Out of the Mouth of Ally

The hymn books were neatly stacked on the table.  My little two year old walked in behind me carrying another hymnal and bouncing, as she always does, with each step.  She smiled at me and handed me the hymn book. "Werrr-shup, Mommy," she said sweetly.  She had gone into Andy's office and grabbed everything to sit down for family worship.
There's nothing that makes my heart skip a beat like my kids' desire to love and serve their God.  I never want to forget the way Ally looks on Sunday morning, her feet hanging straight off the pew because they are too small to bend and reach toward the floor.  The way she lays the hymn book on her lap between her knees and toes because it's too heavy to hold and how it's sometimes upside down.  And the beautiful noises she makes as she sings to Jesus.  She "sings" at the top of her lungs through every verse and doesn't stop until the music stops.  It's always the same words to every song, "Aghhhhhhhhhhhh!" but she tries to keep a certain melody.  Every week, as we pull up to church she exclaims, "My church!"
Yesterday, Ally surprised us and melted our hearts a little more.  We say the Lord's prayer almost everyday with the kids.  Ally has never said any part of it but yesterday, as we began to say it as a family, Ally said the first few lines, "Our Father, art in Heaven...name."  She continued saying the last word of every phrase and trying to repeat the parts she couldn't say.  Her little hands were clasped together and Andy and I just looked at one another and smiled.
Thank you, Jesus, for the blessing of children and the immeasurable joy of these precious moments!

Abby's Beautiful Mind

"Mom, since I'm older than Ally and Johnny (friend's kid), that means they have to listen to me, right?"  Abby asks.
"It doesn't quite work like that, Abby." I reply.
"But Mommmmm, that just makes sense."
And that about sums up the way my four-and-a-half year old daughter thinks.  If it makes sense to her, then it has to be so.  There is no use arguing with her.  She is very passionate about all of her beliefs, right or wrong.

Sometimes I think her desires gets the better of her logic.
"Mom, how many more days until Julia can spend the night?"
"Four."
"So she'll be here tomorrow?"
"No, she'll be here in four more days."
"Ohhh, so not tomorrow but the next day."
"No, four more days."
"So after tomorrow... Yeah! I'm so excited!"
She's also very compassionate.  She loves to help others and is often willing to give up her time and possessions to anyone in need.  She's even willing to give up her own personal freedoms.  If she sees brother or sister being reprimanded she does not hesitate to fight for them, especially if they are crying.  She will often get herself into trouble because she does not back down.

Abby can always scream louder and fight harder than anyone else around her.  Ethan often just gives up on winning an argument.  He actually says, "I give up."  It's kind of funny.
With her compassion brings a certain sensitivity.  She's the kind of girl who will cry at a feel good movie or a good story.  She loves hugs, kisses and snuggles and she hates, HATES, when we are upset with her.
I have to say, the way she argues can drive me crazy sometimes.  But she can also make me so proud.  You see that sensitivity, that passion and compassion and fight, when harnessed in the right direction, puts me in awe of her capability.  Nothing can stop her from fighting injustices.  She's my little four-year-old super hero and I am so very in love with her.

Haircut Commentary

We walked into the haircut place and it was crowded.  Apparently everybody had the same idea of a Sunday afternoon haircut.  I didn't mind the wait.  It was some quality time with my boy.  I listened to him talk and talk... and talk.  Finally it was his turn.  We walked back and he took a seat.
"Hold on a second," says the beautician I shall call Sally.  "I need to grab a booster seat."
"I don't need a booster."  Ethan replies.
"Ethan, she needs it to cut your hair."  I said.
Ethan then begins to talk non-stop for the next 10 minutes.  "I don't like the buzzers, they pinch me... This thing chokes me... A piece of hair is on my belly... Who's gonna get that hair?  I look like a turtle.  Do you think I look like a turtle?  There's a hair on my toe.  Can someone get that hair on my toe?"
Sally tries to change the subject, "How old are you?"
"Six."
"So you're in school."
"Ummm, well, Sunday School."
"Sunday School?"
"Yeah, every Sunday before church even starts!"
"Oh, that's good."
I interrupt, "He's homeschooled."  She ignores me.  She then gets out scissors to cut the top.
Ethan continues his commentary.  "Oh, those are razor sharp.  Aren't they razor sharp?"
"Yes," Sally says, "So hold still so I don't cut you... Your hair is really long.  When's the last time you got a hair cut?  Do you remember?"  (I'll try not to take that as a personal Mommy jab)
"Yes."  Ethan replies.  She begins to cut as his hair falls all around him.  "Aghhh, it's raining hair!"  He laughs.  She doesn't.  He continues, "Abby doesn't get her haircut.  Just her bangs..."  She brushes his hair back.  "I don't like my hair like that.  I like it to be brushed forward and for the sides to be back behind my ears... Mom, I don't like it like that."
"Be patient, Ethan.  You can do it how you want when you get home."  I assure him.
"We're almost done,"  Sally says.
"Haircut people always say that and it still takes a really long time."  He looks at Sally, "Can I tell you something?"  She doesn't respond.  He speaks louder, "Can I tell you something?!"  She ignores him again.  She changes the subject,  "Do you want gel?"
"No."
"Mousse?"
"No."
"Color?"
His eyes perk up, "Yes,"  she gives him choices and he picks red.
"It washes out."  She says.  She rubs it through his hair and it's spiky all over.
"I don't like it spiky.  Can you brush it forward?  Mom, I don't like it spiky.  Can someone brush it forward?"
"It looks cool spiky."  I say.
"I don't like it spiky.  I like it to go forward."  He responds.  She brushes it forward.  "Will this last awhile?  I want to show Eliah.  Daddy is gonna like this."

I'm tired, Sally's tired but Ethan's hair is cut.  I can't say I wasn't chuckling to myself the whole time.  :)

Hold My Hand

As we crossed the street to get to the van, Ethan grabbed my hand.  It was second nature for him.  He always holds my hand to cross the street.  We trained him to do that at an early age and he hasn't thought to stop doing it yet (and I will not be the one to let him know he doesn't have to anymore... because he does).

Suddenly I was flooded with emotion because at that moment I realized that one day he wouldn't do that anymore.  One day he will become independent and stop holding my hand to cross the street.  One day he will ride his bike in the neighborhood without me there.  One day he will move out of the house (well, down the street) and live on his own (okay Destiny, baby steps, don't overwhelm yourself).  I squeezed his hand tight and tried to take in the moment.  I looked at him and held his hand, and my heart was full.

I thought of my other two and how they still hold my hand as well.  Ally wraps her little hand around one of my fingers.  I love it.  I love her smallness.

When we got in the car, I started thinking of the time when Andy and I first met.  We met over the phone (he was my admissions counselor for college) and we developed a friendship before we even met.  We only hung out on two occasions before making the leap to dating.  When I finally moved to the college he attended, I felt like I knew him so well but we hadn't really hung out.  I felt awkward around him and yet we were dating.  I was afraid if he saw the goofy, dorky side of me he would think he made a mistake.  I remember being kinda quiet for the first few days.  He kept asking me what was wrong and I assured him it was nothing.  But soon I could no longer hold it in.  We were coming back from dinner and he was walking me back to the dorm.  He asked me again what was wrong and I finally let it all out.  I told him I felt like I wasn't being myself and a whole bunch of other babbling nonsense that I can't remember.  I was shaking because I was still so nervous around this dream guy I was so afraid of losing. He listened carefully to everything I had to say.  His eyes never wavered but remained locked into mine. At the end of my sonnet, he smiled and gently took both my hands.  I'll never forget that feeling.  With one gesture, my fears and trepidation were gone.  There was a sense of security.  He said something like, "Everything is gonna be okay," or other nonsense that I don't remember now.  But the power of touch, the gesture of taking my hands, that I will remember forever.

Another Round

I used to look at large families and think, "Is it still exciting?"  I mean, do they still get gitty and tell the whole world when their child says their first words or smiles for the first time?  Do those first kicks in the womb bring the same excitement?

I can't answer for everyone, but for me it's still really exciting.  With our fourth child on the way, I still get excited about the kicks and hiccups.  In some ways, I anticipate it even more because I have missed it for so long.  I can't wait to kiss that sweet newborn face and nurse a child once again.  Or see what their personality will be like as they grow.  Believe it or not, I haven't memorized the stages of pregnancy and I look forward to my weekly Baby Center e-mail so I can properly gauge my baby's size to the appropriate vegetable (As a side note, I think they should compare your baby to human toys like, "Your baby's the size of a G.I. Joe," or "Now your little girl could fit into Barbie clothes."  Perhaps I'm not imaginative enough for pea and squash analogies).

I still get excited when Ally learns new words and phrases.  She just started to answer my accusations with, "No I not!" and I think it's the cutest thing ever (well, for now).  And every child is so different.  Sometimes it amazes me just how different they are.

You know what else?  It gets easier.  Really.  I'm not just saying that as some evil ploy to get people to have lots of kids and join the misery club.  It truly does get easier.  I don't know what it is exactly.  Perhaps the experience, or relaxing just a bit more, or the interaction and play they have with each other instead of relying only on you.  That's not to say there is no sacrifice.  We think a little more carefully before taking our kids to a restaurant (cost and sanity are taken into consideration) and we have pretty much done away with happy meals and resorted to dollar menus.  Number four will slow that down even more.

These are just my thoughts.  I'm not an expert with three going on four kids and I may laugh years down the road as I read this with perhaps a 6th child in the womb.  But for now, I'm excited, I'm content, I'm gitty and I can't wait for the joy (and trials) another round will bring. :)

The Things They Make Me Do!

They make me crazy!  The way they demand every ounce of my energy and the constant bickering, and asking for things.

All I wanted was a deceiving picture of their love for each other.

They make me stressed!  Why can't they learn to pick up after themselves or eat one meal without leaving the floor looking like it needs to be taped off with yellow cautionary signs.  

They make me so many things.  But nothing seems to affect me quite like the way they make me...

Laugh

This is Ethan's self-proclaimed bad cowboy, stunt-man, spy look.  He fell gravely ill shortly after this.  He told me he could barely get in bed because he was so sick and he would have to walk on his knees.  I told him we would probably have to skip the field trip to the honey farm tomorrow so that he could get better.  In between gasps of air (oh the drama) he said he could make it to the field trip and maybe walk a little bit.   He's so brave.

Smile

My little sweetheart.  Tonight, after a long day without Andy, I came down stairs to a clean living room.   "I cleaned up for you, Mommy."  Oh, those sweet little moments!

Skip heart beats

Allison makes my heart flutter and skip everyday.  I love the way she takes my hand and walks me around the house.  "What's that, Mommy?"  She points to an object.  "That's a pillowcase."  She then repeats the word to store in her ever-increasing word bank, "Pillowcase?" she says in a rhetorical sort of way and then lets out a long, "Ohhhhhh." in her raspy little voice.  This continues on until her thirst for knowledge is temporarily satisfied.  

Those little rascals and all the things they MAKE me do!

  

  

I Always Have to Steal My Kisses From You

A warning to all new mother's of sons:  Something will happen to your boys later on that makes them go from this:



To this:


It's very sad.  I don't know exactly when it happened to Ethan.  It was probably around the same time he made the sign for his door that read, "No Slimy Girls Allowed."  


As I look back at the last six years with my boy, I can't help but see the slow progression.  Boys have stages of affection.  They are as follows:


Stage 1: Defenseless-  At birth, you can smother your child with affection and there's not a darn thing they can do about it. They have to sit there and take it.  This is a wonderful stage.  They don't even have control enough of their hands to bat you away.


Stage 2: Cautiously Allowed- Toddlers love the word "no" but they still need and want Mommy's love and affection.  It has to be the right time though.  Luckily this still happens frequently.


Stage 3:  The Plague-  I think boys have a "love and affection meter" that once it fills up, they just can't take anymore.  Mommy's love and affection is needed for medical emergencies only (i.e. scrapes and bruises and in times of extreme fatigue).


Now, as an over-affectionate mother, this last stage will not suffice.  You see, I have a "love and affection meter" as well and mine is a bit of a gas guzzler.  It only gets about 5 kisses to the gallon so I find myself in need of filling it back up daily.  Sometimes this is in the form of bribery ("You want a cookie?  Give mommy a kiss first.")  Sometimes this is in the form of a surprise attack ("Gotchya!")  But my favorite time is when my little boy reverts back to stage 1.  When does he do this?  When he is sleeping.  


Aren't they precious when they are sleeping?  Every night I look forward to checking on him before I go to bed.  I kiss his sweaty cheeks and take the same deep breath I did when he was little.  Of course, the smell of pink lotion has been replaced with dirty, sweaty wind smell.  It's a smell only a mother can love.  

I Have My Pride

One thing I can rightly be accused of is talking about my kids too much.  There is just something about their accomplishments that makes my heart swell up and skip a beat.  Don't get me wrong, there are times I want to leave my cart, run down the next aisle and exclaim, "Who's kids are those!" (I could get away with it too because all my kids look just like their dad and very little like me).  But I think that's what makes their accomplishments so sweet.  As their parent, I know their struggles and watch their progress and so to see something defeated or mastered brings me such joy.

Yesterday was one of those special days when one sentence out of my son's mouth made me gulp down my enlarging heart.  Andy gave the kids special permission to stay up late and read (or look at pictures for Abby) if they sat quietly in their beds.   Ethan took a flashlight and grabbed a book Andy had been reading to him at night.  They were about halfway through it.  The house was quiet except for Abby's occasional stroll out to the living room with things she had to do before she could sleep (I bet you didn't know 4 year olds are unable to sleep unless they pee three times, drink water and get tucked-in again if their covers get messed up).  Finally, it was 10:00 PM.  A little, sleepy-eyed boy comes out to us with a flashlight and book in hand.  "Mom and Dad, I finished this book."

There it is!  Did you miss it?  What's the big deal you ask?  Let me explain.  You see, Ethan has been reading for a little while now.  He has been reading level books for beginning readers.  Last night he took the next step on his own and finished a chapter book.  It was Magic Tree House: Revolutionary War on Wednesday.  Maybe not a big deal to the observer but to his Mama who's been working with him for the last year on reading, immeasurable pride.  

Let Them Scrape Their Knees

One of my favorite childhood pictures was standing outside a friends house, arms linked with my buddy, Shelly.  We were probably three or four.  We were holding umbrellas even though it didn't appear to be raining and both of us sported some awesome band-aids on our knees.  Band-aids are like badges of honor for kids.  It's their war stories.

Today my kids were riding their bikes outside.  Ethan had the bright idea of tying some rope from his bike to his sisters.  Having super-mother psychic powers, I could foresee crying kids with scrapes and bruises.  I told them I thought the idea may not be the greatest and gave them my best words of warning.  They were so excited about the idea they begged me to allow it.  And you know what, I did.  I saw no possibility of serious injury or death.

Guess what?  Ethan turned too fast and Abby fell.  Not a grand fall, just off her trike.  I held back the native mommy, "I told you so" response and comforted Abby.  She got over it and got back on her bike... with the rope still attached.  They made some adjustments to the rope and bikes and went at it again.  They did learn an important lesson: where you tie the rope makes a difference.

This one is a hard one for me.  I struggle with being a helicopter parent- wanting to hover over my kids every move.  But Hello Kitty and Spider-Man band-aids deserve a chance to be used.  The popsicles in my ice box are getting freezer burn and the Cars and Princess ice packs look brand new.

It could be argued Abby's fall was preventative.  Perhaps some would call it neglectful.  I call it teaching kids to tie a rope.

Why Homeschool?

Because I am better than you and my kids are smarter than yours...  Just kidding.

Let me start a few years back before we had children.  I was a teacher and I absolutely loved it.  I had great students (my fifth graders are graduating from high school!), I loved planning lessons and I couldn't wait to have kids who would one day be a part of the same educational system.  I didn't know whether we would place our children in public or private but I did know one thing for sure:  We would NEVER homeschool.

Homeschool kids were weird.  They lacked social skills, hygiene and a structured environment.  I based this on my knowledge of approximately two children.  My kids were going to be normal.  They were going to be raised like my husband and I.  We went to public school our whole lives and were relatively unscathed.

Fast-forward about five years.  Andy is in seminary and my best friend homeschools.  I constantly joked with her about this and felt the need to give her my advice from years of teaching and schooling (It's amazing she kept me around).  But slowly the wheels began to turn.  Through one year of observing her children, I realized they weren't weirdo kids with no social skills.  They were respectful, loving, God-fearing children.  They sat down for book work at certain times of the day but most of their learning happened outside structured time.  Her oldest knew more about science from his backyard and library books than any student I had ever had.

Now, I must pause for a second to explain that I am not saying I found/find homeschooling to be superior.  I am simply stating I was shown that my own presuppositions were wrong.  I started to think I could do this too.  Not only could I do this, but I would be the best home schooling mom ever!  In fact, with my knowledge and training, I could really do some good.  Slowly, this arrogance faded as I realized my training actually put me at a disadvantage in some ways.  I had to let go of certain expectations.

 What I love about homeschooling is working at his pace.  For example, Ethan does really well in reading/phonics.  He is well above grade level.  We work ahead in that area.  Ethan struggles a bit more in math.  I was trying to bulldoze through the lessons to get to a certain point before the end of the year and realized in the process, my son was beginning to hate math.  We put the breaks on and started taking time with each lesson, spending weeks on it if need be.

So, here's the thing.  Somehow, we as mothers have made this topic incredibly controversial.  I want to state that I do not believe this is a sin issue.  It's a personal decision that each family has to make as to what they feel is best for their entire family.  We get too caught up in polarizing topics that have no biblical grounds.  We're Christians, aren't we polarizing enough?  We spend so much time arguing what is best for other people's children we neglect our own ministry to our family and stop showing people the love of Christ.

Ethan and Abby went to preschool this year.  They loved it.  They learned so many things that I hadn't thought of yet.  They had a great teacher and they made great friends.  I loved that they were there.  I also homeschooled Ethan through Kindergarten this year.  He was suppose to start this year but he was really close to the cut off and I wanted to wait.  We started it at home and he did great.  Next year we are homeschooling.
 Will I continue to homeschool until kingdom come?  I don't know.  I do trust we will make the best decision based on the needs of our family.

A Case of Mistaken Identity

We had the Ingle family stay with us this weekend and the kids played non-stop while we enjoyed good conversation.  Their middle, Colin, is about one year older than Ethan.  They're good buddies.  Anyway, we put the boys to bed in the basement and later we all went to bed.  Around two in the morning I wake up to a little voice. "Mommy," a little shadowy figure says standing in my doorway, "I'm scared of the dark."  I initially think this little boy looks too tall to be mine and I say in a half awake daze, "Honey, your Mommy and Daddy aren't in here."

The little boy acted as if what I said meant nothing and walked right up to my bed.  I couldn't see his face because it was too dark but realized I may have made a mistake.  "Ethan?"  I asked.  At that, he climbed into bed and right over me.  He snuggled beside Andy.  I laid back down to go to sleep and noticed a big hole in Ethan's shirt.  I remembered one of the Ingle boys had a hole in his shirt.  "Andy, is that Ethan?" I asked. Andy woke up and tried to feel the little boy's head, "I don't know," he said.  Just then the little boy must have fully awoken because he said, "This is Colin... Ughhhh" and proceeded to bury his head in the pillow.  He was totally embarrassed.  I informed him his parents were sleeping in the living room and dragged this 45 plus pound boy out of my bed trying not to laugh but totally giggling all the way down the hall.  When I got to the living room I let go of him and without missing a cue he started the process over again.  "Mommy, I'm scared of the dark."  and he climbed into bed with his Mama.  It took me 20 minutes to get back to sleep because I couldn't stop laughing.

                    The Ingle Family- Colin is the little boy on the right.

 It's been one of those weeks.  Somebody slipped my kids sugar bombs that go off sometime at night when it's time to start winding down.  We can't seem to keep them calm.  If there's one thing I know about hyperactive kids, it's that one kid comes to me in tears at some point in all of the action.  "So and so jumped off the couch onto my leg..." or "I was jumping on my bed and fell off..."  The possibilities are endless.

I'm weary, dear friends.  Weary of being the mom who says, "No!" "Stop that!" "Go to your room!" "Stop biting the eraser heads off the pencils!"  That last one might be specific to Allison.  I thank God my third child is growing up in a time of non-toxic markers and crayons.  I think conservative estimates would put her non-food consumption at a dozen eraser heads, an eight pack of crayons and the color sucked out of about five markers (She bites the heads off those too but for some reason she won't swallow them so I fish them out).  Before you ask the inevitable question, no, they are not where she can reach them.  Big brother and sister are learning important lessons in responsibility recently.

The icing on the cake was Ethan got in trouble at Sunday School last week for hyperactivity, disrupting the class and ripping the page he was supposed to be working on in half.  I searched my brain for excuses as to why he was behaving so poorly.  I came up empty.  Maybe there are reasons for such behavior that only he knows because he sure wouldn't share them with me.  Besides, I chalk it up to being a little sinner.  But the bottom line is he was out of line and he had consequences for his actions.  I'll tell you what, this whole parenting thing keeps you humble.  I had grand ideas for how my children were going to behave before they were born.

So where's the grace?  This is what I love about our God.  He is so thoughtful in the little things.  This week's "little thing" was checking on them before I went to bed.  There they were, sleeping so peacefully.  I could feel the stress and frustration melt away with every breath they took.  I took a picture as a reminder of that peace.

I may need to be reminded of these pictures the next time my hooligans decide to push the envelope again.

By the way, these were taken in the middle of the night so my flash has mad skills.  There is no Ally picture because frankly, it wasn't worth the risk.  She turns into a Gremlin at night.

A Short Story... New Acorns

-Inspired by a true story-
... at least a very, very small piece of the story. ;)

Thomas Squirrel ran across the lawn of the vicarage house and up the tree to his nest.  He was so excited he could hardly contain himself.  Betsy Squirrel was in the middle of nursing her four newborn babies.  "Betsy, Betsy, you won't believe what I have just found.  A true treasure of treasures!"

Betsy was less than excited, "Another acorn?" She stated with sarcasm.

Thomas ignored her mockery and continued on with passion, "It was something like I have never seen or tasted before and-"  Thomas was so caught up in his excitement that he lost his footing and started to fall.  He tried to glide with his tail but fell down to the ground.  His fall was softened by the familiar feeling of fur.

"What in tarnation!"  Elder Squirrel exclaimed.  Thomas had landed right on top of him.  Elder Squirrel was a grouchy old squirrel of six years.  He felt it necessary to teach Thomas Squirrel a lesson at every encounter.  "Thomas, you clumsy little vermin!"

Thomas still gleaming with excitement and unscathed by Elder Squirrel's not so nice words continued on speaking now to his wife Betsy, who had ran down the tree to check on him, and Elder Squirrel.  "There I was minding my own business when Chief Big Lady walked out of the house.  I scurried up the tree and out of sight.  She had a bag in her hand and began to drop little egg-shaped things onto the ground.  At first I passed it off as yet another weird thing the tribe of people do.  I'm sure I don't have to remind you of how Little Girl Two-Foot Tall enjoys dropping her food in the dirt and picking it up and eating it over and over again.  Or how Little Boy Three-Foot Tall likes to dig in the dirt for hours without ever storing food in the holes he makes."

"They are a funny tribe to watch," Betsy Squirrel giggled and agreed.

"Well, she walked back inside and I went to the ground to see what kind of objects she had placed in our territory.  My senses caught a whiff of the most delightful smell.  I picked up the funny egg-shaped object.  It was shiny and hard but I knew there was something wonderful inside."

"I tell you," Elder Squirrel interrupted, "This can only lead to trouble.  You young folk think you know more than our squirrel ancestors.  We eat acorns!  We are squirrels not rats!  Where is your pride?"  Elder Squirrel beat his tail on the ground and Thomas Squirrel backed away a little bit.  But Elder Squirrel's curiosity got the best of him and he cleared his throat, "Ahem..., well, what did you find then?"

Thomas continued on trying not to seem too excited but doing so unsuccessfully.  "Well, I used my teeth to open up the top as with any acorn.  Inside was a shiny item that made a noise almost like that of a leaf crumbling when stepped on after the fall season.  I got through the exterior only to find a soft, dark and creamy square of a thing.  My curiosity and senses were almost too much for me to bear so I began to nibble quickly through this delicacy and it got better and better with each bite!"  Betsy Squirrel's eyes grew large.  Feeding four babies can make a mama squirrel become extrordinarily hungry!  Thomas continued, "But that's not the best part!  You see, in the middle was a very small nut!  A new acorn made with a delicious outside!  Oh Betsy and Elder Squirrel, you really must try it!"

"Yes, I think I will!"  Betsy squirrel exclaimed.

"I dare say,"  Elder Squirrel said trying not to show his excitement, "I think I shall try this new acorn as well."

Thomas was so caught up in his story he didn't realize how he was making his fellow squirrels salivate with anticipation.  "Oh," he said sheepishly, "well, about that.  You see the Little Three-Foot Talls and Two-Foot Tall came out shortly after that and collected all of the egg-shaped acorns.  They are gone."

Betsy and Elder squirrel were full of disappointment but Elder Squirrel broke the sad silence to save face, "It's probably for the best.  That new acorn will probably make you crazy or sick.  Yes indeed, I'm glad I did not find it."

 Thomas ran off and began to dig.  "Thomas, what are you doing?"  Betsy asked.  She turned to Elder Squirrel and said with worry in her voice, "Perhaps the new acorn really did make him crazy."  Elder Squirrel nodded in agreement.  Just then Thomas pulled something odd from the ground and ran over to them with a quirky smile on his face.  It was the new acorn!  "Surely, you didn't think I would forget to save you some!"  Thomas said.

Elder Squirrel stood uncomfortably near by wishing he could take back his words so he could try the new acorn which smelled so good.  Betsy, perceiving his thoughts, tore off a piece of her own and shared with Elder Squirrel.  They all happily ate together and talked of the people tribe and all of their peculiar behaviors.

What I'll Miss Most

I know I'll miss their perfectly round milky eyes and soft skin.  I'll miss the funny way Abby says, "Shine and rise!" in the morning or how the kids still call that fast food place, "Old McDonald's," and how they will someday be in 12 step programs for a mother who refuses to correct them.  I love the silly way they say things and part of me never wants that to change.  But what I will miss most when they are all grown up and out of the house is their little feet.

Yeah, I know, sounds silly.  But I love the way their feet are still so soft and perfect.  They aren't over grown monstrosities calloused with life's rough roads.  They're just little feet with little nubby toes.

I especially love baby feet.  The way they fold underneath baby girl's butt.

And the way they look when she stands on her tippy toes.

I love the way their feet smell, even when they're stinky.  I love how they don't have that one over-achieving super toe that feels it has to grow far above the rest.  Baby feet are perfectly lined up.  So I kiss their little feet and take care of them with plenty of tickles, because someday those feet will grow up too.

Technical Difficulties

It used to be that people were not very open with their family life. Today we live in a world where almost everyone uses the internet and everything that goes on in our lives is documented through little blurbs on facebook and/or twitter or ramblings of parental philosophies and stories on blogs (ahem).  On one end of the spectrum, I have heard it said it is best to get rid of it all and allow the home to be private once more.  The other end of the spectrum says this is the very outlet that people need.  It brings community and help from afar.  It brings a sense of belonging and a "I'm not alone in this" kind of feeling.  I can relate to that as a mother.
Can I choose the middle ground without sounding too much like a politician?  I appreciate these media outlets and obviously use them.  But I would be lying to say I have not shooed away a kid or two in pursuit of finishing a thought, or half-parented sibling rivalry that could have used my full attention, or wrote something on facebook that I later regretted.  I have made up all kinds of rules for myself that I repeatedly break: Don't get on the computer until the kids are in bed, only be on the computer for such and such a time, etc., etc.. I continue to fall short of these goals.  So what is the solution?  Do I cut off my ties and call it quits?
I don't believe so.  As I have said, these things can serve a greater purpose.  And like anything, alcohol, books, games, cell phones, the problem is not the thing in itself, it's the sinner using it.  It's another one of those things that has to be checked daily.  It's another one of those things I will fail at miserably.  But don't throw the diaper out with the baby still attached (Yes? .. No?  Trying my hand at making a modern idiom, cause seriously, we don't throw bath water out the window anymore).
 I think that rules (or goals) for oneself is great.  And rules do not equal legalism. Extra-biblical rules imposed on other people is legalism (Isn't this one of the most misunderstood concepts for people these days?)  Also, breaking a rule is not a sin. (No need for false guilt.  I got enough of the real stuff.)  Just the same, rules should also never be a form of self-righteousness.  However, saying, "I'm a better parent when I'm not on the computer and so I will try to do that when they are sleeping or away," is not a bad goal for me.  Or should I say: Yes, with the help of God.
But I refuse to give up singing at the top of my lungs in the car no matter how much my children cry or beg me to stop.  They may not interrupt that... No matter what.  Everybody has a line, man.

Panning for Gold

I don't suppose the guy who panned for gold year after year ever regretted that time once he found a big chunk of gold.  He was rich and it was all worth it.  (Warning, analogy coming...)
Parenting is a lot like panning for gold.  People hear Billy Bob struck it rich and they all want the same thing.  They don't really think about the labor or long days, they just think about the gold.  Before kids, I wanted kids.  I know not everyone has this sentiment but as a Christian, it was the natural overflow of marriage (assuming one can have children).  I loved the way a baby smiled, the way a toddler walked like a penguin and all the cute things preschoolers said.  I couldn't wait for the baseball games, the confirmations, the birthday parties, etc.  That was parenting to me.  Sure there would be some discipline and sacrifice involved but I was going to be a great parent! 
 When we brought Ethan home from the hospital, we were so lost.  Why is he crying so much? Why won't he sleep in his bed? Why doesn't the poop stay in his diaper and why doesn't his pee stay out of my face?  I had made the decision to breastfeed but every time he latched on I sang obscenities.  Why didn't anyone tell me it would hurt for awhile?  I felt I had no time to myself and I was going insane due to lack of sleep.  I felt like a failure.  I hated Johnson and Johnson for leading me astray with their cute, laughing babies.
Then one day, Ethan smiled.  It was so beautiful.  I can't explain the feeling but only to say I had forgotten all the dirt and rocks I had panned because I had found gold!  Then came laughing, teeth, crawling, talking and all of the other milestones we get overly excited for as mothers.
So here's the thing.  I write about all these different "moments."  Some good, some bad, some funny, some that make me think and contemplate.  But that is not most of my day.  Most of my day is routine; a lot of panning rocks and dirt.  The kids wake up, they eat breakfast, they brush their teeth, they fight, they whine and they play.  Most meals are chaotic: Ally running food through her hair, Ethan complaining about the food I slaved over, Abby poking her brother when I'm not looking, Mommy loosing her cool... again.  Does that not make it worth it?  By no means! I do it because it is what I was called to do.  And when we do what we are called to do, we find an immeasurable joy.   You see, sometimes we sit down for dinner and low and behold what do we find, gold!  Ally trying to drink her spaghetti and talking into the bowl because everyone is laughing at her.  Ethan talking theology with his sister:

Abby: If you follow Jesus you will have lots of money.
Destiny: Who have you been listening to?
Ethan: Some people think if you say "Praise the Lord" that God is going to give them lots of money. I saw that on a movie daddy was watching, but it said that's not true.

And it is all worth it.  Really.  I can't tell you how often I hear, "They do grow up," or "You're busy!"  and I don't really know what to say.  I just smile and nod but deep down I am thinking, "Judging by my whinny kids and screaming baby, I see why you would feel sorry for me, but don't be.  These kids are gold mines!

1/2

I'm hanging out with my friend Dana in Missouri.  Her, her hubby and me... and 8 children between the two of us.  She just delivered her 5th child.  She now has 5 boys!  Our children are buddies and we enjoy many a good conversations together.  But I don't think she would be offended with me saying my heart is not content.  In fact, it aches.  Something is missing.
Somewhere northeast of here a really cute guy holds my affections.  I miss him terribly.  He is my groom and I his bride.  I give up any misconceived feminist notions of independence and admit I am not the same without him.  I was one before we met over 10 years ago and now I am something else.  I am 1/2.
It doesn't make mathematical sense.  I am less than I was before and yet I am more.  I gave up much and yet I have, abundantly.  I willingly submit to him (well...) and I couldn't be more free.
What is it that makes me this crazy?  It is a husband who has vowed, by the grace of God, to love me as Christ loved the church.  He is my husband and the father of our children.  He protects us.  He keeps his children's eyes from danger and their ears from the hypnotic call of the world the flesh and the devil, and fills their ears with the music of the Word and their eyes he points upward.  He guards us with his meditation, prayer, study and knowledge through his own submission to the One he has vowed to imitate, Christ Jesus. He gives himself up as a sacrifice through his willingness to give anything for us and lives it out daily through his acts of service (cause there aint nothing more beautiful then a man with dish soap on his hands!).  He makes me want to be a better Christian, a better wife, a better mother.
He loves me and I love him.  And together we are one!  But right now he is far away and I'm feeling awfully half-ish today.

We Hold These Truths To Be Self Evident....

That all one year old's are mischievous...

That all one year old's are simultaneously adorable...

And that all slotted spatulas can never be completely cleaned when they have been used for eggs.  No matter how many times you wash them...

They will dry and the egg will re-appear... I think it's messing with me.

Sorry You're Sick Grandma...

Here's a little something to cheer you up (She actually has an Easter book opened to the song, "Jesus Loves Me.")

I Love the Way You Sin

It's the way they manipulate us.  It's the way they sass.  It's the way they stick it to someone.  It's the way they imitate us and we love it.  It even makes us proud.  I hate that I love when they outwit me in defiance. I hate that I love the way my children sin.

They say imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and I don't believe this stops with our honor and integrity.  We love when people are like us even if our similarities have to do with our struggles and our sins.  I see this in certain friendships, in the shows I watch on TV and most telling, in the way I raise my children.
 
This side of eternity, our flesh constantly struggles with sin.  At it's root, it's the desire to be our own god.  And what do little gods want most, little creations that are made in their likeness.  So we even delight in their  defiant likeness.

As Christians, we are justified.  We are redeemed through Christ.  We are saints.  We attempt to imitate our heavenly Father and our desire is that our imitation would be mirrored in our children.  But we are broken mirrors and we must humbly rely on God's grace.  My prayer is that God would use my feeble efforts so that by His grace, my children would grow in the nurture and admonition of the Lord. My prayer is that I would not pass on a recycled sin but teach them to confess their sins and look to Christ for their forgiveness.

Christ have mercy.

Time Change(d)

I hate spring forward.  I hate fall back.  I used to love the one where you got to sleep in later. Then I had children...  They never got the memo.  That is all.

When Your Son Punches the Dentist

I have hesitated in writing on a particular incident that happened last month due to my continued state of shock and mortification.  However, so as to remind my readers that we are all sinners (thumbs pointed inward and tapping chest) and that we produce beautiful blessings who are sinners from conception, I feel my honesty and hindsight on the "situation" will prove beneficial and keep me humble.
Blah, blah, blah, moving on. So, my son hates the dentist.  I can't say I blame him.  The mere reminder that an appointment is in the near future sends him on a downward spiral of complete emotional breakdown.  Ethan is 5 1/2.  Ethan still sucks on his fingers.  We have tried many things to get him to stop but alas, they have all proven futile. The dentist informed me that Ethan has loose teeth that will come out soon (yeah, milestone!).  He fears that if Ethan continues to suck on his fingers he will ruin his permanent teeth so he recommended getting a brace placed in his mouth to stop the finger sucking.  It's 100% successful.
Knowing my son's fear of the dentist, I decided to "prep" him.  We had the following conversation on the way to the dentist:
Me: Ethan, sometimes I feel sorry for the dentist.
Ethan: Why?
Me: Because all he wants to do is help kids have good, clean teeth and all he gets is screaming and crying all day and I just feel bad for him (a good dose of manipulation coupled with thinking outside oneself).
Ethan: Well, I don't hate the dentist.  I just hate going to the dentist (Successful separation!)
Me: Yeah, I understand that.  But it's just one of those things we have to do in life (I will spare you the part of the conversation where I thought it wise to explain to my son how adults have to do taxes, only to be bombarded with the "why" bomb 7,200 times).
Ethan: Mom, you know when I was crying in the dentist chair last week?
Me: Yeah
Ethan: Did you feel bad for me?
Me: Yes, of course.
Ethan:  Who did you feel badder for, me or the dentist? (BACKFIRE! Darn kids too smart for his own good)
Me: Well, you of course.  You're my son.  Listen, let's get through this today and mommy will by you an ice-cream cone from McDonald's afterward (and to top it off, a little bribery).
Fast-forward to the dentist office.  Ethan is sitting in the corner of the room refusing to get on the dentist chair.  I use my "Love and Logic" skills (great book) and give him a choice, "Ethan, you can get in the chair all by yourself or I can help you."  He slowly moves toward the chair and climbs up on it.  The assistance give me three cheers for good parenting and I too give myself a pat on the back.  The dentist enters the room and starts to look in Ethan's mouth.  Ethan starts to resist and things are getting harder.  "Ethan, this is making everything take a really long time and I don't like to see you suffer.  If you let the dentist do his job and you sit there quietly, we can get out of here quicker.  So, do you want to sit there for a long time or a little bit?"  Ethan quiets down and the dentist gives me his nod of approval.  I'm not gonna lie, I'm pretty much feeling like mom of the year at this point.  Dentist and assistant are impressed by my mad skills and son seems to be reluctantly complying.  Pride cometh before the fall...
It was time for the spacers.  I tried and tried to use my newly acquired parenting skills on Ethan but a funny thing about fear, when someone is truly fearful that another is about to harm them, they throw logic out the window.  I was left with no choice but to hold Ethan down.  He screamed bloody murder and fought me with all his strength (seriously, the boy is strong).  The dentist took a break in between teeth and I wanted to give Ethan a break too.  "Ethan, I'm going to let you go, okay?"  He nodded in agreement.  I slowly released him.  He sat up quickly, turned toward the dentist and socked him right in the gut.  Yep, you heard it right, my son punched the dentist.  There are certain times in life as a parent when you are quick to react and you don't care who is watching you.  Like when your child is running toward the street and you let out one of those crazy mama war cries that scares the life out of your kid and all bystanders.  This was one of those moments.  I grabbed Ethan by the mouth (I think I actually picked him up by the mouth) and moved his face to my face so that we were eye to eye and said in my most stern of mommy voices, "You do NOT punch the dentist!"  I think he got the message.  Needless to say, we did not go to McDonald's.  Lots of lessons learned that day for momma and boy.  Yep, lots of lessons learned.

Beatiful Clothes

Sometimes when I am in a dreaming sort of mood I look at shabbyapple.com  Seriously cute clothes.  I dream of my girls in these:
Silver Bubble Little Girl's Party Dress - Silver Bellemy son in this
Gingham Boy's Neckties
 and me in this
Pin Striped Princess Seamed Dress with Drop Hemline

 I could afford these items if I were to give up frivolous things like meat and fruits and veggies and live off rice and beans for like two months.  I'm seriously considering it.  Then maybe I could even pull off that fancy dress. These clothes are, of course, not necessities.  But imagine how fancy we would look as we strolled down the street (assuming I would let my kids step foot outside in such fancy clothes).  A girl can dream...

A Mother's Blessings

Our youngest child, Allison, never ceases to amaze me.  I call her my free spirit.  She hates being confined whether that be in the bars of her crib, the straps of her carseat, the pews at church or the walls of the house.  Let her outside and she will run like a rabbit in every direction.  I can barely get her pajamas off of her in the morning before she breaks free, smiling, running and screaming as her itty-bitty butt gets farther and farther away from me.  She is something BIG stuck in a baby.
It's amazing to me, you know?  How she can somehow be so different than her logical, analytical brother and her dramatic, girly, outgoing sister.  Three completely different individuals raised in the same home.  They are similar in other ways.  Take one look at my three kids and you just might think Andy created clones (he jokes, survival of the fittest).  People actually stop me in the store and say, "They must look like their father." Gotta love well-meaning strangers.  All my kids love to be outside and seem to hate movie theaters (something about dark crowded rooms with ear shattering sound and larger than life pictures- I don't know).  But they are three beautiful, unique children made by the crafty hand of God.

So I'm putting Ally to bed tonight and I'm squeezing the growing-up right out of her because I know it goes by so fast.  I'm taking deep breaths of freckle-less skin and asking her silly, rhetorical questions like, "Do you know how much I love you?"  And all the chaos of the day and the sacrifice we make as mothers melts away.  Because it could never compare to the immeasurable blessings we have been given.  That is what our children are, after all, blessings.

All Purpose Clothes

When Abby pretends she is a mother (which is all the time) she always puts on high heels.  The obvious "she didn't get that from me" aside, I have to wonder if there is a hidden message there.  I don't want to say I wear pajamas all day (I'm not quite ready for that announcement) but I rarely get all dressed up just to scrub toilets and get snotted on.  I might throw on some jeans to leave the house but I usually stay in my all purpose clothes. 
What are all purpose clothes?  I'm so glad you asked.  First, let me tell you what all purpose clothes are not.  All purpose clothes are not pajamas and they are not sweats.  They may look like that to the untrained eye but they may only be called that when I wear them to bed (which I do). 
All purpose clothes can be worn to clean, nurse, they can be used as tissue by your children (not suggested use, just a job hazard), and they can be used to cook in.  And after you shower at night and put on a fresh pair, they can be used to sleep in. 
Perhaps Abby can not accurately portray the role of mother because I have not provided her with the right material. So I have come up with some clothes to throw in her dress-up bin.

P.S. I think these would go great with heels.

These are my sweet girls. 

Abby and Ally.  I can't ever keep their names straight. 
Ally begged me with her baboon cries to climb into bed with Abby for her nap.  How could I resist?
  Never underestimate a 16 month old.  She sat there quietly. She pulled the covers up over her acting as if she were really tired.  Something about Laura and Mary Ingalls lying in bed in night caps convinced me to let this play out.  I left the room and shut off the light.  The silliness began and two sisters giggled for half of an hour.  I came back in the room after hearing a loud crash, but it was too late.  The damage had been done- they are now bonded for life. :)

GF Does Not Stand for Girlfriends or Ghetto Fabulous

Say the word "wedding" and you will pay double for the item.  Say the word "gluten free" and you will probably pay triple.  When I first got diagnosed with Celiacs one month ago, a disease where your body can't process wheat, I was shocked at the result and was certain a mistake had been made.  I have spent the last month detoxing from wheat with symptoms being even worse than when I was eating wheat!  In addition to the detox, I have also had a month of mourning.  I even shed a few tears at Pizza Hut a few weeks ago.  I was hit with the realization that I could never eat real pizza again.  
A few years back I tried to go on a low carb diet to get rid of my baby fat (you know, leftover from my infancy).  I lasted two weeks and I felt like I was starving to death.  I vowed never to torture my body again.  I had friends who were GF (If you haven't already figured it out, means gluten free) and I thought of them like saints.  Such a sacrifice they were making, now excuse me while I eat my cheeseburger with battered onion rings and wheat seasoning sprinkled on my meat.  I knew this would never happen to me because God would not give me more than I could handle.  Silly ol' me. 
I have learned a lot in one month with the help of fellow GF friends and some trial and error... "I'm probably not that allergic to wheat so I can eat this flour tortilla...hey, why is my throat swelling up.  Hmmm, must be the change in weather."  And it is not all bad, really.  I've lost five pounds and I have a new love for Trader Joes, who labels their GF products with a yellow 'g' so you don't have to read the label on everything!  Today I went to a store that was entirely GF, one of the advantages of living near a big city.  It was fun to look around and buy a few things.  But just a few things, unless I can find a way to sell a kidney.

Someday, Somehow, Sometime, Somewhere...Something

Someday I'm sure I will look back at all of this and miss the craziness.  Somehow I will long for the times when I didn't get around to going pee until noon. Sometimes I will wish I could go back and re-live the silly moments.  Somewhere in my future I will sit in my rocking chair in silence, pain from an aging body and things lost, and I will wish I could do it all over again... Something tells me I should enjoy the moment now.

Look to Your Baptism- Out of the Mouths of Babes

It's Valentine's Day and I am driving Ethan to preschool for a day filled with partying and too much sugar.  He sits quitely in the back seat contemplating the world.  He speaks up, "Mom, why don't some people believe in God?"   He's asked this question before.  I initially think he is too young to be worrying his young mind with such deep things but I realize this boy is his father's boy- this is just the beginning.
"Well son, Satan tells people lies and they believe them."  I'm wishing his dad were here to field some of these questions.
My very worried son confesses, "I still believe in God but sometimes my brain tells me bad things... I guess my brain is going to hell."
Yikes!  Where do I go from here? My poor 5 1/2 year old boy is dealing with some serious stuff here and I don't know how to comfort him.  I explain to him that we are saint and sinner and these are the kind of things we struggle with this side of eternity.  He sits there quietly. I am at a loss for what else to say.  All of the sudden he perks up and a big smile overtakes his face, "But I was baptized!"  He starts to get excited and a few seconds later starts to sing a song we had learned in family worship:
I was baptized, happy day
All my sins were washed away
God looked down on me and smiled
I became His own dear child.
He sang this over and over again.  He was comforted by his baptism.  I had often heard the phrase, "Look to your baptism" but I must confess I didn't fully grasp the concept until this morning.  My husband reminded me of what Luther said in his Large Catechism: "But these blind guides are unwilling to see this, namely, that faith must have something which it believes, that is, of which it takes hold, and upon which it stands and rests. Thus faith clings to the water, and believes that it is Baptism, in which there is pure salvation and life; not through the water (as we have sufficiently stated), but through the fact that it is embodied in the Word and institution of God, and the name of God inheres in it. Now, if I believe this, what else is it than believing in God as in Him who has given and planted His Word into this ordinance, and proposes to us this external thing wherein we may apprehend such a treasure?"

When my son looked inward he was confused and unsure, but when he looked outward to his baptism and what Christ had done for him there was comfort and hope.  I pray that he will remember his baptism each and every day, never forgetting that all his sins were washed away.