Is that in my Job Description?

Write... right? It's been about 11 months since my last post. There's been 

much more hurrying than writing of late. The last year I decided to break for 

a bit, realizing that this mama has her limits. However now I'm craving the 

creative process. I'm hoping to post again on more of a regular basis. 

The biggest news now is that my baby is turning two tomorrow. What?! How

did that happen? Life has been crazy, but it's been good. I love my family,

even when I feel like I need a therapy session after a long day of he said, 

she said, the toddler did... , I wouldn't trade it for the world. I remember an

old movie we watched when I was growing up when a main character 

responded to concerns of fatigue by stating, "I'm blessed with work." In the

same way, I'm blessed with motherhood and all the crazy things that go 

along with it. 

Yesterday, I was recounting all the things I had done that day to my husband,

which included (but not limited too) picking up dog poo in the yard (not in my 

job description or the agreement when we adopted our beloved pooch), 

cleaning up bird poo off of the slides in the back yard, killing a huge, probably 

pregnant spider on the play set, sweeping spider webs off the swings, and 

removing an egg sack of some kind off the baby slide. He looked at me with

all seriousness and stated, "So you were a mom." Now all the spider and

spider web stuff was a big deal for me, because I don't like bugs of any kind.

I felt a bit minimized, but that's not how Jason intended it to come across. 

No, in my mind all that went above and beyond normal motherly duties. I 

wanted a bit of extra recognition. But I guess he was right (hopefully he 

doesn't read this), all the above goes along with taking care of your kids, 

loving them enough to do things you despise. I heard someone somewhere 

say that motherhood can be summed up by one word, wiping. But it's really 

why we do all the wiping. Love. Thanks to my mom and grandma for all the 

"wiping" they did, shaping our families with love. 

With this weekend being Memorial Day and having served in the USAF,

I thank the Lord for all our current, former, and retired military members 

who so selflessly serve/d our country. Thank you and God Bless you all. 

Diaper Run

A couple months ago I experienced a motherhood moment I'm sure
I'll never forget. For obvious reasons, I avoid stores when all three
children are with me like the plague. One day, I couldn't ignore the 
fact that my potty-training resistant 3 year old only had a couple
pull-ups left. I strategized which store would be the best to run into
to pick up a pack. I ran out of time before I had to pick my 5 year
old up from preschool, so I would be forced to that which I dreaded.
But which store would be the best for minimal fiascoes? 

After much contemplation, I decided that the local CVS would be it.
It was on the correct side of the road so as to not have to cross 
traffic upon leaving, it was a smaller store (which would be a 
benefit if a child decided to bolt), and it had an easy-to-find things
layout. 

I decided against putting the baby in the stroller, after all, I would 
only be in the store for a couple minutes. With baby on hip, the
3 year old holding my hand, and the 5 year old holding onto my
purse, we entered the store. Immediately, I could see the baby 
section was in the right rear section of the store. We ventured 
down the center aisle, but each row end contained some trinket
desirable to the little ones. Oohs, and ahs continued until
we finally arrived at the last row which contained the diapers.

I realized the 3 year old had continued to the back of the store
which had a rack of toy dye-cast cars. No problem, I can divert
them away to the destination. With a reminder  that we were 
not there for toys but for pull-ups, I managed to steer them 
towards the goal, which quickly turned into pulling multiple 
packs of diapers of various sizes and designs off the racks.
I directed the ambitious one toward the correct size and style
of pull-up, and he was quite pleased with himself for choosing
the correct diaper. 

I thought I was in the clear until we headed back down the center
aisle and both older kids started asking for rubber duckies, new 
hair ties, and various small toys. I was barely able to keep them
with me, but we finally made it up to the checkout area. Yeah! Then it
happened. 

This was a couple weeks after Easter, so there were multiple barrels
of discount Easter candy. The children's eyed bulged. Before I had
a chance to intervene, the elder one dipped her had into a barrel
of cadbury eggs. Could she have one? At least she asked, but
the answer was still no. My little lovelies + sugar = disaster. The 
younger had his eye on the prize, threw the pull-ups over his shoulder,
and didn't hesitate to plunge his little hand down into the treasure 
trove of sugary delight and proceeded to unwrap the candy as quickly 
as his fumbling fingers would allow. 

"James, no!" I warned. His eyes met mine, his tiny jaw clenched, 
and he was off! Top speed, his little legs carried him as fast and 
they could go, which was pretty fast. 

Before I had a moment to respond, my 5 year old yelled, "I'll head
him off!" Great, now both my children were on the run! Baby still
on hip I trotted down the aisles searching for the escapee. A couple 
of times he would see me as he started down an aisle and then 
doubled back the other way. Finally, I met him mid way down an
aisle. He stopped short of my reach and moved the candy egg behind
his back. 

In the distance, his big sister inched closer up behind him. Unaware
of her presence, he continued to back up slowly. I made sure my 
eyes did not give her away. Then triumph, "I've got it!" she shouted
proudly as she held up the prize.

Defeated, the 3 year old reluctantly held my hand as we returned
to the front of the store to check out. We had attracted quite a few
stares, something I'm immune to now. I picked up the abandoned
pack of pull-ups and rejoined the check out line as my lovelies 
decided a game of tag around the barrels of candy would be 
acceptable. I sighed in exhaustion. Then I heard a voice behind me,
"It's only a season." I nodded and smiled. 

Only a season. A season of crazy chaos, wild adventures in 
parenting, delightful dreams of princesses and pirates, little
arms giving huge hugs, little lips bestowing sweet kisses. A
season that will be over all too quickly. A season that must be
enjoyed and lived to the fullest, despite disastrous diaper runs.

Verity or Apparition?

5 a.m. the other morning I was in the middle of an active REM cycle. My
subconscious was deeply ensconced in a dream about a Christmas 
play I had written. Even though I had written this play (not something I've
done in the lucid world), I only had one speaking line, and it escaped
me! There I stood, bewildered and flustered, behind back stage doors
about to go on with no clue what I was suppose to do or say. Finally a 
cast member handed me a script and all was well, or so I thought. 


This dream took a turn for the worst when I glanced down and spied
a gigantic spider on my left hand. I screamed and tried to brush it off,
but to no avail. The hair-raising arachnid clung to my fingers as though
its life depended on it. 


The next instant I was awake. In the dim light cast by my charging cell
phone, I noticed a familiar eight-legged creature. It scurried across my
left hand, my husband's pillow, and over the edge of the mattress at the
head of the bed. I felt frozen but heard myself saying, "Big spider, big
spider, big spider!" 


Jason sprang to action and used the flashlight app on his cell phone 
to begin the search. After a few breathless seconds there was no sign
of it. I turned on the lamp for better visualization. Jason pulled up the
mattress and looked under the bed. No spider. 


No spider, the words repeated in my foggy brain. Had there been an
actual spider, or was it remnants of my dream... real or imagined?
This dilemma was more disturbing to me. Jason decided to get
ready for work. I had a good hour before my alarm would go off, 
but there was no way I would put my head back where it had been.
Instead I plopped my pillow at the foot of my bed and curled up in 
a fetal position, not even my toes would fall victim to the potential
antagonist. Despite my fear of creepy-crawly creatures, I quickly fell 
back asleep.


Now, two days later, I'm still bothered by the question. Was the spider 
real or imagined? Last night I slept with my head a couple of feet away
from the head of the bed. I'd be inclined to believe it had been imagined
except that the spider I saw looked entirely different than the one in my 
dream. I think that night I prayed that the Lord would strike the thing dead
in its tracks. Whether or not He would do that, I'm not sure, but it doesn't 
hurt to ask. 


Some may chuckle at my reaction to this experience, and that's okay. 
We all have our quirks, weaknesses, or irrational fears. I feel I may 
have more than the average person, but self-awareness is a good 
thing, right? What do you think? Was spider real? Should I sleep
with one eye open? Should I chill and forget about it? 

Superhuman Mommy Senses

Earlier this week, my four year old darted away from the lunch table while 
my back was turned. Not only did I hear the swishing of wind made from 
her hasty escape, but I noted a flash of pink into the dining room from my 
extreme peripheral vision. Without turning around I calmly stated, "Avalon, 
come back to the table and finish your food." 


"How did you know where I was!?" she asked in amazement.


A scene from my childhood sparked in the recesses of my brain. "Don't 
you know that mommies have eyes in the backs of their heads?"


If it was possible for her eyes to grow wider, they did. "How did you get
them, Mommy? When did you get them?" 


I could literally see her logical young mind trying to make sense of my 
claim. "I got them when I became a mommy. You won't have eyes in the
back of your head until you become a mommy." She accepted the explanation 
without further questioning, a rarity, and returned to the table as instructed.


Today I stepped away from the kitchen for some reason and upon returning,
again she was nowhere to be seen. "Avalon, come back and finish your milk."
Instead of the much desired, "Yes, Mother," I heard a creeping then a lunge 
onto a love seat, the back of which faces the kitchen. I leaned over the couch,
and spied a disappointed face. 


"How did you know I was here?" her voice a bit exasperated. 


"I heard you. Don't you know mommies have super hearing?" This time no 
discussion ensued. 


Now in writing this, I think I may know why she wants to be a mommy and 
"only a mommy" when she grows up. Obviously, mommies have superhuman
abilities that other people are not fortunate enough to develop. Who wants 
to go to a job all day when you can have super hearing, extra eyes that permit
you to see everything, and not to mention an unnerving ability to sense when
someone is not telling the truth?


She'll be amazing no matter what she does in the future. Along with being 
proficient in whatever profession she chooses, I know she'll be an excellent
mother. 

Want a New Distressed Look for your Home? No Problem!

Love that trendy distressed look they have for wood furniture and floors?
Want the look without the price tag? I have just the answer. Within my 
family there is one who will pound, hammer, scrap your wood furniture 
or floors providing that much desired "rustic" look and the feel you've been
searching for. True he only is about 37 inches tall and 30 pounds, but 
don't let his size deceive you. He can pack a punch harder than those
two or three times his size. 


His preferred tools are toy train engines. The tiny wheels leave the perfect 
size indentations for a store bought distressed look. If trains are not available, 
his second favorite tool is a toy wooden hammer. "Isn't that what it's made 
for?" will be the look he'll give you. The one I speak of is quite resourceful,
so if trains and toy hammers are out of reach, he'll gladly use anything lying
around, a coaster, small ottoman, remote control, and the list goes on. 


Did I mention his pricing is more than competitive? As payment for this fresh, 
new distressed look, he requires only a snack of gold fish and juice and 
possibly a diaper change, depending on how extensive the job is. His 
immediate supervisor may wish to accompany him on a job site. She's a
bit taller and will also require gold fish and juice as she directs his efforts.
Of course, the big boss herself (yours truly) will come along to make sure
the working conditions are satisfactory and the workers are being treated
well. FYI - the big boss likes dark chocolate. 


So for the price of a half a bag of gold fish, 16 ounces of juice, and a dark
chocolate candy bar, you too can have a refreshing new look on your 
current wood floors and furniture!

The Ultimate Adventure

Around my house, you have to stay on your toes. You never know when
a child may charge you for a tackle, I mean hug, or repeatedly kiss you
with slobbery, tiny lips until you laugh so hard tears stream down your 
cheeks. Other things to watch out for are unsupervised impromptu painting 
sessions at 6:30 in the morning, partially eaten cheese sticks left randomly 
through the house, or a mostly consumed diaper (thanks to the dog). It's not 
uncommon to hear children competing for who can roar the loudest, hopefully 
as they're pretending to be dinosaurs. My four year old also enjoys throwing 
a plastic baseball (overhand) down the hall for my two year old to retrieve 
for her. "Go get it little boy!" is shrieked repeatedly amidst rolls of laughter 
from both. Watch out for when the ninety pound boxer mix wants to join in. 
Someone could get taken out. 


Just this morning, after reading a lengthy book to my tank of a two year old,
I decided to catch up on email, facebook, twitter... . Without warning he jumped
and dove across my arms and laptop to the couch cushion next to me. How
hilarious! I laughed, tweeted about it, then closed the laptop and suggested
a snack to him. Obviously he wanted my attention. I call him a tank not because
he is stocky or bulky, but because he'll bulldoze through almost any obstacle.
He'd be a great tackle if he ever wants to play football, but his dad plans to
steer him as much as possible into baseball, which I can't disagree with. 
Baseball season is a favorite in my family. He is the most determined child
I have ever met. A quality I first noticed in him at six months old. On all fours,
he'd stare at a point ahead of him, and with a surety in his eyes, I could 
almost hear his thoughts, I'm gonna get there... . And that was just learning
to crawl. 


Another funny, but yet not so funny story from this morning is when he and 
I were about ready to pick up his big sister from preschool. I bundled him 
up and then realized I wouldn't make it back home again without needing
to use the restroom. I raced to the bathroom. From inside I heard nothing 
from my little tank. Not a good sign. I yelled, "What are you doing?!" His reply
was muffled. Not good. He had something in his mouth. I finished with 
lightning speed and rushed to where he stood on the hearth holding his
sister's candy pale from Halloween (yes we haven't finished it yet). I
ordered the adventurer to open his mouth where I observed a chewed up
extra large tootsie roll, paper wrapper and all, smooshed to the top of his
mouth. I grabbed a paper towel and swiped the whole wad from his 
mouth. He seemed grateful to be free the chewy mess. 


Lesson learned, again. Stay on my toes, expect everything, be surprised
at nothing, take bathroom breaks with lightning speed or use restraints if
speediness is not possible (a.k.a. strapped into a booster chair in front of
the tube). Motherhood, without a doubt, is an adventure not intended for 
the faint hearted, weak willed, or weak minded, at least not at my house.
To all my fellow adventurers, may you have a safe week, full of fun, rolls
of laughter and tackling hugs.