Don't Cry Over Spilled Milk!!

They say that a picture is worth a thousand words. I didn't take a picture, so I'll have to create the scene with words instead.

It was late morning. The twins were sitting at the bar, finishing their school work. Since it is winter, and I'm feeling festive I offered to make everyone a hot drink. The orders were coming in fast a furious. "Cider- no, hot chocolate, with a candy cane!" "I want 6 small mallows in mine." "Honey, I'll take the Starbucks hot chocolate made with milk, please." Elyse was crying over her missed Spelling words, and the fact that she'd have to write them each 5 times, proclaiming that, no likes her she's in the 3rd grade and I can't spell! She was to preoccupied with her crisis to order up a beverage. I looked up from the weeping mass that was my 3rd grader, only to see that her younger sister had tied one end of a scarf to a bar stool and the other end to the Baker's rack, and was trying her best to Limbo under it without falling. It really was all I could do to keep myself from laughing, long and loud.

Meanwhile, my son was recounting for me that Ramon, one of the contestants on The Biggest Loser, used to order 20 Soft Tacos when he went to Taco Bell. Wanting never to miss a teachable moment, and because my sweet son loves numbers, I proceeded to tell him that a Soft Taco is $1.59 and that Ramon spent over $30, just on one meal at Taco Bell and that didn't even include his drink. Armed with that juicy nugget of information, his eyes grew wide as he declared that eating too much is really EXPENSIVE!

Then it happened, as I was chuckling at the chaos around me I heard a hiss and a sizzle. My milk had boiled over. Don't cry over spilled milk came to my mind, immediately.

Seldom, do I just embrace the mess along with the moment, but for once, I did. I let the scorching, curdling, white globs on my stove teach me a lesson. Messes can be cleaned up, but moments can never be re-captured.

I'm going to try to remember to live in the moment, especially during the holidays, when added stresses make me a little less likely to stop and smell the roses.

I'm going to try to remember to smell the Evergreen, relish the sights, savor the tastes, absorb the sounds and feel the warmth and goodwill that only this season can bring.

So, here's to merry memory making!!!!!!

Cheers...

"Mommy?"

One blurry eyelid opens, then the other. I roll over, to see the silhouette of my 5 year. She's standing with her hand outstretched, clutching a Kleenex. "I have to blow my nose." I sit up, squeeze one nostril, then the other, satisfied she goes back to bed, for 5 minutes. In the last 20 minutes, she's been up 7 times, once to blow her nose, once to tell me she's coughing, once to tell me that she thinks her brother is sick, once to tell me she needs another blanket, once to tell, me she thinks her tummy hurts, another to tell me she might throw up, and then again to let me know she didn't really have to throw up, she just needed to go potty. I appreciate her keeping me so well informed at 2:50 in the morning, really I do. OKAY, that was sarcasm. I'm now wide awake, with little to no chance of going back to sleep, anytime soon.

So, since I'm wide awake and my mind is churning I thought I'd write about what a privilege it is to be the go to girl in the middle of the night. If I choose to look at it the right way, the fact is, that I'm needed, wanted, and preferred. Who else could help my daughter blow her nose quite so expertly? No one.

As the mommy I get to know it first, the good, the bad, the curious. I get help my daughter not only blow her nose, but I also get to help her navigate through life's ups, downs, trials and joys. That is a weighty responsibility. Sometimes, I don't feel up to the task. At those times though, I have to ask myself, "Would I really want to leave the responsibility to anyone else?" Looked at in that light, what are few interruptions in the middle of dream time?

I'm finding, that like anything else, it's all in how you look at it... So, here's to Rose-colored glasses at 3 am. and as a personal side note, it really helps to have a sense of humor.

Happy parenting!!!!!

Even if....

I didn't have visible signs of it marked in my flesh you would still know. There is a thin, white, horizontal scar four inches below my navel. There are telltale dark circles under my eyes from broken sleep. There are the distinct set of lines in my Gabella from making the "You're in so much trouble!" face. All of these and many more physical manifestations, announce to the keen observer that I am a mother. Some people say that motherhood is a badge. I say, it's a full out costume that not only disguises your outsides but morphs and changes every aspect of your insides as well.

Becoming a mother means that nothing is your own. You have to make room in your heart, because it will be utterly taken over by the love you feel for your child or children. You have to make room in your house for all of the "stuff" children need. You have to make room on your bookshelf for board books about colors and shapes. You have to make room in your bed for those nights when your children are sure there are monsters in their closet. You have to make room in your thoughts, because you will never be able to go for 5 minutes without thinking about your child for one reason or another.

In essence there is no escaping the life altering, phenomenal changes that accompany the introduction of a child into your life. I would never want to escape any of it. Each line, each grey hair, each body part, permanently changed, it's part of the package, the package that makes life so much fuller, sweeter and more complete.

I will, however, welcome the day when I no longer find hair bows, fruit snack wrappers, and dried out wipes in my purse. At this very moment I'm chuckling because in the pockets of my robe there is; one penny, one glue stick, a yellow crayon, one marble and a piece of paper with scribbles on it... Even if I didn't have physical markings of motherhood, all you would have to do is go through my pockets and you would know the circumstantial evidence is overwhelming.

I am a mother.

They Say That Breaking Up Is Hard To Do....

The Carpenters said it best, perhaps they knew all about messy relationships?  If you've lived long enough there's a chance you do too.  Good Bye, isn't easy, whether you're letting go of a significant other, a friend, lover, spouse, co-worker, parent, child.....

Fortunately, I'm not letting go of a meaningful relationship.  Unfortunately, I prying my fingers lose from a dream, a way of life, a chapter of my story that I don't feel done writing yet.

I came to this place full of expectations.  It was Spring, Spring naturally lends itself to new beginnings.  I wont say that it was love at first sight, but there was certainly promise and hopefulness in our meeting.  In the six and a half years since I've lived here, the Little Yellow House on the Prairie has been the place I've truly felt at home.  It's not been a house, or a place to lay my head, it has been my home.  Put simply home is defined as a place of residence, or refuge.  For me, home is a feeling, not an actual structure with Dry-Wall and carpet.

In coming here I brought my desire for space and room, room to move, a quiet place to nest, and reflect, to nurture and tend, and that is exactly what I got.  The sky is big here, the view is breathtaking, the quiet is soothing, and there is openness everywhere I look.  I've never felt claustrophobic or confined here, sheltered maybe, but never confined.

This is the place that my oldest child will remember as her first home.  It's the only home my younger children have ever lived in.  Manning Road has been more than our address it's been, a frozen pond in the Winter where my children ice skate.  It's been an open Soccer Field, where kicks are practiced, goals are scored, balls caught.  A veritable treasure trove of outdoor experiences have been shared here.  From Bike Paths,  to rigged Water Slides created from Swing Set parts, Easter Egg Hunts,  Fourth Of July Bashes, Birthday Parties, Mud Fights, countless bon-fires and s'mores....  Over time I'll try to feel and relive my favorite of the sweet memories that I've had here, and I'll smile a  bitter sweet smile, and wonder if I will always look back at my time here as the "Golden Years" of my family's life.

It seems fitting that I should be leaving this place in the Autumn, a time of beauty and change that ushers in an end known as Winter.  I'll only drive the winding road along the river a few more times.  There wont be anymore Early Morning Runs around the loop.  I doubt I'll get a chance to bid the Elk farewell, because there are still a few boxes to pack and a few to- dos left on my list.

The melancholy wont last too long.  It's not in my nature to pine endlessly.  Soon I'll be excited about the next stage and the next chapter that is yet to unfold, yet to be written.  I don't know what lies in store, or where our path will lead us next, but in truth, there is a big part of me that I'm leaving here...

I really do hate good-byes!  For me, breaking up is VERY hard to do...

Congratulations...... Twins!!!

My husband prayed for twins.  I prayed that God would have mercy on me, and ignore my husband's request.  Obviously, God likes my husband better!

Our twins will be five tomorrow.  I find myself wide awake at this insane hour contemplating their brief time here on this earth, reliving some of their finer moments, wondering about their future and so on....

Honestly in my early 20s I had no interest whatsoever in having children.  I didn't like them, they didn't like me, and I was perfectly content with the notion of never being a parent.  Then, I met Steve, who had wanted to be a parent since he was in the 5th grade.  Before we got married he made me promise that I would at least consider the possibility of having children someday.  I conceded.

After four years of marriage I'd experienced a complete change of heart.  I was suddenly willing, to not only consider children but to start having them.  Three long years later we met Elyse, our firstborn.  We had spent years observing our friends who were parents.  We had read countless books on parenting, attended conferences, listened to sermons, and still nothing could have prepared us for what life would be like with her.

Elyse and I had fun.  I'd throw her in the jog stroller and we'd go the the park everyday to swing.  She'd sit in my lap and I would sing to her,  this was before she could talk and voice a protest about my singing.  We read books.  We went for walks.  We traveled.  In fact, I had so much fun being a mommy to Elyse that I was sure she needed a sibling to add to the giggles and good times, and Steve, the one with the great Kid Karma, was all for it.

As is typical with us, we decide something, like, "let's have another baby" and then it takes years for that something to come to fruition.  I'm not sure why that is?  Perhaps it's to teach us patience, or build character?  Who knows?

I remember the day I realized I was pregnant again.  I'd started craving celery and Tomato Juice.  I was short of breath over the slightest exertion, and I'd acquired a metal taste in my mouth, all telltale signs of pregnancy, for me.  I was thrilled when the little stick confirmed what I already knew.  However, when my friend and fellow sonographer Justina said "um.... I see two heartbeats!"  My first reaction was to scream, and not with elation!!!  Actually, I think I may have even uttered an oath or two.  I knew all too well the danger of carrying twins, the added work and sleeplessness that two babies simultaneously, would bring and I wanted NO part of it.

In short, my twin pregnancy was wretched, my twin delivery was nearly fatal, and my first 6 months as the mommy of twins and a 4 year old, was so awful that I've completely blocked it from my mind.  But, that was then, and this is now.

 Now, I watch my two little, five year old people, and I can't imagine doing anything differently.  They are like night and day.  They are eachother's biggest fan, and biggest foe, concurrently protective and abusive.  They laugh, play, run, scream and get into all sorts of mischief together.

For the record, I forgive God for giving me twins, I even forgive my husband for praying for them.  And if I'm really honest, I could never again, imagine my life without them!

Happy Birthday, Snoofola Poofola and Yoni Baloney, I love you all the way to Heaven and back!!!!

The wheels on the bus go round and round....

round and round all through the town, and my children aren't on it!

 I have been enjoying all of the pictures of children dressed up in their new digs, with back packs slung over their shoulders and enthusiasm written all over their faces.  The various comments from parents who are sending their children off for the first day of school, for the first time, or the 10th, have also been fun for me to hear.  Some parents cry, and some parents sigh with relief when it's time to go 'back to school' shopping.  I do believe there is something fresh and exciting about starting all over again,  the air is vibrating with anticipation for what the new year will bring.

I remember watching my oldest child stand at the window on a frosty, dark, morning last school year.  She was gazing out at the flashing lights of the school bus that was stopped in front of our house.  She turned to me with a look of genuine empathy etched on her 7 year old brow.  "Mama, I'm glad I don't have to go stand out in the cold and wait for the bus.  I just got out of bed!"  It struck me at that moment that some small part of her felt fortunate to be staying home with me.  I know, however that I am, the real lucky one!!

I'm lucky enough to be the one to experience the thrill and frustration of learning new things with my children.  Watching the light go on when they've mastered a concept, or seeing the pride in their faces when they've done well at whatever they've put their hand/mind to is truly one of my life's greatest satisfactions.  Curling up on the couch with books, a cup of tea and an eager mind is pretty satisfying as well.

Home Schooling isn't for everyone.  It's hard.  It is filled with pits of angst and frustration.  There is monotony mixed in with the glorious-ness!  For now though, I can't imagine putting my children on a bus.  I'd be missing out on too much.  At some point I may send them out into the unknown, just not yet!   I'm going to be selfish and keep their preciousness, at home, with me for a little longer.

To all of you fellow parents, here's to a new school year, lunch boxes, the smell of erasers, brand spanking new shoes, and boundless opportunities for learning, for us as well as for our children.

Cheers!!

Do as I say, not as I do!!

In general I disagree with the premise of not practicing what we preach. However, every now and then my mommy-hood-ness gives me license for things that I don't allow my children to do, for instance BITING!

The rule in our house is no hitting, no biting, and for pity's sake, keep your hands to yourself!!

Some rules are made to be broken. This morning I was standing in the kitchen and Jonas, my early riser, wandered all sleepy headed from his bedroom. He looked so deliciously rumpled that when he came over for his morning hug, I couldn't help but chomp on his neck a few times. There is something about the way that boy smells, tastes and squeals in protest, that makes my heart sing and my spirit feel light. Nuzzling him is the equivalent of drinking in all of his goodness.

On the off chance that you need permission, or motivation, let me encourage you to nibble on your children today, or someday soon, I guarantee it will make you and your child happy!

"When I'm growd up!"

Snoofus Poofus and I have been spending some quality one on one time together the last two days, or so. She's been sick, so I've been her companion while Daddy has been keeping the other Munchkins busy.

Yesterday she informed me that she is always going to be my "baby girl" even when she's growd up. I responded with my customary "really", in order to get her to expound further. It works every time. She said, "yes but I'm not going to live with you!" "Okay" I say. She says, "Because I want to get married, and I can't live with you if I'm married! So, at this point of course I'm curious, and have to ask, "Why do want get married Snoofie?" "I want to get married because, it's fun to kiss on the lips!" she says. In order to take the sting out of her refusal to live with me once she's married, she promises to build her house in the back yard, close enough so that we could walk back and forth to each other's houses. What a relief!

The last time we had a similar conversation she told me that she wants to get married so that she can have kids, and that she will LET me babysit, but that I'm not allowed to spank her kids. She says she's only going to put her kids in "time out" when they're naughty. Let's hope her off spring respond to "time outs" a little better than she does.

These priceless conversations give me little peeks into the workings of my precocious 4 year old's mind, and I adore what I see there. The above conversation let me know a few things, one: she sees being married as something happy, two: she wants to have a family and three: she likes me enough at this point, that living in the back yard seems ideal to her. All of her stated ambitions communicate that, for the most part aside from (spankings) she wants to replicate, in her adult life, what she observes in her parents life.

I'm sure Snoofie will, to some extent outgrow her current desires, at least the part about living in the backyard, and that's OK. What I hope she holds onto, however, is her desire to be surrounded by, family, friends, and someone who loves and cherishes her. If my daughter is as happy and blessed in her adult life as I've been in mine, I will be pleased and thankful, indeed!!

Somethings We Should Never Outgrow!

A long year of music lessons was coming to an end. It was the last class, and we were all, ready to be done, each for different reasons. I had one more mostly painful Tuesday afternoon session to endure, my final 60 minute guilt trip, over having not practiced, note recognition, and Mr. Snowman, more faithfully with my 4 year old.

Jonas was up, his turn had come, I felt more tense than he did. I squeezed his arm a little too hard, my expression was a little too stern, I wanted to communicate to my son with my non verbal gestures that it was time for him to focus. My cues did not cause him to straighten in his chair, he did not get his fingers into position, instead he looked at me with tears brimming, and said, "I'm having a bad day! Can I get some loving?"

I was immediately contrite, feeling fresh guilt, and remorse, this time for wounding my son's fragile sensibilities, and for not noticing that he needed patience, much more than he needed to be whipped into shape.

After some reflecting on our little non musical exchange, I'm left wondering, when did I begin to see my own emotional needs as weakness? Why am I, as an adult afraid to say, "I'm having a bad day. Can I get some loving?" Is it really more mature to assume that people should read my mind and know what I need or want? Is it more grown up to grow resentful over my loved ones' inability to read my mind correctly?

Although it feels needy and vulnerable, I wonder if it wouldn't be better for me to take a page out of my son's book? Perhaps I should let his simple entreaty teach me something about how I should communicate? Maybe, just maybe, I could learn to express myself in a way that inspires compassion, rather than defensiveness in those around me? Maybe....?????

My children really have taught me as much as I've taught them!

Sometimes I Love It When They Cry!

Before you conclude that I am sick and twisted, let me explain. It's June (summer in most parts). Summer means that I, the mommy, spend, weeks, days, and long, long hours at my other job, the non-mommy job.

I love my work, love the patients, (except for the ones that don't bathe), love my Doctors, love the people that I get to work with. In short it's a nice break for me, the mommy, to get out of the house and do something that stimulates the clinical side of my brain.

Today was the first day, of my long summer stint of days, at the hospital. I came home around 8:30. The twins had already been in bed for a little while. My Buddy Boy, had gotten up to use the bathroom at which point he saw me. I kissed him good night, thinking that would be the end of it. Five minutes later he came into my room indignant about something. I told him it was bedtime, and I'd see him in the morning. Ten minutes after that, my husband came into our room and asked if I could go console The Man Cub?

Peeking into his room, I saw him, boo hooing for all that he was worth, face buried in his pillow. I scooted him over, laid down on his single mattress with him, and began to stroke his back, then his hair. The crying stopped. He turned over, and with our noses touching, he sighed, lip quivering, he drifted off to sleep.

Something about the way my son missed me today warmed my Mother's Heart. Very soon there will come a day, when I'll have to twist his arm for the privilege of a Good Night Kiss. So for tonight, I'll cherish the fact that nothing else in the world can soothe the woes of my children like their mommy!

Cherish the sight, smell, sound and feel of your children, in this moment, before the moment changes forever.

Good Night...

Tell Me About When I Was a Baby..

I woke the other morning to the sound of fruit being chopped and my 4 year old daughter's voice. She was asking my husband about when she was a baby. Rather than tell her, he decided to show her. He plugged the camcorder into the computer, brought out her birth video, and let the memory unfold in front of her.

Blurry eyed and exhausted, I pushed back the covers, and followed the pull toward Memory Lane.

I watched myself as a drugged, helpless, almost lifeless, being, go through the drama of delivering twins. I watched the fear play across the face of my husband, I watched medical professionals, move with frenetic efficiency around me, and our babies. I watched almost transfixed, traumatized.

I was surprised to feel such diverse and conflicting emotions simultaneously, as my eyes were glued to the screen. I seemed to be having an odd out of body experience, as though I were watching someone else, a different family, one that looked an awful lot like mine. More than anything, I felt a momentary panic, an almost desperate need to seperate myself from the scene, from that stage, yet perversely drawn to it at the same time.

I had an overwhelming desire to not go back. I didn't want to remember, the pain, the anxiety, the uncertainty, the sleeplessness. It struck me then, that time is merciful and that the memory softens what was reality. Moving on, is almost always better. I want to remember that.

I want to remember, when I'm having those fleeting feelings of my life slipping away that it isn't slipping a way, it's just entering a new chapter.

I also want to remember that each stage has it's sweetness and hardship, and that to live fully I need to embrace and learn from both. I want to parent with grace, for myself and for my children, so that, when I stroll down memory lane, either in my mind or on screen, I can feel a sense that I embraced the moments while I was in them, a sense that I was present, and that the next stage demands that I be present as well.

Regardless of how old my children are, how they got here, or what their birth experience was like.... I'm a mother, and that is a gift, a gift I plan to cherish.

Your Children Might Be Rednecks If.....

I know that at some point I should make them wear shoes, make them keep their clothes on, and insist that they stop peeing outside, but.....

I've been watching my children run wild outdoors a lot in the last week or so. The weather has been nice, which means they almost never want to come inside. It has done wonderful things for my soul to see my 3 little people sit together on the porch swing, I listen to them pretend, all manner of different things. They pretend they're on a train to somewhere. They speak in British accents, usually one of them is the parent, and so on. I feel as though I'm a fortunate eavesdropper, who is listening in on their childhood. As I listen in, I become saddened by the fact that they're getting older by the second, and pretty soon they wont be quite so easily entertained, by the simple pleasures, of lots of space, and sibling camaraderie.

I can't stop time, but I can stop and smell the roses now and then. I can watch, listen, engage, and enjoy these sweet spring days. The imaginations of my energetic tribe are blooming way better than my very neglected Lilac Bushes along my back fence. I never was much of a green thumb with regard to plants. I seem to be better a growing happy children.

Hopefully they'll continue mature, the way they should, but even more importantly, I pray I remember to let them be KIDS, even if that means they never want to wear shoes.....

Desperately in search of the magic potion!

I have every hope of finishing strong, but little to no energy, to ensure that it happens.

I've been wondering lately how school teachers do it? How do they manage to steer, teach, direct 25-30 children, 5 days a week, 9 months out of the year? Perhaps I should hunt down a teacher and ask him/her.

As a Home Schooling Mommy, with one student, I'm fresh out of get up and go. We have 76 hours left to complete the required time allotment for second grade. It might as well be 1000 hours, because 5 more seconds seems like more than I can bear at this exact moment.

This year has been amazing. I've loved nearly every moment of it. We've had Viking Funerals, colored murals of the Battle of Hastings, we've sprouted seeds, dissected flowers, made costumes of empresses, counted endlessly, written dates, worked with manipulatives, read fascinating biographies, and the list goes on.

This school year, I've learned as much as my second grader. Perhaps I shouldn't admit that. The most important thing for me as a teacher, at this point is to instill in her a love of learning. I want her to be curious about everything. I want her to learn how to think, and reason. Most of all at the end of my time as her teacher I want to look back and be able to say that my pupil is intelligent, wise, kind, compassionate and discerning.

Maybe all I needed after all, was to re-visit my goals. Seeing them may have given me enough energy to get through this day and possibly, the next 75 hours as well. However a little magic potion couldn't hurt either...

If you know where I could get some???

When was the last time...

you had a perfect day?

We spent lazy, spring, afternoon moments, lying on our backs, shielding the sun with our forearms. We talked about why people's faces turn red when they laugh? Why jets make white streaks across the sky? And what was the name of that movie, about a boy and a cave?

When he'd finished with his questions, I asked a few of my own. Who loves you the most? Who do you love? All the while, knowing that my name would be near or at the top of the list.

Eventually, he grew restless as little boys often do. I managed to keep him with me a little while longer by stroking the inside of his arm with my fingers. He loves it when I do that, it puts him in a near trance.

Before long he was off in search of backyard adventure, and a snack. My mommy allure can hardly compete with his constant appetite for food, and fun.

Watching him walk away it struck me that, I am ABSOLUTELY in love with my 4 year old son.

It also struck me that I need to chronicle perfect days like today. I need to put down on paper the bright blue of the sky, the fluffy whiteness of the clouds, the smell of new, spring green grass, the gentle whisper of the breeze and the buzzing of flies just waking up from a long winter nap. But even more than all of that, I need to memorize, catalog and drink in the amazing sense, that in this moment, EVERYTHING is perfect!!

The Pity Pot, not my favorite seat!

I've been feeling funky the last few days. If you must know I had a horrid Mother's Day. I've decided to put the blame where it should really lie. Marketers and distributors do their utmost to convince you, that there is a day in which it IS all about you. If you're a mom who is occasionally weary, you sink your teeth into the notion that on May 8th or whatever day in May Mother's Day happens to fall on, that on that day you will truly be able to wallow around in the notion that the world is stopping to pay homage to your sacrifice. If on that day you realize that the world couldn't care less it's a bit disillusioning, and you reel from the disappointment of unmet expectations, even if you're not sure what you expected.

It's not true. The problem is that as a mother, it's never all about you. The question can be raised about whether or not it even should be. Motherhood in and of itself is about sacrifice. Going from sacrifice to complete indulgence is a pretty big paradigm shift, even if it is just for one day.

I haven't decided exactly how to reconcile all of my mixed emotions about expectations, and disappointments. What I have concluded is that sitting, stewing, and feeling sorry for myself is an ugly practice that does no good, not for me or for those around me.

Here's to pulling up the boot straps, being thankful for my blessings, most specifically my children, and recognizing that life and everyday is what you make it.

No Such Thing....

Quality time is an oxymoron. There is no such thing as quality time. There is only quantity time. Sometimes the quantity time you spend with your child will be of good quality and sometimes it will be of lousy, painstaking, and truly annoying quality.

~Betty Londergan

I love Betty. She's hilarious, irreverent, brutally honest about parenthood and well worth reading, if you have a sense of humor. I found this particular quote insightful, and alarmingly accurate. In our quest to make ourselves feel better about the time we take away from our children, we prefer to consider the time we give them "quality" since it's not quantity. The unholy truth is that YOU can't decide if it's going to be a quality or not. A child or life with children is unpredictable. Those carved out moments that you have set aside for quality time, may be the same moments your kids have their knickers in a twist about something, and no matter how hard you try, they will not be forced into having MEANINGFUL engagement with you. Such is life.

I'm slowly learning to roll with it, and want to encourage you to also. Take the moments you've been given whether they are many or few and make the most of them. Try not to treat your agenda like it's sacrosanct, and just be with and love on your treasures, even if they may be acting less than jewel like at any given moment. The more you endeavor to enjoy your children and their funny quirks and idiosyncrasies, the more pleasure you'll get out of the bumpy, extraordinary ride of parenthood.

Whether you work outside the home or work in it.... Time is time and it is precious, don't waste it.

EVERYTHING, is better with Whipped Cream!!!

I've wondered lately if the person who coined the phrase, "pretty please, with sugar on top" had any idea of the power of sugar?

In my family sugar is a metaphor for, kindness, gentleness, patience, understanding, and plain ole sweetness. My husband, bless his heart, has put up with more than his share of my, crab-apple-ness if you will. A year ago or so we came up with a way for him to communicate to me that he'd like me STOP being mean, without saying it quite like that. Now, he says, "Can I have some sugar?" Those 5 simple words are more effective than him giving me a lecture about my poor attitude.

Today was one of those days that seemed to start out with an edge, and the edge got sharper as the morning progressed. At noon, I did an about face. I looked my oldest child in the eye, and asked her if she would please forgive me for being harsh and impatient with her. That little bit of sugar sweetened us both, and in seconds we were snuggling on the couch with our books, and strawberries, once again enjoying each other's company.

The good thing about sugar is that it attracts more. Start with a sprinkle, and pretty soon you have a bowl FULL!!! By bedtime tonight, each child was overflowing with good will, towards one another and towards me. There is nothing quite so lovely as ending a day well, knowing that your children feel loved from head to toe, as they snuggle under the covers. It makes us all happy when the last thing that they see before they drift off, is my smiling face.

There are definitely days/nights when things don't go quite so well, and threats fly... "IF YOU GET OUT OF BED AGAIN......"

But not tonight, tonight I remembered that everything is better with sugar, and whipped cream...

Proximity Is Not Engagement!!

It was a post call morning. The kind of morning when I'd consider selling my soul, for a few more moments between my flannel sheets. Unfortunately, giving birth did not magically turn me into a person who only needs 4 hours of sleep. So, when I've been up a lot during the night the morning after starts slowly, and painfully.

The twins have gotten into the habit of coming into my bedroom if they rise before me. They lift the covers and crawl in. I don't mind their invasion, just as long as they let me rest a little longer. On this particular morning, both of my twinlets decided to join me. I rolled onto my back, pulled in my limbs and made plenty of room for them both, not turning to the right or the left so that they would have no reason to squawk about me giving more attention to the other. (Twins do that, frequently)

As I was just about to doze off again, Jonas announced, "mommy, you are not snuggling with me!" It occured to me then, and I've been thinking about it since, that proximity is not engagement. At least not according to my son. It didn't matter that I was sharing the covers, I was not sharing myself.

It is often easy for stay at home/home-schooling moms to fall into the trap of believing that because we are WITH our children, continuously, that somehow that translates into being present. When 3pm rolls around and I've, directed, cleaned up after, instructed, and waited on my children for what seems like an eternity, I often want to tune out, and retreat into a quiet place inside my own thoughts.

A better option, is to find scheduled time, that I can steal now and then, time when I can re-charge and replenish, my own soul. Creativity helps, when searching for those golden nuggets of opportunity. That time could be, taking a book to the park, and reading while they play, it could be, taking a bubble bath while they listen to stories, and fold laundry. It really depends on the day. Regardless of the shape, size, or appearance of those moments, taking them when I can, is vital.

Time for me to regroup, enables me to be the engaged parent that my children deserve. After all who wants a blow up doll mommy, who is there in shape and form, but not in spirit?

I want to do better at applying the following quote, and encourage others to as well.

"Wherever you are, be all there!"

~Jim Elliot

The Blame Game

My 8 year old likes to blame the world for everything. She blames the powers that be if her backpack is too heavy. She blames her parents if she wakes up with a rooster tail or in a foul mood and usually the two go hand in hand. If she gets hungry before lunch, it must certainly be our fault, for not feeding her enough breakfast. For most other things that grieve her, she blames her siblings.

My initial response to her accusations, complaints and frequent protestations is a ready made sermonette, on the vice of whining and the dreaded consequence that such behavior will evoke. Occasionally, however, I reflect before I launch into my lecture. As I reflect it occurs to me that although whining may be a universal childhood problem, it is a problem that afflicts adults as well. It's possible that my lovely daughter inherited her grumbling spirit from me. How often do I verbalize my discontent or disatisfaction about life and circumstances? In reality there are bountiful blessings surrounding all of us, on all sides.

I'm searching for the remedy, the perfect potion to halt the "blame game", and bring about some perspective, and a healthy dose of reality. As in most cases I think the solution starts with me.

It's my theory that the more I cultivate a grateful, content and loving spirit the more I'll see that reflected in my children. After all if they inherit grumbling, can't they also inherit thankfulness???

Starting tomorrow, I'm putting it to the test.. Stay tuned. :)

That Feeling!

There are those moments when you know. You know that you've met the right one. You know you've found that perfect wedding dress, the perfect shade of lipstick, the perfect fitting jeans, the job that feels just right. You just KNOW!

Those moments of crystal clarity don't come around as often as I'd like, but when they do, they alter me in some tangible way.

The last time I had a KNOWING sort of moment was a few weeks ago. I was flying on a flight from Tampa to Denver. A rumpled blond head was resting on my chest, two chubby legs straddled my lap, and the familiar scent of a sleeping four year old filled my senses. My passion and purpose, at least as I see them, seemed to converge in that rather ordinary moment. Right then I had an overwhelming "conviction" if you will, that I needed and wanted, to share my journey with others.

Why not share the sweetness, and struggles, of my story with other parents, parents that have their own stories to tell? The same individuals that might somehow be encouraged through the snapshots and epiphonies that fill my days with wonder, laughter and EXHAUSTION.

As I search for lessons and meaning in the mundane, day to day moments, with my small children, it's my hope that somehow my faithful narratives about the wild ride of motherhood might bring you, hope, laughter, and a sense that YOU ARE NOT ALONE!

So.... With that said, welcome. Please join me!