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Category Archives: my boy
Spring is in the air… sort of.
I know it’s February, but it feels like spring. Maybe not so much today with all the cold rain and feeling like I needed to wear gloves in the car and wanting to bundle up in a sweatshirt and sweats with a blanket and coffee and candles going. But earlier this week, it felt a bit like spring. Sunshine. Walks with no jacket. Flowers on the front porch. The kids and I even made it out for a few bike rides. Here is what I have learned so far on these pre-spring biking adventures:
- The kiddos have grown since the summer. I know this because pulling them in the bike trailer hurts lots more than I remember.
- Pulling 2 kids in a bike trailer is hard, but it can be fun. (This I knew.) Pulling 2 fighting kids in a bike trailer is also hard, but about as much fun as plucking out nose-hairs and getting your toenails ripped off while listening to endless sounds of nails on a chalkboard. Not that I’ve ever done that. But I might, if I had to choose between that and pulling fighting kids trapped in a small bike trailer just behind my tired body.
- I was made to have kids. I was not made to teach kids to ride bikes. NO siree.
- If I ride, I have to pull them. If they ride, I’m still pulling. Jacob, at least… While I walk and he refuses to pedal and Annalise is too far ahead. We’ve made friends with the church parking lot nearby. They can now ride at their own pace.
- “Let’s go for a bike ride” is not the fun invitation it used to be when I was younger. I’m hoping someday, when I’m not having to pull the kiddos, not arguing about pedaling, and when they’re old enough to ride with me, it will be fun again.
Biking adventures somewhat excluded, I have enjoyed the springish weather. It got me in a springy mood. You know, spring cleaning, brightening things up, etc etc. The blog was the latest spring-cleaning victim. Out with the dark brown, in with the bright and light. Got rid of the excess in favor of simplified. (You can still find links to other posts if you scroll to the bottom.) What do you think? Be honest. I already know mom doesn’t like it. She misses the warm and cozy brown/green. I think someone isn’t feeling the spring just yet…
And spring got me thinking… Easter is just around the corner. Time to get out some supplies and make the Easter garden we did last year! It was super fun (if you like mud masks) and a great way to talk to the kids about the miracle of The Resurrection and the Gift of LIFE. Our garden step-by-step directions can be found here. You’ll want to get started on it soon! Easter is in March this year. That always throws me off.
HAPPY SPRING, Y’ALL!
Loves.
Mother of the year? I think not…
I’m a terrible mother. I’m fairly certain of this because of a number of situations that have transpired these past few days that, instead of reacting the way a “normal” or “good” mother would react, my reactions were more, well, um… terrible.
Example #1. A few days ago while getting ready, I heard uproarious laughter coming from the kids’ bedroom. That morning, they had struggled with getting along. I had sent them to their room to get dressed. Now, suddenly, there were gut laughs and squeals of delight, followed by even more gut laughs. I knew immediately: something must be up.
A Good Mom’s Reaction: Drop everything and go quickly to their room to find out what bad thing is happening and put a stop to it!
My Reaction: Pray they aren’t going to end up seriously injured while doing what is undoubtedly a very bad idea. Let the laughter and giggles and squeals continue. Because frankly, I just can’t handle one more stupid argument. And because there is really nothing that makes me laugh as much as hearing those two gut laugh so hard.
Example #2. After I had finished getting ready – a good 5 minutes into the giggles – I finally decided to see what was so hilarious. I discovered my 2 darling angels, completely buck naked, each with their own undies around their ankles, both feet in just one leg hole. Ever try to walk with your undies around your ankles, both feet in just one leg hole? You fall immediately. Apparently, this is utter hilarity for a 5 and 2 year old. One would get up, the other would fall, sending both into wild fits of laughter.
A Good Mom’s Reaction: Make the kids get dressed. Talk about appropriate behavior. Maybe even give consequences since they should know better and were supposed to be dressed by now.
My Reaction: Laugh. Hard. Then give them a few challenges, such as: Both of you get up. See who can make it across the room first. Laugh hysterically with them when they both crash to the ground. Give them a 3 more minutes of play time before they’ll need their clean undies pulled up, with clean clothes on, too.
Example #3: I discovered a new word of Jacob’s: titch. The first sentence he said with the word: I don’t like titch. After probing for clarification, he says, “I don’t like it when it’s titch. I don’t like the titch dark.”
A Good Mom’s Reaction: Correct his pronunciation. Make for darn sure he never says “I don’t like titch” again.
My Reaction: Laugh. Hard. While hiding my face. And then think of every opportunity to get him to say it again. Because it is so. darn. hysterical.
Example #4: The kids got silly puddy in their stockings. My sister told me a horror story of a friend’s child who got it stuck in her hair, and they had to cut it out. I stole the silly puddy and put it in a drawer for a rainy day. Yesterday, I was cleaning out that drawer with the kids’ “help,” and they found the stolen silly puddy. They asked me how it got in there.
A Good Mom’s Reaction: Tell the truth. Let them know that they’re just not quite old enough to play with it.
My Reaction: Change the subject and tell them they can play with it tomorrow.
Example #5: The kids are excited to play with their silly puddy, but they can’t remember the name of it. They do know it starts with an s and a p. So, every single time they mention it, the words are different. “Mommy, when do we get to play with the smooshy piddle?” “MOMMY! Look what I can do with my squishy pedal?” “Mommy, can we play with the stoley pud tomorrow?” “Mommy! I love my squooshed puggle so much!”
A Good Mom’s Reaction: I don’t know. Maybe correct their pronunciation? Maybe not? I’m not sure what a good mom would do. Just probably not what I did.
My Reaction: Laugh. Hard. While hiding my face. (I’m noticing a pattern here.) Tell Matt. Laugh with him. Hard. While hiding our faces. Enough that they figure it out and have hurt feelings. But still don’t tell them the real words.
Example #6: The kids love Play-Doh. I hate Play-Doh. It sits in a box on the top shelf in their closet. I think I’ve gotten it out once in the last year and a half. (Probably a lot less than a good mom would.) Something came over me today (maybe a smidge of goodness) and I got it down for them. The whole lot of it. We set up a massive play-doh station at the table. I was reminded how much I hate the horrible stuff. It’s all over the table, floor, and chairs in 0.2 milliseconds. Both kids need my help simultaneously and for every. single. second. of their play time (which is supposed to be my folding laundry time.)
A Good Mom’s Reaction: Play! Lovingly. With smiles and giggles and warm fuzzies. Then clean it all up together in a way that is reminiscent of Mrs. June Cleaver, while looking forward to the next time you’ll all have this much fun with Play-Doh again… next week.
My Reaction: Play. Hate every second. Complain about it on Facebook. Think of every possible excuse, no bribe, to get them to want to quit. Finally win with a trip to pizza for dinner. Yes, I bought them out. And with unhealthy food. Then, while we all clean up, quickly put lids on the containers so the big chunks still on the table would have to be thrown in the garbage. Less Play-Doh next time = Less headache next time. Decide that’s a genius idea, and throw away two of the containers when they aren’t looking. Plan on not getting the stuff out for another year and a half, so they’ll likely never notice the missing containers. Pray that by then, the stuff will be all dried out anyway… Right now this moment, considering opening the container lids… just a smidge. To help with the whole drying out biz…
Example #7: While vacuuming up the remaining Play-Doh mess, send the kids to get shoes on so we can head-out to pizza. (I’m a mom of my word.) They come back, ready to go. But Annalise has made a serious fashion faux-pas and has put neon green Christmas socks on over – yes over – her white tights with adorable jumper.
A Good Mom’s Reaction: Another one I’m not sure about. What do you good moms do in this situation? Let her wear it? Make her take it off? Or would you do what I did?…
My Reaction: Gently question her choice in attire. “Are you sure you want to wear Christmas socks?” (As thought that is the biggest problem here.) When she confirms that yes, this is exactly what she wants to wear, go with it. Again laughing. Hard. While hiding my face. When she asks about playing with her “squishy puddle” tomorrow and you laugh, and she gets upset because “you’re laughing at how I said that!” Do everything in your power to not reply, “Yes, I’m laughing at your squishy puddle. And your outfit.” Because that might be crushing to a 5-year old. Who really is about the cutest thing despite the strange choice in clothing.
Then, when at the pizza parlor, take a picture. And post it on your blog for all to see…
up at night
In the wee hours of the morning, my sweet boy climbs into my bed. Obviously wide awake, as though he’d been up a while contemplating life. He leans over and kisses me. Then he sits up. Yes. Yes, he has been up contemplating life. And he has something to say about it.
In a thoughtful tone, he leans over and says to me, “Momma, how come I always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, always, ALWAYS… eat a lot, and a lot, and a lot, and a lot, and a lot, and a lot, and a lot, and a lot, and A LOT of boogers? I fink it’s kinda weally weally weally weally weally weally weally gwoss.”
Apparently, these are the things that keep 2-year-olds up at night.
We’re going to have to work on that. On the booger-eating thing.
And also, I think I’ll teach him about adverb variety. It might be really really really really really helpful to improve his word choice.
What’s that you say?
Several friends have said they’d like to be a fly on the wall in our house, just to see what goes on around here. It’s mostly mundane life, kids playing then fighting then playing again, mom and dad having conversations about our jobs or future or parenting or what’s for dinner, Annalise making up songs about Jesus or Jacob or Izzy or anything else she can think of, etc etc etc. Nothing too exciting. But since some of you asked, I thought I’d deliver just a sneak peek by way of things overheard this week…
Jacob: “Mommy! You HAVE to come SEE dis! It is SOOOOO CUTE! It is (insert high-pitched squeaky voice) da teeniest-tiniest littliest poopoo I ever saw! (insert normal voice) Oh mom, it’s SO cute you won’t believe it!”
Annalise (after bumping into me): “Mom? Can you touch Jesus? … Because I thought I just did, but turns out it was just your bottom.”
Jacob: “MOMMY! You have GOT TO SEE DIS! It is da BIGGEST POOPOO EVER!” Seriously. This is all he talks about lately.
Annalise (after seeing naked brother bend over from behind): “MOMMY! OH NO! Jacob has a HUGE GROWTH on his bottom!”a
Jacob: “Mommy. Can you please leave the baf-room? I want some pwivacy.”
Annalise: “Mommy, can you please leave the bathroom? I want some privacy.”
(I only put those ones in there because of the irony. They don’t seem to know what privacy is when I’m in the bathroom.)
… And right now you’re wondering if any conversations go on around here that are not about “poopoo” or “bottoms” or other forms of bathroom-talk… Yes, I know. Some days I wonder that, too.
There are the random comments like these:
Annalise: “Mommy, the Weedas have 3 girls and 2 boys, but we just have 2 girls and 2 boys… (with excitement) What if YOU had another baby and it was a girl? Then we’d be just like the Weedas!… (with dread) What if you had another baby and it was a boy! Then we’d have three BOYS!… (with excitement again) What if you had another baby and it was a CHICKEN!”
Or the random happenings like these:
Annalise stuck in a long narrow box. Because it’s fun. Until your brother starts to play with your toys and you can’t get out.
He had the hiccups. ALL. DAY. I read somewhere that this was supposed to help. It didn’t. I pulled harder and held longer. Still didn’t.
And then there are the never-ending-actually-NOT-funny jokes:
Jacob to Leesie: “Sissy. I have a joke. Why wasn’t da clown hungwy?”
Leesie: “Because he ate his breakfast?”
Jacob: “No. Because he ate his lunch. I have another joke. Why wasn’t da clown hungwy?”
Leesie: “Because he ate his lunch?”
Jacob: “No. Because he was full. I have another joke. Why wasn’t the clown hungwy?”
Leesie: “Because he was full?”
Jacob: “No. Because he ate his bweakfast. I have another joke…”
And on and on and on and on…
And the constant “what ifs” from both kids:
Jacob: “Mommy, what if we took Izzy for a walk, and den it started to rain, and den we got all wet, and den da rain turned into juice and we got all wet wif juice, and den we came home all sticky and got da house all sticky wif juice too. What if, Mommy?”
Annalise: “Mommy, what if I growed taller than you, and then I growed taller than Daddy, and then I growed taller than the house, and then I growed taller than a tree, and then I growed all the way to the sky and I never stopped growing?”
Bathroom-talk, bad-jokes, what-ifs, and then this…
At the dinner table the other night, Annalise asked if brothers and sisters can get married. When we told her no, her reaction surprised us. She wasn’t happy, but wasn’t upset in the 5-year-old sense (no drama, tantrums, or mini-fit with crossed arms and a loud “HUMPH!”) No, her reaction was much more sincere. Much more mature. Her eyes filled with tears, her chin began to quiver, and she looked away, thinking about this news that was so obviously devastating to her. Her big, teary eyes looked back at me, and she swallowed hard then choked out in a whisper, “But Mommy. I just love my brother so much. I don’t want to marry anyone else!” I giggled, but my eyes filled with tears, too. How blessed we are that they are so close! And my heart hurt for hers, because the sadness she displayed was so deep. She just didn’t understand.
Then sweet Jacob. My sweet tender-hearted boy. Tilted his head and looked at his sister lovingly. And in his sweetest kindest voice, as if he were a wise grown-up giving a gentle explanation to a hurting young child, he said, “Oh Sissy. I love you, too. But I can not marry you, because I am going to play FOOTBALL!”
And there you have it, folks. The boy is not going to get married, because he is going to play football. No arguments from Mama. (Until I see him crashing out on the football field, of course.) And just a few weeks earlier, Annalise told her Daddy that she “would NEVER kiss a boy until she is married.” I’m pretty sure he got her signature on a legal document for that one.
I think I may have said it before, but can we please just freeze them? We are having too much fun. Bathroom-talk and all. And I’ll take all the what-ifs and lame jokes in the world if I can just keep getting the snuggles and hearing their perfect giggles that can’t help but bring a smile to your face. What joy fills my heart.
Alas, I know they will grow older. But we will enjoy the moments we have today, and we will be thankful for the blessings God has given us. And when they grow, we will love and enjoy the “older” versions of them. Thankful for these good and perfect gifts from the Father of Heavenly lights. And thankful that while they will change and grow, and while we continue to change, He does not change. And He has put more joy in my heart than they have when their grain and wine abound. ~ Psalm 4:7
Eyes to the Hills 