When You Give a Mom a Paintbrush

This particular painting tale starts about 5-1/2 years ago, when I first walked through what is now our home and fell in love with it.  At the time I had a 7year old daughter, and 2yo and 5yo boys, and we had outgrown our first house.  I have some pretty strong ideas about helping children learn to get along with other people better by making them share a bedroom, so I planned to put all three kids in the same bedroom from the beginning.  We painted the room blue on the top and green on the bottom, and I had a wonderful idea about painting white circles along a border right where the two colors met that I stole from a Pottery Barn catalogue, but the house turned into a big-time project house (in a bad way that we hadn't expected) and my husband made the brilliant decision to buy a wallpaper border w/ big colorful trains and planes and tractors.  I slapped it up, and I have to say, I loved the result, in spite of the big-time little boy look:

The only photo we have of the room back then -
and it looks like my daughter was playing with my camera.

We had another baby, a boy, and that's when I could see my daughter's days in that bedroom were numbered, no matter how selfish it was going to make her.  :)  But I wasn't going to worry about that yet.  So she stayed in the green and blue airplane room.

Then, about a year and a half later, we had a major house fire.  And it took a year and a half to rebuild.  We finally moved back into a much safer house in November 2010, with a lot of our major projects taken care of, but the new bedroom paint job was a mess.  Oh, there was blue and green.  But there was also a line of caulk across two walls (not even adjacent ones) where the contractors had mistakenly installed a chair rail and then taken it down.   There was unsanded joint compound spots just painted over, so there were dull spots in the paint finish randomly around the bedroom.  The paint wasn't even rolled on very well.  But I had bigger problems than paint (ummm, feeding and educating 4 kids?), so, for ANOTHER year and a half, I only dreamed about touching up the paint and painting a border around the middle of the room that would match the area rug I bought:

As you can see in this picture (besides the fact
that my youngest is definitely a character),
the boys' beds were still on the floor at this point - 
 we hadn't even made time to get them bed frames
because we were talking about getting
or building loft beds. 

This past December, we had my entire family (4 siblings and spouses, LOTS of nephews, and my dad and his wife) coming, so I thought I had better get on the ball.  I also reminded my husband that it would be nice if the kids were no longer sleeping on the floor and would he please get to work and build the boys those loft beds we had been talking about since we moved back in.  (I didn't want to be all alone on the ball.)  Then I proceeded to start to measure the three walls the border would go on, and started coloring little squares within squares on paper so that I could plan out the colors ahead of time.  You see, I knew that a good project starts with good planning.

By Christmas, my husband had completed the loft beds.  They were (and are) AMAZING.

Meanwhile, I still had lots of papers with colorful squares all over the house.  Sigh.

Finally, in desperation, I decided that I was just going to go w/ 5 colors that approximately matched the rug: dark brown, beige, cream, dark blue and dark green.  I bought them.  I had a vague thought that if I needed light green and light blue (which are in the carpet), I could use the paint we have that is leftover from the "professional" painters.  And that's all that happened in December.  Well, there were actually two important conversations that occurred during this month, but since I didn't realize they were important until June, I will include them in my report later.  hah.

In January, I decided to start by painting the outside squares.  Although I had made many measurements and done many calculations, trying to figure out how big to make the sqaures, in the end I just decided to make them about the same size as the carpet squares.  I think I had some calculations to justify this decision (?), but then again, I had been drawing colored squares on graph paper for a month.  I probably could have justified turning my 4yo loose in the room at that point. 

I cut squares out of heavy cardstock that were about the size of the inner carpet squares, and set about trying to space them evenly across the wall.  I knew my squares weren't exactly perfect squares, or even exactly all the same, but I thought "That's OK.  It will look more carpet-like that way."  Then I went back and tried to make sure they were level.  Then I had to go back and re-space them.  And then I went back w/ the level, and . . . well, you get the picture.  I'm not sure where my ideas about good planning went to.  But pretty soon my duties as homeschooling mom were calling to me and that was it for January.

By February, the boys were using all of my paint stirring sticks as swords, in spite of repeated threats and lots of yelling.  On my part, that is.  Nobody had touched the squares I had sticky-tacked to the wall, but the thread I had put up to use as my level marker kept getting tangled in people's play and more of it was on the floor each time I looked.

In May I pulled all of that stupid thread off the stupid wall (after I narrowly avoided the long arm of the law, that is).  I had no idea where those stupid square drawings were and just prayed they had been thrown out and weren't part of the giant stupid pile of paperwork that now kept me from using my computer at my desk.  The stupid paint sticks had all been broken and trashed.  I knew it was time to get serious and show my kids that you don't start something and not finish it.  (Why do we adults come up w/ all these stupid great sayings, anyway?  Don't we know the kids are going to use it against us the first chance they get?) 

But of course things got a little crazier before they got better . . .

(to be continued)

~Stephanie

The Good witch, the Bad witch, and the Ugly destruction

Pictured are your average pair of cheap flip-flops from Target.  Regularly priced at $3, I was thankful that I got a whole dollar off when they were on sale for $2.  Either way, they do not belong to me.  They belong to my son or something like that...

Last week, my son came home from Chick-fil-a with his friend wearing these flip-flops and proclaimed with some indignance,"My shoes are TOO small!"  

"Impossible," I replied quickly.  I had actually bought them on purpose to be just slightly big on him.  Yet, still he protested. 

"YOU bought me the wrong size." 

Now, my patience was wearing thin.  You see he does indeed think that he knows everything at his age lately, and though I am known to make mistakes (quite frequently I might add!) I was certain that this was NOT one of those mistakes.  

"LOOK AT THE TAG!!  YOU bought me a size 13! It's true!!"

I was busy doing dishes and not in the mood to argue with him.  "I will look at it later, but I am certain that I bought you a size 2/3.  But, if it makes you feel better I will take a look at them."  

"You will see that YOU are wrong, and I am RIGHT!" 

So, then, the discussion got more intense about his pride AND his attitude.  As I always do I reminded him that Proverbs 16:18 says "Pride goes before DESTRUCTION, a haughty spirit before a fall" and that he needed to check his attitude and tone of voice with me.  When I emphasized the word "destruction" I was sure to do so in the voice of Glinda the good witch from  "The Wizard of Oz." 

OKAY... well, maybe I didn't quite emphasize the word "destruction" in that tone. MAYBE, it was more like one of the OTHER characters from "The Wizard of Oz."  Maybe... 

Well, either way, we had to rush out the door shortly thereafter.  BUT, my son brought up the subject again the following day, and AGAIN full of destructive pride.  I looked at the shoes, and they WERE a size 13/1!  I knew that I had bought a size 2/3, though.  I told him this.  

SUDDENLY, out of NO WHERE my son has a distant memory come back to him.  Distant- like from the day before kind of memory.  

"Um... I think I took someone else's flip-flops at Chick-fil-a.  They were in the cubby at the Chick-fil-a playground.  Yeah, I think that's what happened..." 

The teachable moment continued, and I felt somewhat happy about the result.  Well, not that I now I had to buy him a new pair of flip-flops since his feet were practically hanging off the back of this other pair of identical flip-flops...  I thought though that perhaps he had learned his lesson.  

But, he didn't.  More discussions about things other than flip-flops came about as the days went by showed that I needed to repeat that verse to him.  I tried to be more like Glinda.  Really, I tried.  As I was praying for his heart tonight and pondering how I could best teach him the value of being humble rather than prideful, my youngest 4 year-old boy stumbled into the room.

"I can't find a red crayon, and the book says I need to color this shape red."

"Oh, there's one right on the table." 

"NO!!!  That is NOT a red crayon.  That is VIOLET!" he demanded. There was a foot stomp from him.

So, I began to walk over to a little too triumphantly to show him his error- that this was INDEED a RED crayon.  

The only problem is that it wasn't red.  It was MAGENTA.

"See!  I told you it wasn't red!" was HIS triumphant reply. 

Hmmm.... I guess there is something about leading by example.  "Um, it's not red after all..." was all I could muster.  I guess I will pray for my own heart, too, as I work out my own issues of pride.  ~Michelle

The tension breaker post. Because the "Memories" one could make things get awkward for a while:)

Um, i know you aren't supposed to compare kids....but let's just say Stinkbug is at the level of my dear son when he was a toddler with talking. Where i was just about to take him to the Dr, and ask what was wrong when he finally started at 2 & 1/2. He would yell, "Deeedeeeee" which meant anything. You were treated to the joy of trying to figure it out. I don't walk around saying that, i so i have no idea where he got it from. Or he would make these super-special sounds when he was happy or angry that sounded like he had asthma and couldn't breath. People would stop and stare, and ask if i had his inhaler. Truth.

My girls, (mainly the 11yr old, OF COURSE - because she was the first and i was in a psychotic Mommy contest with other Mommies and all the things they would say their child was doing) was speaking perfectly by 18 months, tons of words, sentences, singing songs...my 8yr old and 6yr old girls were talking by now too. Even if it was just a jumble of words, they were real words. Not little miss crankypants.

Don't get me wrong, she says sorta normal stuff - Mommy, Daddy, Baby...you get the idea.

With 4 older siblings, she pretty much always gets what she wants anyway, plus more. People tell me there is no point to her really talking. But sometimes i think that is what they SAY when secretly they are thinking, "maaaaybe you should have her tested and get your boob out of her face every time she cries". I shall give you an idea of the conversations that occur between me and 18month old boss of the family.

Me: "you want a cup?"
boss: *screeching and blaa-blaa-blaa*
Me: "i guess that means no...you want a granola bar?"
boss: *angry screeching and garbled squawking*
Me: "geez, ok, that's a bigtime no. um...i don't know what you want. WHAT. DO. YOU. WANT. do you want a margarita and guacamole?"
boss: *happy noises and laughing*
Me: "WHAT?! no. you are crazy. how about your blanket and a cookie?"
boss: *clapping and smiles*

But today, today she *clearly* said, "Oh TOOOODLES!!!" when Mickey Mouse Clubhouse was on. And it was adorable. The kind of adorable where i made a RIDICULOUS scene, clapped and hugged her...Maybe the time has come, and she will say things. Things that make sense. Not this Helen Keller mumbo-jumbo that has been going on for months. Then i texted the husband, told him, said i would record it. And she won't say it now. She smiled and went, "aaugh blaa blaa baby".

REALLY???

Yup. So, that's all for now. I have to go clean up rice crispies and honey that have been glued to the carpet and coffee table for...like a week.
~Sue

Memories.

The past couple weeks, i've constantly been having dreams about two close friends of mine. The kind of dreams that are so real, where you wake up confused and wondering where you are. Small details of childhood and teenage bedrooms (from New Kids on the Block posters, to a plaque that said, "But Mary treasured all these things, pondering them in her heart"), home-school trips, youth group activities, holidays together, sleepovers, writing notes to each other to pass at Church, trying to give ourselves makeovers with Mary Kay makeup, watching Alfred Hitchcock movies, pool parties, playing in forts built in creepy woods, digging underground caves in sand (aka "the hole" for those who read this and might remember) waaaay back on the property at my childhood home...there are seriously so many funny, emotional, happy, sad, embarrassing, crazy, everything-memories about these two friends.

A typically embarrassing sleepover for Rachel's birthday

Though i don't think they ever met here, they had a lot in common. Very strong personalities, outgoing, friendly - but yet don't cross them, or mess with their family:) They also have in common that they fought cancer as hard as they could. But God called them home. Still something i have a really hard time accepting. And i'm just the friend. Not the family. Not the Mom or Dad, Aunt, Uncle, Cousin, or Sibling. I'm not the person who still lives in the house where either of these women grew up. Where they had children of their own, decorated just right with the perfect curtains, sat on that favorite chair, made pancakes for everyone in that kitchen, played games at that table....this is something i have been thinking about for a long time. Just that i want both families to know, Mary and Rachel are not forgotten. I will never, ever forget them.

Mary, me, and our friend Bob going to a dance - rocking crushed velvet:)

Time is not making my memories any less clear...remembering the sound of laughing, talking about boyfriends, planning weddings, sharing husband stories, having babies. Those hard, or light-hearted, talks about fighting cancer, the ones that were specifically not talking about cancer - "can we just talk about anything BUT cancer?"...i just feel privileged to have had them. That they knew they could talk to me, be 100% honest. And that they could forgive me for not being a great friend all the time.

At Mary's highschool graduation.

My heart still hurts for their families, and for 3 boys who don't have a Mom here on earth. It's not fair. I feel like i won't ever understand it, and i hope i can have a grown up mentality about it someday soon, and stop thinking it had to be a mistake. God doesn't make mistakes. And i don't have any less faith or trust in Him, i truly don't. But i have screamed, "WHY??", into my pillow more than once. And i still have a huge lump in my throat, and questions in my mind so often.

At a beach 5k with Rachel. AKA, getting my butt handed to me:)

I am eternally thankful for their friendship, thankful that God planned to put them in my life. And really, really thankful for memories.

~Sue

Swimming Lessons

Ahhhhhh, summer.  Lazing by the pool.  Or wishing you were lazing by a pool.  Except once you are a mom, there is the terror that is instilled in you by little old ladies (and maybe your mother-in-law) coming up to you in grocery stores to say "Never take your eyes off of them near the water, dear.  It only takes a second for them to drown!  My cousin's aunt's best friend's neighbor lost not one BUT TWO of her children because one jumped in to save the other and they both died."  Yes, I have heard this kind of thing from multiple people, even someone I barely know calling me up out of the blue when she heard there was a small pond on our property.  Then there is that article circulating on facebook (and I have kept it going several times myself, YOU'RE WELCOME FRIENDS) called Drowning Doesn't Look Like Drowning, or some other equally sleep-preventing kind of title.

Anyway, I spent enough nights lying awake sobbing until my hair was soaked while my husband snored next to me as I imagined my kids drowning (see, Sue, you really need to use your imagination more when you lie awake sobbing!) that when my husband said the kids needed swim lessons, I was able to put aside my incredible cheapness and sit down and write out a check to the local pool.  For 3 kids.  Ouch.

Now.  When you sign 3 or more kids up for daily swimming lessons, you get the corner on the market on Crazy.  I did swimming lessons last year, but did I learn??  Nooooooooo.  This year I thought "hey, this is one thing Stefan was very emphatic about last year, and it wasn't that bad, and this time I won't schedule guitar lessons that are 40 minutes away for the time slot that is 30 minutes after swim lessons are over so it will all be ok."  (Yes, I really do talk to myself like that.  Don't judge.  I'm the only person who listens to me.)  Wait, I actually *did* learn that my then-11yo-daughter WILL cry in public when forced to take swim lessons, and that the people at my local pool feel no compunction about staring at her AND AT ME (what's that about?!?! She's the one crying, look at her!  I'm completely normal.) when she does that, so I at least was smart enough (or beaten enough) to not sign her up this year.

All seemed like it was going to go well until about 7pm on the first day of lessons.  That is when I remembered that there were lessons.  Or rather, had been lessons.  At 1030 that morning.

Sigh.

OK, so we regrouped, and we made it to the second day of lessons 5 minutes early.  My sweet, serious, kind-of-a-worrier 10yo can swim just fine, but I knew he would fuss like a toddler if he was slighted, so I signed him up for an advanced class.  He went off happily and can now swim better than I can.  I made the mistake of telling him so, and after his first flush of joy and pride, I could see him start to worry about me.  I might have to listen to a summer of swimming pointers now.

My 4yo is full of bounces, charm, smiles and daring. I was pretty sure swim lessons were going to be a breeze with him. What I wasn't prepared for, however, is that the instructors sometimes take their eyes off of my precious baby boy. Have they not read Drowning Doesn't Look Like Drowning?????  Yes, I was that mom that stood at the side of the pool prepared to dive in if need be.  For just one day, anyway.  I was gradually persuaded that my little guy would live if I sat down by the realization that, thanks to my husband's DNA, he's quite tall for his age, and as long as he remembers to put his feet down, will probably survive the occaisional moments of inattention from an otherwise very good group of swim instructors.  In fact, my bold little guy went down the huge slide into the deep pool TWICE at the graduation ceremony on the last day.  Yes, he was caught by an instructor, but those instructors let them go under before they catch them!  (Can you tell that my mama-heart is still beating a little fast over that?)  There was also the small issue of the hypothermia that the poor baby suffered from within 15 minutes of entering the water every day.  I mean, he was shivering so badly he couldn't even keep his hands clasped above his head when they had to show their "long arms"!  Driving home every day in 90+ degree heat with the heater blasting in the back seat did nothing to lower my crazy level, I can tell you.

Which leaves my 7yo.  Who looks like a born swimmer.  Really.  He looks like Michael Phelps.  His arms are gi-normous.  His elbows come above his head, for crying out loud.  He's solid muscle.  But therein lies at least part of the problem.  He is indeed SOLID.  And he seems to maybe possibly probably OK definitely lack the ability to do more than one thing at a time.  So last year, he was a full head taller than everybody in his swimming group, and the only one who looked like he was getting towed through the water sitting up when the instructors tried to get him to lie back on the water in preparation for learning the backstroke.  Every now and then the very patient instructors (who also apparently were devoid of a sense of humor since I never once saw them even cracking a smile at my weird child) were able to get my son to put his head back into the water.  And then, I kid you not, his legs would stick straight up into the air.  Even I, as his mother, was laughing.  And also wondering if I could just drop him off somehow so nobody would know I was w/ him.  ;)

OK, so, this year I was prepared.  I was not surprised that he was still in the same lesson group, only now he was with the kids who were infants last year.  (I mean, really, how are moms sending their itty-bitty babies into these dangerous places with limited oxygen under the supervision of strangers!?)  He was now a head, and shoulders, and a bit of torso above his classmates.  But he still possessed the same stubborn determination not to let the instructors drown him i.e. get his head wet that he did last year.  Those little kickboards that other children can hang onto and stay afloat while they kick?  Oh not my kid.  He NEEDED those instructors to keep a hold on him or he was going under.  Like a stone.  I consoled myself I was getting my money's worth in life preservation even if he wasn't learning to swim.

Then, on the second-to-last day, he came home and said in a very resigned voice, "Well, those people kept telling me to blow bubbles and put one side of face in the water and then the other, and I could tell they were just NOT going to be happy until I got my head wet, so I did it."

I admit it.  I laughed out loud.  Right in front of him.  And I was proud of him (and told him so).  A small step compared to my other kids - maybe most kids - but a big one for him.  And on the last day of class, when he actually got stretched out straight in the water horizontally and did about three kicks w/ a kickboard way out in front of him (instead of under him) and didn't go under, well, I went way past proud.  I'm amazed.  And hopeful that this newfound ability will stick w/ him until we go back for Round 2 next week.

So.  It turns out I'm not that crazy after all.  Or maybe I should say not yet.  Because I'm pretty sure they didn't really work on the backstroke this week.

~Stephanie

I Don't Read Grown-Up Books Anymore

I didn't know it, but my days as a grown-up book reader became numbered when my first child was born.  I remember when she was a few weeks old, getting out The Rhyme Bible and starting her off right.  I was so proud of myself.  After a few days, however, the kid-book thing was getting old.  Breast-feeding seemed like enough work, so I happily passed off the reading-out-loud duties to my husband.  :)

He had been read out-loud to for most of his childhood.  (Well, in between boarding school stints.)  So when he heard news stories on liberal media places like NPR about the importance of reading out loud to your child, he didn't have to think very hard to internalize them.  He happily churned through a kazillion-trillion repetitions of Jamberry and Good Night Moon while I hid in our bedroom and scarfed down some questionable material by Janet Evanovich.  Sigh.  Those were good days.

Then I became a homeschooling mom.  And I fell in love w/ a literature-based curriculum (Sonlight).  I confess now that I originally did this because I thought I would get to read the books to myself and the kids would read the books to themselves, and there would just be a lot of sitting around quietly reading.

Hah.

Anway, what eventually happened is that I learned to love to read out loud to my kids.  (True Confessions moment: it took me a couple of years to get to this place.  Before that, I would find myself pausing in the middle of a sentence I was reading out loud to skim ahead furiously in silence.  I think my oldest might be surprised to go back and read some of the books I read to her back then and realize there aren't actually long pauses built into the book.)  I also discovered this is really, really good for their brains EVEN AFTER THEY KNOW HOW TO READ.  I put that in all caps because I always missed that part of the liberal media news stories before.  So maybe you didn't know that either.

There is a special sweet joy that comes from reading a book to the under-five set when they know it really well.  You can pause and they will fill in the pause.  You can mess up the words and they will correct you.  My favourite game is to put their name in the story, and they shout NOOOOO!!!!  And tell me the right name.  :)

There are a lot of good pictures books out there.  There's also a lot of JUNK!  Oh my.  Nothing brings out my Inner Critic like a poorly written picture book.  I mean, yes, nice pictures are nice, but it's still a book!!  It needs good words!! 

I was recently challenged by a friend to come up w/ lists of books that are on my re-read list.  Well, that list is huge, just because I'm a mom, and can't say no to everything I wish I didn't have to read out loud.  :)  But I thought I'd start out by talking about picture books that I read (and re-read) to my 4yo, w/o crying and whining (on my part).  Since my oldest is 12, I have been reading these books for many years.

• Just to start the list out w/ something unusual, I will mention a book I randomly selected in a used book store just because I had store credit that had to be used and they had precious few children's books: Puff Puff Chugga Chugga by Christopher Wormell.  Oh yes, I also had a little boy and was operating under the assumption that only books about trains would get him interested in reading. (Not the worst assumption, by the way, although the jury is still out on how well it paid off.)  This book is adorable.  Lots of opportunities to play with sounds, a little color recognition, a really big sneeze, and the little train goes home to bed at the end.  When you have little kids, you ALWAYS want somebody going to bed at the end.
• Anything by Virginia Lee Burton, while a bit of a chore to read (IMHO), pays off big-time w/ my boys, and frankly, I think boys need a bit more effort to capture their imaginations, so I don't mind.  OK, well, sometimes I do mind.  Sometimes I LONG for the day when they can read Katy and the Big Snow to themselves and I no longer have to say chug, chug, chug and move my fingers along the roads that Katy plows.  There you have it.  My single flaw.  hah.
• Anything that involves Harry the Dirty Dog.  Harry sometimes becomes a purple dog w/ yellow spots.  Sometimes Tristan the Dog grabs watering can of frogs and sits it next to the Lady Next Door.  But yes, these books are also cute as written.  ;) 
• Anything that involves Frances.  Bedtime for Frances???  LOVE!!!!!!  Bread and Jam for Frances?  I have seriously done this to one of my kids.  I didn't serve him bread and jam for every meal; I served him what we call porridge (thanks to my husband) but what I grew up calling oatmeal.  He lasted a bit longer than Frances did, but he cracked.  Oh yeah, he cracked .  .  .
• Does anybody NOT have Where the Wild Things Are on their list? Well, probably not, and I don't want to be weird, so I guess I better include it. But I do love the subtle humor!
• Horton Hatches An Egg - I'm going to be bold and come right out and admit that I'm not the biggest Dr. Suess fan.  In fact, some of his books are downright tedious.  (I know, you've lost all respect for me now.)  But this book never gets old!  I think about my husband's faithfulness in fatherhood when I read it.  I wonder if I'm a good enough mother when I read it and I'm inspired not to give up, no matter how many times I have told the kids to put their head on their pillow, close their eyes AND STOP TALKING!  I get teary every time I read the line "Because Horton was faithful, 100%." In short, I turn into a complete sap, but you already know it: I'm not normal.

OK, my real love is chapter books, and I'm much more excited to talk about some new ones I just discovered, but that will have to be another post.  Meanwhile, yes, I'm still reading Jamberry and enjoying it.


~Stephanie

Father's Day. Or, "That went well. Don't you think it went well?"

Deciding to break the norm for Father's Day this year, instead of cookout with extended family, i made reservations (but the very word, "reservations" made my skin crawl) at The City Tavern. Highly recommended by my sister, her husband, and some friends. My husband loves American history (seems to be a guy thing...) so i knew he would like it. Lunch, to be followed by a carriage ride through the Old City. In my head this was awesome. Here is what happened.

Got up with 4 of the 5 to make breakfast in bed for the husband. An omelet with tomatoes, chopped up kielbasa from dinner the night before, sharp cheese, and sriracha hot sauce, toast, a smoothie, and coffee. Then egg sandwiches for the 4, and smoothies. We all marched upstairs. Because not just he gets to eat breakfast in our bed. They all needed to. Yup. That always goes well. It really only ended with 2 spilled smoothes, and today i found an egg sandwich in my underwear drawer. Not too bad. After watching him eat (who doesn't want to be watched intently while eating?), he opened presents from the kids - a pocket chain saw (i mean, who doesn't need....a...), Best Dad Phillies tee shirt, beef jerky, and a cup you can freeze. I sat on a pile of *clean* laundry the entire time, since the bed was full of people.

I was on the fence about Church, just because we were going to be out all day. Toddler with a nap is often less than a treat, but toddler without a nap? You are basically asking for it. But, off to Church we went because Mr. Responsible said so. I even wore a skirt, nice top, and - WHAT?! - heels! yes, heels. Now that the little crank loves to walk, i can "enjoy" things of this nature once again, since i can hold her hand while she walks. I always envisioned wearing heels while holding her, and tripping. And maybe someone yelling, "TIMMMBERRRR" as i crashed to the ground. So flats it has been for 18 months. As the service went on, the napless emotions started to run high. 12:15, the designated, "we need to leave so we can..." time, we piled into the car and started for home. The crying began.

Get home, place frantic call to City Tavern trying not to sound insane, "so...is there like...a dress code...because...oh, there's not? great!". *Whew*. 6 year old girl likes to make amazing clothing combinations, 8 year old girl likes to wear dirty clothes that she doesn't believe are dirty. 10 year old is a boy. Enough said. 11 year old girl only seems to own cut-off jeans, black tee shirts, and a Mockingjay pin. I love them all. But until the call, i was a little scared. Husband changed into Best Dad tee - under a green polo shirt, i guess he was giving props to Christmas. Back to the car. This did not go over well with toddler. Crying all the way to Philly. *sinking feeling*

We park, and toddler is happy, because we get to walk 2 blocks to the Tavern - which, i really do highly recommend now myself! - and it is just so fun and amazing! Period dress, great history that your waiter or waitress will give you during your visit. We were waiting for our reservations, when i overhear the host on a phone call, "children? yes, they are welcome...*silence*...no-no, don't worry, we put them on the 2nd floor". For just a moment, i was miffed. Then toddler tried to knock over a candlestick and i was totally fine with the 2nd floor. It was beautiful, historicky, charming...food was amazing. Of course our waiter had a huge red bruise/cut on his nose, and i was giving 6yr old the evil-eye the entire time to NOT. SAY. ANYTHING. 10 minutes after being seated, toddler is ticked. Crying again.

We walk around, i say things in a way-too-cheery tone, pointing out obvious things to her to keep her from crying. Food comes, i grabbed bites in between walking around - after a piece of bread and biscuit were angrily thrown across the room by 18month old, sitting was OUT.
"Do you want a fry?" - fry on the floor.
"Want some peas?" - peas were spit/puked down my shirt, can't blame her.
"Want some of the turkey pie?" - bare toddler foot is placed into my pie.
I still ate it. It was delicious. Her feet are mostly clean. Our time there ended with me sitting her in a window, while she tried to catch or touch a fly.

Time for a carriage ride - this, i thought, surely toddler would enjoy. Not thinking that if she can't see the horse, she doesn't know it's there. And no longer wants to sit still. 10 minutes in (thank God it was just the 20 minute ride) crying starts. I gave her gum. We talked about ice cream, birds, and kittens. At some point, 6 year old and 8 year old decide to switch seats, and 6 year old almost fell out of the carriage. Ride over, time for ice cream, we walked *key for keeping toddler happy* to Benjamin's Best...a chocolate banana, orange creamsicle, chocolate, chocolate chip mint, strawberry, and peach AND peanut butter cup. I had to get two flavors, since i was sharing and all. Amazing. Again, highly recommend - the owner makes it fresh, makes up flavors too!

Then it was time to go home - by way of my parents house to let the kids run around with their Uncle and cousins - i guess really, all things considered, it was a perfect day after all. Lots of breath holding, quite a bit of crying, great food, lots of laughing, copious amounts of sweat, and best of all, spending time with our family and being thankful for a husband who loves his real job as Daddy.

~Sue

Inside My Not-So-Designer Purse

My son has been potty-trained for many months.  For less than two months, I have joyfully put the diaper bags away and pulled out my grown-up purses.  None of them are great purses.  Definitely NOT cool designer purses.  I got this one on clearance at Target.  (And, I know that they say that you should carry a purse in addition to your diaper bag, but I never do that.)  After clearing out mostly trash- that my children give ME instead of finding a trashcan?- this was what was left:  

Well, there's still some trash, I admit.  

1) Wallet

2) Elmo toy thermometer

3) Big Bird toy otoscope

4) M&M's on the bottom of my purse amongst the trash (Maybe they're still good?) 

5) Dirty napkin

6) Compact

7) My son's slap bracelet

8) Deoderant (because I sweat a lot and smell)

9) Granola bar wrapper

10) Goldfish in a baggie (some leaked out and the grease from the 

goldfish managed to destroy an important receipt or two) 

11) Empty M&M wrapper (And, no I did not win the contest on the wrapper. I just bought the M&M's to console me after grocery shopping.)

12) Pen

13) Empty gum wrapper, since my kids take all of my gum.

14)Random brochures to keep my littlest one happy that we got at our last Longwood Gardens field trip a month ago

15) CVS coupons that could be expired.  Or that I may never use.  

I'd like to say that this is unusual, but it is not.  

Especially since having children almost 13 years ago. 

Although this disturbs me, there are things that disturb me more.  

But, maybe I'll just get rid of that purse.  

Oh yeah... I will... 

Because in about four months, I will put my not-so-designer purse away 

and pull out the diaper bags again.  :)




~Michelle

And then the baby sleeps, so i stay up worrying...sounds about right.

Last night was a poop sandwich. Eloquent, i know. It just was. Little cranky-muffin was up every hour on the hour...crying...i would get up, do the Mom thing (yes, this means still nursing an almost 18 month old, whatevs), put her down, tip-toe out of the room....literally whispering to myself, "please leave me alone now", then i proceeded to trip over the shopping cart the husband said we HAD to buy her. Just because she was cute pushing it at Target.

The cart and blurry #5

Then, *stand still, not breathing*....nothing noise-wise from the crib, i continue stealthily out of the room. Slloooooowly shut the door, go climb into bed. Husband explodes from a certain end. Mmm-hmm. Then i'm laying there, gagging, and squishing my eyes shut, trying to make myself go to sleep really fast.

Cranky-muffin is silent....i can sleep....Then it happens. The thinking. Did i pay whatever bill yet? (um, yeah, no, i did not) Cold wash of fear as i think that i totally did not buy curriculum for the next school year yet either. Are they at grade level? Maybe we should do school through the summer....Why did i say no to coloring with 6yr old? What was i even doing that was so important today! JUST COLOR WITH HER! Why did i angrily react to son re-enacting the entire Phillies game for me and saying, "right, mom? right?", about 50 thousand times? Who cares, he just wanted to talk and tell me about something he loves. Argh. Oh man, i know didn't spend enough time with 11yr old daughter, who will soon (because of me not spending time with her) not be interested in spending time with me, and will then spin in a downward circle of drug use and alcoholism. All because i didn't hang out with her, and talk about her favorite part in The Hunger Games. For the 800th time. My 8yr old daughter will surely grow up thinking she was unloved...because she is the quiet one, the one who does not get into trouble...so sometimes, i'm like, "wait...where IS she?"...and she's doing cartwheels in the backyard. And....here's the big one. I don't talk about God enough with them. We don't spend enough time reading the Bible, learning more, memorizing verses...we just don't. It's all my fault.

Why does night bring on this immense guilt about how i spent my day? So much so, that i can't even sleep! I started thinking about how last year at the pool we go to, a boy slipped on the high dive and fell into the pool - JUST missing the cement. And how that could have been my boy. And what if he falls today? What if he dies? And all i did was get annoyed with him, tell him to stop being loud, and i didn't kiss his sweaty boy face and hold his sweaty boy hand at night when we prayed, because he has driven me insane all day, and i just want it OVER with....i just want them all to go to bed, because i am "off the clock" mentally. I laid there crying. No joke. Just doing that silent, shaky, sobbing thing - my ears were full of tears, wet hair, wet pillow. Yikes. Good times.

But how do you do it....how do you live every day, every minute, in a loving way towards your kids? I WANT TO! i do. I love them more than anything. They are each a miracle, amazing, special...But wow. It is a really hard part of life! But i waaaaant to *whining*. I want to be that Mom, who is interested in everything, hugs constantly, never is short with the kids, never just goes, "yeah", or "mm-hmm" in THAT voice....you know the one. The kind of high, placating tone that your Mom might have made those same noises to YOU in as a kid...i just want to be present, you know? Enjoy them, where they are, in the moment. Not say, "ok, in a minute" - which i totally just said because 6yr old "needs" hot tea. :/ If something happens to me, i want them to remember i loved them SO much...not that i was some lady who screamed all the time. So that's it for now. I just want to work on this part of me...but i also want them to go to bed at 8:30pm and not speak to me until 8:30am. Hmm....
~Sue

The Mess

The Mess

This week my twelve year-old daughter, who never ceases to amaze me, donated her hair again to Locks of Love.  Twelve inches, three ponytails, and this was for the third time.  I am super proud of her and can honestly say that this is all her own doing.  She has a heart that wants to serve others, and this is a tangible way she can do so.  


My daughter did not do this, because my husband and I made her do it or guilted her into it.  She did not do it as a result of my husband and I having found the secrets to success in parenting. She does not even do it just to get attention from it. It is not because she is homeschooled that she decides to do these kinds of things.  She loves God, and it is that simple. 


So, you might wonder what kind of parents are behind such an amazing young person.  I have to tell you that it is not pretty.  Though my husband and I love God and attempt to lead lives to please Him, we are far from perfect.  We are a mess.


We do not rise diligently at the crack of dawn before our children are awake to pray for hours and read the Bible before the sun comes up.  In an ideal world we'd like to, but we are a bit unconventional.  Our prayer time and devotional time happens, but it happens at better times for us.   


Though we homeschool and are pleased with how this works for our family, our children have their complaints about school.  There are tears.  Oh, and they cry, too, sometimes. ;) Our days are not completely full of the joys of learning like in all of the homeschool manuals, self-help books, and curriculum.  Our children are smart, but none of them are equivalent to Einstein in the way they function.  Our children don't all start playing beautiful instruments by the age of 3 just to start a travelling family symphony by the age of 6.  They do not always have a joyful attitude, and they have issues controlling their anger and frustration at times.  


We do not buy all of our food organic, and our children do like sweets and plenty of bad-for-you salty snacks.  There is evidence of this on our kitchen floor more times than I'd like to admit. 


We are not nearly as consistent as we'd like to be.  Their schedules are sometimes a wreck.  Our children sometimes stay up way past their bedtime.  They misbehave and have tantrums.  They pick up our bad habits.  They do weird things that don't make any sense to us, and sometimes we find humor in it while sometimes we don't.  


If you walk into our house at any given moment, especially but certainly not limited to the school year, it will be a disaster area.  There will be dust covered stuff, random food lying on the countertops, unfinished sippy cups, toys scattered on the floors, books and curriculum covering the dining room table, and dog hair on the floors.  Oh, and speaking of the dog, if he could talk... well, let's just be glad he can't.  These kinds of conditions can not be pleasant for him.  It's a good thing he loves us.


We have the tendency to multi-task more than we should, and we are not proud of it.  To generalize all of the details (so as not to bore you,) between working, schooling, cleaning, running kids to their activities, church, and volunteering our lives are full.  


Today, I was reading in a book called "Think Orange" by Reggie Joiner:

"Noah had a drinking problem.  Abraham offered his wife to another man. Rebekah schemed with her son to deceive her husband, Isaac.  Jacob's sons sold their brother into slavery.  David had an affair, and his son started a rebellion.  Eli lost total control of how his boys acted in church...Has it ever occurred to you that maybe God filled the pages of Scripture with bad parenting examples to encourage us?  I know God desires for me to be a responsible Christian parent, but my humanness sometimes gets in the way.  When I read the variety of Christian books about parenting, they often make me feel overwhelmed and guilty.  If I consider my own personality quirks, I am not sure I have it in me to be an A+ parent.  When I read the Bible, though, I am actually encouraged, and I am definitely aware that God has a way of doing something incredible in spite of my faults."  

This was encouraging to me.  My expectations of myself are much higher than I can ever possibly live up to while on this earth.  Actually Sue's Always, Never post got me thinking about this, because I can SO relate to Always, Never.  It's nice to be reminded now and then that those who came before me in my faith were pretty flawed, and yet they are in many ways considered heroes of my faith.  It helps me to lighten up and relax.  And, even though my husband and I are more flawed than we sometimes would even like to say out loud, we are a work in progress.  As we press on in this season called "parenting," we hope that we can improve some things about ourselves along the way to be better parents.  It gives us hope, though, that God is not finished with us, and that despite our inadequacies He reminds us through our children that He is working in them, too.  


~Michelle

But...i HAD to eat all the chips, so they won't be there tomorrow.

Just when i think i have figured out this fitness, healthy lifestyle, exercise thing...IT happens. A holiday weekend. A birthday party. An unexpected bill. A sick kiddo that keeps me up all night. And then, the inevitable falling off of the health wagon. And smashing the health wagon with a sledgehammer. A sledgehammer that is made of candy, chips, 8 pieces of toast with butter, peanut butter, and honey.

I texted my husband (yes, the smokin' hot one) Monday, around 8am, that i was throwing the towell in on this week, health-wise. When you have a sick child, there are no workouts. There isn't time to make weird (i mean yummy) measured breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. You revert to grabbing handfuls of whatever and missing workouts, and gravitating back to your fat jeans. Or your husbands flannel pj pants. Or the maternity capri jeans that you found under your bed, covered in dust bunnies and what appears to be a family of dead worms. Pop those bad boys on, and you're ready for some more toast. Seriously, try that toast. Insane.

My husband quickly texted back, "It's too soon to give up on the week at 8:00am on a Monday, you can do this, i love you.", which in my tired state, i took as, "stop being fat and make good choices, your night couldn't have been that bad - blaa-blaa-blaa". And in my mind, i had a whole argument with him...one where i text back, "Ok, let's trade lives and see how you feel about that. YOU are with grown-ups every day. YOU can go to a gym and have uninterrupted workouts for 2 hours a day. You get to buy Starbucks, and walk around the city, and dress nice and...YOU. SLEEP. AT. NIGHT.". Gosh i'm a sweet lady.  Not vindictive in the least.

But i text back, "We'll see, love you, honey", instead. Twenty minutes (and 8 peices of toast) later, i realize, he was just trying to be encouraging in the man-way. He knows i have been working hard, and doesn't want me to give up. He does NOT think i am fat, even if i was circus side show size, he would not think that. He loves me no-matter what, and thinks i am perfect. And i love that! I do not love how quickly i go into crazy, unreasonable, fight club mode in my head. But a large part of it goes hand in hand with not taking (or not being able to take) time for myself - which is usually in the form of a workout, and taking the time to set up my own meals.

It's just sometimes, real life doesn't allow for that. I know it will pass, and i'll get back in the swing of things. The key is not going to the point, and trust me, i have done this too many times to count, where i give up - start resenting everything, everyone, and playing this weird blame game in my head about all of it! I think things like, "it must be nice to be able to have a gym membership", "must be nice to do what you want, when you want", "must be nice to have a babysitter whenever you need one". When really, i just need to TAKE the time. Just take it. Be a little "selfish". And not feel guilty about it. I think there are some people out there who like to make you feel bad for taking time for yourself, when it's something they personally wouldn't do...they don't put together that everyone does that differently. I don't take naps. I don't go to a salon, or have frequent "girls nights". I just want 90 minutes a day to be a sweaty, disgusting mess, and pretend that i am going to end up looking like someone in a fitness competition.

But today, today i am eating a cold pizza turnover - while, and this is important - i look at pictures of Faith Hill...and i think, "she totally eats pizza turnovers....yup...". Back at it tomorrow. Or next Monday. Whatever. It'll happen. And now i don't have that pizza turnover to tempt me.
~Sue

The Top Ten Joys of Summer

Top Ten Joys of Summer

by Michelle

 10. We have central air and access to a pool. 

9. The nerdy part of me enjoys looking over fresh, curriculum for the next school year and preparing lessons, schedules, etc... 

8. We can sleep in. 

7. I can delve into all of the recreational books that I've wanted to read during the school year but couldn't. 

6. Frozen. yogurt. 

5. The fact that my house is the cleanest and most organized in the summer might be somewhat depressing during January when I'm in the thick of the school year with my kids.  In the summer however, this is a precious joy that I hold sacred.  Even if the rest of my family could care less.

4. I love that our homeschooling family is done our school year in June.  Sure, we start up again at the end of August, but I love the summer break as much as the kids. Maybe more.  It rejuvenates me, and makes me recharged to begin another homeschool year in September.

3. Fresh produce!

2. I love the relaxing time with my family.  Whether we are enjoying vacations, day trips, or just hanging out at home or the pool, the pace of summer  with my family is refreshing.

1. Although my kids go to camp and join in on their share of recreational activities in the summer, I LOVE that we try not to overschedule our summers just for the sake of "keeping the kids busy." I love when they are "keeping busy" writing stories, digging for worms, or inventing some kind of contraption with things they found in our recycling bin.  I love that they get to "be kids" in the summer.  There will be plenty of time for being a grown up, and I love the less structured summer time where I get to watch my kids just. be. kids.  This is definitely without a doubt what brings me the most joy in the summer.