Coughing, Cramps, and Gollum

A horrifying but funny story, especially at 3:30 am while on steroids:
I was sitting on the toilet coughing the other day, it is my favorite place to cough because, you know, children, when my attempts to move phlegm went horribly awry and I got what could only be described as a charlie horse just over my left ovary.
 I didn’t know the muscles there could even do that, but I will say it hurt more than any contraction I have ever felt, a muscle cramp the likes of which had never invaded such a poor abused area of my body.
So what do you do with a cramped muscle like that? You stretch it out, but I’m still coughing, or attempting to stifle coughing, and can’t just pop up because, oh, I’m on my period and it’s like day two, so standing straight up without necessary protection in place, especially while coughing, will result in something by akin to a scene from Carrie.
So I’m huddled, trying to drip into the toilet, frantically attempting to dress myself, cantered to one side like a hunchback, desperately praying I can hold in the rest of the cough, both because of the pain and the vivid images in my mind of the bloody near death scene that I feel is in the works, while trying to navigate the delicate process that pulling up underwear with a pad attached is even when your not huddled like Gollum.
I got the underwear up without creating a hazmat situation, stood up, and nearly wept with relief. Then I coughed, and I pretty sure I died for a moment. It relaxed after that and life went on.
Just take a moment to imagine it and laugh because if it’s not funny, I don’t know what is.
You will all be glad to know that I survived and only regret that I am not telling you this in person so you could see the horrifyingly delightful contortions I would reenact for you.

Vomit Ninja: 10 Tips for Dealing With Your Upchucking Toddler

     My triumph and the source of much of my ninja prowess came from one evening when both of my smallest ones, and my husband came down with a bug that my oldest had the night before. My eight year old handled it like a pro. No trouble there. But being the only vertical adult the next night with... projectile.... and there was this blow out diaper at the same time... not enough hot water to wash ...all the bleach... and I'm not going to tell you more because I love you.

So grateful he's in the
independent upchucking
 stage.

     Needless to say, I developed a system, after much trial and error, and my youngest two watched two seasons of Puffin Rock before it was all said and done. My evening went down in flames but I arose like a phoenix, the Vomit Ninjah! It was one of those superhero back stories you wouldn't wish on anyone. So please, learn from my pain, and laugh at my jokes, because you know I got 'em. Nights like that, jokes are what keep you going.



     After all that I had the beautiful privilege of being told by a good friend that vomit management would fit under special skills on my mom resume. So now I have it in my head that I am an expert and like all good experts I feel that need to share my knowledge.

No rest for the weary

      Disclaimer: These are all, of course, based on my experiences with my own children, your kids might not throw up within similar parameters which would make my advice less useful. Feel free to leave any other tip and tricks in the comments. Also I am primarily dealing with how to deal with a toddler that is/will be throwing up, not how to treat a toddler to stop him from throwing up. In my house those things just have to run their course, the trick is trying to keep the other members of the house from getting it and to keep the toddler from destroying your home while they are sick.

So here are my...

     Top 10 Tips For Dealing With Your Upchucking Toddler

     The key phrase in all of my tips: Minimize collateral damage! They will throw up, the trick is to throw up in/on things that are easily sanitized and quick to clean up. Ideally this is a toilet but if you have a 9-18 month old that runs to the toilet when they are throwing up... maybe we can't be friends. Just kidding, please, please, please tell us your secrets!

1.) Once the toddler throws up don't move them to a new location unless you are sure that a.) they are done with this session of puking, or b.) you are sure that you can get them to a toilet or bathtub in less than 20 seconds.

2.) Grab washable things to stuff under the toddlers face, for example- towels, blankets, or your body (it washes, I promise).
Things not in this category include but are not limited to carpet, rugs, heirloom quilts, silk, leather or non waterproofed mattresses. Your hand is not an option because you need to keep the toddler from wandering while puking. Which brings us to number 3...

3.) You need to keep said toddler from stumbling through the house trailing who knows what who knows where behind them. Hold your toddler. Yes, hold the upchucking baby. This is at times counterintuitive. And I didn't say face the child towards you, though that might work if you are using your body as a... containing option. Keep the little one from spreading his distress all over the living room, bedroom or grandma's white sofa. Aim the vomit at the towel or blanket previously mentioned if you were able to grab one.
     Side note: Preschoolers can often be pointed toward a trash can but you need to be in arms reach to keep the child from a.)knocking it over after they successfully use it or b.) coming to talk to you before its actually over. I have in fact held one child in my lap, throwing up on a towel while keeping the preschoolers head in a trash can, also throwing up... one of my finest parenting moments.

See, pallet, towels, blanket, trash can,
hair back, and Captain America shield 

4.) Movie time! Once the child is done with their... well you know, put them on a blanket, stack of towels, or my favorite, a crib mattress covered with one of those, in front of the TV or some device that will keep their attention without needing to be touched. And if you are going to be using this moment to clean up... stuff... be sure that they are in a sea of peripheral washables so that you can...Minimize Collateral Damage... when the continually surprised child tries to get up while vomiting.

I may have gone overboard on
the NO HAIR SHALL
ESCAPE theme.

     Also secure loose hair. This step lets me feel good about not bathing my child after every upchuck because I feel like I can just wipe them down and not totally hose them off until it seems like we are finished. There is only so much hot water to go around and you need it for nearly boiling all the blankets and such that are continually going into your washing machine.

5.) Do not put the child to bed, or back to bed, as always seems to be the case with my kids, until they act more normal, for example my toddler won't sit and watch TV if he's feeling ok so that is part one of my back to bed cue, part two is that it has been between 30 minutes to an hour since the last incident. Please, please, do not rush this step. It will only end in disaster... total disaster.

6.) Never trust a toddler to sleep on a non waterproof mattress within 12 hrs of the last incident. I have made pallets on the floor for mine or put them on crib mattresses if I had enough to go around. If you do this, put a blanket to the side of the 'bed' because they sometimes lean off the bed when they start throwing up or, even better, try to get up to come get you, because its hard to yell MOMMY while you throw up.

     Clean up- these last tips have to do with clean up because in my experience no child four or younger gets a stomach bug without there being a massive clean up from that first SURPRISE that, when it does show up, always shows up in my house after the kids have been in bed for an hour.

7.) Mattresses, 8.) Carpet, 9.) Cars
     So much of what I do for these starts at the same point that I'm combining them. I keep a massive box of baking soda in my house, and I mean massive. Douse the throw up as soon as you can.
     It minimizes smell, absorbs liquids so it doesn't soak in, and makes it easy to grab when it clumps up the... chunks (so sorry to say it but you know it's true), also it allows you to vacuum whatever can not be easily picked up with a towel, wipe, paper plate cut in half (for real scooping power), or paper towel.

     On a mattress I, scoop, cover it with a towel and let it sit with random vacuuming and reapplying of baking soda for up to two days, until I don't smell anything. Getting the sheets off asap makes a big difference on a mattress.

     On carpet I typically scoop, vacuum remaining baking soda, work more baking soda down into the pile to get that last bit of... liquid... and vacuum again. The same with car upholstery.
     This works well for accidents too if you happen to be potty training, but that's an entirely different blog that I don't want to write.

     Car seats are a WHOLE other problem. Wash what you can and take a baking soda/Clorox wipe approach to what you can't. Just remember, baking soda is your friend in places you can't reach or bleach. And it rhymes!

10.) Maintenance is what I call this stage- As I have mentioned before, keep the kids occupied, TV works for us, and on something that you can scoop up, wipe off, or throw away, for about an hour if not more. For the really little ones I would hold them, comforter or blanket over me, towels around them, minimal clothing since they were wrapped up, if they threw up, I would wipe off their face with a clean corner, ball up all the fabric, and straight into the washer, (thank you Lord for the sanitize setting), and reset the blankets/towel for the next onslaught.

Psychological scarring

     Once I get the initial mess dealt with I typically can just do a daunting number of loads of laundry, occasional baths, and constant vigilance, for the remainder of the night and come out exhausted but with my home relatively unscathed. My psyche is a whole other subject that would also need its own blog and really, you just don't want to know...

     And here is the Vomit Ninja, signing off and hoping that you never need my advice, but if you do, you know who to call... a friend who can read you my advice, since you have your hands full.

Proverbs for the Hard Headed

     This message is brought to you by that precious moment in the day that I fondly call the witching hour, which is, as you know, when even the best of mothers feel the beginning of exhaustion start to set in and the children, smelling weakness, prey upon her sanity. And Proverbs 19:21-

Many are the plan's of a man's heart, but it is the Lord's purpose that prevails.

     We were home and there were potatoes in the oven for dinner. The kids had been snacked and were either working on homework or playing. All was going according to plan.
You see, I had a plan. Dinner was planned, baths were planned, and then books and off to bed, after which cleaning was the plan. The vanity of it all.

They are laughing at my plans and
conspiring against me. 

     There was a nasty smell about and I snagged the youngest and took him to the changing table. Some of you are cringing expecting this to he where the 'fun' begins. Not yet, but it's coming.

     All went as expected, but even though my youngest was clean enough I felt that, it being bath night anyways, it was bath time.

     Ah, the feeble plans of men.

     I turn on the water and immediately am assaulted by a crash and a scream or two. The older two sprint past the door, fleeing the scene of the crime, and I grab them to get an account of what was destroyed, mauled, or on fire.

     Putting them both in time out for touching the blinds, that is what the crash was, I head that way to asses the extent of the damage.

     I pause by the bathroom to turn off the bath water and discover it is as cold as ice. Yes, I checked that I had the right handle on the faucet on, and, thank goodness, I was not yet so far gone as to have turned on the cold by mistake.

    Therefore, my only conclusion was that there was no hot water, and that there was a problem with the hot water heater.

      I call my husband, and text my landlord after looking in the closet to see if there was anything obviously wrong, as in something had expolded or was leaking. Nope, and that exhausted my level of expertice, thus the text was sent.

     So my landlord says he will be here in 10 min. and I frantically try to make sure that our dirty underwear is put away and that we don't look like total slobs, while trying to boil water to make use of the bathtub full of cold water that I still really need to put a child into, meanwhile, the little prince, was running around diaperless because he was about to be put in the tub... you see where this is going, right?

He likes shoes...
 maybe too much.

     Well, he peed in my shoe... like you do... and pooped in the laundry room... because... I don't know. He had just had a poopy diaper, I thought I had a few moments at least.

     So, small child to the now coolish, not cold tub thanks to a pot of boiling water, rinse the shoe with cold water because that's all I had, towel for the pee, bleach to the laundry room, a few more items into the useless dishwasher, other items with bodily fluids stuffed unceremoniously into the useless washing machine, but hey they aren't in the walkway, and then I remember to go to see what the big kids are up to.

     No idea when time out ended. Not my most consistent parenting moment but, there was pee in my shoe and poop on the floor, sometimes you have to prioritize. And at some point in my panicked hurrying I had shooed them to the other end of the house so that I was only cleaning off one child. Disaster adverted. Ha!

     In the middle of the floor lies the broken blinds in a crumpled heap. I stick these back up as best I can while growling threats to confiscate all their money to the end of time if they touch them again.

     Once I turn and actually look at them I grab the bubbles that they were in the process of getting out (so not allowed in the house) from their already sticky hands, tossing them in the trash because all mercy left when the poop arrived and I set the wayward older children to cleaning the living room.

     This, being their favorite thing to do in the whole wide world (feel the sarcasm), leads to much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

     I am in the process of chewing the oldest out for whining and arguing, and calling the sneaky middle child who had slipped away while pretending she was putting something up, and of course the doorbell rings.
   
     Landlord is here.

     I escort him to the hot water heater, telling him what I know and then run off to the other end of the house to rescue the screaming baby in the once again icy tub.

     The baby was dried and diapered... I'm a quick learner... and my husband arrived to get the older kids to finish picking up the living room.

I took this right before we left
the house. I earned this crazy.

     Turns out that the storms last night tripped a breaker, and since we have never lived in a place where storms trip breakers not to mention that our last hot water heater was gas, it hadn't even occurred to us. Still we feel a little dumb for not trying that before we call.

     So we apologize to our very kind landlord and set about putting together dinner in a frantic it's a school night and my husband has somewhere to be in an hour sort of way. Yep, the meat was still frozen and the potatoes weren't done after over an hour...

     Before I had even had a chance to internalize this and begin to break my wise husband bundled all the kids into the car and we all went to Chick-fil-a...

     ...where the playground was closed...

     ...because it's that kind of day.

It's a hey your not all that, you still need me, up here, God speaking, so listen up, I've got you, love you even though your hard headed, sort of day. And I had a lovely dinner with my beautiful children.

In his heart a man plans his course, but the Lord determines his steps.

Proverbs 16:9

Embracing the Mess

Let's be real here. Being a mom is hard. End of story, well not a good end of story, but the statement stands alone and every mom that reads it rolls her eyes and says "Tell me something I don't know!" So here it is, something mama's don't know. They say it, they preach it, they tell it to each other but knowing means allowing yourself to internalize it and accept it as part of your story, your song, your being:
You are amazing, invaluable, and a gift to your children.

I say this like this is something that I have some tangible knowledge of but I type it for me as much as for the rest of you.

We WILL make mistakes, things WILL go wrong, you will have that freak out moment that leaves your children staring at the crazy lady who just took over their mama's body, and you wanna know why? Because we are HUMAN!
Also because if we set an impossible standard for our children we would just be setting them up for failure and grief later in life because...

They are HUMAN too!
Which is why they are so hard to live with at times.

Teaching your children how to survive being around people and how to deal with, apologize to, and forgive in a fallen world is such a great part of why you are here.

Your mistakes are not always a scar on their little psyche, a crushing of their spirit, or an unforgivable blight, it is an opportunity to teach compassion for those in leadership roles, to model empathy, sympathy, and above all humility and forgiveness.

These are the things that we remember about those who brought us up, those who we loved and admired.
In order to love, we as humans must gloss over these rough patches, taking in the whole, seeing the love, embracing compassion, and seeking to be best of what we see in others.

The inner eye is much harsher, prone to magnifying faults, but if we were to look at ourselves through the same eyes that we look at our loved ones, taking a moment to accept that beautiful picture, we would see an entirely different person.
One bathed in forgiveness, grace, and redemption, and, perhaps, there we would catch a glimmer of understanding, a minute trace of comprehension, of what our children see when they look at us with such adoration...

because we are their mothers, mommys, moms, mamas... 

...however you say it, whatever language, no matter your age, it has a beautiful meaning all its own.

Wear the name proudly, mamas, and seek the joy in every messy, disastrous moment of it.

You are amazing.

If Cleanliness Is Next To Godliness I'm In Trouble

I decided that I needed a bath.

My smallest had thrown up some the night before, so far it had not seemed to be contagious, something just didn't sit right, but it meant a long night of light sleep waiting to hear the sounds of upchucking from my sons room. So it's no surprise that I woke up with an achy back, sinus congestion, and a touch of asthma. 

"A bath will solve my problems." I thought forgetting I had kids. 

My youngest came in as soon as he heard the water. At first we were just playing tag with the rubber ducky. I would set it on the side of the tub and my one year old would toss it back in. Not exactly relaxing but manageable.

Then he found my phone and started to bring that to me in the tub. Thank goodness I saw that coming was able to head him off before he got within tossing distance. Once that was taken away and tucked out of sight behind a towel he lost interest and wandered off for a moment.

Ahhh... relaxation.

He wandered back in and looked around, presumable for something else to throw in the tub. Suddenly I saw his eyes lock on something, where there should be nothing of interest, and light up just a bit. This got my attention. On the bathroom floor is bad enough, but pointed interest in something small on the bathroom floor never ends in a happy place. He bent down and picked up the something off the floor as I lunged to try to confiscate whatever it was. He got there first and held up his prize.

I was horrified! 

It was a chunk of craisin... 

on the bathroom floor... 

that had fallen off of him...

as I stripped his PUKED ON clothes off the night before!

I had tried to keep it all contained, I had checked and double checked but this gruesome nugget of a dried cranberry had gumption. It had come back whole, rolled away from the gooey massacre of its companions and laid in wait to tempt my toddler.

I lunged for the baby again but he carefully danced back just out of reach with a huge grin in his face throw up berry in his hand. I watched him for a moment trying to decide if a sudden movement would result in him dropping it or if I should go to a "let me see what you got" in a sweet voice and hold out my hand. Before I had reached a conclusion he looked at the craisin and...

...popped it in his MOUTH
in one quick movement that left me no time for more than a horrified gasp.

I just stared for a moment...

Then with a giggle, while chewing, he ran out of the bathroom.

"Run away! Bwahaha!" 

I sat there stunned, dangling over the edge of the tub, not quite gagging, mentally vacillating between dumbfounded blanks of pure disbelief, and an occasional bout of trying to convince myself that this child was not going to throw up at any moment.

While I was pondering these beautiful thoughts my darling little prince wandered in again, looked at me, still chewing, giggled, as before, did a little happy dance hop thing as I lunged, the absurd thought in my head was to try to dig this horror out of his mouth, and took off again.

This time I got out of the tub, dried off, my mind and stomach still reeling, trying to mentally brace myself for... for I don't know what.

As I wrapped up my hair this crazy child once again wandered in.

He held out his hand.

Into my hand he carefully scraped the mushed up skin of a well chewed craisin, giggled, smiled proudly at me and took off seemingly completely unaware of the look of disgust that had etched itself indelibly across his poor mother's face.

As I stared at this reddish smear on my once clean palm only one coherent thought emerges: "I think I need another bath".

The same grin he gave my during
my fruitless attempts... pun intended.

Trouble Comes in Threes

     You know that saying that trouble comes in threes? Well I believe it! Three days, three kids, three different illnesses. I'm just praying that it doesn't get shared three ways because this thing could initiate a geometric growth pattern before you could bleach the first door knob.

Child one, day one, illness one:

      Friday night, or more correctly early Saturday morning my youngest started throwing up. He felt a little warm but I didn't think feverish. I sat up with him all night remembering how a mere six hours previously he had been having a grand old time sticking his pacifier in my mouth.

      'What was that? Is my stomach growling or groaning? Do I feel queasy or is it just that someone has been throwing up on me all night?'

     Parenthood is hypochondria, always trying to not overthink yourself into a self induced illness and yet subvert illnesses as quickly as possible because... you're a parent. 

     The little prince was grumpy from lack of sleep but ate well and kept it all down the next day. No one else showed any similar symptoms until..

Child two, day two, illness two:

     My oldest boy started to complain of a headache on Saturday afternoon. It was bad enough that he didn't eat much dinner and went to bed with little fuss, which is the true indication of illness.

     'Did the little one start with a headache? How would I know? What does a one year old with a headache look like? I bet sweet boy starts throwing up around midnight. It's most likely the same thing.'

     The headache kept him from sleeping, only abating with Tylenol, and lasted through Sunday night. I finally called the nurse and she recommended sleep and bringing him in tomorrow if he still had it in the morning. He was fine the next morning.

     Parenthood is over analyzing every possible symptom. If you can catch it early maybe it won't spread to the rest of us, and then back and to the rest of us and... you get the picture. 

      So we survived the weekend, everyone's healthy again... right?

 Child three, day three, illness three:

      Both boys are finally rested up from their interrupted nights. We all head our separate ways on Monday morning. When I pick up baby girl she seems lethargic.

     'Maybe she was kept up while the boys were sick and hasn't caught up yet? Maybe her allergies are acting up? Maybe she's really hungry.'

     We all lie down for afternoon naps, baby girl wanted to cuddle so I inevitable drift off as well. When I wake up, because it's time to pick up the oldest from school, I notice that she feels HOT! I rush us all into the car, pick up my oldest.
    Once he is in the car I call their pediatrician and sit on hold. Meanwhile I run by the house for a thermometer, some Tylenol, which is becoming a hot commodity in our household, and our forgotten lunch (one asleep in the car on the way home, the other asleep while we waited for Daddy to eat with us = no lunch til 3:30 pm).

     Her temp is 102. Headache? A little. Stomach ache? Not really. Link to the boys? None that I can see.

     About this time I'm finally off hold and get an appointment.

     The verdict: Strep… which we had less than a month ago… which is not known for causing headaches that go away or vomiting. Of course, it is something totally different.

     I have them test the little prince for good measure (the oldest was with his Dad since taking three to the doctor is a nightmare of epic proportions), and stare open mouthed when the doctor confirms that as far as she can tell, they all have had different things.

     Three days…three unrelated problems… one half glance at what my future self would look like if they all pass these around was enough to make me slam a mental door on that thought and try to figure out how none of these could be transferable.

     'Maybe they all had a cold and it opened them up to be susceptible to different secondary problems? They aren't sharing cups. No one else should get strep, right? Maybe the little one had food poisoning and the oldest had allergies. Those aren't really catchable illnesses. They can't all get all of these things?' 

     Parenthood is coming up with reasons when what you see defies reason, or logic, or what you think you can survive. 

Parenthood, when you put it all together, is calling your mom to ask,"How in the world is this even possible!?"

If you spill a box of spaghetti...

     I knew I was too tired to function when I absentmindedly leaned over to straighten the baby gate and poured out half a box of dry spaghetti.
     I know the box was closed when I bought it, children had put it in the cart and on the conveyor at check-out, and no open package will survive that. Also I was pretty sure that it had been closed moments before when I had fished it out of the bags in the car and walked in with it, which was just before the moment that I had leaned over to fix the baby gate. Therefore I must have opened said box somewhere between the car and the house without knowing it.
     A mom on autopilot is not a good thing... in so many ways.

They look harmless...

     After I finished taking care of cooking the rest of the spaghetti, (I was making dinner for our church so it really couldn't be put off), I herded all the kids into my middle childs room, the neatest, most baby friendly room in the house, handed the kids an ipod with instructions to watch two Mickey Mouse cartoons, no more, (that's all we had time for before we needed to leave for church,) and lay down on the floor to take a power nap.
     The older two were happy with the cartoon and the youngest went back and forth between bothering his siblings and poking at me. In spite of all this, and the fact that I was lying on the floor, I was out in no time. A testament to how deep my exhaustion went.
     A blissful and peaceful moment.
     I was suddenly very awake when a vaguely familiar shooting pain exploded from my nose. The familiar feeling was my youngest son shoving his finger as hard as he could up my nose. I wish I could say this was the first time this had ever happened, but I can't.  I can say that this was the first time that I had woken up to it, though. I wish I knew why he did it, but I don't. I even wish that I could say that I woke up kindly and without shoving the assaulting infant away from me, but yeah right.

I got your nose!

     Well, now I was awake, very awake, and I knew what was coming next, my nose was bleeding, majorly bleeding. As I attempted to staunch, or catch, or divert the flow from my clothes, my children, and/or the carpet, my oldest began to freak out. He doesn't like blood. Trying to speak over the budding hysterics and dripping, I asked him to get toilet paper, or a washcloth, or anything from the other room for me.
     This is where it got interesting.
     I hear the clunk clunk of the doorknob, and the worried, "Uhhhh" of my son. "It's locked." he says.
     'That's crazy, who would lock the door, while we were all on the inside'.
     The spaghetti incident did not bode well for that train of thought so I moved on to train of thought B-
     'Can't be'.
     Assuming that he was just over reacting to the blood I fumble for the knob myself and find that it indeed is locked.

     Locked...
     My phone... in the other room...
     My husband... on his way to church
     The lockpick... not above the door

     In quick succession all my solutions were flying out the door that I couldn't get open.
     So I sat there, dripping blood, trying to figure out how to use the ipod to get a message to my husband while the kids scoured the room for something long and thin enough to pick the lock.

     Did I mention that this was the cleanest, most baby friendly room in the house?

     No such luck.

     One of the older ones had smuggled in one of the sticks of spaghetti, I had missed a few when I cleaned up the first disaster of the afternoon, but the piece was a little too short and I was afraid it would break off in the lock and ruin all of our future chances.
     Finally my eyes lit on the window.

     Had I left the front door unlocked?

     It was the one window with no screen so that wasn't the problem. Would I be able to fit my large bleeding self through that opening, into the rose bush that was planted just in front of it?

     No way.

     But my oldest could fit!
     I lowered him out the window, and around the bush, trying not to bleed on him... where he would see it... and he ran around the corner of the house.
     A few long seconds later we hear the rattle of the door knob, this time from the outside and resolving with that beautiful final clunk that meant that it was now unlocked.
     "I rescued you!" he exclaimed as he bounced through the door.

     Nodding to his self accolades I run to the shower to clean off and to avoid making a bigger mess while the bleeding stopped. Soon all was cleaned up and we were finally on our way.

Best excuse...ever.

     This is why dinner for the church was late but...
 
 you have to admit that this is one of the best excuses you've heard in a really, really, long time.

I Love You a Lifetime Worth

     I have known my husband since I was 17 years old. I was just coming out of the awkward, breaking into the unknown, and making as many stupid mistakes as I thought could get away with. I was selfish, a little vain, unsure of my place in the world, and moving into adulthood as trepidatiously as I could without losing face.

2003- K11 Formal

     I know that the girl that he met then cannot be the same one he wakes up to every morning. I am nearly 15 years older, three children older, and several heart breaking losses older. Each of these things have lined my face, my body, and my mind in their own relentless but gentle way. Life has carried me softly through these years and I can only hope that in time the sharp edges of my faith and personality will round out into the gentle curves that my body has. 

     I am still selfish, a little more thoughtful, demanding of those closest to me, and always striving to overcome the long list of shortcomings I am painfully aware of in myself and in doing so exhaust myself.

2005- At a friends wedding the
day after we got engaged.

     The steadfastness of my husband's love and desire for me through what I feel are drastic changes astounds me. It is on occasion both breathtaking and confounding to me. He doesn't see the faults as I do, as glaring errors in my general make up that flaw the whole. They are side effects of the things that he loves about me, my fierce spirit, my love for people, my vast but limited energy, and my desire to lead us all the be better people.

     I have never seen him hesitate to profess his love for me or flinch away from my body even in the distortions, the icky-ness, and the awkwardness that can come during pregnancy. Don't misunderstand me, pregnancy and the pregnant form is profound and beautiful, but it is messy, painful, and humbling too. A husband gets to see what the maternity photos don't show. The nausea, the blood, and all the other less photogenic side effects of this marvelous time.

2005- Silliness on our
wedding day

     So in this short little post here I want to thank the Lord for blessing me with a man that is more than I deserve, all that I need, and sometimes as much I can stand. And I want to thank Daniel for his patience, his desire for God, and his unyielding love for me. These years would have been a bleak shadow compare to what they were without you there in the midst of them. 

     Here is to another two weeks, another year, another decade. I love you a lifetime worth and I am so happy to be called your wife.

2015

Blessings in Contrast

Check out these dance moves

My daughter is a typical three year old. She tests boundaries, has limited awareness of where her limbs are, and unbridled exuberance when something appeals to her. She is a little ball of energy barely tempered by the knowledge that there are somethings that have consequences... if mommy catches her doing it. If she could get away with it she would prance, dance, and run headlong through life.
Yesterday we were at Chick-fil-a, the mom mecca, as my sister-in-law calls it, and it was time for us to go. I had two bags on one shoulder and my 20 lbs one year old on the opposite hip. I stopped at the counter to get a refill on my caffeination, aka sweet tea, therefore all my hands were occupied.

"I'm ready to go now."

Baby girl had a monster truck that one of my children had smuggled in from the car. This in hand, she took off down the length of the counter, barely dodging a young couple, driving this truck at top speed. I apologized and called her back to me. Instead of walking back to me, the way someone in my brain that fails to learn from past experiences expected her to, she turned, verbally revving the trucks engine, and shot back down the counter, startling a woman as she dodged in front of her and that same couple that I had already apologized to before stopping at my side. I look up, second apology on my lips but before I could do more than stutter the woman looks right at me and says, "How can you let your child run wild?!"...
Me, the couple, and the kid behind the counter all just stared at her for a few shocked moments as my brain tried to process what she had just said. I was hurt, embarrassed, and beginning to feel indignant.

My oldest sons 7th birthday, we went to
Chick-fil-a after school and got a
sweet suprise.

The couple were the first to recover and looking my way said softly, "That was so rude!" to which the kid behind the counter replied, "That was totally uncalled for."
Their votes of solidarity brought the air back to my lungs. And I walked out with my head held high thankful that those kind of people were the ones that I typically found in Chick-fil-a.
Chick-fil-a is a safe place for me and other moms. The staff knows us by name, opens the door for me when I have to drag fussing children out of the building, and always offers a smile when I ask for anything, no matter how bizarre. The other customers are typically good humored, understanding, and willing to pardon unintended offenses committed by my children.

Cow Appreciation Day 2015

So what I want to say to this woman, who it feels called every fiber of my motherhood into question, is thank you, Thank you for reminding me why I come here, why I feel so comfortable here, and for laying out in stark contrasts the loving and patient people that I find every day. I don't know what your day had been like but I hope that at the end of it you feel half as loved and blessed as I do every day.

Time Out Blues

I got the don't wanna sit

Makes me wanna spit

Momma won't let me play

Gotta stay here all the live long day

Time Out Blues

So what if I kicked my brother

He was being such a bother

Don't ask me about my sister

Does it count if I missed when I hit her?

The Time Out Blues

I cry til my nose runs clear
I shed every remorseful tear
I promise I'll never to it again
As long as they follow my plan
The Time Out Blues

My stomach is starting to hurt

My eyes are full of something like dirt

My mind abounds with random fears

My maladies fall on Moms deaf ears to my

Time Out Blues

What is that noise I hear?

The kitchens timer tone rings clear

Suddenly freed I feel all better

Now that I'm released from my fetters

Now that I'm all through 

With the Time Out Blues. 

Sitcom Perfect

     There was water on baby girls floor and it wasn't pee, thank goodness. And here is how I know:

You're so funny Mom.

     First of all, because I had been with her all morning, and second of all, because it was up against the wall which is a really hard place to have an accident.
     I could also tell you the smell and temperature were wrong but that might be TMI.
     So I checked the utility closet next to her room and found the pan under the water heater was over flowing. (It turned out that it had to do with condensation from the AC but that is only marginally relevant.)
Which is why at 3:00 pm a very nice plumber shows up at my house to fix the problem. This is the most amazing thing my baby girl has ever seen in her life so I spend the next hour and a half trying to keep her from sitting next to this strange man, touching his tools, and asking a steady stream of questions while he tries to work in the tiny cramped hall way where the utility closet is.
     I am also trying to get the toys out from under his feet, keep up with the little prince who wants to play in the wet carpet, and get things ready for dinner in the messy kitchen.
     I finally give them both a snack and thus wrangle a full five minutes of time to clear the counters and set out suppers ingredients.
     By this time it is 4:15 or so. You know what that means. Nothing good happens at that time of day. Nothing!

What are they feeding you?

     So I've been hearing some… shall we say straining noises... from the prince so I figure he is done and I'll go change him before I actually start cooking.
     I pick him up, walk to the changing table, lie him down and feel some thing strange on my arm. I look down and see that the diaper has leaked, to put it kindly, all over my shirt and I just put my arm in it.  We are talking a blob of ick... smeared. I look at the baby and can't tell where the ick coming from so...
    When you are unable to asses the extremeness of the fecal situation your best move is to take it all to the tub to try to contain... or, moderate... or at least have a smooth, non-absorptive surface and access to water.
     So, I dangle the baby by the underarms, not wanting to smish him back into the smear and head for the bathroom... and then change course for the other bathroom.
     Dangling baby can't be cleaned off in the bathroom that the plumbers using to empty his shop vac and poop smeared Momma really can't strip in a room with no access to clean clothes... so the other bathroom it is...
     ...where there is no tub... where the is only one towel.... in what amounts to a 4x4 room... where the hot water takes a good 5 minutes to arrive since its on the other side of the house. Yep. Trying to clean poop shrapnel in there? Not ideal… to say the least.
     So we get showered off and I wrap the prince in the towel.
     From my room, where I am frantically trying to get dressed, I hear the continual chatter that has become the hallmark of my little girl getting closer and closer to my door. And then, knock, knock, yes... there is a plumber knocking at my door, while I'm naked, after being covered in poop, and then, of course the three year old opens to door, telling the man, "My Mommy's in here." as I yell "Just a minute!"
I manage to slam the door in her poor little face, throw on some clothes, and have a reasonable conversation with the plumber, while holding a baby wrapped in a towel, after a brief apology and an attempt at an explanation.
You can't make this stuff up.
Moral of the story... there is no moral... unless it's that plumbers and babies don't mix.

The Day of Rest, and Other Such Nonsense

     It all started with something that would normally be an exciting thing. I fit into a pair of pants that I haven't been able to wear in two years. Go me!

     I was nervous about wearing them to church so I asked my sweet husband how they looked and though they looked great he noticed a small tear in them that meant that the kids got to sit in the car while I hurriedly tried to change outfits. This made them more than a little antsy but it was over quickly, and I felt that disaster had been averted, (ha ha ha). I jumped in the car and we headed out.
      Once at church Daniel took off because he was leading singing and teaching the kids class upstairs so he had a ton of last minute prep work to do. All I had to do was feed the kids and keep everyone contained until church started. No sweat... (once again, ha ha ha)!

That is the grin I'm talking
about. Pure mischief.

     Within five minutes the food was abandoned and the mobile children were off. So I had a seat while my little prince smeared pancakes on my pants and shirt and... anything else he could reach. A few moments later the children came to find me to see if they could go play outside.
     Before church, in your dress clothes with no one free to make sure that you don't get run over? I think not. The answer is a firm no.
     The prince finishes his smearing and I set him down to try brush some of the mush off my person. Within moments I hear crying, I spin around and see that baby girl is laying on her little brother, and, obviously, he wasn't a fan. Her mischievous grin made it clear that she was aware of his disapproval.
     Sensing that justice was approaching she hopped up, turned around and took off out the front door which my oldest was holding open for some unknown reason. Perhaps he was an accomplice. I take off after her, pull her inside, and am in the middle of giving her a vicious talking to when I hear screaming behind me. Taking a deep breath I once again spin around to confront what ever disaster is brewing behind me.
     Baby girl makes her escape, the little prince heads off to try to eat a bug, and as I turn around I am sure that I am about to discover that my sweet boy has a hangnail since that is the level of harm that has resulted in such shrieking for the last week or two.

Bugs?! I don't eat... oh wait,
yeah, I'll eat bugs.

      Instead I see him with his arm pinched in the hinge of the front door. A totally shriek worthy experience. I rush over to release him and hold him for a moment before forcing him to let me look at his arm. A bloody looking bruise has already formed and so I hurry to get ice on it.
     I set him down in a pew, round up the escapee and the bug eater and settle us all down. My poor sweet boy is unusually calm as he ices his injury but the other two make up for his lack of enthusiasm and activity. Since Daniel is up front leading singing some wonderful friends sit at the other end of the pew to act as bouncers when, not if, one of the overly active children attempts to escape. Bless them!
     So over the course of the singing part of the service the younger two break my necklace, losing the charm somewhere down my shirt, and pour out a pencil box of crayons, all this punctuated with bouts of flailing and whining. But the pièce de résistance is when baby girl grabs the bag that had once held ice for sweet boys arm, and now holds ice cold water, and shoves it down my shirt.

The cuteness belies the craziness
they exude from every pore. 

     Now I'm the one flailing, and by some miracle, not screaming. Daniel has just sat back down with us as this happens so I lob the ice bag somewhere down the pew, toss the child to Daniel and try to pull myself together as communion comes down the aisle.
This is the moment where I glance at Daniel and I have two choices, hysterical tears or hysterical laughter. Daniels mouth twitches and my shoulders begin to shake... with laughter, and a few tears, but mostly laughter. 
     The poor guy passing the tray down our pew gives us a strange look, and I still had to fish my broken necklace out of my cleavage, but Daniel took the little prince up with him to do announcements, and I got half a moment to breathe. 
     In much the way that any landing you can walk, or limp, away from is a success, any Sunday morning that you can laugh at is a successful Sunday morning. Not a pleasant, uplifting, or enjoyable Sunday morning, but certainly a successful one. 
     Even my successful Sundays could hardly be qualified as a "Day of Rest" but I know that by being there, teaching them to sit, and praying that some essence of my love for God and the church drifts their way I am laying a foundation for the rest of their lives. Therefore I embrace the craziness and the laughter and vow to wear a turtle-neck next week.

Clean Car Days

You know what I am doing?

Cleaning my van. Sounds impressive, doesn't it?

It's not.

We spent forever cleaning
this room before breakfast.

It is the "Anger Management Strategy of the Day" aka, the thing that I am doing to avoid totally losing every shred of my cool with my middle child. She is what is commonly referred to as a threenager. And by the end of this day she will have spent more time in her room than out of it, culminating in a 5:00 pm bedtime. Primarily the purpose of the room time out is so that I can put some distance between her and I. Every time that I have had to put this child in the car today it has been a wrestling match, and the two hours of "nap time" resulted in every thing, toys, clothes, books, everything, being thrown about in her room. It makes my stomach clench to think of it,...

...That is why we are now pulling all the seats out of the van so what we can be sure that we get every iota of dirt, and orange peels, and church worksheets, and tater tots, and who knows what else, out from under them.

 I think her sweet compliant nature up until the beginning of this year meant that the defiance that suddenly started around that time felt like a real slap in the face, a punch in the gut, a spit in the proverbial eye, and it makes me want to scream and cry and rant, all at the same time, a lot...

...So I am out here furiously scrubbing the windows on my vehicle, which are covered in stickers, saliva, chocolate and other unrecognizable things, so that I won't hear her kicking the door and barge in like the maternal maniac I feel like.

 I'm running out of strategies and if I am completely honest there are days when I don't even employ them. I just go from 0 to rage in 3 seconds flat blowing right through the tiny voice in the back of my head that is telling me that I am going to regret this....

So there it is. This is why I am shaking out the dead flowers, rocks, granola bars, and playground sand from my floor mats.

Dinner before a 5 pm bedtime
is sparse at best.

Every time I lose my cool it just feeds that monster in the darkest parts of thoughts that continually whispers that I'm a bad mom. That I don't know what I'm doing. That is messing it all up. And there are many days that I can't find much fodder to argue with him. When I yell, and huff and puff and threaten, I regret it instantly. I want to be a calm collected person, dolling out consequences with a side note of love and affection and not this red faced troll bellowing at every misstep.

So I take deep breaths, I try to think through the consequences I am going to give and how reasonable they are, I text my friend phrases like "Ahhhh!", and when all else fails...

... I spend some time shaking all the cheerios, animal crackers and chicken nuggets out of the car seats.

These are the good days. When I find something to help me make it through the day. The days where I remember that there are better days ahead and behind.

 The days that I write about, that I post pictures of on Facebook, those are the best days. I put them there to remind myself that sometimes the best of me wins and my child finds reason to smile at me. So don't judge me because my Facebook makes my life look all hunky dory with sunshine and poppies. Its not that I am trying to project a false image, pretend that my life is perfect, or show off in anyway. I'm just trying to hold on to the things that are worth remembering. Just like my now pristine car sometimes the result belies the cause. Perhaps next time you see overly happy pictures or a perfect family on some sort of social media you can just smile with them.
Or next time you see a woman with a spotless minivan, you can give her a hug and tell her she is a good mom because we all need to hear that more.

How Kids Are Like Heroin

     Kids are heroin. They are destructive to your physical, mental and societal well being, and you keep coming back for more, you just can't resist.

Your first pregnancy, the one where you took naps without the risk of waking up to wanton destruction, and subsequent child lure you in with the false high of their first smiles, the adorable babbling, and the tiny clothes.
So you think... "Let's have another. We can handle this."

Then there is two of them...
Here is where you start to feel the pain... the lack of sleep, money, and time, not to mention no cuddles with the hubby (unless you are forming a two year old sandwich).
But, somehow, it getting harder is a challenge, as if you are waving red in front of a bull.
People say three is so hard. But you can do it. The oldest can be so much help now. You are ready for this! You got it!
So you pep talk your self into having a third...

This is when you realize where your addiction has left you...
Broke. Tired. Bruised. Sore.

How likely is she to sit on
the baby if I go potty?

...and the high from those little booties and the tiny giggles just doesn't quite break through the fog that your sleep deprived zombie brain lives in. You stare at the third, loving them more than anything in the world, trying to formulate coherent sentences but only gibberish comes out.

Here is your life on three kids...
You dress thinking things like...
     How much spit up will this shirt hide?
     If a child hangs on my pocket will these pants end up around my ankles in the middle of a Walmart parking lot like last time?
     Can you really even see that hole?

There really is no reason to spend time thinking about what actually looks good on your body because your body has been so stretched by pregnancy, sleeplessness, stress, and a deep craving for chocolate ice cream that even when your blessedly wonderful husband extols the beauty of your form you stare at him wondering if photoshop has somehow been installed directly into his brain.

Of course the baby needs to
wear the choking hazard
wings, Mom.

You can no longer carry on a conversation.
Instead you have disjointed half finished bits of information exchange floating around, each sentence puntuated by "No, no, no!", "Get that out of your mouth!" and "We don't hit our friends." until most of the meaning is lost and never mind there being a point.

You long for escape
 Then they leave...
 Kindergarten, summer camp, or weekend with the grandparents...
 And all you can do is talk about the kids, what are they doing, what are we going to do when they get back, what they did last week.
And worse than that you worry, worry, worry...
Every night that they are gone you lie awake very aware of the fact that you didn't check to see if they were breathing and sniffling about the fact that when you dropped them off they didn't even look at you, just mumbled "Bye mom" and took off running.

Selfie of a six year old.

You rush back to pick them up envisioning running towards one another with open arms and instead you find that the joyful energetic child you dropped off has used up all their good behavior points while gone and you get the leftover troll points instead.
Within an hour you're ready to send them back so that you can miss them again.

But then your baby, the third, the one who didn't get a nursery, who ate off the floor, didn't have a changing table, and developed an early and uncanny ability to pull full glasses of liquid into your lap, learns to walk.
...

Your heart starts beating fast, your palms get sweaty...
You don't have a baby, you have a toddler!

Your mind starts to wander towards the inevitable place... but your push the thought aside and sleep though the night for the third time in a row.
But it keeps popping up...
Finally you hold someones newborn.
You really should have known better.
And then the last straw.
The moment when you cross the line and there is no turning back.
You really just can't help yourself...

You smell it!

That is when those sneaky addiction thoughts slip in and the what if's start...
     What if we have one more?
     What is the big deal about adding another?
     Four isn't that many more than three in the grand scheme of things.
     You've done it before and it worked out just fine.
     Just one more...
     Just one last time...
   
See...

Heroin

4:00 pm Comes For Us All

 

Too cute to be the source of so much
trouble, right?

     Baby girl came to me with her toothbrush and a small tube of toothpaste. That is where is all started.

     "I want to brush my teeth Mommy."

     Such a sweet simple statement. And 15 minutes later I find myself on the verge of hysterics.

     I should start by saying it was after 4:00 pm. And all the moms say, "Ahhhh..." in that understanding way. That really should have clued me in. Nothing good starts after 4:00 pm. That is when the children go crazy because they are getting tired, hungry and/or bored and they know if they go crazy at 4:00 then all the craziness damage is done and dealt with before Daddy can get home to put a stop to it. It is all part of their plan to take over the world, but that is another post.

     So, as I said it was 4:00 and baby girl wanted to brush her teeth. My little prince often gets the grumps about this time so I had him in the wrap to soothe him while I got a little something done, at least that was my theory until someone wanted to brush their teeth. 

     I pasted up the toothbrush, tightened the lid back on very securely, and sent her to the bathroom to brush to her little hearts content all the while thinking how proud I was of her for making such good choices. The happy mommy moment should have been a clue too.

     My sweet boy runs by to let me know he is using my bathroom because baby girl is in theirs. So far, so good. Nothing to see here. I walk by the bathroom, I no longer remember why, and see that girl child with her mouth around the tube of toothpaste... yes... eating it!

     Let me take a moment to say, ew!

     She pulls it out of her mouth and stands there looking guilty. 

     "Did you eat the toothpaste?" I ask her and she says "noooooo" in that long, I think I'm giving the answer mom wants to hear sort of way.

     I've been a mom long enough to be pretty sure the two year old is lying to me so I ask again after a long pause and she says yes, she ate the toothpaste. Ate it! 

     Why, why, why!!?? 

     Why do I still even ask why?! 

     The tube tells me to call poison control and I keep their number on the fridge, easy access for just such occasions. This is not my first rodeo and at least I don't have them on speed dial... yet.

     So I'm talking to the nice, calm lady a poison control and am giving her all the information from the tube, the concentration of fluoride, what type of fluoride and how much she might have eaten. The tube was mostly empty and travel size to begin with so I was fairly sure that she was fine but when they are so little you never know and I would rather be safe.

     The nice lady begins to tell me that she is fine and would have to eat more than the whole full tube to do any harm but if I give her a glass of milk it will counteract even the harmless but uncomfortable symptoms of eating toothpaste like an upset stomach. 

It's all part of the master plan
mom! When you least
expect it.

     I start pouring the milk as she is telling me this when my sweet boy bursts into the kitchen from the direction of my bedroom. "Mommy! There is a potentially dangerous situation!" he breathlessly tells me. I assume this means there is an ant in the bathroom or my straightener is on the bathroom counter and tell my oldest son that I'm on the phone and it will have to wait. This is his cue to notice that I'm getting his sister some milk, the unfairness of which is far more important, so he abruptly changes tracks and begins to whine for milk. Why? Because it's 4:15 pm.

     The nice lady is still talking and asking a few questions which I am miraculously managing to answer when I hear, as I walk to find the girl to give her the milk, "Mommy! I had an accident!" This is when I think the nice lady started struggling to not laugh at me and once she heard me say "Why are you in your brothers crib?!" she got off the phone with me awfully quickly and her voice had the quirky sound of someone who was about to laugh her head off once she was out of ear shot. 

     So now I have a half naked toddler in the baby's crib, an accident next to the crib (thank goodness!) complete with a little pile of pants and underwear, a kindergartner explaining why it's not fair that his sister is getting milk, and I catch a whiff of spit up from the baby strapped to my front. Why not? I give the toddler the milk, put a towel over the accident, take a deep breath and then ask my sweet boy what he was trying to tell me about while I was on the phone.

"Oh, the toilet won't flush! It just fills and fills and fills with water!" 

...

Of course...

     I walk to my bathroom, check that the toilet has not yet overflowed, close the door, and then just walk away, all the while mumbling things about help me Lord, children, where is your father, it was just 15 minutes, and how I hate 4:30 pm.