Story Time

 A Mom moment I’m not proud of. 

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I lost my cool all over all five of my kids, I was mad and scared and I yelled at them.

Then I had to apologize.  

Let me tell you a story. 

      During this strange time of quarantine, our local school district has been running the normal bus routes and dropping off lunches. The kids are thrilled to have a change from my lunch options and I am grateful for the help. Plus, it adds a fun break to our day.

      Every day around 10:15 in the morning, we all put our shoes on and walk up the hill to the mailbox. We wave to the bus and get lunch. Last week, we were a little early and I suggested that the kids take a walk around the perimeter of the property while we wait. The energy level was pretty high that day and I thought a little exercise might help. While they were gone, the bus came and went. As I headed back down the driveway, phone in one hand and a sack full of lunches in the other, I could see all five kids walking up the driveway towards me.

All of a sudden, Edison starts screaming.  

       This isn’t completely out of the ordinary for him. His reaction to being physically hurt and mortally offended are the same. So I wasn’t too alarmed at first. I yelled down the driveway to ask what happened. No one answered, no one even moved. They all just stood there staring at him still screaming. That seemed odd, so I picked up my pace and yelled again  asking someone to tell me what was going on. As I got closer, I could tell he was hurt, so I threw the bag and my phone onto the side of the driveway and broke into a full sprint.   I’m not sure why I couldn’t run with my phone in my hand.

As I got close enough to him to see all the blood pouring from his face, I started frantically asking questions as I ran. “What happened?” “Where is he hurt?”    

No responses. They all just stood there frozen.  

     I barely slowed my run as I reached him, I just grabbed his arm and we ran the rest of the way to the house together. Him still crying and bleeding, me still screaming questions over my shoulder. I got to the house grabbed a washcloth and started cleaning him up.  I didn’t take long to find he had a small, but deep, cut across the bridge of his nose.  To my relief  all his eyes and teeth were still intact. Still holding a cloth on his nose, I made the other four kids come stand in front of me. 

“SOMEONE TELL ME WHAT HAPPENED?!?”  I screamed.  

     They all started talking at once. Basically, they were playing a game where they try to bounce rocks off our red dirt driveway by throwing them. Fun game until someone catches one in the nose. I spent the next few minutes explaining, very loudly, how a crisis is to be handled. You either help or you go get help, you must take action. I pointed out how each of them had done it wrong in this particular crisis, including the one who was bleeding. 

   I was mad, I was scared, I was not calm. Pretty much the trifecta how to make bad parenting decisions. I also pointed out that if I catch any of them playing “the rock bouncing game” again I would take away fun. All fun. For the rest of their lives. 

Oh yeah, proud parenting moment. 

      I got the bleeding stopped enough to see that it wasn’t going to need any stitches, but that it might leave a gnarly scar. I sent everyone in the house and took him to cuddle and calm down in the hammock.   

      Over lunch, I apologized. I said I was sorry for yelling, sorry for being angry, sorry for not pulling myself together. I asked for their forgiveness. Something that may be the most humbling thing I’ve ever experienced. Let me tell you, asking for forgiveness from someone you just had to put a straw in a juicebox for will change you. They all freely forgave me, also humbling, and we went on about our day. The story was retold when my Man got home from work that night but for the most part the incident faded away.  

Until yesterday.  

     Yesterday, I went alone to the top of the driveway to pick up the lunches. I have started leaving the kids at the house while I go. It’s a nice five minute break for me and a few days before the rock incident, two of my boys had decided they would race down the hill, one on foot, one on a bike. It did not end well. Three quarters of the way down the driveway, both of them sprawled out in the dirt, covered in road rash and a bent bike.  

I know the start of a pattern when I see one. 

     Yesterday when I was about half way back to the house, Edison came running out of the house and started towards me. When he got close enough for me to hear him, he yelled to me, “Thor cut his hand and is bleeding lots!” When I reached the house, General had Thor sitting on the kitchen counter holding a wet washcloth to his bleeding finger. Duchess was at the sink keeping her big brother supplied in rinsed out cool washcloths. I didn’t see Batman at first, but later found out he was on his hands and knees with antibacterial wipes, cleaning up the trail of blood drops across my living room. 

     The littlest one had a small, but very deep, cut on his finger, from a woodworking tool that was supposedly out of his reach. I’m sure it hurt like crazy, but overall he was fine. Later that day around the lunch table, I told them all how proud I was of them and how they handled the situation. They all took action to take care of someone who needed help. I was impressed with their quick thinking to help their little brother.   

     To be honest I was a little surprised how well they handled it. It wasn’t until Batman looked at me, a little puzzled, and said matter-of-factly, “Mom, we were just doing what you told us to do.”  Then I made the connection between the two incidents.  I still don’t think I handled the first situation well at all.  But, I did make an impression. Hopefully they will always remember the lesson they learned, not the image of their mother freaking out.   

Story Time

Socks

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Early this year I had a hysterectomy. Because of that my mother came and stayed with us for a few weeks. Something that I will forever be grateful for, because this ship needs constant upkeep and supervision or it will go down in flames. One day, the kids and I were in the living room and Mom picked up a sock and said, “Is this clean or dirty?” It had been on the floor, but in the chair above it was the latest load of clean laundry waiting to be folded. So the condition of the sock was really anyone’s guess. I looked at the sock, then over to my 11 year old son, General,

“You sniff it.” I said.

He replied with much hesitation and resistance, and I looked at him and said, “No, this is your sock, and you are not going to make your Oma smell it. You sniff it to see if it’s clean or dirty.”

My Mom giggled at this, and handed him the sock. He took a big whiff and then shrugged his shoulders and said, “I can’t tell Mom, can you check?” and handed me the sock.

I’m not sure why, but I took the sock and put it to my nose. His face told me that he truly didn’t know if the sock was clean or dirty and he needed my help to figure it out. The sock smelled, and it smelled bad. But, because of the conviction in my first born’s eyes, I wasn’t able to declare the sock dirty even though my eyes started to water a little bit. So, I took the sock and handed it to my Mother, and said,

“I’m not sure mom, what do you think?”

She took the sock, put it to her nose, and drew in deeply. Then she coughed a little. We both looked over at General, who as our gaze hit him, burst out into laughter. Not just a little laugh, he laughed so hard, he fell out of his chair and his face turned red. He eventually got the words out,

“I wore those socks for two days straight and I got you BOTH to sniff them!!!”

The lesson here folks is: Always wash the socks.

Assume they are dirty and wash them again.

Story Time

The time I killed the Copperhead

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      I was standing in the boys’ room, arguing with my 9 year old son about the definition of the phrase “clean room” when the little three came running and yelling at the same time. Batman got the words out first.  

“Mom, there’s a snake in the yard!”    

     I don’t like snakes. Not even a little. I grew up in a part of the country that had very few snakes. I can only remember a handful of times that I even saw one. The ones that we did have were small and harmless garden or grass snakes. Nonetheless, I was terrified of them growing up. I saw one on the ground by my rope swing one June and didn’t play on the swing again all summer.   

     I do think I came by it honestly, my mother closes her eyes whenever one comes on TV. My dad always seems to need a glass of milk from the kitchen whenever Indiana Jones is on (you know that scene with all the snakes falling out of the walls? Ew).  There is a story about my uncle finding a harmless grass snake in his garage that scared him so badly that after he killed it, by running it over with his truck, he also chopped it up into pieces,  and then buried it out back.  

     When I moved to the south 

I assumed there were snakes. Because I didn’t see them on my  well groomed college campus, I didn’t worry about them. My first southern education about snakes came a few years later. I was riding with my now husband, who was just a boyfriend at the time, and one of his childhood friends. Both born and raised southern boys. 

     We were driving down the road and all of a sudden the driver stomped on the brakes, and my Man whipped around in his seat and yelled, “Back up! Back up! You missed him!”. Instantly, the one-ton dually pick-up I was riding in was being hurled backwards, then forwards again,  all as the driver was yelling, “Did I get him!?”. My Man was responding with  things like, “Get it again!” and “that sucker is six feet long!!!”

To say the Yankee in the middle seat was “confused” doesn’t even begin to cover it.

     After everything settled down, and we were headed down the road again, my Man explained to me there’d been a snake sunning himself in the road.   “When it’s over five feet long we kill it, even if it’s a black snake.”  he said .  I was still trying to wrap my brain around the idea of a snake being almost as long as I am tall when I stammered, “ What do you mean ‘even if it’s a black snake’? Are there some snakes you don’t kill?”

      At this point, the driver, who was very entertained by my Yankee ignorance,  joined the conversation and explained, “Black Snakes eat the poisonous snakes, so we like them, but when they get too big, they eat bigger things too, so we try to keep the population down.” 

    Fast forward almost twenty years.

     My fear of snakes if far less than it was years ago.   I have educated myself and my kids on how to tell a dangerous snake from a harmless one.    But it’s safe to say I’m still not a fan anything the slithers. 

     Looking at Batman I said, “What kind is it?”.  He looked  back at me with his bright blue eyes and said with all the certainty of a 7 year old said  “It’s a Copperhead, Mom, and it’s a big one.” My heart skipped a little bit because Copperhead snakes are poisonous, but Batman is only seven so maybe he’s wrong. 

     Either way, it needs to be checked out. So I pulled on my work boots, and we all headed out the front door. Me armed with a shovel, General behind me with his pellet gun, Edison with a hoe, Dutches with a garden trowel , Batman with a rake, and Thor with a rock. We all stopped at the edge of the driveway and looked down the rocky slope to the burn pile. Batman pointed to a spot about eight feet down the slope, “Look Mom, do you see him? He’s right there by that rock.”  

     I said a bad word in my head.  

     It was definitely a Copperhead, definitely a big one, and definitely too close to my home to be allowed to live. I looked at the shovel in my hands with its five foot handle and thought, “Nope.” I let General take a few shots with his pellet gun from a safe distance with unsuccessful results. “Okay.” I said, “you all stay here make sure he doesn’t move.” I ran back to the house, calling my husband at work as I ran.  

“Hello?”, he answered. 

“Hi, what gun do I use to kill a snake?” I almost shouted as I was unlocking the gun safe.

       I feel like I should stop here and acknowledge that he’s a good husband.  Not everyone would respond like he did. He calmly answered my questions and did not second guess my judgment about the situation, or how it needed to be handled. I love that about him.  

“Get the green shotgun.”

“Do I have to use the shotgun?” I whined.

“Yes.”

     To be clear, I can work a gun just fine and I’m a better shot than most.   I grew up target shooting with my Dad and Uncles and they taught me how guns work and how to handle them safely.  But I don’t like shooting shotguns, they are loud and they kick back terribly.     

       Armed with a shotgun in one hand and two shells in the other, I hung up the phone and headed back to the burn pile.  General meet me halfway back, “Mom,  I think it’s actually two snakes,” my oldest reported.

Great.

     I walked down the hill a few feet parallel to the snakes and instructed the kids to all line up and cover their ears. Loaded the first shell and cocked the gun. I set my feet apart to keep my aim steady, like my Uncle Bill Taught me.  Pulled the gun tight to my shoulder to try and minimize the kickback, took aim and fired.

    The whole area erupted with dust and rock shards as the buck shot hit. My shoulder started to throb a little.  I could tell the adrenaline surge was starting to make my knees feel shaky as I looked at the snakes bodies still moving. I ejected the casing,  loaded the second shell, yelled over my shoulder for everyone to cover their ears again, and fired a second time.  

     When the dust cleared, there were five kids all talking at once and jumping up and down with excitement, one mom with a sore shoulder, and two dead snakes.  

 

I still hate snakes. 

two dead copperhead snakes

Story Time

Milk and Independence

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All of our kids seem to have an independence, or at least a confidence in themselves that I really love and admire. Generally, I am not the mother standing in the doorway trying to convince my child clinging to my leg that it will be okay. Or that he will have fun and I will be back to get him. Since General is a born extrovert, I assumed that was the reason for his bold independence.  But Edison couldn’t be farther from extroverted and he carries himself into new situations with a smile and no fear.

I’m not sure why this is.

I would love to tell you that I have some kind of magical parenting secret to share, but that’s just not the case. I don’t believe in magic, or secrets for that matter,   what I can tell you are a few things that might make a difference. We always have an open dialogue about where everyone is and where they are going next. I remind them that if I can’t come back and get them, I will send someone they trust.  On a practical note, I’ve taught them to speak up when they are hungry, need to use the restroom, and how to identify and use a water fountain.

This independence isn’t just for when we are separated from each other, but also when we are all home.  For example someone wants a snack and I’m planting my flower bed. Often that child, with permission, can get a snack for themselves and their siblings.

Now, before you get a picture of my son putting out plates, and kindly serve equal portion for all of his siblings at snack time, while I continue my project in domestic bliss outside, let me tell you about some of the drawbacks of having little independent thinkers running around.    (Also, snack time usually looks like one kid opening a box of granola bars and then leaving them down low enough for the rest of them to reach.)

Thor is two now.

Until recently, he still had a bottle before bed, he loved it, I loved it, it was a win-win situation. He would go lay down on his bed, look at a book, and drink his bottle. Yes, I know that’s bad for his teeth. Yes, I know it’s bad for him to be depending on something like a bottle. And yes, I know he needs to learn to self-sooth. However, it’s bad for my nerves when he screams for an hour. It’s bad for the rest of the kids when he keeps them up for an hour and it’s really bad for him to miss that hour of sleep.  The bottle made all of that better.

Well, he started wanting a refill at night.

We would be sitting in the living room after the kids went to bed and hear a very distinct “thud” as his bottle was tossed from his bedroom, over the gate and onto the wood floor of the hallway, and then he would call my name. Sometimes, if one of his brothers would leave the gate open behind them, he would come find one of us and hand us the empty bottle and say “milk?”. Sounds cute doesn’t it? It’s not.

One night, my husband was out helping a neighbor, and I put the kids down myself and did my nightly chores. Thinking everyone was down for the night, I decided I would go take a much-needed shower. As I was getting my shower ready, I heard that very specific “thud” of the bottle hitting the hallway floor and my little boy call my name. At this point, we were trying to get him to give up at least the refill, so I decided to ignore it and go ahead with my shower.

Two minutes into my shower, there was a knock on the bathroom door. Batman needed to tell me of an injustice that he had witnessed at recess that day. Why he needed to talk about it then I will never know, but after a few minutes of talking to me through a shower curtain, he was happy and went back to bed.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened again.  But I didn’t hear anyone…odd.   So I peaked around the curtain to see my two-year old standing there.    Obviously Batman had not closed the gate behind him.   Thor looked at me an went “ohhhhhh” then runs out of the room.       

At this point, I try to resign myself to the fact that my shower is not going to be a place of peace and relaxation tonight, and I should wash my hair and get out. Just then, the shower curtain flies open and Thor tosses his bottle on the shower floor.

 

“Mommy! Milk?”

 

I giggled a little and explained that I wasn’t in a position to get him more milk and he was going to have to wait. He turned and ran out of the room. I hoped that he was getting back on his bed, but it was more likely he was headed to play with his sister’s toys while she slept. Moments later, I heard a sound like someone bumping into the bathroom door. Then I heard it again, and the door open. I peeked around the curtain to see my baby dragging an almost full gallon of milk across the bathroom floor.

 

Oh. My. Word.

 

When he saw me, he stood upright and smiled proudly, pointed at the plastic container and said,

“Milk”!

 

 

Story Time

I love you.

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I love you.

Seems like somewhere in my past I read that studies show adults and kids alike flourish when they are told those three impactful words often. I have no idea if that’s true or not but, really it can’t do any harm, right? So, at the end of every phone call, after every goodnight hug, right before the truck door closes at school, I’m intentional about saying “I love you.” The majority of the time I get an, “I love you too, Mom.”  back. Except this past year, General has decided that he does not want say ‘I love you’ to his mom in front of school with all his buddies around. As his mother, I am less than please with this, but I’m pretty sure this is normal. However, he will mumble it under his breath, with a sly smile, if he doesn’t think anyone else can hear.

Sometimes I change it into a question: “Did you know that I love you?” or “You know I love you, right?” Many times these are met with a smile or eye roll and a  “yeah mom, you tell us all the time.” Most of the time it is a fun banter a bedtime, or as I’m walking one of the younger ones into school.

A few weeks ago,

I was driving with just my younger boys in the truck. I smiled in the rear view mirror at my 4-year-old Batman. For the record, he is five now, and he would like to make sure that everyone knows that. Always. I smiled and said, “Batman, did you know I love you?” He looked at me in the mirror and goes, “Mom, did you know I want a phone?”

“Umm yeah, I’m not getting you a phone.”

Story Time

Foundation with a Smile

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Sometimes all you can do is laugh…

I rarely wear make up.   Where I grew up it really was not a priority for anyone.   When my husband and I  were first engaged he confessed that one of the things that attracted him to me is that I did NOT wear make up.   Don’t misunderstand, I’m not against it and I do wear it, it’s just not a priority to me.

When I do decided to get all dolled up, several things are constant.  We are always in a hurry.   I am the least amount ready as anyone in the house.   I apply concealer,  foundation, blush, eye shadow,  and anything else I have time for, in the mirror between the kitchen and dinning room table.  So I am able to referee fights at the table and monitor the kitchen use.

Let me paint the picture for you…

It’s Sunday morning.  Duchess and Batman are eating cereal at the table, General is frying himself eggs, Edison is wondering around the house looking for pants and my Man is trying to wrestle Thor into cloths.    Something neither of them enjoy, or really see the overall value in.    I am at my station between the table and kitchen completely dressed, but not ready to go.   My wet hair is still wrapped in a towel and I’m starting my make up routine with concealer, because the bags under my eyes have bags of their own.

As I try, in vain,  to have Covergirl hide the fact that I haven’t sept in,  like a decade.   I step over to the table to take away the cereal box that is causing a fight and remind the General that he can only fry 4 eggs at a time.  (for real how am I going to keep them fed?)  Stepping back to the mirror I yell to Edison, who is still wondering around “looking”
for pants, to check in the dryer.    Okay, concealer on, next step foundation.   I open my foundation and find this:

Foundation with a smile

 

Yes, that is a smily face carved into my powder.

Sometimes you just have to laugh, and move on.

 

**confession, this picture still makes me laugh**

 

Story Time

My list

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If you’ve been following along I have been trying to be purposefully thankful in the last few weeks.    Part of putting that into practice last week I wrote down five things everyday that I was thankful for.  Well today I want to share a few of the things on that list.

 The first few days my list had mostly the normal stuff.

Thankful for a free country, nice house, healthy kids and so on.   About day three I was challenged to rethink those “normal” things .    If you watch the news,  any news,  you know that our world is a mess.   In this fallen mess there are many countries that do not grant the freedoms and safeties that ours does.  I have a wonderful home, a home that is both unique and perfect for our family.  Not everyone has that.   Healthy kids…  This one gets me.   I have walked beside more than one friend who bravely got up everyday to advocate for, stand beside, and love a sick child.    I  have also stood beside my friends as they lost them from this world.  I still forget in the moment how grateful I am that my kids can run, jump and play.  Even if they do it with their boots on, in the middle of my living room.

The little things are easy to say but harder to express.

My list of little things filled out quickly,  It is easy for me to list little things like “nap time” on my list.  My challenge comes when 12:15 rolls around.  At the start of Thor’s nap, the only time everyday that I have to myself, I find myself  hurried or annoyed by all I feel I need to accomplish in that time.   I rarely just sit and enjoy the quiet, well almost quiet as I sit here now I can hear the washer, dryer and dishwasher all running.

I guess I was surprised at all of the things I say I am thankful for, but I don’t feel like I show it well.    In this next week I am going to focus on showing my thankfulness.  

I reserve the right to be thankful for children to play outside.    

 

Story Time

Thankful Heart in the Little Things of Life

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         We hear it all the time

“be thankful for the little things”  or “its the small things in life that really bring joy”.  I think most of us use these phases pretty flippantly. Yes we do need to be thankful for the little things, but what does that really look like? How does that tangibly translate in our lives?

Man, I really want to give you some kind of black and white answer,

but the truth is it’s different for everyone.    It’s probably even different from situation to situation.   How my thankfulness shows through and how my husbands does is very different.  (that seems to cause miscommunication from time to time)  I really can’t tell what your thankful heart should look like, all I can do is tell you about mine.

          We were challenged  in The Reality of a Thankful Heart to make a list every day of 5 things we are thankful for.  One of the things on my list is how happy my kids are to play alone.  I know that sounds weird but hear me out.  I  struggle with feeling lonely when I’m alone.  Worrying that my friends are leaving me out on purpose.  I am scared that I am going to miss something, anything. These anxieties have been part of my life for as long as I can remember, and I was terrified that my kids would have endure the same self-inflicted pain.

To watch them sit quietly on the floor in their room and do a puzzle or ride a bike past the kitchen window while everyone else is playing trucks in the living room.  These things make my heart thankful.   How can you tell?   I smile when the little boy rides in front of my kitchen window, make him a snack that he can eat on his bike.   Sometimes there is an extra few dollars in the grocery budget and I buy another Elsa puzzle, not because we need one. But because of the smile on her face.

How can you show your thankfulness in a tangible way?

Not just for you, but for the encouragement of those around you.

Story Time

The Reality of a Thankful Heart.

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I believe that having a thankful heart is a choice.   It has very little, really nothing, to do with any of your life situation.   A new car, bigger house, different job, less stress, better kids, nicer in-laws,  sportive spouse or really anything will not make you have a thankful heart.   It won’t even make is easier to be thankful.   It is all a choice.

Wow, that’s kinda a harsh way to start the week, but it’s true.  If you stop and think about it about the people around you, you know I’m right.  We all know someone who seems to have it all.  The nice car, the big house,  and they still aren’t thankful for what they have or even happy.   Then you meet someone walking down the road, on a cold January day gas can in hand and a smile on their face.  Gratefully commenting on the warmth of the sun on their face.

I have a good life.  No “but” or “however”  to follow that up with.  I just do.    I have a good life.  Even so, in the last few months I have struggled to be thankful for  who and what I have in my life.  At the family Christmas party instead of enjoying the family that was sitting all around me I was consumed by the sadness of loss for the one that wasn’t there.   Over and over I find myself frustrated by situations I have no control over.   (I’m the mother of 5 small children,  I’m not sure I ever have and real control.) 

In the next few weeks I am going to try to focus on choosing to have a thankful heart.  This situations that frustrate me are not going to change, but how I react to them can.    I can choose not dwell on the truth that my youngest son will never know his grandfather.  Instead be thankful for all the memories and stories I have to tell him as he get older.

Having a thankful heart may not change anything in your life, but it might change a lot.   Try it with me, for the next week everyday make a list of 5 things you are thankful for.

It might surprise you and it might change you.