4G God

So, Barbi, my BF and I are sitting in the stands watching the Chargers' game rolling our eyes every five minutes either at the stinkin' team in front of us or at our annoyingly loud husbands screaming "holding" on every play.

Then something really exciting happens, a Packer pushes a Charger and they almost brawl. "Did you see that?!" "What?" "Oh, that guy nailed him!"

We both fell silent. Simultaneously we blurted out that we wanted to lift our remotes and rewind the play. Note to selves: we are watching real life. Good reminder that with our children...pay attention the first time, we don't want to miss it.

It caused me to think about how conditioned we are to modern technology and where our Lord fits in...my conclusions in bullet points:

• God created the recording device of the subconscious mind, the world deduced the camcorder.

• God created the ability for our children to record all we do, say, and how we behave as thier parents, the world deduced an outlet for them to complain about us.

• God created forgiveness, the world deduced therapists.

• God's devices are available the moment you think, the world's need a finger swipe.

• God's devices can not be erased nor destroyed and never break, the world charges you up the wazoo whenever these happen.

Today's prayer: "4G That, world! And Lord, even though your ancient, yet timeless tools are better, thank you for modern technology, otherwise I may never be able to remember this again:

ALONE TIME

It's unusual if I get to use the restroom alone. I've come to resent it actually. Until this morning.

In my bathroom a little shelf sits across from the abode. It seems my children like to corner me during these times to just sit, ask questions, and bug. So, this morning when I woke up, Caleb and I went into the bathroom. Our usual routine occurred. He has to go sooooooooo badly, so he goes first. Then I go and he sits and talks with me. I think, "I wish I could just pee in peace."

But, today was different. He left the bathroom. Geez, prayers answered. Then, he comes back and looks around the doorway.

"Ah, mom, can I go downstairs?"

"Sure, Daddy's down there with Conrad."

"Are you sure?"

"Um, yes, I'm very sure."

"You're not going to feel alone?"

"No, I'll be ok."

All this time, I thought they saw my private time as an opportunity to get my attention, but it's because he thinks I'll be lonely. Sweetheart.

Today's prayer: "Thank you for those around me that care about me and forgive me for thinking they just bug."

PURE GOLD

So, I'm painting my nails for the first time since high school. I grab a book to use as my table. I figure as I let them dry, I could maybe open it up.

Mr. Tiegreen in his The One Year Wonder of the Cross Devotional explains using James 1:2-8 that "perseverence brings us into maturity and causes us to lack nothing (v.4). We don't just endure the trials of faith for the sake of enduring; we keep going because we are in a process of refinement. The trials we face are producing IN us a precious quality."

We and our children were born as raw pieces of gold. One way He refines us is by using people and events experienced with them, a parent or stranger alike.

We, at any age, are tumbled, ruffled, knocked down; we are given difficult choices to make and forced to face things we'd rather not. Gold, to be taken from a raw state to one of refined beauty, must be burned with fire.


Tiegreen, although speaking of our faith in particular, and I of our characters, offers this thought: "Once circumstances, trials, the enemy's lies, and our own doubts are through assaulting it, whatever remains is precious and pure."

We and our kids are raw gold, the trials our hot plate, and our perseverence the priceless commodity of a new, more mature and treasured person. 



I took this photo while walking
through the gold souk in Dubai, UAE.

Today's prayer: "Lord, I ask we remain malleable and warm, so when it is time for each's molding to continue, we are ready. To grow in character is often through harsh treatment. We feel sore. Hold us in Your hands. We desire to be steadfast in knowing that after we have been stripped of impurities, we will be cooled and redeveloped into a lovely new being...the one You uniquely intend us to be."

SECRET TOOTER CONFESSIONAL



Chloe's 1st Halloween, 10 years ago.
When I was a sIngle mom.

There's a tap on my shoulder as I peruse toddler costumes in the Halloween store.

"This is going to be one of the wierdest things in a really long time," says the cashier who has snuck up on me from his post in front of the store.

"Um, ok," I say, thinking I may be the 100th customer and am going to win a bloodied, multi-headed zombie baby with red blinking eyes.

"Well, when I was in 8th grade and you were in 7th grade, I had a locker on top of yours and I used to fart on your head."

Ok, I just received the information, yet I myself have been transformed into a head cocked, wrinkly foreheaded, cross eyed zombie. Someone has actually stalled my ability to respond with some quick-witted comment.

"Uh, I don't remember smelling it," was the best I could come up with.

"Well, I just wanted to say sorry for doing that. I was just a dumb kid and I've always felt bad about it. Each time I see you around town, I think that's the girl who's head I used to fart on and have always wanted to apologize."

"Yes," I say, then look to his name tag, as I have no clue who this person is, "Well, um, Tyler, like you said, this certainly is the weirdest thing that has happened to me in a long time. I guess I should thank you? Ok, thank you?"

Awkward silence. And why are you just staring at me with a bazaar grin? Talk about spooky. Dude, get out of here. Like really, stop staring at me.

I attempt a deflect, "Do you have Ewok costumes for toddlers?"

"No, we have tons of Star Wars, but no Ewoks."

"Hmpf," not really winning at this store am I? "Again, thank you."

"Take care, now," as he pats my shoulder like a puppy dog, "Let me know if I can help you with anything else." 


Caleb's 1st Halloween

Today's prayer: "At our last bible study, we discussed, 'What you think about me is none of my business,' as some character attacks occurred this past week. Hopefully, Tyler concludes this lesson's  topic. Although I'm not perfect, You know my heart and that I try to say & do things with You in mind. Thanks for the laugh while teaching the lesson that I am better off not knowing everything. What a relief!

And, it just has to be said: please, please do not let my kids become secret noggin tooter confessors 20 years too late."

FAMOUS

"For they loved the praise of men more than the praise of God" (John 12:43).

So, Chloe's on this dreadful "I wanna be famous" kick.

"How do I go about this one?" I ask in prayer.

The answer comes to me in 2 days.



I jumped on Caleb while he was lying on the bed, squeezed him, gave him a kiss and told him to go nigh-night. Chloe asks, "Mom, why don't you do that to me?" Mother of the year has no answers. Just run me down a razor blade and have me land in lemon juice.

The next day she's reading a magazine. "Hey, mom, look at this...The magazine asked kids if they would like to spend more time with their parents. 67% said they do!!!!!! Uh, huh!!!! See, I told you!" Spear through the heart! Ugh.

It's then I realize that she wants to be famous to her parents, not the paparazzi! Each is a call for attention & by golly, I can do the latter!

I've got to institute one-on-one time with each kid. Has to be done. It fulfills them, makes them feel loved, wanted, safe, and secure.

Today's prayer: "Same goes for us adults. We need one-on-one time with You. It makes us feel loved, wanted, safe, and secure. After all, we are Your children and we are all famous in Your eyes."

BAM BAM FOR RENT



I gave birth to "Bam-Bam." Give him a bat and you better watch out.



A light saber whipping on a 5th grader.

From his highchair, he can nail anything directly into the sink. Got a spoon, baseball, sippy, blueberry or rod iron napkin holder? Yeah, he can make it.

Not only in the sink, but in the strainer.

Need a drawer opened? Is it locked? This 20 month old specializes in breaking into child lock safety apparati. I've tried 3 different kinds. None are Conrad proof. If you need a tester, hire my kid. He can tear off any adhesive, break through plastic, and jerry-rig his way into any door. And if it's not safety proof, even better. He can pull out even the toughest of particle board cabinets and toss them over his head. Filled with 20 pounds of toys? No problem. How he doesn't get hurt is just a sign of his dexterity and quick moves.



This was clean 10 minutes prior and
yes, that is a deflated floral intertube around his waist in case he drowns in his messes.

Scissors, no problem. He locates the most hidden. Markers, no problem. He finds the reddest one and can mark every wall within seconds. Got a golf club? Professional wall dinger. Got tubs of legos or baskets of blocks? Professional tipper. Yesterday he lifted the piano (keyboard) with one hand. Need disorganization and stuff all over in minutes, just call me and I can rent him out for a while for the great price of, well, FREE.

Today's prayer: "Lord, you know how I didn't eat or drink water for over 4 months bearing this adorable bundle of muscle? Remember how I laid in bed and I was fed nutrition and vitamins through a PICC line in my arm landing 2 mm from my heart? I think the doc overdid it. He's a gnarly strongboy that I can't keep up with. He's perfectly made, I know, I know, but can we hold off on any more muscle development at least until 1) he has a bit more control over his movements or 2) he's made it to the big leagues and Seth and I can retire?"

KINDERGARTEN

I remember bawling as I left my house for the first day of kindergarten. Pigtails were for babies. My mom took me back in and changed it up.

So, it's no surprise as Caleb and I go to get dressed for the big first day that he directs me in combing his.

"Now, Mom, I want a wave, but a very flat wave."

I do my best to style a flat wave.

We go to look at what new shirts we have to choose from.

"Mom, you have to iron the crunks out of them. They all have crunks."

"I see, well, here's one without crunks."

We arrive and I ask what he thinks about his new teacher, Ms. Stone, a babysitter of mine growing up and Chloe's kindergarten teacher.

"She is so cute," short pause, "and pretty."

The innocence a precious moment.

I sit on the back table observing him. He finds a table to play, greets new friends as they arrive, and chats. And then it hits. My boy's growing up too fast. Look at him; smart, organized, and friendly. He's a doll. Tears well in my eyes and I can't believe I'm verklempt. I've been waiting for school to start to get a break from the little whiner for weeks now! ;) 

                                                        The bell rings, time to say goodbye to mommies and daddies, soon to be regular old mom and dads. My husband, Conrad, and I turn and walk down to the "Boo-Hoo, Ya-Hoo Breakfast."

Two down, one to go.

I pick him up at noon, Ms. Stone ushers him to the car with a thumbs up.

Once settled, I ask how his first day was.

"I learned to kiss my brain."

"Cool! How many kids are in your class?"

"Well, there are 100 boys and 18 girls."

"Wow! That's a lot, how fun! What else did you learn about?"

"Um, I know! I got a spork."

"A spork, huh? That's super duper, Caleb!"

"Yeah, look mom," and there it is, a white plastic spork sticks up out of his chubby little hand. A spork that will be photographed and entered into his book.

My little guy, Caleb: A kindergartner, a perfectionist, an admirer, a buddy, and one who recognizes the coolness of a spork.

Today's Prayer: "He is who he is. Chloe, Conrad, too. We are who we are, and You love us all. Assist me to mother each's strengths and mold them to be the best they can be."

BLAMERS

As I go to throw my Target bags in the back of the Yukon, I notice someone has left a special message in the window dirt.

"Who wrote "penis" on the back of the car window?" I demand my 10, 5, and 19 month old to answer.

"Not me!" the eldest child quick and wise in adverting blame.

"Not me!" the second child quick and wise in repeating.

Silence as I toss in my 10 drink box packages (on sale, of course).

"Conrad did it, Mom," says the second about the third, who's adorably beaming. 

Busted!

Today's Prayer: "Why do people write words of genitalia on my car? As if I don't have enough to deal with. Thank you for taking my troubles at your feet. This is one I just don't need."

LOST & FOUND

Caleb slept with us last night. He slapped my face, drooled on my eye, rubbed my ear raw, talked in his sleep, and used my muffin top as a pillow. Yet, I slept like a baby.

While helping my mom put on her 60th bday for 90 guests, my phone rang.

"Do you have Caleb?"

"No."

"Then, Caleb's missing."

"I told him he could go to Landon's."

"We've been knocking for 15 minutes."


I call every neighbor down the row: Sarah, Kristine, Cori, Paul, Karla, Mary, Vickie. No one has seen him, but everyone stops to find him. Seth's yelling through the streets, Tara's sprinting through the park, my dad, uncles, and brother race over to help, the cement guys down the street jump in their truck to drive around, a construction dude/retired fire fighter directs Seth actions as he's frantic, all as the helicopter circles overhead.

I sit frozen, sweating, and helpless 20 minutes away. I shake and cry in panic in Andrea and Pam's arms as I describe him and what he is wearing.

Then, after about a whole hour, my mom yells, "They found him!"

I lost it and cried harder, only calmed by his sweet, high voice on the other end of the line.

He was sitting in his best friend's back yard waiting for him to come home to play.

Today's prayer: "Lord, You protect our children when we can't. You surround us with the BEST neighbors in the world. You know what it's like to lose a son, and I now have a small inkling, too. Our belief in You has been reaffirmed and for this, we thank You."

TO THE BEST FAMILY AND NEIGHBORS EVER AND THE ONES I HAVE PICS OF:

THANK YOU AND WE LOVE YOU WITH ALL OUR HEARTS!

Here to protect the boys in the hood.

This blog is dedicated to our brother who left today overseas to ensure we are all protected. Safe travels and we'll see you soon. All our love to you and know the girls are in our daily prayers.
Lord, keep them safe in your arms.

S^#T MANAGEMENT

So Seth took the boys to Washington to visit Gramma & Grandpa last week and I got so much done, including opening the mixer and food processor we received as wedding gifts 7 years ago. I organized every room, the refrigerator, my small stock shelves from some couponing endeavors, my coupons, files on my new computer, my pictures, etc. etc.

I couldn't believe the incredible feeling I experienced by putting something down and having it stay there! Making myself a glass of water and not having any backwash in it! The fresh smell of a clean house lingered for days without the aroma of maleness.

Then...they came back. Two days ago. Monday, it's back to the grind. Tuesday, a friend with 3 extra kids came over for dinner. And this morning after dropping the two off at the Y, the tears start flowing. Seth reaches over and wipes one away, I'm sure with a tinge of snot intertwined, and asks, "what's wrong?"

I had no words as I had just realized I have a PhD in Shit Management. I clean up shit all day long. They were gone for a week and I organized shit. They come home and I have four times the shit to hit. I wipe shit, correct shit, touch shit, install shit, hang shit, wash shit, protect shit, pick up shit, water shit, fold shit, do shit, toss shit. 

It was then Seth comforted me, praying for me like a good husband should. We arrived home and he left for work. Conrad and I jump in the car to run an errand, but I pull over to chat with a neighbor before we get going. I look back after a few minutes to check on him in his brand new car seat in my brand new car and he has a strange substance on his fingers.

I get out, and you guessed it: SHIT. The exploding diaper kind, the runny, smelly kind, the up the back, out the sides kind, the I'm getting a molar kind. Ah, just the kind I love...the have to bathe the kid kind, then wash the car seat kind. And all I can say is, well, "Shit."

Nothing to do but clean it up and move on, just like a good mom does.

Today's prayer: "Thank you for forgiving me today for my trucker's mouth. And thank you for having taught me how to deal with sh...I mean stuff like Chloe jumping in the car yesterday with shaved legs. I know it will never end, and neither will my dependence on you."

MISS SPOKEN

"Chloe, you have to ice your knee when we get home."

"I think I bruised my cleavage."

"Um, do you know what cleavage is?"

"Yeah, it's the stuff around my knee and Brew (step dad) said I bruised it."

"Um, no. That's not what cleavage is. I think you mean cartilage."


Eyes look down to knee, she gently pokes at it, and BOOM...it hits her.

"Oh my gosh!" She places her hand over her heart, "I don't have cleavage! I don't even have boobs!"

Today's prayer:

"Chloe has reminded me (and Tara to the left) to pray the following:

Help me to keep my mouth shut until I know what I'm talking about."

POWER SOURCE

Chloe's seeking power from the world, Caleb's power lately derives from an evil anger monster, and Conrad uses his power to punch any face that will welcome it. She tries to wear short skirts I'm constantly telling her to pull down, Caleb clenches his teeth and burrows his brow in his eye sockets with a grunt, and the wee one giggles upon each punch. 

So many sources invade our children on a daily basis: society, emotions, innate behaviors. And by the end of the day, after teaching how to present yourself, how to cope, and how to behave for over 9 hours to ears that hear 1% of what you say, what energy do we have left to keep going?

I propose, us parents, need a higher power to help us through. This is one reason I rely on God. His energy keeps me going right when I ask. When I feel I have nothing left, He is there.

Today's Prayer: "Lord, as You know, Conrad's very into cords and sockets, but he plugs the USB cord into the light socket and the computer cord into his belly button. (Clearly a subconscious indication that his main power source is still his mommy :)). He, along with others, may be confused as to who is powering them up and keeping them going. I pray it's made clear that it is You."

WORK OF ART

My daughter texted this picture to some friends yesterday, preaching "never do art in the wind."

Isn't that what parenting is?

They are our works of art. Each new experience we offer, a brush stroke; each punishment we afford, a layer; each accomplishment they attain, a masterpiece. Their colors change moment to moment. One minute, they're red with fury, another yellow with happiness, and ending in green with envy.

Now for the wind, my mood. Am I relaxed aqua, pissed magenta, or sweet violet? I suggest the color of my mood (the strength of the wind) in response to the shade of my child (the canvas) depicts the outcome of our collective tint (unity or a paint splattered face).

 

Let's look at basic color theory: Blue, Red, Yellow. Mix 'em and get: Purple, Orange and Green. Let's say Caleb's blue and pouty and I respond in red and fed up, we get purple, the color of a deep bruise. Now, if Caleb's blue and pouty and I'm red and fed up, yet hold back my "hot air" so to speak, and respond instead in yellow sunniness, we get green the color of fresh cut grass.

My kids' colors are impulses, my colors are a choice. 

As Cher says in "Clueless" the movie, "she's like a Van Gogh, ok from far away, but up close, just a big ol' mess." I don't want a mess, I've been one. And now I know how to cope with emotion. I plan on teaching them early to do the same and by showing them by example.



Today's prayer: "Paint splattered faces aren't all they're cracked up to be. They may shock, but they're heck to clean up and can leave stains. Help me to keep my wind gentle even if I may be experiencing a hurricane inside."

"HAVE TO" TORTURE

"Chloe, I was thinking about taking you guys to the Scottish Festival this weekend."

"Mom, do you hate us?" Eyeroll to the right.

"No, I just like to torture you." Bam...momma's quick.



Payback for Opa's torture on me.

 Remember having to do the things you absolutely hated to do? You had to go to church. You had to go to school. You had to practice piano. You had to do homework. You had to be quiet. You had to run errands. You had to clean your room. You had to say please and thank you. You had a bedtime. You had to wait for a non-school night for sleepovers. You had to take a shower every night.
 

37th Anniversary this month!



Good Lord! There were so many have to's and as an adult I'm glad to have had the parents who guided me. Two people who had no clue what they were doing, somehow understood the balance between affording boundaries and allowing leeway.



So, now I'm on the flip side doling out the have to's and it's all because I want to...it makes for quality kids.



Today's prayer: "Lord, I am so grateful for my mom and dad. They mean everything to me. I wish to be a quality parent like each of them. And I pray for those who did not have what I had. I pray you step in and guide them to be the parents they should, ones who torture their kids with spiritual roots, education, and culture."



TEETHY TIMES (Last 48 hours)

 

You think I make this stuff up?



Conrad: Face smash, tooth into lip.

Caleb: Dog teeth marks on right bun.

Chlo: Tooth nailed by plastic screwdriver.

Caleb again: Escalator teeth eat shin.

I chat with Caleb as I unload the shopping cart. A lady drives toward me in the parking lot, teeth unseen due to oval shaped mouth.

Uhhhh-uhhhh-uhhhh. (Onomatopoeia for her facial expression).

Ding! (Onomatopoeia for the light bulb in my head).


I still love my mom, even if she can't keep up.



I turn. Conrad has rolled 3 parking spaces away. He's heading full speed backward and toward the main intersection, the cart now vibrating with speed wobbles. He could slam into a parked car, tip over, or worse yet, get hit by a car in the next three seconds. Yet, the seven pearly whites he's grown shine through the biggest grin you've ever seen. He's having the ride of his life, even though his life could be over at any minute because of my temporary lapse to be able to everything at once. 

Caleb yells, "that's so fricken' funny!" (Still workin' on the trucker mouth).



Discovery: When I slip, I slide.

Our children are victims of impulse. The impulse to do and to discover cause and effect often leaves bumps, bruises, and missing chompers. It is my job to protect them as best I can, and sometimes I fail.

As Nick Jr. says,  

"we're not perfect, we're parents."



 Steps to Discovery:



1) DO I DO IT?

2) I GOTTA TRY IT
(Chloe doing front flip off 8 ft. waterfall)

3) I CAN DO IT!
(Note: Helmet)




Today's prayer: "Thank you for my keeping my kids' teeth in tact so far, as You and I both know how many should have been gone by now. I'm secure knowing you are watching when I cannot."





There's always tomorrow.

DISCLAIMER:



I swear I use safety items.