...and I just lost my train of thought.

I usually have a pretty good memory for birthdays and other schedules. And I still do. But since having kids...things have changed. Now there's a new problem on the block. For example, the problem is not in forgetting that Christmas is on December 25th, the problem is in remembering that it's the 25th in the first place.

Which brings me to today...

Picture this: I go to the gym, start signing my kids in and ask the date.
"Is it the 26th?" I ask hopefully. (Because if it is, it's my mom's birthday.)

"No, it's the 27th."

"Oh crap. Yesterday was my mom's birthday."

Most times I know the day of the week, and I have Sam's school to thank for me knowing even that much. Before being a mother of a school-aged child, weeks would go by without me knowing the date. Days would go by without having to step into the great outdoors. With our advent into the public school system, my motherhood oblivion has gone from completely unaware to knowing it's at least Wednesday, or "red day" at school, or even that it's pizza day for school lunch. I'm making progress.

Motherhood makes you empathetic in so many ways. One of those ways: potty training. It's an experience so horrible, that it should only be considered the second initiation into the not-so-secret club called, "Parenthood." (The first being the first 6 weeks after having the child.) One of those ways is insight and understanding of why in the world your mom called you your sister's name all.the.time, or just simplified things and called you to dinner as a unit: "The Girls." Now it makes perfect sense why someone who stays home all day would need to lie down and read a book by the time you got home from school. Aaaaaah, yes. It all makes sense. Perfect sense. Too much sense. I wish it didn't make as much sense as it does.

So, sorry, Mom. Sorry for forgetting yesterday was the 26th. I'm doing the best I can. And I did get you a little something, but I'll just have to bring it to you when I see you next week!

Here's to moms who are doing the best they can with what brain cells survived after each pregnancy, and heaven help the kids that can't understand the toll of it all, and never will...

...until they have kids of their own.

Laughter Saves Lives

I've decided that being a mom is hilarious. It is. It has to be. If it wasn't, I'd be dead by now. I think my kids are funny: they say funny things and do funny things. But then there's that "other category." You know what I'm talking about. The category where your kids do such things that make you want to cry, run away, rip your hair out, punch a hole in the wall, crawl back into bed, or just plain throw them out the window.

After the first few horrifying experiences (especially the ones that happen in public) I think I've just learned to laugh at them all. Because they are funny, in a tragic sort of way. And when you have three kids in three years, they happen so often, you just gotta roll with it. (Or perhaps, maybe, it's because I'm such a broken woman that I don't care anymore. But that can't be it, can it?)

Behold, some Fisher tragedies:





And then there are those things that are just straight-up funny.

Sometimes I can't help myself

I think I can add one more thing to my list of "What kind of mother are you?"

Sometimes I can't help laughing at my children. And no, I don't mean with them. Straight up at them. If it's hurting their feelings, I try to stifle it as best I can.

But...

When I'm washing my child's blankie and he's bawling because he can see it rolling around and around...oh, so close...and oh, so wet...There's something cute and tragic and funny about it all. Charly used to be the culprit, but I got a chance to laugh at Felix for the first time this morning.

And who can't guffaw and chortle at this little gem:
I'm still laughing...

Bribery

I'm not above bribery, or, as I like to think of them, "earned rewards."

So what do you do when your four year old is bawling and says, "I don't want to go to school! I don't like it anymore!"

It breaks your heart because you wonder if it has anything to do with what she said the other day,

"Lexi said I couldn't be in her girl club."
I'm thinking...What girl club, you're four years old for heaven's sake!?!
What I said was, "I'm sorry, how did that make you feel?"
"Sad and angry." She's telling me this in her most matter-of-fact voice. "She said nobody was my friend."
"Oh. Well when I was a little girl, some of my friends said they didn't want to be my friend anymore, so I found new friends. Do you think you'd like to find new friends?"
"No."
"Okay, well maybe she'll change her mind tomorrow... *pause* I hope you never ever say things like that."
"Oh, no. I don't say that."
"Good, because that's not very nice and it can hurt someone's feelings."
Charly pipes in: "Yeah, that wasn't kind."

And that was it.

I think.

She hasn't said anything more about it, but that doesn't mean it's over, I suppose.

Who is this little tyrant anyway? Sam is such a sincere, constant, loving little girl, she assumes everyone else is too, and that means her feelings are more available for the hurting. She doesn't understand when kids are flippant and changeable.

Like I said, I have no idea if that has anything to do with her new-found aversion to school, but I can't get into the habit of letting her stay home now, so she knows it's not an option later.

I probed a little bit about what specifically she didn't like anymore, and she said, "Everything! I don't like anything anymore!"

"Oh, Mrs. Drury will be so sad when you're not there today."

This didn't seem to change her mind, so I tried a new tactic.

"How about I put a piece of candy in your lunch and you can eat it when it's lunchtime at school?"

She thought about for about half a second..."Okay." she said with dry eyes.

So, she picked a piece of leftover *Halloween candy, and we were off! And we weren't even late!


*Does anyone else's child choose Smarties over other candy? Sam seems to prefer them over anything chocolate (she gets that from me). They even beat out licorice, tootsie pops, and Starburst.

The Love Question

After writing that last post...I got to thinking about how much love my kids really do show me. No inhibitions. From Sam spontaneously busting out with, "I love you so much, Mommy!" to Charly squeezing me so tight because she's brimming with emotion. And we all know that Felix has no inhibitions in cuddling and demanding to be cuddled.

So then I started thinking, "I'm sure I was like that when I was a kid...what happened to me?" Is this an inevitability everyone goes through? As an adult, are we taught to not love as much or show that love? Does school and the cold, hard world make us shrink back into our shells, become calculating and cynical? Put up masks, play games?

I have no idea. All I know is that I hope I'm not a huge contributor to the un-lovingness of my children. I hope I don't teach them to un-love.

I don't have much control over what happens to my kids "out there," a terrifying idea in and of itself, but hopefully I can help Sam deal with situations like, "She doesn't want to be my friend anymore," and "A boy kicked me at recess." It makes me sad that these things happen. Where's the line of teaching kids to survive "out there" and still being emotionally available?

Because the last thing I want to do is to send them out on their own emotionally stunted, having to learn how to love all over again, the hard way...like I did, or wondering whether you really knew how to truly love in the first place.

I guess the best I can do it to create and emotionally safe environment, where it's okay to experience all emotions, it's what you do with them that's important. Teaching skills, rather than controlling emotions...

What Kind are You?

Sometimes I think about what kind of mother I am. Here are some things that I came up with:

I'm not terribly worried about germs. Crawling around on store floors doesn't bother me *too much.*

I would rather my kids entertain themselves and make a mess, rather than me following me around all day saying, "No." I draw the line at breaking things or hurting themselves, but other than that...

I like to make crafts with my kids.

I like to sing to them.

I constantly think, "I couldn't possibly handle any more kids right now."

I'm easily overwhelmed by them on outings.

I think my kids are super cute and hilarious.

I'm not terribly concerned about stains on my children's clothes.

Sometimes I like to dance around and be silly with my kids, but not as much as I'd like to.

I've loosened up a lot since first becoming a parent.

I'm glad Jon has more patience than I do when he comes home from work.

Sometimes I yell at my kids.

But I also say, "I'm sorry."

And that's something.

BUT...
As much as I love them, I find my kids incredibly frustrating. I remember hearing somewhere that your kids will only throw fits if they're comfortable with their safety. Well, that's something too. My kids must feel incredibly safe, because they throw fits all.the.time.

Mostly, what I want my kids to know is that I'm a mother who loves them; who's imperfect, but willing to apologize; who loves them so much I insist on giving them boundaries and teaching them how to work; who really listens to them and doesn't poo-poo their fears and worries; who doesn't get them everything they want; who teaches them to be generous and forgiving to others; a mom who talks about Jesus and teaches them the peace and comfort that comes from following Him.

I fall short on so many of these so often, but my children are teaching me to become a better person, and in turn, I'm hopefully giving them tools to have a successful life. I'm not making them perfect, I'm not making them into anything, actually, they already are who they are. With that in mind, I hope to teach them how to deal with their specific weaknesses and strengths, how to say sorry, how to deal with heartbreak, no matter how small.

It's all about love. My kids have no trouble showering me with love. I hope someday to learn how to do the same.

Traditions

I once heard, the more senses you involve in a memory, the stronger it is. This can only mean that food must be involved. Think about it, many of my nostalgic warm and fuzzy memories include food.

I'm trying to figure out some fun family traditions we can call our own. Here's what we've been doing so far.

Every Monday, after family night, we decided to have smoothies instead of treats. My girls get so excited about their "smoothie drink" and know it's something special we do just on Monday nights. (It also helps me not to eat the leftover treats all week long, only to make more every Monday.)

Usually Sunday after church meals include a lot of scrounging and/or waffles for lunch. On Fast Sundays, I try to make a nicer meal that includes inviting some friends over to share pie for dessert.

What are some of your unique traditions?