Posts Tagged With: toddlers

 
 

One-kin-stine

I have never met a one-year-old that I didn’t find completely and utterly adorable. Their pudgy sausage fingers, their squeals of delight, their hilarious interpretations of new words that will, for better or worse, follow them the remainder of their lives (raga-lo-li-lo-li will forever be on our menu for busy Tuesday nights!) One-year-olds are, without a doubt, the best.

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Unless…

Unless, of course, you happen to take a one-year-old to the grocery store. Hell hath no fury like a toddler who has had enough of the canned tomato isle. King Soopers is a dark and lonely place for a mother who dares to venture to get food with a toddler in tow.

Today happened to be such an occasion for my four boys and me. Despite my inner conscience screaming, “Nooo! Don’t do it. Have you forgotten last time?  Is there no other way??” I loaded them up and off we went. As expected, not two isles in my one-year-old went Dr. Jekyll on me. By the yoghurt section I was carrying him potato-sack style with his hands flailing to reach the string cheese on the other side. By the time we miraculously reached the checkout, I’d been the gracious receiver of no less than seven “Wow, you sure have your hands full!” Five “FOUR boys!? Oh, you poor thing.” Two “Bet if you tried for a girl you’d just get another boy.” and one “Oh, Mama, go buy yourself some flowers. You deserve it.” Not to mention numerous eyebrow-furled stares.

Minutes later as I wrestled my toddler into his car seat and the other boys unloaded the bags out of the cart, I thought about how those grocery shoppers had just witnessed my sweet, little one-kin-stine  at his very worst. No doubt about it, he was a monster for those 45 miserable minutes.

But in those two-second exchanges, they missed so much. They missed ten adorable, pudgy fingers. Fingers that learned to snap when he was just nine months old. They missed how he loves dogs, how he won’t even say his brothers’ names, but can say Howard (our English Shepard) almost perfectly. How he thinks his big brothers are hilarious and loves to steal their toys; how he loves to jump on the trampoline and would spend every waking moment outside given the opportunity. How he climbs on everything and loves to ride in the laundry basket when Mom does the laundry. They missed his big, toothy grin he gets when his dad gives him piggy-back rides and how his brothers always fight over who gets to sit by him every single time we get in the car. He refuses to wear shoes and he’s ticklish on the bottoms of his feet. They missed that too.

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Essentially, they missed that he really isn’t a monster. Not at all.

But I didn’t. I didn’t miss for a minute that these four crazy boys make me one incredibly lucky mom. That when I look at them I feel blessed far beyond what I deserve. And I never ever want those boys to think I forgot. So next time a fellow grocery shopper acknowledges me and my wild brood, I’ll smile and, in all sincerity say,

“Yes. And I wouldn’t change it for the world.”

 

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

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

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!

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When I Feel Weak

N, our two-year-old, burned his hand on our stove last week. I’d been fixing dinner early that day and he was being my little kitchen helper, mixing and measuring ingredients into the bowl at the table. The burner had been turned off only minutes before, and out of the corner of my eye I saw N pull the stool over. Everything was in slow motion as I dropped the knife I had been cutting with and rushed over to my little boy. It was too late. The palm of his hand had only rested on the hot burner for a millisecond before I grabbed him up, but the deed was done. Immediately under the running tap water blisters began to form. His tears dripped into the sink and pulled at my heart as I cursed myself for not getting to him sooner.

Later that day as he took a nap, I called my sister and cried. I spilled out my heart. I felt weak. I felt like I had failed him yet again. I was the adult, the one in charge, but I felt so inadequate, so lacking, so incredibly weak. His little hand bandaged in gauze, his sad cries played over and over in my mind. “Ouch! Hurt, Mommy. This hand, it hurt.”

Being a mom, being a parent, I’m convinced is one of the hardest jobs in the world. Not because of the late nights, not because of the endless dirty laundry. It really has absolutely nothing to do with the constant demands from little people still lacking patience or the dishes that pile high every night or the diapers that constantly need changed. When I became a mother I expected all of that. I knew full well what the job description entailed. What no one had warned me about, what makes it harder than anything else we do with our lives, is none of that. From the minute we found out we were expecting our first little boy I felt like my heart had been taken from me and would never be given back. I experienced emotions unlike I had ever felt before, from the most extreme joy to the most intense worry and pain. Their hurt is mine, more strong in my heart than any pain I have felt for myself. Their disappointment, their excitement, their successes and failures. Their happiness gives me gladness I never knew could be felt. THAT. That is what makes this job the hardest. Our emotions run in extremes and rest on these little ones.

IMG_1010On that particular day I felt weak. I hate feeling so weak. I wanted more than anything to take away his sadness, to put on a magic salve or give it a kiss and make it all go away. I felt like millions of mothers feel every day. So often we feel like we have to be strong, but we’re afraid there’s no strength to muster. We want to put on a brave face, tell them everything will be fine, but inside we’re scared too and want nothing more than to stroke their hair and take it all onto ourselves. It’s a hard job: wishing, hoping, loving, feeling and emotionally giving our all. Loving someone so intensely.

IMG_0997I’m so thankful for a Heavenly Father that knows the emotions I feel. He knows better than I do myself. He understands that complete joy, he sorrows in our sadness. Some days I feel so weak, like when my little two-year-old burns his hand on the stove. But I know with His divine help my weakness can become strong. I know because of Him, because of his love, I can pour out my soul to him and I can pick myself back up. Because of Him I can take on this tough job with strength. Because of Him I can hold my little boy in my arms and reassure him that everything will be okay. Because He is there for both of us, always, no matter what. I’m so thankful that I have been given the incredible responsibility to love and care for these little ones, and I’m thankful He will be by my side when I feel the emotional load of it all is weighing me down.

Because I’m human, because I’m a mother, I often feel weak. I often feel like I fall short. But I know that because of Him I can be filled with strength. And when you feel overwhelmed with the emotional load, I know you can too. He loves us. He will make up the difference.

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Categories: Motherhood | Tags: , , , , , , | 4 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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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

You Are Worth So Much More

My dear child. As I watch your big, blue eyes fade in and out of dreams there’s so much I want to tell you. It’s been a long day. Somewhere between spilling your second glass of orange juice at breakfast and your fit in the middle of the yogurt isle at the grocery store you seem to have misplaced that sparkle in your eye. Your block tower really was amazing, probably one of the best I’ve ever seen. I’m sorry that last piece on the top sent it tumbling to the floor. And time-out for teasing your brother isn’t much fun. Believe me, I know. But do you know something?

I love you.

I love you more than you may ever know. You see, your worth to me is so much greater than a silly glass of orange juice or tears in the grocery store. I think it’s fantastic that you like to build towers. Nothing brings a smile to my face like when you run in, beaming with pride as your magnificent creation teeters in the family room. But that’s not why I love you. Your towers scaling the sky will never hold a candle to the worth you are to me. You may have splashed the sudsy water out of the tub and squirted shampoo on the wall, but I don’t love you any less. Bath or no bath, I love you from the tip of your muddy nose to the bottom of your stinky toes.

My son, do you realize your worth? Your worth does not hinge on your mistakes. It does not fluctuate each day with your accomplishments. Nothing could measure my love for you. It is infinite, like the stars in the sky. Your worth is great because you are my child. Nothing else matters, because I love you and always will. No matter what. Tomorrow is a bright, new day. When the sun shines through your windows we can try again. But remember, always remember, you are worth that same infinite, incalculable amount. I promise, my love for you will never change.

Love, Mom

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…as my eyes beging to fade in and out of dreams, I can almost imagine I hear a faint whisper…

My dear child. Do YOU know something?

I love you.

Your worth to me is infinite, like the stars in the sky. I don’t measure it by how your hair looks or if you lost your temper today. I love you the same wether or not your toddler throws himself on the tile floors of the grocery store in a fit for all to see. Your worth does not hinge on how spotless your kitchen is, nor does it diminish when you don’t feel like you could even compare to the other moms who have it all together. Nothing could measure my love for you. Your worth is great because you are my child. Nothing else matters, because I love you and always will, no matter what. Tomorrow is a bright, new day. When the sun shines through your windows we can try again. But remember, always remember, you are worth that same infinite, incalculable amount. I promise, my love for you will never change.

Love, God

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Categories: children | Tags: , , , , , , | 17 Comments

Confessions

Things I told myself I would never, ever, ever, ever, ever do to my kids before I became a mom…

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All photos on this page courtesy of katiejanephotos.blogspot.com (thank you, Katie! I really like ’em, even the goofy ones!)

1. Wipe their snotty nose with my BARE hand. Gross!!

I know, I know. Disgusting. I wash my hands immediately after, and it’s only out of desperation and lack of tissues. It’s ok. You don’t have to shake my hand.

2. Allow them to eat a carrot off the floor.

The healthy cancels out any bad germs, right??

3. Lick my thumb and rub it on their cheek to remove a smudge.

Darn. I feel like that obnoxious aunt in the movies.

4. Say “Do you need to go potty?” It’s bathroom. Bathroom, for Pete’s sake!

Yes! One I’ve managed to keep my word on! Sorry friends, it’s nothing personal. I just can’t get myself to refer to the toilet in toddler terms.

5. Pick a booger for them.

The sink is right there, and no tissues are in sight. I’m desperate and out of options. I certainly can’t let them pick it themselves and eat it!

6. Drink from a water bottle after them (you know the one, it’s swimming with floaties of heaven only knows what!).

Did I really just admit to that?

7. Cry while reading a children’s book. It’s written for kids, why would I get all emotional?

The Little Engine that Could, The Poky Little Puppy, You Are Special, Disney’s Planes, The Napping House… When you become a mom you just cry over everything. Right?

8. Say, “Oh, they just grow up so fast!” Isn’t there anything else that can be said to fill in that awkward silence?

But they do grow up SO FAST!

9. Devour parenting books like there’s no tomorrow (cause I would be way too proud to admit I’m flying by the seat of my pants half the time).

I admit, I fly by the seat of my pants half the time.

10. Wear dorky “mom clothes” just because they’re WAY more comfortable than anything in style.

Doggonit, they really ARE way more comfortable than anything in style.

11. Become my child’s garbage disposal when they can’t finish their Mac and cheese.

And let it go to waste??

12. Let them spit something into my hand.

If they weren’t my own blood, this would never happen. Ever.

…And then I became a Mom.

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By the way, my sister-in-law takes really great pictures and took family photos for us this weekend. She wrote a blog post and put some of the awesome-in-a-not-so-wall-worthy-way pictures in it…the better pictures are to come, but her post made my husband and me almost choke on our toothpaste laughing. Here it is!

Katie Jane Photos–No Boy at All

Categories: children, humor | Tags: , , , , , , , , , | 16 Comments

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