The Mess

 



It started this week when I was on the phone with a nurse discussing my foster daughter's health.  As many of my friends know, we've spent an incredible amount of time trying to do everything possible to get her healthy... or more realistically, as healthy as possible for the past 6 months.  She is absolutely precious and I love her like she is my own so I am honored and humbled to be able to do this for her.

But, with this has come some surprising consequences. 

On the phone, the nurse said that I have it all together and I'm a great parent.  I laughed out at this because what she didn't know was that I was standing outside on our front porch so she wouldn't hear all the chaos that comes standard with three boys raging in the house.  Let's just say that there is usually a lot of screaming involved (although if you've read some of my other posts like this and this you're not surprised). 

I know I don't have it all together, but from the outside, it looks that way to some people.  People praise me for all that I'm doing for our foster daughter and tell me that we are amazing and so special to be able to do this. 

The truth is though, I'm not special.  In a conversation with another friend a couple weeks ago, she asked how I am doing this since foster parenting is... well... hard. Very hard.  It is complicated and messy.  My answer to my friend was that this is what I know God wants us to do; I'm completely convinced that this is where I am supposed to be.  She looked back at me and said, "Well, that's it then.  He gives you everything you need." 

She is right.  I've often said, I'm not special. God is.  He prepares us and sustains us in whatever situation He wants us in.  I don't deserve the credit.  I can't take any of the credit.  I've said it before that we don't look like the ideal foster parent candidates on paper since I have fibromyalgia, three biological sons, and we live in a three bedroom house.  I wasn't even 30 yet when we were going through the process of getting licensed.  At 31, I don't really feel any more qualified!  But somehow, He makes it work.  He is giving Brian and me the wisdom and the ability to somehow pull this off.  It's not us.  It's Him.

So despite all of this divine intervention, there is a second consequence.  There are some people who worry about our three boys as we go through this process.  It has been hard explaining, feeling like I have to justify my actions for my foster daughter because it comes at a cost of some time and energy for my boys.

Honestly, there are times I feel like a bad parent.

God's been working with me on that.  My life is complicated, messy even.  Not just because of foster care.  That is me.  I'm a sinner and not a saint.  He has redeemed me and His gift of grace covers all of my failures.  Wallowing in my failures trivializes His grace, His sacrifice.  So does pretending that everything is perfect.

We all live in some sort of a mess.  From me, foster care birth parents, pastors, missionaries, the homeless person sitting on the street corner, and you.  No difference really since the Bible says in Romans 3:23 that "All have sinned and fall short of the glory of God"  There really is no difference because a fail is a fail no matter how you do it.  We are all in the same boat here.  Our world is sinful hence the pain and struggles everywhere.  That is why we need Jesus.  His death paid the cost for our transgressions so that we might be made whole and reconciled to Him, if we ask and follow Him.  He's the hero. 

That is why I am sharing this today.  All my authenticity is for the purpose of showing how God is the hero.  He changed my life.  I'm doing my best, but we have days like today where we missed church because of sick kids, one threw up in my diaper bag, a different one has wanted to eat nothing but goldfish crackers (and I considered giving in to avert some screaming), I've been telling one to climb in bed for more than an hour, and I am really sore from a fibro flare up so I can barely type.

I don't have it all together, but God does.  This is how we parent.  This is how we do foster care.  Serving Him is like that; He uses broken and hurting people to make a difference for Him.  It is so incredibly humbling and profound.  What's more is that He wants all of us to serve Him with everything we do.  That's worship, a way of life.  God works best in this mess.  Our church had a series awhile ago called "No Perfect People Allowed"; I loved it because we don't need to have it all together to follow Him.

So no pedestals please.  God wants to do the same thing with you, if you'll let Him shine in your mess.  He always gives what you need.  He made me "enough" and I'll be forever grateful.

Please come check out more on this topic at my new site, Uncommon Grace!

Expecting the Unexpected

 

 

Life is sure to never be dull with three boys!  Ours are now eight, six, and two and a half respectively and keeping me on my toes.  My dad was one of three boys and I feel like I am beginning to better understand his childhood better.  When he told me stories about the things he did growing up, I thought they were all crazy.  Now, I'm seeing history repeat itself...

It is All For Him



The past two weeks have been tough.  I mean really tough. 

It started when our two year old came down coughing on a Tuesday.  Jack was doing okay, but by Friday, Ethan was coughing so hard that he was crying and didn't want to go to school.  He is the kind of kid who is so tough that when he sliced open his foot playing barefoot basketball at the neighbors (we did have a discussion later about how this is not a good idea) he had to be carried home and left a trail of blood behind and he never once cried.  He never complains so when something is this bad for him, we listen. 

An Answer to Prayer

Not too long ago, I wrote about all the struggles I have been having in parenting our second son, Luke in my post, Courageous Parenting.  Since then, I've been praying like mad for him.  We've had some good days and some not so good ones (which are, sad to say, usually very funny given his mischievous personality!)  But yesterday, everything changed; it was the best day!

Luke decided to ask for forgiveness from God and has chosen to follow Jesus with his life!

There's not much better than that in this world!  After weeks of saying he doesn't care about rules and that he wants to be bad and do things his way, he made the best choice of his life.  I'm not saying all is said and done with him now since my precious Luke still has a lot of growing to do (as we all do, though) but he is now on the right track.

Courageous Parenting

Things have been interesting lately.  Monday night, I think I might have broken my toe.  I slipped in a puddle (of water, thankfully!) Luke made in the bathroom while I was trying in vain to clean up the blue paint he dumped on the carpet. He "spilled" because he was mad at me for fussing at him for biting his brother, whom he was taking out his aggression on after I lectured him.  This said lecture was for my feisty four year old screaming, "I DON'T LOVE YOU!!!".  That outburst was in response to me asking him to clean his room. 

Why My Kids Eat Salad

My six year old Ethan loves salad and has been known to beg me to make it for dinner.  There is a spring green salad with feta and a vinaigrette dressing that is his favorite that we pick up when we go to BJ's and the few times that they didn't have it, he was seriously disappointed.  Sometimes Ethan and I will split a salad when we go out and my husband and I notice the servers' surprised and disbelieving looks when we order it.  I get the feeling that they think we are being really optimistic about what he will eat.  After watching Ethan polish of the last bites of lettuce, one server said that was amazing and asked how we get our boys to eat like this.  In fact, I get asked that fairly frequently quite understandably since having picky kids is really tricky...

My kids didn't always eat like this.  Mac 'n cheese, chicken nuggets, PB&J's, buttered noodles and string cheese were typical kid fare when I was making "real" food for Brian and myself.  This lasted for awhile until Matthew started demanding these foods all the time and started turning down stuff that he would have liked or that he had previously liked.  At mealtimes, he started trying to put in his "order". 

I know that most of us resurrect some phrases that our parents used with us when we were growing up and I have to publicly tell my mom thanks for "I am not a restaurant!".  I grew up as the oldest of four kids all two years apart; my mom definitely had her hands full and wisely taught us to eat what was offered.  Her phrase became my go-to saying since when our second son, Luke, came along, I decided that I did not want to make multiple meals nor did I want to eat kid food on a regular basis.  This was the part that became interesting since when I quite making separate meals and started giving him healthy home-cooked meals, he decided to do what any other self-respecting two year old would do: stage a hunger strike.

After a couple days of struggling with it and begging him to eat only to have him wait until the next meal when he could get something he wanted and hence making no real progress, I realized that I would have to be a little more creative (I am so incredibly thankful for my behavioral/ clinical psychology degree now!). The next dinner, Ethan didn't touch his plate so I covered it with plastic wrap and stuck it in the fridge.  It came for breakfast the next morning and I asked him if he wanted it hot or cold.  He still didn't touch the food (it was barbecued chicken and veggies so I didn't feel like I was trying to make him eat something weird).  Any time that day he started whining that he was hungry, I offered him that food again and, as hard as it was, didn't give it and give him any other snacks.  Ethan finally ate it the following morning (score for me, since it wasn't going to be good another meal and I wasn't sure what to do since he would think that he could just outlast the food!).  Since then, he tries everything and is one of the naturally healthiest eaters that I have ever seen.  Luke tried to do the same thing later, but quickly realized that it always tastes the best the first time it appears at mealtimes and loves some of my favorite things as I wrote about here a while ago. 

They sometimes still try to put in their orders for different meals and complaining about what is for dinner so I revert back to "I'm not a restaurant!"  They giggle at my answer and that is the end of the conversation.  I still can't believe myself when they ask me to make eggplant or fish for dinner.  Hurray for peaceful family mealtimes!  Thanks again, Mom!

On Contentment



Thursday was Ethan's first day of first grade.  It seems like yesterday that I was blogging about him starting school and now he is a confident little first grader.  I think this has made such a profound impact on me since we are still going through the newborn phase with Jackson and it is hard to believe that he is already six weeks old; it has gone way too fast.  At the same time, I find myself wishing that we could get to sleep through the night!

It is ironic how we tend to wish for the next big thing; I spent the last month of pregnancy just wishing that our baby would make his debut and the past few weeks wishing I could sleep.  Before I know it, he'll be off to school like Ethan.  It really makes it difficult to really enjoy the phase we are in since it is easier to focus on the struggles of today; it is the immediacy of the urgent needs that keeps us from seeing the bigger picture. 

This has been a huge lesson that God has been working with me on lately: contentment.  Though not always in regards to material things, I think it is something that we all struggle with.  It is easy to long for the goals we have and forget about today and live the grace that He has given us.  Long term goals are incredibly important but can replace God as an object of our worship if obtaining them takes over our focus.  How many missed opportunities will we have if we only see our five year plans?  Or what teachable moments will we miss with our kids if we are just trying to get everything done in order to make it to the weekend?

I know it is a tall order to be content in a sleep-deprived and busy state, but it is what He asks of us so we can see Him.  This is my goal for the school year.  Why don't you join me in it?

Sleep Deprivation

It is safe to say that since our newest family member's arrival, we have all been a little sleep deprived; me for all the usual and obvious reasons and Brian for the same. What I did not expect though, was how tired our other boys would be...

Yes, someone did not even make it up the stairs to his room in order to take his nap.  My favorite part of this though was how Luke's little feet were still braced to keep him from slipping down.  Oddly enough, we moved Luke into Ethan's room so they would, in theory, sleep more since neither of them would be sleeping in the same room as a newborn who cries every three hours on cue to be fed.  We discovered how much Luke likes to talk to his older brother, particularly at night.  I'm not sure now which room is quieter: the nursery or Luke's room, but I think Ethan would probably say the nursery.

I've done a bunch of stupid stuff while walking around as a zombie these past several weeks.  The most notable of which is when I almost made Jackson a bottle with the can of Slimfast powder instead of his formula.  Luckily, I realized I had grabbed the wrong can before I made it (something to do with the chocolate brown powder instead of the white) and avoided putting my newborn on a diet.  I did decide, though, that I probably need to not keep those two cans in the same place in the pantry.

The silver lining of all the sleep deprivation running rampant in our house though are all the adorable photo opportunities that keep appearing.  One of my favorites:

I Can't Believe I Said That

As I was trying to think of something deeper to write on, I was far too distracted by my incredibly aching body to come up with anything meaningful.  And while one might think this is just another episode of fibromyalgia, it actually isn't and my pain is all due to a stupid mommy decision:  I played "horsey" with the kids for far longer than I should have.  Ironically, as I was doing it, I was joking with Brian that playing with the kids like that gives me 42 and 36 pounds, respectively, worth of weight training as well as cardio.  Now, about two hours after playtime, my abs are so sore that I can barely make myself sit up. 

And this got me thinking about another one of my not-so-grand moments. 

Not too long ago, Luke was running amok at Target and I literally told him to act like a grown up.  Yup.  I still can't believe that I said that.

He looked at me so funny, I could see the thoughts running through that two year old mind going, "I thought so but now I know for sure: she really is crazy!"

And while I apologized for being way too demanding and he thought it was funny, I am really thankful that there is grace for my failings.  Even though I mess up as a parent periodically, God is still in control and I hope that my ability to acknowledge stuff to my kids will help them see the work that God is doing in me.  That and they can laugh at me for not being able to move from playing too much "horsey" like I know they will tomorrow!

Naptime

It is really ironic that when you are little and blessed with the opportunity for ample sleep, you don't want it and when you are grown, all you want is to be able to sleep.  This has been quite evident in our house the past two weeks as Ethan comes home exhausted from kindergarten and, like clockwork, protests within 1-4 seconds with, "BUT I'M NOT SLEEPY!!!" every time I mention that he is tired.

 

Yet, he keeps falling asleep in strange places.  He once went to get a blanket to cuddle up with on the couch and never made it back to the couch from the pile of folded blankets in the corner.  Brian has also re-read multiple chapters of Tolkien's "The Hobbit" since story time is a sure-fire way to end up with a sleeping child.

My friends and I used to joke that sleep was over-rated... until we had kids.  Those first few weeks of insane sleep deprivation made me understand why depriving someone of sleep is sometimes used as torture.  But, you would think I am torturing my kids by forcing the issue of naptime. 

I suppose submitting to one's need for sleep is a mark of maturity although my boys don't really believe me that one day, they too will want to take a nap.  And on those loud, crazy days especially when they scream when I even mention anything having to do with resting, I find myself constantly thanking God for naptime since it means that mommy gets quiet too.

Don't get me wrong; I love my kids and really enjoy spending time with them.  I just need to recharge.  I can't be a good mom unless I'm taking care of myself and too much chaos just drains me.  And when I'm drained, I don't have anything to give.  The first thing usually to go is my patience, unfortunately- something my boys really need from me.

So, I'll take naptime, however it comes.  We all do better when we are well rested.  And these quiet moments are far better than when you know they are awake and it suddenly gets very quiet.  Those kind of quiet moments I think I'll be on guard for!

Sometimes, You Just Need a Shop-Vac

Ethan's very first day of kindergarten is Friday and so we baked his favorite sugar cookies to take to school as a snack.  And that is where my perfect mommy façade breaks down.  Ethan was trying to be helpful since he loves to bake and he decided to carry both the flour and sugar tubs at the same time.  They are both really large and heavy and just as I told him he should really carry only one at a time, I heard:  CRASH!

It was one of those messes where you just stare at it for a while wondering where you start.  There was no way my dust buster was up to the challenge and sweeping with two young children underfoot is never a good idea.  I called my husband since he always has good ideas for my quandaries.  "Get the shop-vac from the garage," was Brian's answer.  If ever a clean up job warranted a shop-vac, this was it.  I ran to the garage to get it.

When I came back less than a minute later, I was taken aback, though not really surprised by how fast the mess had grown.  Notice the little foot prints.  Our gremlin in residence thought that it was amazing that he could make those as he screamed, "Snow! Snow! Snow!"  And, by the time I snapped the photo, and plugged in the vacuum, the mess had spread to about ten feet.

I've never really understood the old classic TV shows when the mother is shown vacuuming in high heels and pearls.  While it is a nice idealist thought, I don't think I have ever nor will ever come to a place in my life where that is actually a reality. My vacuuming experiences are more often than not covered in some foreign substance, on hands and knees, and looking decidedly disheveled.  I don't get to wear pearls since my kids would think they were candy and try to eat them.

I've decided though, that this is really okay since it is real.  I am blessed by an amazing family and have wonderful friends and even though I live in pain everyday with my fibromyalgia, oftentimes disheveled and covered in flour, I wouldn't trade any of it in because in my mess, I get to see God.  One of my favorite verses is one I learned in Junior High; Proverbs 30:5 says, "Every word of God is tested; He is a shield to those who take refuge in Him."  It reminds me that I'm not alone and I have a Heavenly Father who cares for me.  That is pretty special and something that gets ignored if I pretend that everything is idealistic when it isn't.

As we enter this new phase of life with kindergarten, it helps me to remember that sometimes, mess do take the shop-vac and that's okay.  God's hand prints are everywhere, especially in the messes, pointing me to Himself.  Kind of like Luke's hand prints...

Things I've Learned About God from Being a Parent

I can definitely say that I knew God before I had kids but the depth of my relationship with Him has changed in the past five years. I came to know Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior when I was only two years old and I clearly remember making the decision to follow Him and over time, my understanding has grown, but these years of parenthood has given me deeper understanding about faith and God's character. Some of the lessons I have learned:

• Control is just an illusion. I have to trust God in everything because as much as I try to protect and plan for my kids, it is ultimately in God's hands. Luke was only 5 weeks old in a hospital bed because he was so sick that his breathing kept stopping when I realized I must submit to this. I can't fix everything, but He is in control.  They are His kids too.

• God loves me more than I can possibly imagine. I used to treat this in a somewhat cavalier attitude until I understood the love a parent has for their kids. And He has so much more love as God than I do.

• It is humbling to know that while I would give my life for my kids, Jesus already did.  I would die for my kids in a heartbeat to protect them. Ethan was running in a parking lot in front of an oncoming car and without a thought, I ran to get between him and the car.  Fortunately everything was fine but now I see how Jesus saw dying for me.

• God wants the best for us just as I want the best for my boys. Even if it means dealing out painful consequences, I do it so they will learn and grow into the men God created them to be. The boys don't see the ultimate goal when they are dealing with the pain, but I do and I know God has the same purpose for the pain in my life. It refines us and makes us who He wants us to be in order to glorify Himself as He deserves.

• God is with me; really truly with me.  I've sat up with both of my sons, holding them through their night terrors. I don't think they even realize I am there but there is no other place I would rather be even though I lose sleep over it. In the same way, I know God is always there too, even if I don't immediately feel it.

• God's plans are always better.  When I lost some very special friends this past year, I had to explain death to my innocent Ethan who was wondering why I was so sad.  I missed my friends so much, but it also hurt to have to explain something so miserable to my son and see him wrestle with it.  It made me realize how much the Fall must have grieved God.

• I think I'm still just beginning to learn about God.  I've been reading C.S. Lewis's Chronicles of Narnia to Ethan and we just recently finished Prince Caspian. In it, Lucy remarks to Aslan (who is symbolic of Jesus) that he is bigger and he replies that as she grows, she will always find him bigger.  The more I've come to know and trust God, the more I've realized I just know a little bit and He is greater than I ever could have imagined when I first met Him.  I expect to find Him even bigger later...

Keeping Perspective

This weekend, I had an object lesson in keeping perspective on things. 

My five year old son had the last of his pre-kindergarten immunizations on Friday and woke up Saturday running a temperature.  Fortunately, it wasn't very high, only 100.2 degrees, but enough to make him feel uncomfortable.  That afternoon, when the children's ibuprofen had worn off and his fever was creeping back up, he went to lie down on the couch and started moaning in the most pathetic, albeit dramatic way.  Ethan is one of those children who never ever sits down unless a movie is involved so for him to voluntarily lie down and stare at the ceiling was saying something.  As we waited for the new dose of medicine to kick in, Ethan moaned in a somewhat panicked voice, "I think I'm gonna die!"

I assured him that though he felt really sick, he was not at death's doorstep.  And, a few minutes later, the medicine took affect and he was fine and finally fell asleep.

Funny how desperate the situation feels when we are struggling in it, but later, it doesn't seem quite as bad and the answer to how we should have handled it is quite clear.  In light of this, I'm trying to remember that taking care of sick kids is an exhausting phase of life that will pass and that I just need to have some patience and avoid the drama.  Now I need to go administer the next dose so we don't have any more "object lessons"!

With a Grain of Salt

Ethan is not a liar and has absolutely no power of deception.  He once told me that he finished his food to get dessert and came back penitent and sobbing telling me that he "lied" since he realized he had left a dime size crumb from the crust of his sandwich on his plate that he thought he ate.

Luke is another story.  I was in the kitchen cleaning up when he decided that he wanted to move straight on to dessert without finishing his sandwich.  While this is a common two year old sentiment, his subterfuge was not.  He transferred his food to another plate in the dining room and then presented me with his empty one for dessert.  Truth is not his strong point.

With this incident in mind, I've been trying to emphasize honesty to Luke lately.  The problem with this though is explaining why we need to be honest to a two year old is pretty tricky since being moral for it's own sake isn't inherently motivating whereas dessert is.

I realized I have made no progress this week when I told him that if he finished his water he could have a tiny bit of soda.  He told me he drank it all but as he was bringing the cup to me, he looked down into it and disappeared back into the kitchen and I heard the splash of water in the sink.  Mr. Brazen reappeared holding out his cup proclaiming, "Empty!"

During our resulting discussion, I took a different approach.  I tried to explain that God tells us that lying is bad and that Jesus never lied and always told the truth.  Luke's eyes widened.  We talked about how we want to be like Jesus and how that means we should never lie since that is what Jesus did.  Luke was, for one of the first times, actually remorseful.

While we did have another lying incident after this one, he connected with the idea of why we should be truthful and so I am hoping that we are on the road to growth in the truth-telling department.  One of my major parenting goals is to teach our kids how to control themselves and I think that means understanding why they are supposed to do the things we've asked them to do.  Long after "The Rules" have lost their power over them, they will still need to behave in responsible, moral and God-honoring ways.  I realized that if I fail to explain that God's character is the root of morality and it is our love for Him that should motivate us to do what is right, all I have given them is a set of rules and set them up for the pressures of legalism. 

I always feel like I am re-learning lessons as I need to teach them to my kids.  Be truthful because God is truth.  Love others since God is love.  Give freely since God has given abundantly.  Live in and extend grace since God is graceful and offered us grace through the death of His Son Christ Jesus.  I'm constantly reminded of these since it seems like these phrases, in preschooler speak, of course, come out of my mouth.  Truthfully, though, these lessons are some that I believe we can never learn deeply enough and can use the constant repetition.  They are easy to forget, even for me, and time is the crucible in which we refine our character.

And, until Luke's character refines a little more, I recommend taking what he says with a grain of salt.

Riddles in the Dark- Our Personal Edition

We've had a situation for about the past week that has required much prayer and supplication:  my boys want to share a room.  Let me explain.  The prayer and supplication part is not in regards to whether or not I should allow this but rather, "God, please let us all survive this experiment!"

Ethan has a set of bunk beds in his room that Luke has always found particularly appealing. However, upon his request to sleep in his big brother's room, Luke has professed great preference for sleeping on a blanket on the floor. No matter of enticing will get him to sleep in the bottom bunk even though the week before, we were unable to get him out of it.  Notice that Elmo and other stuffed friends have the twin bed all to themselves while Stephen has the floor.

Also, Luke appears to have a hard time staying on his blanket and pillow.  One evening on my way to bed, I realized that he had managed to roll all the way out of the bedroom and part of the way down the hallway.  Thankfully, he missed the stairs.

Ethan is going to school for the first time in just a few weeks and so we've been attempting to get him on a good sleep schedule since he'll need to wake up a little more than an hour before he does currently.  With Luke in the room, conversation and playtime are much more likely to happen than sleep.  And then, when sleep does happen, it is because they are utterly exhausted and we have discovered that Luke snores.  Or more accurately, Ethan discovered this.

Ethan came to our room one night in absolute hysterics claiming Luke was making sounds and it was scaring him since it sounded "like that guy from the book- the one whose birthday present was the ring".  After forcing my sleepy self to concentrate, I realized that he was referring to Golem in The Hobbit. 

Just that evening, Brian had read Ethan the chapter entitled Riddles in the Dark and done all the voices and enjoyed making it especially dramatic (i.e. scary) when Golem threatened to eat Bilbo.  And now Ethan was convinced that Golem was hiding out in his room in the form of Luke's snoring. 

The remedy to the bedroom turned Golem's cave problem was to end the snoring.  Poor baby was so tired that we couldn't wake him up so our only option was to transport the little snorer back to his toddler bed.  We are now toning down the dramatic readings.

As much as I would dearly love an extra room for an office, craft room, exercise room or whatever other endless possibilities my mind has been considering, I am now feeling like a more ordered and calm, snore-less bedtime is going to be worth more to my mental health than some space all my own.  I have not yet informed my boys though that the bedtime social hour will be drawing to an end.  We'll probably have some more crying tonight.

The Missing Link... I Mean, Cord

Saturday night, I thought I would get ahead of some of my writing for this week since I had a few great ideas and wanted to start working on them.  I grabbed my computer and went to plug in, sit down, and start work.  I never made it past the first step.  My cord was supposed to be in the bonus room where I had left it.  This was only half true.  Half of the cord was there unplugged from the brick portion which was missing.  It was perfectly obvious who the culprits were since what was left of my cord was tied up with the vacuum cleaner cord.  Boba Fett (action figure, of course, not the real one) was then tied to the vacuum cleaner cord in what looked to be a zip line attempt.  My boys are quite the adventure seekers, apparently, and loved listening to their uncle's stories about running a zip line. 

With no battery and half a power cord, I gave up the writing endeavor for that night.  But, I did feel quite satisfied that I now have photographic evidence of who is taking and hiding my things.  And, I am just going to be watching the boys very closely for any zip line attempts with their person, though.

Let's Just Call It a Graphic Print

I walked into our bonus room recently and suddenly realized some redecoration had taken place without my knowledge.   A little person who I know well and love had decided that the room did not have near enough blue, his favorite color, for his liking.  Luke took matters into his own hands and as is evident in the photos, he was quite proud of his handiwork.

Shortly later, I discovered the blue crayon rampage had not been contained only to the bonus room.  A section of wall in his room hidden by his tool bench had also received his artistic treatment.

So I did what any normal parent would do and took out the camera and made my child pose by his artwork.  I do fully accept responsibility should this incident happen again and I find him standing next to the scribbles and saying cheese.

However, when I went to make him scrub the walls and the chair, I realized the creative episode was much more extensive than I first thought.  Not only was blue crayon on the walls but the window sill, the toy tool bench, the decorative pillows, the toy box and the bed sheets.  This left me wondering the age old question all mothers sometimes ask themselves:  "Where in the world was I?"

In my defense, this happened during "nap time" and it explains why my child seemed extraordinarily tired after it was over.  Consequently, art supplies are no longer kept in Stephen's room. 

As I sat with him during Operation De-Scribble, I thought I would try to pound the point home to him that is not acceptable behavior.  Hoping to give him a chance to redeem himself, I asked, "Do we color on walls?"

"YESSSSSSSS!!!!!!!"

Apparently, scrubbing with a magic eraser is fun too.

S'more Experiements

In college, I majored in psychology and learned all sorts of interesting facts and most notably, I learned how to train a pigeon to turn in a circle when he saw a green triangle.  True that Einstein, as we called him, was quite an intelligent, bird but in the space of one lab session, my lab partner and I were quite behaviorists and were able to exact the desirable (albeit strange for pigeon) behavior from him. 

With this accomplishment under my belt, I believed that I could train my children to do whatever I wanted and the famous behaviorist, Skinner, would have been proud of me.  So, all behavioral skeptics will doubtless be unsurprised to hear that I now exclaim on a regular basis, "I could get a pigeon to turn in a circle but why can't I get you to do this?!"  Apparently, my children don't understand the psychological principles of behavior modification.  That, or they take a lot more incentive than my Einstein did.

Tonight, once again, Ethan and Luke decided that they did not want to eat dinner.  It did not matter to them that they had been begging for food merely a half hour prior to food being prepared.  Logic did not prevail, nor did threats of bedtime or begging or pleading from me.  So, I thought I would try to reward them in a very sly manner to provide them with the incentive to eat dinner. 

I made some s'mores for Brian and me. 

As planned, they immediately noticed and asked if they could have some too.  Of course they could, they just needed to eat their dinner first.  Even though they love s'mores, I have never seen more apathetic eating of dinner.  Ethan finally did more than an hour after I handed him his plate and Luke never came around.  He said that was fine and all he wanted anyway was the graham cracker. 

Never mind the fact that they have been begging me to make these s'mores for several weeks.  I think I have the two exceptions the rules of human behavior living with me in my house. 

But then, they are my children and very much like me and so there is a very good possibility that they are doing behavioral experiments on me just as I am with them and the s'mores...  So, who is the pigeon now?

Out-Numbered

The realization that I am the only female living in this house hit me today (other than the hamster, of course); I am most definitely outnumbered at three to one.  While the ratio has thus stood for the past two years, eight months, nineteen days, and seven and a half hours as I write, it has taken a while to sink in.  Sink in it did today.

I think my boys are human tornadoes; toys and clothes and dishes and sporting equipment can be found all over my house particularly after what has turned out to be another long week since Brian has had more project deadlines and long hours.  In my attempt to regain something of a semblance of order, I declared today Project Deep Clean.  Sadly, it did not go so well. 

In church these past few weeks, we have had a wonderful guest speaker, Tim Downs, who has been discussing relationships and specifically how males and females were created differently with the point of learning to live in marriage as Paul exhorts us to in Ephesians 5 and 1 Peter 3:7.  One of the points Tim Downs made was that women's awareness is like a full satellite dish that never shuts off in comparison to men's being like a cordless phone antenna that has a limited range.  Today I discovered that this is true even for 5 and 2 year-olds.  Their very strong ability to focus on one thing at a time, or antennae, unfortunately kept picking up the signal of the video games in the bonus room.  Hence little cleaning was accomplished by them leaving me to notice acutely how many boy-oriented toys we seem to be in possession of.  As my mom put it so succinctly, there is very little pink in my house- just some of my clothes and the sweet n' low packets.

An incident today also demanded that I scrub the boys' bathroom and this, I believe, is the main reason I am feeling out-numbered.  Scrubbing the toilet of potty training boys is an interesting task and yet another blaring reminder that boys are different from girls.  And while I adore all of the wonderful males I live with, I decided to light a candle and revel in the smells of girly-ness replacing some other smells. 

I think the issue of being outnumbered for me has been so pressing lately because it is an issue of contentment and trusting God that He indeed knows and gives me what I need since my desire for a daughter has of yet been unfulfilled.  Truthfully, I've realized that this, like any other "want" or disappointment has the propensity to become either a barrier or something that draws me closer to God.  We can only react for or against something, although there are differing degrees of reactions, and it is my challenge is to continually choose to give it to God and trust Him that He, in His infinite wisdom, knows best.  And I think I'm going to ask Him to share some of that wisdom with me in regards to how to keep the boys from climbing the furniture.  Maybe it is time another hazelnut mocha frappe!

What's So Funny?

On Monday, I felt like the most horrible of horrible mothers.  Let me explain...

Ethan had his kindergarten physical and much to our chagrin, we discovered that he was due for several shots.  Being the safety and security cherishing person that I am, I'm big on vaccinations.  While I hate putting my kids through them, I think it was much less painful than actually coming down with any of these oh so attractive sounding diseases like pertussis, diphtheria or tetanus.  And Ethan knows it.  Last week when I started to prepare him for the doctor's appointment, his first question was, "Will I get shots?"  When I didn't immediately answer negatory, he looked concerned.

His terror reached a breaking point when three nurses came in the examination room, one to hold him in her lap while two others simultaneously delivered the injections.  Ethan knew his worst fear had been realized and I felt awful for him and I promised him that we would go out for ice cream afterwards since he was doing such a great job.  But, the moment the nurses wiped his arms with the antiseptic wipe, he screamed bloody murder and I lost it.  I started laughing.  Not really the good mother response.

I was immediately swept back to the time when my dear little sister, Stefanie, was the unfortunate injection victim at one of our check ups.  I'm the oldest of four children and we were all really close growing up and so many of my childhood memories involve all of us.  This time was no different.  We were all getting shots for some reason and when it was Stefanie's turn, although being older than Ethan currently is, she still had an acutely hard time with needles.  So much so that she screamed like a banshee the moment they tried to clean her arm with the wipe as if the antiseptic had been the actual needle.  The poor girl was then subjected to teasing for months (probably years is more accurate, really since I am currently writing about it more than 15 years after the incident) about how scary those wipes at the doctor's office are. 

The idea that my son shares this connection with his aunt was just too much for me and I entered into bad-mother-lacking-empathy territory.  So much for appearing to support him in his fear.  While I really did care and held his hand through the whole thing, I'm sure my not being in the moment with him undermined my concern.  I know all moms have major fails but it never feels good while you are in one even if it is a little funny (or maybe a lot funny, as I giggle right now just remembering the scene with my siblings).  I'm entirely thankful for grace and the silver lining of being able to share with Ethan how he is like his dear auntie in this way.  And, I'm going to take him out for ice cream twice, I think.

I must note as a disclaimer, my sister does not remember this alleged incident quite as I do.