And it’s up!

Yesterday, ALL BY MYSELF, I drug the remaining top-bunk box down from the attic, and started getting the bed set up. Andy had to pick up an extra bolt (one of the included ones was stripped or something) on his way to work, but we were able to finish last night. The kids were so excited they barely paid attention to their bedtime story.

(That photo doesn’t show the depth well, but it’s really a full on the bottom and a regular-sized twin on top.)

Arianna slept in there, too, in the crib. She woke up once (at 2 a.m.), nursed, and then slept the rest of the night.

(And there was much rejoicing.)

A bumpy day

So today my girls and I attended half of our church’s Ladies Tea. It was one of those times where it just struck me sitting there that this isn’t worth it and we got up and left. Maybe next year, when they are older and I’m not stretched quite so thin; not as many little girls needing things or a nursing baby.

Plus, I had been holding Arianna while trying to manage with the chicken salad, and a mayonnaisey piece fell down the front of my shirt.  (Sorry…just had to share.)  Funny, except when you’re over-tired and already a wee bit stressed.

I also forgot my camera.  These were taken at home after we had relaxed some and she had been fed.

It’s red and snappy and they…are future Olympians

I hadn’t intended to ditch my blog for nearly a week — there just wasn’t anything blog-worthy going on! We were mostly house-bound after Andy’s car died a rather miserable death and he needed mine to get to work…

HOWEVER.

On Saturday we found a potential car, ran the history reports, called my sister to come stay with the kids, drove about 45 minutes away to see it, decided to buy it and then did, that afternoon. I had asked the Lord to make it easy if that was what we were supposed to do, and everything kept falling smoothly into place. So that’s that, I have wheels again.

The again-found freedom must have gone to my head, however, because I took all four kids to two different Targets today, on the hunt for various sizes. (Please tell me mine aren’t the only kids who like to “hide” behind the stroller and pack n’ play boxes.)

As we were leaving the second store, I was paying for $1 popcorn for the ride home (SO THAT THEY WOULDN’T FALL ASLEEP) and heard the cashier say “get down!”

Turned around to find Drew standing on the counter above the bar-stools and Madeline walking on the half-wall above it that separates the food court, using it like a balance beam.

WHO ARE THESE CHILDREN AND WHERE DID THEY COME FROM?

(You can imagine how our conversation went on the way home…“We do not walk on the furniture, even in Target!!!”) In all the pulling-children-from-places-they-should-not-be, one of Adelaide’s “flick-flocks” got left. Some amazingly kind soul in the parking lot went and found it and brought it out to me.

Yes. I am that mother.

Oh… Yeah…

So my friend Sarah asked me today if I’d started washing newborn clothes and generally getting things ready.

That would be a negative, Tower.*

Honestly, I sort of forgot about all that stuff. I suppose I need to dig around and find the infant car seat in the attic, shake the dust off and wash the cover. I have no idea where my nursing bras are. And hospital bag? What’s that?

Have I pre-registered at the hospital? Another negative, Tower.

(I have my GBS test on Friday and so I’m planning on swinging by the hospital on my way home.)

(If I remember.)

This has all felt so far in the future for so long, it sort of seems shocking that we could very well have her here in two weeks.

My oh my, where did the time go?

(*My dad was a pilot. He always said that to us.)

The Journey Begins

Alternate title: “Adelaide’s wearing a hot pink diaper”

Several weeks ago Dolly mentioned she was thinking of switching to cloth diapers and showed me the ones she was trying. That got my mental wheels turning, visions of future dollar signs saved in my head.

I never would have dreamed doing cloth with Drew… I didn’t really know anyone who wasn’t using disposables and assumed the cloth options were still like what my grandmother would have used.

So imagine my surprise when I found out about this little gem:

It pretty much works the same as a disposable, save that you don’t actually, you know, dispose of it.

Since then I found a few really great sales, and let’s just say there’s no turning back now. I have a few disposables left, but I’m saving them for church. Adelaide’s been wearing panties during the day but she’s been wearing a cloth diaper the past few naps and last night I crossed my fingers and put one on her for overnight.

12 hours later, she woke up dry. (I mean, the diaper was soaked, but her jammies and sheets were dry.)

I bought only the one-size (adjustable to fit babies 7-35 pounds), and the bulk of them will be used by the new baby. But I figured I might as well have her be wearing them in the meantime; there’s no sense in spending even more money on any more packs of Luvs.

Good thing I’m not easily embarrassed

Yesterday, and quite possibly the day before, I was in a Funk. (And I can’t even blame PMS for it.) Finally during naptime I decided I needed to get out of the house, just to clear my head.

So I did what any normal person would do, and took my kids to Target.

The last time I was there, which would have been Monday for bigger socks, my kids were AWFUL. Madeline got yelled at by an employee for running around ‘hiding’ in the middle of the toddler clothing rounders and then both she and Drew climbed behind the pack n’ play boxes.

Adelaide somehow escaped from the lap belt in the cart and climbed out and ran off. I was not amused. We got several Looks. And yes, they paid the price of disobedience once we got home.

So this time I told Madeline she had to sit in the double stroller with Adelaide. And, on a whim, I agreed to Drew pushing the whole thing.

He only almost ran into someone once. For the most part he did great. He was a little slow to walk next to and he didn’t exactly push a straight line. But it kept him more than occupied and he took his responsibility VERY seriously.

And, in case you’re wondering, this is what Adelaide wore the entire time we were out:

She has a thing or twelve for accessories.

I survived

…day two of Operation Drew Can’t Get Dirty.

Yesterday was much better than Tuesday. We even managed to get out in the morning for a few errands; the bank drive-thru and the grocery store (Drew sat in the stroller with his leg propped up). Of course it would rain when we were walking out, so I had him cover his leg with a plastic sack.

I know, I’m so industrious.

Other than that, it was much of the same. Movies, books, coloring… and lots and lots of pain killers.

“I’m coloring the eggs green because I couldn’t find white.” – Madeline, age 3 1/2.

I shall never step foot in McDonald’s again.

You would think, after being cooped up so often in the last several weeks, my kids would be glad to be out and about and would behave themselves and act like civilized children.

Well.

I took them to the play area in our mall yesterday morning. (Andy had to work all day/night.) Adelaide had pulled out and lost her earrings, and the regular ones I put in as substitutes she can get out in the blink of an eye. I needed more of those piercing studs that are much harder to remove, which is why I chose the mall for our outing. That, and the play area is free.

The mall part of the trip went without a hitch. We left even though it was lunchtime, because I didn’t feel like dealing with the chaos that is the food court. But as soon as everyone was buckled in their carseats, they began to complain how hungry they were, and I still had to stop in Wal*mart.

(We were out of wipes. If you’ve read here for any length of time, you know that Adelaide in diapers means we must have wipes. Lots and lots of wipes.)

So I thought we could eat quickly at McDonald’s and went through the drive-thru. They wanted to eat inside, and I was fine with that because it meant the mess would not be in my van. So I picked up the food from the window, parked, and we went into the kid/play room and sat down at a table.

After the kids had eaten, of course they ran off to play. I wanted to wrap it up (I mean, we’d just spent an hour playing at the mall!) and so I called for them to come down and get their shoes on.

Crickets, they are chirping.

Madeline comes down and begins doing her potty dance. You know where this is going, don’t you?

Adelaide, unfortunately, is too short to get herself down – she can’t see that she’s only inches away from the next level of the split-level-ladder-thing. So I sent Madeline back up to help her because no way was I going to cram myself into it and attempt to get her. And Drew was out of earshot, as far as I knew.

I spent the next ten minutes yelling at various children to help their sister, no go down the slide, okay show Adelaide where the slide is, no JUST HELP HER DOWN ALREADY. Madeline was again at my side, “I have to poop, Mommy, I have to poop!!!” I’m screaming at the others at this point to come NOW and finally had to do the unthinkable – climb up there myself and get Adelaide down.

The next thing I know, Madeline is pulling her hand out of her pants, covered in poop.

(!!!)

(I’ll delete this post before she’s a teenager. It can be our little secret.)

I, as calmly as I could, wiped her hand, grabbed all our stuff, somehow managed to gather Adelaide, and herd them all to the bathroom in the back. I tried to clean up Madeline as best I could (why do they not have paper towels when I need them?) with water and toilet paper. Adelaide and Drew played with the hand dryer in the meantime. Loud.

I threw the offending panties in the trash, explained to her that we were just going to have to throw that pair away and she’d just have to ride home in her jeans, scrubbed our hands, and began herding them out to the car.

As I was opening the door to walk outside, OF COURSE I dropped the HiC orange drink I was carrying and it splashed up everywhere. When it rains? It pours.

Suffice it to say, we did NOT go to Wal*mart then. We went last night after Madeline’s bath, naps, and dinner. But clearly my kids were out to get me yesterday because they were TERRIBLE the entire time we were there. My glares and threats meant nothing (until we got home). They ran, danced, played tag, and touched EVERYTHING. Madeline even climbed up into the icebox and shut the door while I was swiping my debit card.

Oh, and I had repeatedly ran into the same couple on every. single. aisle. They even pulled behind me in the checkout lane. An audience. Figures.

(Perhaps I should’ve titled this post “Adventures in Humiliation.”)

Motherhood kicked my rear today

I could probably cut Monday completely out of my week and never look back.  Today has been extra stressful because the new restaurant Andy’s helping with opens this week and, well, we didn’t see him much.  I have a feeling the next couple of weeks are going to be rough.

Today was particularly trying.  I let the kids play outside this morning – which was going swimmingly until Adelaide decided to turn on the water from the outside faucet.  The best description I can think of is MUD BATH.  Both she and Drew had splashed around in it sufficiently before they paid any attention to the woman yelling at them from the deck (that would be me).

Oh, and the dog poop?  I don’t think anyone has actually gone and done anything about it.  Several of the kids shoes are sporting ripe-smelling lumps.  (Sorry.  I know.)

So back to the muddy children.  I peeled their clothes off outside, and sent them all into the bathtub.  I needed to scrub the pen marks off of Adelaide anyway.

I got her down for a nap, safe and sound – and left Drew and Madeline to play in the tub while I folded mountains of laundry (5 loads to be exact.  Unfortunately it was last week’s laundry and I still have mountains, only they’re dirty).

When I went into the bathroom later, I stepped into at least an inch of standing water.  I’m glad I wasn’t wearing socks; that might have been the boiling point.  I was angry enough.  They know that water-splashing is sooo against the rules.

And speaking of puddles of water, twice today Madeline poured her own cup of water and, well, let’s just say her Brita-pitcher aim leaves something to be desired.

I self-medicated during naptime with sweet tea and fresh lemon and hot mozzarella sticks with marinara.  (Junk food = does a mama good.)

The rest of the evening went in much the same fashion.  I served peanut butter & jelly for dinner – that was about all I could muster.  The kids are all mercifully tucked in bed and even though my house is still a wreck, I can breathe just a little easier.

And I’m hoping tomorrow? Will be better.

The Right to Say No

As Christian parents, we obviously want our children to honor and obey us…after all, the Scriptures clearly outline obedience as normative and godly. (Eph. 6:1)

But we also don’t want our precious little girl climbing into the backseat of a strange man’s car in a parking lot simply because she was ordered to do so.

So how do we teach our kids to differentiate when it’s appropriate to obey an adult (when they’re a proper authority), and when it’s entirely appropriate (and necessary) for them to say no?

Andy and I have recently been browsing Boundaries, by Dr. Henry Cloud and Dr. John Townsend, which deals particularly with these kinds of issues. We highly recommend it to anyone who has to deal with people (that would be you).

But concerning childrearing specifically, there are a few helpful things I want to mention. We want our kids to grow into adults that are responsible for themselves. They should learn to know their own needs – meaning physically, emotionally, spiritually, etc. Once they’ve learned to do this, they should not have to rely on others to point their needs out to them. The book refers to this as “carrying one’s own knapsack.”

(We each of us have our own personal knapsack we are required to carry throughout our lives. When the Bible speaks of ‘carrying others burdens,’ it’s talking about true burdens, NOT another person’s ordinary personal knapsack. We want our children to identify and shoulder their own knapsacks.)

To this end, we encourage our kids to own their feelings and be free to talk about them. We encourage them to own their basic physical needs and to learn (over time) to be responsible for them. (And note, this might not always be convenient for the parent!)

The family unit was designed by God to grow His people up. First is love and attachment, then comes responsibility and maturation. “As we teach them the merits and limits of responsibility, we teach them autonomy – we prepare them to take on the tasks of adulthood.” (p.170)

How do we teach responsibility? By discipline. Discipline is two-faceted; positive (proactivity, prevention, and instruction) and negative (correction, chastisement, and consequences). Good childrearing involves both. (171)

From the same page, “For example, you set a ten o’clock bedtime for your fourteen-year-old. ‘It’s there so that you’ll get enough sleep to be alert in school,’ you tell her. You’ve just disciplined positively. Then your teen dawdles until 11:30 p.m. The next day you say ‘Because you did not get to bed on time last night, you may not use the phone today.’ You’ve just disciplined negatively.

“Why are both the carrot and the whip necessary in good boundary development? Because God uses practice – trial and error – to help us grow up. We learn maturity by getting information, applying it poorly, making mistakes, learning from our mistakes, and doing it better next time.”

So back to my initial thoughts. Discipline trains up the internal boundaries of a child for the time when mom and dad can’t be there to guide. And since they stated it far better than I ever could, I’ll end with the lengthy example from the book of exactly what I’m talking about:

“Consider the following two twelve-year-old boys: Jimmy is talking with his parents at the dinner table. ‘Guess what – some kids wanted me to smoke pot with them. When I told them I didn’t want to, they said I was a sissy. I told them they were dumb. I like some of them, but if they can’t like me because I don’t smoke pot, I guess they aren’t really my friends.’

“Paul comes home after school with red eyes, slurred speech, and coordination difficulties. When asked by his concerned parents what is wrong, he denies everything until, finally, he blurts out, ‘Everybody’s doing it. Why do you hate my friends?’

“Both Jimmy and Paul come from Christian homes with lots of love and an adherence to biblical values. Why did they turn out so differently? Jimmy’s parents allowed disagreements between parent and child and gave him practice in the skill of boundary setting, even with them. Jimmy’s mom would be holding and hugging her two-year-old when he would get fidgety. He’d say ‘Down,’ meaning, ‘Let me get a little breathing space, Ma.’ Fighting her own impulses to hold on to her child, she would set him down on the floor and say, ‘wanna play with your trucks?’

“Jimmy’s dad used the same philosophy. When wrestling with his son on the floor, he tried to pay attention to Jimmy’s limits. When the going got too rough, or when Jimmy was tired, he could say, ‘Stop, Daddy,’ and Dad would get up. They’d go to another game.

“Jimmy was receiving boundary training. He was learning that when he was scared, in discomfort, or wanted to change things, he could say no. This little word gave him a sense of power in his life. It took him out of a helpless or compliant position. And Jimmy could say it without receiving an angry and hurt response, or a manipulative countermove, such as, ‘But Jimmy, Mommy needs to hold you now, okay?’

“Jimmy learned from infancy on that his boundaries were good and that he could use them to protect himself. He learned to resist things that weren’t good for him.

“A hallmark of Jimmy’s family was permission to disagree. When, for example, Jimmy would fight his parents about his bedtime, they never withdrew or punished him for disagreeing. Instead, they would listen to his reasoning, and, if it seemed appropriate, they would change their minds. If not, they would maintain their boundaries.

“Jimmy was also given a vote in some family matters. When family night out would come up, his parents listened to his opinion on whether they should go to a movie, play board games, or play basketball. Was this a family with no limits? On the contrary! It was a family who took boundary setting seriously – as a skill to develop in its children.

“This was good practice for resisting in the evil day (Eph. 5:16), when some of Jimmy’s friends turned on him and pressured him to take drugs. How was Jimmy able to refuse? Because by then, he’d had ten or eleven years of practice disagreeing with people who were important to him without losing their love. He didn’t fear abandonment in standing up against his friends. He’d done it many times successfully with his family with no loss of love.

“Paul, on the other hand, came from a different family setting. In his home, no had two different responses. His mom would be hurt and withdraw and pout. She would send guilt messages, such as ‘How can you say no to your mom who loves you?’ His dad would get angry, threaten him, and say things like, ‘Don’t talk back to me, Mister.’

“It didn’t take long for Paul to learn that to have his way, he had to be externally compliant. He developed a strong yes on the outside, seeming to agree with his family’s values and control. Whatever he thought about a subject – the dinner menu, TV restrictions, church choices, clothes, or curfews – he stuffed inside.

“Once, when he had tried to resist his mother’s hug, she had immediately withdrawn from him, pushing him away with the words, ‘Someday you’ll feel sorry for hurting your mother’s feelings like that.’ Day by day, Paul was being trained to not set limits.

“As a result of his learned boundarylessness, Pau
l seemed to be a content, respectful son. The teens, however, are a crucible for kids. We find out what kind of character has actually been built into our children during this difficult passage.

“Paul folded. He gave in to his friends’ pressure. Is it any wonder that the first people he said no to were his parents – at twelve years old? Resentment and the years of not having boundaries were beginning to erode the compliant, easy-to-live-with false self he’d developed to survive.”

***

The chapter also includes interesting discussion on teaching kids “to know what they are responsible for and what they aren’t responsible for, knowing how to say no and knowing how to accept no” (169), teaching the continuum of delaying gratification (for a greater good) (181), and finally the goals of teaching our children to have an internal sense of boundaries and to respect the boundaries of others (192).

On Consequences

I watch Nicky’s older boys for about an hour every Thursday so she can teach her music class. Drew’s in school, so it’s just Madeline and James (4 days apart) and Adelaide and Etienne (one week apart).

(No, we did not plan that. Everyone thinks it’s funny to ask.)

Anyway, they usually get along just fine – they’ve played together practically their whole lives. And on the nice days they stay outside mostly, which is great for me.

Yesterday James and Madeline thought it’d be a good idea to pick all my daffodils and come stuff them in the toilet. I didn’t catch them until I had a toilet FULL of stems. Lovely.

I did make James help me pick up three buckets full of toys he dumped out in Drew’s room. But I didn’t think Nicky’d appreciate me having him dig around in my toilet. So I let that slide.

Madeline wasn’t quite so lucky. I got a grocery sack and told her that she needed to help me get all the daffodils she’d picked back out of the toilet bowl. (YES it was clean water. Don’t freak out.)

You may be cringing. But I need my kids to know that we are responsible for our actions and sometimes (usually?) there are consequences in this fallen world.

Of course, Madeline thought it was fun. (And she has no clue what a germ is.) But that’s sort of besides the point. And yes, I changed her shirt and scrubbed her arms down afterwards.

So here’s hoping she doesn’t stuff my toilet full of flowers again.

Crayons don’t have lids

I have no patience for trinkets and clutter (especially ultra-cheap plastic toys). Rest assured those birthday-party goodie bags will be sent almost straight to the trash, my own children’s parties included. (Candy eaten first, however. I mean, I do have priorities.)

I’m sure it’s a result of growing up as an MK.

That would be ‘military kid.’ (As opposed to missionary kid or minister’s kid. Those would not be correct. Lovely as those might have been.)

Each time we moved, we had to look at each object and decide if it was worthy enough to wrap, box, load, haul, unbox, unwrap, and put away. So I’ve been a purger for as long as I can remember.

I remember cleaning out my bedroom as a kid and ‘hiding’ things in the trash I no longer had use for, but didn’t want my mom to see me throwing away.

(Sorry, Mom.)

‘Unsentimental’ doesn’t even begin to describe it.

My latest toss? Markers. Madeline cannot seem to remember to put the lids back on and they continue to dry out. I’ve spent the better part of several mornings scrambling around under the table in search of that elusive yellow cap.

I finally got so tired of dried up, scattered markers, (and a tattooed Adelaide, if I’m being honest) I finally started tossing them in the Goodbye Bin, aka the kitchen garbage pail.

We’ll pull out the markers again maybe when they’re in college.

Maybe.

What’s your toss?

Adelaide Strikes Again

I’ve debated a little about blogging about this. It might be easy for someone to pass judgment on my parenting, especially someone who doesn’t know me in real life. And while I don’t want to air my proverbial dirty laundry, I also don’t want to pretend like I lead a perfect life or have it all together all the time. This story is true, and this blog is a (mostly) candid look at my life as a mother…

Well, it’s finally happened.

“Attention Wal*Mart shoppers, would Madeline’s mommy please return to the customer service desk?” and retrieve your daughter you terrible mommy you!

Here’s how it went down. I stopped in there for a few things upon arriving back into town Saturday evening. I usually make a huge circle around the store, getting whatever I need in the pharmacy and toiletry sections first and then looping around past the baby department to the back where the cold foods and milk are.

I stopped for wipes and Drew and Madeline are always drawn like magnets to the baby toys, which were on the other side of the display. I browsed a minute, got what I needed, and wanted to keep moving so I called out to them “okay guys, let’s go!”

By then Drew was with me, but I didn’t see or hear Madeline. I knew she had to be really close though, so I called again, this time stepping out into the main aisle. A salesclerk from the electronics department looked over from down the aisle and asked “are you looking for your daughter? With the long hair?”

“Yes!”

“Oh, I just saw another sales associate get her because she was lost. Here, come with me and we’ll go find them.” He motioned for me to follow him, to the very back of the store. I knew instinctively that the other associate probably wouldn’t have taken her back there; most likely they’d have gone up front.

But I felt obligated to follow him. And maybe he’d turn out to be right. He disappeared behind the service doors and I waited. And then waited some more. (Thankfully I didn’t feel overly panicked – I already knew she was with an employee; we just had to figure out exactly where.)

A couple of minutes later, sure enough, I heard the announcement over the loudspeaker and made my way up front. The older woman handed over a very dry-eyed Madeline, (after peering at me first with noticeable disdain).

Yes, I should have kept her right with me at all times (a feat, let me just tell you). And yes, something can happen in a split second. But for crying out loud, if that associate had even let Madeline yell for me, I was right there and I would have heard her.

It bothers me that she saw a seemingly unaccompanied child, didn’t even look around the immediate section for family, didn’t ask anyone; just took her instantly up to customer service. I felt like she jumped the gun just a wee bit.

(I mean, if she had just poked her nose around the corner, everything would have been alright. We were the only ones shopping back there and would’ve been hard to miss.)

(And let’s not even talk about that other guy having me wait outside the break room wasting precious time.)

Anyway, so we got home and had some dinner, and then I gave the kids their usual Saturday night bath. Drew was about to jump in when, yep!, you guessed it, Adelaide pooped in the tub.

I wasn’t going to mention her habit again, but it was so funny when she started chanting “NO! NO! NO!” and “YUCK! YUCK! YUCK!” the entire time I was trying to clean it out. Heaven forbid anything float near her feet.

She had absolutely no idea she was the guilty party.

So here’s to a less eventful week!

Write a title, win a prize

I think my ‘dry-clean-only’ clothes are out to get me. (Which, as a mother of young children, are few and far between.) First, a dress I had just picked up from the cleaners was the one I was wearing when the wasp stung me. Some of the venom got into the fabric and every time it touched my skin, I felt like I was being stung again. Back to the cleaners it went. (So much for getting a few wears out of it first.)

Then today, I pulled another skirt out of the plastic to wear to church, only to have my kids bump my arm and send my communion cup flying, drenching both my skirt and Madeline’s sock.

(I’m just thankful it didn’t get Madeline’s dress or my cute, cream-based top. Those would have been infinitely worse than the skirt, which was black, even if it had just been cleaned. Again, a few uses would have been nice.)

Of all the Sundays we’ve had communion with kids (that would be four-and-a-half-years’ worth), this was the first time I’ve ever been spilled on. Which is pretty good, considering.

We spent the afternoon with some friends we’ve known since college and are expecting their first baby. Oh, sweet innocence. I always get funny questions from our guy friend, such as “oh, you mean they don’t just potty-train themselves?” and “do they eat real-people food?” Today’s was: “isn’t there a rule or something that girls have to wait to get their ears pierced until they are sixteen?”

Oh, they shall be fun parents to watch. (They’ll be great, I have no doubt. I’m just glad I can be along for little bits of the ride.)

You know those classic childhood stall-tactics for squeezing every possible second out of one’s bedtime routine, such as I need a drink of water, I need to go to the bathroom, and there are monsters in the closet? Drew’s become quite the master at bedtime stallage. I’m too scared to call his potty bluff and always let him take that last trip.

But it’s the end of the day, I’m tired as it is. And then when the excuses start to multiply, my patience runs low and my blood pressure high. Add in the fact that Andy is now working the evening shift and I get to do the whole jolly charade by myself, well, we have ourselves a recipe for disaster. And yelling. Lots of yelling.

I believe I have found a solution, however. Friday night I put the baby to bed (she’s easy, not having figured out how to climb out of her crib yet), and told Drew and Madeline to get in my bed for stories. (Usually I’m so exhausted I fly through a couple of books on the couch or floor, sneak in a skipped page or two here and there, and get them in bed as fast as I can before I collapse or my brain goes numb.)

We made it through several books rather leisurely, relaxing and letting them sort of ease into bedtime. Then I turned out the light. They like me to scratch their backs (or, as Drew says, “shrack his back”) and draw circles on their faces with the tip of my finger. We laid there together for a while, just breathing and calming down from the busyness of the day. (Andy’s better at doing this, but now it’s completely up to me.)

A little while later, I placed each child in their beds, still awake (as usual), but peaceful and sleepy. Content. Still. And you know what? Not once did they get out of bed. Not even Drew, which is a minor miracle.

(Makes me think all those bedtime excuses really were just a ploy for water attention.)

"Labor" Day

Because I can’t sleep.

This is the Labor Day meme over at Rocks in my Dryer today:

How long were your labors?

Kid #1: 6 hours.
Kid #2: 1.5 hours? I dunno, it was fast.
Kid #3: also under 2 hours.

How did you know you were in labor?

Kid #1: I knew I had to get to the hospital because I “couldn’t do it any longer.”
Kid #2: midwife broke my water.
Kid #3: midwife broke my water.

Where did you deliver?

All at the same WONDERFUL women’s hospital in town. It’s sort of like going to a spa and returning home with a baby. (Although, unfortunately, no pedicures in sight.)

Drugs?

Yes, please. Actually, with Madeline I was almost fully dilated before the anesthesiologist got to my room (see? fast) and I was almost denied my rightful epidural. Not a bright and shining moment for either me or my midwife. But we survived.

C-section?

No, thank heavens.

Who delivered?

With Drew, my regular midwife was on Christmas vacation, so he was delivered by another midwife in the practice, who I liked just as much. My regular midwife delivered both of the girls and I heart her.

On Mothering and Time

Yesterday mid-morning my kids and I met our friend B and her kids at the pool for swimming and an alfresco lunch. (Hi, B!) We usually have good conversations (children cooperating), and yesterday was no exception.

Incidentally, one of the things we talked about happened to be the very same topic I had recently discussed with two other friends on two separate occasions. Whether or not I can craft it into a coherent blog post remains to be seen. I’ll do my best.

(Within my current time constraints, naturally.)

When I was a young and innocent mother of one, I had a lot of free time to more or less spend on myself. I kept up with the housework (usually) and the cooking (usually), but I also had time to scrapbook, read, watch movies, sunbathe, sew, or whatever else I felt like doing on any particular day.

Even with two kids, I still had my own life on the side. I could set my babies up with toys or a nap and go about my merry way. Sure, the kids took up a lot of time, but it was sort of compartmentalized. I still had a life. They were a large part of it, sure, but they weren’t it.

But with three, woa nellie, that took some adjustment. Of course I still have some time to do those fun things (and I obviously have time to blog!), but it’s on a much smaller scale and I’ve had to take on a different mindset about “my time.”

Previously, for example, if something involving the kids had interrupted me, I would have viewed it as an interruption. Now, I don’t (or at least, not as much). My kids are older and we can do more together. It’s not me and them; it’s us.

We get up, we get dressed, we eat, and we play. Sometimes they’ll watch a movie or play amongst themselves so I can get things done, but we sort of move about our day doing things together.

Which is also why I’m a stickler for naptimes. They need the sleep; I need the break. It’s my only time of day (besides the late evenings) that I can accomplish anything without interruption or sabotage. And often I use that time for the fun things I want to do.

B mentioned she’s had to accept the fact that she’s not going to get anything worthwhile done in the mornings on most days. (Although, she does have an hour when the kids are in roomtime for phone calls, a shower, etc.) That pretty much goes for me as well. It works better for us if I enjoy my kids when they are fresh, and work later when they are asleep or with Andy or whatever.

And I’ve also realized that I’m more of a work-at-night kind of person anyway. I do laundry best when the house is quiet and the kids are in bed. I almost always clean my kitchen before I go to bed, and usually pick up the toys and generally “reset” the house as well. I’d rather wake up to a clean house than wake up to clean the house.

So, all that to say, I’ve stopped worrying over the fact that I have unproductive mornings. It’s just the way things are here, at this stage of my life.

A gentle reminder

When I went to the chiropractor the other day, I was served a gentle parenting reminder that I thought I might pass on.

Drew and Madeline had fallen asleep on the drive out there. I was able to park right next to the clinic door, which was most convenient. I gave Adelaide a bottle and everything was quiet, so I went in to see if maybe the nurse/receptionist could keep her eye on the kids in the car while I had my appointment.

And they’ve done this for me before. The last time I was in a lot of pain and couldn’t physically pick up my kids very well (they were small at the time). So the nurse had sat in the driver’s seat and we left everyone buckled in. No children running around the waiting room worked great for everyone.

So today I was hoping that we could do that again. And we did; everything was fine. But the doctor gave me a more or less stern lecture on leaving children in the car unattended.

Any careful and concerned parent would never leave a child in the car on a hot day or in a busy, crowded, public place where the point of business is far away.

But it’s sometimes easy to justify quickly running in to the gas station, where the car is in full view the entire time. Or picking up a pizza immediately inside fully-windowed doors. Or, in my case, at the chiropractic clinic where my car is right next to the office door and no one else is around. And Tuesday was an unusually mild day—there was even a cool breeze.

And did I mention my kids were asleep?

He said that our area’s Department of Child and Family Services has recently gotten more “politically correct” and have taken several children away from parents that left them alone in vehicles no matter the period of time or the circumstances. And it would be at least 6 months before those parents could get their children back.

Which, even if you are certain the circumstances would be safe, is just not worth the risk.

(Which is also why, later that day, I wrestled with my three inside Papa John’s for fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes of near-hell, but at least I still have my kids!)

My Genius Idea

(***I’m going to re-post/link this to WFMW in case it might be a helpful idea for another mom of youngish kids.)

(I don’t know why this took me so long to figure out!)

When we were driving up to the airport to fly home after our recent trip, I stopped in at Wal-mart for some last-minute snacks, small toys and books to keep the kids entertained. (Since there would be no movies. Traumatic, I know.) One of the books (which has turned into Drew’s current favorite) was an activity board book that came with its own dry-erase marker. It’s about cars, trucks, and boats, which shouldn’t surprise anyone.

Anyway, over the last week the kids have LOVED marking up their books and wiping it off. And then the light bulb went off in my head! I promptly ran to Target and bought them each their very own dry-erase board and a set of markers.

First day:

Getting the hang of it:

Art school, here we come.

Cleanin’:

Drew: “Look, Mom, I’m drawin’ a snake!”

Keeps ‘em occupied. For several minutes in a row, even.

And the best part is, unlike a coloring book that gets used up and pages ripped out, this is reusable and is one sturdy piece.