Motherhood

WT

Abigail’s “Barbie” blanket

Here’s another confession. Not a proud parenting moment.

When we moved with our three kids to Tennessee, I was plagued with anxiety about how people would view me and my family of 5. I think I was justified, as to the fact that we live on $12,000 of student loans a year + whatever wages my husband can scrape up in his spare time during the school year and summers. [The big fat greedy lawyers do not pay clerks enough. Whenever LG is high and mighty, he is going to fork over some cash to those starving students. Or, maybe he won’t, maybe it is some kind of passage of rite: if you can make it through law school alive, then you deserve a decent salary.]

Well, embarassingly enough, I was heard to encourage my children not to do certain things in fear of fitting into the “poor” role. I would give them good advice like: wear your shoes, brush your teeth, comb your hair, don’t say bad words, be nice to your friends…..all good pieces of motherly advice. Sometimes, I would put a little add-on at the end, “Now, you don’t want people to think that we are white-trash.”

One night, we were all taking a late drive home. It was a sure thing that all the girls would fall asleep on the hour and a half drive. Abigail had gotten her pants really dirty or wet so that she didn’t want to wear them on the long drive. We were caught without a change of clothes and so we told her to just take her pants off and put her blanket (pictured above) over her legs to cover her up. She was satisfied with the solution to the problem.

Well, we ended up needing to take a potty break and a stop for some more baby formula. We stopped in at the local grocer. I wrapped Abigail up and told her to keep herself covered as we ran into the bathroom. Abigail was only about 4 at this time. When she finished her business, she caught me completely off guard when she said matter of factly to me:

“Mom, now, cover me up good, we don’t want anyone to think that I am white trash!”

Be Grateful

Let’s play princess

This picture provided for free by ace-clipart.com

I often remind my children to be grateful for what they have. It isn’t uncommon to hear me say things like, “Be grateful for those shoes; some children in this world, don’t have any.” “Be grateful for your sister, some children never have any sisters.” “Be grateful for that broccoli, some kids are going to bed hungry tonight.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah….I know I sound just like my mom. As I am writing I am realizing that maybe I need to stop saying these things because my children may learn to only see the negative. But, then they may turn out a lot like me and wouldn’t that be so fun?

Well, when you are a mom, you get rare moments that let you know that your kids are actually listening to you. I had one earlier this evening. It went something like this:

I was in the family room with the girls trying to pick up all the toys so that the house would be clean when LG got home. My girls were determined to play dress-up, which means that they HAVE to dump out every costume item from the dress-up chest. I told them to pick ONE thing, so that we could put the rest away. They complied. I walked out to the laundry room to change a load and this is what I heard:

Sophia (3) says, “I want to be a princess, but I can’t because I have short hair.” Abigail (5) responds, “Some princesses have short hair; you can be a princess.” Phia then says, “No,I can’t, I need long hair.”

Abigail ended the conversation just as she has been taught. She sounded like an old pro when she counseled her little sister, “Sophia, you can be a princess, and you just need to be happy that you have any hair; some people in this world don’t have any hair.”

No turning back

August 15, 1997

Don’t we look so happy? Well, we were. And we still are. I am a very lucky woman. Will you please remind me of that on the days when we are fighting?

Unfortunately, everyone has to come home from their honeymoon and deal with each other. (We didn’t really have a honeymoon and so our “dealing with each other” started from day one) For us, the whole first year was a veeeerrrrrryyy long process of figuring each other out. When we look back on our lives, staying married for that first year will definitely be a “greatest accomplishment” for both of us. LG and I are so different and I am willing to admit that I am hard to live with, and he admits that he can be too sometimes. Part of the reason that we have made it in one piece for the past 90 months is that usually we both think that we got the better end of the deal. And, we also both came into this marriage with the attitude that there was no turning back.

Well, one time, during this year from H – E – double hockey-sticks, we had one of our “discussions”. We were not happy with each other at all. This still happens, but just not every day like it did that first year. I had been thoughtless towards him and committed the unpardonable sin of demeaning him in front of other people. And, he had struck back in the car on the way home with a thoughtless remark. (No need to share the details…I am already sharing way more than my VERY private husband would like) Well, I was shocked and hurt because as far as I can remember this was the only time LG has ever said anything hurtful to me. (And, even though we hadn’t been married that long, he knew exactly what to say that would hurt me the most.)

LG had let his passive-aggressive side OUT, and it came OUT with a vengence. I was so angry, hurt, shocked, broken-hearted, and depressed all in one. I retreated to our bedroom with the cordless phone. (This is what I do when we fight; I call in all my troops…my sisters, friends, mom, even his mom sometimes) Well, usually my support group just listens and gives me small tips of how they would work out the situation. Well, this time my mom had some WORDS to say to me. I called her in tears and told her what he had said. Instead of defending me and telling me that he had acted like a jerk and I shouldn’t forgive him until he came groveling, this is what she said:

“Alice, that is the best man that you are ever going to find.”

And although I hate to admit it, she was right!

Her name is Pixy

What happens when you don’t buy your kids a dog

This morning, as we were running out to go and help the knee-surgery friend again, Sophia pulled a rock out of her “special” drawer. I think it is a 3-yr-old thing to like rocks because every time we go out to play, she comes back in with a pocket of them. (I can faintly remember Abigail doing the same thing at this age) Well, all of the rocks are special to her and I usually can get them either back outside or in the garbage without her noticing. So, I was slightly surprised when she pulled out this rock, which is brown, has the face size of 2 quarters, and the thickness of her little finger.

I am trying to rush both Phia and Bella out the door, and to my even bigger surprise, Sophia says,”Mom, I am going to take my pet rock, O.k.?” I said, “Sure, of course you can bring your pet rock” (hmm….i didn’t know she had one, but, whatever, she probably learned about pet rocks on Sesame Street, and off we went. Well, I was very entertained the whole morning as we ran arround town; I learned more and more about this pet rock. As we were getting out of the van, Sophia says,”Mom, I can’t forget my pet rock, Pixy.” I said, “Pixy, what is that?” “That is my rock’s name, Mom”,was her reply. I said,”Did you name her?” She said, “Yes” I said,”Where did you get her name?” “I just made it up”,was the response from my all-knowing 3-year-old.

Well, she took the rock out to let it rock in the rocker at the dr’s office. She held it in her lap, talked to it, showed it off to my friend’s kid and her sister, Bella. We later went to pick up Abigail from school and we all ran to Wal-Mart to pick up some stuff for my friend. While I was trying desperately to reign my kids in and find the specific baby food on my freind’s list, Abigail and Sophia decided to fight over the rock. I reminded them to be nice and to stay by the grocery cart, and I also confiscated the rock. Sophia cried, but I told her that the rock needed a nap, and she could play with Pixy when she got home. This sufficed.

So, we get home, and the rock comes out. It is nice out today and the girls wanted to play outside. The next thing I know, Sophia is wailing. I mean absolutely freaking out, as if someone had died. I run over to where they were digging to see what the problem was. I ran as if someone had cut a finger off. Abigail quickly explained that Sophia had buried her Pet Rock and she now couldn’t find it. I didn’t want to not validate Phia’s feelings by laughing hysterically at the sight of he “rock” back where it came from in the first place. To her, this rock was buried alive.

So, I sat there for fifteen minutes, with that darn shovel, reassuring my sweet, sweet, sweet, tender-hearted daughter, that I would find Pixy and all would be well, while digging frantically. I kept coming up with different little rocks and I knew they weren’t Pixy because they weren’t even the same color or size, but after about five minutes, I was worried that I would never find her, and I thought that I could trick Phia into believing that one of the other rocks was her beloved pet. She never fell for it. I offered a prayer of thanks when I finally found her real Pixy. By this time Sophia had wandered to the other side of the yard. You would have thought I was three to hear the excited tone to my voice as I yelled over,”Sophia, I found her, I found her….Here’s Pixy.” As my 3-yr-old ran over to retrieve her most prized posession, I couldn’t help but think,”Supermom to save the day” and I handed it over with a very wide smile that said,”I love your pet-rock too.”

Kids say the d a r n d e s t things

Watermelon

Following up on my last entry. Kids are so FUNNY! They cannot resist at stating the obvious. When you are driving down the road you will hear, “Mom, there is a cow.” “Dad, you are driving too fast.”

At the grocery store, “There are Fruit Loops, there is Cocoa Puffs, those are Cheerios.” You get the drift.

One day, I got out one of the girls’ piggy banks and as I was getting it down off the shelf, the lid slipped off and change spilled all over the kitchen floor. It was no surprise to hear,”Mom, you spilled all the money.” I laughed and said,”Oh really, I know, Sometimes I am so clumsy, Should we pick it up?”

A little while later, in the same day, I got a watermelon out of the fridge. No joke, this is what I hear coming out of a little voice behind me, “Mom, you are fat, just like that watermelon.” Well, gee, thanks. No, “oh really”, was going to work for this offense. We have taught our girls to only refer to things as fat, not people. I think that she thought this was OK, because she was talking about the watermelon.

I tried not to crack up as I gave her the very brief reminder that it isn’t nice to call people fat. I resisted from saying what I was really thinking,”Hey, you little snot….would you like me to crack this watermelon over your head, so that you can feel what it is like to get pregnant and fat and give birth to a child that will just call you fat one day.” Of course I wouldn’t say that, all I could think of was, “Aren’t you clever with your use of words; you are only three and you just used a really good analogy.” What in the world? You know I must be a mother.

That’s so Special!

It’s a GREAT word

We have taught our kids to use the word special. They each have a SPECIAL drawer where they can put their SPECIAL things. We have taught our kids that each one of them is SPECIAL. Each of them are different and they each have SPECIAL talents. They have their favorite SPECIAL clothes and toys. You get the picture. The word special works for almost everything.

Special didn’t work out so great last year when we were at Dollywood. We were all walking past the River Raft ride, trying to work our way through the crowd. Right next to us, there was a man with a wooden shoe. You know, one of his legs was shorter than the other and he wore the shoe to correct the difference of height in his legs.

My daughter was staring this shoe down, and I was trying to drag her away, hoping that she wouldn’t embarass this man. She was so very observant and didn’t appreciate my gesture; she said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Mom, wait, I am trying to see that man’s shoe. He has a SPECIAL shoe!”

What do you do? She was 100% correct. The shoe was very special. She may never see one like it again in her life. I just smiled and said as softly as I could,”You’re right, he does have a special shoe.” and we kept on walking, this time a little bit faster than before.

The Dilemma

Tupperware…no housewife can live without it

For about four days, we have had the rankiest smell protruding from the hallway where our office and bedrooms are located. Of course, it was my job to figure out where in the world it was coming from. I searched and searched to no avail.

Finally, yesterday, I decided to stay home and do nothing but take care of my household duties, not because my house was a sty, but because it was time to tackle the laundry. Well, even after I tidied everything up, emptied the garbages, and cleaned the laundry there was still a REALLY bad smell.

It was time for my built-in mother detective skills. I started my search with the little bed that is constantly made on the floor next to ours. It is made of an egg carton mattress, three or four quilts, and a bunch of pillows. We refuse to let the girls get in the bed with us because we want to get SOME sleep.

Unfortunately, there was nothing in the kids’ makeshift bed. I then moved my search on to the other side of the bed and looked underneath. Jackpot….under the bed was a sippy cup turned over sideways and Serafina. (one of the girls favorite stuffed kitties) Now, what you have to understand is that there are different types of sippy cups. The one under our bed was the kind that I use when I give the girls juice. (the sippy part has a constant open hole, making it possible for orange juice pulp to get through) This also makes it possible for ALL of the juice to get through, especially when it is tipped on its side.

IF YOU HAVE A WEAK STOMACH, consider this a warning. So, I push the bed aside and pick up the cup; there was a little curdled OJ inside (how does OJ curdle…who knows?) It SMELLED SO BAD. And, then there was the kitty……can you say the smell of maggots rotting in the sun? Serafina must have soaked up a bunch of the orange juice and she sat there waiting for someone to come and relieve her and the rest of the house from the stench. Who knows how long she had been there. So, I smiled with pleasure, knowing that me, Supermom had saved the day again and I moved quickly to take care of business. I wiped the wood floor with Clorox wipes (thank goodness it wasn’t carpet); I then washed the cat with Clorox (thank goodness it was white), and washed the cup with Clorox.

Later, during the day, over the phone, I relayed this story to my sister, Shannon. Shannon asked me why I didn’t just throw the cat and the cup away. I explained that the cat was their absolute favorite and they would have died. I had washed it and it was fine. (a little less fluffy, but fine nonetheless) I also told her that I could have thrown the cup out, but, why? If I dealt with the cat then I knew I could deal with the cup. So, Shannon says, “You have to throw the cup away or then it becomes like ‘the blue cup’ ” This brought instantaneous laughter……

So, here’s the last part of my story. When we were kids, my mom had a bunch of colored Tupperware cups, much like the ones shown above. I grew up in the 70’s and so, of course, we had the colors that are shown above, but we also had primary colors. Well, one day, my brother decided to urinate in the blue one……Who knows? Brothers do the weirdest things. (maybe you males can understand, but we sisters sure didn’t) So, we ran and told my mom that he had peed in the cup, hoping that she would remedy the problem. Well, all she did was pour out the urine, rinse out the cup, and wash it with some bleach.

To us kids, there was NO WAY that cup was rid of the pee. Every night, my mom would set the table and all of us kids would await which color cup we would get. We knew better than to ask for the one we wanted because we all wanted the same one. My mom would just go down the table and put one down at the top of each of our plates, one at a time. Every night, you could hear the howl of whichever unfortunate kid got the blue cup. How cruel, huh? It’s no wonder I need therapy.

So, if you haven’t caught on to the dilemma yet, it is this: When a mom is faced with a DISGUSTING situation, should she clean it up or get rid of any offensive matter? I think that the answer to the dilemma is this: you can clean it, as long as the kids don’t see whatever it is while in the gross state. If they do, you better just throw it away to save yourself the therapy bills.

Fortunately for me, yesterday, our girls never saw Serafina in her worst state. No howls of undelight for this MOM.

The Milkman

My three daughters

As you can see, our girls all have their own distinct features. We always tell people that Abigail is a mix of both of us, Sophia is just like her Dad, and Bella is a spittin image of me. The people that know us well definitely agree when we say genetics can be crazy.

It is when I tell complete strangers this that I have a problem. Whenever they approach me it is the same routine, “Are they ALL yours?” I say, “Yes.” Then they look at me like they don’t believe me or they look away and whisper, which to me, means that they obviouslly think they all have different daddies.

Because I am me, I can’t let people think what they want. I ALWAYS have to explain myself. Something that I am trying to work on (don’t think this blog is really helping). So, it isn’t uncommon for me to say to complete strangers…”And, if you are wondering, they all have the same mom and dad…there is no milkman involved.” It is fun to see the strangers’ reactions to my boldness. They usually don’t know what to say. What can they say when they know I have just read their minds?

This could be very interesting in a few years down the road. My girls are probably getting subliminal messages that the milkman is very much involved in the baby- making process. I will certainly have some explaining to do.

Bedtime and Parenting

Here are the girls. They are finally asleep. Notice that they all sleep on their stomachs. (they want to be like their Mom)

Bedtime is easy for us. The girls go to sleep pretty good most of the time. After watching Super Nanny, I have learned that this is not the case for many parents. I would like to give some really good parenting advice here (even if yougottawanna thinks that I don’t know what I am doing):

I read this yesterday in a book that my sister recommended. I wish that I could photocopy it and give it to some of the ladies at church. 🙂

Parenting Young Children
There are three main styles of parenting. The three that are most common are giving orders, giving in, and giving choices.

Giving Orders: This Style of parenting is often called authoritarian. The parents are strict. They set a lot of rules. The children are expected to obey the rules exactly. Often strict parents reward of punish children to keep them in line.Rewards lead the children to expect payment for ‘being good’. When children are punished for ‘being bad’, they may learn to fear and resent parents. Children need freedom to grow and learn. They also need the chance to make choices [all you homeschoolers who are afraid to let your kids out of your sight]. This lets them learn limits and responsibility.

Giving In: Giving in is also called permissive parenting. Permissive paretns set no limits. Children grow up without guidelines. The parents give in to whatever the children may want. We often say that these children are ‘spoiled’. Without limits, children will have trouble getting along with others. These children usually learn to do as they please. They don’t learn to care about the feelings and rights of others. Society sets limits. Children with no limits on their behavior will have difficulty learning how to behave in society. [so, all you parents who think that you are letting your children be creative and do whatever they want, you aren’t doing them any favors.]

Giving choices: ….the democratic method of giving choices is the most effective.Democratic parenting is based on equality and respect. We all have different abilities, responsibilites, and experiences. But we are still worthwhile as humans.Does this mean that your child has the same privileges as you do? No. It means that you recognize the importance of your child’s wishes. It also means that you involve your child in decision making when appropriate. Democratic parents give a child choices that fit the child’s age and development. Young children’s ablility to make choices is limited. They can’t yet depend on themselves to keep the rules. They need adults to set limits for them. When children go past the limits, they need parents to follow through with consequences. The democratic method helps children become responsible. It does this by giving choices within set limits.A democratic parenting style gives young children freedom within limits. Children learn that their choices count and carry responsibility. They learn respect.

The Night Tremors

How trashed we look after a full day

This is a picture that we took of ourselves, shortly after we got the kids to sleep last night. We were so tired as you can see by how trashed we look. Raising kids is hard work. Parents really need to relax more than they do, epecially us. Someday we are going to check into a spa and stay there for a whole year to make up for all the stress we have had in the past 7+ years. I think that relaxing is impossible for us right now. We stress trying to plan time to NOT stress.

The good news was that the girls were asleep. We could then move on to our own agendas: cleaning house, doing homework, and SHOWERING for the first time in 3 days (that is when I know I have it good….when I get a shower). I got on to blog after all of that and could only do it for 10 minutes before my medicine kicked in.