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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Clean vs. Neat

Sweet Boy

There is always the first child...
      So, the way I see it, with your first kid, some have a system some don't. There seems to be some wiggle room there for individual interpretation, if you will. You can be a rigid 'junior eats at precisely 8:02 am' parent or a 'go with the flow, whatever we feel like' parent and it seems to work.

So people have a second...

Baby Girl

     The second child often makes people think, "We need some rules around here or basic guide lines of some sort." and a system is born. Often the system is beautiful and complete with two children. The chaos of life is manageable with minimal panic. Things get done and there are enough hands to deal with the break downs. Life is a little louder and more stressful but you can always call a sitter and slip out for the evening to recoup.

The Little Prince

And then there was a third...
     Thus far in my experience it seems it is the third child that makes God laugh, pat you on your sweet overconfident head, and then break your beautiful system in to tiny irreparable pieces. After my third child, who was not a difficult child by most standards, my whole system fell apart. I'm talking, sitting in my living room surrounded by piles of whatnot crying with all the children, apart.

Real life- you can't see it but
the youngest is weeping too.

    To be fair, it may be that I'm not especially well cut out for this big family thing, or that my standards are too high (Ha! She said standards!), or even that I was fooling myself to think that I ever had a system that really worked. I have considered this and decided that I really think it's just that my beautiful little prince broke my system. My system, and to an extent, me, maxed out at two and burst at the seams with three.

   And here is the crux of the matter. The real trouble I have, as I drift in system-less space, can be summed up like this: There is a saying that trying to clean with a toddler in the house is like trying to brush your teeth while eating Oreos. Now multiply that times three. Though I like the idea of three Oreos (hold the toothpaste) I'm actually referring to the rampant destruction that three children can leave in the wake of their every move.
Let me explain how things have changed.

          Instead of a quarantine on the mess created while your work in another area, for example: "Go disassemble your room while I clean the main living areas", you have to quarantine the cleanness, for example: "No one in the living room making a mess behind me while I'm cleaning it." Instead of picking up the toys in the living room you try to remove the choking hazards in the living room. Instead of "Put your dirty clothes in the hamper" it is "Toss your clothes in the laundry room and hope that nothing eats you alive when you open it's door".

    I could go on but from here we enter the realm of you don't want to know, its all down hill from there, and it might make me cry a little.

"We got Mommy's phone!"

     I have never been a neat person but I have always been a clean person. It's a "I might have clutter and piles but my toilets are clean" sort of thing. Having to let go of that has been the hardest part of having three children for me. My family needs neat to function and clean may or may not follow as closely as I like when my attempt to transition from straightening up so things are neat to cleaning is interrupted by a wrestling match gone wrong, the mystery thuds followed by screams, or a blow out diaper.
 
     The question I keep asking myself is how do I feel content, and confident, enough in my sometimes partially neat house to have friends over, or host a play-date and not cringe and apologize. It is a questions that I don't have an answer to. Maybe I need to embrace the chaos, relax and let go. Maybe I need to put in some extra energy and effort to try to find a neatness solution that will work for my family. I always seem to find, after much prayer and petition, that the answer is somewhere in the middle. A happy medium that results in a functional solution that takes into account the big picture and yet allows me to take pride in a home that will always look like happy children live there.

     I wouldn't trade my little mess makers for the world, they one of the most precious things in my life and are a constant source of joy...

.... but I have considered confiscating their allowance to hire a maid.

Triple the Children, Triple the Gear?

     I made a registry for this baby. It sounds greedy and like I am expecting something to even say it. It was not because I expect a shower, or for anyone to ever even look at it. It was purely an exercise designed to organize my thoughts on what we really "need" (this is a strong word for our position on baby things) and to remind myself what we already have from our previous children.
     So here is the thing about the baby things on my "need" list. I have had a child in the last two years so I should have all the normal things you use day to day for a baby. Right? But there are two catches to that way of thinking as I see it:
          1. I had a girl, and while I kept it neutral some things like the clothes, pacifiers, and blankets really don't translate well if they survive at all. To put it bluntly, I don't want my baby boy in a pink a blanket, wearing a purple onsie, sucking on a pink pacifier, and under a pink floral nursing cover. I know it is shocking and sometimes it makes me feel so wasteful and spoiled, but its true. More practically, as far as her sheets and stuff that were neutral go, she is still using it!
          2. "Ah, but you did have a boy before that girl!" you might say, and that would be true, but that was SIX YEARS ago. It freaks me out to realize this, my sweet boy is about to be six years old. His crib, car seat, diaper bags, monitor and bedding, to name a few things off the top of my head, are all either worn to pieces, expired or recalled. And since he was born we have moved twice, one of those times to a different town entirely, so I only kept what I was sure I would use later.
     So I conclude that I "need" some baby stuff. As I see it there are three main categories for the things on the registry. Will need soon, need, and would be really nice.
     The will need soon things straddle the line between need and "need" because they will eventually graduate from one to the other as the child gets older. For instance, I can easily get an infant carrier that will last about the first year but baby girl will not be out of her car seat by then and that leaves us one short. Now that is not a pressing concern at this moment due to the deadline for dealing with that being about a year away. So it is a "Will need soon".
     Some of the things we must get are non-negotiable for example the fact that our car will not even hold three children safely is a big deal. That is something that we realized early on and have a plan for, not to mention you can't put cars on a registry. Also in this category, clothing. Leaving your child naked for all occasions is frowned upon, even if they are a summer baby, and I have no boy or girl clothing in sizes smaller than 12 months. I am pretty sure that he won't be that big when he is born, though I do have nightmares like that. These are really the true "needs".
     Other things, and in reality, the majority, are sheer luxury like a double stroller, or crib sheets, or a new diaper bag. I could do more laundry and not really need extra sheets and blankets beyond what we already have. I don't have to be able to strap my two year old down, load the immeasurable amounts of things we carry with us everywhere, and not destroy what is left of my spine when we go places, but it would sure take a lot of the stress off to have that option. We don't have to have a monitor in the older children's room, but it sure makes it easier to figure out if someone in there is truly dying, puking, or jumping on the others head in the middle of the night to be able to check that from our room.  I don't really need a new large, handy, put all the kids items in one place, not too girly for my husband to carry diaper bag but getting three wiggling, shoe removing after you put them on, whining, maybe even crying, escaping children in and out of the house, or any other place, would be so much simpler if I had one.
     So many wants, for that is what they really are when I put the correct label on them. And as I look over my list I am struck by how amazingly blessed we are to already have so much, to truly need so little, and to have access to things that are here purely to make life simpler or more convenient. And in those moments I feel so content and humbled by what God has given us.
     Those are beautiful, happy, golden moments in the sunshine when my children are either playing quietly or sleeping peacefully. I set aside my list, my worries, my fears and face the future at peace with my ability to make do with the plethora of things I already have.
     But then, as someone snatches a toy, falls in the mud, or leaps from the arm of the sofa, or, perhaps, as I step on a lego, carry a screaming child out of a store, or haul our belongings into the house from the car, I realize that I am adding a child to our lives. This is not a different song, same tune, repeat as necessary situation. I will have THREE children and one of them will be a no sleep, can't nap because of the older kids, pooping, spitting up, double the laundry alone, can't put me down, newborn...
Maybe some luxuries are a good idea.

30 Amazing Blessings In My Life

1. My husband who works so hard so that I can be home
2. My children who are beautiful, healthy, happy and amazing
3. My lovely home that I fit in and like
4. My MOPS group
5. My back patio
6. My in laws
7. My family
8. The hand and foot group that I miss dearly and who always are happy to see me
9. The fact that I know how to cook
10. Being able to read
11. Having the luxury of eating out when supper falls through
12. Having so many people who love me so much
13. Being able to borrow maternity clothes from people with good taste in clothes
14. Oakridge C of C
15. Hillcrest C of C
16. Pleasant Ridge C of C
17. The village who helped raise me (you know who you are)
18. My amazing grandparents (related or not)
19. A good sense for a bargain
20. A freezer in the garage
21. The sweet harmonies of the people sitting around me in church
22. My children kissing each other goodnight
23. My sister sending me videos of my nephews
24. Starbucks just as often as I need it and not more
25. K11
26. Friends showing up with Dr Pepper on a bad day
27. The Cabin
28. Occasional evenings out with the ladies
29. Netflix (you know it truly is a great blessing)
30. The ability to find joy in the things around me and the people who encourage me to look for it

The Great Divide

     There are three major things I currently do with my life. It seems that everything fits in one of these categories:
Church
Children
Keeping House
   It sounds simple when I put it on paper but you all know that there is more to even one of those jobs than any full time job would allow. So on a daily basis I find myself feeling a bit guilty about neglecting one or the other of these things, or on really bad days I feel guilty about all of them. How do I escape the guilt trap?
     I am trying something new about the House part of things. I have set out a daily chore list that assumes I try to keep things picked up, do dishes etc. but gives me one more detailed task for the day. It has been a relief, at least for the first few days and I feel that my house is gradually getting cleaner each day. I still haven't decided what to do when something doesn't work out. For example on Saturday I clean the bathrooms, but there was too much going on here this Saturday for me to do more than one of the two. So do I catch up the next day? Do I wait another week? With something like dusting the living room missing a week is not that big of a deal, but bathrooms are another matter, especially with a preschool boy in the house. So a few kinks to work out but so far a success.
As far as my kids go things are a bit more difficult to parcel out. Their needs don't schedule as easily and if I miss a week it would be a big problem. Nathan wants me to play with him, read to him, color with him, admire his latest accomplishment, all great things to do together, but Finley needs to be fed, changed, put to sleep, held, and talked to. Most of Finley's needs are more immediately pressing than Nathans so he gets put off til she is asleep, and then the question is do I make lunch, or clean, or play with Nathan in the few moments I have. Heaven forbid I should decide to shower or do my hair, that stuff is right out. So the wise suggestion might be that they both tend to nap at the same time at least one out of four days, then I could clean, but...Mommys need naps too on occasion, I am up every two to four hours at night. But, I could go to bed earlier...
The conclusion I come to as I start to enter this vicious circle of logic is that what I need to do is survive, take care of myself, let my husband know I love him, let my children know I love them and hope that covers my multitude of wrongs. In the end even super mom is only human.

It all begins...

I have thoughts... that is where blogging starts right?
I am a "stay at home" mom but the post office keeps trying to deliver this certified letter to me and they have yet to find me at home. That might give you a hint as to why I have included quotation marks around my title.
Mondays are my free days, my laundry days and I also on occasion keep a precious four year old boy because I could use the income and his parents need someone on random Mondays. I have also started trying to get together with a friend of mine who is having a difficult pregnancy mostly to hang out but sometimes to try to do some small things to help her out. Did I mention that she lives 45 min from me? This week she came to see me and next week I think I will have to cancel because I will have Eli and I also have a doctors appointment. Also on Mondays I deliver a week worth of dinners to my best friend who is paying me for the privilege of my cooking and my time to comparison shop. There goes my free day... when am I going to go by the post office to get that letter?