Motherhood and the Energizer Bunny

I've been on vacation. Actually, can you call it a vacation if you take three of your four children with you? Either way, it being summer and all, we're trying to take advantage of fewer commitments so we can travel a little bit. My husband took my oldest son to Canada fishing for nine days, and I took the rest of the troops to Wyoming for a week to visit my family--a much anticipated trip.

Everything started out great. The kids played nonstop with their cousins while I rested, visited, snacked and enjoyed the beautiful fresh Wyoming air (all except the drones of mosquitoes, that is). It was exactly what I needed.

Unfortunately, the best things always come to an end.

Halfway through the week I felt my patience starting to thin. Between the tattling, the whining, the begging for snacks, and so forth, I realized that location means very little when it comes to children. They can drain my reservoirs just as easily at Grandma's house as they do in our own home. When day four came and my three-year-old hit me for the upteenth time, I found myself on the other side of a bedroom door, wiping my brow in exasperation as my little guy threw a fit on the other side--a scenario I've participated in all too many times lately.

My 85-year-old grandfather came out of the next bedroom and must have noticed my reserves waning. I let out a sigh of frustration, to which he responded, "The trick is to outlast them. Then they learn to respond better to you." I laughed at his comment as a picture of the Energizer Bunny immediately appeared in my frazzled head. No one outlasts the Energizer. The familiar commercial jingle repeated itself in my mind as I nodded in agreement.

As the day wore on, and my stamina wore thinner and thinner, I decided my grandfather was exactly right. Motherhood is all about "outlasting"--outlasting fits, poor behavior, groundings, potty training accidents, poor attitudes, and so on. Our goal is to become Energizer Bunnies, so we can outlast all the problems that arise in a day and thus produce happy, wonderful children.

So, on days when my endurance is low, I'm just going to remember that little Energizer Bunny beating his drum as he rolls along outlasting everybody. And maybe then I will be able to outlast my children's determination to be naughty. If only I had batteries to help me!

Fortunately

One last backpack full of papers/books made it home to my kitchen table a week ago, signalling the final days of school. I had already chucked a large amount of collectible items, so I tried to put a little effort into sorting and saving a few remaining mementos. Eager to read my eight-year-old son's writing, I began by picking up a story he wrote entitled "Fortunately." Just as I was hoping, it tickled me clear to my toes and made me chuckle the entire day. Here's how it went (with corrected spelling so you could actually understand it).

Fortunately, my friend invited me to his birthday party.
Unfortunately, they were riding bulls.
Fortunately, I was sick that day.
Unfortunately, my friend decided to wait until I got better.
Fortunately, I got to ride a little bull.
Unfortunately, I figured out the little ones are the wild ones.
Fortunately, I only rode for one second.
Unfortunately, another friend invited me to his birthday party.
Fortunately, we went swimming.

I just love catching a glimpse into the heads of my children sometimes. I never cease to be amazed at how clever and funny they are. They definitely keep me smiling. So, as a tribute to my son, I decided to dedicate this post to him and write my own story entitled "Fortunately." Here goes.

Fortunately, I am a mother.
Unfortunately, sometimes I'm not a very good one.
Fortunately, my kids love me anyway.
Unfortunately, I still want to throttle them at times (not literally).
Fortunately, I'm learning there are better ways to handle frustrating situations.
Unfortunately, I still blow it all too often.
Fortunately, my kids are very forgiving.
Unfortunately, they want to throttle me at times (not literally).
Fortunately, at the end of the day, they're still glad to be my kids, and I'm still glad to be their mom.
Unfortunately, they'll never be perfect kids, and I'll never be a perfect mother.
Fortunately, they'll always be the perfect kids for me, and hopefully I'm the perfect mother for them because I love them more than they could ever know!
Unfortunately . . . I have no more unfortunatelies.

Life is good, and I'm so thankful it's full of fortunatelies.

HOME

Last week being the end of the school year, my children trudged home every day and emptied their backpacks full of papers, books, art projects, etc. they had collected over the past nine months. Needless to say, the thought of going through all of it and choosing a couple of things to save was a little daunting. One day, however, I grabbed a pile of my eight-year-old son's papers and books and started sorting. In the process, I came upon his school journal. I didn't have time to read every page, so I simply flipped it open to see if there was anything interesting. This is what I read first.

"I like to . . .
play soccer out at reses with my friends
eat helthy stufe like brokly and stroberrys
play football and stare worse on the wii
swim and get wet
do my beste in school"

Obviously, spelling isn't one of the things he likes to do, and I am a little surprised by his desire to eat healthy food like broccoli. But, the thing that caught my eye was the last thing he wrote. He drew a picture of our family and wrote, "I like to be with my family a lot."

I immediately choked up when I read those words. Not that I thought he hated being with his family, but the fact that he wrote it in his school journal touched me deeply. So, I read on.

"My family . . .

We like to go to Lagoon;" (can you believe he put a semicolon here? The kid's grammar is atrocious, but then he throws in a semicolon--I love it!) "and my favorite thing to do is play sports like football, soccer, tennis, golf, baseball, basketball and racing; "(another semicolon--they must have had a lesson on these or something. And I love that the kid can hardly spell his name, but he spells every sport correctly) "My mom dose wired (I think he means weird) stuff I would not do like doing like landry every day of her life; (yet another semicolon--and glad he's noticed I do laundry every day) and going on baby rides with my brother; but I still love her very much;" (tears are dripping off my nose at this point, but the next one is the kicker) "My family is the best family there is on the planet."

Needless to say, I couldn't read more for a few minutes because my eyes were full of tears and I couldn't see the words anymore. Sounds a bit ridiculous, I know, but there's just something about your son admitting his love for his family in his school journal that gets to you. When I finally got a hold of myself to sift through a few more pages, I was again touched by what he wrote.

"My Favorites:"
Things to do: sports like football, basketball, soccer, etc.
Things to eat: sweets like candy and ice cream
Places to be: home"

I was expecting his favorite place to be to be Disneyland or the gym or his friend's house. I never thought he would say his favorite place to be is simply our home. But it meant more to me than he could know. And as I reached for yet another Kleenex, my heart was full of gratitude. I wondered to myself if I would list home as my favorite place to be and decided I would. Despite the constant chaos, the never ending list of responsibilities, the continual refereeing, and more, still home is where I choose to be. It's where I get to be. It's where I love to be.

I never did make it through all of the paperwork; in fact, just today I decided to ditch the project altogether and I threw everything else in the trash. But I kept the journal, just in case I need to pull it out one day and remind my son how he once felt about his home and family. Or in case I need to pull it out to remind myself how he once felt about his home and family. Either way, all I can say is that I hope that one day, when it's all said and done, all of us can say that we like to be with our family a lot, that we have the best family on the planet, and that our favorite place to be is home!

Four Kids--Four Personalities

It never ceases to amaze me how different the children in one family can be. Not only do siblings often vary in appearance, but I've noticed an even larger discrepancy in personality. Take, for instance, my kids.

My ten-year-old is responsible, sweet and sensible. She looks and acts more like a 13-year-old, but in a good way (meaning, she's not into boys or popularity and such yet). She's a bit dramatic and can lose her temper, but she immediately gets a hold of herself and apologizes. She is seldom in any real trouble, although her mother does wish she would show more respect and love to her younger brother. She doesn't care a lot about personal appearance, and in fact, could probably up her performance in hygiene a little.

For example, just last week she was invited to a party with some girls she plays soccer with. Since she's not asked to such events often, I thought it might be a good idea to take her hair of her daily pony tail and maybe spend a few minutes brushing it out and making it look a little more presentable. Also, I suggested a change of clothes--nothing fancy--just clean and unholy. She didn't agree. "It's not a beauty pageant, mother. It's just a little pizza party." Agreed, but a little more effort couldn't hurt, could it?

Then there's my eight-year-old son. He's athletic and fun and soaks up the most he can out of life. He is always busy, and in fact, cannot even sit on a couch without tossing a ball up and catching it. He has a lot of friends and needs them. He does not like playing solo. He has a great sense of humor and a wonderful heart. He gets into trouble on a more regular basis and has a horrible temper, but he's learning to go to his room, get a grip, then come apologize. He absolutely does not like it when someone raises his/her voice at him, so I have to be so careful in how I speak to him when I am frustrated, and in fact, I have to discipline him completely different from my ten-year-old. He makes me smile every day with his quick wit.

The other day I was telling him about a neighbor girl who had run into another child on the playground and had ended up cracking her skull in two places. My other children were riddling me with questions about the accident when Nate looked at me and said, "So you're telling me she ran into someone and broke the school in two different places? Where did the school get broken?" It took me a moment to realize he was thinking of the building he attends every day to learn, rather than the girl's head. We all laughed as I explained that when I said the word, "skull," I meant the bones that surround the brain in our heads. What I loved most is that, rather than be offended that we laughed at him (like my 10-year-old may have done), he joined in and laughed right along with us.

My five-year-old is a diva in training. She cares a lot about how she looks and changes her clothes many times a day. She is particular about how I fix her hair and loves nothing more than for someone to tell her she looks cute. I picked her up from preschool recently and asked how it went. Her response was, "Nobody said I looked cute today. Dari's hair was cuter than mine." I didn't even know how to respond. Just the next day, she came into the bathroom while I was getting ready and said with exasperation, "Oh great, you look cuter than I do today!" She's a smart as a whip and helpful and sweet, but when she decides to throw a fit--watch out! She plays with a swarm of little boys in the neighborhood and when I asked her why she liked playing with boys so much, she said it was so she could boss them around. I have no doubt that's true. She's also a bit of a pathological liar (she recently told her preschool teacher I was expecting twins--not true), but we're working on embracing honesty.

While exercising at my friend's house the other day, she asked me if she could go upstairs. I told her she needed to stay downstairs where I could monitor her. She was not pleased with that answer, and a minute later, I heard her tell her little brother, "Mom won't let us go upstairs because she's a (pause) mom--a word I can't say because it's a potty word and I don't want to have to do a chore." That's Regyn (or should I say Savannah since she also told me she hates her name and wants to officially change it) to a tee.

Lastly, there's my three-year-old. He's usually happy and content and loving. He follows Regyn around like a little puppy and apparently doesn't mind being told what to do all day. He loves to read stories and do puzzles and most of all, ask questions. I've never known a child who can ask so many questions. "Are we going swimming now? At the pool? Where there's deep water? Where I have to be careful so I don't drown? Because drowning means I die? And you don't want me to die? Because then you'll be sad?" And on and on and on. I try responding to each question but it gets tiring fast.

Last week I was rushing to get ready to go to the school for an event for one of my older children. Running a bit behind schedule, I was trying to come up with a fast hairdo. Without realizing it, I said out loud to myself, "I can't do that to my hair. I look like an idiot." The next thing I knew, Boston was at my side. "Mom, what does an idiot look like?" Needless to say, I had no answer for that question.

Four kids--four unique personalities. What can I say? At least, it keeps life interesting.

The Best Therapy

Last week I did something absolutely amazing! After I finished, I felt like a whole new woman--more free, more in control, more fabulous. And I thought to myself: Why in the world did I wait so long to do this? It changed my whole perspective on life. I mean, it was literally life-changing!

I cleaned out my closet.

Okay, so you were probably expecting something more dramatic but I'm serious when I say it made a significant difference in my life. I immediately felt like I had lost 10 pounds (the feeling every woman wants, right?), and I could not stop wondering why and how I had let things get so out of control. I also could not stop finding myself in my closet throughout the next few days, just staring at the organized shoes and clothes, simply breathing in the feeling of neatness and order.

I guess you would have had to have seen just how bad it looked before you could really appreciate what I'm talking about. I even took "before" and "after" pictures so I could remind myself of what I never want my closet to look like again. That may sound a little over-the-top, but I'm telling you, it was worth it.

BEFORE:

AFTER:

(Honestly, you can't possibly tell from the pictures just how dramatic the change really was).

Life the past nine months consistently spiraled into craziness. Between teaching preschool, supporting my children's athletic and school events, dealing with health issues, coaching a club volleyball team, church assignments and a gazillion other life responsibilities, my role as homemaker took a back seat--like way back, like the caboose back. In other words, the bare minimum was getting done, and little by little, my house became a hazardous zone. I kept telling myself I would get to it, that when the basement was finally done (we've been working on it for a good year), I would find a place for everything and get officially organized.


Well, the other day, I hit a wall. I walked into my closet (actually, it was nearly impossible to walk into it because of everything piled all over, so carefully attempted to make my way without tripping would be a more accurate description) and decided enough was enough. I was not going to live another day with such a disastrous room. And I got to work. Two hours later I emerged. I felt as if I had conquered Goliath. The rest of the day, I kept returning to stand in the middle of it and just stare. I realized I could even lie on the floor and make a snow angel in the carpet if I wanted to since the floor was free of debris. It was the most wonderful feeling!


But then I walked out of my closet and felt . . . like crying. The whole house seemed to need a major overhaul. I decided to take on one project a day until the entire house was as fresh and clean as my closet. I didn't care what other responsibilities had to be put on hold--I was on a mission to find my house again one room at a time, and no one was going to stop me!


Except my children and their obligations.


A few days went by without progress. That's when I had a rough day of motherhood (my three-year-old is teaching me patience--need I say more?), and before I knew it, I had thrown open the hall closet and started tossing everything over my shoulder. It was as if I had discovered a new form of therapy--decluttering--and it was working like a charm. Ducking as they passed by, my children wondered what was going on with Mom and why I was furiously organizing the closet. "I'm taking control of my life again," I said. And that's exactly how it felt.


Over the course of a few days I cleaned my pantry (too bad I didn't take "before" and "after" pictures--it was unbelievable) and numerous drawers and cupboards in my kitchen. And with each tidied space I felt a little more free and in control. It was amazing!


One day my son became sick and felt like he had a fever. I rushed to the newly organized closet and grabbed for a thermometer (I found out I own four--before the feverish cleaning expedition I wasn't sure I even owned one), plopping it under his tongue with a smile of satisfaction that I knew exactly where to find one. I felt empowered. I decided right then that regardless of how crazy life gets, my role as homemaker will never get pushed so far to the back again.


A few years ago I watched an Oprah that talked about your home being a reflection of you. They said if your home is cluttered, your life is cluttered. I thought it was interesting, that some valid points were made. But I had never fully experienced it until this past week when I decided my life was full of way too much clutter, and I got to work. If only I had known I could feel so much better just by making a space for things and then making sure things got put away in that space. So simple, yet so hard .


Now, reality tells me it won't stay wonderfully tidy forever, at least not without consistent effort. But I just have to say, if you want to do something amazing for yourself--something that doesn't cost a thing, something that will change your life--simply pick a closet. It truly is the best therapy.

Seemingly Small Acts

Sludging through the daily grind of life--school schedules, sports schedules, lessons, church responsibilities, and more--we often seem so busy I wonder if my children are soaking up the things that matter most each day. Important habits, such as scripture reading, praying, fulfilling family responsibilities, serving and helping each other, often get rushed through or even pushed aside as we run to keep up with everything else. Yet these are the activities I want my children to pay the most attention to, because in the end, they are the only things that really matter.

In an effort to drive this point home, I find myself constantly working to make these seemingly small acts each day become the heartbeat of our very lives. Still, I often wonder if I'm succeeding at all. Most days it seems I'm not, but if there's one thing motherhood is teaching me, it's that our children are watching and learning from EVERYTHING we do, even--and maybe especially--when our influence on them may be nearly imperceptible. I sometimes feel exhausted from that pressure because I certainly can't and don't set a perfect example at all times. But the good news is my children are soaking up more of the good than I ever suspect, and to me, that's one of the miracles of motherhood. It's one of the ways God makes up the difference. Since we can't be perfect moms and get it right all the time, He enhances the effect of our positive influences on our children when we are trying hard to do the right things. And I have to believe these are the experiences that will shape my children and make up for the many times I blow it.

This past week we experienced a morning that proved this point to me. I had been working hard all week on carrying out a few large responsibilities. By the end of Wednesday evening, I found myself with a migraine headache, so sick I could barely get myself to bed. Every thought I had or move I made shot sharp pain through me head and left me feeling sure I was going to throw up. I took some medicine and crawled into bed, praying for a miracle since I knew I had to teach preschool the next morning, as well as meet some other commitments.

Somehow I made it through the night, although quite miserably. Morning found me finally able to rest a little deeper, and I thought to myself that if I could only sleep in a bit then I might be able to actually get out of bed and make it through the day. The problem was my husband had to leave early for a meeting at work and could not stay to help me. That left only my children, and although I wanted to believe they were up to the task of fixing themselves breakfast, getting ready for the day, and accomplishing the morning routine in time for school, I admit I was a bit skeptical. In fact, I didn't even dare ask them to try. I just kept willing myself to get out of bed, only to find myself falling sound asleep again.

I finally awoke with a start and realized it was 8:00. My older children needed to be leaving to catch the bus soon and I wasn't even sure they'd had breakfast yet. Just as I was throwing back the covers to slide out of bed, all four of my children appeared at my bedside. They were dressed, had eaten breakfast and were all ready for the day. Even better than that, my 10-year-old had organized family scripture reading. My eight-year-old was speaking to me in soothing tones as he rubbed the back of my neck and back and asked me if there was anything else he could do for me. The beds were made, the teeth were brushed, and they were ready for family prayer.

I was amazed and humbled and grateful. Wow, they're getting it, I thought. In fact, it seemed they'd gotten it. I began to wonder if they needed me at all in the mornings since they had accomplished all of this 10 minutes earlier than usual. That's when my eight-year-old told me to fold my arms and close my eyes so he could pray for our day. My bedroom became a sacred place when his simple words included a humble plea for me to get feeling better. Tears filled my eyes as my four sweet children each kissed me, hugged me and told me to have a great day. I was overcome by the love and compassion and service they had shown me, and as I lay there in bed a little longer, I wondered when and how they had become such thoughtful, loving children.

That's when it hit me. It's who they've been becoming all along, and I just hadn't fully realized it. I'd been so adept at noticing the weak spots in our family, I had failed to grasp how effective our daily righteous habits had been on teaching my children goodness. Now, I'm going to be quick to say that my dear children have a long way to go. They certainly aren't always so thoughtful as they were the other morning, nor are they always so efficient and loving. But I believe our efforts to fill our lives with important habits like scripture reading and prayer and service make more of a difference at the end of the day than we could ever imagine. It's a lesson I hope to not soon forget.

And I've been thinking that maybe, just to give them extra practice, I'll be sick a little more often!

Happy Mother's Day!!

Mother's Day this year proved to be an education for me. Not only did I learn some things about myself I didn't know, but I also came to the realization that one reason I have had less-than-ecstatic feelings about this holiday every year is that my children seem to choose this day to be at their absolute worst. Fighting, name-calling, whining, begging, and more all seem to culminate on Mother's Day, making it extremely difficult to refrain from my usual hollering and nagging long enough to feel like an accomplished mother.

This year my children inundated me with special notes, which were not only sweet, but very informative. For example, from my 10-year-old I learned I am "octofantastic". What, you might ask, does octofantastic mean? Well, I'm not sure, although I've chosen to assume it's something great. She didn't know herself; it was just a word she made up when she couldn't think of any other one that started with "O" for an acrostic with my name (I was just thankful the word "ornery" didn't come to mind).

My eight-year-old attempted to show his love through an acrostic poem as well. Using the word "mother," this is what he came up with: Money, Oatmeal, Tame, Hot, Easy, and Rough. Not exactly words I would use if I wanted to impress my mother, but oh well. I was just about to ask what he meant by writing money, oatmeal, rough and tame when I decided instead to focus on the word "hot." Wow, I thought, at least he thinks I'm something great to look at. He must have read my mind, because without me even asking, he said, "The hot just means you get hot when you're outside, Mom." Great. Thanks, son. I feel so special now.

My five-year-old filled out an entire paper all about me. Apparently, I'm 21 years old (I love that girl!), I'm as pretty as a heart (whatever that means), and my favorite food is tomatoes and onions in a sandwich. At least she didn't have to make up a word (like octofantastic), or use a word like oatmeal or rough to describe me.

The real kicker was my three-year-old, though. In an effort to make the day meaningful, my husband gathered the children together for a special Family Home Evening on none other than . . . how great mom is! He started by asking the kids to think of things I do for them. This brought a lot of sighs, eye rolling, and inaudible muttering from the kids. They were less than enthusiastic about the topic. Personally, I thought it was a great idea. I sat back, folded my arms and waited for the appreciation to start flooding in.

Number one on the list was the laundry. Okay, not bad, but is that the best these kids can come up with? It was Boston's turn next. My husband turned to him and said, "Boston, what does Mommy do for you every day?" I held my breath as I awaited what I was sure would be a sweet little answer that would melt my heart. Instead, he looked right at my husband and said matter-of-factly, "She gets mad at me." Not exactly heart-melting material. Young children are so uncensored!


Round two of this little activity found my eight-year-old saying, "Mom's a good influence." Finally, a thoughtful answer. If only he hadn't followed it up with, "What does influence mean?" Somehow a compliment becomes less meaningful when the person saying it doesn't even know what it means.


The end of the day found me grateful it's 365 days until Mother's Day rolls around again. I've given it quite a lot of thought, and I think I'll use the time to coach my children on more appropriate, meaningful responses for next year. If nothing else, I plan to be the most octofantastc mom ever !