Here's what I want to know: How do you as a mom recharge yourself? And how often? Once a week for a couple of hours running errands? A once a month bubble bath?
It has taken me several years, but I finally realized that a couple of hours alone every couple of weeks is NOT going to end the world or get me on the prayer lists for neglecting my family! It's wonderful to have a chance to be alone, or be with other adults talking WITHOUT kids needing something and interrupting every couple of minutes.
Playdates with other moms are also my bread and butter. Even if we get constantly interrupted, it's an adult connection that after several days of bottles, spit up and whining, are MUCH needed to maintain my sanity. Even now that my kids are past the bottles and spit up, they are NOT past the whining or fighting, so my need for other adult conversation is still there.
The guilt factor, however? Loooong gone.
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Miss Personality
So today I got to hang out with a very sweet little cutie pie. Her name is Liga (pronounced Lee-GUH) and she is 4 years old. She is from Latvia here on an orphan hosting program (see sidebar for link). Liga's host parents and I are in the same small group at church, and they are totally cool with me getting some of Liga's awesome hugs and kisses. Liga is not 'just' an orphan, she is a special needs orphan, making her situation even worse.
I'm not sure what all is 'wrong' with her....she can walk and talk and is working on potty training. She sang to herself and loved the My Little Pony collection my girls brought out and loved to build with the blocks. Seemed pretty typical. She knew enough to be sneaky and she played many of the same little 'games' with me that my own girls have played with me. Things like crawling in my lap and pretending to be a baby, complete with fake crying, or pretending the pony was a hat or scratching her finger and then letting 'momma' kiss it better. Yup, that works not matter what language you speak!
Know what else is funny no matter where you're from? Passing gas. Yes. And today I learned the Russian word for it: pook-ee-ED (or something along those lines). She is clever enough at some point to remember I had made a sort of big deal about her toots and the announcements of them, come up behind me and make a fake 'toot' with her lips and then crack up laughing saying, "Pook-ee-ed!"
I don't know what her story is, or how long she has been at her orphanage. I watched her wolf down her yogurt and felt a little pang in my heart. Okay, a big pang. Not only for Liga and her plight, but also for her mother who is missing out on these things. Where is she? Does she have any idea what she's missing?
I can't imagine missing all the things Liga's birth mother isn't able to be a part of. And as for Liga, I will start praying in earnest that God will send her a mom and dad to scoop her up, laugh at her toots, and kiss her tiny cheeks.
I'm not sure what all is 'wrong' with her....she can walk and talk and is working on potty training. She sang to herself and loved the My Little Pony collection my girls brought out and loved to build with the blocks. Seemed pretty typical. She knew enough to be sneaky and she played many of the same little 'games' with me that my own girls have played with me. Things like crawling in my lap and pretending to be a baby, complete with fake crying, or pretending the pony was a hat or scratching her finger and then letting 'momma' kiss it better. Yup, that works not matter what language you speak!
Know what else is funny no matter where you're from? Passing gas. Yes. And today I learned the Russian word for it: pook-ee-ED (or something along those lines). She is clever enough at some point to remember I had made a sort of big deal about her toots and the announcements of them, come up behind me and make a fake 'toot' with her lips and then crack up laughing saying, "Pook-ee-ed!"
I don't know what her story is, or how long she has been at her orphanage. I watched her wolf down her yogurt and felt a little pang in my heart. Okay, a big pang. Not only for Liga and her plight, but also for her mother who is missing out on these things. Where is she? Does she have any idea what she's missing?
I can't imagine missing all the things Liga's birth mother isn't able to be a part of. And as for Liga, I will start praying in earnest that God will send her a mom and dad to scoop her up, laugh at her toots, and kiss her tiny cheeks.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
My Ridiculous Day
The last couple of days have been the kind of days I think I shouldn't be allowed to DO anything. Everything I do or touch turns into a project I was not anticipating.
School? It's not just school. It's a treasure hunt for pencils that walk away and hide. Oh, and think the ruler will be where it's supposed to be? Nope. Even though I try to keep all the things I need for school in my school area, little artists think otherwise. And apparently the ruler makes a great ramp for the toy cars. Figures.
Breakfast? It's not just breakfast. It's a chance to pick up soggy Cheerios off the floor with a crying, milky three year old.
Errands? Errands with kids are interesting, to say the least. Today's task seemed easy since all I had to do was drive thru the bank. That's it. Just drive through. Of course, it's 19 degrees when we try and go, which means socks, shoes and coats are a must. Times 3. Which means they all have to be located x3 and put on, laced up and zipped. Times three. And my garage door hates the cold as much as I do because it won't come down. Up, yes, but not down. And I can't leave if the stupid door is up. So I struggle with it, finally get it down and get back in the van. I don't think I thawed out til we were on our way back home.
At some point vacuuming seemed like a great idea. Then I vacuumed up a cute little Hello Kitty sock. I told myself I didn't care. It was an old sock and was almost too small for my youngest anyway. I soon realized I had to care, bc the sock had clogged the tube and there was no suction. So I take apart the tube as best I can, but it's stuck smack in the middle and there is nothing in my house long enough and thin enough to poke it loose. Twenty minutes later, I get it out and finish vacuuming.
"Hey kids, it's COLD! Let's have a fire!" Oh, wait, there's no firewood. No big deal, we'll gather all the limbs that have fallen in all this INSANE wind and burn those. Oh, wait, they're too big. No big deal, I'll break them. Oh, they won't break. No big deal, I'll saw them. Oh, I sawed them into pieces that are too big for the fire place? No problem, I can saw them again. On the hearth. Making sawdust. On the floor I just vacuumed.
There's a lesson in here for me. Maybe I just need to learn when to quit. Or maybe I should just learn when not to even start.....But hey! Tomorrow is another day. One with NO fires, errands or vacuuming. I cannot guarantee no Cheerios, though.
School? It's not just school. It's a treasure hunt for pencils that walk away and hide. Oh, and think the ruler will be where it's supposed to be? Nope. Even though I try to keep all the things I need for school in my school area, little artists think otherwise. And apparently the ruler makes a great ramp for the toy cars. Figures.
Breakfast? It's not just breakfast. It's a chance to pick up soggy Cheerios off the floor with a crying, milky three year old.
Errands? Errands with kids are interesting, to say the least. Today's task seemed easy since all I had to do was drive thru the bank. That's it. Just drive through. Of course, it's 19 degrees when we try and go, which means socks, shoes and coats are a must. Times 3. Which means they all have to be located x3 and put on, laced up and zipped. Times three. And my garage door hates the cold as much as I do because it won't come down. Up, yes, but not down. And I can't leave if the stupid door is up. So I struggle with it, finally get it down and get back in the van. I don't think I thawed out til we were on our way back home.
At some point vacuuming seemed like a great idea. Then I vacuumed up a cute little Hello Kitty sock. I told myself I didn't care. It was an old sock and was almost too small for my youngest anyway. I soon realized I had to care, bc the sock had clogged the tube and there was no suction. So I take apart the tube as best I can, but it's stuck smack in the middle and there is nothing in my house long enough and thin enough to poke it loose. Twenty minutes later, I get it out and finish vacuuming.
"Hey kids, it's COLD! Let's have a fire!" Oh, wait, there's no firewood. No big deal, we'll gather all the limbs that have fallen in all this INSANE wind and burn those. Oh, wait, they're too big. No big deal, I'll break them. Oh, they won't break. No big deal, I'll saw them. Oh, I sawed them into pieces that are too big for the fire place? No problem, I can saw them again. On the hearth. Making sawdust. On the floor I just vacuumed.
There's a lesson in here for me. Maybe I just need to learn when to quit. Or maybe I should just learn when not to even start.....But hey! Tomorrow is another day. One with NO fires, errands or vacuuming. I cannot guarantee no Cheerios, though.
Saturday, December 4, 2010
Unless You're in my Shoes
So, I have a child that is a challenge. Not that she isn't wonderful and funny, expressive, smart and insightful and 100 other 'positive' things, but she IS, honestly, very challenging. And I'm going to say it, because no one really wants to admit they have one of those. Or if they do, it's in hushed tones, down played and with piles of guilt.
So enough. She's a challenge. But she's my challenge and if you mess with her, I will bury your body where it will never be found.
She was my easiest pregnancy. No morning sickness, no cravings, and I carried her like a basketball under my shirt until towards the end where I got fat all over. But I digress.....
Then she got here. I tried to nurse her and I thought she was going to suck out my shoulder blade. It never got 'better' and I gave it up at 8 weeks. She was colicky. She wanted to be held all the time. She screamed as soon as she got in the car and cried til she got out. Every trip. For almost 2 yrs. She hated stores. She cried from entering til exiting. Every time. For over 2 yrs. When I took away her bottle she went on a milk strike that went on for almost a year.
Every thing she did made me feel like a failure as a mom. And it didn't help when I tried to talk about what was going on, no one thought it was really that bad. But it was. And everyone said it would pass. And it didn't. It just morphed. From one 'thing' to the next 'thing'. Then her personality got blamed on her red hair or being the second child. I figured that was it bc I had nothing else to go by.
As time went on, there were other things that would stand out to me at random...her physical abilities, her need to smell everything, her obsession with swinging and jumping. She HATED preschool. HATED. I finally let her 'quit' and her upset stomach stopped and she quit grinding her teeth.
Then my sister sent me this link HERE and it was like this mommy-blogger had been raising MY child the last 4 years. It was a little unnerving. I like how she laid it all out in her blog, which is also part of an overview of a book that I ordered Right That Minute, which is why I linked you to her blog. No need for me to reinvent the wheel.
I was excited about this book helping me become the parent my daughter needed, but I was still skeptical. I wasn't sure it would work and what if my child was somehow manipulating me? Was I just giving in to her? Was I catering to a 'faulty' personality? Or what if she acted the way she did because I was a bad mother to her?
This book has helped me see that her brain is literally wired differently. And there are things and strategies that Gabe and I can use (very easy ones, no less!) to make things easier for us and work WITH her instead of setting us all up to fail. The closest example I can thing of is this: If your child is dyslexic, is insisting/yelling/punishing them going to make them NOT reverse their letters and numbers? Can you 'make' them NOT be dyslexic? If you just stick to your guns and refuse to recognize the difference your LD child has, will that somehow make them be able to read? NO. It won't and it can't.
It's the same with a 'spirited' child. And you can believe what you want, and you can think what you want, but you CAN'T tell me that this isn't real. Or that I'm wrong. Or that my child is anything less than awesome. If you don't have a spirited child, you haven't walked in my shoes.
I don't want anyone to think that this blog is a rant or a letter in my defense. I have written this blog so that other frustrated parents can maybe see their own child in mine, or ease their own 'mommy guilt' and find the same resource I have. I am only half way thru the book, and I feel like I have a different outlook. I have better skills and me and my child (and thereby the REST of my family) are flowing better.
I am working on giving my daughter coping skills and self confidence while she learns that I understand her and love her to pieces. And isn't that what being a parent is all about?
Here is a link to the book.
So enough. She's a challenge. But she's my challenge and if you mess with her, I will bury your body where it will never be found.
She was my easiest pregnancy. No morning sickness, no cravings, and I carried her like a basketball under my shirt until towards the end where I got fat all over. But I digress.....
Then she got here. I tried to nurse her and I thought she was going to suck out my shoulder blade. It never got 'better' and I gave it up at 8 weeks. She was colicky. She wanted to be held all the time. She screamed as soon as she got in the car and cried til she got out. Every trip. For almost 2 yrs. She hated stores. She cried from entering til exiting. Every time. For over 2 yrs. When I took away her bottle she went on a milk strike that went on for almost a year.
Every thing she did made me feel like a failure as a mom. And it didn't help when I tried to talk about what was going on, no one thought it was really that bad. But it was. And everyone said it would pass. And it didn't. It just morphed. From one 'thing' to the next 'thing'. Then her personality got blamed on her red hair or being the second child. I figured that was it bc I had nothing else to go by.
As time went on, there were other things that would stand out to me at random...her physical abilities, her need to smell everything, her obsession with swinging and jumping. She HATED preschool. HATED. I finally let her 'quit' and her upset stomach stopped and she quit grinding her teeth.
Then my sister sent me this link HERE and it was like this mommy-blogger had been raising MY child the last 4 years. It was a little unnerving. I like how she laid it all out in her blog, which is also part of an overview of a book that I ordered Right That Minute, which is why I linked you to her blog. No need for me to reinvent the wheel.
I was excited about this book helping me become the parent my daughter needed, but I was still skeptical. I wasn't sure it would work and what if my child was somehow manipulating me? Was I just giving in to her? Was I catering to a 'faulty' personality? Or what if she acted the way she did because I was a bad mother to her?
This book has helped me see that her brain is literally wired differently. And there are things and strategies that Gabe and I can use (very easy ones, no less!) to make things easier for us and work WITH her instead of setting us all up to fail. The closest example I can thing of is this: If your child is dyslexic, is insisting/yelling/punishing them going to make them NOT reverse their letters and numbers? Can you 'make' them NOT be dyslexic? If you just stick to your guns and refuse to recognize the difference your LD child has, will that somehow make them be able to read? NO. It won't and it can't.
It's the same with a 'spirited' child. And you can believe what you want, and you can think what you want, but you CAN'T tell me that this isn't real. Or that I'm wrong. Or that my child is anything less than awesome. If you don't have a spirited child, you haven't walked in my shoes.
I don't want anyone to think that this blog is a rant or a letter in my defense. I have written this blog so that other frustrated parents can maybe see their own child in mine, or ease their own 'mommy guilt' and find the same resource I have. I am only half way thru the book, and I feel like I have a different outlook. I have better skills and me and my child (and thereby the REST of my family) are flowing better.
I am working on giving my daughter coping skills and self confidence while she learns that I understand her and love her to pieces. And isn't that what being a parent is all about?
Here is a link to the book.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Go, Kimmy, it's your birthday....
You know you are old and boring when you take your birthday money and then make the following purchases:
*new underwear
*pajamas
*actual NAME BRAND lotion
*socks
*kitchen towels
And because you are old and boring, you buy these things at WalMart, NOT the mall. And you make a 'night of it'. By this I mean, after dinner is cooked, cleaned up, kids are bathed and in their pjs, you leave your poor hubby to actually GET them into bed while you head to The Store. Also? No one asks you for anything they see, and there is quiet. The kind of quiet where you can sort of string together thoughts and/or eavesdrop on other people.
Because you are old and boring, you totally appreciate every minute. Hmmm. Maybe old and boring just means you have learned to enjoy the little things along the way. Just don't tell the 20 year old version of myself. She scares easy.
*new underwear
*pajamas
*actual NAME BRAND lotion
*socks
*kitchen towels
And because you are old and boring, you buy these things at WalMart, NOT the mall. And you make a 'night of it'. By this I mean, after dinner is cooked, cleaned up, kids are bathed and in their pjs, you leave your poor hubby to actually GET them into bed while you head to The Store. Also? No one asks you for anything they see, and there is quiet. The kind of quiet where you can sort of string together thoughts and/or eavesdrop on other people.
Because you are old and boring, you totally appreciate every minute. Hmmm. Maybe old and boring just means you have learned to enjoy the little things along the way. Just don't tell the 20 year old version of myself. She scares easy.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Memo Boards
This month I am donating the money from the sale of any and all memo boards/cork boards to the Long and the Davis family. They are 2 of the several families I know that are adopting and they both happen to be adopting from the Congo. This means that when you buy a $12 board, $10 of that goes right to their adoptions. When you buy a $20 board, $17 of that goes to their adoptions. I am only keeping out enough to buy more supplies. These make GREAT Christmas gifts, baby shower gifts, and birthday gifts! We have one that the girls share and they love it- it's a great way to show off their art work and ribbons without poking 900 holes in the wall!
These are made from ceiling tiles. They have been primed and then painted. Each one is different and very much a hand made labor of love. The sides are also painted and I will attach a matching ribbon or hook to the back for you to hang yours up with....your choice. That way you can personalize it just a bit more depending on taste and space.
I cannot ship these bc of size and they are fragile-ish, but I can meet you and get these to you, no problem.
If you want a certain color or style, please ask and I will do what I can.
Lots more to come!
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Is there a fourth option?
Here seem to be my three choices for restroom use.
I can wear adult diapers and never actually GO to the bathroom, shut the door and do my thing. And that's not really an option, and I hope isn't an option til I'm about 95. So let's move on.
Option Two: I go, but a kid declares their need for me through a shut door. And by 'need', I mean they tell me their show is over, that they need to potty, that they are done with their juice, that someone did something to them or their things. Once I was told through a shut door that they had ''stopped sucking on their candy and were now chewing it''. It took everything in me not to scream "I DON'T CARE!" I'm petty sure I said it, but I managed not to yell. That time.
Option Three: I go, and have peace. I think I am in the clear and I am possibly at the point where my sitting on the toilet doesn't trigger an alarm in my kids heads announcing to them that they should drop what they are doing and come tell me whatever thought is in their head at that second. However, as soon as I come out of my room, I see why they didn't notice I was gone: they are beating the crap out of each other or are united together in sneakiness.
Today I came out and 2 out of 3 of my little angels were kicking and hitting each other. Over peanut butter. Yes, peanut butter. Luckily, no one was really hurt and it blew over pretty fast.
I'm estimating that I have maybe 4 more years of not being able to peacefully use the toilet. If my friends with older kids have the great news that it's probably LESS than 4 years, they are welcome to comment. If you have older kids and you are laughing at me because you know I'm in for MORE than 4 years, just keep it to yourself. Sometimes mommies tell themselves things to see an end in sight. Remove that hope at your own risk.
Just send chocolate.
I can wear adult diapers and never actually GO to the bathroom, shut the door and do my thing. And that's not really an option, and I hope isn't an option til I'm about 95. So let's move on.
Option Two: I go, but a kid declares their need for me through a shut door. And by 'need', I mean they tell me their show is over, that they need to potty, that they are done with their juice, that someone did something to them or their things. Once I was told through a shut door that they had ''stopped sucking on their candy and were now chewing it''. It took everything in me not to scream "I DON'T CARE!" I'm petty sure I said it, but I managed not to yell. That time.
Option Three: I go, and have peace. I think I am in the clear and I am possibly at the point where my sitting on the toilet doesn't trigger an alarm in my kids heads announcing to them that they should drop what they are doing and come tell me whatever thought is in their head at that second. However, as soon as I come out of my room, I see why they didn't notice I was gone: they are beating the crap out of each other or are united together in sneakiness.
Today I came out and 2 out of 3 of my little angels were kicking and hitting each other. Over peanut butter. Yes, peanut butter. Luckily, no one was really hurt and it blew over pretty fast.
I'm estimating that I have maybe 4 more years of not being able to peacefully use the toilet. If my friends with older kids have the great news that it's probably LESS than 4 years, they are welcome to comment. If you have older kids and you are laughing at me because you know I'm in for MORE than 4 years, just keep it to yourself. Sometimes mommies tell themselves things to see an end in sight. Remove that hope at your own risk.
Just send chocolate.
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