Why does my husband always get hit on, and I never do?

 Seriously...people of my gender... when did a wedding ring became an invitation?
I will be completely honest with you. If I ever considered having an affair, it would not be with a married man. Chances are, he has kids. I've already got plenty of those.

He started getting hit on in residency. An older woman came up to him in a patient room (just the two of them) and pronounced, "Um-um. I could drink champagne straight out of your dimples." Wow. Even I had never thought of doing that.

Once at a medical conference, a girl came up to him at a restaurant. He was sitting with his colleagues. Apparently, in his words, she was pretty attractive. She brushed his shoulder and gave him the eye. He ignored her. But his buddy didn't. He saw what was going on and said, "hey, if you're not going after that, I will."

In fellowship, another woman called him, "Dr. Sexy."

I try to explain to him that he gets hit on because he happens to be a doctor. My mom is married to a doctor. She warned me a long time ago that it would happen. But he is sure it is because he is so darn good looking.

Your not alone in wondering what may be wrong with me. Why doesn't anyone want to drink champagne from my dimples?

In my defense:
My car smells like old French fries and spoiled milk (and that's after I've been through the car wash).
I have a gut that hangs over my pants because I can't give up Coke. Oh, and in case you missed it, I carried five children in there too.  I am hardly ever, without at least one child with a runny nose and bare feet. And let's be honest, school book fairs and PTA meetings aren't really known for being pick-up parties. Let's just say, I don't get out much.
And to be honest, if anyone wanted to hit on a mom with five kids, I don't think they are in it for the long haul.

So here I stand. With a hit on husband. I love how he thinks it's funny.  He is my Dr. Sexy. And I get to be his best friend.  Maybe one day I'll even get hit on too. But for now,
I think I'll go drink some Coke from his dimples.

Being a YES Parent

It's not easy...I know. Trust me, I am one of you. We all know that it is easier to let them play video games then let them outside. It is easier to do it for them, instead of letting them fail trying to figure it out. Luckily for me, I was blessed with this kid. He refuses to take NO for an answer. And so I have learned. I have learned the blessings of becoming a YES parent. It's as if we all want strong, independent, confident children...but don't have the patience to let them become such. It's messy. It's tiring. No, actually...it's downright exhausting. And above all, it is humbling. I decided a long time ago, that I would not care what my neighbors thought of us. It isn't easy. There is an invisible social norm to raising children. And I don't fit it. My house isn't white and beautiful. It's worn and tired. My walls have marks and the carpet has stains. Mud lingers in the entryway. Hand prints line the windows. Pillow pits and blanket forts greet you at every turn. Play doh and paint have left my table stained. But I am devoted to YES. The word NO is reserved for running in the street, doing drugs and having sex before marriage.
When you become a YES parent, your life may look something like this...

broken chairs become catapults

and drum sets shouldn't cost you anything

people will stare

and neighbors wonder why...

wanting something doesn't mean buying it, but rather, creating it

bedspreads are meant to be the home of solace seeking activities

 costumes are never purchased

power drills have no minimum age limit

and haunted houses appear in your driveway

laundry baskets become machines of creative movement

Playing with fire...well, it actually should be accompanied with gloves. My fault. For reals.

kids actually really don't need you hovering over them in the kitchen

and no one said you need a fishing pole.

Next time you find your child doing something out of the invisible social norm:  Breathe. I suggest closing your eyes. And just say,
"YES"

Side Note: One day I was explaining to Jake that he is going to be a millionaire because his mom was so amazing and always let him invent things. As a payback, I was wondering if he would pay for my nursing home care when I get super old. He thought for a minute. He smiled.
"O.K. Here's the deal. I'll pay for your nursing home. Just don't think you're getting the best one." 
Hmmm...can't wait for my economy living conditions! Thanks buddy. 

Have my last 15 years been in vain?

I was in the car with these two teens. We were talking. Not sure about what. But my oldest decided to take the conversation in a different, unexpected direction.
"Mom, I can honestly say that I don't think you have ever given me one piece of advice that has actually been helpful."
I thought he was joking.
"You're joking, right?"
"No..I'm serious."
"Wait...you're joking, right?"
"No...I don't think you've ever given me any advice that has helped me to be a better person."
I was dumbfounded,
I didn't know what to do..so I laughed.
And then his younger brother figured it was a good time to air all the dirty laundry.
"Oh yeah, and mom. You REALLY stress me out."
"What is going on here, guys...what are you talking about?"
"Well..it's just that when you get stressed...I get super stressed because you're so stressed."
"Jake, I am seriously like the most laid back mom I know. I let you destroy my house. I let you cook in my kitchen and use the drill and hammer and nails and, and, and...I was trailing off."
I was in a state of shock.
"Mom, I think your laid backness actually makes you stressed."

O.K. I couldn't help but laugh. I had to do something besides cry.
Perhaps the last 15 years of my life had been in vain. All of this stay-at-home mom stuff was a waste. Perhaps a day care lady would have given them better advice? I continued to drive home in a stupor of thought. They were both dead serious. I had to do something...fast. I saw a McDonalds up ahead.
"I don't know about you guys...but I need a coke. And you need ice cream."
Upon receiving their ice cream, they both said, "thank you, mom."
I won.
I smiled to myself.
I guess my last 15 years weren't in vain. I was forced to praise myself because obviously no one else was going to.  Alright, Jessie. You're rockin in.
After 15 years, you've raised brutally honest, grateful for ice cream boys.

P.S. Later that night, Will admitted that if it makes me feel any better...his dad has never given him any good advice either. So yeah, I feel better now.

Best Friends

Long story short. I was laying in bed when I opened an email from my 9 year old daughters church leader. It was not good. Basically, my daughter and her friends were not being respectful. I almost started crying. When you get an email like that as a mom, you are irrationally thinking that between the lines, the lady was basically saying..."so, I'm not going to put up with your sub-par parenting anymore." Which was absolutely not the case. But that's how I insecurely felt.
The next day I spent making homemade chocolate chip cookies. When Naomi got home from school, she wrote an apology letter. She was crying. She felt terrible. She knew I wasn't happy. We drove to her teacher's house.  Her teacher was very kind and appreciative. It was over. Apology accepted. Forgiveness granted. She was done.

As we drove home, Naomi was desperately trying not to cry.  I looked over at her. My heart melted with love. She is my best nine year old friend, after all. We have had talks before about how in Heaven, we are going to be more like friends than like mother/daughter. Sometimes we refer to each other as best friends. Cause that's what it will be like in Heaven.
I reached out my hand toward that tender-hearted, precious daughter. She grabbed it and clung to it as if I had just offered her the most amazing olive branch. She held my arm so tight. I started crying. Tears were streaming.
I heard myself say, "Babe...we can still be best friends. But today...I had to be your mom."
She nodded as if she completely understood. We looked at each other. And smiled.
And cried happy tears.

"Just a Mom"

My husband in a doctor. I'm not. In fact, I have a degree in English.  Whenever I am asked what I do, I instantly reply, "I'm just a mom." Sometimes I worry I am not enough. Sometimes I wonder what I am actually contributing to the world. I mean, my husband is saving kids with cancer for heaven sakes. I clean urine off the toilet seats. I do a great job at the urine cleaning and all...but it's not like I need a doctorate for it. But sometimes, just sometimes, my urine cleaning is put aside for just a moment. And something like this happens. 
I lay there in a king size bed. Smashed between two toddler bodies. One a boy. And one a 

girl.  It was late and dark. My four year old son lay on my right side. He quietly slid into silent slumber. I could hear his breathing slow, and then become almost inaudible. A sign of his passing into dreamland. My toddler girl, on the other hand lay to my left. She was uneasy. Perhaps hyper.  I was exhausted and couldn’t bear the thought of getting out of bed one more time. I tried all of my old tricks. Singing, scratching the back, whispering secrets in her ear. Nothing. Nothing worked. I finally decided to lay there. Still as can be. Maybe she would see that everyone was asleep and join her brother in his dreams. I lay beside her. Breathless. Pretending. She didn’t take the bait. She felt around in the dark for my familiar face. She reached her skinny, short, warm clammy arms around my neck. She squeezed my face next to her chest. I felt like I was being strangled just like a prey to a reticulated python…I knew every constricting snake, thanks to my years of reading disgusting bedtime stories to my now older boys. Even after years of trying to forget the disturbing snake images in children’s books, I could still see that reticulated python strangling it’s prey. I was now the prey. To a three year old little girl. But this time, it wasn’t disturbing. Not even at all. I struggled to breath in her death grip. I tried to breathe as quietly as possible. Her movements softened. Slowly. The adorable 3 year old python had it’s 38 year old tired, exhausted prey. The prey found herself to be unexplainably…happy. Perhaps even…joyful. I lay there in bed. Staring blankly at the dark ceiling. The python quietly slipped into slumber. Her grip still held my neck in firm choking stance. But that night, I lay there.  Strangely struggling to breathe. Completely at peace. Thinking that this moment, was worth a thousand bad ones. That at this one, little piece of time, I couldn’t have wanted to be anything…anything. But “just a mom.”

When an MRI is a welcome break...

Living 1000 miles from any family has its challenges. The biggest challenge? Getting up the nerve to ask my already worn out, tired out, dried out mom friends to babysit.  I only call in a favor when it's necessary. I hate asking. I know my kids. They're hard. Ive taken them to ultrasounds, pelvic exams, therapy appointments and anything that isn't absolutely neccesary that may implicitly state, "no children allowed." An MRI is one of those occasions. I hate to admit my mom fail's...but I have even made my seventh grader stay home from school for an extra hour to babysit so I don't have to ask a friend. Terrible...I know. But don't judge. If you are judging...you probably live by your mom.
I dropped my little's at my friend's house. Got in the minivan and sped down the road. I sat in the waiting room with my white, cotton, open in the back hospital gown. I waited impatiently to be taken back. I felt a huge guilt making my friend watch my kids. I really, really wanted them to hurry this thing up. It was my fourth MRI in four years. I knew the drill. It would take about 20 minutes once I was in. Come on, come on...I kept thinking.
And then it hit. There was a magazine on the table. I heard myself breathe. I heard everything. The buzzing of the machine. Opening of doors. It was eerily quiet. I sat back in the chair. I changed my tune. I started thinking, "take your time, take your time."
It was finally my turn. She slid my body into the claustrophobic intensely nerve wracking tube. The tube in which you could not escape. I laughed out loud. I was in heaven. I was stuck on my back. I couldn't move. Not even budge. They reminded me that I had to be as still as possible. I lay there. Quietly. Peacefully. Heavenly. The loud pounding noise from the machine pulsated my body. I felt relaxed. Minute after minute. I was hoping it wouldn't end. Finally she announced from the speaker, "this is your last one." "it will be four minutes."
I felt like crying. I only had four minutes left! It wasn't enough.
I was escorted to the locker room and put my clothes back on. My insurance paid 20 minute visit to the MRI spa was over.
I walked my depressed self back to wait for the doctor to give me the results. The nurse came in to see how I did. I admitted that it was the best 20 minutes of my week. She burst out laughing. "You've got to be kidding," she replied. "Everybody hates those things."
I responded.
"With all due respect, if anybody hates those things...it's because they don't have enough kids."
That was AMAZING!

Food Issues

I have food issues.  I have no idea how it started.  I honestly cannot let my kids go to bed hungry. If you are one of those moms that tells their child that if they don't eat what you made for dinner then they can go to bed hungry...just FYI...I am the complete opposite. It's not a good thing. It's a weakness. Big, big weakness.
Example:
Dinnertime at the Ford house. (this is NOT made up)
"Ok guys...it's dinner time. Everyone get in here."
"What's for dinner, mom?"
"Spaghetti with homemade bread and salad."
"Oh...I don't like that kind of meat sauce."
"Can you make me some ramen?"
"I think if I get rid of the red sauce off the meat, I can use the meat to make a taco."
The baby just stared at her plate and then crawled down and left without a single word.

What would a normal mother do? Tell them that's their only option.
I'm not normal.
"Sure...I'll make you ramen."
"Here Jake, here are some taco shells for you to make a taco."
"Do you just want a bowl of cereal instead?"
"Oh wow. Naomi you're actually eating my dinner? Thanks, babe."

Yup. That's about every night at the Ford house. Every. Single. Night.
I make a fairly healthy, four food group kind of meal. Four of the five children end up with a bowl of cereal or ramen. Maybe settle for a pop tart or two.

Why do I let them get away with this?
I will tell you why.
I have ISSUES.
I cannot...let me kids go to bed hungry. It's as if I think they are going to wither away and die if they skip a meal. It's not normal. But, alas. We all have our issues. Mine could be worse.

I decide I am done trying. That's it. I'M DONE. I'm not cooking dinner anymore.
But we all know I'm just talk.
I will wake up again tomorrow.
Worry about dinner all day.
Make the blessed dinner.
And then make three more dinners for the kids who don't want to eat the first one I made.
And so it goes.
The cycle of my motherhood eating issues.
But we all know that I will do it.
Again...and again...and again.
Because after all the cooking, the worrying, the clean up and the sighs of exasperation...
I will do it every day of my life.
Because they are the ones who make me happy.
I tell my kids the reason that mothers love their kids so much...is because they serve them so much.
It's just as Christ taught us. You love those you serve.
Well...I really, really, really love my kids. I must be doing a good job serving them.
A dang good job!

Then and Now...

All posts after this one, are from my earlier years of being a young mom with 3 and 4 kids. My husband was going through Medical School, Pediatric Residency and finally Pediatric Hematology/Oncology fellowship. It was almost four years ago that he were able to finally take his first, "real job" as a Pediatric Hematologist/Oncologist at Omaha Children's Hospital. We now have five kids and our oldest is now 15. The next is 13. The next is 10. Then down to 5 and finally, 3.

I took an almost five year break from composing our families memories. As I have been reading these old posts, my desire to be a better mom is overcrowding my desire for my kids to grow up...as I have been carpooling to four different schools all year... I've been thinking, "I can't wait for Will to drive....I can't wait for Luke to start Kindergarten....I can't wait...I can't wait...I can't wait." 

The truth of the matter is, I CAN wait. And I want to wait. These old memories have been forgotten all too quickly. Our lives have changed. We have changed. I am re-committing myself to motherhood. My greatest joy and certainly my greatest journey. Join me as I tackle teenage years...who knew?? 

I've never done it before. Unfortunately, I don't think I am very good at it. But here we go....

Paydays, Promotions and Praises

As a mother, I have found that unlike my husband, I do not recieve the wordly definition of paydays, promotions and prasies. I Never get paid, the only promotions I have recieved is going from one kid to two, and than again from two kids to three...if that counts as a promotion. The praise I get is usually self-recognition. When I really need to feel appreciated, I will hint to James what a great mom I am and he usually agrees. Praise enough...I guess. This weekend I have found another aspect that seperates motherhood from the workforce. Sickdays. This weekend I have felt incredibly worn out, tired, and have had a horrible sore throat. I really think I might have mono. I have been battling this thing for a couple months now and it never seems to go away. However, no matter how cruddy I feel, I am never able to take a day off to recover. Not only am I not able to take a sick day, I find myself taking 5 kids all by myself on a nature walk through the woods, play in a stream for two hours, watch my three year old catch his firstfrog, empty out a similac container and help him make a "natural habitat" for our new found froggy friend so that we can take it home and show daddy, feed kids three meals a day plus snacks, put kids to bed and wake with them in the middle of the night, and everything else that all mothers already know. Why can't I take a "sick day."? It is a very interesting thought. I paged James yesterday and told him how sick I was and asked if he could get off early. I knew he wouldn't be able to, but I thought I would throw it out there. I thought about calling a babysitter. However, I would have to put all three kids in the car, pick her up, and of course, pay her. I didn't have the energy. Here's the deal. Motherhood is not a job. It is a lifestyle. It cannot qualify as a job becasue I cannot quit, I cannot take a day off, I do not get paid, I cannot expect promotions or praise. I will never be able to kick my feet up on the golf course enjoying a relaxing retirement. I will never be able to go shopping without thinking first, what my kids need. This is motherhood. Perhaps, for some, this may not seem like any way to live. For me, it's the only way. I couldn't imagine missing my three year old catch his first frog, my three month old smiling with the first bow that I have ever made in my life, and seeing my five year old imagine up mud pies and imaginary adventures in the midst of good freinds. Yes, I would like a sick day. Perhaps today. But I must be truthful and answer this question. Would I take it? I am not sure. I never want to miss a moment. So yes, I could complain that motherhood is hard, that there are no breaks, time-offs or prasie. As for the pay-days. I still can't afford new dining room chairs, but for some reason, I think that I would rather be making natural habitats for frogs. 

Happy Mother's Day

Mother's Day
It's not even half over.
But it's been so, uh..."everyday"... I wanted to write down every detail as it is fresh in my mind.
James woke me up at 6:00 A.M. and kissed me goodbye. I'll see him tomorrow afternoon. Maybe.
I slept in. We were 10 minutes late for church.
I left the house a mess. Bowls of cereal still on the table. Cinnamon roll frosting smeared all over.
Did I mention it was Mother's Day?
Naomi didn't want to sit with me.
She kept calling my best friend mommy and sat on her lap.
My friend already has three kids of her own. I thought about going to retrieve my daughter but I didn't want to deal with the screaming of taking her away from her "pseudo-mommy" so I made an executive decision. I let my friend deal with her.
The Primary children were than called up to sing the Mother's Day song.
Jake and William looked so cute. Matching in their dress shirts and ties.
Until Jake started strangling his brother from the stand.
Neither of them were singing. Jake just put both of his arms around Williams head to stop him from singing. William kept trying to whack them away.
Luckily, they only bulldozed two other children in the choir.
I was getting off my seat in the very back of the chapel to go and retrieve my disruptive boys...
(it was that bad) until another adult stood up and pulled them apart and continued to
stand by them.
On the way back to sit with me, Jake was tripped and fell flat on his face.
Naomi kept clinging to my friend calling her "mommy."
Later, Naomi had to be removed from Nursery. She was a hazard.
Her yelling, hitting and kicking the teacher landed her in a room by herself.
I just wanted to let you all know from my heart to yours,
Happy Mother's Day.

Costco

I had to pull over right before the freeway entrance to let my little children use the concrete parking lot for a restroom. Even Nomsi took her shorts all the way off and went potty on the ground just like her brothers. Her urine was all over her and I made a mental note to give her a bath later. For now, just get back in your seats.

We arrived at Costco. Super Sample Saturday. We tried everything. Some things twice. A lady saw me as I steered my cart away from running into hers becasue my three children were hanging off different directions. Why would any of them sit down when they could hang off the sides? She looked at me and said, "God bless you for bringing three children here all by yourself."

I smile. "My husband is never home." 

Three seconds later, in the back end of the mega warehouse center, my newly potty trained 2 year old says, "uh-oh, potty."

I quickly pick her up and hold her against my side. With the pressure on me, I knew she could hold it. We grabbed our last few things when I forgot about her potty need. I set her down. We walked toward the check out line...followed by a steady stream of urine and glances from many onlookers. I wouldn't have noticed if no one had been looking at me. Crap. What do I do? I actually just kept walking. A 15 foot stream of urine kept running. A middle aged man walked by and says, "it looks like somebody sprung a leak." I smiled. And kept walking. I was humiliated.

We checked out. We took another potty break. 

I bought three hot dogs and a piece of cheese pizza for me. I have a commitment with myself to only have one Coke a day. I sat there at the beverage dispenser toying with the idea of either Coke or Sprite. Forget it, I thought, this is definitely a two Coke day. Maybe three. I watched the flavored sugar liquid fill my cup and savored the taste of the caffeine on my throat.. I loaded the groceries. I loaded the kids. I passed out hot dogs. Jake didn't want his. He wanted pizza. 

I told him he wanted a hot dog in the store and the pizza was mine. He would have to go hungry. We sped away. I only got about 100 feet when I pulled off into the Bed bath and Beyond parking lot. He knew his mother was weak. I also knew it. 

I jumped out of my seat. Yanked the back door opened and gave Jake half my pizza. he smiled. Then Naomi threw her hot dog on the floor and whined. She wanted the other half. I gave it to her. 

I returned to my seat hungry. 

We drove home. 

I seriously think I might have Strep. My throat and my face feels like it is going to fall off.

so far...

my day has been pretty good. 

The Last Two days...

In the last two days...

Someone told me that if I get to boss him around, than it is only fair for him to be able to boss me around

Size 7 toddler feet walked right through my swept pile of grossness and tracked that very grossness into the other room

Smushed chocolate donuts were found smeared in the carpeted stairs, the leather couch and the kitchen floor

I have been given numerous wedgies...and it is funny EVERY time

I was hit in the face 

A pair of little hands grabbed the front of my swimsuit exposing parts of my body that have only been seen by my husband to a few sympathetic onlookers

I have been a horse

I have been a backpacker

a baseball catcher

and a cheerleader

all in the same day

I swore I would NEVER be a cheerleader.

Than I became a mother.

What a great couple of days. 

Definition of Motherhood

To anyone who was wondering...

What is the actual, literal definition of motherhood?

I will tell you.

You lay in your bed wondering how you are going to make it through one more day.

You close your eyes. Trying to sleep.

You find yourself repeating positive affirmations in your mind trying to calm your anxious nerves.

You finally drift off to sleep.

Only to be awakened by that never-ending, unstoppable need to use the restroom.

You see in motherhood, every child you give birth to, actually doubles your nighttime restroom visits.

I am up to six.

On the way back from the bathroom, you decide to peek your head into your children's rooms making sure no one has kidnapped them.

And you find this picture.

Your mind immediately, without any hesitation depicts the scene that might have taken place. 

After threatening your child's life if he comes out of his room one more time, you picture him going to his brothers bed begging to sleep with him.

The older, stubborn brothers usually refuses this request profusely.

The older boy must have felt bad when the younger one made those sad, puppy eyes and told him how scared he was to sleep alone. 

The older boy relented.

The younger boy cuddled close to his stronger, older and braver brother.

Their mother happened to catch this moment on a trip to the potty.

Tomorrow, I just might make it.

And this, is motherhood.

The Life I Chose...

I sat there. Middle of the playroom floor. Across the room I spotted the day old remains of a bright, slimy yellow cheesestick. I glance at the couch. Four cubes of butter greased its' soft leather seats. I see the torn open Imperial Margarine box and realize my two year old invaded my fridge...again. I first roll myself slowly onto all fours. I cautiously crawl over to retrieve the yellow pice of cheese. Luckily, there was an old wet diaper sitting there too. The one my daughter took off and then proceeded to potty on the floor. Perfect. I rolled the cheese remnant into the soiled $.30 diaper and threw it in the opposite direction of the room. I then decided to actually stand up and retrieve the baby wipes. I notice that we are painfully low on such a precious commodity. Only about 30 left. The new ones I just ordered should be here in a few days. I figure if my daughter only has a stinky diaper every other day, we should be fine. So, very cautiously, I start wiping up the margarine from the couch. One, two, three baby wipes. I am starting to get a little nervous. I decide to alternate with paper towels. We are not quite as low in inventory on the Branwny's. As I use one hand as a resting place for the four muddled, disgruntled cubes of margarine, my other hand lovingly wipes down the cushions looking for any extra scraps of butter packaging. I stand once again. I glide toward the kitchen and eye the white, plastic garbage can. I let the margarine rest in peace. 

I then proceed to retrieve the cheesy diaper and decide to let that also rest in the white plastic. I than return to the playroom. I sit. I musn't trust my children alone again. 

I had escaped for a few minutes to lay in my bed with a freezing cold ice pack. This awful headache won't loosen it's grip on the left side of my head. The right side is fine. It is telling me that I can go on. The left side is trying to tear me down and make my brain explode. So instead of retreat up to my room once again, I pop another excedrin and pray for it effects. No dice. 

James will be home at midnight. 

I lay there thinking about throwing up. Knowing I am not lucky enough to be successful. So I just lay there.

I wonder again, Is this the life I chose? Of course I didn't choose the migraine, or the husband working late, or the daughter who is obsessed with smearing butter all over my house, but I guess, yes, this is indeed the life I CHOSE. And actually, I also get to choose how I handle it.

I abruptly take Naomi upstairs and send her to bed with a sippy of milk and a very short story. Success.

I take the boys in my room and turn on an episode of Clone Wars and threaten their life if they make a peep. It was so successful, we actually just watched the next Clone Wars. 

For some reason, I really, actually feel fine, now. I mean, not perfect. But tell me who in this world feels absolutely perfect? So yes, this is the life I chose. And now I choose to go upstairs, crawl right in the middle of my two sleeping boys, and wait for their dad to come home to move them into their own beds. And I choose this.

Pick Your Battles

"It's not an eternal consequence." One of my moms greatest one-liners ever. From not being asked to a high school dance, to hitting a pole with your car to burning the dinner. If it's not an eternal consequence, it shouldn't matter.

So goes my battles. 

Any mother knows that battles need to be picked. With great care. 

I don't know how it started, but I remember making a VERY conscious decision when William was young. I realized that if I picked every battle with my young toddler, all he would ever hear was the word, "NO." And so it has gone with each of our children. Wanting to limit the "limits" in our house, I had to decide. My battles were going to be the battles of eternal consequences. 

Here are some things my kids get away with everyday becasue I have chosen not to pick these battles. For better or for worse. 

1. Not wear shoes. I am tired of being a broken record. If they don't want to wear shoes...so be 

it. All week they have been running through the parking lot shoeless. Whatever!

2. Water fights and mud pies. I decided many years ago that mud and dirty footprints in the house are not an eternal consequence. Last week James came home to find the kids and I in a water fight with the hose. He shared his opinion that it was going to be a mess. I  reminded him that this fight would not effect him in the least. Afterall, who cleans the house and does the dirty laundry everyday? Check and Mate.

3. Coke. How can I drink it and not let my addicted 4 year old. Fine. Take it. I just hope he enjoys it as much as I do. 

4. Wearing jammies during the day. They will have to wear suits the rest of thier grown-up lives anyway. As long as they put on clothes to go out in public...fine! Jammies at 3:00? Great.

5. Begging for a drink right before bed. I always give in. What if they really are thirsty? I know I will be washing the soiled jammies and sheets in the morning but what the heck. I do dirty laundry every second of my life anyway. Why not make one more load?

6. My baby is starting to get attitude. Surprise, surprise. She reapetedly took out feminine products all day yesterday from the bathroom counter. I took them away several times and finally gave in. "Fine," I told her. "Just take them!" They are all over the house. I just step over them. I hope no one stops by.

7. Jumping on the couch. In our old apartment, they had little room to run around. The couch added an extra 10 feet of wild, wiggle room. Fine with me. James, not so much. Now in our new house, I made sure they had a couch just for them to jump on in the family room. James and I are both happy.

8. Concocting experiments with products from the fridge. Not to say that I am overwhelmed with joy to walk into a kitchen to find a gigantic mess, but it's not a battle I am willing to fight. They are using their creativity.

9. Ice cream snack before bed. What the heck. We suggest something healthy, but ice cream is fine too. Just get to bed.

10. See picture: Staying up in the story chair reading stories to each other after reapeatedly being told to "get in bed and STAY IN BED!" I'm not going to fight this one. In fact, can this moment never end?

Heartache

High School break-ups can not compare to my Tuesday night heartache. I left Enrichment early to pick up my 6 year old from Tai Kwon Do. He is trying really hard to earn his Yellow Belt. He's just not getting the form right. A few minutes late, I hurriedly parked the car, slammed the door and ran in to retrieve my precious baby. Only he couldn't leave. I walked in to find his back toward me. Master McCray in front of him. Sternly calling his name. I stopped. What was going on? Everyone else was leaving and walking out the door. I felt confused. William stood there in silence before his Master. "Again, " Master McCray sternly spoke. I took a seat. William proceeded to do his form. He turned around as part of the exercise and saw me there watching. Our eyes clashed. His 60 pound body again turned around to face the Master. "You keep making the same mistake. I am not letting you go until you get it right." His voice was loud and strict. Then I saw William's white sleeved Karate shirt raise itself to his eye. And then his other arm. I could hear his quivering voice...wiping the small teardrops from his eye. Then I almost started crying. Master McCray interrupted my crying child. "William..No..don't do that William. Look at me. No crying. William...Stop It! STOP NOW!" What was going on? My baby was crying. I felt helpless. What was a mother to do? I wanted to swoop in with eagle's wings and rescue my child from the ravenous pray. Who was this man yelling at my child not to cry?
They continued working. William still was making mistakes. Master McCray was very frustrated. William too. What in the world was going on in front of my eyes?
They continued. William still not getting it. 15 minutes...20 minutes. And than 25. William's eyes began to water as his shaky six year old hand was raised. He had a question. Master McCray asked what he needed?
I heard his quivering question from the back of the gym. "Why are you keeping me here all night?"
The Master responded. "Trust me, William. I am NOT doing this for me. I am doing this for you. If you are going to get your yellow belt, you can not keep making mistakes. You are out thinking yourself. Stop IT! Do you trust yourself William?"
"What does that mean," William trembled.
"You have got to start trusting yourself!"

This went on for over 30 minutes. William still didn't get the form right. The Master finally let him go. As my baby walked timidly over to me, I took him in my arms and squeezed the life out of him. I never wanted to let him go back to this cruel world. A world where I had no control.
I sat in bed last night and cried. I cried for my baby. I cried for that little boy who is learning at such a young age how life is hard. I cried that he might never get his yellow belt. I cried most of all when I realized that this is life. And he has to learn it. I cried to think that Tai kwon Do is nothing compared to what he is going to face.
Why couldn't I take all the pain for him? Why couldn't the Master yell at me? Why couldn't I be the one to screw up? To get my feelings hurt? I wanted it, dang it! I wanted the pain. Please. Yell at me!
Yes, this is life, dear William. The only thing that I can promise, is that I will always love you. I will always squeeze the life out of you. No matter what. I don't care what people say to you. I don't care if you can't do the form. I DON'T CARE! Just come and let me hold you. Come and let me tell you how much I love you. Come and let me tell you how you are my life. The life that I love more than you could understand. I love you, William.

Look in my Eyes

1:30 in the afternoon. Willliam at school. Naomi asleep. Jake and mommy time.

I was sitting the the rocking chair in the green room. Jake was rough housing with me. 

"Get over here this instant," I scolded teasingly.

Jake gave me that quircky smile and ran away.

I love that quirky smile.

"I am serious, get over here right now!"

I caught him.

"Promise me something."

"What? he questioned.

"All I am asking is that you promise me one thing."

"What? he asked again while trying to squirm away.

"Jacob, you are not being serious about this."

"Look at me in the eyes while I am talking to you," I said laughing. 

"This is very serious business."

Now he got serious.

"What mom, I am looking at your eyes."

I had his eyes locked on mine.

"You have to promise me that you will never forget what I am about to tell you."

"I promise!"

"Promise?"

"Promise."

I whispered in his ear something that he had better never forget.

"I love you."

He grinned.

"I love you too, mom."

Multi-Task

I really think that women have been wired for multi-tasking. I have been thinking about this a lot lately. I love to see James struggling trying to put all three kids to bed and I silently listen to his frustrated tone as he tries to juggle all the mayhem. As a mother, you do not have a choice. If anything is to ever get done, multi-tasking becomes an essential, almost innate ability.
The other day I was holding a screaming baby on one hip, tossing chicken in the pan, checking on the browning of the bread in the oven and yelling down the stairs as a five year old was yelling up the stairs trying to write a get well card for a friend at school. "How do you spell, love?" he yelled up the stairs. In between the crying, the sound of the buring, popping chicken and a three-year old running around the house, I yelled back down the staris, "L". "What next," he yelled back. "O," I responded. "What?" he reapeated. Just then I yell, "Jacob, why are you naked?" "Jacob, get your clothes on now!" "I know, I know, Naomi." "I will feed you as soon as dinner is done." "Jacob, no, you are not allowed to be a naked wrestler." "Yes, William, an O." "I am almost done Naomi, just hold on." "Crap, the bread is burned." "Jacob, get upstairs and get your clothes on or you get tabasco."
These conversations are everyday. The chaso never lets up. When I only had one child I seemed to be more overwhelmed than I am now. I think that this is one of Heavenly Father's miracles. He stretches us beyond our capacity. For some reason, this usual dinner-time routine does not stress me out too badly, and by the time James walks through the door, Jacob is dressed, William's Get-Well card to his friend is finished and polished, we are all seated around the table with dinner before us. What have I done all day? James will never know. Equally, I will never understand what he has done. Perhaps multi-tasking. But than again, maybe not.
Sundays at church without James are equally as exciting. I have been alone at this time for 26 hours. I am exhausted from the night before and our little family parades into Sacrament meeting not a moment too soon. We find a bench and then the chaso begins. I lay my baby on the bench and give her a toy. My left hand acts as a barrier to keep her from rolling off. In my right hand, you will find a squirming kicking three year old in a head lock. I hold him tight as I hurry and open up the Sunday school manual on my lap. I was too tired last night to prepare. There will be no better time than now. I read a little bit, quietly yell at William to be more quiet and put Jake in a tighter head lock. Naomi seems content. I continue reading. Church continues and by the end of the meeting, I am ready for my lesson. I don't know how, but sometime between squeezing my children, feeding them smarties and cleaning up spit-up, I am ready. Multi-tasking. All mothers know what I am talking about, because all mothers have done these exact same things. It is part of us. It defines us. Multi-tasking. It's the only way to get anything done in motherhood.

SAFE

Last night it hit me. The Prophet has reapeatedly told us to make our home a safe shelter from the storms of life. Last night I realized that not only can I provide a safe shelter for my children, but they in fact, can provide a shelter for me.
The lights were out and I began singing our Jesus songs. Jake abruptly jumped from his bed, descended the stairs and said, "I have to go find Linus." Leaving Will and I behind, I quickly jumped on the oppurtunity to crawl into bed with my Bugaboo. His look of satisfaction was overwhelming and I lay there in his bed holding him. He quickly drifted off to sleep as I noticed his breathing getting deeper. Jake re-entered the room with his trusted blankey and hopped into his bed. I quietly got up and moved over to his bedside. I whispered in his ear, "can I lay down with you?" His smile answered my request. I again cuddled up with one of my precious children and pulled the covers over our bodies. Jake, like his brother, drifted off into sleep. That's when I reaized it.

SAFE. Those were the words that came directly to my mind. I am lying here in the arms of a three year old, and I feel...completely...safe. How could this be? Jake could never protect me from an intruder, he drives me crazy most of the day, and yet, for a few minutes, my home for me, is a safe haven from the world.
I have never even thought that for one moment, I could be a safe haven for my parents. Perhaps I am not. However, in my home, my children, whether it seems likely or not, provide me wilth a feeling of safety that nothing else can.
It makes complete sense.
I will never forget the great anxiety that accompanied my every thought for months following the birth of my second child. The days were horrible, long and scary. My heart rate was way above normal range and I couldn't seem to make it slow down. Except for William's bedtime.
Each and every night, I waited impatiently for William to go to sleep. As he would crawl into his bed each night, I was close behind. Each night, I climbed under his covers with him, held him in my arms, and felt his little heart beating. As I felt his heart beat slow, and his breaths deepen, my heart followed his. My heart would slow down and for the first time that day, I felt calm. It was heaven. It was SAFE.
I never thought of saftey being found in 8-40 pound packages. I would usually think of hammers, my big, strong husband, or weapons. But in our home, my greatest security is found in the arms of three little people.