It is still July but already the summer days feel like they are slipping away. My advocacy calls have started picking back up and I am refreshing my familiarity with each of "my children's" IEP's.
I am hoping to sell some of my crafts at a few holiday shows this fall, and am taking stock of my supplies and setting up a schedule to boost my inventory.
The kiddos are anxious to get back to their school too... although preschool doesn't begin until after Labor day. In an effort to satisfy their hunger to learn and my need to feel useful in their education, we are trying to spend a little bit of time each day on letters, shapes, numbers, coloring, etc. My hat goes off to homeschool mamas. I don't know how they do it. God knew what He was doing when He had me walk past the Communication building to get to the Education building during college. I've always been easily distracted and the change in majors was definitely the right move. I do not have the patience to teach.
I have once again limited my time on Facebook, getting rid of time-sucking games and purging my friend list to something more realistic. As a stay at home mom who doesn't have much contact with the outside world (three kids, one car, and no friends in walking distance), I found myself using the internet as an escape from Groundhog Day instead of trying to recreate my reality. While life on the Frontier proved to be a distraction, I could also feel it physically diminishing my IQ and this morning woke up with the resolve to eliminate it from my life. I can barely keep up my little household as it is without being responsible for farming, ranching, and collecting chicken eggs.
Add to that a dead pine tree that needs to come down, a bee infestation in my baby girl's room, and the daily demands of three kids, three dogs, and a traveling husband, and my insomnia is back in full swing.
I love the chaos of my life. I like having lots to do. It makes me feel useful and gives me a sense of purpose. But I've never been great at time management, always biting off more than I can chew, and I'm back to the realm of feeling like 24 hours is not enough time in the day to accomplish everything that needs to be done.
I've come up with a few strategies to help manage my time and hope they will help.
1. I've always been a pen and paper kind of gal, so keeping a physical calendar and journal is the first weapon in my arsenal. Yes, I have an iPhone, but electronic calendars just don't do it for me. Plus, actually writing things down helps me remember them better. So my "journal" keeps my random thoughts in one place, contains my never ending to-do list, and helps me remember things that I don't want to forget. My calendar helps me maintain some resemblance of a schedule.
2. I am making time for ME. This is so important and for years I've neglected to take time for myself. When the husband is around and it isn't 400 degrees outside, my me time also includes some running. But for now, I'm spending my time at night with the TV off, listening to an audiobook and knitting. I know I sound like a boring old lady... but it's lights out by 11:00 and I'm able to wake up and feed the six mouths demanding "breaksmast" with significantly less grumbling. I've been doing this for a few weeks now and have become relentlessly protective of "my time". It seems to be working.
3. I'm (sort of) scheduling out my day. Bedtime is set in stone for the wee-ones and the wake up hour seldom varies by more than a few minutes. But up until now, all of the moments in between existed with little structure. I'm still not scheduling out every second of our day, but there are chunks of time devoted to different things. This helps me be sure I spend a little bit of each day on each thing I'm responsible for. It's not perfect, and most days you'll still find us in PJ's at noon, but for us, for now, it works. There will be plenty of time for over-scheduling as the kids get older.
Enjoy your time today, however you decide to spend it.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
July 27, 2010
May 18, 2010
This is NOT a Democracy!
My house is not a democracy... at least not at this point.
There are power struggles. I win them. There are battles of will. I am victorious. There are no negotiations. There are no compromises. This is my domain.
My house is ruled by Momocracy.
What exactly is a Momocracy? Well, it's sort of like tyranny with more love and less blood. I reign supreme and what I say goes.
"You get what you get, and you don't pitch a fit!"
Breakfast (or breaksmast as it is occasionally referred to) is whatever I choose. You wear what I pick out. You drink what I give you. You go to bed when I say.
And it is all (mostly) accepted because it is instituted with love.
Thankfully, because my children realize that they live in a Momocracy, we don't have many arguments over what clothes will be worn. I pick them out the night before. Every article of clothing, down to the socks, shoes, and underoos, is neatly lain out on the couch before bed most night.
We don't have arguments over what the breakfast beverage will be. Sippy cups of milk and water (not together, of course) are prepared and placed on reachable shelves in the fridge before I turn into a pumpkin each night.
And breaksmast is whatever I decide it is going to be. On school days, it is usually a pop tart, lovingly placed on the counter the night before with a little bowl by it's side. On the days we are really lucky, The Husband wakes up before me and prepares eggs or pancakes.
We don't have short-order cooks in this house for lunch or dinner either. You eat what you are given, or you can wait until the next meal. It is the rule under which I was raised, and I think I turned out okay...
(yes, I know I'm a little biased on the last point)
Some people are shocked by how early I put my children to bed. The last of the little peepers is out of sight no later than 7:30 most nights but usually before the clock says 7:05. When The Husband travels, 7:30 really means 6:30 and we pretend that it's not still too light outside to even fathom going to sleep. Why do I put them to bed so early? I have the luxury of being home all day with my kids. And in order for me to honestly be the best mom I can, I need a little bit of me time. Anyone who says otherwise clearly hasn't spent more than five minutes in my house.
Now, all of this isn't to say that we don't have outbursts, temper tantrums, and total shit-fits. After all, motherhood wouldn't be worth it's weight if there weren't some challenging times to make us appreciate the good times even more. But by and large, my kids do know that "because I said so" is a good enough reason to not question a decree.
Even the Mohawk Monster is learning that negotiation is not an option for certain things like what to wear or eat, or when it is time to sleep.
Why? Because, I said so.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
There are power struggles. I win them. There are battles of will. I am victorious. There are no negotiations. There are no compromises. This is my domain.
My house is ruled by Momocracy.
What exactly is a Momocracy? Well, it's sort of like tyranny with more love and less blood. I reign supreme and what I say goes.
"You get what you get, and you don't pitch a fit!"
Breakfast (or breaksmast as it is occasionally referred to) is whatever I choose. You wear what I pick out. You drink what I give you. You go to bed when I say.
And it is all (mostly) accepted because it is instituted with love.
Thankfully, because my children realize that they live in a Momocracy, we don't have many arguments over what clothes will be worn. I pick them out the night before. Every article of clothing, down to the socks, shoes, and underoos, is neatly lain out on the couch before bed most night.
We don't have arguments over what the breakfast beverage will be. Sippy cups of milk and water (not together, of course) are prepared and placed on reachable shelves in the fridge before I turn into a pumpkin each night.
And breaksmast is whatever I decide it is going to be. On school days, it is usually a pop tart, lovingly placed on the counter the night before with a little bowl by it's side. On the days we are really lucky, The Husband wakes up before me and prepares eggs or pancakes.
We don't have short-order cooks in this house for lunch or dinner either. You eat what you are given, or you can wait until the next meal. It is the rule under which I was raised, and I think I turned out okay...
(yes, I know I'm a little biased on the last point)
Some people are shocked by how early I put my children to bed. The last of the little peepers is out of sight no later than 7:30 most nights but usually before the clock says 7:05. When The Husband travels, 7:30 really means 6:30 and we pretend that it's not still too light outside to even fathom going to sleep. Why do I put them to bed so early? I have the luxury of being home all day with my kids. And in order for me to honestly be the best mom I can, I need a little bit of me time. Anyone who says otherwise clearly hasn't spent more than five minutes in my house.
Now, all of this isn't to say that we don't have outbursts, temper tantrums, and total shit-fits. After all, motherhood wouldn't be worth it's weight if there weren't some challenging times to make us appreciate the good times even more. But by and large, my kids do know that "because I said so" is a good enough reason to not question a decree.
Even the Mohawk Monster is learning that negotiation is not an option for certain things like what to wear or eat, or when it is time to sleep.
Why? Because, I said so.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
April 14, 2010
If I EVER...
If I ever attempt to step foot inside a Wal Mart again, please, PLEASE stop me.
I think I've had about a dozen posts on here that are related to my (ahem) experiences at Wally-World...
Here's another one to add to the list.
A little background: the Mohawk Monster is going through a phase I like to call "The Thrilling Three's". Don't be fooled... there is absolutely NOTHING thrilling about this phase.
He screams. He whines. He pouts. He pitches temper tantrums over things like the type of cup he has his lemonade in. On Saturday, he threw himself down inside the UGA stadium because he wanted chips and I wasn't able to give them to him RIGHT. THIS. VERY. INSTANT!!!!!
It's not pretty. In fact, it's downright ugly in that OH-MY-GOD-WHY-CAN'T-THAT-WOMAN-CONTROL-HER-DEMON-CHILD-OFFSPRING-CALL-AN-EXORCIST kind of way.
Yesterday he was in bed at 5:30. Yes, I said Five-Thirty. He had thrown the millionth tantrum of the day and it was truly in both of our best interest that he be sequestered to the safe and fluffy confines of his bed. He had books. He wasn't being harmed. And yes, I fed him first.
So anyway, today at Wally-World, we had another award winning meltdown...
Apparently, I am THAT mom.
We're in the line to check out. My children are total suckers for the impulse buy items in the checkout line - it literally takes every fiber of my being to get through the line as quickly as possible without raising my bill by $100 just in impulse purchases.
Then, it happens... The Mohawk Monster sees **GASP!!** a Mater truck from the movie, Cars.
Now, the truck is only three dollars and some change, but I can't say yes every time my children ask me to buy something. It just is what it is. If I gave in every time, they wouldn't just be brats - they'd be spoiled brats (not that I'm saying they're brats, of course!). And quite frankly, he didn't deserve the car since he had already had multiple meltdowns throughout the morning.
I told him, "not this time," and in an attempt to quickly divert his attention, I asked him to please help me with such-and-such.
Bad move, Mom.
He instantly switched himself into a complete tantrum, unleashing his fury on his little sister (who not to my surprise swatted right back at him in self defense) and threw himself into a screaming lump in the back of the cart.
All eyes are on me by now with the pleading "can't you control your heathen child" look, and of course, the cashier felt that it was her obligation to provide me with parenting advice at this point.
"Hon, you just need to go give that child some lunch and put him to bed. He just tired and needs some food and a nap."
I curtly yet politely replied, "He already ate. He's just being three."
"Mmm-mmm," she replied in disagreement. "You need to feed that boy and give him a nap 'cause he's just plain 'ol worn out! He'll be asleep the minute he gets in your van."
For the record, I do not own a van. Not that I don't want to... but I'm just saying.
Apparently she couldn't translate my death stare, because she continued.
"You just need to calm yo-self down. Count to ten. You's was like him once too, I'm sure. It's hard. There's Mc Donalds, and toys, you'd be pitching a fit too. Just get him some food and a nap. It'll be all right. Just give 'em what he wants. He'll settle on down."
Mohawk Monster is now screaming at what I'm certain is the absolute top of his lungs. I'm pretty sure DFCS is being called somewhere.
And as I grabbed my bags and hurried out as quickly as possible, I accidently caught the glance of a creepy old man who had been staring at me in my tennis skirt the whole time; he winked, nodded, and grinned (toothlessly!!!) in my direction. I thought the stretch marks and screaming children would be enough todiscourage frighten anyone from giving me the once over. Apparently not.
Ew. Icing. On. The. Cake.
I have GOT to remember that I hate Wal Mart.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
I think I've had about a dozen posts on here that are related to my (ahem) experiences at Wally-World...
Here's another one to add to the list.
A little background: the Mohawk Monster is going through a phase I like to call "The Thrilling Three's". Don't be fooled... there is absolutely NOTHING thrilling about this phase.
He screams. He whines. He pouts. He pitches temper tantrums over things like the type of cup he has his lemonade in. On Saturday, he threw himself down inside the UGA stadium because he wanted chips and I wasn't able to give them to him RIGHT. THIS. VERY. INSTANT!!!!!
It's not pretty. In fact, it's downright ugly in that OH-MY-GOD-WHY-CAN'T-THAT-WOMAN-CONTROL-HER-DEMON-CHILD-OFFSPRING-CALL-AN-EXORCIST kind of way.
Yesterday he was in bed at 5:30. Yes, I said Five-Thirty. He had thrown the millionth tantrum of the day and it was truly in both of our best interest that he be sequestered to the safe and fluffy confines of his bed. He had books. He wasn't being harmed. And yes, I fed him first.
So anyway, today at Wally-World, we had another award winning meltdown...
Apparently, I am THAT mom.
We're in the line to check out. My children are total suckers for the impulse buy items in the checkout line - it literally takes every fiber of my being to get through the line as quickly as possible without raising my bill by $100 just in impulse purchases.
Then, it happens... The Mohawk Monster sees **GASP!!** a Mater truck from the movie, Cars.
Now, the truck is only three dollars and some change, but I can't say yes every time my children ask me to buy something. It just is what it is. If I gave in every time, they wouldn't just be brats - they'd be spoiled brats (not that I'm saying they're brats, of course!). And quite frankly, he didn't deserve the car since he had already had multiple meltdowns throughout the morning.
I told him, "not this time," and in an attempt to quickly divert his attention, I asked him to please help me with such-and-such.
Bad move, Mom.
He instantly switched himself into a complete tantrum, unleashing his fury on his little sister (who not to my surprise swatted right back at him in self defense) and threw himself into a screaming lump in the back of the cart.
All eyes are on me by now with the pleading "can't you control your heathen child" look, and of course, the cashier felt that it was her obligation to provide me with parenting advice at this point.
"Hon, you just need to go give that child some lunch and put him to bed. He just tired and needs some food and a nap."
I curtly yet politely replied, "He already ate. He's just being three."
"Mmm-mmm," she replied in disagreement. "You need to feed that boy and give him a nap 'cause he's just plain 'ol worn out! He'll be asleep the minute he gets in your van."
For the record, I do not own a van. Not that I don't want to... but I'm just saying.
Apparently she couldn't translate my death stare, because she continued.
"You just need to calm yo-self down. Count to ten. You's was like him once too, I'm sure. It's hard. There's Mc Donalds, and toys, you'd be pitching a fit too. Just get him some food and a nap. It'll be all right. Just give 'em what he wants. He'll settle on down."
Mohawk Monster is now screaming at what I'm certain is the absolute top of his lungs. I'm pretty sure DFCS is being called somewhere.
And as I grabbed my bags and hurried out as quickly as possible, I accidently caught the glance of a creepy old man who had been staring at me in my tennis skirt the whole time; he winked, nodded, and grinned (toothlessly!!!) in my direction. I thought the stretch marks and screaming children would be enough to
Ew. Icing. On. The. Cake.
I have GOT to remember that I hate Wal Mart.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
April 6, 2010
Five Minutes In My Life
I'm sitting on the floor of our children's playroom. Toys are strewn everywhere. The volume is reaching a deafening level. We are in a place of Chaotic Zen that can only be obtained in my household.
Everyone is happy, so I take out my laptop in the hopes of briefly connecting with the outside world.
Then, it happens...
In a matter of no less than 15 seconds, I am reading a blog post sent to me that contains a list of the "types of bitches" which has been composed by a third grader. No lie. You can find it here.
At the same time, my four year old princess-dress-wearing fashionista who is sporting a crooked, floppy dollar bin crown busts out in hysterical laughter and calls me a "baby head". The outburst was totally unprompted. The only thing my rational mind can begin to fathom is that she is beyond the point of exhaustion... well, that or she is showing symptoms of some type of neurological disorder... then again, it might be entirely possible that weirdness is a genetic trait.... hmmmm... Regardless of the impetus, she has herself completely crumbled into a fit of hysterical laughter which has her baby sister petrified for her own life. Or maybe her sanity. Or both. The volume has reached illegal levels.
And before I know what has happened, I am hit square on the knee cap by a golf ball. My howling sends the three year old perpetrator into a full waterworks production. His crying frightens the baby even more and she starts screaming at the top of her lungs.
The Princess finds this all hilarious and laughs even harder.
And as if it were not loud enough already, the dogs are so bothered - yes, the DOGS ARE SO BOTHERED - by the decibel levels in the house that they begin howling and barking. Well, one is howling and the other is screeching.
I bet you wish you could hear it, don't you.
All I can do is look around and laugh. Crying would be futile, and yelling would only serve to make my head throb more than it already is.
And apparently, my laughing was just enough to make my kids think that I may have lost my mind.
The oldest quieted down and whispered, "we better pick up the blocks." A hush fell over the playroom and the dogs climbed on top of the couch and peered at me from behind the pillows.
And within minutes, we had reclaimed the Chaotic Zen that is essential to our home.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
Everyone is happy, so I take out my laptop in the hopes of briefly connecting with the outside world.
Then, it happens...
In a matter of no less than 15 seconds, I am reading a blog post sent to me that contains a list of the "types of bitches" which has been composed by a third grader. No lie. You can find it here.
At the same time, my four year old princess-dress-wearing fashionista who is sporting a crooked, floppy dollar bin crown busts out in hysterical laughter and calls me a "baby head". The outburst was totally unprompted. The only thing my rational mind can begin to fathom is that she is beyond the point of exhaustion... well, that or she is showing symptoms of some type of neurological disorder... then again, it might be entirely possible that weirdness is a genetic trait.... hmmmm... Regardless of the impetus, she has herself completely crumbled into a fit of hysterical laughter which has her baby sister petrified for her own life. Or maybe her sanity. Or both. The volume has reached illegal levels.
And before I know what has happened, I am hit square on the knee cap by a golf ball. My howling sends the three year old perpetrator into a full waterworks production. His crying frightens the baby even more and she starts screaming at the top of her lungs.
The Princess finds this all hilarious and laughs even harder.
And as if it were not loud enough already, the dogs are so bothered - yes, the DOGS ARE SO BOTHERED - by the decibel levels in the house that they begin howling and barking. Well, one is howling and the other is screeching.
I bet you wish you could hear it, don't you.
All I can do is look around and laugh. Crying would be futile, and yelling would only serve to make my head throb more than it already is.
And apparently, my laughing was just enough to make my kids think that I may have lost my mind.
The oldest quieted down and whispered, "we better pick up the blocks." A hush fell over the playroom and the dogs climbed on top of the couch and peered at me from behind the pillows.
And within minutes, we had reclaimed the Chaotic Zen that is essential to our home.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
March 16, 2010
MOTY Nomination, Please
Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, I deserve another MOTY Nomination.
MOTY, in case you're new here, is the Mother Of The Year award.
I have three kids. On any given day, I should be able to give you their names. You might get lucky enough to catch their birthdays if the stars are aligned correctly.
Their ages, however, are an entirely different story.
I worked myself into a tizzy thinking that my youngest daughter was a delayed walker. I panicked when I realized that she was 18 months old and not walking.I had visions of Physical Therapy, leg braces, medieval walking devices, the whole nine yards being in our future.
I made the first available appointment with the pediatrician that I could. I did research online and looked up all kinds of options. I prayed to the heavens and skies above that everything would be okay.
Then I took her to that first available appointment I got. My blood pressure was up and my palms were clammy. The Husband even went because he was concerned by my level of concern - which normally stays pretty even keel when it comes to my kids and their development.
And sitting there, reading her growth chart and thinking that she was terribly behind, it hit me...
My daughter is only 16 months old... Not 18 months old.
No, wait... what??? Oh. My. God. I am THE worst mother in the world. I don't even know my own child's AGE!!!
In my defense, math or anything number related for that matter has never been my strong suit.
(I know. I know. I'm shaking my head at myself too.)
If you know anything about kids, two months - hell, two WEEKS - can mean a world of difference in the development of a child under the age of two.
Fortunately, it appears as though Lil Bit is right on track and is focused on her verbal and cognitive development more than her gross motor skills right now. Which is fine with me.... Just as long as she doesn't get my mad math "skillz," I think we will all be okay.
Oh, and she will be walking soon. And it will likely be BEFORE she is 18 months old - but the "for real" 18 month mark, not the imagined one that I had created in my wee-little brain.
Yes, I know. I'm ashamed of myself too.
Maybe this is a sign that I am in desperate need of a vacation.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
MOTY, in case you're new here, is the Mother Of The Year award.
I have three kids. On any given day, I should be able to give you their names. You might get lucky enough to catch their birthdays if the stars are aligned correctly.
Their ages, however, are an entirely different story.
I worked myself into a tizzy thinking that my youngest daughter was a delayed walker. I panicked when I realized that she was 18 months old and not walking.I had visions of Physical Therapy, leg braces, medieval walking devices, the whole nine yards being in our future.
I made the first available appointment with the pediatrician that I could. I did research online and looked up all kinds of options. I prayed to the heavens and skies above that everything would be okay.
Then I took her to that first available appointment I got. My blood pressure was up and my palms were clammy. The Husband even went because he was concerned by my level of concern - which normally stays pretty even keel when it comes to my kids and their development.
And sitting there, reading her growth chart and thinking that she was terribly behind, it hit me...
My daughter is only 16 months old... Not 18 months old.
No, wait... what??? Oh. My. God. I am THE worst mother in the world. I don't even know my own child's AGE!!!
In my defense, math or anything number related for that matter has never been my strong suit.
(I know. I know. I'm shaking my head at myself too.)
If you know anything about kids, two months - hell, two WEEKS - can mean a world of difference in the development of a child under the age of two.
Fortunately, it appears as though Lil Bit is right on track and is focused on her verbal and cognitive development more than her gross motor skills right now. Which is fine with me.... Just as long as she doesn't get my mad math "skillz," I think we will all be okay.
Oh, and she will be walking soon. And it will likely be BEFORE she is 18 months old - but the "for real" 18 month mark, not the imagined one that I had created in my wee-little brain.
Yes, I know. I'm ashamed of myself too.
Maybe this is a sign that I am in desperate need of a vacation.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
March 10, 2010
Lessons in Boredom
About a month ago, The Husband and I moved the digital cable box from the den television to the TV in our room. It was an attempt to help remove TV from being the desired form of entertainment in our house because the stand alone unit only has about 19 channels on it.
It has been largely successful, except for the fact that lately my offspring has started staging an uprising every afternoon around 3:00. They want their Sprout, and they want it N.O.W!!!
Today, my oldest started telling me how "baw-red" she was. "But Mama," she followed me around whining after three games of Candy Land, 45 minutes of coloring, a dozen stories, and a lovely princess tea, "I'm so, so baw-red!! I have NOTHING to do! I need to watch Sprout!"
The Mohawk Monster quickly followed suit. "Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama, MA-MA, M-A-M-A!!! I boed too, I boed too! I need Spout!"
Now, I don't know about you, but I distinctly remember my dad telling me that I didn't know the meaning of bored and to go find something to do. This "something" usually involved going outside so that he didn't have to listen to my whining anymore.
It's raining so outside wasn't really an option. Instead, I decided it was time to teach the lesson about what being "bored" was really meant.
"Your rooms, now!" I ordered
They giggled and fled to their rooms expecting a new game. I'm glad I am taken so seriously around here.
I instructed them to sit on their beds and do nothing for 15 minutes. I told them that this wasn't a punishment, but I wanted them to learn what bored really meant.
Mini-Me laughed and with a defiant head toss, hopped onto the end of her bed and grinned.
"I can do that. That's easy." How does a four year old have such a smart mouth at such an early age?? I think my parents would call this something along the lines of payback, but I'm not 100% sure about that one.
The Mohawk Monster burst into tears. I knew he didn't get it, but if he was going to follow in the steps of his sister, he was going to take part in the lesson to be learned as well.
I set the timer and went about cleaning up the kitchen.
90 seconds in, Mini-Me was softly whining in her room. "This isn't a very fun game."
Five minutes in, Mini-Me had started asking if she could get up and the Mohawk Monster was sobbing "Dis a not fair! Dis a not fair!!!" I haven't yet figured out how to handle that lesson, by the way. One thing at a time. The Mama must pick her battles.
I proudly stood my ground, however, and when the timer went off, they both exploded from their rooms and started playing oh-so-politely together in the playroom. I haven't heard any complaints of boredom in the last 30 minutes and surprisingly, the word "MINE!" has yet to be uttered.
I think they may be afraid of the consequence that The Lesson of Mine might bring.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
It has been largely successful, except for the fact that lately my offspring has started staging an uprising every afternoon around 3:00. They want their Sprout, and they want it N.O.W!!!
Today, my oldest started telling me how "baw-red" she was. "But Mama," she followed me around whining after three games of Candy Land, 45 minutes of coloring, a dozen stories, and a lovely princess tea, "I'm so, so baw-red!! I have NOTHING to do! I need to watch Sprout!"
The Mohawk Monster quickly followed suit. "Mama, Mama, Mama, Mama, MA-MA, M-A-M-A!!! I boed too, I boed too! I need Spout!"
Now, I don't know about you, but I distinctly remember my dad telling me that I didn't know the meaning of bored and to go find something to do. This "something" usually involved going outside so that he didn't have to listen to my whining anymore.
It's raining so outside wasn't really an option. Instead, I decided it was time to teach the lesson about what being "bored" was really meant.
"Your rooms, now!" I ordered
They giggled and fled to their rooms expecting a new game. I'm glad I am taken so seriously around here.
I instructed them to sit on their beds and do nothing for 15 minutes. I told them that this wasn't a punishment, but I wanted them to learn what bored really meant.
Mini-Me laughed and with a defiant head toss, hopped onto the end of her bed and grinned.
"I can do that. That's easy." How does a four year old have such a smart mouth at such an early age?? I think my parents would call this something along the lines of payback, but I'm not 100% sure about that one.
The Mohawk Monster burst into tears. I knew he didn't get it, but if he was going to follow in the steps of his sister, he was going to take part in the lesson to be learned as well.
I set the timer and went about cleaning up the kitchen.
90 seconds in, Mini-Me was softly whining in her room. "This isn't a very fun game."
Five minutes in, Mini-Me had started asking if she could get up and the Mohawk Monster was sobbing "Dis a not fair! Dis a not fair!!!" I haven't yet figured out how to handle that lesson, by the way. One thing at a time. The Mama must pick her battles.
I proudly stood my ground, however, and when the timer went off, they both exploded from their rooms and started playing oh-so-politely together in the playroom. I haven't heard any complaints of boredom in the last 30 minutes and surprisingly, the word "MINE!" has yet to be uttered.
I think they may be afraid of the consequence that The Lesson of Mine might bring.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
January 2, 2010
W.W.M.D.
As a mom, it's sometimes hard for me to wonder what Jesus would do in my situation.
He didn't have children. He had the delight of having children love him, and when they were unruly (IF they were unruly - we're talking about Jesus here; would little ones really dare scream "NO!" in His face??), he could send them back to their mortified parents.
Before you worry that I'm headed down a path of hell and damnation, just bear with me for a moment.
My Catholic upbringing fortunately provided me with an arsenal of "Go To" examples for the What Would So-And-So Do question. There are, of course, the Saints. And no matter what you believe in, you've been living under a rock if you haven't heard of Blessed Mother Theresa. Finally, there is the ultimate Go To mother: Mary.
Following our latest episode (less than two minutes before this post), I retreated to my room to lick my wounds and prepare for the next battle. As I thought about how I could have better handled or all together prevented this morning's outburst, I found my thoughts wandering to Mary. Yes, THE Mary. The virgin mother of Jesus.
It seemed fitting: we just celebrated the birth of Jesus in Christmas. When you're holding a tiny baby - whether it's a child born in a manger or one delivered at Northside Hospital - you can't help but look into that beautiful, innocent, helpless face and think about the infinite possibilities the tiny life possesses. At that moment, you have no idea what the future will hold and certainly cannot fathom the concept of the trying two's hitting your household.
I wondered... did Jesus go through the
He was Jesus after all - perfectly Divine and entirely human with all of the imperfections that encompasses. And while most available biblical accounts of His life do not give us much insight into what things were like at home when He was a child, we do know that Jesus had an independent streak. One needs to only look so far as the story of when His parents found Him in the temple to see that example.
Religious convictions aside, I can't help but wonder if Jesus had tantrums as a kid. And if in fact He did, how do you think His mother would have handled it?
Christian teaching says that Mary knew she would bear God's only son. Wow. Can you even imagine the stress that goes along with THAT?? Sure, she had her reputation to worry about - the virgin bride pregnant before she was even officially betrothed. But as a mom, I think the more scary thought is what to do with Him once He is here! Pregnancy, labor, and delivering a child surrounded by cows and donkeys were the easy parts of that deal. That's nature. Her body knew how to handle those details. The tough part happened when the nurturing and raising of the Holy child had to take place.
I mean, we're talking about Jesus. THE Son of God. The ONLY Son of God. I wonder if Jesus got spanked... and if so, I have to believe that the words "This will hurt me more than it hurts you" had much more significant meaning then than they do now! Forget DFCS. She literally had The Wrath of God to worry about.
Thankfully, I'm not raising The Son most Divine. I'm raising a Colombian-Irish hybrid with the charm of a Guiness drinking Rico Suave and the temper of a bull who has just discovered that the keg is empty. It's a beautiful, volatile mixture. Still, in the tough moments of raising a two year old, it does help to pause and ask myself, "What Would Mary Do?" It certainly doesn't give me any clear answers, but it does make me smile and be thankful for my 100% Human child whom I can send to time-out without a shred of guilt or second guessing.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
November 16, 2009
Left to my Own Devices
The Husband is traveling again this week, leaving me alone with the three children and three dogs. It's cool. I can handle it.
This week just happens to be one of the most busy weeks on our calendar. It's cool. I can handle it.
Two preschool performances, two Thanksgiving Feasts, and one much anticipated fourth birthday for a pint sized princess with very high expectations. It's cool. I. Can. Handle. It.
So here I am, Monday night. The kids need a bath so I'm not the "mom of those stinky kids". The dogs need a bath so they can be out and protect me from the big bad scary noises in my house. I'm getting tired and my patience has hit it's end point.
Lightbulb! Put the kids AND the dogs in the shower together!!! Stroke. Of. Genius.
So yes... tonight, I put the three dogs and two of the three children in the shower together. I washed the dogs, had the kids help me rinse, then washed the kids. I figure I really killed three - no FOUR birds with one stone - I not only eliminated the stink from my dogs, but also cleaned my dirty offspring, managed to shower before midnight, AND helped save water. Who is supermom now?!?!
(yes, I hear the crickets. I'm ignoring them.)
Incidentally, I do not have pictures to document this moment of brilliance. At the exact second I thought of grabbing my camera, I realized that perhaps I had crossed over the threshold of sanity and it would be better to not post pictures of my dependents in all their clean glory. I am pretty sure my blog causes me enough trouble as it is.
At the end of the day, everyone is clean and no one seems to be showing signs of permanent damage as a result. I told you I could handle it.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
This week just happens to be one of the most busy weeks on our calendar. It's cool. I can handle it.
Two preschool performances, two Thanksgiving Feasts, and one much anticipated fourth birthday for a pint sized princess with very high expectations. It's cool. I. Can. Handle. It.
So here I am, Monday night. The kids need a bath so I'm not the "mom of those stinky kids". The dogs need a bath so they can be out and protect me from the big bad scary noises in my house. I'm getting tired and my patience has hit it's end point.
Lightbulb! Put the kids AND the dogs in the shower together!!! Stroke. Of. Genius.
So yes... tonight, I put the three dogs and two of the three children in the shower together. I washed the dogs, had the kids help me rinse, then washed the kids. I figure I really killed three - no FOUR birds with one stone - I not only eliminated the stink from my dogs, but also cleaned my dirty offspring, managed to shower before midnight, AND helped save water. Who is supermom now?!?!
(yes, I hear the crickets. I'm ignoring them.)
Incidentally, I do not have pictures to document this moment of brilliance. At the exact second I thought of grabbing my camera, I realized that perhaps I had crossed over the threshold of sanity and it would be better to not post pictures of my dependents in all their clean glory. I am pretty sure my blog causes me enough trouble as it is.
At the end of the day, everyone is clean and no one seems to be showing signs of permanent damage as a result. I told you I could handle it.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
November 2, 2009
God, Forgive Me!
Nap time has become a monumental struggle around our house. Despite the stress it can cause me, it is mandatory that the kids have "quiet time" following lunch before we start our afternoon routine.
Today was particularly difficult in that the 2.5 year old preferred to yell the ABC's at the top of his lungs instead of napping which resulted in the girls not being able to sleep because he could be heard throughout the air vents all around the house.
As I debated whether or not to get in the shower or go tell him to quiet down for the millionth time, it dawned on me... if I can hear him, HE CAN HEAR ME!!!
I sat for a moment, prayed quietly, and kept my eye out for lightning as I bent down to the air vent and in my best "manly" booming voice bellowed:
And he replied:
And I responded:
Now, I know what you're thinking (or at least what my Deacon father and Seminarian brother are thinking). Jenn, if you didn't already have your ticket to hell secured, this has certainly sealed your fate... But I promise you, it was purely innocent and a last ditch attempt to take a shower alone - preferably before midnight.
And you know what, it worked. For about twenty seconds. And I just couldn't help myself.
Nearly a whole minute passed. I could hardly contain stand my excitement as I thought that he really HAD gotten it this time!
Then I heard the ABC's start again in a very quiet whisper.
Then it also dawned on me that my very impressionable and highly sensitive oldest child could probably also hear me.
I crept down the stairs and peeked in her room to find her face buried in the covers. Concerned that I may have scarred her for life, I went in to check.
She peeked out at me with a sheepish grin and said, "shhhh." I asked her what was up and she replied:
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
Today was particularly difficult in that the 2.5 year old preferred to yell the ABC's at the top of his lungs instead of napping which resulted in the girls not being able to sleep because he could be heard throughout the air vents all around the house.
As I debated whether or not to get in the shower or go tell him to quiet down for the millionth time, it dawned on me... if I can hear him, HE CAN HEAR ME!!!
I sat for a moment, prayed quietly, and kept my eye out for lightning as I bent down to the air vent and in my best "manly" booming voice bellowed:
"NOAH. THIS IS GOD."
And he replied:
"hewo???"
And I responded:
"NOAH. THIS IS GOD. GO TO SLEEP."
Now, I know what you're thinking (or at least what my Deacon father and Seminarian brother are thinking). Jenn, if you didn't already have your ticket to hell secured, this has certainly sealed your fate... But I promise you, it was purely innocent and a last ditch attempt to take a shower alone - preferably before midnight.
And you know what, it worked. For about twenty seconds. And I just couldn't help myself.
"NOAH, THIS IS GOD. YOU NEED TO BE QUIET. LISTEN TO YOUR MOMMY AND GO TO SLEEP."
Nearly a whole minute passed. I could hardly contain stand my excitement as I thought that he really HAD gotten it this time!
Then I heard the ABC's start again in a very quiet whisper.
"NOAH, I'M PROUD OF YOUR SINGING BUT IT IS TIME TO SLEEP. LISTEN TO YOUR MOMMY AND TAKE A NAP. NOOOWWWWWW!"
Then it also dawned on me that my very impressionable and highly sensitive oldest child could probably also hear me.
I crept down the stairs and peeked in her room to find her face buried in the covers. Concerned that I may have scarred her for life, I went in to check.
She peeked out at me with a sheepish grin and said, "shhhh." I asked her what was up and she replied:
"Mommy, God called Noah and told him to go to sleep. I have to act like I'm asleep now because I don't want him to call Isabella."This could either be very good, or very, very bad.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
October 2, 2009
Finger Fail
I think I resnapped my tendon. Yay me.
My oldest decided it was her responsibilty to potty train her little brother. She is 3. He is 2. Being the good big sister she is, she took off his clothes and diaper this afternoon to "teach him" how to stinky in the potty. (I was cleaning the kitchen... or facebooking - I think we'll go with cleaning the kitchen). The only problem: he had already made a stinky. In his diaper. And the offending diaper was now on the floor. Of our living room.
It wasn't until he walked up to me, announcing his "stinky pride" with dinglers on his booty that I realized I was about two minutes too late to avoid a major disaster. I had to throw him in the shower.
Slippery, soapy, poopy 2 year old + poorly fitting finger splint + not-so-happy-mama-fully-clothed-in-shower-with-said-poo-offender = resnapped finger tendon.
I had enough trouble getting my doctor to believe I really hurt my finger just gardening. And that was the first time around. What are the chances he will buy this event? Slim to none.
Major Fail.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
My oldest decided it was her responsibilty to potty train her little brother. She is 3. He is 2. Being the good big sister she is, she took off his clothes and diaper this afternoon to "teach him" how to stinky in the potty. (I was cleaning the kitchen... or facebooking - I think we'll go with cleaning the kitchen). The only problem: he had already made a stinky. In his diaper. And the offending diaper was now on the floor. Of our living room.
It wasn't until he walked up to me, announcing his "stinky pride" with dinglers on his booty that I realized I was about two minutes too late to avoid a major disaster. I had to throw him in the shower.
Slippery, soapy, poopy 2 year old + poorly fitting finger splint + not-so-happy-mama-fully-clothed-in-shower-with-said-poo-offender = resnapped finger tendon.
I had enough trouble getting my doctor to believe I really hurt my finger just gardening. And that was the first time around. What are the chances he will buy this event? Slim to none.
Major Fail.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
September 28, 2009
As If You Needed More of My Opinions...
After I posted about Facebook Mompetitions, I started thinking I should take some of my own advice.Now don't get too excited here. I stand by what I said. However, I think that I missed one critical point.
No matter who you are, where you fall on the parenting spectrum, or what kind of mom/daughter/wife/partner/sister/friend you strive to be, there is one very important thing that cannot be forgotten: Own it.
I spent most (okay, all) of my teen years and the majority of my twenties comparing myself to the women around me and trying to be "perfect" for whomever's affections and approval I sought to gain. I spent the first few years of parenthood trying to live up to some idealistic expectation of who I thought I should be as a mom. Then I realized that not only was I causing myself a world of stress and unnecessary postpartum trauma, but I was also doing my children a huge disservice. Instead of loving myself and embracing that I am imperfectly perfect, I constantly compared myself to other moms, wives, and women in general.
The light switch finally went on when I realized that it is okay to be in survival mode - to be SURVIVAL MOM. That doesn't mean that I don't still fall into the trap of comparing myself to others. I have yet to meet a woman (who is completely honest with herself) who doesn't occasionally do the mental measure-up. But at the end of the day, I have had to find what works best for ME and for MY FAMILY. I am in survival mode 99.9% of the time. And you know what? I'm completely fine with that.
I had a friend who was asking for my opinions on disciplining her child. As I read through her email, I realized that she wasn't looking for advice. She was looking for validation.
Babies don't come with handbooks. Partners don't come with a "how-to" guide. Most of the time we have to trust our gut or go with examples. What happens when those examples portray perfection and don't compliment our gut feelings? We question ourselves. We undermine our own abilities to make sound decisions and trust our judgment. By constantly comparing ourselves to one another and by listening to the "expert" ideas about what a mom/daughter/wife/partner/sister/friend should be, we are turning down the voice of our own expert intuition.
I'm not an expert by any stretch of the imagination, but I can say from experience that when I turn up the volume on my own intuition and tune out the external noise, I am the best I can be - even when I am in survival mode. I have learned to take the advice found in books, dvd's, expert forums, and from super moms with a grain of salt and trust myself as much as possible. I remind myself that my children, my husband, and my life were all entrusted to me to take care of in the best way that I can possibly do.
At the end of the day, if every decision I make and every action I take comes from love, I know I'm always doing the right thing in my own imperfectly perfect way.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
September 27, 2009
Facebook Mompetitions
I love Facebook. Love. It. I'm a total junkie thanks to my iPhone facebook app. My favorite status updates are song lyrics, quick quips about odd child behavior, and controversial status updates that ruffle feathers and challenge friends to voice their opinions.
I got on the FarmTown bandwagon. Don't lie - you know you did too. Mafia Wars, anyone? And Island Paradise... I mean really, what's not to like about an island in the middle o' nowhere that has a climate which not only produces such exotic produce from Macadamia trees, Yarro plants, and coffee but also sustains the lives of animals such as Mystic Llamas, English Game Hens, Brown Cows, and Mountain Goats!
I've been known to participate in a quiz or two. And I even (shh, don't tell anyone) briefly joined in Sorority Life. Incidentally, SL ended in pretty much the same way my real life sorority experience ended: excommunication.
All in all, I would say that 90% of the time, it serves the purpose for which I intend it to be utilized for: to connect me to other people with in the real world, the outside world that spans beyond diapers and carpool.
10% of the time, I'm not hitting that "like" button.
There is a sinister side to Facebooking, and I'm not talking about the pedophiles and perverts. That's criminal. What I'm referring to is a different kind of evil... the kind of underhanded manipulatively innocent meanness that only women are capable of inflicting on one another.
Mompetition.
Mompetition refers to the "my kid is smarter/cuter/bigger/better/has less smelly poo than your kid" syndrome. Mompetition takes "I walked 10 miles in the snow uphill both ways barefoot carrying an elimination communication trained llama on my shoulders" one-up-ed-ness to new heights. Mompetition separates classes of super moms from the survival moms (incidentally, I'm in the latter class and am just fine with it!). Mompetition is what undermines the female mom psyche and destroys the very fibers that should be woven through our sisterhood. (Okay, so maybe I got a tad carried away with the sisterhood thing. I'm trying to make a point here!)
I truly believe that some mompetitions are completely accidental: In an attempt to explain my lack of sanity, I post a status update on my Facebook profile that outlines why I haven't had time to shower when it is already 5:30 in the evening. And while I realize that most people don't particularly care WHY I am smelly, there is some comfort in at least putting it out on the table that hey, I may smell worse than that llama I've been carrying, but it really has been one hell of a day!
But what happens when the to-do list of the super mom overachiever becomes a daily reminder to survival mom that someone else is always bigger/better/faster/stronger than she is? Every once in a while, its great to get those thumbs-up "likes" and "wow, you're my hero" comments. At some point, and I'm just being honest here, the supermom's platform for seeking validation and reinforcement goes too far.
Whether we intend to or not, we are challenging one another to a Facebook Mompetition when the daily accomplishment list becomes as regular as the horoscope app update in our news feeds.
I don't know about you, but I have many professional friends, moms included, and they don't post how many briefs they finished, how many orders they fulfilled, and how many fires they put out at work. And not once have I personally ever seen a single one of my childless friends post their daily to do's and accomplishments. Quite frankly, I don't know many people who give a rats patootie about it either. No offense, of course.
Not only do our mompetitions pit the SAHM's of the world against one another, but they also pit the SAHM's against the WOHM's in a very subliminal way. When I was a WOHM, I struggled to balance work life and home life. As a SAHM, I struggle to balance home life and, well, home life. We are ALL doing the best we can, but is it really necessary to update daily about the fact that your six month old perfectly potty trained child can also ask for cheese and crackers in Latin, French, and Sanskrit, and is learning the origins of the Gregorian calendar - all before his/her Bento lunch of cute and cuddly veggie creatures? I'm struggling to teach my two year old that poop is not finger paint and that there is a world beyond goldfish crackers and PB&J. And the mom next to me secretly wishes that she was the one teaching her child that dog food is not intended to be placed up the cat's nose instead of having that task passed onto the nanny.
At the end of the day, "THE social networking site" can either help or hurt all of us. Ultimately, no one can control what his or her friends post. And we can choose to hit the "hide all posts from John Smith" button in our news feed. But, should we really have to?
I'm just saying...
And by the way, if you were able to teach a llama elimination communication, I really would have to bow down to you and hit that "like" button.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
I got on the FarmTown bandwagon. Don't lie - you know you did too. Mafia Wars, anyone? And Island Paradise... I mean really, what's not to like about an island in the middle o' nowhere that has a climate which not only produces such exotic produce from Macadamia trees, Yarro plants, and coffee but also sustains the lives of animals such as Mystic Llamas, English Game Hens, Brown Cows, and Mountain Goats!
I've been known to participate in a quiz or two. And I even (shh, don't tell anyone) briefly joined in Sorority Life. Incidentally, SL ended in pretty much the same way my real life sorority experience ended: excommunication.
All in all, I would say that 90% of the time, it serves the purpose for which I intend it to be utilized for: to connect me to other people with in the real world, the outside world that spans beyond diapers and carpool.
10% of the time, I'm not hitting that "like" button.
There is a sinister side to Facebooking, and I'm not talking about the pedophiles and perverts. That's criminal. What I'm referring to is a different kind of evil... the kind of underhanded manipulatively innocent meanness that only women are capable of inflicting on one another.
Mompetition.
Mompetition refers to the "my kid is smarter/cuter/bigger/better/has less smelly poo than your kid" syndrome. Mompetition takes "I walked 10 miles in the snow uphill both ways barefoot carrying an elimination communication trained llama on my shoulders" one-up-ed-ness to new heights. Mompetition separates classes of super moms from the survival moms (incidentally, I'm in the latter class and am just fine with it!). Mompetition is what undermines the female mom psyche and destroys the very fibers that should be woven through our sisterhood. (Okay, so maybe I got a tad carried away with the sisterhood thing. I'm trying to make a point here!)
I truly believe that some mompetitions are completely accidental: In an attempt to explain my lack of sanity, I post a status update on my Facebook profile that outlines why I haven't had time to shower when it is already 5:30 in the evening. And while I realize that most people don't particularly care WHY I am smelly, there is some comfort in at least putting it out on the table that hey, I may smell worse than that llama I've been carrying, but it really has been one hell of a day!
But what happens when the to-do list of the super mom overachiever becomes a daily reminder to survival mom that someone else is always bigger/better/faster/stronger than she is? Every once in a while, its great to get those thumbs-up "likes" and "wow, you're my hero" comments. At some point, and I'm just being honest here, the supermom's platform for seeking validation and reinforcement goes too far.
Whether we intend to or not, we are challenging one another to a Facebook Mompetition when the daily accomplishment list becomes as regular as the horoscope app update in our news feeds.
I don't know about you, but I have many professional friends, moms included, and they don't post how many briefs they finished, how many orders they fulfilled, and how many fires they put out at work. And not once have I personally ever seen a single one of my childless friends post their daily to do's and accomplishments. Quite frankly, I don't know many people who give a rats patootie about it either. No offense, of course.
Not only do our mompetitions pit the SAHM's of the world against one another, but they also pit the SAHM's against the WOHM's in a very subliminal way. When I was a WOHM, I struggled to balance work life and home life. As a SAHM, I struggle to balance home life and, well, home life. We are ALL doing the best we can, but is it really necessary to update daily about the fact that your six month old perfectly potty trained child can also ask for cheese and crackers in Latin, French, and Sanskrit, and is learning the origins of the Gregorian calendar - all before his/her Bento lunch of cute and cuddly veggie creatures? I'm struggling to teach my two year old that poop is not finger paint and that there is a world beyond goldfish crackers and PB&J. And the mom next to me secretly wishes that she was the one teaching her child that dog food is not intended to be placed up the cat's nose instead of having that task passed onto the nanny.
At the end of the day, "THE social networking site" can either help or hurt all of us. Ultimately, no one can control what his or her friends post. And we can choose to hit the "hide all posts from John Smith" button in our news feed. But, should we really have to?
I'm just saying...
And by the way, if you were able to teach a llama elimination communication, I really would have to bow down to you and hit that "like" button.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
September 20, 2009
Hollywood
I frequently joke that I'm giving my children plenty of fodder for their therapy sessions that are inevitable later in life.
I think, however, that they are giving ME a reason to go to therapy... particularly my mini-me.
Yesterday, I was decoupaging the dresser that is going in our youngest daughter's room (pics to come, I promise!!!) when Mini-Me came up and announced that she was going to Hollywood.
Minutes later she came back fully clad in her "Hollywood Clothes" and had changed her name to Holly. Holly Hollywood... get it? Remember, she's three.
Anyway, this is what was staring back at me when I whipped around to question the name change.
Pose. and. all.
Now, her hair is a mess because she's in a phase where she wants to wear it "down like Aunt Kat". (Thanks, Kat, but could we start wearing ponytails and hair clips for a while?) But what kills me - KILLS ME - is the pose. This is her "model pose". She has even perfected the hip pop!
Really? REALLY???
I have no idea where she got this pose. None. It certainly wasn't from me.
All I can do is hope that all of this Hollywood going, name changing, hair copying business gets out of her system now or else I am in for some very serious trouble - and very expensive therapy bills!
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
I think, however, that they are giving ME a reason to go to therapy... particularly my mini-me.
Yesterday, I was decoupaging the dresser that is going in our youngest daughter's room (pics to come, I promise!!!) when Mini-Me came up and announced that she was going to Hollywood.
Minutes later she came back fully clad in her "Hollywood Clothes" and had changed her name to Holly. Holly Hollywood... get it? Remember, she's three.
Anyway, this is what was staring back at me when I whipped around to question the name change.
Pose. and. all.
Now, her hair is a mess because she's in a phase where she wants to wear it "down like Aunt Kat". (Thanks, Kat, but could we start wearing ponytails and hair clips for a while?) But what kills me - KILLS ME - is the pose. This is her "model pose". She has even perfected the hip pop!
Really? REALLY???
I have no idea where she got this pose. None. It certainly wasn't from me.
All I can do is hope that all of this Hollywood going, name changing, hair copying business gets out of her system now or else I am in for some very serious trouble - and very expensive therapy bills!
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
July 23, 2009
Unitled
Dear Family,
First of all, let me tell you how much I love you. I adore you. I love you more than all the stars in the sky and all the grains of sand on the earth combined.
That being said, I have just a couple of simple requests.
1. Could we please work on the tattling? I mean, really... is it necessary to tell me EVERY SINGLE TIME one of you looks at the other one? It isn't a criminal offense. And the wrath of The Mama will not come down on your beloved sibling simply because he/she looked in your direction. I also cannot control the extent to which the dogs look at you.
2. I, you are not moving to California on Monday. Nor can you skip ages 4 through 12 so you can immediately become a teenager. Furthermore, simply becoming a teenager will not entitle you to a spring break trip. If anything, this will prevent you from EVER SEEING THE LIGHT OF DAY on spring break. And for the record, repeatedly asking will not make me change my mind. And while I find it impressive that you have grasped the concept not only of States and Ages, but also of alternatives when one door closes, the window for you to move Hawaii in lieu of California will not be opening anytime before you are 18. I also commend your persistence. Asking more than 70 times in the course of three hours is impressive. But I will not be worn down... yet. Oh, and you cannot marry your brother. Or Chewie. I'm just saying...
3. N, your creativity is amazing. However, I really don't want to have to remind you again that your slice of pizza is NOT a golf club. Chewie's head is also not a golf ball. Scruffy is not a tractor to be ridden on. Your baby sister is also not a toy to be dragged around the house, although for the life of me I cannot figure out why her blood curdling screams every time you touch her have not alerted you to this already. And the way you say Sowee is adorable, but no matter how cute you are, you cannot repeatedly hit Sissy in the head and say "sowee" each time. It doesn't make it hurt any less, or prevent you from getting in trouble.
4. Hubs... really? Watch the news? Cars has played six times in the last four days; Tinkerbell has played twice. And when I get online, I'm much more concerned with my Farmtown skills than with the fast track on the crap train that our country is heading down. I need less stress in my life, not more. Google reader and Facebook are my bff's. It's not that I'm a space cadet. But lately, I need my happy place when the house gets quiet.
5. Dogs, please remember that YOU ARE DOGS!! You are not entitled to eat the food that I feed my human babies. And children, I appreciate your generosity, but please don't share your sandwiches and pop-tarts with the four-legged friends in our house. I clean up enough poop as it is.
I adore you all.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
First of all, let me tell you how much I love you. I adore you. I love you more than all the stars in the sky and all the grains of sand on the earth combined.
That being said, I have just a couple of simple requests.
1. Could we please work on the tattling? I mean, really... is it necessary to tell me EVERY SINGLE TIME one of you looks at the other one? It isn't a criminal offense. And the wrath of The Mama will not come down on your beloved sibling simply because he/she looked in your direction. I also cannot control the extent to which the dogs look at you.
2. I, you are not moving to California on Monday. Nor can you skip ages 4 through 12 so you can immediately become a teenager. Furthermore, simply becoming a teenager will not entitle you to a spring break trip. If anything, this will prevent you from EVER SEEING THE LIGHT OF DAY on spring break. And for the record, repeatedly asking will not make me change my mind. And while I find it impressive that you have grasped the concept not only of States and Ages, but also of alternatives when one door closes, the window for you to move Hawaii in lieu of California will not be opening anytime before you are 18. I also commend your persistence. Asking more than 70 times in the course of three hours is impressive. But I will not be worn down... yet. Oh, and you cannot marry your brother. Or Chewie. I'm just saying...
3. N, your creativity is amazing. However, I really don't want to have to remind you again that your slice of pizza is NOT a golf club. Chewie's head is also not a golf ball. Scruffy is not a tractor to be ridden on. Your baby sister is also not a toy to be dragged around the house, although for the life of me I cannot figure out why her blood curdling screams every time you touch her have not alerted you to this already. And the way you say Sowee is adorable, but no matter how cute you are, you cannot repeatedly hit Sissy in the head and say "sowee" each time. It doesn't make it hurt any less, or prevent you from getting in trouble.
4. Hubs... really? Watch the news? Cars has played six times in the last four days; Tinkerbell has played twice. And when I get online, I'm much more concerned with my Farmtown skills than with the fast track on the crap train that our country is heading down. I need less stress in my life, not more. Google reader and Facebook are my bff's. It's not that I'm a space cadet. But lately, I need my happy place when the house gets quiet.
5. Dogs, please remember that YOU ARE DOGS!! You are not entitled to eat the food that I feed my human babies. And children, I appreciate your generosity, but please don't share your sandwiches and pop-tarts with the four-legged friends in our house. I clean up enough poop as it is.
I adore you all.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
July 16, 2009
Nominate me, Please!!!
This is a desperate attempt at self-promotion. Desperate times call for desperate measures.
Today, I got up, showered, and spent thirty seconds contemplating what pants would match my t-shirt (YES, t-shirt!). I settled on a pair of way-too-big knit capri-ish things from Target. I barely got a comb through my wet hair before pulling it into a low ponytail. Shoes? HA! Makeup? Not a chance in hell!
About an hour ago, it hit me. I'm in serious need of a mom-makeover. I've fallen victim to the age-old cliche of putting my children's fashion ahead of my own. I'm a mom on a budget with limited time and even less energy to put into my clothes. I'm amazed that my husband sticks with me. I don't remember anything in our vows about staying together "through frumpy and fashionable". We're definitely in a frumpy spell.
I went onto TLC's website and they aren't accepting self nominations (FOR SHAME!!!). So I'm asking you to help me out.
Head to their website: What NOT to Wear and nominate me for the show. Need a picture? Let me know and I'll post a few for you to snag and use.
I'm serious people. The Mama needs your help!
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
Today, I got up, showered, and spent thirty seconds contemplating what pants would match my t-shirt (YES, t-shirt!). I settled on a pair of way-too-big knit capri-ish things from Target. I barely got a comb through my wet hair before pulling it into a low ponytail. Shoes? HA! Makeup? Not a chance in hell!
About an hour ago, it hit me. I'm in serious need of a mom-makeover. I've fallen victim to the age-old cliche of putting my children's fashion ahead of my own. I'm a mom on a budget with limited time and even less energy to put into my clothes. I'm amazed that my husband sticks with me. I don't remember anything in our vows about staying together "through frumpy and fashionable". We're definitely in a frumpy spell.
I went onto TLC's website and they aren't accepting self nominations (FOR SHAME!!!). So I'm asking you to help me out.
Head to their website: What NOT to Wear and nominate me for the show. Need a picture? Let me know and I'll post a few for you to snag and use.
I'm serious people. The Mama needs your help!
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
July 2, 2009
Have You Ever Been A Hero?
Every Thursday, I get an email from Plinky with some thought prompts. My intentions are good: I plan on using them to journal, blog, or stimulate conversation that focuses on something other than discipline or poop. Unfortunately, like most of my best laid plans, that just doesn't happen.
Today when I got my prompts, I decided to actually open and read the email instead of just hitting the little trash can on my monitor.
There was one prompt that struck me: Have you ever been a hero?
I'm blessed because every day, I'm a "hero" to my kids. I can see it in their eyes. I can tell by their sweet kisses and hugs. I also remember when I was little and my parents were my heroes.
The thing is, I'm a human hero. I'm a mom. I make mistakes. And as much as moms are expected to be super human - to be superheroes - at the end of the day, we are all just human heroes.
Asking myself about being a hero made me consider two things:
1. All moms are human. ALL MOMS ARE HUMAN. We all live in glass houses of some kind (or at least have some pretty high glass windows). It's a slippery slope when we start playing the Superman vs. Spiderman duel out in real life. After all, we're all trying to do the same thing, right? We all want to save the world. We all want to make the world as safe, colorful, and beautiful as we can for our children. We shouldn't try to compete with one another about who has the greatest mompowers. Not only does this undermine the overall good we can do, but it sets a horrible example for our little superheroes-in-training. We need to focus on uplifting the good, not highlighting the bad.
2. I often have to remind myself that while I am my child's hero, I am not a superhero, nor do I need to try and be one. I AM human. I DO make mistakes. For me, this means admitting when I'm wrong. It means apologizing when I've been too quick to yell or too slow to respond. It means humbling myself before my child, and lovingly showing her that I do make mistakes and that mistakes are okay. By allowing myself to make human mistakes, and by recognizing those mistakes, I am teaching my children to be accepting of the fact that each person has his or her own strengths and weaknesses. We all have our kryptonite. What matters is how we handle that kryptonite.
Someone has put a lot of trust in me. I'm the hero for three young, beautiful, highly spirited and highly impressionable little people. I am not really supermom. I'm not really a superhero. But to them, right now, I'm the greatest Hero ever created. It's a responsibility that I take very seriously, and a role that requires a lot of mindfulness. And when I do fall victim to my kryptonite, which happens often, I will accept it, apologize for it, and continue to try and save the world.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
Today when I got my prompts, I decided to actually open and read the email instead of just hitting the little trash can on my monitor.
There was one prompt that struck me: Have you ever been a hero?
I'm blessed because every day, I'm a "hero" to my kids. I can see it in their eyes. I can tell by their sweet kisses and hugs. I also remember when I was little and my parents were my heroes.
The thing is, I'm a human hero. I'm a mom. I make mistakes. And as much as moms are expected to be super human - to be superheroes - at the end of the day, we are all just human heroes.
Asking myself about being a hero made me consider two things:
1. All moms are human. ALL MOMS ARE HUMAN. We all live in glass houses of some kind (or at least have some pretty high glass windows). It's a slippery slope when we start playing the Superman vs. Spiderman duel out in real life. After all, we're all trying to do the same thing, right? We all want to save the world. We all want to make the world as safe, colorful, and beautiful as we can for our children. We shouldn't try to compete with one another about who has the greatest mompowers. Not only does this undermine the overall good we can do, but it sets a horrible example for our little superheroes-in-training. We need to focus on uplifting the good, not highlighting the bad.
2. I often have to remind myself that while I am my child's hero, I am not a superhero, nor do I need to try and be one. I AM human. I DO make mistakes. For me, this means admitting when I'm wrong. It means apologizing when I've been too quick to yell or too slow to respond. It means humbling myself before my child, and lovingly showing her that I do make mistakes and that mistakes are okay. By allowing myself to make human mistakes, and by recognizing those mistakes, I am teaching my children to be accepting of the fact that each person has his or her own strengths and weaknesses. We all have our kryptonite. What matters is how we handle that kryptonite.
Someone has put a lot of trust in me. I'm the hero for three young, beautiful, highly spirited and highly impressionable little people. I am not really supermom. I'm not really a superhero. But to them, right now, I'm the greatest Hero ever created. It's a responsibility that I take very seriously, and a role that requires a lot of mindfulness. And when I do fall victim to my kryptonite, which happens often, I will accept it, apologize for it, and continue to try and save the world.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
June 25, 2009
Is it bedtime yet?
When Hubs is out of town, my kids go to bed impossibly early. And by impossibly early, I mean as early as possible without their little bodies confusing night sleep with nap sleep.
Around here, that has been known to be as early as 6:30 some nights (6:15 if we're really honest about things).
It's not that I don't love my children. It's that I love them more when I am given the opportunity to have a little bit of quiet time to myself to get things done and relax a little bit.
Hubs has been on the road for about 5 weeks. He worked one of those Saturdays in between and will be working this Saturday before heading back out for his 6th week.
I am so, so, so thankful for his job.
But to be perfectly frank, on day 4 of his 5th week of travel, I really wish I had a little more support. Reading about my friends who have mom's helpers so they can go to the store and they have one or two children kind of makes me want to puke/cry/scream. No offense. It just does. That little green-eyed jealousy mom-monster comes out. I don't have anyone who can invite us over for dinner when he's gone or who offer to watch the kids so I can have an afternoon break.
Boo hoo.
I have a certain sick sense of pride about being able to be she-woman-super-mom and do things with so much independence. But I'm not going to lie. It does get really, really hard.
So by my calculations, it's about 5:25. I have about 30 minutes until the bedtime routines can begin. And since Little Einsteins is over and my chef, Papa John, just delivered dinner, it's about time for me to begin our evening rituals.
Until next time...
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
Around here, that has been known to be as early as 6:30 some nights (6:15 if we're really honest about things).
It's not that I don't love my children. It's that I love them more when I am given the opportunity to have a little bit of quiet time to myself to get things done and relax a little bit.
Hubs has been on the road for about 5 weeks. He worked one of those Saturdays in between and will be working this Saturday before heading back out for his 6th week.
I am so, so, so thankful for his job.
But to be perfectly frank, on day 4 of his 5th week of travel, I really wish I had a little more support. Reading about my friends who have mom's helpers so they can go to the store and they have one or two children kind of makes me want to puke/cry/scream. No offense. It just does. That little green-eyed jealousy mom-monster comes out. I don't have anyone who can invite us over for dinner when he's gone or who offer to watch the kids so I can have an afternoon break.
Boo hoo.
I have a certain sick sense of pride about being able to be she-woman-super-mom and do things with so much independence. But I'm not going to lie. It does get really, really hard.
So by my calculations, it's about 5:25. I have about 30 minutes until the bedtime routines can begin. And since Little Einsteins is over and my chef, Papa John, just delivered dinner, it's about time for me to begin our evening rituals.
Until next time...
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
June 23, 2009
Today's Mantra
"Today may my words be clear, kind, and uplifting."
I lack patience. No, really. Ask anyone who knows me. I have zero patience. I have even less patience with my lack of patience.
It's so much easier for me to fly off the handle and raise my voice for no reason than to take a nice slow count to ten and regroup. I mean, really, who wants to slow down and breathe when it's sooo much easier and more instantly gratifying to just yell at the top of your lungs?
Regardless of my personal desire to throw a Desperate Housewives of NJ move and turn over a table while screaming like a madwoman, I have young eyes and ears for whom I need to set an example.
Stomping my feet and throwing a temper tantrum that would rival the Emmy-worthy ones of my two and three year old really isn't acceptable. And somehow, I just don't think it's very effective to yell back at your child to not yell at you.
So when I registered for Mothering magazine, I was given a free gift. When I opened this OM-esque box of uplifting mom-mantras, I rolled my eyes and chucked them in my purse fully expecting that they would hit the floor at dinner one night and quickly head to their funeral in the garbage can.
But this morning, in a desperate attempt to maintain any shred of sanity I have left as we enter the 5th week of Hubs' travelling, I flipped through the cards, grabbed one that seemed easy to remember, read it a few times, and shoved it in my back pocket.
I've used it at least two dozen times today. "Today may my words be clear, kind, and uplifting." Rinse, repeat.
Taking the time to slow down and read the mantra actually DOES help me to recenter myself and enter a mindful state. I've noticed an improvement in my patience (or lack thereof). And while my kiddos aren't exactly responsive to the "new and improved Mama" yet, I am hoping that this will be the one area of my life that I can follow through on and integrate into my daily routine. And maybe, just maybe, the zen-like demeanor that I am desperately trying to attain can translate to my Colombian/Irish hybrid children and we can have a little more peace around here.
But don't worry... I'm realistic. And at the end of the day, I'm still me: impatient, loud, and incurably sarcastic.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
I lack patience. No, really. Ask anyone who knows me. I have zero patience. I have even less patience with my lack of patience.
It's so much easier for me to fly off the handle and raise my voice for no reason than to take a nice slow count to ten and regroup. I mean, really, who wants to slow down and breathe when it's sooo much easier and more instantly gratifying to just yell at the top of your lungs?
Regardless of my personal desire to throw a Desperate Housewives of NJ move and turn over a table while screaming like a madwoman, I have young eyes and ears for whom I need to set an example.
Stomping my feet and throwing a temper tantrum that would rival the Emmy-worthy ones of my two and three year old really isn't acceptable. And somehow, I just don't think it's very effective to yell back at your child to not yell at you.
So when I registered for Mothering magazine, I was given a free gift. When I opened this OM-esque box of uplifting mom-mantras, I rolled my eyes and chucked them in my purse fully expecting that they would hit the floor at dinner one night and quickly head to their funeral in the garbage can.
But this morning, in a desperate attempt to maintain any shred of sanity I have left as we enter the 5th week of Hubs' travelling, I flipped through the cards, grabbed one that seemed easy to remember, read it a few times, and shoved it in my back pocket.
I've used it at least two dozen times today. "Today may my words be clear, kind, and uplifting." Rinse, repeat.
Taking the time to slow down and read the mantra actually DOES help me to recenter myself and enter a mindful state. I've noticed an improvement in my patience (or lack thereof). And while my kiddos aren't exactly responsive to the "new and improved Mama" yet, I am hoping that this will be the one area of my life that I can follow through on and integrate into my daily routine. And maybe, just maybe, the zen-like demeanor that I am desperately trying to attain can translate to my Colombian/Irish hybrid children and we can have a little more peace around here.
But don't worry... I'm realistic. And at the end of the day, I'm still me: impatient, loud, and incurably sarcastic.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
June 2, 2009
The Numbers Game
2.5
Number of hours of sleep I got last night
6/1
Ratio by which I'm outnumbered right now, both two legged children and four
2
Cups of coffee required for me to even think about functioning this morning
8
The time tonight when I finally got to shower
0
The number of times I got to go to the bathroom by myself today
12
The number of poopie diapers I changed
4
The number of times my oldest child changed her clothes today - head to toe
83
How many emails and/or direct messages I have gotten and responded to so far today
13
The number of days left in The Husband's Travel Month from Hell
6
The number of "Accidents" that were had by my three year old today
360
Estimated number of times I had to say "NO", "STOP", or "DON'T RIDE ON THE DOGS"
1
The number of pizzas that my three year old managed to pee pee on. Don't even ask.
11
The time tonight when I would like to go to sleep
1.5
The time tomorrow morning I will probably wind up going to sleep
138
The number of new gray hairs I got today
90
The number of minutes I got to cuddle with my son tonight - a rare treat!
5%
The amount of sanity I have remaining
40,000
The amount of student loan money I owe
7
The number of years I spent in college
3.8
the GPA I graduated with
2/8
The number of years since graduation that I actually used that "hard earned degree"
117,000
"Salary" that would be applicable for a Stay At Home Mom
300
The number of times I laughed today
5
The number of times I cried today
3
The number of precious little lives smiles I am entrusted with that make my heart melt and make every frustrating day worthwhile.
0.0
The number of seconds I would trade my life for any other job in the world
Number of hours of sleep I got last night
6/1
Ratio by which I'm outnumbered right now, both two legged children and four
2
Cups of coffee required for me to even think about functioning this morning
8
The time tonight when I finally got to shower
0
The number of times I got to go to the bathroom by myself today
12
The number of poopie diapers I changed
4
The number of times my oldest child changed her clothes today - head to toe
83
How many emails and/or direct messages I have gotten and responded to so far today
13
The number of days left in The Husband's Travel Month from Hell
6
The number of "Accidents" that were had by my three year old today
360
Estimated number of times I had to say "NO", "STOP", or "DON'T RIDE ON THE DOGS"
1
The number of pizzas that my three year old managed to pee pee on. Don't even ask.
11
The time tonight when I would like to go to sleep
1.5
The time tomorrow morning I will probably wind up going to sleep
138
The number of new gray hairs I got today
90
The number of minutes I got to cuddle with my son tonight - a rare treat!
5%
The amount of sanity I have remaining
40,000
The amount of student loan money I owe
7
The number of years I spent in college
3.8
the GPA I graduated with
2/8
The number of years since graduation that I actually used that "hard earned degree"
117,000
"Salary" that would be applicable for a Stay At Home Mom
300
The number of times I laughed today
5
The number of times I cried today
3
The number of precious little lives smiles I am entrusted with that make my heart melt and make every frustrating day worthwhile.
0.0
The number of seconds I would trade my life for any other job in the world
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
The Mama
June 1, 2009
Dazed and Confused
This will be brief:
Single moms, I do not know how you do it.
The Husband left today for his three weeks on the road for work. I'm drowning. It's been less than 12 hours.
As much as I would love to blog about my insane day, I think that my time would better be spent attempting to decompress. It is amazing how much earlier 5:00 a.m. gets each morning.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
Single moms, I do not know how you do it.
The Husband left today for his three weeks on the road for work. I'm drowning. It's been less than 12 hours.
As much as I would love to blog about my insane day, I think that my time would better be spent attempting to decompress. It is amazing how much earlier 5:00 a.m. gets each morning.
Love, hugs, and blessings,
The Mama
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