Heard in the Trenches

The monkies love the Chipmunks Movie soundtrack and know most of the songs (the ones I let them listen to anyways). One is a remake of Funkytown that's quite fun. We were driving around and Zoe was singing "tak-a-wow-ee, tak-a-wow-wee" for the "Talk about it" part. Aiden turns to her and says, in a rather know-it-all manner. "Zoe. That's NOT how it goes. It says, (singing) "Taco-belly, taco-belly, taco-belly, ooo-yea!."
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We had a "cheat day" (our one night a week where we eat junk food ~ to find out why we're so strict on it, see this) . The next day Jonah was complaining that his tummy hurt.

Me: "It's probably the pizza you ate last night Bud. Your body hates it."

Dad: "It's called inflamation."

Aiden: "infer-bacon?"

Dad: "That's right Aiden, Infer-bacon."

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Aiden was getting into something he wasn't supposed to and Chris called him on it. Aiden turns around and says, "I know, I know. Calm down and you can have a sucker."
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Zoe and I were working on summer workbooks and her page was about matching. She was kind of struggling to understand so I was trying to help. She had a sticker banana and her choices were a row of clothes, a row of toys and a row of food. I asked, "Zoe, do we wear a banana?" She looks at me, puts her hands on her hips, and states, "No mom, dat's just cwazy."
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Zoe was psyched to go swimming in the XL kiddie pool we're sporting over here and she was prancing about in her swimsuit (or "swimsoup" as she calls it). It has a little bow on it that rests in the middle of her back. She skipped into the room and whilst flapping the bow with her little hands, announced, "Mom, I have wings on my swimsoup so I can fry!"

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Zoe was sitting on a bench on the back porch with me. She astutely observed, "Mom iss I stand up here, den I will fall down dere and den I will get my shirt all dirty."

Me: "Um, Yea! And get BIG ouches!"

Zoe: "Yesh, and dat will be cweepy (creepy)!

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Mimi was setting up a game of Memory for Aiden. He wanted someone to play with him so he was complaining, "This is too hard. I can't do this by myself."

Mimi: "I'm going to set you up because I know you can do this."

Me: "What are you talking about Aiden, You kick my booty at that game all the time!"

Aiden: (whispering aside to Mimi) "That's cause I cheat."
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Time to potty train? AAAAAGGGGHHH!!

Ok, so Zoe is almost 3. Don't even get me started on how insane it is that my baby is almost three because it blows my mind and frankly a gentle breeze makes my brain hurt.

I haven't made a big deal about potty training. After 3 kids, I don't see it as a big deal and I actually learned from past mistakes that pushing only begets pushing back. But more than that, I'm just not ready. She frequently tells me she needs to go potty (usually it's when I'm rushing like a mad woman to get breakfast ready and lunches packed and little people dressed and out the door to school or some other such craziness, all of which she wants me to stop and sit with her while she doesn't go potty), to which I sigh and say, "You have a diaper on, just go in that." I know, I'm a shoe-in for that glowing "Mother of the Year" award! I've already picked out the dress for the awards ceremony.

Aiden and Zoe have taken matters into their own hands. Aiden has become a bit of a mother hen to Zoe and likes to baby her. He's been taking her into the bathroom and helping her set up her little throne and encouraging her to go potty. She obliges willingly, even goes to him instead of distracted/careless mom when she has to go. Does she actually tinkle? Nary a drop. But it sure is fun! I know I should take advantage of her eagerness, but frankly, I think it's all just an excuse to release the pent up nudist in her.

~~Help!!~~

I'm invisible

A friend shared this with me and I thought it was Beautiful. I can totally identify!

I'm invisible.

It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I'm on the phone and ask to be taken to the store.

Inside I'm thinking, "Can't you see I'm on the phone?"Obviously not. No one can see if I'm on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all.

I'm invisible.

Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this? Some days I'm not a pair of hands; I'm not even a human being. I'm a clock to ask, "What time is it?" I'm a satellite guide to answer, "What number is the Disney Channel?" I'm a car to order, "Right around 5:30, please."

I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude -but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.

She's going ... she's going ... she's gone!

One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress; it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it.

I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, "I brought you this." It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe.I wasn't exactly sure why she'd given it to me until I read her inscription: "To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees."

In the days ahead I would read - no, devour - the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work:
* No one can say who built the great cathedrals - we have no record of their names.
* These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished.
* They made great sacrifices and expected no credit.
* The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.

A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, "Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it."
And the workman replied, "Because God sees."

I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, "I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you've done, no sequin you've sewn on, no cupcake you've baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can't see right now what it will become."

At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on.

The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree. When I really think about it, I don't want my son to tell the friend he's bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, "My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table." That would mean I'd built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want himto want to come home. And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add,"You're gonna love it there."

As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we're doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.

Heard in the Trenches

Zoe was eating almonds and accidentally bit her cheek. She was consoled and calmed down. A few minutes later, she says, "Mom, I'n not talkin' to you. I'n talkin' to dese almonds."

Me: "Okay Zoe."

Zoe: (adopting a fierce scowl) "Almonds! You in big twouble!"
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Chris has been constantly thwarted in his attempts to open his Chiropractic office. There have been so many snags and he's been quite frustrated. So, when he walked into the room and announced, "Well I got two things done today. . . " I was thrilled for him.

"That's great hon, what were they?"

He looks at me with a wry grin and replies, "Diddly and Squat!"
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I'm afraid my Kolbi is now in the pre-teen note-writing phase of young girl-hood. It cracks me up and takes me back to my own girly-note-writing stage. I just had to share some of her fun notes . . . .

First of all, this goes back to Christmastime. I know, I'm a slacker. She brought it home from her primary class where apparently they were supposed to make a card with a home-made "gift" or promise for someone. This was her promise to me . . .How's that for selfless Christmas-spirit sacrifice?

I woke up from a Sunday afternoon nap during which Chris had taken the kids for a walk. On the counter was a small bowl full of little flowers and this written on a sticky note . . . (translation: Dear Mom, I hope you like the flowers even if they are dead. I LOVE you! Love, Kolbi)

Finally, my favorite and the most recent . . . It was covertly slipped into the back pocket of my jeans . . .
(Dear Mom,
There is a vary cute boy in my class.
And I don't know what to do about it.
Please help! He is ador-able!
(DON'T BREATH A WORD TO DAD! He'll W-I-G WIG!)
P.S. His name is Colton.)

Ah, young love! All I can say is Colton better watch out for Kolbi's Wig-wearin' dad!!
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Zoe was coloring and digging through the bag of random crayons. From the other room I hear her say, "Whoa!! Oh my goodness!! I LOVE pink! Pink! Pink! Pink!!"
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Zoe was sitting in her chair with a wash cloth. She'd hold it up in front of her face and you could hear her little voice say, "Peek-a-boo! Where are me?"
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Aiden, Zoe, and I were driving one day and I saw a car painted like a zebra as advertisement for something. I point it out to Aiden and he eagerly pipes in, "I want that when I'm big as a dad!" Then out comes the pouty lip, he folds his arms huffily, and in an angry, 'It's not fair' voice he declares . . . "But I won't get it!"

Surprised by this turn in the conversation, I ask, "Why not Aiden?"

"Because!" He pronounces hotly, "I'll be a Dad! And dad's don't get good presents for Christmas, only kids do! I'll just get a watch, or a tie or something boring like that!!"

Me: (Giggling) "You ain't kiddin' bud!"

Aiden, Aiden. Wherefore art thou Aiden?

I know Aiden doesn't hear me. I talk, and talk, and talk until I'm blue in the face and he doesn't hear me. I know his ears work. You say the word chocolate or pizza and his ears sprout satellite dishes that can pinpoint the sound of my voice to the exact geographic location. Ask him to do something for me? His ears shut completely off. I've known this for a while now ~ that he's deaf to my voice ~ but yesterday I finally got a glimpse into what he actually hears when I talk.

We were trying to head out the door to go to the library. I'm struggling to do a very wiggly Zoe's hair and I asked him to get his shoes and put them by the front door. He walks away and I don't see him for several minutes. When he returns I ask him if he took his shoes to the front door. "Oh! No! Just a minute." and he disappears down the hall again. Again he's absent for several minutes. When he returns I ask again, "did you put your shoes by the front door?"

"What?" He says as he absently begins digging in a drawer for something forbidden to play with.

My hands are caught up in the little rubber bands that are half in Zoe's hair as she's turning the sink on full blast and squirting soap all over her sleeve. "Did you put your shoes by the front door?" I repeat.


"No."

I'm counting to ten under my breath . . ."Why . . . not . . .?" I ask desperately trying to hang on to what's left of my sanity.

"You told me to take care of my dirty clothes. I did that."

I was shocked. I'd been asking him to do that all morning. Now he finally does it!? "Actually I asked you to get your shoes and put them by the front door." I state as I rescue the roll of toilet paper before Zoe can unwind the whole thing.

He stares blankly off into space. Then he proceeds to grill me with questions about Star Wars and if Wolverine can beat up a jedi. "Aiden," I interrupt, "Look at me." He looks over at my knees. "Look at my eyeballs!" I amend. It takes several seconds but he finally meets my gaze. I use my slow, deliberate voice, "Please . . take your shoes . . . to the front door." He nods and walks off.

Meanwhile, Zoe's attempting to climb up on the sink and kiss her reflection in the mirror. He returns quickly. "Did you get your shoes?" I ask.

"No." He replies.

I'm beyond exasperated at this point. "Why not!?" I ask in a decidedly not very loving mommy voice.

"Because!" He says in an equally exasperated tone, "You . . told me . . . to go . . . lock the front door!"

KILL Em!!!! . . . with kindness :)

Last night I woke up in the middle of the night for no apparent reason. As I lay there in the darkness, willing myself back to sleep, my mind decided to traitorously stay awake, whilst replaying the many times I was a bad mommy and yelled at my kids that day. It had been one of those days where the children had developed a selective deafness that only seemed to tune out my voice. Where no amount of asking nicely, begging, warning, or pleading could get through the apparent fog that would blot out my voice and prevent it from meeting with their tympanic membranes. For some reason, the only time they could hear me was when I screamed at the top of my voice and adopted my "angry eyes". It was NOT a good day with the monkeys. In fact, there have been way too many Not Good days around here.

I was filled with sadness as I thought of all the times I yelled and how those words were so counter-productive. It wasn't deafness, it was self-defense. Maybe if I hadn't yelled so much to begin with, they would be more receptive to my voice? I thought of how wounded they must feel to have someone who is supposed to love you most yell at you all day. I put myself in their little shoes and began to consider how much it hurts when someone I love is mad at me. I tend to curl in on myself and slap up a big wall of self-defense. I get angry. I know I did something stupid. I already dislike myself for it and don't need someone I love pointing it out to me. I just want that person to remember (and to remind me) that I'm a good person. That, even if I did something so stupid that I would have had to have the intelligence of a rock, that that's not really me. I basically want to know that I'm a good person and that I just made a mistake, but that it doesn't affect my goodness or a smartness or love-able-ness.

Isn't that basically what my kids want? Don't they already know they did something wrong? Does my screaming fix anything or just make them erect their own wall of self-defense? Doesn't it just make them lash back while they're desperately wanting to know that I still love them, that they're good people who just made a mistake? Wouldn't I be much more effective if I talked to them about it in a loving way?

I began to see how everything has been spiraling out of control and how this has become a vicious cycle of me being overwhelmed, yelling at them to stop a bad behavior, they come away wounded from the encounter and shut down to prevent further hurt, then when I approach them again, they've lost respect for me and they're less receptive . . . I end up overwhelmed again . . . hence the yelling. It's sick. I started to pray. Pray for forgiveness and the strength to change. I prayed for inspiration and more love for these little people. I don't want to see them as a burden or the hard things in my life. They should be the greatest source of joy. They deserve to be treated like the amazing little people they are.

I thought about what I want most when I'm feeling wounded and out of control. The answer was . . . a hug, a kind word, an affirmation that I'm okay and still loved. Hence my new motto. Are you ready for this? IF THEY'RE HAVING A HARD TIME, GIVE 'EM A HUG!! I just kept playing it over and over in my mind. "If they're having a hard time, give 'em a hug!" Sounds simple right?

I got up the next morning, tired, but full of hope for a better day, more love for these little people, and more determination to fix the damage I'd slowly but surely been doing. Zoe was the first awake and by her surly demeanor, it was obvious she was up too early. Everytime she began to shriek, I hugged her (even when my tired, adrenally-taxed, thyroid-dead body wanted to strangle her). Jonah woke up all smiles (something I realized I don't see very often, probably because he's always expecting a berating--who would want to get up for that?). I pulled him in my lap and gave him a big hug, which multiplied his grin and my determination. I told him I knew I hadn't been a very nice mommy and that I was so sorry for ever yelling at him. That he was a good kid who deserved much better and that I was determined to be better for him. I told him I had a project and asked him if he'd like to join with me. He eagerly agreed and mission Kill 'Em With Kindness was born.

The rules are this . . .

• If someone is having a hard time, we give them a hug (Jonah ammended that tickles -or beatings as we often refer to them--work really well too).
  

• When we can't physically give them a hug (such as when we are at the kitchen table and should not be popping out of our chairs a million times) we will "Say a hug." Meaning, we think of something we like about that person and we tell them.
  

(I keep thinking about the part on The Incredibles where Bob and Helen Parr are running through the jungle. She's ticked at him and isn't hiding it. He says, "You keep trying to pick a fight, but I'm just so happy you're still alive!" It's hard to stay mad at someone when they can only say good things back!)

• Pray for that person.

• If we hurt someone, we apologize fast.
  

Simple right? In theory yes, but not always in practice. It's still not easy. Some moments my mantra is "You love this person, you don't want to kill them! You love this person, you don't want to kill them!" I'm still feeling overwhelmed all too often and Evil Mom slips out with her angry eyes and mean words. But I'm getting better at lasso-ing the wench and forcing her back in the bullpen. Hugs are more abundant, including kind words and tickles. It is SO not easy sometimes. But it is definitely worth it. I'm starting to see these times when my kids are out of control and choosing to do something that I can't stand as an opportunity to prove how much I love them. The times when the hubby gets on my nerves the most is an opportunity to show him love and build him up. When I'm in the right frame of mind, I'm not surrounded with annoyances and intrusions anymore, just opportunities to prove to these people that even when they are acting to most un-loveable, I still adore them and that they are good people who are just having a hard time. I'm beginning to recognize how many opportunities I have to build loving memories with the people I love the most. I want them to remember that when they were having a hard time, mom was always ready with a hug and reassurance. So there you have it . . . I'm gonna kill them! . . . With kindness!