Tag: kids

Ten More Indications that Your Husband is Away on Business for the Week

10. The menu you plan for the week consists of nothing but hamburgers, macaroni and cheese, and pizza.

9. It is Tuesday night, and you are hauling the trashcan, recycle bin, and yard clippings to the curb.

8. Keeping up with the pace set by her brother and sister, your 17-month-old picks this week to attempt climbing out of her crib.

7. Your 17-month-old hints that this is also the week to begin potty training, as you find her several times standing in the toilet waiting for poo-poo to appear.

6. You have to attend your son’s parent-teacher conference, and the teacher requested no siblings.  (Sorry Mrs. C–the conference is only 15 minutes, so the baby’s coming!)

5. Your plan to catch up on laundry is thwarted by two straight days of leaky Pull-Ups and a squished banana (yes, also on the sheets).

4. The rebel forces launch an impressive surprise attack and implement the tactical tag-team operation from ‘the witching hour’ until bedtime, rendering you close to waving the white flag.

3. The AT&T salesmen have impeccable timing, ringing the doorbell as soon as you have two out of the three children in bed.

2. You have an unusual argument with your son over your decision to flush down the toilet the ‘Silly Band’ that was entangled in his bowel movement.

1. You find that you love and miss your husband exponentially more than the previous week!

In case you missed it the first time, here are the first ten indications that your husband is away on business for the week.

If I Were to Write BabyLand General

A little over a week ago, my mother, sister, our four children, and I made the trip to BabyLand General Hospital in Cleveland, Georgia, home of the Cabbage Patch Kids.  We had quite the experience.  Below is the letter I would send to the staff of BabyLand General if I were to write them…but I probably won’t.

To the Doctors and Nurses of BabyLand General:

My family and I recently visited your hospital, and I want to thank you for the educational experience.  It had been a long time since I saw a baby birthed from a cabbage, and the experience never disappoints.

After my trip, however, I did have a few concerns.  Given the fact that your hospital is filled with precious Cabbage Patch children, all eagerly waiting to be adopted and easily victims of being snatched away, I do think you should have a warning on the entrance to your building: Parents, If you are outnumbered in ratio from children to adults, especially children four years of age and under, Do NOT come in these doors!  Your children won’t be able to resist the number of Cabbage Patch Kids at their grasp, and you won’t be able to stop them! I realize that warning is a little lengthy and rather specific, but I would’ve appreciated it.

Taking my daughter to BabyLand General was like giving her a drug, spinning her in circles, and then releasing her in a room full of presents on Christmas morning; she did not know where to run, yes run, and I didn’t realize I should’ve worn my athletic shorts.  Some of your Cabbage Patch Kids (which of course are all beautiful even though they came from a vegetable) were the exact same size as my toddler, yet my three-year-old had convinced herself that she could carry two at a time.

I apologize if any of your dolls, I mean children, are missing any hair.  Sometimes, their hair was the easiest way for my daughter to grab them.

I also apologize if any of your children were missing shoes or other accessories or just missing all together.  To be honest, I didn’t appreciate having to supervise your children along with my own.  I mean, if I wanted to clean all morning or put on and take off shoes, I could’ve stayed home.  And I don’t know if you realize this fact or not, but Cabbage Patch Kids’ feet are not the same size as human children’s feet–your kids’ feet don’t stay in shoes because, well, they’re more like big, round nubs than anything.  Please excuse me if I offended you in any way.

And I’m sorry if the four-year-old boy running around, throwing the balls you had for sale, and tackling his cousin was distracting to the staff or the babies.  As I mentioned before, I hadn’t realized I was going to be sprinting after my daughter all day long.  I tried to get him interested in the dolls, I mean children, but he said they were for girls.  I’ve never planted those ideas in his head, I promise.  I know children need positive male role models in their life, and I will work on turning my son into one of those role models.  He was, however, very pleased with the basketball game, flying helicopter, and stuffed panda bear that you had for sale.

And while I’m apologizing, I also apologize for any ice cream that you may have found on the floor of your clean hospital.  However, if I do say so myself, why in the world do you think it is a good idea to have an easily opened ice cream chest right next to where parents and grandparents pay for these newly adopted babies?  When my daughter pulled her ice cream bar out of the freezer, I saw a good opportunity to teach her a lesson about stealing by making her pay for the ice cream from her piggy bank and promptly throwing the dessert away.  Grammy, on the other hand, saw an opportunity to treat four children to ice cream.

I would’ve made her eat her treat outside, but you see, we were in the middle of the very important adoption procedures.  She had to take her oath, which she said with full enthusiasm, by the way, and she had all of the paperwork to fill out.  I hope you realize that that paperwork is a tad intimidating for three-year-olds, but I guess so is raising a child.

And one more thing before I close–is there any way to slow down Mother Cabbage’s deliveries?  I saw three Cabbage Patch Kids born that day, and my children helped name two.  And while all of these births were magical and beautiful and such, they got a little excessive and gave a little too much information.  Every time you announced that Mother Cabbage was eight leaves dilated, I hurt.  And I’m so happy that she had an ‘easy-otomy’ because I’ll tell you what–there was nothing easy about my episiotomy.

Maybe we were just there forever waiting for a certain three-year-old to decide which child she really loved.  Maybe that three-year-old took a really long time because she made her decision based on the shoes that your children were wearing, but I digress.  In any event, please give Mother Cabbage my warmest regards for a speedy recovery.  I thought having three children in three years was tough; I can’t imagine have three children in three hours.  On a side note, if the ‘Imagicillin’ that you are giving her starts to wear off, tell her Percocet should do the trick.

In closing, thank you for opening your hospital to us, even though we definitely disturbed your serene environment.  I promise that if we come back many, many years down the road  I will have at least one adult, if not two, per child.  And while the experience was anything but fun for me, I know it was about making four little children very happy.  And one Grammy, too.

Sincerely,

Jennifer V. Davis

The Changing Seasons

We went outside to play at 4:30 in the afternoon, the air considerably cooler than a few weeks before, and I was immediately grateful for the coming fall. As much as I look forward to the warm days of summer spent at the pool, the children splashing in the water, I tire of the sunscreen and swim diapers, the intense heat and suffocating humidity.  I am part of the fickle human race who loses interest in the present and am thankful for the divine plan of the changing seasons.

I am thankful for the changing hues and the sweet smells that travel on the crisp air of the fall, the few weeks reprieve from the scorching heat that preceded it and a last glimpse of color before the bleak winter months that follow.  And yet a part of me looks forward to the chill of the winter, the chance to sip hot chocolate beside a crackling fire and let my nostrils fill with the smell of Christmas trees and cookies baking.  But as the drab and gray days of winter carry on, I long for the new life and blooms of spring, hoping this season will never end.

Each season carries with it a beauty of its own that cannot be found in the surrounding ones.  Each season gives just enough change so that one may endure whatever long stretch of weather may follow and fully appreciate those that don’t seem quite long enough.

I am thankful for the season of sword fighting with sticks, while little pirates who previously played beside each other but not with each other engage in a complete battle, full of giggles and smiles. My heart grows during the moment when the smaller of the two pirates knocks down the other’s sword, yet the larger offers a heartfelt congratulations (And prize–his Iron Man Transformer until Christmas to be exact).

And I am thankful for the season of apple-thievery, as the little baby  who cannot yet take part in their battle chooses one of her own.

Some seasons I wish would stretch longer, watching as they fade as quickly as the golden leaves upon the autumn trees, so I learn to savor them while they are here.  Others drain me as does the heat of summer, taking every bit of strength and energy out of my bones, yet I know this time, too, is just a season; the new life of spring is around the corner.

And so I learn to find joy in every season, for in every season there is beauty, an opportunity for growth and learning, a reason to give thanks.

For what can you be thankful during this season of your life? Come share your thoughts for this ‘Focus on it Friday.’

Little Feet

As I was standing in front of the sock rack in Target, my eyes scanned back and forth between the boys small socks and medium socks.  I whipped out my phone.  My mom and sister treated Caleb to a new pair of shoes a few weeks ago; maybe one of them would remember what size he was.  I dialed Lisa’s number, and the call went straight to voicemail. “This is stupid,” I thought.  “I know he’s in a medium now.”

But I didn’t want his little feet to have grown that big; I wanted to call my sister and have her tell me, “No, he’s a size eight.  Get him the small socks.”  I was upset that my ‘baby’ no longer fit in the toddler category of life, even by clothing standards.  He was now just a little kid.

I’m sure the socks episode was just a byproduct of the kids starting preschool this week, another summer behind us, another year of growth beginning.  As hard as I try to grab hold of the time, I watch as it slips from my grasp, forever pushing forward.

So I have no choice but to be thankful…

Thankful for the little feet that keep getting bigger, that run through the house and jump on the beds (even though Mommy forbids it)…

Thankful for the camera mishap that wouldn’t capture the perfectly posed picture of a brother and sister embarking on a first day of preschool but, instead, the uncertainty and silliness they brought to their first day, captured on a camera phone…

Thankful for the huge smiles that greeted the mommy who was ready for the break but even more ready for her kids to return…

Thankful for every precious day…and determined not to waste them.

For what are you thankful this week?

Don’t Blink

I watch as the little boy who, days before, wouldn’t go in the deep end unless every buckle on his red Lightning McQueen life-jacket was secured and tight now swam freely. I watch as the little girl who, days before, was afraid to go in this same deep end, secured with life-jacket and Daddy’s arms, now pushed us away, swimming only with a purple noodle to support her.  And I watch as a baby who only days before spent just as much time getting out of the pool as in it made her way through the water, unafraid to fall.

And I don’t want to blink because before my very eyes they are changing, growing.  I’m afraid that if I look away for just a moment, I will miss a moment that is gone forever. If  I look away for a moment, when I turn my eyes back to them they will be older, one step closer to independence.

I want to freeze-frame, burn these images into my memory, bottle them up and take them with me wherever I go.  I want to keep my babies babies, safe in their parents’ arms.  Yet while I try to keep them within our grasp…

…I know that someday they will be ready to soar.  I will watch and hope and pray that they look before they leap, that they choose wisely, because ultimately, I know, the day will come when these choices will be their own.   And as they walk away on their path to independence, no longer clinging to my grasp, I will grab the hand of Him that promises that if I train them in the way they should go, even when they are turning away from me, they will not turn away from what I’ve taught them.

So I watch wide-eyed as they jump, amazed at how high they can soar.

On Any Given Day

I lay on her bed, frustrated at the events of the day.  Sundays were supposed to be our day, our day for church, family, and relaxation.  Instead, everything was in a constant state of frenzy from the moment we woke up until right then, as I was trying to get my daughter to go to sleep. The kids were horrible on this particular day, and try as I might, I couldn’t get them to cooperate.  My nerves were on edge, and Matt and I were at each other’s throat.

“Hannah Grace, stop talking,” I reprimanded her.  And I began my normal habit of introspection when the kids didn’t behave.  Why had I failed at parenting again?

I closed my eyes, hoping that if I looked like I was asleep, Hannah Grace would copy me.  The sky didn’t reflect the time of evening that it was, and light began to stream in through the cracks in the blinds. The thunder rumbled a low groan.

“I don’t like thunder,” she said.

“It’s okay.”

“We need to go somewhere.”

“There’s nowhere to go, Hannah Grace.”

“I want to go to the mall.”

“You’re not going to the mall.”

The pitter-patter of rain began, while the sky remained light.

“I like the rain,” she said.

“I do, too,” and I silently thanked God for the rain I was craving all afternoon, the rain that kept teasing me but never came.

I kissed Hannah Grace as I warned her to stay in her bed, and I moved to the hallway.  I watched the rain through the big window above the front door.

Hannah Grace began crying again, and Matt moved from Caleb’s room, where our son was now sleeping, to our daughter’s.

As the rain washed the dust and the heat down the street, my insecurities began to roll off of me in the big raindrops.

I thought about the play dates where a friend’s child blatantly defied her or another’s threw a tantrum.  I thought about the mother who made a threat and didn’t follow through, yet had a well-behaved kid.  I thought about the child who wouldn’t venture away from his mother’s side, afraid to make new friends, safe from getting in trouble. I thought about my child who was never content at my side and found a new friend wherever he went.

And I thought to myself they’re all different. It’s not all about me.

I thought how I must have been easy to raise.  Afraid to get in trouble, I never did.  I never got detention, but I never took risks.  I thought about my sister. She was harder.  She was the toddler who couldn’t control her curiosity. I identified one of my own children with her personality.

I thought about how I parented, how the good I did outweighed the bad.  And I thought about my children, how they are good children.  They’re just children.

The heavens opened and released the last bit of rain it had been saving.  I watched the downpour and let out a cleansing sigh.  And then the pitter-patter resumed amidst a greenish sky until the drops faded away to nothing.

Matt appeared at Hannah Grace’s door and moved into the hallway.  He reached out a hand and pulled me up off of the floor.  We gave each other the knowing look that spoke thank goodness that’s over, and we hugged.

Sometimes we have bad days, too, and we’re the adults.  But we’ll be okay, and so will they.

Catching the Laughter

Sometimes I wish for them to grow up, to age one more year and gain a little more sense, a little more independence.

And other times, I watch as a sudden spirit of carefree blows in and tickles their toes, pushing them off their bottoms,

creating a primal urge to shed clothes, innocence throwing off underpants in exchange for hats.

And I laugh, I soak in the moment, holding it to my chest, locking it in my memory forever,

knowing that in the blink of an eye they will be grown,

longing to catch and relish in more moments while they’re little.

For this Focus on it Friday, I am thankful for a moment of uncontrollable laughter when I watched the joy of innocence.  For what are you thankful this week?

Finding a Moment of Thanks

As I woke up this morning, I immediately was thankful for a new day.  To say that almost all of the 24 hours of yesterday was horrible would not be that much of an exaggeration.  Even after the day should’ve been over, Hannah Grace repeatedly came downstairs while Matt and I tried our best to unwind; she didn’t go to bed until 11.  Chloe cried on and off all night until Matt gave up and brought her in bed with us.  She became our first child to roll out of our bed and onto the floor, giving me a mild heart attack in the middle of the night.

As I struggle through exhaustion this morning, I look back on yesterday and still do not know what I should’ve done differently.  The two oldest were blatantly defiant all day. They didn’t merely find trouble numerous times; they repeatedly sought it out, doing the same wrong things over and over.

By 6:00, I was done.  I was hot, and after hearing ‘no’ and that my children no longer loved me numerous times during the course of the day, I was physically and emotionally tired. It was 86 degrees in our house, thanks to the energy-saving plan I chose to participate in during what will surely go down as the hottest summer on record, and Caleb was sitting on the step, refusing to go up to his room as I had asked.  I had no more energy and no more ideas–I had already taken away every privilege I could remember–and Matt wasn’t going to get home for another hour-and-a-half.  I felt like I was going to lose control in any moment, and I didn’t want to.

In the middle of the floor where I was sitting on my knees, I grabbed my face and squeezed my eyes shuts.  I started to pray a desperate prayer: God help me. Show me what to do!  I don’t know what to do! I sat silent with eyes still closed waiting to hear an answer.  I heard nothing.

And when I looked up and saw my son still sitting on that step, laughing with his sisters, the rage boiled within me. “Go upstairs NOW!” I yelled louder and longer than even I knew I was capable.

Chloe cried, Caleb looked at me in shock, but Hannah Grace’s reaction I will never forget.

She smiled, not a mocking smile, but a genuine smile.  And in the softest voice, she spoke the kindest words I have ever heard:

“Mama, I like you.  I like you, Mama.”

Somehow, this little girl no longer seemed like a little girl, almost three.  She sounded like a wise teacher, a teacher who knew exactly what her student needed to hear.

She walked over to where I was sitting and put one hand in mine, the most gentle touch I have ever felt. “I love you, Mama,” she said, emphasizing her choice of word, and then she kissed me on my lips while wrapping her arms around my neck.

The other children noticed and began to follow her lead.  Chloe toddled over and opened her mouth.  She kissed me, leaving a trail of wet all over my mouth, totally disgusting and totally wonderful.  She wrapped her baby arms around me, surprising me by the actual hug she was giving.  Then Caleb got off the stairs.  He came, adding his embrace to that of his two sisters.  I could hardly balance, three children hanging on me at the same time.  As Caleb pulled away, he, too, kissed me on the lips.

Chloe toddled back to the steps, Caleb following behind her, but Hannah Grace remained. Taking her soft hands, she gently slid them down my cheeks and said, “I love you, Mama.  I really love you.”  She continued to repeat her words, cupping my face, as if trying to ensure I believed her.

A few, short minutes later, I was still waiting for God to tell me what to do, as the disobedience continued.  The night ahead was long, and I didn’t get the rest I needed. However, in that brief moment on the floor, God answered my prayer, differently than I had hoped, but in the way He knew I needed.  My spirit was lifted as I had never experienced before, and for that, I am thankful.

Starting today, I’d like to use Fridays as a way to reflect on the week and find at least one specific thing for which I can be thankful.  I’d love for you to join me, as well! You can list your thanks in the comment section or provide a link for your own post.  We’ve all had different kinds of weeks, some wonderful, some stressful, but let’s all choose to end them the same–thankful.

Sweating and Swimming

As a mother of three kids very close together in age, I’m constantly facing the internal struggle of whether or not to leave the house with my children.  I want them to enjoy their childhood and experience story time at the library, free summer movies, and play dates, but I also don’t want to kill them.

So as I left the house today with lunches made, towels and sunscreen packed, three children dressed in swimsuits, I also left with a mild sense of dread, for based on past experience, this day at my friend’s pool would be anything but relaxing.  For me, that is.

Getting there is half the battle, and boy that battle was a tough one today!  For children who were excited about swimming, they sure didn’t get ready with much enthusiasm.  And Chloe–does her body have a little sensor that indicates when her mommy has just put a new (cloth) diaper on her, allowing her to release the effects of her iron medicine plus prune juice?  The bathing suit that took ten minutes to get on the wiggly baby now had to come off.  Ten more minutes to wipe a squirmy heinie and put a bathing suit back on, and we were on our way (again).

Once we arrived, the other half of the battle could begin.  Before I had even finished setting out the kids’ lunch on their towels, Caleb and Hannah Grace had each taken a turn pulling the valve from the lemonade pitcher, releasing a wonderful mess all over the table and floor of the screened-in porch. I was so happy I got to clean up those messes twice, and apparently, so was Chloe.  While I was cleaning, she was eating everyone else’s lunch.  Peanut butter sandwiches, whole grapes–everything this mommy had restricted from this one-year-old she put in her mouth.  Of course the cut grapes and cracker pieces I set out for her remained untouched.

The pool is a wonderful, refreshing idea for combatting this horrid Georgia heat, yet the pool only works if one gets in it. Hannah Grace won’t get in the pool, Caleb won’t get out of it, and Chloe won’t stay put.  She wants in the pool, and less than 30 seconds later she wants out.  I felt like a jack-in-the-box climbing in and out and in and out, chasing after the baby one minute, and yelling at Hannah Grace the next to leave the lemonade alone.  It’s near impossible to watch three children when they’re all in different places. And when it’s 96 degrees outside and probably that percentage humidity, if I’m not soaking in a pool, I want to be inside–not chasing after children!

And so, I’d like to apologize to the group of mothers who sat beneath the umbrella, enjoying their lunch and adult conversation, jumping in the pool to cool themselves, and then resuming social time: I would’ve loved to socialize, as well.  In fact, I am a pretty pleasant person, but seeing as my baby won’t stay in a float for two minutes before climbing out, my middle child wants to be pushed on the swing–the only child, by the way, who wants to swing instead of swim–and my oldest child insists on spraying every kid in the face with the water gun but then cries when anyone sprays him back (sorry about that, too), I think embracing my role as antisocial, crazy mother is best.

And while I’m apologizing, I’d also like to apologize to any mothers of only girls.  My son doesn’t understand the concept of dropping his pants out-of-view before peeing behind the shed.  We are working on modesty in my home, but that lesson hasn’t stuck, yet.  I am pleased that at least Hannah Grace did not take her bathing suit off this time as she did at a previous swimming engagement.

And to the woman who brought the 100-calorie snack bag–no, you didn’t finish your snack, but my children did.  While I was putting Hannah Grace in time-out for taking your food, Caleb came out of the pool and ate the rest. Think of it this way–now you only had a 50-calorie snack.

So to my dear friend, I always appreciate your invitations to come swim, but I don’t think I can bring my children when there is a large group. That, and the fact that I don’t think you’re going to invite us again since my daughter peed on your carpet.