Advice

A few days ago I noticed something on Facebook.  At least three of my friends posted something about their children that was either humorous or as a way of “venting”.  None of those posts were things that should make the children feel bad, or reflect on the parents in any way.  It was just a fact of life of parenting.  I may not even need to mention that each post was about a son.  And something that said son did that was amazing.  Not a good kind of amazing. 

The thing that I noticed was that on each post someone felt the need to either provide parenting advice or tell the poster why the behavior was wrong.  And that is common on the internet.  We assume that anyone and everyone is just waiting for us to spout out our advice as if it were the answer that they have been waiting for so long to hear.  We assume that if we did not post our thoughts about reducing caffeine, or sugar, or red dye this poor child is destined to suffer.  Or feel the need to give advice on how to discipline an unruly child.  That we have never met.  In a situation we have only heard two sentences about. 

I am not saying that any of these are necessarily bad suggestions. Or that I have never done this.  Because I am sure that I totally must have.  And I am glad that the internet was not all that old when I knew everything.  You know, before having children.  Because I would have looked like a jerk back then on some of the posts that people exactly like me make today. 

 I just think that dispensing this kind of advice over the internet shows that we do not understand the intent of the person sometimes.  There are places online I go to find out more about parenting.  There are places I go to ask advice on specific situations.  I have people in real life to talk to, and several online friends from around the world that can help me out when I need it.

Other times I am not looking for advice.  These times I am just looking for a parent-to-parent connection.  And maybe some hope.  Or a parent that has lived through raising children and will throw back their head and life when I say things that my children have done.  So I feel less alone.  Less insane. 

Sometimes, Internet, all I want are comfort words.  No actual answers.  I want to hear things like:

“Yes, cat whiskers grow back.”

“No, that missing eyebrow is hardly noticeable.”

“No one has ever died from eating a glow stick.”

“Poison control knows my child too.”

“Yes, I have laughed at my child throwing a fit.  No regrets.”

“My child has also done that.  And lived.”

And that, Internet, is why I post on Facebook about the time my son ate three Adrenaline Rush packets which caused him to bounce around our house like a ping pong ball and then crash for hours.  Not to hear that I am negligent by hiding them on the top shelf of the pantry behind other boxes without ever thinking he could climb up there and get them while I was in the bathroom.  Or how harmful it is for my child to jump onto a trampoline from the garage roof.  Or how I should have assumed that he would stick dice, or an Orbee, or a napkin, or a piece of cheese, or Kool Aid powder up his nose.   Because I know all that.  And Have learned to never go to the bathroom.  Now.  I just want to know that I am not alone.  And that he will survive to adulthood.  And that I will too.  And that sometimes, it is completely alright to laugh at your child. 

A Christmas to Remember

Every year I do the same thing.  I begin planning on how to create the best Christmas ever.  Not with gifts or decorations.  Not with expensive items or over the top activities.  But with family.  With friends.  With purpose.  One that allows us to say, "That was the year we..." with fondness.  With joy.  With hearts set on giving.  On sharing. 

We bake and give away cookies.  We ring the bell for the Salvation Army.  We collect hats and gloves, or coats, or toys.  We adopt a family.  We make treats for friends.  We spend time together.  We serve.  We laugh.  We visit grandparents.  Many of those create traditions.  Some of those give us those memories.  All have made our kids, or us as parents, say that it was memorable. 

This year, however, was different.  It will not be those same things that we remember.  Not the cookies we gave away, the service projects we did, the crafts we made, or the fun we had.  It will be in what was given to us, to me, that will tell the story of this Christmas.

We prepared as always.  A busy season with parties, cookies, crafts, more parties, and finding ways to serve.  We shopped, we caroled, we wrapped, we laughed, we made sure to serve others.  We focused on THE gift given, not the gifts we would receive. 

Christmas Eve morning Angel looked pretty rough when she woke up, and complained that she was not feeling well.  She got sicker as the day wore on, and we decided that we could not risk getting others sick.  We decided to stay home from the family parties, meeting with my grandparents later to exchange gifts.  She looked worse and worse, and felt the same.  She could not keep any food down.  Finally she looked at me and said, "I need to go to the hospital."  She was having severe pains in her right side, had not kept food down since lunch the day before, and was shaking. 

I hurried to get ready, thinking that we would go over and they would give her something to stop the vomiting, maybe IV fluids for a few hours, and we would be home.  I was not prepared for CT scans, blood work, and an ambulance ride to a larger hospital to see a surgeon.  They thought for most of the night that it was her appendix.  Three rounds of blood work, two bags of fluids, and one long night later it was evident that the problem was a severe virus, not her appendix.  We were relieved to not have surgery, sad to be in the hospital, and exhausted.

Our Christmas was not ruined, however.  Every time someone came into her hospital room for any reason, they gave her a small gift.  Many of the gifts kept her distracted.  They were donated by local churches.  There were coloring books, puzzle books, paint sets, stuffed animals, and some candy.  During the few hours of sleep I got Santa visited with a sack of toys.  She got a large stuffed bear, a pillow pet, a puzzle, and some craft sets.  She hung onto that bear the rest of her stay, squeezing it during blood work.  She clutched it when the surgeon came in to give us results.  She hugged it when they announced no surgery.  We got to play X Box in the hospital.  The nurses were all wonderful, bringing us anything they could to help us settle in and trying to give us a bit of Christmas.

At home, Andy struggled with the kids who were scared and sad.  Faith did not want to sleep in her room looking at Angel's empty bed.  Isaac was afraid for her and offered his room to Faith.  David missed his best friend Angel and his Mommy who both read to him at bedtime and tuck him in.  Micah missed his Mommy all night like any nursing infant would.  Daddy was there to keep everyone together, even when his heart was with us in the hospital.    And Santa came.  My dear children grabbed their stockings and got ready to head out the door to bring Christmas to Angel.  They grabbed her stocking and headed to see us, not a peep about the presents they past to leave the house. 

This was my Christmas miracle this year.  Strangers seeing our need and meeting it in the form of small gifts.  A stuffed animal.  A tooth brush.  A can of Pepsi.  A cup of coffee.  A puzzle.  The gifts of people who did not even know we were there but wanted anyone stuck in the hospital on Christmas to know love.  The children who past by their own presents in a rush to get to their sister, to their mother. 

You see, for years we have talked about the meaning of Christmas.  We have done projects to serve others.  Form soup kitchens to coat drives.  From park clean up to community events my children have served.  At times they have served instead of participating.  They painted faces instead of attending the party.  They picked up trash in the park instead of play there.  And when it came right down to it, they not only gave of themselves on Christmas, missing their own presents for a while, but they also got to receive the gifts of others.  Angel was ministered to in ways that she usually ministers.  And they got to see that there are others who serve.  Who love.  And in days that seem so very dark at times, this is the best kind of light. 

Sensory Activities- Surfing

I just found a neat site with loads of fun stuff to do, thanks to Facebook.  There was a link to sensory activities, and I am always looking for some good sensory activities for the kids.  I found some new ideas, was reminded of some old, and still have not seen our favorite sensory activity of all time.  In order to share the awesomeness of that activity, I am going to detail that experience here, but with a word of caution.  Many, many people think we are insane, so attempt what we do at your own risk of life, limb, and sanity.

One day, not long after having baby number four, our little David, the kids wanted to go swimming.  This was a problem because we live in PA.  And it was February.  In our last house we had a HUGE bathtub and I would put all the kids, and at times even some cousins, in the tub in swim suits.  No huge tub here, sadly.  And they would not let up about swimming.  Isaac ran to get his suit, and I had an idea.  One born of desperation, the haze that comes after a newborn, and the winter blues.  I sent the kids to get on swim suits as I scrambled around to get ready.

As they were getting dressed I got beach towels and sunscreen.  I found my favorite reggae CD.  I got the baby shampoo, and Mr. Dave as we so fondly called our tiny guy.  I had the kids cover themselves with sunscreen while I swept the kitchen floor and blasted the music to set the stage.  We, well, actually they, were going surfing.  I moved everything out of the kitchen and had the kids stand on the towels on the floor. 

I squirted a whole bunch of baby shampoo on the floor and climbed up on the counter, perching myself by the sink.    I used the sprayer from the sink to squirt the kids and floor.  They were covered with water and bubbles and started slipping and sliding all over the place on their "surf boards".  I sat on the counter all criss cross applesauce nursing a newborn, hosing my kids every time they stopped being slippy until almost time for Andy to get home. 

We made quite a mess.  And had so much fun. 

I carefully climbed down, got some dry towels to mop up any leftover water and tossed the kids in the shower with their swimsuits still on.  As they rinsed off I put David down for a nap and put the towels in the wash. 

By the time Andy came home I had a clean kitchen floor, a napping baby, three squeaky clean, happy, snacking kids, and some freshly laundered towels still warm from the dryer.  It was an epic win for the day. 

We have never done it again, and Isaac does not remember it.  David, while there, did not get to participate. Perhaps we will have a repeat of that day, the one the girls call 'the day we knew Mommy had really lost her mind'.  My floor has not been cleaned in quite a while...

One Thursday Morning

There is not really any pregnancy that has no problems, no uncomfortable days.  I know at the beginning of this pregnancy I was super sick.  That happens.  I had to take the super long glucose test, which turned out exceptional.  And there was that day I had heat exhaustion at camp.  Pregnant in a heat wave, it happens.  So I consider that a relatively normal pregnancy.  I had been feeling great, Micah is moving and squirming around, growing like he is supposed to be doing.  Nesting set in and I was on a cleaning streak.

On Thursday morning I woke up not feeling quite right.  I figured I would switch from mad cleaning to a full day of doing my school work, and maybe treat the kids to a walk for some candy if they let me work in peace.  It was not uncomfortably hot, so when I barely made it to the bathroom with super amounts of swelling I was surprised.  By the time I got to the kitchen I could not make a fist because my hands were so swollen, and my toes were not.  Odd, but so is pregnancy. 

I did school for a while, still not feeling well.  I decided to lay down on my left side as so commonly told to do in pregnancy.  When my mom stopped over my whole face was swollen.  I took the kids to Giant Eagle for their snack, and checked my blood pressure.  I was high,but the machine was not working correctly so I was not sure.  By the time Andy came home my eyes were almost swollen shut. 

We headed to our chiropractor appointment, figuring I would check my blood pressure at Walmart and sit on the bench while Andy got groceries for supper.  My first reading was cause for concern, and the readings kept creeping up over the time I spent waiting and checking.  When it read 170/99 I knew I had to be seen.  We stopped to grab food at the closest drive through.  By the time we hit Johnstown I was pretty out of it.  My head was hurting very bad, I could see thumping spots, and was super sick to my stomach.  I was not entirely convinced I would be ok, but we had the kids with us so I did not say too much.

Andy had to drop me off at the ER and go park.  I was taken straight up to Labor and Delivery.  Andy sat in the waiting room with the kids, keeping in touch by text, until I saw the doctor.  I was feeling worse by the minute.  The doctor came in, looked at me, and called for a nurse to start the IV.  I told Andy, who came in to get a list of what I would need for short stay.  As soon as he left to drop of the kids and grab my stuff it got interesting. 

The IV nurse came in to do initial blood work and the second the needle hit my arm I been convulsing.  She hit an alarm, and nurses came running.  The doctor came in.  I heard them talking, got a shot, and then was told I had taken a seizure because my blood pressure spiked to 190/110.  I was put on a magnesium drip, which made me hot, itchy, and sick.  Several times I had to get shots for vomiting, they did blood work every few hours. 

After about an hour, the doctor ordered shots to help boost the baby's lungs.  If I was not doing better soon they wanted to induce at 33 weeks.  I began to cry.  Throughout the night my blood pressure was taken every 15 minutes, spiking quite high and then dropping dangerously low.  At one point I was told it dropped as low as 88/50, at which point I had another seizure.  Then more meds. 

I was taken off the magnesium drip after 12 hours.  It felt like 12 days.  They were running constant blood work, and urinalysis for 24 hours.  After coming off the IV I could not walk.  I could not stand without shaking.  For the first time in my life I was on my knees sobbing for help and had to hit the alarm to call for the nurse. 

After a long 24 hours, the tests came back borderline.  I was not diagnosed with pre-eclampsia, but with sudden onset pregnancy induced high blood pressure.  I was sent home feeling only slightly better than when I arrived.  I cried the whole way home.  I was terrified to leave the nurses and the consoling fact that if something happened they knew right away.  It is about a 45 minute drive, an eternity in an emergency.  And yet I so badly wanted to hold my kids.  By the time I got to my mothers to pick them up I could hardly  move.  A splitting headache, swelling beginning, and sick to my stomach.  I was ready to go right back to the ER when I could not walk myself to the van.  Andy and my Dad had to get me there, after I had to ask for help for the second time that day.

I crawled up to my room.  Bed rest until Monday.  We have an ultrasound to check the little man's size, and my check up to know what is going on with my blood pressure.  It needs to be regulated through my medicine or they will have no choice but to induce early.  If today is any indicator, so far the medicine is not working.  I can not stand up at all without my blood pressure spiking high enough to effect my ability to walk.  Trips to the bathroom are quite an ordeal.  There are side effects to both the magnesium and the new medicine I have to take, so hopefully in a few days this will even out.

Please be in prayer for us.  As much as I want to meet my little guy, I need him to be safe more.  He needs more time, and I need to be okay enough to give it to him.  I also need to keep trucking on the cleaning up, my school work, and the fun of preparing for meeting Mr. Micah. 

Nesting; Not Just for the Birds

I walked into our bathroom today, for the millionth time, and decided that I simply could not leave until it was clean.  I scrubbed the shower, the sink, the toilet, rearranged the shelves, wiped the mirror, cleaned the window, and took the curtians to the wash.  I swept and scrubbed the floor. 

As I was busy, Isaac and Faith kept sneaking up on me. I think they wanted to ask me something.  They just stared.  A few minutes later, David pops in.  He asked why I am cleaning the bathroom, thinking that I must have thrown up, and this should tell you how often I scrub down our rooms. 

Soon Angel peeks in, and checks back with the other kids.  The conversation has me cracking up as I am scrubbing the floor on my hands and knees because that is the only way I was convinced it was clean. 

Angel walks back to the living room and this is basically what she said:

"I do not think she is sick guys.  Remember yesterday when she had us put away all the laundry and explained that sometimes pregnant women need to clean?  I am pretty sure that is what is happening.  You see, I have seen her pregnant many times before, and everytime it is different.  It can be scary, but if she is doing something you have a few choices.  Offer to help, but only if you mean it.  Stay far away until she calls for you then hurry it up to get there.  Bring her water and tell her you love her.  Never drink the last Pepsi or eat the last chocolate.  And remember, it is almost August."

So apparently the nesting bug has hit me hard, and for the first time.  I went for me daily after lunch ice cream and cleaned out the freezer.  I was going to make coffee, but never got around to it because I simply had to do the dishes first.  I could not stop at washing the bathroom curtians, I had to fill the load so I put in the living room and den curtians as well.  Which meant that I am now taking a short break from cleaning those rooms as the kids play checkers.  Before I scare them too badly I better send them outside to splash in the yard.  And I have to hang in there, after all, it is almost August.

Things I Learned This Year at Camp

1.  Two three year olds is a lot of three year olds.

2.  At 8 months pregnant, every thing is twice as hard as it should be.  At camp everything is twice as hard as it should be.  That means that 8 months pregnant at camp is ten times harder than it should be.  Just trust me on the math.

3.  Eleven days is a long time to go camping.  A V-E-R-Y long time to go camping.

4.  A pregnant woman can drink 5 to 6 bottles of water and still be dehydrated in 95 degree heat.  And  our family really can not go camping without a trip to the ER.

5.  A little dirt does not hurt.

6.  Five kids at camp will all want to do something at the same time.  About eight different somethings. 

7.  Ice cream is expensive, yet a good moisturizer.

8.  One should never take five kids camping for finals week.

9.  Chopping wood is not a pregnant woman activity.  Or carrying wood.  Or carrying water. 

10.  Little boys can scream like little girls when attacked by flies.

11.  Sometimes sticky kisses and smiling faces are the only thanks I need.  Chocolate is also appreciated.

12.  Craft sticks are the best kid friendly item to take to camp.

13.  Never let your kids make friends with the bait.

14.  The sleeping limit on a camper is only a suggestion.

15.  You are never too old to lay under the stars, catch fireflies, eat a smore, or swing in a hammock.

16.  Playing pranks on the girl's bathroom is not only a little boy activity.

17.  Rocks, sticks, and inch works can fill an afternoon with delight.

18.  You can never have too many bubbles.  Or ice cream.  Or flashlights.  Or salamanders.

19.  There is no way to put the experience into pictures.

20.   There is a reason that we camp once a year.

Don't Sweat the Small Stuff

Several times recently I have seen something that reminds me of my childhood.  A post on Facebook about children going grocery shopping in costumes, a picture of me when I was younger, or even something someone said.  All of these things add up to me thinking about what is important, and what is not, for a child. 

For example, I was in a short online conversation about children in costumes in the store.  The person was encouraging to moms who let their children dress up in public.  Mine do that all the time, and I know the comments that we get are a mix between good and bad.  I say thank you to the good and ignore the bad, but my children hear both and are a bit confused.  This makes me think of my own childhood because I was never discouraged from figuring out who I am, be it a superhero, a costume, huge hair, purple hair, or odd clothing.  I tried it all, and my mother took it with a grain of salt.  I had different colors and lengths of hair in addition to crazy hair styles.  She just would say "Hair grows back."  I would dress in outfits that were more like costumes.  I could go goth, punk, cowgirl, grunge, and girl next door all in the same week.  She would pay no attention.  I finally settled on a style that fit me, and was comfortable because I knew all the others were not me.  I was not only trying to be shocking, as most teens try at some point, but I was figuring out who I was, where I fit, and what was me.  Oh, there was a bit of an attempt at shocking, but that was a bonus side effect, which mostly bothered my father.

Living with four brothers means that a fair amount of things got broken, thrown around, blown up, or destroyed.   If done intentionally, like strapping my favorite Barbie to a firecracker, there was discipline. But accidents were part of life and never a big deal.  I can not count how many times I have heard "Things are not important, people are important," from my mother, from myself, and now echoed by grandchildren.  Spilled drinks, broken dishes, broken windows, ruined clothing, and even a bottle of bluing dumped into the all of the laundry have all been responded to with the phrase.  That does not mean that it was a free pass, you mess it, you clean it, but it was not a big deal. 

Picky eaters were never admonished for eating only PB and J for weeks on end, but were encouraged to try something else.  When that phase was over, it was over.  The same went for clothing, hair styles, and even odd behaviors.  Phases were treated like a phase that would pass, not a line to be drawn in the sand.  It made it less likely for me to dig in my heels over something small because it was not a big deal, like purple hair.  If there is no reaction, there was no fun in it.  And as a phase was over, there was no comment.  It just was over. 

All of these things are the small stuff.  Because we were given freedom in these areas, we became more likely to seek advice, or at least listen to advice, in the bigger areas.  Areas that could impact our future, like friends, class choices, dating, driving, jobs, and life decisions.  I am not saying I always followed the advice, but I heard it.  And I knew that I could go to my mother even when heartbroken after not following her advice. 

I have followed this style of parenting in my own home.  I say no only when yes is not an option.  We blow bubbles in the kitchen.  We finger paint in the dining room.  We have a bin of rice that we bury toys in to find later.  We have a trampoline in the school room and a power wheels in the hallway.  Because it will make a mess is not a reason to say no.  There are limits and times for these activities, but they do happen often.  My children have all heard me say things like "Hair grows back", "Don't cry over spilt milk", and "Things are not important, people are."  We try not to sweat the small stuff, and handle the big stuff as it comes.

Normal is as Normal Does

For the longest time I was hung up on the concept of being normal.  Being perfect.  I would quiz my husband on what was normal when he was a child.  What did you do for birthdays?  Christmas?  Easter?  Summer vacation?  Allowance? 

I thought I would have it all figured out between his childhood and mine.  I would take from here, take from there, blend new family traditions that reflect the old.  Sometimes it worked, sometimes it did not.  My husband is pretty easy going, so I end up doing whatever I want for chore lists, birthday parties, holidays. 

When the kids were younger, he also worked out of town, so our every day routine was different.  No sit down for supper every night, mostly we had cereal.  Or pizza.  Or pancakes. Or whatever the kids would eat that day.  We had early mornings when I had class in the morning, and late mornings when I had night classes the day before.  We walked everywhere we went because we had to.  But we were a bit different having three kids in four years.  And the concept of perfect changed.  Perfect house, perfect kids, perfect wife and mother became to mean different things. 

Then the kids got older, and a new normal was developed.  I chose to homeschool.  That became our new normal, not everyone else's normal.  Then Andy started to entertain more.  Which is a very different version of normal as our house filled up with unicycles, magic tricks, doves, machetes, and torches.  Non-work hours began to be filed with shows and practice.  And rubber chickens. 

Soon after we added another boy.  And discovered our second child has Asperger's.  And ADHD.  And our first boy is hyperactive, probably ADHD.  Once again, normal shifted.  Perfection shattered.   What I once thought of as normal was so far away.  Perfect was not even a long shot.  It was no where in sight. And normal became long school days, late nights, a messy house, and hyper children.  Loud children.  Boys who are such boys!  Girls who are such girls! 

Soon I came to realize that normal and perfect are more like a mirage.  You can see it, you think.  You can almost touch it sometimes, but not really.  And I adjusted.  Our normal is not your normal.  Your normal is not our normal.  And I am glad.  Because I would not trade my fire-juggling, tight-rope walking, magic huband, my girly stage performer, my free spirited nature lover, my delightful 100% rough and tumble superhero, or my singing dancing crazy son for someone else's image of perfect, of normal. 

Our lives are filled with rubber chickens, nature crafts, music, glitter, stage performances, dancing, laughter, school work, magic, wonderment, and joy.  And it is perfect.

Are ALL these children yours??

Yesterday was a lovely day.  All the kids, plus an niece, had a great time playing outside.  But, the kids had some money just burning a hole in their little pockets and really wanted to go to the candy store.  We put the preschoolers in strollers and walked to the candy store for some snacks and a nice, cold drink.  A pregnant lady pushing a stroller, a preteen pushing another stroller, and two school aged children walking.  They kids were all given a limit in the store and bartered with each other, traded parts of snacks, and decided to share some things to squeak in under the budget.  We were there for quite a while. 

As we walked up to pay, each child paying and getting things bagged up individually, there was a lady in line behind us.  She waited quite a while to make her small purchase as my children counted out pennies and traded coins.  I offered to let her go first, but when all my children stepped out of the way she told us to go ahead.  We left the store, and began to get everyone settled with snacks, drinks, and in the strollers for the short walk home.  And then it happened.  The lady came out of the store and asked me the question I always hate. 

"Are all these children yours?"

I try to instruct my children to be kind, so I often have to stifle the snide answers that I can think in an effort to practice what I preach.  All the little eyes turned to me.  I sighed internally, smiled, and said, "Only four of them.  One is my niece." 

She patted my belly, which I usually hate, looked into my eyes and smiled.  "God bless you and your lovely family.  Cherish these days.  They go by so fast."  And then she walked away. 

My eyes teared up.  I am so used to defending our 'large' family to everyone that starts the conversation in such a manner.  I get frustrated with others because I do not think that we are a large family, there are only four children.  To me large is more like eight, ten children.  Which also sounds fine to me.  Also, Any frazzled mother who is doing their very best for their children can tell you that a negative comment in the middle of the day seems so judgemental, and stacked up the comments begin to crush your spirit. 

Yet her kind eyes and sweet comment refreshed me much more than my cold drink ever could.  I do cherish everyday.  I already see it slipping away too fast.  Walking through the grocery store and seeing a couple of children whining for something to their haggard mother I smile.  Seeing people lining up their children to fill their plates at family parties and church events, again, I smile wistfully.  Sure, I still have a preschooler and will soon have another baby.  But the older three are more independent, can take care of themselves, and a part of me longingly remembers three pairs of tiny hands hanging on my shirt as we go to the buffet, cross the street, or walk into church.  And now I seen them skipping ahead, texting friends, laughing and talking with each other, and I squeeze David's hand gently, holding on tightly while I still can, while he still wants me too.  . 

My biggest fear is that when I am behind a family with children counting out pennies I will wish that I took the time.  Time for watching clouds, catching bugs, painting nails, building forts, developing the relationship that will encourage them to call me everyday, count me among their friends, bring me grandchildren to play with.  So many other things, worthy things, pull at me for my time, time I only have so much of.  And I have none to spare.  Not if I want to look back and smile, knowing that each day was full of laughter, love, and joy because I choose to spend my time wisely.  And I don't want to miss a minute.

Confession Time

I have a confession.  I hate cleaning.  My house shows it.  There are so many other ways I can find that are very valuable ways to spend my time.  My school.  Home school.  Reading, games, puzzles, activities, crafts with the kids.  Backyard fires. Long bike rides.  Walks.  Movie night. 

When we do clean, it is with the kids too.  They do dishes, laundry, sweep, scrub, vacuum, and dust.  We work together to get it done as quickly as possible.  And it looks like the kids helped.  They are still learning.

There is always clean laundry stacked on the couch.  And crafting remnants on the floor.  And Legos everywhere.  Game pieces on the living room floor, school work on the dining room table, and glitter all over.  We have toys on the floor, books on the love seat, and movies stacked up by the DVD player.  There is at least one fake bug somewhere in every room of our house.

You see, we live here.  All the time.  And we do school here.  There are some hyper kids, some slow to complete task kids, and some kids who are much bigger and are just trying to enjoy the little ones while they are still little.  And waiting for some little woodland critters to help has not yet paid off.  So we dust in between subjects, scoop up toys so we can vacuum, and shift school work to eat together.  Regardless of how clean, not or so clean it is, I always step on or hit the bugs, just in case...

Top ten reasons why I love to home school

In any random order, not the order of importance!

10.  Those days when we stay in our jammies all day.

9.  Sleeping in on yucky days.

8.  Cuddling all the kids in my room in the morning.

7.  Starting the day with devotions and prayer.

6.  Watching my children as they play together during breaks.

5.  Catching that "ah ha"moment when understanding dawns for the first time.  Every time.

4.  Seeing my children work together at school, around the house, and as they help me.

3.  Co-op classes that allow all the kids to get together to learn and play, and the moms get a bit of a break.

2.  Reading aloud a great book, sipping hot chocolate.

1.  Growing closer to each other and closer to God. 

Things I overheard from the children today...

Isaac and his cousins playing Wii:
"Cousins are like friends"
"Yeah, but they have to like you."

Faith to her cousin, still playing Wii:
"Hold still and let me beat you up!"

M to Angel:
"I want to come over everyday.  Can I shop in your room everyday?"

Faith to her cousins:
"Oh yeah, just ask my mom about him when they were growing up.  Does she have some stories for you!"

Faith to her cousin:
"We should do this more.  What are your plans next weekend?"

Best line ever:
"Let's all spent the night together at Grandma's!"  They meant all 11 of them!  I am in!  Dan, Amber?  Scott, Theresa?  What do you think??

Never Say Normal

After almost a year of not really going anywhere in order to get things under control in our family, we have been getting out and about a little more now. I knew we could not stay home forever, but I am tired. Physically, emotionally, and at times spiritually. So many times we have started out somewhere only to have to turn back home over mud, lights, noise, itchy clothes, or some other seemingly small issue.
Now is the time, however, to gradually make our way back into things. In recent weeks I have been taking the kids shopping with me again. We have gone to several stores, at times even several in the same day. We have gone to restaurants, even new ones. We have gone to the public pool, amusement parks, and libraries.

Things seem better now, but I think it is not the situations, the locations, or the people we run into. I think it may be that I have come to grips with our lives and the seeming lack of normalcy. I have decided that we need to do what we need to do regardless of the reactions or comments of the people around us. I have prepared in advance for situations we may be facing when we go out. Diaper bag with extra clothes for the potty training toddler. Sippy cup. Snacks. Ear plugs. Water. A dark hoodie. And some extra patience. My normal supply of patience only runs deep enough to cover my children and my husband. I have to pack a bit extra to cover all those people who do not understand why the nine year old rides in the buggy and the toddler walks. Why my daughter flaps, licks things, and bangs her head. Why my toddler is repeating the same phrase, same tone, the whole way through the store. Why my son acts as those rocket fuel runs through his veins.

Today we walked to a “new” restaurant. And went to the store. Without Andy. My children are children. They are loud when you want them to be quiet. They find things funny that seem gross to adults. They play all the time. And they are also a little more. Angel wore a head scarf and sunglasses, picture Jackie O., and I am pretty sure it was in case we ran into anyone we know. Faith brought everything that makes her feel comfortable in a new location- her purse filled with Pet Shops and Squinkies, ear plugs, an eye mask. and water and a snack in case she did not like the food. Isaac never sits still, but did pretty well today. We had to start out the door twice, though. The first time he forgot his pants. David went to the bathroom four times before our food arrived. Then he had an accident in the stroller on the way home. He also repeatedly, and loudly, insisted it is Christmas time because there was a red star on the wall. So most of his conversation was scripting from The Nightmare Before Christmas.

The restaurant was not too bad at first. We were the only ones there. Then three more tables filled up. Waitresses always treat us like we have the plague.  The place was new to us. The music was a little loud. The food was good, but the fries were homemade, so Faith was rocking in her chair, beginning to get overwhelmed. David was insisting that it was Christmas night, and doing so in song. Isaac could not sit still. I could begin to see the other diners looking at us. And in those times I wish that I had a shirt that says “Don’t expect normal, because we are so over that!”

We went to the store. David wanted a dragon bracelet. I said yes. He asked for it for the entire half hour we were in the store. “Can I pay for this? Can I pay for this? Can I pay for this?” I stop answering after about three, because I know he is no longer talking to me. But other people do not know that. Faith got excited over a toy. Arms flapping, quoting the commercial. Very loud. And again, other customers stare.

At the check out Angel took David, who was still saying “Can I pay for this?”, out to ride a monster truck ride. I gave Faith and Isaac some quarters. As I was finished paying Isaac carried bags, Faith put the buggy back, and the man behind us, who had been looking at us all through the store spoke. “Nice family you have there. I like how they look after each other and help out. Don’t see that too often anymore.”

I looked around, making sure he was talking to us. We normally get ignored, or get told to discipline our children more. I have been told that a swift smack to one of my children will solve our “problems”. He was looking right at me and smiling. I said thank you, and left as Isaac held the door for us. As the door was closing, I heard him say to the cashier, “Those children are so well behaved.” I was amazed.

Sure, it was a challenge. I was exhausted. Taking them out can be draining. I often say it is like taking goats with me. Except my kids are louder. And people expect goats to chew, lick, kick, and generally have goat like behavior. Children, not so much. But I felt that the children did very well. And so did some random guy. And as we walked home, the kids stepping in puddles so their shoes could squeak like ducks, David saying “I paid for that”, I was very thankful for the afternoon of enjoying my children.

Great Expectations

All those years ago on the beginning of our homeschooling journey I had a set of expectations. They are currently at war with the reality of my life.

I pictured long nature walks. Sitting by the fire while I read great books and we all sip hot chocolate. Field trips to museums, plays, concerts, zoos, and gardens. Vacations in the off season. When book work was necessary I pictured the kids at desks with pencils and stickers. Baking cookies, preparing for holidays, setting the table with the kids in their little aprons bustling around helping out. There was a bit of glitter and some fairy dust sprinkled in the air.

And reality comes crashing in. There are whole days blocked for school work when I spend more time picking dice out of noses with tweezers than reading. I am on a first name basis with several workers at poison control. There is never a sharpened pencil to be found and the pencil sharpener, my nice, new, electric pencil sharpener, has paper jammed in it. I have two children who have either stabbed or cut up their desk chairs. If we get to go on a walk we take hours to get ready, have to pack a lunch, take extra clothes, and can not find any left shoes. When we do leave someone is always missing a necessary article of clothing. Many field trip venues are enjoyed by my crew, but none quietly or calmly. And there literally is glitter sprinkled everywhere. And cereal.

With my husband I knew that life would be an adventure. The adventure we are on is not quite the one I had pictured. There are days when I feel that instead of children I am herding goats. Stinky, smelly, messy, odd-stuff-eating goats. I literally have butt prints on my bathroom mirror. Footprints on the walls. Something orange stuck to half of the blankets in the house. The dirty laundry is taller than me, and we have an entire couch filled with folded clothes. We do not have gourmet meals because I am not very kitchen-y. That has rubbed off on all of my children.

I get stressed out, overwhelmed, and overworked. And then this happens:

Animal Spirits

Sometimes at our house it seems like the school is open 24/7. We have school with the kids, my schooling and Andy’s. Andy and I try to keep it separate, but there are times that he is in one room, I am in the other and the kids are watching a movie. It is that or never sleep. And I still feel as if I never sleep. When I am overworked and overtired, my dreams become quite, well, quite strange really. I am sure no one can even imagine that!

Last night, for example, after the kids were settled in bed I wrote a paper, read a chapter and did my text problems for that chapter. I am not really a huge math fan, so that was hard. And yet I am a perfectionist, so it was really hard. I finally got to sleep around 1AM after studying square roots. No matter what I dreamt, there were square roots. We were all at the beach swimming, and I had square roots leeches. We were hiking at camp, square root leeches.

This brings me to the totally unscientific conclusion that if mathematics had an animal spirit, it would be none other than a blood sucking leech. Language arts would be a wise old owl. Wearing reading glasses, of course. History would be a Galapagos turtle. One of the elders. Science would be a platypus; part theory, part belief, part science, part myth. And those parts are always fighting.
And now, time for school. we are going to have a little leech, a little owl, and one big platypus over today. Don’t want to keep the natives waiting!

The Contents of a Lady's Purse

I have heard it said you can tell a lot about a woman by the contents of her purse. If that is true, I am in big trouble. It is not the odd little things that have been planted there by my children for me to hold “just for a sec”. I had odd stuff before that.

Regardless of how many children I have had, including the while I had no children of my own, I always had a few little toys,crayons and paper, and a weenie whistle. The whistle was for sentimental reasons. I have even had a rock in there, prechildren. It was a prayer rock for me to remember to pray for a good friend’s salvation. I still have it and am still praying for her. And always a broken pair of sunglasses. And a card with two penguins, one of whom has a fish eating his head. It says “Relax, God is in charge.”

Then come children. And now I have four card games, a seashell magnet shaped like a fish, two salt packets, broken pencils, a piece of bark that was chewed off a tree by a beaver, a pen that leaked, darts for a gun, an etch-a-sketch key chain with a key to nothing, a pile of receipts, shot record books, coins from a foreign county I have never been to, a few Legos, and a stick. That is in addition to my wallet, a hairbrush, lipstick, a lipstick tube form lipstick Isaac melted by placing it on the heater, nail polish, hair clips, a nail kit, tiny scissors, a tiny flashlight, a tiny screwdriver, reading glasses, broken sun glasses, non-broken sunglasses, a granola bar, two packs of crackers, baby wipes, a diaper, lotion, hand sanitizer, a bottle of water and a Ziploc baggie of pennies that says Isaac.

And I still have to say those are not the things that get me. Not at all. Because most of those can be expected from the bag I carry when I have the children I have. No, the part that bothers me is even worse. Since having my first child I have had the most disgusting things land in, drop in, flop in, drip in, and magically appear in my purse. I expect a certain amount of crumbs, especially with the crackers. But I have had an ice cream cone, milk, Pepsi, a sandwich, chewed up gum, and a dirty diaper. ( I had no where else to put that! Mall change rooms should always have a trash can. Always.) Live bugs, dead bugs, fake bugs, something slimy I never even asked what it was. Fish bait that got loose. A mushy brown banana. I hope it was a banana.

All I can think of is the episode of Mad About you when the flighty sister, Lisa, got her purse mixed up with Jamie. Lisa was all pulled together for the day because of the contents of Jamie’s purse. She was on time, functional and got a job. And Jamie’s life spiraled out of control because of the junk in her sister’s purse. She was late everywhere, lost everything, and was a wreck by the end of the day. It was like each woman’s personality was tied to the contents of her purse.

So if the contents of my purse tell you something about me, I am mushy, gushy, slimy, crumby, broken, odd, and smell slightly like bad milk. And there may also be a sign popping out that says “Stay Away!!”

Blame It on the Parents

All of these years we have had the same, shall we say, interesting situations occur in and around our home, and other places we frequent.  I have been thinking that these oddities are a side effect of our homeschooling adventure.  In the past few months I am beginning to question this hypothesis.  I now think I should blame the parents in this particular household.  Not to point any fingers, but I am leaning to the male parental unit as the instigator in many cases.

For your reading pleasure, here are the top oddities that are NOT the result of homeschooling, but of parenting.  You may feel free to infer which are my husband and which are myself.  I am hoping at least one is very easy to decipher.  Sadly, it is not #9.

14.  When looking for my son we look on the ceiling.

13.  We have all gone in public in costume.  Not at Halloween.

12.  We all have a written list of our superpowers.

11.  At the first snowfall the children built a ziggurat instead of a snowman.  They used empty containers ranging in size between a trash can and a bowl, which has never returned.

10.  At a Christmas party my eldest daughter organized the children into a circle for circle time.  Then had a game for them to play. She did not have a craft prepared, but she later said she thought of one after time to open presents but no one was interested.

9.  My toddler sings his name.  And whatever he happens to be doing.  For instance:  "David.  Farting. DAV-ID.  is FART-ING.  DAVIDISFARTING!!!!!" Repeatedly.

8.  When told we were going to have a healthy snack my children all said: "Alright! Ice Cream!!!"

7.  When in public my children line up and follow me like little ducks.  With quacking included.

6.  There was a fake mustache stuck to the steering wheel of my van for weeks.  It relocated to the dashboard, then disappeared.

5.  We have at least 6 rubber chickens in a variety of sizes.  They have names.  And only one is a performing chicken.

4.  The mustache was later found frozen to the driveway.

3.  Science is everywhere, from the grass growing in the bathroom sink to the mushrooms growing in the basement.  However, I can not grow a houseplant on purpose to save my life.

2.  My family frequently bursts into song and dance.  Even in public.

1.  For Christmas my daughter asked for a dragon and a Barbie.  She got both, and an attack bat, which is her favorite.

***Some say ODD, but I like to say FUN!!***

Thankfulness

Since having children I have found there are things I am thankful for that I always took for granted or never quite appericated, like showers.  There are things I never would have though as things to be thankful for, they were always so basic, like pencils that stay where I left them.  And then there are the things  I am thankful for simple because they keep my children entertained.  That being said, here is a list of all the things I can think of that right now that I am thankful for that I have taken advantage of or not used properly in my life pre-children.

1.  Paper cups.  No, I do not mean drinking out of them.  David loves to stack them, unstack them, and restack them.  This has kept him entertained for over 15 minutes at a time.  He gets so excited if I have a stack of one color with only a few of a different color thrown in.  It’s like finding gum in your lollipop.  Amazing.  As for the 15 minutes of distraction, even more than amazing.

2.� Tape.  Silly me, I thought it was for such mundane things as holding paper together or torturing cats.  Nope, it can also be used to tape your brother’s mouth shut, turn your whole body into a robot, or collect fingerprints.  All those uses, and I was simply taping paper.  And another reason to be thankful for tape is that it comes in a two pack at the Dollar Tree.

3.  Live birds in WalMart.  When I worked there they were irritating.  Now they are the ultimate distraction.  Kid wants a toy, candy, or huge flyswatter??  No problem, simply point out the bird perched above their heads and they forget to throw a fit.  Or maybe this only works with kids who have ADHD.  Either way, I am covered.  I now love those birds and would smuggle them in if they were not there.

4.  Pennies.  I used to only use the pile of change stacked up on Andy’s dresser for vending machines, mostly at the ER, or milk and Pepsi between paydays. And I always left the pennies.  No more, I tell you.  Now I can dump the pennies on the floor and tell Isaac there is money hidden somewhere in his room and he can have it all if his room is clean.  He cleans up and I do not even have to yell once.  At him.  Has never worked for the girls though.

5.  Chocolate chips for cookies.  I hesitate to include this item on a list of things I have only been thankful for in the last decade, but it has new meanings for me, so I chose to include it.  We use chocolate chips for a number of things that have nothing to to with baking.  We use them for math to add, subtract, multiply, divide, show fractions, etc.  And then that kid gets to eat them.  Score one for less tears at math.  And I also give them to David one at a time to keep him quiet.  This only works in small intervals, because he never stops talking, but I take what I can get.

6.  The number 3.  It is magic.  All I have to do is start counting and by 3 they do whatever I was asking them to do. Has never worked for the numbers 1 or 2.  Three really is the magic number. Yet another thing I should have learned from Schoolhouse Rock.

7. Scarves.  I currently have at least three I am using daily.  One ties the fridge shut, one for the pantry, and one for the cupboard under the sink.  I used to use rubber bands, but little fingers have actually learned to pick them off already.  Soon he will master the complexities of the knot, but for now my food and feminine products are safe.

8.  Coffe cans.  Silly me I thought they were for holding coffe or playing kick the can.  Nope.  They current hold legos, flowers, seashells, and live worms- not in the same can.  And that is just in my dining room.  One from Sam’s is the perfect size for David to wear on his head.

9.  The words “Do Not…”.  They have a mystical power that forces the child hearing them to try it at least once.  I used to think this meant I should never say them.  As in: “Do not hit your sister.”  “What, you mean like this?!”  Now I just follow those powerful words with things I secretly want them to do.  For example, yesterday before church the kids were piddling around instead of finishing breakfast.  I simply said:  “Do not finish eating, we are out of time.”  They inhaled all the food, slammed back their drinks, and were done.  HA!

10. Clean undies.  As a child my mother always told me to wear clean undies everyday.  I do the same for my children.  Despite enjoying having clean undies myself, I know know they serve a greater purpose than hygiene.  If they each have six pairs of undies, and change them everyday, I know how long I can go without washing clothes just by taking a quick peek in any kid’s underwear drawer.

Funday, and I Never Do That Half Way!

Which is why as I sit here typing this I have three extra kids here.  For fun.  And it is.  Mostly.  The ones driving me crazy are my own.  Well, two of them.  With two kiddos napping, and two girls glued to Strawberry Shortcake that leaves three to, well, to be insane apparently.  And only two of those are loud.  My two, of course.

Today for the first time David and Mariah played together.  Mostly it goes like this: 

David dumps out his milk.  Mariah yells at him and cleans it up.  David dumps out toys.  Mariah yells at him and tries to clean them up.  He yells at her for touching his toys.  They both get mad and yell.  I give them milk and a snack.  They yell at me.  Then they nap.

 But today David took Mariah a car and said “Come on Riah.  Play.” And they did.  And they had milk and a snack.  And a nap.  But the playing thing, nice change.

Angel, Faith, and Isaac are really happy to have a couple friends over who moved far away.  They came to visit and I had their mom leave them here for a while.  And because there are two boys and Faith, it is loud.  And rough and tumble.  And lots of fun.  And Angel has a little one to paint nails, brush hair, and watch “kid” movies with that she is waaayyyy too old for, but secretly still likes to watch.  And they both love chocolate.  Everyone is happy.  And loud.  And having a great time.  Did I mention loud?

Which brings to light a strange phenomena.  Every single time there are extra kids here, I see my kids less.  And have an easier time taking care of kids, household stuff, and making food.  They are otherwise occupied, and I am left to my own devices.  Which means that anytime I need to get something done I may have to grab a truckload of other children to come home with me.  But first I will need to stock up on juice boxes, fruit snacks, band aids and ear plugs.

Is this all because we were early??

On Friday the kids and I loaded up the van for an outdoor adventure of epic proportions. We had jackets if it got cold. Sunscreen in abundance. Snacks and water. Picnic lunches. I remembered napkins and diapers, the bee sting kit and wipes. Extra clothes. The stroller. We really had everything we thought we could possibly need. After threatening everyone if they didn’t go potty, grabbing one last snack and pouring my coffee, we left on time, which for us is 15 minutes late. But my unsuspecting offspring were surprised when I told them we were going to be early. I told them we needed to be there a half hour before the event start time. After having to explain to Isaac what "being early" means, we were well on our way to having a great day. No one was fighting or spitting at each other. No one was taking off their clothes or tossing shoes everywhere. They were happily munching on cereal and sipping their hot chocolate. David napped a bit on the way. I did not get lost. Not even a bit. 

The day went really well. We saw and did everything we wanted to, sometimes even getting to play a game or visit an exhibit twice. There were all kinds of things to see and do. We played outdoor PA bingo, ran obstacle courses, and discussed which animal used to be wearing which pelt. We played a game as an insect, did tribal drumming and dancing, and talked about recycling. We learned about natural resources and conservation, waterways, and animal tracks. We looked at bird nests and caught Swedish fish in a polluted/unpolluted river display. We even went geocaching and fishing. We saw live barn owls and alive at one time insects. We had a nice picnic lunch. Awesome field trip. After walking all over from about 9, by 3 we were trudging back to the van, all commenting on how wonderful the day had been and how excited we would be for next year. No melt downs, no break downs, no injuries, no damage caused by my kids or to my kids. And we still had a cooler of nice, cold drinks and some chips waiting in the van for the ride home.

If this were a movie this is where the mood music would subtly slip towards the minor chords. We got to the van, loaded up all our stuff and people. I got in and found my keys. Cranked up the van to hear the telltale click-click-click of a dead battery. No problem. I got this covered. I have jumper cables. We hiked back up to the main building and got a van to meet us in the parking lot. We walked back down, this trip resembling the Israelites in the wilderness instead of my excited kids of about 30 minutes ago. It was hot. They were tired. We even had camels- not sure who spit first but three of them we going at it like crazy. Isaac learned the hard way why you should never spit into the wind. We were not a pretty picture. We got there a couple minutes before the van, so we pulled out our cooler, the chips and a blanket. Had a little picnic right there in the shade of a bush in a field of little flowers. So sweet.

The van came to rescue us, and the kids cheered. Two guys jumped out and hooked up the jumper cables and you could hear their van die a slow, painful death right there in the field beside poor dead Bessie. But they had a set of walkie talkies and more help soon arrived. A huge truck came and jump started the camp van, and then helped out poor Bessie. We let her charge for a while, then it was time to hit the road.

At this point, it is kind of like the movie Australia. It could end fine here. Warm feeling in your heart, despite the obstacles faced by the beautiful (hey, why not, I am telling this story) heroine and her dutiful crew. But no, the screen quickly changes from black to the next scene and you are gripped by the drama as yet more obstacles arise to deter the fantastifirical heroine in her attempt to prevail against all odds yet again.

After driving about 15 minutes, all the lights were fading and the speedometer started spinning in a complete circle. I know Bessie, and there was NO WAY she was going over 120. Ever. Plus, the radio went out, which really bothered the kids. Then the a/c. Great. Now I am traveling down the highway going who knows how fast (people were passing me so I felt I was doing okay) with the windows open, three kids singing four different versions of God Is Bigger Than the Boogieman, and my cell phone dying. We were out of drinks, out of snacks, out of patience, out of battery power and out of our minds within 5 minutes. Thankfully we were close to a mall. We got one last panicked call in to Andy to come rescue us, then we went completely dead. At the mall. With whiny kids, no money, and no way to contact anyone.

I got out of the van and couldn’t even have a good rant because the windows were now stuck down. I lifted the hood, kicked the tire for good measure, and paced while I ranted in my head. I got back in the van after saying "Well, this can’t be worse!" David threw up.

Isaac woke up, looked around, and said "Is this what happens when you are early?" It does to me.

Tune in tomorrow for part two of our melodrama "Why I Am Never Early"