Dear Mother or Parker's Preschool Buddy,
Thank you for having us all over to dinner a few months ago when you had a newborn. Thank you for coming over after we had to reschedule 3 times due to my kids' various illnesses. Thank you for taking off your shoes and your sons' shoes when you came in.
When you left, I saw your socks...and I'm sorry. I noticed them when you arrived. They were glowing white. Did you see me cringe? You didn't know I had to make some tough choices that morning. Wash the dishes, wipe down the counters and bathrooms, make the beds...or do the floors. I rationalized you wouldn't even notice the floors. (By the way, I noticed them at your house. How exactly was it possible for them to be clean enough to eat off of when your baby was less than 2 months old? I convinced myself you must have a cleaning person, but I cannot ask you directly for fear that you might not and are just a naturally immaculate person with an immaculate home.)
I saw the fleeting look of horror on your face when you nearly laid your baby on my living room rug before you quickly snatched him back up. Yes, I know we don't have animals. No, I don't know how my carpet gets so dirty. I hastily laid down a blanket for him, but it was too late. I tried to shrug it off and apologized for my filthy floors. I was dying inside. I saw you glance at your socks when you sat next to him on the carpet. I consoled myself with the thought that your cleaning person could benefit from the new rags.
Despite my embarrassment, I had a nice time. Our older boys had a great time playing together. I hope you'll come back. Just next time, please keep your shoes on.
2/22/11
Bilingual
I don't mean to brag or anything, but it just so happens my three year old is able to speak another language. Guess those 2 half days of preschool a week are really paying off...
Yesterday, we had a playdate with Parker's friend, Parker. The boys were running around, having a great time, while Parker's mother, Joni, and I chatted. Suddenly, my Parker raced over to me and asked breathlessly, "Mom! Mom! What does idealuhful mean?"
Me: Ideal-uh-ful?
Parker: Yeah!
Me: Um, I don't know, honey. I've never heard that word before.
Parker: Eye...deal...uh...ful (repeating it to me as if I were slow).
Oh! Idealuhful! Yeah. I got nothing.
Me: I'm sorry, Parker. I don't know.
He pointed frantically over his shoulder. I asked if he was using the word to describe something.
Parker: Yeah! I told Parker the steering wheel was idealuhful.
Me: Did you make up the word?
Parker [slightly annoyed at my ignorance]: Yeah!
Me: Oh, well then it can mean anything you want it to. What does it mean?
Parker [dissmissively]: Oh, I don't know. It's Japanese.
Yesterday, we had a playdate with Parker's friend, Parker. The boys were running around, having a great time, while Parker's mother, Joni, and I chatted. Suddenly, my Parker raced over to me and asked breathlessly, "Mom! Mom! What does idealuhful mean?"
Me: Ideal-uh-ful?
Parker: Yeah!
Me: Um, I don't know, honey. I've never heard that word before.
Parker: Eye...deal...uh...ful (repeating it to me as if I were slow).
Oh! Idealuhful! Yeah. I got nothing.
Me: I'm sorry, Parker. I don't know.
He pointed frantically over his shoulder. I asked if he was using the word to describe something.
Parker: Yeah! I told Parker the steering wheel was idealuhful.
Me: Did you make up the word?
Parker [slightly annoyed at my ignorance]: Yeah!
Me: Oh, well then it can mean anything you want it to. What does it mean?
Parker [dissmissively]: Oh, I don't know. It's Japanese.
2/18/11
The Toy Nazi
That's right. I have officially graduated from Toy Librarian to Toy Nazi. One day I just snapped. I transformed from the keeper of the toys to the hater of the toys. Surely the toys were the root of all evil or at least of all that was awry in our otherwise orderly [ha, ha] home.
That morning when I awoke they were everywhere. They had invaded every nook and cranny in every room. In my bed, under the couch, on the kitchen table, in the bathroom drawers, on the steps. Unacceptable! Jobs I once viewed as mundane, such as separating the Thomas train tracks from wooden puzzle pieces, were now viewed as despicable wastes of time. Detailed information about the toys slowly sucked away my brain's ability to function. (For example, that red, plastic purse that one might assume belonged to the dolls in Maddie's dollhouse given it's shape and size actually belonged to the Mrs. Potato Head at Grammy's house! Ughhh! Who cared?!)
I went on a rampage. I announced that whatever the kids didn't help me pick up would be donated to charity...tomorrow! That motivated them for all of two minutes (when they became distracted by walkie-talkies and fake fruit). I had had it.
Phase I - At nap time I attacked the toy room. Armed with trash bags I ruthlessly pitched tiny plastic pieces and broken toys. I separated the other toys into the remaining trash bags: too old (complicated puzzles, etc.) , too young (baby toys), and rotate (still good but not used much). When I was finished, the room looked, well, sparse. I assured myself it was okay. They would certainly get more toys on their birthdays and at Christmas, right? (Bwahahahaha! Not if Phase III was accomplished! But I'm getting ahead of myself...)
Phase II - New house rules were established. All toys were to stay in the playroom or the kids' rooms. They could get one out and carry it around the house, assuming they returned it to the proper place before retrieving another. Too strict? Too stringent? The Toy Nazi thought not.
This phase didn't go over so well. Many toys took up residence in a green plastic basket on our first floor, waiting to be put away. At least they were all in one spot.
Phase III - Ask friends and family refrain from giving toys on birthdays/holidays. Gifts could include books, money designated for higher education, clothes, etc.
Ha! It was during the creation of this phase that the Toy Nazi realized she had perhaps gone too far. This battle could not be won, and from a moral standpoint, it probably should not even be attempted.
I'm afraid the invasion of the toys is far from over. However, I've decided I don't want to be a Toy Nazi anymore. I want the kids to enjoy their toys. I want their friends and family to be able to give as freely as they choose. Time to look for some neutral ground...
That morning when I awoke they were everywhere. They had invaded every nook and cranny in every room. In my bed, under the couch, on the kitchen table, in the bathroom drawers, on the steps. Unacceptable! Jobs I once viewed as mundane, such as separating the Thomas train tracks from wooden puzzle pieces, were now viewed as despicable wastes of time. Detailed information about the toys slowly sucked away my brain's ability to function. (For example, that red, plastic purse that one might assume belonged to the dolls in Maddie's dollhouse given it's shape and size actually belonged to the Mrs. Potato Head at Grammy's house! Ughhh! Who cared?!)
I went on a rampage. I announced that whatever the kids didn't help me pick up would be donated to charity...tomorrow! That motivated them for all of two minutes (when they became distracted by walkie-talkies and fake fruit). I had had it.
Phase I - At nap time I attacked the toy room. Armed with trash bags I ruthlessly pitched tiny plastic pieces and broken toys. I separated the other toys into the remaining trash bags: too old (complicated puzzles, etc.) , too young (baby toys), and rotate (still good but not used much). When I was finished, the room looked, well, sparse. I assured myself it was okay. They would certainly get more toys on their birthdays and at Christmas, right? (Bwahahahaha! Not if Phase III was accomplished! But I'm getting ahead of myself...)
Phase II - New house rules were established. All toys were to stay in the playroom or the kids' rooms. They could get one out and carry it around the house, assuming they returned it to the proper place before retrieving another. Too strict? Too stringent? The Toy Nazi thought not.
This phase didn't go over so well. Many toys took up residence in a green plastic basket on our first floor, waiting to be put away. At least they were all in one spot.
Phase III - Ask friends and family refrain from giving toys on birthdays/holidays. Gifts could include books, money designated for higher education, clothes, etc.
Ha! It was during the creation of this phase that the Toy Nazi realized she had perhaps gone too far. This battle could not be won, and from a moral standpoint, it probably should not even be attempted.
I'm afraid the invasion of the toys is far from over. However, I've decided I don't want to be a Toy Nazi anymore. I want the kids to enjoy their toys. I want their friends and family to be able to give as freely as they choose. Time to look for some neutral ground...
2/10/11
Be My Valentine
It has been a crazy month. Aaron was out of town for five days, I took the kids to Indianapolis to visit friends and the awesome children's museum, and some out of town guests stayed at our house as they were passing through on their way from St. Louis to Virginia.
I didn't even look at my planner or calendar until the 8th. When I did, I nearly had a heart attack. Parker's school Valentine's Day party was in 2 days! I was the "room mom" who is supposed to help organize all of the other parents who had signed up to volunteer. I quickly shot out a million emails and prayed it would magically work out.
Prayers answered: another mom had already taken over, and everything was ready to go. Whew.
Then last night, I sat up in bed, my heart thudding in my ears. Valentine's Day cards! Hadn't Parker mentioned making his own personal mailbox at school? What kind of [room] mom was I? No Valentine cards to pass out?? That simply wouldn't do!
I tossed and turned until Maddie woke up puking at 5:30AM. What a lovely way to start the day. The kids and I were dressed and in the van by 7:50 and trudging into Walmart at the ungodly hour of 8AM to find Spiderman Valentines. I hurriedly wrote Parker's classmates' names on them, attached the super-cool pencil, and passed them to Parker to affix a heart-shaped sticker on each. Parker and his Valentines were delivered at 8:45AM. Super-mom status restored.
Until...I picked him up and glanced in the "mailbox." Seriously? When do these parents have time to create such elaborate Valentines??? Precious cards, neatly sealed in sucker-adorned envelopes, and filled with little candies. What the heck?!
Parker "read" one to me. "Dear Parker, Thank you for playing with me. I would like you to come over to my house. Love, Nathan."
"Oh wow," I replied, "May I see it?"
In reality, it was a Toy Story Valentine with a picture of Buzz Lightyear and the words: Valentine's Day is on approach. Only Parker's name and Nathan's name were hand-written.
It was then I realized Parker and I had much in common...We were both delusional and making way too much out of these silly Valentine's Day cards!
I didn't even look at my planner or calendar until the 8th. When I did, I nearly had a heart attack. Parker's school Valentine's Day party was in 2 days! I was the "room mom" who is supposed to help organize all of the other parents who had signed up to volunteer. I quickly shot out a million emails and prayed it would magically work out.
Prayers answered: another mom had already taken over, and everything was ready to go. Whew.
Then last night, I sat up in bed, my heart thudding in my ears. Valentine's Day cards! Hadn't Parker mentioned making his own personal mailbox at school? What kind of [room] mom was I? No Valentine cards to pass out?? That simply wouldn't do!
I tossed and turned until Maddie woke up puking at 5:30AM. What a lovely way to start the day. The kids and I were dressed and in the van by 7:50 and trudging into Walmart at the ungodly hour of 8AM to find Spiderman Valentines. I hurriedly wrote Parker's classmates' names on them, attached the super-cool pencil, and passed them to Parker to affix a heart-shaped sticker on each. Parker and his Valentines were delivered at 8:45AM. Super-mom status restored.
Until...I picked him up and glanced in the "mailbox." Seriously? When do these parents have time to create such elaborate Valentines??? Precious cards, neatly sealed in sucker-adorned envelopes, and filled with little candies. What the heck?!
Parker "read" one to me. "Dear Parker, Thank you for playing with me. I would like you to come over to my house. Love, Nathan."
"Oh wow," I replied, "May I see it?"
In reality, it was a Toy Story Valentine with a picture of Buzz Lightyear and the words: Valentine's Day is on approach. Only Parker's name and Nathan's name were hand-written.
It was then I realized Parker and I had much in common...We were both delusional and making way too much out of these silly Valentine's Day cards!
1/28/11
Candy Wars
Due to sickness and snow, the kids and I haven't attended a MOPS meeting in months. We were all very excited to return today. When we left, Parker was given a bag of Christmas goodies (including a few pieces of candy).
The debate began the moment the bag was opened.
Parker: Mommy, can I eat a piece of candy right now?
Me: No, but you may have some after lunch.
Parker: Do I get to eat all of it after lunch?
Me: No, that would give you a tummy ache. You can have a few pieces.
Parker: No it wouldn't! I'm gonna eat it all after lunch!
Me: You may have two pieces.
Parker: Three!
Me [warning tone]: Parker -
Parker [doing his best mommy impression]: Let's just argue about it when we get there, k?
I turned my head so he couldn't see me giggling. That kid knows how to argue.
The debate began the moment the bag was opened.
Parker: Mommy, can I eat a piece of candy right now?
Me: No, but you may have some after lunch.
Parker: Do I get to eat all of it after lunch?
Me: No, that would give you a tummy ache. You can have a few pieces.
Parker: No it wouldn't! I'm gonna eat it all after lunch!
Me: You may have two pieces.
Parker: Three!
Me [warning tone]: Parker -
Parker [doing his best mommy impression]: Let's just argue about it when we get there, k?
I turned my head so he couldn't see me giggling. That kid knows how to argue.
1/26/11
Baby bits
The kids are very excited about having a new baby at our house. Parker asks lots of questions - some of which I hesitate to answer. For example, this morning he asked how the baby would get out. I told him I had a special opening. (I was really glad he didn't ask to see it!)
A few weeks ago, when I slipped on the ice while making my way around the van, Parker exclaimed, "Be careful, momma! If you fall and get hurt, it might unplug the extension cord! Then the baby couldn't eat!"
I think Maddie is a little confused. I used to always say, "I love you baby girl," and give her kisses. Now I try to remember to refer to her as my "big girl." We talk about how I love Parker and Maddie and the baby in my belly. The idea of Maddie being the baby I love and the baby being the baby I love seem to be all mixed up in her mind. Whenever I kiss Maddie and tell her I love her, she says, "Doctors check belly!"
Both kids pat my belly, and Parker even kissed it the other day.
I am so happy about their excitement I could cry. When I was pregnant with Maddie, I was full of fear [for good reason]. When she arrived, Parker was only 18 months old, still a baby himself. Let's just say, it was not pretty. The first few months of her life were so difficult (for everyone), that I have completely blocked them out of my memory.
This time around, the kids are so excited they have even chosen possible names for our addition. The names include: Sebastian (their cousin), Diego, Dora, and Alejo.
Feel free to vote for your favorite.
A few weeks ago, when I slipped on the ice while making my way around the van, Parker exclaimed, "Be careful, momma! If you fall and get hurt, it might unplug the extension cord! Then the baby couldn't eat!"
I think Maddie is a little confused. I used to always say, "I love you baby girl," and give her kisses. Now I try to remember to refer to her as my "big girl." We talk about how I love Parker and Maddie and the baby in my belly. The idea of Maddie being the baby I love and the baby being the baby I love seem to be all mixed up in her mind. Whenever I kiss Maddie and tell her I love her, she says, "Doctors check belly!"
Both kids pat my belly, and Parker even kissed it the other day.
I am so happy about their excitement I could cry. When I was pregnant with Maddie, I was full of fear [for good reason]. When she arrived, Parker was only 18 months old, still a baby himself. Let's just say, it was not pretty. The first few months of her life were so difficult (for everyone), that I have completely blocked them out of my memory.
This time around, the kids are so excited they have even chosen possible names for our addition. The names include: Sebastian (their cousin), Diego, Dora, and Alejo.
Feel free to vote for your favorite.
1/23/11
My Biggest Challenge
One of our pastors today made a pretty disturbing statement:
"Despite your best efforts to offer your child a quality education and enroll him in enriching activities like music or sports and make him into a good, well-rounded person, none of it will really matter in 100 years or so."
I realized he was right. I have been thinking about it for weeks now. The pastor went on to say that the one thing that will be important is whether or not our children had a relationship with the Lord. Again, I agreed. But how???
How does an imperfect, often selfish, hot-tempered mommy reflect God's love adequately to her offspring - enough to make them desire a relationship with Him? I have wrestled with this very question over and over. I have tried to be "better." I have prayed with the kids and taught them Bible verses, but still the nagging fear remained: You'll never be good enough to save them.
And it's true. I can't save my kids. No one human being is responsible for my relationship with God. Many people [I deemed "Jesus freaks" at the time] planted seeds through the years. Eventually, I fell in love.
I remember when I used to hear people say they "fell in love" with Jesus. The whole concept kind of creeped me out. In my mind, true love lead to marriage and other things that I didn't necessarily want to think about doing with my Lord. Know what I mean?
But as my heart softened and I began to read His Word (written for me and to me), I began to see Him as a knight in shining armor. Ready to defend me. Ready to scoop me into his arms and tell me how precious I am to Him. Ready to forgive any and all past offenses. Jealous for my affection. Ready to die for me before I even knew Him. Royalty who loved me first - and waited anxiously for my reply. Who could resist?
I know I did for the longest time. I pray they won't be so stubborn. My greatest hope for my children is that they will truly know the love of the Lord. It's my greatest hope for everyone.
So I will do my part. I will make the introduction and pray my heart out. The rest is in God's hands.
Notes:
A touching song about God's love by the David Crowder Band: How He Loves
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qBSId40526Y&feature=related
Excerpt from Max Lucado's book It's Not About Me:
But who has plumbed the depths of God's love? Only God has. "Want to see the size of my love?" he invites. "Ascend the winding path outside of Jerusalem. Follow the dots of bloody dirt until you crest the hill. Before looking up, pause and hear me whisper, 'This is how much I love you.'"
Whip-ripped muscles drape his back. Blood rivulets over his face. His eyes and lips are swollen shut. Pain rages at wildfire intensity. As he sinks to relieve the agony of his legs, his airway closes. At the edge of suffocation, he shoves pierced muscles against the spike and inches up the cross. He does this for hours. Painfully up and down until his strength and our doubts are gone.
Does God love you? Behold the cross and behold your answer.
"Despite your best efforts to offer your child a quality education and enroll him in enriching activities like music or sports and make him into a good, well-rounded person, none of it will really matter in 100 years or so."
I realized he was right. I have been thinking about it for weeks now. The pastor went on to say that the one thing that will be important is whether or not our children had a relationship with the Lord. Again, I agreed. But how???
How does an imperfect, often selfish, hot-tempered mommy reflect God's love adequately to her offspring - enough to make them desire a relationship with Him? I have wrestled with this very question over and over. I have tried to be "better." I have prayed with the kids and taught them Bible verses, but still the nagging fear remained: You'll never be good enough to save them.
And it's true. I can't save my kids. No one human being is responsible for my relationship with God. Many people [I deemed "Jesus freaks" at the time] planted seeds through the years. Eventually, I fell in love.
I remember when I used to hear people say they "fell in love" with Jesus. The whole concept kind of creeped me out. In my mind, true love lead to marriage and other things that I didn't necessarily want to think about doing with my Lord. Know what I mean?
But as my heart softened and I began to read His Word (written for me and to me), I began to see Him as a knight in shining armor. Ready to defend me. Ready to scoop me into his arms and tell me how precious I am to Him. Ready to forgive any and all past offenses. Jealous for my affection. Ready to die for me before I even knew Him. Royalty who loved me first - and waited anxiously for my reply. Who could resist?
I know I did for the longest time. I pray they won't be so stubborn. My greatest hope for my children is that they will truly know the love of the Lord. It's my greatest hope for everyone.
So I will do my part. I will make the introduction and pray my heart out. The rest is in God's hands.
Notes:
A touching song about God's love by the David Crowder Band: How He Loves
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qBSId40526Y&feature=related
Excerpt from Max Lucado's book It's Not About Me:
But who has plumbed the depths of God's love? Only God has. "Want to see the size of my love?" he invites. "Ascend the winding path outside of Jerusalem. Follow the dots of bloody dirt until you crest the hill. Before looking up, pause and hear me whisper, 'This is how much I love you.'"
Whip-ripped muscles drape his back. Blood rivulets over his face. His eyes and lips are swollen shut. Pain rages at wildfire intensity. As he sinks to relieve the agony of his legs, his airway closes. At the edge of suffocation, he shoves pierced muscles against the spike and inches up the cross. He does this for hours. Painfully up and down until his strength and our doubts are gone.
Does God love you? Behold the cross and behold your answer.
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