Posts Tagged With: Childhood

Mom Days

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5:02. Baby cries.
5:04. Get baby. Feed baby. Really, really hope (but highly doubt) he will fall back asleep.
5:30. Diaper explodes. Everywhere. Change diaper, baby clothes, mommy clothes and sheets.
5:45. Relish in the fact that kids are still sleeping. Think of all that can be accomplished in the next hour alone with the baby!
5:46. Kids are awake.
6:00. Eight boxes of cereal on the kitchen table. Three hungry boys. Get three more boxes out because “none of these sound good, Mom!”
6:15. Orange juice spill.
6:16. Clean up sticky mess.
6:18. Cereal spill.
6:19. Clean up crumby mess.
6:30. Try to cram eleven boxes of cereal into the pantry.
8:15. Lunches made, teeth brushed, homework done. “Go get your socks on! The bus will be here any second!”
8:18. “Ahh! No time for Legos right now! Get your socks!”
8:20. “Seriously, you are going to miss the bus!!”
8:21. Two-year-old on the toilet. Leave two-year-old to take older kids to the bus. Instruct two-year-old to “just stay right there. I will be back in two seconds.”
8:22. Bus rounds corner. Hugs and kisses. Bus starts to stop.
8:22:25. Hear two-year-old screaming at top of driveway. Turn and see a completely naked boy racing down driveway swinging footie pjs above his head.
8:23. Smile because neighbors must think we are completely crazy by now.
8:30. Diaper explosion #2. Change diaper, baby clothes and mommy clothes. Again.
8:35. Search for missing two-year-old, find him in bathroom with camera. Check camera and find incriminating evidence (see below).

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8:36. Have a nice little chat about climbing on bathroom counters.
9:35. Grocery store. “I buckle myself, Mom! Don’t help me!”
9:45. Finally convince two-year-old to take some assistance in buckling.
10:22. Dairy isle (furthest section from bathrooms). “I neeeedd to use the baaaathroooommm!”
10:24. Hold stall door shut for singing two-year-old. Smile at other bathroom goer.
10:25. “Mom! I makin’ poopers! Yay, Mom! I made a pooper! Let’s have a party! Oh boy. (Grunt) It’s a big one!”
10:26. Give a slightly embarrassed smile at other bathroom goer going to wash hands who will no long make eye contact (she must not have kids).
12:00. Pick kindergartener up. Baby and two-year-old asleep. Awkwardly carry car seat and sleeping two-year-old across front lawn, up the stairs and to the kindergarten hall. Feel like arms are most certainly going to fall off because together they must weigh 347 pounds.
12:30. Lunch.
12:35. Spit up everywhere. Change baby clothes, mommy clothes, and clean carpet.
12:40. Fold clothes and listen to the kids playing in the living room. Smile and feel very blessed because kids are playing so nicely.
12:45. Comfort two-year-old because brother poured a cup of soapy water on his head.
3:00. Sister calls to confirm weekend plans to get together (four kids plus two equals six. Wonder if we are gluttons for punishment, but put that thought out of our minds because getting together with cousins is the best thing in the world. Bring on the chaos!).
3:10. Hear toilet flush. Five times in a row, really fast. “Mom, water’s comin’ outta the toilet!” Say goodby to sister.
3:11. Find an inch of water covering bathroom floor and an empty toilet paper roll. Clean up water. Start another load of laundry for wet towels.
4:00. 2nd grader home. Sit at top of stairs and wonder if they will ever grow out of tussling.
4:20. Break up the tussling because two-year-old doesn’t appreciate wedgies. Wonder if it’s bedtime yet.
5:00. Start dinner.
5:08. Baby wakes up from nap, needs to eat. Feed baby.
5:15. Send kids out to run around the house 10 times.
5:20. Send kids out to run around the house 10 more times.
6:00. Give up on attempt at a fancy dinner. Make waffles.
6:30. DAD’S HOME!
6:32. Make feeble attempt at some adult conversation.
6:33. After seven times of being interrupted, give up all attempts at adult conversation. Talk about Star Wars instead.
6:50. Wash dishes while dad tussles with the kids. Smile because, no, they will probably never grow out of tussling.
7:30. Bed time. Tooth paste explosion all over counter and walls. Clean up blue sparkly paste. Brush teeth, pjs, books.
8:00. Lights off. Drink of water, 32 stuffed animals, songs and tucked in. Stand in doorway and look at the four beautiful boys that make life so crazy. Wonder I will ever make it through an entire day in the same clothes I put on that morning, wonder if the neighbors will remember my son streaking down our driveway on their drive to work this morning, wonder if we have enough leftover waffles for breakfast in the morning, wonder if I will ever have time to actually make what I plan for dinner. Wonder what we ever did before kids.

image8:10. Thank God that I get to do it all over again in the morning.

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Categories: Family, little boys | Tags: , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Unfinished

M came down the stairs this morning in pants that would have been fantastic for some clam digging on the beach. I could have swore that just yesterday I had to roll up those same pants to keep them from dragging on the ground. I used to cringe when sweet ladies at the grocery store would stop me and whisper the old cliché, “Oh, they just grow up so fast!” I’d wonder, does she not realize she is the sixth person to tell me that in this visit to the store??

IMG_20150905_151926_298Then suddenly I blinked and there stood a five-year-old in his clam diggers and over-sized backpack ready for the bus.

In my closet I have boxes and boxes of fabric, each carefully labeled, “Black dress,” “R’s quilt,” “Quiet book,”Giraffe growth chart.” Fabric all cut and waiting, some pieces even sewed together. In the garage sits wood sanded and queued to be built into a shelf, a bench, a frame, a spice rack. Ideas penned in notebooks lay scattered all around the house for a picture book, another blog post, a letter to a friend. Bookmarks keep spots in dozens of started and unfinished books. Clothes fill my closet waiting to fit again, for when I will set aside the time to run and get rid of this lingering baby fat.

Recipes I want to try.
Songs tucked away to be learned on our neglected piano.
A guitar untouched for years.
Pictures waiting to go in scrapbooks.
A list of friends I would love to call and hear their voices again.

Unfinished projects. Sometimes I feel like my life is made up of dozens and dozens of unfinished projects. Skills I would love to learn, chores only halfway accomplished, hobbies and ideas and dreams started and set aside. All waiting. For tomorrow. For the weekend. For when the baby stops fussing, the kids are fed, the spilled cereal is swept, the tickle war is over, the scrape is doctored, the kids are in bed.

IMG_20150909_152418_320And there stands my not-so-little-anymore boy in clam diggers that I’m almost positive fit him just yesterday.

There will come a time when I no longer have the interruptions of spilled cereal to clean. These little ones will eventually brush their teeth without help, and they will no longer beg for the momster to set aside yard work and chase them around the trampoline. Slap Jack will eventually loose its appeal, and scrapes will no longer need mom’s kiss. And when that day comes, when I suddenly have the time for all the projects I’ve started and set aside, I hope I never look back and feel like they, these sweet boys, were yet another unfinished project because I was too busy trying to finish all the others.

IMG_20150921_143823_871They grow up so fast. Their pants seems to shrink from one day to the next. But projects can wait. Someday, moms, the time will be ours. The nights will be longer, the little chatter that fills our homes will come much less often than we wish. And all those unfinished projects will fill our time. But now, now is theirs. Now is about slap jack and monsters and spilled milk. Now is the greatest project, the most amazing adventure we will ever embark on. And I’m sure we will never regret making sure that this one isn’t set aside, put on the back-burner, forgotten and left unfinished. Because, moms, in everything that can wait, this one can’t. Let’s give our today to them.

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Categories: children, Family, Life Lessons, Motherhood | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Sibling Love

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Having a new baby in the house is always such an exciting, wonderful time. Exciting, wonderful, magical, surreal, exhausting, frustrating, confusing…and adding three older siblings into the mix, well, amplifies ALL of these emotions by about 1,324,067%. I can’t tell you the happiness that surges through me when I see my two-year-old quietly singing a sweet lullaby to the baby and gently rubbing his newborn hair. Or when our seven- and five-year-old tell the baby stories and make him smile. Thank goodness for those moments, because the other extremes sometimes exhaust my patience. Having a new baby I’m convinced has had strange effects on my dear boys’ listening skills. In fact, sometimes I’m pretty sure they must hear something entirely different than the words coming out of my mouth. Let me demonstrate. Maybe all you mamas and papas can relate…

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M as a baby and R as a toddler…

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Baby T with M.

When I say…
“Please don’t wake the baby.”
They must hear…
“Go sit by the baby and pat his head and rub his feet and wiggle his ears and wipe his nose. That will help him sleep better for sure.”

When I say…
“Let’s play a quiet game, the baby is sleeping.”
They must hear…
“I know the perfect game to play. Run through the house like a maniac and scream as loud as possible. That sounds super fun now that the baby’s finally asleep!”

When I say…
“Please don’t even touch the sleeping baby.”
They must hear…
“Would you please put your peanutbuttery cheeks as close to his as humanly possible so that you wake him up with your peanutbuttery breath?”

When I say…
“Could you please run upstairs and grab a diaper from the bathroom? We’re all out down here. And try to be quick, he kind of exploded.”
They must hear…
“Could you run upstairs and grab a diaper? Wait. Scratch that. Can you make him a space ship out of Legos instead? That’ll really save the day with this mess all the way up his back.”

When I say…
“Do you want to pick an outfit out for the baby this morning? We have that church activity, so try to find a cute one.”
They must hear…
“Hey, can you go find that one outfit that will serve as perfect blackmail material when he’s 16? Since we’re going somewhere nice we want to really make an impression.”

When I say…
“I’m going to nurse the baby. Bring over some books and we can read!”
They must hear…
“I’m going to nurse the baby. Now would be a perfect time to pretend mom is a human jungle gym.”

When I say…

“Uh oh. Cover your cough so the baby doesn’t catch your cold.”
They must hear…
“Oh, no! Instead of coughing right into the baby’s face why don’t you suck on your finger then stick it in the baby’s mouth. That’ll do the job of spreading germs much faster and more effectively.”

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The good thing is that the baby will forgive and forget. And besides that pesky stuffy nose his brother so generously shared with him, he’s no worse for the ware. In fact, I would venture to even go so far as to say that he might possibly be the luckiest little boy in the world because he has three brothers that incessantly want to give him love. As crazy as it can get around here with three older brothers, there really is no better playmate, no better friend than a sibling.

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Categories: Family | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

Practice Makes Perfect

Some days I feel like my kids have two volumes: loud and super LOUD. Most days I feel like they have two speeds: fast and out of control. And occasionally I just feel like I can’t keep up.

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I honestly can’t remember at what point I lost it. It might have been after the explosion of chokecherry syrup all over the floor. It could have been between the “Mom, can I hold the baby?” “But I asked first!” and the “But Mo-om, I didn’t get to yet!” fight that never seems to take a break. Or maybe it was when I walked in their room to find the freshly folded laundry piles I’d hoped they would put away scattered hither and yon. It really could have been when I glanced down into the family room to witness our two-year-old Evil Keneviling it from the top of our futon to the couch 6 feet away. Or during the pillow fight that ended abruptly with bonked heads and two boys in tears. But no matter when it happened. Fact is, it did. I lost it.

IMG_1690Countless times since becoming a mom I have found myself praying for more patience. Begging that I won’t go crazy, and asking for forgiveness for those all-too-often times I do. Some days after negotiating with a non-negotiable two-year-old and pleading for a truce between two brothers that know exactly which buttons to push on each other leaves me completely exhausted. I pray for patience. For what to say, what to do, how to put out this fire or that.

I pray wanting a solution, a quick fix. But Heavenly Father must know that practice makes perfect because my answer often comes in that form: a chance to try again. And again, and again, and again, and again.

He answers me with that quiet prompting, “pick yourself back up. Keep on trying, you can do it. Practice makes perfect! You’ll get it one of these days.” And I step back in the ring.

Motherhood is a choice you make every day, to put someone else’s happiness and well-being ahead of your own, to teach the hard lessons, to do the right thing even when you’re not sure what the right thing is…and to forgive yourself, over and over again, for doing everything wrong.” –Donna Ball

It’s so easy to feel like we do everything wrong. Over and over again. It’s so hard to forgive ourselves, to pick ourselves back up and practice that patience we so desperately want and need. But someday, if we just keep trying, I think we can get it right. And it’s my prayer every day that my kids won’t be too much worse for the wear because I had to practice so much.

In those moments that I just can’t keep up, I am always grateful for the chance to try again. I’m so thankful that children are forgiving. Most of all, I’m thankful that I have been given this great opportunity to practice patience on four amazing little boys. Boys that have two volumes and two speeds. Sometimes I feel like they give me more than my fair share of opportunities to give it another go. But then I get that quiet nudge, “practice makes perfect! Pick yourself back up. Keep trying,” and I remember I wouldn’t want it any other way.

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Categories: little boys, Motherhood | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

The Things We Do For Our Kids

I grabbed my wallet and tried to zip my jacket around my pregnant belly right as the clock chimed 9pm. I sighed, wishing I could just be climbing into bed instead. “Hey Mom,” my son asked as he was dozing off to sleep an hour earlier, “did you remember to get that thing I needed for school tomorrow?” Of course I hadn’t. So there I was, waddling to our car to drive the thirty minutes across town to our local Wal-Mart. 9:00 at night. It had been a busy day already, working on potty training, cleaning the house, pulling weeds, library, meeting friends at the park, cleaning the chicken coop… and now to top it off I could feel a cold coming on.

What I would have given to just go to sleep.

I thought about how my husband had told the kids a few days before that when HE was old and grumpy and senile, they had better happily change HIS diaper and tuck HIM into bed. That night I had rolled my eyes. But tonight…TONIGHT I would agree. “Jeez.” I thought to myself. “The things we do for these kids!”

I drove passed the swimming pool and remembered how I had planned to look into swimming lessons. Not to mention the soccer team our oldest had been begging to join and the library summer reading program I had meant to sign them up for two weeks ago. The summer was filling up fast, and as I drove down the empty, quiet streets, I felt completely overwhelmed.

The things we do for our kids!

My back hurt, my legs were exhausted, my eyes bloodshot from waking up three times the night before with two-year-old nightmares and six-year-old ear aches. My house in shambles because we had no time to pick up the toys. And not to point fingers or anything, but it was all because of three little boys. Three little boys that constantly have us on the go, always demanding our energy and attention.

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And then it hit me. We do so much for our kids. Our days are completely stuffed with kid this or kid that. But when was the last time I had stopped to really hug my boys? I mean a real, honest-to-goodness, not just a good morning or good night hug, but a “wow, I just really, really like you!” Kind of hug? When was the last time I actually got in the mud with them and didn’t think twice about the tracks through the kitchen and the laundry I would have to do later? When was the last time I sat down to play cars with them and saw toys instead of a huge mess I’d have to nag them to clean? When was the last time I knelt down to their level, looked into those sweet, blue eyes and actually listened to those brilliant little thoughts and ideas?

When was the last time I did that for my kids? When was the last time I actually did what they really need, what they are begging for, longing to hear, asking to do? Parents often do so much. But in the hustle and bustle of school projects, sports camps, swimming lessons, park days, and everything in between, do we remember to do the things that really matter?

My back hurt, my legs were exhausted, my eyes bloodshot. But as I walked in the door and the clock chimed 11pm, I breathed in the mess and vowed to do a little more of what really mattered. To give them my time and my love, not just my wallet and my urgent moments of rushing out the door. Not just the lessons, the practices, the play dates with friends, but ME. Their mother. When I am old and grumpy and senile, I want them to happily change my diaper and tuck me into bed not because “they had better,” but because they remember how I had done so much loving them. Because in all that we do for our kids, THAT is what really matters.

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Categories: Motherhood | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

To Be Needed

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5am. I hear a little whimper outside the bedroom door. I groan and roll myself out of the comfort of the covers. I turn the knob.

Mommy?”

That little, froggy voice fills the quiet of the morning as he pulls his doggie by the neck with one pudgy hand and places the other in mine. I lead him to my bed and help him in, his head rests in the crook of my arm. Within a few moments his breath is steady and his eyes flicker in and out of dreams.

He sleeps away those wee hours of early morning, but now I’m wide awake. My mind races with thoughts of laundry and kindergarten registration, homework folders and what to send in lunch boxes. Groceries, overdue library books, bills, birthday gifts for friends, swimming lessons…I slide my arm out from under that little dozing noggin and slip out of bed.

Mo-om! I don’t have any pants to wear!”
“Check the laundry room,” I holler back. “And look under your bed for that library book. You have library today!”

“May I please have some milk? Mom, can you cut up my waffle?”

“He wants YOU to change him.” My husband holds a very stinky toddler out with two arms and gives me a sympathetic look. Secretly I know he’s relieved. From across the room I can smell that this one is going to require lots and lots of wipes and possibly a quick soak in the tub.

“Hey Mom, will you check my math?”

“Check this out, Mom. It’s a rocket. See these wings? That’s for…” My mind trails off to the spilled milk under the table. “…and see, Mom? See how this bends here, and this folds like this… MOM! Are you listening to me?”

“I don’t like that apple sauce, remember, Mom? Can you pack me the other kind for lunch?”

Mom! He’s singing that song again!”

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I am MOM. I’m mom in the morning when our little family is going a million different ways, I’m mom in the evening when dinner needs to be made and the baby needs held. I’m mom in those quiet hours of the night when someone has a bad dream. I’m mom for the dirty diapers, the skinned knees, the teeth brushing, the muddy floors, the finger-printed windows, the tug-of-wars over the cheap toy from the dentist’s office. I’m mom when it’s convenient, I’m mom when it’s not.

IMG_3791But someday I’ll still be mom. I’ll be mom when they are no longer making finger prints on my windows or filling my days with laundry and trips to the playground. I’ll be Mom when they call home on Sundays to say hello, and I’ll probably long to hear those early morning whimpers again. When they visit, I’ll wish I could turn back the clock and hear them tell me about their Lego rockets and missing library books. I’ll stand on the porch and wave goodbye as they drive away, and I’ll remember those days when I’d wave to the yellow bus and see that little boy face in the window, sitting in a seat that nearly swallows up that little body.

Right now they need me. What a beautiful thing to be needed, to be the one they cry to when things aren’t going quite right. To be the finger that pudgy little hand grasps. The one they trust with their stories, their waffle that needs cut, their scrapes and bruises.

To all the moms out there, the ones who are in the throws of being constantly needed and the ones who have memories of those days long ago, Happy Mother’s Day. What an amazing responsibility we have to fill the needs of these little ones then watch them grow. Ours is a role unlike any other. They need us. The world needs us, and that is an incredible, beautiful thing.

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Some mothers I’m so very thankful for.

...and another mom I'm so very thankful for.

…and another one!

Categories: Uncategorized | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

Those Care-Free Days

20150405_093955I grew up in a house that was a century old. The stairs creaked, it was a little drafty, and when my parents bought it, it needed lots (and lots and lots) of tlc. My parents saw something in that house I’m sure very few could. Their vision of turning that musty, dusty, old house into a home became a reality as they planned, gutted, painted, tore down, built up, and everything in between over the next 25 years. I can’t remember a summer going by without renovations being made.

When I was five years old my dad decided to dig out a basement. On one particular summer evening, I remember slipping inside our back door with my mom and sister to take a break from playing and get a drink. My dad was working below. As We stood in the kitchen we noticed the wall start to move. My mom rushed us out of the house and screamed at my dad from the back yard. There are few things I remember well from five years old, but the image of my dad running up the hill and the house caving in behind him I can play in my mind clear as day. I remember watching the pink sunset that night and the dust settling as my sister and I sat in our yard terrified and my parents rushed around to assess the damage and make calls. Our kitchen and part of the upstairs has fallen in where my dad had been working.

That disaster was the start of the most memorable summer of my childhood. Dirt piles everywhere, tractors coming and going, huge pipes to crawl through. Countless English papers were written about those particular three months of my life for the next two decades. Forget the trips to Disneyland, the vacations to sandy beaches and amusement parks. THAT summer is what I look back on with the fondest of memories.

If you were to ask my parents to honestly recall the events that took place that evening and the months that followed, you would likely get a much different story. While we were romping around playing Peter Pan on dirt piles and unearthing century-old artifacts, my parents were battling insurance companies. I’m sure many nights were spent stressing over architecture plans and building permits while we slept soundly after a full day in the sun. On top of all the stress they were facing, my dad broke his ankle while working on the project. Their adult reality was night-and-day different from ours as kids.

Earlier this spring my husband and I embarked on our own project of rather large proportions. We knew when we moved into our old home in the country we would have to fix the septic system at some point. That point came sooner than anticipated, and, as most projects go, everything that could go wrong, well, did. In a very big way.

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Before it all was destroyed…

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Piles and piles of dirt and sand, tractors coming and going, trees being torn out. Fighting county regulations and praying the inspectors would be flexible, reasonable and kind. I almost cried as I looked out the window the first day to see a muddy hole where our giant, beautiful pine trees once stood.

But among all the chaos comes an entirely different story. Our three boys wouldn’t tell you about the phone calls and the plans, the permits and the worry. Their story begins with the coolest tractors that currently line our driveway and Mr. P, who drives them that let them climb inside and check them out. It’s about mounds and mounds of sand and dirt, running from one to the other and getting so dirty their bath water turns to an icky, brown, thick consistency. I would imagine it would include eating frozen pizza (a time of two more than once, I’m embarrassed to admit) while the water was turned off and mom couldn’t do dishes. THEIRS is a story of a spring worth remembering.

IMG_20150409_144157_614 IMG_20150409_144429_678 IMG_20150409_144343_146Sometimes as adults we long for those care-free days when troubles were simply an adventure. We remember the “good old days” and forget that we are remembering with a child-like view. I have certainly had flash-backs this month as my boys have dug in the dirt and shouted with glee while my husband and I stress and wished I was back on that side of life.

Then I think about my parents. When they tell the story from those many years ago, they tell of the adventure, the little miracles along the way, and the FUN the kids had as we experienced the excitement. As we face adulthood and all the challenges that come with it, I hope we can live vicariously, even if only a little, through the lives of our children. We will undoubtedly have to face the bills, the paperwork, the phone calls and the frustrations, but they don’t. I hope I can look back and remember the joy on my boys’ faces and see moments like this through those innocent, child eyes. As adults, let’s remember to stress the stress, carry the burdens, and pay the expenses. But when all is said and done, let’s let our kids be kids, and let’s remember to try to see the world even if only a little through their child eyes. Because theirs is the story worth sharing.

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Categories: children, House projects | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 3 Comments

Why I’ve Decided I’m OK With A House Full of ALL Boys (*sigh*)

I glanced back from the front passenger’s seat of the car. “Hey R, do you need a tissue? Don’t pick your boogers.”

N, two years old, chimed in. “Booger song! Booger song. Boo-oo-ger soo-ng!”

It was just another typical Sunday drive to church. We were lucky to quiet the Booger Song serenade and stifle the laughter just as we walked through the church doors and sat quietly in our pew.

So goes our life. Our life with all boys. My husband leaned over and whispered his usual comments in situations such as this. “Maybe three boys is good. Maybe we have our hands full enough. Maybe we should be done.” Then came my typical retort. “But what about that little girl??”

I can’t tell you how often we had this conversation this past year. We have been so blessed with three great kids. All boys. Coming from a family of just one sister, this was an entirely new can of worms (both figuratively and literally) for me. I absolutely love being a mom to boys. They are so much fun! But my thoughts have always been that we’d have at least one little girl.

IMG_1951As our conversations on such things became more and more serious, the realization came that even if we did have a fourth, there was no guarantee that a girl was in our future. “But what it we have a boy? Or…what if we have twin boys?” my husband would question. In the end, I realized that I had to decide if I would be as thrilled about bringing another boy (or the unlikely twin two?) into this world as I would a girl. It took time, but my answer: yes.

IMG_1529We find out in just a couple short weeks if we are bringing another crawfish catcher or a new crawfish catcher-ette to our family. Here’s some conclusions I’ve come to if we don’t get that girl I’ve had pictured in my mind, and why I’ve decided I’m fine with a house full of boys.

IMG_22131. People look at a mom of all boys like a superhero. She can do anything. Anything! (Either that or she’s looked at like she’s crazy.)

2. We don’t do Dora at our house. Or Frozen. We just don’t. I’m afraid I’d have a mutiny on my hands if anything of that sort changed.

3. I’m fluent in pirate vernacular. Barbie talk, not so much.

4. Honestly, three older brothers? That poor girl!

20140330_1748435. She would have to more-than-occasionally put up with lovely renditions of “The Booger Song,” not to mention countless other boyish annoyances.

IMG_12986. With all the camo we have in closets, she’s bound to have to dress in those greens and browns at least while she’s young and doesn’t have a say. She would always be mistaken as a boy. OR…

IMG_0931IMG_0861IMG_08687. …I’ve been so girl-deprived for so many years, I’d go crazy buying girly dresses that we’d have no money left.

8. Boys with broken noses? I think I can deal with it. Girls with broken hearts? Hmm. I’m not so sure.

9. I’m outnumbered. It’s a fact. We’d have to have THREE girls to level the playing field. Three. Probably not going to happen. Why even try?

10. We’ve had three times to choose names for girls that didn’t come. We have a list of girl’s names we can’t decide on a mile long. Boy’s names? We have one. Done.

11. You mean you have to actually brush a girl’s hair every day??

IMG_0632Of course, If we go in and get a glimpse at a little boy on the monitor I will probably cry. But let’s be honest. I’ll probably cry if lo and behold this baby’s a girl.

I’ll cry if it’s a girl, I’ll cry if it’s a boy.

And my poor husband won’t have a clue of what to do with his bawling, blubbering wife…which is maybe just another good reason to have another boy. He just might go crazy with TWO emotional basket-case girls running around our house.

Ok, ok. I’m not sure I’m fully convinced. But I DO know that each time I’ve held that little boy in my arms for the very first time, my heart has been full. Each time I know that I love him to the moon and back, and that could never change. Each time I’ve realized that God knows far better what my life needs than I know myself. I know that whether this one is a boy or a girl, healthy or not, it really doesn’t matter. We will bring our baby into our home filled with legos, dinosaurs, and cars and we will be thankful beyond description that he, or maybe (just maybe) she, is in our lives.

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Thanks to katiejanephotos.blogspot.com for the cute picture. 🙂

…In case you missed it…We’re having baby number 4! Read HERE

…And some of my thoughts last year on life with all boys. Read HERE

Categories: Pregnancy | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 10 Comments

The Greatest Gift of All

Baby Sparkles. My little 4-year-old self had been mesmerized with her commercials for months. Those big, blue eyes. Those curly, blond locks. That crown that lit up when her head was tipped back. My heart almost ached with hopes that she’d be under the tree that Christmas morning.

The picture was shaky as the cameraman, my grandpa, tried to follow the dancing four-year-old on the screen darting from one corner of the room to the next. Christmas music filled the background muffling the adult conversations scattered around the room. A blonde six-year-old sat next to the tree admiring the lights and little glass ornaments. My sister. Soon presents were passed around the room. The four-year-old settled down next to her sister and brightly colored wrapping paper flew through the air.

“Baby Sparkles!! Grandma! I love her so much! Thank you grandma! Every inch of that wiggly four-year-old overflowed with delight. Grandpa’s camera scanned the room for the older sister only to find her sulking in the corner.
“And what did you get?” Grandpa cleared his throat.
“Baby Sparkles.” Disappointment oozed from every syllable.
“But don’t you like your baby sparkles?”
Suddenly the six-year-old bursts into tears. “NO. I wanted a DOG, not baby sparkles!”

Baby Sparkles. I can still picture her in my mind. I’d asked for her every day that fall, and holding her was like magic. My sister, well, not so much. Now that the anguish of not getting that puppy has subsided, we both can laugh as we watch our smaller selves so enveloped in the Christmas magic.

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Today as I pick up the Christmas paper strewn across our family room floor and admire the twinkling tree lights one last time before they are hidden under the stairs for the next eleven months, I smile. Baby sparkles is long gone. The Legos that scatter the floor will someday loose their shine. And that’s ok. Somewhere between baby sparkles and lego knights for my boys the magic changed…or maybe just became more clear. The best gift of all has always been the gift of being together with those I love, creating memories that won’t get old or loose their shine. With my parents in Malaysia this holiday season and the passing of loved ones, the gift of memories has been even more magical.

I hope your Christmas was filled with the magical gift of being with those you love and remembering Christmases past. That, for me, has been the greatest gift of all.

Merry Christmas memories from our family to yours!

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Categories: Family | Tags: , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

The Terrible/Wonderful Twos–Loving Whatever Life Throws Our Way

Our youngest son recently turned two. TWO! Every time I’ve had a two-year-old I can distinctly remember thinking to myself, “Could I possibly love this kid any more?? If I could only freeze time, I’d freeze him at this age, right here, right now.” I LOVE two. It is my favorite, favorite, favorite age.

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Yesterday was a moment I would have froze if I could. We were putting Christmas decorations up, and N (that cute little two-year-old), enthusiastic about all the festiveness in a way only a two-year-old can be, grabbed the angel from a Melissa and Doug nativity set and ran to my husband. “See, Daddy? See? This Mommy! Mommy a angel.”

My heart turned to mush.

Obviously he’d totally forgot about how I was the meanest mom on the planet an hour before for not letting him try a bite of the uncooked chicken I was cutting up for dinner…

While I would freeze each of my children at the age of two for eternity if I could, There’s no doubt in my mind that the “terrible twos” are real. Oh, so very real. “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…” It was the age of pure joy, it was the age of temper tantrums. It was the season of laughter and squeals, it was the season of never-ending potty training. It was the time of ‘do it myself’ (hooray!), it was the time of ‘do it myself’ (ahh! No!!). Two is, without a doubt, a paradox. It’s a year thick and thin with inconsistency.

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But, the more I’ve thought about it, maybe that’s just life. We live in a world of ups and downs. Mountains and valleys are ever present in all of our lives, wether we are in the thick of raising a child in the terrible/wonderful twos, or if our children are states away with families of their own. Some mountains in our lives may seem so incredible they touch the skies, some valleys may seem so deep we feel we may never rise again. Regardless of where we find ourselves, a lesson I learned years ago from a talk has stuck with me.

“Come what may and love it.

“…every life has peaks and shadows and times when it seems that the birds don’t sing and bells don’t ring. Yet in spite of discouragement and adversity, those who are happiest seem to have a way of learning from difficult times, becoming stronger, wiser, and happier as a result.” —Joseph B. Wirthlin

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Having a two-year-old around again has reminded me of that advice. Most days are the absolute best. My mountain seem higher than the clouds. Others, well, I’ve simply had to remind myself to laugh…

“The next time you’re tempted to groan, you might try to laugh instead. It will extend your life and make the lives of all those around you more enjoyable.”

…and “seek for the eternal.”

“Because Jesus Christ suffered greatly, He understands our suffering. He understands our grief. We experience hard things so that we too may have increased compassion and understanding for others.” –Wirthlin

Whatever our lives bring, I hope we can tell ourselves, “Come what may, and love it.” I hope we can laugh at our blunders, at the little frustrations, at the uncomfortable situations. And when our valleys are deep and we are too far down to laugh, may we look up and seek for His help. Only through Him can we be made whole.

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Categories: children, Life Lessons | Tags: , , , , , , , , , , | 8 Comments

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