Real Life Parenting

That's what's been going on around here and the reason the blog has been ignored.  There is a certain someone whose birthday we celebrated this month, and I can't wait to share that, but that's not what I'm here for today.

Today, I am documenting this season of life.  This school year wrap up, life with five walking, talking, curious children who've learned much and have much to learn.

And their Mama, who is woefully aware that she has way more to learn than her children think.

We noticed a few weeks ago that we (as in we, the parents) were spending an enormous amount of energy repeating ourselves or calling our children back to take care of something that, in theory, we shouldn't have to tell them about (leaving shoes or pajamas in the middle of the floor, toys in the yard, etc).

Some of our kids are still too young to 'know' to do these things, but they are ALL old enough to obey simple commands.  Even Daniel puts his shoes away when told to.  Joshua and I firmly believe in training our children to share in the workload, so we start early.  As soon as a child is steady on their feet, the first thing we train them to do is to take their own diaper to the trash can/diaper pail when we finish changing them.  Picking up toys and shoes comes quickly after.

So, in theory, by the time a kid is, ohhh... let's just say 7 or 8, they should know to put their shoes away, right?  Right??

Maybenotsomuch.

After a particularly extended go round of do this, now come back and do it right, take care of your stuff, no, really, take care of your stuff, we decided to help them.  We took away all the distractions we could.  Screen time?  Down the tubes.  Toys?  All of them boxed up. 

Quit clucking your tongue at me.  It's not forever.

There were slumped shoulders as we worked to clean the rooms that were in horrible shape and sort through the clothes that may or may not have been clean (they ALL got tossed in laundry baskets because my OCD needs to KNOW those clothes aren't smelly and folded up to masquerade as clean clothes).  Which means that laundry has been going non-stop for days on end trying to catch up with the gi-normous influx.

There were misgivings as all the toys landed in boxes and the boxes stacked in the corners of their rooms.  Instructions to not touch those boxes under any circumstances were handed out and dejected looks were worn by everyone between the ages of 4 and 8.

But it's helped.  The first day after the great Toy Pack Up, it rained.  We built a fort and I held my breath.  Pandemonium did not break out and there were no tears or even any questions to watch a show on television.  Books and flashlights and pillows and blankets disappeared into the fort, and harmony reigned.

They don't have as many things tugging at their gnat-sized attention spans, so they appreciate one another and their own imaginations better.  They remember to make their beds every day.  After just a few days, they are more reliable about keeping their junk picked up.  We're almost ready to give the toys back.

Maybe.

It's been SO MUCH MORE PEACEFUL without things to fight over.  The weather if perfect for playing outside.  Suffice it to say, we're in no hurry to return the toys.  But we'll definitely consider it when they ask.  

A decidedly more lighthearted episode of Real Life Parenting found me wielding scissors near my not-quite-2-year-olds tender skin.

Daniel is going to poop while he naps.  It's just The Way Of It with that kid.  Today was no exception.

I got him up from nap and my poor nose was assaulted with the contents of his drawers.  I put him on the back deck and threw a package of fruit snacks to him.  A little something in his belly makes him more cooperative when it comes time to deal with the dud.

Once he was finished, I brought him inside and whipped his pants off him.  'Stuff' kind of flew out.  I grabbed his ankles together so he wouldn't kick the mess around and surveyed the damage.

He'd managed a diaper wedgie at some point and his mess was all over the onsie he was wearing, down his leg, up his side.  We eyeballed each other while I mouth breathed and called my minions to come forth his siblings to assist me in this hour of need.

Thomas ran upstairs to pour a bath for our stinky boy (only good ol' soap and water was going to cut through this stench), Elizabeth grabbed a towel to put under the baby so I didn't have to clean the floor anymore than the damage that'd already been done, Anna brought in a plastic bag to contain the trash, and Sarah Grace brought the scissors.

My baby was wearing a plain white onsie that had seen wear by most of his siblings and definitely better days.  I debated for less than a nano-second before I grabbed it at the collar and started cutting down towards the snaps.

There was no way I was going to pull that shirt over his head.

I'm not nearly as delicate as I was with the first child, but I am still not willing to put my hands in the mess any more than strictly necessary.

Nope.  I got all surgical and snipped it right off him.  All the kids stood around looking at me in disbelief.

I was cutting clothes! 

Instructions to NEVER-EVER-EVER-NO-NOT-EVER cut their own cloths off came out of my mouth as my brain conjured all kinds of exceptions in which I would want them to cut their clothes off. 

Truth: Real Life Parenting is a delicate balance. 

I'll let you know when I'm balanced.  M-kay?

In Which I Say A Lot About Our First Farmers Market

 Spring is finally springing around here.  Gone are the frosty mornings, here to stay is the sound of songbirds.

As is my usual custom, I hit the 2 for $5 on flip flops at Old Navy and am smack in the middle of the acclimating process.  That slightly painful period of time when you have a perpetual bruising sensation going on between your big toe and it's neighbor (would you call that your pointer toe, since it's hand counterpart is called the pointer finger?) and you dread putting on the flops but can't stomach the idea of having your feet all encased inside leather or tennis shoes.

Or maybe that's just me.  I dunno.

Either way, it's not what I sat down to write about.  Not by a long shot.

Nope, I am here to unabashedly brag about my ah-mazing children.  My children who want to go to Costa Rica to visit family friends who are there as missionaries.  Joshua and I support this, but our budget isn't so supportive.  We told the children that we were totally on board and that we would help them earn their way to Costa Rica any way we could.

Which is how I found myself at our local Farmer's Market at 7AM this morning.  Me, my two oldest children, and a vast array of homemade breads, muffins, and cookies.

It all started a few months ago when the family sat down to dinner and discussed in depth the pros, cons, and the commitment we would be making as a family.  Joshua and I laid out the details and left it in the hands of Sarah Grace and Thomas to choose if they were up to the task.  They mulled it over for a couple of days and I sent in the application.  I explained to them that we might not be accepted into the market, but that proved to be a moot point.  We were accepted.

Honestly, the first week couldn't have been worse timing, but that just goes to show that the devil is really and truly mucking around in the details. The girls and I went to Montgomery Monday and returned Tuesday evening.  We spent Wednesday recovering and trying to gear up for the end of our week.

Only the resting happened.  Which is to say that I did no house work on Monday, Tuesday, or Wednesday.  So we didn't exactly have things set up to our advantage concerning the state of our living quarters. 

Thursday, we started our first batch of bread at 8am and shut down just after 6pm.  We'd made cookies, muffins, and a lot of bread.

 I was thankful for the countless extra amounts of patience and grace the Lord poured over me all day long as my children wreaked havoc on my kitchen.  My OCD kicked in several times.  I'd walk over to my happy little essential oil box and breath in 'Serenity' and I'd be ready for the next round of flying flour.  

Then the kids cooked spaghetti for dinner and the angels sang.  I was wiped out after a day of supervising in the kitchen.

Elbow deep in flour, sugar, and yeast!

Friday, we repeated the madness.  Only we still had bread rising when the kids were shipped off to bed.  It was then that I realized that nothing was priced, packed, labeled, or any kind of signage made up.  I was busy until 11:30.

I woke up minutes before my alarm clock this morning and willed my blurry vision to focus.  My body was tired after spending two full days standing on the hard tile floor of our kitchen and keeping myself from booting my two messy little bakers out.

I knew that we had a day ahead of us and all I could do was lay there and beg the Lord to help me put one foot in front of the other.  I wasn't unwilling, I was just nervous.  I desperately wanted my children to succeed.  They had worked so hard and were so sweet and so excited!

Finally, I rolled out of the bed, dragged some clothes on and brushed at my teeth.  I grabbed my shoes and walked out of the bedroom, ready to wake Thomas and Sarah Grace.

They were already downstairs, dressed, shod, and ready for me to say the word!  We went over again 'how to talk to customers' and 'remember your manners' and 'this isn't a game day' as we loaded the car and drove to the field where the market is held.  They nodded and asked a few questions, but it was obvious neither felt the butterflies in their belly I was experiencing.  We parked the car and said a quick prayer for our day and our attitudes together and I went to find the coordinator to tell me what to do.

We set up and were totally ready by 7:30.  Our friends from Eat Wright Farms arrived later than they'd wanted, and we helped them unload their van and set up some of their stuff and loved on their sweet little 8 month old girl and suddenly, we realized people were beginning to mill about!

The kids and I made our way back to our booth to find that the booth right next to us was also selling breads and other baked goods.  The kids both got worried looks on their faces and slumpy shoulders.  I hugged them and spoke encouragement to them while the mama bear in me wondered why two people selling the exact same things would be placed side by side. 

Turns out, it didn't matter.  By 9:30, less than halfway through our day, both booths were down to slim pickings.  The kids were ecstatic!  Their table was down to less than half the items they'd baked up for the day.

Then Thomas came over and hugged me with a sad expression.  I was totally baffled.  "But you haven't sold anything, Mommy!  I'm sad."

The kid has a heart of gold, I tell you.  I'd made up a coupe dozen bottles of house cleaners to see how they'd do.  Thomas had taken note that they weren't doing well at all.  I had talked to a few people about the cleaners and the benefits they offered, but I had put most of my energy into being supportive of the kids, helping them count money back, and answering questions they weren't sure of concerning the ingredients we'd used in our bread.

Thomas, who is quite unafraid of anyone, started talking up not only the baked goods, but the cleaners, too.  Sure enough, within minutes, he'd made my first sale!

By the time Joshua and the other kids came by to see what was going on, there were only a handful of baked goods left and about half as many cleaners as I'd come with.  By the time the market was over, I'd sold well over half my stock.

The kids brought home half a dozen muffins.  They'd sold absolutely everything else!  The booth next to us was totally sold out of baked goods and had just a few canned items and bars of soap left.  The kids in both booths were pumped!

The success was lovely.  I'm grateful the Lord blessed our first foray into farmer's market-eering.  I'm proud of my kids for the work they put in and their attitudes and the lessons they are learning.  I'm even a little excited that the cleaners did as well as they did.

But the best part?

When my daughter wrapped her arms around me, tilted her head back to look me in the eye, and said, "Thank you, Mama!  We couldn't have done this without you."

My heart will treasure that moment, that serene little face with the sun shining off her baby fine hair.  It's mine and I am so thankful for this whole Mommy-ing way of life.

Thanks, Lord!  I couldn't do this without You.


**Also, I'm a horrible Mama who only took one picture of any of this!  Not to worry, though, we have 8 full months of market on the calendar!!  And I finally got around to folding the load of laundry that has been hibernating on my couch since Monday morning. 

Squishy

We talked about Sundays a little while back and what they so often feel like in our home.  Here's a look at how they run.

Typically, Joshua gets showered and doles out breakfast to everyone so that I can shower in peace.

This increases the sacredness of the day, you know.  The peaceful shower.  

Those Sunday morning routines mostly involve me in my room all morning.  Our bedroom door practically swings both ways as children come in to seek approval or assistance with their clothing or hair.

Thomas has this crazy shag thing going with his hair and it needs me and a brush and a hairdryer to make it lay down properly after he showers.  Daniel just wants to have his hair brushed and brushed and brushed.

Then there are my sweet girls and their insane senses of fashion.  Boots with smocked dresses...what? No.  And every single one of them needs me to attention her hair in some way or another, so it is frequent that I wind up only half dressed while trying to get everyone to the point where they can deal with their own little selves.

I was drying my hair the other morning wearing only my skirt and a camisole and praising the Lord that warmth had found the Southlands.  Sarah Grace came in to get assistance with her earrings and waited patiently for me to finish up the last few seconds with the hair dryer.  As I clicked it off and unplugged it to put it away, she tilted her head thoughtfully to one side.

"Mama, is that skirt tight on you?"

I grinned as I swished it around on my waist and commented that it was actually a bit big.  I was still patting myself on the back for having dropped another nearly-whole size when she dropped a bomb that nearly sunk me.

"Well, your belly looks fat in that skirt."

It took effort to keep my mouth shut and help her with her earrings.  I shooed her out of the room and went straight back to the mirror to peer at myself from all angles.  We won't speak of how badly I just wanted to holler at her that I'd joyfully earned my squishy belly by the business of sacredly housing her and her precious siblings. We won't rehash the way tears sprang up for just a moment, but it was a real moment.  We won't go over again the ridiculous vanity of it all.

But for all us Mama's who have had squishy belly moments with our children, or even without them, here's a story that kind of goes along with my small tale here today.  Cherish it, Mama.  These are the lines of a story.

Got Guilt?

Joshua and I spent last night in fits of discomfort and I'm-too-hot-now-I'm-too-cold craziness.  I stayed in bed this morning to sleep off the dregs of the night and Joshua dragged into work. 

Apparently, it's easier to be miserable at work.  At the very least, it's probably quieter.  But he gave it up about 1 to come on home and curl up in bed.

In the mean time, I managed to get out of bed and ready for the day.  I found that as long as I didn't eat or drink anything, I was fine.  Energetic, even. 

We managed breakfast by 9, which I thought was an accomplishment given the night.  It was beautiful and glorious outside, so I set a tub of water outside with several bowls and spoons and brightly colored cups.  My children played merrily for what seemed like hours.  It was really only about 45 minutes.

I folded laundry and kept my eye on the happenings just outside the back door.  Giggles, squeals, birds chirping.  It was great! 

As all things in teensy-attenion-span-land do, it ended and people came straggling in.  Thomas was assigned baby watch for a few more minutes while I found towels and dry clothing for said baby. 

When I came downstairs, Thomas was curled up on the couch gazing despondently at a book and Daniel was no where in site.

"Dude, where's your brother?"

"I don't know."

On a wholly unrelated note, Daniel got a big boy buzz-cut today!

I glared at him incredulously as long as I dared and ran out the back door.  We tore our dying fence down after the car ran through it a couple Christmases ago, so it's a straight shot to the road.  Sure enough, there was Daniel halfway between our deck and the road (breath, Mamas, there was still a good 60 feet between the baby and the asphalt.) 

I called to Daniel to come to me as I made my way down the steps and across the yard.  He, thankfully, obeyed and ran to me jabbering about whatever expedition he was on.  We wandered about the yard for a minute or two more, basically so I could compose myself before questioning my older son about his lack of responsibility.

When I came in the house, Thomas was on the floor in the fetal position, clutching his belly and moaning. (That one has a flare for the dramatic, oh yes he does)  He was also flushed and warm to the touch.

I'd left a sick kid in charge of the baby.  It was a real parenting coup, I tell you. 

Moral of the story:  There isn't one.  The baby is fine, the big boy is still under the weather.  I've been smearing peppermint oil on his feet and keeping him hydrated.  We'll live to have stories another day.
 How's your April starting off?