Say It Enough, You'll Start to Believe It
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There are days when they fight,
When they kick, scream and bite
There are days when I feel
Like I’m losing my mind.
Those are the days I don’t really like.
But then there are days – snapshots frozen in time,
When they laugh, sing and play,
These days I like.
My kids love a good story. And as story tellers go, I have to say, my husband and I are pretty good.
Remember this story that Sloan and I concocted with his Star Wars figurines and a dollhouse?
While my stories tend to be rather fantastic and, erm, out there (think unicorns and flying mommy’s) Lee are more realistic and he adds a lot of special sound effects. He’s actually freaked Tia out with his stories so much that she immediately burrows under her bed covers before he even begins.
And, well, you know how we get pleasure out of terrifying our poor children…
Last night was a beautiful fall night. A little cold for my liking, but pleasant enough for us to take a long walk as a family, then come home and build a fire in the fire pit and roast hot dogs, then sit in a circle and tell stories.
When Lee began telling his story about two little boys camping in the woods where a Big Foot was known to live, a hush fell over our little group. Tia climbed into my lap and put her hands over her ears as Lee ran around in the shadows of the yard, growling softly, rattling the chain link fence and stomping around.
Midway through the story, Landon climbed into my arms. Because he’s a bit of a mama’s boy and tends to get jealous when others get my time, I assumed he just wanted to let Tia know that he had a solid stake on the territory of my lap.
Lee ended his story by telling us all to close our eyes. When we did, he dashed back into the darkest part of the yard and shook the chain link fence letting out a fierce growl. Sloan and Tia screamed and laughed. I let out a mock scream and we all folded over in a heap of giggles at daddy’s fantastic tale.
Until, that is, I tried to extract my poor third child from my arms only to discover he had a death grip on my neck and his little heart was racing wildly. I pulled his face back just enough to tell him everything was all right and he dissolved into tears and buried his face in my neck.
Landon is only 21 months old, so we didn’t even realize that he was paying attention to our story, much less comprehending it. But he did, poor baby, and we scared him half to death. He moaned “Daddy,” and refused to let go of my neck.
I finally extracted him enough to pass him off to Lee who held him tight and reassured him everything was okay, while we both cracked up looked on in pity feeling deeply saddened that we had scared the boy so much. Of course, Daddy always has the ability to make everything better and in no time had Landon laughing and happy again.
So, needless to say, I think we have sufficiently damaged the third child enough to ensure that he’ll need significant therapy as an adult to deal with his irrational fear of that mythical creature called Big Foot.
Yay us.
(eyeroll)
Mornings are crazy. We manage to get out the door, but not without a bit of stress. Can anyone identify?
Here’s how a typical (hectic) morning in the Stuart household looks:
Up at 7:00 – I know, I know…We should get up earlier; things would run so much more smoothly. I got it!
After breakfast is eaten, beds are made, teeth are brushed and kids are dressed, it 7:55. Awesome – we’ve got 5 minutes before the bus arrives. Just enough time for my blood pressure to level out.
Oh, but wait! It’s getting colder, which means we need coats on, and oh yeah! The hall closet is so packed with coats that by the time I dig one out that actually fits, it’s 7:58. Up goes the blood pressure and, at this point, I actually begin clapping my hands.
Yes, sometime in the last year, I actually morphed into the mom who claps her hands at her children. “C’Mon guys, we gotta go out. Let’s go, go, go!” clap, clap, clap.
By the time we manage to get out – usually Landon is the one who ends up outside without his shoes or coat on…poor third child – my heart is racing and I feel like I need a stiff drink. Don’t worry – I don’t imbibe. At least not yet.
Once child #1 is packed off to school (loaded down with hugs and kisses – I’m not mean mommy), it’s time for mommy to get dressed because I’m usually shivering out on the front porch barefoot in my pajamas. Once I get myself dressed and ready and finally get the poor third child fully clothed, I usually discover that Tia has shed her socks and shoes somewhere in the recesses of our house.
And by the time I get her shoes back on her feet, Landon has shed his shoes somewhere in the recesses of the house. So I threaten Tia within an inch of her life if she removes her shoes again, I clap my hands a few times for good effect, I locate Landon’s shoes and I pack the two younger kids in the car, not even bothering to put Landon’s shoes back on his feet.
At this point, I usually notice that the dog’s food and water bowls are bare and guilt sends my running back in to fill them.
When I come back out, it’s not uncommon to find Tia jumping around in the car rather than sitting in her seat with her belt buckled. Thus necessitating the need for more clapping.
My hands are getting raw.
I hop in the car and then it hits me. Where are my keys?! Where are my KEYS?!?
With the clock an ever present reminder of just how late we really are, I search, I tear, I mutter and growl, I stomp around the house, I pass the key ring hanging just inside the door where Lee always tells me to hang my keys when I come in and I glare at it for good measure.
(This evening, when running late for russian school, I may or may not have muttered a few choice words under my breath as I frantically searched for my missing car key. All the while Lee looked at me in mild amusement and wisely stayed out of my way. I found it in the bottom of my purse, by the way. Only after I checked there for the third time.)
Usually, though, I find them someplace really obvious, like the pocket of my jeans, or on the bathroom floor, or under the crumbled mess of snacks in the bottom of the diaper bag.
And somehow, I make it out the door, dropping Tia off with seconds to spare (loaded down with hugs and kisses, of course).
And many days I head to the gym where I drop Landon off and I fight the urge to curl up in the fetal position in a dark corner and suck my thumb.
Seriously, while I make it seem absolutely awful, our morning routine is not horrible, but it is hectic. Getting three kids dressed and ready to get out the door can be stressful.
So what about you? How do you make it out the door in the morning?
Memo2 – click the link to listen to Sloan and Tia sing one of their russian school songs…
Happy Wednesday.
Earlier this year, Lee and I attended an auction for a local school where we bid on and won a backyard grill package. This item included a huge grill (which we ultimately sold) and a party that would be completely planned and catered for us.
So, in the spirit of awesome wifedom, I cashed in on said prize and threw Lee a surprise party for his birthday. And I actually managed to pull it off, which is no small feat when you’re married to a man who tends to smell surprises and weasel them out of you early.
I may or may not have told a couple of little white lies in order to pull it all together, but I’m pretty sure that somewhere in Leviticus the Lord tells us that lying to protect a good secret is permissible and encouraged.
Or maybe it’s in the book of Nahum…
Whatever the case, my fibs worked – thankfully. I thought my secret was blown Friday when he came home at noon to find someone cleaning our house. I had made a big deal out of the fact that I was planning to clean the house, when in fact I was really out running my last few errands.
So when he came home early (noon – he came home at noon! He never comes home at noon!) I spun a fantastic tale about my mom wanting to bless us with a deep house cleaning and I called this girl and she just happened to have an opening that morning and blah, blah, blah…
He bought it.
It’s like feeding candy to a baby.
And so, after my poor dad had to stall for quite some time, Lee showed up having already downed a couple of margaritas, a hot dog and a quesadilla. And he was surprised. Very, very surprised.
The party package included a caterer who made amazing appetizers, a grill master who smoked a brisket over night and delivered it hot to our door and an amazing Jazz band. The weather was perfect; it was crisp and cool – perfect for sitting around the fire pit and listening to the music and enjoying family and friends.
And we have sweet, sweet friends. I am constantly amazed at just how blessed we are to have such amazing people around us, pouring into our lives.
I got a few pictures. They’re not great, because I’ve finally embraced the fact that I’m not a good photographer. I’ve messed around with my camera so much that I think it’s finally gone on strike and is refusing to take a decent picture purely on principle. I can almost hear it laughing at me every time I take a picture.
But these shots should give you a basic idea…
Now, earlier this year, I left my dear husband for eight days while I romped around the Caribbean. That trip really set me back in my bid for Wife of the Year. But this party, my friends, this. party. put me back in the running – big time.
You all are going to have to work pretty hard if you want to catch up now.
The end.
It’s a lazy, rainy day and I have a lot to do around the house this morning, so I am recycling one of my post’s from last year. With Halloween approaching, I figured it was a good time for this re-post. This was origianlly posted on October 28, 2008.
As the Halloween season approaches I thought I’d pass on the name of a great book that I think is important for parents to read – particularly those who struggle with the concept of Halloween.
It seems that Halloween has gotten a bit of a bad wrap over the years. What can be, and should be, a fun, innocent holiday for children has been mired by slasher movies and horror tales of cult-like sacrifices. This, in my opinion, is unfortunate because Halloween is really a fun time for both children and parents.
The idea of Halloween being a pagan holiday is particularly prevalent among christian circles. I understand where this is coming from. In fact, Lee and I really debated whether or not we would celebrate Halloween with our kids. Both of us just assumed that Halloween was a holiday that opened the door to evil and wondered if we should just scrap it. But, when Sloan was born, it broke my heart to think of not dressing him up and parading him around the neighborhood, showing off his cute, fat cheeks and racking up a little sugary delight.
I also couldn’t figure out how to not celebrate the holiday without it seeming weird and legalistic. Did we hand out candy to Trick or Treaters, but just not take our kids Trick or Treating? That didn’t seem right because it just makes the practice of Trick or Treating seem wrong.
Did we turn off all the lights and hide in a dark corner all night, ignoring the Trick or Treaters on our front step? That didn’t seem like a good conclusion either because how would we explain that to our kids?
And, while I love fall festivals that church’s put on and have no problem attending them, the fact is, they are still a celebration of the holiday called Halloween so I didn’t see how that was a reasonable alternative to Trick or Treating.
So before Lee and I made a decision, I decided it was time to research Halloween. And I am glad I did!
I came across a book called Redeeming Halloween: Celebrating Without Selling Out. This book was published by Focus on the Family, a reputable christian organization whose focus is, oddly enough, on issues that affect families. I learned a lot from this book.
Perhaps the thing that most surprised me was the fact the Halloween, the original holiday, is not pagan but rather a Christian holiday. It stands for All Hallow ‘een or “the eve of the holy ones“.
Under the reign of Nero, a tyrannous and horrible Roman leader, christian’s were brutally murdered in public places. Literally thrown before the lions, christians in early Rome were martyred for no other reason than that Nero felt threatened by them. In A.D. 610, as the church gained more honor, these martyrs were officially recognized and given their own holiday, All Saints’ Day or All Hallows Day. This holiday eventually landed on the calendar on November 1. It was meant to be a day for the church to remember and recognize the believers who died for their faith.
(Incidentally, if you’re looking for an excellent read on the early Christian martyrs, I highly recommend the book Quo Vadis. It’s a novel, but it’s so historically factual that it barely passes as fiction. It is one of the most fascinating books I’ve read in a long time.)
Now, there is no denying that this meaning of Halloween has been wildly distorted over the centuries. But the fact remains that Halloween is not pagan, and this book gives great suggestions of ways to celebrate Halloween by merging the traditions that we have today, Trick or Treating, with the true meaning of the holiday. After all, isn’t that what we try to do at Christmas as well? If you think about it, Christmas has also been dreadfully distorted and paganized.
So where did the costumes and trick or treating come into play? The authors state that there is no real conclusive evidence as to where this tradition began but there is some historical evidence that in the mid-1800’s, masquaraders would go from door to door performing plays in exchange for food or drink.
Around this time, a large population of Irish immigrants came to America bringing with them a tradition known as “mischeif night” where they would canvas neighborhoods playing harmless tricks on their neighbors. By the 1920’s, however, this tradition had gotten out of hand leading to true vandalism, so a small town mayor instituted a night where “good” children could go to neighbor’s homes and shops, crying “Trick or Treat!” The idea was that the shop owners should give them a treat so they wouldn’t be “tricked.” Placing this tradition on the eve of All Hallow’s Day was merely a way to designate it as a once a year occasion.
So, for those of you who may be unsure of whether or not to celebrate Halloween, I highly recommend this book. You still have to do what you feel is right for your family, but you owe it to yourself to be educated about the decision you are making.
For those of you who celebrate Halloween but feel guilty about doing so – Don’t! You don’t have to skulk around on Halloween hoping no one from church see’s you taking your kids out. Bottom line is that there are ways to enjoy the innocence and the fun of Halloween without partaking of the evil that pervades.
So, in closing, Happy Halloween!
In January 2007, St. Louis had a massive ice storm. Lee was out of town that weekend (naturally – don’t crazy things always happen when your husband is out of town?) and I was alone with a then 3 year old Sloan and 11 month old Tia.
In the dead of night, ice fell from the sky in frigid sheets, layering already weak trees (as it was the second big ice storm of the season) with several pounds of frost. About 4:00 that morning, I awoke to realize that the power was out and the house was very cold. Outside my window, I heard a pop and saw a flash of blue and realized a transformer had just blown.
And then I heard the sickening crunch of a tree branch slicing through our roof (it didn’t come into the house, thankfully, but went through the over hang barely a foot from where my bed lay).
It was then that Sloan woke up and raced out of his room exclaiming – “Mommy, blue monsters are throwing ice at our house!”
Then we looked out the window to see a crazy mess with downed trees and branches all over our yard, driveway and roof.
And from then on, my child was altered forever more. He became terrified of storms. The tiniest flash of lightening sends him into a frenzy and with a rumble of thunder he begins nervously talking a mile a minute, his panicked voice reaching ear piercing decibles.
He is equally obsessed with the weather. I assume it’s because he is trying to keep his enemy close, but he loves to read books about tornadoes and hurricanes, tsunamis and floods. I’ve caught him on more than one occasion watching the weather channel and he frequently gives me updates on the weather in different parts of the country.
“Hey mom, did you know Florida is having a tropical storm? That’s like a hurricane only it’s not really a hurricane. Good thing we’re not there, huh?”
So, it was with great terror that we got caught in a doozy of a storm on Saturday. I had taken the kids to buy Halloween costumes (another story for another day but seriously – costumes are ridiculously overpriced. Why have I never learned to sew!?!) and we were on our way home when literally out of nowhere the heavens opened and released with great fury, directly over my (hot) minivan.
As a bolt of lightening streaked across the sky, Sloan yelped from the backseat, “Mom! Lightening. We gotta get home now!”
“I know, honey, I’m trying,” was my reply. To which I heard, “Hey mom. I’m pretty sure a tornado is coming so if you see it, you have to turn the car around and rive away from it.”
Me: “Okay, babe, I got it.”
Sloan: “Mom. In case a tornado does come and we get sucked up, cover your head with your hands to protect it.”
Me: “We’re not going to get sucked up, Sloan.”
Sloan: “But we might-”
It was then that the hail started. Large balls of ice began pelting my car along with alligator size raindrops reducing my visibility to almost 0. It was loud and ferocious and I found myself lamenting the fact that for years I’ve been praying that a hail storm would center itself over my house so insurance would cover a new roof and instead it was centered over my defenseless (but hot) minivan.
And over the racket of the storm this is what I heard in the backseat:
Tia (with her hands squeezed over her ears): I’n stewrd mommy! I’n woody stewrd.”
Landon (looking around with furrowed brow): “Woooowww!”
Sloan (eyes so wide they threaten to swallow his face): “HAIL MOMMY. HAIL MOMMY! HAIL! MOMMY! WE’VE GOT HAIL!”
Me: “It’s okay, it’ll be over soon.”
Sloan: “JUST PRAY TO GOD MOM! PRAY. TO. GOD!!!”
Me: “You pray, I’ve got to drive.” (Mind you we’re shouting at one another because the noise is deafening)
And in the rearview mirror I watch my 6 year old fold his hands and press them to his forehead beseeching God to rescue us from what he sees to be imminent death by thunderstorm.
And the whole situation strikes me as so funny that I start cracking up, as I sometimes tend to do when I’m nervous or upset, whilst all along keeping my eyes firmly glued to the barely visible red tail lights of the car in front of me.
Then, two miles up the road, the clouds in the sky parted, giving way to nothing more than a light drizzle. I look back in the mirror at my shell shocked crew and find Tia still has her ears covered and eyes closed, Landon is grinning from ear to ear and Sloan looks utterly amazed.
When he catches my eye, Sloan slowly grins, then pumps his fist in the air. “That was awesome!” he exclaimed. “That was the big one and I wasn’t scared at all.”
Uh-huh. Right.
And that, my friends is the story of the day we survived the ‘big one’. All it took was a few “Hail Mommy’s” and a prayer.
Ten years ago today, Lee and I were in the beginning days of our courtship. As we picked up a cake to take to the K-Life house where he lived and worked, I boldly proclaimed, “Wow! You’re half a decade old today!”
I was a Professional Writing major folks…a Writing major.
Despite my horrible blonde blunder, Lee still married me. And I’m so glad he did. I’m so glad we’re growing older together. I know, I know…35 isn’t old. But it is older.
I love you, Lee. And yes, you absolutely looked wiser upon waking this morning. 35 looks good on you!
I’ve noticed recently that I have quite a few more readers following my blog on a daily basis than I realized. I mean, I’m not experiencing mutliple thousands of hits per day, but my readership has increased significantly in the last few months.
While I’m grateful for this fact, as I’d always hoped to turn this more into a creative outlet for my writing and less of a family journal, I also feel a lot more pressure on a day to day basis because of it. I find myself thinking of things to write and then talking myself out of it because I’m not really sure if anyone would actually want to read about said topic or it seems funny in my head, but translating it onto cyber-paper loses the effect.
Whatever the case, I do find myself thinking a lot more about my words, how I write and how much I really want to share with the world.
I enjoy writing about my kids more than anything, because…well, because they’re funny. For example, yesterday Sloan came home and told us that the girl from iCarly is hot. When Lee asked him what that meant he replied, “Uh, you know it means she’s, like, really awful…Really, I just like to say that she’s hot!”
Six year olds say funny things and I love to capture those things so that someday, when he’s all grown up and we are at his rehearsal dinner the night before his wedding, I’ll be able to read some of the funny things he said and reminisce about the boy that he once was.
But there is a balance on how much I share about my kids. I try to think clearly through how they might feel about what I wrote for the world to read when they get older. I want them to laugh at these stories – I don’t want them to be embarrassed.
So, sometimes, I keep things to myself. Even if they’re funny. There have been a couple of times when I’ve contemplated writing about a particular struggle or disciplinary issue, in the hopes of getting some insight or wisdom or understanding from other parents, but have refrained eventually because I don’t want my kids to look back and be ashamed or humiliated by my words.
This is a balancing act.
I also enjoy writing about motherhood issues because that’s where I am right now. I’m in the thick of this thing called motherhood and it’s so nice to know that I’m not the only one who sometimes feels isolated. Blogging has become my lifeline to a world outside the walls of my home. There are some days when I get so discouraged as I look at the caller ID on my phone and realize no one’s called my house in two days. But then I see that I have several comments on my blog and my spirits are lifted, because, while it’s not as personal, it’s still a connection.
Motherhood can be lonely sometimes, yes?
My conundrum with writing about all things motherhood, however, is that I often feel like I don’t have that much to say. I don’t have any innovative child rearing tactics. I’m thankful each evening when I tuck them in to bed that they’re all still alive! I do aim to mother with purpose, but I don’t feel like I’m a good cheerleader on the sidelines of the motherhood game.
I’m more like the pimple faced, uncoordinated kid who stumbles around the field and every once in awhile bounces the ball off her foot and falls into the end zone.
What I mean is – I have a plan in my parenting, but I don’t have an excellent plan book so sharing mothering advice seems daunting to me. I don’t have great discipline techniques or fun, crafty ideas, or cute recipes. I don’t have great advice for getting your kids to clean up their rooms or how to make them eat broccoli without bitter weeping and gnashing of teeth.
I can, however, write about each of these issues in such a way that we can all chuckle together at the hilarity of parenting. For example, while I can’t give you point by point advice on how to get your child to obey you immediately, I can tell you that yesterday, when I told Landon to give me the penny that he found and was playing with, he promptly shoved it in his mouth and swallowed it. Um – a little dangerous? Yes. A little funny? Uh-huh. Because I’m now on poop patrol to make sure that the penny passes.
I find that funny.
Moving on…I love to blog about the fun things that happen in our lives. Lee and I are so blessed – were blessed far beyond what I ever imagined we would be. We are not rich…but we are not poor. We have three healthy, beautiful, hilarious kids, a house that meets our needs, faithful and wise friends and we laugh every. single. day. Our life is wonderful.
And so I blog about it. I try to keep the blog light and fun, but OY! There’s pressure even in that. I find myself sitting at the computer, staring at a blank screen, begging myself to think of something funny to say. And sometimes I come up dry. So somedays I’m just not going to be funny. Somedays I don’t feel funny. Like today. Sorry.
There are other things I like to write about like, for example, politics. But we all saw how that went for me the last time I did it, so I try to keep my political ramblings to a minimum because I want my blog to be a happy place. There will be times when I share my views because, ahem, this is my blog. But, in general, I try not to go overboard with the politics.
Blogging is great. It’s fun, it gives me some sense that I’m pursuing my passion, I’m making a little money, I’m keeping a record of my children’s lives and I’m working out some of the kinks in my head. But I am also balancing the act of sharing the right amount of information. It is a delicate balance, but, so far, I think it’s going alright.
So what about you? How do you balance the art of sharing your lives without sharing too much?
Saturday night Lee and I hit the town for a rare and necessary date night. We hired a babysitter like big kids, got all dolled up (little black dress, rockin’ red high heels and a smokey eye completed my ensemble – I felt like a rock star!) and headed to the Central West End, where we reminded ourselves once again just how far removed we are from college.
After a quick dinner, we headed to the basement dance club, Club Viva! where we took an hour long Salsa lesson before they opened up the floor. It was nothing short of a blast.
I should preface this by telling you that I love to go dancing. It was one of my very favorite things to do in college and I would go dancing every weekend if we could. Lee, however, over the years has decided that he’s not crazy about going to dance clubs anymore. I’ve had to practically beg him to take me, and somehow, since we’ve been married, we’ve only made it out dancing twice.
And both experiences were, uh, not great. The first, when I was roughly 18 months pregnant with Sloan and I thought a little dancing might be good to get things kick-started, left Lee worried I’d have a baby on the dance floor, so he refused to dance with me and I spent an hour dancing with an adorable mentally challenged boy who kept trying to kiss me – I swear, I couldn’t make this stuff up.
The second time was spring break in Florida right after I found out I was pregnant with Tia. When the girls started licking shots off of one another’s bodies on stage, Lee and I quickly realized we were out of our league and left.
Thus, when he said he wanted to take me dancing – I was thrilled…and a little nervous.
So, we found ourselves in a line with a few other brave souls where a little Columbian man show us how to shimmy and shake our hips. And, I gotta say, Lee and I weren’t half bad. I mean, I’m no Shakira, but I got my hips swinging back and forth without completely falling all over myself – and considering I was in 3 inch heels, I’d say I deserve a medal.
At one point I did look over and see Lee doing the Electric Slide, which caused me to keel over in a peal of laughter, but otherwise, we were rockin’ the joint.
1, 2, 3 (pause) 5, 6, 7 (pause) These are the counts for the salsa. Apparently the numbers 4 and 8 are taboo – you just skip them. Now, stand up and step forward 1 on your left foot, then step back 2, on your right foot, then step back 3 on your left? Got it? Did you swing your hips? You’re set then!
After the lesson, the dance floor was opened up and the real dancers came out. Those girls knew how to swing their hips! Lee and I got out on the floor and with our limited knowledge let loose with the meanest beginner salsa you’ve ever seen. It was awe-inspiring.
Upon taking a break and letting my screaming feet rest, a young, adorable latin dancer named Vinnie asked me to dance. Lee laughed and pushed me toward the danced floor while I stammered, “Uh…I’m not…ya know…very good.”
“S’Ok,” Vinne shrugged, then started girating his hips back and forth and spinning me around. I felt like Baby in Dirty Dancing (“I carried a watermelon”). My arms flailed about, my feet tapped danced more than salsa’ed and, at one point, I threw in a rather impressive arabesque. But, through it all, my hips shook like a professional.
I think Vinnie liked it as he asked me to dance two more times. Either that or he felt sorry for me and was hoping to give me some pointers to keep me from making a total fool of myself. Actually, it’s been a long time since I danced with a strange college boy and I kept trying to tuck my hand into Lee’s arm to show that I was taken, but my darling husband refused to let me turn down an offer to dance.
Punk.
He stood on the sidelines and laughed as I danced with not only Vinnie, but the tiniest little Columbian man I’ve ever seen. He was adorable, sweet and about 65 years old. At one point, he grabbed my hips and moved them back and forth to the rhythm.
Aaaaaaawkwaaaard.
But so much fun. Lee and I partied like rock stars until we looked at his watch and realized it was going to cost a a small fortune to pay the babysitter for our night out.
And so, like the thirty-somethings that we are, we hobbled out of Club Viva! But, we both vowed that we would return, because it really was one of the most enjoyable evenings we’ve had in a long time.
And my hips don’t lie…
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