So completely fudrucked out of their minds, running on empty, that the only thing that makes any sense to him, whatsoever, is to strip down entirely naked, be wrapped up in his sleeping bag (ZIPPED! ZIP IT UP RIGHT NOW!), and be spoon-fed applesauce in place of dinner?

You have to use your calm voice that sounds like really intense screaming at a whisper under your breath. The same voice you hear in the grocery store when a mom with a kid in her cart that will. not. sit. down. and she uses her serious voice to let them know they have just one more chance to make it out of that store alive.

And while you’re secretly sipping adult beverages on a beach where no one in the entire world can get ahold of you in your happy place, you’re dodging the scrambled eggs being thrown at your face and the applesauce being painted into your hair. On a good hair day. During it all you scoop and serve and smile. You pat his head and explain to him that although things look really calm, this is not acceptable behavior. And when he’s able to hold his shit together this conversation will continue.

He uses those baby blue eyes to look up at you, somehow manages to stop breathing fire and says “I love you, mom” and before the spell works on you – you agree! He’s done with dinner. You lift the entire apparatus up and out of his chair making sure you have a hold on his arms, not his legs or anything more sensitive, as you carry him up the stairs and begin the countdown to Battle Zone Bathroom: It’s time to brush his teeth.

Which you will do, damn it, even though tonight would be a perfectly acceptable evening not to – this has gotten personal: the toothbrush fight, and letting it slip one night will mean you start from ground fucking zero tomorrow – and ground zero? Is death-cab parenting.

Your calm/rage voice coaches him through his bathroom break and then without warning you stick that toothbrush IN HIS MOUTH, wriggle, and count to 10. Really fast. Wipe his mouth, his tears. DO YOUR HAPPY DANCE.

Pick that kid up, inside of that insane and completely impulse purchase of a sleeping bag (that you’re cursing right about now), and you lay him in his bed.

His cheeks are glistening from his emotional breakdown over To Zip or Not To Zip and he cannot remember how he got here – so you look down at him, kiss his forehead and whisper “I love your brave heart. I love your wonderful mind. I love your gentle hands. I love you, Oliver. Good night.” And you tip toe out of his room because somewhere between Brave and Wonderful – he fell asleep and the last thing he remembers is his mom tucking him in, singing his praises, and loving him to pieces.

Tomorrow we do it all again only this time? We’ll take naps.

I had to share:

Also? It’s laundry day! And my intimate relationship with all-the-unmatched-socks-in-the-entire-world is very fresh. Fresh and frustrating.

Seriously though – I will duct-tape clothing to my kids. You?

It’s this:

Wake up before anyone else in the house, be really loud. Ask for SO MUCH FOOD RIGHT NOW, OMG I’M HUNGRY! Now a drink. More drinks. Even more drinks, cold ones. Big ones. Lots of water. Different glass!!!!

Blues Clues? More food. NOT THAT FOOD!! THE OTHER FOOD!

Ok Oliver it’s time to get our coats on and go to school.

BUT I DON’T LIKE COATS! WAAAAAAAAAAA!

Your coat hasn’t changed, it’s the same coat. It’s blue! You love this coat. Let’s put it on.

Weird noises that let me know he’s testing out Dinosaur voices but with a touch of Wolf … and it all means “NO WAY!”

(I put it on for him.)

Crying. Possibly a temper tantrum, most likely being punched in the boob.

Dude, not again. Not today. We’re going to be late. You may not hit me. You don’t hit girls. You’re allowed to use your words when you need something.

Grunts.

And we generally repeat this process over every decision for the rest of the day. It’s a little like walking around a land-mine. Which phrase is going to trip the trigger?

Maybe I didn’t notice this after bringing him home from the hospital with Jessica, I was sleep deprived and hormonal and trying to figure out how to show Jessica I loved her the same, if not more, while still meeting all the needs of this infant who screamed louder, ate more often and wanted to be held constantly.

The adjustment period.

And now … another adjustment period. Gone is my baby boy who wants to cuddle and kiss and tell me he “wuvs me” and in his place we have a defiant preschooler who knows the power of a decision. Of saying no. Of choice.

So many choices. All of the choices every where in the entire world, CHOICES! They are now on his radar, at his beck and call. And he wants the Superman socks today, not Batman thankyouverymuch. But the Superman socks are in the wash and the Batman are clean and the sun is shining but the sky is FALLING and where is his ki-ki? Duckie? Charlotte?

It’s a dance, training a boy (who is a preschooler) to become a man. To want honorable things, to BE honorable and DO honorable all the while battling the indecision with massive options of how to say Yes, No and Not Right Now. To teach him that saying “I need help” has more character than using his fists, even though his fists are super strong and could totally win.

To champion his wins just as much as we champion his falls, his losses and his defeats. Because in the scheme of learning how – they all matter. And today what matters most is that I was here to hear him need me. And I listened.

I’ll take the baby beating, the fist in my chest. The exhausting fight over shoes and getting out the door. I’ll take it, but not always with grace, and I’ll walk with him, not over him, while we arrive, together.

My life often looks like this – I see it as beautiful chaos. There’s a little bit of all of us on this table – bright colors, papers and cords notwithstanding. This is the heart of this house, a table with 2 extra leaves. Chairs for dinner, homework and a quiet cup of tea.

A place to hang our coats and bags. To set our favorite lovies down for a rest. A place to get the glue out, paint all over and leave our scraps for the imaginary bears.

Art-work. Home-work. Work.

I give myself (and my daughter) extra time together on the days my son is in daycare. On these days we have a cushion of precious minutes to spend together. Just the two of us. A needed remedy to a life of overlapping forgetfulness. Nomadic folks that we are, we often squish everything we can into any moment and having unplanned and open hours to spend how we’d like? Gold.

This was today – these moments. The moments I could sit and stare at her smile, even better? The moments she freely did.

There are entirely too many cut outs of pills and medication type bottles on this little school craft. Also some weird looking food items, apparently we’re thankful for only the tips of people’s boots and well, Susan Sarandon?

1. The pills and Fish Oil. Neither of which she takes, ever. Once in a while we have kid vitamins and she doesn’t see Aaron or I taking pills daily either. I am so confused. Maybe she’s thankful for health?

2. Shoes (tip of a boot). I’m thinking that the school needs more magazines.

3. This is a Turkey. And when you don’t know it’s a turkey it sure does look like a talking penis.

4. A boy and girl about to make-out. With almost no clothes on. This is where we’ll be able to point one day and know, for sure, that this was where we went drastically wrong. According to her – she’s thankful for Mom and Dad. (Points to this picture.) So I guess we need to be more careful about making out near bodies of water in our swim suits. On the plus side: affectionate naked people = mom and dad. So ….

5. Susan Sarandon. I just. I don’t know. With a milk mustache, no less. She pointed to this and said “I’m thankful for mom”. Susan, you are every child’s mother apparently. Because I don’t drink milk (never have, not once.), my hair is dirty blonde and very straight and I’m well on this side of 50. I do smile though, I’m glad she saw those eyes and thought … hmmm, my mom is happy and I like my mom. (I’m taking a liberty there.)

She’s also very, very thankful for pizza. Berries, flowers, oranges and water.

And motorcycles.

She has a dream of motor-crossing some day. Her dad did inline skating, so of course she chooses a hobby with bigger wheels and an entire motor.

Yep, that’s my girl.

Who remembers this? The awful day in kindergarten, almost exactly one year ago, that I forgot to show up for my kid.

I hadn’t been thinking about that because lately I’ve made it a priority to change my calendar in order to be there consistently for both of my kids. Helping in school and on field trips, involving each other in their siblings classroom. Snacks! Treats! Signing up to volunteer!

And you know what? I really like it. Like, I love it-like it.

I ran to a fabric store this morning because I had this idea to surprise my daughter with a special shirt for The Turkey Bowl at school before Thanksgiving break. I kind of fell through on the “50′s” themed day with a poodle skirt and I refuse to be the mediocre reason my kid never expects a higher standard from me.

Problem is on my way to check out I ran through the days in my head and felt my stomach drop when I realized today is Thursday and the Turkey Bowl is on Thursday.

I can’t even explain to you the colors of red I saw at that realization. Completely disappointed in myself for not being on top of this.

I bought the supplies any way. I needed to. I was proving something to myself and buying that fabric and the blank t-shirts meant I would be ready the next time.

***************

So when I picked her up this afternoon and she announces that TOMORROW IS THE TURKEY BOWL {!!!!!!!!!!}, I had redemption.

I was planning on staying up late to sew this together after my mom and {step}dad went home (we had them over for dinner tonight) but then got to talking to my mom about it and excitedly showing off my fabrics when she told me of a short cut. (Iron-on no-sew. I am in love. I even had some, miraculously, saved from all the moving and purging.)

So in less than 15 minutes I had this shirt made for my daughter. It’ll be waiting for her with a big breakfast for the athlete tomorrow morning.

You guys???? YOU GUYS!

I’m being the mom I want to be and there’s something incredibly freeing in knowing how.

I woke up this morning with pain -but much less and hey! I could get my pants on as well as my socks and shoes without asking for Aaron’s help. He’s a trooper, that one.

We took our time getting ready this morning because you see, someone put new batteries in a toy that makes a tremendous amount of noise. So our son was happy to lay on the ground and watch the sirens make shadows on the rug and listen to the ringing in his ears.

When he’s tried of pushing buttons and awaiting imaginary battle he moves on to the keyboard – full blast, and plays the most beautiful and sad songs. He calls them “walking”.

Tap, tap. long-tap…………. Tap. Tap. Tap.

He’s growing up really fast and he’s much smarter than we usually give him credit for. He’s our baby, afterall. We kind of expect him to stay that way when really, he’s using complex conversation to try and ask us if we understand him.

We went to our favorite coffee shop this morning and before I was allowed out of the car he had to “check it”. So there he is, walking around our van with intent and “fixing things” and looking up to smile and make sure I was ok for a good 5 minutes.

Just taking care of me. Like a little man.

He wanted to go to the INSIDE PARK!!! so bad this morning so after coffee we ran a few errands, took a detour to a creek before it freezes and then headed to the inside park. Where he met some ladies.

And tried to impress said ladies.

He was a heartbreaker before all of this. Now? Forget about it.

THAT FACE! His personality … I am beyond bias about this kid, but come on.

Our daughter can be jealous of him because of the reaction he gets from other people while we’re out. His boots! His name! He’s so cute!

Not that she isn’t any of those things, she’s just older and we all know that the older the child the less appealing to the masses they really are. Babies are gold to curious public. It hurts some times because I understand the sadness in her eyes – trying to be happy for him or engaging in a conversation centered around everything but her. She’s incredibly strong and loving, gracious and caring because of this.

What our son has in obvious appeal, our daughter has in grace and heart.

She’s beautiful and shy and so smart. She’s witty but unsure of her comedy and although her timing is off, her purpose never is.

This post was going to be about how big he’s getting and how adorable it all is – which is all true. But most of what he does is a mirror of her any way. Her actions, facial expressions, her jokes.

I wonder if she gets that he’s cute because she’s amazing.

If he can impress a girl half as great as his sister then we’re going to be just fine.

These are the tests that proved our daughter was on her way.

And I knew when we heard “It’s a girl!” and the moments that followed that I had just given birth to the best parts of myself.

This little whisper of love. The beauty in innocence formed. She was our miracle.

This morning in church she sat with us, which is half normal and half coincidental. We listened to our pastor teach to us about the words we speak – and their power over others, ourselves … and in God.

It’s been a long time since I’ve talked openly about this kind of thing because, to be completely honest, I’ve been struggling.

But words get me. Talking about how words work – that speaks to me. And it was really nice to feel connected this morning, but it gets better.

Later on this evening I sat down with my daughter and asked her what she thought of this morning. She was pretty interactive throughout the service, raising her hand and announcing that SHE WAS A KID IN THE AUDIENCE when asked. She was her, which is always amazing.

Our pastor touched on the death in words – and how we probably all have a pinpointed moment in our lives when we could tell you when negativity was spoken to us … that we ended up believing. Or struggling with. Or carrying around for the rest of our lives.

I have many of those moments, from others, myself … strangers, I carry daily. I beat myself up and I measure myself against the apparent failure in the statements meant to cut me. Problem is, I’m still bleeding.

I asked my daughter if she had any of those moments in her life, knowing full well I probably have been one of the mouths in the lineup of her little life.

Ashamed and angry for knowing this before asking and hurt when she confirmed it, not for myself -but because I know the power of a parents words on your life. Healing and yet at times they’re a life sentence to the person you’ll never be.

She got serious and completely, beautifully honest and said to me: I try to tell you but you won’t listen; you have to be careful with words because they’re just like tooth paste – when you say them, you can’t put them back.

Broken. I probably carry around more of the words I’ve ill-spoken to my kids in frustration, anger, impatience than they do but that doesn’t mean they aren’t still carrying them, too.

Parenting is. not. easy. Or cute or always fun. It’s not a hobby, it’s not something I’ll do for just today. It’s forever. It is a dedication. It is selflessness to it’s core. It’s never about you, always about them. It’s what you are for the rest of your life. It’s often painful and unrewarding. It can break relationships – even the ones it fosters and it can be a death of it’s own right.

But it’s sacred and honorable. It’s beautiful in all the wrong places. It’s raw. It’s human. It’s viral, at times.

At the end of it all, the memories I know I carry are words. Moments. Phrases.

The most impactful life moments have a picture and a smell but more-so they have a sentence spoken into me. Over me. For me. By my parents, the teachers I trusted, friends who truly loved me (some who never did) and the trail and error of finding out what love really was and is.

It’s a Charge to become a parent and I’m amazingly blessed to be one to this girl. This girl who, against all odds, loves me for me … all of me, even the rotten, crabby and sometimes mean-spoken me. She adores it.

I’m not worth even that but I’ll go forward trying to meet the mark.

Love,
Mom

I trick or treated well into my teens with friends and my favorite part (aside from hogs of candy) was going up to the houses where the laughter greeted you before the faces. Happy laughter from houses full of people, adults watching TV or taking care of kids – kids in the background trying on costumes or trading candy, decorating cookies, eating pizza.

Halloween was the acceptable holiday to peek inside of someone’s life. That would probably be my very favorite part of this night, always.

We had a Tooth Fairy and a Dalmatian yesterday.

Aaron took the kids through the neighborhood while I giggled like a school girl and handed out candy. It was like I finally got to do something I’ve always wanted to do. Why I didn’t have this on my Life List is beyond me.

I’ll remind you right now that I am a girl of simple pleasures. Hopelessly romantic, poetry, holding hands. I was more excited to turn 16, not to drive, but to finally feel what it was like to buckle my seat belt with the opposite hand.

Yea, I know. My mom laughed at me too.

I make no apologies. I love what I love. It’s almost always the little things.

(Aaron, diamonds are little … I’m just putting it out there.)

So yes, I was the weird person behind a door with slippers on and no costume handing out candy to all the little monsters and I loved every minute of it.

The kids woke up this morning toting their presents around the house from the Halloween Fairy. Our daughter got a Tony Hawk finger skate board and ramp (something she has been BEGGING for, way to go Fairy.) and our son got a Dump Truck that (wait for it) makes noise! Imagine that!

Did the fairy make it to your door last night??

We have a Halloween Fairy.

We let our kids dress up and Trick or Treat, eat some candy while doing so and get all excited about everyone’s costume.

Carve pumpkins and even make all the fun treats to have at home.

But …

Once we’re home and they’ve looked at all their candy and chosen a few pieces to keep – we take their candy away.

Better yet? They hand it over.

Then when we put them to bed at night we set their spoils outside their door for the Halloween Fairy. During the night, she comes to collect the candy and in it’s place leaves a little trinket or present for each child.

Our kids don’t even care that they don’t get the candy and we take it away for so many reasons.

Having that much sugar before the rest of the Holiday season (or anytime, really) is a surefire way for our family to be sick for months on end. We know, we’ve lived it. And dolling it out on a daily, ration type basis is worse. Highly refined sugar everyday takes a toll on our health more than eating it in one setting and being done with it. I just refuse to allow my kids to go that far with candy. (From experience and now lifelong consequences.)

We like our kids. On sugar highs? I don’t so much enjoy them.

They get one set of teeth.

Less is so much more.

What do you do differently on Halloween?