I know every child is different. But Kelsey never ceases to amaze me, break the mold, or make my face burn with embarrassment (or frustration).
Averey never uttered anything worthy of public humiliation. But alas, as Kelsey is our wild middle child, who is never afraid to express her thoughts, let a terrible faux pas slip from her lips the other day.
I decided to take Kelsey and Jacey to Averey's school to have lunch with her on her birthday. Kelsey, in her great excitement, said hi to every person walking down the hall, telling them her name and that she's in preschool. Of course, in Kelsey-speak, the passers by probably could not interpret her stats.
That was, until, one lady walked down the hall. Kelsey exclaims in a friendly voice, "Hi! You look like you're fat!"
Well, color me mortified! I think the not-so-fat lady chuckled, but unfortunately, there could be no misinterpretation. I didn't know what else to do but give Kelsey's cheek a little flick. She cried, and I told her that she could not say that word to anyone. It's an unkind word, and we can't tell people they're fat.
I couldn't even think of a time we used it... until I recalled Kelsey calling her daddy fat, to which we all laughed. Whoops.
This morning, she struck again, calling my mother fat. (To which she is not, of course.) I did not flick her cheek, but once again calmly explained to her that she could not use that unkind word, and she still cried. But it seemed the point had been drilled into her head.
After church, I picked her up from her classroom, to which she gleefully said, "Mommy! I didn't say fat!" (To which she told her daddy, "The word left my head!")
Hmm. Perhaps we'll have to try another trick in the book. What that trick is though, I'm just not sure.
What I do know is that the next time I want to have lunch with Averey, I'll be going by myself.
Sunday, January 27, 2013
Thursday, January 24, 2013
What Can Happen in 7 Years...
"Can I be in the delivery room with you when you have this baby?" my mom pleaded.
This request somewhat repulsed me throughout my pregnancy. I had imagined the moment of bringing my firstborn into this world with my loving husband beside me, encouraging me to push, and then upon seeing our child, tears would emerge from our eyes. A movie moment, if you will. Having my mother there was NOT part of that plan.
Yet at 2:42 a.m. on January 24th, 2006, my mom was holding my leg, my dad was at my head, and a loving husband was nowhere in sight. There were no tears when Averey Monica made her grand entrance; just smiles and pure joy. Not how I pictured the moment, but it is just the beginning of our story.
I will always treasure the memories of my friends and co-workers being so supportive. My BF Steph hung out in my delivery room for several hours, another friend Heather stopped up after her shift (just in time for the nurse to break my water), and the big-brother-I-never-wanted, Deuane, was there to greet me on the maternity floor at 4:30 in the morning when I arrived with Averey. Later that morning and throughout my stay, many of my co-workers flooded my hospital room to visit, and it still brings a smile to my face.
But it seems like another lifetime so far away. I am constantly humbled by my life now, knowing the turmoil I was in during that time. I have recently read my journal entries from that stage in my life, and it was like a long, drawn-out episode of "The Jerry Springer Show": husband cheats on pregnant wife, husband shacks up with girlfriend with four children of her own, estranged wife left to be a single mother. Yet through all of the insanity, the bizarre phone conversations, and at times, being made to be the villian in the whole train wreck, I can look back and forever be thankful. He unknowingly did me a huge favor.
The idea of single motherhood scared me, but being a first-time mom and going it alone (only alone in the sense that Averey and I lived together in an apartment) was a pleasant surprise... and it helped she was an incredibly placid baby!
I know friends, family and co-workers were concerned for me. Some expected that I would leave Harrisburg and return home with my parents. Thankfully, my parents fully supported me staying in Harrisburg. I was 26, had a decent paying job, health insurance, and a nice apartment in a quiet area. There was no reason for me to leave and start over back home. I already had to restart my life as a single woman, and a new mother to boot; why change my location if that's the one steady port in the storm swirling around me?
And Averey. Oh sweet Averey. She had captured my heart, and I knew she was dependent on me for EVERYTHING. I ultimately had to trust that God would take care of us. Not only did we survive, we thrived. We were loved, and many people, known and unknown, prayed for us. In the atypical matters of my maternity leave (i.e. filing for child support, hiring an attorney), Averey's presence made it all worth the hassles. I reconciled I'd be dealing with an unfavorable situation for the next 18 years, when suddenly, he decided it wasn't worth it. I was never so relieved.
Seven years later, I have a bright, bubbly, quizzical girly girl who has a flair for drama (much like her mother); a sweet girl who is a doting big sister (even though Kelsey gets the brunt of her frustrations); a silly lass who giggles when she burps on command and ekes out farts (that's my girl!). I never imagined our life would turn out this way: two younger sisters for her and a daddy who, while they don't share DNA, loves her beyond comprehension (and can handle her when she spazzes out like, well... me), and for those who don't know our story would never know the difference.
I have been incredibly blessed over these past seven years, and I eagerly await to see the young lady she'll become in the next seven years. (Although it doesn't have to go as fast, does it?)
This request somewhat repulsed me throughout my pregnancy. I had imagined the moment of bringing my firstborn into this world with my loving husband beside me, encouraging me to push, and then upon seeing our child, tears would emerge from our eyes. A movie moment, if you will. Having my mother there was NOT part of that plan.
Yet at 2:42 a.m. on January 24th, 2006, my mom was holding my leg, my dad was at my head, and a loving husband was nowhere in sight. There were no tears when Averey Monica made her grand entrance; just smiles and pure joy. Not how I pictured the moment, but it is just the beginning of our story.
I will always treasure the memories of my friends and co-workers being so supportive. My BF Steph hung out in my delivery room for several hours, another friend Heather stopped up after her shift (just in time for the nurse to break my water), and the big-brother-I-never-wanted, Deuane, was there to greet me on the maternity floor at 4:30 in the morning when I arrived with Averey. Later that morning and throughout my stay, many of my co-workers flooded my hospital room to visit, and it still brings a smile to my face.
But it seems like another lifetime so far away. I am constantly humbled by my life now, knowing the turmoil I was in during that time. I have recently read my journal entries from that stage in my life, and it was like a long, drawn-out episode of "The Jerry Springer Show": husband cheats on pregnant wife, husband shacks up with girlfriend with four children of her own, estranged wife left to be a single mother. Yet through all of the insanity, the bizarre phone conversations, and at times, being made to be the villian in the whole train wreck, I can look back and forever be thankful. He unknowingly did me a huge favor.
The idea of single motherhood scared me, but being a first-time mom and going it alone (only alone in the sense that Averey and I lived together in an apartment) was a pleasant surprise... and it helped she was an incredibly placid baby!
I know friends, family and co-workers were concerned for me. Some expected that I would leave Harrisburg and return home with my parents. Thankfully, my parents fully supported me staying in Harrisburg. I was 26, had a decent paying job, health insurance, and a nice apartment in a quiet area. There was no reason for me to leave and start over back home. I already had to restart my life as a single woman, and a new mother to boot; why change my location if that's the one steady port in the storm swirling around me?
And Averey. Oh sweet Averey. She had captured my heart, and I knew she was dependent on me for EVERYTHING. I ultimately had to trust that God would take care of us. Not only did we survive, we thrived. We were loved, and many people, known and unknown, prayed for us. In the atypical matters of my maternity leave (i.e. filing for child support, hiring an attorney), Averey's presence made it all worth the hassles. I reconciled I'd be dealing with an unfavorable situation for the next 18 years, when suddenly, he decided it wasn't worth it. I was never so relieved.
Seven years later, I have a bright, bubbly, quizzical girly girl who has a flair for drama (much like her mother); a sweet girl who is a doting big sister (even though Kelsey gets the brunt of her frustrations); a silly lass who giggles when she burps on command and ekes out farts (that's my girl!). I never imagined our life would turn out this way: two younger sisters for her and a daddy who, while they don't share DNA, loves her beyond comprehension (and can handle her when she spazzes out like, well... me), and for those who don't know our story would never know the difference.
I have been incredibly blessed over these past seven years, and I eagerly await to see the young lady she'll become in the next seven years. (Although it doesn't have to go as fast, does it?)
Wednesday, January 16, 2013
It's Not a Competition
It started with this picture:
My cousin posted this on facebook, and I "liked" it. As a working mom, sometimes I feel I have a lot more on my plate than my stay-at-home-mom counterparts. This picture did not cause a firestorm of angry comments or anything, it just started swirling the thoughts around my brain. I have actually had the best of both worlds, so I feel that I have the experience to back up what I'm about to write. (At least, I hope I do.)
I wrestle with being a work-outside-of-the-home-mom on a daily basis. When I started meeting friends who have the privilege of staying home (yes, I said privilege), I began to notice the sympathetic tone I received when I said I had a job, albeit part-time (only in the sense that anything below 35 hours is part-time, which I think is a load of you-know-what). I know that's not what's conveyed, but then I do feel slightly defensive about working. Sometimes, I just want to give all the reasons why I work:
Because I was too stupid to save money and plan ahead of time.
Because I married the wrong guy the first time around.
Because I started off as a single mom and didn't have a choice.
Because we rely on my income!
Thankfully, my SAHM friends are super-cool, so I've never felt like I'm less of a mom because staying home isn't really an option. Oh sure, I've seen the pinterest pins and blog headlines: "Our family of 8 lives on less than $30,000 a year!" "How we went from 2 incomes to 1!" I'm sure that somehow, some way, a huge sacrifice could be made that our family of less people could live on a salary larger than that. I understand that a lot of moms don't hold an outside job because their wages would mainly be paying for child care, which really negates their salary. However, I made a vow to myself when Averey was born that I would not put my child(ren) in a day care setting. It is the one promise I've held fast as a mother. I've been blessed from the get-go to have wonderful SAHM moms to watch my girls in their (and our) homes, only paying for the days they are sitting, and thus, saving us money, and often times from illness. Since Jake and I have been married, his mother chips in to watch the girls, get Averey off the bus, and save us a bundle of money! For us, we are still making money on top of child care.
I've also been fortunate enough to hold jobs that give me days off during the week, the ability to cut back to "part-time", and spend three months home at a time because of maternity leave. I've been able to have somewhat of a SAHM experience (because the weekends don't count). I will admit that my perception of stay-at-home-motherhood is an easier job FOR ME (speaking for no one else here, I promise!), but that's because I've been working all along. Thus, I appreciate my time home, and while I can't keep my house clean, I at least feel I have the upper hand on most tasks, and I am able to handle the meal planning a bit better. Yet I know that staying at home is no easy job either, and I have great respect for my friends who only know motherhood by being at home with the screaming, fighting children running around like banshees (and all of the wonderful moments that go along with it too, of course).
It seems there are a lot of loud opinions out there about what's better for your children, whether you stay at home or work outside of the home. I think there's advantages to both situations. But because I may say that my children have never (or very very rarely) had separation anxiety, that may not have anything to do with my working; I could just have girls who could care less when I leave the room!
If anything, I've just learned that I love walking in the door when I get home from work to see my girls, even if it's chaos. I still manage to get the laundry done, the bills paid, the grocery lists made, and I've even been able to pass off the grocery shopping to Jake (apparently Giant is dead on Friday nights)! Yes, it can be overwhelming at times, and trying to get everyone ready on a Monday morning is not my idea of fun (you think I'd have it down pat by now). My hope is that someday my girls will appreciate the sacrifices we've made with me working, and even cutting my hours to have a little more time at home, because that's the best we can do for now.
No matter what your situation, one thing is for sure: we're in this mom gig together, and everyone has to make a choice about what's best for their family. As far as I know, there are no medals or prizes for what we choose. The happy, sweet, funny kids are our rewards. And you can have those regardless of whether you work or stay home. (At least, they have those characteristics most of the time.)
My cousin posted this on facebook, and I "liked" it. As a working mom, sometimes I feel I have a lot more on my plate than my stay-at-home-mom counterparts. This picture did not cause a firestorm of angry comments or anything, it just started swirling the thoughts around my brain. I have actually had the best of both worlds, so I feel that I have the experience to back up what I'm about to write. (At least, I hope I do.)
I wrestle with being a work-outside-of-the-home-mom on a daily basis. When I started meeting friends who have the privilege of staying home (yes, I said privilege), I began to notice the sympathetic tone I received when I said I had a job, albeit part-time (only in the sense that anything below 35 hours is part-time, which I think is a load of you-know-what). I know that's not what's conveyed, but then I do feel slightly defensive about working. Sometimes, I just want to give all the reasons why I work:
Because I was too stupid to save money and plan ahead of time.
Because I married the wrong guy the first time around.
Because I started off as a single mom and didn't have a choice.
Because we rely on my income!
Thankfully, my SAHM friends are super-cool, so I've never felt like I'm less of a mom because staying home isn't really an option. Oh sure, I've seen the pinterest pins and blog headlines: "Our family of 8 lives on less than $30,000 a year!" "How we went from 2 incomes to 1!" I'm sure that somehow, some way, a huge sacrifice could be made that our family of less people could live on a salary larger than that. I understand that a lot of moms don't hold an outside job because their wages would mainly be paying for child care, which really negates their salary. However, I made a vow to myself when Averey was born that I would not put my child(ren) in a day care setting. It is the one promise I've held fast as a mother. I've been blessed from the get-go to have wonderful SAHM moms to watch my girls in their (and our) homes, only paying for the days they are sitting, and thus, saving us money, and often times from illness. Since Jake and I have been married, his mother chips in to watch the girls, get Averey off the bus, and save us a bundle of money! For us, we are still making money on top of child care.
I've also been fortunate enough to hold jobs that give me days off during the week, the ability to cut back to "part-time", and spend three months home at a time because of maternity leave. I've been able to have somewhat of a SAHM experience (because the weekends don't count). I will admit that my perception of stay-at-home-motherhood is an easier job FOR ME (speaking for no one else here, I promise!), but that's because I've been working all along. Thus, I appreciate my time home, and while I can't keep my house clean, I at least feel I have the upper hand on most tasks, and I am able to handle the meal planning a bit better. Yet I know that staying at home is no easy job either, and I have great respect for my friends who only know motherhood by being at home with the screaming, fighting children running around like banshees (and all of the wonderful moments that go along with it too, of course).
It seems there are a lot of loud opinions out there about what's better for your children, whether you stay at home or work outside of the home. I think there's advantages to both situations. But because I may say that my children have never (or very very rarely) had separation anxiety, that may not have anything to do with my working; I could just have girls who could care less when I leave the room!
If anything, I've just learned that I love walking in the door when I get home from work to see my girls, even if it's chaos. I still manage to get the laundry done, the bills paid, the grocery lists made, and I've even been able to pass off the grocery shopping to Jake (apparently Giant is dead on Friday nights)! Yes, it can be overwhelming at times, and trying to get everyone ready on a Monday morning is not my idea of fun (you think I'd have it down pat by now). My hope is that someday my girls will appreciate the sacrifices we've made with me working, and even cutting my hours to have a little more time at home, because that's the best we can do for now.
No matter what your situation, one thing is for sure: we're in this mom gig together, and everyone has to make a choice about what's best for their family. As far as I know, there are no medals or prizes for what we choose. The happy, sweet, funny kids are our rewards. And you can have those regardless of whether you work or stay home. (At least, they have those characteristics most of the time.)
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Unfathomable Sadness
I am shocked. I am horrified. But most of all, I am sad.
What happened in that Connecticut elementary school is beyond comprehension. As a parent, my heart aches for those families that lost their precious children. As a parent, I am angered that a cowardly young man took those precious lives away. And as others before him, he too took his own life. Why must these suicidal cowards decide they need to take innocent lives with them? How could one possibly inflict such horror on children?
But right now, this is not about those questions. Right now, I can only think about my children. I can only think about those parents who will not put their children to bed tonight. I think about the everyday life with my children that I often take for granted. I remember the mornings that Averey frustrates me as she's getting ready for school, and we snip at each other. I groan when she asks for a glass of orange juice, just as I sit down with my breakfast.
Was there some mother who had a morning such as this and sent her daughter off to school, never to return?
As Christmas is approaching, I'm not quite done with my shopping. I cringe at the thought of having more toys around the house. I constantly tell my girls to clean up their room, as the clutter is making me crazy.
I'm sure there are parents who weren't done with their shopping either, who grimaced at the thought of more toys. But now, the shrieks of their children opening gifts have been silenced.
My mind is racing with so many thoughts and questions. Right now, I can only pray for God's peace to be upon those families, their school, and their community. I pray that the murderer is not sensationalized like others before him. I pray that we learn about those children and teachers, we see their faces, and their all-too-brief lives are celebrated. I pray that their friends and families do not live in fear, but bring a positive light to this horrific tragedy.
For those of us on the outside, united only by the fact that we are parents, I pray that we all cherish our children, that we mellow out over those little things that drive us crazy, and most of all, that we let them know they are loved.
I know I'm ready for some tighter squeezes and sloppy kisses.
What happened in that Connecticut elementary school is beyond comprehension. As a parent, my heart aches for those families that lost their precious children. As a parent, I am angered that a cowardly young man took those precious lives away. And as others before him, he too took his own life. Why must these suicidal cowards decide they need to take innocent lives with them? How could one possibly inflict such horror on children?
But right now, this is not about those questions. Right now, I can only think about my children. I can only think about those parents who will not put their children to bed tonight. I think about the everyday life with my children that I often take for granted. I remember the mornings that Averey frustrates me as she's getting ready for school, and we snip at each other. I groan when she asks for a glass of orange juice, just as I sit down with my breakfast.
Was there some mother who had a morning such as this and sent her daughter off to school, never to return?
As Christmas is approaching, I'm not quite done with my shopping. I cringe at the thought of having more toys around the house. I constantly tell my girls to clean up their room, as the clutter is making me crazy.
I'm sure there are parents who weren't done with their shopping either, who grimaced at the thought of more toys. But now, the shrieks of their children opening gifts have been silenced.
My mind is racing with so many thoughts and questions. Right now, I can only pray for God's peace to be upon those families, their school, and their community. I pray that the murderer is not sensationalized like others before him. I pray that we learn about those children and teachers, we see their faces, and their all-too-brief lives are celebrated. I pray that their friends and families do not live in fear, but bring a positive light to this horrific tragedy.
For those of us on the outside, united only by the fact that we are parents, I pray that we all cherish our children, that we mellow out over those little things that drive us crazy, and most of all, that we let them know they are loved.
I know I'm ready for some tighter squeezes and sloppy kisses.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Just Another Crazy Monday
I can remember a certain Pepe Le Pew cartoon in which Pepe sashayed through the French countryside, singing "Tiptoe Through the Tulips." He greets a bored looking frog, and when the poor frog is stunned by Pepe's scent trail, his eyes bug out, he walks, and then jumps in the air, screaming, "YIIIIIEEEEE!!!"
That pretty much sums up how I felt today.
No matter how much I prepare for Monday, it always seems to get the best of me. Lately, it seems as if at least one, if not all three girls are up for whatever reason in the middle of the night. Jake and I made it through a restful night of sleep for once, but Kelsey managed to wake up bright and early sometime near the 6 o'clock hour this morning. She whined to daddy that she peed her Pull-Up, wanted to watch TV, and/or sleep in our bed. So much for some Wii Fit yoga, I groaned in my head.
As I readied myself, pulling my hair back into a ponytail, the simplest of hairdos for a crazy Monday morning, Averey had awakened. Both Averey and Kelsey have mild colds, so Averey seemed to think she may not be going to school this morning. No fever: school is in session, kid. It wasn't shocking to me that she said her tummy hurt a few times as I told her to get dressed. Brimming with sarcasm (I know, not the most effective teaching tool), I told her she should probably come into the bathroom to throw up.
A few minutes later, she was miraculously cured and ready for Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
Kelsey had decided earlier that she was going to eat breakfast at Grammy's house. I am happy to oblige, and besides, grammy makes pancakes in the morning. But upon seeing Averey eat, she said she wanted breakfast here. Figures. Then both girls wanted toast. Irritated, I told them that the bread is for sandwiches this week, not toast. (I know, I know, I'm starving them.)
While combing Kelsey's wild hair, Averey declares she would like pigtails. Sighing that I don't have time, I realize that's not the answer she wants to hear and tell her to get me two gumbands. I pull her hair up and she's giddy with excitement. (One thing right this morning. Phew.)
Averey successfully gets on the bus and it's time to feed Jacey. She gulps down her breakfast... and then spits it up in my bra and down my pant legs, dousing me with my usual perfume of sour milk.
I manage to make it to work on time even after misjudging the time I had to bring up the girls' laundry from the basement. I walk into the pharmacy and am warned that I probably don't want to be there as there were 99 refills pending, which is about 30-40 more than a usual Monday. Between the phone ringing non-stop and a steady stream of customers, I was more than ready to leave at 6, and counting down to Thursday, my long-awaited day off.
The hardest thing about being a working mom is not necessarily being at work. I know my children are being cared for at school, at my in-laws', or here with the baby-sitter.The toughest part is making sure everybody gets ready in the morning and that I don't lose my patience (or my sanity). I don't think I've been successful yet.
Getting home in the evening is a trial too, because usually Jacey is screaming for me. Tonight was no different. I grabbed her to nurse, Jake gets dinner on the table, and I start to feel peaceful. Then after having a glass of the hubby's homemade wine for dinner, I suddenly didn't care about the hectic day I had, or the fact I detest Mondays... at least until next Monday anyway.
That pretty much sums up how I felt today.
No matter how much I prepare for Monday, it always seems to get the best of me. Lately, it seems as if at least one, if not all three girls are up for whatever reason in the middle of the night. Jake and I made it through a restful night of sleep for once, but Kelsey managed to wake up bright and early sometime near the 6 o'clock hour this morning. She whined to daddy that she peed her Pull-Up, wanted to watch TV, and/or sleep in our bed. So much for some Wii Fit yoga, I groaned in my head.
As I readied myself, pulling my hair back into a ponytail, the simplest of hairdos for a crazy Monday morning, Averey had awakened. Both Averey and Kelsey have mild colds, so Averey seemed to think she may not be going to school this morning. No fever: school is in session, kid. It wasn't shocking to me that she said her tummy hurt a few times as I told her to get dressed. Brimming with sarcasm (I know, not the most effective teaching tool), I told her she should probably come into the bathroom to throw up.
A few minutes later, she was miraculously cured and ready for Cinnamon Toast Crunch.
Kelsey had decided earlier that she was going to eat breakfast at Grammy's house. I am happy to oblige, and besides, grammy makes pancakes in the morning. But upon seeing Averey eat, she said she wanted breakfast here. Figures. Then both girls wanted toast. Irritated, I told them that the bread is for sandwiches this week, not toast. (I know, I know, I'm starving them.)
While combing Kelsey's wild hair, Averey declares she would like pigtails. Sighing that I don't have time, I realize that's not the answer she wants to hear and tell her to get me two gumbands. I pull her hair up and she's giddy with excitement. (One thing right this morning. Phew.)
Averey successfully gets on the bus and it's time to feed Jacey. She gulps down her breakfast... and then spits it up in my bra and down my pant legs, dousing me with my usual perfume of sour milk.
I manage to make it to work on time even after misjudging the time I had to bring up the girls' laundry from the basement. I walk into the pharmacy and am warned that I probably don't want to be there as there were 99 refills pending, which is about 30-40 more than a usual Monday. Between the phone ringing non-stop and a steady stream of customers, I was more than ready to leave at 6, and counting down to Thursday, my long-awaited day off.
The hardest thing about being a working mom is not necessarily being at work. I know my children are being cared for at school, at my in-laws', or here with the baby-sitter.The toughest part is making sure everybody gets ready in the morning and that I don't lose my patience (or my sanity). I don't think I've been successful yet.
Getting home in the evening is a trial too, because usually Jacey is screaming for me. Tonight was no different. I grabbed her to nurse, Jake gets dinner on the table, and I start to feel peaceful. Then after having a glass of the hubby's homemade wine for dinner, I suddenly didn't care about the hectic day I had, or the fact I detest Mondays... at least until next Monday anyway.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Mom Confessions
"Mommy, can I just say one thing? Kids are more important than a computer!"
You have a point there, Miss Averey. Thanks for putting me in my place again.
But let me back up for a second. I was in the middle of paying some online bills, it's not like I was facebooking or anything. I told her to give me JUST ONE SECOND (which is never a second) and I would listen to her whine about being hungry for a snack.
Before I became a mom, I often thought to myself that I would never do or say certain things, I would handle all interactions with my children with love and patience. Once Averey turned three (because three is far worse than the "terrible twos", I don't care what anyone says), that went out the window. Having Kelsey in the house doesn't help matters either.
They say confession is good for the soul (or maybe it's chicken soup). I hope and pray I'm not alone in my bad mommy-ness, so I shall divulge some of those unsavory, less-than-stellar, hypocritical, screaming mom moments.
I have yelled at my kids... to stop yelling at each other.
I've told Averey to pick out her clothes, and then tell her to change because she doesn't match.
I tell poor Jacey, "Hang on!" when she's fussing for food while I throw a load of laundry in the wash... or finish updating my facebook status.
I have uttered the dreaded phrases, "Because I said so." and "There are starving people who would be happy to have that!" (None of which has EVER satisfied them for an answer, or made Averey clean her plate.)
Dinner at our house usually consists of Averey burping on command, Kelsey (naturally) burping in the middle of a sentence and getting up to either run around the table, or push her chair from the table and eat standing up, or scooping the food so close to her mouth that she's licking the table. Never mind the fact that I pass gas in the middle of a meal and have breastfed while drinking wine... (which, by the way, is not a pipeline directly to the babe, so by the time she'd nurse again, it would be through my system!) How is it that the only man in the house is the least hoggish of us all?
I've tried to tell Kelsey not to eat food off the floor only to perpetually be 10 seconds late every single time. Oh well, she'll have a strong immune system (?).
I've rolled my eyes when the girls insist they have to go potty as soon as we go out in public and asked if they can wait. (Which I realize is a huge risk. On rare occasions, they forget they've asked, but most times they're holding themselves as if their bladders will burst.)
I've turned the TV off because I'm sick of the girls loafing in front of it (and they receive more than their recommended dose of TV time), yet I don't suggest they do anything else.
I've gone out with them in public only to wish that I hadn't set foot out of the house only because Averey starts whining the moment I say we're leaving (today it was the library--never mind Kelsey was running down the bookcase aisles and Jacey was screaming) and Kelsey can escape faster than the speed of light. I really hate it when my stern mom voice comes out in a public place. I can almost feel they eyes of the other moms boring into the back of my head. (Oh, her children don't behave, she doesn't enjoy them, I would NEVER let my kid run down the aisles like that! That's what I thought too, until I had a Kelsey.)
I have covered my face as I'm busting with laughter when one of the girls gets overly dramatic about an issue and is in such a fit that it's just ridiculous. I've also laughed when they've done or said something naughty because it's just FUNNY!
Yet then there are those moments that I get kisses, hugs, and requests to snuggle. And I think for a fleeting moment that there's still hope my girls won't remember any of the above. (Except the dinner table, because of my 13-year-old-boy sense of humor... No wait, I do want them to have manners when they go eat at other people's houses!)
You have a point there, Miss Averey. Thanks for putting me in my place again.
But let me back up for a second. I was in the middle of paying some online bills, it's not like I was facebooking or anything. I told her to give me JUST ONE SECOND (which is never a second) and I would listen to her whine about being hungry for a snack.
Before I became a mom, I often thought to myself that I would never do or say certain things, I would handle all interactions with my children with love and patience. Once Averey turned three (because three is far worse than the "terrible twos", I don't care what anyone says), that went out the window. Having Kelsey in the house doesn't help matters either.
They say confession is good for the soul (or maybe it's chicken soup). I hope and pray I'm not alone in my bad mommy-ness, so I shall divulge some of those unsavory, less-than-stellar, hypocritical, screaming mom moments.
I have yelled at my kids... to stop yelling at each other.
I've told Averey to pick out her clothes, and then tell her to change because she doesn't match.
I tell poor Jacey, "Hang on!" when she's fussing for food while I throw a load of laundry in the wash... or finish updating my facebook status.
I have uttered the dreaded phrases, "Because I said so." and "There are starving people who would be happy to have that!" (None of which has EVER satisfied them for an answer, or made Averey clean her plate.)
Dinner at our house usually consists of Averey burping on command, Kelsey (naturally) burping in the middle of a sentence and getting up to either run around the table, or push her chair from the table and eat standing up, or scooping the food so close to her mouth that she's licking the table. Never mind the fact that I pass gas in the middle of a meal and have breastfed while drinking wine... (which, by the way, is not a pipeline directly to the babe, so by the time she'd nurse again, it would be through my system!) How is it that the only man in the house is the least hoggish of us all?
I've tried to tell Kelsey not to eat food off the floor only to perpetually be 10 seconds late every single time. Oh well, she'll have a strong immune system (?).
I've rolled my eyes when the girls insist they have to go potty as soon as we go out in public and asked if they can wait. (Which I realize is a huge risk. On rare occasions, they forget they've asked, but most times they're holding themselves as if their bladders will burst.)
I've turned the TV off because I'm sick of the girls loafing in front of it (and they receive more than their recommended dose of TV time), yet I don't suggest they do anything else.
I've gone out with them in public only to wish that I hadn't set foot out of the house only because Averey starts whining the moment I say we're leaving (today it was the library--never mind Kelsey was running down the bookcase aisles and Jacey was screaming) and Kelsey can escape faster than the speed of light. I really hate it when my stern mom voice comes out in a public place. I can almost feel they eyes of the other moms boring into the back of my head. (Oh, her children don't behave, she doesn't enjoy them, I would NEVER let my kid run down the aisles like that! That's what I thought too, until I had a Kelsey.)
I have covered my face as I'm busting with laughter when one of the girls gets overly dramatic about an issue and is in such a fit that it's just ridiculous. I've also laughed when they've done or said something naughty because it's just FUNNY!
Yet then there are those moments that I get kisses, hugs, and requests to snuggle. And I think for a fleeting moment that there's still hope my girls won't remember any of the above. (Except the dinner table, because of my 13-year-old-boy sense of humor... No wait, I do want them to have manners when they go eat at other people's houses!)
Thursday, November 1, 2012
No One to Blame but Me
Okay, folks, I'm going to let you in on a little secret: just because I manage to get three kids ready whilst putting myself together in the morning and then head to my job outside of the home does not mean I have my $h!t together. (Pardon my French.)
A few weeks ago, a friend posted a status update on facebook about her frustration with no time in the evening to tend to her children's needs even though she's a stay-at-home mom, and she didn't know how two working parents could run a household. My solution? Time management.
As I once again spent too much time in one store this evening while I was supposed to be picking up groceries while Averey was at gymnastics, I realized I was a complete hypocrite for soliciting such advice.
Sure, I have my laundry duties down to a science (that's what happens when you don't own a dryer) and take a few minutes here and there to spruce up the house and can manage my time well (for the most part) when it comes to that stuff.
But send me on a shopping trip for anything other than necessities, and you'd think I don't own a watch.
Tonight, I got all wrapped up in crafty goodies at Michael's for about 15 minutes longer than planned. My indecisive mind took over, telling me I had plenty of time, and surely Jacey wasn't hungry yet.
But by 6:00, I knew I blew it again. I raced to the grocery store, power-walked through the aisles to pick up what was on my list (even though I left it in the car), and hightailed it out of there to call my hubby to ask if Jacey was hungry. (It was 6:15, and Averey's class ended at 6:30.)
"She was crying, but she's okay now."
"Well, do you want me to come home?"
"Well, I didn't think you'd be out this long. You didn't have much to pick up at the store."
(Feeling my face redden) "I went to Michael's." (Which I did mention before I left.)
"Ohh." I could see him roll his eyes. I could hear the annoyance in his voice. My husband, although never in the military, runs his schedule with military precision. His idea of being late is my version of being on time. (Hey, I'm not late if I'm supposed to be somewhere at 6:00 and show up right at 6:00! Anyone agree?) There have been a couple--few--no, many occasions where he's calling me to see where I'm at, when I'm coming home, because it's a bit--a lot later than I said I would be.
By the time I get home, I'm mad at myself for the both of us. I promise next time I'll be better (to myself), because surely I'll want to go out shopping again. Tonight was no different. I'm still annoyed with myself. I'm sure he's still annoyed with me too, but tonight is his night out, so I'm sure he's thankful for the escape.
Yet time and time again, he forgives me. And time and time again, God forgives me too. I'm grateful to have that model in our marriage, because let's face it, marriage isn't a piece of cake! (I should know from previous experience...)
This time management skill is clearly a fault of mine that I must pray about and work on continuously. But sometimes, when you're out of the house with no kids running through the aisles like banshees, asking for everything in sight, it isn't hard to lose track of time.
Oh, by the way dear--I got a LOFT gift card today, and I heard they're having good sales. Can I go shopping? I promise I won't take more than an hour!
A few weeks ago, a friend posted a status update on facebook about her frustration with no time in the evening to tend to her children's needs even though she's a stay-at-home mom, and she didn't know how two working parents could run a household. My solution? Time management.
As I once again spent too much time in one store this evening while I was supposed to be picking up groceries while Averey was at gymnastics, I realized I was a complete hypocrite for soliciting such advice.
Sure, I have my laundry duties down to a science (that's what happens when you don't own a dryer) and take a few minutes here and there to spruce up the house and can manage my time well (for the most part) when it comes to that stuff.
But send me on a shopping trip for anything other than necessities, and you'd think I don't own a watch.
Tonight, I got all wrapped up in crafty goodies at Michael's for about 15 minutes longer than planned. My indecisive mind took over, telling me I had plenty of time, and surely Jacey wasn't hungry yet.
But by 6:00, I knew I blew it again. I raced to the grocery store, power-walked through the aisles to pick up what was on my list (even though I left it in the car), and hightailed it out of there to call my hubby to ask if Jacey was hungry. (It was 6:15, and Averey's class ended at 6:30.)
"She was crying, but she's okay now."
"Well, do you want me to come home?"
"Well, I didn't think you'd be out this long. You didn't have much to pick up at the store."
(Feeling my face redden) "I went to Michael's." (Which I did mention before I left.)
"Ohh." I could see him roll his eyes. I could hear the annoyance in his voice. My husband, although never in the military, runs his schedule with military precision. His idea of being late is my version of being on time. (Hey, I'm not late if I'm supposed to be somewhere at 6:00 and show up right at 6:00! Anyone agree?) There have been a couple--few--no, many occasions where he's calling me to see where I'm at, when I'm coming home, because it's a bit--a lot later than I said I would be.
By the time I get home, I'm mad at myself for the both of us. I promise next time I'll be better (to myself), because surely I'll want to go out shopping again. Tonight was no different. I'm still annoyed with myself. I'm sure he's still annoyed with me too, but tonight is his night out, so I'm sure he's thankful for the escape.
Yet time and time again, he forgives me. And time and time again, God forgives me too. I'm grateful to have that model in our marriage, because let's face it, marriage isn't a piece of cake! (I should know from previous experience...)
This time management skill is clearly a fault of mine that I must pray about and work on continuously. But sometimes, when you're out of the house with no kids running through the aisles like banshees, asking for everything in sight, it isn't hard to lose track of time.
Oh, by the way dear--I got a LOFT gift card today, and I heard they're having good sales. Can I go shopping? I promise I won't take more than an hour!
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