Treasure

"Guess what we found?  Guess what we found?" Parker and Maddie shouted as they burst through the bathroom door.  Who needs privacy?

"What?" I asked with mock excitement.  No need to burst their bubble.

Parker held in his palm four long, shiny, golden bolts.  The bolts to Parker and Jack's new [new to us] bunk bed.  The same bolts that had been missing since the day we brought the thing home.  Two weeks ago.

"Yay!!!!" I shrieked and danced around with them.  "Where were they?"

"In my puzzle box, in my room," Maddie beamed.

"How did they get there?"

"I saw them on the counter, and I reached up and took them.  Then I put them in my room.  'Cause they were gold and shiny!"

I see.

And I really do see.  My kids are obsessed with treasure.  We love to play pirates and search for buried treasure.  We read books about knights slaying dragons and taking their hoards of gold.  I admit I shamelessly encourage this obsession.  In fact, we are transforming the bunk beds to look like a castle and painting a picture of a treasure map on Parker's old table.  I even bought an old steamer trunk on Craigslist (at $20 - what a steal!) to serve as his toy storage/treasure chest.

So can I be mad at Maddie for stealing my treasure?  After I've searched for it in every nook and cranny for over two whole weeks?  After I berated myself for always losing things?  After I'd finally located the manufacturer in Canada to inquire about extra bolts?

Well, no.  I can't.  Because she was just doing what any good pirate would do - stowing away her booty.  That's my girl!

Maddie-girl turns 4!

Dear sweet Maddie-girl,

Today was your 4th birthday.  I almost didn't write this post because I didn't want to admit to myself you were really 4.  Four just sounds so old! 
 
Sometimes I read back over old blog posts and shake my head in wonder at the girl you have become.  From the chubby little baby I brought home from the hospital,

to the crazy-haired toddler stumbling around in your pink, zippered blanket,

to the babbling child,

and now, here you are... 

You are tall, spunky, sweet as pie one minute and raging mad the next.  You are a perfectionist, lining up all your plastic dolls and animals just so.  You are an artist, constantly creating new masterpieces to decorate our bedrooms.  You are enamored with the Power Rangers.  You are in love with ponies and horses.  You are apparently a perfect angel at school.

God made you with sugar and lots of spice, my dear.  I used to be concerned that being the middle child, your voice might not be heard at times.  Silly me!  You have very strong opinions and have no trouble making them known. 

This year I have had the privilege of watching you blossom in so many ways. You have learned to share.  You have allowed Jack into your room (this is a biggie).  You have shown tremendous empathy for others and exhibit a servant's heart at times.  It warms my heart to watch you grow.

I love you so much, little big girl.  Happy birthday my Maddie-girl!

Walk of Shame

No, I'm not referring to the Urban Dictionary definition of the morning-after-a-one-night-stand-wearing-the-same-clothes-as-the-day-before walk of shame.  I'm writing about something far worse...

The preschool mom walk of shame. 

I can write about it now.  There was a time when I didn't dare.  A time when I so narrowly escaped this dreaded walk that I feared writing about it might somehow make it become a reality.

Last year when Jack was still a nursing newborn and Maddie was not yet in school, the mornings were extremely difficult.

Waking up to find a newborn in my bed (how did that get there?) and realizing we had exactly 15 minutes to get Parker to preschool...not a fun feeling.  Shouting at the kids to "Get a move on!  We're gonna be late!"  Shoving Parker into the least offensive looking/smelling dirty jeans I can find because it's been days since I've done laundry.  Pouring Cheerios directly onto the table (because who has time for bowls on mornings like these?).  Sighing because I know the battle to get Maddie out of her favorite, flimsy, summer pajamas into real, warm clothes just isn't worth it.  Enduring Jack's ear-piercing cries because I know he's ready to nurse, but I just can't do it yet.  Whew!  We're finally in the van.

I'm pretty sure I catch some air as I sail over the speed humps in our neighborhood.  White knuckles as I grip the steering wheel and try to tune out the whines of my children and cries of my baby.  School is a mere .6 miles from our house.  We can make it, we can make it, I know we can make it!

Why was I so frantic, you might wonder?
Simple.  I wanted to avoid the preschool mom walk of shame.
If I arrived in time, I could still pull up in the carpool line and have a teacher escort Parker inside.  However, if I missed this window of opportunity...I shuddered to think.

Picture this.  Disheveled hair.  Teeth unbrushed.  Not a speck of make-up (to hide the enormous bags under my eyes from sleep-deprivation).  Braless, because, hey, I've been nursing.  Wardrobe?  Mismatched pajamas and pink crocs.  My only possible saving grace was Aaron's oversized raincoat (which might camouflage the lack of bust support and cover the hair).  However, should I have to enter the school, my frightful face and dragon breath would likely traumatize the small children inside.

Even worse, I would be pushing a wailing baby in a stroller, carrying a shoeless, shivering 3 year old, while barking at my preschooler to "Hurry up!" for all the world to see.  And by "all the world," of course, I mean all the moms.  The moms sitting in the warmth of their shiny minivans, in their color-coordinated tracksuits, with their perfectly coiffed hair and flawless makeup.  I'm not making this up, people!  I've seen these moms.  I know they exist!  I don't pretend to understand them or their ability to complete morning workouts, coordinate and press their children's clothes, whip up a tasty, organic, balanced breakfast, and get everyone to school ahead of time.  (Okay, I'm guessing about those last details, but I bet I'm right.)

So now you know why I was speeding like a maniac to school.  Thus far, I have managed to avoid this walk of shame.  Jack is older.  We have an actual schedule and routine.  Thank goodness!  However, just the other day, I saw a mom making the walk.  I so wanted to roll down my window and say, "It's okay!  Don't worry!  Your day will get better!" 

I wanted to, but then something occurred to me.  Maybe this mom didn't care.  Maybe she and her daughter were jogging inside because her little one couldn't wait to greet her friends.  Maybe, just maybe, not everyone was as hung up on appearances and what others think as I am.  Ouch.

1 Samuel 16:7"For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart."  

Oh that I would internalize this truth and instill it in my kiddos.  Slow me down, Lord.  Purify my heart.  Help me to focus on hearts (others and my own) as You do.  Amen!

Pinterest Fail

Parker and Maddie are both in school on Fridays.  While Jack does get his designated alone-with-mommy-play-time, the rest of our morning is typically jam-packed with all the things I can't seem to get done with three kids in tow.

On this particular Friday I was feeling a bit cocky as I glanced over my planner.  Oh yeah, this organized, uber productive mommy was going to spend the morning at school putting together the Pre-K Fall Festival silent auction basket.  I even tucked a note in Maddie's backpack informing her teacher of the exact time I'd be picking up the donations the other parents dropped off.

9:15 AM cue the frantic phone call from the room-mom (you know, the one who actually possesses organizational skills), "Um...Mrs. Rausch?  Ms. Nancy said she got a note that you were coming in today?  The supplies aren't available yet.  I believe the email that went out said they'd be available Monday..." (emphasis added to capture the are-you-a-complete moron tone she used, or at least, I imagined she used).

Yeah.  I felt a little deflated as I began to drive back to the house with Jack.  Here I had all this creative energy and time.  When does that ever happen?  I didn't want to waste or squander these few, precious hours... 

A plan quickly began to take shape.  Didn't I see some sort of contest email from our kids' dentist?  Wasn't it about pumpkin carving?  And what about that adorable picture I saw of a baby sitting in a giant pumpkin with her legs sticking out of carved holes?  Was it on Pinterest or Facebook?  Who cared?  I swerved into Walmart and whisked Jack out of the van. 

$3.88 later we were on our way with a fairly large pumpkin.  It wasn't as big as I'd hoped, but hey, I'm cheap.  It's what you get for $3.88.  Besides, I was pretty sure I could fit Jack inside...

Have you ever felt the inside of a pumpkin?  Even with all the muck scraped out, it feels pretty gross, not to mention cold.  I put a towel inside and hoped for the best. 

The first attempt to fit his little legs through the holes was a complete failure.  He squirmed and cried and arched his back.  I rocked him and apologized, assuring him it would be okay.  Little did he know, I would shortly subject him to the same torture a few minutes later after enlarging the holes.  Poor kid.

Once inside, he was not a happy camper.  I just needed one good picture.  If not for the stupid contest, for me - the proud mommy of a super-cute little pumpkin.  That's what I told myself, anyway (to alleviate some of the guilt). 

Suddenly Jack spotted his pacifier sticking out of my pocket.  He bounced frantically, he cried, he began to topple.  I caved.

It may not seem like a big deal to some, but I have been trying to get rid of that stupid thing for weeks.  He didn't even start taking a pacifier until a few months ago.  He happened upon one mixed in with some old baby toys in his closet, and he looked so darn cute with it in his mouth, I couldn't resist letting him use it.  Just for awhile, I told myself.  Yeah, right.  Pretty soon, he was screaming in the middle of the night because it had fallen out of his mouth, and he couldn't locate it in his crib.  Enough!  We weaned him off and proudly reported this to the dentist at his check-up.  We got the double thumbs-up approval, and there was no looking back.

Until Hand, Foot, and Mouth disease came along.  My poor baby was sooo miserable.  How could I deny him that creature comfort when he was suffering so? 

Anyway, here we are.  Jack is stuck in a cold, wet, too-small-for-a-truly-cute-picture pumpkin, sucking on a pacifier (the same one we told the dentist we'd gotten rid of), miserable.  I'm trying to snap pictures and bribing him with cookies if he'll just give me the stupid pacifier, because I'm sure the dentist would much rather him nosh on some sugar-laden cookie in the picture than suck on a pacifier, right?  Ugh.  Forget it.

I take the pacifier.  All hell breaks loose.  I snap some photos for posterity.  (Now this is the part where you are expecting me to write, "I release him from his pumpkin prison.") 

Well, he's stuck.  I mean really, truly stuck.  I don't know how I got those pudgy thighs in the holes, but they are not coming out.  For some reason, his legs just won't bend the right way when I attempt to lift him.  Fabulous.  So I use the round-tipped pumpkin-carving knife and literally saw him out.  I'm pretty sure he is completely traumatized and will hate Halloween (or at least pumpkins) for the rest of his life.

 

(See pictures below for progression of disaster.)

Beloved pacifier in hand (cropped from the only photo that is remotely contest-worthy)

 

Still relatively subdued (thanks to stupid pacifier).

 

Using sign language to say "finished" a.k.a. get me outta here!

 

Pacifier removed.  And that's a wrap.

Pinterest fail.

Fantasizing

In August I visited my dear friend, Gretchen, in Florida.  Without the kids (or husband).  Wowzuhs!  You want to talk about relaxing??
We ate fabulous seafood, we read books, we laid out at the beach, we had drinks, we watched TV, we went to the bathroom [wait for it...] alone!  It was a little bit of heaven on earth.

And now I am paying for it. 

Well, not really paying for it, just serving my time the way Aaron did when I was gone.  He and his mom are currently taking a 5-day trip to San Francisco.  They do this every once in a blue moon.  I think it's sweet that they get along so well and have that special time alone.  I thought it was sweeter before we had kids, but I digress...

So, tonight I am fantasizing.  About chocolate.  Oh how I want some of that sweet, brown goodness right now!  You'd think that the Twix bars I devoured while the kids were drying off from their baths would suffice.  You'd be wrong.

The sad thing is that they weren't even my Twix bars.  They were Maddie's!  Oh the shame!  Even as I type this, I am secretly hoping Aaron won't read this particular post.  He brought them home for her the other night. 

[Cue the excuses.]  Okay, that kid eats wayyy too much sugar as it is.  She has a stash up in her room that she doesn't even touch!  (I'm starting to wonder if she's really my biological child.)  She is more excited about the receiving-a-gift aspect of her candy than the actual candy itself.  She didn't even know it was still up on the counter.  (Nevermind the fact she's too short to see on top of the counter.)  If it really mattered to her, she would have asked for it by now.  Right?  Right???

I am quite the opposite of Maddie.  When I'm feigning [see Urban Dictionary definition] for some sugar, I do not care whether or not it is a gift.  In fact, it's origin does not concern me at all.  For example, that half-eaten, 4-day old chocolate Easter bunny?  Fair game.  "Your bunny?  Oh honey, Mommy had to get rid of it.  You know we start to get ants this time of year!"  Notice I didn't say how Mommy disposed of said bunny. 

I realize I sound downright evil at this point, but I don't think you realize the extent of my sugar addiction.  Even Dr. Oz says sugar is highly addictive.  Look it up!

It doesn't help that Aaron and I recently went on this health kick and got rid of everything, and I mean everything, good in the house.  The only sugar available is in the bag (for baking) or honey (which doesn't even really count as far as I'm concerned).

So here I am, 2 Twix bars with a heavy side of guilt later.  All of my justifications aren't really helping.  And I'm still craving chocolate. 

This is my fantasy (and final confession for the night):

I set the baby monitor up in the middle of the house (to capture any sound).  I crank the receiver way up.  I dial the home phone with my cell phone and set the home phone next to the receiver (so I can hear any noise they make in my cell phone).  Then I hop in the van, speed 1.4 miles to the neighborhood Walmart, buy loads of candy bars and speed back home before anyone even notices I'm gone. 

Seriously, does that not sound brilliant??  *Sigh* If only it were legal.

***UPDATE***
Upon reading this, some concerned friends thought I actually abandoned the children in search of chocolate.  I assure you, it was merely a fantasy.  I have not left them...yet.

Not Safe

I am plagued with questions.  All. Day. Long. 
No, I am not sitting around philosophically pondering the universe.  I am not the one posing the questions at all. 

Instead, I am surrounded by a constant stream of inquiries flowing from tiny mouths.  And all the questions seem to start with the same word: mom.

"Mom, can I climb up this [door frame]?"
"Mom, can we light some fireworks, and I can I hold 10 sparklers at one time?"
"Mom, how high can I climb up that tree?"
"Mom, can we throw rocks at the house?"
More often than not, they are seeking to obtain permission for dangerous activities. 

 

Sometimes I cringe at the mere mention of my name [mom].  I know that 9 times out of 10 I will have to decline the request.  I don't want to say "no" all the time, so often I try to reframe the request into an acceptable activity.  "Well, you may throw rocks at the tree."

Unfortunately, Parker is catching on to this tactic pretty quickly.  Once he realizes I am essentially saying "no" to his initial request, it's game. on. 

Questioning: "Why can't I?"  All of my reasons are ignored.
Bargaining: "But I'll be careful."  Logical counter-arguments, dismissed. 
Foul play: "Dad would let me do it."  Ooh, now he's really pushing it.

I resort to the age old: "Because I'm your mother and I said so!"

Uggghhhh!

Recently I decided to change my tactics and institute some experiential learning.  Read on...

The other day Parker asked if we could build a fort.  Sure.  I helped him secure the big green blanket to the couch, the chair, the coat rack, etc.  Then I pulled out the camera because forts = fun in our house.  Even Jack gets in the mix. 

"Can I stand on the top of the couch and jump onto the top of the fort?" Parker asked.  Sorely tempted to recite a litany of reasons why that would be a bad idea, I stifled a sigh, bit my tongue, and nodded slowly.  "Let's see what happens." 

Parker's eyes were as wide a saucers.  He looked at me uncertainly.  Did mom just say "yes"?  The first time? 

"Why don't we put some pillows underneath first," I asked causally.  As I arranged the pillows and moved Jack a safe distance away, Parker eyed the fort suspiciously.  "Is this gonna be safe?" 

I looked him in the eye.  "What do you think?" I asked.  He's a bright kid, surely he can reason through this one.  We have hardwood floors for Pete's sake!

"Yeah!" Then again, maybe not. 

As he climbed to the top of the couch I tried to assure myself this was not reckless parenting.  It was experiential learning, right?  I held my breath...

Wheeeee!

 

BAM!  Parker scrambled up from the now-collapsed fort.  He looked absolutely shocked as he rubbed his sore backside.  "Well that wasn't safe at all!" His surprised tone held just a hint of accusation.

A little demon popped up on one of my shoulders.  "Really!?" it asked in mock surprise.  Meanwhile, the angel on the other side was sadly shaking his head, "For shame, Jessie!"

Eyes wide, using my best "golly-gee" tone, I said, "Well I guess we learned a lot today, huh, Bud?" 

Parker nodded emphatically.  "Yeah!  Jumping off the top of couch onto the top of the fort not a good idea!"

I nodded in agreement and quickly turned away to hide my smile.  I didn't have to say "no," and he learned a valuable lesson in a [relatively] painless way.  SCORE!

"Mom," Parker's voice interrupted my moment of victory, "Can we add some more pillows underneath and jump from the seat of the couch?"

*Sigh.*

Helpers

 

Having a baby is so much easier when you have older children helping out.  I really mean that.  However, there are two key words in my first statement that should not be overlooked: older and children (plural).

Older, because, well, very young children are not particularly helpful when a newborn arrives on the scene.  They may have a fit of jealous rage and pinch the baby while it nurses.  They may initially comply with your request to fetch a diaper only to lose focus halfway across the room when the toy shelf beckons.  They still need a "wipe," a drink, toy, a [you-name-it].  They have no concept of quiet, especially when baby is napping.

 

However, if you wait a few short years, that dependent child can become a huge helper.  Add another child to the mix for some friendly competition, and voila!  Parenting is a breeze.

Okay, maybe not a breeze, but there are aspects that become immeasurably easier.  For example: I can cook a meal now.  It may not be gourmet, but I can literally follow a recipe, prep the ingredients, and cook a real meal.  In years past, if I tried to make dinner and a baby woke early from nap, I would rush upstairs (unable to bear the thought of my child alone, awake, bored or scared in a dark room) and rescue said child.  Then I would try, unsuccessfully, to finish cooking with a baby on my hip.  (Chef's knives, hot stoves, and babies do not mix.)

These days, I will be cooking dinner with Parker and Maddie playing nearby.  When Jack wakes from his nap and starts to cry, I simply ask, "Who would like to check on Jack and keep him company until I can come up?"

"I WILL!" they both cry and bolt up the stairs. 

CONFESSION: One of my guilty pleasures is to tune into the monitor and eavesdrop on the three of them.  I love hearing the door creak open.  "Hi Jackie!"  Giggles, scuffing and scraping (as they climb onto the side of the crib), tinkling toys.  "Mommy will be right here."  "Wanna play?"

One afternoon I allowed myself some extra time in the kitchen.  I hadn't heard any crying and assumed all was well.  I'll never forget walking into Jack's room and wondering where all the toys had gone.  Then I looked over at his crib...

I ran over with my heart in my throat.  He was still so little.  He couldn't even sit up yet.  What if he had suffocated??  What had I done?! 

Then there he was, hidden among pile of toys, happily playing with a plush block.  Whew!  What was that thing I said about parenting being a breeze?  Yeah, scratch that.

 

Even with our minor scares (like finding Jack at the top of the outdoor playhouse because he'd followed Parker up the ladder), it really is great having lots of kids.  Parker and Maddie are big helpers, and I am one blessed mama!