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.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Friday, July 6, 2012
Defcon 5
The girls have been at camp since Sunday. I am swimming in a sea of testosterone, surrounded by my boys, my husband, and even carrying a son. It is interesting around here. I grew up with no sisters and four brothers, so I should be used to this, but it is not something that females are supposed to get used to, I think. It is why we tend to travel in packs, for our own protection.
Usually when I have something to gt done my girls bustle around, seeming to instinctively know what I mean when I say something stupid like put your laundry in the trash. They assume that I mean toss the dryer sheet and put away your clothes, and they do. My sons, however, follow my directions exactly. So I find myself repeating what I thought I already said. A whole bunch.
If we are doing laundry my girls know that switch the laundry is a multi-step process that involves opening the dryer, removing laundry and placing it into a basket, opening the washer, moving clothing from the washer to the dryer, tossing in a dryer sheet, closing the dryer door and hitting the start button. They then at times go a step further and add more dirty laundry to the washer, with laundry detergent, and turn it on. After this, they carry up the clean. Now, the girls are older, but have been doing this for years. The boys idea of switching laundry involves moving piles of clothing around so it looks like less dirty laundry, riding dirty laundry down the steps, and playing in the formally full baskets.
Today, I declared laundry day. We have a mountain of dirty towels, as always, plus tons of blankets, sleeping bags, and quilts from camp. Not that in these hot days and nights we will be needing them, but I would like them cleaned and put away to make room for the landfill that is going to arrive when the girls get home from a week at camp.
I have already done several loads today, and reached the point of washing the sleeping bags. This is where it gets interesting. We do not allow the boys to use any heavy machinery, power tools, or even anything more dangerous than a butter knife without supervision. I do not have them run the washer or dryer, mostly not because they do not know how, but because I can not be sure what they put in, laundry, toys, plastics, crayons, the cat, each other...
As I was, umm, indisposed, the washer began the spin cycle. With a heavy sleeping bag inside. It was off balance. David started screaming. Isaac declared that we reached Def con 5 because the whole house was going to shake apart. He was running around making siren noises and trying to evacuate the house. From the bathroom I am yelling at them to calm down, which never helps, I know, but it was all I could do at the time. They ran to the washing machine. I ran out of the bathroom as only an 8 month pregnant woman with a broken toe and sprained ankle can. (That is a different story altogether, and not as exciting.) They were already running back up the steps after "fixing" the problem. They opened the washer, saw that the clothes were still in water, thankfully, because they normally would not have stopped to notice such a small detail, so they figured that the load was not done. They added much more laundry detergent, and restarted the cycle. Which is better than flopping the already heavy, now dripping wet sleeping bag on the floor.
So in about 40 minutes, I am sure that we will reach Def con 5. Again. This time I plan on intercepting before the sleeping bag disintegrates from an overload of laundry detergent and too much time in the washer. I may have to go sit in front of the washer in about 35 minutes to head them off. Or we will have pre-lunch ice cream to distract them. I vote ice cream. And then, maybe a nap.
Usually when I have something to gt done my girls bustle around, seeming to instinctively know what I mean when I say something stupid like put your laundry in the trash. They assume that I mean toss the dryer sheet and put away your clothes, and they do. My sons, however, follow my directions exactly. So I find myself repeating what I thought I already said. A whole bunch.
If we are doing laundry my girls know that switch the laundry is a multi-step process that involves opening the dryer, removing laundry and placing it into a basket, opening the washer, moving clothing from the washer to the dryer, tossing in a dryer sheet, closing the dryer door and hitting the start button. They then at times go a step further and add more dirty laundry to the washer, with laundry detergent, and turn it on. After this, they carry up the clean. Now, the girls are older, but have been doing this for years. The boys idea of switching laundry involves moving piles of clothing around so it looks like less dirty laundry, riding dirty laundry down the steps, and playing in the formally full baskets.
Today, I declared laundry day. We have a mountain of dirty towels, as always, plus tons of blankets, sleeping bags, and quilts from camp. Not that in these hot days and nights we will be needing them, but I would like them cleaned and put away to make room for the landfill that is going to arrive when the girls get home from a week at camp.
I have already done several loads today, and reached the point of washing the sleeping bags. This is where it gets interesting. We do not allow the boys to use any heavy machinery, power tools, or even anything more dangerous than a butter knife without supervision. I do not have them run the washer or dryer, mostly not because they do not know how, but because I can not be sure what they put in, laundry, toys, plastics, crayons, the cat, each other...
As I was, umm, indisposed, the washer began the spin cycle. With a heavy sleeping bag inside. It was off balance. David started screaming. Isaac declared that we reached Def con 5 because the whole house was going to shake apart. He was running around making siren noises and trying to evacuate the house. From the bathroom I am yelling at them to calm down, which never helps, I know, but it was all I could do at the time. They ran to the washing machine. I ran out of the bathroom as only an 8 month pregnant woman with a broken toe and sprained ankle can. (That is a different story altogether, and not as exciting.) They were already running back up the steps after "fixing" the problem. They opened the washer, saw that the clothes were still in water, thankfully, because they normally would not have stopped to notice such a small detail, so they figured that the load was not done. They added much more laundry detergent, and restarted the cycle. Which is better than flopping the already heavy, now dripping wet sleeping bag on the floor.
So in about 40 minutes, I am sure that we will reach Def con 5. Again. This time I plan on intercepting before the sleeping bag disintegrates from an overload of laundry detergent and too much time in the washer. I may have to go sit in front of the washer in about 35 minutes to head them off. Or we will have pre-lunch ice cream to distract them. I vote ice cream. And then, maybe a nap.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 12, 2012
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.
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.
Wednesday, June 6, 2012
Our life is a zoo...
At the Creation Museum we went to the petting zoo. Twice.
Angel was not too happy.
She got better after we left the second time.
David had the same level of excitment about the animals as Angel.
Maybe a bit less.
He allowed me to feed the animals for him.
And then spent the remainder of the time washing his hands.
In case animal germs flew through the air. Or because animals have spit.
Depending on the day you asked him.
Isaac had much more fun.
So did Faith.
The best part, is that they did not butt heads like goats.
While we were there.
Monday, June 4, 2012
Memory Lane, The End of Another School Year
Once again here we are, wrapping up another school year. The years seem to stretch before me, being pregnant there are so many left, but having a middle schooler there are also too few.
We are spending the week finishing things, finding things, putting together the portfolios, writing up next year's objectives, and doing final activities to complete the 2011-2012 school year. This year also includes re-writing the log book that got destroyed by the cats.
As always, there are so many things that we do that cannot fit in the portfolio. Sometimes we do huge projects, but that is not what I am talking about. I am talking about the things that there is no section for, not rubric, no entry in the log book. We have overcome so much this school year, from the loss of our Hope, to the loss of pets. Major sickness in family members, struggles finishing some school work, and long days of extra to make up for the lost days. Also, each of the children have had personal conquests.
Angel hit a school year in which it was not longer all easy work. At the beginning of the year she would struggle with work and it would be the end of the world if she got a problem wrong. Never mind if it was not on a test and she could simply fix it. There was frustration, tears, anger, and more tears. Now, she was doing long division and realized during the checking portion that she made a mistake on a worksheet. She was frustrated, but she redid the work. Several times. Until she got it right. And there were no tears. Only a huge smile because she prevailed. I have always had so many reason to be proud of her, and now there is one more!
Faith's progress has been measured in leaps and bounds since she was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome. At times it was super hard, and at other times it was easier, at least in comparison. This year has been full of changes for her. Her gecko, Liz, died. She lost her favorite Behavior Specialist, and several came and went quickly. The last was also very good with her, and just left us. But on a positive note, this does not only mark the end of her time with that Behavior Specialist, but of her services altogether. She has progressed so much in recent months that there is no more a Behavior Specialist can do for her, for us. We are handling any problems that come up, and there was a recommendation to limit her services so much that it was about the same to quit receiving them, and so we all agreed that was the best option. And so as we look toward the next school year we are simply using the techniques we have learned in the past 18 months.
Isaac. Oh, Isaac. He is good at so many things, and he keeps me on my toes. In school he is great at math, but not so great at focusing. Once I get his attention, I only have a limited time to work with him. We have been working on some other issues as well, like anger, attention to work, and thinking through his actions before acting. I have seen some progress in these areas. I know the struggle is real, because he does not just have focus problems in school, but even in things he enjoys. With charts, reminders, rewards, and patience we will prevail. And past experience with other active children in my life lets me know that they slow down a good bit after hitting the teen years. May not pay attention, but at least they start to sit still for longer.
David is growing so fast! He is not doing school yet, of course. However, Angel does activities with him. He has spend the past few weeks having a great time as Mariah comes over to play. They love to paint, play, swim, and watch Blue's Clues. He has been showing a lot of interest in letters and numbers. He learned how to swim. He even goes under water. He still loves anything firefighter, and even got to help Pappy put out a fire!
And as usual, they are not the only ones learning and growing. I have been trying to keep ahead of them in their school, do my own school, write VBS, and keep growing this baby. I have dealt with my biggest fear, the loss of my baby. I struggled so much through the miscarriage and for months after, and am pulling through now. I have relied heavily on the grace of God, and my husband's support. And I am doing OK. And I know that doing great lies ahead. I have gone through a fire and am going to come out stronger, closer to God, and while I may never know the purpose of my loss, I know that Hope's time with us, however brief, served a purpose, changed us in many ways, and will bring God glory.
Still so much to do to finish our year, but this time when I close that portfolio after the evaluation, I have even more than ever before that we have accomplished, and my heart is full.
We are spending the week finishing things, finding things, putting together the portfolios, writing up next year's objectives, and doing final activities to complete the 2011-2012 school year. This year also includes re-writing the log book that got destroyed by the cats.
As always, there are so many things that we do that cannot fit in the portfolio. Sometimes we do huge projects, but that is not what I am talking about. I am talking about the things that there is no section for, not rubric, no entry in the log book. We have overcome so much this school year, from the loss of our Hope, to the loss of pets. Major sickness in family members, struggles finishing some school work, and long days of extra to make up for the lost days. Also, each of the children have had personal conquests.
Angel hit a school year in which it was not longer all easy work. At the beginning of the year she would struggle with work and it would be the end of the world if she got a problem wrong. Never mind if it was not on a test and she could simply fix it. There was frustration, tears, anger, and more tears. Now, she was doing long division and realized during the checking portion that she made a mistake on a worksheet. She was frustrated, but she redid the work. Several times. Until she got it right. And there were no tears. Only a huge smile because she prevailed. I have always had so many reason to be proud of her, and now there is one more!
Faith's progress has been measured in leaps and bounds since she was diagnosed with Asperger's Syndrome. At times it was super hard, and at other times it was easier, at least in comparison. This year has been full of changes for her. Her gecko, Liz, died. She lost her favorite Behavior Specialist, and several came and went quickly. The last was also very good with her, and just left us. But on a positive note, this does not only mark the end of her time with that Behavior Specialist, but of her services altogether. She has progressed so much in recent months that there is no more a Behavior Specialist can do for her, for us. We are handling any problems that come up, and there was a recommendation to limit her services so much that it was about the same to quit receiving them, and so we all agreed that was the best option. And so as we look toward the next school year we are simply using the techniques we have learned in the past 18 months.
Isaac. Oh, Isaac. He is good at so many things, and he keeps me on my toes. In school he is great at math, but not so great at focusing. Once I get his attention, I only have a limited time to work with him. We have been working on some other issues as well, like anger, attention to work, and thinking through his actions before acting. I have seen some progress in these areas. I know the struggle is real, because he does not just have focus problems in school, but even in things he enjoys. With charts, reminders, rewards, and patience we will prevail. And past experience with other active children in my life lets me know that they slow down a good bit after hitting the teen years. May not pay attention, but at least they start to sit still for longer.
David is growing so fast! He is not doing school yet, of course. However, Angel does activities with him. He has spend the past few weeks having a great time as Mariah comes over to play. They love to paint, play, swim, and watch Blue's Clues. He has been showing a lot of interest in letters and numbers. He learned how to swim. He even goes under water. He still loves anything firefighter, and even got to help Pappy put out a fire!
And as usual, they are not the only ones learning and growing. I have been trying to keep ahead of them in their school, do my own school, write VBS, and keep growing this baby. I have dealt with my biggest fear, the loss of my baby. I struggled so much through the miscarriage and for months after, and am pulling through now. I have relied heavily on the grace of God, and my husband's support. And I am doing OK. And I know that doing great lies ahead. I have gone through a fire and am going to come out stronger, closer to God, and while I may never know the purpose of my loss, I know that Hope's time with us, however brief, served a purpose, changed us in many ways, and will bring God glory.
Still so much to do to finish our year, but this time when I close that portfolio after the evaluation, I have even more than ever before that we have accomplished, and my heart is full.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)