Is It Friday Yet?

Oh, wait...Friday won't take away my troubles.

Is it Saturday, then?

Ummm...no.  Saturday will have no more success taking away the daily distresses than Friday had.

Sigh.

I guess I just need to hold on and hang in for the long haul.

In the mean time, I will pretend that Claude and I were not woken up sometime in the middle of night by a 45 minute tantrum.

No, it wasn't a night terror.  It was a full-fledged "I didn't get what I wanted so I'm going to scream as loud as I possibly can for as long as I can stand it to see if you'll give in" fit.

I will also pretend that the morning has not included another hour of screaming and outright disobedience from the afrementioned middle of the night tantrum thrower.

No, this child is not ill.  This child simply wants his/her own way.

Instead, I already took a few minutes to stand on our giant porch.  I listened to the birds chirping and the general calming sounds of nature.  Of course, I ignored the sound of cars racing down out little country highway and the smell of the trash cans that were sitting right in front of me.

I snapped the below photograph before heading inside.

This is the view from our kitchen window.  Green.  Crisp.  Spring.  Isn't it beautiful?

Now, I will poor a cup of tea and continue on with the morning routine as usual.

And wait for Friday in the hope that it will start off a better foot than Thursday has.

All Shapes and Sizes

After our firstborn, we kind of thought we had seen it all.  Super strong will.  Super intense personality.  Pushing the boundaries - discipline-wise and also academically.

As an infant he didn't sleep well at night.  In fact, he was two years old before he ever slept through the night.  The Lord humbled us very quickly with that first experience.

And, because He knows better than we do, God continues to humble us even today.

Until our fifth child, we never had a "runner".  You know, those kids that won't stay with their parent out in public?  In the blink of an eye they are across the playground, in the middle of the street, or lost in the crowd.

Four kids we have had.  Four kids who hold on to the stroller and stick by our side very consistently.  I have never had to chase a child down.  We haven't had any that run off just for the fun of it.  Quite frankly, they have probably been too afraid.  They like to stay within at least some of the boundaries placed around them.  :)

Until now.

Meet Rachel.

She runs.  She runs without regard to how far away she may get from the rest of the Crew.  No fear here.  She will now hold on to the stroller only because she wants to be like her older brothers and sisters.  Praise the Lord for years of training the older ones to stick together!

Not only does Rachel run, but she shrieks.  Yes.  I do mean shrieking.  This is not merely fussing or crying.  At birth she took a few minutes to let out a good cry.  We were a bit concerned until we heard it - the loudest newborn cry that graced our ears up to that point.  She continues to be loud.  I guess it's necessary being the fifth in line.  She won't get overlooked around here, that's for certain!

And, that's not all.  Rachel runs.  Rachel shrieks.  And Rachel hits.  When she gets angry she raises her hand in readiness to smack the nearest offending object.  Sometimes it's Jeremiah's head.  Sometimes it's even Daddy or Mommy's arm or leg.  No bounds does her temper currently know.

Lastly, Rachel throws.  She really does.  Upset that Mom gave you water instead of peanut butter?  Chuck the cup.  Angry that you have to go down for a nap when you would rather build with Duplos?  Chuck the nearest block.

She is fiery.  She is a fighter.  And she is learning that these outbursts are not appropriate ways to express her personality.

We thought we had seen it all.  Now the super strong will, intense personality, pushing the boundaries kind of kid is wrapped up in 23 pounds of cuddly Rachel goodness.  Although we have learned many valuable lessons with our other children, we are out of our reckoning...again.

You can have a handful of kids.  You can think you've seen it all.  But friends, you haven't.  We haven't.  No one has.

Let's be humble.  Before you go and judge that mother whose son runs into the parking lot at every opportunity, remember that you haven't seen it all.  Your kids just may not be runners.  Before you try and explain how easily you potty-trained your daughter, remember that your kid is not your friend's kid.  Your child may just have a knack for keeping her pants dry.  Before you launch into the best and only way for your neighbor's child to sleep through the night, preface it by saying this is just what worked for you.  It may not work for someone else.

Kids come in all shapes and sizes.  Their temperaments vary greatly even within the same family unit.  Their personalities, individual bents, and quirks are not duplicated in any other little person.  If you're like me, maybe it takes having several different children to really get this - not just to say it, but to really know it.  But if you're wiser than I am, which you probably are, learn it now.

All shapes.  All sizes.  One amazing Creator.  And a bunch of perplexed parents.  I guess we're in need of grace because there's no way we're going to find a formula with this kind of mess!

Snapshots: Camping

I'm not exactly the "funnest" mom on the block.  When it comes to special outings and little extras I just don't do very well. I enjoy spending time with the kids, but the days are full of meals, dishes, laundry, schoolwork, diaper changes, and discipline.  Of course, they are also full of cuddles, laughs, funny things the little guys say, and interesting conversations with the older crew.

In an attempt to be fun and spontaneous, I planned a little escapade for last weekend.  Claude was out at a 50K, camping overnight in the little van so as not to miss an early morning start.  I thought, why not take the kids camping while he was away?

Before you start thinking that I'm some kind of super mom, just check out our campsite.

Our very large toy room (soon to be occasional guest room) seemed like the perfect spot for our 9 person tent.  Of course, it had to actually fit.

Which it did.  Perfectly.

We started our campout with a rousing game of Memory.

The kids were bouncing off the walls (literally...if they could defy gravity they would have been up and down and all around the walls and ceiling).  The excitement was extreme, and they didn't even know that we were sleeping in the tent.  They were wired from a day of merely playing in the tent.

I went for easy, camping kind of food - hot dogs and frozen peas (still frozen) served in coffee filters.

*Note: Coffee filters are my new favorite way to serve everything from hot dogs and sandwiches, to popcorn and pickles.  Try them.  They are awesome.  Cheap.  Compact in the trash.  No washing necessary.

Next we enjoyed S'mores, which I made in the oven.  Half a marshmallow, two pieces of chocolate, and a two graham cracker halves.  The kids each had about three, but even with that their sugar intake was significantly less than if we had used full marshmallows and twice as much chocolate.

Everyone thoroughly enjoyed them.

Here are a few of the messy faces.

While the older three kiddos watched "Milo and Otis" (which, by the way, scared Abby immensely), I sat upstairs to monitor the little guys.  They did well, but boy did they blow a lot of raspberries before they finally conked out.  My lips were tingly and then numb just listening to them!

And then, before I knew it, everyone was sound asleep.  One was even snoring.  One claimed to have stayed awake the whole night.  :)

And then Rachel woke up three times in the night.

And then she cuddled with me on my mattress and we slept for a while.  And then she woke up, walked all over the tent, and brought things to drop on my head.  And then she toddled down the stairs with me at 5am because I finally caved and decided to give her a bottle of milk.

We slept beautifully after that.  :)

And then the morning came and with it the metldowns and grumpy attitudes I had feared.  Saturday was a bit rough and I was so glad when Claude walked through the door!

We had fun.  Made some memories.  And learned some rules about tent dwelling.  Now that we've had a practice run maybe we'll attempt a "real" camping trip!

45 Minutes

 The morning was great.  We got up, made it through our morning routine, even read a few books with the little kids.  School time was smooth.  Everyone was in their places doing what they were supposed to be doing.  It was a good day.

12:05pm - Two children began throwing tantrums for different reasons.  I cleaned up Rachel from her lunch, attempted to put her in her bed and quickly realized that she needed a new diaper in a bad way.  Jeremiah walked in the room and it became obvious that he also needed a new diaper.  So I began the process.

12:15pm - Both tantrums persisted as I cleaned up the little guys' diapers.  Both messes were a bit bigger than I had anticipated.  Rachel needed a new shirt.  Neither diaper swished out in the toilet nicely.

12:20pm - One tantrum ceased, but the other ramped up as I rinsed out some pretty fowl cloth diapers.  It didn't take long to be literally elbow deep in some pretty mucky water.  Ewww...

12:22pm - Hannah comes through the front door, screaming, "Abby won't let go of the jump rope and I already asked her to!"  Oh, yes...this requires my direct attention.  Not.  I send Hannah back out to resolve the jump rope issue with her younger sister.

12:24pm - Still up to my elbows in diaper water, trying to keep Rachel out from underfoot, and Hannah enters yet again.  This time sreaming about ten times louder than the last time.  "Abby hit me with the recorder!"  Cry.  Sob.  Jump up and down.  Yep.  Another tantrum.  At least the tantrum from the other room had toned down to some moaning and groaning.

12:30pm - I look up to explain to Hannah that I cannot deal with the recorder/jump rope situation because my hands are covered in poopy water.  I see blood streaming down her face.  A blood nose.  Perfect.  I send Hannah to get some tissue.

12:33pm - The diapers are rinsed.  My hands are scrubbed.  The bath tub is bleached.  Hannah is still freaking out.  She runs in to find me and I send her right back to the bathroom where she started.  She leaves a drippy trail of blood through most of the downstairs.  My usual pregnancy heartburn rears a very ugly head about now.  Oh, well...no time for that.  I get the hydrogen peroxide, put Rachel in her play yard, and hope that this is over soon.

12:35pm - After cleaning the blood trail, I find Hannah standing over the toilet.  Screaming.  There is blood everywhere.  Her hands and arms are covered.  Her clothes are covered.  The toilet seat is covered.  Blood is splattered on the walls, the floor, the outside of the toilet, the sink, the mirror.  I'm glad I have the hydrogen peroxide and that I apparently have a strong stomach after working through those messy cloth diapers.  I start cleaning.

12:45pm - Hannah is clean and changing into fresh clothing.  Her nose is no longer bleeding.  The bathroom is clean.  The laundry has been rinsed with hydrogen peroxide to prevent stains and is in the washing machine.  All tantrums have stopped.

12:50pm - Three of the kids are playing play dough.  They are laughing as if none of them had thrown a tantrum, produced a blow out poop, had a blood nose, or beat up their older sibling with a recorder.  (Please note, the blood nose was NOT from Abby.  It happened all on its own.)  Rachel is in bed, not asleep yet, but on her way.  And the complaining from Tantrum-Thrower Number One has ceased.  Now it's time to dictate a spelling list, supervise violin practice, heat up lunch, and prod the preschoolers as they clean up the Duplos.

If ever you hear a mother or father with a few (or more!) small children in their constant care, this is what you should think of when they say things are "busy", "hectic", "crazy", "exhausting", "tiring", or "non-stop" at their house.  This can happen any time of day or night without warning, without due cause.  Things are running smoothly and then BAM!  Everything spontaneously combusts and chaos abounds for 45 minutes.

Okay...so on a good day it only lasts 45 minutes.  I won't even get into what a bad day can look like.  You're smart.  I'm sure you can imagine.

After you have imagined, then you can say a prayer for any parents you know who have a troop of little tikes at home.  You may just be praying at the precise moment that a blood nose, two tantrums, two incredibly messy diapers, some heartburn, and a few other urgent matters collide in one big train wreck.

These Days

At tthis point it has been several days since I wrote this post.  I wanted to put a link to kiviak and Inuits who go under the sea ice to collect mussels in the spring.  It's not going to happen any time soon and I want to push publish.  If you are interested in the diet of Inuit people try Google.  And if you don't care to know, then the link wouldn't have served much of a purpose anyway and I won't feel bad about not including it.

Okay...so here's what I wrote a few days ago...

I wrote this yesterday...didn't get around to publishing.  Between writing this in the morning and bed time last night I witnessed my children gathering mussels from  under the sea ice in the Arctic.  They fermented the mussels in order to make mussel kiviak.  I overheard Abby explain to her two-year-old brother how gums are very small when you're young and will get bigger and bigger as you get older until they are all of half an inch long.  Josua and Hannah spent their evening free time playing a homemade game about seeds - it came right out of the science text book.  I think this classifies them as nerds, if watching the imaginary tides until just the right moment to venture under Arctic sea ice in order to ferment mussels isn't already nerdy enough.

And how could I forget the hugs from Rachel?  She and Jer are the first of our kids to be so affectionate.  I am (sometimes literally) showered with hugs and kisses from them during the day.  If I wasn't a softy before having kids, I most certainly am now.  Of course, a bunch of pregnancy hormones probably has something to do with that.  Or not.

Maybe I'm just getting old.

Anyway...here's what I wrote yesterday...

There is a storm coming in today.  Right  now the sky is grey and getting darker by the hour.  The wind is starting to blow so that the trees on our property are swaying significantly.  It's the kind of day when I want to curl up under a blanket and read a good book.  But around here, there is no such thing as a "curl up on the couch" kind of day.  The activity levels are as high as ever this morning, which has proven to be both good and bad.

Today I was reluctant to get out of bed.  There are those days when I just don't want to do anything - not like doing nothing is ever an option.  As my feet drag, especially through the afternoons, I have discovered my coping mechanism.

Earl Grey.  Hot.  It smells good, it's decaf, and it is not chocolate.

We are having some friends over on Saturday afternoon.  As I was thinking of necessary preparations for their visit, I realized that we haven't mopped the kitchen floors since the last time we had people over.  That was sometime before February began.  Sweeping is done at least twice a day and usually three times, but no mopping in over a month?  This says a lot about my current housekeeping habits.

If you could see the clean laundry that resides on the floor in the master bedroom, you would also have a picture of how well I've been doing in the household management department.  Of course,  you should also look at the pantry, re-organized kitchen cabinets, and the fridge which is about to burst at the seems with pounds of newly cooked beans.  So, I suppose only some things are left to the wayside.  Mopping and putting away the laundry just don't rate around here.

While I'm on the subject of cleaning, I asked Joshua and Hannah if they would vacuum the upstairs today.  It's been even longer since that happened than the last time we took out the mop bucket.  My instructions were to be thorough.  They moved all of the large toys and containers out of the toy room, cleared out the underbed storage bins, and even attempted to move their clothing drawers.  My concept of thorough wasn't quite so, well, thorough.

The little ones have been rocking out to demo songs on the keyboard.  They're bottom-wriggling dances are quite funny.  And the laughter that ensues from a good dance session is priceless.

To wrap things up, I am feeling extremely pregnant.  Aches and pains I normally feel in the last few months have been with me for a while now.  I'm only 21 weeks.  The second half of this pregnancy may just feel like an eternity.  In addition, the first trimester nauseau persists.  I guess my body has gotten mixed up - the second trimester is supposed to nauseau and pain free - hello sixth pregnancy!  Or perhaps that should be, goodbye abdominal strength and general agility.

Maybe I'm just getting old.

This little guy is very active, though, reminding me of the reason for the discomforts.  While I can try and feel bad for myself, and for the first time think that pregnancy is really hard, the pity party can't last long.  We have had two in-depth ultrasounds in this pregnancy.  No complications, just a question about the due date and a routine mid-pregnancy scan.  To see such a tiny person (he was only 3 inches long the first time) wriggling around and putting his hands to his face was nothing short of amazing.

Aches, pains, nauseau, heartburn - none of it can compare to the awesome privilege of watching these kids grow up.  And if this little one is as active out of the womb as he is inside, we'd better be ready.  The Crew is about to not only get bigger but busier.  Much busier!

Tantrums Abound

Last week we had a couple of doctor appointments in town.  The kids did great sitting through everything, but after being in a waiting area or an exam room for three hours we were ready to go home.  Before going home, however, we decided to stop by Walmart.

Walmart, my least favorite place on earth.

Praise the Lord that our trip was uneventful.  Quick.  Smooth, even.  Until we got out to the van.

That is when I realized that I had locked my keys in the ignition.  Thankfully the van was not on.  I suppose if it had been I would have noticed before we had gone into the store that something was amiss.

There wasn't much to be done about the situation, though.  So, I called Claude to ask him to stop by Walmart after work and we set out to kill three hours.

We started our adventure by walking up the hill to Sam's Club.  After a round of hot pretzels and cold water from the soda machine, we began the Alphabet Game.  We walked the store, slowly (always very slowly) for an hour and a half and found the following items:

The rules were that we had to go in order and we could only write down items that we saw as we wrote them down.

Upon completion of the Alphabet Game we realized that Rachel had taken off and dropped both of her socks.  A game of Find the Socks ensued.

Once we had exhausted our options of productive occupation at Sam's Club, we headed back down the hill.  If you ever find yourself in Walmart with a few hours to spare and a handful of kids I would highly recommend locating the fish tanks.  From Chew Crew 1 down to Chew Crew 5, everyone was enthralled by watching the little fish flit around.  We stood there for at least 20 minutes without a single complaint.

And then the nagging began.  From an un-named member of the Crew, I heard "I'm thirsty" at least a million times in approximately 30 seconds.  I had already made very clear the water-drinking regulations for the afternoon.  Designated water stops mean more predictable potty breaks and preventable accidents.  In a family of many littles, this can make or break an outing.

The thirsty child knew when to expect another drink and was decidedly unwilling to wait.  It had to be on her terms and when I didn't budge, she began throwing a tantrum.

First it was just crying.  Then the crying became shouting.  The shouting then led to her sitting down in the middle of the aisle.  When that didn't get her a drink, she began screaming and shuffling next to the stroller on her knees.  This, of course, all started as the after work crowd was making their way through the store.  We had quite the audience!

By the time Claude arrived, she was in a full-fledged temper tantrum.

We decided that Claude would take the other four kids out to the parking lot while I worked with the tantrum-thrower.  Her screams had gotten louder, her nagging about water continued, and she proceded to throw herself onto the floor and wriggle and writhe so that a group of ladies came over and tried to sympathize...with her!

I'm so glad my back was already to those well-meaning women, because it meant that I didn't have to reply to their questions or comments.  I just kept on keeping on, requiring obedience and silence.  It was reasonably successful and we were nearly out of the store, when the nagging began again.

A second tantrum  was right on its heels.  At least this time we were in the privacy of our own car and I had some music to turn on nice and loud so the rest of us could attempt to enjoy the long ride home.

Eventually she stopped screaming...and fell asleep.  But before she did, I got a good chuckle.

"You're never going to make me stop my tantrum, Mommy!" she yelled.  "The more you tell me no water the more I will nag and nag and scream!"

At least we had gotten past all of the pleasantries and could see the beast for what it was: Just another sinful, selfish person trying to get her way.

Don't we sometimes throw the same kinds of fits?  They may be quieter, but I'm sure a four-year-old is not the only one who has ever lost all sense of self-control in the face of not getting what she wanted, when she wanted it.

I doubt she will be the last.  At least not in our Crew.

Got Enough Kids?

I found this post in my "Drafts" folder.  The statement which sparked it was given to me the summer of 2013.  We were sweating out a hot, humid holiday gathering at our church.  I was noticeably pregnant, the kids were obviously tired, and we were attempting to get everyone's things gathered up and into the car.

Why comments like these come at times like that I have no idea.  Sometimes I wonder if a pregnant belly comes with a sign that reads, "Please make rude, unwanted, or just plain weird comments, especially when I am hot, sweaty, and ready to have the kids in the car."

And that is why I don't leave the house except on Sundays.  :)  Just kidding!  Kind of...I mean, I don't leave the house except on Sundays but it's not actually because of these types of comments.

Now, on to the post.

"So, have you got enough kids?" the gentleman asked me.


I fumbled through the few lame responses that I know are tucked away somewhere in my head, but came up short.  All I could do was smile, look in front of me at all four of my children, and smile again.  Updated to add: Now I would just laugh and say, "Apparently not, because God is giving us another!"

Where the question came from I can only guess.  Perhaps he was just curious about us.  Maybe he felt like he needed to say something and that was the first thing that came out.  Or maybe he can't quite imagine family life outside of the American norm - 2.01 kids, a dog, a cat, and a white picket fence.

Something in the delivery of that question, however, made me wonder if he has some ideas about family planning.  If so, I'm guessing that we have not followed any plans that would be deemed wise.  Apparently we have been foolish in this matter of having children - something that has been told to us before and that was when we only had one child and one on the way.

This man's question has been on my mind for the last few days.  So far I've constructed a simple response that I will file away in an easily accessible memory file.  I'm pretty sure our family will have more comments like this one, so I want to be ready.  That response is to smile, look at my children, and say, "I can't imagine life without any one of them."

Beyond finding an appropriate response to future statements, I have some issues with this idea of having "enough" kids.  To me the question implies that children are a commodity, an accessory to our lives.  We decide how many we want and when.  We set a limit on what is "enough".

The first is to do with contentment.  If we haven't had the number of children we desire, we are unhappy and potentially jealous of others who have the size of family we have planned for ourselves.  We may not be able to take joy in the life God has given us.  That might mean wasting away some special years as a single, with our spouse, or with our first (and maybe only) child.

If we find ourselves crossing our self-imposed line of what we can handle, then we run the risk of becoming bitter and resentful toward others - even toward our own children.  We may say something like this, "I wish I had stopped after just one.  Two is more than I can handle."  And do we think that our kids don't pick up on those attitudes?  They know that they are the "mistake" or the "oops" child that nearly sent Mom into panic and despair upon finding out she was pregnant again.

The second problem I have with the "enough" mentality is that by reducing children to a commodity of which we can have too little or too much, we are devaluing their very existence.  When it comes down to it, the value of a child is subjected to our current feelings on the matter.  If I've wanted a child for 10 years and finally conceived and birthed a healthy baby, that child is valued greatly.  On the other hand, if I find myself pregnant before my wedding day rolls around that child may not be as warmly received or as highly valued by me or by others.

God values children.  He doesn't think of them as a nuisance.  Neither does He place them on a pedestal.  He loves children because He is love.  And He loves people of all ages and stages just the same.

 
In Psalm 127 children are described as a "heritage from the Lord".  I know that many people who have convictions about not using birth control use this verse as a way of saying that everyone should live as they do.  I'm not here to make such conclusions.

What I do want to point out is that throughout Psalm 127, the value of children is made clear.  They are important.  They are a gift from God.  That value does not and should not change just because something falls outside of our "enough" boundaries.

If we truly value children, then we should find no trace of discontent or bitterness in regard to our family size. 

Whether God has allowed our family planning to be executed precisely on our schedule, we find ourselves mourning through loss of pregnancy after pregnancy, or we are reading that little plus sign just weeks after our wedding or when we already have an infant in the house, we would do well to be content with the way in which God has chosen to bless us.

 

Straight Lines

I am a product of the self-esteem movement.  At least I'm pretty sure that I must be, since I seem to feel terrible about myself unless I can find at least one thing at which I am proficient.

With complete assurance, I will tell you that parenting is not on my Feel Good About Yourself Because You're a Rock Star list.

If I could name a few things that might go on that list they would be as follows:

1. Changing diapers.  Yes.  I can change a diaper.  Any diaper, any mess.  I've got it.

2. Cheesecake.  I take no credit for this really, because it's my family's recipe and my dad taught me how to make it.  Now having a lot of practice, I can make a pretty good cheesecake.  Unless it's lumpy...

3. Sewing (relatively) straight lines.  Of course, I would prefer that you didn't look too closely at those straight lines because sometimes they're not so pretty.  My machine does a funny thing sometimes with the bobbin thread...and well, I'm not perfect.  But I can make one heck of a wash cloth!

See.  Parenting is not on this list.  Why?  Because parenting is complex and never-ending and requires a whole lot of selflessness (not to mention a heap of wisdom) that I just don't possess in and of myself.

The past couple of weeks have been particularly challenging.  One child is sneaking into snack foods.  This morning it was cocoa powder.  I guess since the "good" stuff is all stashed in out of sight and out of reach places, powdered chocolate seemed like a good alternative?  I think the immediate consequence was the shock of how aweful that stuff tastes without a ton of sugar.

Then there are the tantrums.  Yes.  Tantrums.  Hundreds of them from every age of child we have in our household.  Except the 1-year-old.  Keep that in mind because it holds the key to something I will say in a moment.

And can I just say that no one ever told Claude and I that we would need to talk with our 6-year-old daughter about dating?  Recently she got herself in a terrible pickle when some kid at Awanas (our church's evening program for kids) asked if she "liked" him and if she would be his "friend".

She said, "Yes," and "I don't know".  Apparently the kid swooned.  Literally.  We even had a demonstration.

Now, in the above case, this is when I am thankful for a firstborn who, even with relentless training and correcting, must interrupt any and every conversation within earshot, knows how to be rude, can be very hard to get along with, and loves to police any situation he can.  (Unless he's trying to police the cocoa powder, in which case he'd rather just have a taste.)  And I am thankful that the aforementioned firstborn is in the same Awanas class as his sister who is being pursued by blonde-haired, blue-eyed, Mr. Popular. 

Sorry...that was a bit of an aside.

As these situations present themselves, it has become increasingly apparent to me that when it comes to parenting I have absolutely no clue what I am doing.

And this is where I will make two points.

The first point is that sewing straight lines is a beautiful, therapeutic endeavor.  While parenting is a twisted, back-tracking, mangled mess as you wind your way through a dense jungle of attitudes, behaviors, and situations, sewing is the smooth, wide, and straight road that leads to sanity.  And it makes me feel good about myself.  See the self-esteem thing?

Case in point.  I sewed these wash cloths this week, along with three children's aprons, three pioneer skirts, and a pair of maternity jeans.  Thank you, Audrey, for the free fabric!

The second point that I would like to make is this: Everybody needs a 1-year-old.  Having a baby around the house who is super cute and cuddly, sleeps through the night (not really), and doesn't throw tantrums is amazing.  You'll feel great about your parenting automatically just by looking at the little tike and having warm fuzzy feelings each and every time.  See, there's the self-esteem thing again!

Case in point.  Rachel.  Just give her a bottle and/or a book and she's good to go.

And here's the third point.  I know, I know...I said I only had two, but I can't just leave it at that.

There is no job, no activity, no task that has ever humbled me so much as parenting.  It really does send me to my knees.  Or rather, the bathroom...because that's where I can lock the door.  *smiles*  And it causes me to seek God in His infinite wisdom, strength, and understanding.

So, in the midst of sneaking cocoa, throwing tantrums, and six-year-old dating troubles, you will find me asking for wisdom from the only One who has it to offer.

And you'll probably find me sitting at the sewing machine, taking deep breaths while I convince myself that I can, indeed, get up and do this all over again for at least the next 20 years worth of tomorrows.

Heart Attack Moment

This little girl nearly gave me a heart attack a few moments ago.

Cautious is not really a word that I would use to describe Rachel.  The likes to keep up with her older siblings, doesn't mind falling flat on her face, and when she does she gets back up and keeps on trucking.

She has been trying to access the stairs for quite some time.  We usually have a safety gate at the top and the bottom of the staircase.  Both are meant to be locked whenever Rachel is awake.  When relying mostly on a 4-year-old, a 6-year-old, and a 7-year-old to close the gates it goes without saying that they are not always locked.

Anyhoo...I saw Rachel climb about five steps last month.  Then, in a horrifying split-second, I watched as she fell down the same steps.  I was too far away to catch her.  Scary.

This afternoon, while the older kids were playing outside, I was enjoying some toddler time.  Then I noticed Rachel was no longer in the living room.  Not hearing her in the dining room or kitchen, I headed to the stairway.

The gate was open.

And there she was.  Standing at the top of the stairs.

My heart nearly stopped.

Rachel, on the other hand, was as cool as a cucumber.

 

Matching Games and Visual Learners

With everyone being sick on and off, the kids and I have been very much out of routine.  Sure, we have our meals at fairly regular times and bed time is generally on schedule.   But school...wait a minute.  What is school?  I think I have forgotten.

We have also had some major fallout in the attitude department.  I don't think the kids know how to talk nicely to one another.  When they try it sounds just as rude and mean as whatever tone of voice I tried to correct.  Somehow they will get there...hopefully.  The process, however, is painful and slow.

In an attempt to keep everyone on the same page and tackle the attitudes, I instituted a game day early in the week.  We built puzzles and played games all day long.  We practiced rejoicing with those who rejoice (instead of throwing a fit that your sister got ahead of you in the Ladybug Game).  And I corrected and corrected and corrected.

By Tuesday the kids had picked up on the game thing and were playing by themselves.  Now that the week is over I think we have built the same three puzzles about 5 times each, played the Ladybug game several times, learned Uno and played it a few times, and we have probably played a dozen or more games of Memory.

Well, it's what I knew as Memory growing up.  Now it is called Matching.  Apparently we don't want children to feel bad about their memories, so we put the responsibility on the tiles.   It's not that I didn't remember where the second tile was, it's that the tiles were not matching.

Anyway...back to the point.  If there ever was one, that is.

Hannah started out as the most enthusiastic Memory/Matching player.  She and I played several times while in Montana over the holidays.  Her excitement waned just a tad with each game because I would win.  Like, really win.  As in I would take the last 10-12 matches in one sweep.  Maybe I should have cheated and played dumb.

While she still wants to play most of the time, Abby has taken Hannah's place as the most zealous Memory/Matching player.  At least once a day she traipses downstairs announcing to her siblings, "I'm going to play a game with Mommy!"  Out comes the box, along comes the very long process of maticulously setting out each tile, and then we play.

And I win.  Every time.  But only by a small margin most of the time.

She doesn't seem to mind.  Usually she just laughs the whole time and says funny things like, "Oh, bummah!"

During one of our games, Abby said to me, "My brain is very smart, Mommy.  My brain has eyes in it.  They can see things and remember what they look like even when my real eyes can't see it."

If ever there was a description of a visual learner, that would be it - eyes in the brain to see things even after the image is no longer visible to your real eyes.

This strength in visual learning is a big reason why Abby does very well at the Memory/Matching game.  Some of the kids will see a tile and excitedly shout out, "Oooh!  Oooh!  That one is somewhere [points to about half of the tiles] over there!"

When Abby sees a tile that has a match she knows of, she smiles and says, "I know!  I know!  The other one is right [points to one specific tile] there!"  And she is right about 99% of the time.

For the time being, I am the undefeated Memory/Matching champion.  I have, however, met my match.  Soon, with those eyes in her brain, Abby will be winning.

I'd better be willing to pass on the title.  It is, of course, a game for preschoolers.

Big Boy Bed

Here's a good way to get your exercise in for the day.  Put your 2-year-old into a big boy bed for the first time.  Make sure his bedroom is on the second floor and that you are writing a blog post about the experience busy on the first.  Run up the stairs each time you hear his feet pitter pattering, lift his 25 pound body into your arms, walk briskly to his bed, and administer discipline of your choice.

Repeat.

And repeat.

And repeat.

Listen to the funny things that your adorable and defiant little son has to say about his first night in a big boy bed.

"I'm just going to sleep now, Mommy."
 
"Mommy, I was walking and then running."

"I need a derrink!"

"Mommy, I'm not in my bed.  I'm on my bed."

"Daddy, I'm going to get up!"

And then have a good laugh at Big Brother's speech regarding the importance of obeying Dad and Mom and staying on your bed.

Big Brother:  "Jer, if you don't want to have spankings you should just stay in your bed.  Then you can go to sleep and forget about all of the spankings you just got."

Little Brother:  "Okay."

Remember to snap a photo once he finally dozes off to sleep.

Oh, yeah...have some ice cream or chocolate ready to celebrate your success.  And to replenish your energy reserves.  ;)

Houston, We Have a Walker!

Rachel has been working on this for 5-6 weeks now.  She spent the first couple of weeks fussy and frustrated because she couldn't take more than a few steps before toppling over.  Now she has found her walking legs and there is no turning back!

This video is from last week and her progress since then has been astounding.  She now prefers walking over crawling and can traverse the entire house without a fall.  Time to start running soon!

Walking by the Numbers

Joshua - 13 months.  Just in time for little sister's arrival.
Hannah - 12 months.  On her birthday she walked across a grassy hill and also said her first word that day - "pop".
Abigail - 10 months - I think???  She could easily walk up and down the street by the time her first birthday rolled around.
Jeremiah - 11-12 months.  Like much of what he does, this skill came without much fuss.
Rachel - 10-11 months.  Perhaps the most determined of all.  She has places to go and people to see!
 

Bleach Spray

A Note to the Concerned Reader:  After perusing this post, you may wonder if I am in my right mind, if my mental faculties are together, or if I am fit to be looking after small children all day.  Of course, I am completely sane and in control of my mental capacities.  As for looking after children all day...well, a little bit of hilarity comes along with the territory, does it not?

We are having quite a time at the Chew household as of late.  Claude and I think it may just be a stage, but we are facing some pretty horrendous (to use one of Joshua's new favorite words) attitudes and behaviors.  It's exhausting.  The other day I had a thought to pay myself a dollar each time I gave a specific correction to the kids.  I would be able to buy myself and Claude some plane tickets to a nice quiet beach side resort in a matter of days at this rate.

And might I add that we should get paid double for corrections that are required between the hours of 12am and 6am?  Apparently tantrums never sleep.

Add to an unusual set of disciplinary breeches the very usual demands of a house full of small children - for example, Jeremiah just sat on Rachel's head...for fun, Abby and Joshua are hitting each other with library books, and my toe is being sucked on by a teething baby.  Put it all together and you've got a ticket to the looney bin.

So, this morning, as I checked to see if Rachel was ready to come out of her high chair, and as I found a very substantial diaper leakage (the worst, smelliest kind of refuse, I might add) in her seat, and as she proceeded to discover the sight, feel, smell, and taste of said diaper leakage, my brain short-circuited and I entered a state of delirium from which the following ode was birthed:

Bleach spray you make my house clean
You make everything sanitary, bleach spray

Bleach spray, you are amazing
There ain’t no mess you can’t clean
Come on and disinfect, you are amazing

Bleach spray you make my house clean
You make everything sanitary, bleach spray

Bleach spray, you are amazing
You wipe out the biggest blowouts
So come on and disinfect, you are amazing

Bleach spray you make my house clean
You make everything sanitary, bleach spray
Come on , Come on bleach spray
Clean it, Clean it bleach spray

I know, I know...bleach is not very en vogue right now.  But when it comes to a battle with diarrhea, I am not messing around with vinegar.  I'm going for the big guns.  What else can handle the blue marker on the white bath mat, the throw up under the kitchen table, and the great diaper leak of 2014 in the high chair seat?

Bleach, my friends.  It makes everything sanitary.

Disclaimer: This post is not sponsored by Clorox or any other such company.  I was not compensated in any way shape or form for writing this post.  No one sent me a free bottle of bleach spray.  All opinions, however, are 100% my own.

Updated to Add: I took the bleached down high chair outside to rinse it and subject it to the bright sun for drying, and what scurried out of the coiled hose but a LIZARD!  Can somebody send me back to bed, please???

5:45pm

It was dinner time.  It was dinner time on a Thursday - Bible study night.  The night that I was leading, no less.  And dinner was running late.  Okay...so dinner wasn't actually running and it wasn't late.  I was late preparing dinner and I was doing a little bit of running around the kitchen trying to get things ready.

The kids, however, were quiet, happy, and productively occupied.  This won many points, especially considering it was 5:45pm.  Anyone who has been around kids knows just how many points this peace and quiet was truly worth.

Then it happened.  My biggest fear in parenting - vomit.

Yes, the toddler threw up all over himself, the bench, and part of the kitchen floor.  And no, he was not happy about it...at all.

As an aside, if you are ever wondering how to clear a room in a hurry, just let loose an active puker and you'll see just how quickly a group of kids can flee.

Once the scene of the crime had been adequately cleared of extra bodies, I assured the unhappy patient that he would be alright and I ran him to the bathtub.  Of course, I couldn't leave the kitchen for long because I knew I had a mess to corral and I needed to make some quick decisions regarding how to go about such a task.

What I hadn't accounted for between the big kids leaving the room and the sicky being confined to the bathroom was the baby.  She was not in the kitchen when things went from miraculously serene to monumentally disgusting.  I actually don't know where she was or what she was doing.  I had, in fact, forgotten about her.  Terrible, I know, but I don't presume to be the only mother who has done this.

I also do not presume that I am the only mother who witnessed what happened next, but I can't say that I have heard anyone tell such a distasteful story, either.

The forgotten one made her appearance as I rounded the corner to the kitchen.  Apparently the baby had missed the memo about the recent stomach-churning happenings in the kitchen.  I found her crawling out from under the table.  Being one to scan the kitchen floor for little tidbits between meals, she must have been very interested in the big puddle of goodies her brother had just lost.

As she crawled into the open her wet hands, knees, feet, and especially chin and mouth gave her away.  She had indeed visited the vomit and sampled whatever she could find to put in her mouth.  She even enjoyed her snack, as her grin so clearly communicated.

Gross.  Just gross.  And yet, all I could do was laugh.

Now, you may be asking "Is this too much information?  Should stories like this be filtered from my web browser?"  Well, my friends, I spared you from this much, at least.  Notice that I have not shared any photos of the event?

You're welcome.  :)

The Tale of Two (or more) Lizards

I am not a fan of lizards.  Something about them just makes my skin crawl.  But living here in Texas means that there are lizards galore.  We have long, sleek anoles that come out and sunbathe during the day and bumpy, little geckos that perch themselves on the windows and eat bugs through the night.

Last summer we had a gecko who came to our bathroom window every night.  I couldn't handle it.  So, after a few months and it having ample opportunity to become big and fat, I decided to open and close the window a few times to shake it off.  I shook it off, alright.  And I think I killed it or at least mortally wounded it in the process.

This is the baby gecko who came to stake out the awesome bug-catching spot from where his ancestor, just a few nights before, had been driven out.  We only saw this guy one time.  I was not the one to encourage its departure.

Claude made me feel bad.

Okay, okay...so I felt bad all on my own.

I had lived my entire freshman year of college with a lizard at large in my shower.  Did I feel differently about lizards way back then?  No, I did not.  They creeped me out like they do now.  The difference was that I was willing to pretend that this little lizard did not exist.  The lighting was dim in the shower and without my glasses I couldn't see well.

Ignorance is bliss, right?

Well, at least it meant protection for the small bug-eater.

Consequently, I never gave a thought as to what food source this lizard might have had which supported it for a year.  Ewww....

I've often thought of this juxtaposition of responses.  In one case, most recently, I had had enough of the creepy, crawly gecko and tried to stamp it out.  But long ago, before being a mother had tested my patience, I let another lizard go.  It wasn't hurting me.  It didn't do anything wrong.  It was better to pretend that it wasn't there and let it live then to try and snuff out its life.

How often do I respond with such grace to my children?  Those little habits they have - ones that aren't harmful to themselves or anyone else and are simply annoying by the sheer fact that I can't get away from them...ever.  Oh, and I can't forget about my own sin that makes these habits seem so frustrating - selfishness!  I have preferences, 'ya know.  And sometimes I prefer not to have five people whistling and singing at me all at once.  Sometimes I prefer quiet.

What do I do with those preferences?  Do I insist on having things my way and squashing my kids in the process like I injured the innocent gecko on our bathroom window?  Or do I take my glasses off, turn down the lights, and let them go about the business of being kids?

I have resolved to do my best at tolerating both the lizards and my children's idiosyncrasies.

On the kid end, my resolve is tested daily.  I don't often succeed, but I think I'm heading in the right direction.  Thank You, Lord!

But things on the lizard front have been slow because we haven't had as many lizards this year.  Over the past week, however, my lizard tolerance has been tested.  Hannah found a baby gecko in our music area last week.  It scurried under the piano pedals and we didn't find it.  For several days it didn't show up.

After a handful of days we caught a glimpse of the gecko and just as quickly as it hid under the piano, it ran into the grating around our fire place.

I would be lying if I said that I wasn't on high lizard alert by this time.

Late last week I came into the house after Bible study and found Claude standing over a clear plastic container, a tiny lizard inside - its tail wriggling outside.  Can you see why I can't handle these things?  He had spotted it on the windowsill in the kitchen, stunned it with some bleach just to slow it down so that he could catch it, and he set it loose in the front yard.

We had caught the lizard at large.  Or so we thought.

Less than an hour ago, after a lovely nap, I walked into the kitchen to find another baby lizard.  I sprayed it, caught it, and set it loose out front.  Was it the same lizard from last week?  The one that we assumed made its way from the fire place to the kitchen, hid all day, and only came out after bed time?

I don't think so. This guy had a full-length tail.  I know they grow back and all, but in just a few days?  I have my doubts.

My thought is that our gecko family has come back, somewhere in or very near our kitchen.  And they are abounding in offspring.  Sounds familiar, doesn't it?  ;)

This leaves me with a couple of questions, however.  Where is the musical lizard?  And where are these baby lizards coming from?

Maybe it's better if I just close my eyes and sing a happy song.  Ignorance is bliss, right???

Sometimes You Just Need to Remember

These are two of our favorite home videos.  On particularly rough days, Claude will sometimes play one or both of these.  They always make us smile...and if it's been especially stressful, I may even cry.  Either way we are encouraged that our children do communicate with others in more than snorts, growls, and screams.