Bad Mood

Today I woke up in a bad mood.  It might have been the weather.  It might have been that I knew we were out of eggs. Or it might have been the fact that the two previous mornings I was able to wake up to a quiet house, drink my coffee in peace, and eat my eggs without having to share with a two-year-old, but now my kids were back.  

For the second time this summer my parents took all three of my kids up to the lake for a few days.  I feel so blessed that my parents are able to do that.  The kids love it and my parents, while exhausted and probably completely overwhelmed by the constant noise, love it.  And, if I'm being completely honest, I love it, too.  I miss my kids when they are gone.  And missing them is a nice feeling.  I don't experience that very often, so it's a nice reminder that I actually do like my kids.

I called the lake a couple of times and heard Lily's little voice over the phone lines.  Sophie told me all about a boat rescue and Max asked what I did all day while they were gone.  And I got a ton of stuff done around the house. 

I was so happy to see them when they got home last night.  I really was.  There may have been a little tiny part of me that knew my extended quiet time was over, but mostly, like 97.6% of me, was overjoyed to have them home.  The house was too still while they were gone.  Too quiet. 

And then I woke up this morning in a bad mood.  I realized, while I felt lost without them for most of the day, I really had enjoyed my mornings.  I liked getting up and being the only one downstairs.  I liked sipping my coffee without having to make someone else's breakfast.  I liked just sitting and watching the sky lighten as the sun came up.  This morning when I came downstairs Sophie and Max had iCarly blaring on the TV.  This was pre-coffee and I had already decided I was in a bad mood, so the first words out of my mouth were "Turn that down.  NOW!  I had this house all to my self for three whole days and it was wonderful and quiet and clean and no one asked me for snacks or pooped their pants or left their shoes in my way and now you're back and you're ruining everything.  EVERYTHING!"  Okay, I didn't really say the last part.  But I wanted to.

The day has gotten better.  And now Lily is napping and the kids are outside playing and I'm going to make myself a pot of coffee and pretend it's morning.  And enjoy the quiet. 

Things it Takes 3Days to Learn

Sole Inspiration - Jill, me, Sara G, Becky

This was my fourth 3Day for the Cure.  My plan is to continue walking this event until there is a cure, or my legs won't carry me anymore.  Whichever comes first.  There is no way to accurately explain what the 3Day experience is really like, but I'm going to try.

                         

Things it Takes 3Days to Learn

1)  After walking 20 miles, showering in the back of a semi-trailer feels a lot like heaven.

2)  Using the first few Porta-Potties, it feels strange to not flush a toilet.

3)  After the 3Day, it feels strange TO flush a toilet.

4) It takes about twenty-four hours
to start referring to your little pink tent as "home." 

5) Becky's long legs make her a perfect pace car! 

6)  No matter what, at some point during the 60 mile walk you're going to talk about farting.

7)  Sara G has a doctorate in blisters.

8)  It looks like fun to carry one of the remembrance flags.  It is not.

9)  It seems cruel that the miles we walk around the huge campsite don't count towards the 60. 

10) Air mattresses are a good idea.  In theory.

11)  It's entertaining to see the creative ways people decorate their tents.  And useful when trying to find your own (ie: my tent is across from the one that looks like a piece of watermelon).

12)  Jill can't say the word anonymity.

13) The men who walk the 3Day are rockstars (or "walk"stars - Ha! Ha!)...and treated as such!

14)  Of all the team names we saw, my favorite was These Boobs Were Made for Walking.

15)  After walking 60 miles and sleeping on the ground, with blistered feet and tired legs, you're still going to have plenty of energy for a dance party during closing ceremonies. 

A Miracle in an Animal Cracker Container

About a week and a half ago my kids found a chubby green caterpillar in our garden.  They let him crawl around on their hands and then asked if they could keep him.  We found an empty plastic container and they filled it with rocks and sticks and leaves.  They named him Suction Cup.  And we all agreed that we would let him go at bedtime.

But we forgot to let him go.

The next morning he looked like this:

And by the next afternoon he looked like this:

We did some research online and learned that he (Suction Cup is obviously a boy's name) was a Swallowtail.  They stay in their chrysalis for one to two weeks.  We left him on the kitchen counter.  The kids peeked at him every once in awhile, but with no change they were losing interest.

Then, this morning, as I poured myself a cup of coffee, out of the corner of my eye I saw a flutter.

Fly away, Suction Cup.  Fly away. 

"It's death and resurrection. A butterfly is not a bug with wings, it's a whole new creature."   -Deepak Chopra

Funny Things My Kids Said

I recently got out my little journal where I keep track of funny, interesting things my kids say.  Each time I add a new one, I like to flip back through the past entries.  I usually end up laughing out loud.  I know these might not hold the same weight for you that they do for me, but here are my Top 10 Favorite Things My Kids Have Said:

#10  Sophie, yesterday (at age 7): "Did Grandpa Don have any brothers or sisters?
Me: Nope.
Sophie: "Oh.  So he was a lonely child?"

#9  Sophie, while potty-training: "I've got a surprise for you, Mommy.  And it's BROWN!"

#8  Max, almost 3 years old: "I want the biggest piece of cake"
Me: "That's not very polite."
Max: "May I please have the biggest piece of cake?" 

#7  Sophie, at age 3: "I'm not pouting.  I'm feeling sorry for myself."

#6  Sophie, in first grade about her "boyfriend":  I think I'm going to marry him, but it's too early to tell."  

#5  Max, 3 years old: "Mom, do you think I'll EVER get to meet a garbage man?"

#4  Sophie's Christmas prayer, 3 1/2 years old: "Today we celebrate your birthday.  You are the best Jesus ever."

#3  Max, 3 1/2 years old, while Wade was pitching to him in the backyard: "I'm pretty great at this game." 

#2  Max, 4 years old, describing his tinker-toy creation: "It's an airplane stand that stands up...and makes babies laugh." 

#1  Sophie, 4 years old, while playing with a toy tow truck and her dad: "Daddy, pretend you are stuck and the hooker will save you.  The hooker will always save you."

Babying the Baby

Every once in a while Lily will throw her pacifier out of her crib.  And then cry hysterically.  Last night was one of those times.  I know that what I'm supposed to do is give it back to her and then leave the room.  But her tear-stained cheeks and out-stretched arms make that impossible.

I scooped her up and told her I would sing her one more song.  She put her head on my shoulder and waited for her favorite, Jesus Loves Me This I Know.  As I quietly sang and swayed back and forth next to her crib, I could feel her eye lashes brushing against my arm and I thought, I don't want this to end. 

Lily is my baby, but she's not much of a baby anymore.  She turns two on Saturday.  She's starting to talk more and more everyday.  She still has a pudgy tummy and chubby thighs, but if memory serves, it was between two and three that my other two slimmed down and lost the last of their baby fat.  She will cuddle with me, but only on her terms.  And she rarely gives kisses anymore.  They have become a precious commodity in our house.

So, as I held her last night, all the while knowing I was starting the cycle of crying for attention we had fought so hard never to start with Sophie or Max, I couldn't help but think that this was my last chance.  Pretty soon she won't want to be held anymore.  And soon after that she'll be too big to hold, anyway.  This is my last chance to sing Jesus Loves Me into the ear of my own child and have her listen rather than roll her eyes and tell me that my singing stinks. 

Is it wrong to want to savor these moments?  I know that it often means overstepping into the realm of spoiling the baby.  And I suppose that's what makes the baby of the family the baby.  The littlest.  The cutest.  But also the biggest brat?  The one who always gets her way.  I can see now how easily that happens when parents, like me, want to hold on to the last one.  Want to make it, babyhood, that is, last far longer than they would have with the others. 

After losing Lily yesterday, I couldn't help but hold her a little bit longer than I would have otherwise.  And I couldn't help but think about two years ago, when I would nurse her in the middle of the night and she would fit in the crook of my arm.  And I couldn't help but think about two years from now, when she's too big to hold and too busy to cuddle.  After just one more flit of her eyelashes on my skin I laid her down in her crib and read her one more book (bee-bo) and sang her one more song.  And then closed the door as she started to cry, still wanting one more of everything. 

A little lesson in being self-righteous

I sat down this morning to write a post about how irresponsible some parents can be.  I had started out this post quite holier than thou as I told of two separate times in the past week I had seen small children wandering in public and/or dangerous places while there was nary a parent in sight.  I was prepared to tell you how, at the zoo last Tuesday, my brother and I noticed a little boy, who could barely walk on his own, attempting to head outside without a grown-up.  I was going to tell you how appalled I was when Matt said, after taking the boy's hand and walking back into the zoo, the mother, upon seeing her son holding hands with a complete stranger, says, "Oh, there you are."  I also planned to tell you about a little girl, no more than 2, who was wandering aimlessly through a parking lot while cars drove by her.  My friend Jill and I were in the process of turning Jill's car around so that we could at the very least get this little girl out of harms way, when the girl's mother, I assume, casually sauntered over and got her.  I wanted to say things like, don't parents watch their kids anymore?  and who allows toddlers to wander unsupervised? 

That had been my plan.

And then I lost Lily. 

I didn't lose her at the zoo or in a parking lot, but right here.  At my house.  I'm watching the kids of some friends for the day so my house is slightly (only slightly) more chaotic then usual.  With three added children there has been a significant amount of going up and down stairs and going in and out of doors and moving from the front yard to the back. 

I have found myself constantly asking "Where's Lily?"

But then I started making sandwiches.  Some want cheese and some don't.  Some want mayo and some don't.  And one wants peanut butter and jelly (no cheese or mayo, he tells me).  I'm desperately trying to follow the directions of the five children able to give me their orders and I suddenly realize I haven't seen or heard from Lily is quite some time.  I run upstairs, where she has spent most of the morning annoying the other kids, but she's not there.  Not in the basement.  Not emptying the drawers in the bathroom either.  But the screen door to the back yard is open.  I run out yelling her name.  I'm wondering if she went into the woods behind our house or wandered into the neighbors yard (they have way better toys than us).  I make my way, yelling all the while, to the front yard where I worry about the street and the construction happening just across it.  I'm panicking.  And I'm thinking about the stupid post I had started and how now I couldn't post it because I'm one of those parents.  I don't have a car that fits all of these kids, so I'm wondering how I can drive around the neighborhood looking for her without putting my other five charges in jeopardy. 

And then I hear her giggle.  I whip around to my open garage door and see her.  Buckled in her stroller.  Ready to go to the park for our picnic.  Watching me run around like a maniac.  And laughing.

And I headed inside to rewrite my post.  

Good morning!

Some mornings my coffee is a bit too strong.  Or too weak.

Some mornings I accidentally put too much creamer in my cup.  Or too little.

But some mornings, like this one, the coffee and creamer join together in perfect harmony and I know it's going to be a good day.

A couple of days ago my friend (Hi Megan!) said, "I'm sad your challenge is over."  I hadn't thought of my challenge as "being over."  I kept meaning to write.  I just wasn't doing it.  And suddenly the days have turned into weeks and I haven't written anything so far this month.  I liked writing (almost) every day.  It was fun and therapeutic and something I would like to keep.  So, the challenge is back on.  Or still going.   

Today, with my perfectly-creamered cup of coffee and better-late-than-never post, I'm looking ahead to a cloudy, but good day.