Berkley's Hair Intervention

One thing we did this summer (yes, I'm still catching up on summer) is a major intervention on Berkley's hair. I had been told over and over that it would not be easy to take care of African American hair, and I totally believed the rumors, but nonetheless, somehow my baby ended up with a mess of hair that needed major help.

See what I mean?

LOL! Just kidding!

Seriously though. Here are a few shots of her hair before the intervention.

Is this heart-warming or what? I love this picture! That hair, though? Not so much.

The fro!

Very blurry (sorry), but this is what she looked like some mornings. A mohawk fro. Gotta love it.

We tried doing different things with it to make it look cute:

Pigtails are super cute, but the truth is, I couldn't even comb the hair into those--I just grabbed it and stuffed it in.

Super cute from the front--not as cute from the back. Plus, she would only leave that headband in for hmm. . . let's see. . a couple of minutes. Little rascal.

The worst part is that I couldn't even comb through it in the back anymore. I'm not sure how or when it got that way. It's like one day we woke up and her hair was super thick and extra curly and no amount of hair product would do the trick.

That's when I knew it was time for an intervention. So, we followed the advice of another family with children who had unmanageable black hair and set up an appointment. I was nervous, let me tell you. I was certain these women were going to hang me up by my toenails when they saw Berkley's hair.

I took Hallee with me for extra moral support. They didn't hang me up by my toenails, but they did reprimand me just a little bit. I'm sure to them I sounded like an idiot as I tried to explain the products I had been using on her hair and how often, etc. I had been washing it, trying to comb it, etc.

That's when they gave me the 411 concerning the treatment Berkley's hair should really be getting, and they went to work. Poor Berkley!!! Two hours later we left the salon, but it was a long, grueling two hours, let me tell you! I felt like the worst mother in the universe for allowing my baby's hair to get to the point they had to go to such drastic measures to save it (It was starting to turn into dreadlocks--yikes!).

We decided the best form of action would be to chemically straighten her hair so we could comb through all of it and get rid of the dreads. It took both Hallee and I to hold her and keep her hand down while the cosmetologist applied the very potent straightening cream. Berkley did not like it one little bit. Then it took two stylists to get it rinsed out.

This was the worst part. After applying the straightener, they had to comb through her head of very tangled curls. It took forever and was very painful. I felt like crying right along with Berkley.

Is this heartbreaking or what?

 Hallee held her while she got her hair straightened with a straight iron at the end of the process. I was pretty much physically, and especially emotionally, spent by this point.

Teenage daughters sure come in handy sometimes, especially sweet ones like this one:)

 Apparently Berkley was even more exhausted than I was! She fell sound asleep while they styled her hair. The trauma was over at this point, and she was completely tuckered out.

So sweet!

 The end result was worth it, I just have to say. I did want to bawl once again, however, when I first saw her. My two-year-old looked like she was at least four!! BUT I could comb through her hair! It was a miracle!!!

I sure love this little beauty!

Here is a picture of the back. Who knew her hair was so long? They actually cut about three inches off the back, too. 

In the end, we all survived the process, but it was a life-lesson for me, to be sure. I whipped through the beauty supply store on the way home to gather all the products they suggested I use on Berkley's hair, and I have faithfully combed through it every day since! I definitely do not want to repeat that little experience again!

We now have a huge basket of hair products just for Berkley. It's a little ironic we use more products on our two-year-old than on the rest of our family combined, but after our experience this summer, I just go with it. Some things just have to be. And besides, she's absolutely worth it!!

Her hair is actually still curly, which I love. It's just more manageable now. I think it is beautiful!

It's All About the Climb

I feel like motherhood has been getting the best of me lately. It's like I'm climbing a mountain where breathtaking views await at the top, but despite my rigorous efforts to get there, I'm not getting any closer. I'm just climbing and climbing but not moving upward. It's a pretty terrible feeling truthfully, and so I've been pondering a lot lately just why I'm not moving up that mountain.

I am a person who thrives on personal growth and change. I find it so refreshing! I am a goal-setter, someone who loves to make to-do lists and then work hard to cross everything off the list. I love to see progress! I think that's one reason I enjoy teaching preschool so much--young children learn so quickly and grow so much throughout the school year, and I love seeing that growth. Most importantly though, I feel a need to see our family growing in all the right directions and to feel myself growing as a mother. And I think that is what has concerned me lately. Because of different challenges with certain children, parenting has been very difficult--even grueling--and it has made the climb seem unbearably hard at times and progress seem haltingly slow, and all of it has made me wonder if I am completely failing.

It's then I have to take a step back and remind myself that it's not always about getting to the top of that mountain. Yes, the view up there is great, but there is so much to be said about the intensity, the sweat, and the effort of the climb. My days right now are full of struggle. I am constantly putting out fires and working just to keep my head above water, between one child's emotional and physical struggles and one little two-year-old's consistent trouble. Add a husband who is working six days a week, a busy teenage daughter, an almost 12-year-old son who is constantly testing boundaries, and one other child who needs my time and attention--not to mention preschool, church callings and personal illnesses I've been dealing with--and I can't help but feel completely overwhelmed on a regular basis. Now, I realize all of this is just normal life and a lot of people have it much worse than I do BUT it's still a lot, and I have been struggling.

Most nights I fall into bed just thankful to have survived another day. I curl the covers up under my chin, giddy at the prospect of sleep because I am so exhausted. But then sleep doesn't come. I begin to think about the issues going on in our lives, and especially the important, deep issues concerning our children and our future, and my mind and heart will not rest. I remind myself that tomorrow I will be tirelessly following Berkley around, pulling her out of moments of trouble, or better yet, running around trying to prevent the moments of trouble; that I will more than likely be dealing with more resistance from Boston to do what he is asked, more melt downs, more moments of complete frustration that he cannot/does not/will not (I'm not sure which is most accurate at this point) do his simple morning responsibilities and be the contributing member of our family that I feel strongly a capable seven-year-old boy should be by now; that Nate is going to make a big deal of little things and do all he can to cause an outburst from Regyn; and that Regyn, no matter how often we have worked on it, cannot and will not be able to just ignore Nate, and so the outburst will occur. And I know that sleep would definitely help me deal more patiently and capably with these inevitable issues, but yearning for rest only seems to make it more evasive.

Berkley started peeing her pants out of the blue just over a week ago. She went from hardly ever having an accident to having five in one day. Then even more the next day, and it has continued since then. No matter how hard I try, I cannot make it through a day without her having accidents. I have no idea why. I finally took a urine sample to the doctor to see if she had a bladder infection or something. Nope. Apparently, she just needs more attention. Or something. On top of that, she has poured a bottle of lotion into her carpet, which she tried cleaning up herself with a whole carton of wet wipes, shattered a number of Christmas tree ornaments on our already sparsely decorated Christmas tree, scribbled on my preschool tables with crayon, painted her toenails on my bedroom carpet (which now has a blue stain), torn pages out of books, gotten into and eaten candy or ruined many of the older children's belongings in their closet--the list goes on and on.

This is my children decorating the tree (it's a very small tree this year since we are still in the basement). Notice Berkley sneaking off with an ornament. The fact that she is a blur actually means she was speeding off with the ornament.

Here she is as Regyn is trying to patiently teach her how to place an ornament on the tree. Not an hour later, she broke that very ornament.

Here is the tree today--after my sweet mother-in-law replaced some of the broken ornaments.

You may wonder where I was when all of this was going on. Let me tell you. RIGHT HERE. This child is like no other child I have ever known, and certainly like no other child I have ever raised. She has to be accounted for at all times. And I mean all times! I seriously cannot turn my back or go to the bathroom or take a shower some days without this darling little child getting into trouble. It's completely exhausting. She is just naturally curious and very capable and an amazing climber, and by golly, this girl is determined if nothing else! I left her with my mother-in law for an hour the other day while I went to physical therapy for my neck. I warned my mother-in-law that she needed careful watching or she would pee her pants or break ornaments off the tree (even though I had warned and taught and trained and worked to teach her not to touch that tree) or who knows what. My mother-in-law nodded and smiled, and I came home an hour later to Berkley sitting on my couch in wet pants and shattered ornaments in her hands. "Where's Grandma?" I asked. She was in the other room for a few moments on the computer. Well, that is a perfectly acceptable thing to do when watching a child normally, but not this child.

When we put Berkley to bed at 7:00 every night (that's when she doesn't nap--if she naps, we are in serious trouble because we can't get that girl to bed until very late), the whole family breaths a sigh of relief, because even though we love her more than words can say, she is more work than a new puppy. It is taking the whole family's effort (mostly mine, of course) to get through every day. After an especially rough morning the other day, one of my children said in frustration, "Oh, I just can't wait until Berkley is eight years old!" I felt sad at the comment, but even more sad that I felt similar feelings at times. I mean, she takes constant parenting, diligent parenting, and it is so hard. I am on my knees, eye to eye with her many times throughout each day, patiently trying to teach her what is appropriate behavior and what is not. She is not easy. And in a terrible moment of complete frustration the other day, my mind hollered internally, Is this worth it? And then I gasped audibly, so disappointed in myself that those words had even formed and that thought had ever crossed my mind. I strode across the room in an instant and picked up my baby girl and held her so tight. And then I thought over and over, You are worth it. You are so worth it. Because she is.

This little girl that causes me so much stress, that makes me work so hard, is teaching me so very much. Yes, she is making the climb difficult and slow and grueling, but because she demands so much more of me--so much patience, so much self control, so much time, so much attention, so much love--I can only hope I am becoming more. This stretching is painful and exhausting, but it's also what I need. And honestly, there's nothing else I would rather be expending all of my time and energy on than these children of mine--but if they didn't demand it, maybe I would get distracted and give the best of myself to something or someone less important. I know at times I find myself exhorting to what I call "lazy parenting," which is basically sitting back and letting things go in to auto-drive for a while. It never works for long before everything falls apart. Good parenting is hard work. All the time. But the fruit of the labor is so worth it.

I mean, these five children I have, they make every day a challenge, but they also make every day worth living. And this mountain I'm climbing, I just don't think the views at the top would be as glorious or mean as much if the climb to get there wasn't so difficult. So, even though progress is slow at times and sometimes it feels like I'm at a complete standstill, I am grateful to be on the mountain. And sometimes I just have to remember, it's really all about the climb. There will be times the slopes will be steep and scary and other times when we'll reach a little plateau and I can catch my breath a little; what matters in the end is that I keep climbing and never give up. I'll probably have a lot of cuts and scrapes and bruises along the way, but that will only mean we didn't take the easy route, and that's ok because the most important things always take the greatest effort.

(*Disclaimer: When I started writing this blog post, I had no intentions of it turning into a metaphor about a climb up a mountain, but then it just happened to go that direction and I realized motherhood does seem like a difficult climb. I just want to make it clear, however, that although I happen to love the "Life's a Climb" song by Miley Cyrus, I really struggle to support anything to do with her right now as she has made some pretty poor life choices for a while. Just had to throw that in since it seems I stole her phrase. Love the song and the idea--don't love her image. )

Three Little Girls

Once upon a time three little girls were born.

The first came to a family who already had four children of their own but felt someone was missing. To them she was a miracle. Her name was Berkley.

The second came to a family who wondered if they would be able to have more children. To them, she too was a miracle. Her name was Brylee.

The third came to a family at a very unexpected time, a time when her family needed an extra person to love. She, of course, was a miracle. Her name was Makyla.

Three beautiful baby girls. Three miracles. All born within one month of each other. All cousins.

Brylee, Berkley, Makyla.

These baby girls started to grow and three distinct personalities began to develop.

Poor Brylee had a huge bump on her forehead in this picture. Makyla was not loving this.

One was a cowgirl (Brylee):

One was a diva (Makyla):

Is this hilarious or what?? I love it!!!

Who says divas need panties? LOL! Is this the cutest picture?

And one. . . well, she's a little bit of everything (Berkley):

-Volleyball Player

 -Knight Rider

-Goofball

 -Rapper

-Carmel Apple Taster

-Fashion Designer

Love this!!! When this girl gets herself dressed, I smile clear to my toes!

-Soccer Player?

Sometimes the girls were best of friends. . .

Sometimes two of them at a time played really well together. . .

Makyla and Berkley

Berkley and Brylee

Makyla and Brylee

. . . AND sometimes two of them at a time got in A LOT of trouble together. And I mean A LOT!

Like this past weekend when we were visiting Grandma and Grandpa's home in Cokeville. That is when these two innocent-looking two-year-olds decided to wreak total havoc every time their mothers got together to catch up on what had been going on in their lives (and might have, sort of forgotten for a few moments they had two-year-olds they should be keeping a close eye on).

Oh, I know they look incredibly, adorably innocent and sweet, but oh goodness, what trouble they can get into!!!

It all started when one mother (me) kept ignoring that nagging little voice inside her head that kept saying, you should probably go check on your daughter--she might be getting into mischief. Although this mother has been around the block a few times and knows this is a voice not to be ignored, she was in desperate need of a break and was so enjoying the carefree moments in the overstuffed chair in her mother's living room and so decided instead to go with the motto, The luxury of this moment is worth whatever mess I will have to clean up later.

What this unwise woman may have forgotten to take into account in her blissful state was that her little two-foot tornado might be doing something that affected others as well as herself.

Like unraveling an entire scarf her mother had knitted.

Or chewing an entire package of her mother's gum.

All while her daughter's partner-in-crime (not mentioning any names but it's that beautiful little girl in the green sweater on the right up there) wrote checks in her mother's checkbook.

That's right. These little girls went through my mother's purse! They emptied the entire thing and did as much damage as two little people can do in a few minute's time. My sister Katie and I tried covering up the whole fiasco before our mother found out (naughty, I know), but it's not like we could just knit up another scarf or unchew some gum! Therefore we found ourselves in trouble right along with our little girls, and all we could do was apologize. When you're guilty, you're guilty. We promised to do a better job of taking care of our children and put the purse back together the best we could.

Shaking our heads we plopped back in our easy chairs and resumed our conversation, chuckling to ourselves at how naughty little children can be. It wasn't long, however, until our chuckles turned to frustration when we realized our little girls were unaccounted for once again. Katie told me not to worry because she had just seen them five minutes ago, but I jumped to my feet anyway. This time we found them in the bathroom. I ran in and saw this. . .

Sorry it's blurry, but you get the idea.

The tub was being filled with every kind of bubbles and cleaners these two rascals could find. They were opening and dumping as quickly as they could. I could hardly believe my eyes! I mean, seriously, these two could not be trusted together!

Thankful my mother was not around, Katie and I got busy cleaning up.

She had a better attitude about it than I did, let me tell you. I must say it took a lot of rinsing to get rid of all those bubbles. I am not sure when my mother will realize she is a little short on bubble bath, but I'm sure it will become apparent at some point. We shut all doors to all rooms and promised ourselves we would watch our girls like hawks this time.

Again, they got the best of us, however. Not much later, we realized we had no idea where they were (I'm sure you're wondering by now how either of us could possibly be the mothers of five children; believe me when I say these two little ones really gave us a run for our money this particular weekend). We started searching high and low but could not find them. As you know, a terrible feeling starts welling up in your gut when such a search begins, especially when the children are so young. I told myself not to panic as we searched every inch of the house and went out in the yard as well. I opened the garage and searched there but found nothing. Katie was hunting outside but having no luck. It was when I closed the garage door that I thought I heard something. I opened it again and that's when I saw something out of the corner of my eye.

These two little munchkins squealed and plopped down behind the back seat of my grandfather's car to hide from me. They had escaped the house and gone into the garage and into my grandpa's car! And now they were purposely hiding from me. I could not believe it! We could have searched for a very long time because I would never have thought to look for them there. I was so grateful to have found them and so dumbfounded that they had done that. Talk about mischievous, clever little girls!

It was when we were helping clean up the basement only an hour or so later when we found a stuffed Pound Puppy with suspicious-looking slits all over it that we realized our girls had also performed surgery with some nearby scissors on this poor homemade dog! My eyes as big as saucers, I watched Katie hide the scissors and realized with dismay that it might be my last welcomed visit home to see my parents in a while.

It had not been a good day to say the least. Katie and I looked at each other and didn't even know what to say. I was pretty sure I knew who the instigator to all the mischief was and she was pretty sure she knew who had willingly followed her lead. One thing we knew for certain these two little girls had had too much fun together for one day (It turns out some miracles bring stress and a lot of hard work along with the joy!)

You might be wondering what the third little girl had been doing all this time. After all, she lives in Cokeville, too, and her mother was right upstairs with Katie and I. Well, I hate to admit it, but she was playing innocently by her mother upstairs in the living room the entire day. That's right. Apparently Brylee prefers a little less drama, a little less mischief and a lot less trouble than the Berkley and Makyla.

At the end of the day, Katie and I were just hoping this was not a sign of things to come for our girls. After all, when your children are fortunate enough to have, not only one, but two best friends--cousins even--their very same age to grow up with and play with and have fun with and learn with and love, you hope with all your heart they can bring out the best in each other.

And besides, we are hoping this story ends with ". . . and they all lived happily ever after" (even for the Moms)!