Can Bratty Kids become Caring Adults? Heck Yeah!

Marshall just finished telling me that he hates me...again. He's four. He says it a lot. He also says that I'm mean. He sometimes tells me that he wishes I didn't exist. He says all the food I make is gross. He usually yells these obscenities when I'm carrying out my motherly duties of denying more Wii time, refusing to buy candy at the store, instructing him to change his dirty socks, and telling him that I want him to eat his dinner. How dare I? I really am a rotten person, right?

Should I be worried that he is going to grow up to be some terrible monster who screams and yells at everyone? Maybe, but honestly, I'm not. I'm not worried about it at all. 

I have two solid reasons to believe his outbursts at four are not a big deal.

1. He (and his older siblings) do not behave this way for everyone. Teachers and other parents from school find my children exceptionally well behaved. They adore them. They praise them! Sometimes, I wonder if we're talking about the same children. I have learned that the fact my children act up under my authority and not others' is because they feel extremely safe at home. They know we love them unconditionally, and even if they call us names or raise their voices in fits of frustration, we are still going to be their mom and dad, hug them, love them, read them stories, and make them our priority. 

2. I was kind of a bratty kid myself, yet I turned out to be a very giving and loving person. I was very similar to my own children in that I acted up at home but behaved impeccably at school. My best friend will laugh and tell you that if my mom did not give me what I wanted, I would stomp my feet and whine, "But, Whyyyyy?" I remember slamming my door and yelling that I hated my parents. My older brother and I fought so much that we couldn't spend the night together at our friends' house on the same night. I procrastinated on everything. I'm sure I drove my mom and dad crazy! I was a stinker at home, probably because I knew I was safe there, and my mom and dad would love me no matter what. Then I went into the real world and impressed the heck out of everyone with my, you know, perfection. 

Do you ever hear those people who see crying kids and say, "I never would have acted like that as a kid?" Or even worse yet, "My kids always behaved in public." Yeah, right! All kids misbehave just like all kids are good inside. We just never know what mood is going to strike them at any given moment. They're kids for crying out loud, and although it is our job to teach them proper manners and respect for authority, it is impossible to control them. One minute they loathe us, the next, they love us.

Like last night when I heated up Bagel Bites for Marshall. He smiled sweetly at me and said, "Mom, you make the best dinners ever!" We have to learn to take the ups and downs of parenting and hope that eventually we'll come out ahead. One day, our children will become successful, respected members of society, and we can laugh about the times they threw tantrums over Fruit Loops. 

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When "Mama" Becomes "Mom"

My children have called me by two names, Mama and Mom. Mama is my favorite word in the English language, and I secretly wish that all four of them would still call me Mama. I did not expect how sad I would feel when I suddenly went from Mama to Mom with no choice in the matter. It's a shift all mothers go through, yet we are never taught how to handle it. Here's what happened in our house. I admit that I didn't go through this change gracefully, so maybe you can learn from my story.

When Reese was seven years old, he had keenly observed that other kids his age were not saying Mama. He didn't really ask me if it was okay to switch, he just did it one day. Bam! He called me Mom. 

I caught it the first several times and reminded him, "Reese, I'm Mama." He looked at me, sort of sighed, rolled his little eyes, and said, "Okay." He still continued to try to change my name though. After a while of me trying to convince him to stop calling me Mom, he told me that he was just too old to say Mama. Reluctantly, I agreed. I was going to let go a little. 

I would encourage him to grow up. 

Fine. Reese could call me Mom. But only Reese.  

The three younger stinkers would still need me to be Mama. 

They would be calling me Mama for a very long time. I would be fine being Mom to one child. Fine.

Um, nope…not true.

Once Trixie caught on to Reese's newfound independence, she didn't want to be a "baby" anymore. She asked me why she had to keep saying Mama when Reese had stopped. I didn't understand why she was making such a big deal out of it. It wasn't like it was a punishment. She was my little girl, my only girl, and she should want me to be her mama. She was younger, and it was just the way it should be. She was going to keep calling me Mama till she was seven. That was fair.    

My little plan did not go as I had hoped. Slowly, but surely, Trixie started sneaking in Mom, too. She did it until, just like with Reese, I grew tired of reminding her to say Mama. She wore me down and won. She was barely six, and I was now Mom to two kids and Mama to two kids. 

Having two names went on for a while, but not as long as I had hoped it would. Chip started the switch much younger than the other two. I can't really remember the exact time because by then I was so outnumbered, I lost track. Marshall is four now and has been alternating between Mom and Mama for about six months. Sadly, this last baby of mine calls me the very grown up term of Mom half the time. I gave up my reminders much faster with Marshall.   It wasn't really worth it. He hears everyone else saying Mom, so naturally that's what he says, too. I'm actually surprised he ever says Mama at all.  When he does, I do a little dance in my head, holding on to these precious moments that are so fleeting. Last weekend he told me he loved me through the blueberry bushes. Before I know it, he'll be eleven and won't even want to wave to me in public. I've learned to take what I can.

I know this is ridiculous, but I feel kind of jealous when I hear my friends' older children still saying Mama and Mommy. It makes me feel like their sweet, young children must still need their mamas more than my mouthy, big kids need me. 

I'm just Mom now. Just the washer of the laundry, the maker of the food, the driver of the car. Mom.

All this makes me wonder: why do I care so much? 

I have decided I just need to get over myself. At least I have children to need me, and at least they are calling me something. Their needs have changed so greatly over the years, therefore the ways I've mothered them has had to morph with them. I went from providing them with milk, warmth, and comfort, on to becoming their teacher, counselor, and confidant. It is only fitting that what they call me would change as well.  My growing kids may not need me for the same reasons babies need their mamas, but they will need me to be their mom forever. 

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The Joys of U-Picking. Wait, Is That Even a Word?

We live in a city where U-pick farms are abundant:  strawberries, blueberries, apples, and pumpkins are our favorites.  Each year, we manage to  pick fruit from at least one or two of them.  Yesterday, I took two of our kiddos blueberry picking, which happened to be one of the best u-pick experiences we have had in the six years since we've lived here. 

The apple orchard is a rite of passage field trip for the little ones but also a really great time for moms, dads, grandmas, and grandpas.  We load up on bushels full of apples to take home for apple pies, apple sauce, apple cake, and just lots of fresh juicy apple eating. 

Strawberry picking is perfect for the short bodies of children, since the berries grow really low to the ground.  We didn't make it out this year because this was the summer my foot was broken, and the fields are muddy and full of bugs.  Not conducive conditions for  my glorious boot.  We purchased our strawberries from the local farmers' market instead, which means they're just as sweet and juicy, just cost a teeny bit more.  Everyone around here makes jam.  I do not.  I eat the strawberries, bake with them, and then freeze some with the intention to make smoothies with them.  Also, something I don't really do. 

The pumpkin patch is hit or miss being in the Midwestern Fall.  It's fun to ride out into the farm on a tractor full of hay with the kids.  Some years, it's gorgeous weather; others, it's wet and cold.  That's just the way it goes around here.  If we make it out to pick our own pumpkins, good for the kids.  They have fun choosing one that's just right for them, still on the vine with plenty of dirt all around.  If not, they'll have not quite as much fun choosing one from the giant bin at Meijer.  Those are actually much cheaper, so when we're buying four of them, sometimes it's just the way to go.

Now on to what is always my favorite fruit to pick:  blueberries.  They're so easy!  You do not have to worry about them bruising or being smashed in your bucket like apples and strawberries.  They are just so hardy and fall right off the bushes with the slightest wiggle.  I usually take all four kids to pick blueberries, but this year, two of them were with their grandparents for the week.  Trixie and Marshall  were the ones with me, so we went together on what turned out to be just the most beautiful day.  No sweltering sun beating down on us, no mosquitoes buzzing around, just an overcast afternoon where we could take our time and talk peacefully to each other through the blueberry bushes.

The farm had small colored sand buckets for kids like Marshall, and bigger white buckets for Trixie and me.  We tied the buckets around our necks and trudged through the fields to find bushes overflowing with round, dark berries.  We also ran into some friends of ours, so we chatted with them while searching for those sweet, juicy fruits to take home.  The three kids in that family were having a contest to see who could pick the most!  What a great idea for mine next year.  I'm totally stealing it. 

Marshall was eating every other berry he picked off the bushes.  It's typical for him (and even allowed).  Last year when we picked strawberries, he took a bite out of every single berry before he placed them in his bucket.   He and Trixie were so proud of the blueberry haul they procured in forty short minutes.   I'm proud of them, too, and thankful for the year's worth of treats we'll have because of their quick work.  Pancakes, muffins, pies, buckles, cakes, cheesecakes-yummy! 

A few times while we were out in the fields, seemingly out of nowhere, Marshall called to me through the bushes, "Mama, I love you!"  Gosh, what a sweet sound from my sweet little boy.  I really needed to hear it.   In a few months, the warmth of Summer days will be replaced by the chill of Winter nights.  When we wake up on a cold, snowy morning and the kids ask for me to bake some blueberry muffins, I'll march down to the basement to pull a bag of our frozen berries from the freezer.   I'll sigh and fondly recall the comforting feelings of this fantastic U-pick day! 

Check out the recipe I use for Blueberry Buckle:  http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/2014/07/blueberry-buckle.html


A past trip with all four kids to the blueberry farm:  a wonderful family bonding experience! 

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Blueberry Buckle

I have been baking this easy blueberry cake for years.  It's the perfect compliment to coffee or tea with friends, on a Sunday brunch buffet, or as a dessert on a late summer evening.   I make it with the fresh blueberries we pick from a local farm, but then in the winter, I pull some from my freezer and thaw them under running water.  It's delicious served warm or room temperature. 

 

What You'll Need for Blueberry Buckle:
8x8 in. or 7x11 in. pan
1/2 c. softened butter or margarine
1/2 c. sugar
1 large egg
1 1/4 c. flour
1 tsp. baking powder
1/4 tsp. salt
1/2 c. milk
1 tsp. vanilla extract
2 1/2 c. blueberries
 
Crumble topping:
1/2 c. sugar
1/4 c. flour
1/2 tsp. cinnamon
1/4 c. butter or margarine

Instructions:

1.  Preheat oven to 375 degrees and grease the pan. 

2.  In an electric mixer, beat 1/2 c. butter until creamy.  Then add 1/2 c. sugar; mix well, and then egg; mix well.
3.  In another bowl, combine 1 1/4 c. flour, baking powder, and salt.  Add it to the butter mixture, alternating with the milk.  (Begin and end with flour mixture).  Stir in vanilla. 
4. Pour the batter into the baking dish.  Top with blueberries.
5. Use the flour bowl again to make the crumb topping.  Mix all the ingredients with a pastry cutter until course crumbs are made.  Sprinkle evenly over the berries.
6. Bake at 375 for 35-45 minutes.

Helpful Tips:  You can make this buckle with raspberries or peaches or a mixture of any fruits you like.  You could easily double the recipe for a 9x13 size cake.

Adapted from The Ultimate Southern Living Cookbook, 1999, Oxmoor House, Inc.

31 Items Which Can be Found on our Floors at Any Given Moment

Do you feel like you are the only parent whose floor is always dotted with baby and child paraphernalia? Well, you most definitely are not. No one ever told me that once I had children, my floors would forever be cluttered with STUFF. It started when they were babies, when it was diapers and wipes that I had placed on the floor for easy reach--my fault.

Then, we moved into toddlerhood and their toys joined the fun. Their abundant, ever-growing collection of toys. I remember with each toddler, our floor was covered in primary colored toys of every shape and size. I would never choose to decorate my home with these colors, yet they were EVERYWHERE I turned! 

A few more years passed by, and each child began to develop his and her own niche of clutter. No matter how many times they pick up all the odds and ends lying around, there will always be something else landing somewhere else, within a matter of minutes. I can pretty much guarantee it. 

Just for fun, I took about two minutes to walk through the main floor of our house to see what our three sons and one daughter have lying around for us now. I'm not including their bedrooms, the playroom, or the bathrooms. This experiment involved only the rooms we live in the most, which also happen to be the rooms guests would see if they pop over unannounced. We all know never to do that to a mother with small kids, right? Okay, great! 

Let's note that I am not looking under anything. I'm positive the list would seriously never end if I actually looked under the furniture. 

Here's what I see on our floors:

KITCHEN:

• a grape
• a tortilla chip
• a piece of paper
• a Thera-band
• a paintbrush
• my camera case (I did not leave it there, I promise).

FAMILY ROOM:

• a Mario Kart Wheel
• a pillow thrown off the couch
• a tiny flashlight
• The iPad---Are you freaking kidding me?
• an Angry Bird toy
• one die
• a Candyland piece
• 2 batteries
• The Cheese Touch Game (from Diary of a Wimpy Kid)
• a Duplo block
• a bag full of toy money from The Game of Life
• a plastic sword
• an open bag, spilling out Skylanders
• another Theraband
• more Duplo blocks
• a Rainbow Loom bracelet

DINING ROOM:  (This is not a typical representation, since I just thoroughly cleaned this room yesterday)

• a Nerf bullet
• a toy car
• a pack of Rainbow loom hooks

LIVING ROOM:

• shoes
• a little green house from Monopoly
• many pieces from a Mad Lib game
• another Nerf bullet-a different style
• a baseball
• another Rainbow Loom bracelet

As I sat to type this list, Mark walked into the room and kicked one of the pieces from the Mad Lib game. I laughed out loud. If you do come over without fair warning, be prepared to navigate the mine field we like to call our house. Mark does threaten to throw it all in the garbage if it isn't cleaned up "right now, Mister!" yet somehow, nothing really ever makes it to the trash. To be fair, I do know that one day we'll miss these little reminders of our babies and kids spread out over every inch of this place. Until then, I do wish they would just stop dropping everything they touch right in the middle of our walking space. Is that too much to ask?

The Day My Son Tried to Cry for Me, but His Mouth Wouldn't Work

The moment is engrained in my mind forever. Just thinking about it makes my stomach feel queasy and my heart race. The panic of that afternoon comes rushing back to me, even though I know years have passed, and my little boy, Chip, is perfectly healthy and strong today. I'm sort of afraid to write this story because it's so upsetting for me to remember, but since we are in the middle of the summer swim season, I figure it would be important to share.

I'm talking about the day that my four-year-old son was drowning. We had been celebrating my birthday at my best friend's pool. Cristina and I have seven kids between us, but for some reason I cannot remember where my Marshall was that day. He would have been a baby. I don't know if he was in a stroller or napping or with his grandma somewhere. It's funny how our minds play tricks on us, making some details really stand out and others seem to fade into the background. I do know that Reese and Trixie were with us, as were Cristina's three children. The oldest five had been swimming all day. Chip did not want to swim. He told me so many times. He sat on the side of the pool the entire afternoon. I sat with him for the few hours we were there together. I tried to encourage him into the water, but he really was not interested. He dangled his feet in for a while and sometimes sat on the stairs that enter the pool, but he did not leave the side of the pool...ever. 

Cristina and I had such a wonderful time together. Since our families live two hours from each other, the chances we do have to spend together are cherished and packed with fun. We indulged in birthday treats and just relaxed and talked by the calming, rippling water of the stunning in-ground pool. After spending several hours outside, it was time to pack up to head over to my mom's house. We were going to have a birthday dinner with my family at my favorite restaurant: Olive Garden. I had been dreaming about those endless breadsticks all week. 

We moms issued a five minute warning to the children, letting them know their pool fun would be coming to an end soon. We were packing up our bags and cleaning up the cups and plates from the mini-party she threw for me. My back was to the pool for the first time all day. I was talking to Cristina, and something was nagging me to turn around. It wasn't anyone's actual voice. It was not a sound of splashing or a cry for help. It was just something in my own mind which told me to "turn around; turn around; Elizabeth, TURN AROUND!" Cristina was in the middle of saying something to me, but I stopped listening and turned around to face the pool. What I saw was one of the most horrifying sites a mother could see. My child, my four-year-old son, Chip, was in the middle of the pool. The middle of this extremely massive pool. I still have no idea how he managed to be there when he had not left the side of the pool all day. All I know is that his body was vertical, and his arms were spread out to the sides of him, sort of like a T. His mouth was open under water, and all I could see above water were his eyes, bulging in terror. 

I instantly ran and jumped into the water. Cristina had no idea what was happening, since I had just changed from my swimsuit into regular clothing. Why was I jumping into the pool?  Neither of us had known that Chip was anywhere near the water, and now he was drowning. Silently drowning, as I've learned every drowning is. I was able to swim out to him and pull him out of the water. I'm sure he must have been coughing and gasping for air when he was finally free from the water, but I do not really remember it.  My instincts kicked in, and he was safe. What I do remember is what he said to me when he was finally calm and snuggling in my arms. Chip said, "Mama, I tried to call you, but my mouth wouldn't work." 

Those words are probably the saddest words I have ever heard one of my babies say to me. Chip's mouth would not work because it was full of water. Water from a pool that was supposed to be fun. Water that was supposed to symbolize summer freedom. Water that can give hours of entertainment yet steal a life in a matter of moments. 

The other children had been just ten feet away from Chip the whole time. None of them saw anything. They did not know he had entered the water either. We moms were busy. No matter how diligent we had been to keep our eyes on him for the previous three hours, those two minutes we turned around to clean up changed everything.

Chip still talks about the day his mouth wouldn't work. Every time he does, I feel shaky and want to cry. It was my fault. I did not make him wear a life jacket because he didn't like the way it felt on his body. I am blessed enough to have turned around to find him, but what if I hadn't listened to that voice in my head? What if I was too late? What if? 

I beg you, please, be vigilant with your babies near water. Be attentive to the point that you are annoying them. Have life jackets on them even if they do not plan to swim. Do not turn your back on them.  EVER.

Also, please study the signs of drowning. Most drowning occurs in plain sight of others. It is silent. Kids playing in pools make a lot of noise. They splash and giggle. If you hear nothing, something is wrong. I have learned that the T-body position that Chip was in is an instinctual position a person's body will take during drowning. After 90 seconds of submersion, a person will lose consciousness. How is it possible that I turned around just in time? How was I so lucky when so many others are not? Our lives could have been changed forever, in the worst way imaginable. Whenever I hear about a terrible drowning in the news, I remember my day with Chip. I thank God for being given the chance to save him and to be his mom. My birthday is coming again soon. It reminds me to be thankful that we are able to go to Olive Garden, with all of my children, safe and sound! 



Trixie swimming when she was four.  She had on a life jacket and a ring.  Chip was wearing nothing on the day he was drowning. 

 

For more information about drowning, please check out this helpful story by Mario Vittone, a water safely expert.  http://mariovittone.com/2010/05/154/. 

 

Am I Trying to be Our Kids' Favorite Parent?

Mark is convinced that I am trying to make the kids believe I am their favorite parent.  It's been a running joke in our home for years.  This is how it usually goes down around here:

Mark gives directions or attempts to enforce a rule, in his stern dad voice.

The child leaves, crying, because the fact Dad told him to brush his teeth is pure torture.

As he is stomping away, I call after him, in my sweet, sing-songy voice,  "I love you!"

Sounds innocent enough, right? 

I had never realized what I was doing until Mark pointed it out to me.  I guess I really was saying it often, but not because I wanted them to love me more.  That's ridiculous.  It was because I wanted them to know that even though we were disappointed in something they had done or failed to do, we still loved them.  Sounds like something any mom would do, right?   Although, why was I saying, I loved them and not we?   

Eventually, when Mark caught on to what I was doing, he brought it to my attention.  He felt I was undermining what he was trying to teach the kids at the time.  I agreed it made sense, and so I thought I would just stop doing it. 

Hmmm, not so much.  Sometimes I catch myself before I say it, but whenever I do follow-up with my usual "mama loves you," Mark has developed a new way to let me know it has happened...again.

When the kids leave the room, he makes a milking sound.  You know, the sound a baby would make while suckling for milk.  Only our kids did not drink milk from bottles, they drank it from me.  So, it's a metaphor for what he feels my constant reassurance means. 

Like I want to bribe them with the boob to keep them as babies and loving/needing me most.   Pretty profound, huh?  Whatever!

I really have tried to stop calling after them when they are in trouble.  I know it is not necessary.  If I do, it's to say, "We love you!" 

If I'm the one being bossy to the kids and making them cry,  Mark chimes in to save the day.  He yells after them, in his warm, kind voice, "Daddy loves you!"

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Refreshing Pineapple Punch

During the two years we lived in Japan, I did not have the normal arsenal of ingredients at my disposal.  In America, to make punch for a party, I used the old stand-by of mixing Rainbow Sherbet, Lemon-Lime Pop, and Hawaiian Punch.  In Japan, I had a lot of time on my hands and endless recipes available to me online.    I learned a new, simple way to make a crowd-pleasing party punch. 

What You'll Need for Refreshing Pineapple Punch:

1/2 c. Lemonade Mix (like Country Time)
48 oz. chilled pineapple juice
2  cans of cold Sprite (3 c.)
2 c. cold water

Instructions:
1.  In a large pitcher, mix together the cold water and lemonade mix. Next, add the other ingredients and stir.  Done! 

2.  You can serve it in a punch bowl or straight out of the pitcher.  If I have a lot of time, I like to make a lemonade ice ring the night before the party.  If not, I serve ice on the side, and it's perfectly chilled.

Helpful Tip:  Add a little splash of Peach Schnapps to each glass for an adult version.   

Adapted from:  http://www.kraftrecipes.com/recipes/country-time-pineapple-punch-60151.aspx

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Mom, It Doesn't Have to be Perfect

Baking with my four children was something I have loved doing since they were each about eighteen months old, using this cherished time together for many reasons. I loved seeing them peek over the counter from atop a kitchen chair, using their stubby little fingers to stir eggs and measure cinnamon. We discussed the shapes and colors of the ingredients as we added them to the bowls. As a teacher, I tried to incorporate some math facts when they were old enough to understand concepts like addition and fractions. I enjoyed sharing my hobby with them, teaching them a life skill that they hopefully would pass on to their own children some day. I wanted to help them create something they could see and taste with pride. 

My daughter, Trixie, was only seven years old when we were finishing up a cake together. She had done her best to frost the cake in a way any young girl would. When she was finished, I took the offset spatula from her little hands and adjusted the icing a bit, sighing a little at the need to redo the work. Right away, Trixie said, "Mom, it doesn't have to be perfect."  The instant those words came out of her sweet little mouth, it was like I had been hit with a brick. Of course it didn't have to be perfect. Why hadn't I thought of that sooner?  It was a cake we were making  to share with her dad and three brothers. Cakes did not have to be perfect. I did not need to do things perfectly, and neither did my children. 

This epiphany from Trixie strongly resonated with me, and I wanted to share it with people. I wanted to share this one simple sentence with everyone I knew. "Mom, it doesn't have to be perfect." How amazing it was that a child's mind could see the way life should really be, and she was innocent enough to tell us. I sadly thought back to the past eight years of baking with the kids, hoping that I had not made them feel pressure to make our treats perfect.  

Trixie's advice made its way into every part of my life. It was not until after that memorable day in the kitchen that I realized I had been battling with perfectionism for years. I examined the way I was living, and I made a conscious decision not to worry about being perfect anymore. It was the best decision I have ever made.

Did I feel happy when others enjoyed my homemade treats or told me that my themed parties were so wonderful? Did I enjoy hearing friends compliment me on my perfect children, my perfect hospitality, my perfect leadership skills? Of course I did. Who wouldn't love all those compliments?  Unfortunately, it had come to a point where I felt that if I did not keep up with that perfect appearance, I would disappoint people. My mom used to tell me that once I turned 40, I would stop worrying about what everyone thought and relax. Thanks to Trixie, it only took me until I was 33 to figure it out. 

I have other close friends who have similar personalities as mine. I have been spending the past few years encouraging them to drop the perfectionist facade and just be themselves. Through talking with them, I have learned that they, too, have struggled with this need to be perfect in others' eyes.  A perfect wife, a perfect employee, a perfect mom and hostess. We have all been slowly but surely letting go, and when we are together, we enjoy each others' company instead of trying to be so perfect.

What's funny is that people have now told me that the fact I did things so "perfectly" made them feel badly about themselves, which was never my intention. I recently made some raspberry cookies for an event. When my friend told me I made her feel badly about herself because she did not make cookies like mine, I made sure to let her know that the cookies came from a mix, and I just slapped some raspberry jam in the center. I was nowhere close to perfect...not in the kitchen and not in life.

I continue to bake with my children. It will always be one of my favorite things to do with them. The older two can now complete a recipe on their own, and the younger ones are quick to hop up to the counter when I ask for some help with muffins or cookies. I still have to remind myself that I will never be perfect, and I need to make sure my children do not think they have to be perfect either. People will still like them, and their cakes will still taste delicious, I'm sure of it! 

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School Supplies-Like Christmas in July

A normal summer chore, shopping for school supplies, turned out to be just what our family needed this weekend. We usually go close to the end of summer, when the stores are crowded with frenzied moms searching for all the right items on their lists. Our little planner girl had been bugging me to take her shopping since she received her supply list in the mail back in June. She even made sure to type it and save the list to my desktop, just in case the original was lost or destroyed. As if that ever happens in our house. When is the last time an important paper had milk accidentally spilled on it or was tossed in the garbage with a piece of chewed gum wrapped inside of it? 

Trixie was especially excited to shop for school supplies in July, but I really was not that eager to go at first. We still have over six weeks left of summer vacation, so I felt like shopping now would damper our chill vibe. I did not want to think about what preparing for fall involves: waking up for school and packing lunches and monitoring homework and balancing the schedules-for four very different children! I felt like we just finished doing it for last year, why would I want to face the inevitable mayhem awaiting us in September?

Surprisingly, something completely different happened while Trixie and I shopped together. I was like a giddy school girl myself, strolling up and down the aisles of Staples. I was having a crazy good time helping her choose a new backpack, folders, and scissors, but I also found myself becoming excited at the trendy aqua colored journals and cool containers of push pins. Can you believe how many colors of Sharpies are available now? That store is like a sea of possibilities, overflowing with really fun tools and incredible supplies. Oh, the stories I could tell, the papers I could organize, the pencils I could sharpen. I kept imagining that I was like Kathleen Kelly, dreaming about bouquets of newly sharpened pencils from Joe Fox, er, I mean from Mark. 

I longed for everything new for myself. Instead, I practiced restraint and focused my energy on finding just the right items for all the kids. Marshall does not need his own supplies for preschool, but I knew that he would love to have something new like his older siblings. An eight pack of really fat crayons and some colored pencils of his own have absolutely hit the spot. Chip is thrilled to have his first 64-pack of crayons. He cannot believe how huge it is and yelled, "Mom, it even has sea green!" Reese's middle school binder is chock full of crisp white notebooks and a brand new pencil case. Trixie's backpack is sweet and sassy, and she already checked to make sure her snow pants will fit inside it this winter.

The fun did not stop at the store. Teacher Trixie had the boys sit in a circle while she pulled items out of the shopping bags. They made a game of it, guessing which supplies were for which kid. Second-grader Chip was hoping they were all for him. I could not stop smiling while I experienced the newness through the eyes of these children. The teacher in me, the mom in me, and the school-loving little girl in me are so thrilled that my children are having as much fun with preparing for school as I always did. I could not believe how gracious and thankful they were. It really was like Christmas morning, although they were shrieking over pencils and Post-Its instead of Legos and Wii games. We experienced a proud parent moment for sure. Now we can relax and enjoy the rest of summer knowing their bags are packed and ready to go. That is until the first day rolls around in September and the chaos begins again.

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Lizard's Homemade Salsa

One summer, our city suffered a fresh tomato shortage when a food safety concern was keeping stores from selling them.  Instead of making my typical Pico de Gallo with fresh tomatoes and jalapenos, I was forced to try it with canned. The result was a refreshing, zesty salsa which has become one of my staple party foods. It is the one item that my older brother requests for every family gathering. He walks in the door and asks, "Lizard, where's the salsa?"

What you'll need for Lizard's Homemade Salsa

A food processor (even a mini-chopper will work, you'll just need to do it in batches)

1 can of Rotel Tomatoes with Green Chilies (Original or Mild, depending on the amount of kick you like)

2 or 3 cans of petite diced tomatoes (15 oz. each)

1/2 of a medium onion, largely diced

1 clove fresh garlic, smashed

1/2 bunch of fresh cilantro (This is the most important ingredient in the flavor of Lizard's Salsa)

salt, pepper, and lime juice to taste

Instructions:

1. Remove and discard the stems of the cilantro. Wash it by soaking it in a bowl of cold water, allowing the dirt to settle to the bottom. Sometimes, it needs three soakings to be totally clean. You can do this ahead of time and store it in the fridge, wrapped in a paper towel and plastic bag.

2. Drain the cans of Rotel and tomatoes. 

3. In the food processor, throw the onions and garlic. Pulse till finely chopped. Next, add the tomatoes and pulse one or two times. Finally, throw in the cilantro, and chop until it is the consistency you desire. I like mine pretty fine, but not runny. 

4. Finally, add salt, pepper, and about a tsp. of lime juice. Pulse once more to combine, and store in the fridge till ready to serve (at least an hour is best).

5. Serve with tortilla chips. The salsa will stay fresh for a few days in the fridge, but you probably will not have any leftovers.

Serving Tip-Lizard's Salsa is great with scrambled eggs and cheese in a flour tortilla. 

 

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Hey, You, Whatever Your Name Is, Come Here!

Why is it that I cannot get my kids' names right? I don't mean once in a while, like when I'm really tired, or they look especially alike. Come on, let's face it, they don't look much like each other anyway. I just had a friend tell me that if she didn't know my kids were related, she would never guess they were siblings. 

I can never, ever say the right name to the right child at the right time. I run through at least three of them before finally giving up and just saying, "Whoever you are!" It doesn't even matter that I have one girl and three boys. I mix them all up, no discrimination whatsoever. 

I bet that you, too, have this problem. Are you ashamed to admit it? Do your kids think you don't know their names? Mine think it. They always say, "Mom, why can't you ever say our names right?" Believe me, kids, if I knew, I would stop. I really do want to call you by the wonderful name we chose for you. I don't want to be flustered and give up in frustration and call you, "what's your name." 

Mark thinks he has it all figured out and just calls the kids by their birth order. You know, "Number 4, Number 1, get over here." Poor Trixie if he ever tries to use her number nickname in public. It doesn't work for me. Even though I birthed them, I think I'd still get the numbers wrong. 

I asked my mom why it happens. She does the same thing to all of her grandchildren. There are nine of them, and she mixes them up a lot. My dad still calls me by his little sister's name. He hasn't lived in the same house as her in forty years, yet he calls me Lisa. 

Does anybody have an answer? Why can our brains hold so much information, like all the lyrics to every New Kids on the Block song, yet we cannot spit out the correct name for a child whose life consumes our every waking minute? 

To our children: 

We do know who you are. We do love your individuality. We gave you the names we did because they were meant for you and your personality and sweet face. We're sorry we mix you up, but just keep telling us we're wrong, and give us a hug. We love you, Reese, Trixie, Chip, and Marshall!

(Actually, their real names are even more confusing).

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A Parenting Melting Pot

How is it possible that I have relationships with so many parents, yet our journeys through parenthood have been so vastly different? When I consider the people whose advice I trust and encouragement I actively seek, I am pretty astounded at the varied lives we lead.

Some of you were blessed with many children. You experienced the ups and downs of pregnancy and childbirth, and we can share our stories about morning sickness, stretch marks, and labor.

Others of you went through unimaginable struggles to have the family that you do now. I admire you for the pains you have endured to become what you so longed to be, a mom.

Some of you are staying at home with your children. We like to commiserate about how many dishes we have to do during summer vacation when the kids are home all day, but we also realize how lucky we are.

Some of you are rocking the workforce, aside from your job as mom or dad. Although I do not see you as often as I wish I could, I support you and love to meet up whenever we can. My teacher friends are special superstars, working day and night, guiding our children in a way that we appreciate and value. 

Some of you share your life with a caring husband. He provides strength and support in your home, offering love to you and a father's presence to your children. 

Others of you are doing the jobs of two parents, all on your own. I often wonder how you can do it.  How can you lift up your children when you need lifting up, too? I know that you do it because you are strong, so strong. Stronger than any of us will ever know. 

Some of you are blessed to have healthy families. You and your children have occasional illnesses, but nothing that isn't considered par for the course of life. You know, like that raging stomach virus that hits everyone in your house at least once a year.

Others of you have children with conditions or illnesses that make childhood a little bit harder for them. You feel worried and sad, but you are an advocate, and you make sure that they have the very best care possible. 

Others of you are suffering. You, as moms and dads, have something keeping you from living an easy, healthy life. You amaze me as you keep a positive outlook when most of us would be wallowing in sorrow or self-pity. 

Some of you have a vast family support system. You have a great extended family: brothers, sisters, parents, and grandparents, on whom you can rely for comfort and help with emergencies.

Others of you have lost those loved ones you had trusted the most. Your children may never know their grandparents. I love that you are keeping the memory of your family members alive by sharing your stories and pictures with your children.

We all have an ongoing list of differences, such as in the types of schools we choose, whether or not we attend church, and how strict or liberal we are with technology. I know that I do not have two friends or family members who are exactly like me. I am positive that we are meant to be in each others' lives anyway. How boring would it be if we were all the same? I gather strength and inspiration from the all of the parents I know, so thank you.


One of our baby boys playing with all the pots and pans.  Who needs toys?

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The Unfashionable Boot is Off!

One fateful day this Spring, my little brother jinxed me through cyberspace. I had just walked into a wall. It’s nothing new for me. I do it all the time. I mean seriously, like at least once a day. I hit walls with my shoulder, bump them with my hip, or most commonly knock them with my dainty size ten feet. So, I shared my not very exhilarating news on Facebook. I simply wrote, “I bet no one walks into more walls than I do.” A lot of people begged to differ, saying that they, too, walk into large amounts of walls. My smart aleck little brother just antagonized me. Do you know what he said to me when I told over 300 of my closest friends that I walked into a wall?

Not, “Oh, Sis, are you okay?” 

Not, “Wow, that stinks.  Take it easy.” 

He said this, “or falls down more stairs.” 

Ha!  Yes, he is right about that one statement. I do fall down stairs, a lot. Not as often as I walk into walls, but more than an average person.

I was unaware what my future would hold, but I do blame said little brother for its occurrence. 

Exactly two months later, I did fall down the stairs. It wasn’t my run-of-the-mill fall this time. It was a real doozy. I broke my foot and sprained my ankle. I would have to go on to explain what happened at least once a day to friends and strangers for the next six weeks. That is how long I have been wearing my fancy walking boot. It has been the greatest summer fashion statement. 


Are you jealous?   

That is until today. Today is the day I am finally rid of that stinkin’ boot. 

Wanna know exactly how it happened? You can laugh at me; I won’t be upset. We were enjoying a very lovely barbeque party at one of my best friend’s homes. Her basement had been trashed (no surprise there) by our collective seven kids. I told my dear children to help clean up the mess. 

Did they listen?

What do you think?

The youngest one, the runner, did not want to clean anything. I am quite sure he made most of the mess, which is why he tried to escape, yelling "I hate cleaning!" As he was running up the stairs, I scooped him up in my arms. While I was coming back down to enforce the dreaded cleaning assignment, he kicked and screamed and tried to wiggle away from me. At that very moment, the oldest kid, who probably did not make any mess at all, attempted to squeeze past me to walk upstairs. I tried my best to keep squirmy kid from kicking his big brother. We were in a narrow stairwell after all. 

What happened next is all a blur. 

I went down, and the rest is history. 

Wanna know what’s funny? I walked around on that broken foot and sprained ankle for six days before realizing something was really wrong. My dad called me a “Tough Old Bird.” Thanks, Dad, that’s encouraging. I’m a clumsy, tough old bird who can’t control her four year old. 

I should state that none of my children were injured in the fall. That’s a good mom, right?  Sustaining an injury to protect her young. I won’t tell you about the time I broke my pinky toe. It wasn’t heroic at all. 

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Back to the Summer Madness

The kids and I just came home from a week away from the daily grind of summer vacation.  I know, it shouldn't be a grind. It should be relaxing and carefree.  Believe me, I'm working on it.  I vowed to schedule less camps and activities this summer.  I actually did schedule less than usual, but with four children, we still have more than I can count. I can't even begin to remember what they are unless I look at my calendar...my big paper calendar attached to my fridge.  I also have a small paper calendar in my purse. I cross-reference them every week to make sure I don't forget anything.  I do not have a smart phone.  I like using a pen.  Is that weird?

I took our kids to my hometown to stay with our families.   Every day, we had places to go and people to see.  We did miss Mark, the poor guy had to stay behind and work, but having some time to decompress really helped us prepare for the rest of our busy summer.  Usually, when we go visit family, it is for a specific event, like a birthday party.  We drive down, stay a night or two, hopefully sneak out for a movie, and then we head back home.  We see the people whose event we are attending, and that's about it. 

This time, I made the smart decision to stay an entire week.  I know I am very blessed to have the opportunity for such a trip.  Have you ever had the chance to do something similar?   I really hope that as a parent, you are able to connect with your friends and/or family as much as possible.  Whether we have new friends, sneaking in a quick coffee while the kids play, or lifelong friends who know us like nobody else, we all need to make time to nurture ourselves.   Positive relationships help us thrive.  Let's make them a priority, and we'll feel more ready to tackle the parenting our kids need from us.   

If you are reading this post and thinking, "I do not have those kinds of connections with people," please come back again.  I have been sharing my mom survival tips with my real life friends for years.  I'm not an expert, but I do know what has failed me and what has worked.  I hope you'll visit again to laugh in agreement or shake your head at my motherhood goofs. 

There will be lots of them.

I promise.

Like what happened to me this morning:   I was being a nice, fun mom and let the kids play at a local park.  One of them threw a little girl's shoe down the hill.  When I told him to give it back to her, he threw it up the hill and nailed her in the foot.

Yep, I'm one of those moms at the park. 

I have rude kids sometimes.

I do my best to teach them manners. Really I do.

They just choose to learn them on their own schedule.  Please forgive me and have patience with us. I'm sure they won't be like that forever.

Meanwhile, I would like to reflect on the blessings I had while I was visiting my hometown and forget about the rudeness for at least a little while.

I am very thankful to all of my friends for the times we spent laughing and reconnecting last week.  I am so energized after all of the fun we had together.  You know who you are!  A late night shopping trip to Kmart, a four hour lunch at the winery, an afternoon spent by the pool with our babies, a chat over peanut butter shakes, a kid-free dinner out sharing a pitcher of sangria, a long car ride made shorter with a phone call from a best friend, an extremely loud trip to McDonald's with the kids.  None of those outings would be possible if I did not have relationships and friendships that stand the test of time and distance. 

 

Thank you to my parents and Mark's parents for making special memories with my children.  Watching a calf be born on a farm, catching candy with them at a parade, oohing and aahing under the fireworks.  Those little events are ones they will remember.  Thank you to aunts and uncles (the kids' and mine) who are an active part of our family.  Thank you to my 91 year old grandma for being spunky enough to spend a few days with nine rowdy kids.   I hope I have that kind of patience when I'm a great-grandmother.

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The Non-Blog Post Which Started It All: "Parenting is Hard."

My friends and family had been telling me for years that I should write a book or start a blog. Their words of encouragement always came after I posted some sort of story about our ever changing life on my Facebook page. I seriously considered the advice every few months, but I just never had the chance to make it happen. After all, I had been a little busy for the past several years.

Here's the lowdown on our family: 

I was a teacher and Mark was an engineer. We were married for a couple of years before our life as we knew it would change forever. I left the workforce at 24 to become a full-time stay at home mom. Our first two children, a boy and a girl, were born just over a year apart from one another. When they were still pretty tiny, we decided to uproot our babies and spend two years living in a foreign country: Japan of all places. That experience in itself warrants an entire blog. More on that later. Baby Number Three surprised us during our last year in Japan. We moved back to America while I was eight months pregnant and joyfully welcomed that little guy. Fast forward another year, and we moved again. Thankfully this time it was just one state away, still in the Midwest. After living there for just a few months, we learned that Baby Number Four would make a grand entrance into our family. He was our last baby, and we have been living in the same city for six years now. 

 

It’s the perfect time to start my long-anticipated blog, right? We feel settled, with no major life changes on the horizon. Well, that’s what we always say.

A few weeks ago, I posted an inspirational note on parenting to my Facebook page. It was greeted with so many positive responses from friends telling me that they really needed to hear what I was saying that day. Then I shared it on our school’s PTA page, and teachers and some parents I didn’t know were saying similar things, thanking me for my honesty. I shared it on a national page and a woman told me that my words were refreshing. I knew I hit a nerve with my writing, in a positive way, and I decided it was finally time that I did something about it. I began doing a little research, brainstorming titles for my one day, down the road blog. Then today, July 6, 2014, after I shared another parenting post on Facebook, my good friend told me I really needed to start a blog.

I’m listening. 

I’m ready. 

Here it is..."Mama Loves You and Chocolate, Too." 

Please read on to see what I wrote that really made me bite the bullet and start this blog.  I hope it touches you as it has touched many people in my life. 

“Parenting is Hard…”   Written on June 25, 2014

I keep having to remind myself of this new mantra I've discovered: "Parenting is hard." Nobody ever told me it was going to be easy, but somehow it seemed easier in the beginning. Sure, I was sleep deprived and up to my eyeballs in diapers for ten years, but I've found this next stage of parenting to be the most difficult so far.

Having a middle schooler threw me for a loop I was not expecting. Having four kids in three different schools made for a crazy year. I could not wait for summer vacation to be here! I realize now that our life will be this way from now until who knows when...crazy. The kids will always be in many different schools and experiencing different stages of growing up. Their ages are so spread apart, and it's extra obvious now. When the oldest was 7, they were all still so young and little. Now the older two are 11 1/2 and 10 1/2, and it's a whole new world. We can never go back to what it was before, and I have found myself struggling to accept it.

A friend of mine recently told me that these are the hardest years on a family. I can see it now. All the kids have mood swings like you would not believe. One minute, they're best friends; the next, they're screaming at the top of their lungs that they wished the others didn't exist. One day, they're telling me I'm the best cook in the world; the next, they're saying I only make "gross food."

We can't let our egos get the best of us. We can't believe these outbursts, or we'll never want to wake up to face another day. When I look around at school or church or on Facebook, it's easy for me to feel like our family doesn't measure up to the others around me. It makes me want to shut down and lock ourselves inside till everyone learns to behave in every social situation. Then I remember, parenting is hard. Everyone thinks it, they just don't always say it.

I ran into two friends at the grocery store the other night. We were all having the wonderful experience of shopping without our many children whining and pulling on our legs, calling us mean for not buying them a new toy or treat or whatever. We were relishing in the rare quiet and chance to talk without being asked, "Are you done yet? Let's gooooo!" We laughed that we should grab some wine and not go home. We had the chance to see that only a few weeks into summer vacation, we were all experiencing the exact same things. We all could see that parenting is hard, and that everyone feels it. Everyone's house is messy. Everyone's kids claim to be bored when they have an entire house full of toys. Everyone's kids fight with each other…a lot.

I'm writing this today because I need to vent, but also because maybe someone needs to hear it. Maybe one of my friends is feeling the stress I feel. Maybe you look at others and feel like they make parenting look so easy, but wonder why it's hard for you. I won't have the chance to run into most of you at the grocery store. I won't have the chance to give you a hug and say it's great to see you. Believe me, I wish I could. In the meantime, please take my little note as encouragement from afar.

Parenting is hard.

Let's admit it.

Let's accept it.

Let's get through it together.

 

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