Brave, Rockstar, Super-Mom

Those are three of the words from some of my ever-so-kind Instagram friends today... Commenting on me being alone at the doctors with all three boys. Those comments gave me some super fuel to power through the next hour or so... But if you were to step behind the picture you'd see everything but. I think the theme song would be "I'm a survivor." 

Brave. Not so much. It was a complete necessity. I tried everything to avoid it. Baby woke up with pink eye, called doctors at 9am to find their only available appointment is 1:15- smack dab in the middle of nap time and my husbands meeting he couldn't rearrange. So no bravery here, just a survival moment of "do what ya gotta do." 

Rockstar. Man can I make the pics look like that. All boys looking at the camera, two out of three smiling. But the only "rockstar" was Caleb who pulled the stirrups out of the old patient table and while balancing on them was screaming at the top of his lungs, while Connor played on the iPad and I tried to nurse my sick babe. (I'm sure everyone could hear the "show" through the paper thin walls! Hey I think it got the doctor into our room a little quicker!) 

Super-Mom. Well as I sit here in the pharmacy drive thru after everyone having the most nutritious dinner ever (a bowl of cereal.) I don't feel like a Super-Mom. I'm replaying all the moments of today while judging the cars in line in front of me why they are in the drive thru with no children in their cars... 

Connor roared at a little boy just at the approach of him coming near the magazine rack. Snatched the one and only toy from another boy! (Why on earth our pediatricians office only has one toy in their entire establishment boggles my mind and I managed to fill out a comment card while I was there-- someone had to get the brunt of my frustration.) Caleb treated our glass ball string lights in the backyard like a baseball game and shattered glass all over. Spit on his grandparents multiple times while Skyping with them. Connor hit me while being put in bed for nap time. They fought. They made messes. They had tons of poopy diapers. And both Caleb and Cade never took a nap. 

On these tough days I'm reminded I don't have to do it alone. I'm reminded of how much in need I am of my God. His joy really is my strength to not just "survive" motherhood, but to thrive in the midst of the crazy years. At the end of every day (and normally in the middle) I can give thanks to Him for every blessing and this life He believes I am capable of leading— and doing it well." 

How good is this?!.....

"The LORD is my strength and shield. I trust him with all my heart. He helps me, and my heart is filled with joy. I burst out in songs of thanksgiving." Psalm 28:7 

We All Need a Little Grace

Phew, this morning was a doozy. I had less than an hour to feed four human beings, get them dressed, play a game of "Go Fish", brush teeth, cuddle during "Daniel Tiger", make lunches, make coffee for the busy hubs, and get out the door on time. I know so many can relate. But why does there have to be a battle every time? Connor spilled his cereal, like head to toe milk and "honey boats" (Honey Bunches of Oats) all over him twice! Caleb is fighting over every. single. thing. He doesn't like his shirt, his socks have "bumps", he can't get his shoes on, and he hates his new (never worn) sweatshirt from Christmas. Just great. Thank you Jesus for Cade who sits on the floor and smiles through most of it, even being pushed down by Connor and toys stolen.

So we finally make it into the garage, everyone is in their seats and I'm closing the automatic door and boom... slam my finger in my door. That was just enough to push me over the edge. I mean sobbing. I can't remember the last time I sobbed like that. I shut the garage door in the midst of the pain, because I just couldn't take the chances of a neighbor walking by and hearing the madness & sobbing all at once. The boys asking if I was okay. I finally had the words to tell Caleb-- my finger was hurting bad, but it was my feelings that were hurting to push me over the edge. He had been rude and disobedient all morning. (Maybe it's because I beat him so bad in Go Fish?) So then Caleb begins to sulk and cry. So I climb in the back of the van and we sit, and talk, and cry and hug. We work it out. We have (what I hope) is a good lesson for all of us on working together and what loving each other looks like.

While I'm climbing back up to the front of the van I'm coaching the boys on what we're going to do once we arrive at school-- no fits, no tantrums, no fights. And under my breath say something like "I don't need anymore grief..."

Caleb says, "Mommy!! It sounded like you just said you don't need any more grace?!"

And I'm done.

"Nope, Caleb. Mommy always needs more grace. Lots and lots more. We all do. Thanks for the reminder baby."

My morning in a nutshell and a constant reminder that I'm in need of grace from every avenue of life. Including every person and email and text I am super late on replying to right now, trying to keep up. Thank you friends for grace. Thank you God for daily grace and mercies new every morning.

Thankful for coffee on the ride.

A trip to Target after the chaos will help.

The way home. The sun & clouds just made me happy. It reminded me of a clean slate.

Count on Crazy

So I once heard this thought shared at our MOPS meeting...  (fyi: if you aren't connected to one, you should! It's a lifeline for mommies of tinies) ... The line was "count on crazy." 

Oh how that can be such a helpful perspective to have in the daily tasks and chaos we call mommyhood. I have found so many times when I could break down and cry, or scream my head off, or call the husband for a 911-- that I slow down and remember to "count on crazy." When we do this, it makes it a lot easier to laugh over the spilled drink on the light carpet, the nail polish on your four year old son, the three year old playing wrestling with your nine-month old (which all of this has happened to me in just these past few hours.) 

This is the life. Did we dream of all of the messy details? Probably not. But they come with the package-- and it's still the best. 

But my thoughts don't stop there, some of you can... But there's a few of us that need to keep reading (or processing). I would like to one up it and say, "count on the craziest!" 

So this morning we went to the Sacramento Children's Museum (another fyi: if you are local, you need to become a member there! Another lifeline!) So I already knew to count on crazy as I'm one of the few mommies there with three kids and alone. I don't have my fancy camera out and we are never dressed in mommy/kid fashion... We are in survival fun mode. Baby strapped to me, Caleb off who knows where (but it works- we've been going since he was a baby) and Connor insisting I follow his every move and carry his toys and hide from the alligators. 

Then over the loud speaker they say, hello everyone. It's now time for a science project in the party room! I tell Connor to stay while I go make sure Caleb has managed his way there. Of course he was already seated with his goggles and lab coat on. (Adorable.)

So to keep a long story short, the science project was a cup of water in a pan (to collect spillage). First you put soap in the cup and stir. Caleb does great, Connor decides to be the one and only "craziest" and eat it! Ew. Then they add food coloring, then baking soda... Connor takes another spoonful to the mouth! (Ah! I can't catch it all. Holding Cade & helping Caleb.) The finale to the project has arrived! The citric acid to make the "mini explosion"-- lots of foaming. Caleb does his and then definitely one ups his brother. Everyone is politely stirring their cups, oohing & aahing over the foam magic... When Caleb decides to pour his out everywhere and put his hands all in it and make a total disaster. (Picture taken before the disaster!) 

This is where the "count on the craziest" happens. I could get angry and scold him, I could get embarrassed and leave the room fighting tears, I could've been very stern and made him embarrassed and humiliated (<-- these were all options in my mind... all the while Connor is still test-tasting his chemicals! And I'm feeling like a spotlight is shining on us while everyone else is playing by the rules.) But I kindly smiled, coached him that we weren't meant to pour it out, let's help clean up... And kindly exited pretty quickly after having him put his items away and thank the teacher. I'm thankful for the perspective that has been taught and caught here. I don't want to scold my children for being adventurous, curious, and messy-- just because it can maybe be "embarrassing" that they're not doing it like everyone else. 

To top it all off, when we arrived at the safe haven of home ready to eat and relax, I dropped the jar of strawberry jam which resulted in lunch plans ruined, an insane mess to clean up... But I was able to laugh it off and remain calm. Thank you Lord for these lessons learned & molding me daily in this life of mommyhood. I will continue to "count on the craziest" and try to soak up every moment. 

That's not how this works!

By Vanessa Shepherd

First graders are weird.  I have a first grader and the way their minds work seriously confuse the mess out of me.  I don't know the last time a six year old has graced your conversation but I would love to give you a hint of what I have to work with these days...

Michael had been coming home from school hungry, I'm talking really really hungry. Haven't eaten all day maybe two kind of hungry.  This was happening for a while and I excused it as typical boy behavior and shed a small tear for our grocery budget.  Every day at 2:10pm I would pick my man child up from school and without fail every day at 2:15pm he would be perched at the counter awaiting his second lunch.  It was getting old and fast.

And then I thought of something... what if he wasn't eating what I had been packing for him?  What if his second lunch really was his first lunch?  And so I asked...

"Michael, did you eat all of your lunch today?"

"Yes."

"Michael, did you eat all of your lunch today?"

"Yes, Mom."

"ALLof it?"

"Ye-ahhhhhhhhhhh-NO.  I'm sorry mom. I'm sorry!!!" Followed immediately by hysterical crying.

The thought of him throwing that much food away, days upon weeks worth, was nauseating and I did what every mother would have done in my shoes- sent him to see his father.  Right now we are a part of a church plant in Central California and my husband works in his "office" most days (located not so comfortably but very adorably, if I do say so myself, in the garage) so having him go "see his father" on occasion is pretty convenient for a mom who is at a loss for words from time to time.

And then my husband got father of the year.

Michael walked back inside and I asked what he had learned from talking to Dad.  He told me how Rich had showed him a World Hunger video to show him the importance of food and how many children aren't privileged enough to have what we take for granted.  Genius.  Simply genius.  Way to take a moment of "my carrots aren't as cool as my friend's bagged processed poop chips" and turn it into a teaching moment.  Well done, Mr Shepherd, well done!

Thoroughly pleased with the outcome, I decided to leave it alone knowing that after what he had just seen I would never have to worry about it again.

Oh, first grade.  How you test me.

Two days later... yes, a whole TWO DAYS... Michael comes home STARVING.  I drop my shoulders, lean on the counter, and look Michael right in the eyes as I ask him once again if he had thrown away his food.  The fruit of my husbands labor.  Literally, it was fruit that day.

And without skipping a beat he responded, with enthusiasm, "YES! And I remembered that video when I did it!"

And then I died. Of laughter. And sent him back out to the garage.  

Insert old lady from Geico commercial saying "That's not how this works! That's not how any of this works!!!", here!

Children... just when you thought you were getting your point across... FOR THE LOVE!!!

Monkey See Monkey Doo Doo

By Vanessa Shepherd

 

Let me just start this out by saying that I wouldn’t wish potty training on my worst enemy.  It is my least favorite part of parenting… Bar. None.  And as much as I think babysitting is a great form of birth control, babysitting a two year- and not just any two year old but one who is potty training- would be the very equivalent of sterilizing teenagers for years to come.  It is that bad.

 

I have noticed that many of the stories on this blog have revolved around the subject of poop, and while I would love to say this one is different we have been potty training so there’s your first clue, and between Caitlin and I we have five boys so an epic poop story it will be.  Because let’s just be honest, boys’ love poop… and it happens on the daily.  So for us to get out our computers and document an “occurrence” is a dead giveaway to a gagging nail biter (you’ll get that pun more as you read on).

 

I would like to begin this story 6 years ago when I had my first son.  I had been clipping his nails for the very first time and slipped- cutting his little finger.  I am pretty sure I cried more than he did seeing his finger bleeding, knowing I was the cause.  Because of this I opted to bite his nails from there on out, knowing that I could trust my own mouth to decipher between nail and finger.  So there you have it.  For as long as I have been a mom I have only used the nail clippers once.  Both boys in fact would on occasion jump into my lap and lift up their hand, falling asleep to me biting off each nail.  It was our thing.

 

Fast forward to this last week.  Death week.  The week I decided that I would potty train my little albino terrorist that I love with all of my heart.  The week I started said task with my husband heading out of town on a trip that had been planned for some time but I had already set my mind to getting it done so I would go it alone.  The terrible no good very bad week that every parent experiences while potty training.

 

 

Jake had been doing decent at peeing in the toilet.  I mean I spent half my day in the bathroom with him so pee was bound to get in that porcelain bowl.  But poop… yea no.  Jake would have none of that on the toilet.   He would hold it in, after being on the toilet for an hour because I just KNEW that he had to go, and as soon as he’d get off run to an inconspicuous place to do the duty.  Every. Time.  For nine days I scrubbed floors, threw away chonies (because I would rather spend a few dollars on a new pair than wash that crap with other clothes- literally), bribed with every candy I could imagine, and barely held myself from knocking my head against a wall over and over.  Day nine, oh day nine, it took the cake.

 

 

After spending another hour in the bathroom bribing my strong willed second born to no avail, I sent him off for naptime.  Sometime later I heard him crying.  The pain cry.  As a mom there are many cries (attention cry, whining cry, tired cry, hungry cry, and the painful cry) and this one got me up and in his room in no time.  I swung open the door to find my son sitting in his bed with a handful of poop.  POOP!!!! Poop in your underwear, fine, but hold it???? WHY CHILD??? I swiftly picked him up, dumping his handful in the toilet, and sat him on his throne in case he had more in there, while I hurried off to get a soapy wash cloth for his hands.

 

It could only have been a minute that I had been away but that minute was all it took for my child to make the worst decision of his two years of life.  I walk in with washcloth in hand to find Jake BITING HIS NAILS.  HIS POOP INFESTED NAILS.  I almost threw up all over that bathroom.  What would possess you to put the very thing that smells of crap IN YOUR MOUTH.  That is the very moment I regretted ever opting for not using those nail clippers.  My child would now be diseased because of a decision I made six years ago I just knew it. 

 

To my relief, he is still alive.  And even better that was the last time he ever pooped in his underwear.  I may have scared him into now going in the toilet.  Whatever works I suppose.

 

Children… they always copy your behaviors at the worst opportune time… FOR THE LOVE!

Target Audience

I am sure when you read the title you are thinking that this post will be about crazy shenanigans in our beloved store, Target, but this my dear mom friend is a different kind of story.  A different kind of target.  This post is about advertising and their incredible ability to reach their intended audience with pinpoint accuracy (which, I will give you a hint, is not us)!

Mom, you NEED that!

A phrase that has come out of my six year olds mouth more times lately than I would like to admit. 

 

Yes, I need that shampoo for dry, damaged hair. 

 

Yes, I probably do need that face wash for dark spots on my skin. 

 

Yes, I need that lotion that will make me look like the tiny and tan half naked lady you see on TV. 

 

Yes, Michael.  Mom probably needs all of that.  Thank you for pointing it out to me.
 

Companies today are doing an excellent job with their advertising because they have somehow  convinced my son that miracle shampoos, face washes, and lotions really do exist.  That I will magically transform from this sleep deprived, stretch mark ridden mom into a beautiful butterfly that has time to rub lotion on her freshly tanned skin for ten minutes... while smiling.  But I don't.  I am lucky to have two minutes to myself to put makeup on without Jake wanting to play in it. And tanning, yea... no... there's none of that happening. 

 

 The closest thing I get is waiting for sweater season so I don't chance burning my white-as-snow child while we lay in the grass watching for birds while the sun hits our face. 

 




Wrestling... per usual. Boys will be boys!

All five minutes of it is glorious until they realize they actually want to do something because they are boys and lying down is for bed time!

 













However, my favorite advertising win so far happened a few months ago.  And ironically it was one of the few times that it wasn't directed at me!  I was watching my oldest play, getting frustrated as he sometimes does not being able to solve all the problems in the world, and out of no where he says "Like a good neighbor State Farm is there".  And then he waited.  Seriously.  He waited and looked around and upon seeing that in fact no one appeared to help him, began to throw a tantrum.  I know I should have talked to him about his attitude in that moment but I was laughing too hard to talk.

 

So I did what I thought was best, I told him that it was pretend- like Santa Claus. 

 

And that's when I ruined his childhood.

 

 

I guess that is what it is like to have faith as a child, like the bible talks about.  To hear something and without any doubts or reservations claim it as reality... our very own reality.  To read of peace that surpasses understanding and have it.  Or joy that comes in the morning after a night of mourning.  Or our strength being renewed if we wait on the Lord.  Or any other promise He gives us in His word.  He said it so it is true.  And not only is it true, but it is true for me!  Oh that I can have just a fraction of that kind of trust in our great God.  I hope that my life can be a great advertisement that convinces people of His goodness and His faithfulness.  So when people see Christ in me, they will be compelled to say "I need that".

 

Children... the best at pointing out our baggy eyes and teaching us about faith... FOR THE LOVE!

There are funner things...

School starts for my little first grader tomorrow, and like any well-organized mother I have waited until the last minute to get said child ready for his school year... as best as I can.

 

I took him school clothes/supplies shopping two nights ago and was thrilled when he reached for a "United States Army" backpack (it is camouflage but cannot be referred to as such because it's his United States Army backpack, Mom!) instead of the weird charactered ones that creeped me out a bit. We waited way too long and our selection now consisted of knock off versions of real cartoons with geometric heads and giant eyes or patterned ones that were not cool enough!  Thank God for that last USA backpack in the bottom of the seriously destroyed pile.  Thank GOD!

 

After what seemed like forever in line with a child who seemed to have ants in his pants that I am coming to find out is just typical boy behavior, we finally were able to check out.  I watched as my big six year old helped an elderly man pick up his cigarettes that he had dropped on the floor as I paid for our loot, holding back every grossed out comment that kept trying to leak out of my mouth to prevent such a sweet gesture.

 

My part was done and now I handed the baton off to dad who would take him to get his first non-mom cut since who knows when at a real barber shop.  I had planned to meet them later into the cut with the golden child (aka the albino terrorist) knowing that vandalism may ensue... and I was not disappointed. 

Jake walked up and down every inch of that 10ft by 10ft room, rolling on the hair covered floor, and playing on the very chair that Michael was sitting in to get his hair cut. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

At the end I had both a freshly groomed soon to be first grader, and a second child who was graciously given a neck shave by the incredible Evan Boling!  Success!

 

 

 

 Alas we were finished and it was now time to take the boys home; Jake securely nestled in my arm like a football as to not smack my face or kick me  repeatedly because we are leaving and he doesn't want to.  Michael walks beside me and starts talking about his excitement for the first grade.  We talk awhile and then that moment happened; the one when I wish I had had my phone on record to capture exactly how wonderful having children truly is sometimes. 

 

I can't wait to tell all of my friends about my summer.

 

Oh yea, Michael.  What was your favorite part?

 

I really liked going camping with Aunt Lisa. We went on the boat and I fell in the water.  Good thing I had my life saver on. 

 

Yes, the life jacket.  I bet you thought it was fun to float around in that.

 

Yea.  But mom, I don't want to do that again.  There are funner things to do... like playing with wrestlers or petting a cat.

 

OR PETTING A CAT.  That was a legitimate more fun experience than boating in Shaver Lake. My six year old is by far the least of my worries when it comes to taking risks or getting hurt.  I would be very surprised if he attempts anything bone-brakingly dangerous before he graduates high school.  Especially if his idea of most fun things to do during summer break tops out at petting a cat.  As far as AT (albino terrorist) goes, well I will probably be writing from a hospital ER one day soon.  Keep posted!

 

Children... they have a way of making you laugh... FOR THE LOVE!