It Doesn't Come Naturally

Someone close to me once told me they were impressed with how great a mother I had become, especially, this person said, because it wasn’t something that came naturally to me, but was obviously something I had to work very hard at. My initial reaction was to be slightly smoffed (my term for: sort of maybe offended). I didn’t take it for a compliment, but rather struggled with more closely observing how and who I was as a mother. And then I thought of other talents, skills and roles – of which there are numerous. I thought how even though I don’t feel like a talented cook, though I don’t necessarily enjoy cooking, it is still something that I have to do (multiple times a day)… and so, through the years I’ve come to tolerate and perhaps even find some joy in the kitchen. There are even some dishes I make that taste delicious. Go me, right! But it doesn’t come naturally, and that thought doesn’t smoff me at all.

I think that because Motherhood is such an intensely unique personal and spiritual journey, it is easy to take any remarks about our role and fulfilling of it quite personally.

My life as a mother is full of stories that make me laugh at myself and my own lack of understanding. I find myself guffawing when I think of how I reacted to toddler tantrums with my first, and now how I just simply don’t react with my fourth. The insistence I placed that my daughter NOT wear the same red dress every single day, and the true battle of wills that ensued kills me as I sneak the outfit my four year old wears daily off at night in order to wash it. Taking moments to explore nature instead of pleading to hurry, has come as I have aged, as my responsibilities have changed, and my role magnified.

I was never one of those little girls who wanted nothing more than to be a mother. I never dreamed I would be a stay-at-home mom. Perhaps it was my motherhood misconceptions that led to motherhood coming as a difficult challenge, and anything but naturally. But I’ve gotten better and I’ve worked hard at it – for it does take work, and it is hard. And while motherhood may never come naturally to me, I have naturally come into motherhood; and I love it.

The Doctor's Visit

I know I’ve whined before on such subjects… but when you have an especially annoyingly long wait at an after-hours clinic, it’s worth at least a whine and a blog entry. Today a visit was in order because my two youngest boys had something severely wrong with their bottoms. Disgusting really. The baby has been having issues with a chemical reaction to a brand of diapers, and then an allergic reaction to, we think, cinnamon, and today when they both presented a disgusting anal rash I knew that more than “just plain old Vaseline” was in order.

This doctor’s office boasts that it is open 24 hours a day 365 days a year, and yet I’m pretty sure they make it extra inconvenient when you do happen to come in “after hours”. We waited in the teeny tiny waiting room for a whole hour before we saw the doctor. The dumbest little room I’ve ever seen at a pediatricians’ office ever. The walls were decorated with football memorabilia that I presume boast the doctor’s favourite team… and my kids could have cared less about. There were no fun carpets with letters and animals for me to name so they could jump from one to the next, nothing to look at except that the window blinds were completely in reach and didn’t quite close all the way once we were done with that room. Why oh why do they place steps next to the examining table anyways? Why can’t the doctor bring his special rolling chair in with him instead of leaving it to tempt my child? Why are there posters on each wall preaching young child safety measures, and then cupboards and drawers galore that don’t have any type of child safety device? And when was the last time they shampooed those nasty carpets that my “stripped down to the diaper please” child is walking barefoot on (when he’s not scaling the steps, examining table, roly chair and blinds)? And, lastly, and disgustingly, where was the sanitizer in this annoyingly small room we were banished to for an eternity with the short doorknob that my child can merely pull down on and escape?

Well we survived. I completely disregarded the no food please rule and fed them any remnant of food I could find in the purse I grabbed. The doctor we saw was extremely pleasant, so that was nice. But I nearly died when my son was asked to roll over on his side so the doctor could take a look at his cute little bottom and Little E tooted and said, “Do you know what that sound is your highness? Those are the shrieking eels.”

We left with a “recipe for the pharmacist” and now we have some yummy medicine in our refrigerator. Hopefully we won’t have to go back any time soon. I covet the days of home visits… where the doctor comes to me.

Coping Mechanism

According to Mr. Man I write when I'm stressed. My journals have been offensively long, my poor brother on his mission has received epistles, and looking back at my blog - I posted almost daily during the most intense weeks of our lives. And now I find myself almost speechless. Until things are completely set in stone I can't make any official online declarations, but let's just say that we feel so incredibly blessed and so peaceful knowing where our future is going to take us. I can finally ease my writing jitters and actually pick up a book to read. Though there are many plans to make and lists to write, we are taking a moment to be grateful and appreciate life as we know it. Knowledge is both power and relief! As our chapter here comes to a close and we look forward to a new one, there are definate mixed emotions... but ultimately we are so glad to know that this long journey of schooling has been well-worth it. Grateful too that we have found joy in the journey.

Play Acting

He's not Batman or Darth Vader. He's my dear Wesley, from the movie the boys call "The Man in Black" otherwise titled, "The Princess Bride." Today they were role playing that movie... it was hilarious to watch.

Princess Buttercup. In mourning. I couldn't get a smile out of her for the life of me.

The Spaniard. And to hear him say who he is is hilarious. "I'm the is pan yard." The outfit, you may not remember from the feature film... however he wears this daily and he can be whomever he pleases while wearing it. It came for Baby J, it's a size 2T and WAY too small. But the minute he gets home from wherever we have been his clothes are off and this is on. The sword does help with the character development. I totally suggest reading the book too if you haven't. Hilarious.

Breast Pads

Do you remember those? Oh my goodness, how the memories came "flooding" back as I found one at the bottom of my underwear drawer this morning! Some of you may still be in the midst of that initial swelling and soggy breastfeeding, and I can only say two things: 1. enjoy it; 2. it does get better.

When I think back to my first experience with breastfeeding, I feel like a complete idiot. It was horrible. I had issues that my doctor convinced me were not issues, and a wonderful lactation consultant who aided and abetted but finally admitted that my daughter and I were not breastfeeding compatible. (Long story short, really.) That was definitely not fine. I had just suffered a traumatic birth with an emergency c-section, I was stuck on an island a million miles away from home, in a hospital with a leaky ceiling and a rat in the elevator, I was way too young to be having a baby, and now I sucked even more because my child wouldn't suck on me. Talk about lack of bonding, and in hindsight I am not at all shocked at the events that thrust me into horrible postpartum depression. Anyways. Breastfeeding Nazi that I felt I was, and with a bit of pressure from those around me, I pumped. I pumped every three hours (or so) for exactly 6 months (because that's how long my Mom nursed her kids). In the morning I could easily extract 12-16 oz... I was a milking machine, and literally felt like a cow connected to my fancy dancy dual pump that I could even take with me in the car should we be out for the day. Ironically, my daughter suffered from some small medical issues that were resolved as soon as we switched her from breast milk to formula. But for six months I pumped, and I was a provider of nourishment. With all that I was going through, it was the least I could do and it was the best I could be as a mother.

When I was pregnant with my second child, I was determined to work with my doctor ahead of time, and try again to nurse sans pump. Pumping had actually helped resolving some of my "issues"... so that was a blessing. Months before my child was born I was leaking milk. Literally could squirt across the room. (I know you wanted to know that.) Insert memory of breast pads. I was blessed with a sweet, quiet, sleeping, practically perfect nurser. And breastfeeding took on a whole new meaning for me. Once we got the hang of it, and besides a few bouts with mastitis, I loved breastfeeding. At one point I tried pumping so I could take off for a day, and I couldn't believe how much it HURT to pump. Not knowing the alternative, I had never imagined. Breastfeeding was beautiful and bonding. However, I was soon pregnant and didn't have enough milk for my baby and so we had to substitute with formula and bottles as well.

My third wasn't as easy to nurse as my second, but still nursed incredibly well. And OFTEN. He refused to take a bottle, pacifier, anything and I succumbed to not only using the breast for feeding, but comfort as well. He nursed for around 15 months, when Mr. Man and I went away for a week and he had to be weaned.

And now my 18 month old, whom I had labeled as "the un-weanable" baby is still nursing. And I have such mixed feelings. Mr. Man and I even went away for a week... and I had weaned him for a week before, and now we are back to our old habits. And we're both to blame. I love nursing him. It is so easy to sneak in an extra hour of sleep in the morning with him snuggled up next to me latched on and dreaming. I thought I would be horrified to have a child who could "ask" to be nursed, but I actually love that he can sense when he needs that extra comfort, love, or perhaps even nourishment, and can tell me. I've come to the point where I don't feel embarrassed of my mothering him this way; I feel confident in my choice. I know I don't want to be nursing him as a reward for potty-training, and so I see us quitting sometime before he hits three! But for now, I will enjoy this last baby of mine and the uniqueness of nursing and holding a child of God in my arms for longer intervals than a wiggly 18 month old would ever commit to were he not nursing. But I am grateful I no longer need those awkward breast pads!

Should I Be Worried?

We've been learning about money lately and Mr. T keeps suggesting he make his own money. We have even had a long discussion not only about the consequences of such actions, but the effect on the world and the economy if we all just made our own money. He still thinks it's an ingenious idea.

Mr. T has also been talking a lot about building a robot - or two. When asked to practice piano: "I wish I had a robot that could practice piano for me, don't you Mom?" When asked to do his job: "I'm going to build a robot that will do all my jobs for me. Do you want one to do your jobs too, Mom?" The robot will also do his schoolwork, make his bed, share with his brother while he plays by himself somewhere else, go to the grocery store, etc. Sounds good to me... though I'm beginning to think that laziness, not necessity, is the mother of invention.

Today we sat down together to do a craft. We had several balls of yarn out along with other supplies. I left him with the first step for a moment while I did something and he called out rather worried: "Um, Mom, are you going to tell me what exactly we're building here... cause I'm a little worried about being left alone building a bomb." I was shocked as to why he would bring up such a thing. Apparently he's been thinking about how to build a bomb, and he's sure you need a LOT of yarn. I didn't correct him on the materials for building a bomb (no need to feed that interest) but just redirected him on to the next step of our, ironically, valentine craft.

First Day of Nursery

This little guy is always on the go, (and yeah, he's eating a "chocolate" cookie in this picture) so he's a hard one to capture. He turns 18 months this week (sob), so today was his first day in the nursery at church. Daddy was actually subbing in there today, so he was able to be his bodyguard. The little guy usually naps 11am - 2pm and that is what time we meet for church now.... so he will most likely be spending the first few months of nursery as he did today: asleep in the stroller. When he awoke, his first impression of nursery wasn't very positive. When I ask him about nursery, he will shake his finger at me and say in his sweet high pitched voice, "no no no". He's by far the youngest in there, but not at all used to having his toys snatched from his hands, or being pushed out of the way. He is definately spoiled and well looked out for at home. Meaning the kids will give him anything or do anything to keep him happy and not crying. Nursery should be good for this little guy. At least he looks adorable, right?! Ironically, my Oma called today to rave about a picture of him we sent her. She just wants to eat him up and have him pop out of the picture he is so darn cute. But alas, she warned me that you have to be careful with the cute ones because they tend to be spoiled rotten and that takes all the cuteness out of them. We'll be careful.

Shoe Help

I am in love with this shoe.



Please check your Target clearance for a size 10.
My feet are thanking you and are willing to pay shipping as well!

Healthy Habits?

I gave the baby a sucker to make him be quiet.

I needed him quiet because I was trying to eat chocolate and he was screaming for me to share.

I didn't want to share. I wanted to eat my chocolate in peace.

This way we were both happy.

How pathetic are our eating habits?!

Family Prayer

Tonight we were kneeling in somewhat of a circle for family prayer when Baby J popped up and started whacking us on the head while saying, "Duck, duck, duck, duck..." Needless to say, family prayer at our home is seldom dull.

Story Writing

Strep throat is visiting at our house, and after last week's plentiful snow days we're beginning to feel a bit stir crazy. Mean Mom that I am, I refuse to give in to the cries for movies (no more than necessary). So yesterday, I suggested we write a story to send to my brother who is on his mission. I started it, and then we went around each adding to the eventful tale. I could hardly write fast enough, and I'm sure it would have gone on longer had I not complained of my hand getting tired! Then we picked a title and the kids painted pictures to put in the "book" which has been stapled together (like any great book) and will soon be in the mail. I had to share, because it's so fun, and also because I wish we had started doing this fun activity long before now. I have no doubt we will soon have many books "published" ... we all loved this!

(See if you can guess who wrote which part!)

The Wizard's Snowy Day

Once upon a time there was a snowy blizzard. Inside the castle a wizard was keeping warm.

He decided to go outside and build a snowman. It was huge: as big as his castle.

He started to get cold so he went inside and had hot chocolate with marshmallows and cookies.

And he ate a donut. And then he decided to build a snowman as big as up to the clouds. Until he decided to climb up the snowman to get up to the cloud. And then a wolf came and knocked down the snowman. The wizard wouldn't be able to get down. The wizard was as smart as magic. With his wand he turned the wolf into a big big snowman.

Suddenly the snowman came to life and started singing and dancing. He was so huge that he caused an earthquake.

Then the castle fell apart because of the earthquake. Even the snowman fell apart.

Now the wizard had lots to do. So he made a list of things to do. First thing he did was make a new house with his wand, got all of his unbroken furniture back, then, since there was quite a lot of snow, he decided to go outside and clean up the yard. "That was quite a lot of work for one day," he thought.

Then he, with his wand, he destroyed the list. Then he decided to go outside, take a walk and destroy the bad guys' castle with his wand. Then a bad guy tried to kill him with his sword, but the wizard made a force field with his wand. Then he killed the bad guy with his own sword.

The young boy went outside and he throwed snowballs at the bad guys.

Suddenly a dragon appeared. This was no ordinary dragon. It was Zachary, the fire-breathing dragon. He began to blow fire bombs everywhere. This was very unfortunate for the wizard since he had just re-built his castle out of snow and ice and it was now a very large puddle.

So the wizard took his wand and he made the dragon his good pal. And since he liked the name Zachary, he named him Zachary. The wizard made his house again out of stone walls. He made a house for his new pet too that was attached to his house. They lived happily ever after.

The end.

Six More Weeks of Winter

We woke up this morning to our traditional groundhog day breakfast. So simple - just an egg, cheese and piece of ham poking out the hole of a bagel to see his shadow! Believe it or not, the kids BEG for "groundhogs" all year long (we only make them with a bagel on February 2nd).

Punxsutawney Phil's results created a bit of drama in our home... complete with tears, temper tantrums and death threats:

But we still plan on having our groundhog day party and festivities. Hope yours is a good one.

Five Letter Words

By some magical unknown power in the universe, our first three children's names all had five letters. Add M-O-M-M-Y and D-A-D-D-Y and the whole family was united in theme. I don't remember when the realization was made, but I do recall that it was outside with sidewalk chalk when we discovered that all of our names perfectly aligned. And so, it was no accident that our fourth and final child just had to have five letters in his name as well. It may seem trivial, but as we discussed numerous names at the dinner table, our children already sensed baby feeling left out at the mention of Jonathan or Jefferson. Thus it was finalized and we are perfected in our five letter naming. And really it is quite convenient.

When learning to spell their names, we can use the same song otherwise sung about a dog named B-I-N-G-O. The names are short enough that nobody has shortened them, thus far. And lately we've discovered another convenience when it comes to competitions in our house. We call them "games" but they are rather competitive. Today it was the "nose picking game". Each member of the family had their letters up on the chalk board and whenever someone was caught picking their nose a letter could be erased by the "catcher". Gross, I know. But it's gotten to this point where the habit has to be curbed somehow. Whoever had any letters left at the end of the day would get a piece of Halloween candy (and yes, somehow they still go for the rock hard bribe). At one point, the winning nose picker and leading loser of our game whined that it wasn't fair since his name was so short (or so it appeared at this point on the chalkboard). Thankfully, all of my children were named equally and so the whining had to cease, as it was unmerited. I can't wait to discover any other uses for this mathematically correct way of naming our offspring.

Child Labour

We start 'em young over here...

He's so intent... look at that face... and he even went under the loveseat! If you're wondering where his pants are, well, his next job is the pile of laundry on the couch!!!

Let it Snow!

It snowed a bit here...

some sources say 12", others say 19"...

Regardless, it makes it seem much brighter out there and we are spending much more time playing outside catching happy rays and having fun.

The baby stepped out in the snow for his first time yesterday and just sort of stood there. Not that he could move much if wanted to, with snow up to his knees and bundled up like an astronaut. He did enjoy sitting in the wagon and being pulled (good exercise, I tell ya) and actually screamed and banged on the window when I brought his cold body back inside.

Today we have even more snow. All school is cancelled (which means homeschool for everyone - though they hardly know it since it's so much fun learning at home), and also a morning spent outside. No wagon pulling today - it's way too deep. But Baby pulled his own and really trudged through the snow in order to climb steep hills, daringly slide down on his own and even throw snowballs at his siblings! Little E, who HATES snow and cold with a passion dug a deep hole, is collecting "boulders" and could hardly be pulled away from his collection when tempted with donuts and hot chocolate to come inside. We've had a few cases of frost bite... but it's curable! Slapping his mitten on the snowback and creating "mitten" prints. He can't get enough of the snow! The "hole" with the "boulder collection" at the top of a snowbank!

Hear Me ROAR!

I’m starting to think that bears, and other hibernating animals, have the right idea. Lately I’ve been feeling a lot like hibernating myself. What is it about winter that makes me so much more sleepy than any other time? I can’t get enough sleep at night, and my body is begging for a rest either early afternoon or right after dinner. I have zero enthusiasm for food and meals, and yet that doesn’t stop my body from begging for delicious desserts and delicacies and putting on that extra winter weight. Going outside is miserable to me. We finally have our first “acceptable” amount of snow, but pretty much it’s been cold and boring outside. My half hour walk a day just isn’t giving me the right dosage of vitamin D or happiness that supposedly sun and fresh air bring. I’m grumpy. Yes the January blues are typical and expected, but the fact that it’s hitting so late in the month makes me feel like it will last an eternity. I really do feel like a grumpy old bear, and I think I may prefer not to be bothered until sometime early spring. Anyone want to join me in my lair?

When I Grow Up...

Mr. T had a follow-up from his surgery last May. Everything looks wonderful. We couldn't be happier.

I don't know if this stemmed from the trip up to the hospital, but he just told me:

"When I grow up I'm going to be a doctor. I'm going to be the kind of doctor that helps make people better. So Mom, if you're sick, I'll even come to your house so you don't have to make an appointment or wait in a waiting room... I'll just come to you and make you better."

Sounds like a great plan.

Little E, trying to one up his big brother is going to do magic when he grows up. He's practicing right now... making a feather disappear inside a straw - spectacular. He also claims he'll be able to make me better with his magic when he grows up to be Harry Potter. I can't wait.

(And no, I'm not sick... in any way shape or form!)

Waking Up on the Wrong Side of the Bed

With all of Mr. Man’s recent and constant travels, I’ve acquired several new bedmates. Somehow they can sense that my bed is only half full and it must leave some sort of unbalanced feeling in the house so that one, two or all three boys will at some point in the night come to my half-empty-bed rescue. Ironically one night, Mr. T, who is the craziest sleeper (meaning he moves around like he’s in some sort of wrestling match with his blankets, and wins every night) was in bed with Baby J and I and finally announced that he thought the baby was wiggling around too much and he couldn’t sleep so could we send him back to his own bed? I thought it was a great idea and sent them both back to their own beds. Now that Mr. Man has spent a couple of nights at home, the result is that they keep trying to get into my bed and find that there isn’t a spot for them… this results in tears and hurt feelings and the need for compassion and an escort back to their own beds… over and over again. Needless to say, I’m tired. Last night Mr. Man reasoned that we should trade sides of the bed – which is very brave of him for two reasons. First, it means he may have a rough night sleep, fending off the children and second, because it is due to his fear of the dark, the boogie man and any home invader that keeps him from sleeping next to the door in the first place. So we switched sides. Just knowing I wouldn’t have to deal with a kajillion awakenings helped me to sleep better. Mr. Man awoke early to get a head start on his day and I couldn’t believe how well I had slept. I thanked him and asked how bad it was. Knowing he can sleep through a fog horn, he admitted he hadn’t heard a thing all night and asked if I had. So it was a good night, or so it seemed. A while after he left, Baby J awoke. Being the lazy morning mother that I am, I brought him back into bed to me for a morning nurse so we could both sleep just a little bit longer. His soft little fuzzy head was just beneath my chin and I leaned over to smell his still sweet baby smell… and I nearly died. He stunk so bad, and he had just had a bath before bed. The smell was intoxicating, and so familiar… it wasn’t until the other three joined us in bed that I realized he smelled like vomit. That’s when our lazy morning sprung to action… somehow he had thrown up in his bed and all over himself in the night without either of us hearing it. I felt horrible, as did Mr. Man upon hearing the account. If waking up on the wrong side of the bed entails picking up piles of puke and sanitizing and bathing first thing in the morning, I think I may just take the lack of sleep. Gross. (By the way, he hasn’t been sick since and seems fine, eating normally and everything. I think it was the ice cream we had last night and his little semi-lactose-intolerant belly just couldn't handle it.)

Fortune Cookie

Without going into details, Mr. Man has been traveling all over lately for interviews. I keep telling myself this is good. It is good. It is also exhausting and stressful - for both of us. Thankfully he was able to spend this past weekend at home with us before departing for another busy week. While he enjoyed being with the family, he insisted we have time alone as well. And thanks to great last minute babysitters, we enjoyed some good Chinese food and conversation. When we were leaving and were handed our fortune cookies, Mr. Man was a bit trepidatious and before taking his inquired as to if they were good fortunes. "Always" was the reply. He still didn't want to open his... so I did the honor, and really it was. As trying as all the travelling and constant presentations are for him, his fortune Saturday was "You need not worry about your future." Mine read, "Sing and rejoice, fortune is smiling."

I'm suddenly feeling quite superstitious.

Integration

With MLK day just around the corner, we've been talking and reading about civil rights and freedoms, and of course the great dreams and realities that took so long to come to be. Children are so precious in their views of equality, and it's hard for them to comprehend a world full of such hatred. At any rate, for one activity this week I had the boys read a few books about Martin Luther King Jr.'s life and spectacular speech and then draw a picture representing his dream. They were convinced they had to draw Dr. King with a big microphone (as you can see), and slowly the drawings changed to include not only black and white little boys playing together, but Yoda as well. When describing these pictures to my brother, he insisted that Dr. King would be impressed with their inclusion as that is REAL integration.