Mine

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.

The Hissy Fit

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.

The Dreaded School Project

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.

Raise your Hand

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.

Discipline

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.

Booger Eatin' Spaz

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.

Letting Go.....a little

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.