More "Me" Space

I love my kids.  Can't say it enough.  I am so privileged to be able to stay home with them and watch them grow and develop.  I wouldn't change it for the world.  However, I find that it can be quite easy to lose myself in all of the caretaking.  If you can relate, please scroll down.

You know you need more "me" space when:

1.  You become overly protective of your coloring pages.  You have picked the color YOU would like for Dora's socks, and orange scribbling was NOT what you had in mind. 

2.  You wake up at night with your arms wrapped around your head, and your legs curled to your stomach in the fetal position.  This is to allow for the two dogs sleeping horizontally at your feet, and the two not-so-little boys on either side of you (who crawled in when you weren't looking).  This is in addition to your husband who is taking up the other half of the bed.  Half asleep, but dreadfully uncomfortable, YOU move to the boys room,  and crawl into a twin bed (which is soaked in the middle and might be the reason one boy is in YOUR bed).  You position yourself around the "wetness", hope it is "just" water, and fall quickly asleep. Ahh...space.

3.  You find the thought of Jury Duty relaxing.  Is there somewhere to sign up for that?

4.  You go to doctor and dentist appointments early, so that you can read your book and sit quietly. Talking with the doctor may be the only adult socializing that you do for the day, so, much to the hurried doctor's chagrin, you try to make it interesting.  You find yourself walking extraordinarily  s l o w l y  to and from your car.

5.  You go out to dinner with friends and offer everyone a wet-wipe after the meal.

6.   The last time your Facebook status was non-child-related was...well, that has never happened.

7.  You do not make phone calls during the day.  You have learned  that as soon as you pick up the phone, the whole household will start screaming and barking.   If you try to sneak a quick one during naptime, you will be sorry.

8.  You have your own favorite episodes of  "Max & Ruby" and "Dora the Explorer" ...and your least favorites too.

9.  You do not own any white or pale-colored pants.  Well, at least not anymore.

10.  You feel the urge to start making home-made signs for your door: "Keep Out.  No one under 5' allowed."  Too bad they can't read.

11.  You breathe a sigh of relief at bedtime, and hope that the next few hours of quiet will give you energy to make it through the whole next day of crazy. :) 

For more "Wordful Wednesdays" check this out:

 

I Heart Faces: Drama in the Sand

Well, before my camera broke this week,

(my diagnosis: Excessive Pointing and Shooting),

I managed to squeeze in this photo of my son at the park.

He was very upset to observe that other children had access to the sand,

and even more upset to observe that they like to destroy sand castles as much as he does.

Kindergartenese

My 6-year-old has been learning to write. 

And I love it. 

I have a difficult time throwing ANY of his writing away.

The pile of paper is getting so big, I may soon be a candidate for "Hoarders."

It is so darn cute.

Especially when he writes things like this:

For those of you who do not read Kindergartenese, it says: 

"Mommy and Daddy

 I love you forever. 

Love, Aaron."

Melts my heart.

However, he has also been writing signs.

For his door. 

Once again, the translation:

"No Brothers Allowed.

Sorry.

Club Members only."

Notice the rip down the middle?  His "bruthrs" didn't like this one.

And it is a bit exclusive, don't you think? 

Especially since his "bruthr" shares the room.

And then there is this one:

"Boys Only. No Girls."

(I love her eyelashes and skirt.

Where did he learn to draw a girl like that?)

There are only three "girls" in this house.

Me, Maisy, and Ruby (the dogs).

 I reminded him that I am a girl.

"Am I allowed in?"  I asked.

"How will I read you stories?"

So  he added the exception clause (on the right):

"Big people girls only."

Whew!

I can't wait to see what he learns next.

:)

Comments That Make My Day

My friend, WackyMummy who has been blogging longer than I, states it honestly when she puts above the comment section: “Comments That Make My Day.” Comments definitely have that ability.


Her tagline made me think about the comments that my kids make to me. For the first few years of parenting there are not many comments. You hope you are doing a good job, and there are lots of non-verbals to give you encouragement, but you don’t really KNOW.

And then, the babies start talking. And sometimes you wish you could stop them. My boys make comments, for good, or for bad, that stick in my head. Some of them do make my day. Some of them make me laugh. Some of them make me squirm.

For your amusement, I will start with the squirming.

The other day at McDonald’s (okay, no judging) while I was trying to order the standard, “Three boy Happy Meals, please” my four-year-old interrupted by saying, loudly, “Mommy, your butt is squishy.” Completely red in the face, I turned to him with my “BE QUIET eyes” and whispered, “SHhhh.” Of course he repeated it several times, each time louder than the previous. “SHHHHHH,” I hissed, desperately. “Squishy, Squishy,” he said.  I will have you know that I ordered nothing for myself.

And then the other day at the zoo, I was trying to save a little money, and didn’t feel especially hungry, so I ordered a kid’s meal for myself. “Mommy, why did you order FOUR kids meals? “Shhh.” “But MOMMY, why did you order FOUR of them? “Shhh.” “Is one of them for YOU?” “Shh!!” I said with those same glaring eyes. (Children don’t seem to respond to shushing or wide-eyed glares, do they? Yet that seems to be my only line of defense in those situations.)

The other morning I was making my bed. My four-year-old noticed and said, “Mommy, why are you making your bed? Is someone coming over?” Okay, so the cat's out of the bag. Just let me know before you come over, ‘kay?

And then there are the comments that make me re-think things.

“Mommy, you’re mean.” Sadly, sometimes I have to agree and apologize.

“Mommy, you said you were going to play with me.” That one stings. That one keeps me up at night.

But then there are the comments that do MAKE my day.


“Mommy, you are the best Mommy in the whole wide world.”

“Can I sit on your lap?”

“Ooh Mommy! You look SO pretty in that dress”

“Mommy, if you wore only one (hoop) earring instead of two, you could be a pirate Mommy. That would be more fun.” I loved that one.

And my favorite: “Mommy, when I grow up, I am going to buy the house next door, that way you can see your grandchildren every day. I have houses picked out for my brothers too.”

Yes, that one MADE my day. That one made my whole week.

I love comments. Most of the time.

Happy birthday to my sweet six-year-old!

I never wanted to be a mother. Never did.  Somehow thought it seemed degrading.  I always thought pregnant women looked extraordinarily vulnerable and weak.  Never wanted to be THAT.  I was always angry that men got off ridiculously easy. Their bodies never had to be stretched and enlarged and eventually displayed for all (well at least doctors and nurses) to see. (I always pictured a county hospital scene with me lined up next to twenty other women, all lying exposed on gurneys, screaming with our legs up in stirrups, while male doctors wandered around barking out orders...) Never wanted to be tied down by the responsibilities of taking care of children.  I was disgusted at the idea of nursing.  "What am I, a cow?" I used to think. 

But eventually, after 9 years of marriage, I realized that if I didn't have children, I might really regret it.  So we went for it.  Closed my eyes (literally) and went for it.  And I got pregnant.  And I was terrified and unsettled....  And then at 18 weeks, things went terribly wrong.  The pregnancy that terrified me was no more.  I sobbed. Frequently.  I wandered around the house in my husband's XXL T-shirt and sweatpants for four months.

And my perspective changed.  I couldn't wait to get pregnant again.  I couldn't wait to be a mother.

Lucky for me, it did not take long.  Four months later, it happened.  The word ECSTATIC would best describe my mood.  I reveled in every second of it (well except for the gigantaur boobs).   I loved it.  It was amazing.  I loved the check-ups; I loved the ultra-sounds; I loved the pregnancy clothes (well, at least at first).  I loved the little kicks from inside my belly.  For the first time in my life, I loved the idea of being a mom. 

And then came the delivery.  John and I were out eating pizza for what would be our last night together without kids.  I had just spent the day putting together Aaron's nursery furniture (which included heavy lifting...)  The contractions came slowly at first; I paused between bites of pizza to catch my breath and grab onto the table.  I was up all night timing each contraction.  In the morning, we went to the hospital.  (I was relieved to see my private room with hotel-style artwork and an entertainment center.  No gurneys.  No stirrups. No screaming.  And only one or two (or three?) people saw me naked. :))  And BTW, epidurals ARE wonderful.

On February 21, 2004, at 6:30 p.m. I had the most beautiful baby boy in my arms. He amazed me then, and he amazes me now.  Kind hearted, sweet, compassionate, thoughtful, sensitive, intense, competitive, good-humored, friendly, wise, curious...I could go on and on.  I immediately took to mothering and loved it (never really loved nursing, but I coped).  I am so happy that I, as a woman, was blessed to be the one to carry him in my body and nurture him.  I am so blessed and privileged to be able to stay home with him and watch him grow.  I am a better person because of him.  I am so thankful that I am a mother.  I am so thankful I am HIS mother.

Prelude to A Nap

1.  Take some sidewalk chalk, and draw a line as far as the sidewalk will take you.

2. Repeat.

3.  Ride your scooter until your head feels VERY heavy.

4.  Color a little.

5.  Get in your carseat so you can pick up your brother from school

And, Voila!

A nap which will keep you up all night....

make Mommy cuckoo

and make you nap again tomorrow.