I haven't blogged for awhile. It isn't that things blog worthy don't happen, it's more about finding, or taking the time to actually write about them. At dinner tonight I rolled my eyes and said, "I think I have to excuse myself now and go blog." Let me back up to the thirty minutes prior...
As I as preparing to set dinner on the table, I looked at Michael and said, "Which of the boys will refuse to eat this?" I had made what my mom called Swiss Steak, although as an adult I'm not sure that is an accurate reflection of what it really is. I think my friend Mary's teenage son would have a much more accurate description of the meal with his classic "Another low budget meal at our house" line. Dinner consisted of round steaks (which I have also frequently questioned the accuracy of that descriptor) baked in cream of mushroom and cream of celery soups. Straight from the oven it is not the most appealing looking dish and for boyz, that can make or break dinner.
Upon first glance, Rob wrinkles up his nose and says, "EW! I'm not eating that!"
"It's just meat with gravy Rob."
"I don't like gravy. You know I HATE meat with gravy."
"Then you can eat some baked potato and green beans."
"NO! Why do always make meat with gravy when you know I hate. You always make things you know I don't like."
"Rob, that's not true. I almost never make gravy. Just eat some green beans and potato."
"No, I'm eating a lemontime." (Or clementine, whatever.)
"You can have that after you at least try some of your dinner."
"NOOOOO!" This sort of thing continued for another minute or so till Michael picked Rob up and hauled him to his bedroom. Rob continued carrying on for a bit until we nearly done eating. He resurfaced at the table with his big eyes looking rather sorrowful.
"I'm hungry. But I don't like eating cold food."
"You're lucky we have a microwave. Would you like me to warm your food up?" Michael asked.
Rob nodded and Michael zapped. As Michael set Rob's recently reheated entree in front of him, Rob stuns with me with his next question, "Can I have gravy on my potatoes?"
"What?!"
"Can I have some gravy on my potatoes? But not on my meat. I hate gravy on my meat."
Sigh. "Sure you can bud." Rob scarfs down his first serving of potatoes and gravy and asks for another. The even bigger surprise, when I caught him slyly dipping his meat into the gravy when he thought no one was looking.
That was when I pushed my chair away and excuse myself to go blog. But instead I started washing dishes. As the last of the table was cleared and I was scrapping the leftovers into tupperware, Rob's head pops up along side the counter and says, "Mom, don't forget to save the gravy!!!" I had to laugh as I scooped the last scoop of it into the container and secured the lid. And then I logged on to my blog.
Showing posts with label tantrums. Show all posts
Showing posts with label tantrums. Show all posts
Sunday, January 22, 2012
Monday, June 20, 2011
Happy Father's Day 2011
The beginning of this week marked the annual tradition of Father's day and of course it did not go unnoticed at the W-x household. Rob was anxious the night before to give his gift to Michael and Michael had to cover his mouth on more than one occasion to stop Rob from spilling the beans. We remedied the situation by promising Rob that he could give his gift to Michael first thing in the a.m.
As almost every parent of young children will concur, what you REALLY want for a holiday is the ability to sleep in, but Rob stuck to his end of the bargain making sure Michael had a bed full of boy by 7 a.m. will presents to open from all. Ray and Rob were both so proud to present Michael with the "plaided" shorts they had each picked out. I'm pretty sure Michael made a sly comment about wishing he had some a month or so back. Ray and Rob did not pick up on his sarcasm and now he has two pairs! Styling! I just told him to be thankful I had led them towards the more neutral colors and less bold patterns. He's also lucky Sam is still only 2 and so his gift was a polo, which of course coordinates with the stylish 'plaided' shorts so he has complete ensembles to wear. (My gift? I opted for a photo poster print of the boys, it's pretty cute if I do say so myself. It's the boys all wear different shoes of Michael's and captioned with 'We want to follow in our Daddy's footsteps, but he has some BIG shoes to fill!)
I then ushered the boys out so Michael could go back to sleep for a bit and that he did. By the time we started functioning and getting ready for church, we realized we were a bit behind schedule. Commenting that we were going to be late, Rob responded with "Oh no! Pastor's gonna be mad at us!"
I think it had less to with the wrath of the pastor and more to do with fact they were already 10-15 minutes late by the time we loaded everyone in and still had a 10 minute drive ahead of us that led us to opt for a stop at Donut Connection in leu of church. (Great example to set huh? I guess we're all entitled to an error here and there....)
The afternoon entailed a visit with Michael's family and some quiet time. We planned to finish out the evening with a nice dinner out with my mom and grandparents. That didn't go exactly as planned... To put it bluntly, by the end of the meal, I was being approached by others telling me "We remember these days, but really they do pass." We knew one family who has a daughter a year older than Ray. They mentioned that they've always wanted a little boy and I was ready to give them one. A 4 year old specifically.
I left the restaurant carrying two screaming and kicking children to the Yukon, Rob broke away. I sternly said, "Get in the truck now." A man was leaving his own vehicle popped his own tailgate and said, "Here you go. You heard your mom. Get in the trunk now." You have to love when a stranger can help you smile through the grim circumstances. Rob wasn't as sure.
When we got to the Yukon he informed me that he did in fact want to go with that new family. "Okay then, would you like carrying your lightsaber to their car?" He changed his mind real fast.
The drive home proved interesting as well. Rob decided to unbuckle himself and unlock his car door. He was pretty sure he was going to get out and go live with Nana. We pulled over, re-buckeled and relocked. The second time I was even smart enough to move the child lock switch up making it impossible for him to open the door from the inside. He continued unbuckling more times than I can count. It was a long drive home with us pulling over every 5 feet...
Happy Father's Day Michael! Happy Father's Day! At least we got you this nice story to remember forever right???
As almost every parent of young children will concur, what you REALLY want for a holiday is the ability to sleep in, but Rob stuck to his end of the bargain making sure Michael had a bed full of boy by 7 a.m. will presents to open from all. Ray and Rob were both so proud to present Michael with the "plaided" shorts they had each picked out. I'm pretty sure Michael made a sly comment about wishing he had some a month or so back. Ray and Rob did not pick up on his sarcasm and now he has two pairs! Styling! I just told him to be thankful I had led them towards the more neutral colors and less bold patterns. He's also lucky Sam is still only 2 and so his gift was a polo, which of course coordinates with the stylish 'plaided' shorts so he has complete ensembles to wear. (My gift? I opted for a photo poster print of the boys, it's pretty cute if I do say so myself. It's the boys all wear different shoes of Michael's and captioned with 'We want to follow in our Daddy's footsteps, but he has some BIG shoes to fill!)
I then ushered the boys out so Michael could go back to sleep for a bit and that he did. By the time we started functioning and getting ready for church, we realized we were a bit behind schedule. Commenting that we were going to be late, Rob responded with "Oh no! Pastor's gonna be mad at us!"
I think it had less to with the wrath of the pastor and more to do with fact they were already 10-15 minutes late by the time we loaded everyone in and still had a 10 minute drive ahead of us that led us to opt for a stop at Donut Connection in leu of church. (Great example to set huh? I guess we're all entitled to an error here and there....)
The afternoon entailed a visit with Michael's family and some quiet time. We planned to finish out the evening with a nice dinner out with my mom and grandparents. That didn't go exactly as planned... To put it bluntly, by the end of the meal, I was being approached by others telling me "We remember these days, but really they do pass." We knew one family who has a daughter a year older than Ray. They mentioned that they've always wanted a little boy and I was ready to give them one. A 4 year old specifically.
I left the restaurant carrying two screaming and kicking children to the Yukon, Rob broke away. I sternly said, "Get in the truck now." A man was leaving his own vehicle popped his own tailgate and said, "Here you go. You heard your mom. Get in the trunk now." You have to love when a stranger can help you smile through the grim circumstances. Rob wasn't as sure.
When we got to the Yukon he informed me that he did in fact want to go with that new family. "Okay then, would you like carrying your lightsaber to their car?" He changed his mind real fast.
The drive home proved interesting as well. Rob decided to unbuckle himself and unlock his car door. He was pretty sure he was going to get out and go live with Nana. We pulled over, re-buckeled and relocked. The second time I was even smart enough to move the child lock switch up making it impossible for him to open the door from the inside. He continued unbuckling more times than I can count. It was a long drive home with us pulling over every 5 feet...
Happy Father's Day Michael! Happy Father's Day! At least we got you this nice story to remember forever right???
Friday, May 20, 2011
The Robber Did It!
Life at the WX house is never boring. That statement is an accurate statement without a doubt. If there were degrees of accuracy, that would be high. But do you know what would be even more accurate?? Life with Rob is never boring. Want an example? Take a sneak peek into a morning at our house last week...
Rob woke up and lumbered into my bedroom where I was finishing getting ready and Sam was already cuddled up on my bed. At Sam's request, I had turned the TV on. I mean really, what's the harm in a little PBS kids early in the morning? It keeps him still and quiet long enough for me to put on a little makeup.
Well, apparently Rob didn't seem to thin it was harmless. In fact, he found it quit disturbing and and painful. He began screaming at me to "Turn the TV off!!! Why do you always make me watch TV? It's hurting my eyes. Owie, owie, owie! My eyes hurt! Please don't make me watch TV! I can't get dressed if I have to watch TV!" I never knew Martha Speaks could be such a painful experience. Nor did I know how malicious I was in forcing my children to watch educational televised programming!
On and on he went. "My eyes! My eyes! Don't make me watch TV! I don't want to watch it. Turn it off!" Any passerby would have thought I was doing serious harm to my child. They would have thought I had him tied to bedposts, forced his eyes open with toothpicks and was forcing him to watch inappropriate content from a blaring big screen television. In reality, he was voluntarily standing in the middle of my bedroom, fixing his own eyes upon the small screen of my old TV tuned into cartoon focused on expanding the vocabulary of young children. (On second thought, maybe I should have turned it off. It's not like he needs his vocabulary expanded!)
Of course, I could have put an end to it by turning the TV off. But by the same token, he is Rob. While it would have made peace for the moment, another moment would have been just around the bend. Not to mention the fact Sam was perfectly content on my bed to cuddle with his blankie while I peacefully (or as peacefully as possible) coated my eyelashes with mascara.
Somehow we managed to get through the trials and tribulations of getting dressed (even with PBS airing), eating breakfast and loading ourselves into the truck to head out for the day. It wasn't without a good deal of whining and whimpering from Rob though. That's why when we pulled out of our driveway and he opened his mouth to start with yet another rant, I looked in the rearview mirror at him and said, "Rob, please. Please, just close your mouth. I don't want to hear any more. I'm tired of it this morning."
Well of course he closed his mouth like the obedient, respectful young man that he is. Oh wait. That was just my dream version of it. Reality? He screams back at me, "You know I DON'T HAVE A MUTE BUTTON!" sigh. Yes, I do know. I know ALL too well.
Somehow I mange to remain composed and keep the us all on our merry little way and pull into the driveway of our daycare. It's Thursday, which means Sam goes to Becky's and Rob tags along with Ray and myself to school through preschool and then he also heads to Becky's. "Boys, stay buckled up. I'm going to run in and drop Sam off and then we'll all get to school."
I dropped off Sam without too much hassle and checked the time as we reverse out of Becky's driveway. "Whew. We're still on time. Amazing!" I thought to myself as my thoughts are interrupted by a holler from the backseat.
"Mom! You forgot to buckle me!"
What? Did I not buckle him before we left our house? Has he been unbuckled this whole drive? No. I distinctly remember buckling him in our garage.
"No. I DID buckle you. Why did you UNbuckle?" I put the truck back in park and open my door to make way to Rob so I can re-buckle him.
"I didn't. The robber did."
"The robber? Really? There was a robber out here while I was inside Becky's house?"
"Yup."
I reach around Rob to click his buckle into place and my hand touches something. I glance around him to see what it is. It is a bouquet of flower shaped lollipops that I had purchased to serve as our centerpiece for our preschool concert that evening. How did these get from my bag in the front seat to Rob's seat? I confident I know the answer, but I still ask the question. "Rob, how did these get back here?"
"The robber did it!"
"The robber? You mean there was a robber here who moved my suckers and unbuckled you but took nothing? Not my laptop. Not my wallet. Not you or Ray. Not even the suckers. Huh."
"He was going to take the suckers but he dropped them when he unbuckled me and then he just left."
When I got to school I shared the robber story with a co-worker who laughed and said, "Sounds like he got his mama's imagination and story telling skills." Man, if that's true, I might be in for some SERIOUS trouble!
Rob woke up and lumbered into my bedroom where I was finishing getting ready and Sam was already cuddled up on my bed. At Sam's request, I had turned the TV on. I mean really, what's the harm in a little PBS kids early in the morning? It keeps him still and quiet long enough for me to put on a little makeup.
Well, apparently Rob didn't seem to thin it was harmless. In fact, he found it quit disturbing and and painful. He began screaming at me to "Turn the TV off!!! Why do you always make me watch TV? It's hurting my eyes. Owie, owie, owie! My eyes hurt! Please don't make me watch TV! I can't get dressed if I have to watch TV!" I never knew Martha Speaks could be such a painful experience. Nor did I know how malicious I was in forcing my children to watch educational televised programming!
On and on he went. "My eyes! My eyes! Don't make me watch TV! I don't want to watch it. Turn it off!" Any passerby would have thought I was doing serious harm to my child. They would have thought I had him tied to bedposts, forced his eyes open with toothpicks and was forcing him to watch inappropriate content from a blaring big screen television. In reality, he was voluntarily standing in the middle of my bedroom, fixing his own eyes upon the small screen of my old TV tuned into cartoon focused on expanding the vocabulary of young children. (On second thought, maybe I should have turned it off. It's not like he needs his vocabulary expanded!)
Of course, I could have put an end to it by turning the TV off. But by the same token, he is Rob. While it would have made peace for the moment, another moment would have been just around the bend. Not to mention the fact Sam was perfectly content on my bed to cuddle with his blankie while I peacefully (or as peacefully as possible) coated my eyelashes with mascara.
Somehow we managed to get through the trials and tribulations of getting dressed (even with PBS airing), eating breakfast and loading ourselves into the truck to head out for the day. It wasn't without a good deal of whining and whimpering from Rob though. That's why when we pulled out of our driveway and he opened his mouth to start with yet another rant, I looked in the rearview mirror at him and said, "Rob, please. Please, just close your mouth. I don't want to hear any more. I'm tired of it this morning."
Well of course he closed his mouth like the obedient, respectful young man that he is. Oh wait. That was just my dream version of it. Reality? He screams back at me, "You know I DON'T HAVE A MUTE BUTTON!" sigh. Yes, I do know. I know ALL too well.
Somehow I mange to remain composed and keep the us all on our merry little way and pull into the driveway of our daycare. It's Thursday, which means Sam goes to Becky's and Rob tags along with Ray and myself to school through preschool and then he also heads to Becky's. "Boys, stay buckled up. I'm going to run in and drop Sam off and then we'll all get to school."
I dropped off Sam without too much hassle and checked the time as we reverse out of Becky's driveway. "Whew. We're still on time. Amazing!" I thought to myself as my thoughts are interrupted by a holler from the backseat.
"Mom! You forgot to buckle me!"
What? Did I not buckle him before we left our house? Has he been unbuckled this whole drive? No. I distinctly remember buckling him in our garage.
"No. I DID buckle you. Why did you UNbuckle?" I put the truck back in park and open my door to make way to Rob so I can re-buckle him.
"I didn't. The robber did."
"The robber? Really? There was a robber out here while I was inside Becky's house?"
"Yup."
I reach around Rob to click his buckle into place and my hand touches something. I glance around him to see what it is. It is a bouquet of flower shaped lollipops that I had purchased to serve as our centerpiece for our preschool concert that evening. How did these get from my bag in the front seat to Rob's seat? I confident I know the answer, but I still ask the question. "Rob, how did these get back here?"
"The robber did it!"
"The robber? You mean there was a robber here who moved my suckers and unbuckled you but took nothing? Not my laptop. Not my wallet. Not you or Ray. Not even the suckers. Huh."
"He was going to take the suckers but he dropped them when he unbuckled me and then he just left."
When I got to school I shared the robber story with a co-worker who laughed and said, "Sounds like he got his mama's imagination and story telling skills." Man, if that's true, I might be in for some SERIOUS trouble!
Monday, May 16, 2011
Power Play
Oh my Robby Roo. He has so much of me in him, it isn't even funny sometimes. The other day, about 1 hour into one of his many rants, Michael looked at me exasperated and said, "I don't remember being like this as a kid."
I smirked and said, "I do."
He likes to fight about what to wear, who will dress him, what to play, going to bed, how many bedtime stories, how many bedtime songs, going to sleep. I've said more than once, "Today, Robby woke up screaming and didn't stop till he passed out at night." It may be a slight exaggeration, but there is an element of truth to it too.
There was always one thing I never thought I'd have to battle Rob about. Eating. He has always been a good eater and has always loved to eat good food. In fact, this past Christmas, he was ecstatic to find a green pepper in his stocking. Eating battles with Robby were more about eating his meal in order to get more veggies. The worst food related battle I could recall involved me running out of carrots. How could I do such a thing?!?!
The first time I remember Robby turning his nose up to food was this winter when he decided he "HATES ravanoli. Ravanoli is gross!" (To which I replied, "Then it's a good thing I didn't make ravanoli and made ravioli instead!") I've since made ravioli sparingly and have enough other stuff with it that we don't have to argue too much.
Things were moving along well on the dinner front. (Were being the opportune word.) I found myself having to tell him more and more frequently to eat a little more of his meat, hot dish, or whatever meal so he could have more carrots, broccoli, green beans, or whatever vegetable I was serving. Still not too big of a deal in my mind.
And then, one night, I served: PASTA! duh-nuh-nuh!
Sometimes it's like has a switch and one can never be sure what will flip that switch, but that night, it was pasta. He screamed. He flailed. He kicked. He was carried to his room numerous times. He demanded to be made a different meal. He reasoned. And for the most part, we rolled our eyes, ignored, carried him off to his room, and ignored a great deal more. But the reasoning what was really got me rolling.
"I can't eat pasta. I'm allergic!"
"Don't you know I hate pasta?! I've ALWAYS hated pasta!"
"I can't eat pasta. It makes me sick. Do you want me to be sick? Do you want me to have diarrhea and throw up in my bed?"
"Why do you ALWAYS make pasta? You made it last night, and the night before, and the night before. You make a hundred million times!"
On and on he went giving at least 1 dozen different reasons why he can't eat pasta. Then there was the one that had me literally doubled over in hysterics: "I can't eat pasta! When I eat pasta, it makes my penis grow in my undies!"
Michael missed that one and was asking me what was wrong. I tried answering, but couldn't catch my breath long enough to speak a full sentence. After a few attempts, I managed to relay the kid quote of the day to Michael and then thanked Robby for his constant contributions to my future book. Now if I only had the time to write it...
I smirked and said, "I do."
He likes to fight about what to wear, who will dress him, what to play, going to bed, how many bedtime stories, how many bedtime songs, going to sleep. I've said more than once, "Today, Robby woke up screaming and didn't stop till he passed out at night." It may be a slight exaggeration, but there is an element of truth to it too.
There was always one thing I never thought I'd have to battle Rob about. Eating. He has always been a good eater and has always loved to eat good food. In fact, this past Christmas, he was ecstatic to find a green pepper in his stocking. Eating battles with Robby were more about eating his meal in order to get more veggies. The worst food related battle I could recall involved me running out of carrots. How could I do such a thing?!?!
The first time I remember Robby turning his nose up to food was this winter when he decided he "HATES ravanoli. Ravanoli is gross!" (To which I replied, "Then it's a good thing I didn't make ravanoli and made ravioli instead!") I've since made ravioli sparingly and have enough other stuff with it that we don't have to argue too much.
Things were moving along well on the dinner front. (Were being the opportune word.) I found myself having to tell him more and more frequently to eat a little more of his meat, hot dish, or whatever meal so he could have more carrots, broccoli, green beans, or whatever vegetable I was serving. Still not too big of a deal in my mind.
And then, one night, I served: PASTA! duh-nuh-nuh!
Sometimes it's like has a switch and one can never be sure what will flip that switch, but that night, it was pasta. He screamed. He flailed. He kicked. He was carried to his room numerous times. He demanded to be made a different meal. He reasoned. And for the most part, we rolled our eyes, ignored, carried him off to his room, and ignored a great deal more. But the reasoning what was really got me rolling.
"I can't eat pasta. I'm allergic!"
"Don't you know I hate pasta?! I've ALWAYS hated pasta!"
"I can't eat pasta. It makes me sick. Do you want me to be sick? Do you want me to have diarrhea and throw up in my bed?"
"Why do you ALWAYS make pasta? You made it last night, and the night before, and the night before. You make a hundred million times!"
On and on he went giving at least 1 dozen different reasons why he can't eat pasta. Then there was the one that had me literally doubled over in hysterics: "I can't eat pasta! When I eat pasta, it makes my penis grow in my undies!"
Michael missed that one and was asking me what was wrong. I tried answering, but couldn't catch my breath long enough to speak a full sentence. After a few attempts, I managed to relay the kid quote of the day to Michael and then thanked Robby for his constant contributions to my future book. Now if I only had the time to write it...
Friday, May 6, 2011
TAG! and Happy Mother's Day!
I remember this day, seven years ago, the Friday before Mother's Day. I was teaching kindergarten at Southgate Elementary School (go gators!). I had always managed to send home some sweet little card and craft with my kiddos, but that year, it seemed a little more special to me. I remember saying good-bye to all the lil sweeties clutching their projects to give to their mommy's and praying to myself that they would make it home to mom without too much destruction on the bus ride home.
More vividly, I remember walking down the hallway after school, was all the warm wishes from parents and co-workers. It caught me a little off guard to hear the first "Happy Mother's Day, Billie Jo!" directed my way. I even remember looking over my shoulder, to find the other Billie Jo they were wishing a happy mother's day to. (As if that would ever happen!) Feeling a bit silly, I tried to quickly recovered, smiled and greeted the well-wisher a happy mother's day in return. It felt odd to be on the receiving end of mother's day wishes for the first time.
By the time I left school that afternoon, I must have received at least a dozen mother's day greetings. I also quit looking over my shoulder and responded more quickly with a smile and a "Happy Mother's day to you too," or "thank you". Driving home that afternoon, I remember smiling and feeling like I had just been accepted into some secret society of mom-dom. Being a mom was great; I was a great mom. This must be the best holiday ever invented!
That was seven years ago. Looking back on that, I was soooo naive. Don't get me wrong, being a mom IS great, at least most of the time. ;) But as moms, we'd be lying to ourselves if we said it didn't have it's moments.
Take the last few days for instance. It has been a scream-fest. I know you other mommies have been there. As soon as one crisis is averted, another arises. As soon as one child becomes cooperative, another begins his tantrum. It's like they are tag-teaming you, but you don't have anyone in your corner to tag so you can catch your breath.
Sam screamed for 30-40 minutes yesterday morning about wanting a full glass of orange juice, and not a sippy. How did I get him to stop? I pulled up to daycare, slowed down enough to pass him off to his daycare mom, and hit the gas. Thankfully, he stopped for her, but only so he could come home and pick up where he left off. No lie, 90 minutes of screaming, crying, and kicking because I would not allow him to have the glass bowl full of cherry tomatoes. Don't think I didn't offer a smaller bowl with a handful of them; that wasn't good enough for Sam.
I was so thankful when he woke up smiling today, but when I wasn't looking, he must have tagged Robby because Robby started screaming. He screamed for at least 40 minutes about a worm-like insect that went missing. He brought home what I honestly never saw, but Michael described as a maggot-like creature in a ziploc. It's his new friend. He is going to keep it forever. Not in my house, I said. Your "friend" can live in the garden. Seeing an empty baggie this morning prompted Robby to recall his friend, run outside in his jammies to find his bestest friend ever and scream ridiculously when he couldn't find him.
"But I wanted to keep him forever! He was going to live in my garden! Someone probably stole him! I never even got to say good-bye!" Slightly irrational. I'd say so.
After threatening to leave him home with Jaxson for the day and literally loading everyone else into the Yukon, I finally managed to get Rob out the door and off to school. Whew.
7 years ago, this would have appalled me and sent me to the looney bin. Even 2 years ago, this would have really shaken me for the rest of the day. And yes, it does still fluster me from time to time, but I am amazed and how smoothly my day has managed to go after this rocky start. I could take credit saying, "Wow, I've really grown as a mom!", but that wouldn't be fully accurate. It would be more true to say, "Wow, with God's grace, I've really grown as a Christian mom."
I've learned this secret weapon in the last year. I like to call it The Power of Mama Prayer. When the screaming starts, so do the prayers. I might look and sound like a crazy lady literally chanting at times, "Patience, God, patience! Grant me patience!! Grant Robby patience!!" but I'm telling you, it's the only thing that keeps me sane some days! For me, Mama Prayer is like saying, "I'm tired. Tag, God! You're it!" It's been really nice to have God in my corner.
I smiled today as I watched my little preschoolers scamper out of class clutching their flowers with a little sign that read "Your love helps me bloom!" I can't help but think that those same words are very fitting not only for the moms out there this Mother's day, but also for my Father.
So thanks to all the great mom's out there and thanks to the One who helps them plant seeds in little hearts and water them with the gifts of patience, kindness and love.
Happy Mother's Day!
More vividly, I remember walking down the hallway after school, was all the warm wishes from parents and co-workers. It caught me a little off guard to hear the first "Happy Mother's Day, Billie Jo!" directed my way. I even remember looking over my shoulder, to find the other Billie Jo they were wishing a happy mother's day to. (As if that would ever happen!) Feeling a bit silly, I tried to quickly recovered, smiled and greeted the well-wisher a happy mother's day in return. It felt odd to be on the receiving end of mother's day wishes for the first time.
By the time I left school that afternoon, I must have received at least a dozen mother's day greetings. I also quit looking over my shoulder and responded more quickly with a smile and a "Happy Mother's day to you too," or "thank you". Driving home that afternoon, I remember smiling and feeling like I had just been accepted into some secret society of mom-dom. Being a mom was great; I was a great mom. This must be the best holiday ever invented!
That was seven years ago. Looking back on that, I was soooo naive. Don't get me wrong, being a mom IS great, at least most of the time. ;) But as moms, we'd be lying to ourselves if we said it didn't have it's moments.
Take the last few days for instance. It has been a scream-fest. I know you other mommies have been there. As soon as one crisis is averted, another arises. As soon as one child becomes cooperative, another begins his tantrum. It's like they are tag-teaming you, but you don't have anyone in your corner to tag so you can catch your breath.
Sam screamed for 30-40 minutes yesterday morning about wanting a full glass of orange juice, and not a sippy. How did I get him to stop? I pulled up to daycare, slowed down enough to pass him off to his daycare mom, and hit the gas. Thankfully, he stopped for her, but only so he could come home and pick up where he left off. No lie, 90 minutes of screaming, crying, and kicking because I would not allow him to have the glass bowl full of cherry tomatoes. Don't think I didn't offer a smaller bowl with a handful of them; that wasn't good enough for Sam.
I was so thankful when he woke up smiling today, but when I wasn't looking, he must have tagged Robby because Robby started screaming. He screamed for at least 40 minutes about a worm-like insect that went missing. He brought home what I honestly never saw, but Michael described as a maggot-like creature in a ziploc. It's his new friend. He is going to keep it forever. Not in my house, I said. Your "friend" can live in the garden. Seeing an empty baggie this morning prompted Robby to recall his friend, run outside in his jammies to find his bestest friend ever and scream ridiculously when he couldn't find him.
"But I wanted to keep him forever! He was going to live in my garden! Someone probably stole him! I never even got to say good-bye!" Slightly irrational. I'd say so.
After threatening to leave him home with Jaxson for the day and literally loading everyone else into the Yukon, I finally managed to get Rob out the door and off to school. Whew.
7 years ago, this would have appalled me and sent me to the looney bin. Even 2 years ago, this would have really shaken me for the rest of the day. And yes, it does still fluster me from time to time, but I am amazed and how smoothly my day has managed to go after this rocky start. I could take credit saying, "Wow, I've really grown as a mom!", but that wouldn't be fully accurate. It would be more true to say, "Wow, with God's grace, I've really grown as a Christian mom."
I've learned this secret weapon in the last year. I like to call it The Power of Mama Prayer. When the screaming starts, so do the prayers. I might look and sound like a crazy lady literally chanting at times, "Patience, God, patience! Grant me patience!! Grant Robby patience!!" but I'm telling you, it's the only thing that keeps me sane some days! For me, Mama Prayer is like saying, "I'm tired. Tag, God! You're it!" It's been really nice to have God in my corner.
I smiled today as I watched my little preschoolers scamper out of class clutching their flowers with a little sign that read "Your love helps me bloom!" I can't help but think that those same words are very fitting not only for the moms out there this Mother's day, but also for my Father.
So thanks to all the great mom's out there and thanks to the One who helps them plant seeds in little hearts and water them with the gifts of patience, kindness and love.
Happy Mother's Day!
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