Havoc

I don’t often admit to this, but there are some perks to being a stay-at-home-mom. Yes, I’m quite a bit poorer, and not very fashion-forward, but the upside is that I get to relatively float through my day, tending to the needs of my household. I love it and hate it, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

One of the fun things that I get to do is participate in a lot of daytime mom-focused activities. At a recent gathering the guest speaker posed a riveting question. She inquired, “Why did you have kids?” I thought, “I love this. Let’s get to the heart of the matter. Let’s stop the mindless mommy-talk, and filler chatter, and get right to it.” I’m sure some people felt uncomfortable, but for me, it made me sit up straighter, and listen more attentively. I started nodding and thinking, “Yeah, I’m with you. Impart some wisdom, get me to think beyond what I’m making for dinner tonight.”

The room was quiet, and then a couple people spoke up:

“I had kids because they make me happy, bring me joy.”

“So they’ll take care of me when I’m older.”

As if on cue, dancing in from stage right, came little Miss Judgmental Susie—the Queen of the all the answers, rolling her eyes, and boastfully snickering and laughing. Thankfully, I managed to keep my mouth shut, but that didn't stop Susie from thinking: “Kids aren’t going to make you happy, and they’re not always going to bring you joy! Crazy! And, have kids so they’ll take care of you when you’re older? Huh?”

Hearing others' motivations was very enlightening. I didn’t necessarily agree, but it did prompt me to ponder my own.

Four days of pondering ensued. I pondered when I carried my screaming two-year-old out of church like a sack of potatoes. I pondered when our household was bathed in sickness. I pondered when Avery woke me up at 3:00 a.m. announcing that she was about to be eaten by an alligator, or when she declared that I was the “meanest mom ever.” I pondered when Avery asked hard questions, and I literally felt like I was watching her mind grow. I pondered while listening to Romey giggle, or watching her dance and twirl. I was stuck. “Why did we have kids?” —living the American dream? The natural next step; what you’re supposed to do?

And then I had it—a lightbulb moment. Maybe it wasn’t my motivation I should be considering, but perhaps I should be wondering what God had in mind for us. What did God desire/intend for Dan and Susan (a.k.a. Avery and Romey's parents), and how did He plan to grow us throughout our parenthood journey? In other words, why did God allow for us to become parents? (And why does He trust us so much?!?)

I didn’t know it at the time, but soon learned that having kids would break me of my own self-sufficiency. Parenting would bring me to the ledge, push me harder, and expect more of me than anyone or anything had ever before. Parenting would be physically more demanding, and more emotionally taxing than I ever expected it would be. It would reek havoc on my life and my relationships. It would, at times, be exasperating. It would wreck me. And, it would lead me to God, on my knees begging for mercy (and help!). (And to think I'm just *warming* up.....)

And there’s my answer: having kids has reinforced my need for God.

I’m watching my girls grow while they un-intentionally help grow me—funny how God works.

0 for 2

It’s a good thing that my sense of self worth doesn’t hinge upon whether or not my children like me. Today I’m 0 for 2.

Sadly, it’s been one of those days where the litanies of words coming out of my daughter’s mouth have literally sandbagged me. By 8:00 a.m. I heard, “You’re not a nice Mommy!”; “This breakfast is gross!”; and “I want a new Mommy!” And, to make matters worse, a listing off of names with whom Avery deemed to be acceptable replacements/upgrades followed “I want a new Mommy.” Great, let’s put names and faces to her back-up plan; women that I’m certain don’t want the job.

It was interesting whom she mentioned—I won’t call them out on the blog, but she actually made great choices, and in an ever so polite tone I relayed that observation. I told her that she “was stuck with me but that maybe she could discuss it with Daddy tonight.” By the way, I’m not perfect, but I’m trying.

But, oh, how in an un-perfect moment I would have loved to ZING her and spat something equally as ugly as “I’d like a NEW kid, like so and so.” Wow, that would have been extremely regrettable.

So, how do I explain that the “grass isn’t always greener” to Avery? I don’t suspect she’d quite understand. And I don’t think she’s really all that serious about wanting to swap out moms. Sincerely, I think she’s looking to get a reaction, and today it worked.

In either event, I think I’ll aim for 1 for 2 tomorrow. If I can just get one of them on my side….cue PR campaign now.

Story Telling

Someday, many years from now, I plan to take Avery out for a girls’ night out of sorts. And, over margaritas and chips I’m going to tell her about the time I came to pick her up from preschool, and caught her whipping her spare pair of underwear at her classmates. And, I’m going to tell her how loudly she was laughing, and how all eyes were on her, and how she just kept whipping and whipping the underwear around and around and around. I’ll tell her how I stood there staring, and how, as we walked to the car, I sternly told her that she’d have to tell her father about this one. And I’ll tell her how she told Dan, and promised that she wouldn’t do it again. And I’ll tell her how teaching her manners, and what is/isn’t appropriate was the most MADDENING aspect of parenting, and how I plan to laugh my butt off when Avery’s daughter is taking her to the cleaners, and leaving HER face down in the carpet BEGGING FOR MERCY.

And then I’ll finish the story by telling her that she broke her promise to her father by engaging in panty whipping AGAIN and AGAIN and AGAIN. And then how we completed the cycle again: told Daddy, promised not to do it, but then did it again AND AGAIN. And then I’ll tell her how the teacher pulled me aside and said, “The four year old class doesn’t need to bring spare clothing. We covered it during the Orientation session. Certainly you were there.” And then I quipped, “Well, yes, but I was too busy nursing my bad attitude while simultaneously praising God that preschool was starting back up ALL WHILE chasing a ping pong ball and playing Mad Libs! Holy heck! Could you have told me she didn’t need spare clothing after the first whipping offense? Help me, help you, help me here lady!” C’mon!

And then Avery and I will toast our margarita glasses, order another round (charge it to Dan), and hopefully laugh, cause that’s the only way to muddle through this. Cause, really, life is pretty doggone good.

Mad Libs

Finally. After a long, long, grueling, and, at times, boring summer, school started today. The heavens opened, the angels sang, and we made our way to another preschool orientation session. I’d love to say that this preschool orientation session was full of new and helpful information, but alas it was remarkably similar to last year’s. The primary difference between this session, and last year’s session, was that last year I was smart enough to hire a sitter for Romey. There’s nothing like sitting through twice-hashed information chasing a ping-pong ball around the room---a ping-pong ball that has an extreme fascination with babies (and at a preschool orientation session the baby population is booming). And of the said babies, some of their mothers are quite cool with a ping-pong ball stopping and admiring, and others who are like, “Get your ping pong ball out of here! This orientation session is life-giving and extremely interesting!” You know you’re listening to a preschool teacher speak when there are multiple props (some of which make cool noises), and he/she tends to converse like you’re playing a game of Mad Libs. And by that I mean that the speaker is speaking and periodically pausing so you can ‘fill in the blank.’ And while the speaker is waiting for you to ‘fill in the blank’ they are courteously turning their head and cupping their ear because doing so allows for them to HEAR YOUR RESPONSE MORE CLEARLY. What?

So, I’m chasing a ping-pong, playing a little Mad Libs, and had a moment of, “Ugh. This is me.” I am the mother of a preschooler. I drive a mini-van. I have a fat tush, and am wearing some seriously slouchy clothes. I love this stage of life (really do) but sometimes I feel a little….ugh. And then I snap out of it because I know I have much to be grateful for, and should play Mad Libs with a joyful heart. But, selfishly, sometimes I don’t want to play Mad Libs, and am hopelessly faking it.

For tomorrow I’m praying for an attitude adjustment, and hoping that it takes root before it’s time to take Avery to Disney on Ice……

The first day of 4-year-old preschool.

Wow! She has changed a lot in a year! Check out last year's first day of preschool picture.

Apathy

Yesterday didn't go particularly well. In short, the girls and I aren’t adjusting to our new routine (i.e. schools out). A lack of routine ultimately means that one of us (or all of us) slip into “apathetic, just get through the day” mode. Whenever I'm in apathetic mode I always look back on my day with regret. On apathetic days I’ve lost my patience more, and haven’t spent my time wisely. On apathetic days I wonder why I’m staying home with my girls. On apathetic days I resent Dan. On apathetic days I’m not much fun to be around. I care less, gripe more, smile less, and scowl more.

So, in a giving fashion, I decided to share my apathy with an unsuspecting pedicurist. I sat in the chair and just exhaled. I breathed. I contemplated my day and I felt really, really foolish, and really, really spoiled.

Staying-at-home hasn’t come without sacrifices, and whoa can I just sit on that word for a moment. Finances. Ouch. Career fulfillment. A little ouch. Isolation. You betcha.

When Dan and I decided that I’d stay at home it was pretty much a financial discussion. In short, I wouldn’t make enough to cover our daycare and related expenses. Plus, we just weren’t comfortable with the idea of outsourcing the girls’ care. I tried working for a bit after Avery was born and it was disastrous. I was stretched too thin; dropping the ball at work; dropping the ball at home. So I resigned, and wrote the tell-tale letter, “It is with great regret that..….”

Looking back, I don’t have any regrets. Most often I love being at home. I love knowing my girls. I love floating through our day. I love not missing a moment. I’m too selfish to share these moments with someone else.

And yet, I’m selfish enough to deny myself these moments by slipping into an apathetic, self-pitying mindset…..wow, something to consider.

Some moments from the last few days:

*Ave to Dan (reading her place mat): E-L-E-P-H-A-N-cross!

*Me to Ave: Why are you pressing buttons on the printer?
*Ave to me: I was trying to make some paper.

The Lesser of Two

“Wow, God has certainly blessed you with two gorgeous girls,” remarked some random lady at the grocery store. I think, “She’s right. But, I sure wish Avery and Romey would grow up more quickly. This stage is driving me crazy. Please, Lord, can I take a fast pass through the next few years?”

“You’ll never believe the stuff my second grade daughter is dealing with. The girls are horribly demeaning to one another. Friend, you don’t know what’s coming around the bend for you,” said my hairdresser. I think, “Oh, God, I can’t handle other people influencing/hurting Avery and Romey. How will I ever protect them? Lord, can't I just freeze time, and keep the girls home with me forever?”

Been there? Muddling through it now, but knowing what you might be up against in the future could be worse? Pondering the lesser of two evils? Pause or fast forward?

I’m anxious to have better reasoning capabilities with the girls; for cause and effect to really take hold. I’m anxious for the girls to be in school, and re-claim a little more of the Susan I used to know.

In the same vein, I’m anxious for the girls to grow up, and become more aware of the world around them. I’m nervous to be asked the hard questions, and face challenging scenarios. Dan and I often wonder how we’ll do—will we be able to do this job adequately? We’re afraid we’ll fail, but trusting that God will help us. But, sometimes, I’ve wondered: how in the world did He see fit to entrust us with these two children?

Status for today: Battle-weary. Desperately seeking strength to dig in, go toe to toe. To act mercifully, but require accountability. And, to not give up, but to engage.

Upside-down pacifier, and gorgeous brown eyes.

Color hour

"Stop taking my picture and wipe my face!"

Strutting her stuff

Helping with the laundry