Feet

I have a confession...I.love.feet.

Not all feet.  Very specific feet.  I LOVE my kids' feet.  I love to tickle them, nibble them, smell them and pretend to gag.  I love, love, love them. 

Though my kids' feet are my favorite, my obsession with feet began years ago, with their father.  Aaron has beautiful feet.  "Jesus feet," I used to call them...with "lollipop toes."  Allow me to explain:  I was raised Catholic and have seen my fair share of crucifixes.  Statues of the crucified Christ always had beautiful feet. 

Similarly, Aaron has lovely feet.  They are soft and slender but masculine at the same time.  His toes are long (but not too long) and slightly rounded on the ends, hence the term "lollipop toes." 

My feet?  Not so pretty.  I have always secretly hoped our children would inherit their dad's feet.  Only time will tell.

I love watching the progression of the kids' growth simply by looking down.

First, there is the impossibly soft newborn foot.  Oh, how I love newborn feet!  Minuscule toenails, bright pink flesh.  They somehow seem skinnier than they ought to be if one were to judge by the fluffy infant socks that slip off so easily.  I love the way they curve inward, still mimicking their cramped position in the womb.  Stroking the bottom of a newborn foot is like stroking pure silk.

Then there are baby feet.  Suddenly that narrow foot has expanded and ballooned out on all sides. Even the top is puffy with baby fat.  Chubby toes line up, like sausages in a row, just begging to be eaten, or at least nibbled.  The best part is the tiny bubble on the bottom of the big toe that disappears not long after the first steps begin.

All too soon those baby feet become toddler feet.  If it's summer, those feet are likely to be brown on the bottom from running barefoot outside.  They get dirty under the still-tiny toenails.  They are still fat and squishy, but now their kick packs a punch when tickled.

Then suddenly those toddler feet are wrapped in socks and shoes, bundled up for preschool and playgrounds.  They escape for afternoon naps and bedtime and still require much tickling and kissing (at least in our house, because, well, I love feet).

And now, my oldest son has graduated to the smelly phase.  He wears socks and shoes at home and school.  He runs and plays and sweats all day.  On particularly busy days, you might catch him taking a nap.  He's usually so exhausted he falls asleep across his bed, still wearing his sneakers.  By the end of the day, when we peel off those shoes, I don't have to pretend to gag.  I still grab his ankle, and growl loudly (like a hungry giant), "Let me smell those feet!" and bury my face in his toes.  Whew!  He laughs and laughs.  "Do it again mommy!" 

Is every family this weird?  (Don't answer that.)

Thank you, Hands Free Mama

A few months ago, I was turned onto another blog by a good friend.  It's called Hands Free Mama, and it's all about one mom's journey to let go (of all the unimportant things) "to grasp what really matters." I liked the blog and thought I was doing a pretty good job of what she was describing...until yesterday.

She had a post about having a "worthwhile" summer with your kids.  She was challenging me to do summery things with the kids.  I began to ask myself, what opportunities am I missing this summer (as I tackle cleaning the basement or organize a closet).  How would the kids remember this summer?  How would I remember it?

Then, of course, my mind took off.  Forget summer, what other opportunities have I been missing with them?  How many times have the kids asked me to play something with them only to get the same response, "Sure, honey, I'd love to...Right after I finish ________"?  I realized that they had stopped asking as frequently. 

What I first saw a sign of maturity (independent play), I now began to question:  Did they stop asking because they never got a real "yes"?  Tears stung my eyes as I read her post.  I ran up the steps and released them from quiet time early.

"Want to play?" I asked nervously.  What if they said no?  Luckily, children are very forgiving. 

Their little eyes widened.  "Yes!" they shouted.  And, oh, have we played since then.

We have had water Olympics in the wading pool, planted herbs, caught a caterpillar and built it a makeshift home on the porch (filled to the brim with all the leaves it could eat in a lifetime), had several water gun fights, you name it!

There is laundry wrinkling in my dryer.  There are stacks of papers in my room.  There is avocado stuck to Jack's highchair, but my heart is peaceful today.  Today I am confident I managed my time and responsibilities well.   

There was no argument as I sent the kids up to quiet time this afternoon.  I think it's because they are tired (in a very good way) and realizing I am not sending them up there because I want a break from them so I can get to the important stuff.  They are the important stuff.  I think that's the big takeaway.  All the other details of my life won't matter a bit in a hundred years.  What will matter is a legacy of love. 

Did my children recognize they (along with Aaron and God) matter most in my life?  Will they look back at their childhood and remember me constantly on the phone or computer or cleaning something, or will they see me bending down to peer in their eyes and listen to the very important things they have to say?  How often do they see me with an impatient frown on my face as I wait for them to finish what they are saying or doing?  How tragic! 

But today is a new day.  When quiet time is over, we are building a fort in the living room.  We'll eat popcorn and watch a cartoon during the rain storm.  Then, per Parker's suggestion, we'll decorate the kitchen to "celebrate all the races dad's won" (though, he's never actually won a race, to my knowledge).

I am determined to celebrate the rest of the summer with these crazy kids.  Thank you, Hands Free Mama, for the much-needed reminder of what summer (and motherhood) is all about!

http://www.handsfreemama.com/

Berry picking

I seem to remember in some anthropology class long, long ago (in a galaxy far far away from my children) the professor talking about differences between men and women and the ways in which those differences assisted early man.  For example, women's eyes are more attuned to fine details, making us excellent berry-pickers.  Let the men go out and hunt, and leave the details to us.  This little differnce can be infuriating at times.  I notice the dust in the house and the small trashs can that need emptying eons before Aaron.  My mom always says, "Men see outside the nest, and women see inside."  She is so right!  He wants to care for the yard, cars, general upkeep of the house.  Meanwhile, I am gazing at the unswept floors and dirty bathrooms. 

Only recently did I realize just how narrow my focus had become...

Last week the kids and I went to the zoo with several extended family members.  (I have learned my limits, and taking my 3 to the zoo alone is too daunting a task at this stage of the game!)

We were sitting on the benches in the splash park area, watching the kids happily run (or crawl, as the case may be) in circles.  I had my eyes on Jack, Mom watched Parker, and Grandpa watched Maddie.  All bases were covered. 

"I love the ice on the buildings," mom mused.

I squinted.  What?  It was 90+ degrees.  What was she talking about?  Then I followed her gaze and noticed fake ice hangning from the roofs of the nearby building facades. 

"I never noticed that," I mumbled to myself.  I blinked hard and looked around.  The kids were playing near some sort of pretend ship.  That much I knew.  I had never (in any of our many, many visits) noticed the details of this area.  It was an arctic ship.  Jack was splashing near some creature.  If someone had asked me prior to this visit, I would have said it was perhaps a seal.  No, it was a giant, white polar bear!  I was literally shocked at the number of adorable (and obvious) details that had previously escaped my attention. 

At first I thought, What is wrong with me??   Why had I not noticed and enjoyed this wonderful place before?  Why had I had such tunnel vision?  I assured myself that it was because I had to look after my children closely.  It was too dangerous to let my eyes wander and take it all in. 

In some ways, that was true.  It was important to keep a close watch on the kids.  But in other ways, it was a cop out.  I'm wasn't seeing the forest for the trees.  I began to wonder about other things I might be missing...

When we got home that day, I prayed that God would change my perspective and open my eyes to the bigger picture.  I prayed my tunnel vision would diminish and that I could soak in all the beauty and wonders I had been missing.  

Then I walked down into our basement.  *Sigh.*  Utter chaos.  Toys strewn everywhere.  Why can't these kids get out one toy at time?  I wondered grumpily.  I began to sweep aside a pile of Lincoln Logs with my foot, when I stopped. 

What was that?  I looked closer.  A super-hero mansion had almost been destroyed by my carelessness.  Each character had his/her own room.  Clearly, Parker (and possibly Maddie) had taken a great deal of time and effort to make this mini-masterpiece.  I was so glad I saw it!  For once, my tunnel vision paid off.

I immediately altered my prayer: Lord, please improve my vision.  Help me to expand my focus when it is too narrow and to zero in on the imortant stuff [like a super-hero Lincoln Log castle].  Amen.

Sparkling floors

I'm not talking about the clean kind.  I'm talking about glitter.  Today, I balanced Jack on my hip and attempted to sweep the living room floor.  It's fairly ineffective to try to maneuver a broom around chunky baby thighs, let me tell you.  I was getting hot and tired and grumpy pretty quickly.  As I swept (or at least, pushed the broom around), I noticed a pile of something on the floor near the fireplace.  At first glance, I couldn't figure out what it was.  Then I realized it was glitter...and I smiled.

This is a very unusual reaction for me.  Especially when it comes to glitter.  Typically, I feel that glitter should only be used in the presence of preschool professionals and should be banned from my home entirely.  However, today, as the breeze from the fan blew bits of glitter from the mantel to the floor, I felt incredibly happy. 

Up on the mantle, in a special place of honor, was a "picture" Maddie had made for me (then changed her mind and gave it to daddy).  Her picture consisted of bright yellow construction paper and a pile of silver glitter.  She hasn't quite grasped the concept that glitter requires glue to stay in place.

I wasn't smiling at the sparkling mess on my floor or even at the picture.  I was smiling at what they represented:

A darling three year old girl who loves to create crafty masterpieces for her parents.

An independent child who frequently insists she knows exactly what she's doing and doesn't require any help, thank you.

A sense of freedom the kids feel to gather their own craft supplies and create something special, just because.

A richly blessed life.  We have the resources to have an abundance of readily available activities for the kids.

Love.  A love that goes both ways.  From a little girl who made a gift unprompted to the parents who received it with joy, praising her efforts and kindness.

So, today as I awkwardly wielded my broom, I didn't really mind that my "sweeping" was ineffective.  Perhaps a bit of glitter left on the floor is not such a bad thing...

She's only little

My kids love a book about a very young bear named Bartholomew.  In these toddler tales, Bartholomew's caregiver, a large bear named George, inevitably repeats himself until he loses his cool and gives a directive in a "big voice."  (Hmmm...sounds a lot like our house.) 

In one such story, George gives Bartholomew a black kitten.  After reminding Bartholomew to "be gentle" over and over, George uses his big voice.  Then George says, "She's only little, Ba."

Of course, George was talking about the poor kitten, but when I think of that phrase, I immediately think of my own precious girl.

She's only little, Ba.  Only, I hear George gently scolding me.  She's only little, Jessie.

It's just that Maddie is not little.  Yes, she's 3 1/2, but she's huge.  She's very tall for her age.  People mistake her for Parker's twin all the time.  Parker, who is a full year and a half older.   And she's not just tall.  She's tall with sass.  This girl has attitude oozing out her pores.  She'll size you up in one glance and dismiss you in an instant if you have the wrong accessory (read: she doesn't like girls who wear bows in their hair).  She'll shriek if her brother attempts to interrupt or talk over her.  She'll stomp up the stairs if she doesn't like your answer.  We have battles over shoes (yes, you must wear them to the store), hair brushing, drinks (no, you may not have any more chocolate milk today), toys (I'm sorry, I didn't realize I wasn't allowed to pick up that princess), you name it.  Daily. 

The other day I was sitting on the steps in the hallway, helping Parker tie his shoes, when I glanced into the bathroom.  The door was open, and Maddie was at the sink.  She was washing her hands.  And I saw it.  She was on her tiptoes.  I was taken aback for a moment.  You see, had I not been sitting, I would not have been at the angle to see her feet.  I never would have noticed that she still needs to stand on tiptoes to wash her hands.  She's much to independent to use a stool.  (Stools are for babies, momma.) 

"She's only little, Ba."  Tears stung my eyes.  She is only little.  How easily I forget.  She is only 3.  She still talks with a lisp and has no sense of modesty (read: she gets naked. a lot.).  She still requests stories and "seh-shull" time ("special" one-on-one playtime with mommy) daily.  She still wants to be sung to sleep at night and carries her favorite, tattered "strawberry" blanket everywhere she goes.  She's only little.

This has been my mantra since the tiptoe discovery.  She's only little. She's only little. She's only little.  Because it's true.  Because there will be spills every single day for a time.  Because there will be battles over barrettes.  Because there will be boo-boo's with every outing, especially when concrete is involved.  And that's okay. 

"Be gentle, Ba.  She's only little."  And she won't be for long.

Dang, my sister is hot!

Aaron likes to listen to country music.  I've never been a big fan of it myself, but some of the tunes are quite catchy.  The kids love it when daddy drives [the van] because it means they will get to listen to "daddy's music" and get a break from the typical kids' tunes and worship music. 

There is a currently a popular country song in which the artist sings, "You're looking so d@*& hot!"  Aaron and I have an agreement that the kids can listen to the music as long as he turns the sound down completely during any curse words.  We thought it was working.  Wrong.

The other day I was driving the van and surfing the radio stations when the kids recognized Aaron's station.  "PLEASE can we listen to daddy's music?"  Fine.  When the popular song came on, Parker was belting it out from the 3rd row.  I was giggling (because it's just plain funny to hear him sing in his twangy little country voice).  I anticipated the curse word, and dutifully cut the sound, only to hear Parker sing at the top of his lungs: "You're looking so d@^& hot!"

[Cue the screeching tires.]  My head whipped around.  "What?!" I shrieked.  Parker looked at me innocently.  "What?"

I focused back on the road and took a deep breath.  Surely my ears were mistaken.  Maybe he sang dang.  Smiling with clenched teeth I asked, "What did you just sing, sweetie?"

"You're looking so [expletive deleted] hot." [matter-of-factly]

"Honey, we don't use that word.  That's a bad word, and we don't say it." 
Please, for once in your five year old life, don't utilize your elephant-like super-memory and contradict me with embarrassing examples of how we have, in fact, used that very word - like when the tool shelf fell on daddy and his car in the garage.

Parker:  Oh, okay.  Maybe I'll just say you're looking so good hot.  Would that be okay? 

Me: [relieved] Sure, whatever.  Let's just listen to a CD, k?

I didn't think much more about incident until a few days later.  Parker and Maddie were on the back porch, getting ready for some fun in the sun (in our luxurious, plastic kiddie pool).  Parker was obviously feeling benevolent and was being uncharacteristically generous and complimentary toward his sister.  Sure, Maddie, you can have the water gun.  Wanna hold the hose?  Wow, Maddie!  You're looking hot!

Whoa!  Say what?!  I mean, I know we live in Kentucky and all, but I felt the need to draw the line here. 

I explained to Parker that while I understood he was trying to be nice and let his sister know her bathing suit was pretty, there was a better way to express his approval.  At first he looked at me as if I were from another planet.  Then he shook his head as if he understood completely and gave me a sympathetic smile.  "Oh don't worry, mom, you're looking hot, too."

Parenting fail.

Grandparents

If someone would have said that something beautiful would come from my parents' divorce when it was happening [when I was in my 20's], I probably would have punched him/her in the face.  It was awful and painful, and I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

That said, something beautiful did come from that painful event.  (Just another one of God's promises coming true: "And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose. Rom 8:28)

What was the blessing?  Grandparents.  Lots of them. 

Aaron's parents were divorced when he was very young.  Thanks to remarriages, our children are reaping tremendous benefits.  They have 2 grandmothers and 4 grandfathers.  That's 6 grandparents.  Six!

It is uh-mazing.  One of the biggest joys in my life has been watching my children interact with these wonderful adults who love them simply because of who they are.  It's a perfectly symbiotic relationship.  They adore each other.

That is why I am writing this post.  Not to brag, but because my heart is heavy and troubled, and I feel compelled to put in my two cents.  I know so many folks who have such issues surrounding these relationships.  If you are friend and have confided in me about your own problems in this arena, don't freak out.  I am not throwing you under the bus.  There are just so many of you.  (So don't assume this post is about you!)

I know grandparents who walk on eggshells because their children severely limit their interaction with their cherished grandchildren (for seemingly unknown reasons).  I know so many parents, frustrated or concerned about their own parents' behaviors, they have all but written the grandparents off.

May I humbly suggest we find some middle ground?  I beg you to read this and consider changing your mind or your approach.  I just know how incredibly important my children's grandparents are in their lives, and I strongly desire that blessing in your lives and your children's lives as well...

For the parents who are limiting the grandparent interaction, please consider:

Why are you hindering this relationship?  Certainly there are good reasons to keep your children from certain people (abuse, drugs, etc.).  However, short of those serious reasons, please examine your heart and motives.

Do your parents have different religious or world views [you are afraid your children might adopt]?  Guess what?  They are going to encounter those in school pretty soon or, if you home school, in college one day.  Want them to adopt your views?  Then discuss alternate views in a respectful way.  If it really bothers you, discuss your concerns with the grandparents in private and ask them to refrain to talking to your child about such matters. 

Do your parents have bad habits (smoking, cursing, etc.)?  Talk to your parents about it!  Don't just not ever visit or allow them to visit.  Invite them over and let them know the rules of your house (not in the kids' presence).  Get over your embarrassment or the awkwardness of it, and don't sacrifice a lifelong relationship based on the small stuff.

Do your parents annoy you to pieces?  Get. Over. It.  Guess what?  Your kids are watching.  They can tell whether or not you respect your parents based on what you say to (or about) them.  Want them to respect you one day?  Then set a good example.

Do your parents hurt your feelings and you are worried they might hurt your child's feelings?  This is a tough one.  There is such a thing as emotional abuse, and of course you don't want to subject your child to this.  However, if you are getting your toes stepped on by someone who is seemingly clueless (versus malicious), for goodness sake, talk to them!  If they say something hurtful to your child, confront them in an appropriate manner and reevalutate the relationship. 

For the grandparents who are feeling slighted:

So you only see your grandchild(ren) once in a blue moon...
You have a few options.  You could:

A) Write your child a letter outlining your feelings and desires (to see your grandchild more often).  This is a good option if you tend to get emotional and say things in the heat of the moment you might later regret.

B) Talk to your child.  Let them know your grandchild means the world to you.  Let them know you desire to play a bigger role in his/her life.  Ask them what it is that you could do/change that would make the relationship easier.  I can only imagine how difficult and humbling it might be, but ask them if they have any concerns about your grandchild being around you. 

C)  Use the back door (in a respectful way).  Send your grandchild letters or care packages.  It is one coldhearted parent who doesn't appreciate it when someone is kind to her baby.  Melt mom and dad's heart by showing how invested you really are.  (Helpful hint:  Don't send lots of candy, and don't send money; it's the thought that counts!)


D)  Offer to help.  Could you pick a child up from school once a week?  Could you have the family over for dinner once a month?  Families with young children are busy and could use a helping hand.

___________________________________________

Children and grandparents are like peanut butter and jelly.  They are just meant to be together.  Think about it.  There are so few people in this world who will love a child simply because the child exisits.  The child doesn't have to do a thing to earn this love.  Why would you ever risk throwing that away?  Maybe you think your child isn't cherished by his/her grandparents, so you limit contact, but the grandparents shy away from your family because you are throwing up barriers.  It is a ridiculous, which-came-first-the-chicken-or-the-egg routine.  Just stop it!

Step outside your comfort zone.  Both parents and grandparents need to humble themselves for the sake of the grandparent-grandchild relationship.  There is a very small window in which a parent can tell a child that someone is good and lovable and the child will believe them, no questions asked.  Don't let that window close!  Nurture that relationship before it's too late.  Believe me, it is soooo worth it!

Grandchildren are the crowning glory of the aged;
parents are the pride of their children.      -Proverbs 17:6 NLT

Note:  I know there are a plethora of issues I am missing here on both sides.  I'm just asking you to read the post, and if it applies to your situation or speaks to your heart, and it's in your power to do something about it, well then, get to gettin'.