Difficult days with difficult children

All Moms have them. At least, I'm pretty sure they do, although I can only really vouch for my own. Days when it seems like nothing goes right. Days when it's all you can do not to wish you could lock someone in a soundproof box until they turn 40, or something along those lines. Days when you want to flop down in the middle of the floor and have a tantrum of your own. Days when it seems like you might as well just stop talking, because no one is listening to you anyway.

Thing is, when I feel that way, I'm especially thankful for people like my grandfather Glenn, who left us in 2003. He was always a man of strength and character. A man who seemed to have infinite wisdom and patience, at least to the eyes of a child.  He was and is a man I have loved and respected for as long as I can remember, and a man who was determined to follow God. That is why the difficult days make me thankful for him, when I have an opportunity to stop and think about it.

It's not because I feel like I have any particular strength in either wisdom or patience. They are things I work to try and improve, and sometimes that has to be on a daily basis.  I don't always feel strong, either, although I work hard to convey strength to those around me when they are needing it. (Isn't it funny how it works that way?)

The main reason I am thankful for folks like Grandpa is because of the faith that they instilled in me from a young age.

It is second nature to me to sing, and I do it all the time. Very often, I'm singing hymns, which brightens my day and encourages me. It rubs off on my children, who make up their own songs, just as I have made up songs for them. (Ask them to sing you the Bellybutton song sometime!) But it also makes me smile when I start singing or humming some hymn, and they recognize it. Occasionally, they'll even sing along, or ask me questions about it.

The other thing that is almost second nature to me at this stage of my life is prayer. Which is probably because I've found that on the days when I want to quit talking because none of my children are listening anyway, that sometimes it helps to change who I am talking to. I know that HE will listen, and even if I don't get a immediate or direct response, sometimes it helps me to calm down and refocus my energies. It helps to give me the strength and the courage I need to face the days that seem like one endless battle after another.

It reminds me of lessons learned from my Grandpa, who always told his children (who in turn told their children) to "remember what you are." I am a mother, a nurse, a referee, a chauffeur, a teacher, a budget analyst and more. But on those days when I struggle, when it's all I can do not to feel like I'm about to burst into tears of my own, I remember that I am also a child ... the child of a Father who loves me, and will give me all the help and support I could ever need. It allows me to pick myself up and to try again, even when I don't know how I'm going to accomplish it. I learned that lesson well from people like Grandpa ... and I am forever thankful.

Motherhood, or, When Sleep Became a Dream

Maybe I should have expected it. Maybe I just wasn't familiar enough with it to know better.

I knew that when I had a new baby in the house, I wasn't going to be getting a whole lot of sleep. What with diaper changes and feedings every two hours, and a little one uncomfortable because it is in unfamiliar territory, it's just to be expected, right? But after all, it'll get better. They'll start sleeping through the night, and then ... and then ...

Well, ok, maybe I didn't think beyond the "and then."

I used to think my Mother was really odd. Seemed like she'd come home at the end of the day, have dinner, sit down in a chair, and be completely ready to go to bed by about 8 pm. I mean, hey, 8 pm?? What, was she nuts?

More and more I'm discovering that getting my kiddos sleeping through the night does not mean I'm always able to sleep. Seems like there's always something. This one's got a cough. That one's got a tummy ache. The other one wants a drink. Someone is banging the bathroom door in the middle of the night making a mid-night bathroom trip ... which one is it, and do I need to shoo them back to bed in a minute or two because they've fallen asleep on the bathroom floor after they got done? I don't sleep soundly now ... my ears are tuned to unexpected sounds that wake me up abruptly, and then once I finally identify them it takes me a few minutes to go back to sleep.

Anything and everything is a deterrent to Moms sleeping, believe it or not. There are always too many things to do during the day, which means some of it invariably gets pushed back until after the kids go to bed and there a fewer distractions. It also means staying up later than you might prefer. Then, once you actually manage to climb in the bed, you still can't actually go to sleep, because you're rehashing problems of the day and possible solutions for tomorrow. Plan of attack for tomorrow ... cleaning, laundry, homework, peace negotiations, den meetings, grocery shopping, where did I last see things that weren't put away, what am I gonna make for dinner?

Then you fall asleep, but you're not exactly sleeping, since all your dreams are about chasing things or running from things, or trying to find lost things, and never having a minute to sit down. Strangely enough, it sounds a lot like being awake. So am I sleeping or am I not sleeping?

Which means I now have a better understanding of my Mom. By the time dinner is over I'm just ready to go to bed. I don't know that I'll actually be sleeping, but one can always dream.

Raising children and growing a parent

I've always been the quiet type. Mostly introverted, I think I went through most of my high school years with my nose in a book. I've grown and learned a lot in the intervening years, and now I can carry on a conversation with nearly anyone without thinking twice about it. In some ways, though, I am much the same person ... I like doing things I can work on mostly on my own, and helping out in ways that involve little to no fanfare. It's part of the reason I love research, and writing ... because I can do things I enjoy, but I do them mostly on my own. I occasionally teach a children's Bible class at church, but I'm not really comfortable doing it, because I'm not one who likes to be out in front of people ... I'd rather do my helping and encouraging of other people by listening when they need it, or cooking a meal to help out.

So what has this got to do with parenting? Well, a lot, actually.

Yes, I grew and matured in the years after I left school, but in all the ways that really mattered I was mostly the same person I had always been ... until I had children. Suddenly, I was in a world that I had no experience with. I couldn't even fall back on things like baby sitting, since I'd only ever done that job once. Somehow watching an 8-month-old for two or three hours (most of which time he was sleeping) hardly prepared me for keeping track of a family. And then almost nine years ago I brought my first child home from the hospital. Here I was, a mother ... the job I'd always wanted, and yet it was a nerve-wracking crash course in "Ack! What do I do now?" Sometimes it felt more like a demolition derby than a job well done. Sometimes it still does.

I have a one page article from a local magazine hanging on my refrigerator. It's been there for years, and once in a while I try to go back to it to remind myself of what this is all about. It is called "The Butterfly Effect", and the basic crux of the article is learning to change your life from something you don't like to something you do ... one thing at a time. You find some aspect of your life that you are unsatisfied with, and then you go about changing it to what you want it to be ... a little at a time, like a caterpillar changing into a butterfly. When you've accomplished that goal, you go on to the next thing, until your life becomes more of what you want it to be.

It's a lesson I'm continually learning as a parent. We learn a lot of things as we are growing up and attending school, but parenting is not one of them. Our children don't come with instruction books, and each child is different, so sometimes what applies to one doesn't apply to another. We can learn from our own parents (if we are fortunate), but those lessons have to be tempered by our own lives, situations, and priorities. We are trying hard to raise our children, but at the same time we are being required to grow as a parent.

Sometimes these lessons come from family, sometimes they come from something we read or hear, sometimes they just come from the experience of day to day life with our own family. I remember thinking several years ago that I felt like all I ever did was spend my days being angry and frustrated and yelling at my kids for their actions. That's not how I wanted to be remembered by my children when they were grown. So, I started an internal campaign to change things. It was a long, hard fight for me, but things have changed a lot. There are still times when I yell at my children, but they are much fewer and farther between now ... because of this, they are happier and so am I. I am much more relaxed as a parent with my third child than I ever was with my first, and I hope that carries over into how I care for all the members of my family now, each and every day.

Because of my family's medical history, I know it is possible that one day, perhaps long before I am ready, I may begin to lose my abilities to remember things, even the people I love most. But whether that happens or whether it doesn't, I am determined that I will grow as a parent ... I will do my best to become that beautiful butterfly my children will remember fondly. And with God's help, while I am growing I will be able to teach my own children these lessons, so that they can form beautiful wings of their own.

Me First!

Being a Mommy teaches you a lot of lessons. Some are practical hands-on lessons, some are gut-wrenching wear-you-out-emotionally lessons, and for me, some are reminders of the spiritual lessons that I already knew, but hadn't thought of in quite that way before.

Being a full-time Mommy doesn't allow a whole lot of time to put oneself first. I try to do things for myself once in a while, but a lot of times I am too busy to worry about things I want or sometimes even need, because I am busy caring for the ones that God has placed in my charge. That includes my husband and my children. I will buy them clothes every time if they are needed before I spend money on clothes for myself. I cater to their interests and their taste buds, and whatever else happens to come along. It doesn't really bother me, because I've learned that I can find great contentment in being able to do for others, especially those that I love. Once in a great while, I decide I want to do something for myself, but the rest of the time I try to do for them, because I love them.

I have three children under the age of nine. And boy children at that. I hear "Me first!" day in and day out ... over, and over, and over again. Well, except when I want to. They struggle for first place in so many things ... who is going to open the door, who is going to get the first plate at dinner time, who is going to play with a favorite toy. Of course, it's NEVER "Me first" when it comes to bath time, or bedtime or any of those kinds of things. They are brothers, and they are in a perpetual state of competition, and probably will be for many years to come. I talk to them of kindness, and respect, and consideration, and other Biblical principles, and I trust that with consistent reminders and a lot of prayer, they will eventually learn that "Me first!" is not necessarily the most important thing there is.

But I got to thinking about the whole "me first" mentality the other day, as I was out with my youngest running errands. A lady in another minivan just about ran me down, trying to get from the right lane (of three) into the left turn lane. Never looked, never signaled, just swerved over and just about took my front bumper and half my engine with her. I hit the brakes and sounded my horn, ("Wow, Mommy ... that was a loud horn!" said my four-year-old.), and I'm not sure she even noticed. She wasn't even on a cell phone. A day or so later someone else was behind me and trying to run me off the road because they were in such a hurry to get to wherever they were going. I shook my head, and got to wondering about adults (well, ok ... they're old enough to drive ... I don't know if they're adults) who've never outgrown the "ME FIRST!" mentality. It's as if they have no concept that the world even exists outside of their immediate proximity.

As that thought rolled around in my head over a couple of days, though, I began thinking about other ways that it can sometimes manifest itself ... mostly in ungodly ways. After all, when God has given us a standard to live by, and we choose not to follow it, isn't that what we are basically doing? Crying "Me first!"? Wanting what WE want above anything else?

"Well, I do what God wants me to do most of the time!" we protest. Which makes me think of James 2:10 ... "For whoever shall keep the whole law, and yet stumble in one point, he is guilty of all." In God's eyes, we are either law keepers or law breakers ... we can't be both. Can we really be the people God wants and expects us to be if we don't learn to step away from "Me first!"? This is the whole reason that we should, like Christ, pray "not my will but Thine be done." It's not always easy, but it is always right.

It's a lesson I knew, but was reminded of yet again by my children, and the people around me who are acting like children. And it's a lesson we could all, from time to time, use help remembering.

Learning about my Father by being a Mother

Yes, I'll admit it, and admit it freely. Some days with my children are extremely wearing. They have days when they do so well, and they have days when it seems like they can't listen, can't obey, can't anything. I suppose that's true of everyone, not just children, but sometimes it leaves me feeling emotionally and physically wiped out. Makes me want to go curl up in the bed and not come out until next week, but that's neither possible nor practical.

So, when that happens, I've learned that it's time to reorganize my thinking. Sometimes it takes me a little bit to remember it, but that's usually when I most need what the country singer used to call an "attitude adjustment". I have to remind myself that raising my children is not primarily about how I feel things are going. It's about me trying and trying and trying again, as many times as it takes, to teach my children the lessons they need to know to grow into the kind of men they should be. No one ever said it would be an easy task. No one ever said it would always be an enjoyable task. But it's the job I chose for myself, and it's my job to do the best I can at it.

Which got me to thinking the other day about a poem that my grandfather Glenn wrote years ago ... when my own father was only about two years old. It was called "Daddy, Fix It!", and spoke of how children look up to their fathers as being able to do it all. There was no problem too big or too small that couldn't be taken to Dad to be fixed. Broken toys or any number of other things ... the children came to him with confidence that "Dad will fix it!" The last verse of this poem, though, shifts gears ever so slightly, and compares a child's confidence in their Father to fix every problem to what our own attitude should be ... in taking our problems to God, with a plea that he help us fix it.

And so when my children can't seem to listen, and keep making the same mistakes again and again, I try to ask myself if God ever feels as impatient with me when I struggle with things in my own life, and keep fighting the same battles over and over? Does he shake his (imagined) head in disbelief at times, wondering if I'll remember to choose the right path, instead of the easy or habitual one? As I have learned, grown and matured, I have worked harder at making the right choices and being the best person I can be. I have faith that he will be compassionate when I come before him in prayer, head hanging, and tell him of some known or perceived wrong, and tell him I'm sorry, because I know he loves me and only wants what is best for me. Can I really expect that my children, in the long run, will be any different? It takes time, and it takes patience, but they learn, grow and mature every day. I am guiding them along the path that I walk, so that we can all reach the same destination.

Taking the time to stop and remember the love of my Father, reminds me to reflect that love to my children, especially on days when they least seem to "deserve" it. Because that is when they need it most. And because being a good Mother is something I am constantly trying to learn from the Father of us all.

Dealing with frustration

When we are first handed our bundle of joy on the day they are born, we naively expect (especially with the first one) just that ... joy. We find ourselves imagining their first word, their first tooth, their first steps, family games, Christmas morning, and so many other things. What we don't always think about ahead of time is the way kids always manage to try our patience as they grow up. Sometimes it's just (what we consider) dumb mistakes. Sometimes it's them doing things that they've repeatedly been told not to do. If Mommyhood is anything, it's a lesson in patience.

It's one of those lessons that I'm still working on, too. I think, or at least I hope, I'm improving. Things that used to just drive me nuts I usually now manage to handle with relative calm, just from being repeatedly required to do it. When I get through a situation without losing patience, I feel a little better, both for my children and for myself. Last night, for instance, it was a six-year old that wanted to see if the milk that was left in his dinner glass would go through the holes in my colander. Science experiment, right? Trouble was, the colander was upside down, clean, on top of a dish drainer full of clean dishes which now had to all be washed again. Oh boy. But I didn't yell at him ... I took a deep breath and reminded myself that he was a kid and was doing what kids do to learn ... experiment. Then I told him to be more careful and to think about what he was doing next time, because now all the dishes had to be washed again ... and besides, he was supposed to be DRINKING his milk, not pouring it down a hole.

I've been working really hard, the last six months or so especially, to do my best to deal with my children calmly. It doesn't always work, but I don't want them to grow up and have most of their memories of their Mom being times she yelled at them. Sometimes, my day just seems to have nothing going right, and I've got three boys constantly saying "Mommy" every 30 seconds, and I have to take a step back and say, "Sweetheart, I'm feeling really frustrated right now, and I don't want to talk or to listen for a few minutes. Can you go play and tell Mommy in a little bit?" Most of the time they say "Okay!", and run off to do something else, and somehow, magically, a small ray of sunshine shows through my cloud of frustration.

That's partly why I'm looking forward to some of the things I am working on for the kids this summer. I've been wanting to do some character lessons with them for a while, to help them to think about and develop things like obedience and thankfulness. Most of the information I'm using to back up the lessons is from the Bible. I found an website that had some good information on it, and I'm filling in around the edges with my own ideas and tweaking it to fit our family. It won't be one of those all-day, every-day things, but rather something that we might spend an hour or so working on in the morning, and then referring back to throughout the day as a reminder. I have really high hopes that it will not only help my children grow and learn, but will help me as well. Because becoming a good Mommy is a learning process that never ends.

Self-Image

If there's one thing I've learned about myself in the last 8-1/2 years, it's that I'm never gonna manage to live up to my own self-image. Maybe that's a good thing, and maybe it's not ... I'm still trying to figure that out. I just know that the picture of who I am in my head doesn't really line up with the lady I see in the mirror anymore.

Don't get me wrong ... I love being a mom (at least most of the time). It's the one job I always wanted, and I'm grateful that I'm getting the chance to fulfill that dream. Somehow, though, there was always a gap, I guess, in my head between actually BEING a mom and LOOKING like a mom. In my head I still see the size 6-8 young lady I was in my teens and twenties. I found a look that worked for me and I loved it. Accenting things like my trim waist and long legs became second nature to me ... in many respects, it was just who I WAS.

Then I was blessed with a wonderful husband and 3 children in 5 years. I jumped into the role of full-time mommy whole-heartedly, and even though I'm still learning how to juggle all the joys and responsibilities, I'm thankful every day for the chance to do it. Being a Mommy has become almost as natural to me as any other part of my normal life.

Once in a while, I pass a mirror, though, and wonder what happened to the person I remember. Now I actually LOOK like a Mommy. I spend most days in jeans and a t-shirt, because it's easy to go from cleaning to cooking to child-care to whatever in it. More often than not, I've got my hair yanked up in a pony-tail or some such thing, because it keeps it out of the way of the chores and little fingers. Where I used to somehow feel undressed without my makeup on, now I'm doing good to "put my face on" on Sunday morning before church. My trim waist isn't any more ... I'm not heavy, but I look like I've had three kids. Most of the time I don't worry about it, until and unless the occasional someone asks me when the next baby is due. Then I start pondering an old-fashioned girdle or something. Or doing something unthinkable, like trying to find extra time for a dreaded "regular exercise routine" beyond the normal stuff I do during the day. (Fortunately, something usually comes up and that thought doesn't last long!) I look in the mirror now, and see my mother ... and though I love her dearly, somehow the thought always startles me as I'm sure it does every generation of women.

When I occasionally get to feeling discouraged about the whole thing, though, a ray of sunshine brightens my day  ... most often in the form of my husband. He is loving and caring and so many of the things I hoped for in a man I would marry. He doesn't care whether I wear makeup ... he says he prefers me without it. He has even been known to tell me he likes to come home and see me all frazzled, because he knows I've been doing all the things that I need and want to do. He tells me I'm beautiful when I feel the most bedraggled, and though I don't always completely believe him, I am glad that he thinks so, because I don't really think of myself in those terms anymore ... I'm too busy being Mommy.

And perhaps the biggest blessing of having a man like this in my life is that his children listen, and they learn. They randomly call me beautiful on days when I don't necessarily feel that way, and I smile at the future, because I know some day those words will probably encourage a Mommy of my grandchildren, and she, as I, will feel blessed.

Old age, digital age, and somewhere in between

I don't know if it's because I'm a Mom, or if it's because I've hit "middle age" or what, but it seems like I've been thinking a lot lately about things that seem to have gotten lost over the years. When I was growing up there were things that we learned and it was just taken for granted that this is the way things should be done. Things like learning to write letters and thank you notes, or calling folks older than yourself "Mr." and "Mrs.", unless you were given permission to call them something else. Things that we thought of as common courtesies, and yet as I ponder them now, I wonder if most kids will ever learn a lot of them. Of course, I know it's my job to teach my kids these things, but for the moment that's not what I'm talking about.

I want my kids to be able to take advantage of all the things that our "digital age" has to offer, but I also want to be sure that they don't get caught up in the mentality that says you have to hurry through your life trying to get to the next milestone. Sometimes as parents we make that mistake, because when our kids come into the world we instantly start looking forward to the day when they will be smiling, sleeping through the night, sitting up, crawling, walking, talking, and everything else we can think of. Our kids pick up on this and start looking forward to the day that they can start school, start hobbies, sleep over with friends, get to the weekend, learn to drive, graduate from high school, get a job, get their own place, and so on. It seems all of us, as a people, are in so much of a hurry to "get there" that we forget to enjoy the journey. And in an age that seems to be determined to make everything quicker and more convenient, it seems to me like it's even more important to teach my kids about how to slow down and be thoughtful, how to make memories and how to share them, and how to be thankful for the experiences of others.

Most of what I have been thinking about in the last few days is the fading art of letter writing. There was a time in this country that letter writing was the only way to keep up with what was happening with friends and family. I didn't live in that time period as much as some older folks I know, but I do remember when getting letters in the mail was more common, and we looked forward to the arrival of the mail carrier. There was nothing quite like the heart-leap you felt when you found an envelope with familiar handwriting in the mailbox, and you went off immediately to find a quiet spot and find out what your loved one had to say. In this day and age, although we can communicate with folks much faster by email, it seems that our incentive to communicate has dwindled.

When my husband and I were first engaged, I made it a point of writing my grandmother every week, keeping her up to date on all the plans and other things that were going on. I did this because I loved her, and because I didn't think she was going to get to come to the wedding. (She did get to come due to the generosity of my uncles, and I was thrilled!) Before my oldest son was born, I often wrote him letters, telling him about the things that I wished for him. As one child and then another came along, I lost the time to sit and write letters as much, but I've been thinking I'd like to get back to doing it. And one of the main group of letters I want to write is to my sons.

It may be, Lord willing, that I will live long enough to teach them all the things I want to teach them and more. Or, with the family history that we have of dementia and Alzheimer's (at least four generations that I'm aware of), it may be that I begin to lose the memories before my kids are old enough to take an interest in them. But I can write them letters about our life together now, or about my life as a child. I can tell them about people that I've known and loved, and places I've seen. I can tell them about my outlook on life, and the things I hold most dear. I can tell them family stories and about the people who came before us. I can tell them so many things that I want them to know, and I want to be sure I have time to tell them these things no matter what life has in store. I want them to be able to sit down and not only read what I have to say, but the way I say them, so they have memories of what their Mom was like long after I am gone.

So I hope you'll excuse me now ... I have letters to write.

Getting things done

One of the realities of being a full-time Mom: there's always more that needs doing than there are hours enough in the day to get it done. If you're gonna be a full time Mom, you might as well know it now and get over it.

I've always (or at least for as long as I can remember) been one of those people who tried to figure things out. I don't know if that's just the way God programmed me, or if it comes from things like my love of puzzles, or if it was inherited from my handy-man Daddy. Maybe it's a mish-mash of all those things, who knows? All I know is that, for a long time now, I've had the "If it's to be it's up to me" approach to most things. If I want something to get done, the easiest way I know of to accomplish that is to do it myself. Of course, this means that there's always too much to get done, because it's almost all on my plate. Sometimes, it feels overwhelming ... exhausting even. But the truth is that it keeps my life from ever having a chance to be "boring", and it gives me a chance to do things for the people I care about.

For instance, my husband rarely, if ever, has the typical "honey-do" list. There's a variety of reasons for that. First of all, I was blessed with a man who is willing to go to work every day and let me stay home with our children, knowing that it will mean we don't have a new car every few years, or cable TV, or the latest gadgets that everyone is talking about. He knows that being a mother is all I really wanted to do, and he's given me the opportunity to follow that dream. That, in itself, makes me want to do whatever I can to ease his burdens where I can. And bless his heart, despite his love of home improvement shows and the like, he just doesn't have the patience to try and figure things out when they aren't working the way they should. It's just not in his makeup, and that's fine. As long as he can mow the yard now and then (which I CAN do, but try to avoid because of my asthma) and takes out the garbage (which I can also do, but would rather not), I'm quite content to just ask for the occasional, "When you get a minute, would you mind ..." and leave it at that.

I'm quite aware of my limitations, though. There's no way I can get everything done all by myself. I make lists a lot so I don't forget things, because sometimes I honestly think that I gave away a lot of my brain cells to my kids while I was carrying them. It's all circumstantial, of course, but they are each brilliant in their own ways, and I don't remember things half as well as I used to ... I'm sorry, where was I?

Oh yeah, getting things done. I know I can't do everything, but oddly enough, it gives me a chance to teach my children about getting things done. They are still at an age where they want to be helpers, especially if they are getting to do something out of the ordinary. And so, at 8, 5, and 3, I have them sort laundry in a corner of the kitchen while I make breakfast. Surprisingly, most of it actually ends up in the right place. I can hand them each a dust rag and turn them loose in the house and 1/2 to 2/3 of a job I loathe will be taken care of before I finish the vacuuming. I look for kid-sized jobs, like having them unload the clothes dryer and learn to fold socks, and I teach them one thing at a time, because I know that one day they'll need to do all these things for themselves. And if I've helped them learn to do it I've shown my love for them without them even knowing it. And as I watch them learn to accomplish new things on their own, I can smile at their success, and mark something else off my list as complete.

Mary Poppins moments

Ok, I'm goofy ... I'll admit it (but only this once, and if you try to prove it later I'll only deny it!). I suppose it's only to be expected, considering I grew up in a Rogers household. If you know my clan, that will make perfect sense ... if you don't, well, I'm afraid you're really missing out. Sorry about that.

One of the things that my family has always done is play word games. Twisting words or their meanings, bad puns, changing letters to make new words ... basically whatever we can think of. We've even been known to pirate other people's word creations into our own family's everyday vocabulary. You have to think quickly to keep up with conversations around the Rogers table. As a result of this upbringing, there are times when my thoughts jump from one thing to the next in ways that are entertaining to me, and highly confusing to other people.

Case in point ... my husband asked me a couple of weeks ago if there was a particular reason I was posting quotes from Mary Poppins on my Facebook page. And I laughed, because the answer was yes, but it was probably going to take me longer to explain than it took me to think of it.

One of the main jobs I have had since we married was taking care of our finances. He hates it, and I don't mind doing it, and since I had training in accounting it just seemed to fall to me to do it, which is fine. I can't say I've always been good at it ... it's taken me quite a while to develop a plan that seems to work, and has us gaining ground instead of losing it. This has been especially important since the kids came along, because we've lived on one income for the last 6 years, and for most of that time period we had a very small income to work with. Add in factors like multiple kids in diapers, and sometimes it was quite a challenge. Then about 18 months ago, I finally found a budgeting system that works really well for us. That, in addition to the new job that my husband was blessed with about a year ago, have gotten us to the point that we don't have to hold our breath from one paycheck to the next, but actually have the money for bills and things there when we need it. It's been an enormous blessing.

A couple of weeks ago I was paying bills as I always do at the first of the month. I had balanced our budgeting book, and was doing some final "tweaking" on how I wanted to keep track of things when it suddenly occurred to me that what I was doing in my budget book was a lot like some of the online games that I get such a kick out of ... the ones that give you quests to complete, and rewards once you complete them. The farther you go the more complicated the quests get, but the larger the rewards are as well. Suddenly, in the time it had taken a thought to flit through my head, my budget planning had gone from being something that I didn't mind doing and needed my attention, to being a game that I could succeed at and enjoy. A budget? Enjoyable? What a revolutionary thought!

And it only took a moment from the time that it became a "game" that I thought of Mary Poppins. She says, "In every job that must be done, there is an element of fun. You find the fun, and SNAP! ... the job's a game!" In that moment, I actually laughed out loud, which is why I posted it that day on Facebook. It didn't mean much to most folks but me, really, but it reminded me that I need to always need to teach my sons to find the good in whatever situation they are working on, no matter how mundane it seems. And the other thing I want to be sure that they learn was at the end of that same Mary Poppins tune, when Michael complains about wanting to tidy up the nursery again. We don't always have to have all the things we think we want, or constantly be entertained. Because what Mary said is true:

"Enough is as good as a feast."

A Mommy is a helper

Several months ago when we were visiting family, a very thoughtful gentleman suggested that I write a book about mothering. I kind of laughed and told him that I posted on a blog page at times, but that was about as close as I figured I'd get. While I was flattered, I'm not sure I'd ever consider myself enough of an "expert" to really feel like I oughta be telling someone else "how-to".

That being said, being a Mommy by nature makes me a helper. Or maybe it's because it's in my nature to want to be a helper that I became a Mommy. I'm not sure I could really untangle the one idea from another. In the end it doesn't really matter. Trying to help seems to be a part of who I am, whether I can really help or not. It manifests itself in many ways.

This past week, my youngest has been sick. Beyond sick ... he's been the kind of sick that begins to spook you, where you end up calling the doctor every time you turn around. We finally got him diagnosed over the weekend ... apparently his cold morphed into a double ear infection and developing pneumonia. I'm not sure I've ever been that spooked when it comes to my kids. I spent a day and a half before we got in to see the doctor feeling totally helpless, because there wasn't anything I could DO to try and help. It's an awful feeling ... I was literally on the verge of tears for 36-48 hours. Now, with large doses of antibiotics, he's beginning to improve, and I'm finally beginning to relax again. Somehow, that kind of helping (or trying to help) seems natural when it comes to mothering.This afternoon, though, I found myself trying to help in other ways ... ways that weren't specifically related to my own family, beyond sharing my experiences.

I'm acquainted with a young mother who is only half my age. Her first child is about six months old, and while I was wandering around on a popular social media page I tripped across a post she had made that gave me the distinct impression that she was frustrated and discouraged. There were things that she was wanting to do, and trying to do, but for one reason or another they weren't working and it left her feeling like she was missing out. So I sent her a brief message that said, in essence, "If you want to talk to someone, let me know." She did.

I spent a while talking back and forth with her, and wondered if I was really helping. Perhaps I was. Perhaps I was only telling her things that she already knew. I guess the point of my reaching out to her was that I knew that when you are a new mother, even if you already "know" something, it helps to have some encouragement and reinforcement of those ideas ... someone to tell you that, no, you're not crazy for thinking what you're thinking, and no, you shouldn't feel guilty in this or that situation. Sometimes it just helps to know that someone has been through it before, and guess what ... it'll probably turn out just fine, even if it doesn't feel that way right this minute. Truth be told, sometimes even more "experienced" mothers feel that way (i.e. the sick child illustration above). I don't really have any way of knowing, since we weren't actually TALKING but doing it all by computer, whether I helped at all or not. I hope I did. And I hope that if she needs someone to talk to again she'll remember me. Because whether it's yours or someone else's ... a mother wants to be, if nothing else, a helper to those who need her.

There are things I remember ...

It's amazing the things that I once thought I needed or wanted from life that seem to have fallen by the wayside since I had children. So many things were just "normal" back then, and now I occasionally wonder what happened. I wonder where the girl I knew went, and whether I should mourn her passing. It's not that all that stuff is necessarily "better", or really "needed" at all, just that ... well, I guess things just change.

I remember a time when my husband and I both worked, and although we probably didn't budget as carefully as we could have, we had the ability to go out to eat or go to a movie when we wanted to. I even managed to save a decent down-payment on our first home, although it wasn't as much as I would have preferred. Now, money is tighter because it has to go more directions, and there is only half as much coming in. Still, my husband was blessed with a new job this past year, which has made things easier, and I've learned to budget much more effectively ... the bills are always paid, and we still eat out sometimes, although our restaurant choices have narrowed drastically. We almost never make it to the movies anymore, but the stories are just as good when they get to the library's free DVD selection as they are on the big screen. Not missing out much there.

I remember the luxury of sleeping in ... ah, now THAT I miss, at least part of the time! Now I've got three little boys who want to be up and moving with the sun, and "sleeping in" for me is usually only about 7:30 am. Still, it's a hour and a half more than I normally get, so I can't really complain.

I remember how much I enjoyed my "quiet time" ... time to just sit and read or do research or crafts with little to no interruptions. Now, I have nearly constant "little" interruptions ... I have to tell myself that they are learning and growing, and if I want them to be the kinds of young men I hope them to be, they are going to have to do most of their learning from me. If I neglect those things, someone else will take up the slack, and I may not like the results. Sometimes, like most everyone, I'd rather "do my own thing", but then I try to remind myself that soon ... much too soon ... my little ones won't be coming to me with their questions and their problems, and I need to take advantage of the time I have with them. I also find myself mindful of the time that I did not ever get to have with the little one we lost, and it helps me pull myself out of the "interruption irritation".

I remember feeling attractive, all dressed up in high heels, with my hair and nails done and my makeup on ... these days I feel ordinary, in blue jeans and a t-shirt, with my hair pulled back out of the way of little hands and projects that need doing. I'm doing good to get makeup on my face once a week for church, my hair cut a couple times a year, and I can't even remember the last time I got my nails done. I haven't really worn high heels much since the year Chris and I married, because I broke my foot that winter, and they've never been that comfortable since. My husband and my children tell me I'm pretty, and I'm thankful they think so, but I don't think of myself in that gear any more. For the most part, I've got too many other things to think about.

There are so many things ... but it boils down to my chosen perspective. Because most of all I remember this: Once I was lonely ... now I am surrounded by love. Whether it's exactly what I expected it to be or not, I am living the life I wanted to live, and I am exceptionally blessed.

A New Year for Mommy

I don't really believe in "New Year's Resolutions" all that much. I think people have good intentions as they start out the new year, but somehow the "resolution" tag just allows all those good intentions to fall between the cracks of every day life, because after all, resolutions were made to be broken anyway.

That being said, I think that setting goals for yourself in the New Year is a great idea. It gives you a challenge for yourself ... room to grow and be more of the person that you could be. I have financial goals for for myself and the family for the year, and that sort of thing. But the goals that I want to work on the hardest are the personal ones. And when I stop to think about it, so many of them revolve around me and my children. I suppose, since I'm a Mommy, that's only natural. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realized that in many ways, my goal is to become more LIKE my children this year. Yes, I have to be the Mommy, and the "responsible-grown-up-person" in the equation, but sometimes I think that part of growing as a person is learning that you can re-visit the child you once were without fear or embarrassment.

This then is a list of some of my goals for the New Year ... the things that I have picked up on with my children. There are so many more things I could list, but this is a good place to start:

I want to wake up each morning with a smile on my face.
I want to give generously of my hugs and kisses.
I want to dance when I like the music.
I want to sing when I feel like it, even if the words don't make sense.
I want to stop and investigate when I'm curious.
I want to be glad when I can help.
I want to feel deeply, and forgive quickly.
I want to jump up and down when I'm excited.
I want to always be glad that it's "church day".
I want to laugh loudly at jokes, even if (or especially if) they're goofy.
I want my sibling to be one of my best friends.
I want to take joy in simple things.

May you all have a "childish" New Year!