Current State of Affairs

I'm not going to say this parenting a preschooler and a teenager thing is impossible, but I will say it isn't always super-fun. Check out these voice texts between Tim and me when I was out much longer on Saturday than I'd intended:

I'm glad a sense of humor helps.

Playing Cars

I am very much in demand to play cars, morning noon and night.

I've never quite known how "playing cars" works, so I do a lot of zooming in a circle, hoping not to get dizzy.

There's a process and there are rules, but I'm not sure what they are. Sometimes it seems as if they are in flux. I only really know the rules when I break one.

If I stop moving for too long, such as to sip my tea or check Facebook on my phone, I get reprimanded. Not sure if this is how Keanu Reeves felt in the movie Speed, but I won't stop long enough to find out.

You're (not?) Going to Miss This

There were many things I was quite happy to be finished with, when it came to parenting.

And yet, that's not how things are panning out, with Sweet Andrew on the scene.

Things I never thought I'd have to experience again:

Lice
10 pm poster board emergencies
Potty Training
Play dates
Science projects
4th grade math
Bullies
Video games and screen-time limits
The glug glug sound right before projectile vomiting
"This is the worst day ever!"
"I hate you"
"I'm stupid"
Candy Land
Friend drama
Tantrums in public
Tantrums in private
Not making the team
Night terrors
Croup
My kid being left out
Back to school night
"But everybody's doing it!"
Boring stories about ____________ (Legos, Superheroes, Pokemon, Trains, Ponies, Calico Critters)
Chorus concerts
Eddie Haskells and Mean Girls
Time Out
Speech therapy
Mouth expanders
Standardized tests
Guppies
Hamsters
Driving lessons
Discipline issues
Reading logs
Homework
Sleepovers
Picky eaters
Amusement parks



There's a flip-side, of course...

Things I never thought I'd get to experience again:

Dimpled hands and thighs
Snuggles
Blowing raspberries
Chubby naked booties
Footy pajamas
Squeals of joy
Onesies
Peek-a-boo
"This is the best day ever!"
"Will you marry me, Mommy?"
Nightly baths
Hot Cross Buns on the recorder
Uno and Connect Four
Preppy clothes
School concerts
The tooth fairy
"I love you THIS much!"
Play-doh
Laptime
Naptime
Reading aloud
Mispronunciations
The barbershop
Vacation Bible School
Snow days
Making Valentines
The ice cream truck
Scooby Doo
Light sabers
Richard Scarry
Slow walks around the neighborhood
Stuffed animals
Splashing in puddles
Caterpillars and cicadas
Tag
Feeding ducks
Lightning bugs
Loveys
Giggles
Legos
Soft cheeks and ticklish necks
Homemade Mother's Day gifts
Local carnivals
Ruffling hair
Now I lay me down to sleep
Sandcastles and tide pools
Silly songs
Hooked on Phonics
Late night musings
Love notes
Making the team
Puzzles
Jesus Loves Me this I Know
Playing chase
Holding hands
Being brave
...and so much more


I am grateful.

And I know I'll do my best to handle all the stuff on the first list too, and enjoy it as much as possible, even if it won't be easy.

Except LICE.  Please God, no lice.

Brotherly Love

Adventures in Diapering

I'm sure Jack and Margaret must have done some squirming when we changed their diapers, but  Andrew makes diaper changes an Olympic event for both of us. And it's painfully obvious, this Mama is no Olympian.

Months ago, we moved the changing pad to the floor, since his lunging in every direction was heart-stopping. He's much safer on the floor, but it gives him too much room to work with as I try to man-handle him into a diaper.

Poopy ones are my favorite.

He gets suspicious as I carry him up the stairs. When I place him on his back, he starts to wail at the injustice, perhaps lamenting that excrement removal keeps him from his favorite activities of immersing his hands in the toilet, reorganizing the pantry, crab-crawling his way up the stairs, or changing my Facebook Profile picture while messing with my phone.

I start in Veteran Mama pose as I breathe deeply and try to press his little body down with one hand,  lifting his chubby feet with the other. A quick release of his torso to whisk the poop-filled diaper away gives him the opportunity to perform a quick flip and land in what I like to refer to as The Wheelbarrow.

This is when his head and chest face downward, he's twisted in the middle, and I have his legs and bottom raised high in the air. He paddles his arms in a swimming motion off of the end of the changing pad and onto the floor. Before I lose my grip on his legs and my mind, I attempt to dislodge any large clumps of poop.

Then the quick little rascal scoots away, his prodigious rear so clenched and dimpled, it's nearly impossible to make progress on the more recessed areas of his nether-regions. "Crack is whack," I mutter, as I nab him by the trailing snaps of his onesie and try to gently poke a wipe where it  really needs to be. His body may be stationary for the moment, but his legs stay moving in a cartoon-style running motion.

When I lose my grip on the onesie, clearly taking a deduction on my final score, he darts out his door into our tiny hallway, grabs the baby gate, which I have (thankfully) locked, pulls himself up, and clings to the bars like a unduly happy circus animal.

My 47 year old shoulders ache from effort, but I know we're near the finish line. I crawl up behind him on the hardwood floor, give him a loud smoochy smooch on the soft folds of his neck and finish my floor routine with Standing Diaper, something moms have perfected over many decades. It's slightly inferior to Regular Diaper, as one chubby cheeks seems to be hanging out more than the other, but it'll do.

He's no longer stinky, or confined, or angry. I conclude a diaper and an unsnapped onesie is perfectly appropriate indoor winter wear, because I'm not about to wrassle him back into pants. I scoop him up, and we head back downstairs to take a bow, hoping that the next poop is hours away.

Lasagne!

Because baby's first lasagne requires a handsome elf and an immediate bath:

Caught not Taught: More Lessons from My Mother

One day I was a young college student, thinking that my mother would always be there to pick me up if I fell down; the next I was a motherless daughter.

In the decade between when I lost her and when I began having children of my own, I had plenty of time to consider what her mothering meant to me. In realizing that only 18 years of memories had to last a lifetime, I soon became aware of what stood out as important, and what would most influence me as a mother. 

Rather than any grand gestures, the secure gift of her presence impacted me the most, and I try to give that to my children despite a distraction-filled life. 

You see, she was the mom who would stop what she was doing to play board games with rowdy teenagers, or cut our boyfriends’ hair on a tall stool in the kitchen. That’s also where we’d find her when we wanted to talk. Speaking of kitchens, ours was a messy one, papers piled high the counters, yet there was always room for one more person at the table at dinnertime. 

Remembering her generosity with her time and her heart made me want to parent the way she did, in a loving and relaxed way. When I became a parent, and my own competitiveness and perfectionism threatened to sink me, I’d remember my mother. If I got wrapped around the axel about my daughter not sleeping in her crib, I’d remember the comfort folding myself into my mother’s soft body in bed when I didn’t feel well. When I’d get embarrassed that my son acted silly in class, I’d remember a mother who never made me feel bad for the low marks on my own report card under the heading, “Exhibits Self Control.”

I could remind myself that sleep methods would come and go, and report cards would end up tucked away in a folder somewhere, but being a present mom, not a perfect one, could last a lifetime, even after I was gone.

What she gave me most, in life and in death, I believe, is perspective. The perspective to realize that a child in the bed now and then, does not lead to an adult in the bed. That, like me, my kids would someday learn to exhibit self control. And that while I felt much calmer with clutter-free countertops, clutter wouldn’t detract one bit from my kids’ childhood. 

And, unlike my friends who still had their mothers. I knew that it could all vanish in an instant. 

Sad as that sounds, those who experience loss are often given this unsought gift of knowing what is important. Instead of running myself ragged trying to construct for my children the “perfect childhood,” lest it all be ripped away in an instant, perspective gave me permission to create tiny rituals and play to my strengths, which is what my mother did.

Mom would pull a large jar of Peter Pan peanut butter out of a brown paper grocery bag and place it wordlessly on the counter. It was a silent challenge. Whichever kid noticed first would grab the jar, open it, and scoop a finger full of peanut butter out, earning bragging rights. Skiing in the alps, it wasn’t, but it taught me that the tiny rituals are what knit families together. I may be much less laid back than my mom was, but I can institute Ice Cream for Breakfast Day on the first snow day of the year, make up silly sayings as I drive around town with my kids, tell the same old stories as I unpack the Christmas ornaments each year, and stay up later than I want to if my teenager finally feels like talking.

Mom was a lackluster costume maker and a mediocre gift giver. But she could decorate the heck out of a house and patiently read the same chapter books over and over. She practiced hospitality in our home and wherever she went with her big smile and ready laugh.  Most importantly, she saw her three kids as distinct individuals, not just extensions of herself. 

I can't bake cookies worth a darn, and the family is much happier on nights when Daddy cooks dinner. I get grumpy when the house is a mess, and you wouldn't want to talk to me in the morning before I've had my 3rd cup of tea. My hair braiding skills are just as bad as my math ones. But I can find  humor in most circumstances, I apologize often, and I'm pretty good at seeing someone else's point of view. I am extremely loyal, will keep confidences, and am a generous ice cream scooper and snuggler. 

The way I remember my mom-- she was a flesh and blood person who loved hard and didn't try to do or be all things to all people. She was enough. 

The gift of her presence, and the impact of tiny rituals, not grand gestures, whether they were based on her religious faith or even a silly jar of peanut butter are what I remember most, and what helped me formulate my own To Do/To Be list as a mom.

1) Be present

2) Have Perspective

3) Play to your strengths

4) LOVE

Of course, some days are easier than others.

What would your To Do/To Be list look like?