There are things in my life that I can not share with you in this blog. It's frustrating, but true. There are small portions of my life that it just wouldn't be appropriate or healthy to vent about in such a public forum. They would offend and hurt feelings and I don't want to do that. I try to be as honest as possible here in this place, but I also try to remember that I don't want to write something I wouldn't want read back to me in anger. Hmmm. Tough one today. So even though I have a lot of raging thoughts running around in my head about one thing in particular today, I will save that vent for my sweet sister and possibly an additional friend if the situation proves to be 2-vent worthy.
Instead, I will expound to you about (and possibly bore you with) one of the more tedious and certainly not fun aspects of motherhood that is looming once again on my to-do list: The Clothes Cycle. When you are pregnant and opening endless gifts of adorable clothes at your baby shower, you don't really know what you are in for. Kids grow fast and babies grow faster. Seasons change. The clothes in the drawers must be cycled in and out and sorted through. Endlessly. Now that my kids are out of babyhood, I don't have to do this every couple of weeks anymore, but I am still faced with major cycles twice a year and minor cycles a couple more times a year. It ain't fun, that's for sure, but if you don't do it life becomes disorganized chaos.
I remember when Tyler was tiny (okay that didn't last long since he was 20 lbs by 4 months), I wasn't very excited about the hand-me-downs that came my way. I kept them, but used very few of the baby ones. I don't think I was being snobby about it, but I had drawers full of beautiful new clothes that dear friends had gifted me with. As the years went on and Tyler grew faster than I could believe, I became a lot more thankful for the hand-me-downs that came my way. At that time it was just a few things here or there, but enough to supplement his wardrobe so I didn't have to buy every single thing for him. And as the years passed by and seasons changed, I performed the clothes cycle over and over again. And even though for a long time I was certain that Tyler would be my only child, I saved all his clothes. I'm not sure why I did it, maybe for sentamentalism, maybe for the outside chance he wasn't the only child, maybe for future nephews or friends kids, but I kept everything.
Man am I glad I kept everything! Two boys later and I wonder what I would have done without all those clothes! Since Scooter is 6 years younger than Tyler and he was Scott's first child, the first grandson on his side, we were gifted again with a lot of beautiful clothes for our baby. But since it was my second child and another boy, it wasn't quite as large of an outpouring of gifts. It was way more than sufficient. I pulled out my long unused baby clothes and re-used so much I couldn't believe it. And I started the clothes cycle all over again. Again, I kept everything and when I discovered I was pregnant again with another boy that would only be 19 months younger than Scooter I was ecstatic I hadn't purged yet.
Poor Riley. There isn't much in his wardrobe that's brand new. We have always bought him a few items each season so there is something new in his drawers and so that he isn't completely out of style (not that this is too much of a problem with boy clothes) or for pictures, but for the most part his entire wardrobe was worn by someone else or two someone elses. Not that he would ever notice. The thing about boys is that they just don't care. They have their favorites and items they love and when they find those pieces they will try and wear them 3 or 4 times a week, never touching the shirt that YOU love and spent decent money on and would love to see them in.
In addition to Tyler's old clothes, I also have a friend in west Texas with a son a couple years younger than Tyler that passes her endless supply of boys clothes my way. They have 2 younger daughters and are done having kids. Since her mother is always on the look out for great deals on great clothes, the sheer volume of clothes that find their way to my house is awesome. Even with 3 boys I could never use it all. I love getting those boxes and bags. I sort through sizes and seasons and determine what will work best for us and what won't. I take the stuff I need and then pass on a bunch to other moms of boys I know. Anything left over finds its way to Good Will or the Salvation Army or the next clothes drive that is coming to pick up from my door step.
The end result of all this saving and accepting is that I don't have to have a huge clothing budget for my munchkins. I didn't buy one stitch of clothing for Scooter and Riley this spring and summer. Not one. I had so much stuff it wouldn't all fit in the drawers. I didn't have to buy for Tyler either since shorts and tshirts will usually last through 2 summer seasons unlike jeans and pants. I was tempted all summer by cute new styles and colors. The brilliance of NEW was calling to me at every store, but I kept on walking. I have learned the hard way that as soon as I put a $25 shirt on one of my boys, it will have an unremovable stain on it, but the hand me down or $2 garage sale shirt that they end up loving will last forever. My pocket book is about to get a small hit though, now that it's almost November.
One of the great things about living in Texas (also one of the more frustrating, but that's another story) is that it doesn't get really cold here until well into fall and on the way to winter. I leave a few pairs of jeans and long sleeve shirts in the kids drawers during the summer so that the occasional crisp day is covered, but for the most part the boys are wearing shorts through October and sometimes into early November. Since Tyler tends to have his growth spurts toward the end of summer and into early fall, I can avoid buying new jeans more than I need to. This weekend I will have to drag him along to shop for pants and make sure we are getting the right size for his rapidly elongating legs and super thin hips. I'll make an investment for a couple of pairs of new, very nice jeans and then one day next week I will hit the resale shops armed with the proper size in mind to fill out his winter wardrobe.
What I have learned over the years is that it isn't just the hand-me-downs that are worth the investment of time and storage, resale shops are a treasure trove of wonderfulness. It amazes me how ragged the bottoms of Tyler's jeans get and how quickly holes appear in the knees. What is it about boys? Anyway, I would rather spend my time rooting through the gently used clothing at Once Upon a Child for the perfect finds than spend hundreds of dollars replacing pricey brand new jeans with more pricey brand new jeans. And at the end of the day - they are jeans! Who cares? They don't need a fancy label (although that's ironically what I usually find in the pre-owned aisles), they just need to be denim and cover his body.
The other thing I have learned is how to organize this madness. There is a part of me that longs for the day that once my youngest is through a size, I can officially cycle OUT. Meaning, I can pass my stuff off to someone else like me, in this crazy season, who needs the clothes when I don't anymore. But until that day comes, it turns out that huge rubber storage tubs and vacuum packed storage bags relabeled 15 times doesn't quite cut it for the amount of clothes I have going on here. Trying to find what you need is insane when there isn't a system. This spring I actually found a huge supply of Tyler's clothes that I had missed before. So I had bought Scooter a bunch of shorts and shirts for a size I didn't know that I had plenty of, which he had since grown out of. Riley is wearing them now, but Scooter missed the boat. I wonder what I could have used that money for instead last year!
This spring, I made a huge mess of my house for a couple of weeks so that I could make less of a mess in the garage and my head. I sorted through every single piece of clothing we own (there were literally mountains of clothes in sorted piles throughout my living areas) and implemented a better system. Armed with Bankers Boxes, Index Cards and a Sharpie marker I made my life easier one pile at a time (I found this system in 'Coach Mom' by Brenna Stull, but she had gotten the idea from another organization savvy mother). Instead of having to force my husband to look through the attic and 3 different sections of garage for whatever bag or container might have the size of stuff I need and then getting into the clothes to find that they were mislabeled or mixed with other sizes, we now have a method to our madness. Every single item of clothing is sorted into boxes by size and season. Every box is labeled with a number. Every numbered box corresponds to a numbered and color coded index card with a description of what is in the box and how full the box is for easy reference.
That sounds overly detailed and crazy doesn't it? But my garage is now neatly organized. The back wall houses nice, neat stacks of numbered white boxes 6 high and 2 deep, 80 plus boxes in numbered order. I have an index card file box with blue cards for boys clothes, pink cards for mine, green for baby stuff and yellow for Scott. Each person in my family has a box of stuff that is just theirs and will never be worn by anyone else, the special stuff like worn-home-from-the-hospital outfits, sports jerseys, and something they looked extra cute in and it's just 'theirs'. I even have boxes with some seasonal decorations and supplies - they are purple cards. I gotta tell you it's nice to know exactly where the Easter baskets and Halloween pumpkins are without having them strewn haphazardly on the shelves out there. This weekend I will only have to ask my husband for box #52 and when he brings it in we will have everything we need to go trick-or-treating and to carve our pumpkins.
It's still a job. I need to go through the kids drawers and pull all but a few warm weather items and make sure they are stacked by size. I have to decide what size they will be wearing this winter and then figure out which boxes I will need. Once I have everything pulled and repacked I have to update my index cards and send Scott back out to put things in order. When another bag of hand-me-downs comes my way (which will be sometime this week because a mother of a friend of Tyler's that's as tall as Scott offered me some of her son's gently used items) I will have to sort through and figure out if I have room in already organized boxes or if I need to make new ones.
It's still work and I don't really feel like starting the project. However, since I only kept a couple of pairs of jeans out for myself and it was in the 40's this morning - it's time. And I know that I will be happy to have the system in place when I start working on the madness. I know that when my friends and Tara return the maternity clothes I lent them I will be glad to know exactly where to put them. And if we are lucky enough to have another baby boy, I will be so happy that I already have so many clothes for him to wear, although if we had a girl at this point I would have to start begging my friends to send their girl clothes my way. And when we are officially done having babies (hopefully just one more), I will be glad that everything is already sorted by size and season for either handing down to friends or having a really big garage sale.
It's amazing to me sometimes how much work motherhood really is. When you get into this game, you think alot about some of the stuff, but others don't really hit you until they are happening. And a lot of it, you figure out along the way. I am always looking for a better and brighter way, sometimes a simpler way. Oh man - I would love to keep writing to you today, find something else to chat with you about, but the Clothing Cycle is waiting . . .
Have a good day friend! God Bless you and keep you!
Friday, October 29, 2010
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Mom vs The Naked Boy . . .
I got off of my lazy tush yesterday to scrub bathrooms and mop floors. It feels good to have fresh clean rooms, but since I am caught up on most of my housework, I am floundering on what to do to today. I have plenty of to-do projects on my list. Many things that I could work on, if I could stay focused. I could be highly productive today, if it were not for one small problem . . . Riley is naked again.
All 3 of my boys have had their times where they liked being naked or I have had a hard time getting them dressed in the mornings, but Riley is taking things to a whole new level. This little boy who is 2 for only a few more days absolutely LOVES being naked. It's driving me crazy.
I get him dressed and he goes off to play and then wanders back into the living room in all his natural glory. It's not constant of course, and there are days that he actually will stay clothed for the entire day, but when he gets on a naked kick, we can't keep his pants on his body.
Over and over again, I put pants back on him or insist he does it himself and less than five minutes later they are off again. The other night after struggling for 20 or 30 minutes with the underwear issue while making dinner, I finally resorted to a pull-up, thinking that maybe this had something to do with potty training or comfort. Riley climbed up to the table to wait for his dinner and when I turned around the next time he was standing on his chair butt naked with his unmentionables resting on top of his dinner plate.
Scott was alerted to the problem with my very loud cry of 'What do you think you are doing? Get your p--- off the kitchen table!' I put the pull up on again and he immediately took it off and tried to get back up to the dinner table as I was exchanging his plate and getting food served. Finally having reached my limit on the naked thing (it's only cute the first time or two, it stopped being adorable weeks ago for us), I scooped Riley up and put him in the front bedroom. I gave him underwear and the pull up and told him that he could come rejoin the family when he had pants on.
The bedroom door was open, he wasn't secluded, just isolated for a short time to figure out if he wanted to follow the family rules. He cried for a short second then stopped. He didn't come out. After about 6 minutes, Scooter ventured into the room to get a toy and I heard Riley shout 'Get out of here! Leave me alone!' Scooter grabbed his toy and hightailed it back out to us. A few minutes later, Riley ventured out of the bedroom and at first glance it looked like he had complied with my request. He was wearing something anyway. But as he got closer to the table, we could see that he had carefully arranged himself so that all the important parts of his anatomy were poking out of the top of the underpants. AAGH! Honestly it was one of those times you are so angry they defied you, but you want to laugh yourself out of a chair at the same time because they chose such an ingenious way to do the defying.
What am I supposed to do with that??? Anyway, we dealt with it and a day or so later, I announced to Riley when he started some additional dinner time pants antics that if he wanted to be naked, he needed to stay in his bedroom, if he was coming out to be with the family he had to have clothes on.
Scott didn't really agree with my rule. I think he thought that I was kind of giving in too much and that Riley shouldn't be hanging out naked for any extended period of time anywhere - even his own room. Scott thinks Riley should just listen and obey, but that's not how kids work. I'm holding firm on this version of the rule for 2 reasons. First, I don't want to give Riley a complex about being naked. We use correct terms for body parts around here and I try to make sure the boys know they have normal bodies that God made purposfully when they have questions or concerns or even curiosities. So even though I insist that they only expose themselves, talk about or do certain things in appropriate private circumstances, I am doing every thing I can to give them healthy body images. It's fine that Riley is naked. It isn't hurting anyone when we are here, but we don't all want to see it all the time so he is being relegated to a bedroom for his nudie-time. And Second (it's selfish) Scott isn't here all day. He's at work and I am stuck fighting the naked fight all by myself all day. He might get frustrated with it at night and on the weekends, but it doesn't come close to comparing. In the name of picking my battles, I have chosen not to fight for pants, but for the living room and kitchen being naked-free zones.
So today with literally 20 slightly important things I could or should be doing looming over my shoulder, I am fighting with keeping naked Riley in his room or having him clothed when he comes out. This won't last I know. He's just doing what kids his age do. When I first laid down the rule, it wasn't really a set rule to him, just something new so he listened for a couple of days. When he would come out and ask for something to eat, he would look down to see that he was still naked and go back to get dressed before coming back and asking again, telling me 'but I have pants on'. Today though, he's testing the limits to see how serious I am. He comes out again and again naked and when I remind him of the rule he tells me 'No' and 'I don't want to' and 'I'm really, really mad'. It's keeping me from doing just about anything else, but with consistency and follow through in mind I am sticking to my guns.
At the end of this battle, I suspect that Riley will quickly lose interest in running around the house naked. If we hold the line at staying in one room, where no one is actually going to see him, it won't be nearly as fun for him after a while. After all, what's fun about misbehaving and trying to drive your mother crazy if she can't actually see you do it?
But for now, I can kind of see that today is going to be one of those not-so-productive messes. I might get to the store to get a couple of things I need, but I have a feeling that even that small chore might wait until Scott is home to be with the kids and I can escape the battle of wills I am dealing with right now. It's too difficult to get anything major done when you have to stop every 3 minutes to deal with an almost 3 year old. And it's too important that Riley KNOWS that I am winning the battle of wills for me to let it go while I fold laundry, prime door trim or organize a box full of documents.
I have fought these types of battles before and I will again. I am seasoned enough of a warrior by now to know that I have to be consistent and not give an inch to ensure victory. I also have been doing this long enough to know that kids can always surprise you. So even though I am trudging on with supermom confidence, I also know that Riley is entirely capable of figuring out a way around my road block and that there are also about 573 other things he could think of to do to get a rise out of me as well.
Oh well, the goal here today is that Riley be reminded I am boss and that he doesn't go off to Kindergarten thinking it's okay to run around in the buff all day! Bye-bye To-Do List!
Thanks and God Bless!
All 3 of my boys have had their times where they liked being naked or I have had a hard time getting them dressed in the mornings, but Riley is taking things to a whole new level. This little boy who is 2 for only a few more days absolutely LOVES being naked. It's driving me crazy.
I get him dressed and he goes off to play and then wanders back into the living room in all his natural glory. It's not constant of course, and there are days that he actually will stay clothed for the entire day, but when he gets on a naked kick, we can't keep his pants on his body.
Over and over again, I put pants back on him or insist he does it himself and less than five minutes later they are off again. The other night after struggling for 20 or 30 minutes with the underwear issue while making dinner, I finally resorted to a pull-up, thinking that maybe this had something to do with potty training or comfort. Riley climbed up to the table to wait for his dinner and when I turned around the next time he was standing on his chair butt naked with his unmentionables resting on top of his dinner plate.
Scott was alerted to the problem with my very loud cry of 'What do you think you are doing? Get your p--- off the kitchen table!' I put the pull up on again and he immediately took it off and tried to get back up to the dinner table as I was exchanging his plate and getting food served. Finally having reached my limit on the naked thing (it's only cute the first time or two, it stopped being adorable weeks ago for us), I scooped Riley up and put him in the front bedroom. I gave him underwear and the pull up and told him that he could come rejoin the family when he had pants on.
The bedroom door was open, he wasn't secluded, just isolated for a short time to figure out if he wanted to follow the family rules. He cried for a short second then stopped. He didn't come out. After about 6 minutes, Scooter ventured into the room to get a toy and I heard Riley shout 'Get out of here! Leave me alone!' Scooter grabbed his toy and hightailed it back out to us. A few minutes later, Riley ventured out of the bedroom and at first glance it looked like he had complied with my request. He was wearing something anyway. But as he got closer to the table, we could see that he had carefully arranged himself so that all the important parts of his anatomy were poking out of the top of the underpants. AAGH! Honestly it was one of those times you are so angry they defied you, but you want to laugh yourself out of a chair at the same time because they chose such an ingenious way to do the defying.
What am I supposed to do with that??? Anyway, we dealt with it and a day or so later, I announced to Riley when he started some additional dinner time pants antics that if he wanted to be naked, he needed to stay in his bedroom, if he was coming out to be with the family he had to have clothes on.
Scott didn't really agree with my rule. I think he thought that I was kind of giving in too much and that Riley shouldn't be hanging out naked for any extended period of time anywhere - even his own room. Scott thinks Riley should just listen and obey, but that's not how kids work. I'm holding firm on this version of the rule for 2 reasons. First, I don't want to give Riley a complex about being naked. We use correct terms for body parts around here and I try to make sure the boys know they have normal bodies that God made purposfully when they have questions or concerns or even curiosities. So even though I insist that they only expose themselves, talk about or do certain things in appropriate private circumstances, I am doing every thing I can to give them healthy body images. It's fine that Riley is naked. It isn't hurting anyone when we are here, but we don't all want to see it all the time so he is being relegated to a bedroom for his nudie-time. And Second (it's selfish) Scott isn't here all day. He's at work and I am stuck fighting the naked fight all by myself all day. He might get frustrated with it at night and on the weekends, but it doesn't come close to comparing. In the name of picking my battles, I have chosen not to fight for pants, but for the living room and kitchen being naked-free zones.
So today with literally 20 slightly important things I could or should be doing looming over my shoulder, I am fighting with keeping naked Riley in his room or having him clothed when he comes out. This won't last I know. He's just doing what kids his age do. When I first laid down the rule, it wasn't really a set rule to him, just something new so he listened for a couple of days. When he would come out and ask for something to eat, he would look down to see that he was still naked and go back to get dressed before coming back and asking again, telling me 'but I have pants on'. Today though, he's testing the limits to see how serious I am. He comes out again and again naked and when I remind him of the rule he tells me 'No' and 'I don't want to' and 'I'm really, really mad'. It's keeping me from doing just about anything else, but with consistency and follow through in mind I am sticking to my guns.
At the end of this battle, I suspect that Riley will quickly lose interest in running around the house naked. If we hold the line at staying in one room, where no one is actually going to see him, it won't be nearly as fun for him after a while. After all, what's fun about misbehaving and trying to drive your mother crazy if she can't actually see you do it?
But for now, I can kind of see that today is going to be one of those not-so-productive messes. I might get to the store to get a couple of things I need, but I have a feeling that even that small chore might wait until Scott is home to be with the kids and I can escape the battle of wills I am dealing with right now. It's too difficult to get anything major done when you have to stop every 3 minutes to deal with an almost 3 year old. And it's too important that Riley KNOWS that I am winning the battle of wills for me to let it go while I fold laundry, prime door trim or organize a box full of documents.
I have fought these types of battles before and I will again. I am seasoned enough of a warrior by now to know that I have to be consistent and not give an inch to ensure victory. I also have been doing this long enough to know that kids can always surprise you. So even though I am trudging on with supermom confidence, I also know that Riley is entirely capable of figuring out a way around my road block and that there are also about 573 other things he could think of to do to get a rise out of me as well.
Oh well, the goal here today is that Riley be reminded I am boss and that he doesn't go off to Kindergarten thinking it's okay to run around in the buff all day! Bye-bye To-Do List!
Thanks and God Bless!
Monday, October 25, 2010
Teaching Tolerance is Complicated . . .
Another weekend has flown by and another Monday morning finds me guzzling coffee and trying to get back into the groove. Scott had off of work for 2 days last week, resulting in a 4 day weekend. It's amazing what I DON'T get done when he's here. For some reason my subconscience thinks it's a vacation day for me too and I find myself laying around being lazy instead of doing what I normally do on a weekday around the house. But now it's Monday and the complexities of parenting are weighing heavily on my mind again. I am going to try and expound, but bear with me because I know that as I process through this I am bound to offend someone which is not my intention at all.
Our anniversary was spent as almost any other day as it was a Thursday, a school night and we have 3 kids. Friday night we decided to venture to Tyler's school for a fall carnival. It was as lame as most school carnivals are, but it's a fund raiser so we contributed some funds via not-so-ingenious game booths. Actually, there was one that was a 'recycling' game. These 2 parents were running it that were very OBVIOUSLY former hippies. They had a boxful of trash and after Tyler gave them 3 tickets to play, they handed him 10 trash items for him to sort between 3 boxes: recycle, trash & a ?. Then he only won a prize if he got ALL 10 correct. I thought it was a bit harsh and tedious. Not to mention, the ? box kind of was a built-in-to-fail box. If you put something in there it was an automatic wrong answer. They did give us a good pointer on plastics though and how to determine if even the smallest plastic container was recyclable or not.
There was also a cake walk which I was kind of excited about since I had won a whole cake at a school carnival when my younger sister was in elementary school once. How depressing to learn that these days you get three tries for admission and the winner only gets a cupcake. Also depressing since I would have loved a cupcake, but I didn't win.
There was a huge line at a face painting table for which I didn't pause. Not one of my kids thinks face painting is something they want to try. The next table had no line, but when I saw the sign I ran to sit down and drop 3 tickets. Henna Tattoos! I was pretty excited since I love henna tattoos. I watched a little girl get her palm decorated with a rainbow and star and then asked if the mom working the booth could do one on the back of my hand instead. She looked at me kind of funny but then told me to put my tickets in the bucket and to sit next to her. I told her that I didn't want the design on my palm since with 3 kids it would never last and would smear to the point of just looking like a blob. She laughed and said 'Yes, for moms it's hard'. She asked if I wanted my name or a flower. I said a flower and expected just one little flower on my hand for my 75 cents.
Instead, the mother painted a simple but elegant chain of flowers from the tip of my pointer finger, across the back of my hand and to my wrist. We talked about the pitfalls of having dry hands and kids (since washing your hands 5 million times a day makes dry hands even drier) and compared notes on eczema and treatments. The other moms at the table eventually joined in the conversation and we were all soon intently debating the merits of lotions versus oils for retaining long term moisture. It finally occurred to me that I was the ONLY white person visiting the table and they weren't sure what to think of me. I was an oddity in this group, but I hadn't seen it at first because I just wanted a tattoo. The boys were all off with Scott visiting the Bounce House so even after my design was finished I stayed at the table a while and kept talking with the other moms. Eventually another mom came to the table and tentaviley asked how henna tattoos worked and the booth workers smiled and explained it and then began this VERY caucasian mother's initiation into something new.
We moved on to overpriced hot dogs and popcorn before heading home and one of Tyler's friends mothers noted my tattoo and told me I was way cooler than she was. I just laughed it off and said that I didn't have a job to go to so I could get away with it (Never mind that when I had both my hands done intricately front and back for a friend's wedding a few years ago I was working and it didn't matter to me), I was just trying to ease her obvious discomfort. She said she just wasn't brave enough.
I really felt kind of bad that I wasn't a more involved mom that night. I had received the emails asking for volunteers for the carnival, but I had ignored them mostly because I couldn't commit to the evening. It's not that I don't help sometimes, in fact that's why I got the email, I am on the volunteer list, but with 2 younger kids at home I can't ALWAYS help and once you are on the list they want you for EVERYTHING. But what I felt bad about on Friday was that I didn't know most of the moms out there. Tyler doesn't go to his 'neighborhood' school anymore so getting to know the other families isn't as easy as reaching out to the parents down the street, it requires attendance at functions and then making an EFFORT to get to know people.
Tyler goes to a Magnet school for which attendance in Richardson is not designated by academic superiority, but by racial diversity. After the school is populated with kids from surrounding neighborhoods as their 'neighborhood school', the remaining slots are filled in to maintain a fairly equal level of racial and gender distribution. This was JJ Pierce's idea to make sure that kids in Richardson of all races, creeds and income levels were given opportunity here back in the 60's and 70's. I love it. Tyler gets maximum benefits for academics and diversity, which I think is hugely important (this is actually why I didn't want him to start school in the district I grew up in - I didn't think it was racially or economically diverse enough. It's getting a little better, but it's still on the pathetic side). But it occurred to me on Friday night that throwing kids of all different types together doesn't necessarily make families and communities meld easily.
I don't have to do the daily pick up for Tyler at school this year, but I mused on the last couple of years and what I had witnessed. While a huge amount of parents, like me, just stayed in their cars in line, a lot of parents park and walk up to the school lawn and wait for their children. And in those milling groups of parents there is still a division. I think it is self-imposed, but moms still make friends with like-minded moms most of the time. The Eastern born and bred women still huddle together in groups very obviously outfitted in veils and clothing deemed acceptable in their culture and faith. There is a very large group of Asian mothers who cluster together as well. I wonder now if they keep themselves separate from the other mothers or if it's the other way around. Is there too much of a bridge to cross between cultures sometimes? Is there still a misunderstanding of culture that keeps some people at a distance from women in veils because they might be some of 'THOSE' muslims? Or is it that we are just too busy to make an effort to find the familiar in the unfamiliar?
For me, as a mom, exposing my kids to diversity is hugely important because we don't live in a homogenized world. They are going to encounter all kinds of creeds, traditions, beliefs and cultures through their lifetimes. I want them to be prepared for and open to everything. Surely, I want to instill values and beliefs that are important to me in them as their core values and I want them to be unshakable. I truly hope that they are good witnesses of Jesus's love in their lives. But I also want them to know that my way is not the only way people live and that they should respect other people's beliefs as well. I don't want them to be afraid of something because it's different. I don't want them to be in a homogenized school because it won't prepare them at all for real life.
This is why even if I had the means, I probably wouldn't send my kids to a private Christian school. I know the benefits of it, I can see them. And there are parts of it that are tempting for me, but I also know that the real world is not a Christian school. I don't fall on the side of those who believe that their kids are better prepared to face a world of non-believers if they are kept safe and cocooned with believers for as long as possible (I do understand it though, don't get me wrong). I tend to side with the idea that the sooner they get used to the fact that the world is filled with a lot of different kinds of people, the better. Learn now how to believe what you believe and stick with it, and get stronger as your fellow students do the same and as you all grow. Be a witness even as you are learning how to be a witness. Don't be protected your whole life and then go off to college to get bombarded all at once. That's a personal choice, but I think it's right for our family.
I am certainly not a completely unbiased person, I don't think that is possible for anyone (although if you can get super close, the person who I know is the best at it is my sister, Asheley). By human design, we identify with our own traditions and cultures best, and that doesn't mean we can't learn to appreciate others as well. But, I am determined that my kids will be even better at it than I am just as my parents were for the three of us. I can remember being proud that since I had not ever purposely pointed out the color of skin to Tyler he used to tell me as a preschooler that we were 'peach' not 'white' and that when trying to point out a child to me once in a large crowd he didn't know to say 'black' but settled on 'really dark tan'. But then I thought with horror that it didn't matter what I did, he still saw a difference because he still was describing people by their color in some way, shape or form, even if it wasn't in a derogatory way and he had done it on his own. How frustrating! I console myself by reminding myself that we all describe people in some way 'blue eyes, brown hair, curly hair, brown eyes, tall, short, big boned or skinny as a stick' and that there is no way I could ever eliminate these descriptions from my own vocabulary much less my children's no matter how hard I try.
I try. I guess that's the important thing. Tolerance should be an easy thing to teach, but it isn't. I lead as much as I can by example and I know I have been blessed to have some incredible friends over the years that have patiently tolerated my endless curiosity about their cultures and faiths that are different from my own. Our family has diversified too over the years which is a huge bonus for all of us. My kids benefit from those friendships too and from what I have learned along the way. But I look back over Friday night and think 'I am not doing enough!' None of us are doing enough! Because there is still a huge gap. There is still a huge valley for most of us to cross over. And what do those moms really think of a mom like me who didn't think twice about sitting at their table? What did they think of the moms who just walked by? Do they know that I would be there friend too? Is there room for me in their lives? I know there is room in mine. I can always find a place in my heart for a new friend who is just as worried about their kids as I am about mine. What can I do to make myself more available and open? What can I do to make sure my kids are available and open to any friendship as well? Am I doing enough?
A week ago we attended another school carnival for some of our relatives. It was a private catholic school. Totally different than ours because it was HUGE in comparison. Still not that many great game booths, but the food was amazing. The majority of booths there were run by different Latino groups of parents: a Brazilian one, a Puerto Rican one, a Columbian one. There was also a great Funnel Cake Booth run by our cousins! So we have certainly exposed our children to some very multi-cultural fall carnivals this year which is a good thing, even if it wasn't a concerted effort. But it struck me, that even at this school the parents had segregated themselves into different cultural booths by volunteering with those parents that were the most like themselves and had the most in common. I walked around, bouncing to the beat of a Mexican Polka being blared on the speakers, eating my fajita with some amazingly seasoned beef and then roasted corn on the cob before buying a cake from the bake sale and swallowing a funnel cake whole. Scott and I just giggled that they were selling beer and margaritas too since there was no way that would ever happen at our school carnival!
I guess at the end of the day, I can only do what I am doing. I just keep exposing my kids to more, teaching them tolerance and empathy by example. When they notice a difference between themselves and someone else, I let them talk it out at home and encourage them to understand and accept. And I must be doing an okay job because it doesn't occur to them to ask about some of our family members that have different color skin and different religious beliefs than we do. It doesn't occur to them that a family has to be ALL the same because ours isn't and we accept so they accept. But I also know that because I even have to worry about this our society still has a MAJOR problem. Change is possible though, look how far we have come in just a couple of generations. I am hoping that if I raise my kids to be even more tolerant than my generation was raised to be, they will do the same and then so will their children. And maybe a few generations down the road we'll have worked all this out of our society as a whole - maybe?
Tolerance comes in all sorts of ways and at all sorts of levels. I mentioned to Tyler the other day that I knew his friend J wasn't really considered as cool as some of his other friends, I was trying to say I thought he had the makings of a lifelong friend. I didn't get to finish, Tyler cut me off and said 'That's not why I like him mom. I don't care if he's cool or not, I just like him for who he is.' I just hugged him sooooo tight. I love that he is who he is. For me, my hardest tolerance hurdle to jump is right in my own back yard. I have a hard time with the Catholic church in it's most traditional form (historically, the corruption, the misinformation, etc.) but I am now related to a whole lot of Catholics who I respect and love, including my own sweet husband, and I respect their faith and try to understand it as much as possible. I just don't always get it! And well, they have to tolerate a Southern Baptist in their midst too. As a family, we tolerate a lot of foibles and personality quirks that we don't necessarily like about our siblings and children and spouses.
Mostly, tolerance can only be taught by example. I hope I am teaching it well. I hope that I am a good example to my kids, even though I know I am soooo far from being the ideal that I want my kids to be. Like I said, because I even have to worry about it, we still have a problem here, but it was only a few generations ago that no one was worrying about it. Progress in baby steps, I guess.
Oy - the pressures of motherhood. Some days there are so many things to worry about I can't see straight. Then again, I think it makes me a half way decent mom because I do worry about it. The key, I think, is to not worry about all of the stuff all of the time. Mostly, I just keep doing what I am doing and look for teachable moments along the way. I hope it's enough.
And in the meantime - I am totally digging my henna tattoo for a few days, until it fades away!
Love and God Bless!
Our anniversary was spent as almost any other day as it was a Thursday, a school night and we have 3 kids. Friday night we decided to venture to Tyler's school for a fall carnival. It was as lame as most school carnivals are, but it's a fund raiser so we contributed some funds via not-so-ingenious game booths. Actually, there was one that was a 'recycling' game. These 2 parents were running it that were very OBVIOUSLY former hippies. They had a boxful of trash and after Tyler gave them 3 tickets to play, they handed him 10 trash items for him to sort between 3 boxes: recycle, trash & a ?. Then he only won a prize if he got ALL 10 correct. I thought it was a bit harsh and tedious. Not to mention, the ? box kind of was a built-in-to-fail box. If you put something in there it was an automatic wrong answer. They did give us a good pointer on plastics though and how to determine if even the smallest plastic container was recyclable or not.
There was also a cake walk which I was kind of excited about since I had won a whole cake at a school carnival when my younger sister was in elementary school once. How depressing to learn that these days you get three tries for admission and the winner only gets a cupcake. Also depressing since I would have loved a cupcake, but I didn't win.
There was a huge line at a face painting table for which I didn't pause. Not one of my kids thinks face painting is something they want to try. The next table had no line, but when I saw the sign I ran to sit down and drop 3 tickets. Henna Tattoos! I was pretty excited since I love henna tattoos. I watched a little girl get her palm decorated with a rainbow and star and then asked if the mom working the booth could do one on the back of my hand instead. She looked at me kind of funny but then told me to put my tickets in the bucket and to sit next to her. I told her that I didn't want the design on my palm since with 3 kids it would never last and would smear to the point of just looking like a blob. She laughed and said 'Yes, for moms it's hard'. She asked if I wanted my name or a flower. I said a flower and expected just one little flower on my hand for my 75 cents.
Instead, the mother painted a simple but elegant chain of flowers from the tip of my pointer finger, across the back of my hand and to my wrist. We talked about the pitfalls of having dry hands and kids (since washing your hands 5 million times a day makes dry hands even drier) and compared notes on eczema and treatments. The other moms at the table eventually joined in the conversation and we were all soon intently debating the merits of lotions versus oils for retaining long term moisture. It finally occurred to me that I was the ONLY white person visiting the table and they weren't sure what to think of me. I was an oddity in this group, but I hadn't seen it at first because I just wanted a tattoo. The boys were all off with Scott visiting the Bounce House so even after my design was finished I stayed at the table a while and kept talking with the other moms. Eventually another mom came to the table and tentaviley asked how henna tattoos worked and the booth workers smiled and explained it and then began this VERY caucasian mother's initiation into something new.
We moved on to overpriced hot dogs and popcorn before heading home and one of Tyler's friends mothers noted my tattoo and told me I was way cooler than she was. I just laughed it off and said that I didn't have a job to go to so I could get away with it (Never mind that when I had both my hands done intricately front and back for a friend's wedding a few years ago I was working and it didn't matter to me), I was just trying to ease her obvious discomfort. She said she just wasn't brave enough.
I really felt kind of bad that I wasn't a more involved mom that night. I had received the emails asking for volunteers for the carnival, but I had ignored them mostly because I couldn't commit to the evening. It's not that I don't help sometimes, in fact that's why I got the email, I am on the volunteer list, but with 2 younger kids at home I can't ALWAYS help and once you are on the list they want you for EVERYTHING. But what I felt bad about on Friday was that I didn't know most of the moms out there. Tyler doesn't go to his 'neighborhood' school anymore so getting to know the other families isn't as easy as reaching out to the parents down the street, it requires attendance at functions and then making an EFFORT to get to know people.
Tyler goes to a Magnet school for which attendance in Richardson is not designated by academic superiority, but by racial diversity. After the school is populated with kids from surrounding neighborhoods as their 'neighborhood school', the remaining slots are filled in to maintain a fairly equal level of racial and gender distribution. This was JJ Pierce's idea to make sure that kids in Richardson of all races, creeds and income levels were given opportunity here back in the 60's and 70's. I love it. Tyler gets maximum benefits for academics and diversity, which I think is hugely important (this is actually why I didn't want him to start school in the district I grew up in - I didn't think it was racially or economically diverse enough. It's getting a little better, but it's still on the pathetic side). But it occurred to me on Friday night that throwing kids of all different types together doesn't necessarily make families and communities meld easily.
I don't have to do the daily pick up for Tyler at school this year, but I mused on the last couple of years and what I had witnessed. While a huge amount of parents, like me, just stayed in their cars in line, a lot of parents park and walk up to the school lawn and wait for their children. And in those milling groups of parents there is still a division. I think it is self-imposed, but moms still make friends with like-minded moms most of the time. The Eastern born and bred women still huddle together in groups very obviously outfitted in veils and clothing deemed acceptable in their culture and faith. There is a very large group of Asian mothers who cluster together as well. I wonder now if they keep themselves separate from the other mothers or if it's the other way around. Is there too much of a bridge to cross between cultures sometimes? Is there still a misunderstanding of culture that keeps some people at a distance from women in veils because they might be some of 'THOSE' muslims? Or is it that we are just too busy to make an effort to find the familiar in the unfamiliar?
For me, as a mom, exposing my kids to diversity is hugely important because we don't live in a homogenized world. They are going to encounter all kinds of creeds, traditions, beliefs and cultures through their lifetimes. I want them to be prepared for and open to everything. Surely, I want to instill values and beliefs that are important to me in them as their core values and I want them to be unshakable. I truly hope that they are good witnesses of Jesus's love in their lives. But I also want them to know that my way is not the only way people live and that they should respect other people's beliefs as well. I don't want them to be afraid of something because it's different. I don't want them to be in a homogenized school because it won't prepare them at all for real life.
This is why even if I had the means, I probably wouldn't send my kids to a private Christian school. I know the benefits of it, I can see them. And there are parts of it that are tempting for me, but I also know that the real world is not a Christian school. I don't fall on the side of those who believe that their kids are better prepared to face a world of non-believers if they are kept safe and cocooned with believers for as long as possible (I do understand it though, don't get me wrong). I tend to side with the idea that the sooner they get used to the fact that the world is filled with a lot of different kinds of people, the better. Learn now how to believe what you believe and stick with it, and get stronger as your fellow students do the same and as you all grow. Be a witness even as you are learning how to be a witness. Don't be protected your whole life and then go off to college to get bombarded all at once. That's a personal choice, but I think it's right for our family.
I am certainly not a completely unbiased person, I don't think that is possible for anyone (although if you can get super close, the person who I know is the best at it is my sister, Asheley). By human design, we identify with our own traditions and cultures best, and that doesn't mean we can't learn to appreciate others as well. But, I am determined that my kids will be even better at it than I am just as my parents were for the three of us. I can remember being proud that since I had not ever purposely pointed out the color of skin to Tyler he used to tell me as a preschooler that we were 'peach' not 'white' and that when trying to point out a child to me once in a large crowd he didn't know to say 'black' but settled on 'really dark tan'. But then I thought with horror that it didn't matter what I did, he still saw a difference because he still was describing people by their color in some way, shape or form, even if it wasn't in a derogatory way and he had done it on his own. How frustrating! I console myself by reminding myself that we all describe people in some way 'blue eyes, brown hair, curly hair, brown eyes, tall, short, big boned or skinny as a stick' and that there is no way I could ever eliminate these descriptions from my own vocabulary much less my children's no matter how hard I try.
I try. I guess that's the important thing. Tolerance should be an easy thing to teach, but it isn't. I lead as much as I can by example and I know I have been blessed to have some incredible friends over the years that have patiently tolerated my endless curiosity about their cultures and faiths that are different from my own. Our family has diversified too over the years which is a huge bonus for all of us. My kids benefit from those friendships too and from what I have learned along the way. But I look back over Friday night and think 'I am not doing enough!' None of us are doing enough! Because there is still a huge gap. There is still a huge valley for most of us to cross over. And what do those moms really think of a mom like me who didn't think twice about sitting at their table? What did they think of the moms who just walked by? Do they know that I would be there friend too? Is there room for me in their lives? I know there is room in mine. I can always find a place in my heart for a new friend who is just as worried about their kids as I am about mine. What can I do to make myself more available and open? What can I do to make sure my kids are available and open to any friendship as well? Am I doing enough?
A week ago we attended another school carnival for some of our relatives. It was a private catholic school. Totally different than ours because it was HUGE in comparison. Still not that many great game booths, but the food was amazing. The majority of booths there were run by different Latino groups of parents: a Brazilian one, a Puerto Rican one, a Columbian one. There was also a great Funnel Cake Booth run by our cousins! So we have certainly exposed our children to some very multi-cultural fall carnivals this year which is a good thing, even if it wasn't a concerted effort. But it struck me, that even at this school the parents had segregated themselves into different cultural booths by volunteering with those parents that were the most like themselves and had the most in common. I walked around, bouncing to the beat of a Mexican Polka being blared on the speakers, eating my fajita with some amazingly seasoned beef and then roasted corn on the cob before buying a cake from the bake sale and swallowing a funnel cake whole. Scott and I just giggled that they were selling beer and margaritas too since there was no way that would ever happen at our school carnival!
I guess at the end of the day, I can only do what I am doing. I just keep exposing my kids to more, teaching them tolerance and empathy by example. When they notice a difference between themselves and someone else, I let them talk it out at home and encourage them to understand and accept. And I must be doing an okay job because it doesn't occur to them to ask about some of our family members that have different color skin and different religious beliefs than we do. It doesn't occur to them that a family has to be ALL the same because ours isn't and we accept so they accept. But I also know that because I even have to worry about this our society still has a MAJOR problem. Change is possible though, look how far we have come in just a couple of generations. I am hoping that if I raise my kids to be even more tolerant than my generation was raised to be, they will do the same and then so will their children. And maybe a few generations down the road we'll have worked all this out of our society as a whole - maybe?
Tolerance comes in all sorts of ways and at all sorts of levels. I mentioned to Tyler the other day that I knew his friend J wasn't really considered as cool as some of his other friends, I was trying to say I thought he had the makings of a lifelong friend. I didn't get to finish, Tyler cut me off and said 'That's not why I like him mom. I don't care if he's cool or not, I just like him for who he is.' I just hugged him sooooo tight. I love that he is who he is. For me, my hardest tolerance hurdle to jump is right in my own back yard. I have a hard time with the Catholic church in it's most traditional form (historically, the corruption, the misinformation, etc.) but I am now related to a whole lot of Catholics who I respect and love, including my own sweet husband, and I respect their faith and try to understand it as much as possible. I just don't always get it! And well, they have to tolerate a Southern Baptist in their midst too. As a family, we tolerate a lot of foibles and personality quirks that we don't necessarily like about our siblings and children and spouses.
Mostly, tolerance can only be taught by example. I hope I am teaching it well. I hope that I am a good example to my kids, even though I know I am soooo far from being the ideal that I want my kids to be. Like I said, because I even have to worry about it, we still have a problem here, but it was only a few generations ago that no one was worrying about it. Progress in baby steps, I guess.
Oy - the pressures of motherhood. Some days there are so many things to worry about I can't see straight. Then again, I think it makes me a half way decent mom because I do worry about it. The key, I think, is to not worry about all of the stuff all of the time. Mostly, I just keep doing what I am doing and look for teachable moments along the way. I hope it's enough.
And in the meantime - I am totally digging my henna tattoo for a few days, until it fades away!
Love and God Bless!
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Almost a Fairy Tale . . .
Today is Scott & my 5th Anniversary. It's kind of weird to me that it's been 5 years already. Some days I feel like we're still super new to all this and we're still figuring out how to live together. But most of the time I know that we've worked out a lot of the rough edges and our lives have a pretty smooth rhythm that works for us. So naturally I am thinking of my wedding day today.
Like most people, I can only remember certain things about that day. Most of the images are a blur because there was so much happening in such a short time frame. But there are portions of the day that I can see very clearly and will probably never forget.
Early that morning I left my mom's house to go pick up my dress. It was cream satin with golden insets and a spattering of crystals. I loved it. Mom's sweet friend Jonica had helped us pick the dress out and then did the alterations for me, which was no small task since my body was changing every week with my growing pregnancy with Scooter. When we first got the dress we were worried about how big the bodice was and how much we were going to take it in. A week before the wedding Jonica was begging my bust to not get any bigger so she wouldn't have to let it out. But in the quiet of that morning, Jonica gave me a very special gift. Jonica had made me a cape with a hood out of a sheer golden, shimmery fabric. It was light weight and when I put it on it floated around me and made me feel down right enchanted. It was gorgeous. The first of many tears that day fell.
After my hair was done and I had checked into our hotel I found my way to the Presidential suite my parents had gifted Scott and I with. It was bigger than our house. I gave Tyler a bath so he was ready and grazed on sandwiches. I don't remember all the details of getting ready and who was there or the ride to the building where I was getting married. I do remember spending a whole lot of time hanging out in a conference room high in the sky of downtown Dallas that was a makeshift Bridal suite. I waited to go down for pictures and then I waited for the ceremony to start. Lots of waiting.
Most of the next couple of hours are a blur but I remember very clearly having my rear end pinched by two of the groomsmen, Doug and Drew, while I was surrounded by the guys for a portrait. I remember how handsome they all looked, our friends and family, and most especially Tyler. He was so grown up in his tuxedo. My bridesmaids were gorgeous, outshining me in their chocolate satin dresses. My flower girls were my about-to-become nieces and they were downright adorable.
I remember waiting, once again, with all my girls in an elevator lobby for it to be time to head outside and down the aisle when Scott's Aunt Bonnie bustled by on her way out to her seat. She wanted to stop and admire all of us, but I shooed her on her way so that we could get started. (The wedding was in downtown Dallas on a Friday night so traffic problems caused a very late start.) I walked down the aisle with Dad on one side and Tyler on the other. I have never been so proud or so happy.
Another of my mom's friends, Claudia, sang for our ceremony. It was 'For the First Time' by Rod Stewart. Such a fitting song for Scott and I, as we had been friends for so long and had literally taken a fresh 'first' look at eachother in order to get to this day. Claudia's beautiful voice is one of the parts of that day that I won't ever forget. Clear, Strong, Beautiful. Scott's sister Dulane spoke for us and welcomed Tyler officially into the family with an engraved Silver Pocket Watch that we had picked out. I can't remember all the words, but the gist of the speech was about our families merging together officially after long years of being almost family anyway. It was great.
We exchanged vows - and let me tell you, that was weird for me. I have been to countless weddings over the years, but when it's actually you standing in front of 150 people, making such solemn promises while staring into the person you love's eyes it's kind of surreal. I don't remember every word, but I know for a fact that 'obey' was not one of the promises I made since I asked for that particularly. Scott likes to joke about it all the time, asking when I am going to start obeying and then laughing at me when I remind him AGAIN that it wasn't a promise I had made.
We also made vows to Tyler. I can't even remember what I said mostly except that I know I made reference to Tyler and I being a team since that's always been a running theme for us and that our team was just growing. Scott, though, he promised to love Tyler as part of his family like he was his own son and that he would always consider Tyler his son in every single way. It melted my heart. When we exchanged rings, we gave Tyler an ID bracelet with our wedding date engraved on it. He always said he was getting married too so we made sure he felt like he was.
When I finally got to my own reception, the Bellini's were gone and so were the appetizers, but I hear they were fabulous. We ate, we danced, we laughed. We had our first dance to 'The Broken Road' by Rascal Flatts, still our song. We did the cake thing. I had begged Scotty to be nice about the cake since I was so broken out from pregnancy hormones and spent a ridiculous amount of time on my make up to cover up, but he crammed it in my face anyway. I had my father-daughter dance, but it wasn't what I had imagined. The DJ I had hired sent a fill-in at the last minute and he played some song I had never heard before instead of the one I had chosen. It wasn't a slow song, but it was cool. So dad and I didn't have the traditional slow, tear filled father/daughter dance. We kind of had a slow-fast dance and showed off our boogie moves. It was really fun, if a little strange. But it was the kind of song we would probably have danced to on any other day together so it was pretty cool.
After the toasting, dancing, smiling and bouquet toss - it was time to go. All the guests headed downstairs and Jonica helped me put my gorgeous cape on over my dress. Scott tipped the DJ a ridiculous amount considering he had screwed up and forgotten half my requests (including NO music after the ceremony to walk back down the aisle to!!!!), but Scotty was SUPER happy. We went downstairs and out the door to be sent off amid a cascade of bubbles.
I really hadn't cared if we did the send off originally. But there I was, in my cape (really this was huge for me, can't you tell - I mean what other time in your life can you get away with wearing a cape?) running with the man I loved to - get this - a horse drawn carriage. This was a gift from my mother's friend (doesn't she have awesome friends?) Susan and her hubby John. Scott and I climbed into the carriage and snuggled together while we had a slow, peaceful, romantic ride through downtown in the autumn night to our hotel. Tyler was a little annoyed that he didn't get to come for this part (he was also annoyed he didn't get to stay with us in our hotel room), but that's the breaks kid.
We had an after party in our enormous suite to cap off the night with some of our friends and family. I remember that one of our friends didn't know I was pregnant until I showed her my belly. Yeah for the dress! Even though most people knew I was and I wasn't trying to hide it I hadn't looked like I was packing baby! I didn't look like I had an 18 inch waist, but I hadn't looked like a blimp either. Not bad considering I was 18 weeks pregnant!
I hadn't wanted a big wedding originally. I wanted to go away somewhere and get married on a beach and have a party later. When our original plans for a 'sometime next spring' wedding were derailed with the discovery we were expecting Scooter, I would have been happy with a quick wedding by a Justice of the Peace. But Scott wanted a wedding, and he wanted a party. Of course, he didn't have any idea how much work would be crammed into 8 weeks to pull it off, but we did it.
Every time I tried to minimize a portion of the process or let something go, my mom's friends stepped in and made sure I did things right anyway. My sister marshalled the forces and pulled off the impossible for my shower (there were something like 13 hostesses, but she coordinated it all to perfection), organized a really fun and baby-safe pajama bachelorette party and negotiated hotel rates for our out of town guests. Might have been the best Maid of Honor ever! My mother-in-law and her sisters pulled off the most amazing rehearsal dinner I could imagine and I had been thinking barbeque would be sufficient. No way - it was elegant and delicious and fabulous. My aunts all made it here for the wedding from out of state as well as some cousins and some really important-to-me friends. Scott's cousin Ernie came from New Orleans and his buddies came from all over.
At the end of the day, I am so glad Scott talked me into a real wedding. There were a lot of things that got messed up or missed because we did everything so fast, but it didn't feel like it that day. I hadn't been looking for a fairy tale wedding or to feel like a princess that day, but I did anyway. I always say that the wedding is just one day, but the marriage is the rest of your life so the only important thing is the two of you, not the details. I still think we could have had one heck of a destination wedding on a beach with the money we spent, but I was happy to give Scotty what he wanted.
And I am so happy that I married Scott. If you had told me when I was 10 that I was going to marry the annoying little kid down the street I would have thought you were crazy. But it turns out you really can find true love in your backyard. We've had our ups and downs and more than our fair share of crazy, but we are genuinely happy together. We make eachother laugh and we work really well together as a team (well, we do if I can get him to wait for me to read instructions before we start a project anyway) and I have even learned to tolerate the fact that he's a Cowboy fan instead of the exalted Green Bay Packers. Now, if I can just get him trained to bring me breakfast in bed . . . well, there's another 50 years or so to figure that out.
Thanks and God Bless!
Like most people, I can only remember certain things about that day. Most of the images are a blur because there was so much happening in such a short time frame. But there are portions of the day that I can see very clearly and will probably never forget.
Early that morning I left my mom's house to go pick up my dress. It was cream satin with golden insets and a spattering of crystals. I loved it. Mom's sweet friend Jonica had helped us pick the dress out and then did the alterations for me, which was no small task since my body was changing every week with my growing pregnancy with Scooter. When we first got the dress we were worried about how big the bodice was and how much we were going to take it in. A week before the wedding Jonica was begging my bust to not get any bigger so she wouldn't have to let it out. But in the quiet of that morning, Jonica gave me a very special gift. Jonica had made me a cape with a hood out of a sheer golden, shimmery fabric. It was light weight and when I put it on it floated around me and made me feel down right enchanted. It was gorgeous. The first of many tears that day fell.
After my hair was done and I had checked into our hotel I found my way to the Presidential suite my parents had gifted Scott and I with. It was bigger than our house. I gave Tyler a bath so he was ready and grazed on sandwiches. I don't remember all the details of getting ready and who was there or the ride to the building where I was getting married. I do remember spending a whole lot of time hanging out in a conference room high in the sky of downtown Dallas that was a makeshift Bridal suite. I waited to go down for pictures and then I waited for the ceremony to start. Lots of waiting.
Most of the next couple of hours are a blur but I remember very clearly having my rear end pinched by two of the groomsmen, Doug and Drew, while I was surrounded by the guys for a portrait. I remember how handsome they all looked, our friends and family, and most especially Tyler. He was so grown up in his tuxedo. My bridesmaids were gorgeous, outshining me in their chocolate satin dresses. My flower girls were my about-to-become nieces and they were downright adorable.
I remember waiting, once again, with all my girls in an elevator lobby for it to be time to head outside and down the aisle when Scott's Aunt Bonnie bustled by on her way out to her seat. She wanted to stop and admire all of us, but I shooed her on her way so that we could get started. (The wedding was in downtown Dallas on a Friday night so traffic problems caused a very late start.) I walked down the aisle with Dad on one side and Tyler on the other. I have never been so proud or so happy.
Another of my mom's friends, Claudia, sang for our ceremony. It was 'For the First Time' by Rod Stewart. Such a fitting song for Scott and I, as we had been friends for so long and had literally taken a fresh 'first' look at eachother in order to get to this day. Claudia's beautiful voice is one of the parts of that day that I won't ever forget. Clear, Strong, Beautiful. Scott's sister Dulane spoke for us and welcomed Tyler officially into the family with an engraved Silver Pocket Watch that we had picked out. I can't remember all the words, but the gist of the speech was about our families merging together officially after long years of being almost family anyway. It was great.
We exchanged vows - and let me tell you, that was weird for me. I have been to countless weddings over the years, but when it's actually you standing in front of 150 people, making such solemn promises while staring into the person you love's eyes it's kind of surreal. I don't remember every word, but I know for a fact that 'obey' was not one of the promises I made since I asked for that particularly. Scott likes to joke about it all the time, asking when I am going to start obeying and then laughing at me when I remind him AGAIN that it wasn't a promise I had made.
We also made vows to Tyler. I can't even remember what I said mostly except that I know I made reference to Tyler and I being a team since that's always been a running theme for us and that our team was just growing. Scott, though, he promised to love Tyler as part of his family like he was his own son and that he would always consider Tyler his son in every single way. It melted my heart. When we exchanged rings, we gave Tyler an ID bracelet with our wedding date engraved on it. He always said he was getting married too so we made sure he felt like he was.
When I finally got to my own reception, the Bellini's were gone and so were the appetizers, but I hear they were fabulous. We ate, we danced, we laughed. We had our first dance to 'The Broken Road' by Rascal Flatts, still our song. We did the cake thing. I had begged Scotty to be nice about the cake since I was so broken out from pregnancy hormones and spent a ridiculous amount of time on my make up to cover up, but he crammed it in my face anyway. I had my father-daughter dance, but it wasn't what I had imagined. The DJ I had hired sent a fill-in at the last minute and he played some song I had never heard before instead of the one I had chosen. It wasn't a slow song, but it was cool. So dad and I didn't have the traditional slow, tear filled father/daughter dance. We kind of had a slow-fast dance and showed off our boogie moves. It was really fun, if a little strange. But it was the kind of song we would probably have danced to on any other day together so it was pretty cool.
After the toasting, dancing, smiling and bouquet toss - it was time to go. All the guests headed downstairs and Jonica helped me put my gorgeous cape on over my dress. Scott tipped the DJ a ridiculous amount considering he had screwed up and forgotten half my requests (including NO music after the ceremony to walk back down the aisle to!!!!), but Scotty was SUPER happy. We went downstairs and out the door to be sent off amid a cascade of bubbles.
I really hadn't cared if we did the send off originally. But there I was, in my cape (really this was huge for me, can't you tell - I mean what other time in your life can you get away with wearing a cape?) running with the man I loved to - get this - a horse drawn carriage. This was a gift from my mother's friend (doesn't she have awesome friends?) Susan and her hubby John. Scott and I climbed into the carriage and snuggled together while we had a slow, peaceful, romantic ride through downtown in the autumn night to our hotel. Tyler was a little annoyed that he didn't get to come for this part (he was also annoyed he didn't get to stay with us in our hotel room), but that's the breaks kid.
We had an after party in our enormous suite to cap off the night with some of our friends and family. I remember that one of our friends didn't know I was pregnant until I showed her my belly. Yeah for the dress! Even though most people knew I was and I wasn't trying to hide it I hadn't looked like I was packing baby! I didn't look like I had an 18 inch waist, but I hadn't looked like a blimp either. Not bad considering I was 18 weeks pregnant!
I hadn't wanted a big wedding originally. I wanted to go away somewhere and get married on a beach and have a party later. When our original plans for a 'sometime next spring' wedding were derailed with the discovery we were expecting Scooter, I would have been happy with a quick wedding by a Justice of the Peace. But Scott wanted a wedding, and he wanted a party. Of course, he didn't have any idea how much work would be crammed into 8 weeks to pull it off, but we did it.
Every time I tried to minimize a portion of the process or let something go, my mom's friends stepped in and made sure I did things right anyway. My sister marshalled the forces and pulled off the impossible for my shower (there were something like 13 hostesses, but she coordinated it all to perfection), organized a really fun and baby-safe pajama bachelorette party and negotiated hotel rates for our out of town guests. Might have been the best Maid of Honor ever! My mother-in-law and her sisters pulled off the most amazing rehearsal dinner I could imagine and I had been thinking barbeque would be sufficient. No way - it was elegant and delicious and fabulous. My aunts all made it here for the wedding from out of state as well as some cousins and some really important-to-me friends. Scott's cousin Ernie came from New Orleans and his buddies came from all over.
At the end of the day, I am so glad Scott talked me into a real wedding. There were a lot of things that got messed up or missed because we did everything so fast, but it didn't feel like it that day. I hadn't been looking for a fairy tale wedding or to feel like a princess that day, but I did anyway. I always say that the wedding is just one day, but the marriage is the rest of your life so the only important thing is the two of you, not the details. I still think we could have had one heck of a destination wedding on a beach with the money we spent, but I was happy to give Scotty what he wanted.
And I am so happy that I married Scott. If you had told me when I was 10 that I was going to marry the annoying little kid down the street I would have thought you were crazy. But it turns out you really can find true love in your backyard. We've had our ups and downs and more than our fair share of crazy, but we are genuinely happy together. We make eachother laugh and we work really well together as a team (well, we do if I can get him to wait for me to read instructions before we start a project anyway) and I have even learned to tolerate the fact that he's a Cowboy fan instead of the exalted Green Bay Packers. Now, if I can just get him trained to bring me breakfast in bed . . . well, there's another 50 years or so to figure that out.
Thanks and God Bless!
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
A baby is born . . .
The wait is over, my niece is here. And what a wait! We jumped in the car Thursday night and after 5 hours in the car (thanks to downtown traffic and lots of night time construction) I deposited hubby and 3 boys in a motel in North Austin and bustled over to the hospital. I was in a huge hurry to get there so I didn't miss anything, but I shouldn't have worried. I spent the next 4 hours sitting in a waiting room chair along with my parents, getting sporadic updates until the baby was taken via C-Section at 4 a.m.
She is gorgeous with a full head of dark hair and my brother's long toes. 7 lbs, 14.5 ounces and 20.5 inches long. Perfect. Beautiful. I've never seen my brother so happy in his entire life. Through tears and over-tired babbling, I forgot to say what I wanted to say to him - 'Welcome to the other side!' Oh well, he's there now. The new family came home from the hospital yesterday afternoon and have now begun the journey of parenthood. It will be very interesting, and I dare say fun, to watch Matthew on this road. He's always been the best uncle you could ask for your children. He's great with all kids and all of our friends love to have him around their little ones as well. But it's different when it's your own. It's more.
Matthew was awesome for the labor and delivery, but I expected nothing less. After all, he had been through this once before. He was my birth partner and support for my labor with Tyler. I remember feeling akward about asking him, I knew my mom would be there to help too. But I wasn't sure how I would react to labor and I wasn't sure how I would react to my mother during labor (funny really, because I would never consider having a baby without her there and she's really awesome), so I wanted a calming influence as well. Matthew didn't even let me get the whole request out of my mouth before he said yes. He knew what I needed and gave freely. He went to birthing classes with me, practiced breathing excersizes with me and remained on call for the last 6 weeks of my pregnancy.
Granted, the night that I actually did go into labor he was out with his buddies and hard to track down because he had left his pager in his truck. We had to actually send someone to find him, but since Denton isn't that big and he had a few hard favorites it wasn't impossible. He met me at the hospital after I was hooked up to monitors, checked in and verfied that my water had indeed broken. Isn't it funny how they have to do that? I mean, there was no question in my mind since the pop and gush had woken me out of a dead sleep. With every contraction enough fluid came out to make me think I had wet my pants. By the time I got to the hospital contractions were coming steadily and not very gently anymore, but the nurses still couldn't take my word for it. They still had to check and make sure I wasn't imagining things and that I was truly in labor.
Still, Matthew came in armed with coffee and a steady dose of humor. He rubbed my back and talked me through contractions. He helped me visualize one of my favorite places. He was a trooper, even though I wasn't. I remember after several hours when they checked me and I had only progressed a centimeter or two, I thought I was never going to make it and I didn't really HEAR everyone when they told me 'you're paper thin - almost completely effaced'. That was the more important piece of information at the time, but all I heard was 5 centimeters and couldn't get passed it. I agreed to the epidural.
Here's the thing, after 3 babies I now know how my body likes to labor. I get stalled at a 5-6 every time until I am completely thinned out and then skyrocket through the rest of labor. But since this was the first time, I had no idea. In my pre-labor arrogance, I had submitted a birth plan that insisted I didn't get an IV unless I needed one. So even though I was ready at that moment for an epidural, I had to get the IV and fluids to hydrate me for an hour before it was actually administered. In the mean time, I continued to labor and struggle. And then I even got sick. They didn't check me again until right after I got the drugs and I was at an 8-9. I probably had just gone through transition and if I had known differently, I would have made a different choice. But the epidural was there and labor slowed down a bit. I rested, Matthew caught a nap and we waited.
When it was finally time to push, we notified the army in the waiting room that it wouldn't be long. Words spoken way too soon. I pushed for 3 hours before Tyler finally arrived. He was posterior, wouldn't come under the bone. They turned him several times (moments I was grateful for the epidural), but as soon as they were out of the way Tyler would turn right back over. The drugs wore off and contractions came back with crushing force, leaving me begging to have the meds topped off again.
It didn't feel like 3 hours to me, of course, it felt like a lot less. However, I was so ready for it to be over. I was tired and in some kind of weird zone where everything around me was muted and I was only able to focus on one tiny thing at a time. Through it all, Matthew and my mom stood by my side counting over and over again, coaxing me through it. At some point, the doctor considered a C-section, but I had made enough progress that it would have been a bigger risk and taken longer than they wanted, so they decided on a different course.
The nurses whispered to my support team that when they started counting everyone should back away from me and steer clear. My family and I had no idea what was coming. A contraction started, the staff counted, my family moved away from me and suddenly my doctor was up on the bed with me and helping me push by pressing hard on my stomach. It was enough to get Tyler's huge head under the bone and then Dr. B. jumped down and made it to the other end of the table in time to catch my son. It was surreal.
Tyler was here, but he wasn't breathing. They were suctioning and alarm was growing. They were heading to the bassinet and Dr. B. was starting to call for a NICU team when Tyler took a huge breath and let out a scream to wake the dead. Longest 20 seconds of all of our lives. The nurses were still scrambling and trying to determine whether or not Tyler needed assistance, but then the doctor said 'Give him to his mother', the all-clear. Tyler was my double miracle. I shouldn't have even gotten pregnant with him (2 forms of birth control, yet here he is) and then the breathing drama. I have always called him my miracle and my saving grace.
I don't think I'll ever forget how that moment felt - holding my son for the first time. I was crying - heck, I'm crying right now again while I write this - and he was screaming. I talked to him and tried to soothe him, but he was really mad. I was flat on my back and couldn't really cradle him, so I crooned and shushed and put my hand to his face. Then his little fist reached up and grabbed hold of one of my fingers and he immediately got quiet. I remember thinking 'You and me kid, we're a team'.
I don't remember the order of who held him first or next. But I remember each one of my family's faces when they held Tyler for the first time. He was our first baby, the first nephew, the first grandbaby. My sister was so overwhelmed, she couldn't even hold him right away. She just looked at us both and sobbed. It's one of my favorite pictures of that day - her pure emotion taking over while she stood by us. (All the really good pictures of all of my babies tend to be with Asheley - don't ask me why. Maybe when she has kids, I'll get the good pics.) My mom stayed with me in the hospital and during our visit, when my dad was there he would sit with Tyler, rocking for hours, holding his little hand. I would have to ask to get my baby back from him.
Matthew, though, he was as proud as a first time dad without actually being one. He and Tyler have always had a super special bond and I am sure that it began with supporting me during my unwed-mother-pregnancy and culminated in helping me through the birth. I always said he could put this on his dating resume - 'Been through childbirth like a pro'. I couldn't have done it without him. He was strong, calm, confident, funny, peaceful. He kept me sane when I needed it most.
And this weekend it was his turn. His baby. His love. Tara's labor was way different than mine and of course, the whole experience for him was certainly far and away more pronounced for him since it was his family that was the center of the drama. He was as even-keeled as ever, even when things were stressful. I used to worry that since he had been through a birth before that it might take something away from what should be his first time, but I don't think I needed to. It's different when it's your own baby. It's still the first time and all births are different. When he carried that baby out of the operating room and showed off his new daughter, I recognized the look on his face. I had seen it in the mirror a few times before. This was HIS daughter, HIS baby, HIS miracle.
I will always be grateful to my brother for stepping up for me and not being squeamish about it. I will always be thankful that he is the most awesome brother you could ever ask for and the best uncle in the world. He has his issues and I certainly get annoyed with him my fair share. But his tolerance is amazing. Both my sister and I have married 2 of his best friends and he hasn't killed us. My third son, Riley, is actually named Matthew Riley. It wasn't a stretch. Both Scotty and I love the name and the man.
Tyler was worried when we found out that Matthew was going to be a dad. He didn't think that Matthew would spend as much time with us or that he wouldn't care as much about him and his brothers. I have spent quite a bit of time reassuring him that Uncle Matthew will always be Uncle Matthew and will always love them more than he could ever know. Tyler kind of vaguely knows that Matthew was there for his birth, but it's one of those facts he readily forgets and doesn't keep track of. But someday, I will tell him in more detail about his birth. About the circumstances and the fears. Someday I will tell him how he has a piece of his uncle that his brothers will never have because he his uncle was there for his birth, for his miracle.
And now my brother is a DAD. Wow!
William Tyler Brawand Wilkinson. April 9, 2000, 11:48 am. 8 lbs 5 oz., 20 inches. Big hands and feet, Brawand family 'Swiss Mountain Climbing' toes, and momma's eyes.
God Bless!
She is gorgeous with a full head of dark hair and my brother's long toes. 7 lbs, 14.5 ounces and 20.5 inches long. Perfect. Beautiful. I've never seen my brother so happy in his entire life. Through tears and over-tired babbling, I forgot to say what I wanted to say to him - 'Welcome to the other side!' Oh well, he's there now. The new family came home from the hospital yesterday afternoon and have now begun the journey of parenthood. It will be very interesting, and I dare say fun, to watch Matthew on this road. He's always been the best uncle you could ask for your children. He's great with all kids and all of our friends love to have him around their little ones as well. But it's different when it's your own. It's more.
Matthew was awesome for the labor and delivery, but I expected nothing less. After all, he had been through this once before. He was my birth partner and support for my labor with Tyler. I remember feeling akward about asking him, I knew my mom would be there to help too. But I wasn't sure how I would react to labor and I wasn't sure how I would react to my mother during labor (funny really, because I would never consider having a baby without her there and she's really awesome), so I wanted a calming influence as well. Matthew didn't even let me get the whole request out of my mouth before he said yes. He knew what I needed and gave freely. He went to birthing classes with me, practiced breathing excersizes with me and remained on call for the last 6 weeks of my pregnancy.
Granted, the night that I actually did go into labor he was out with his buddies and hard to track down because he had left his pager in his truck. We had to actually send someone to find him, but since Denton isn't that big and he had a few hard favorites it wasn't impossible. He met me at the hospital after I was hooked up to monitors, checked in and verfied that my water had indeed broken. Isn't it funny how they have to do that? I mean, there was no question in my mind since the pop and gush had woken me out of a dead sleep. With every contraction enough fluid came out to make me think I had wet my pants. By the time I got to the hospital contractions were coming steadily and not very gently anymore, but the nurses still couldn't take my word for it. They still had to check and make sure I wasn't imagining things and that I was truly in labor.
Still, Matthew came in armed with coffee and a steady dose of humor. He rubbed my back and talked me through contractions. He helped me visualize one of my favorite places. He was a trooper, even though I wasn't. I remember after several hours when they checked me and I had only progressed a centimeter or two, I thought I was never going to make it and I didn't really HEAR everyone when they told me 'you're paper thin - almost completely effaced'. That was the more important piece of information at the time, but all I heard was 5 centimeters and couldn't get passed it. I agreed to the epidural.
Here's the thing, after 3 babies I now know how my body likes to labor. I get stalled at a 5-6 every time until I am completely thinned out and then skyrocket through the rest of labor. But since this was the first time, I had no idea. In my pre-labor arrogance, I had submitted a birth plan that insisted I didn't get an IV unless I needed one. So even though I was ready at that moment for an epidural, I had to get the IV and fluids to hydrate me for an hour before it was actually administered. In the mean time, I continued to labor and struggle. And then I even got sick. They didn't check me again until right after I got the drugs and I was at an 8-9. I probably had just gone through transition and if I had known differently, I would have made a different choice. But the epidural was there and labor slowed down a bit. I rested, Matthew caught a nap and we waited.
When it was finally time to push, we notified the army in the waiting room that it wouldn't be long. Words spoken way too soon. I pushed for 3 hours before Tyler finally arrived. He was posterior, wouldn't come under the bone. They turned him several times (moments I was grateful for the epidural), but as soon as they were out of the way Tyler would turn right back over. The drugs wore off and contractions came back with crushing force, leaving me begging to have the meds topped off again.
It didn't feel like 3 hours to me, of course, it felt like a lot less. However, I was so ready for it to be over. I was tired and in some kind of weird zone where everything around me was muted and I was only able to focus on one tiny thing at a time. Through it all, Matthew and my mom stood by my side counting over and over again, coaxing me through it. At some point, the doctor considered a C-section, but I had made enough progress that it would have been a bigger risk and taken longer than they wanted, so they decided on a different course.
The nurses whispered to my support team that when they started counting everyone should back away from me and steer clear. My family and I had no idea what was coming. A contraction started, the staff counted, my family moved away from me and suddenly my doctor was up on the bed with me and helping me push by pressing hard on my stomach. It was enough to get Tyler's huge head under the bone and then Dr. B. jumped down and made it to the other end of the table in time to catch my son. It was surreal.
Tyler was here, but he wasn't breathing. They were suctioning and alarm was growing. They were heading to the bassinet and Dr. B. was starting to call for a NICU team when Tyler took a huge breath and let out a scream to wake the dead. Longest 20 seconds of all of our lives. The nurses were still scrambling and trying to determine whether or not Tyler needed assistance, but then the doctor said 'Give him to his mother', the all-clear. Tyler was my double miracle. I shouldn't have even gotten pregnant with him (2 forms of birth control, yet here he is) and then the breathing drama. I have always called him my miracle and my saving grace.
I don't think I'll ever forget how that moment felt - holding my son for the first time. I was crying - heck, I'm crying right now again while I write this - and he was screaming. I talked to him and tried to soothe him, but he was really mad. I was flat on my back and couldn't really cradle him, so I crooned and shushed and put my hand to his face. Then his little fist reached up and grabbed hold of one of my fingers and he immediately got quiet. I remember thinking 'You and me kid, we're a team'.
I don't remember the order of who held him first or next. But I remember each one of my family's faces when they held Tyler for the first time. He was our first baby, the first nephew, the first grandbaby. My sister was so overwhelmed, she couldn't even hold him right away. She just looked at us both and sobbed. It's one of my favorite pictures of that day - her pure emotion taking over while she stood by us. (All the really good pictures of all of my babies tend to be with Asheley - don't ask me why. Maybe when she has kids, I'll get the good pics.) My mom stayed with me in the hospital and during our visit, when my dad was there he would sit with Tyler, rocking for hours, holding his little hand. I would have to ask to get my baby back from him.
Matthew, though, he was as proud as a first time dad without actually being one. He and Tyler have always had a super special bond and I am sure that it began with supporting me during my unwed-mother-pregnancy and culminated in helping me through the birth. I always said he could put this on his dating resume - 'Been through childbirth like a pro'. I couldn't have done it without him. He was strong, calm, confident, funny, peaceful. He kept me sane when I needed it most.
And this weekend it was his turn. His baby. His love. Tara's labor was way different than mine and of course, the whole experience for him was certainly far and away more pronounced for him since it was his family that was the center of the drama. He was as even-keeled as ever, even when things were stressful. I used to worry that since he had been through a birth before that it might take something away from what should be his first time, but I don't think I needed to. It's different when it's your own baby. It's still the first time and all births are different. When he carried that baby out of the operating room and showed off his new daughter, I recognized the look on his face. I had seen it in the mirror a few times before. This was HIS daughter, HIS baby, HIS miracle.
I will always be grateful to my brother for stepping up for me and not being squeamish about it. I will always be thankful that he is the most awesome brother you could ever ask for and the best uncle in the world. He has his issues and I certainly get annoyed with him my fair share. But his tolerance is amazing. Both my sister and I have married 2 of his best friends and he hasn't killed us. My third son, Riley, is actually named Matthew Riley. It wasn't a stretch. Both Scotty and I love the name and the man.
Tyler was worried when we found out that Matthew was going to be a dad. He didn't think that Matthew would spend as much time with us or that he wouldn't care as much about him and his brothers. I have spent quite a bit of time reassuring him that Uncle Matthew will always be Uncle Matthew and will always love them more than he could ever know. Tyler kind of vaguely knows that Matthew was there for his birth, but it's one of those facts he readily forgets and doesn't keep track of. But someday, I will tell him in more detail about his birth. About the circumstances and the fears. Someday I will tell him how he has a piece of his uncle that his brothers will never have because he his uncle was there for his birth, for his miracle.
And now my brother is a DAD. Wow!
William Tyler Brawand Wilkinson. April 9, 2000, 11:48 am. 8 lbs 5 oz., 20 inches. Big hands and feet, Brawand family 'Swiss Mountain Climbing' toes, and momma's eyes.
God Bless!
Thursday, October 14, 2010
The Witching Hour - Half Baked . . .
After I worked an 11 hour day on Tuesday and hadn't seen my kids in 24 hours, yesterday morning was very sweet. The kids were extra snuggly and affectionate because they had missed me. They were happy to come sit by me and hug & kiss me every few minutes just because they could. But in the afternoon, the euphoria of being back with Mom wore off and with the added joy of avoiding naps, the little demons came out to play again.
I'm not saying they were any more challenging than any other day between the hours of 3 pm and 5 pm, but it was a close call. Those are the witching hours for me. It's the time of day where they start getting antsy and irritable while I am trying to make dinner and get their older brother through homework. My perfectly loving children of all day just scatter to the wind and the cranky monsters come out to play.
I think all families have their tough times of the day, some it's the mornings, some it's bedtime or naptime. For us, though, it's the late afternoon. I've thought a lot about this and (like most things :) ) I have a half baked theory! Once upon a time, I read in a book (ok, I'm always reading a book so I don't remember if this was some actual scientific physiological study or if it was from a historical romance with a time-travel theme thrown in, but it spoke to me so I've always remembered it) that the time of day you were born was your high point of the day. This is the time of day you either feel the most alive or alert or maybe the most peaceful and clear headed. For some reason this makes sense to me. No matter how drained I get during the day or cranky, I get a burst of energy in the late afternoon, early evening (I think I was born between 4-5 in the afternoon) and I can make a push to get more done. I am more organized at that time, more capable of multi-tasking and making quick decisions. My brother was born sometime between 10 pm and midnight and he is forever a night person. It's not an exact science by any means, but like I said it's always made sense to me.
Now, as far as my theory goes, I don't think this is as highly developed with children. I think it grows with age, except maybe for sleeping - it's harder to get babies to GO to sleep at their particular 'birth time'. But I have begun to think that kids as they grow are more restless or irritable during what was their 'labor time'. See, I told you it was a half baked theory, but I'm always looking for an explanation for everything, and this is what I've come up with! But, bear with me - I'll try to make sense of it.
Tyler is, and always has been, the hardest to handle in the morning. When he was a baby he was up extremely early and didn't settle down again for hours. It was very difficult to get him to sleep through the hours of 2 and 6 am as an infant. As he grew, he always woke early and gave me difficulty with getting him dressed and out the door in the morning. It was in the morning that I had to take him to school naked when he was 3. It is in the morning that we have the most fights, even now. He just doesn't move fast and he can be crazy irritable. He'll be upset about breakfast choices in the pantry that he made himself when we were at the store. He'll drag out getting dressed and getting his lunch made. He's just moody and uncooperative. I labored with Tyler from about 3:00 in the morning until just before noon.
Riley was an induced labor in the evening. Labor was pretty fast and once they broke my water and started the pitocin, I think it was around nine pm and he was born just before midnight. I am sure that like my brother, I have a future night owl on my hands, but since he's still little he usually sleeps pretty good at night. That is IF I get him to bed before nine. With Riley, if we get him down and out before nine, he is out for the night. If it gets much past nine p.m., he will be up for hours.
And then there's Scooter. I'll have to write all my birth stories soon and will save most of the details (not gory ones, I promise) for those future posts, but Scooter's birth was the craziest of all. My water broke around 2 p.m. or so, but labor didn't really start until 4:30. He was born just before 6 p.m. It was fast and furious. I know you can already see where I am going with this, because those are my crazy hours of the day, right? And you are probably saying - Heather, that's just one kid and you just said that they are all kind of tough at that time. You really are half-baked and you aren't making any sense! Patience - it's coming.
Here's the secret that I don't like to admit to myself and would NEVER say aloud in front of my kids. Scooter rules the roost around here. Let me be very clear, we don't favor Scooter over the other two. I try to be as fair as possible to all my kids, even though it's extremely difficult. It's just that Scooter has the most volatile personality of the three. He's the most persnikity of my children. When he's in a good mood, things run more smoothly around here and likewise when he's in a bad mood, it affects everyone in the house. You've heard the saying 'When momma ain't happy . . .' In our house it's 'When Scooter ain't happy . . .'
So Scooter's 'labor time' was the late afternoon and that's when things get crazy around here. When he's cranky, he has the ability to make everyone else miserable. He'll push Riley's buttons and pick a fight until Riley fights back or cries or starts running around saying 'I'm mad cuz I'm really upset.' He'll make things so loud and crazy between the two of them that Tyler will get distracted from his homework and start getting frustrated and cranky and whiney as well. If Scooter had a good lunch and isn't bugging me for pre-dinner snacks, the other two will ride through to dinner without complaint as well. If Scooter starts demanding something to eat and arguing with me about a healthy snack versus a non-healthy choice, they are suddenly all dying of hunger and can't wait a half hour for a meal.
These are the hours that Scooter suddenly doesn't want to be outside in the backyard without me or he insists that he absolutely MUST play in the front yard which he knows requires my presence. He will suddenly change his mind on what should be on the tv, and not care at all what Riley was already watching. He'll decide that whatever toy Riley has is the one he absolutely NEEDS to play with. The smallest thing will set him off for a meltdown that could last for hours.
I hate to admit how crucial Scooter's mood is to the mood of our whole house, but it's true. If Scooter is in a good mood, he is unflappable. He will charm everyone and make peace with everybody. Scooter has his dad's ability to charm a duck out of water when he wants to. He can talk you into almost anything when he's ON. He will make jokes and get both Riley and Tyler out of bad moods at any other point in the day. But if someone else happens to be irritable during his 'witching hour' they can put him in a terrible mood with just a look. And once he's on a roll, he can make the rest of us miserable.
Yesterday, Scooter was annoyed with me for sitting with Tyler while he did his homework so he just walked up to Brewer and hit him for no reason. Since it's Tyler's dog, Tyler told him not to do that so Scooter walked up to Tyler and hit him as well. The ensuing punishment set off a meltdown that lasted until about a half hour after dinner was over. Scott and I are getting better at ignoring these, but they wear on you and Tyler just gets more and more frustrated. I decided during the episode that I needed to re-read the 'Love and Logic' book and give it some more attention for how to 'handle my kids without breaking a sweat'. I have to really work at not letting Scooter be in control of how I parent because of his moods. It's tricky since his mood is the barometer around here, but I can't give in to him all the time either.
The good news is that even though those hours from 3-5 can be enough to make me crazy most days, I am lucky enough to have my 'birth time' moment in there too. I am pretty good at staying a little more patient and calm during those times most days. I don't usually have a fit of my own and start yelling down the house at that time. I want to, but I can usually keep it together (unless I am PMS'ing and then I can't promise anything) and stay cool and collected. I can find a solution to get us through. And by the time Scott walks through the door, I am wasted and exhausted and grateful that he's there to help take over. We get through dinner and the witching hour and have cute, sweet kids again. When Scott is home during the week on occasion and all hell breaks loose in the afternoons he always looks a little surprised. After all, the storm has usually passed by the time he walks in the door at just before six. At Scooter's 'birth time', when he's back to awesomeness and ready to play with his daddy.
Maybe all this is crazy mumbojumbo, but I always feel better if I can find a reason for chaos, so I am going with this whole 'witching hour' theory. It might be half baked, but it works for me!
God Bless You and Keep You Today!
I'm not saying they were any more challenging than any other day between the hours of 3 pm and 5 pm, but it was a close call. Those are the witching hours for me. It's the time of day where they start getting antsy and irritable while I am trying to make dinner and get their older brother through homework. My perfectly loving children of all day just scatter to the wind and the cranky monsters come out to play.
I think all families have their tough times of the day, some it's the mornings, some it's bedtime or naptime. For us, though, it's the late afternoon. I've thought a lot about this and (like most things :) ) I have a half baked theory! Once upon a time, I read in a book (ok, I'm always reading a book so I don't remember if this was some actual scientific physiological study or if it was from a historical romance with a time-travel theme thrown in, but it spoke to me so I've always remembered it) that the time of day you were born was your high point of the day. This is the time of day you either feel the most alive or alert or maybe the most peaceful and clear headed. For some reason this makes sense to me. No matter how drained I get during the day or cranky, I get a burst of energy in the late afternoon, early evening (I think I was born between 4-5 in the afternoon) and I can make a push to get more done. I am more organized at that time, more capable of multi-tasking and making quick decisions. My brother was born sometime between 10 pm and midnight and he is forever a night person. It's not an exact science by any means, but like I said it's always made sense to me.
Now, as far as my theory goes, I don't think this is as highly developed with children. I think it grows with age, except maybe for sleeping - it's harder to get babies to GO to sleep at their particular 'birth time'. But I have begun to think that kids as they grow are more restless or irritable during what was their 'labor time'. See, I told you it was a half baked theory, but I'm always looking for an explanation for everything, and this is what I've come up with! But, bear with me - I'll try to make sense of it.
Tyler is, and always has been, the hardest to handle in the morning. When he was a baby he was up extremely early and didn't settle down again for hours. It was very difficult to get him to sleep through the hours of 2 and 6 am as an infant. As he grew, he always woke early and gave me difficulty with getting him dressed and out the door in the morning. It was in the morning that I had to take him to school naked when he was 3. It is in the morning that we have the most fights, even now. He just doesn't move fast and he can be crazy irritable. He'll be upset about breakfast choices in the pantry that he made himself when we were at the store. He'll drag out getting dressed and getting his lunch made. He's just moody and uncooperative. I labored with Tyler from about 3:00 in the morning until just before noon.
Riley was an induced labor in the evening. Labor was pretty fast and once they broke my water and started the pitocin, I think it was around nine pm and he was born just before midnight. I am sure that like my brother, I have a future night owl on my hands, but since he's still little he usually sleeps pretty good at night. That is IF I get him to bed before nine. With Riley, if we get him down and out before nine, he is out for the night. If it gets much past nine p.m., he will be up for hours.
And then there's Scooter. I'll have to write all my birth stories soon and will save most of the details (not gory ones, I promise) for those future posts, but Scooter's birth was the craziest of all. My water broke around 2 p.m. or so, but labor didn't really start until 4:30. He was born just before 6 p.m. It was fast and furious. I know you can already see where I am going with this, because those are my crazy hours of the day, right? And you are probably saying - Heather, that's just one kid and you just said that they are all kind of tough at that time. You really are half-baked and you aren't making any sense! Patience - it's coming.
Here's the secret that I don't like to admit to myself and would NEVER say aloud in front of my kids. Scooter rules the roost around here. Let me be very clear, we don't favor Scooter over the other two. I try to be as fair as possible to all my kids, even though it's extremely difficult. It's just that Scooter has the most volatile personality of the three. He's the most persnikity of my children. When he's in a good mood, things run more smoothly around here and likewise when he's in a bad mood, it affects everyone in the house. You've heard the saying 'When momma ain't happy . . .' In our house it's 'When Scooter ain't happy . . .'
So Scooter's 'labor time' was the late afternoon and that's when things get crazy around here. When he's cranky, he has the ability to make everyone else miserable. He'll push Riley's buttons and pick a fight until Riley fights back or cries or starts running around saying 'I'm mad cuz I'm really upset.' He'll make things so loud and crazy between the two of them that Tyler will get distracted from his homework and start getting frustrated and cranky and whiney as well. If Scooter had a good lunch and isn't bugging me for pre-dinner snacks, the other two will ride through to dinner without complaint as well. If Scooter starts demanding something to eat and arguing with me about a healthy snack versus a non-healthy choice, they are suddenly all dying of hunger and can't wait a half hour for a meal.
These are the hours that Scooter suddenly doesn't want to be outside in the backyard without me or he insists that he absolutely MUST play in the front yard which he knows requires my presence. He will suddenly change his mind on what should be on the tv, and not care at all what Riley was already watching. He'll decide that whatever toy Riley has is the one he absolutely NEEDS to play with. The smallest thing will set him off for a meltdown that could last for hours.
I hate to admit how crucial Scooter's mood is to the mood of our whole house, but it's true. If Scooter is in a good mood, he is unflappable. He will charm everyone and make peace with everybody. Scooter has his dad's ability to charm a duck out of water when he wants to. He can talk you into almost anything when he's ON. He will make jokes and get both Riley and Tyler out of bad moods at any other point in the day. But if someone else happens to be irritable during his 'witching hour' they can put him in a terrible mood with just a look. And once he's on a roll, he can make the rest of us miserable.
Yesterday, Scooter was annoyed with me for sitting with Tyler while he did his homework so he just walked up to Brewer and hit him for no reason. Since it's Tyler's dog, Tyler told him not to do that so Scooter walked up to Tyler and hit him as well. The ensuing punishment set off a meltdown that lasted until about a half hour after dinner was over. Scott and I are getting better at ignoring these, but they wear on you and Tyler just gets more and more frustrated. I decided during the episode that I needed to re-read the 'Love and Logic' book and give it some more attention for how to 'handle my kids without breaking a sweat'. I have to really work at not letting Scooter be in control of how I parent because of his moods. It's tricky since his mood is the barometer around here, but I can't give in to him all the time either.
The good news is that even though those hours from 3-5 can be enough to make me crazy most days, I am lucky enough to have my 'birth time' moment in there too. I am pretty good at staying a little more patient and calm during those times most days. I don't usually have a fit of my own and start yelling down the house at that time. I want to, but I can usually keep it together (unless I am PMS'ing and then I can't promise anything) and stay cool and collected. I can find a solution to get us through. And by the time Scott walks through the door, I am wasted and exhausted and grateful that he's there to help take over. We get through dinner and the witching hour and have cute, sweet kids again. When Scott is home during the week on occasion and all hell breaks loose in the afternoons he always looks a little surprised. After all, the storm has usually passed by the time he walks in the door at just before six. At Scooter's 'birth time', when he's back to awesomeness and ready to play with his daddy.
Maybe all this is crazy mumbojumbo, but I always feel better if I can find a reason for chaos, so I am going with this whole 'witching hour' theory. It might be half baked, but it works for me!
God Bless You and Keep You Today!
Saturday, October 9, 2010
Being Mature Sucks Sometimes . . .
Another working Saturday for my hubby today so it's day 6 in a row that I am on my own with the munchkins. It's really no different from another work day for either one of us except I don't have to get up at 6:15 and by day 6 the kids are restless. They know it's been too long without their dad and sometimes by Saturday afternoon things get a little hairy. The benefit of Scott working every 3rd Saturday is that he gets the following Friday off, a built in 3 day weekend at least once a month. This week he also has off on Monday for Columbus Day - one of the benefits of working for a Bank is that you actually get to have Bank Holidays off.
This particular week has the added bonus of giving us Tyler at home too for a couple of days. He has his annual fair day on Monday (for the benefit of my fellow yankees - State Fair of Texas is in October and all public schools give kids a day off for the fair and a free ticket) followed by an inservice day on Tuesday. This has the makings of a great long family weekend together once we get through today. However, as things go around here most of the time - it's not that easy.
First of all, Tyler isn't here. He's gone to his dad's in Denton for the weekend and won't be home until Sunday night. It's supposed to be my weekend, but we traded so that Tyler and Scott could go on a cub scout campout last weekend. I am grateful for the switch, but I hate that it turned out we don't get Tyler for most of our long weekend. Still, at least when he comes home he doesn't have to turn around and go to school the next day. He still gets to have a couple of days with us too which is a bonus.
Second, I'm actually going to work this week. I usually do a little consulting work during the month that can either be done from home or I am free to take the little ones with me when I go into the office. The office is actually a 20 acre ranch populated with horses, goats, dogs, a favorite auntie and a grandma. Plus a resident grand-baby that is now 8 months old and getting fun for Scooter and Riley to play with. Or at least he is trying to play with the older kids. Work is work, but it's not really WORK if you get what I mean. It's also fun - especially when I get to take a break and rock the baby - because I can take the kids and not feel like I am sacrificing anything while I help out my friends and make a few dollars on the side too.
This week is different though. Through a former associate and friend, I had the opportunity last spring to work a sales conference for TI at a hotel in Plano. It was a long week with long hours, but the work was easy. Mostly I helped people check in and find classrooms and bathrooms. Free lunches and great pay - it was a lot of fun. I worked with another friend of mine that I met at my last job and really miss. It was fun to get out of the house even though by the end of the week I was really ready to be home again. They have asked me back for their annual Tech Day this week at a hotel right down the street from my house. This time it isn't a full week, it's just a half day for set up and one long day of work.
I really debated if I should take the assignment this time because there are so many variables at play this week. After all, my family is off. My brothers baby is overdue and could make her appearance any minute. I pulled the kids out of day care so I don't have the automatic child care for the long day of work and my parents are kind of on call to run to Austin any second - makes it hard to plan child care. Plus Monday is Fair Day and my hubby is actually off and some friends from Fort Worth will be there all day as well. That could have been cool.
I really didn't want to commit to the assignment knowing that if the new baby is born, I would want to drop everything and run to Austin. But I don't do this kind of thing often and it's fun and a great opportunity. It's a good networking environment should I ever decide that I don't want to be a stay at home mom anymore. It's good money and if I go to the fair, I'll spend as much as I would have made taking the job. And if I do it Monday and Tuesday this week, then I will probably be asked back in the spring again which is well worth it.
So I lined up back up child care for Tuesday (God Bless my mother-in-law) in case my parents are out of town. I committed to the dates knowing that the baby could be born those days. I know that my sense of loyalty and work ethic (thanks Dad) will not let me bail out at the last minute even if Tara's labor begins. This is particularly hard because it would be really convenient to make the trip when everyone is off and I wouldn't have to pull Tyler out of school for a day. I'll just have to miss the main event if that happens and go down after. Sigh. (Maybe she'll be born today and make this a moot point!)
Maturity bites sometimes, but life is all about choices. This is a choice I am making because of maximum benefit to my family. Even though I would rather be at home or the fair or Austin holding a newborn, I am delaying gratification so that I can meet other needs for us as a family. Grumble, sigh, grumble. I can be mature and do the right thing, but I don't have to like it! I'll just pretend to like it so that I am modeling the correct behavior for my kids. Ick.
As I take Scooter to his soccer game today, I will be diligently hoping that Tara's water breaks sometime this morning or early afternoon so that I can take my trip and be back in time to work at noon on Monday. I have already bribed Scooter (okay not the best modeling, but it's working!) with another light saber if he takes the next step in his soccer journey. Two games ago, he played the game without holding my hand the whole game. Last week, he didn't just let go he got into the game and ran well away from me leaving me in the center of the field while he chased the ball. This week, the goal is to let me leave the field. He was determined to have me on the field for the game but the thought of getting a blue light saber just like his neighbor friend Noah has is giving him the courage to let me stand on the outside of the gated-off indoor field. If he succeeds we will go directly from the game to Target and then home for (hopefully) nap time.
And by the time Scotty gets home tonight I will be more than ready for him to be home for a couple of days, knocking off a few items on the house to-do list and entertaining the kids for a bit. It'll be a novel thing to leave him on Monday with 3 boys while I go to work for a few hours. I will try not to cry when the baby is born not on my schedule, but her own and I can't be there for the main event. And when I am done working a 12 hour day on Tuesday, I will be ready to haul down south and hold my new niece (if she's here) and not worry about not being there as soon as she's born. I will be glad I made some extra money for my home improvement projects and I will have renewed my appreciation for having the priveledge of staying home with my kids every day.
Maturity - delaying gratification for the greater good, the greater benefit - isn't easy some times. Most times. Sometimes I wanna just be like my kids and demand what I want when I want it. Sometimes I wanna stomp my feet and yell 'It's Not Fair!' too. But I won't. I'll suck it up and do what needs to be done. And then I'll grumble about it to myself the whole time and sulk within my mind about what I am missing.
Thanks and God Bless!
This particular week has the added bonus of giving us Tyler at home too for a couple of days. He has his annual fair day on Monday (for the benefit of my fellow yankees - State Fair of Texas is in October and all public schools give kids a day off for the fair and a free ticket) followed by an inservice day on Tuesday. This has the makings of a great long family weekend together once we get through today. However, as things go around here most of the time - it's not that easy.
First of all, Tyler isn't here. He's gone to his dad's in Denton for the weekend and won't be home until Sunday night. It's supposed to be my weekend, but we traded so that Tyler and Scott could go on a cub scout campout last weekend. I am grateful for the switch, but I hate that it turned out we don't get Tyler for most of our long weekend. Still, at least when he comes home he doesn't have to turn around and go to school the next day. He still gets to have a couple of days with us too which is a bonus.
Second, I'm actually going to work this week. I usually do a little consulting work during the month that can either be done from home or I am free to take the little ones with me when I go into the office. The office is actually a 20 acre ranch populated with horses, goats, dogs, a favorite auntie and a grandma. Plus a resident grand-baby that is now 8 months old and getting fun for Scooter and Riley to play with. Or at least he is trying to play with the older kids. Work is work, but it's not really WORK if you get what I mean. It's also fun - especially when I get to take a break and rock the baby - because I can take the kids and not feel like I am sacrificing anything while I help out my friends and make a few dollars on the side too.
This week is different though. Through a former associate and friend, I had the opportunity last spring to work a sales conference for TI at a hotel in Plano. It was a long week with long hours, but the work was easy. Mostly I helped people check in and find classrooms and bathrooms. Free lunches and great pay - it was a lot of fun. I worked with another friend of mine that I met at my last job and really miss. It was fun to get out of the house even though by the end of the week I was really ready to be home again. They have asked me back for their annual Tech Day this week at a hotel right down the street from my house. This time it isn't a full week, it's just a half day for set up and one long day of work.
I really debated if I should take the assignment this time because there are so many variables at play this week. After all, my family is off. My brothers baby is overdue and could make her appearance any minute. I pulled the kids out of day care so I don't have the automatic child care for the long day of work and my parents are kind of on call to run to Austin any second - makes it hard to plan child care. Plus Monday is Fair Day and my hubby is actually off and some friends from Fort Worth will be there all day as well. That could have been cool.
I really didn't want to commit to the assignment knowing that if the new baby is born, I would want to drop everything and run to Austin. But I don't do this kind of thing often and it's fun and a great opportunity. It's a good networking environment should I ever decide that I don't want to be a stay at home mom anymore. It's good money and if I go to the fair, I'll spend as much as I would have made taking the job. And if I do it Monday and Tuesday this week, then I will probably be asked back in the spring again which is well worth it.
So I lined up back up child care for Tuesday (God Bless my mother-in-law) in case my parents are out of town. I committed to the dates knowing that the baby could be born those days. I know that my sense of loyalty and work ethic (thanks Dad) will not let me bail out at the last minute even if Tara's labor begins. This is particularly hard because it would be really convenient to make the trip when everyone is off and I wouldn't have to pull Tyler out of school for a day. I'll just have to miss the main event if that happens and go down after. Sigh. (Maybe she'll be born today and make this a moot point!)
Maturity bites sometimes, but life is all about choices. This is a choice I am making because of maximum benefit to my family. Even though I would rather be at home or the fair or Austin holding a newborn, I am delaying gratification so that I can meet other needs for us as a family. Grumble, sigh, grumble. I can be mature and do the right thing, but I don't have to like it! I'll just pretend to like it so that I am modeling the correct behavior for my kids. Ick.
As I take Scooter to his soccer game today, I will be diligently hoping that Tara's water breaks sometime this morning or early afternoon so that I can take my trip and be back in time to work at noon on Monday. I have already bribed Scooter (okay not the best modeling, but it's working!) with another light saber if he takes the next step in his soccer journey. Two games ago, he played the game without holding my hand the whole game. Last week, he didn't just let go he got into the game and ran well away from me leaving me in the center of the field while he chased the ball. This week, the goal is to let me leave the field. He was determined to have me on the field for the game but the thought of getting a blue light saber just like his neighbor friend Noah has is giving him the courage to let me stand on the outside of the gated-off indoor field. If he succeeds we will go directly from the game to Target and then home for (hopefully) nap time.
And by the time Scotty gets home tonight I will be more than ready for him to be home for a couple of days, knocking off a few items on the house to-do list and entertaining the kids for a bit. It'll be a novel thing to leave him on Monday with 3 boys while I go to work for a few hours. I will try not to cry when the baby is born not on my schedule, but her own and I can't be there for the main event. And when I am done working a 12 hour day on Tuesday, I will be ready to haul down south and hold my new niece (if she's here) and not worry about not being there as soon as she's born. I will be glad I made some extra money for my home improvement projects and I will have renewed my appreciation for having the priveledge of staying home with my kids every day.
Maturity - delaying gratification for the greater good, the greater benefit - isn't easy some times. Most times. Sometimes I wanna just be like my kids and demand what I want when I want it. Sometimes I wanna stomp my feet and yell 'It's Not Fair!' too. But I won't. I'll suck it up and do what needs to be done. And then I'll grumble about it to myself the whole time and sulk within my mind about what I am missing.
Thanks and God Bless!
Thursday, October 7, 2010
It's not exciting, it's just my life . . .
I wish right now that the gnomes had not stolen and hid my USB cable for my camera. I wish that I could snap a photo of my munchkins and post it here for you. Scooter is running around in a wife beater that is slightly too small for him, wearing his favorite jeans that don't just have belt loops but the extra loops for tools, etc., a belt that he doesn't need but makes him feel like he's a true jedi because they all wear belts, a utility hook that helps him hang a light saber from his waist and carrying around a star wars blaster gun. Riley is dutifully following him around with a blanket as a jedi cape, a Chewbacca tshirt and a red glove on one hand because for some reason a running theme in the Star Wars movies is to cut off people's hands and replace them with robotic ones that must be covered in a glove.
The cutest part though, is not how they look, it's what they sound like. As they run around the house fighting the bad guys, they are intermittently coming to the kitchen table to munch on dry cereal for breakfast and giving me an earful. The conversation this morning is mostly centered around light sabers, who has what kind and what they do with them. Scooter just told me that he and Riley fight bad guys better than the people with light sabers in the movies and they could really help if they could just be there. He also wants to try and find a real light saber instead of the play ones we have at home. He has the idea that if he could jump into the movies, someone would give him their real light saber and he could bring it back home.
The boys woke early this morning and immediately found one of their favorite books, Tyler's STAR WARS encyclopedia. It's a full color guide to every character you could think of in all 6 movies, even the ones you never knew had names. They page through together telling each other everything they know and don't know about the characters. The conversation turns to when we are going to see Matthew when this baby is born and Riley announces that he is going to show Uncle Matthew his new green light saber.
Scooter told us at dinner the other night that he was worried about Matthew and that he didn't think he could hold his new baby. Why? Because you have to be very careful holding little babies and Matthew lost all his balance. Whenever Matthew holds him and Riley, he just falls over on a bed or something, he doesn't have any balance. It didn't occur to Scooter that Matthew is just playing with them, he must be just clumsy. I don't know how he's gonna get his balance back mama, but we need to help him.
Scooter told Riley that when we go to Austin, there would just be a few bad guys to fight, but they could do it. He thinks Matthew might tickle them. He wants to pack his bag now with all their weapons, but it would be unpacked five minutes later so they could fight again.
They asked about their halloween costumes, when they were coming and why it was taking so long (I ordered them 2 days ago, no patience for the mail!). We looked up the tracking info on the computer, 2 boys perched on my lap while I tried to work the mouse and keyboard. Satisfied, they wandered to the back of the house to watch Luke rescue Han Solo from Jabba's clutches once again.
These are the mornings that I love. Mornings that everyone wakes up in a good mood and they play nice together. I love listening to the boys talk to eachother and plot together and play. There's nothing thrilling about the day, nothing exciting or unusual happening, but everyone is home and happy and comfortable running around in their pjs or their makeshift costumes for the morning. I have a hard time ruining these days by making everyone get dressed and get out the door. I need to go to work sometime today, but it's hard to make myself upset the balance.
These are the days that I don't care about not having adults to speak to all day. I don't really care if my life revolves around cheerios, star wars, potty training and ABC's. I don't think about what I am missing being at home or what I don't have money to do because I am not working. I just love that I am here. I am not missing anything with my kids which is the best part of the job I have right now. And even though Scott has to run off to work and isn't here to see every one of these moments, I can tell him about them which is better than missing everything because the day care teachers got to enjoy it all.
Sitting in my pj's, sipping my coffee, enjoying the morning kisses and laid back fun of not having anywhere I have to be right at this moment. Just letting my kids be themselves and be safe and secure in their home. This is the joy of a life as a homemaker. It's a tough job most days and the down time doesn't last very long in the mornings, but it is pretty darn awesome while it does.
And I really don't want to forget all these priceless gems that spill from the kids mouths. I don't want to miss any of them. Like when I am on the phone and Scooter runs up to me and asks who I am talking to. If it's anyone other than one of his grandmothers he says 'Then you're yakking!' If it's the grandma's he'll say 'Then you're not yakking!' He is constantly telling me that I was just 'yakking and yakking' on the phone. Wonder where he learned that phrase from? (As my husband snickers to himself!)
Last night when I wasn't feeling well and crawled in bed to watch tv and go to sleep early, they both snuggled in with me and gave me tons of kisses to make me feel better. I couldn't really hear my programs over Riley asking repeatedly if there were shooting guns in every show, but I didn't really care either.
Later today, when one or both of the kids is cranky or moody or ornery and they are having a meltdown or fighting over a toy or crying because I didn't put the right shoes on their feet or pour the milk in the right cup - it will be hard to remember this feeling, this peace. I will be ready to pull my hair out and scream and run away for a five minute break. I will wonder again what the heck I am doing and why. I will have to try and remember the sweetness, the joy. Sometimes it's difficult in those crazy moments, but every morning it all starts over again. Every night, they are sweet and snuggly again before they go to bed. Every morning brings me the reminder that it's all worth it.
Thanks and God Bless!
The cutest part though, is not how they look, it's what they sound like. As they run around the house fighting the bad guys, they are intermittently coming to the kitchen table to munch on dry cereal for breakfast and giving me an earful. The conversation this morning is mostly centered around light sabers, who has what kind and what they do with them. Scooter just told me that he and Riley fight bad guys better than the people with light sabers in the movies and they could really help if they could just be there. He also wants to try and find a real light saber instead of the play ones we have at home. He has the idea that if he could jump into the movies, someone would give him their real light saber and he could bring it back home.
The boys woke early this morning and immediately found one of their favorite books, Tyler's STAR WARS encyclopedia. It's a full color guide to every character you could think of in all 6 movies, even the ones you never knew had names. They page through together telling each other everything they know and don't know about the characters. The conversation turns to when we are going to see Matthew when this baby is born and Riley announces that he is going to show Uncle Matthew his new green light saber.
Scooter told us at dinner the other night that he was worried about Matthew and that he didn't think he could hold his new baby. Why? Because you have to be very careful holding little babies and Matthew lost all his balance. Whenever Matthew holds him and Riley, he just falls over on a bed or something, he doesn't have any balance. It didn't occur to Scooter that Matthew is just playing with them, he must be just clumsy. I don't know how he's gonna get his balance back mama, but we need to help him.
Scooter told Riley that when we go to Austin, there would just be a few bad guys to fight, but they could do it. He thinks Matthew might tickle them. He wants to pack his bag now with all their weapons, but it would be unpacked five minutes later so they could fight again.
They asked about their halloween costumes, when they were coming and why it was taking so long (I ordered them 2 days ago, no patience for the mail!). We looked up the tracking info on the computer, 2 boys perched on my lap while I tried to work the mouse and keyboard. Satisfied, they wandered to the back of the house to watch Luke rescue Han Solo from Jabba's clutches once again.
These are the mornings that I love. Mornings that everyone wakes up in a good mood and they play nice together. I love listening to the boys talk to eachother and plot together and play. There's nothing thrilling about the day, nothing exciting or unusual happening, but everyone is home and happy and comfortable running around in their pjs or their makeshift costumes for the morning. I have a hard time ruining these days by making everyone get dressed and get out the door. I need to go to work sometime today, but it's hard to make myself upset the balance.
These are the days that I don't care about not having adults to speak to all day. I don't really care if my life revolves around cheerios, star wars, potty training and ABC's. I don't think about what I am missing being at home or what I don't have money to do because I am not working. I just love that I am here. I am not missing anything with my kids which is the best part of the job I have right now. And even though Scott has to run off to work and isn't here to see every one of these moments, I can tell him about them which is better than missing everything because the day care teachers got to enjoy it all.
Sitting in my pj's, sipping my coffee, enjoying the morning kisses and laid back fun of not having anywhere I have to be right at this moment. Just letting my kids be themselves and be safe and secure in their home. This is the joy of a life as a homemaker. It's a tough job most days and the down time doesn't last very long in the mornings, but it is pretty darn awesome while it does.
And I really don't want to forget all these priceless gems that spill from the kids mouths. I don't want to miss any of them. Like when I am on the phone and Scooter runs up to me and asks who I am talking to. If it's anyone other than one of his grandmothers he says 'Then you're yakking!' If it's the grandma's he'll say 'Then you're not yakking!' He is constantly telling me that I was just 'yakking and yakking' on the phone. Wonder where he learned that phrase from? (As my husband snickers to himself!)
Last night when I wasn't feeling well and crawled in bed to watch tv and go to sleep early, they both snuggled in with me and gave me tons of kisses to make me feel better. I couldn't really hear my programs over Riley asking repeatedly if there were shooting guns in every show, but I didn't really care either.
Later today, when one or both of the kids is cranky or moody or ornery and they are having a meltdown or fighting over a toy or crying because I didn't put the right shoes on their feet or pour the milk in the right cup - it will be hard to remember this feeling, this peace. I will be ready to pull my hair out and scream and run away for a five minute break. I will wonder again what the heck I am doing and why. I will have to try and remember the sweetness, the joy. Sometimes it's difficult in those crazy moments, but every morning it all starts over again. Every night, they are sweet and snuggly again before they go to bed. Every morning brings me the reminder that it's all worth it.
Thanks and God Bless!
Tuesday, October 5, 2010
Sharing a Birthday . . .
Hmmm. Another birthday. Another year in the books so to speak. I usually try to lay low on my birthday and pretend it's not really happening, but facebook doesn't really let you do that. When I shuffled into the kitchen at 6:30 this morning and turned on my computer, I already had six or seven birthday wishes waiting for me, followed up by 2 texts from friends who are early risers.
I used to love my birthday, before I had kids. I looked forward to it and got excited about it, but it's amazing how giving birth yourself changes everything. (Well, the whole getting older thing has it's drawbacks too!) The focus isn't on me much anymore at all, it's on them. My kids look forward to their birthdays all year. Pretty much as soon as they get through one birthday they are looking forward to the next one. We can't talk about one kids birthday without the others chiming in and talking about theirs.
Kids change your birthday. Which makes me think about my dad. I was born on my dad's 26th birthday - his first child. Isn't that cool? Now, there was really no way for my parents to know this was going to happen since my mom thought she was pregnant for 14 months. I've heard my whole life how I was 5 months late. Not possible, I know. Suffice it to say, my mom was pregnant, verified by doctors, but didn't have any signs of a miscarriage. Even the doctors were stumped. I'm sure there are scientific explanations for this, but back a hundred years ago they didn't have an answer. No ultrasounds to help see what was going on. My mom's pregnancy was slow to progress which probably means there was some kind of pregnancy and then an end to a pregnancy and then I was conceived. But mom didn't know that so she went on maternity leave in the spring, had her baby shower in the spring and her sister, my aunt Kaye, came home from Florida in the spring to await my arrival which didn't happen until the fall. Poor Mom.
I can't even imagine what that was like for mom since pregnancy is long enough as it is. The first time you have a baby it feels like the pregnancy is never ending and mom likes to tell me when I complain about a baby taking too long to arrive that her pregnancy with me really WAS never ending. Whenever I would want to cry in a doctor's office at week 39 because my doctor couldn't tell me when things were going to happen, she would remind me of how her doctors dreaded her appointments and didn't want to face her because they really didn't have an answer for her on when her pregnancy might actually reach term. It has given her plenty of fuel for guilt trips over the years! :) I like to think that I was just waiting for dad's birthday.
Here's the thing - there's kind of an unplanned weird tradition in my dad's family. Going a few generations back, there was a baby born when a parent in the family was 26. Grandpa was 26 when Dad was born, his dad was 26 when Grandpa was born, etc. Dad was 26 the day I was born. And guess what? I was 26 when I had Tyler. (I like to say that all a guy had to do was look at me that year and I was going to get pregnant, even though I certainly wasn't planning on continuing the tradition at that point.) So obviously, I couldn't have been born before the 5th of October, because Dad needed to be 26 when I came along!
So Dad's birthday was irrevocably changed when I was born, doubly so since it was actually on his birthday. When I was little, I didn't really get that we shared a birthday because I was as self involved as all children are. It was MY birthday. At some point the awareness that I was sharing my birthday with my daddy did kick in and I don't know how I felt about it at first, but it didn't take long for me to love it. I think he likes it too. He always said I was the best birthday present he ever got. And I am pretty sure over the years, he was happy to let my celebrations take center stage since I was his daughter. I know that's how I would have been as a parent.
As the years have passed (and passed and passed), my appreciation for this happy coincidence has multiplied immeasurably. Once I got through the years that I was obsessed with gaining a particular age of maturity: 16 for a drivers license, 18 for voting and adulthood, 21 for legally entering bars and consuming their wares - I started to appreciate it more. When I stopped caring about the ever increasing numbers associated with my birthday, I began to really appreciate the miracle of sharing the day of my birth with my father.
What's great about having a shared birthday with someone you love is that you don't really get the opportunity to think only about yourself. I can't really forget that the day is happening (or pretend to) because I want to remember dad's day. I don't think about what cards or gifts or wishes I might get, I think about the ones I am going to give my dad. I don't want to have a party or a dinner for just me, I want to share it with him.
Today we are waiting for news that my brother's girlfriend is in labor with the first granddaughter on my side of the family. She was technically due yesterday and my dad has said the whole time that she should be born today, on our birthday. I really tried not to think about it or hope for it the whole time because I knew the odds were against us. I have insisted that my dad choose a place for our birthday dinner on the off chance that we aren't driving to Austin today for a birth. I am progressing through my day as if it's not happening. But the truth is, as I sit here, I keep hoping for a text or phone call that will tell me to hit the road in a hurry and that my niece is arriving today. How awesome would it be for my dad that his first granddaughter was born on his birthday too? I think I want it for him, more than me, but I would love to share my day with my niece the way my dad shared his day with me too.
A friend of mine said 'But then you would have to share your birthday with another person! It wouldn't be just you and your dad's special thing anymore.' This particular friend was born on her parent's anniversary which I think is pretty awesome too. I don't care. I would be happy to let little Jocelyn have the glory for the next 20 years and just sit in the background with my dad, letting her have center stage.
I only asked 2 things of my family for my birthday. One - I wanted the house picked up last night so that when I came out of my room this morning I wouldn't feel like I had a bunch of housework to do. They complied and my husband also vacuumed and swept for me. So I don't have anything I HAVE to do today. I also asked for birthday kisses from all my boys. They are providing them in spades. It's worth turning a year older to have little Riley come up to me and say 'Appy Berday Momma!' or have Tyler remember as soon as he rolls out of bed and run to hug me and give me birthday wishes or have Scooter come up to me and snuggle and kiss me over and over again, but avoid saying the actual words until he's ready. My husband always makes my day special by never letting me forget all day that it's my birthday. He tried to convince me last night to stay up late so that we could start my birthday right at midnight! (Sorry, mom of 3 here, need some sleep!)
I am going to embrace the day today instead of hiding from it! I bought myself a Dove Bar last night so that I could have chocolate for breakfast on my birthday, because if I'm gonna do it - I'm gonna do it right. I also bought myself 2 scratch off lottery tickets because it's a guilty pleasure of mine. I'm going to sit on my butt and watch some recorded TV shows and love on my boys all day. Tonight I am taking my family for dinner with my parents. We are going to Gloria's agian because among other things my dad and I have in common - we both love our beef fajitas! If only Gloria's provided Chocolate Creme Pie, we would both be in heaven. I have already had a number of birthday phone calls, texts and facebook messages which I am reveling in. How fun is it that people are thinking of me today? Nice. Gonna enjoy it. Totally appreciate it! Dad and I already spoke this morning and wished each other happy birthday. I asked him what he was doing and he said he was going to play with his dog Rebel in the yard - just another day. And if my niece isn't born today, that's fine too. I will shift gears and hope that she waits for my little sister's birthday next Monday. I think Asheley should get to share a birthday with someone special too!
Love to All and God Bless!
I used to love my birthday, before I had kids. I looked forward to it and got excited about it, but it's amazing how giving birth yourself changes everything. (Well, the whole getting older thing has it's drawbacks too!) The focus isn't on me much anymore at all, it's on them. My kids look forward to their birthdays all year. Pretty much as soon as they get through one birthday they are looking forward to the next one. We can't talk about one kids birthday without the others chiming in and talking about theirs.
Kids change your birthday. Which makes me think about my dad. I was born on my dad's 26th birthday - his first child. Isn't that cool? Now, there was really no way for my parents to know this was going to happen since my mom thought she was pregnant for 14 months. I've heard my whole life how I was 5 months late. Not possible, I know. Suffice it to say, my mom was pregnant, verified by doctors, but didn't have any signs of a miscarriage. Even the doctors were stumped. I'm sure there are scientific explanations for this, but back a hundred years ago they didn't have an answer. No ultrasounds to help see what was going on. My mom's pregnancy was slow to progress which probably means there was some kind of pregnancy and then an end to a pregnancy and then I was conceived. But mom didn't know that so she went on maternity leave in the spring, had her baby shower in the spring and her sister, my aunt Kaye, came home from Florida in the spring to await my arrival which didn't happen until the fall. Poor Mom.
I can't even imagine what that was like for mom since pregnancy is long enough as it is. The first time you have a baby it feels like the pregnancy is never ending and mom likes to tell me when I complain about a baby taking too long to arrive that her pregnancy with me really WAS never ending. Whenever I would want to cry in a doctor's office at week 39 because my doctor couldn't tell me when things were going to happen, she would remind me of how her doctors dreaded her appointments and didn't want to face her because they really didn't have an answer for her on when her pregnancy might actually reach term. It has given her plenty of fuel for guilt trips over the years! :) I like to think that I was just waiting for dad's birthday.
Here's the thing - there's kind of an unplanned weird tradition in my dad's family. Going a few generations back, there was a baby born when a parent in the family was 26. Grandpa was 26 when Dad was born, his dad was 26 when Grandpa was born, etc. Dad was 26 the day I was born. And guess what? I was 26 when I had Tyler. (I like to say that all a guy had to do was look at me that year and I was going to get pregnant, even though I certainly wasn't planning on continuing the tradition at that point.) So obviously, I couldn't have been born before the 5th of October, because Dad needed to be 26 when I came along!
So Dad's birthday was irrevocably changed when I was born, doubly so since it was actually on his birthday. When I was little, I didn't really get that we shared a birthday because I was as self involved as all children are. It was MY birthday. At some point the awareness that I was sharing my birthday with my daddy did kick in and I don't know how I felt about it at first, but it didn't take long for me to love it. I think he likes it too. He always said I was the best birthday present he ever got. And I am pretty sure over the years, he was happy to let my celebrations take center stage since I was his daughter. I know that's how I would have been as a parent.
As the years have passed (and passed and passed), my appreciation for this happy coincidence has multiplied immeasurably. Once I got through the years that I was obsessed with gaining a particular age of maturity: 16 for a drivers license, 18 for voting and adulthood, 21 for legally entering bars and consuming their wares - I started to appreciate it more. When I stopped caring about the ever increasing numbers associated with my birthday, I began to really appreciate the miracle of sharing the day of my birth with my father.
What's great about having a shared birthday with someone you love is that you don't really get the opportunity to think only about yourself. I can't really forget that the day is happening (or pretend to) because I want to remember dad's day. I don't think about what cards or gifts or wishes I might get, I think about the ones I am going to give my dad. I don't want to have a party or a dinner for just me, I want to share it with him.
Today we are waiting for news that my brother's girlfriend is in labor with the first granddaughter on my side of the family. She was technically due yesterday and my dad has said the whole time that she should be born today, on our birthday. I really tried not to think about it or hope for it the whole time because I knew the odds were against us. I have insisted that my dad choose a place for our birthday dinner on the off chance that we aren't driving to Austin today for a birth. I am progressing through my day as if it's not happening. But the truth is, as I sit here, I keep hoping for a text or phone call that will tell me to hit the road in a hurry and that my niece is arriving today. How awesome would it be for my dad that his first granddaughter was born on his birthday too? I think I want it for him, more than me, but I would love to share my day with my niece the way my dad shared his day with me too.
A friend of mine said 'But then you would have to share your birthday with another person! It wouldn't be just you and your dad's special thing anymore.' This particular friend was born on her parent's anniversary which I think is pretty awesome too. I don't care. I would be happy to let little Jocelyn have the glory for the next 20 years and just sit in the background with my dad, letting her have center stage.
I only asked 2 things of my family for my birthday. One - I wanted the house picked up last night so that when I came out of my room this morning I wouldn't feel like I had a bunch of housework to do. They complied and my husband also vacuumed and swept for me. So I don't have anything I HAVE to do today. I also asked for birthday kisses from all my boys. They are providing them in spades. It's worth turning a year older to have little Riley come up to me and say 'Appy Berday Momma!' or have Tyler remember as soon as he rolls out of bed and run to hug me and give me birthday wishes or have Scooter come up to me and snuggle and kiss me over and over again, but avoid saying the actual words until he's ready. My husband always makes my day special by never letting me forget all day that it's my birthday. He tried to convince me last night to stay up late so that we could start my birthday right at midnight! (Sorry, mom of 3 here, need some sleep!)
I am going to embrace the day today instead of hiding from it! I bought myself a Dove Bar last night so that I could have chocolate for breakfast on my birthday, because if I'm gonna do it - I'm gonna do it right. I also bought myself 2 scratch off lottery tickets because it's a guilty pleasure of mine. I'm going to sit on my butt and watch some recorded TV shows and love on my boys all day. Tonight I am taking my family for dinner with my parents. We are going to Gloria's agian because among other things my dad and I have in common - we both love our beef fajitas! If only Gloria's provided Chocolate Creme Pie, we would both be in heaven. I have already had a number of birthday phone calls, texts and facebook messages which I am reveling in. How fun is it that people are thinking of me today? Nice. Gonna enjoy it. Totally appreciate it! Dad and I already spoke this morning and wished each other happy birthday. I asked him what he was doing and he said he was going to play with his dog Rebel in the yard - just another day. And if my niece isn't born today, that's fine too. I will shift gears and hope that she waits for my little sister's birthday next Monday. I think Asheley should get to share a birthday with someone special too!
Love to All and God Bless!
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Raising a Man of Integrity . . .
I have three really great kids. I know I've been complaining a lot lately, but really - they are so good. Seriously. I have kids that I can take into any store on almost any day and they will behave themselves. I can take them to restaurants without fear that they will be that kid throwing a temper tantrum in the middle of the floor. You know the kid that everyone around you wishes would get a good spanking? Not mine, not usually anyway. My kids love each other and have kind hearts. They are sweet, sensitive and giving. Most of the time. They aren't perfect and they all have their moments where they stretch my patience, but the core of them, their character, is just good.
I mentioned to you the other day that Tyler had kind of broken down and had a breakthrough regarding his school work. It was a tough night, for both of us. But at the moment, I hadn't realized how significant one little thing that he did that night was. I didn't find out until two days later. And it turned out to be a stellar example of Tyler's character. Actually, now that I think about it there were two examples of his goodness last week.
I had emailed Tyler's teacher earlier in the week to verify the Biome project due date so that I could calm one of the other mothers in our little group down, but didn't hear back from her until later in the week, after our meltdown. She had been out for a conference, but she gave me the information and then told me that Tyler was going to have 2 zeroes for 2 assignments in class he hadn't turned in for Math. She explained how Tyler knew about them, had been reminded repeatedly. She also told me that Tyler's classroom job is to organize all assignments and papers so he knew what everyone was missing, not just his own work. She said he had ample opportunity to finish the assignments and she had given him one last chance on Tuesday. She didn't want me to be surprised with his grade.
A side note here - I couldn't get Tyler's teacher last year to communicate with me at all, so I was super pleased to get this email. I would much rather get the bad news directly than try to squeeze it out of a non-communicative 10 year old. I try to be an involved parent so when I don't get any feedback I get annoyed. So far so good for the 5th grade teacher!
Anyway, I answered her email telling her that I knew about the 2 assignments already. Tyler had shown them to me, but he thought he already had the zeroes and that it was too late. I told her I would have insisted he do the work regardless and we even discussed it, but in teaching him to prioritize we had elected to save those for last that night since they were already zeroes. At 10 p.m. we quit for the night, leaving them undone. If I had known, I would have changed the plan, but what's done is done. I also told her that we had been trying to let Tyler struggle and screw up so that he could learn how to do this on his own. That it looked like to me he was not having a problem with the material, just prioritizing and organizing. Time management is definitely an issue, not knowing how to multiply large numbers. I mentioned that I had prepared Tyler for a bad report card, that we were used to seeing A's with a rare B and this would be hard for all of us. I also told her that I thought we had reached a turning point and that we were hoping the 2nd six weeks would be much better.
On Thursday night, Tyler came to me and said that his teacher had kind of given him a compliment that day. Really? What? He said that she had pulled him aside and told him she had gotten an email from me and that she had been surprised to find out that he had told me about his missing assignments. She was proud of him because he was honest about it and that it showed 'some word that was like intager-something'. Integrity? I asked. Yes, that's it. What does that mean? I explained to him that integrity was basically honesty and forthrightness. Being morally responsible even when no one would ever know if you weren't. It's a really good thing sweetie, it's one of those things that mom really wants you to have and to be. His teacher had then reassured him that although he was going to have a C for math this six weeks, he didn't fail. She also told him that most kids have a tough time the first six weeks of fifth grade, it's normal, and it will get better, he would get better.
Tyler went to do his homework and I just sat there beaming. The truth is that I constantly worry about how I am going to teach my kids the big stuff. How do I teach them to be what I want them to be: Honest, respectful, generous, compassionate, empathetic, understanding, patient, hard working - the list goes on. Most of this comes from modeling, but it's really hard to know if your lessons are sinking in. It's impossible to see if how you are teaching your kids and what you are teaching them is going to be something they absorb and become. And at the end of it all, you can only do so much - it's going to come down to their character and Tyler's character is awesome. He has integrity.
Scott and I sat outside in the cool evening last night for a long time, talking about our kids. When I told him this story, he said for the thousandth time 'Tyler's a great kid. We don't have to worry about Tyler.' And then he told me about Tyler's den meeting the week before, how a lot of the kids didn't take the excersizes seriously, how they blew everything off and were just using the hour to be with friends and away from their parents. But when he peeked around the corner or listened at the door, Tyler was always paying attention, listening and working diligently. He took it all seriously and was working hard. He was nice to all the kids and didn't stick with any one clique even though he has several friends in the group.
Last week, on that crucial night, Tyler had chosen not to go to his first Pack meeting. He had made the decision himself because he knew he needed to get his work done. He could have gone and told me about his work later, I wouldn't have known since he had 2 hours with his dad between school and the meeting. He showed maturity and responsibility by choosing what he needed to do over what he wanted to do. And it turned out that even though he had only been in Cub Scouts for a couple of weeks, he had already earned 2 awards that he would have received at that meeting. None of the other new scouts had earned anything yet, but Tyler had. Because he took it seriously and made the effort. Because he adhered to the code. Because he has integrity.
Parenting can be tough because you don't always see the results of your efforts until it's too late to change the game plan. Poor Tyler is always my guinea pig. With 6 years between him and Scooter, I have the ability to see some consequences or benefits of my actions and make adjustments or improvements for the next two kids. The big stuff you try and teach your kids, you don't usually know if it's working for a long, long time. I am so glad I got to see this week a glimpse of the man that Tyler is becoming and to know that I haven't screwed up completely.
I couldn't tell you exactly what I've done to help Tyler be this awesome kid and it's probably mostly not me but who he is, but I do know of one very important and very prevalent key in all this: Tyler is surrounded by men of integrity - my dad, his dad, his dad's dad, my uncles, his uncles, some awesome cousins (like Dougie and David!) and some very wonderful male friends of mine and my parents that Tyler spends time with. And - I married the right man! Scott is most definitley a man of Integrity. He models it every day to my children and with any luck, all three of my boys will be men of integrity too.
Have a great weekend and God Bless!
I mentioned to you the other day that Tyler had kind of broken down and had a breakthrough regarding his school work. It was a tough night, for both of us. But at the moment, I hadn't realized how significant one little thing that he did that night was. I didn't find out until two days later. And it turned out to be a stellar example of Tyler's character. Actually, now that I think about it there were two examples of his goodness last week.
I had emailed Tyler's teacher earlier in the week to verify the Biome project due date so that I could calm one of the other mothers in our little group down, but didn't hear back from her until later in the week, after our meltdown. She had been out for a conference, but she gave me the information and then told me that Tyler was going to have 2 zeroes for 2 assignments in class he hadn't turned in for Math. She explained how Tyler knew about them, had been reminded repeatedly. She also told me that Tyler's classroom job is to organize all assignments and papers so he knew what everyone was missing, not just his own work. She said he had ample opportunity to finish the assignments and she had given him one last chance on Tuesday. She didn't want me to be surprised with his grade.
A side note here - I couldn't get Tyler's teacher last year to communicate with me at all, so I was super pleased to get this email. I would much rather get the bad news directly than try to squeeze it out of a non-communicative 10 year old. I try to be an involved parent so when I don't get any feedback I get annoyed. So far so good for the 5th grade teacher!
Anyway, I answered her email telling her that I knew about the 2 assignments already. Tyler had shown them to me, but he thought he already had the zeroes and that it was too late. I told her I would have insisted he do the work regardless and we even discussed it, but in teaching him to prioritize we had elected to save those for last that night since they were already zeroes. At 10 p.m. we quit for the night, leaving them undone. If I had known, I would have changed the plan, but what's done is done. I also told her that we had been trying to let Tyler struggle and screw up so that he could learn how to do this on his own. That it looked like to me he was not having a problem with the material, just prioritizing and organizing. Time management is definitely an issue, not knowing how to multiply large numbers. I mentioned that I had prepared Tyler for a bad report card, that we were used to seeing A's with a rare B and this would be hard for all of us. I also told her that I thought we had reached a turning point and that we were hoping the 2nd six weeks would be much better.
On Thursday night, Tyler came to me and said that his teacher had kind of given him a compliment that day. Really? What? He said that she had pulled him aside and told him she had gotten an email from me and that she had been surprised to find out that he had told me about his missing assignments. She was proud of him because he was honest about it and that it showed 'some word that was like intager-something'. Integrity? I asked. Yes, that's it. What does that mean? I explained to him that integrity was basically honesty and forthrightness. Being morally responsible even when no one would ever know if you weren't. It's a really good thing sweetie, it's one of those things that mom really wants you to have and to be. His teacher had then reassured him that although he was going to have a C for math this six weeks, he didn't fail. She also told him that most kids have a tough time the first six weeks of fifth grade, it's normal, and it will get better, he would get better.
Tyler went to do his homework and I just sat there beaming. The truth is that I constantly worry about how I am going to teach my kids the big stuff. How do I teach them to be what I want them to be: Honest, respectful, generous, compassionate, empathetic, understanding, patient, hard working - the list goes on. Most of this comes from modeling, but it's really hard to know if your lessons are sinking in. It's impossible to see if how you are teaching your kids and what you are teaching them is going to be something they absorb and become. And at the end of it all, you can only do so much - it's going to come down to their character and Tyler's character is awesome. He has integrity.
Scott and I sat outside in the cool evening last night for a long time, talking about our kids. When I told him this story, he said for the thousandth time 'Tyler's a great kid. We don't have to worry about Tyler.' And then he told me about Tyler's den meeting the week before, how a lot of the kids didn't take the excersizes seriously, how they blew everything off and were just using the hour to be with friends and away from their parents. But when he peeked around the corner or listened at the door, Tyler was always paying attention, listening and working diligently. He took it all seriously and was working hard. He was nice to all the kids and didn't stick with any one clique even though he has several friends in the group.
Last week, on that crucial night, Tyler had chosen not to go to his first Pack meeting. He had made the decision himself because he knew he needed to get his work done. He could have gone and told me about his work later, I wouldn't have known since he had 2 hours with his dad between school and the meeting. He showed maturity and responsibility by choosing what he needed to do over what he wanted to do. And it turned out that even though he had only been in Cub Scouts for a couple of weeks, he had already earned 2 awards that he would have received at that meeting. None of the other new scouts had earned anything yet, but Tyler had. Because he took it seriously and made the effort. Because he adhered to the code. Because he has integrity.
Parenting can be tough because you don't always see the results of your efforts until it's too late to change the game plan. Poor Tyler is always my guinea pig. With 6 years between him and Scooter, I have the ability to see some consequences or benefits of my actions and make adjustments or improvements for the next two kids. The big stuff you try and teach your kids, you don't usually know if it's working for a long, long time. I am so glad I got to see this week a glimpse of the man that Tyler is becoming and to know that I haven't screwed up completely.
I couldn't tell you exactly what I've done to help Tyler be this awesome kid and it's probably mostly not me but who he is, but I do know of one very important and very prevalent key in all this: Tyler is surrounded by men of integrity - my dad, his dad, his dad's dad, my uncles, his uncles, some awesome cousins (like Dougie and David!) and some very wonderful male friends of mine and my parents that Tyler spends time with. And - I married the right man! Scott is most definitley a man of Integrity. He models it every day to my children and with any luck, all three of my boys will be men of integrity too.
Have a great weekend and God Bless!
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