Parent – Page 3 – Oh Lord Help Us

I’m a Failure

Parent, Stay SaneJune 3, 2015August 21, 2016

Life is full of trials and tribulations. We are constantly putting out one fire, only to turn around find another. Just when we think we have found our groove and that we have everything under control, the rug gets pulled out and we realize we never really had control in the first place. If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Are you starting to get the point? Are you tired of my analogies yet? Probably, but I know that you know what I’m talking about because we have all experienced this.

Our trials can take many forms. An annoying co-worker, disobedient children, fussy babies, an illness, yet another bill that can’t be paid, a spouse that just doesn’t seem to get you. Whatever it is, all of us are struggling with something. The question is, how do we handle those times when we are being tested?

Here’s what happened…

Earlier in the year my hubby had to go out of town for work. And let me just say, I am super spoiled that this rarely happens. I have a dear friend whose husband travels all the time. I don’t know how she does it, it would make me lose my mind. I depend heavily on my hubby and I don’t mind admitting it. The Lord gives us the grace to handle all of our different situations I suppose. Anyhow…he left town Sunday afternoon. That evening was alright because my dad and step-mom were visiting and I was enjoying my time with them. That night however….

It started with the fact that I had a nasty cough and couldn’t get to sleep until around 12:30. At 3:45 I awoke to the sound of foot steps running down the hall. My older son came barging in telling me that my younger son was throwing up. Wonderful. I hurry and rush to their room to find my 3 year old sitting in a puddle of vomit. But here’s the thing, we had just made bunk beds for the boys and naturally my older son got the top bunk. My younger son is such a snuggle bug, that he would wait for his brother to fall asleep and then crawl into bed with him. So my poor older son was awoken with his little brother throwing up in his bed. And this poor, pregnant mama had to clean up the vomit on a top bunk.

When I got into the room I went in to triage mode. What had to be done first? What was most urgent? First I had to clean it off the floor. Gross. Then I got my son out of the bed, stripped him down, and put him in the bathroom to get cleaned up. Then I got my older son settled on the couch since his bed was ruined for the night. Younger son was settled into his bed. Then the clean up began. Seriously, trying to clean this up on the top bunk while almost 6 months pregnant was no easy task. At 4:15 I made it back to my bed, but not before walking full speed into the corner of the wall. I had a goose-egg and bruise on my forehead for a week. Once in bed, I hear my younger son up again. He wants to hug. And his belly hurts. Let’s go hug in the bathroom. After getting sick again, I went back to bed and prayed that my other son and I would be spared from whatever this was. I could not get sick, especially not with my hubby out of town. Sleep was pointless since I would have to wake up in less than an hour. The next day was sure to be interesting since my folks were going to be leaving and I would be on my own.

It was actually quite comical the amount of things that went wrong the first 24 hours my hubby was gone, but I was quite pleased with myself on how I was handling it. I was calm and compassionate with my boys. I was even able to get everything done that needed plus some.

It was the next day that I blew it. I had an all-out-3-year-old-style temper tantrum. And I knew in that moment that I failed. I failed the test that I was given. And this got me thinking. How could I not have failed? Were there steps or precautions that I could have taken? What about things I could tell myself to stay calm? Absolutely. I recognized that the hour before bedtime was my most challenging time of the day, so I gave myself a count down. I only had to stay calm for another 45 minutes. And I gave the boys a countdown. Ten minutes to clean up, ten minutes to get bathed, 2 minutes to brush teeth, and then read a book. Once I implemented the plan, the rest of the week went smoothly.

What I learned…

I decided that it was alright, maybe even necessary to fail. Without failing, we won’t know what needs to be changed. We won’t learn. We won’t grow. I still believe this to be true, but my lesson in failing wasn’t over. A few weeks later, I failed again. I was then challenged with the thought that I CAN’T pass the test. I will never, ever, ever get it right.

See, I believe there is such a thing as “sin” and wouldn’t you know it, we all suffer from it. The world is consumed with it actually. And even more of a bummer is that I can’t fix it on my own. But see, I also believe there is such a thing as “grace” and thankfully we all can access it. So, the next time I was presented with the test of rising anger while dealing with these selfish, inconsiderate, deceitful creatures (known as my children) I went into a quiet moment and thanked Jesus for the grace that was given to me because he bore my sin of losing my temper. And then I thanked Him for the Holy Spirit that promises to give us a spirit of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, and faithfulness. That’s the the mom, wife, and friend that I desire to be. It was then that I was able to go to my children and teach them and correct their behavior and show them love. It was then that I was, yet again, changed by grace.

I’m Being Kicked Out

Parent, Stay SaneMay 25, 2015

For the past 7 and a half years I have had the privilege of being a member of the all so desirable “Boy Mom” club. And I have enjoyed it immensely. Now, come August of this year, I will no longer be a member. Yes, I am having a girl. And to be quite honest I have had some mixed emotions about this. And then guilt for having not all excited emotions. Truly, I think most people have been more excited about me having a girl than I have been about having a girl.

The most appreciated comment I received came from a mom that had three boys, and then a girl. She told me that she cried when she found out. She absolutely, positively did not want a girl. I so appreciated her honesty, because I was feeling quite cruddy that I wasn’t excited. She then went on to share how much her life has been blessed by having her daughter. Honesty and encouragement. Doesn’t get any better.

So, being the ever analytical person that I am, I began to wonder what my problem was. Why was I dreading this? Why wasn’t I excited? What was I afraid of?

Sure, there is the obvious answer of, I’m just use to having boys. I understand that the fascination of their penis begins at the infant stage. I expect them to wrestle until someone cries on a daily basis. It’s nice that they don’t care if their clothes match. And that the best toys are a pile of dirt and a stick. But it went deeper than that.

There is the fact that I am a girl and know the difficulties of growing up being a girl. Obvious, I know, but it was hard at times, and now I’m going to have to go through all of that again with her. And that just doesn’t sound like fun to me. But I survived, and so shall she.

On a selfish note, I like being the only girl. The queen if you will. And I feel a bit like my territory is being invaded. That’s not a pleasant admission. That’s an outright selfish, sinful, Lord-please-forgive-me admission. So after that was dealt with, I still was feeling a bit hesitant to be excited.

The final thing I had to deal with was my insecurities as a parent. See, with boys I feel like I can pass a lot of the responsibilities on to my hubby. He’s a boy too, after all. And I think my hubby is pretty stinkin’ great. So logically, my boys will turn out great too. But a girl?!?!? Holy crap!! That’s too much pressure! I’m definitely going to screw her up, I just know it! And that terrifies the crap out of me! Oh, but wait. God knows me and He knows my daughter in my womb. And He knew that I was the one to be the mother to her.

Oh Lord, help me to be the mother You want me to be!

Love Multiplied

Parent, Stay SaneMay 1, 2015July 24, 2016

I recall a conversation from several years back that a few of my friends were having about how much they loved their children. At the time, they all only had one and I was expecting my second. They were making comments about how they couldn’t imagine loving another child as much as they loved the one they already had (they all have more children now, by the way). And this got me thinking. There is not a set amount of love that we have in life that we have to divide among those around us. Love does not subtract. It multiplies!

Right now in life I am expecting my third child and we are in the process of being able to foster-to-adopt a sibling group. We have been very open with our boys about all of this, and have encouraged many and all types of questions. We have tried to not sugar coat anything. I’ve talked with them about the importance of being able to do more things on their own because I may not be available. And how some of the house rules may not apply initially for the adopted children since they are adjusting to us and we are adjusting to them. But I’ve really wanted to stress to them that my love for them will not change, and in fact our house will be even more full of love. So I drew it out and told the love story of our family.

It went like this:

First, there was Dad and I. He loved me, I loved him. Love multiplied by two.

Then we had our first son. And our love began to grow. Love multiplied by six.

Then our second son was born. And our love doubled! Love multiplied by twelve.

Now, we have a baby sister on the way. (Gasp!). Love multiplied by twenty.

And when we have siblings join our family?
Well, love will be flowing out of every nook and cranny of our home.
Love multiplied by lots and lots and lots!

Isn’t this a great love story?!?!

xoxo

I Am THE Tooth Fairy

Parent, Stay SaneApril 19, 2015July 10, 2016

I try to tell it to my children pretty straight. I figure if I talk to them matter-of-factly, then things won’t be a big deal. We’ve talked about why Pop can’t have sugar (diabetes), why my mom is not alive (cancer), and what those balls of skin are on women (yep, breasts). But there are things that we lie about or lie via omission. Mainly because they wouldn’t understand, or we want to protect their innocence.

A big one for us (and lots of others) has been Santa Claus. I was torn on how to handle this. Growing up the youngest of four, I never had a chance to believe in Santa Claus. I did grow up learning about St. Nicholas and the things he did for others and how that turned into what we now know about Santa Claus. So I figured this is what we would do with our children. But then one Christmas, when my older son was not yet 4, he said on his own that his presents were from Santa. He was not in school, and we rarely watch tv. I was shocked at how easily he believed, and disappointed that he didn’t know the gifts were from us. Now I play into it, but I feel a little bad about it every year, knowing that he will be heartbroken when he finds out.

I was all prepared to draw the line with Ol’ Saint Nick. Then he started talking about the Easter bunny. What the heck! He caught me in a mischievous mood last year and I said, “I have a secret! Dad. He is the….Easter bunny! Shhh, don’t tell anyone!” And that seemed to actually go over pretty well. He actually thought that my husband turned into a rabbit and brought kiddos candy.

My son has now started to lose his baby teeth. It was a long time coming. He was the last in his class to lose a tooth. This tooth was driving me nuts. It was so loose that it would stick straight out. I kept trying to get him to let me pull it, but he wasn’t going for it. Understandably, it was the first tooth and he was nervous about what to expect. I told him that I just wanted to wiggle it (a lie) and I pulled that sucker outta there! I didn’t win any parenting awards that day. He was quite traumatized. Eventually he calmed down and got excited that he had finally lost his first tooth.

Then the fun really began.

“Mom is the tooth fairy real?” Well, crap.

“What do you think?” Smooth, right?

“I don’t think she is.” This might not be so bad.

“Do you really want to know?” Should have stopped while I was ahead.

“Yes.” No! Don’t say it!

“The tooth fairy is not real.” Absolute heartbreak, massive tears, loud sobbing. “You said you didn’t think she was real!” Way to put it on the kid.

“But I wanted her to be!” Crap, now what.

“Okay, well maybe I’m wrong.” Way to really confuse the kid.

“Maybe you just haven’t seen her.” Sure.

“You’re going to believe whatever it is you want to believe.” Like I said, no parenting awards that day.

Of course that night I put a quarter under his bed. But not until I got dressed up. I thought, what if he wakes up. Then he’s going to blame me that I didn’t give the tooth fairy a chance to show up. So I put on a white skirt, a white tank top, white gloves, white scarf, and a tiara (everyone has white gloves and a tiara, right). With my pregnant belly, I was quite the site to behold. Ahh, the things we do for our kiddos. He of course did not wake up, but I did enjoy dressing up. The next morning he came out of his room in absolute triumph, “See mom! I told you she was real!” Sigh.

The next tooth he lost, I was feeling bold and didn’t dress up. I went in his room and started feeling around under his pillow. Stink! I couldn’t find it. I finally find it and he wakes up with my face about 8 inches from his. Quick! Think of another lie! “Are you ok? You were crying. It’s ok, go back to sleep.” Whew, that was a close one!

The next day he asked me if I was the one putting money under his pillow. I told him that I had told him the truth before, but he didn’t want to hear it. But that I had another secret for him. “I am the tooth fairy. Why do you think I became a dental hygienist. It’s my undercover disguise.” Clever, yes?

The third tooth he lost while we were having s’mores and he didn’t even know he had lost it. Not sure if it’s in the yard, or if he swallowed it.

“Mom, will I still get money even if I don’t have a tooth to put under my pillow?” Now it’s getting fun.

“This is an unusual situation, I’ll have to check my official ToothFairy Handbook to confirm protocol.”

That night, I just forgot to put the quarter under the pillow. The next morning I handed him the quarter and said, “I checked the rules, and it states that the tooth fairy can just hand you the money since there was no tooth to collect.” Parenting award granted.

At St. Patricks day he started talking about Leprechauns being real. Good grief. So I told him that his little brother was a leprechaun. Can you guess what we will all be dressing up as for halloween this year?

Dear Dog Owners, I Get It

Parent, Stay SaneFebruary 23, 2015

The most inconvenient thing happened. We got a dog. Wasn’t wanting a dog. Don’t need a dog. But alas, here I am typing with a dog pressed up against my arm. Which makes typing, in addition to other things, a bit more challenging.

Now, it’s not that I’m not a “dog person”. I grew up with a dog. And a cat, and a horse, and cows, and at one point my brother had birds and fish. But I have over the last several years found dogs to be quite annoying and would say that if I had to choose, I would prefer to be a “cat person”. Dogs smell, cats don’t (just the litter box). Dogs bark (like all the flippin time), cats purr. You don’t have to go out in freezing weather to walk your cat. Cats are independent, you can leave them for days at a time if you set out enough food. So, yes, I was more of a “cat person”. In fact, we had a cat until we moved to South Carolina. My sweet (and possibly insane, like myself) sister-in-law offered to keep our cat while we made our transition. I wasn’t sure how it would go since they were adding the cat to a household of 3 kids, 1 dog, and 1 existing feline. But they blended beautifully. They were attached to her and she was attached to them and I didn’t want to mess anything up, so they have her permanently now. And this has been fine other than the occasional comment from my older son that he wants to get her back.

Then, a little over a year ago, a week and a half after moving into our house we had a bit of an incident. The boys were in the front of our house playing on the driveway when I could hear my younger son crying. Now, he had just turned 2 and honestly cried all the time, so i didn’t run outside at first. But then it sounded like a hurt cry. As I was walking to the door I heard my older son yelling, “mom, mom! we need help!” I will never get the image out of my head of our neighbors 60 lb. dog standing over my 30 lb. son lying face down on the concrete. This dog had a vicious growl and bark, and I have never been so terrified in my life. As I was running toward the dog screaming and waving my arms, I was thinking to myself that I wish I had grabbed my sons t-ball bat, because I was going to beat the SH!T out of that dog. The dog backed away enough for me to grab my son and all of us ran as fast as we could to get back into the house. It wasn’t until we got inside that I realized my son was bleeding. He had been bitten on top of his head.

As a mother, you have moments where you enter super human mode and can remain eerily calm in a moment of crisis. Well, this was not one of them. I was in an absolute panic, so I called my husband, who called the neighbor, who of course was not home. Then I called another neighbor to see what I needed to do. I needed someone to think for me and act for me. And she did exactly that. She came right over, got the boys and myself into her car and drove us to the emergency room. It could have been so much worse. Like way worse. Like, I don’t even want to think about how much worse. The icing on our cake was that the dog’s rabies vaccine was not current, so our son had to go through a preventative treatment for it which consisted of a shot on either side of each puncture wound (8 total), a series of 4 immunization injections, and an oral antibiotic.

After that, it’s fair to say that I no longer trusted dogs. It wasn’t that I didn’t like them, or thought they were all bad, but I learned that no one thinks their dog will hurt someone until it happens. (On a side note, our neighbors took care of the dog and all medical bills). I think my older son and I were the ones most effected by this event. My youngest son acted like nothing ever happened. I don’t want any of my children to live with fear, so I knew that one day we would need to get a dog. Didn’t think it would be now. When I’m pregnant. And going through the fostering-to-adopt process.

Here’s how it happened. Last week we were cleaning up from dinner and my hubby says, “there’s a little white dog walking down the street.” See, we live out in the country and we see all sorts of animals, but a dog alone on a dead end road was a bit odd. So he went out to see if the dog had a collar with a tag. No collar. I made my mistake by picking her up. I was a goner before we got her in the house. I know, I know, how could I have brought this stray dog in the house. It could have fleas or worms (she didn’t) or pee (she did) or just be really dirty (she was). But we had really bad winter weather coming and we didn’t think she would survive, so she slept in the laundry room that night. She had long hair that was matted so badly it was the size of my hand and to her skin. But she was so happy, and so sweet, and so playful. We all fell in love with her that night. The next morning I took her to a vet to get scanned to see if see had a microchip. No chip = new pet for us. We got her vaccinated, and then off to the groomer. Three hours later, she was as sassy as could be, living up to her new name of Miss Scarlet.

It’s been an adjustment. We are having to re-house train her and are trying to figure out a good sleeping arrangement, but I don’t have any regrets. I use to think those bumper stickers that said “Who Adopted Who?” were dumb and corny, but now I kind of get it. I feel like she adopted us. Turns out I’m kinda a “dog person” afterall.

Photo credit Andre Spieker

Please Don’t Give My Kid a Trophy

Parent, Stay SaneNovember 9, 2014May 24, 2016

This past spring my older son wanted to play soccer. I wanted him to play t-ball. He had played t-ball the year before and did great. He made good contact with the ball, and hit it hard. He hustled on the field and usually got to the ball first. Like, even if it meant running from one side of the field to the other. Five year olds. I was excited to start my journey as a baseball mom. But I messed up and signed him up for soccer at the same time t-ball was happening. So I gave him the choice. And he actually thought about it. And had a good reason. Gotta give him some credit. He said that since he had already played t-ball, he wanted to try a new sport. Ok, fine.

Oh.Lord.Help.Us. For real. It was SO PAINFUL!!

Like myself, if he gets overwhelmed, he shuts down. Well, it’s so chaotic out there that all he does is jump up and down. He doesn’t kick the ball, he doesn’t block the ball, he just jumps. It drove me bonkers. Part of it is the age, part of it is personality, and part of it is upbringing I suppose. We drill into our kids to be kind, and gentle, and not aggressive. Then we put them on the field and want them to fight for the ball. He has the skill. He plays great when it’s just us at home. And he can be aggressive with his little brother. So frustrating.

But alas, all is well. I figure, we will go back to t-ball. That’s easier, not so chaotic. Your turn to hit. Ball comes to you, you get it. It’s not a mob-fest. Hold up, not so fast momma. See, he got a trophy at the end of last soccer season. Just like all the kids did. He is super proud of that trophy. He truly thinks he was a star player. Oh dear.

This past week basketball started. Yep, here we are again. My husband took him to his first practice. Near the end of the practice he texted me out of desperation and frustration. It was the same thing as soccer apparently. Leaving practice he says, “I can’t wait to tell mom how good I am!” As sweet as that is it makes me want to scream. My husband’s response was a gentle, “you have room for improvement.”

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m all for encouraging my (and all) children. And I’m even fine with awards. But let’s actually encourage something worthwhile. If you are going to give the kids trophies, then make it mean something. How about, “Johnny, you get the award for always trying your hardest,” or “Susy, you get the award for being the most encouraging to your teammates,” and of course include “Billy, you get the award for points scored,” and “Betty, you get the award for most blocks.” Do you like my use of names from the fifties? But now my son thinks he is great, when really, he needs to practice and put work into. He needs to get out of his comfort zone and be bold.

But this requires more effort of the coaches and the program as a whole. And, of course, more effort of us. This means we (my husband) will need to work with him, teach him, practice with him. Then, perhaps, he will not feel overwhelmed. Then he can focus on boxing out and getting rebounds (do you like how I’m throwing out basketball terms, like I know how to play). With work and effort, he can then feel proud of that trophy, because he did something to earn it.

I Got Screwed: Changing Our Perspective When Life Isn’t Fair

Love, Parent, Stay SaneOctober 4, 2014February 8, 2018

I got screwed. We all know what it feels like to have something unfair happen to us. We may need to change our perspective.

Here’s What Happened…

I’ve been running in this trail race series all year. It’s 6 races and you get points for whatever place you come in. Then at the end of the year they name an overall winner. Today was the fifth race and it was a 10K. So far I have come in 2nd place overall female 3 times, and 3rd place once. I felt like I would never get to come in first. Until today! I felt so good. Perfect weather, hubby running with me, and feeling good at a solid 7:30-7:45/mile pace. I was in first, with a solid lead. I was telling myself to not get too excited. Stay calm. Stay focused. And then it all slipped away.

We were suppose to be following yellow course signs. No problem. The course would be well marked they said. Well with about 3/4 of a mile left to go, there was a course sign that pointed left. Or so I thought. After realizing that I ran a complete loop, we figured out that the arrow was pointing the wrong way. ARE YOU KIDDING ME!!!! I was so angry. SO SO SO very angry. I had a good lead, but not that much. The other people apparently knew that the course didn’t go that way (although there were a few others that made the same mistake we did). I don’t know what place I actually ended up coming in at. It was too heart-breaking.

And then…

At the end, we did tell the race director, but all he could say was “sorry”. I then proceeded to vent to my sweet friend that was there as a volunteer because she hurt her Achilles. She understood, and shared my frustration with me, but I gotta say, she is so much nicer than me. She was feeling concern about people getting hurt out there because they wouldn’t be expecting that extra distance. That didn’t even occur to me. So as I was sulking, hubby says “keep it in perspective.” Not exactly what I want to hear. I was in a foul mood.

We leave to go get brunch (because crepes and lattes will improve anyones mood), and I tell him that I didn’t want to hear “keep it in perspective.” He further explained that I was totally right to be frustrated. He was frustrated too. It was really wrong what happened and poor on the race organization to not have it better marked. His point was, “don’t hurt anyone in your frustration.” Wow. What an insightful thought. My words can be really sharp, and that was very kind of him to try to calm me down before I could do damage.

So I’ve been pondering this, and I have some thoughts that I would like to share.

Thoughts…

First, I was happy that my kids weren’t there to see how I was acting. I definitely was not setting a good example. There have been many times that my older son has gotten angry because something wasn’t fair. And I’ve said to him “life is not fair” many times. I thought that I need to remember this feeling of life not being fair so that I can relate. It’s okay to feel frustration and disappointment, but are we going to hurt ourselves or others while we are pouting and throwing a tantrum?

Secondly, I began to realize that I was not mad I had to run further; I was mad that I didn’t come in first. What I wanted was recognition; A pat on the back. An “atta boy” as my father-in-law says. Wow, that’s petty. It’s not like there was a cash prize, or even a medal for that matter. Maybe I’ll have a piece of humble pie to go with my latte.

Finally, I did start to put it in perspective. I started to think of the things in life that truly aren’t fair. Yesterday a friend found out her mom has breast cancer. Screwed. Today a family member is going to spend time with a dear friend who has a rare type of cancer and can no longer take care of herself. Screwed. After the race my sweet friend told me of a guy that had a freak mountain bike accident and died. Screwed. On the way home I found out another friends sister is in the ER because a truck ran a red light. Screwed. When we got home our babysitter told us she just learned she can’t have children and has a mass in her brain. Screwed and screwed.

Thankful…

Life really isn’t fair. But we can still be thankful. I’m thankful for my husband that loves me enough to call me out. I am thankful for friends that make me want to be a better person. I’m thankful for where I live. And my health. And the ability to run.

I’m happy with my race today. I figure I just came in first in my 11K.

xoxo

Oh, the Hypocrisy!

Be Healthy, Parent, Stay SaneSeptember 21, 2014

We can all be hypocrites at some point in our lives on one subject or another. I was called out on one yesterday. By my hubby. He said he wasn’t trying to call me out. But he did.

Let me start by saying that I am very happy with my son’s school. I consider myself very lucky and blessed to be able to send him to a public school and feel good about it (maybe we can talk about this more at a later time). But there is one thing that absolutely drives me bonkers. The junk food. It is out of control!

Teachers give candy as rewards, kids brings treats in to share, the PTA sells slushies and ice cream to raise money. It’s so much. Why would teachers give out candy? If I were a teacher I wouldn’t want the students consuming sugar. Yikes! Can you imagine a class full of 6 and 7 year olds on a sugar high, and then the crash. Why do they want to make their jobs harder?

I have explained to him that it’s not that I don’t ever want him to have sweets. But I am going to limit it when I can. If a classmate brings in cupcakes for their birthday, I don’t mind because this doesn’t happen very often. And the good Lord knows I love me some sweets. You might even say I have a sugar addiction, which is why I don’t want him to consume so much. I know that he doesn’t need it and will be better off without it. With as much diabetes as there is in my family, I know I don’t need it either. But I feel like when I make desserts at least I know what’s in it. No high fructose corn syrup (just good ol’ fashioned sugar), no soy (just good ol’ butter fat), and no preservatives (just have to eat it before it gets moldy). A while ago I read an article that said if you want to be healthy, just make everything from scratch. That way you are less likely to eat bad stuff, because it takes times and effort. The problem with this is that I like to bake. If I have a hankering for cinnamon rolls, I make me some cinnamon rolls.

So now to the hypocrisy. Hopefully you all know about “Talk like a Pirate” day. It may be one of my favorite days. I learned about it by accident last year, and was happy to participate this year. Krispy Kreme has kind of taken this thing over. If you talk like a pirate they will give you a free doughnut. But if you actually dress like a pirate, you get a WHOLE DOZEN! Well, of course I did this! It’s saving money, right? Right?!?!? So I dressed up like a pirate, and dressed up my 3 year old like a parrot. HeeHee! We had lots of fun. But I didn’t really want for us to eat that whole dozen of hot, delicious, melt in your mouth goodness. I thought it would be fun to take them to my son’s school. We would surprise him at lunch to eat with him and then hand out the doughnuts to his classmates. Cool mom points, right? But what a hypocrite! Here I am not wanting my son to eat junk at school, feeling sorry for his teacher, and I’m taking in some of the most fatty, sugary treats possible. Did it stop me. Nope.

I think it’s important to do fun things with your kids. I think it’s important to be healthy. I think it’s important to be flexible. So I chose to share the doughnuts. Next week I’ll send celery sticks.

My House is Clean, and That’s OK.

Parent, Stay SaneSeptember 14, 2014May 24, 2016

My name is Rachael, and I like to clean. There, I said it.

I feel like there has been a movement of sorts to stop cleaning. I have seen several articles going around the social media scene about how people (we will call them moms) are accepting that their homes are not clean because they are busy being moms and taking care of and spending time with their children. Maybe this is because there is a crazy amount of pressure out there on us women to do it all and be it all and have it all and we are finally starting to crack under the pressure and rebel in our own little ways.

I completely agree with these articles, it is alright that homes are messy. But every time I would read one and then see one (because I had to stop reading them) I would feel so offended. See, I do have a clean house. I confess. I like things to be organized and I feel more at peace when things are put away. Why was I offended? Because I felt like they were implying that because I do clean, that must mean I’m neglecting my children somehow. But that is hogwash. I spend plenty of time with my children, taking care of their needs, and nurturing them in the ways they need. Daily I cook for them, clean them, read to them, do puzzles with them, color with them, train them.

Aha! There it is! I train them! See, a couple years ago I was expressing this guilt I felt (about having a clean home) to an older lady that has a PhD and had years of experience doing social work with children. And her response was a great encouragement. She said, “What’s wrong with teaching your children to clean and be responsible?” Oh, is that what I’m doing? So I’ve changed my perspective from “I’m just OCD” to “I’ll teach my kids to be OCD.”

When my older son turned five we introduced regular chores and he started to receive an allowance. It started with just making his bed, and has grown to making his bed, setting the table, clearing the table, dusting, cleaning windows, and helping with laundry. Then he started recruiting his 3 year old brother to help and he would give him part of his money. This is how I knew I could add chores for the little guy. He’s like an apprentice to my apprentice. It’s really cool to see their teamwork. We actually look forward to doing chores. My oldest knows that if he complains about the chores, he doesn’t get paid. If he asks to be paid, he doesn’t get paid. And he doesn’t get paid for everything. Dishes, making the bed, picking up are all standard stuff. Dusting, windows, laundry gets him 50 cents a job.

This is how we roll…

Picking up: I rarely clean up after my boys. For the most part they put their stuff away on their own when they’re done. This has taken training though. In the evening, about 10-15 minutes before dinner will be done (depending on how big the mess is), I set a timer and tell them to clean up. Whatever has not been put away by the time the timer goes off gets put into a basket and they will get it back the next day. This way their stuff is picked up before dinner, and after dinner we can focus on family time and baths and reading.

Laundry: They love loading clothes in the washer and moving them to the dryer and putting them in the basket. Like they fight over it. Weird kids. With their clothes, they are in charge of the socks. They have to sort and match, great for teaching colors to the 3 year old. For the towels, I fold the bath towels, 6 year old folds dish and hand towels, 3 year old folds rags. And we have conversation the whole time. We talk about some pretty deep stuff (for a 6 year old). This is what he craves, his “Love Language” if you will. To be with me and have me listen to him is so valuable. And the laundry gets done. Bonus!

Dusting and Windows: For this I turn on groovin’ music and we dance while getting it done. I’m usually cleaning bathrooms or sweeping while he does these.

Miscellaneous: If they leave their lights on, I take a quarter. I’ve explained to them that it costs money to use electricity and if they want to waste it, then they have to pay for it.

My strategy is, once my house is clean, it’s a lot easier to keep it clean. It’s never overwhelming to me, and I usually only spend 30 minutes at a time taking care of stuff.

I’m not saying you need to have a clean house. I truly could care less what your house looks like. And I agree that houses that are cluttered are fun to go to. And I know that sometimes, other things are going on and cleaning need to be put on hold.

We all have to do what helps us be calm. Because being calm, helps us to be better moms.