Friday, February 27, 2009
So, monday through friday I get up at 5;00a.m. As ridiculous as this sounds, I get up, get on the treadmill, read my bible, get the kids ready, get myself ready and go about my day. On Sunday, I get up, Tyler needs to be at church at 8:00a.m., we do big breakfast and we all go to church. This leaves me one day. One day to sleep in. One day to not rush around like a crazy person. One day. Saturday. Saturday is sacred. It's not like I sleep until noon, I am usually up by 8:00 or 8:30, but it's more about the freedom.
I don't have to make lunches. I don't have to drive someone early to school. I don't have to go to work and make coffee for the masses. I can watch some silly movie on Lifetime or sit in my pajamas until noon. Although, I do sometimes drive Tyler to church in my robe and slippers. Who is really up at 8:00a.m. on a Sunday morning? And who are they to judge me on the Sabbath day? If it has snowed over four inches, and there is a possibility that I may get stuck, I get dressed. No one wants to see some lady in her P.J.s pushing her minivan out of a snow drift. Tragic.
Saturdays make me happy. For no reason at all except that there is no rhyme or reason to them. It is a relaxing day. A possible no shower day, although I usually give in by 4:00, just to be clean. I hate the greasy hair thing. It's why I don't camp. Greasy hair. Yucko.
Which day of the week is your day? If you don't have a day, I say claim one. If you have really small babies, this is going to be impossible, but know that your day is coming. I promise you will some day have your day. I never thought I would either, but it is a possibility. Saturdays for nothing do exist and they are worth it. Take a pajama day, it's totally worth it.
What is your indulgence? Sleeping in? Staying in? Movie marathon? What is it, tell me, I would love to know.
God bless you and yours.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Okay, so officially, I am not Catholic anymore. I did grow up Catholic, spent fourteen years in Catholic school and tried desperately to find my place in the Catholic Church. Didn't happen for me. I realized after the third person walked into Starbucks with black stuff on their forehead that yesterday was Ash Wednesday. For those of you who do not know, this signals the beginning of the Lenten season. The forty days before Easter. You will see signs for fish fry's on fridays. People will give stuff up for Lent. Could be coffee, could be chocolate, could be fast food. The funny thing is, most people will stick to it.
That meant that Tuesday was "Fat Tuesday". This can take on many different roles. Your last day to gorge on chocolate or big macs or whatever. Here in Michigan, with a very large Polish population, it means it is Packzi day. That is pronounced poonchkies. I never knew what that was until I lived here. If you don't live around a large Polish population, you probably don't know what it is, let me explain. A packzi is a deep fried donut filled with about ten pounds of filling that is only made on Fat Tuesday. This is not your mommas jelly donut. This thing is the size of your hand and weighs at least half a pound. Traditionally, they were filled with prune filling and every polish person you know says these are the best kind. We as Americans have totally changed it. You can get any fruit filling you want and of course, the piece de resistance, custard. Not frosting. Custard. At least half a pound of custard in a deep fried donut. Everyone brings them to work. People stand in line for hours down in Hamtramk (a city here mostly made up of Polish people). After all, they only make them one day a year. You can even get them at Wal-mart, but those don't really count. You need an old polish grandma making them in the back to count. The local news will also let you know they have 30 grams of fat in each one and at least 800 calories. Everyone still brings them to work.
I don't know the history of of who started what, but usually in every culture, you gorge before Lent. It's your last chance. I, being the rebel I am, always vowed to do something for lent, not give something up. Lent has a great message of sacrifice and self denial in memory of Christ's self denial and sacrifice for us. It is a great concept.
Think about it. Maybe you could vow to read your bible daily. Or vow to exercise daily. Or give something up. One Lent I gave up fast food and lost twenty pounds. It's a good thing. Or eat more veggies or whatever. It may have gotten watered down during the years, but it was originally a time of fasting and pledging your life to God. That is never a bad thing.
So what are you going to do today to honor God? Somedays it is just rolling out of bed and making lunches and making sure the kids are all on the bus. We all have days like that. That honors God. Did you give up anything for Lent? Did you vow to do something? Let me know.
God bless you and yours.
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Okay, if you have kids, and they are not in the baby stage, you have discovered how completely weird they are. Seriously, weird. They don't want to brush their teeth. We on the other hand love that smooth minty feeling in the morning and at night. And sometimes in between. I have an eleven year old boy that would never bathe if not for my nagging. He just does not care. I am patiently awaiting the time he discovers girls are cool and do not have cooties, then the bathing shall commence on a daily basis. Just ask my fifteen year old boy.
The collect odd things. We have friends in Arizona whose son collects walking sticks. We have even found what we lovingly call a "Luke" stick. When he is out roaming, if he sees a proper stick, he takes it home. Unfortunately, an overeager landscaper threw out his collection. But he started again, after the tragedy of losing his favorite ones.
The oddest and most bizarre collection comes from my nephew. When he was four or five years old, my sister found something. It was about the size of a golf ball, maybe a little bigger. When asked what the odd looking thing was, as my sister was holding it in her hand......., the little guy announced it was a booger ball. Pause here so you can run around the room screaming in disgust. He had been collecting his boogers in a ball and was quite proud of it. That is so out of our realm of something we could think of, but perfectly normal to any five year old boy. If you own a five year old boy, he may be collecting weird things, just hope they are not live creatures, you could be in for an invasion.
Kids don't think like us, that is why they have mothers. No one is going to marry a booger ball collecting college student. We have to calm our inner gross out and admire booger balls and then make sure they lose that little collection at the proper time. I still shudder when talking about that. Cooper used to collect "diamonds". He and his friend Griffin would go out at recess and find all the white rocks on the playground. "We're gonna be rich mom" he used to say. I still have a jar of diamonds packed in a box somewhere. Hey, it's no booger ball, but it is something.
What have your children collected or done or not done that is weird and whacky? I am dying to know. Nothing is too gross, we are all moms here, we have seen and heard just about anything.
God bless you and yours.
Tuesday, February 24, 2009
Okay, I do love to cook. I admit that. So I am on this list at our church to make meals for families in need. Someone just had surgery, a new baby, whatever, we try to fill the void. I don't think this makes me someone special, I feel I am repaying a debt. I have four wonderful children , including a set of twins. Every time we had a baby, or babies as the case may be, someone made us dinner. What a relief. There I was, no shower, no sleep, I could not even think to make a can of soup. Dinner is always a wonderful, wonderful treat when someone else is cooking.
I have gotten some of my best recipes from dinners cooked for us. Tater tot casserole. So yummy, not incredibly good for you, but definitely a comfort food. One neighbor made us home made spaghetti sauce. Coming from the Irish/Pennsylvania dutch/English heritage, I had never had from scratch spaghetti sauce. Except at Amy's house. She was one of my grade school friends who remains today. Her dad, God rest his wonderful soul, made sauce from scratch. It was always amazing and he would not part with his secrets. I actually craved it during one of my pregnancies, and if I remember right, he made me some. Anything made by someone else's hand always seems to taste better.
I do have a couple of pieces of advice. Try to stay away from pasta casseroles. I know this seems the easiest, but if you are not making it from scratch, believe me, the family will get pasta. You see, everyone goes to pasta, it is easy and transports well. My sister was on bed rest for four months with her last child. Her church arranged for meals five nights a week. That is awesome and she was grateful. She also did not eat any pasta dish involving red sauce for a good three years. You can only take so much Ragu, even well intentioned Ragu.
My second piece of advice is to go to the dollar store and buy foil pans. If you are so sleep deprived you can't remember your own name, how are you supposed to remember whose tupperware is whose? It is a scary thought. Or, if you are like me, you just forget to give it back and turn into that neighbor who stole the corning ware. If your children are around three and you cannot figure out where that pan came from, it is probably someone else's.
So, if you like to cook, and like to feel good, I say sign up for that meal thing at church. I don't make them every time a call goes out. That is the beauty of the list, there are enough people on it, that you can choose a time when you actually have time to make a meal. It is a wonderful gift to those who need it.
What was the nicest thing someone did for you when your baby was born? Let me know.
God bless you and yours.
Monday, February 23, 2009
When I grow up I want to be a doctor. Seriously. You all know I was sick last week. It takes quite a bit to get me to the doctor, I hate going to the doctor. But my face felt like it would explode, so I went. I am glad I went, because the antibiotics worked and in a day and a half, I was feeling much, much better. That being said.......
I get there ten minutes early for my appointment. That is courteous and what I believe to be just the right thing to do. It says that I respect other people's time. It's about respect. My appointment was at 1:10pm, so I got there at 1:00pm. That was in case I had to fill out forms, etc. They called me back at 1:25, fifteen minutes late. The first thing they do is weigh me, rudeness to the extreme. Then the nurse asks me a series of questions that are listed in the computer in front of her, then she lies to me and says the doctor will be in in a couple of minutes. Liar. At around 1:55, a doctor who looks about twelve years old comes in. Calls me "young lady", like I am going to flattered or something. He spends exactly three minutes asking me questions, listening to my chest, looking up my nose and then tells me I have a sinus infection. Amazing, I told that to the office gal that answered the phone this morning.
So I get the fact that we can't just diagnose ourselves and prescribe meds to ourselves. That could be dangerous. Especially to us mothers, we would prescribe valium on a regular basis just to get through some of our roughest days. I get that. But if you are going to bill my insurance $200.00 dollars, I deserve some time, for you to be on time, and at the very least, a little consideration. Sitting on that table for half an hour makes my back hurt. I was afraid to lie down, my head could explode from the pressure. When did all of this go haywire? My mother in law waited three hours one day, then another hour in the back. Really? Four hours to run some routine tests to get the thyroid medication she has been on for years, but the doctor wants to "check" her every three months. What the heck?
So, when I grow up I want to be a doctor. I would not have to be on time, I would not have to spend a lot of time with sick people, and I would make six figures and up by the time I am 35. I know, I know, I am generalizing everything. And I know we need doctors and doctoring and all that stuff. I just want my time to be respected. I showed up on time, so should you. It was not an emergency room. I am pretty sure if something was horribly wrong with a patient, they could go up the hall to urgent care. It's literally up the hall from my doctor. And my doctor works in urgent care, so figure that one out.
Being on time or not on time is a pet peeve of mine. What's yours? Let me know.
God bless you and yours.
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Monday, February 16, 2009
I am sick. Really I am just getting sick, but the bad stuff is coming. I can feel it. And I don't have time for it. Seriously. We are kicking off the cookie dough fundraiser on Thursday for Tyler's youth group's mission trip. The cookie dough lady is coming this Sunday so we can give everyone samples of the yummy cookies and make enough money so our children can expand their horizons and help people. I seriously do not have time to be sick. I have a meeting tonight about said cookie dough fundraiser. The laundry is piling up and my head is going to explode. If I take any more cold medicine, I will explode. I do not have my sure fire cure, cranberry juice and diet sprite. I drink buckets of it when I am sick. Nothing. I don't want to go to the store because that would involve moving and I am pretty sure if I move, my head will explode. So I will just sit here and try not to move and blow my nose another hundred and fifty times.
I hate being sick. It wrecks my system. My house system of keeping up with stuff goes out the window. It will literally take me ten days to catch up. So I will drag myself down and do the laundry and keep the kitchen clean and make sure the kids eat. I won't take a nap and let the kids run amok. I will just drug myself up and keep on going. I am a mother, I cannot quit.
We just keep on going, we are energizer bunnies on crack when we need to be. I just wish I felt better. Maybe I will feel better tomorrow. Since I have to go to work and be a mom and keep a house tomorrow.
Just a small side note, it appears the dogs know I am sick, I have one laying on my head, one on my lap and one by my side. Good puppies. They care.
So, my love to one and all and God bless you and yours. Send some chicken soup my way.
Friday, February 13, 2009
So we have all heard it. You have to eat breakfast. You will not have a good day if you don't eat breakfast. But what is breakfast? The word comes from breaking your fast. Seriously. If you are not eating all night long, you are fasting. Go figure. If I am fasting, why do I weigh what I weigh?
My kids are very different creatures. Cooper cannot have milk, so he eats plain cheerios, no milk, vitamins and calcium gummy bears. Whatever he does not finish goes into the dog dish, Gonzo and Gus love the cheerios. Sometimes he just wants Ritz crackers. He used to love those peanut butter crackers in the package, but those have all been recalled. Because he is so picky, he does not want "mom made" peanut butter crackers.
Tatum will eat everything from leftover spaghetti, salad, toast with peanut butter, or an egg. Not all at the same time, but she is pretty easy.
Grant and Tyler are getting older and when they first wake up, the thought of food revolts them. So I have to make sure they get something down their gullets before school.
Saturdays alternate between donut day and pancake day. Because finances are tight, we have been doing more pancake days than donut days. Plus, you might as well just rub the boston creme donut all over my thighs, because that is where it ends up.
Sundays are sacred. In more ways than one. We always do "big" breakfast. Hashbrowns, bacon, eggs any way you want them. Some of my kids want breakfast burritos, some want breakfast bowls. A breakfast bowl is just the insides of a breakfast burrito in a bowl. Then we go to church together. I love the big breakfast tradition, it warms my soul.
I believe that anything can be for breakfast. When I was much younger, I loved old chinese food for breakfast. My dad was working a lot of overtime and loved this place in Scottsdale called Kwans. He always brought home leftovers and I loved them for breakfast. Chicken, vegetables, noodles, that just about covers all the food groups.
What is your favorite fast breakfast? What about a big breakfast? Let me know.
God bless you and yours.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
When the twins were about two and a half, friends of ours came out to visit us in Arizona. Fred and Annie and their three kids are our dearest friends and it was so much fun. Fred is an engineer and likes everything in it's place. I was a mother that had four children under the age of four and just survived each day. Fred was amazed, every time my kids wanted juice, I would just get a new cup out of the cabinet and get them juice or milk. He stopped me and asked why I would do that. My basic reasoning was, then wanted juice, they needed juice, get the juice in the easiest way possible and move on to the nine hundred other things I had to do that day. He looked at me like I was crazy. He said they should get one cup a day, go and find their cup and get it refilled. That makes sense, but he did not realize that I was just in survival mode. But it brings up a great point.
After looking at the situation, he was right. We had sippie cups all over the darn place. Some with green things growing in it. I am not proud of this, but realize that I was just in a habit. We all fall into habits. I am not going to harass anyone about theirs, but every now and again we should take a good look at ourselves and see what if anything we should try to make better.
When we fall into stressful situations, like having three kids in diapers, we develop habits or at least I did. I was just proud of the fact that they all got a bath every night. Also, the diapers went out every day to the big trash. My kids were fed mostly with healthy things, very little junk in our house. Everyone survived this time in our lives and that is quite an accomplishment.
But the juicy cup habit was one of many. I think when you have little babies and are just in survival mode, you just take it one day at a time. There is nothing wrong with that, we just need to re-evaluate sometimes. Making my kids find their cups to be refilled is logical and saves on buying more sippie cups. It also teaches them responsibility. Another good point.
So I will thank Fred, he was right. He also vacuumed my house every day they visited, God bless him. We all need house guests like that.
What is currently bogging you down? Share with me, it can't be worse than my sippie cups fiasco.
God bless you and yours.
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
There is pregnancy tired. There is hungover tired (although I would hope by this time, we have reduced that to maybe once a year or never). Then there is mommy tired. It comes in many varieties.
The colicky child tired. The cutting new teeth tired. The sick kid puking tired. That one involves doing laundry in the middle of the night, so it deserves a gold medal all to itself. There is the worry tired. That one could involve money, teenagers, any and all things.
So I have been up since 2:30, I have to go to work in an hour and make coffee for the people. I then have to go with my mother-in-law to her lawyers to hear her final decree of divorce. Should be an exciting day. It's a day I needed sleep for, but sleep was elusive. All this as I gave up caffeine six weeks ago. I may cave today.
I truly believe that worry is the devil's way to weaken us. If we are tired we are more likely to give in to chaos. Satan likes us in chaos. God gives us peace. We have to remember that simple equation. God=peace. Satan=chaos. Simple, but we are slow learners.
So, mommy tired is on today. The funny thing about us being tired is, as a mother, we just keep going. We cannot call in sick. We can't pull the covers over our heads and just give up. We get up, power up however we need to (this would normally be coffee for me, but alas, I gave it up), and keep going. There is no down time for the mommas. There is something sacred about that. Moms just keep going. We know if we don't, it will take ten days to catch up.
We are mommas, hear us roar. Okay, tonight about 7:00pm, I will be in bed, the kids can take a shower and brush their teeth by themselves. I will sacrifice American Idol for a little extra sleep.
What is depriving you of sleep today? Give it over to God, then refuse to take it back. If God is in charge, He does not need our help. Trust me on that one. By the time I had given it over to God last night, my alarm went off. Save yourself some sleep and let God take over.
God bless you and yours.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
I don't know when the sense of entitlement starts with our little blessings from God. But around the age of two to three the, "mine" starts coming out of their precious little mouths. Whatever they have touched, played with, looked at, thought about, you name it, it is theirs. The cry goes up in the house and everyone cringes.
It is never a calm and quiet, "excuse me please, but I believe that could belong to me." The "mine" is yelled and usually accompanied with tugging and knocking down the offending person who had the nerve touch their stuff. I thought this would be over by the time my children reached the age of five or six. But alas, no. The teenager doesn't want the middle child to touch his stuff. The middle child doesn't want his sister to touch his stuff. The sister doesn't want the middle child to touch her stuff. They will also claim "spots". You are sitting in my spot. I was sitting there first. All that junk. The only one in our house who is mostly unaffected by all this is Cooper, who has Aspberger's Syndrome and quite simply could not care. Except if you touch his blanket, then it's on. No one touches the blankie. It is his only security, so he has the right to protect it.
If you have an only child, then you may be the one fighting for your stuff. Kids think they have the right to your stuff, and they are sneaky. If something is missing in your house, check out their room, ten bucks says you find it.
So when does the battle cry go up in your house? What is the perfect spot or toy that is fought over? Let me know.
God bless you and yours.
Monday, February 9, 2009
Somewhere, ingrained in their little psyches, children become aware of their ability to throw a complete fit. It must be inbred because this is nothing we would teach our children. This freak of nature, throw yourself on the ground, scream, hit, cry ability to embarrass their parents. I for one refused to be embarrassed. I have walked over my screaming child in a supermarket. I refuse to give in to the chaos.
We have all seen it, the screaming child and the embarrassed mother. We have all been there. We have all wanted to just buy the stupid candy bar and move on. We have all gotten the "look" from the eighty year old grandma who never would have let her children act that way. I hate that lady. I know that is not the Christian thing to do, hating the old lady, but who is she to judge me? I could take the easy way out and buy the candy bar and shut up my child, but then where would I be? Buying anything my little darling wants when he/she wants because they know I will give in. I think not. I am not my child's plaything. That is what you become if you cave.
Caving in is easier in the moment, but causes too many troubles in the long run. I think the answer to the store situation is to risk the CPS call and discipline your child out of the house the way you do inside the house. I would risk running into the one hippie left who is appalled at my spanking my child (a calm swat on the butt, not the freak outs we have seen on videos) to get them back to basics. We cannot be afraid to show our children who runs the house. It is not a crime to discipline your kid. It can be a crime not to. Have we not all seen the snotty teenager who expects the world to cater to them? Is that the kind of person we want to raise?
Actions have consequences, good and bad. That is a valuable lesson for our children.
Any good child throwing fit stories out there? Tatum used to cry and rip her hair out. Seriously, from the roots, with both hands. She was something else, still is occasionally.
God bless you and yours.
Friday, February 6, 2009
This is really for the moms of school age children, but you should prepare yourself if your children are ever going to go to school. School projects are a nightmare. Seriously. Especially if your child tells you about the project the day before it is due. This is a great motivator to always clean out the backpacks, there is a wealth of information in the backpacks. Due dates are in the back packs.
Just recently, after I came home from our Ladies Christmas Tea, where I MC'd and helped plan and set up, I was met at the door with, "I need balloons for my art project, and I need to take them to school tomorrow." Really? Surely I have some kind of balloons somewhere in this house. Leftovers from some party, something. I actually considered small things in foil packages, if you know what I mean. Nothing. Not one thing. So I trekked out to Rite Aid at 11:00 at night to get balloons. That in itself was a quest because they were down some aisle on a little hangy thing in the middle of the aisle.
I have spent forty dollars on figurines and "craft" sticks at Michael's for the dreaded "Jamestown in winter" project. Can you make a little triangle thing that a tiny pot has to hang from over a fire made out of tissue paper? Do you know that desperation can make you do funny things?
Tatum had to make a Lakota Sioux indian village. I considered whether or not a My Little Pony qualified as an Indian war horse. I mean, they have jewels in their manes and stuff. I spent fourteen dollars on a figurine to put in that little project. Authentic Lakota Sioux figurine. Then, getting on the bus, she dumped the whole thing. Crying ensued and we put it back together as best we could. She did get an A.
I have been to hobby stores looking for Civil War figurines (they do exist). I have made things out of cardboard and construction paper. Amazing what you can come up with at midnight the night before a project is due.
I will say that I make my children do most of the work. They have to learn responsibility. I have helped, but never done their project. We have all witnessed the first grader's science fair project, a fully functional nuclear bomb, complete with Einstein's theory of relativity, typed double spaced. Who do you think did that project? I would say the physicist father or mother, but that's just me.
So, what did you have to make out of flour/water/newspaper and pipe cleaners? Share the love.
God bless you and yours.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
By a show of hands can I get a complete tally of all the chicas out there trying to lose weight? Oh, everyone? Good then you can relate. I decided that last year I finished my book, went to a writer's conference, branched out of myself. This year, I take off the weight. Not for my high school reunion (that was four years ago, I went "heavy"). Not for my husband, although he has never complained. Not because bathing suit season is around the corner, it actually comes around every year. But because it is time. The twins being ten years old, I cannot call it baby weight. Although, if I am holding a small baby, I may claim it as such.
I have read every book, done every diet before. Atkins, Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig, The Fat Flush (actually used that one to jump start me this time). All of them. Ooooh, I forgot "YOU on a diet." Read them all, tried them all, and guess what? Do you know the secret to losing weight and keeping it off? Lean in close, this is a big fat secret that no one wants to tell you.
You have to eat less and exercise more.
That's it. You should also consider everything you put into your mouth, no white sugar (it's poison, but I may die willingly), no white flour, no processed food, etc. etc. The problem with that is you actually have to think. Think about what you are going to eat and what you are not going to eat. It's a total pain in the you know what. But it does work.
My mother-in-law and I were talking about "miracle" diets and pills and all that stuff. I have tried "natural" diet pills, they made my lips numb. I figured they were not that good for me if my lips were numb. What we decided is we would like to be put into a coma, lose the weight, someone come in and exercise us, have plastic surgery and wake up eight weeks later at our dream weight. No pain, all gain. It should only cost around $100,000.00. But man, wouldn't that be awesome.
You see, that is what we want. We don't want to have to actually work at it, we just want to wake up skinny. In our instant society, we want instant weight loss. Well, sixteen years of having kids and raising kids and gaining weight, I have to give myself at least a year to take it off. That stinks, but it is the way it is.
I will do one thing, I will not get preachy when I reach my goal weight. There is nothing worse that that really cute gal who lost all the weight and now stares at you at the brunch when you eat a muffin. It's just a muffin, and a mini-muffin at that.
So, battle lines drawn, I am trying. I am praying about it. I am getting up at 5:00am to get on the treadmill. I am eating Ezekiel bread and lots of fruit and veggies and lean protein. And if I want a cookie, I eat one or two, not the whole package. I am taking vitamins and doing my best.
What have you tried? Are you trying now? Keep going, if you fall off the wagon, get back on tomorrow, keep going. I am in your corner.
God Bless you and yours.
Wednesday, February 4, 2009
So with all the grounding going on around here, the concept of discipline or the lack thereof came to mind. This is a very divisive subject. Those that spank, those that don't. The "time out" factor. The shaving your kids head because he got suspended for a second time in the same school year. Oh, that was me. I actually had a co-worker tell me I what I did was exactly the same as torture. Like real torture. I explained that we told him the first time if he ever got suspended again, we would cut his hair, and he would have to wear what we told him to at school. For my skater boy, the collared shirts, tucked in, with a belt fastened appropriately at his actual waist line, this was truly a horror. But he never got suspended again.
So who's right? Was it torture, or did he earn the judgement because he was forewarned. My mother always said, forewarned is forearmed. Basically, in her proper English, if I said I would do it, it will be done and you have the opportunity to avoid the consequences.
I have to say I believe in discipline, but every kid is different. Universally speaking, you cannot use the same thing on all kids. Spanking can make some kids laugh. Time out just means they will go read and you actually have to remind the kid they can come out. So what do you use for discipline? Are you one of the free spirits that let their child explore their environment with no consequences? If you do, Why? As much as you may question me for spanking my child, I definitely question you for not spanking your child. Or rather, disciplining your child. It does not have to be a swat on the butt.
Let's sort this all out. But I will say, if you are on the side of no discipline, be prepared to back up your argument. Because that is something I do not understand. But enlighten me, please, maybe I am not exploring all my options.
I guess it comes down to this, I just want my kids to be accountable for their actions. Because as they grow up, the world will hold them accountable.
What do you think? Let me know.
God bless you and yours.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Okay, that is a line from the original Bad News Bears. Many a baseball coach has said that Grant looks just like that kid in the movie who says that particular line. Long, kind of shaggy blonde hair, small stature, etc. But I digress.
I got a phone call yesterday. Yesterday, riding my personal high of my wonderful eleven year old, going on retreat, reading his bible and getting closer to God. Yes, I am a great mom, look, I need a ribbon for great momness. Then the phone rings. Grant apparently sprayed his Capri Sun in the face of one of our neighborhood girls. Perfect. Of course, she is one of Tatum's best friends, we cannot just let this go, they see each other all the time. This is not the first time these two have gone a couple of rounds. They pick on each other, call each other "weird" and "annoying". But, Grant has pushed the envelope and sprayed her on the bus. Her reaction was to slap him, so he kept spraying her, and she kept slapping. Now Scott and I have to go over with Grant and have a sit down and all of us have to talk together about respect and all that.
I believe firmly in the sitting down with the kids, because the truth comes out and no one is perfectly innocent. Girls do have an advantage because they will cry at this point, boys stand firm, no facial expression. Parents sort it all out, and Grant ends up grounded, again.
I am not excusing his behavior, you cannot spray girls in the face with juice. It's rude and obnoxious and I strive on a daily basis not to raise obnoxious kids. That being said, there is something about the time between the end of fifth grade and the beginning of eighth grade that is just nasty from a parent's point of view. Girls don't know if they like boys, boys don't know if they like girls. They pick on each other, they razz each other, it is a never ending cycle until they figure out they are attracted to those weird creatures. Boys and girls. Ask any teacher who has taught those grades, horrible. The teasing is merciless and if not controlled escalates to being sprayed in the face on the bus. Not fun.
Take a minute, remember those years, horrible. My hair was greasy, pimples starting to show up, not sure how to put on make-up. I secretly loved Alex Chucari (sp? it has been over thirty years now). I would steal his comb out of his pocket. Remember those big combs from the seventies, every boy had one in his back pocket, and we all stole them. And this was at Catholic School, Queen of Peace in Mesa, Az. And my mom was a teacher there for cripes sake. Oh the horror.
If your kids are young yet, embrace the cuteness. If you have survived this time in your child's life, I believe it only gets worse in different ways when they hit high school, but in wildly weirder ways.
Motherhood is not for the faint at heart. Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition.
God bless you and yours.
Monday, February 2, 2009
So, my eleven year old son, Grant went on winter retreat this past weekend. That was a tough one for me. Tyler went on a mission trip last summer, and I was mostly okay, but he was fourteen and very involved in our youth group. Grant has, up to now, mostly stayed on the fringes and that was okay with me too. I had to let my little guy get on a bus and get going.
It's not to say that he hasn't had sleepovers, but those are usually in the neighborhood. The retreat was two hours away. It's not that I don't trust the youth leadership in our church, I do one hundred percent. It's the fact that Grantie Bear is my most daring child. He will climb a tree and jump out of it, he does not fear much. He will try anything. We have been to so many Urgent Care facilities, I keep wondering when CPS is going to come a knockin'. Between stitches and broken bones, he has had the most in his little life and I admit to some trepidation to the whole going two hours away thing.
The phone rang early Saturday morning and I was sure I was heading out to meet someone at a local hospital. But it was just one of Tatum's friends. No emergency phone calls, picked him up at the scheduled time. The only thing that was wrong with him was he lost his voice, from too much screaming. Oh, he was dead tired from dodge ball too.
But last night, as I was reading in bed (did not stay up for the rest of super bowl), he came and laid down with me, but quickly shuffled off. "You going to bed honey?" I asked. "No, I am going to go read my bible," he said. Wow, going off to read his bible. Getting closer to God.
So my middle child, my fearless child, my Grantie bear, was going off to bed a little early so he could read his bible. He is getting closer to God. All I had to do was let go.
God is good. Where in your life as a mother do you have a hard time letting go? Let me know.
God bless you and yours.