another date

Remember my date with Grace??

Last week I had the pleasure of meeting another one of my purely online friends.  I had been reading her blog for quite some time when, unfortunately, a great tragedy struck and our lives were connected beyond blogs and mothering boys.

Kathy is my friend Darcy's sister in-law.  Darcy gave birth to a sweet little boy a couple of weeks ago and Kathy came in from the middle of nowhere Nebraska for a visit.

Guess who insisted upon being her airport shuttle????

Despite only getting to hang out with her for less than an hour, I so enjoyed meeting face to face and sealing our long distance friendship with a hug!

Stay tuned, because in a few months I have a date to meet this mom of boys face to face for the first time.  We've only been putting "hope to someday share a cup of coffee" notes in our Christmas cards for about three years now!  Can't wait Nicole!

a marathon, not a sprint

I'm tired.

I would have trained for this parenting marathon more effectively if I had known the endurance that it would take.

We started school in August, yet in February I still battle:

• not brushing teeth before it's time to leave
• not putting on socks as part of getting dressed
• occasionally "forgetting" to do homework assignments
• very often neglecting to empty lunch boxes and put away backpacks and coats

Aside from school related issues, my children have been asked to clear their plates and cups after every meal since each one was barely three years old.  Yet somehow, there is the daily illusion that a housekeeper will do it (until Mom calls them back and then the remember that they forgot).

We have never tolerated lying.  Truth telling is a non-negotiable in our home.  But alas, this morning I battled a certain son to fess up about taking gum from my purse without asking.  An offense I most certainly would have responded with a simple request to not take without asking.

But now I have to give a much more severe consequence for the lie.

I have one son who is well beyond potty training years who can't seem to make time to go to the bathroom.  We have been to a number of medical doctors, a therapist, purchased a watch with a vibrating reminder alarm, talked to his teacher, given rewards, and imposed consequences.

Still, no consistent success.

And I'm tired!

As I walked back alone from the bus stop this morning I felt defeated.  I'm the first to admit to my many faults, but I generally take a little pride in putting "my all" into parenting.  Consistent expectations, consistent discipline, consistent love, and consistent involvement are all keys to successful parenting.

Or so I thought.

That short walk home was enough time for one word to stand out to me.

Pride.

Me taking pride?

Opposite of pride - HUMILITY.

Suddenly, I find myself humbled because I don't really know any of the answers.  I'm running this marathon without knowing where the next sharp turn or mountain ascent will be.  Pride has no place here because I have never run this race before.  I didn't even train for it.

So, I open my front door and kick off my snow boots newly humbled.  If I knew all the answers and could do this on my own, why in the world would I have need to ask God for help and active involvement in my life?

I have no answers of my own - but the truth of His word surfaces.

I have no confidence in my abilities - but I know:

• He will never leave me. (Joshua 1:5)
• His grace is sufficient (to cover for my screw ups) and His power is made perfect in my (many) weakness(es). (2 Corinthians 12:9)
• His mercies are new every morning. (Lamentations 3:22-23)
  

I'm clinging to those simple truths this morning.

the knucklehead chronicles - part two

First, read part one.

Now, for EXHIBIT B:

School has interfered with my ability to fit in timely haircuts for the boys.  I comb their hair every morning as they are gulping down their cereal.

However, I don't inspect the condition of their eyebrows.

One Friday afternoon, The Hunter had his best school buddy over to play and I heard a lot of snickering and, "Don't tell her," going on.

I'm okay with a secret as long as it is okay to be a secret, you know what I mean?  So after asking if their secret was an appropriate secret, being reassured that it was, more laughter and whispering, I ignored the knuckleheads.

Suddenly, the secret was killing him.  He showed up in the kitchen and said that he can't keep it from me any longer.  He lifted his long hair away from his forehead.....

and I nearly peed in my pants.

While taking a shower in our bathroom, he decided to experiment with his dad's razor.  Instead of shaving his leg or his arm, the parts that a woman might see as logical he went for his EYEBROW.

At this rate, I fear puberty.  Knucklehead.

an excellent read

One thing I really enjoy doing with my boys (glasses or no glasses) is reading.  I think it is a no brainer when they are younger because they love any age appropriate children's book.  We have some old favorites, but through about the age of six, we could pull random books off the shelves at the library and they would be happy little bookworms.

The Hunter and Sauce are getting a bit trickier.  Sure, they love the ever popular "Magic Tree House" series as well as "The Boxcar Children."  They will often take these to bed and read to themselves at bedtime.

But I work to stretch them and broaden their horizons.  I like to go to the library by myself and scan the chapter books for something that I know they will really enjoy, but that they wouldn't necessarily choose themselves.

And then, because I know they are going to love a certain book, I read it aloud to them.

I'm selfish like that.

I LOVE to hear their giggles and gasps and, "Oh man!"  I get such enjoyment from the begging for just one more chapter.  I cherish the moments when I'm tucking them in and they ask me who my favorite character is or what I think will happen next.

We just finished reading one of those books that we will likely remember for years to come.

"Because of Mr. Terupt" caught my eye because as I flipped through the 260+ pages, I could see that the chapters were randomly titled with the same seven first names (Peter, Alexia, Luke, Jeffrey, Danielle, Anna, Jessica).  The summary said that the story revolved around one phenomenal fifth grade teacher and seven (very different) students from his class told the story.

I knew that a story led by a creative, enthusiastic teacher would catch my big boys' attention.  They are in the thick of experiencing the ups and downs of classroom learning, both socially and academically.  Often, they will question WHY they must learn a certain concept.  Other times, they will come home with a story of how another student said something mean for no reason at all.

I know that kids can be just plain mean for no reason, but I thought the different points of view would really open my sons' eyes and give them perspective that their fellow students are often more than meets the eye.  Also, I knew they would enjoy the creative and dynamic teacher that Mr. Terupt would prove to be.

I was right.  We finished the book in a grand total of four days.  In every spare moment, they were asking me to read "just one more chapter."  I had to hide the book when we had a babysitter one night because I knew they would finish it without me. 

They laughed out loud at Luke's "dollar word" habit (you'll never guess).  They started out hating Alexia, and then they learned to understand her.  They cracked up at the plant experiment and seeing the principal's wedgie.  All so perfect for elementary boys.

Although we are an in tact family, I know that many of their friends are struggling in broken homes.  I loved the real life "behind the scenes" perspective it gave them on grief, loss, judging others, and freely giving to those who may appear not to have anything to give in return such as special needs kids.

Although painful at times, this story dove into all of those topics without dealing my kids anything that I felt was inappropriate for their ages.  I felt it was so valuable to process through these types of feelings through a fictional experience.

If you have a third grade level reader or above, I emphatically recommend this book.  I was so glad that I didn't just hand it to one of my boys to read alone.  There were so many life lessons and discussion starters and we are all a bit more wise and compassionate because of it.

the blind will see

For twenty years, this was me.

Well, I'd like to think that most of the time I looked better than that (black is NOT my color).  But see those suckers on my face?  Never far from me and for the last ten years almost always on the bridge of my nose.

I was very farsighted (+3.75 if you care to know).

Ten years ago, my beloved had his very nearsighted eyes fixed with the magic of Las!k, but unfortunately at that time the technology to fix farsighted eyes didn't exist.  AND, I was just beginning my child-birthing years when those pesky hormones continued to affect my eyesight.

2011 was to be my year.  My baby is three and a half and I've managed not to get pregnant again (whew!).  After a free consult and carefully planning putting the additional $3,300 into our flexible spending account for this year - coincidentally the final year that we'll be allowed to have more than $2,500 in our flexible spending account thanks to the government healthcare changes - I made my appointment for surgery!

I counted down the days as I reached for my glasses each morning before my feet even hit the floor.

The day arrived and I was ready!  Squirt was just ready to eat all the free Or#o cookies (for breakfast) at the surgery center.

The procedure itself was much more physically taxing than I thought it would be.  After all, I had watched Kenyon go through it ten years ago and he breezed through it and was up and running the next day.

He is a bad a$$ though.

Still, I thought after four natural childbirths that this would be no sweat.  Apparently, I have quite small eye sockets and the amount of pressure that had to be put on my eyes to get the equipment in place was immense.

Beyond that, I didn't feel anything from the actual laser.  After about 10 minutes per eye, I was sitting up looking at my surgeon face to face.  She said that my distance vision (previously my best) would not be as sharp for a few weeks, but after the swelling goes down, I should see everything just fine.

I asked her if I should put my glasses on if I was struggling to see during the healing process.  Her response stands out in my memory, "Your glasses won't work anymore.  If you put them on they will feel like they were made for someone else."

A few days later, I tested her answer and she was RIGHT!"  It was so weird to put on my glasses that I wore every day and not be able to see a single thing through them.

The recovery process has been exactly as she described as well.  The first day - not fun.  The first week - variable.  The second week - mild discomfort due to prolonged corneal swelling, but getting better.  And through it all, I can see!

Here I am in the car post surgery waiting while my beloved went in a restaurant to buy me lunch to go - the sweet part was that he actually offered to sit in the restaurant and eat with me with these taped to my face.  I think he loves me. :-)

Sauce says, "That freaks me out!"  The Las!k love bites (looks bad, but didn't hurt) that have already healed.  I thought I looked like a battered wife though. 

I can see!  I'm reading books to my boys, reading stuff on the computer, texting on my phone, reading labels, and plucking my eyebrows ALL CLEARLY!!!

Money well spent.  I had a check up two weeks after the surgery and could read the 20/15 line on the eye chart.  I'd say a good result and I'm not even completely healed yet!

clogger

When you live in a houseful of boys, you will talk more about bodily functions than you ever thought was possible.

This year, Sauce coined the term "clogger." Need I explain?

I didn't think so.

For the last several months my brain has had a clogger.  I knew it was bad when I overheard my in-laws say to my beloved that I quit blogging altogether.

Not so in my head.  Just so on the screen.

Let me tell you the thought process I have been struggling with:  The school year started in a whirlwind and I found that my schedule was busier than I thought.  Much to my surprise, there was no time to get pedicures, eat bon bons, watch soap operas, or read romance novels.  Forget keeping a clean kitchen too.

Sure, I have more time to myself, but it is in VERY small chunks, and my running around meeting buses, volunteering in classes, and squeezing in errands (these pesky men still want to eat - the nerve!) dominates that time.

When some time had passed and I realized that I missed blogging about Halloween, Thanksgiving, our gaggle of visitors, and even Christmas, I felt like, "WTF" (no I would never say that!) "Where do I start?"

There are so many great things going on in our lives right now.  I am just having a clogger in getting back in the rhythm of telling them.  So, for the month of February, I'm going to work to get back into the habit of telling our stories.  And if that habit sticks, I'll be back for good.

You can thank this chick for kicking me into gear.  She is a real writer - go see her stuff and get ready to laugh.  (Are you happy now Nat?)

the white stuff

The whirlwind of pre-vacation school events, family in town, and lots of snow have given me excuses prevented me from blogging.

My sister, her family, and my mom were all just here for a week during which time, about 60 inches of snow fell.

Amy and I skied as much as we could get my mom to babysit.

Here are some highlights.

call GQ

Today The Hunter had a field trip to a theatrical musical at our local high school.  His teacher told the class to dress up for the occasion and my sweet boy complied to the max.
Here is the post field trip photo shoot.  FYI his teacher told him he was the best dressed student in the class.  (enter proud mama)
















































This is when I mentioned the word "poop."

let it begin

First we had this:

Then a little of this:

We enjoyed this:

And now we're starting this:

And this:

More to come.

it's five o'clock somewhere

Shall I say "Part One?"

Welcome to my periodic series recognizing the end of a long day - or possibly even several trying days in a row - with a rant and a glass of wine (well deserved, in my opinion).

Our household has been passing around yucky-fever-cough-snot-congestion-can't-sleep-staying-home-from-school-whiny-fussy-watery-eyed-only-want-mommy-illness for the past week.

Our little Squirt definitely had it the worst with fevers nearing 104 degrees and lots of crying for a boy who normally does a lot of smiling.

A trip (with four kids in tow) to the pediatrician won him the prize diagnosis of an ear infection and a trip through the drive-thru... pharmacy.

During our prayer time this morning, Sauce prayed that Daddy would be sure to use lots of hand sanitizer on his trip - I'd say we're all sick of being sick if we're going to the Lord about hand sanitizer.

Our neighborhood is having some sort of water issue (picture brown tinged water coming out of the faucet) and we can't use our water to drink or cook with.  Another errand was needed to the fire station where a nice firefighter loaded up my trunk with gallons of tax payer funded free drinking water.  Two days of this and it still isn't resolved.

Call me a spoiled American, but if I have running water in my house, I would like to actually, ahem, use it.

There are some more little punks at school giving my eldest a hard time and I'm growing weary of guiding him to rise above their crap antics.  I'm about ready to tell him to unleash his recently acquired cuss words karate training on them to silence them - no matter the consequences from the principal.

My beloved is on the east coast receiving some specialized training for his job, but I sure could have used him here today to kick some butt when my two middle muddles, Sauce and Rufus, couldn't get along for the life of them (for no particular reason at all, I might add).

In an attempt to "aid" their reconciliation, they spent quite a bit of time holding hands.  Then they graduated to sitting cheek-to-cheek when they still couldn't find love for each other.  Sauce was still having a hard time cooling down his hot temper, so I'm sorry to say that he was shoved out on the front porch (high temperature of 29 degrees today) and his fed up mother someone promptly locked the doors behind him.

He heard the muffled instructions to, "Calm the heck down!" through the door.  After about five minutes of teeth chattering, he came in to reluctantly make peace with his younger brother.

I thought I was feeling better, but tonight I can't take a breath without an over exaggerated coughing fit.

But since my beloved won't return until late tomorrow night, I'm heading upstairs to curl up with my body pillow that fills his vacant spot - and a healthy shot of Nyquil.

the knucklehead chronicles - part one

I call my friend Erin a "girl mom."  Her oldest child is a girl and I think it doomed her to have unrealistic boy standards.  Her husband Dave is a man who says what he means and means what he says.

One day after hearing Erin's pure exasperation about the antics of their boys, Dave enlightened her with the truth about boys.  It went something like this:

"Boys are knuckleheads.  They are knuckleheads when they are born and they don't stop being knuckleheads until the age of 25, and even that is variable."

I completely and totally agree.  If there is one thing you can depend on from boys, it is that they are knuckleheads.

EXHIBIT A:

"What is that?" you say.  The Hunter has a friend who's dad works for $kullcandy and generously gave pendant necklaces to the entire class.

Rather than wearing the above referenced necklace around his neck, my little knucklehead chose to stick his pinky through the eye socket.

Enter swelling.

The ice was no use.  Butter, cooking oil, no luck.  My man had to bring out the big guns.

To my knowledge, Erin hasn't had to bring out bolt cutters with her little knuckleheads just yet.

not for the timid

What I wanted to say:

"Lady, your punk second grader punched my sweet little kindergartener on the bus today.  I took care of business and got in his face and told him to keep his filthy hands to himself.  If he so much as breathes on my son again I will personally show him what it feels like to be punched by someone bigger than him!!!"

What I really said:

"Hi Jane.  This is Laurie from down the street.  How are you?  I just wanted to take a second of your time to let you know that James punched my six year old Rufus in the back while on the bus ride today.  Oh, yes he is fine, no lasting injuries.  I spoke to James at the bus stop and told him that what he did is not okay and he needs to keep his hands to himself and treat others like he wants to be treated... so I was hoping that you could reinforce that at home."

I'm really learning that it takes guts to make people, both children and their parents, accountable for their behavior.  It would have been easier to comfort Rufus and talk to only him about how wrong the boy on the bus was.  It would have been much more simple for me to give him a hug and tell Rufus that he should simply learn from others how NOT to behave.

I hate conflict.  I try to run from it.  It gives me a 20 pound weight in my stomach, shaky appendages, and occasionally shingles.  But I (thanks to my husband's support and encouragement) am not going to let life happen to my boys.

I don't mean that I'm going to protect them from all harm.  I'm not going to drive Rufus to school every day because he got punched on the bus.

But, I can't teach them that they are accountable for their behavior and not hold others accountable for theirs.  It wasn't comfortable for me to call this little boy's mom and tell her what her son did.  But I think the phone call accomplished two things:

1.  My kids know I'm on their side and I will do the tough stuff for them.  If they need me, I'm there.

2.  They know that accountability is consistent.  They are accountable for their behavior because their parents will follow through.

Lastly, this book made a lasting impression on me that it all needs to be done in love.  Rather than avoiding this boy and labeling him as a troublemaker, I made a point of telling him and his mom that we really want to develop a friendship with him and have him over to play.

There are reasons in his life why he did what he did, and the truth is that he needs kids to see the good in him.  He needs adults to shower him with love and attention and invest in him.

And even though I really wanted to throttle him I plan to do just that.

a new normal

A really good new normal.

We are in full school mode and it has been great all around.  I get up well before the kids each morning, but usually by the time I'm getting out of the shower and throwing on some clothes, they are either getting dressed or wandering downstairs to the living room for our Bible time.

Consistent.

Everything has consistency to it right now and I love that!

From our 6:45 Bible time to our friendly bus driver Joe pulling up to our street corner at 7:45, we are falling into a new rhythm.  The boys know what is expected of them, as do I, which makes us all happy.

And there are no complaints.

Although we're still in September and not January, everyone is excited for school and is much more eager to tackle tasks like, say, READING and WRITING, without whining and complaining.

No teeth pulling required.

The trade offs have been that our afternoons are not as relaxed.  I pretty much have to schedule time for the boys to chill and play before homework, soccer, dinner, and bedtime.

When I last blogged, Rufus and Squirt had yet to start their school year.  Rufus took on Kindergarten with gusto and hops on the bus each morning like he's done it every day of his life.

He did happen to start Kindergarten with a shiner though.  If he only would have listened to me about not running and jumping in a shoe store, he never would have taken a face plant into an ottoman... poor thing.

Smiling with Joe, our happy bus driver who gives us the added benefit of returning to us all the stuff our kids forget on the bus.

That very same day, Squirt went and became a big boy and started preschool.

 

Not even a, "Bye mom!  I'll miss you!  Can't you stay with me because I'm your baby?  Here, I'll shed a tear or two to make you feel better."  Nope, plopped on the rug and loved every minute of it.

Lots of people asked me what I was going to do with my very first morning with no kids at home.  I told them what I told my Beloved.

I'm getting a 60 minute massage for time served.

Then I went and ate lots of bon bons.  Because that's all I do now.

yellow school bus day

During the last couple of years I could be often heard saying, "It's a yellow school bus day!"  That meant that home schooling was particularly challenging that day.

Today was the real deal.  My fourth grader The Hunter and my second grader Sauce started school today.   And all the anticipation we've been feeling for weeks and months ended.

We had a great morning.  Mom woke up before everyone else due purely to nerves so I could get showered and ready first.  We woke up the boys at 6:45 and they hopped right up and got dressed in the clothes they excitedly laid out last night.

We then huddled up with blankets in our chilly living room for our family Bible time.  We took this recommendation from the book "Going Public" by David and Kelli Pritchard.  We've been reading together on and off all summer, but plan to do this every morning before school from here on out.  Five Psalms and one chapter of Proverbs each morning.

It's so fun to hear the examples that the boys apply to God's word.  There is truth at every maturity level.

Then they all hopped up to the breakfast bar and devoured some cereal.  I ushered them upstairs to get hair combed and teeth brushed.  We took the lunches that I made last night out of the refrigerator and put them in their backpacks and headed off for the bus.

A couple of neighbors were gathered at the end of our street waiting for our bus driver Joe.

Unfortunately, Squirt is three-going-on-seven and thought he was going with his brothers on the cool school bus.

Not so, youngling.

I didn't want to cry in front of the neighbors need to cry with all the tears that Squirt was spilling.  But I caught my Beloved choked up as the bus doors closed.

a debt

I decided to get decked out this morning with my three pieces of baby jewelry. The gift I received from my beloved after our little blond Rufus was born is a gorgeous sapphire and diamond bracelet.

The Hunter noticed it immediately because I don't wear it that often (I don't know why. I am vowing to wear it more often). He asked where the bracelet was from and I explained the story.

"Daddy gave it to me to thank me for giving him Rufus." I explained.

"What did you give him?" he asked.

"His boys!" I explained. "You all grew in my body and I gave birth to you."

"Yeah, but mom, he gave you the sperm!"

"Oh sorry, you're right. I should get him a thank you gift for that,
shouldn't I?"

I guess I am glad my nine year old still thinks sperm contribution is a big sacrifice for creating a family.