Let me talk!

Even though a bad case of strep made Little Sister grumpy and pitiful last week, I still got some very sweet cuddle time. She wanted me to hold her all. the. time.

I'll be the first to admit, I'm not so good at the whole sitting-still thing. I'm too restless. It's like there is a soundbite looping in my brain of all of the things I could/should be doing instead. Sometimes, I can remind that obnoxious, constant voice that I should be spending time with my girls (even if "spending time" to them means that I sit in the room while they play dolls by themselves and they fuss at me for interrupting when I try to talk to them.) Sometimes I try to come up with more entertaining things we can do together. And sometimes I just make a couple of runs to check the laundry inbetween puzzles or books.

But even the nervous, chore-obsessed voice can't argue with a sick baby. So I sat and cuddled and talked and listened more than usual. I rubbed her little legs and feet and smiled when she said, "That ticklishes me." I held her one afternoon for her entire naptime. I watched countless episodes of Blue's Clues and Dora and Pingu with her planted firmly on my lap.

It was very sweet. And somewhere along the way, Little Sis seemed to find her voice.

Don't get me wrong, Little Sis has never had a hard time talking. She has always had the best intonations, the most oddly appropriate responses, and the funniest facial expressions. But a lot of that comes from her keen observation, and frequently she simply repeats things to be like her big sister or older friends.

For example: A few weeks ago, she started trying to tell secrets in my ear, after Big Sis and a friend tried to teasingly convince her of some Mermaid fairytale with a "secret." Every secret Little Sis told was the same: "There was a mermaid, and she had purple hair." Okay, so the hair color might change, but the premise never did. It was just trying to say the right thing.

The same thing happened over & over at dinner or in the car, when she wanted to contribute to the conversation (which these days, is always about 92% Big Sis, 8% everyone else in our family.) Sometimes Little Sis will get super-frustrated and scream, "NO! LET ME TALK" only to mumble almost the same thing, or her own possibly-not-even-true version of whatever Big Sis or someone else was saying. And bless her heart, that was IF she got a word or two in at all.

Well, something seems to have changed this week. Maybe she grasped a little more about the art of conversation. Maybe I just listened more. Maybe Big Sis is getting more patient and appreciating what she has to contribute. Or maybe Little Sister just has more confidence in what she is going to say and that her own input matters.

All I know is, she is starting to talk more about things SHE saw, or heard or experienced. Like today, in a stolen moment when Big Sis was upstairs and it was just the two of us, she just blurted out, "Today at school, we played with NEW blocks that Miss Meredith made! They were pink and green and gray!" Usually, all she says about school is "yes" when I ask if she had fun, and tell me someone pushed her down. This was different- a glimpse into what she is thinking. I love that she can explain her day, especially a part of it I missed, to me in her own words.

She also has taken it upon herself lately to be the house bloodhound. As if we need another dog. She points out any stinky smell. And sometimes she'll even follow up her "it stinks" with "It wasn't me!" The other day at the mall playground, she told me it smelled funny. A few minutes later, after trying to pry her off of my legs and get her to go play, she told me "but something is stinky out there!" I had to go sniff around and tell her whatever it was (most certainly a dirty diaper on some fellow climber) was indeed gone.

She is telling me more about what she sees and understands in movies or tv shows that we watch. One day she sat on my bed and stroked Keaton, then looked up at me and said, "Mr. Lopart says 'I'm really more of a cat person.'" She'll explain why she doesn't like certain movies ("there's a bad guy in that one").

She takes her leftover dry cereal and doles out each piece, one at a time, into the dogs' bowls, talking to them the whole time. "Sit, Al. Good boy. No, Sophie, eat your other one first and then I'll give you one. Nice job."

She is even beginning to give her tiny princess dolls a little more of a plotline/script than "hello" or "Mommy!" (That one was pretty confusing for me, for a while.)

Of course, there are still lots of other things she is still figuring out. Like when she asked, "Do you know that song the bad guys sing in Pocahontas? It says, "Sandwiches, Sandwiches."

I'm still giggling. I can't help it. I love that little girl and her big brain.

She ticklishes me.

"But it's December the 24th... "

And a part of me does long to be up north-

with my parents, having our traditional seafood and gifts, popping open Christmas crackers and wearing the silly crowns.

I remember when more family spent Christmas eve in Ohio, too. One year, my uncle Tye crept downstairs in the wee hours of the morning to hang his own set of stockings for everyone. Mine had a velveteen rabbit inside. It was magical.

I think I've grown to love Christmas Eve even more than Christmas Day.

This year was no exception. Despite a hurried start to the day (last minute errands- boo!) we all made it to the 4:00 service at church. It was lovely, as usual. My favorite part this year was at the very beginning, when an older gentleman from our church (who recently lost his wife, incidentally) got up to sing an a capella rendition of "C is for the Christ child." It was by far the most moving music I'd heard through all of advent. And we have a lot of great music around here.

After the service, we shared our favorite light display with friends. It is an amazing house with lights all over the yard and a garage filled with animatronic snowmen, angels, Peanuts, Santas, and more. Last year, the family took a year off, so we were very excited to visit again.

Of course, that put us behind a bit as far as making dinner. My kids ended up making a bag of Combos in the car the bulk of their Christmas Eve feast. (Don't worry, they had more than that- though not much more!) I began to feel frazzled, but then I stopped to remember that it was NOT doing everything perfectly that made the night special.

So, we sprinkled magic Reindeer food,

set out cookies for Santa (and more food for those hard-working deer),

watched the Grinch,

and grew a teensy bit impatient waiting on Daddy to finish wrapping.

Finally, it was time for our gifts for each other.

Our girls get the good stuff from Santa on Christmas morning, but they get PJs and books from Mommy & Daddy the night before. This year, I cheated a little and threw in a pillow pet, too. It was a big hit.

Big Sister was super excited about her Pillow Pet, too. It's a pink and purple unicorn. Fitting. You can see it in the next photo:

This was my favorite moment of the evening. Daddy, in all of his frantic running around in the few hours he had to himself before Christmas, picked out The Jesus Bible Storybook for the girls, just from him. And he read it with them before they put on their new pajamas and got ready for bed.

Big Sister was actually in a hurry to go to sleep, lest Santa pass us by. Little Sister put up her usual resistance, but was also soon asleep, snuggled with her ladybug.

Daddy and I stayed up until 1:30, getting the final preparations together for the next day. It was a little exhausting, but it also provided some of the first quiet holiday moments we were able to share together in weeks. We kept checking for snow, doubting the forecasters and wondering if we should have (not that we could have) gone up to Cincinnati.

But, though a part of my heart will always be in Ohio on Christmas Eve, there was really no other place I would have rather been than right here, with my sweet family.

And magical Christmas moments like this.

Oh... that...

This morning while getting the girls dressed, I turned to find Little Sister running out into the hallway. A door slammed, and then she quickly returned, looking quite satisfied with herself.

"Did you lock Keaton in my room?" I asked.

Little Sis nodded. "Now she won't poop on my bed." This made Big Sister giggle and me shake my head.

I responded with something along the lines of this: "She isn't going to poop on your bed. I just tell you not to lock her out of Mommy & Daddy's room because her bathroom is in our bathroom. If she can't get there, then she might go potty somewhere else."

"She will poop on my floor." It seemed Little Sis thought this was a good compromise between her position and mine.

Then Big Sister chimed in as I helped her put on her shoes. "Remember when Keaton pooped in my castle?" I nodded. When the cat was very sick a few years ago, she seemed to think the pink and purple play-tent was her own master bath. How could I forget something that gross?

"Hey, whatever happened to that castle, anyway?" asked Big Sis.

Feeling proud of myself and grateful for the opportunity, I seized the moment to talk about behavior and consequences. "Well, it got torn up. You threw a few huge fits and you broke it. And one day, I just took it down. It's in the attic, but I can't figure out how to fix it again."

"You could buy me a new one. Or Daddy could get some wood and build us a real one. A big fancy one." Big Sis was seriously overestimating her dad's carpentry skills, but that wasn't the biggest problem in my mind.

"You tore up the last one. You didn't take care of it, and you purposely broke it when you were angry and in time out. Why in the world would we get you another one?"

Without missing a beat, Big Sister answered. "To show grace," she said.

Oh. That.

Sometimes this kid is too smart for her own good.

Or for mine, at least!

Car Conversations

Yesterday. Mommy & Big Sister are on the way to school when they pass the Town Hall, where elections are already underway.

Mommy: Oh, that's why the traffic is worse this morning- because of the elections.

Big Sister: What are elections?

Mommy: Well, remember when we voted for the president? This time, we aren't electing a president, but we are voting for other leaders in our government: like representatives and council people and governors. We all vote for who we want to be the leader, and the person who gets the most votes wins.

Big Sister: I hope you win.

Mommy: I'm not running for anything. Only a few people are going to be up for election. And they have time to tell everyone why we should vote for them, and then people like me decide who gets our vote. And then, if they get the most votes, they will be the next leaders in our government. It's a very important thing- to choose your leaders like this.



This morning, again on the way to school. Mommy & Big Sister pass the now empty parking lot for the Town Hall.

Big Sister: Mommy, did your people win?

Mommy: (sighing, but smiling) Not really. But it's okay.

Big Sister: But they lost?

Mommy: Some of the people I voted for did not get the most votes. It's okay. It's how voting works. Sometimes your people win, and sometimes they lose. But when you vote you accept that. Someone else will be in charge. But you know what? I'm okay with it, because you know who is really in charge? Of everything?

Big Sister: God.

Mommy: Exactly. And He is in control, no matter what. And he is much, much more powerful than any leader we elect.



And how we as believers react, win or lose, is a reflection of Him. Prayers for perspective today...

A battle to the finish

And by finish, I mean either the end of ridiculous behavior on the part of my children.

Or the end of me.

Whichever comes first.

It's uncanny- whenever I try to do something right, it seems that my children are conspiring agents in an attempt to derail me.

Mom wants to get up early to read her Bible & pray that she won't lose her mind today? Let's get up right when she does. Or exercise? Ha. We'll stop that.

Mom and Dad want to work together on a theater production that will minister to people while simultaneously reminding them of their non-parenting gifts and some of the reasons they fell in love (way before we came along)? Ha. Let's flip out at the loss of routine and get up numerous times in the night to compound the lack of sleep we're all feeling. Even better- we can act like nutballs from the very beginning. Let's run around while Mom tries to audition. We might even be able to make her try and give up... or cry. (They did.)

Mom wants to end her isolation after the dreaded Barnes & Noble incident? She actually thinks she can deal with both of us in public? We'll show her.

Our parents want to have friends? So what if they are friends we like? We can't let this healthy thing take place. Let's start acting up the day before they're supposed to get together- every time. Mom will stress out and want to give up way before she gets the house ready or fixes a meal. She might cancel. And if not, well, we'll find a way to ruin the evening...

Mommy's gonna try to blog again, huh? Let's give her some stuff to gripe about. ;)


Okay, so I know (or hope) my kids aren't that malicious. But it does sometimes seem this way. And if I'm not careful, I can let this perception affect the way in which I interact with them. I'm really, really angry with Big Sis this morning. She has completely flipped out over four ridiculously small things in the last 24-hours. Yesterday morning, it was because Little Sis interrupted her at breakfast. Last night it was because we couldn't see the animals after soccer practice, and because I refused to give her gum after the first outburst. This morning, after a smooth morning getting ready for "Western Day" at school (jeans, cute plaid shirt, braids and a sheriff hat) she cried & screamed because she wanted to wear boots. The girl has NEVER owned a pair of boots.

Each of these times, she has totally LOST her mind. And sometimes Little Sis follows right behind her. The educator and psych major in me is analyzing it all, trying to figure out what to do differently, trying to ignore or react appropriately and decide on logical consequences. The mom in me is trying not to lose my cool, doing my best at warding off Mommy guilt, and thanking my husband for investing in a punching bag a few years ago. The human in me- well, she's not taking it so well. She's pretty quick to want to throw in the towel.

And that's the thing about all of this. If I'm really being attacked, it isn't my kids. My kids are kids. They get tired, or hungry, or anxious, or just plain ornery. No- if these are attacks, they have a much deeper spiritual implication and it comes from a place where my weaknesses, my deepest fears and my most sensitive tipping points are well-known.

A friend of mine from college, one with whom I have reconnected on Facebook and blogging, has been faithfully preparing to move to a new state with her family so her husband can serve in a new ministry position. Yesterday I saw on facebook that their car wouldn't start- the day before they are set to move.

And of course, there is the family of little Caleb.

I'm totally not the "spiritual warfare" type person- I've never read This Present Darkness or anything, but it sure seems like something is out to hinder and hold us back from obeying and serving and becoming better examples of Christ. And, while I don't believe God causes these things, big or small, to happen, I DO believe He can be glorified in how we respond.

I'm trying to do what Caleb's family has done. What my friend is doing. Here is what she said on facebook last night: "I have had better days, but so many people are experiencing worst, so I'll put on my big girl pants, praise God for the stuff that really matters and move on!"

Of course- before I could finish typing that, Little Sis interrupted about 40 times, the dog got all wrapped up outside and demolished a rhododendron in the back yard, Hubby got grease or something from the car on his pants as he was leaving for work (in the van with the donut tire that he had to jump to get it to start, by the way) the housework is piling up and on it goes... small things, I know. Frustrations. Attacks? Opportunities.

If I pray for you (and I will), will you say an extra prayer for me?

Free advice

Tonight, the girls and I stayed home from church because Big Sis has had some tummy trouble and missed school today. She was feeling much better this evening, though, so we ventured outside into the glorious fall weather.

As we walked through our yard, I didn't even have to remind the girls to watch where they stepped. Little Sister did it for me; "Watch out for dog poop!" she sang as we made our way to the swingset.

Then she added, "Ew. Dog poop. Dat's gross! We don't eat poop. We eat food."

A wise tip from Little Sister to me, and now from me to you.

Little Sister's little memories

When Big Sister was a toddler, there were two especially amazing things about her. The first was her vocabulary. It was ridiculous. But the second was her memory. She could (and still does) tell us things we didn't even remember saying. Of course, now that she's almost five, she can't remember not to push her sister, but that's another story.

Little Sister is also quite the talker, but it's not her vocabulary that will get you. It's her conversational skills- the way she says things that are so spot-on, so appropriate, even funny, although she just turned two.

But she also has the memory. She has recently started recalling things more and more frequently, always starting with "'member _______?"

Sometimes it makes complete sense, like when we read a Disney princess story and she remembers something from our trip. Or when we see fireworks and she remembers the wonderful show at Cinderella's castle. She has recalled numerous times (and to numerous people) how Sophie's leash got wrapped around her ankle and left a terrible rope burn. And the other night when I tucked her in, she was busy recalling (and digesting) the story we read and the episode of Dora she watched earlier in the evening. (" 'Member Swiper took the flower...")

Other times, her memories are quite random. And quite entertaining.

One evening we were in the gym at church, having dinner before VBS. The director got up to make some announcements and then lead the group in prayer. The girls sat angelically in their seats, even folding their hands, but started to get restless as the prayer went on. Something reminded Little Sister of something she just couldn't help but (loudly) share:

" 'Member when Goofy fell down?"

What? I figured out it was from a Mickey Mouse Clubhouse Dvd they've been watching lots lately. But still- it was very out of the blue.

Another random memory came late last night. The girls were super restless and waking up numerous times. Once I was holding Little Sis and thinking that I was getting her settled back to sleep. Instead, I was surprised when she lifted her head from my shoulder and asked, " 'Member that turtle said 'dude'?"

She had me. Crush is probably my favorite Disney/Pixar character. And she said "du-u-u-de" perfectly. We spent the next few minutes recalling the Nemo ride at Epcot, the movie, the beach, and so on. Big Sister joined in too.

Bedtime (or going-back-to-bed-time) was postponed, but oh, the memories.

Both recalled... and created.

This is bigger than rules...

A few weeks ago, as I walked up the steps with a basket of laundry, I heard the girls fussing at each other. It was early in the morning; they had just gotten out of bed and I wasn't there to greet them and set the tone for the day. Obviously, they chose a tone of their own: UGLY.

I got to the top of the steps just in time to hear Big Sister growl, "NO! You aren't supposed to take that much toilet paper! Mom is going to be REALLY MAD AT YOU!" followed by a thump, and finally crying. I ran in to find Big Sister still fussing at Little Sis, who was sitting on the floor in tears. Unrolled toilet paper snaked from the holder, around the stool where Big Sister stood, and stopped where Little Sis held it bunched in her hands.

"WHAT is going on?!" I asked.

Immediately, Big Sister let me know that Little Sis "took way too much toilet paper and she's not supposed to do that and you (me) don't like it when we do that and she wouldn't stop."

"And so you pushed her down?" I asked.

"Yes," she readily admitted. "She took too much toilet paper."

"Do you think I would be more upset about running out of toilet paper or seeing one of you girls hurting the other?"

I thought it was a no-brainer. But I watched as Big Sister thought for a moment, and a light-bulb seemed to blink above her head.

"Were you just trying to get some toilet paper to help Big Sis while she was on the potty?" I asked Little Sister. She nodded pitifully, her feelings still hurt from being fussed at and pushed.

I turned back to Big Sister. "Do you see that I care a lot more about you both than I do about toilet paper? I don't want to waste it and run out when we need it. And I don't want to clean it up after you guys make a big mess with it. But I would be WAY more upset if something happened to one of you. Hurting someone is worse than taking too much toilet paper."

I thought later about how little kids don't really see the "levels" of our expectations. As they grow out of their ego-centrism (Piaget), they start to see how what they do effects other people, and it's our jobs as parents to help with that realization. But a lot of times, they just follow the rules because they are the rules. It's that "concrete operation" thinking (Piaget again) in them. It never occurred to Big Sister that one rule might take precedence over another.

Today, I realized that as believers, we're often the same way. Jesus made it really clear what he thought the greatest commandments were. He said, "the greatest commandment is... and the second is like it..." lest there be any confusion. What were they? To love. Love God, and your neighbor.

He said the rest of the law and the teachings of the Hebrew prophets hinged on those two ideas. Those two simple rules guide the others. It's the same way that we don't waste the toilet paper because we might not leave any for others or cause someone to have to work extra to clean up the mess. We want to be considerate to the others in our house. Because we love them.

How many people in the church are yelling and fussing and knocking each other down over silly, secondary issues? How many of them are feeling quite justified in doing so because "it's the rules!" or "The Bible says it's wrong."

I'm not saying love rules out correction. Certainly, when we love someone, we uphold them and correct them and encourage them to do the right things. But we have to start with the love.

The rest of the stuff, the details, the toilet paper... can come later.



PS. Who can be the first person to identify the movie from which I borrowed the title? Here's a hint- it is spoken by another farm bird...

The chicken doesn't work...

This whirlwind week is wearing my girls out.

They stayed up really late on Saturday, are going to school a few extra days this week, and are accompanying us to VBS each night until after 9. They've both been so tired at the end of the day that silly things have them completely undone. Monday night, Little Sister got frustrated with a little wooden barn puzzle (the third or fourth toy she had in the car, having thrown the previous few) and somehow busted her lip with it while using her low, growly voice to yell, "THE CHICKEN DOESN'T WORK!"

Big Sister couldn't buckle her booster seat last night and cried like we ran over a unicorn. "It doesn't work!!!" she wailed. Until I asked, matter-of-factly, "what doesn't? The chicken?!" and we all dissolved in laughter for a few minutes, a nice and all-too-rare moment in a draining week.

I'm tired. My husband is tired. My girls are... beyond tired. At 11 o'clock this morning I brought a snack into the playroom where the girls were laying and watching a movie, and I saw Little Sister's eyes fluttering open. If I had been a little slower to cut the darned apples, she might have been asleep, and I could have avoided the naptime drama.

Instead, she stayed awake for another hour, angry at every toy and frustrated with everything Big Sis or I did. When I finally declared it was time to nap, I had to wrestle her into a diaper. She didn't want to be held or rocked, so I left her raging in her bed, until the angry screams turned to cries for Mommy. Then I went back and scooped her up. There is nothing like that little blonde curly head on my shoulder.

Even that was short lived, and she arched herself WAY back to start another tired tantrum. I found myself holding her body with one hand and extending my other arm to support her head, my body still bobbing and swaying to the lullaby music on the cd player. She stopped crying and laid there, silent except for that ragged breathing that comes from a good, hard cry. Her wet eyelashes fluttered, and I thought I might actually get the pleasure of helping my sweet little one fall asleep again- it has been ages since I held or rocked her as she drifted off. It reminded me of soothing her as a tiny baby, finding whatever strange position both supported and comforted her and praying I could keep it up. She's a lot bigger now so I gently pressed my elbows into her chubby toddler legs for extra support.

That's when she sat up and said, "No. Stop squeezing me."

But she was calm, and put her head back on my shoulder. She snuggled in, and I savored the moment knowing she would want down soon- to climb into her bed herself. And put the covers on herself. I can't even tuck in Little Miss Independent anymore.

Before I put her down, she raised up her head one more time. She was looking at her pillow, where earlier she had laid a doll and covered her with a tiny blanket. "There's a baby in my bed!" she said.

As I placed it in the doll crib and watched Little Sister climbing up into her big girl bunk, I thought to myself, "Nope. Not anymore."



Rest well, sweet girl. The week isn't over yet.

Why trying to be a better teacher made me a crummier mother...

I've worked with kids since, well, since I was one myself. I loved children's ministry so much that each year in Vacation Bible School, when my friends in the youth group were being assigned as helpers in all of the classes, I was teaching. In fact, while I was still in the youth group, I worked to revive our children's church program. I'm thankful for a church that allowed me the chance to develop and use my gifts in those ways (even though I was not only young, but a girl! Gasp!)

In college, I worked at The Children's Place and had a small stint as a (very) part-time children's minister. I served and led in many creative ministries- acting, music, puppets; I was even a clown. I served in camp settings and led others in children's ministry, too. I enjoyed being around kids, and I tried to approach the world around me with their same sense of wonder and enthusiasm.

When it came time to figure out "what I wanted to be when I grow up" (which was already upon me, no matter how I tried to put it off) I entertained ideas of child psychology, social work, children's ministry, and more. But in order to have time to make the right decision (and to have insurance) I ended up as a paraprofessional in a Special Education preschool. That year led me to pursue my masters in education and a teaching certificate in a fifth-year program.

There are many, many reasons that I look back on that year at Samford with mixed feelings of fondness and regret. John and I were engaged (and then married) and exploring a new city and a new life (with a new buddy, our now-graying Al-dog). I lived on my own for the first time in my life. I learned a lot. But I also felt the pressure of a whirlwind program, an upcoming wedding (in another state), unsympathetic (some downright hateful) professors, and little social support. And, as I soon learned, there seemed to be TOO much about teaching to learn in that little amount of time.

I enjoyed my student teaching placement and was thrilled when I was hired to teach first grade there after graduation. It was a wonderful school with supportive co-workers and involved parents. I grew a lot while I was there. When (if?) I venture back into the classroom, I'll be a much better teacher than I was when I first walked through those halls.

But I think I'm a worse parent.

I mean, I can only speculate since the only person I "parented" before I taught was a wild and hairy German shepherd (and since I had never had a hyper, overgrown puppy before, I'm sure I made mistakes with him, especially since he could make me SO angry by leaving muddy pawprints on me or sprinting out the door just as I was ready to leave for work. But I digress...)

You see, there is this one super important thing you must establish as a teacher. It's what makes or breaks you (that and standardized test scores, unfortunately) called Classroom Management. To have great Classroom Management (according to all my profs and my principal and this guy named Harry Wong- no, I just wish I made that name up) you must practice all of the routines and procedures in your classroom before you ever teach a single academic concept. And you set clear expectations for behavior in order to make the best, most proficient learning environment. And if you fail, other teachers will judge you. (I might have added this last one myself, but nonetheless...)

Suddenly, I went from someone who knew how to get down on a child's level, lose myself in play and silliness, and talk to a handful of kids in their language- someone with a gift for engaging and guiding in my own way- to someone consumed with trying to get a roomful of the craziest kids to JUST. SHUT.UP.

A part of that was because I seemed to have the strangest behavior problems from each kindergarten class all reunited into mine (and I student taught in the year before in kindergarten, so I'm not just saying this). But a part of it was because I felt this terrible pressure to keep these kids under control, and as any first year teacher knows, you're just faking any confidence in your abilities for most of the year anyway. I was scared, and frustrated, and desperate for control. For classroom management.

So I implemented routines and procedures and expectations and drills and jobs and consequences and rewards. The kids got quieter in the halls. They seemed to be paying better attention. Mass chaos was slowly turning into a classroom. My principal praised my improvements.

But I wasn't enjoying the kids as much, and I don't think they were enjoying me. Sure, we had moments together- bandaging a papercut or sitting together at the playground, but I had so much to teach, and so little time, and so many things to enforce, that I couldn't stop and listen to every story about what they did last night. I couldn't let one kid talk in the hallway, even to me, or the whole system would crash. At least, that's how it felt.

In those days, it was almost automatic for me to answer anyone who left their seat (a no-no) to ask me a question with a "shh." I might still allow or answer the question, but the shushing made it clear that it was not truly acceptable or appreciated.

I knew some teachers who seemed to make it work- they had their expectations and their perfect little lines, but they still had time to really interact with their kids. I hoped that would come as I got used to teaching. Everyone always said, "Start out tough so you can loosen up later."

My later didn't really ever seem to come.

My second year I felt slightly less terrified and unprepared, but I also had a child who refused to follow even the simplest request, threw screaming tantrums, rolled on the floor, and threw. a. chair. So, no real room to "loosen up" there.

I only taught for those two years before we got pregnant and moved. In fact, we moved into our house three weeks before Big Sis was born. I feel like we started out behind and are still trying to catch up. We still have a lot more art/family photos sitting in boxes or on shelves than hanging on walls. We still have a few remnants of hideous wallpaper. We still have work to do.

So I traded in the overwhelmed feeling of teaching for the overwhelmed feeling of motherhood. And instead of principals, parents and co-workers assessing my job performance based on the behavior of a class full of children, I have a church family I imagine is doing pretty much the same based on the behavior of just two. That's a lot of pressure to put on myself and them. Couple that with the crazy schedules, the frequent illness and then surgeries for my girls, and the anxiety and depression I've been battling, and we've had a rough few months.

A friend let me borrow a copy of a book called Grace Based Parenting, which talks about raising kids with a strong sense of support and room to be vulnerable, make mistakes, and be themselves. It all resonates with me because it's stuff I used to believe. It's stuff I've always believed, really. But I've just developed some stupid habits.

So I'm trying to ask the question Dr. Tim Kimmel mentions in his book. "Does it really matter?" I'm trying to distinguish between disrespectful or sinful behavior versus my kids being themselves, quirks and all. Maybe Big Sister will always be spacey and sllllooooowww as molasses, but battling or punishing her for it does more harm than good. Maybe Little Sister will always have crazy curiosity, but who really cares if she tastes the cat food when she's supposed to be feeding Keaton? Is it really going to kill me if I have a few extra clothes in the laundry because Big Sis is obsessed with trying on her clothes? What's the worst that can happen if Little Sister leaves the house wearing her sister's shoes on the wrong feet, or her tutu, or both? And why on earth should my kids be shushed in the house if they are playing a loud game? There is no lesson being taught next door. No one is napping. I just have to lose that "default teacher" radar that senses the slightest violation of volume or order.

Now this doesn't mean my kids are going to get away with everything. For one thing, I'm still trying to embrace this. And for another, I will still not tolerate anything that is harmful or disrespectful to themselves or others, or breaks rules laid out by us or God's word.

So, the other night, I gave Big Sister a chance to change her ways after she dangled her little sister over the trash can at church, but when she stuck her tongue out at me, refused to clean up, and then removed her silly bands one at a time and threw them in my face... well, she got a pop on her bottom.

But when she sang SUPER loudly in the car on the way home, and I looked in the rear view mirror and saw Little Sis smiling and singing a long, I took a deep breath and joined in.

And then we had ice cream for dinner :P

Return of Rather Than...

Last night I was all set to write the rantiest (yes, I think I made that word up) blog post in the world. Okay, probably not in the world, but maybe in my world. Or at least in my blog world, which mostly consists of couponing advice and Christian mommy blogs.

But there are a few of you who rant from time to time, and I love you for it.

And I was all set to outrant you all.

But I was too tired. A nearly three-and-a-half-hour bedtime battle (in which I was repeatedly tag teamed) zapped the rant right out of me. I wrote some fussy status on facebook and sent a few whiny text messages to the Hubs, but I didn't have the energy to rant.

And I'm glad. Because now, rather than ranting, I can try to have some perspective.

Back in November, when I was overwhelmed and numb and just beginning to realize I needed to do something to save my sanity, I wrote this post. I found ways to be thankful in my less-than-perfect circumstances.

Yesterday, I tried to embrace (another) evening at home alone with the girls by playing lots and making pancakes for dinner. Big Sis had skipped her nap and hasn't been sleeping, so by dinnertime she was a mess. She had no patience for anything, including the pancakes, which were too fluffy (?!) and wouldn't stay on her fork. She cried and hit the table or threw something after. every. single. bite.

I took numerous deep breaths and tried to remind her that a lot of her troubles were about her attitude. Instead of getting angry about her fork issues, why not be thankful for yummy fluffy pancakes? Why not thank God that we have food at all? Why not be thankful for a mom who made you something special and soft so you could swallow it easily per your request?!?

Fast forward to today, as I thought "I need to work on a blog post. I've got so many things to rant about, this will be good..." and that lesson I prayed my four-year-old would learn echoed in my thoughts.

It was joined by another lesson I've been learning: the work of the Holy Spirit to bring about change and fruit in our lives is sometimes uncomfortable. It takes practice, something I've never really liked to do. God has reminded me over and over that each small challenge I face during the day has the potential to help me build character. IF I choose to respond accordingly.

So, that long explanation was just to say that I'm trying, with God's help, to turn each rant into a "rather than":

1. Rather than spending any more time complaining about bedtime battles, I'm trying to be thankful that my children have warm beds and a safe place to sleep, and that they have the energy and strength (and persistence) to fight me. I'm also using it as a reminder to pray that they will soon learn to channel such determination to less, er, frustrating endeavors.
2. Rather than complaining that I've gained back some of the weight I lost post-IUD because I've been stress eating, dining out or staying home by myself at night, I choose to thank God that I have the problem of too much- instead of too little- to eat. I will also use this as a reminder not only to try to take better care of myself, but to pray and provide for those whose problems are not flabby bellies, but rather empty ones.
3. Rather than lamenting my three dead baskets of marigolds (no hanging basket has ever survived a summer on my direct-sunlight front porch) I will celebrate the one that remains (and try to keep it alive).
4. Rather than fuss about being a "softball widow" or complain because my husband is gone nearly every night, I will thank God for a husband who is out late at night because he is serving and ministering to others, and who tries to make the most of the time he does have at home.
5. Rather than griping about the red and blue popsicle stains on my guest room comforter, I will be glad that I have a husband who stayed home with two sick kiddos so I could work my teensy part-time job, and who remembered to give them a snack. (Oh yeah, and I'm also just thankful for bomb pops- they put regular frozen treats to shame!)
   
6. Rather than stewing over the continual parade of roofers who keep ringing our doorbell and shoving fliers into our door, I'll be thankful that "storm damage" for us involves the loss of a few shingles, rather than our home or our lives.
   
7. Rather than feeling cooped up inside, I'll remember the great opportunity and responsibility it is to be a mom, even when it is less than glamorous. (Is it ever really glamorous? Maybe for Angelina Jolie...)
8. Rather than getting discouraged by financial hardships brought on by two surgeries in two months, I'm trying to be thankful that we have insurance to help with some of the expense and steady jobs to offer a glimmer of hope of paying the balance soon. Many others are not so fortunate.
9. Rather than getting bent out of shape because Sophie is currently laying on my nice, what we call "decoration blanket" (which means DO NOT cover up with this throw, it is not for you) and making it smell like dog feet, I'm just happy she is not chewing up something she shouldn't or barking to prematurely end naptime.
10. And finally: Rather than beating myself up over my (many) shortcomings as a mom, I will bask in the love and forgiveness offered to me by a God who loves me in spite of the messiness of me. How He loves us! I was reminded of this after watching the following video about this song by John Mark McMillan, which Shaun Groves shared on his blog. Enjoy.
    

Song for Sunday: for my second child

Song for a Fifth Child
by Ruth Hulburt Hamilton

Mother, oh Mother, come shake out your cloth
empty the dustpan, poison the moth,
hang out the washing and butter the bread,
sew on a button and make up a bed.
Where is the mother whose house is so shocking?
She's up in the nursery, blissfully rocking.

Oh, I've grown shiftless as Little Boy Blue
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).
Dishes are waiting and bills are past due
(pat-a-cake, darling, and peek, peekaboo).
The shopping's not done and there's nothing for stew
and out in the yard there's a hullabaloo
but I'm playing Kanga and this is my Roo.
Look! Aren't her eyes the most wonderful hue?
(lullaby, rockaby, lullaby loo).

The cleaning and scrubbing will wait till tomorrow,
for children grow up, as I've learned to my sorrow.
So quiet down, cobwebs. Dust go to sleep.
I'm rocking my baby and babies don't keep.

A new system

The other day, when I was beginning to lose faith in my ability to raise and/or discipline children, I asked Big Sister out of frustration, "Why do you behave at school and at church?! Why do you only act like this for me?!"

Her answer? "Because at school I get smileys."

Let me explain these "smileys." They are Smiley Faces that were drawn in her communication folder on a daily basis. There were categories such as "listening" or "being kind to friends." If a child did these things during the day, the teachers drew a smiley face for the parents to see and celebrate. If not, the teachers drew apathetic or sad faces to let parents know of a problem.

That's it. No classroom rewards; no other incentives. Just smileys. And a reliance on parental support to reinforce the system.

Now, Big Sister has the most wonderful teachers in the world. I don't know if any other teachers will ever live up to the standards they have set. And as simple as their plan seemed (and in early childhood they are limited a lot more than in the elementary school system, by the way) it worked for Big Sister. She got ONE apathetic, straight lined mouth smiley. ONCE.

Every day when I picked her up, she asked, "All smileys mom?" as I signed her folder. It was apparently all the motivation she needed.

So, here I was, in the middle of dealing with a crazy tantrum, when she tells me she behaves for the "smileys." I sighed, and tried to explain through gritted teeth that the smileys were just a way for Moms & Dads to know how kids behaved and deal with it at home. Which was what we were doing, right then & there...

But she's four. And she doesn't get the similarities. Because there are no smileys.

Or there were no smileys. Because I took this comment, prayed about it, thought about my classroom management and behavior philosophies when I was teaching (by the way, I've got a post brewing about how that ruined my chances at being a normal mom... stay tuned), and read a few books. And I came up with my own smiley chart.

Big Sister now has a chance to earn nine smileys every day. Some are very easy for her, and others are problem areas like "attitude with Little Sis" or "cooperation at bedtime." That way, she has small victories and new challenges.

I added a reward when she earns all smileys and has a "perfect" day. She picks a card with something like "put $0.50 in your bank" or "stay up ten minutes late" or "play a video game with Mommy & Daddy" or "draw from the goody bag."

I've also tried to remind her that one mistake doesn't ruin everything. That we all make mistakes but that it's how we learn and recover from them that makes a difference.

And guess what?

Since Sunday, she has had THREE "perfect" days.

We're seeing a LOT of smileys. And not all of them are on paper.

Barely hanging on...

This weekend has been a rough one for me.

Just when I thought maybe I was gaining ground on this whole patience thing, my children took it to a whole new level.

A level that includes kicking and hitting and screaming and public tantrums. Four in the last week. I am afraid to go anywhere with my children lest they have another one.

Big Sister has an ear infection, so that explains a little bit. But not all.

I've tried everything I know to try. Including a lot of yelling. Which I had been trying NOT to do.

I've had a lot of support from some great Mommy-friends. It's helped me to see that I'm not alone. And that I'm not completely single-handedly screwing up my children.

But I am still feeling discouraged and disappointed in myself.

This evening I finally won a power struggle with Big Sister by remaining calm and ignoring her aggression and giving her some choices/consequences. I stood my ground and it worked. But it took being in our own home (so she could cool down in her room), having Little Sis out of the house, and patience I didn't even know I still had left. Still, it re-infused a little hope into my weary Mommy-soul.

But I'm still feeling the depletion.

On the bright side, I'm reminded of my frail humanity and my utter dependence on God. It makes me think of that line from Derek Webb's Mockingbird, "I'll do all I can/to be a better man/I'll clean up this act/and be worse than when I started..."

There is a verse I've been coming across LOTS lately. I wrote it out & stuck it where I could see it every morning. It's Isaiah 40:11.

"He tends his flock like a shepherd:
He gathers the lambs in his arms
and carries them close to his heart;
he gently leads those that have young."

Thanks to all of you who are being the gentle hands of the Shepherd, encouraging moms like me. I think I'm just going to rest here, close to His heart, for a bit.

What's in a name?

I just tucked the girls in to bed (for the second time). When I leave we always say "goodnight" to each other, one more time. Tonight, Little Sister decided to forgo "Mommy" and called me by my name! I got so tickled that I had to whisper a quick "I love you" and head out the door.

Little Sister is just figuring out names. She's known the names of her friends and teachers for ages. But lately she has become obsessed with ours. And her own.

I think it started one night when she was especially restless before bed. Sometimes I pull the blankets around her all snuggly-ish, rub her back, and talk to her with a soothing whisper. I tell her things like how comfy her bed and covers are, and how she is going to close her eyes and snuggle to sleep, so she can drift into dreamland and have wonderful, peaceful, happy dreams. It's her little "sleep pep talk." At the end of it, I'll say "goodnight" again.

Apparently this time, I said, "Goodnight, kiddo."

Forget the peptalk. Those drowsy, half-closed eyes popped wide open as she told me "name's [Little Sis]. Say 'Goodnight Little Sis.'" It took me a few times to know what in the world she was saying, so I had to start the whole thing over again. You can be sure that I said her name the next time.

The same thing has happened if I call her "kiddo" or "sweetie" while fixing breakfast, buckling her carseat or building blocks. I won't even realize that I've said anything out of the ordinary, but there she is, patting herself on the chest and declaring her name, which at that point might as well be Tarzan.

The funny thing is that now she likes the nicknames, some of the time. Some days she'll ask me to say "goodnight Kiddo." And today, when I asked her what her name was, she insisted it was "Sweetie." Although, with her cute little toddler talk, it sounds more like "Sveetie."

And of course, all of this talk about her name has lead me to ask her about my name. She always just answers, "Mommy." And, even though months ago she beckoned for her dad using his first name in a tone I must admit to using to bellow down the steps when I needed a hand for a tricky diaper change, "Daddy" has been the only answer for his name, too.

Little Ones don't have a sense of anything or anyone outside of their own little world. In my psych and education classes we called it egocentrism. In our house we just call it life.

I'll admit, on some of the dark days I've had in the recent months, I resented only being seen as "mommy." But as the clouds are lifting I'm remembering the wonder and potential with which I once approached the role. Thank God for that.

And thank God for those exhausting, demanding, egocentric... adorable, entertaining, ever-changing little girls.

NOT exactly a walk in the park...

Yesterday was a rough day.

Okay, that was an understatement.

Yesterday nearly killed me. The verdict is still out as to whether or not it "made me stronger."

I think part of the reason it was so rough was the fact that it was inconsistent. Parts of the day were picture perfect. Other parts were perfect pictures of... well, something unpleasant.

We were meeting two friends and their kids in the morning to go to the park downtown. Our morning out involved playing in the fountain and eating a picnic lunch- so I was trying to pack swimwear, towels, sunscreen, water shoes, extra clothing, and a veritable smorgasbord of lunch and snack selections because who knows what my kids will or will not eat at any given time?

Only Little Sis was awake off & on from about 4:30 AM, so she was crabby and clingy all morning. And if Little Sis is clingy and you won't let her cling, she punishes you by making you wish you were holding her. She runs like a hurricane through the house, pulling things off of shelves, throwing stuff, anything she knows she shouldn't be doing.

So, by the time we actually pulled out of the garage, I was already frazzled. And tired.

But the park was a lot of fun. At first it was a little too overcast and cool (it even rained a tiny bit) to get in the water. But the kids ran around and snacked.

As soon as it warmed up a bit, we headed over to the fountain. The kids had a blast.

Little Sister, not so much. She just sat back with the mommies and enjoyed being a spectator.

And then she got tired of watching and decided to go to the carousel.


I tried not going with her. She called my bluff.


So, I got her dressed (not that her swimsuit was wet) and took her to the carousel. She was a little nervous and only wanted to sit on the bench seat. In my lap.


It was very sweet. The little terror from earlier was now being so precious.

After Little Sis rode once, I managed to talk Big Sis out of the fountain and helped her get changed too. She was sopping wet, so I didn't want to take her into the restroom to change. Instead, I had her hold up her towel while I helped trade swimsuit for dry clothes. At one point, I looked up and saw a man on the bridge looking down toward the fountain area, and "anxious mom" kicked in. I snapped at Big Sis for letting go of her towel for a moment, fearing we might be giving some creepy predator a glimpse of her little bottom. I know we all make mistakes, but I am still upset with myself for losing my cool with her when I had (and missed) a great opportunity to model patience and gentleness.

But I had PLENTY of other opportunities to try to demonstrate patience. Because as soon as everyone had dry clothes, we headed to the carousel so everyone could ride this time. Little Sister was brave and rode a giraffe this time.


Big Sister wanted to ride the pig (since she's obsessed with Babe) but freaked out waiting for the ride to begin.


But when it was over, she pitched a BIG fit. And she basically yelled or cried until we were halfway home.

Fortunately, both girls were really tired, and they both napped.

Unfortunately, I was so tired that I fell asleep before I went back in to check on Little Sister. She insists on being tucked in with FOUR blankets and I usually go in after she is asleep to remove a couple of them or at least to make sure that she has kicked them off. Since I didn't do that this time, she woke up early, drenched in sweat and screaming. She screamed for about 45 minutes. As soon as she calmed down, Big Sister woke up.

Big Sister's mood upon waking was not much better. The girls fought incessantly. At one point, as Big Sis was chasing Little Sis with a violent look in her eye, I noticed that she had a scratch right at the base of her neck. I called her over, asked her to let Little Sis go and said I wanted to see her for a second. My intentions were to calm her down and love on her a little since she puts up with so much from her little sister. Instead, she figured she was in trouble and went crazy, scratching me in the process.

When Big Sister goes crazy and heads to time out, Little Sister tries to do the same. By the time everyone calmed down, we were running out the door to get to church. It was only when we made it there that I realized that Big Sister had no shoes (luckily there was a pair of too small Dora flops in the trunk) and that I had forgotten a change of clothes for my hubs, who ended up leading rec for a bunch of kids in 80+ degree weather wearing his dress clothes.

And to top it off, Big Sister had saved her biggest, best tantrum for church. And since Daddy was sweating it out with the kids until late, I was on my own to haul her crabbiness to the van and get both girls in bed when we got home.

I know these are all trivial things. I have dear friends going through BIG storms in their lives, and I can't seem to see past the tiny rain clouds in mine. I think that's why I'm so frustrated by them.

Because it is like the Chinese Water Torture of parenting.

I've tried so hard to get up in the mornings and start my day off with prayer and scripture and the right perspective.

And I can shrug off the first five, ten, maybe even fifteen crazy, frustrating things that come my way. But by the sixteenth... I'm starting to crumble. And after a little more crumbling, I get discouraged, and the crumble becomes a rockslide.

This afternoon, while my girls were in school, I kept Shepherd while his mom & dad went to be with some friends whose little girl was having surgery. Keeping someone else's kiddo helped give me a little insight.

I've pretty much been in the perfect storm of mommy stress: headstrong and active children, dogs that need constant supervision, a busy schedule and hard-working husband leaving little time to get ahead, lots of sickness (not to mention budget busting doctor visits, prescriptions and surgery leading to stress over money) and those hormones. Oh, the hormones, and the anxiety and guilt and lack of energy they have brought with them.

Take any one of those things by themselves, and you've got a little bit of work. A slight inconvenience. But together... well... something's got to give.

So far, I think that something has been my sanity! But I'm prayerfully trying to figure out how to eliminate the controllable factors to make the "perfect storm" a little less stormy.

Or at least how to see the silver lining in all of those little clouds.

It ain't Mother's Day anymore!

Ten ways you can tell Mother's Day is over until next year:

1. Your lovely sunset trip brought an unexpected "gift": ticks! Ew! (Fortunately, only the grown-ups seem to be the victims. But we're checking over & over in true KM paranoid fashion.)
   
2. Sometime during the night, a shelf in the laundry room snapped, fell, and knocked a large hole in the wall. Oh yeah, and you know where you stash all of the cleaning supplies, rags, extra shopping bags and any other random stuff you'd like to hide? Yeah, it's that shelf, and it has dumped it's contents all over a clean basket of laundry.
3. Every time you reach for the dustpan, a dog eats something out of the dirt pile.
   
4. The potty-training toddler who insists on getting down from the toilet (because she's done, don't you know?) pees on your kitchen floor.
   
5. You can only find one coupon insert in your Sunday paper, and half of the pages involve mail order plants or magic arthritis gloves.
6. Little Sister's favorite morning activity is pinching people.
7. Little Sister's second favorite morning activity is aggravating dogs.
8. The (naked) princess dolls in the living room are becoming nearly as high-maintenance as your children. "Snow white needs a blankie." (How about we just keep her dress on, huh?)
   
9. You keep heating up your cup of coffee and then leaving it in the microwave, forgetting all about it until you go to do something else several minutes later, at which point you start the process all over again.
10. You're pretty sure there is a floor to your minivan, but you can't seem to find it.

The truth is that while I had fun with this list, I really can't complain. Little Sis slept 'til after 7 again this morning, and Hubby kept the girls occupied while I cleaned up the laundry room mess. The truth is, I've needed to clean out that room for a loooong time (and I found lots of things I didn't know I had!) Little Sister did have an accident, but then she went #2 on the potty! The girls are content to have a lazy morning, so I'm getting a few things done, and I just looked at the clock and realized it was nearly 11!

It's not so bad, after all. It's all about perspective. I've been reading an awesome book/Bible study by Lysa Terkeurst in the mornings that has helped me adjust my perspective tremendously.

I'll try to upload some photos from our trip to the battlefields last night. Right now, I have to heat up my coffee again...

Conversations in the Car

Today Big Sister & I had to go back to the doctor after her fifth(?) fever in as many weeks. Turns out she has a lingering sinus infection and probably needs her tonsils out. Little Sister is already scheduled to get tubes in & adenoids out at the end of the month. It's a good thing I like our ENT.

We dropped Little Sis off to hang out in Daddy's office, went to the doc, came back & picked up Little Sister & Daddy to go to lunch, dropped Daddy back at the church after lunch, came all the way home, realized we had Daddy's car keys and turned around, and then came back home again. Whew.

So there was plenty of time for conversations in the car this morning. Here are a few of my favorites:


Mommy: Hey, [Big Sis] see all of those dandelions in that yard? I bet you would run out of breath trying to blow all of those guys!

Big Sis: Nah. I'd huff & puff. I'm like the Big Bad Wolf, you know.

.....................................................................................................................
Daddy: Bye girls. Be good for Mommy. Take a nap. I'll see you later! (closes door)

Little Sis: Bye Dad!

Mommy: (rolling down window) Did you hear her? Listen. Tell him again, [Little Sis]

Big Sister: Bye Daddy!

Little Sister: Bye Da Da! And Happy Birthday!!

.......................................................................................................................

Big Sister: (after watching me let a car merge in front of us) Who are we waving at?

Mommy: I don't know. I don't know him. I just let him have a turn in front of us, and he waved to say, "Thank you." I waved back to say "You're welcome."

Big Sister: (straining to hear me over the goofy Fred Penner cd) Did you say "You're welcome" or "I love you?"

Mommy: I waved to say "You're welcome." I don't love him. I don't know him... (Then, after a moment of thought) I mean... I love him because I'm supposed to love everybody because Jesus loves everybody. But not like I love you or Daddy.

Things I learned at story time...

I did it. I went back to story time. Or rather, we went back to storytime. But I was the reluctant one. It has been over a year since we went to Barnes and Noble on a Wednesday morning for story time. The last time... well... the last time was the stuff of mommy nightmares. I honestly can't remember every detail because I have tried to block them from my memory.

It was back when Big Sister was still having a hard time adjusting to having a sister. Somewhere after the story (appropriately, I think it was Where the Wild Things Are) and the snack, something snapped. I don't know what set her off- maybe I told her it was time to go, or maybe I said we couldn't buy one of those oh-so-conveniently-placed non-book-Disney-Princess-box-of-crap-we-don't-need that seems to suck her in. Maybe it was the half of a sugar cookie covered in sugar sprinkles and the shot glass of milk. Maybe I was paying too much attention to the drowsy baby strapped to me in the sling. Maybe she was inspired by Max in the story. Heck, maybe the story lady pinched her while I wasn't looking. I don't know. All I remember is what happened next...

She looked at me and screamed, "NO" and then responded to my "Come here" by running to the other end of the children's section. To the Thomas the Train table. She ran to where all of the cliquey mommies congregate after story time. And then she chose one, at random, and HIT her. I was just catching up to her in time to see it, toss a quick apology to the shocked moms sitting in a semi-circle around Sodor, and turn and run after her again as she made her way out of the kids section and towards the front. I was calling for her to stop, counting, threatening, even pleading. It was just a few seconds before I caught up to her and grabbed her hand.

She promptly pulled a spaghetti-legs and dropped to the ground. Nicely played, I thought. Or would have, if I wasn't so angry and embarassed that all I could think about was getting out of the store as quickly as possible. At some point I also thought about how the stroller would have been a better option; instead, after realizing dragging the child would not work, I ended up shifting tiny Little Sis onto one side and carrying Psycho child under the opposite arm, deflecting little (but painful) punches all the way to the car.

There were severe consequences, one of which was that we would not be returning to story time for a LONG time.

Fast forward to this morning: I decided we needed to get out of the house, so we headed to the mall to play in the indoor play area and ride a few of the dimestore type rides. I also had a punch card to get a free pretzel and packed extra empty sippy cups to split a smoothie. Basically, I was planning on letting them have fun, wearing them out and doing it as cheaply as possible! But then I realized it was Wednesday, and that since Barnes & Noble recently moved to the mall, we would be right there during the story-time hour...

... and we did it. We played until it was time to head into the bookstore. I was extra nervous because we had to skip the pretzel (Auntie Ann's is closed. For good. Moment of silence...) and Big Sis is, ahem... unpredictable... when she is hungry. But she was great. An angel. Best behavior. The only glitch was that she had to pee before we finished the craft. But the girls did so well that we actually stayed a little while after storytime to get our smoothie and ride the "merry-go-round."

Big sister might have learned about a witch who made a girl out of cake, but I learned a few things myself today:

1. Since moving to the mall, story time at Barnes & Noble has become quite popular.
   
2. Bugles and apple juice tend to have a more pleasant effect on my children (and, if you ask me, all of the children) than cookies. Especially right before lunch.
3. Leaving the stroller & snacks behind will help you make it to the bathroom much faster. To the sweet mommy who offered to keep an eye on our stuff so that I didn't have to repack everything & buckle in the girls just to make a trip across the store: THANK YOU!
   
4. It is possible to spend more than a few minutes in a store without my children asking me to buy them something. I'm very proud of them!
5. Someone at the bookstore might want to move the craft section a little closer to the storybook section- the early childhood educator in me is pained to see that they are still using coloring sheet art.
6. Little Sister becomes infinitely more affection towards Big Sister in the story time setting. I don't know if she was proud to be with a big kid, or just happy to know someone in the crowd, but she kept rubbing Big Sis' s back and kissing her on her head. I thought it was darling, but Big Sister was annoyed because she was trying to color! Too funny.
7. My relative agoraphobia is a slight (okay, maybe more than slight) over-reaction. If I plan well and do my best to prepare them for what's coming, there is no reason to be fear embarrassment or being shunned by the mommy-clique. Everyone has had moments of crazy children in public. A few had theirs today, and I only felt sympathy, not judgement. I need to work through my fears of going out in public alone with my two children. Especially because:
8. My girls are fabulous. Not only is it unfair for them to miss out on all the fun stuff in our cool town, but it is unfair for our town to miss out on them.

PS- I am great at having temporary revelations. Ask me next week if I went to story time. Hold me accountable!

Doctor Drama

The next time that I think I can take both girls to the doctor for a check-up by myself, take me to the doctor. Or the mental hospital.

Or at least call ahead there, because I'll be self-admitting by the time the visit is over.

My first mistake was not scheduling it waaaay in advance like apparently everyone else who visits our practice. Apparently, a month and a half is not enough notice to get the "good" appointment times. So I ended up with 12:45. I'm guessing every mommy is nodding their head in complete understanding as they read this, but just in case you don't know why 12:45 is the poopiest time to go to the doctor, there is ONE reason: NAPTIME. At 12:45 every child in the Eastern Time zone was settling in for their afternoon nap- every child except for those who were enduring the doctor's visit from H-E-double hockeysticks.

My second mistake was running late. I put Little Sister down for an early nap at 11, and set Big Sister up with a movie on my bed so that she could rest and have some downtime. Both girls had gotten up fairly early, so it wasn't completely crazy to give them an early rest time. I even let Big Sis eat a plate of nachos and apples in my bed while she watched Little Mermaid. (side note: I pulled up the comforter very tightly so as to prevent little tiny shards of tortilla chips from making it between my sheets. When I came in a few minutes later, she was snuggly settled under my blankets, and so was half of her lunch. Sigh.)

When I finally woke Little Sis and loaded the girls up, I realized I should have started about five minutes earlier. But since we still waited in the waiting room for a while, I don't think the lateness had much to do with what was to come...

My third mistake was not realizing how many shots were in store for Big Sister. Little Sis is still at the stage where she gets poked almost every time she goes into the doctor. But Big Sis hasn't had shots in quite some time. Like, in enough time for her to have forgotten that she has ever had them. And when I realized what was in store, I didn't really realize just what was in store. After the doctor told me what we needed, I turned to my big girl and said, "yeah, you're going to have to have a few shots to keep you healthy."

Or maybe I said, "Yeah, in a few minutes, we're all going to leave, and a giant monster is going to come in here, turn off all the lights, kidnap you, and eat all of your toys." At least, that's how she reacted. Complete horror. As if all of her worst nightmares had come true.

It's no secret to anyone who has met my daughter (or read this blog for very long) that she is complete drama queen. But the magnitude of the drama at the doctor's office was surprising even to me. She cried. She screamed. She sobbed. She tried to run for the door. She asked me to drive her home. Repeatedly. Sometimes she just repeated the mantra "home, sweet, home" over and over. One time, she seriously looked up at me with tear-filled eyes and said, "I think I'll just have to drive myself home." By that time, I was almost ready to hand her the keys.

She said that in the bathroom. Where I was supposed to be catching a urine sample. From my four year old. While accompanied by my 16-month-old. And I was going to write her name on it and stick it in the little door over the sink, and then we'd wash our hands while singing our special handwashing song, and then skip past the rainbows and unicorns into the room where she would get her blood test...

HA! Here is what really happened... we walked into the bathroom, and Little Sister walked straight to the toilet saying "Bobby (potty) Bobby bobby" and proceeded to put her hands all the way in. She grabbed under the rim. You know, the part for which they had to redesign toilet cleaner bottles, just to try to get some of the intense nastiness of that out of reach part- yeah, she definitely just curled her fat little fingers right under there...

I grabbed her up and washed her hands and tried to stay patient. I even sang the handwashing song. Until I heard something else- a familiar "tinkle" noise. And I looked over to find Big Sister sitting on the toilet. And my hopes at actually obtaining that urine sample were about to be flushed away.

It was a very Froggy moment. I fussed at her, making her name much loooonger than it usually sounds.

"Whaaat?" She asked, but then immediately realized that she hadn't saved anything to catch in the empty cup I still held in my hand. "I'm sorry. I couldn't wait." She said. "You can just scoop it out of the toilet." She reassured. I started to explain to her why that wouldn't work, until Little Sis got her hand really close to helping me scoop some out whether it worked or not. I picked her up, scolded her & sat her down (again) on the other side of the bathroom, turned to finish with Big Sister, and stopped. I breathed. I said a little prayer and reminded myself that I love these children. And then we all washed hands, flushed, and get the HECK out of that crazy room.

But then we headed into the lab, and the tech and I had to physically restrain my four-year-old in order to stick her finger. I had to hold her opposite hand because she was grabbing & swiping at the tech to try to stop the process. Little Sister just stood there, watching, wondering what in the world was the matter with her "siss-see" and when she could go back to play in the water.

From the lab, we went back to the exam room. By this point, I was over it. Big Sister was still talking about driving home, repeating "home sweet home," screaming, everything. If she had ever seen the Wizard of Oz, she would have clicked her heels until her shoes were scuffed. The exam room was stark and empty, and the crying reverberated off of the walls at an ear-splitting volume. I finally told her that she was hurting our ears, and Little Sister & I stepped out of the room.

The drug rep in the hallway looked at me like I was nuts. The nurse seemed to understand, but still watched curiously. I explained, "We have a lot of drama at our house. I've found that if you remove the audience, the drama sort of dies down." I left the door cracked and watched to see if she would calm down. It took a little bit, but she finally caught her breath and we went in and read a book until they came in with the shots.

Little Sister went first, because she usually gets over them very quickly, and I wanted to show Big Sister how simple it really was. But since Big Sis was once again screaming like a madwoman, Little Sis didn't calm down quite so quickly. And I was finding it hard to hold & comfort her while getting her supposedly older sibling to stop-running-around-don't-open-that-door-just-come-over-here-and-it-will-all-be-over-soon. The nurse & I had to hold Big Sister down. She looked like she could have been in some terrible made for tv movie about a horrible mental health facility. I'm pretty sure I told her she was being ridiculous. I also know that at some point I just thought about the madness of it all and had to laugh.

Just about that time, the last shot was finished. And I looked down to see Big Sister laughing too. Out of relief, I'm sure. But I think she also realized that it wasn't NEARLY as bad as she had (over) anticipated.

They handed her a caramel apple sucker. Little Sister wanted one, but they didn't give her anything. I scrounged around and found some goldfish to avoid the fighting. I'm not sure why they didn't at least give her a sticker- she was actually the brave one! And me... I felt bad for my babies and their big band-aids, but I also felt exhausted. Where was my sucker?! When we finally drove off, I stopped and got myself a Route 44 Cherry Lime-Aid.

So there was ONE upside to the appointment- we were finished in time for happy hour at Sonic.

Okay, there were more than just one upside. My children checked out to be perfectly healthy, and they slept really well last night.

And next time, it's Daddy's turn.

muwah-hahaha.