Stubborn to the mat!

Jonah was calling his brother stubborn. Actually he was saying "Stubbort", but, being the incredibly clever mom that I am and being so up on monkey-speak, I knew what he was getting at.

"Do you even know what stubborn means Jonah?" I asked.

"Do you?" He replied (isn't he sweet?)

Me: "Let's look it up my friend. Go get the dictionary"

The definition is this: Unreasonably, often perversely unyielding; bullheaded. Firmly resolved or determined; resolute. Difficult to treat or deal with; resistant to treatment or effort.

Jonah: "I don't even know what any of that means!"

Me: "It means someone who won't do anything they don't want to do. That's you! Stubborn to the max!"

Jonah: "You're stubborn to the mat!"

Day of the undressed

In keeping with my crazy week report, this was my Tuesday . . .
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Having garnered some child-rearing tips from my counselor (does it really surprise anyone that 'Crazy ol' Alicia' requires the help of a therapist??) I decided to try one of them out. It was a particularly cold and windy day outside. We had to take Jonah to school, but Aiden was being stubborn to the mat and vehemently refusing to put on his shirt, socks, shoes, or jacket. This is where the sage advice came in. "Let him experience the natural consequences of his actions" she said. "If he decides not to get dressed, he will naturally be cold. Hopefully 1 time is all it'll take to learn not to do it again". Since it was so cold (did I mention it was cold?), I thought today would be the perfect day to try this out. I pack him in the van shoeless and shirtless. He thinks this is a grand adventure and I'm beginning to get leary of this advice. The real fun started when we were running late and I had to walk Jonah up to the front door, towing Zoe and a half-naked boy. The wind was whipping something fierce, but it wasn't the wind that made my cheeks flaming red. Aiden states simply, "boy, it sure is cold today," while sporting a huge grin, pleased that he's actually getting away with this. Hmmm...

In the office, I'm red from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I can't believe I'm doing this. At the surprised look on the office lady's face I hastily inform her that "Someone absolutely refused to get dressed today. Hopefully he'll learn never to do this again." Office lady #1 nods, but doesn't say a word. I quickly sign Jonah in and beat a hasty retreat to the van. "See how cold it is out here Aiden? I bet you must be cold. (He nods and shivers fiercely) Are you gonna get dressed next time?" (He nods and shivers again). Maybe this could work!

Feeling slightly smug that it worked, I call up a friend and share my triumph. My friend says, "Wow! You're brave. I'd be afraid they'd call CPS. It's like their job to watch for those kind of things." I hang up feeling like someone punched me in the gut. That office lady looked kind of weirded out now that I think back on it. Is she calling CPS right now? What if they take my kid away because I was trying to teach him a one time lesson? It's not like I plan on doing this every day! The more I think about it, the more freaked-out I get. Basically I get myself worked up into a tizzy. See why I see a counselor?

My wise hubby urges me to call the office and speak to office lady #1. When I call, she's not there. She's gone to lunch. I start to cry (what can I say, I'm a bawl baby!) and explain the whole sitch' to office lady #2 and she ever so sweetly re-assures me that she's sure office lady #1 didn't think anything of it. Not to worry, but she'll have #1 call me as soon as she gets back.

I get a call a half hour later. Office lady #1 says she's so sorry. The situation was explained to her and she feels so bad that I was so worried. She said the reason she didn't say anything and probably had a funny look on her face is because she was trying desperately not to laugh out loud. She didn't want to re-inforce that this was a funny thing for naked-boy to do. She assures me that she used to do the same thing with her kids and it almost always worked. We chatted for a bit and afterwards it all seemed so silly. *Whew!* yet another encounter with CPS narrowly avoided. When I met with my counselor next and told her what had happened, she just about fell out of her chair laughing. Not very professional, but definitely warranted.

In keeping with the whole nudie theme, Zoe apparently wanted to get in on some of the action. I put her down for a nap, whereupon she quickly quieted down and fell asleep. Or so I thought. About a half-hour later I hear a few peeps out of her. What? I guess she didn't fall asleep after all. I open the door to her room to find a very diaper-less, nekked-as- the- day- she- was- born, birthday-suit-sportin' baby jumping in her crib like it's a trampoline and beaming proudly up at me. She holds up her soggy diaper and states obviously, "Uh oh mama. Mess mama." "Yes darling, what a lovely mess you've made!" I reply, just thankful that it wasn't a poopy diaper. I bathe, re-diaper, and dress the baby (in an outfit that is even hard for me to remove), strip her bed to wash, then promptly pick up the phone and schedule my next appointment with my shrink. "Any advice now for dealing with nudity???"

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Up next: Wednesday ~ To hurl, or not to hurl? That is the question.

To hurl, or not to hurl? That is the question.

Post #3 dedicated to my crazy week . . .
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~ This was the day for my follow up appointment from my oral surgery. It took a lot of finagling to figure out babysitters for my kids and getting Jonah off to school. But I had it all worked out. I was feeling pretty prepared and eager to get the insanely obnoxious stray strings from my stitches cut out. I felt that I would truly slip over the very thin ledge to insanity if that fishing line poked the bottom of my tongue one more time!
Well, the best laid plans of mice and men and all that jazz . . . Jonah (a.k.a. Hurl King) wakes up complaining that his tummy hurts. He's definitely not acting normal and so the big green puke bowl becomes his wingman. Throughout breakfast he moans and cries for daddy (I wasn't being nearly sympathetic for his liking) and generally makes a fuss. "Are you sure you're not just hungry Jonah?" I keep asking. "Do you want to try eating something?" He just moans louder and hugs his bowl tighter. A couple times I think he might really hurl, I wipe his brow with a cold cloth and push the bowl up under his chin, but nothing comes of it.

When it's time to take Kolbi to school, Jonah's still acting very green and I'm feeling the stitches considering pulling the suckers out myself! After dropping Kolbi off, the periodontist's office is now open. I call and report that my kid is sick and I'm going to have to reschedule. The next available appointment is in 2 weeks!! I'll be in the loony bin by then! As I'm in the middle of my phone conversation (and having already cancelled my appointment), I hear Jonah in the back of the van say, "Mom, I think I'm okay. I think I'm just hungry." I peer at him in the rear view mirror and indeed he looks quite sunny and fine. I tell the receptionist to please put me back down for today and I will call back to cancel if he actually hurls.

Now I engage in a great internal debate. Should I still send him to my friends' house and potentially expose her kids? They just got over passing the gamboo around. What if I give it to them again by sending my potentially contagious monkey over there? What if I'm solely responsible for the medical downfall of their family? (Okay, I know, I'm a bit of a drama queen too). I call my friend and explain the sitch'. Being the saint that she is, my friend convinces me that it will be okay. If he throws up, then what are you gonna do. She tells me to bring them over anyways. In fact, she almost orders me to bring them over (she knows me too well!).

I end up taking my kids over. I fret the whole time that perhaps he's hurling right now? What have I done to my friend? But I go to my appointment anyways. As I'm walking in I hear lots of whispered tones from the office staff . . . "Look, she made it! I guess he's okay." I get the stitches cut (actually she PULLED the suckers out~ not what I was expecting or prepared for). The Doc says it all looks surprisingly good (He expected part of the gum to die off, but Noooo, my gums are just to stubborn ~I keep surprising him with my healing abilities). I rush back to pick up my kiddos ~prepared to apologize profusely~ but as I walk through the door, Jonah is all wildness, smiles, and sunshine. All that drama for nothing. I took him home, shoveled lunch at him, and sent him off to school to potentially infect all of the other little monkies in his class. All's well that ends well, but sometimes I really just wish he'd make up his mind!

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Up next: You've just crossed over into the Twilight Zone.

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.