Jingle Jogging to the Finish Line

Silent Night.

Peace on Earth.

Asleep in the hay.

How still we see thee lie.

Yeah. These people obviously did not have my holiday season. For all of you who have read previous blogs, you know that I have my %#&* together when it comes to getting organized for this joyous season. Now I am set and ready to go, but I kinda want to stop.

No, I don’t want to stop Christmas. For crying out loud, I am not the Grinch.

I just want to stop doing for a minute. I love this season, and I am glad everyone else does, too. But if I ever have my own organization, I would love to plan a wonderful celebration… In January.

I love having an active family. My kids are in Boy Scouts, piano, soccer, karate, choir, missions, and so forth. Not mention that I teach and my husband works. Throw in the big boys’ school, the baby’s preschool and everyone’s Sunday school and you see that, even on a slow week, we are busy.

Now add to that the fact that nearly every one of the groups listed above wants to have some sort of special event, program or performance in the first two and a half weeks of December. Boy am I tired. Can I get an amen? Or maybe an awesome Thanksgiving party?

I love all of these festive events, but it does feel a little like running a Christmas marathon. Has anyone seen a tinsel finish line and an elf with a twinkle-light trophy?

I hate feeling like this. First of all, I am very much an introvert. I need my down time and alone time to process everything. I get cranky and crazy when I don’t.

My middle son suffers from pretty severe anxiety, and this massive schedule change has him very on edge. I have to say that I can sympathize. I am feeling the pinch, too. I am pretty sure I owe several people in my life apologies. I am sure I have been snippy, and I have probably not been very helpful. I like to think I am better than that. Great. Now I have guilt.

So here is what I am going to do. I am going to make it to the events that I can, and I am going to enjoy them. And I am not going to feel guilty about the ones I miss.

I am going to have a merry Christmas. And, after Friday, I am going to have some peace on Earth. And a good book.

My Three Reflections

I recently told a friend of mine that if you don’t want to see all of your flaws in living color, don’t have kids. I have found that I see everything wrong with me played out in detail by my children. Now this may seem like I am afraid or embarrassed, but I am not. I have kids and I work with kids, so I have my flaws pointed out to me on a regular basis. My attitude is that I am what I am, and all can do is try to do better. There is no point in developing a complex over it.

So, for fun, I have made you chart with a few examples:

Flaw	Child who demonstrated	Examples
I am LOUD	All of them. Particularly #2.	Every teacher #2 has ever had has said, “We are working hard on his inside voice.”
		I bought a whistle so I could be heard over them.
		When I am in the kitchen and I ask #2 to tell his brothers it is time to eat, he just stands there and yells, “DINNER!” at the top of his lungs.
I am a rules junkie	#3	“Mommy! He hit me!”
		“Mommy! He not eatin’ him food!”
		“Mommy! He didn’t brush him teeth!”
		“Mommy! He didn’t clean up!”
		“Mommy! He not sittin’ up in his car seat!”
		“Mommy! He bein’ a tattle-tale!”
I listen to terrible music	#1 and #2	Every time I say, “Stop!” They say, “Collaborate and listen!”
		#1 thinks that he has hit the lottery when Big 90’s Weekend is on Star 94.
		Flannel is their favorite choice of clothing, and they hate to wash their hair.
		They know every word to “Honky-Tonk Badonkadonk.”
I am fashion impaired	#3	See last week’s blog. I am learning so much.
		Cowboy boots go with everything. Everything.
		Jeff Gordon booty shorts are not appropriate in cold weather. Or ever. (BTW the kid owns those, not me.  I don’t wear shorts at all if I can help it. Or bikinis. No one wants to see all of this in those.)
I am a know-it-all	#1	While riding to our cabin in the mountains for summer vacation, we saw a deer. A few minutes later we hear from the back seat, “Forty different kinds of deer live on Earth. The pudu deer in Chile is only 13 inches tall.”
		Kid #1: “I like ocean animals.” Aunt: “What is your favorite ocean animal?” Kid #1: “I have three: the giant squid, the sperm whale, and the pacific octopus.” Aunt: “Wow. That’s really specific.”
		Kid to stranger who dropped a water bottle, “I think you dropped your trash. That is not good for the environment. We recycle.” Yeah, I wanted to smack him, too.
I am not sarcastic at all. Really. Not at alllll.	All of them	Me: Do you like your birthday cake? Kid: Nope. I hated it. <points to empty plate>
		At age 4, #2 knew the difference between sarcasm and hyperbole. That might be a good example for the last flaw, too.
		Kid #2: How did my brother get here? Me: He teleported. Kid #2: Huh? Me: I called Star Trek. They beamed him here. Kid #2: Really?! Kid #1: Dude, seriously?

There are, of course, far worse flaws I have seen mirrored in my children like my temper and procrastination. But the reflection my kids show me has offered a few other insights: I have seen that I have a big heart, a strong faith, and a pretty good sense of humor. I have to find the funny with these guys!

Back Off My Blue Wedges, Buddy

Before Porkchop and I began implementing our plot for world domination (having a whole bunch of children), we made a decision that we would choose our battles. We would NOT, unless things got indecent, fight the hair and clothing battles. A great strategy. Until kid #3 came around. (Aside: In hindsight, there are probably much easier and less expensive ways to take over the world.)

God knew what he was doing when he gave me boys. I love that the morning routine at our house is incredibly simple: Get dressed, brush teeth, make beds, eat breakfast. Boys are super-low-maintenance at this point. I will say that it took me until the oldest was 18 months old to get over the fact that he was not a girl. Now I am just grateful that I do not have to do anyone’s hair (except my own) in the morning.

So after the first two boys, when we discovered that we were having a third, I thought, “Hot dog! No tights or hair bows and I can still use the hand-me-downs!”

And those two points have held true. Unfortunately, the low-maintenance expectation was blown out of the water by child number three.

He has long had a major shoe fetish. In his current size he has:

·         Tennis shoes (2 pair)

·         Crocs

·         Sandals

·         Cowboy boots

·         Work boots

·         Rain boots

·         Church shoes

·         Flip flops

·         Cleats

·         Slippers

I mean seriously. He has a better selection than I do. And he loves to try on everyone else’s shoes. We just about threw down this summer when kept hijacking my navy blue wedges.

Then there are the actual clothes issues. This summer, I got a call from his Nana. My little angel had thrown a major fit. Why you ask? Let me tell you. I had packed him a pair of blue jean shorts and a red tee shirt for play clothes. While I intended no drama, I offended his fashion sensibilities. Apparently, if you are wearing blue shorts, you must wear a blue shirt. And this holds true for all colors: red on red, orange on orange, and even turtle (camouflage) on turtle.

As he has gotten older, my little one’s fashion preferences are becoming more refined. He no longer insists on the matchy-matchy, but he certainly has opinions. Once he gets up in the morning, it usually takes him at least three shirts before he settles on the one that is just right. And before you say it, yes, we pick out clothes with him the night before. But morning apparently brings a new perspective, and it is imperative for three year olds always to be fashion-forward.

So after we make it through the school day (with the occasional wardrobe change AT school), we come home for lunch. As soon as he hits the door, he takes of his clothes and dons a fresh set of jammies. Usually of the superhero or dinosaur variety, but he sometimes branches out and goes with the snowmen motif.

After naps, it is back into clothes. He is a stinker and will do everything in his power to choose a new outfit that he has not worn that day. When I tell him he must wear the same clothes that he wore earlier, he has a supermodel-sized hissy fit. (Aside: When son #1 was in pre-k, he had to take something to school that started with an H. He asked to take his baby brother so his teacher could see him throw a hissy fit. H for hat? H for horse? Not at our house. H for hissy fit.) So we work out terms of the peace treaty, sign it and put it on display for the general populace. I am never sure who the victor is in these conflicts.

As the day draws to a close, the little monkey has a final costume change for the finale, and he usually violates the treaty by insisting on clean pajamas. That makes four (FOUR!) outfits the kid wants to go through in a day.

Again, before you ask, no. My washing machine never quits running. I am going to buy stock in Downey and All. And he is not getting any clothes for Christmas. Well, maybe one outfit. And some pajamas. And maybe a sweater. I have no idea where he gets this fashionista behavior.

Did I Earn a Cookie?

While I was hand-scrubbing the floor around the toilet in the bathroom belonging to my three boys (ages 3, 5, and 7), I thought, I should get some kind of award for this. Then it hit me. Mum Scouts. I mean, c’mon, if my son can get badges for tying knots (which he has been doing to shoelaces for a very long time), surely I could get some award for getting spaghetti-o stains out of shirts.

So here is my proposal: I say we moms join together to create Mum Scouts. When you agree to raise a child, you will receive your apron. Then, as you attempt and master certain tasks, you will receive apron strings. For instance, you learned how to change a little boy’s diaper without getting peed on: Apron String! You can actually insert the bow into the screaming baby girl’s hair: Apron String!

Some other notable Apron String activities:

·         You make a nutritious meal everyone in the family will happily eat

·         You make it a whole semester of school without forgetting your child’s snack day

·         You have a clean house for at least five minutes

·         You learn how not to cuss around your kids

·         You successfully get everyone to all practices, lessons, games, classes, appointments, play dates, etc. on time for a whole week.

·         You remember to pick everyone up from all practices, lessons, games, classes, appointments, play dates, etc. on time for a whole week.

So the Apron String activities are kind of big things. What about the little things you do every day. When you receive your apron, you will also receive a lovely necklace for which you can earn beads. These beads are for smaller victories such as cleaning the kids’ toilet, trying to make those brownies with the spinach in them, or making super-cute cupcakes for the school Christmas party.

And then there are bigger tasks you must face as a Mum Scout. When you get your first child to, as my three year old says, ride the potty train, there is a special ceremony of light. The other Mum Scouts will gather around the light of the backyard fire pit (of course, all small children will be safely corralled into play yards). There you will be awarded the Tiara of Mommydom, and you and your fellow scouts will triumphantly do the potty dance. For each additional child you get to board the potty train, you will earn a bottle wine and a long hot bath without an audience.

Perhaps the biggest task you will undertake as a Mum Scout will be getting your kid off the payroll. This should take about 20-25 years, and is very difficult to accomplish. It usually involves spending large amounts of money on the child’s education. It also involves huge amounts of worrying about your child’s ability to make wise decisions. When this day finally does come, you earn a quiet house and a raise. And a lot of missing those days when you thought you should earn an award for cleaning up after your sweet babies.

Operation: Christmas

So last week we began the discussion of the lists and letters to Santa. If you will pardon me for a moment, I have gotten out my soapbox for 2 points:

1. You don’t have to believe in Santa to believe in Santa. My parents taught me that Santa is the spirit of giving. The red suit and flying reindeer, while lots of fun, are not what is important about Santa. Santa models the love of God by showing us what it is to give with no desire to receive. And that beautiful spirit is why I choose to believe in the generosity that is Santa.

2. List making encourages selflessness. Some say that making wish lists makes kids think selfishly. I disagree. I think it makes them realize that they cannot have everything they want (Santa brings three toys to each child at our house in reference to the gold, frankincense and myrrh given to Christ) and they learn self -sacrifice (“I don’t want expensive gifts so I can give gifts to my grandparents”). I also think that it teaches them the life-skill of setting priorities.

Wait just a moment while I return my soapbox to the garage where I keep it.

…

…

…

Ok. I am back. Now back to Operation: Christmas.

I wish I may, I wish I might hit the lottery to afford Christmas Night. Since that’s never going to happen, I must instead use my brain; what little of it that is not cluttered with field trip dates, homework assignment and 90’s song lyrics. So this is what I do after the kids are mostly brainwashed and I know their hearts’ desires.

First week of November: Crunch the numbers and find excuses—Now that the kids’ lists are in hand, I can start really filling in the spreadsheet and preparing for the fun. I love this step, but it is tough. I know my budget for each gift, and I stick to it. I sometimes hate not being able to get the kids everything they want, but we have to be sensible. Here are a few things the kids want which they will NOT be getting:

The three year old: A giant T-Rex, a puppy, a real sword

The five year old: A motorcycle, a four wheeler, a real shooting gun.

The seven year old: A TV, a cell phone, a real bow and arrow set, a baby

I pretty much have a no weaponry policy for Christmas gifts. And thank goodness our homeowners’ association covenants forbid us from putting up a half-pipe in the back yard!

Veteran’s Day Weekend: All shopping complete!—This is the weekend America honors its veterans by discounting much merchandise and encouraging citizens to spend their hard-earned cash. So I join the festivities by shopping for my children and their teachers, etc. It is imperative that all shopping is at least 90% completed before Thanksgiving, since that is when all hell breaks loose the magic starts to happen!

Saturday through Wednesday before Thanksgiving: Prepping the house and cards— How long do you think it takes me to prepare my tree for decorating? Did you say 3 hours? Nope. Did you say 3 days. Yep. Three days of lights and hundreds of gold and red glass balls getting poked into the tree. The gifts are fun, but it is just not Christmas without massive amounts of shiny stuff everywhere. This step always reminds of the little boy from Where the Red Fern Grows setting his raccoon traps. Once they see something shiny, they just can’t leave it alone. If you don’t get the reference, read the book.

Thanksgiving Day: IT’S OFFICIAL!—At noon, Santa shows up in the Macy’s parade, and we can officially listen to as much Christmas music as we want without annoying my brother. Sure, we are good Americans who go to Nana’s and eat turkey and sweet potatoes. But my family knows that this day is the day when the stockings get hung and the ornaments go on the tree. My favorite moment is when the angel goes on top of the tree and I stand in wonder of the whole season. Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.

Thanksgiving through Mid December: The Furious Scramble—Two weeks. I teach at a Christian preschool. These are the busiest and sparkly-est two weeks of my year.  Aside from Beyonce glam in gold glitter while teaching my little ones about the greatest gift of all, I spend these two weeks preparing teacher gifts for my own children’s teachers (9 regular teachers, 4 office staffers, 4 administrators, a host of Sunday school teachers, choir leaders, and Bible study leaders). That is a whole bunch of peanut brittle right there.

Christmas Vacation: Finding Focus—This is perhaps my favorite week of all 52 of them. During the first week of Christmas vacation, I take each one of the boys out. I give them a budget and let them choose gifts for the special people in their lives. I help to think about what others want and need rather than what they want themselves. We go on a dinner date, one-on-one, and we talk about what Christmas really is. It is like looking through a telescope and bringing it into focus. All of the fuzzy (trees, lights, bows, presents) falls away and we see what is really there: love, compassion, joy, generosity.

Christmas Eve: Seeking the Silent Night— let me be literal. We spend the morning and lunch with my parents opening presents and letting the kids be loud and play. We then rush home, force the kids to nap, get dressed up and rush to church (My FAVORITE service!), rush to Granny’s for Christmas with Porkchop’s family, rush home to read Luke 2 and The Night Before Christmas, get the kids in bed (errr, sleeping bag in our bedroom floor), then stay up to track Santa until we know everything is ready for in the morning. Finally, usually around 3:00, we find a few hours of silent night. 

Christmas Day: The Balancing Act—we have LOADS of family in town, and everyone loves to see the kids on Christmas. This makes for a hectic day. So Dear Dad, Thank you for continuing your family’s tradition of champaign brunches on Christmas Day.

December 26: Getting Started—Two words: Hallmark Sale.

So do I plan and rush, rush, rush? Sure I do. So that when it is important, I can sit back and marvel at the sheer joy God has provided.

Christmas: The Early Rounds

In our last conversation, I rationalized my insane behaviors. I thought you might like a glimpse into my personal neuroses.

So here is my Christmas planning, prepping and executing strategy by date with explanations. Some of you might be jealous of my amazing Christmas abilities (Where did I put that Super Mom cape?). Others will simply shake their head. Perhaps some will send me the name of a good therapist. Whatever you do, just remember that I am a little sensitive. Please don’t be too harsh.

August/September: Begin making Christmas lists—This happens because my children all have their birthdays between August 7 and September 21. As people ask them what they want for their birthdays, they start thinking. This is usually quite dangerous and very expensive. I write the overflow ideas down. No. Who uses pen and paper? I save the overflow ideas in my phone. This is the beginning of the lists.

Labor Day Weekend: Set up spreadsheet—Yes, I am that crazy. I have a spreadsheet. Here are the fields I have: To, From, Where Gift is Given, When Gift is given, What Gift is, Bought-on Date, Estimated Cost, Actual Cost, Cost Difference, and Store Purchased From. I also have check boxes for Ordered, Received, Wrapped, and Given. There are currently 184 gifts listed on the spreadsheet for this year from bags of peanut brittle for Sunday school teachers to underwear and video games for the kids. Because the kids love the socks and underwear package every year. I can't wait to give that one to them in front of their future girlfriends!

September/October: Gather materials and brainwash children—This is perhaps the most crucial step. You know you do it, too. You start holding onto the catalogs and marking them. And then you start showing them to the kids. “Ohhhhh! Check out this puzzle game! You would love this!” and on the inside you are saying, “Please, please, please like this! It is only $15, and the hand-held electronic device you think you want and will never play with is waaaaayyyy too expensive.” This process will continue throughout the holiday season. With any luck it will work before Christmas morning.

Last weekend in October: Letters to Santa and heavy drinking—This is another crucial step. We load up the family for a day of wishes. We walk every aisle of the Toys R Us, Target, GameStop, and whatever other merchandise venues are necessary while making lists complete with locations and prices. Porkchop and I usually follow this with copious amounts of wine, liquor or both as we prepare ourselves for  poverty. (Dear children, I am sorry you will be eating pasta and dry cereal for the next 3 months. We had to cut back on real food to afford your Christmas presents.)

To Be Continued…

Christmas Crazy: Setting the Stage

Budget meetings, inventory, task lists, spreadsheets, cost comparisons, project planning…

Nope, I am not talking about work. I am talking about Christmas! I am Christmas Crazy. Certifiably. Why is Thanksgiving one of my favorite days of the year? Because it is the official start to Christmas season.  

But for me, the Christmas season runs from Labor Day through New Year’s Day. Yep. One third of each year I am working on Christmas. And I love every moment. I think I have to love it because otherwise I would go crazy. And yes, I am a little crazy. Twitch. Twitch.

This post is probably not as funny as I would like it to be, but I have to set the stage for the next post. As I have had said, I am a Christmas junkie. I am sure there is some sort of twelve-step program out there for people like me. However, the first step is to admit that you have a problem. I emphatically do not. Here is why:

1.  Necessity—I have three children. If you have kids, then you know that the people who care for them are invaluable. I mean, c’mon. You gotta love someone who gives you a friggin’ break! I love my kids, but I can never miss them if they don’t go away. I strongly feel the need to thank those who help me miss them. Seriously, though. I love my children more than my own life, and I really appreciate all of the love, care and guidance these folks provide! I have three little darlings, and there are school teachers, specials teachers, principals, secretaries, karate instructors, piano teachers, choir directors, Sunday school leaders, scout leaders, soccer coaches, etc. for each of them. I love giving them a token of appreciation, and  I would lose my mind trying to keep up with them all in my head. Ergo, I need massive planning.

2. Finances—Money is tight. I have been scouring Amazon.com and eBay looking for a money tree or a cash cow. No Luck. So I have to depend on my faithful hubby. We all know that what is mine is mine and what is yours is ours. So my insanely detailed processes help me keep track of and control spending. This does have the adverse side effect of making me want to stress eat whenever I see the totals.

3. Education—I love teaching my children, at home and at school, about the true spirit of giving. I love helping them pack gifts for children overseas and pick out presents for the angels on the trees at church. I love watching their faces as they give presents to special people. I love teaching them that others see God’s love through our actions!

4. Equality—I have a dream that my kids will not compare presents. Because it would be disaster if one kid had 6 presents to open while the other two had 7.

5. Fun—I have a blast planning, shopping, wrapping, decorating! It is the season for family fun here at our house. And is there anything more awesome than tearing off wrapping paper?!? Especially with a side of Champaign!

6. Joy—This is different from fun. This is that feeling you get when you know you have spread love. I work for months because, as someone who believes in a God who is gracious and giving, I adore a season that embraces what my faith means to me: inclusion, togetherness, giving, thankfulness, and generosity. Maybe we should all work on this part all the time.

So maybe I am crazy, but what is that quote? “I am not suffering from insanity. I enjoy every minute of it.”

Put That on the List

I am a super-planner. Seriously. I can plan ANYTHING! I am not the best at the execution of said plans, but I can make some seriously good plans.

In fact, as a teacher, plans are very important to me. As a preschool teacher, they are also pretty simple to create. My three year olds are really bright, but I do not have to plan a lecture on the fundamentals of string theory or anything. Just some cool facts about bugs, a cute art project and a Bible story and I am pretty well set.

That said, it is March, and I just got finished making plans for the rest of the year. The rest of the year at school, not at home. I am pretty much clueless about plans at home most of the time, but I try. I try to write to-do lists and think ahead to projects that need to be completed. Don’t we all? But I may be a bit over-the-top with it.

A few months back, my cousin came for a visit and found what I can only describe as my planning book. This is the notebook where I draft to-do lists, menus, workout routines (Yeah. Workout routines. I said I make awesome plans, but my scales will verify the poor execution), projects, etc. The Cuz said, “Seriously. A book of lists about lists?”

Yup. Lists about lists. Lists of things to buy. Lists of things to read. Lists of things to do. Lists of lists I need to make. I am beginning to think that I may need some counseling. I will put that on my list.

I even printed out eight pages of someone else’s lists of things to clean today. I apparently needed some help making my lists. (Has the word “list” begun to lose meaning for you yet? You know, like when you say the same word over and over and it starts to sound odd? List. LIST. list. lIst. LiSt. list. Llllllliiiiiiiisssssssttttt.)

The first step is to admit that you have a problem.

Hello. My name is Jill and I am a psycho-lister.

Unfortunately, I could not find a list of local Listers Anonymous meetings, so I decided to try something new. Some friends of mine sent me to a website that has helped with my list problem. (Here is the shameless plug: FlyLady.com. I won’t go on and on about how awesome the site is, but just know that it is awesome.) My new something was that I would try to actually ACOMPLISH something on my lists.

So with a little guidance, I made some new lists. And every day I do them. The same lists every day. Not one of my 839305 that I have in various notebooks. The same 4 lists. And a miracle happened.

Stuff got done.

Did you hear me? STUFF GOT DONE! My house got clean(ish). My clothes got washed. I even have coffee every morning and clean cups to put it in. I can hear the angels singing!

Now, I usually joke about the craziness at my house with the kids, but I want to be a little serious. As a lister and planner, I was always worried about everything that was still on the list to do. You know: “I wish the baby would go to sleep already because I need to do the dishes, clean the bathroom, etc.” Or “You go outside and play. I have to get this laundry folded.” There was always SOMETHING that had to be done, and I put off what I really needed to do like paint pictures and play with play dough.

Until I made my 4 lists, I did not realize how bad it had gotten. I was even seeing bedtime stories as something else to check off the list. Please, look at me with pity right now, because that is just pitiful. I mean, bedtime stories are such an amazing thing. You slow down, you talk, you snuggle. It should not be a springboard to another to-do list. It should be the destination.

Now I will brag because I am really proud of myself. Evenings are my toughest time of the day because Porkchop is at work, so it is just me and my three sons. Tonight, I cooked (not just warmed up) dinner for me and the kids. We (not just me) set the table (which was clean, thank you, FlyLady), ate together with no TV, cleaned up the dishes, read a story and a Bible story, said prayers and talked about the people we need to pray for, watched 2 cartoons, brushed teeth,  and had everyone in bed, happily, by 8:00. And this is now a normal night for us.

So now I am going to go make a list: Reasons why I ROCK!

A Spoonful of Sugar

I just got home from a wonderful dose of birth control.

My family loves to go camping, and I find that if I go camping regularly I have no desire for another a baby. Nope. None. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero.

Let me give it to you by the numbers:

2—adults on the trip

2, 4, & 6—ages of the

3—boys staying in the camper

208—approximate square footage of the camper including the bathroom and storage space.

5—days camping

0—room left for anyone or anything else

It sounds like I am complaining, but I am not. I LOVE to pack up and head to the woods. Especially now that I have my awesome new phone with the Kindle app on it. My daily routine:

·         Wake up in my nice soft bed with the memory foam mattress topper were I snuggle with the hubby and the kids.

·         Get up, make the bed and throw on some jeans and a sweatshirt (a sweatshirt with a hood is often necessary because camping also means no makeup or hair-dos that require more than 30 seconds).

·         Pour coffee and read outside until midmorning activities (playground, hikes, bike rides, local attractions).

·         Lunch.

·         Naps or more reading.

·         Afternoon activities (more playground, hikes, bike rides, local attractions).

·         Light the fire and cook dinner (not necessarily on the fire).

·         S’mores.

·         Baths.

·         Pile on the above mentioned bed for a movie.

·         Lights out.  

This is very close to my idea of heaven. But with bug spray and a temperamental microwave. However, it is a very loud and cramped heaven.

And this time was the first time we were able to really give the kids some running room. They are all finally old enough for us to let them play without having to act as spotter on the slide or worry about them eating dirt.

So if I ever seem to be getting the baby fever again, please send me camping. If I still have it when I come home, I must be serious. Or seriously crazy.

Bad Moon Rising

I hate to see my children cry.

Even more, I hate it when they are screaming at each other, running, and generally being ridiculously annoying. Please don’t say something like, “Those sweet children could never be annoying!” Yes, they could. Quite well and quite loudly.

So today, I hated to see them cry, but it had to be done. Yup. And I did it. The full moon comin’ to Jesus. Can I get an amen?

I have no idea if it really has anything to do with the moon or if it just takes me 28 days to build up enough steam to really lose it. We had a great day up until it was time to make supper. (Please refer to my earlier posts if you need to know how supper goes.)

It was actually going fairly smoothly. The two oldest had been at each other all day, but nothing new. So I was getting the pizza ready, and I needed to make a phone call. I asked Thing 2 to bring me the phone. While he was gone to do this I realized I had a phone next to me, so I asked him to put the other one back. And chaos ensued.

Thing 1 decided that Thing 2 should not be allowed to hang up the phone since, “He shouldn’t have it anyway!” Thing 1 was screaming at the top of his lungs at his brother, and a fight broke out. Had I been Thing 2, I would have punched thing 1 in the mouth. Hard. Someone is going to do this to him one day, and he will have deserved it.

That said, I try very hard to avoid violence in our house because things are already pretty volatile with three boys. To quote The Secret Garden as portrayed in the Hallmark film I watched 849 times in elementary school, “Where you tend a rose, a thistle cannot grow.” I tried. I tried to tend roses. I really did. But the screaming and fighting was fertilizer to my thistles.

I came to Thing 2’s defense as fast as I could since he was acting on my directions. But Thing 1 was all in a lather. I finally had to bonk him (gently) on the head to make him realize he was screaming at me. ME! Hello?! That is not how you are gonna talk to your mother, son!

At this point, I was HOT! So I did what had to be done. I banished all children to their rooms before I started knocking heads together. The fact that Thing 3 had only been following me around asking to watch Shaggy (Scooby Doo) did not matter. Neither did it matter that Thing 2 was innocent of all wrongdoing. The full moon fire was lit.

As their mother, I would much rather they get out of the way than get burned, so I ensured their safety and took my  aggression out on the olives for the pizza. I also cried into them. I hate it when I lose it. I hate the example that it sets.

But I had to set the Things straight.

So tonight, my dinner conversation involved explaining to a six year old that he is not a parent to the four year old. I know that those two extra years have provided him a wealth of wisdom and experience that Thing 2’s meager 4 years cannot begin to provide.

While I was at it and had their attention and either their fear or respect (not really sure which), I also made sure to cover a few other things:

1. Scream in my house again tonight, and you might not have vocal chords in the morning.

2. I am in charge. Period. Not your brother, not your common sense. Me. Mommy. Mom. Mama. Daddy has the same authority and Nana holds sway, but only Jesus outranks me.

3. Nobody talks bad about my kids. Including my kids.

Now everyone is in the bed and quiet. The house is peaceful, and I have a moment to feel that feeling I first had when I found out I was pregnant with my first beautiful and amazing child: guilt that I might not do what's right.

I Am the Worst Valentine Ever

I am not in love with Valentine’s Day. I am not lonely. I have someone with whom to celebrate, and he is amazing. My problem is that I am utterly, completely and irrevocably unromantic.

I used to blame it on my husband, but I now see that it is entirely me.

First, I should present the evidence that he is, in fact, romantic:

1. Let me begin with my Valentine chocolate addiction. It has gotten bad enough that, on February 15, I will hit every chain drug store in the county to buy up the deeply discounted candy and store it in the freezer. My kids think this is great, because I am kind of picky about which pieces I eat so the boys get to eat all of the cherry and orange filled ones. Bleck. So this year Porkchop special ordered me my very own heart box full of only my top 3 favorites. This was sweet, thoughtful, and romantic.

2. When we were dating, there was a water crisis, and I am heavy drinker (water that is). The water had a bad case of the funk, and I griped about it one day. Next thing I knew, there was a water filter installed on the kitchen sink. Not glamorous, but sweet. Thoughtful. Dare I say romantic?

3. He supports me in my endeavors. Is there anything more romantic than a man who takes care of you? He brings me lunch every Monday because he worries that I will not take the time to get food on the days I volunteer at our son’s school. And when I freaked out because I was getting a 16^th student (who only spoke Chinese) in the three year old preschool class I teach, he texted me, “They know you are a great teacher! That is why your class is always full.” Sweet, thoughtful, romantic.

4. He dances in public because it makes me happy.

Evidence to my complete lack of romance:

1. All of my pajamas are made of cotton or fleece and are decidedly NOT going to inspire romantic thoughts. (Hubby tried to correct this at Christmas by giving me some new cotton PJs that are solid black—read: not covered in cartoon hearts or Husker logos.) Is this TMI? If so, ignore the next statement: I sleep with four pillows. Yes, FOUR! One under my head, one on each side, and one under my legs. It is like the Fort Knox of sweet dreams. No one is getting close without a massive effort.

2. The only candles in my house are on loan from…….. wait for it…… my MOM! How romantic is that?! Aside: these candles are a simple arrangement of eight pear-shaped candles. Our oldest son asked me if it was a pear menorah. I am not sure whether this observation makes me proud that my son recognizes major religious items or makes me giggle every time I look at the pears. It also makes me sing, “David Lee Roth lights the menorah…” in my head. Thank you Adam Sandler.

3. I have to ask my Facebook friends what to do for Porkchop for Valentine’s Day. So far the result is not good. I have made a few attempts to plan something, but they keep falling through. Besides, are motocross tickets really romantic?

4. I asked my husband to never send me flowers. I said that it was a waste of money to buy something that was useless and going to be dead in a week anyway. This also applies to potted plants, though they sometimes last as long as two or three weeks.

5. I actually gave him a nose- and ear-hair trimmer for Valentine’s Day one year.

So, while some people dread February 14 because they have no one to romance, I dread it because I have someone and no romance.

I guess that I will have to go with my usual: homemade Valentines with the boys, pink heart pancakes and lots of candy at breakfast followed by the craziness of school parties with 3 kids. I just hope that Porkchop knows that, after 11 years, I am still head-over-heels in love with him. Even if he ends up getting a box of Band-Aids or a nose hair trimmer on the most romantic day of the year.