Here it is, 12:24 am. And I feel like myself again. I've caught up on my reading. I've cleaned the house. I've made lists of everything I need to do for the rest of week. Heck, I've even painted my toenails.
Has my evening sickness abated? No.
Have my children suddenly stopped bickering, whining, needing or breathing? No.
Has my schedule cleared itself? Actually, it's busier than ever.
The difference is- Dave's finally out of town again!
I know, I know, I'm horrible. But, damn it, the man's been home for two straight months.
Don't get me wrong. I love having him here. He's an amazingly hands-on dad. He gets more done around the house in two hours than I do in two days. But the strange thing is, when he's home, I have this need to sit and talk with him. And do other things. None of which involve cleaning, organizing, writing, reading or painting toenails.
But we're used to the breaks. We need the breaks. Sometimes, I think the breaks are the key to our marriage. We got married when he was in the Marine Corps, and he left for six weeks not a month into our marriage. And he's traveled for his job for the last five years.
I love the me time. I love sitting in absolute silence for more than ten minutes. I love reading a favorite novel for the fourteenth time and not feeling the need to share any of it out loud. I love making a snack and not having to make one for anyone else. I love having a blanket all to myself (at least until the little ones start showing up). I love remembering who I am.
He loves his alone time, too. He loves eating dinner without constant interruptions. He loves bathing without little faces pressed against the shower doors. He loves jamming on his bass as loudly as he wants without me asking him to turn it down. He loves watching the movies that I hate (middle-school boy humor type).
But over the years, we've also learned to appreciate each other through a little distance, as well. I recognize my real need for him. He realizes the emptiness that bachelorhood brings. I acknowledge his daily sacrifices (4am wakeups!) so that I can stay home. He sees my devotion to our family.
I couldn't do six weeks any longer. I need him now, more than ever. I need his insight and help with the kids. I need his companionship and back rubs. I need the adult conversation.
But I can wait a few more days.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
See You.....Soon
Friday, February 15, 2008
Happy Birthday To 'Ku
The first time we met,
saw me and said, "Stop the press!"
and called me for weeks.
Then I fell, and hard.
For the Marine with ice blues.
They still make me melt.
A bit grayer now.
He doesn't believe me, but
I think it's sexy.
No better man lives
than the one my kids call Dad.
Our lives lived for him.
Happy Birthday Dave
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
God Had To Be Smiling
In church yesterday, the guest speaker spoke on the importance of teaching your children that they can have an impact on the world around them even as kids, not just when they are adults. Dave and I have always told the kids that it is their job to share Jesus with their friends. But after hearing the service yesterday, I decided to incorporate his lesson into our morning Bible lesson. I shared one of the speaker's stories about two young girls praying for a woman and her subsequent healing.
After I had talked to the kids, I noticed Asker kneeling on the rocking chair. A few minutes later he came into the kitchen...
"Mom, I asked God to make me into a Power Ranger."
"Wow, that's great" suppressing giggles, "But remember, God honors prayers that have good intentions. If we are just being selfish, He probably won't answer 'yes.'"
"OK, mom."
He went back into the living room and after a moment I peeked around the corner. Sure enough, he was kneeling again. I tried to eavesdrop, but couldn't make out what he was saying. He got up and started playing. A few minutes later he was back in the kitchen.
"Mom, mom. I asked God to let me touch people and heal them."
"Asker, that's awesome. That is such an unselfish and earnest prayer. I'm sure God was very pleased with your heart. Do you remember when King Solomon asked for wis..."
"Yeah, but mom? Then I asked Him to make me a Power Ranger again"
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Guess I Need To Add Geography To The Curriculum
Overheard:
Yes, we killed him.
Now what awe we gonna' do?
Well, we're going to bury him.
Whewe?
We're going to bury him in the great mountains of Kansas.
Friday, January 11, 2008
Haiku Family
Thumb-sucking, slobber,
Smiles that make me warm inside.
My heart keeps growing.
Mispronounces all.
Says I'm perty when I'm not.
He fills me with joy.
Tiny voice, strong will.
We need each other deeply.
Love her beyond words.
Firstborn, brain like mine,
But soul is pulled from Father.
We both puff with pride.
Here before them all.
Father: strong, brave, resourceful.
Rest my heart on him.
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Fresh Sheets
When I was an over-confident and completely naive 16 year old, I had a massive crush on Kevin. Kevin was 18 and drove a Fiero. I don't think my diaper bag would fit in a Fiero, but back then it was the coolest car I knew. I shared one snow-falling-around-us-while-the-world-stopped kiss with Kevin, and pined for him for the next year.
When I was leaving Jiu-Jitsu with Asker last week, guess who walked in the door? And since he's taking the class after Asker's, I get to see him every Tuesday and Thursday. We've chatted and caught up the few times that I've seen him. He looks about the same (short, dark and handsome), but surprisingly, I don't find him attractive in the buckshot-to-the-middle kind of way. I can look at him and think, "Hey, he's a hot guy," but I can still speak and talk and think coherently (at least as well as any woman with 4 kids can.)
This is the third ex of some type (husband, boyfriend, crush) that I've run into since moving back home. Oh, the joys of a small town. But, each has been the same way. What I would have predicted to be awkward and emotionally-charged was comfortable and platonic. I can only attribute it to one thing.
TALL, dark and handsome.
Friday, December 07, 2007
And Then We Had A Huge Group Hug
It's been one of those days. It was too cold for the kid's to play in the snow, so they were stuck inside all day. I did 35 loads of laundry and before I could put away my neatly folded piles, the kids turned them into "leaf piles." Let's just say I checked out the windows for DSS for the next hour.
I usually don't give the kids naps on Fridays so that I can get them to bed early and have a nice few hours with Dave. As we were doing our evening ritual of picking up rooms, brushing teeth and peeing as many times as I can encourage, the kids were dragging feet, complaining, bickering and just being uncooperative. Finally, after much yelling from the other room to finish picking up, I knew it was time to step it up. Situations like this call for only one thing- bribery. But, I was feeling pretty courageous, so I decided to go with choice number two- faith-based bribery!
I gathered the kids together and gave them a mini pep-talk about family, cooperation, service and any other guilt-inducing concepts I could manage. Then I threw the bait.
"Show me who can be most like Jesus the rest of the evening. Whoever does the best job will get a reward."
I went back to folding laundry and waited. And waited. And waited. The silence was unbelievable. Astounding. Confusing. A bit disturbing.
I walked back in the room to find them lying on the floor with arms outstretched.
"What are you guys doing? You're supposed to be cleaning."
"No mom, we're on the Cross. You told us to be like Jesus!"
Sunday, November 25, 2007
I Love You Best
Asker, I love you the most. You were the beginning of everything that is good in me. You loved me when I had no clue how to be a mom. You fill me with pride. You are sharp and intelligent and tender and loving. You are brave and careful. You protect your siblings with a fierceness I didn't know a child could have. You have taught me mercy; not because I need it with you, but because you give it so freely to me. You are sensitive, and have shown me the value of this trait I have long admired from afar. You are everything a firstborn son should be.
Toots, I love you the most. You are a tiny, squeaky fireball of energy and boundless emotion. Your random stream-of-consciousness words and songs fill my days with delight. I have spent hours lost in watching you. You have taught me patience. You, more than anyone, even more than Daddy, have made me look inside myself and become a better person. You challenge me when I am wrong, but forgive instantly. You challenge me when I am right, but ask for forgiveness passionately. You have my fire, but Daddy's compassion. And what a beautiful, powerful combination it is.
Clam, I love you the most. You are peace in a chaotic world. You are constant happiness. You are my silent observer whose carefully chosen words mean so much. You are an encourager and peacemaker. You are a friend to all. You are gentle with our baby, and kind to your big siblings. You give the best running hugs ever, and I can't imagine a day not filled with your huge smiles.
Superboy, I love you the most. You are slobbery smiles, and chubby cheeks and gentle "Goos." You are sugar-breath in the morning, and there is no place that smells better in the world, than the top of your little bald head.
Monday, February 26, 2007
Warm Heart, Cold Feet
An interesting thing happened today. I watched my oldest son "rescuing" Toots from what he thought was her impending death, and I realized that he is so grown-up. There is no more baby.
The global warming gods offered us 8 inches of snow yesterday.* Dave and Asker were out for hours building a snow fort. Now, there is a huge difference between how I build a snow fort and how the Marine-formerly-known-as-Rambo builds one. I take a bucket, fill it dump it, and so on. He clears a level six foot by six foot area. Then he covers the ground with soft pine needle boughs. (Nice for little hineys, but I'm dreading how the tree's going to look come spring). He then proceeds to build this immense fort that was taller than I am, complete with windows and door. The thing was pretty cool.
The problem was, today was almost fifty degrees and, well, snow forts melt. I sent Asker and Toots out early this morning. They needed the exercise and fresh air, and I needed the space. They sledded (slid?) for awhile and then took to the fort. I was watching them through the back door, intermittently. At one point, I glanced out and saw a huge chunk of the fort fall down. Then I saw Asker run out, grab a baseball bat and start wailing on the fort with all his might. Fearing Dave's reaction if the fort was completely demolished by evening, I opened the door and let him have it (Read: "Sweetheart, please be considerate of Father's great creation.). As soon as he saw me, he started yelling, "Mom, my sister is trapped! I'm trying to get her out."
The mother fear kicked in right then. You know, the one they don't tell you about before you have kids. The - if you knew what it was like you would never have even considered having kids- fear. So I jumped down into the snow (deck not built yet), in my barefeet and shorts. I rushed to the snow fort, and sure enough Toots was trapped. But her head was uncovered, so I could have put on shoes and a coat and a hat and gloves. Better yet, I could have stood in the kitchen with my hot tea and directed Asker on how exactly to rescue her. But as it was, I pulled her out and all was well.
After I made my way back into the house (climbing up to the back door, not so fun), I realized what he had done. Granted, whacking the snow with the baseball bat wasn't the most efficient or safest way to get her out. But he had acted. He didn't scream for me or come rushing to the door. He didn't stand there looking helpless. He immediately went to her rescue. After the feeling came back into my feet, I called them both in for hugs and treats. After talking with Asker, I realized that Dave had spent a good portion of the previous day discussing survival techniques and the potential dangers of snow. I was grateful to have such a capable husband. And I was grateful to have a son who paid attention. They went back out, and I saw them fighting a short while later. But those few minutes sure warmed my heart.
* To understand why I believe we should not take climate advice from a failed politician read this and this and this.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
Everyone Says He Is Just Like His Daddy
There are times I post stories that need no introduction. They stand alone in their reflections of children's innocence and humor. And then there are the stories like today's. The kind that require a preface and double disclaimer. Disclaimer 1: This is the reason I do not use our last name or my children's first names. Because I am horrified to claim this child as my own. Although I am sure each parent reading has an equally disgusting story. Disclaimer 2: There is a distinct possibility that this child may not be mine at all. He was the only one not born at home, and we all know how sneaky those hospital staff are. Now that I think of it, I'm pretty sure he was switched at birth.
When we returned from an exhausting day of sledding last night, I was sure the kids would throw themselves into bed and peacefully sleep away the night. Didn't happen. Overly tired and limbs aching from being dragged up the hill by their pregnant mommy, they were all wailing. I yanked off clothes, pulled on jammies and did some really quick teeth brushing. At some point I climbed into bed with baby C and that's when I became convinced I am rearing someone else's child.
The boys have bunk beds, so I was lying directly under A. After a few minutes, he must have forgotten that I was below him. All was quiet, when I heard him whispering.
"Dear Jesus, please help me not to die. I don't want to die. Please help me not to die from the poop germs."
Of course, being the ever-loving mom that I am, my first reaction was to start laughing. But I did so silently, being even more concerned with evesdropping. I sneaked out of C's bed and peeked over the rail for a closer look and listen.
"Jesus, protect me from those poop germs. Help me not to die."
At this point, sympathetic sweet mom kicked in and I made my presence known (plus I knew a really good blog post was happening and I needed details).
"What's wrong, buddy? Why are you praying?"
"I can't tell you, mom. I'm going to get in trouble."
"It's OK, A, you can tell me. I want to make sure you're OK. I'm not going to discipline you."
"I'm not OK. I'm going to die!"
At this, my heart started breaking because he obviously believed his demise was imminent. So I climbed the ladder and snuggled up to him.
"Tell me what happened, honey"
"Well, I.....I....I was going to eat my boogie. I mean, I did eat my boogie, and my finger smelled like poop and now I'm going to die from the collie."
OK, can we just stop right there. There are so many disgusting, embarrassing, I-cannot-believe-my-child-just-said-that moments in that confession that I am still reeling. But, in that enigma of life, it is in weakness and vulnerability that we are most prone to tenderness. So, even though I was visibly trying not to laugh, I was overwhelmed with love for this stinky little boy.
"You mean, e-coli?"
"Yes, the poop germs."
"No, honey you're not going to die. Um, why does your finger smell like poop?" You would have asked too.
"Well, I was trying to wipe when I had all my snow clothes on, and I couldn't get it all."
"So, you didn't wash your hands and had a little poop smell on your finger from during the day? Well, don't worry, the e-coli are probably all dead from being out in the cold." Completely pulled out of my butt, that explanation was.
"No, mom, I didn't get it all before, and my hiney was itching, so I just tried to wipe it on my blanket."
"ON YOUR BLANKET? Why didn't you go to the bathroom?"
"I was too tired. I'm going to die!!"
I spent the next few minutes comforting him with various explanations as to why he wasn't going to die. Finally, we prayed together that God would destroy the poop germs (A adding "with lasers") and he was able to go to sleep.
I looked at him with the absolute, pure love that only comes when they are sleeping and realized what a special thing it is to have a child that is willing to share his most embarrassing moments with his mom. I don't think I would have told my mom had I done the same thing, even at that young age. I'm sure in a few years, his social skills will have developed and he will not even consider cluing me in. I looked at him for another moment, said a quick prayer of thanks, and rushed downstairs to tell Dave so we could laugh hysterically.
Monday, December 11, 2006
I'm Crushed
I was A's first love. He always told me that after he was married, he would still give me hugs and kisses. But now, he has a crush. And I am not she.
Last summer, I noticed that after Sunday School each week, instead of just talking about the boys, A kept mentioning a little girl, H.E.. He always called her by her first and last name. At first, I just thought he viewed her the same way as his sister and two girl cousins who are in the same class. But then, he started mentioning a future with H.E.. As in, "Mom, when H.E. and I get married....." WHAT? He was four at the time!
Now, I know some parents think first crushes are adorable and even encourage them. My sister was the unwitting recipient of many first crushes. One father, in particular, encouraged his (first-grade) son to the point of actually getting him a ring to give to her. Dave and I, however, were appalled. Don't get me wrong, H.E. is adorable. She is a doe-eyed sweet little thing about a year older than A. But, hello, they are kindergartners. We explained to A that four year olds do not know who they are going to marry, and he could be friends with H.E. without feeling the burden of planning his future.
Then came the church picnic. At one point, I saw H.E. and A sitting together on a bench, eating. I asked him later what they discussed. "Oh," said he, "she told me her mom said I wanted to marry her and she said it was OK." Obviously, Dave and I were not getting through.
Now, to my knowledge, A and H.E. have never had a meaningful conversation since the park bench. I'm sure they pass crayons and watch puppet shows together. But A tends to be a bit shy, and H.E. may have absolutely no recollection of their previous conversation. A, however, is utterly convinced.
Every day, H.E.'s name is mentioned numerous times in our house. When A and T play house, T has to be H.E.. And A always says, "You be H.E., the real H.E.." As if T can somehow magically transform into the REAL H.E.. She is always the princess he rescues and the maiden he marries. He even prays for her.
It is sweet. But he is really persistent. I like to talk to the children about the attributes we should look for in a spouse. Everything I list; sweet, kind, loves God, good parent, etc.. A will agree, "Yup, that's H.E.." With T, we're working on a simpler level.
A- "I'm going to marry H.E., T. Who are you going to marry?"
T- "Mommy."
A- "You can't marry Mommy. You have to marry a boy."
T- "Oh. I marry Daddy."
A- "You can't marry your Daddy, T. It has to be someone different."
T- proceeds to name every cousin she has.
A- "NO T. YOU CAN'T MARRY YOUR FAMILY. SOMEONE DIFFERENT."
T- "OK, I marry H.E.!"
So now we've decided that instead of talking him out of marrying H.E., we will just redirect him. If he mentions marrying her, we tell him five year olds don't get married, but that he can get married after he goes to college, is out of the Marine Corps, and is a pilot (all his current life goals and one of mine!).
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Things I've Learned
I learned today that you really can slip on a banana peel. It was amazing, I looked just like a cartoon. You can just pretend that we were doing an experiment, instead of acknowledging that my kids throw banana peels on the floor.
I've learned some other cool things since having kids. Did you know that Spider-Man throws his webs from his forearms, not from his fingers? I never noticed, but A certainly did (& he's only looked at the movie box, not the movie). And did you know that Blue (as in Blue's Clues) is a girl? Yup, she is.
Yes, having kids has taught me many things. I've learned that no matter how many times you bathe them, their ears will still be crusty the next time you check. And I've learned that milk spills are contagious. I never knew that before a few years ago.
I've also learned that toys are never as interesting as the boxes in which they came. I've learned that having a phone conversation reminds children that they absolutely cannot function without your full and total attention. I've learned that bookshelves DO NOT like to look tidy and will regurgitate their contents within 30 minutes of being organized. I've learned that beads are meant for spilling and pots and pans are really designed for banging.
I've also learned that boo-boos heal much faster with kisses and Daddy's are the best playmates. My kids have taught me the beauty of silence and the power of naps. I have learned how cool roly-polys really are. And I now know the difference between how crickets and grasshoppers chirp.
Most importantly, my kids have taught me how great our God is. I look at their grubby little faces, and I overwhelmed that He could have sent His son (not grubby, I'm sure) to die for me. I hope this Thanksgiving that you all take time to give thanks for our little bundles and all the things they've taught us.
One more thing. I've learned that a king-sized bed can fit 5 people just fine!
