say. In the end, I decided that it's okay if no one wants to read it. I've always loved to write, and I find it an excellent outlet, so I will write for myself, and if someone wants to read it, then that's a great bonus!
Be warned. I'm honest. My days aren't always easy, and those are probably the things I'll write about the most because those are the things I just have to get off my chest. Just know that, in my eyes, my kids are absolutely perfect in spite of (and sometimes because of) their "big" personalities.
In any event, if you do choose to read, I hope you also enjoy!
That is, of course, until the next day. The sweet voices I imagined the night before become the cries and demands of reality. My reality: I'm raising children. And what a sweet reality it is!
After reading some on my facebook posts, a few people have suggested that I create a blog. I was very reluctant to do this because, honestly, I can't imagine why anyone would want to read what I have to say. In the end, I decided that it's okay if no one wants to read it. I've always loved to write, and I find it an excellent outlet, so I will write for myself, and if someone wants to read it, then that's a great bonus!
Be warned. I'm honest. My days aren't always easy, and those are probably the things I'll write about the most because those are the things I just have to get off my chest. Just know that, in my eyes, my kids are absolutely perfect in spite of (and sometimes because of) their "big" personalities.
In any event, if you do choose to read, I hope you also enjoy!
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