Under construction

Parker and Maddie were recently having issues with pestering and tattling.  I decided to reach into my old counseling bag of tricks and pull out a discipline technique based on the book, 1-2-3 Magic.  The idea is that when a child misbehaves, you calmly state, "That's a 1."  If it continues, "That's a 2."  If the child persists, "That's a 3; you are in time out." 

It's pretty effective with small children, providing you are consistent, calm, cool, collected (all of which I am not).  I decided to modify this approach, as my children seem to be unfazed by time-outs these days.  Instead, if I reach a 3, they lose all sugar for the day.  Did I mention they were sugarholics? 

I have only reached 3 once.  However, I get to 2 many, many times throughout the day.  You see, you can't catch them misbehaving at 9am, count it as a "1" and then see another problem behavior at 11am and count it as a "2."  There is a grace period during which they can return to a zero (usually about 15 minutes).   

They have had difficulty with this grace period.  They have no issue when it applies to their own situation, but when grace is given to a sibling, oh, the injustice of it all!

Sometimes I will overhear them arguing in the living room when I am in the kitchen.  Maddie will call, "Mommy!  Parker just got a 2!  Tell him he got a 2!"  I have to remind them that I am the only Master Counter in this house [cue the malicious, power-hungry laughter].  I listen to Maddie's argument and then ask her to identify her own role in the problem.  What did you do?  Nuh-fing!

Oh, how this reminds me of my own condition!  I keep coming across the same bible passage from Jesus' sermon on the mount:

Matthew 7:3-5

“Why do you look at the speck of sawdust in your brother’s eye and pay no attention to the plank in your own eye?  How can you say to your brother, ‘Let me take the speck out of your eye,’ when all the time there is a plank in your own eye?  You hypocrite, first take the plank out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to remove the speck from your brother’s eye."  

At first, I assumed this wonderful passage was given to me as a teaching tool for the kids...I mean, it even says "brother," right?  Then it hit me.  It was for me.  Uggghhh.

Just 2 Sundays ago, I was listening to a wonderful sermon and thinking so-and-so could really stand to hear this; I'll have to send her the link.  Then it hit me again.  Why don't you listen up and pay attention and see what God wants you to hear and change today? 

It just keeps hitting me from all sides.  Speaking of planks, I feel like I am under construction here.  God uses a still, small voice for some, but then there are people like me, thick-headed, stubborn, hypocritical, and just plain critical.  For me, he has to bang me in the head a few times before I really get it.  Well, Lord, I think I have it...for today.

Sweetness

Things are happening at the speed of life here...not much time for blogging these days.  We're too busy  flying kites, swinging, checking on the eggs in the robin's nest...Just wanted to jot down some things before I forget.

 
 Jack started crawling.  He's also wearing size 18 month clothing.  He's only 8 months old, but he has a really long torso, like his daddy.  So hard to believe that my baby is on the move and will soon be a toddler! 

Parker and Maddie were especially wonderful last week.  I don't know if it was because it was spring break, and we had nothing to do but stay home and relax, or if they are maturing on some level.  Hoping for the latter!

Some brief examples:
When grandma bought them a bag of popcorn to share at the craft store, Maddie literally fed pieces to Parker, then gave him her quarter so he could have 2 turns on the mechanical horse.  (It's pretty ancient and bucks like a bull, so her decision might have been fear-driven, but it was still sweet.)

On a different afternoon, I returned to the backyard after changing one of Jack's diapers inside, and I happened upon the two of them talking, as Parker gently pushed Maddie on the swing set.  I stopped dead in my tracks, with tears in my eyes.  It was so precious [and rare], I didn't want them to see me and stop.

When we are in the van and it's nearing a feeding time for Jack, Maddie will gently feed him little baby cereal puffs, one at a time, to keep him from crying.

The other morning, Parker requested to give Jack a bottle.  I propped them on the couch with pillows and watched as Parker carefully tilted the bottle back.  When Jack started drinking, Parker laughed, "This is fun!"  He kissed the top of Jack's head and snuggled in close.

One afternoon, we were playing in Parker's room when I realized I needed to switch the laundry.  It was about time for Parker and Maddie to have quiet time in their rooms and Jack to nap.  Maddie went to her room without complaint, but Parker and Jack didn't seem quite ready to go to bed.  I asked Parker to please watch Jack for a moment while I ran down to take care of the laundry.  I finished quickly and raced back upstairs to find Parker laughing and playing carefully with Jack.  I told him I would take Jack, and he needed to have quiet time.  "Please, mom, can we just have a few more minutes?  I was having so much fun playing with him!"  I shrugged, scanned the floor for small objects, and agreed to let them play a bit longer while I picked up the living room.  I returned a short time later, and picked up Jack.  "Thanks so much for watching him, Parker."  He replied (without a hint of sarcasm), "No, thank you, momma!" 

Today was Monday and business as usual.  We dropped Parker off at preschool and headed to Bible study.  I dropped Jack off in the church nursery and headed for the preschool room for Maddie.  When we arrived at her door, she clung to my leg.  I looked down to see her bottom lip protruding and tears filling her eyes.  "What's wrong?" I asked, alarmed.  She shook her head as fat teardrops spilled down her cheeks.  I sat in the middle of the hall and held her in my lap.  She finally sobbed, "When Parker has preschool and you have Bible study, we never get to have Mommy-Maddie special time!"  Ohhhh.  You see, typically, on Parker's school days, I am able to put Jack down for a nap and have uninterrupted "special time" with Maddie at home.  We usually end up playing with plastic horses and lizards up in her room.  She loves it.  And she was right, on Mondays, we are at Bible study and miss out on that special time.  "How about if today, during quiet time, I come into your room for some special time...with the Ipad?"  Her eyes lit up.  She nodded and hugged me, burying her face in my hair.  I held her and rocked her and thanked God that she still wants to have special time with me.

Finally, tonight I got to rock my baby to sleep.  He was so tired that we left Grammy and Pawpaw's early.  Aaron will be coming home any minute with the older two.  It's amazing how quiet the house is when they are gone!  Jack fell asleep in the van on the way home and barely woke when I got him out of his car seat.  With his head on my shoulder, I made his bottle and carried him up the stairs.  He drank his bottle slowly, and I changed him into his pajamas in my lap.  He laid his little head on my shoulder and I patted him and sang lullabies and kicked myself for all the evenings I had rushed through nighttime routines so I could have some "me" time.  We snuggled in the silence, and I finally carried him to his crib and gently laid him down.  He glanced up at me with heavy lids and drifted off to sleep as I patted his back.  What a special time!

I can hardly wait for Parker and Maddie to get home so I can have some quality cuddle time with them, too!

Green bean milkshake

Mmmm...sounds yummy, right?  I thought so when I was a kid.  Well, not exactly.  I thought that a green bean milkshake would be preferable to plain old green beans.  Needless to say, I was wrong.

See, I was having a power struggle with my parents over food.  I. hate. green. beans.  Specifically, I hate canned green beans (which is what we always ate).  I should say it's what my family always ate while I sat stubbornly, arms folded across my chest, making the most disgusted expression I could muster each time they were served.  How I loved our beagle, who ate more than his fair share of my regurgitated, coughed from mouth to napkin, slipped under the table beans.  I was not nearly as slick as I imagined, and soon my parents were watching my every move.  It all came to a head one fateful night...the night of the green bean milkshake.  I still shiver when I think about that blender full of green mush...

Our family had recently been on a milkshake kick.  We often had milkshakes for breakfast, some fruit, milk, a little sugar, and voila!  A yummy, easy meal.  Using my preadolescence reasoning skills, I deduced that adding milk and sugar to any food and blending it to the consistency of a shake would greatly improve the dining experience.  I happened to be wrong.

After sitting at the table for nearly an hour, refusing to eat my beans, I finally asked my parents if I could do anything I wanted to my beans if I promised to eat them all.  Yes!  They breathed a sigh of relief that the standoff was nearing an end.  When I announced my plans to make a green bean milkshake, I could see their pathetic attempts to hide the grins.  Ha!  I'd show them!  I'd eat every last green bean, whipped up into a delicious concoction.  Why hadn't I thought of this sooner?

I pureed the beans and added a tiny bit of milk and a teaspoon of sugar, then sampled.  Hmmm...still tasted like crap - I mean, green beans.  Must need more milk and sugar.  Repeat.  Repeat.  You get the idea.  Pretty soon I had an entire blender full of milky, sugary, green sludge.  And my brother chanting, "You have to drink it all!  You have to drink it all!"  I got through about half a glass, grimacing, nearly vomiting, when my mom, shoulders shaking from laughter put an end to my misery and allowed me to pour the rest down the drain.  I don't remember ever complaining about green beans again.

Now things have come full circle.  Jack hates green beans.  Actually, he pretty much rejects any green vegetable I introduce.  I am so sick of opening up a jar of baby food, grinning and talking like an idiot just to get him to open his mouth, only to have him immediately spit out the food I just inserted.  Grrr....  I have tried every brand I can find.  I have tried mixing it with baby cereal.  No luck. 

I even bought fresh beans, cleaned them, steamed them, pureed them, strained them, etc.  They were lovely.  Fresh, bright green, sure to be a hit. 

Nope.  Now it was personal.  So you reject the Gerber brand.  I can understand that; it looks gray and disgusting.  So you spit out the Earth's Best Organic [ridiculously expensive for a tiny jar] brand, no problem.  But, excuse me, did you just spit out the homemade-I-slaved-in-the-kitchen-for-hours[okay, 30 minutes]-fresh-batch of beans?  I don't think so, pal.  I'm winning this battle.  Deja vu...  Wonder what my parents were thinking lo those many years ago?

So in my desperation to have him eat a wholesome meal [read: win], I made a green bean milkshake.  Well, not exactly.  I added some baby oatmeal and baby pear juice.  And guess what?  I won! 

Then, of course, 20 minutes later he had the last laugh when I had to change his diaper.  Curse you, pear juice!

Almost Sacred

There is something almost sacred about checking on your sleeping child.  It is one of my favorite things to do, especially after a difficult day or even after a date (when a few hours away feels like days).

It's really quite difficult, if not impossible, to capture the sensation with words, but I want to try - so I won't ever forget... 

I tiptoe down the hall and turn the door knob ever so gently.  The room is awash with the soft glow of the nightlight.  Usually the kids are so sound asleep they don't even stir.  As I wait for my eyes to adjust, I feel the warmth of the room and listen to the comforting sound of tiny inhales and exhales.

I can't help but smile as I approach the bed.  Do all children resemble angels when they sleep?  I think they must.  Dark, thick lashes resting on still-chubby cheeks.  Smooth foreheads devoid of any wrinkles assure me of peaceful dreams.  I lean in close and inhale.  With Parker, I wonder how he still manages to smell like a little sweaty boy even after a bath...I suppose it's due to the fact that his running doesn't cease until his head hits the pillow.  To be honest, I love that smell.  It's the smell of pure energy, of life fully lived.  With Maddie, I wonder when I will have to give up using baby shampoo and move on to big girl products.  I almost hope it's never.  When I smell that smell, I can almost convince myself she is still a baby and not the long child lying on the big girl bed in front of me. 

I gently brush each child's hair back and kiss the soft skin of their foreheads, cheeks, and noses.  When does baby soft skin go away?  I don't want to know.

I relish in the fact that I am the one who can do this.  I have access to this inner sanctuary.  If their eyes happen to flutter open, they simply snuggle closer.  This is heaven.

They sleep like rocks.  Warm, comfortable, peaceful.  I whisper in their ears that I love them, and tiptoe back out again.

Thank you, Father, for the blessing of these children. 

The only thing worth stealing is a kiss from a sleeping child. ~Joe Houldsworth

There was never a child so lovely but his mother was glad to get him to sleep. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

P.S.  For those of you wondering about Jack, well, he's not such a sound sleeper.  I don't dare open his door.  Thank you, Lord, for video monitors.  :)

The Reluctant Parent

I am sharing this post for all the friends who have struggled/are struggling with the transition into parenthood.  You know who you are. 

I was there, and I was shocked.  Hadn't I always said I wanted 8 kids and that Aaron talked me down to 4?  Wasn't I the child counselor who couldn't get enough of the little dears?  Didn't TLC's A Baby Story make me tear up every single stinkin' time?

So why was I such a mess when I actually had a baby? 

No one can tell you what it's really like when you bring a new life into the world and are suddenly completely responsible for another human being's survival.  If someone tried to warn tell me, I either a) didn't listen, or b) assumed they were exaggerating.

We recently had dinner with some old friends [who shall remain nameless].  I was so refreshed with how candidly they talked about their own difficulties transitioning into parenthood.  They freely admitted that during the early weeks of their child's life they would lie in bed awake at night and cry, asking each other, "What have we done?" and "Why would anyone be stupid enough to do this twice?!"

Now you have to understand that their infant was sick for a time.  I think that added stress can really color the early parental experience.  I have never experienced anything more exhausting, terrifying, depressing, etc. as knowing something was wrong with my infant and not being able to fix it. 

Parker was born tongue-tied.  The frenulum (little membrane under his tongue attached to the bottom of his mouth) was so short he was unable to lift and extend his tongue.  This hindered his ability to breastfeed.  Though the doctors and lactation consultants insisted he would be fine, he kept losing weight.  For weeks.  He (and I) cried continuously, until he would pass out from exhaustion.  Finally, when he was on the verge of receiving a "failure to thrive" diagnosis, we switched doctors, clipped his frenulum, and started him on formula.  I'm not sure I will ever fully recover from the guilt I felt about starving that poor child.

I know that's a bit of an extreme case.  I think even without all of that drama, I would have had a tough time adopting the role of mother.  During pregnancy I read all the books.  So the baby wouldn't sleep well to begin with, big deal. (I don't recall anyone warning me that this could last for six months).  I knew I would need to change some diapers, etc.  I was just looking forward to putting the baby in adorable outfits, going on walks, taking the baby to lunches with friends...I suppose I thought I would give birth to a baby doll as opposed to an actual infant.

The realities of motherhood soon set in:

Spending money was sparse.  We went from being DINKS (double income, no kids) in the south to one check and three mouths to feed living on the west coast.

Our support system was gone.  Far from being a day's drive to Louisville, we were now 3 time zones and zero direct flights away from all of our family.

Hearing Aaron say, "I'm going to have to work late tonight" had the ominous ring of a death knell.  In days past I would have shrugged my shoulders and scheduled an impromptu dinner with my girlfriends.  Now, if he were more than 15 minutes late, all hell might break loose (because momma was losing her everlovin' mind).

Even personal care was altered.  Lengthy, luxurious baths were replaced with 2 minute showers.  I still don't get to use the bathroom alone most days.

Routine outings (grocery shopping, doctor visits, etc.) were suddenly complicated hassles.  Never again would I be able to preface a trip to the store with: "I'm just going run in and grab...." Forget it. You are taking that ginormous car seat in with you, like it or not.  And good luck scheduling your outing.  Between naps and feedings, you might just as well stay home. 

Vacation?  Ha!  With a baby?!  Let me tell you, that was one of the biggest eye-openers of all.  Do you really think the baby will magically know you are all on vacation and choose to sleep in?  Good luck planning those fun outings around baby's schedule.  Someone is staying in the room.  And then there's all the gear.  After schlepping the pack-n-play, diapers, portable highchair, etc. you quickly realize you would have had a better time if you'd just stayed home.

Basically, it's the end of the world as you know it.  (R.E.M., anyone?) 

The thing is, it's the end of your old world, but it's just the beginning of your new life.  As much as I loved Parker, I will freely admit it took me a long time to embrace my new life...to accept that it wasn't just mine anymore.  Once a mommy, always a mommy.  And what a gift!

But for those of you who may not be there yet...Perhaps you have a newborn.  Perhaps you have a sick child.  Perhaps you just returned from your first "vacation" with your one year old.  May I give you permission to grieve your old life?  The one where you never left the house with puke on your shirt, where you had intelligent, adult conversations all day long, where you did what you wanted when you wanted.  Just take a moment to recall all of the freedoms and joys of that past life. 

Now, let. it. go.  Don't waste a moment dwelling on the past.  You probably have on rose colored glasses anyway.  Embrace every moment [well, almost every moment, not the poopy ones] of your new role.  Everything is a phase, even the good stuff, so don't blink.

Speaking of Germs....

God has a funny sense of humor...

Earlier this month I wrote about germs and how my kids seemed bent on ingesting as many as humanly possible.  I wondered at that fact that they were well...
Yeah, not so much now.

Jack has RSV.  That's why I'm writing this post at 1:47 a.m.  For those of you who aren't familiar with this lovely little virus, RSV stands for respiratory syncytial
(sin-SISH-uhl) virus.  It's like a baby cold. On steroids.  Before I continue, I would like to thank my Heavenly Father that we didn't end up in the hospital like so many other babies with this virus this year.

That said, it sucks.  Quite literally.  It sucks the energy right out of me (well, the sleepless nights do, anyway).  I suck the snot right out of his little nose.  Over.  And Over.  And Over. 

It goes a little something like this...
Jack can't breathe.  We suction his nose and give him a breathing treatment.  (Please don't think for a second that just because I ended that sweet little sentence with a tidy little period that those two tasks are simple as they sound.)

Have you ever tried to suction a baby's nose?  I'm not talking about a docile little newborn.  I'm talking about an 18 pound, arm-flailing, fingernail fighting (yee-ouch!  when was the last time I trimmed those suckers?), little person who can thrash his head from side to side with the best of them.  I have to lie across his chest, pinning his arms with one arm and shoulder and attempt to stabilize his little head and place the suction bulb up inside impossibly tiny nostrils with my other arm and hand.  What?!  I don't mean to brag or anything, but I kind of feel like Supermom when I'm able to successfully remove some gunk.  Then I feel evil because I am gloating about subduing a 6 month old (whose face is purple from rage after the ordeal).

Now on to the breathing treatment.  Seriously.   To the person who invented the tiny little plastic mask that is supposed to stay over a baby's mouth and nose by simply placing the elastic band around the back of his head and pulling on the band (think airplane low cabin pressure emergency masks), I say: What were you thinking?!!  The only way that contraption would work is if my child were unconcious.  As it is, after I place the mask over his nose and mouth, turn on the machine (which sounds like a Mack truck), and the smoke [albuterol] begins to flow, he hell-bent on getting out of town.  Do you really think that quarter-inch piece of elastic is going to serve any purpose whatsoever?  I suppose if you were trying to strangle your baby, this would be a good place to start.  Soooo, simply hold the mask in place [read: use every available body part to keep the child an a human straitjacket while holding the mask on his face] and wait 5 minutes for the treatment [torture] to end.  Repeat 4-6 times per day.  Did I mention RSV lasts about 3 weeks?

After the breathing treatment it's time to suction his nose again because he's been crying and of course, can't breathe.  He can't nurse well because he can't breathe, so feedings are frequent (like newborn, up all night frequent).

Now it's not as bad as it seems.  After one week we can venture out into society again, as he won't be as contagious.  After a few days of breathing treatments, we can reduce the frequency. 

There is always a silver lining, and I don't want to miss the blessings that have accompanied this trial.

1.  When you wake in the middle of the night from a dead sleep, it is amazing what you can accomplish (especially since everyone else is asleep and not underfoot).  My kitchen is clean, I have time to blog and answer emails, I remember to check my calendar and Parker's backpack, etc.

2.  When you are forced to stay home, you can relax and just stay home.  No running to the gym, baking banana bread for the mothers' meeting, play dates...Instead I had play dates with Parker and Maddie.    It was so nice that I think I need to re-prioritize our calendar again.  (Who knew being a stay-at-home mom meant I'd never be home?)

3.  I am reminded to be thankful that my kids don't suffer from any major long term illnesses.  I cringe when I think about how much I whine [see above] about my child's 3 week illness.  I know parents whose children suffer on a daily basis and likely will for the rest of their lives.  They frequent the childrens' hospitals, have to watch their babies undergo painful treatments, have to administer treatments at home, and they don't bemoan their situation to the world. 

I hope most of you reading this will recognize that while I'm not thrilled with our current circumstances, I am just trying to offer some humorous commentary.  I know how good we've got it.  And I'm oh so grateful!

James 1:2-4
 ² Consider it pure joy, my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds, ³ because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. ⁴ Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

Germs

When we lived in Seattle, there were a few times I would wonder how on earth the kids got sick.  We didn't go many places, and I was militaristic somewhat obsessive about hand sanitizer. 

When the kids are healthy these days, I wonder why they are not sick.  Between preschool, the gym, the church nursery, etc. they are constantly exposed to a plethora of germs.  Apparently mere airborne exposure isn't enough to satisfy them.  They seem bent on seeking out and ingesting germs. (Like the time when I caught Parker licking the length of the handrail that lead down the ramp into the library, or when Maddie popped a piece of candy in her mouth that was on the floor near a quarter candy machine before I could utter a "nooooo!")

So right now Maddie has a very runny nose.  Thankfully it is of the clear variety.  Somehow that doesn't gross me out as much as the other kind.

Today as we sat at the kitchen table eating lunch, she complained to me of her runny nose.  I was feeding Jack some strained carrots and oatmeal mush (quite a messy and consuming job).  I instructed Maddie to go to the bathroom and get a tissue.  She argued that she wanted me to get the tissue.  I informed her I would gladly do that after I had finished feeding Jack.  If she needed one before then [and by the looks of her nose, she would], she'd need to get it herself.  Repeat this exchange about 10 times.

Pause.

"Mommy!" she exclaimed excitedly, "My boogers are gone!"

I glanced up.  She was grinning in a delighted, almost surprised manner.  Sure enough, it was as if they had miraculously disappeared.  I was not so delighted.

"Wow!  Where did they go?" I forced a smile.

"I don't know," she replied (still grinning).

"How did you get rid of them?"  Neutral tone.

"I don't know."  Her smile begins to fade.

"Maddie, did you use your shirt?"  Business tone.

She shakes her head and looks serious.

"Your fingers [please no]?"  Approaching "mean mommy" tone, thinking about what I'll need to disinfect.

She shakes her head again.

"Your tongue [ewwwww]?"  Desperate tone.

Shaking her head again, all of the usual excuses begin to pour out of her little mouth.  I could almost watch her nose grow. "I don't know...I forgot...It was an accident..."

"Maddie!  Just tell me what you used so I know what I have to clean!"

Realizing she wasn't in any real trouble, she smiled and answered simply, "My pants."

(*Whew*)  It makes me cringe to think that I was actually relieved by her answer.  When you consider the alternatives, pants don't seem all that bad.  Oh, how low have I sunk?!