blestwithsons

Bigger and better - soon!

2005-04-18T10:56:00.000-04:00

blestwithsons is MOVING!!!!

I am so excited that I am going to have a fully fledged website due to overweening ambition and the generous assistance of my tech-savvy big brother!! Please come visit me at

www.blestwithsons.com

Thanks!

The jury's still out on that one...

2005-04-17T07:02:00.000-04:00

When we were first learning about Asperger's Syndrome, I had a nice little chat with my piano/voice teacher about it. As we were talking I smilingly said, "Perhaps I just have trouble with things that start with A. A.D.D., Autism, Asperger's..."

She interrupted with, "Adulthood."

Without missing a beat, I replied, "Nope. I haven't been diagnosed with that yet."

Line by Line

2005-04-16T11:25:00.000-04:00

One of my sons (and possible two of them) has Asperger's Syndrome. Asperger's is/is like a mild form of autism. He's very intelligent, and, in my words, freaky gifted in music, but he displays some autistic behavior. For example, his communication skills are somewhat impaired. He can tell you what he wants and needs, but he can't answer more abstract questions like "What is your favorite color?" or "Where would you like to go?" or "What did you do in church today?". When he's in doubt, he starts listing movie titles. (as in the previous posting where half of his prayer consists of VeggieTales episodes) Also, he has some very strong obsessions, mainly music with a special interest in percussion and VeggieTales.

Another of his autistic behaviors is shown in his penchant for lining things up. He creates elaborate displays - and woe betide anyone who disturbs them! Little toys, video boxes, all his drums and drumsticks - line upon line. Alphabet blocks are one of the best, and worst, purchases I have ever made. Andrew shocked us all by starting to read, write, and spell out loud, during the Christmas holidays. Now reading at four is not remarkable in my family, but we had never tried to teach him to read because we didn't think he would get it yet. We thought the communication barrier was too great. Shows what we knew! He is now reading around a first grade level and loves to write (VeggieTales titles mostly - go figure). And yes, he really is reading and not just reciting from memory. He sounds all the words out phonetically. After he first started spelling out loud, I bought him a large set of alphabet blocks. His older brother had practiced spelling and reading with Scrabble tiles, I thought those were too small for Andrew and I didn't trust him not to lose them. I had no idea what I was starting. When he's not drumming, he's lining up letters. One day it was the alphabet backwards, another day it was every letter in pairs. One day I looked on the windowsill and saw "Harry Connick Jr Only You" - one of his favorite concerts. Another morning brought "Gaither Vocal Band" and "Australia". It's been fun - but awkward. If the baby takes a block and runs off with it, hysteria ensues. Andrew collapses in the floor weeping - real tears and everything! The daily chore of picking up the blocks is nothing short of war. I wish I understood exactly what goes through his mind when his line in unlined. But I can't have the blocks out all the time - it's hard on the feet!

A Fervent Prayer

2005-04-16T10:37:00.000-04:00

Heard at the bedside of four year old Andrew:

"Dear God, Thank you for this day.
Thank you that we got to go outside.
Thank you for Larry Boy and Josh and the Big Wall and Are you My neighbor.
Please help me NOT to obey Mommy and Daddy. In Jesus' Name, Amen."

Ahem. I really don't think Andrew needs divine strengthening on that point...

It's My Time!

2005-04-15T12:15:00.000-04:00

Contentment is an elusive virtue. After all, we live in a country where contentment would be very bad for the economy and every commercial crusades against it.

One of the great enemies of contentment is a false array of expectations of what life is supposed to be like and how I am supposed to get to spend "My Time".
I have four little boys, the oldest is seven, and with them the hits just keep on coming. Laundry never stops, my floor looks like a very successful breeding program for endangered breakfast cereals, and someone is always hungry. (especially me!) Proverbs 31 says someday my children will rise up and call me blessed - right now they just rise up and call me. "Mommy, can I...? Mommy will you...? Mommmy - He...! I have my good days and my bad days...but my bad days usually have something in common. When I start having a plan for what I want to do with My Time, I'm destined for trouble. (Life is what happens when you've made other plans!) But I'm supposed to get time for me right? The hour plus that I want to spend practicing the piano, the time on the phone with my friends, the necessary time for blogging (ahem) - these are all important parts of my personhood and I am entitled to time for them, right? You know, I'm not so sure. And even if I didn't have four little men in the making, I still wouldn't be so sure. I am sure that I grow very discontented when I think I'm entitled to all this and more and either a) neglect my responsibilities or b) get really annoyed when I get interrupted while doing what I want or c) both a and b in spades.

C.S. Lewis wrote "The great thing, if one can, is to stop regarding all the unpleasant things as interruptions of one's 'own', or 'real' life. The truth is of course that what one calls the interruptions are precisely one's real life - the life God is sending one day by day; what one calls one's 'real life' is a phantom of one's own imagination."

Which leads me to one more thought about contentment. Whoever said we were supposed to be happy all the time anyway? When my husband was deployed the last time, I really struggled. I think the best way to describe me spiritually was in a state of advanced pout. I just did not appreciate that everything in my life was not going in the most peachy-keen way. I did not like having my husband gone off to war, I did not like raising my three boys while growing ever more hugely pregnant with number four by myself, I did not like it when the toilet exploded (well who would?!) - but when I remembered that all these events were controlled by my heavenly Father who has my best interests at heart... At some point I realized that I was a spoiled brat and started apologizing to God. Obviously I had some growing up to do. And I still do.

G. K. Chesterton wrote that "Gratitude is the best test of happiness". Only by being grateful for the real life God has given me, that life more abundant that Christ spoke of, will I find true and lasting contentment.

1 Thessalonians 5:18 In everything give thanks, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus

Glass from the Past

2005-04-14T10:17:00.000-04:00

From my 2003 scrapbook...

Childhood Smudges
on the glass
As these fleeting hours pass
Three precious faces
paused to smile at each other
for a while
Two outside for sun and play
One must wait
for bigger days
I grab my camera
impossible dream
to freeze a moment
in life's stream
And with thankful heart
gaze and adore these little boys
who grace my door

Let there be Food

2005-04-12T21:03:00.000-04:00

Tuesdays around here are becoming grocery days. It would be Monday, but the commissary is closed on Monday - ttthppp. So the past three Tuesday mornings I have bravely loaded up all four boys and ventured forth into the public arena in search of comestibles. Grocerying with four boys under the age of eight, one of whom is a little on the autistic side (asperger syndrome) is always an Adventure. (hey - wasn't I just saying I wanted an Adventure! I don't think the grocery store was what I meant) I put my two youngest in the double stroller, my oldest pushes the grocery cart, and we all just hope that son #2, the almost five year old wild child, will stay with the pack. Today started off slightly differently as I threw in a side trip before the commissary run. Our family is currently on a gluten free diet (no wheat, barley, or rye) due to the autism and some issues with the other kids. We have to track down special flours, cookies, cereals, and so forth on a regular basis... so off we went to the local health food store.

This store is SMALL, and has made the regrettable decision of selling weight benches in the back of the store. Andrew, my wild child, wasted no time in clambering up and then plummeting off of a weight bench. The elderly proprietor of the store was not impressed by my stoicism as she pointed out that children were not supposed to be on the equipment. I did apologize. But I just wasn't freaking about Andrew's fall...as I told her - the kid is virtually indestructible. I have seen him take so many spills - and bounce right back up again -that I think I'm getting a little too relaxed. Anyway. That out of the way, we managed to find what we came for and safely make it back to the van.

Then it was off to the commissary - which was an unremarkable a trip as any trip to the store with four boys can be. I always get some stares. I am always told at least once "You sure have your hands full!" To which I always grin and reply, "Just a little bit." Andrew always gets some attention because he has to stop and drum on the coffee cans, the vegetable cans, the oatmeal boxes, the frozen chicken... you get the idea. The hardest part is the check-out line...naturally. I am blessed though in that I don't have, as yet, little beggars. They pick up the candy and look at it - but when I say "put it back", they put it back and don't say a word. I don't know how I achieved this state of affairs, but I'm grateful for it!

And that was the major event of our day. Pretty exciting huh? I dated a guy once who admired/complained that I could make a run to the store for milk and come back with thirty minutes worth of stories from the experience. Guess I still got it!

Oh - and I made Gluten Free Cheesecake Brownies from a recipe in The Gluten Free Kitchen cookbook. YUMMY! Two thumbs up!

Danger Zone

2005-04-11T21:06:00.000-04:00

My mother has warned me repeatedly that the 30s are a dangerous age. She's right. My mother is, by the way, always right. (a person could get tired of that)

I'm 32, fast approaching 33, and I can honestly state that in some ways it has been a rough and dangerous year, in my mind and emotions if not in my behavior. Underlying all my soul-searching, all my restlessness and anxiety, and a good deal of my inability to focus lies one simple craving. I WANT SOME ADVENTURE! You would think that raising four boys, two of whom have special needs, all of whom are very busy, would be adventure enough. You would think being married to a gone all the time marine would be sufficient drama. You would think that throwing in such interests as scrapbooking, reading, singing, jewelry making, photography, and blogging would more than fill my plate. And if that weren't enough, you would think that adding in the new hobby of playing the piano would push me right into satiation. (any day you can use a word like "satiation" is a GOOD day!) Well you would be wrong. I still want an adventure...

I think that's why I got hung up on the idea of entering a singing competition. Which thanks to some good counsel, I'm now not going to do.

I wonder, was it this same restlessness that got Eve reachin' for that apple. (okay it wasn't an apple - but that sounded better than "fruit")

Why am I so restless? I don't know. I have a great life. I truly love being the mom of four boys. I don't want out of my job. I have a wonderful husband who's only major flaw is that he's not around as much as I would want due to his job. I've got fun friends, a loving family, enough money...I've got rhythm, I've got music... Where does the restlessness come from? And how long do I have to ignore it before it goes away?

I know one thing. Bailing on my responsibilities is not the answer. Yes it would bring me adventure -but at what cost? I was observing something similar this year when talking about romance - which is closely akin to adventure. If you watch romantic movies you start noticing a pattern... There is a lot of pain/suffering that goes along with the yummy moments. Indeed, a boy meets girl, boy gets girl movie would be boring. It's that boy loses girl part in the middle that makes it all gooey and tear-inspiring. Do I really want the suffering just to have a few extra thrills?

Color me boring -but no, I don't. My life, with its exploding toilets (remind me to blog THAT story) and diapers, runny noses and smushed bananas, little giggles and "luv you too"s will not inspire an HBO series (Smurfs in the City?)... but I can live with that.

Day of Rest

2005-04-10T21:05:00.000-04:00

Ah Sunday... I got all four little men dressed, shod (minor miracle), and got them to the church on time. I had nursery duty - and half the nursery was composed of my own kids... so basically for the first hour and a half I was just being mommy in a different venue. Then off to Sunday School, where much to my surprise I ended up teaching the high school girls. Well, I tried anyway.

We were discussing the passage in James about how Faith without works is dead. I don't remember rightly how I got on the subject, but I was at some point talking to them about how sometimes the right "works" are not always the ones at church. I was explaining how it often seems the godly thing to say "yes" to whatever service opportunity comes down the pike, when you actually have to evalaute the season of life you're in and the jobs God has already given you and see if maybe you should say "No". I used the example of my desire to enter an upcoming vocal competition... and how I'm beginning to think that maybe it's not God's plan for my life right now since I am, after all, blest with sons.

My mom said she thought I seemed disenchanted with my job of supermom right now. I'm not exactly. A little overwhelmed, a little intimidated, but I don't want out. I think sometimes I want a job that's a little easier though. Singing is easy, performing is a whole lot of fun, and you get instant feedback. I've been an applause junkie since day one - singing is quite fulfilling. It's like approval fast food. BUT... I just don't think aiming for this national level competition - which would entail being away from my kids for a week -is the right thing for me right now. The funny thing is that my husband is all for it! He couldn't be more supportive. He even said that he figures that if it's God's plan for me to be a recording artist that God will work stuff out with the kids. But I still have misgivings... I'm glad my husband is so cool though!

Anyway... today was fairly restful. After church we came home, played outside, came in... the 18 mos old fell asleep on me - so I took the hint and napped myself while the others watched a movie.

My oldest and I just knocked out two more chapters of Swiss Family Robinson... so I can go off to bed feeling a little bit cool again. It's funny - I feel like I'm a good mom to the oldest because I can talk to him, teach him, play Scrabble and chess with him, and enjoy good books with him. And I'm a good mom to the baby because I love all over him and don't let him bite his brothers. But the two in the middle... I'm just not sure what to do with them. I think I will be the greatest mom when all my kids are old enough to play board games... But until then I'm a little confused.

Hey Lady - Get a Job!

2005-03-07T20:06:00.000-05:00

I was having a good day. Just one of those days when parenting is enjoyable and no one, not even me, had screamed for at least ten minutes. My boys were cleaning up the living room which had been redecorated in Modern American Toddler(hallmarks of this style include toys liberally strewn from one end of the room to the other and free-form marker and pen art drawn directly on the walls). I was in the kitchen, waiting for my essential afternoon coffee to brew.

As the sunshine streamed through the windows, the coffee aroma filled the air, and the sounds of happy boys came at me from the living room, I sighed happily to myself and said "Ah boys, boys, what would I do without my boys."

From the living room came the answer, courtesy of seven year old Daniel: "You'd probably have to work hard for a living."

I was momentarily speechless as I pondered the meaning of this pronouncement. Honestly, I thought it was astute social commentary from my budding young philosopher. Obviously, he had realized that there were women, even mommies, who did not stay at home. With keen insight he had deduced that if I did not have four children, I would be expected to be in the work force earning a paycheck because that's what adults do, right? I wanted to hear it in his own words - so I asked him, "Daniel, what do you mean by that?"

His answer was quick and ever so slightly acerbic. "Well, if you didn't have boys, you would have to do all the housework yourself.... I mean, if you wanted the living room clean, YOU would have to do it."

My answer was also quick, and by the grace of God, not acerbic. "Daniel, if I didn't have kids, my living room wouldn't be dirty. If I didn't have kids, there wouldn't be toys all over the floor."

Daniel may not be the young philosopher that I thought, but he's quick on the uptake nonetheless. With a little smirk of dawning comprehension, he said not a word and went back to cleaning up his toys.

Days of Whine and Noses

2005-01-11T10:49:00.000-05:00

Apparently I have entered the winter of my children's discontent. I don't know if it's post-Christmas let down, pre-deployment wind-up, the near-constant state of runny noses and coughs, or just some seriously bad ju-ju... but I have never seen my kids so collectively grumpy! It seems like an hour can't go by without one or more of my children crying and screaming about something. And so much fighting! Even as I typed the previous sentence, the tiny oasis of quietude that had been bought with a liberal dispensing of snacks was shattered by the four year old's wail of displeasure, followed immediately by the fifteen month old's whine of distress, which leads to the three year old's scream of battle, capped by the six year old's argumentative grumbling... and so on and so on.

I don't have any answers, and I barely have any morals to the story. I figure there is a lesson in this somewhere, or some character development... but quite honestly I almost think I would trade the character development for a good set of earplugs and several more boxes of tissues.

They fight over snacks
they fight over toys,
they argue 'bout everything,
I can't take the noise!

There noses are running
Their whining won't stop
When night rolls around
I'm ready to drop.

I know it's a phase?
I'm sure it will pass
I feel like a student
who's failing the class.

But oh how I love them
They still make me smile
I know they'll be little
for just a short while

I need five quiet minutes
to re-count the joys
That I know come along
with raising four boys!
(and two tylenol would help too!)

Father Knows Best

2005-01-05T07:12:00.000-05:00

What a way to start the day... The air was split this morning around 2:30am with the piercing wails of my almost three year old. (this would be son #3 of the four) I thought he was crying for a banana, his dad told me later that he was actually asking for a bedtime story. Given Benjamin's mushy diction, we could both be right. Anyway, my husband, who is a saint, was the one who went to see what all the fuss was about. I thought he would do his usual daddy-thing and bring the little snuggler in bed with us. Nope. This time he decided to play hardball and told Benjamin to go back to bed. Now Benjamin is very small, and very loving, but he has the temper of the Incredible Hulk. You don't want to make him angry. Being told to go back to bed...well, that made him angry. Screams and thuds echoed through our upstairs (gotta love those wood floors!); the thuds were various parts of Benjamin's anatomy flinging about and contacting various parts of our home's anatomy. (Unfortunately something must have contacted my husband's anatomy, because there were some more thumps aimed at Benjamin's bottom.) Daddy tried to put him in his room, Benjamin screamed and fought, Daddy fussed, baby woke and also fussed... I considered putting a pillow over my head, took too much energy so I didn't bother. I could hear my husband saying to the irate toddler, "You will go back in that room and get in your bed and you will do it quietly..." And so on. Finally I called out in a tolerant mommy-voice "Honey, I know you're doing the right thing, but you're just not going to win this one" "What?" he said. "I said you're not going to win. There's no way you're going to get that child to go quietly to bed, it's just not going to happen" My husband walked back into the room and I strained my eyes through the darkness, certain because of the sudden quiet that he was carrying our Benny-bunny with him. No Benjamin. "Honey? Where's Benjamin?" "In his bed" was the terse reply.

Ahem. I tell ya what, it's bad enough to be woken up by a toddler at "zero dark thirty" - but to be proven wrong by your husband at the same time.... it's just not right. I developed a sudden headache, took two tylenol, and went back to bed. If this is the way of the new year, I'm not sure I approve!

Christmas Mush

2004-12-16T08:19:00.000-05:00

I love Christmas music! I have an extensive collection that I unleash the day after Thanksgiving and the hits just keep on coming. Every year I get at least one new cd; this year has been a bonanza, I've gotten FOUR! New additions this year are: Gaither Homecoming Friends He Started The Whole World Singing; Harry Connick Jr Harry For The Holidays; Handel's Messiah; Clay Aiken Merry Christmas With Love. That last one was a gift which I received yesterday and I have to say it is quite pleasant!

One of my favorite Christmas cd's from year's past is Celine Dion's These are Special Times. I got it the year my first son had his first Christmas and I still remember him at ten months old warbling along in the back seat as we cruised California highways. (no, he couldn't really sing and still can't - but his yodeling was very cute!) Although this cd has been replaced as my reigning favorite, there is one song that is very special to me and makes me cry every year. Here's an excerpt:

These Are The Special Times - by Diane Warren

With each moment, moment passing by
We'll make memories that will last all our lives
As you and I travel through time together
Living this sweet dream
And every day, we can say

These are the special times
Times we'll remember
These are the precious times
The tender times we'll hold in our hearts forever
These are the sweetest times
These times together
And through it all, one thing will always be true
The special times are the times I share with you

I've sung that song to each one of my babies in their first December as I danced them around the room. Really, other than its being on a Christmas album, it's not a Christmas song. And though I only listen to it in December, I want it to be my theme all year long. Older people will occasionally stop me when I'm out with my kids and exhort me to savor my time with them as it goes flying by. And I truly do. I may be harried, and stressed, and tired... I may have days where I am ready to shave my head and take to drink because I think I will never raise these little savages into godly warriors for Christ... But I really, really love my little ones and am blessed to say that I genuinely enjoy them. Almost every day this month I've been listening to a little chorus of voices chirping out Joy to the World with various degrees of accuracy and lots of volume. I love it! I love having my little ones pile on my like a litter of puppies. I love watching their building excitement over Christmas. Aww, this is getting awfully mushy. But in a blog which frequently relates the madness of raising four little boys, I wanted to take a moment and, well, share the joy!

That Guy in the Red Suit

2004-12-10T19:42:00.000-05:00

Now given that we are home-schoolers, and Christians, AND a bit odd... And given that I am very opinionated and have no hesitation about sharing my opinions, it's no surprise that almost every December someone asks me how we handle Santa Claus.

My family "did" Santa when I was little. I thought Santa was real until the advanced age of five when my older brother took it upon himself to enlighten me. I don't remember being particularly upset - as long as we still got the presents, what was the problem? The Santa thing was fun - and I really loved the resulting tradition that there were only a few presents under the tree before Christmas, but come Christmas morning... Foom! It was like a mystical, magical present explosion had happened under the tree. Oh how I loved coming down EARLY Christmas morning, still bleary eyed, peering at the pile of presents by the light of the tree. (I still love that, actually, but now I have to have a mug of coffee in my hand to enhance the experience.)

I mention all this to show that I have no childhood hostilities or trauma about Santa underlying the decision we have made to NOT do Santa.

Why don't we do Santa? Well, the first reason is the whole "not lying to the kids" thing. I just had this mental image of a young man standing before me and saying "Okay, so Santa was a lie, the Easter Bunny another lie, Tooth Fairy - lie again... and you want me to believe you about Jesus?!" Maybe it wouldn't happen - but maybe it would... Why take the chance?

The second reason came from something that happened when my oldest was just a little shaver - probably about to turn 3. We were at the Exchange (Military department store) and a Santa was sitting in the toy department. Daniel eyed him curiously, and the gentleman offered him a candy cane if he would come on up and sit on his lap and all that Santa jazz. (funny, any other time of year when a man offers your kid candy and says come sit on my lap this is a BAD thing) I told Daniel he could go if he wanted to, but explained to the man that Daniel didn't know who Santa was. From the horrified stare on Santa's face, you would have thought I said we ate Rudolph on skewers for lunch. Daniel sat down and the Santa started his spiel, "So what do you want for Christmas?" Daniel didn't answer, he had never been asked this question before. The man prompted him "Would you like a fire truck? A train?" Well those things sounded pretty good, so Daniel nodded his head. "You just tell Santa what you want and I'll make sure you get it". This was the point where Mommy got mad. I didn't do anything, or say anything, but I wish I had. What went through my head was "When will Santa be handing over his Visa?" How dare he make a promise like that to a child, MY child? That's when I realized some things about this Santa deal.

First of all, as I said, my son had never heard the question "What do you want for Christmas?" and to this day - he still hasn't heard it from his parents. I am with him every day. I know what he likes. And I know what I want him to have. I don't need to encourage his normal human greed by having him make a list or write a letter to Santa. Those traditions, though cute, don't keep the focus on the true meaning of Christmas. This year is the first time Daniel has even talked about his forthcoming gifts. With a cute little smile he says "I wonder what I'm getting for Christmas!" and I say back "I wonder what you're giving!" And he grins and says "Oh! I need to make a list!", sits down and starts writing a very grandiose list of the gifts he wants to give to family and friends. His gift ideas are much more than he can afford, but I like his list.

And second, I don't want my kids looking to a mythical figure for the fulfillment of their dreams, nor do I want them feeling grateful to him. My mom told me that my dad never liked putting "from Santa" on the presents- he didn't want Santa getting any of the credit. Well Amen to that! I don't either. My kids should be grateful to their parents, other gift-givers, and ultimately to God for the blessings that come their way this Christmas.

Lest I sound grinchy... My kids do know who Santa is. We watch Rudolph, we watch Santa Claus Is Coming To Town. We have a cute story book called "Santa are you for Real?" which sweetly explains how Santa is based on Saint Nicholas who gave to others because of his love for Christ. I've taught them that Santa is a game people play and that it is not their job to tell other kids that he isn't real. (I've no desire to field phone calls from angry parents!) Santa is just not the main part of their Christmas, he's more of an aside. After all, what with Christmas music, Christmas goodies, Christmas crafts, Christmas parties, Christmas decorating, and our own family Christmas traditions we really don't have time to miss the big guy. My kids have lots of fun at Christmas with all the magic, all the wonder, that being a child at Christmas should bring. They just get it from rejoicing in the miracle of Christ's birth instead of some dapper dude in a reindeer-powered sleigh.

Wisdom of the Ages

2004-12-02T07:17:00.000-05:00

NOTE: if tongue-in-cheek means nothing to you - don't read this posting!

So December is upon us... Personally, I love the Christmas season - always have. I love the decorations, the presents, the food, the music... But growing up, one thing I did NOT love was my mother's annual Christmas freak-out. It wasn't a single explosion, nothing traumatic. Every year she just got really, really stressed and there was usually some talk of cancelling Christmas and taking a cruise to Mexico. I never could understand all the fuss, and even now with four boys of my own, I still don't feel that same level of pressure that haunted my mom. I don't think this implies any superiority on my part, however. Part of my Christmas calm is just because of differences in temperament, but the majority of it is because I learned from her example. My mother, who is always right by the way(no sarcasm - she really is - the woman picked out my husband three years before I noticed him for pete's sake!), developed a Christmas philosophy for minimizing the stress and maximizing the enjoyment of the season. In my deep concern for mothers everywhere - I now pass it on to you!

Both of these rules apply to Christmas shopping - which is what generates most of the stress for most people, I think.

1. One for Me, One for You. This is pretty self-explanatory. Now don't break the bank, of course, but it really does boost your morale when every package arriving has a little something in it for you! So far I've gotten new Christmas cd's, a travel mug, craft supplies, a dvd... Just make sure you leave some things for people who are shopping for you!

2. Forget about what YOU want - I'm giving you what I WANT to give you! There really is some truth to this. Obligation is a deadly poison to the joy of giving. And it really does take some of the fun out of it when you have a list that you are not expected to deviate from. Now all parents know the joy of giving their child that special gift that he or she wants so desperately. I remember the Christmas I got the keyboard I had been begging for... So it's not that my mom didn't ever give us what we wanted. Some years though - when our lists were nothing but CDs and books, it was kind of boring for her. How much more fun is it to find that unexpected something, that surprise gift that will make the recipient say "Oh wow!" Sometimes in my family, saying what you want is the best way to make sure you DON'T get it. Of course, becoming too obsessed with the Wow factor and trying to surprise people is a stressor in itself - so keep your head about it.

Of course, none of this has to do with the True meaning of Christmas... But then maybe in a way it does. God didn't give us what we wanted at Christmas. The Isrealites wanted a King - they got a Savior. (they'll get the King later of course) - and humanity didn't particularly want to be saved - we'd much rather keep sinning thank you very much. Thank God He gave us what He wanted us to have!

The Clampetts go Smithsonian

2004-11-27T08:13:00.000-05:00

One of the lessons which my husband and I have had learn, or attempt to learn, over and over again is that when you have four small children you just can't do everything. Seems obvious - but I don't think we are the only ones who have trouble with this. Yesterday we had the unexpected pleasure of getting to go to Washington, DC with my best friend and her family. She and her Marine husband have 2 boys the same ages as our oldest two - 6 and 4 - so that gave us a grand total of six little boys orbiting around us as we boarded the Metro. This was the first time I have been back to DC since we were newlyweds stationed at Quantico. Seeing the sights with a brood is vastly different. I was actually getting dizzy in the first half hour just trying to keep an eye on everybody. Our destination was typical: the Smithsoninan Air and Space Museum. The boys were excited, thrilled, exhilarated - and that was just the ride in from Springfield on the Metro train! Once we got to the Museum, it was lunch time and we ate at the on-site McDonald's. I joked that once we finished bathroom visits and eating and more bathroom visits it would be time to go home. And honestly, if we had the kids would have been perfectly happy. Children, on some occasions at least, are really very easy to satisfy. After lunch my four year old had already had enough, he refused to walk and had to be carried on Daddy's shoulders. After a not-so-fun struggle with him, we swapped him for the baby in the stroller and he went to sleep, as did the two year old. Then the baby fell asleep in my friend's arms. So fully 75% of my children slept through the musuem, waking up just in time to squall in the gift shop.

After the museum, I really wanted to jet over to the White House just to stand outside, show it to my oldest son, and say a prayer of Thankgiving for our recent election... But this was where that much needed lesson finally kicked in. I had to say NO, it's time to go home. Strange as it felt to pack it in after only one attraction - more would not have been good for my kids. And if it's not good for them, it's really not good for me. I love to go and go and go, but right now my kids are too small and funny, but they don't get much out of museums anyway. (except the oldest, who loved it!) I've also come to realize that it is best to stick to free attractions so you can walk away when the kids are done without feeling like you've wasted your money.

Finally, I need to remember to be more child-like myself, finding the thrill and excitement in the journey and the food and the little happy moments - instead of dwelling on the bigger dreams of adventure that are currently out of my reach.

Mucking about

2004-11-17T08:03:00.000-05:00

I've been up since 4am... I was awakened by the distinctive sound of a four year old trying to call for Mommy while barfing all over his bed, his comforter, his clothes, the pillow, the floor, the other pillow.... Sigh. I cleaned him up, got the bedclothes out of the room, and liberally doused the perimeter with Lysol. I then went back to my room to find my 13 mos old, who had originally wakened at 2am and ended up in my bed, now awake and ready to party. So downstairs we went to turn on the coffee maker and start the day. Part of his starting the day involved crumbling Ritz crackers in the living room floor... and the Lord in his kindness gave me a song.

To the tune of Matchmaker from Fiddler on the Roof. (if you haven't seen it- see it!)

Messmaker, Messmaker
Make me a mess
Tear up my house
Put me to the test.
I just keep remembering
I have been blessed!
So make me another mess.

I have four lively, healthy (for the most part), happy boys. Life is gonna be messy.

Proverbs 14:4 Where no oxen are, the manger is clean
But from the strength of the ox comes an abundant harvest.(mixing the NASB and NIV translations)

Ya think?

2004-11-15T10:15:00.000-05:00

I had an epiphany last week. A truly shocking revelation. My oldest son, the six year old, is - gasp - not me! No really, he may look like me. (though he tells me when he is grown up he will NOT look like me because boys should NOT look like their mommies) And he may have some of my talents and inclinations, like an obsessive predisposition towards playing Scrabble. But he is NOT just like me. I had this hammered home to me in a very prosaic way. He was outside eating chicken nuggets and fries with a few pals and I was inside yakking with another mom. Suddenly a blood-curdling scream came from the back yard. Now every mother knows that there are screams you ignore and screams you don't. This scream was the kind where you find your feet running before your brain has caught up. Both mommies headed out the door on auto-pilot. We found my Daniel weeping in pain; he had bitten the fool out of his finger. I am not a heartless mommy, I comforted him. I gave him a hug and checked his "owie" and told him he was just fine. Then I thought I would lighten the situation. As I turned with my friend to head back into the house I said with a smile, "Now Daniel, for Pete's sake, eat the chicken - not the Daniel!" My son gave me a look of pure contempt and said "Mommy, will you please stop talking." I froze as the hyper-sensitive mommy matrix of my mind decoded this statement as a sign of purest disrespect. Coldly I said to him "I will overlook that because you are hurt. But don't ever say that to me again." And I marched indignantly back into the house.

But I regretted it as soon as I got back inside. Now true, for me only rebuking him was progress, a few years before I probably would have considered that a spanking offense. After all, HONOR YOUR FATHER AND MOTHER is a big deal around our house. But then it hit me. The kid just isn't me. Especially when it comes to his sense of humor. I have a truly warped and wacky sense of humor. I always assumed my kids would too. But I forgot about their daddy who does not have a wacky sense of humor. Their Daddy has a sense of humor and he can be quite funny sometimes. But his humor is not like mine. He spends a lot of time shaking his head at me when I've gone off into gales of hilarity. I can't tell you how many times I've been told affectionately, "You just ain't right." That afternoon I realized that I have frequently seen that "You ain't right" look on my son's face as well. And just like his Daddy, he doesn't want to be laughed or jollied out of a bad moment. He'd rather just be given his space to deal with it and come out the other side. I had to learn to respect that in his father and now I have to respect it in him, too. Weird when your kids start turning into people, isn't it?

There can be only One

2004-11-10T10:42:00.000-05:00

There's a little moment in the movie The Princess Bride that I have always enjoyed. (actually there's lots of great moments in that movie!) Inigo and a masked man are dueling. Awed at the masked man's prowess, Inigo says "Who are you?!". The masked man replies, "No one of consequence." Inigo tries again "I must know". And the masked man advises him, "Get used to disappointment." Inigo shrugs his shoulders and says "Okay" and they carry on with their duel.

I don't quite know why it strikes me so humorously. But I do know, like most if not all humor, it has the ring of truth. As I've been known to sing to my children "You can't always get what you wa-ant." ; you really do have to learn to get used to disappointment. Unfortunately, many people do not seem to understand that - especially when it comes to child-rearing. I'm not even talking about spoiling them materialistically, though with Christmas approaching that would be a worthy topic. I'm talking about more psychological issues.

Case in point: Last night my six year old son Daniel attended a little team "dinner party" (everybody met at Golden Corral) to celebrate the end of his soccer season. This was his first year playing soccer, and he has had a blast! He has improved greatly in his skills, and if I may say so myself, he is a pretty good little sportsman too. He encouraged his teammates and was both a good winner and a good loser. Oh, wait a minute, I forgot, there were no winners and losers. The powers that be here on base designated the six and seven year old age division as "non-competitive". Now personally, I didn't mind the non-competitive thing when Daniel played on a three and four year old t-ball team. After all, kids that small have enough to worry about just running the bases in the right direction. (Daniel's first hit he ran straight towards second and to infinity and beyond. Run Forrest Run!) But six and seven year olds are savvy enough to keep score: they proved that every Saturday. Daniel would meet up with his buddies and you would hear "We won! 3 to 2!" or "We get stomped. 5 to 1" . Every week-end Daniel came home and told me how they did, no one had to tell him. He kept score himself. And frankly, I didn't notice the non-competitive designation taking the edge off of the coaches and parents either. Although I'm pleased that I didn't see much outright bad behavior, I still heard a lot of intense "coaching" from the sidelines. (and the fact that I came home hoarse from the one game I got to attend is just a strange co-incidence - "Daniel keep your eye on the ball! Daniel here it comes, be ready! GO DANIEL - YEAH BUDDY!!) So basically, trying to protect everyone's feelings and keep it non-competitive was a total waste of time.

So anyway, Daniel had his end-of-season dinner last night. He and Daddy got home and my husband showed me a cute little "Thanks for playing" type trophy - but then he handed me something that got me all excited. A cool-looking certificate with those all-important words "Most Valuable Player" and my son's name! I was so surprised! So tickled! It wasn't like it was outside the realm of possibility. Although I don't think Daniel was the best player on the team, he was one of the better ones. Plus, as I stated above, he was a good sport and very well behaved. I figured that the coach considered all these factors when she chose my boy, my son, to receive this honor. But then my bubble was most unceremoniously popped. With a wry grin my husband said "Nope - they all got one." My pride and delight morphed instantaneously into total disgust. Look people, psycho-babble aside, this is pure logic, pure English language skills. (both are realms of academia which seem to be in serious decline by the way) You CAN'T have nine MOST valuable players. It is not possible. "MOST valuable player" by it's very nature means ONE. The cream of the crop, the top of the heap. When you give MOST valuable certificates to every player you have just done something absolutely meaningless. Basically just another version of the "thanks for showing up" trophy. Did the coach really think the kids were too stupid to figure out there were good players and not so good players on the team? Did she really think the not-so-good's got their little certificates and thought - "well what do you know - I'm an excellent soccer player after all!" I don't want kids feelings to be hurt anymore than the next mommy - but there's got to be some common sense. If you can't handle someone not getting MVP - then don't have an MVP. Or give out different awards like "Most improved", "Best attendance", and "Best Bench-warmer".

Or better yet, accept reality. Much as I love Blue's Clues - we can't all "do anything that we wanna do". Instead of lying to kids and shielding them from the truth that everyone is different - with different gifts and abilities - why not help them cope with the resulting envy, pain, and inconvenience. You can't do anything - you can't be anything. Even if you do have the skills - you may not get the opportunity to be a super-star using them. Perhaps you can't make money at your passion and have to have a day job to support your family. A big part of life is learning to cope with the things that don't go the way you want them to go. Feeding our kids the feel-good pap that they can do anything will only increase the frustration and anger later on when they find out it was a lie. Why not tell them the truth? You can do a lot of things - but not anything. You can focus on your strengths and find contentment being what God made you to be. You can't do everything, win everything, or have everything - and even if that bums you out, you will survive to smile another day. Our kids need to get used to disappointment.

Weird Kids #2

2004-11-08T18:55:00.000-05:00

I was outside talking to another mom this afternoon. We met for the first time a few days ago when she nabbed my almost naked two year old who had escaped - again. I didn't have time to chat then, so when I saw her outside today with her son I jumped on the chance to try to improve my image from "negligent mom whose undressed children climb out the patio" to "hip casual mom of a pack of clothing-optional free-thinkers". She was very nice, and I enjoyed our chat. But in just one sentence I'm pretty sure I established that this is "Weird Kid Central".

I was mentioning my Andrew's musical aptitude. (I wasn't bragging - I was calmly discussing) She said enthusiastically "Oh - does he love the Wiggles?!" I think I managed not to curl my lip when I said "They've never seen the Wiggles, but they like concert videos." In all honesty, now that I think about it, we did watch the Wiggles ONCE when we were staying in a hotel. I just wanted to know what all the fuss is about. I still want to know what all the fuss is about. But Wiggles aside, I have a theory about kids and videos, and I've been researching it for six years. My theory is that kids will like just about ANYTHING if you play it often enough. For us the video that started it all was a fantastic violin spectacular called Barrage. My husband and I saw a bit of it on PBS and loved it - so I ordered it off Ebay. This hour long DVD has ten incredibly talented young adult violin players who not only fiddle with ferocity, but also dance, sing and generally jump around while they play. The first time or two I watched it, my kids ignored it. Then they started to pay attention to one number, then another, finally they begged for it. "Mom, can we please watch Barrage?" The same has happened with Gaither Homecoming Concerts and Harry Connick Jr concerts, a great marching band show called BLAST, and percussion extravaganza STOMP Live. As a result of all this, I get to hear great conversations like "I'm Craig Klein, you're Lucien Barbarin!" "NO, I'm Craig Klein and YOU'RE Lucien Barbarin!" (Both are very good trombone players in Harry Connick Jr's band) I've watched my kids do choreography from the shows, act out the comedy routines from the Gaither concerts, and I've seen them become fairly educated on many different types of music and musical instruments. Of course, they are severely deficient in their knowledge of Barney, SpongeBob, Rugrats, Teletubbies and the Wiggles, so I'm probably socially handicapping them.

Look, kids can and will like what they can get. We have a few "kid's music" cds in our car, like VeggieTales and Aussie Praise, but my kids are just as likely to ask for the Gaither Vocal Band, Rich Mullins or Phillips,Craig, and Dean. As a matter of fact, the only cd I have that they really don't care for is Josh Groban's first album - and they do like his second one. Attention Parents of the World! Throw down your copies of "Wheels on the Bus" and embrace musical liberation! Don't be held hostage to kiddie music and kiddie tv. You pay the power bill and it's your car! Trust me, they can learn to like the stuff you like, and I hope you like quality stuff. Just don't be too surprised if they get a little weird.

Election Day

2004-11-02T07:22:00.000-05:00

So today's the day. I started the morning off at the dining room table, coffee mug clutched tightly, explaining to my six year old that today we choose a new president. (If you've read my early postings you know I don't have TV which is why he's just now finding out about the election.) I kept it simple. I told him that we get to choose who our president will be; we can have President Bush for four years or John Kerry. He's been listening to me chatter enough to know "We choose President Bush, right?" And I told him we choose President Bush because he is a good man who loves Jesus and tells the truth. (as best as we can know - only God knows the heart) And then I told him that John Kerry, as much as we can tell, does not love Jesus and tells many lies. John Kerry, I told my boy, believes in a lot of things that are against God's word.

It seems like it should be such a simple choice. It is staggering that there should be any debate. And yet it's not surprising at all. As I told my little man, "A lot of people in our country don't care what God's word says". So as my friend Carrie said to me yesterday, "God will either give us the President we deserve, or He'll have mercy on us and give us Bush for four more years." Sigh.

I was sitting in my living room a few minutes ago watching my four boys ramble and roll around the floor like a litter of puppies. I love this part of my day. I can honestly say that most days, when I'm freshly caffeinated and my kids are happy and warm and snuggly and we just cuddle up and enjoy each other.... I am very conscious and very grateful that I am truly Blessed with Sons. Four sons. Four future young men. Four future voters. And I was struck with the thought that one of the many reasons this election is in doubt is because of good people, Christian people, who have not been fruitful and multiplied. I remember once, years ago, when my big brother told me he didn’t know if he would ever have kids because the world was so bad. Hardly an original statement, I’ve heard it from many others since. And I said to him what I always say “Good people have a responsibility to have children and to raise them right. Because the evil people are going to keep right on having kids and if we don’t we will be outnumbered!” Just forget what you believe about birth control and family planning for a minute and think about it. If every Christian family let go of controlling their fertility and Let God decide how many kids they would have... if every Christian family MULTIPLIED by having 3 or 4 or 5 kids and raising them as arrows aimed for Christ.... How many more voters would we have today to make an electoral victory secure? How many voters would we have in the future?

“Like arrows in the hand of a warrior are the sons born in one’s youth. Blessed is the man whose quiver is full of them. They will not be put to shame when they contend with their enemies in the gate.” Psalm 127:4-5 (emphasis mine)

Weird Kids - the series

2004-10-20T13:11:00.000-04:00

I'm raising weird kids. You could almost say it's a goal of mine. Not that I want to purposely make them "different" out of some misguided attempt at originality. After all - I didn't name them Scout, Rumer, Mitsubishi, and SeaTrout... I named them Daniel, Andrew, Benjamin, and Joshua. We're not striving for random uniqueness here. The weirdness we are aiming for includes more directed qualities. For example, from toddlerhood my oldest son has been receiving training in gentlemanly behavior - like holding doors open for ladies. (Ladies, of course, are becoming an endangered species if I judge by current clothing trends - but we won't tell Daniel about that just yet) Despite the rumors of rampant feminism, we have yet to encounter anyone who wasn't complimentary of my little man. "What a little gentleman!" is the usual comment - and I just laugh, say "Thank you" and if I'm in the right kind of mood I add "Yup - I'm raising him to be slapped by feminists". I'm joking - I think. I can't tell really. In this world, raising my boys to be gentlemen may be severely anachronistic.

I was in a waiting room once watching a father teach his little girl how to hit properly, having her practice on him... She was about the same age as my oldest son - at the time he was under five - I couldn't help but be dismayed. I'm teaching my boys that you don't hit girls. He's teaching his girl to kick #$%. This could be a problem, especially when my sons start wife shopping. But what am I gonna do? I can not - WILL NOT change our goals to raise manly men who treat women with gentleness and respect. But what to do when little girls are being raised to kick butt and take names? My kids are just going to have to be weird and chivalry is just one of the ways. Hopefully there will be some weird girls out there who like it!

When Diapers Attack

2004-09-29T22:24:00.000-04:00

Does anyone know what happens when a child takes off a very full diaper (wet only thank you LORD) and whirls it and twirls it and whacks it on the wall in the stairwell?

I do.

It EXPLODES.

And little clumps of wet diaper gel, a strange, almost crystalline, substance which resembles lots of chewed up and spit out tissues (or perhaps clear ricotta cheese - ooh gross!) go EVERYWHERE. Like 4 feet up on the walls, on the framed pictures, in the baskets of clean laundry, down the stairs, into the living room and onto the rug... Sigh. And then of course my Swiffer Wet(handy gadget that)runs out of Swiffer Stuff less than halfway down the stairs. But I did finally get it all - I think. And I'm almost done re-washing the 5 loads of laundry that were slimed.

Say what you want about my life...it is NEVER boring.

Yes I meant to do this.

2004-09-13T09:08:00.000-04:00

People are always asking me if we are going to "keep trying" for a girl... Honestly, there's no "trying" to keep doing. First of all, I have been blessed in that I never was trying to get pregnant. None of my children have been what you would call planned - they just weren't prevented. Although they were sometimes surprises - they were definitely NOT accidents.

My first pregnancy, I wanted a boy. I have a big brother that I have spent most of my life idolizing and thought a big brother was just a family essential. (check out his weblog at www.reasonableforce.org by the way!) So I wanted a boy - and I got a boy! Second baby, I wanted another boy. I just thought it would be easier; they could share a room and stuff. Now the third baby, twenty months after the second, I wanted a girl. I REALLY wanted a girl. It had BETTER be a girl, I said to God and my friends. And God was good to me and gave me a very wise friend who said unto me: "You better pray about that attitude of yours!". So I prayed that God would either give me a girl or change my heart. And about two weeks before the ultrasound I started thinking about how nice another boy would be...so I wasn't surprised when the ultrasound guy said "Guess what?!" By number four I was actually hoping it wasn't a girl. After all, being the mother of boys is my identity now. Besides, when I collect things, I like them to match!

So here I am with my four blue-eyed boys. And I am so happy with them. Am I going to have more...? Beats me. That's another question I get when I'm not being asked about a girl... "Aren't you DONE?" said in a tone that questions my sanity. Oh what a charming thing to say in front of my kids. That's right up there with the all time winner "Don't you know what causes that by now?" (yes I've had that said to me with my 2nd, 3rd, and 4th pregnancies) Well I'll tell ya, if I had "normal" deliveries - NO I would not be done! But I've had four c-sections now - and those things HURT! Sometimes I think if I had more faith the thought of facing a fifth c-section wouldn't bother me, but right now it really bothers me. Plus I am married to a Marine, and Marines are kind of busy right now! So to answer the inquisitive friends, relations, and total strangers at Wal-Mart...no I am NOT trying for a girl. But I don't know if I'm done having babies either. Children are a gift from the Lord - and it seems really weird to say to God "Hey - no more presents, alright!"

Expect the Unexpected

2004-09-07T17:04:00.000-04:00

Motherhood is full of things you never thought you had to say. So many times, you just don't think you have to teach something. I met a mother just yesterday who was shocked her baby had put her cute little feet on the table. And when you think of how often we parents nibble on baby feet, I thought the baby was just being generous. Of course babies, and many adults, don't have table manners; you have to teach them. But there are times when you find yourself saying something, teaching something, you really never thought would be necessary.

My two potty-using boys managed to end up in the potty at the same time a few days ago. Weird, but efficient, I thought to myself. Then the four year old walked out with his pants around his ankles and said "I need a wipe!" Okay, so maybe he needed some help - and I started to go get the wipes and clean him up. But then I took another look. "Andrew" Why are your legs all wet?" I said. The six year old poked his head out the bathroom, "Oh - I accidently pee'd on him". Words cannot convey the absolute lack of concern or regret in my son's voice. I spluttered for a few moments in typical over-reacting mommy fashion and then cried,

"Don't PEE on your BROTHER!!!"

You know, when you daydream about being a mommy, these are not the moments that flit through your mind. But then that's probably a good thing.

Boys - it's all a mystery

2004-09-07T16:48:00.000-04:00

Two of my sons are not in diapers - and I've been learning more about the "wonders" of boys. Such as: "I wonder why they can't seem to keep their hands off their equipment?" and "I wonder why God made fingers fit so perfectly in noses?". Let's face it- parenting is not a pretty business. It's messy, often gross, and frequently embarassing. Take the whole "hands off the equipment" issue. In an effort to be a modern and hip mommy, I thought it was best to just be direct with my little men.

"Let go of your (5 letter word, starts with P) ____ " I would say to them whenever they seemed to have permanently parked a hand there. It was hard for me to say - somewhat embarassing - but I did it. And it was working. One small problem, however, was that my four year old decided that the phrase was appropriate for anytime anyone needed to be told to let go of anything- especially him.

The first time I was holding on to something he wanted: "Let go of your ___!!" he bellowed. I froze - about to be paralyzed by giggles. I got myself under control and told him calmly, "Mommy doesn't have one of those, Andrew" "Oh?" said my passing six year old, "Then what DO you have?" Somebody please shoot me right now.

The next time was in front of company. They enjoyed it immensely. The third and final time, though, was the best - or worst depending on your point of view. We were in a restaurant, on my birthday, with two other homeschooling families. I was turned around in my chair talking to my friend's sixteen year old son when Andrew decided to get down and leave. I was holding on to him and he didn't appreciate it - so he yelled his handy phrase. Only this time he left out "of" and changed the word "your" to "you" - The resulting demand: "Let Go, You _______!!!" Ahem. My friend's son did an admirable job of turning around in his seat and remaining silent. His shaking shoulders were the only testimony to the helpless laughter which overtook him. I don't blame him. I almost don't blame Andrew. After all, who taught him the phrase in the first place? The only good thing about the whole situation is that he forgot to yell that at me when I was dragging him out of the church as mentioned in my previous post. Thank God for small favors!

Hurricane Andrew

2004-08-29T15:11:00.000-04:00

Today's adventure in Mommy land brought to you by Yamaha, Remo, and various other percussion manufacturers... (just kidding)

After a very poor night's sleep, during which both my 2 year old and my 10 month old ended up in my bed, I got up, scrubbed up, and got all my boys out the door for church by 8am. My husband was not here today, he's doing what Marines do. I had to stay longer than usual at church because I sang a solo in both services. After my second time singing, I went out the back of the church and proceeded to collect my brood from their respective classrooms in the nursery. One of the nursery ladies was kind enough to help me by carrying my sleeping infant. I had the 2 year old, and the older two were walking to the van. Andrew, the four year old, then took off running. "No problem", I called to my panicking 6 year old, "He's probably just going to the van". After all - that's what he's usually doing. But why be usual? He blew past the van like a miniature Olympian. My sleep-deprived mind sluggishly calculated his probable course, much like forecasting the landfall of a hurricane. Only I knew with much greater accuracy where he had to be going. "Oh NO!" I moaned, "He's heading for the drums!" In the moment it took me to say that - it was already too late. Andrew burst through the back door of our sanctuary and disappeared from my sight. I didn't bother running; I knew I couldn't catch him. Like Pepe LePew chasing that cat, I calmly walked into the church in time to see one of our deacons pull him off the drumset in front of a highly amused congregation. My pastor kindly extemporised an illustration for his sermon while I hoisted Andrew and proceeded back down the aisle. All the way out Andrew was screaming "But I want to play the Bass Drum! And the Snare Drum! And the Toms! And the High Hats!" Did I mention that he's single-minded?

Honestly, I wasn't all that embarassed. Although I regret disrupting the service, I actually thought it was pretty funny. But then - I know my son. He wasn't trying to be bad, or rebellious, or disrespectful... He just LOVES to drum! Drumming is what he does for about 70% of his awake time. That's his thing. And motherly pride notwithstanding, he's very very good at it. Freaky, prodigy-type good. You know, the Bible says "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he's old he will not depart from it" Andrew already knows the way he should go is toward the drums - he just needs to work on that element that is so crucial to any good performer - Timing!

You know you're raising a Marine Kid when...

2004-08-29T15:09:00.000-04:00

"Mommy, doesn't Jesus need a haircut?" Hmmm... Jesus with a high-and-tight, I just can't see it.

Sometimes it's just too fun

2004-07-26T18:00:00.000-04:00

One of the things about mommy-ing that no one ever tells you, or if they do you don't believe them, is that a good deal of the time you have NO idea what you are doing. I just read a Calvin and Hobbes where the dad was complaining that if he had known that most of adulthood was ad-lib he wouldn't have been in such a hurry to get there. Amen to that, brother! So many times when your little darlings throw curve balls at you like a sudden hysterical aversion to running water or a tendency to mistake one's brother for a chew toy - you pretty much just tie a knot in the end of your rope and hang on, hoping you don't scar the little buggers for life in the process.

Today, however, was not one of those times!

Not too long ago I had two sunny, smelly yard apes waltz into my kitchen. "Can we come in and wash our hands?" they said to me. Well, having two boys, ages six and seven, actually ASK to wash their hands is novelty enough to make my day right there, but it gets better. Of course I said yes and off they went to purify their palms. Life was good.

I saw the bathroom.

Life was not good.

And yet it was, for I, superMommy, actually knew what to do. I didn't even hesitate. Not for one moment did I consider the heinous and evil suggestion that perhaps I should clean the bathroom. Oh no, not I. With confident bearing, I strode purposefully to the kitchen door, flung it open, and brightly invited the dynamic dirty duo to come on in 'cause they had some cleaning to do. They were less than thrilled. But in they came and out they cleaned. I must confess that my neighbor's son was quicker to action than my own. [I think that is a manifestation of the phenomenon that other mommies are infinitely scarier than your own mommy - but it's just a theory.] My son ambled in and actually managed to get here as his buddy finished cleaning the sink. (have I mentioned that he's a genius?) "Look Mom, Dwayne's done already" and he turned to go back outside. "No problem son," said superMommy, faster than a speeding Swiffer, "Here's the dustbuster, you can clean the floor."

Sometimes I love my job.

Never Underestimate a Toddler

2004-07-19T19:14:00.000-04:00

My nephew is a genius! Not only did he have the good sense to choose to be born to my brother and his lovely wife, but he is just a clever little guy in general! Nathan will be three in August and much to my delight is starting to have quite the little mind of his own. Since two of my boys are a smidgen older than their cousin, my brother has had the pleasure of enjoying my parenting struggles and catastrophes before experiencing any of his own. Nathan has been a fairly easy child, so far. Which means that my brother got to be the perfect father with the perfect child for over two years. Now I'm not trying to be malicious, and I wouldn't wish any REAL trouble on my dearest big brother...BUT I am thrilled that life is getting just a wee bit more difficult for him. Is that wrong?

Let me give an example of both my nephew's genius and the kind of "trouble" which I am savoring:

Nathan has recently started manifesting that classic toddler disorder: "I'm-not-gonna-eat-that Syndrome". As yet there is no medication for this, and I personally have no faith in the various folk remedies. And I should know - my kids suffer from it ad nauseum. (literally add nauseum, we've had one throw up on the table!) Anyway, you would have to know a vast and boring amount of my family's history to understand that it is only genetic justice for my brother's child to turn his nose up at mealtimes. So my beleaguered sister-in-law, trying vainly to get Nathan to eat, in desperation offered the following bribe: "Nathan, if you will eat two bites - I will give you M&Ms"

Nathan, my brilliant and adorable nephew, considered the offer. His reply was given with confident insouciance. "I can go potty and get M&Ms."

Round one of the dinner war
Nathan:1 Parents:0

Go Nathan!

Truth in Advertising

2004-07-14T18:52:00.000-04:00

I have a solution to a nagging problem! Well at least I think it's a problem, perhaps YOU don't mind it and if that is the case I recommend you skip this post lest you be grossed out or in other ways offended!

The problem to which I refer is the somewhat recent fashion of putting words across the posteriors of young women. (at least I assume they're young. Perhaps the AARP is working on some pants that say Hot Grandma - but if so I do NOT want to know about it.) I find these wordy bottoms tremendously un-classy. And today, just today, I have figured out how we, the sensitive public, can stop it! Make the same clothes and accessories for the people who can justifiably wear them: babies. Can't you just see it - Little outfits and diapers emblazoned with words like "Fragrant", "Moist", and of course the now classic "Juicy".

I have changed about 14 poopy diapers from two kids in the past 48 hours and I can tell you - "Juicy" is one word that would be an appropriate warning on these little tails. My husband says this is, and I quote, "nasty". And he's right. It's gross, disgusting, and yucky. But it is true. And if we put labels like "Juicy" on little baby bottoms where it is very very true, then maybe the teenagers will wake up and smell the... nope I'm not going there. ANYWAY... maybe they just won't want to wear the words anymore. And that smells like a good idea to me!

Miss Conception

2004-07-13T18:45:00.000-04:00

Being a baby blogger and being very proud of said blog... I emailed my friends and relations to announce the new arrival. Look at me! Look at me! I can blog!

So I got an email from a very lovely lady - a fellow Marine wife - and she is aghast that I find the time to do this. She wants time management tips from me. (insert maniacal laughter here)

See, this friend last saw me five years and three babies ago. When we were stationed together in California I had one son, she had one son, life was good. Then I had to go shock everyone and turn out boys number 2, 3, and 4! Not being around me, for some reason my very optimistic friend has formed the opinion that I'm actually managing my life with some form of competence and ease. I don't have a clue where she got that idea... Just cause I managed to send out Christmas cards that didn't have peanut butter on them... (no small task, that)

I've told her before and I'll tell her again: the only thing she knows for sure that I'm good at is conceiving! I'm not even good at childbirth - I have c-sections!

I am NOT good at time management. I am NOT handling everything. And how do I find time to blog?? I have no idea.

What I do know is that after some major soul-searching I have come to the conclusion that after being a wife and a mommy, God wants me to sing and to write. Blogging is a good way to practice said writing. Hence I Blog.

That and I don't believe in finishing ALL my work before I play because I am never never never going to finish anyway. (a short poem - hold your applause)

So Noell, get over it and quit thinking I'm superwoman. You're probably way way way more organized than me! And your husband outranks mine so KUDOS to him! OO-Rah!

And another thing...

2004-07-13T15:22:00.000-04:00

I really am trying to raise morally pure children. As I pointed out in my previous post, we don't have cable anymore: purity is the main reason why. I remember one, ahem, shining moment when we did still have cable. I don't remember what I was watching, probably Dr. Phil, but it was commercial time and those kind folks who make Herbal Essence stuff decided to educate my child. Ah, but I have him well trained! At the first sign of smut I said "Daniel, run" and out he went into the kitchen until the commercials were over.

This one was particularly charming. An obviously nude woman in the shower, writhing and moaning with ecstacy from the joys of, ahem, cleanliness. (Now look, I am the mother of four children; I know about the joy, the awe, the utter gratitude that attends finally getting to get clean. But give me a break!! This is porn, people!) The only thing between us and her? A steamed up shower door. Thank goodness I also used the mute button or I still would have had one very curious little boy.

Actually, he was curious anyway. "Mommy" said he when I let him back in the room. "Why did I have to leave this time?"

"Well, there was a naked lady (using the word loosely) on the TV and God doesn't want you looking at any naked lady who is not your wife." I mean really, might as well tell the truth while he's listening!

He thought this over. "But I can look at you?"

"Am I your wife?" was the reply.

"Oh. But Daddy can look at you!"

I'm mostly glad that for some physiological reason I don't blush, but sometimes it seems the only appropriate reaction. So once again I was at a loss. Has anyone ever noticed there is a downside to raising smart kids?

Out of the Blue

2004-07-12T20:19:00.000-04:00

Just when you least expect it... So I'm walking through the dollar store in a state of relative calm, having only three of my four sons with me. I needed items for a gigantic baby shower which I am throwing for a much beloved first time mommy...which is the only thing I can think of that led my oldest son, the six-year-old, to say what he did.

"Mommy - how do babies come from your tummy?"

Ahem - I crossed my fingers, and maybe my eyes, and hoped for the best. "Well honey, you know how your brothers got out of my tummy."

"Yeah - they cut you open!" thoughtful pause, oh help me here it comes, "But how do they get IN your tummy?"

I must say I greatly admired the composure of the woman in the aisle with us. She had the barest of smirks- but no giggles. If I had been the observer instead of the mommy on the spot I don't think I would have been so mellow. But as I was the one who had to answer the question I wasn't all that amused. You know as a parent that this day will come. And in this day and age you know it will probably come sooner rather than later. Actually -when you consider that Daniel has been presented with not one, not two, but three baby brothers in his short life, it's rather a miracle that he hasn't asked this before. BUT you still don't expect the question to burst upon you in the dollar store, for pete's sake! My mind raced... I never for a moment consider giving him the "whole shebang" , but should I say something like "Well when a man and woman get married..."? I couldn't even think of how to finish the sentence so that was a no go. (Funny really, as a child I was the one who educated the entire neighborhood on where babies come from;now I can't educate one six-year-old.)

I'll admit it. I wimped out. "Son, I don't think you're old enough for that discussion." I said lightly. And Thank You Lord - that worked for him. He smiled as if he knew I was going to say that and said "Okay." And I went looking for some dollar priced valium.

How long can I keep him innocent?? Well, longer than you might think since we're homeschoolers and we don't have cable. But I know it won't be as long as I want it to be. Like say - til he's 35! I mean really, just the Victoria's Secret posters near the mall Chick Fil-A are an education in themselves. And the kid is a big-time reader. He can read just about anything without even trying and I dread, majorly dread, the day he checks out the titles of the checkout line magazines and I get questions like "So Mommy, what DO men like in bed?" I think I'll go for the truth. "Peace and Quiet, dear." Think he'll buy it?