Parental Irony

An Irony of Parenthood:

When your first child is born, you carry around a hand-santizer. At all times.

You actually go so far as to place it in the carseat next to the newborn reminding on-lookers of their incriminating germs and your full support of their improved hygiene practices before touching your child.

Fast forward 5 years.

Gone is hand-santizer. Replaced is the plea:

"If the dog licks you in the face, just please make sure to keep your mouth closed."

The Locals

I love yardsales. I love bargains. I especially love yard sales where the sellers are so focused on getting rid of clutter that the price isn't an issue. "Yes. Please just take it. I want it gone." Love those.

Not so hip on the ones where everything is priced based on the intensity of their emotional attachment to it.

"Uh, no I cannot, in good conscience, pay you $30 for that broken-down scooter. I don't care if you call it an 'antique'...it really doesn't make it more valuable. It just means you wore it out when you were a child."

No biggie though. I've dealt with that before. I just smile, say thank-you, and move on.

But I have to say, I was not experienced in dealing with the thing that happened after we left the broken-down-scooter yardsale and drove to another one.

I'm innocently shopping for girls' clothes and am literally surrounded by women talking about a beauty pagent one of them had just put their little girl into. They gasped and gabbed over the ridiculous extent that some obsessive parents will go to in helping their daughter win. The fake hair...the excessive make up...blah blah blah.

They were talking so fast, my head was spinning as I tried to block them out.

THEN the ring leader mom goes onto say...all in the same breath that criticized those obsessive parents, "I spent over $800 on her dress." She pauses for effect. "And she still didn't win!"

I think I stopped breathing, as I waited half-expecting the other women to yell, "You did WHAT?"

But it never came. Instead, they all expressed their astonishment at her loss and offered their condolences.

"And the girl who did win wasn't even..." her voice lowers her voice. I'm pretty sure she mouths the next few words. Since I was literally a couple of inches from her mouth and didn't hear it. But I can tell by the tone of the "crowd" response that it wasn't complimentary.

"Well, where did you take her!?" a woman (who is the person giving the yardsale) asks in a lets-get-to-the-bottom-of-this-outrage type tone.

The irate woman names MY TOWN. Everyone responds with a collective gagging sound.

I try hard not to smile. And I'm so wishing I could walk away. But as luck would have it, I'm waiting to pay the woman. You know, the one who is apparently disgusted by my friendly little town and obviously dead-set on ignoring me to hear this juicy story.

So I wait. And the conversation continues.

The person to my direct right says, "Yeah. Probably some person from (*insert name of my town*) won."

"Uh-huh!"...another disgruntled shopper on my left speaks up ... "probably some *Smith!" (*not the real last name they used). They all agree, letting out angry huffs and continue talking over each other.

I am sooo tempted to say something. Not only am I FROM the offending town, I am related to the last name in question.

Now at this point, being that I'm an acquaintance of the woman giving the yardsale, I am SURE she's going to turn to me...since I'm just awkwardly standing there... and ask where I'm living these days. You know, since I haven't seen her for ...oh, 15 years.

I brace myself for it. My mind races trying to silently prepare what I'd say. and trying to guess the women's reactions upon the uncomfortable conversational revelation. heh heh

I am really trying not to laugh. Really, I am. but one itty bitty laugh escapes my lips. They look at me. I keep my head down, scrutinizing the McDonald's kidmeal toys for the 10th time.

I'm guessing they probably thought that I was as disgusted as they were. I mean, why wouldn't I be?! The nerve of those small-town hypothetical Smiths having a daughter win out over their daughter clothed in gold.

And all for the grand Miss Po-dunk Powder Princess title. Really, how could they.

But thankfully, no one asks me anything. I pay my money and leave, finally able to truly laugh over the irony of it all.

And though, quite frankly, I was glad that this woman who spent close to $1000 on a dress for an 8 year old to wear for 45 minutes didn't win...I did get a glimpse of reality when I looked up. into the eyes of the little girl. the one it was all supposedly about. Standing there. Forced to quietly listen to the entirety of the conversation.

Just like I had been.

She smiled at them from a few feet away. They casually discussed her beauty for a moment. And she was pretty. completely adorable. But I had to wonder how all this talk of comparison and judgement and haughtiness of who's better than whom had effected her.

Will she grow up thinking that she's only good enough is she beats out someone else in beauty? That in order to "win" she has to spend an outrageous amount of money on clothes?

Not that I'm ragging on beauty pagents. Because I'm not. Alright? I'm not particularly for them. But I'm not against them either.

But ANYWAY...at first, the whole thing struck me as funny. Because it was MY town and MY family's last name that they were verbally bashing. But then...looking up, seeing her, and trying to view it through her little girl eyes... the whole thing was just sad.

And then I had to wonder...as I walked to my car full of little girls waiting for me...how can I guard my heart to not put my little girls in a position where I am fulfilling my dreams of *whatever* through them?

I'm sure as a parent of older, active children, it's really an easy thing to do. I mean, I always wanted to do gymnastics. But I never did. And now, I'm beyond thrilled that my girls show potential in that area. *Uh, Warning Warning*

I want to make sure that my precious little girls will never feel like they have to perform "just so" in order to hear my praises. I want to guard my heart against trying to get a second chance at MY unmet childhood dreams through their childhood.

Just something that made me laugh...and then caused me to think.

Before and After

Take Note. There are only TWO people in these pictures. Count them. One. Two.

Ahhh... And at the beach no less. There's no need for swimmy diapers. 50 proof, purple SPF. Sippy cups. Or plastic shovels.

No. Just two in love sweethearts, glaring into the hot sun.

And here...eating dinner. We have no plastic, unbreakable plates. No bibs. No baby wipes. Just two people, able to eat in peace. Without wiping mouths, noses, or rear-ends.

Before babies came into the picture, intimacy with your spouse was leisurely. Dates were plentiful. Pictures of the two of you were strewn throughout your spotless home. Conversations could go for 2 hours without ever breaking eye-contact.

If you had a thought, you could express it. And know that it would be heard, talked through, and brought to closure.

After babies, all of those things become somewhat of a memory. Though, for the sake of habit, you do try to regain footing of once familiar ground:

You greet your spouse at the door. But conversation with said spouse includes quick bursts of needed information over the yells of knee-high competitors each vying for daddy's attention.

And the eye contact? Gone. For you must keep a constant eye on Little People at all times. As competition for attention sometimes turns dangerous. And you need to know who is telling the truth about who poked out whose eye first.

You no longer have leisure. You have jury duty. 24 hours a day.

Pictures of the younger you and your betrothed are now replaced with pictures of the kids. Kids in bath. Kids with dog. Kids with food on their faces. Kids with one sole parent.

...Because the other parent is needed to take the picture.

So, you not only have lost your cherished, framed wall space... you now have become permanent Photographer-in-Training.

Sole purpose in life: to document all the wonderful things that your children do. All while in the same room as you. just without you.

Thank you, God, for Photoshop. Later on in life, I will come to depend on this little method of cut-and-paste-Mommy. to let my children know that they did, in deed, have a mother during their growing up years.

And spotless home?

Well...I'll just suffice it to say that I'm yet to clean up the spit up from last week. There it sits on the rug. hardened. molded into the floral design. Most likely for the rest of All Time.

I'm doing good to make sure that the spit up running down my arm is cleaned up. Though the spit up on my shirt...well, that's negotiable. As long as I know no one is coming to visit.

Have I mentioned that being sexy at all times becomes a far less attainable goal? Uh yeah. I look at pictures of my younger self and think "Dang. Who is that girl?!"

Dates become almost non-existent because the price of childcare is equivalent to dinner out. Not to mention your energy level. *poof* Gone.

You now resort to take-out and a rental movie after the kids are in bed. All the while keeping an eye on the staircase for roaming escapees. Again, nixing the whole uninterrupted-eye-contact thing.

Remember those deep thoughts you once had the time to share? Oh, well there's time. Once you're in bed. But no matter. You've forgotten them somewhere between reading Dr. Seuss, kissing boo-boos, and refereeing sibling rivalries.

And intimacy with your spouse (if said spouse can remain awake)? It takes on the form of avoiding the "enemy." And in my house the enemy is under 4 feet tall and fully equipped with bat-like radar. tuned in to when Mom and Dad's faces touch.

You kiss and suddenly out of no where comes a cry from the dark.

Someone needs water. Or the potty. Or the reassurance that they will, in fact, remain the youngest child for for-e-ver and you will not do anything remotely close to creating another one.

Yep. When children come along, you do sacrifice. Any parent will tell you as much. Your relationship with your beloved does change...sometimes in ways that challenge the very core of what brought you together in the first place. AND that requires a huge amount of humor on your part.

But man! to watch Jet interact with our daughters... to have their pudgy little arms engulf you in a tight, albeit it sticky, bear hug... It. Is. Priceless. And I wouldn't change my life for the world.

Yeah, Jury's in...and I think I'll keep them. But. I may loan them out every now and then. Any takers?

Eh, didn't think so. Today being Valentines day and all...you're probably trying to dole your kids out for the evening too. Right? :)

Happy Valentines Day!! Go snuggle up with the one you love. Just make sure to keep one eye on the stairs tonight.

With as much candy as we all know the Littles will be having, I doubt an early bedtime is going to happen.

HUGS to you.

Recipe for love. Canine style.

Take one rather large dog...
With a propensity to love little people...



Add one small girl with a strong desire to lavish gifts on large animals.

And you get one huge pile of brand new raw hide bones.

And a very happy dog.

As you can imagine Toby tends to favor the little Cabinet Thief.

Birth Order

**the following is not my original writing; I don't know who the author is. I got it from my mom, who read it to me over the phone this morning. all while laughing like a crazed hyena.


"BIRTH ORDER"

YOUR CLOTHES:
1st baby: You begin wearing maternity clothes as soon as your OB/GYN confirms your pregnancy.
2nd baby: You wear your regular clothes for as long as possible.
3rd baby: Your maternity clothes ARE your regular clothes.

PREPARING FOR THE BIRTH:
1st baby: You practice your breathing religiously.
2nd baby: You don't bother because you remember that last time, breathing didn't do a thing.
3rd baby: You ask for an epidural in your eighth month.

THE LAYETTE:
1st baby: You pre-wash newborn's clothes, color-coordinate them, and fold them neatly in the baby's little bureau.
2nd baby: You check to make sure that the clothes are clean and discard only the ones with the darkest stains.
3rd baby: Boys can wear pink, can't they?

WORRIES:
1st baby: At the first sign of distress...a whimper, a frown...you pick up the baby
2nd baby: You pick the baby up when her wails threaten to wake your firstborn.
3rd baby: You teach your three-year-old how to rewind the mechanical swing

PACIFIER:
1st baby: If the pacifier falls on the floor, you put it away until you can go home and wash and boil it.
2nd baby: When the pacifier falls on the floor, you squirt it off with some juice from the baby's bottle.
3rd baby: You wipe it off on your shirt and pop it back in.

DIAPERING:
1st baby: You change your baby's diapers every hour, whether they need it or not.
2nd baby: You change their diaper every two to three hours, if needed.
3rd baby: You try to change their diaper before others start to complain about the smell or you see it sagging to their knees.

ACTIVITIES:
1st baby: You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics, Baby Swing, and Baby Story Hour.
2nd baby: You take your infant to Baby Gymnastics.
3rd baby: You take your infant to the supermarket and the dry cleaner.

GOING OUT:
1st baby: The first time you leave your baby with a sitter, you call home five times.
2nd baby: Just before you walk out the door, you remember to leave a number where you can be reached.
3rd baby: You leave instructions for the sitter to call only if she sees blood.

AT HOME:
1st baby: You spend a good bit of every day just gazing at the baby.
2nd baby: You spend a bit of everyday watching to be sure your older child isn't squeezing, poking, or hitting the baby.
3rd baby: You spend a little bit of every day hiding from the children.

SWALLOWING COINS:
1st child: When first child swallows a coin, you rush the child to the hospital and demand x-rays.
2nd child: When second child swallows a coin, you carefully watch for the coin to pass.
3rd child: When third child swallows a coin you deduct it from his allowance.

Mirror Mirror on the wall

It's always so telling to listen to the pretend play of my girls. Especially when they're pretending to be a mom. Though I have to admit, there are times when an insider's view into their "innocent" perception and depiction of me is a little scary.

Okay. a LOT scary. Because all I can do is sit back and think "Oh my word! Please tell me I'm not like that!"

Surely they speak of their ...uh, other mom?


...
As I was sitting at the table going looking through some books, I heard Selah shout with feverish indignation, "No. I'm not a kid! I'm 30 years old!! Okay, Charis?! I'm Thirty! THIRTY! THIRTY!!!" I hear her stomp her feet in protest to drive the point home.

Apparently that debate was won by the older sister. Because a few minutes later, Selah was obediently being the child taking a nap in the room where I was sitting.

Watching the girls play as discreetly as I can, Selah gets up and goes to the window to watch a passing neighbor. Then whispering to Charis, Selah instructs her on how to react to this blatant act of disobedience. So Charis, the mother, stomps up to Selah and demands with hands on her hips: "No Kid! Go back to bed and don't get out of bed until I say you can. Do. you. understand?"

Selah's shoulders sag in pretend defeat. But she doesn't question as she walks back to the "bed" because clearly this is how life goes when trying to negotiate with Meanie Mom.

A few minutes later, Charis comes into the 'napping room' with her shirt up, "nursing" a doll.
"Kid." she says softly. "Wake up. I have a surprise for you. I had another baby."

Selah goes on to examine the newest sibling, from the Prison-Bed, like it was an everyday occurrence for her mom to pop out another child.

And the playtime abruptly ends.



Huh. Heartwarming, isn't it?

Please refrain from calling social services. I can assure you this is not reality...at least as I know it. :) Though I'm quite sure some child psychologists, after observing this play, would say that my role as their mother can efficiently be boiled down to the following:

I throw a tantrum over my age, so never ever ever refer to me as a child. Or question me, period. You will be set straight. Rather loudly.

I lovingly refer to each of my daughters as "Kid." What can I say? I don't mess with the formality of first names. It's easier that way.

I restrict them to their beds for ungodly amounts of time, only letting them step foot on the floor when Master (IE. that's me) says so. And I never say so. Curiousity of the outside world is neither encouraged nor permitted. Unless, of course, it can be observed from their Permanent Post on the bed.

And whenever they wake up, I have successfully had yet another child. I am pregnant and pop them on out a regular basis. It's just what I do: breed.


So there you have it. Daddy is the Cool one. I am the Tyrant, yet Fertile one. Any questions? ;)

Today I just trust. And allow my Questions to go unanswered

Do you ever feel like you are standing right where you wanted to be...only to find out you're not quite sure how to remain in the upright position while possessing that spot?


Here I am. Exactly where I wanted to be, as I am on the way to having a large family with lots of "stair step" kids. I've wanted this since my high school years. Well, at least the "stair step" part. The "lots" didn't come until later.


You see, I love everything about this concept of large families. I love watching others who have gone before and now have tons of older children. ...children who love family life. who sit around the dinner table way past the time when the plates have been cleared away just so they can chat. who stand by each other through thick and thin. who have deep relationships that will last them the entirety of their days on earth.


Maybe some would think that I have a skewed idea of what a large family is like? Possibly. But I have met many large families like this. I've seen it up close and personal. In fact, what Jet and I have found to be consistently true is that the larger a family is, the less self-absorbed the children tend to be. And the more tight-knit the family is, as a whole. Anyway, just an observation.

But as I find myself standing in this place, trying desperately to find some sort of footing as I battle the fatigue and nausea of pregnancy and the normal "reevaluation" of parenting that seems to come with every new stage your children go through... I just have to ask, "God, am I going to be able to keep my arms open to receive all your blessings for us?"

Sounds completely ridiculous when worded like that, doesn't it? Who wouldn't want to receive a BLESSING from the King of Kings? Stand back. Out of my way. I'm running for the heavenly storehouses here.

But when you interchange the word "blessings" for "children", somehow the desire to cut it off sounds more like wisdom. Why is that?

Now don't get me wrong. I'm not finger-pointing. Or judging. Nor do I have the time or energy to hold anyone's hand and make sure that their security and confidence in their own life choices remains intact while I voice my inner questions and thoughts.

Sorry if that sounds harsh to you...but I just have to be clear here. My intent is not to make any sweeping judgements. My heart is to truly grapple with something that continues to remain on MY heart. You know, being that I am pregnant with my fourth and therefore hitting the number where most people and their comments will cease to be gracious towards my having additional children. *laughing*

So anyway...as I roll these thoughts around in my head, this scripture continues to push its way to the forefront of my mind.

"Children are a heritage from the Lord, the fruit of the womb a reward. Like arrows in the hands of a warrior so are children of one's youth. Happy is the man who has his quiver full of them..." Psalm 127:3-5

I've turned and turned this scripture around in my head. Trying to come to terms with it in my own life. And if I am to take that scripture at face value, then I can only come to the conclusion that if God wants to give me lots of children, He sees it as nothing less than a reward. a heritage. a great joy.

A bow without arrows is useless. The more arrows you have, the longer you can maintain the fight. Jet and I never want to go out into battle lacking in ammunition. Period. Nor do we want to cut off the Lord's blessing. his provision. his overflowing heart for us. We want to stand before Him, completely yielded to His Plan. BUT....?

I find at this point in my thoughts I can go into a hundred different directions. My questions. My frustrations. My excitement. My dreams. My fears. My comfort zone! All surrounding the idea of allowing the Lord to bless me with this "joy-filled reward, this Godly heritage".

This house full of children.

But honestly, I can't bring myself to step out in any of those emotion-laden directions. Not yet. For in this day, I want to just rejoice in the fact that I am carrying a small, mysterious blessing inside me. At least that's the hope. Because I do have questions. Lots of them.

But after acknowledging them, I now see that I have to choose not to analyze them to death. Which, for me, is near-impossible. ;)

Because when it comes down to it, I have no clue what tomorrow holds. Even though people continually ask me "Is this it?" regarding the size of my family. I hope it's not "it". But, like I said, I truly don't know what God has in store for us.

But this I do know:

I can't strategically fight my part of a battle that is not be played out right now. with the grace that has been set aside for another time. All I can do is keep my heart yielded before Him, allowing Him to be The King.

Lord, I want to have my feet firmly planted in the now. Fully embracing this joyful reward and Godly heritage that You have blessed us with. Knowing that I'm not only where I want to be on this journey of becoming a "large family", but I'm where YOU want me to be as well.

That said, I know that YOU will remain in the upright position while possessing this spot. Even when I have to lie down and rest.

The unspoken law of Christmas Photos...

Go ahead. Take a picture of one child. An it will, inevitably, turn out great.

Ah, isn't that a winner?! There is a genuine smile. Eyes are focused at the camera. Dresses are down. Underwear is hidden. Hands are controlled.Even the youngest one adheres to the Unspoken Law of when sitting alone, one must smile pretty. Sit up straight. Make eyes at the goofy lady behind the camera.

Then I got daring. I figured, these are an obvious success. So I'll go ahead and add one more child into the mix...

Okay, so maybe one isn't looking at the camera, but at least she's pleasantly smiling. They look genuinely pleased to be having their picture taken, don't they? Cooperation seems to come so naturally.

But then...add the third child. Go ahead. Try it. Something combusts. Panic breaks out. Chaos ensues.

Can someone tell me why this is?! Maybe because I was the lone adult on the scene? Hmm...could this have been my downfall?

BUT Finally...after taking at least 80 more pictures filled with stray arms, exposed bottoms, and wandering eyes, I got this one.

Aren't they cute? :)

I would have tried to get the doberman decked in reindeer antlers sitting beside them, but...I am well aware of my limits... and large dog with nails-needing-to-be-trimmed, delicate Christmas dresses, and lone parent holding camera far exceed them. Wouldn't you agree? ;)

Wrestle Mania

The girls LOVE when Daddy comes home at night. Because it's a guarantee that he'll roll around with them in the floor. Wrestling. Tickling. Little girls jumping from coffee tables and chairs onto Daddy-body-parts laying innocently on the floor below. Little girls who love to feel strong and tough.

But sometimes, to the outside world, it may sound a little extreme. Especially from the mouth of a 5 year old. But allow me to back up a bit.

Yesterday afternoon was a doozy with Raegan. I think she's teething? And the only calming thing was to hold her. Constantly. By the time Jet got home, I was exhausted and ready to hide far, far away from any and all people under 4 feet tall.

So right after dinner, Jet took the girls and went to the grocery store.

Now whenever Jet goes anywhere with his little girls, he always gets mass media attention. I've stood far off and watched as he walks through a store. Strangers watch, smile, point, approach, and/or comment. They get a lot of attention. Last night was no exception. (*following is a story as relayed by Jet)

As Jet was making his rounds through the aisles, an older man came up to talk to the girls. Wanting to make a connection, the man said "Do you guys like to count?" He got a very feeble 'yes.'

Though I know the girls have gotten used to random people engaging them in conversation, there are times where I can see that look in their eye, as they quickly glance at me. A silent "Mom, do we have to talk to this guy!?"

But this guy obviously didn't catch that look. Or the lack of their enthusiasm. He plowed ahead in his quest to make the girls smile. "Well, I bet you can't count like this!" A sudden and loud rush of auctioneer number-calling flew from his mouth.

Silence. Blank expressions. Confused stares.

And yet. On his continues. (You gotta give this guy credit. He's persistent)

"I don't have any girls. I only had boys. Can I take one of you home with me?"

In the spirit of silent and blank stares, Charis just sat there. Studying this guy and thinking. Until finally she speaks, baffling Jet and silencing the man. "My Daddy plays rough with me."

Jet just stood there, mouth hanging open. Wondering how this guy would interpret that little bit of information and praying Social Services wasn't around...

Knowing my daughter like I do, I think THIS was her train of thought. "You are an old man. One that obviously needs to learn to count. I don't have time to teach you. I like to play. Rough. You probably couldn't handle it being that you're so old. But my daddy can. He loves to. And I love him for it. How do I break this to you easy?"

Too bad she just cut straight to the punch. Or was it? I'm thinking the conversation ended there. :) And I'm sure THAT got a smile from the girls.

The FACE of an angel...

The preciousness of this little one is overwhelming. She's our CuddleBug, one who will not let you leave the room (when she's going to bed) without hugging and kissing her multiple times. She's our daredevil, always looking for the hard way to accomplish something. She's a mysterious mixture of sweet and sassy.

She, truly, has a precious heart...YET is a fireball waiting to erupt. For there is a small streak of "how far can I push this?" that runs through her blood. Obviously gotten from my husband's DNA. As I never would push the limit. (For those of you that know me...zip it.)

But man oh man! when this little "edgy" personality breaks through and mixes with her deep, little voice and big puppy eyes...it's just so hard to NOT laugh.

(Note to self. Laughing while administering correction, shockingly, is not helpful. Apparently, you lose the whole parental credibility thing. Must. remember. this.)

So I was standing in the corner of their room, unnoticed as I was putting away laundry. Just as I looked up, I saw Selah, the precious little angel that she is, throw back her arm to the full extension of flexibility.

Time stands still as my mind processes what I'm witnessing. Surely, she's not planning to hit her sister! Followed by a "Who am I kidding? Of course, she is!" But apparently, the message of "stop her!" sent from my brain to my feet wasn't fast enough.

...And just as she threw her arm forward to hit Charis, out came a repentent and sweet sounding "Sorry!" Immediately followed by a hard *whack*.

Huh. Well, isn't that something? Never read about this situation in my trusty parental handbook. The apology comes before the offense. Nice.

"Selah!!!" Whipping around quickly, her eyes were wide open at the sudden realization that she'd been caught. But this girl's got some mad drama skills. Because the shocked look FAST turned to an "Yes mother-dear? Is there something you need?" facade.

But before I could even say a word, out of her mouth innocently comes "But I said I was sorry."

Eh. Um, yeah. But you happened to say it BEFORE you hauled off and nailed her. You can't say "Pardon me for what I'm about to do."

Really, the longer I'm a parent, the more I realize I'm so not equipped to do this job without a large dose of heavenly wisdom. So I'm signing off...heading out to beg another injection from the Lord.

Need. Wisdom. Now. Before she turns 4 and her abilities to rationalize and strategize become even more perfected. ;)

My wild animals...all dressed up and ready to go

Our town businesses open up their doors for two hours to shower the kids with candy and other treats. The girls, who have never done this before, couldn't get over the fact that all they had to do was open up their bag and someone would fill it with chocolate. :)

So we ran around our town for an hour and then headed to our church's harvest party...
Where they had a climbing wall, craft tables, a moon bounce, and so much more.
At the end of the night, we had over SEVEN POUNDS of candy! ...and that was after we ate some!!! The baby food is in the picture just to show how big that bowl is. No...no one gave out mashed bananas as a treat. :)

Just call me the hired cow

Raegan was following me. Babbling, she came crawling into the laundry room behind me. "Say MaMa." I said, smiling. Completely loving the fact that THIS baby said mama before dada. :)

Looking directly at me, she said "DaDa DaDa"

Aww. How cute you are. "Say MAMA. MAMA. You can do it. Ma-Ma."

"DADADADDADADADADA."

I'll spare you the repeated version. But I'll say this little exchange went on at least five more times. And each time, as if she knew exactly what she was doing, she'd say a very clear "Dada." Seemingly, taunting any request for my name.

Finally, my 5 year old, who's in the other room doing schoolwork, said in an exasperated tone of voice, "Uh, she doesn't know YOUR name." In the tone of "Please woman, would you just stop harrassing that poor child. She knows her daddy. And you, clearly, are not him."

No amount of debate with her would convince her that Raegan does know me and my name. Charis wasn't budging on her view of my identity to Raegan being irrelevant and unknown. Jet of course gloated...his brainwashing of all of our girls apparently complete. *tease*

So yep. It's official. Regardless of the fact that Raegan said my name first and that she spends about 90% of her time with me, she seems to have acquired selective amnesia concerning the identity of that random women who nurses her day and night. For she now only chants for her daddy.

That is, until she gets thirsty. *wry grin*

Mirror Mirror....

Everyone is always telling me how you can tell a (insert our last name) Baby Girl. Apparently our combined DNA makes the same look over and over again. Or so they say...

Here's Raegan and Charis...





















There are truly pictures that I wouldn't know which was which between these two if it weren't for the decor of the room. For instance...if the picture was taken in our first house, it's obviously Charis. If it weren't for that...both Jet and I would be stumped on some pics.


Here's Selah and Raegan...



















Same with these two. There are some pictures, if angled just right, confuse the heck out of me.

But when it comes down to it...I think that Raegan is actually a complete combination of the two older sisters. The missing link in their sisterly looks. For she has some of Selah's features and some of Charis's. I actually have pictures of them where the similiarity is more obvious. But I'm soo not into pulling out all those pictures, scanning them, and such just for a blog. I'm lazy that way. :)

And the combined look of the two oldest sisters makes for a little girl so ADORABLE I can hardly stand it!!

She's 7 months old and determined as ever. Climbing stairs, saying Mama and Dada, walking around while hanging onto furniture...and her newest talent: she whistles.

Just like our musically talented Selah who whistled this early as well... I look forward to one day hearing all three of my girls singing together. Having, what I would imagine to be, a very tight harmony.

You can always tell when you have a THIRD child. The look is no longer compared to the parents, but instead to the siblings, eh? :) But as much as I enjoy their similiarities...I love their differences. I have a feeling our lives will never be boring with these three running around.

Scrambled Eggs?

One of my YWAM friends, Jen, put a "challenge" of sorts on her website, asking people to essentially "tell her something" educational. So I, sporting a rather strong competitive bone, sat and sat and sat. Trying to figure out some random piece of "vital" information that I could share.

And then finally *ba-da-bing* I remembered the raw egg and it's unbreakable make up. So this morning the girls and I did a Science Project.
We talked about how when a hen sits on her egg (to hatch it), it doesn't break. Ever thought about that? Selah asked if she could sit on it and try that theory out. *laughing* That girl. ;)

I said nooooo...we're going to try and crush it with our hands. Which was followed by exchanged sisterly glances and odd looks from my Logical Thinker, Charis. WHYYYYY, Mommy?!! I think she must've thought I had lost my mind, telling them to TRY and break the egg into the rug.

Our rather large Doberman (who's inside for the morning b/c it's raining and I feel sorry for him) was rather curious. :)

So try this experiment...if you haven't already.

First, clasp your hands in front of you-be sure to interlock your fingers. Pull your palms apart so your hands form a cup. Place an egg lengthwise in this cup. In other words, the egg should be longest from one palm to the other. Now push your palms together as hard as you can - trying to break the egg. You won't be able to do it!

You can also try it by cupping it in one hand and trying to squeeze it with the same hand.

It is the double curve of the egg that distributes pressure evenly throughout the shell. Most of the pressure is transferred to the other side of the egg and into the person's other palm. Stress does not concentrate on one spot, therefore, the shell does not break.

I told them to try and break it over our dog's head. Since he plopped right down in the middle of our experiment, offering himself up as "fair game".
They tried and tried and tried....

Take note of the ratty towel on top of the kitchen rug. I figured I had better take into account that these little ones have MY DNA. Meaning, when someone first challenged ME, a college sophomore at the time, to break an egg while holding it in one hand...I tried and tried. Finally, unable to do it. I used the other hand, smashing it instantly. It was my loop hole...being that he had never said I was limited to one hand. And voile'...broken egg all over his mother's kitchen floor. heh heh

It's a good thing I did put that towel down because I ended up dropping it accidentally, when trying to gather up the eggs to put them away. *Opps* Our dog was all too happy to clean up...I was eventually able to get him off! After taking the picture of course. :)

After doing some research, I found out that the "monolithic dome" is like the egg. (and I would guess that it was built with the egg in mind). Things like igloos and sports domes. The dome, when finished, is earthquake, tornado and hurricane resistant (FEMA rates them as "near-absolute protection" from F5 tornadoes and Category 5 Hurricanes).

Of course, my girls could have cared less about the "whys" of it all. They were just excited that they got to try and break an egg. Though the last thing that Selah said was "Can I sit on it NOW?"

Falling off the Parental Pedestal

Mommy!! Mommy!!

Charis stood in the middle of her floor, clutching her beloved "Biscuit" dog. Rest time was officially over and I could tell that she wanted to tell me something very important.

Now I have to say, I'm really busy here. I mean, I'm in the middle of holding Raegan and gathering up Selah's nap time items. You know, life-altering mommy things that can't possibly be put off. But I, in my ever-giving spirit, smile and say, "What, honey?" Though I'm sure my eye contact lasted...oh, I'd guess...about 0.2 seconds.

She looked at me, eyes wide, eyebrows raised high. Quite obviously busting to tell me something!


"Biscuit asked me if he could have special time with me. Because I'm his mommy, you know. And I said NO! Then he spit in my face. And I told him to 'Go back to bed!'"

My mouth drops to the floor. Time stands still as the weight of the message BEHIND that statement hits my heart like a lightning bolt. Thankfully, I didn't drop Raegan as I stood there watching Charis gloating...obviously expecting me to applaud her "just and fair dealings" with the over demanding dog-child.

*big sigh*

The implied meaning behind her imaginary play has stayed with me ever since (as it was over a week ago). The hidden message that she was feeling put off and desperately wanting some one-on-one attention...and the inner anger at my denying her of it (hence the dog spitting in her face. WHERE she got that from, I'm still wondering??!).

The week before that loaded statement, she drew a picture of just the two of us playing. She made sure to point out that she and I were outside by ourselves, while Selah and Raegan remained inside.

So yeah, needless to say, Saturday we went on a much needed date.

We ran around town, going to all of her favorites places. We were having fun. We held hands. We laughed. We did whatever she wanted to. All without having to take into consideration her two younger sisters' desires/needs. Everything was going perfectly. She was declaring her undying love for me every 15 minutes. Seriously.

Ahh, yes that's right. Go ahead, sing my praises. I won't stop you. What's that, you say? I'm the best mommy e-ver?! How sweet of you. I'll receive that compliment, as I know I've earned it. ...I was, again, scaling the heights to my rightful place: The Mommy Pedestal. Once more, the stars in my small universe were realigning. Life was good. Please, allow me to pause while I pat myself on the back.

THEN...

As we're driving down the road on our way to Chick-fil-A, the topic of homeschooling came up. I made some random statement about how fun it was. And she got this look on her face. (I could see her clearly in my rear-view mirror). You know, the kind where your lip sort of curls up in disgust. And she said, almost in a pitying type tone, "Uh, I don't think homeschooling is fun."

If she were a few years older, I'm sure she would've rolled her eyes and said "Duh!" It was that type of tone she was using.

And just like that, I was jerked off my little pedestal. Flat on my rear. ;)


Honestly, the statement knocked the wind out of me. I was devastated. Here I am, in the middle of spending a Saturday focusing solely on her and out of her mouth comes yet another blow to my parenting skills, albeit it this one NOT disguised in imaginary play.

Did the face painting 20 minutes earlier count for nothing?! Isn't the glow of this sacred time supposed to last at least another 24 hours?! Do I really stink that much at the whole homeschooling thing as to cause her, in the midst of my Focus-on-dear-Charis Day, to take such a rigid stance? Has she already crossed over into the realm of child-who-knows-better-than-parent?! Somehow I didn't expect this for another couple of years.

I didn't know what to say at that point. Maybe I laughed. Maybe I sat in stunned silence. I truly don't know. My head was spinning and I was trying to focus on keeping our large SUV from swerving off the road.

Now, we happened to be on our way to have lunch with Grandma. Three generations of love coming together to love on Charis. She was thrilled...and for her, the fleeting homeschooling comment was never discussed again. But I, on the other hand, felt like I was walking around in a blurry haze. Mom said a bunch of comforting things, reminding me how much she is benefiting from my teaching her. But seriously the whole thing gave my confidence a pretty solid shaking. Even my mom's encouragement sort of fell flat.

Questions and doubts assailed me. Is this the best choice for her? Am I making the wrong decision? How can I do it better? What if what I do is never good enough? On and on it went. (In all reality, she couldn't have gone to school this year anyway. By law, she's 5 hours past the state cut off having to turn 5 by September 30th. So this year is a freebie in those terms. But still....)

The whole thing has prompted a discussion of sorts between me and my beloved. And when I say conversation, I mean he's talking and I'm sort of sitting there. ...staring off in the distance. mumbling incoherently to no one in particular about what a horrid parent I've become.

Okay, so not really. But it's not too far from the truth. :)

Being a parent, we have been entrusted to love and train these little ones. Because we know that we're people with limited perspective, we seek out God's...and go from there. We've done this. We know that homeschooling is what we're supposed to be doing right now. But man, if hearing that comment from Charis...as flippant as it was...didn't feel like a kick in the gut.

But I am learning that as a parent, I have to make decisions that are based on what we know to be the best for them. And, as I'm finding, that may not always be the thing that honors me with the "most popular award."

Did I come into parenting thinking that I would strive to be the most popular? that my self-esteem would be built-up by these little one's constant adoration of me and my methods? No. I had no such illusions. Truly! But hearing that they aren't happy with a decision that ultimately effects every aspect of their lives...that is a hard one to swallow.

Now, she did clarify that the reason she isn't happy with homeschooling (as she knows it) is because she wants to "do more work" than we are presently doing. I was relieved to hear that. Though my brain was screaming out, "She doesn't mean it! She just wants to please you in saying this and really does hate it." ;)

Either way, the point is...I know that I need to be confident in who God has called me to be as a parent AND the direction we feel led to take. Does that mean I think I'm never wrong? Um no. I'll be the first to admit that I am wrong fairly often (ie. daily!). But it does mean that I can't be swayed or pressured to make a decision based on the erratic state of my daughter's estrogen-laden emotions. I cannot allow their whims to become my barometer.

I can not parent solely to please.

Sounds so easy. Yet, it IS hard to continue on a path that you know may not be lined with the enthusiast cheers of the ones you're leading. I love them with a fury...and want them to be happy!

Does Charis like homeschooling? Um. I'd say yes...most days. Will we continue to do it? Yes, for now. Because that is what we know we are supposed to do. Will I try and make it more fun for her? By all means!! But I think this whole thing was a good wake-up call for me.

For I do need to trust God's leading in our parenting of these little beauties...regardless of whether they can appreciate it in the moment or not. I am the parent. They are the children. I will lead them. They will follow. (and by golly...they had better like it! *tease*)

Seriously, some days I feel like I'm a blind woman groping in the dark when it comes to raising them. But then I turn to other parents and find that I'm not alone; there are many of us feeling this out there. Maybe God designed it this way? So we won't get too comfortable sitting atop our self-made "I'm such an amazing parent" thrones? And will, instead, seek out the One who rightfully sits on THE Parental Throne. The One that blessed me with these children. The One that created and knows every detail of their needs and desires. And has, in His graciousness, equipped me to be their mom.

Regardless of whether MY erratic emotions warrant that to be true. What he has called me to, he will equip me for.

Oh Happy Day....

Why is this little one soooo obviously thrilled with herself?
Why are the sisters crowding and hugging her in congratulations?
Because she is now pulling up on things!

I think I have a determined little girl on my hands. She has recently learned to crawl (fast), sit up without assistance, and pull up on things all within a span of 2 weeks. I think she sees what her older sisters are doing...and is determined to join them in the action soon.

Daddy's Little Girl

"I cannot think of any need in childhood as strong as the need for a father's protection." Sigmond Freud

No words are necessary. This picture says it all.

And daughters-o-mine, I hope you will one day realize the incredible depth of blessing you have in your daddy.

Birthday Party-Take 2

The Kidlet Party. 16 little ones of all ages. 10 A.M. Double Chocolate Cake. Presents galore.

Yep. The reason why we didn't do it at OUR house. :) I've mentioned a Children's Museum we have in a neighboring town. Well, we booked the room and let them go *crazy*!!
It wasn't even cake time yet. They were just jockeying for position. ;)
The Lovely Maddie... Her mom joked about how little girls become so shy and coy when they get dressed up. They'll just stand there, waiting for the adoration of their beauty to come forth.
As the Hawaiian Hula Clown Girl is doing here. Did I mention they had a mirror with face paint?!!
Raegan was content to just sit and watch. For now.

I love this picture. I can imagine, years from now, us getting the same type of shot. As these girls all get ready for the prom. ;) Of course, I'm doubting they'll be painting their noses red then.
... Or using make-up that comes in these assortment of colors. :)
Don't you just love the intense look of concentration on Laurianna's face? Shhh...she's creating a masterpiece.
Though not all of our girls were content to dress up as princesses. Jessica was preparing to do battle!! You go girl!
And for now, Raegan just sat and laughed at them all.

It was during the Present Opening Frenzy that I saw a different side of my budding beauty, Charis. She's opening present after amazing present...to which I'm having to remind my usually polite child to say thank you...when she looks up and motions to the next person, armed with a gift bag.

"You can come next."

It so sounded like "Ah yes, pheasant girl. You now have my permission to approach the royal throne and grace me with your gift."

My mouth literally dropped open, I was so appalled. All the other parents in the room just laughed. Encouraging me with "they all do it", "it's just a phase", "it's not like we adults don't think that!". Hee hee, thanks guys!

The kids...they were totally unfazed by Charis's attitude. Apparently it's expected par for the course. For the little girl, armed with a present, happily obliged. And approached the Queen Majesty.

Kid parties. They are designed to bless the child. Humble the parent.

The Neverending Birthday Season- Part 1

This past week has been one continuous birthday celebration after another. Extended family. Our family. Charis's friends. Charis actually got confused as to the exact birth date...being that we just never stopped partying. ;)

Uncle Jonas and the girls...off walking on our Sunday picnic to the mountain.
We've been "pruning" some of our massive trees and are yet to dispose of the mess. So Charis visited one of our large debris piles, pulled out a limb, "planted" it...and dubbed it the birthday tree. Decorating it with everything they could get their hands on. I smell a child-established tradition in the making. ??

But before the family party began, we had (part of) Jet's family all to ourselves. The girls had just sang a song for them...and Grandmama was eloquently talking about worship. how God created us to worship. how beautiful their act of worship was. She was utilizing the moment...and was going deep.

And then it happened. Charis is sitting there. Unmoving. Intently staring into space. Completely silent. To which you assume, ahhh...she's really listening. You can tell she's just pondering all these things in her heart. How completely adorable.

But then she opened her mouth. "Grandmama...?"

"Yes, Charis?" We all wait. Fully expecting that this newly-turned 5 year old (who does tend to think on the deep side of things) would have some profound, yet child-like thing to say on worship.

She takes a deep breath and goes on, "This is my middle finger." She displays it for all to see.

Huh. didn't see that one coming.

I look at my mother-in-law, smiling. Knowing ALL too well how many times MY attempts to "train them up in the way they are to go" have ended in kid-comments like this one. Like the time my heartfelt talk about the blessing she was in my life was interrupted with "Did you know that when you eat food, it comes out of your hinney as poop?"

Um. Yeah. I think I knew that. Did you happen to catch what I was saying by any chance? ;)

So following my daughters poignant display of her middle finger, my teenage brother-in-law is in the background laughing hard and proclaiming, "Man, I'm going to have to remember that one! 'THIS is my MIDDLE finger'..........." I have to admit, we were all laughing hard.

And just like that, our lovely little moment faded into the background. *laughing* It's times like these that I am intimately aware that God has a crazy sense of humor and just wants us to lighten up a bit.