Mom! Mom! Mom!

I woke up at 3:00 am this morning to look at the eclipse. Wouldn't you know it, it was nowhere to be seen from my yard -- too many trees and clouds. But I was already awake, and it seemed a shame to miss out on a full eclipse. So I did what any irrational person would do; I grabbed my car keys and drove around town in a bathrobe hoping to find a good open view. Darn it all, after trying a few parking lots,  I still couldn't see the moon. Peeved, I finally headed home around 3:30 am and fell into the guest room bed (didn't want to wake up my DH). Restless, I tossed and turned for several hours until falling asleep.

I'm not sure how long I dozed, but I awoke to my oldest son nudging me. "Mom! Mom! Mom!" Exhausted, I barely opened my eyes. He wanted to ask about downloading some game.

I croaked, "Ask Daddy."

"I can't," he responded. "Dad's sleeping."

I laughed, "Oh, ok, so that's why you woke me up!"

*******

It has occurred to me on a number of occasions that I am generally the go-to parent. If the kids want a snack, or a toy, or a game, or anything really, it's always, "Mom, I'm  hungry, I'm thirsty, can I have that?" If they want to go to a movie or to a friend's house, it's, "Mom, will you take me..." If the kids are bickering, it's, "Mom, he did... he said..." If they're bored, it's "Mom, will you play... can we go..." If doesn't even matter if Dad is two steps away from them, they will hunt me down wherever I may be for whatever they want. D. H. Lawrence wrote about a house that constantly whispered, "There must be more money!" If my house could talk, I think it would screech, "Mom! Mom! Mom!"

Often, it's inconvenient being the go-to parent. Sometimes, it's nerve wracking. Some days, all I want is an hour or two to be entirely alone. A lot of moms can sympathize, I think. A friend of mine once told me that her daughters kept crying, "Mom! Mom! Mom!" all day, and out of exasperation she finally said, "Enough! You are not allowed to call me mom anymore today!" One daughter gave her a confused look and haltingly replied, "Ok... uh... Georgine?"

I was thinking about this today as my younger son asked me to keep him company in the basement while he played a video game. He didn't actually want me to play (it's a one-person game). He just wanted me to sit there with him. So I did; I worked on a quilt while he played. That's when I decided that being the go-to parent has certain advantages. Yes, I get to deal with arguments, tantrums, and unending requests. However, when the kids want company, they always ask for mom first. When something great happens at school, they run home and yell, "Mom! Guess what!" If they're happy, mom gets hugged first. During movie night, they snuggle up on the couch next to mom. I came to the realization that being there for the tiring stuff is what brings my kids back for the good stuff. I don't get the "better" until I take the "worse."

I had more thoughts, but I think I'll cut them short because even as I type, my kids are pestering me to get in the kitchen and make cookies. Even though I really, really, really don't like making cookies, that's ok. Tonight, they'll ask me for a bedtime story or want to tell me something funny. It'll be worth it then.

*******

Just to be clear, I don't want this to sound like my husband ignores the kids. I also don't mean to imply that the kids don't love their dad. They do, and they have their own relationship with him that's different from their bond with me. I figure they come to me first because they're just used to mom being the one who takes care of their immediate needs. After all, I'm home while their dad is at work. However, I wouldn't be at home if it weren't for him.

Life Explodes in My Kitchen

It's 7.51 am. I have exactly 4 minutes to finish blending my banana-pineapple-spinach smoothie (which is tastier than it sounds) and hustle the kids into the car so that I can drop the girl off at my friend's house and be at their school for an 8:15 meeting.

Moving from the house to the car always seems to be the critical moment for us, so of course, this has to be when things decide go from slightly messed up to completely pear-shaped. I've chucked too large a piece of pineapple into the blender, and it just won't liquefy. (Who knew 1/8th of a pineapple would be too big?) I fish it out of the blender and chop it into smaller pieces. Just as I turn around to add it back into the mix, I see my daughter. She's climbed a step stool  and her curious fingers are reaching for the on/off switch. And the cover is still on the counter.

"Nooooooooooooo..." Just like in the movies, I hear myself frantically warning her to stop as I lunge in slow motion toward the mixer. Too late. Green liquid churns and surges at turbo-blend speed then erupts into the air. It covers the ceiling, the walls, the counter, the floor, and my surprised two-year old.

That's when my daughter turns her face toward me, and I read the various emotions in her enormous saucer-eyes. There is unhappiness at being assaulted by a health drink, but also fear she might be in trouble for the mess. She appears so small, so vulnerable and sweet that it takes me by surprise. In that instant, both love for her and laughter at the situation bubble up inside me.

I quickly assure her it was just an accident, and my good husband kindly whisks her off for a change of clothing while I mop up the counter.

All day, though, I've been thinking about this, though. I never had these kinds of messes before children entered by life, but now I do. Frequently.

I guess my lesson learned for today is that life is messy, so I'd better go with it. Also, there is the obvious corollary -- never let a toddler near an uncovered blender.

Why I Like Being the Mother of Boys

A few days ago, my younger son announced, "When I grow up, I'm going to have 3 kids. I'm going to have 2 girls and a boy. If I have 2 boys and a girl, I'm screwed."

I don't particularly approve of his word choice, but I had to laugh.

My son has perceived a truth, though. There is something different about boys. I don't mean that boys and girls can't enjoy the same activities. My boys love decorating cookies, and my girl is showing every sign of becoming a daredevil. However, there is something just fundamentally different about the manner in which the boys approach life. This became very clear to me last winter during a ski club meeting. My friend's two daughters were sitting quietly on a bench, efficiently donning their ski equipment, chit chatting about their favorite stuff. Meanwhile, my boys were yelling, "Hey, I have my helmet on -- Hit me in the head!" "Ok, now you hit me in the head!" "Ha, ha! Your turn! Hit me in the head!" "Harder!" The girls just stared at them like they were from Mars.

Even though boys act physically wilder and rougher than girls, there is something that is also sweeter and more tender about them, too. Boys aren't emotionally manipulative. They might be more than happy to fight something out, but they're direct and honest. None of the cattiness or Machiavellian antics that I've watched girls -- even nice girls -- pull.

I think my favorite part of having boys is seeing the way they take care of me. When my older son was about 7, we were playing frisbee, and it kept going into the woods where there were lots of raspberry canes. After seeing me get tangled up in the thorns, my son said, "Oh, no, mom, I'll get it. I don't want you to get scratched!" It was such a sweet gesture from a small boy, but they're protective like that. They're always trying to save me from dangers like brambles and bugs and heights. In their efforts to shield me, I see the budding of men who will watch over their wives and children. It makes me happy and proud.

It's not that I don't love and enjoy my daughter. She's special for different reasons. However, for the record, I just wanted to say that having 2 boys and a girl is not the end of the world. Far from feeling "screwed," I wouldn't have it any other way.

Mattel's Nightmare

Where the kids are concerned, I like the punishment to fit the crime. This is why, as of last week, I've begun tossing their toys into a garbage bag when I find them all over the house. The rationale? If they treat their things like garbage, so will I.

They got fair warning. Now they know that before going to bed, they need to put their stuff away or else it gets chucked into the bag. If they want to redeem an item, they have to do a chore. Not one of their regular ones -- one of mine. (Naturally, I'm spending my time doing tasks they're supposed to do, so they have to do something I would normally do.)

So how well is the new system working? I've gotten mixed results. There were a few one-trial items like DS's and wallets that are better cared for now. I've also discovered a few Nerf toys that keep winding up in the bag, but it seems the kids will do anything to get them back. I like these toys because that means my windows are just a little cleaner.

On the other hand, after 5 days, the bag is fairly crammed with stuff that the boys have no interest in retrieving. They can't even be bothered with watering the plants -- a job they normally volunteer for without any additional incentive.

Compared to a lot of kids I know, mine have a very moderate number of toys. However, based on their disregard for many of their possessions, it appears that even they have way too much. As for myself, I think this experience has reinforced something that I have suspected all along -- the best and worst types of toys (for us anyway).

Our Best Toys:

• Sports equipment and outdoor toys that I don't have to spend a lot of time picking up
• Games and activities that we do together as a family -- e.g., crafts, paints, science projects, and board games (BTW, this really involves giving the kids time, and what gift could be better, right?!)
• Toys that the kids have purchased with their own money because they are more inclined to take care of them

Our Worst Toys:

• Just about anything that you see an ad for on TV. The kids think they want them, but after a couple of plays, they're just not interested anymore.
• Almost everything they've gotten from generous and well-intentioned friends at a birthday party or Christmas. The cars, figurines, and gimmicky toys all seem to end up in a closet or toy chest, never to see the light of day.

Lest anyone should think my kids are getting
shafted regarding their share of childhood
presents, this is a photo of all the stuff
they got from friends and relatives
last Christmas.

In the past, I've attempted to convince my husband that Baby Jesus only got three birthday/Christmas presents, and He turned out OK. If that worked for Him, it should be good enough for our kids. Of course, as parents, we enjoy showering our children with nice things, but now that I'm armed with a bag of hard evidence, I think it will be easier to adopt the attititude that less is truly more in the future.

Instead of lots of gifts that my kids neither truly want nor truly appreciate, I'd like to focus on the thoughtfulness and quality of gifts ('cause even Baby Jesus snagged some gold, frankincense, and myrrh!) Along with constant verbal reinforcement and some other sneaky mommy tactics, this is part of my campaign to teach my young ones gratitude and responsibility. I'm probably Mattel's nightmare, but I'm cool with that.

Do you have any kids? How do you teach your children to be grateful for what they have and to take care of their things? If you have any tricks or tips, I'd love to hear them!!!

It's Planting Time!

A few months ago, I called my parents. "You've finally gotten your revenge," I announced as my dad picked up the phone.

"How? Are you pregnant again?" he asked.

"No, no, no! What a sick and twisted mind, you have," I giggled. Then I proceeded to tell my mom and dad what had just transpired.

Earlier that evening, I had noticed a strange sound. At first, I was hard-pressed to identify it, but eventually, I realized it was silence. In a panic, I scrambled about in search of the kids. The baby was fast asleep, but I found the boys feverishly working on a project in the TV room. Heads down, pencils in hand, they were concentrating all their attention on popping scores of holes into the top of a padded leather trunk we use as a toy chest.

As I related this detail to my parents, they broke into ringing peals of laughter, then into hoots, and finally full-fledged tears of delight. You see, they'd had a similar experience many years ago.

When I was four or five, my dad had a Naugahyde recliner, which he prized above all other possessions. One day, I was sitting in the precious chair, clicking away on the button of a ballpoint pen. I was fascinated by the point that popped in and out and in again. Then something neat happened -- the point pushed right through the chair covering -- there was just this little bit of pressure and resistance and then pop!

I must have made a dozen more holes before my mom caught me. In a most uncharacteristic move for my firecracker of a mother, she didn't didn't dish out an immediate whippin'. Instead, she simply said, "Wait until your father gets home," and turned back to the kitchen. I knew I was dead because Mom never waited for Dad to come home. This was serious.

Now, my dad is usually a quiet kind of person when he's happy. But that day, I learned something new about him -- when he's really about to give it to you, he gets quieter still. My dad just talked to me in that calm, level way that does so well. I didn't get spanked or punished. Just the talk that made me want to fall through the floor.

As you can see, this past incident was the reason for their present hilarity.

"So what did you do?" my parents asked, barely constraining their laughter.

"Well," I explained. " I wanted to freak out on them, but there was a nagging little voice in my head that kept asking me 'What did your parents do?' Then I looked at those two little bodies, and I thought, 'Yeah, I've done this.' And when I listened to their explanation about how it started as an accident, but it just felt so good, I thought, 'Uh huh, I know that feeling.' What could I do? I gave them a good talking to, and left it at that." I joked, "Your grandkids are lucky you were merciful to me. That's why you still have them."

Over the years, I've often heard, "You reap what you sow." I never thought, though, I would reap the destruction of furniture in a manner that so closely imitated my own. On the other hand, my parents planted mercy that day, and it too bore fruit in a similar (though perhaps less calm) way.

This Mother's Day, I'm wondering what other seeds I'm planting in my kids lives. Hopefully, there are seeds of gentleness and kindness, of forgiveness and patience. One day, I'd like to witness huge fields of love, joy, and peace in their lives.

Just for the record, I also wouldn't mind if I walked into their houses and saw a bunch of furniture with poke-holes. :-)

Happy Mother's Day!

xoxo

To Everything There is a Season

In the past, I have been described as being "more dude-like than most dudes." I'm not sure what that means exactly because I'm not into sports or cars or anything loud/greasy. On the other hand, I do lack a certain amount of sentimentality. In fact, if there were an award for being unsentimental, I might win it. Also, I tend to be coldly logical in a way that a Vulcan could appreciate. That's why I have trouble understanding what happened this morning.

For reasons that defy any rational explanation, I've been unable to pack up the baby's outgrown clothes for charity. At first, I tried to convince myself that I was saving them in order to make a quilt out of my favorite dresses. It wasn't true, of course. Many of the outfits in there had fabric unsuitable for quilting. A few were so stained, I'd have to do some very creative cutting to use them. But I couldn't find it in my heart to let them go, so for a year, the pile of outgrown clothes has been growing to very unsteady heights.

Finally, this morning, I admitted to myself that I wasn't going to recycle any of the clothes. I couldn't bear to cut into those tiny skirts and ruffles. But there were some super sweet outfits, many of them worn only once or twice. It would be a shame if nobody used them, so I started bagging them for charity.

I don't know what happened, but something inside me snapped. I just started weeping and sobbing. I don't know why. I never had this trouble giving up the boys' clothing -- or anything else -- for that matter. Have any of you moms out there experienced this? Or am I just being weird and hormonal?

I confess that I kept a couple of outfits -- Babystyle's coming home outfit and a dress she wore on her first Christmas. Even so, looking -- even thinking about those bags of clothes makes me cry. Even now, I'm resisting the urge to go upstairs and rescue a few more cherry-printed frocks.

God must have known that I could take only so much, because shortly after I was done packing, the postman delivered a package. We love hiking when the weather is nice, and the baby backpack carrier I ordered last week had arrived. The delivery created an exciting diversion for Baby Walkabout and me. We had a great time adjusting the straps and giving it a test run all over the house.

Yes, Juicy Turkey Baby's first year is almost over (sniffle), but there are good times ahead, too.

Bubbles, One Week Old

Cheers to All the Moms Out There--You're Fantastic!

"You're fantastic!" a soft French voice enthusiastically exclaimed.

I glanced sideways. A chic older woman locked her eyes with mine, but she couldn't possibly be talking to me. Hair dissheveled, bags under my eyes, baby snot on my shoulder. I think the baby had dropped crumbs in my shirt, too, because I was itching. Caffeine and adrenaline were the only things keeping me upright. Had I even bathed? I couldn't recall.

She continued. "I had only one boy, and I could barely handle him. How you manage three little ones--you're fantastic!"

She looked elderly, so maybe she was hard of hearing and blind, I thought. Otherwise, how could she miss my kids and their constant chatter up and down every aisle of Trader Joe's?

"Mom, can we get this? And this? And that? This too!"

"But it doesn't have too much sugar. Please!?!?
"I know I wouldn't eat it the last three times you bought it, but my tastes have changed. Really."
"Mom, I have to pee! Hurry, Mom! No. I can't wait!"
"When are we going home?"
"Mom, he's bothering me!"
"I'm ti-i-i-i-red!"

"Mom! Mom! Mom!"

By far the worst of the three was the 10-month old. If I put her in the cart, she screamed like she was on fire. If I held her, she wriggled, squirmed, and generally attempted to wrench my shoulders out of their sockets. If I let her walk, she rearranged the shelves by tossing their contents to the floor. It was a lose-lose-lose situation.

That morning, we'd attended a fun, but rather boisterous and spirited (i.e. ear-piercing) playgroup. Then there was the hour's drive to the dentist in traffic with a crying baby, the dentist's visit (imagine that for yourself), and then this grocery trip. I was beginning to experience parasthesias down my neck and spine, a sure sign that my nerves were breaking down.

I only wanted some cheese, crackers, and fruit. It seemed like a task that could be accomplished in under ten minutes, but the kids were making it hard to do with their constant distractions from the mission. Because I was tending to them, I barely knew what I was buying. I was just randomly throwing things into the cart and hoping that when I checked out, I'd have something to serve my company on Saturday.

Yet here was this wonderfully kind lady telling me that I was fantastic. It made me stop and think.  Maybe I was I being too impatient and hard on the kids.

Ok, Baby Walkabout really couldn't help herself. I'd be clingy and crabby, too, if I had five teeth coming in and had just been assaulted the day before with three vaccination needles. Plus, her obsession with cheese wedges was kind of adorable. The boys, too, might have been a little loud, and maybe their boy movements seemed too big for the claustrophia-inducing aisles at Trader Joe's, but they weren't misbehaving or shouting or grabbing things.

In fact, from her perspective, they might have been quite charming. My mom has dubbed my second son The Red Cross because he's always the first to volunteer when someone needs help. One of the reasons we were so slow in shopping was because The Red Cross was busy holding the door for everyone and striking up conversations. He even hugged a woman who looked like she was about 80 years old, and her face lit up like a Christmas tree. As for my older son, I don't know what I would have done without him. Actually, numerous people complimented him on how he helped take his younger brother to the restroom and on how he alternately entertained/chased down his sister.

Ultimately, I decided that my kids were behaving much better than I'd originally thought. As for me being fantastic, well... I still think that might have been excessive praise. I'm grateful, though, to her for saying it. It was heartening to have someone acknowledge that I was at least making a valiant effort with my little brood. Jeanne, wherever you are, thank you for being kind. Thank you for not judging me on a bad day. Thank you for assuring me that I'm not an abysmal failure at motherhood.

The next time I see a frazzled woman with kids in tow, I resolve to find some encouraging words to brighten her day and let her know how great she is.

 That I should know how to speak
      A word in season to him who is weary.
                                               Isaiah 50:4b