My Seed Planter

Sometimes it feels like a thankless job to be a mother. I know in my head that I am appreciated whether my family says it outloud or not, but sometimes it is hard to not grow weary of doing dishes, doing laundry, dusting, vacuuming, doing dishes, doing laundry, wiping noses, wiping bottoms, cleaning the bathroom, taking out the trash, scooping dog poop, mowing grass, watering grass, doing dishes, doing laundry, reorganizing bedrooms, vacuuming, fluffing smooshed pillows on couches that are smooshed from making forts that weren't put away, doing dishes, doing laundry, etc., etc., etc...you get the point. Don't get me wrong, I really do love being a mommy. It is totally worth it to be there when they get an ouchie and my kisses are magic to make it better. It is totally worth it to just have a day of doing nothing but playing checkers and wrestling and tickling on the floor. It is totally worth it to be able to sit down and read stories with my babies on the couch. It is totally worth it to be able to lay down with my baby (okay, she's 3 1/2, but she's still my baby) and take a nap just because we are worn out on that particular day or just because she wants to cuddle--which is happening less and less these days. My point of all this is to point out that my mom did all these things for me and much, much more. I want to say thank you to her--in a public forum--for all that she did for us growing up. My mom was great! She sewed clothes for us, so we could be matching twinkie girls on Easter. She specifically and intentionally didn't work a job outside the home just so that she could be there when we got home from school. She let me help sponge paint my room when I was in 4th or 5th grade, which I have to say was very brave of her, but probably gave me the seeds of desire to be painting these days. My mom believed in the family bed when we were little, so I knew it was "okay" to let my baby sleep with me when I started my own family. My mom let me nurse, even in public (gasp!), when I was old enough to walk and talk and even when it wasn't popular. My mom took me to my first La Leche League meeting as an adult (she took me a lot when I was young) when I was too nervous to go on my own--another thing that planted seeds to get me where I am today. I started another La Leche League group where there wasn't one, and I've trained 2 more since then. It does make a difference to be a momma. I am by no means a perfect mama. I by no means have all the answers. I do my best. That what my mom did for me. That's all we can do. Thank you mom for loving me! Thank you mom for being my seed planter.

Perfection

What is it that makes families pretend to be perfect with each other? We know, logically, that people aren't perfect (except our Savior, Jesus, of course). We're just not. Why should we pretend to be otherwise? It just doesn't make sense. It's frustrating. I know I'm not perfect. (I really do know it. I know everything and that includes knowing I'm not perfect.) I know I can be bossy. I know I can be anal about some things. I know I can be overly emotional and overly critical of myself. I also know that I can be lazy sometimes. So what's the problem? I will apologize right now if anyone thought ill of my sister after my blog a few days ago (that is for now removed). I love her. I really do. She really is a lot of fun. However, someone pointed out to me that maybe she wouldn't understand that I wasn't being critical of her, that I was just poking fun. Sorry to her and anyone else that may have been offended. That being said, just for clarification purposes, this is my blog. It is my thoughts. It is my memories. I talk about things in my life and with my family. I like to think it's funny sometimes--Brad might tell you otherwise.;0 I like to think it is a sweet place for me to remember the cute and funny things my kids do. I know not everyone thinks my kids are absolutely adorable and faultless. That's why this is my blog. I know that I am going off on a rant here, but I really feel strongly about this. As my mother pointed out to me, blogging can be therapeutic. For me, it is. I enjoy writing (and have not really realized how much until I started blogging). I enjoy reading other peoples' blogs. It just gives an outlet to put things in words; get it out there; express myself. Someday...I would love to make money at it. How cool is that? Make money doing something you love? What a concept. I do honestly enjoy doing all the things that I do; La Leche League; Uppercase Living; Amway/Quixtar. Obviously, some things I am more involved in than others, but that's how life is. It's give and take. It's take and give. It's not perfection. It's grace. God's grace for us. God's grace through us. Enough with my rant already...

Good News!

On this road to better health, I say better because we live in a fallen world and we have sickness and disease, we sometimes get good news and we sometimes get bad. Tonight was one of the former. I don't have lupus! Yeah and PRAISE GOD!!! It looks like it is just the sjogren's syndrome. I'm just dry and crusty at this point. I'm not going to go into all the emotions I'm feeling right now other than to say that this is a God thing. Praise be to Him! I just wanted to let everyone know that little (and huge) update on what is going on. Time to go to bed now.

Proud Papa

Ever since Aidan was in my womb and we knew he was a boy, he was a football player to Daddy. I know it's a little cliche, but Daddy loves football. Why? I don't know. He tells me every year some gibberish about how that's what he and his dad did together and that's how they bonded--by yelling at the TV together? I don't pretend to get it, but I've learned to accept it...well, sort of. But that's not the subject of this blog. This is about Aidan. This fall, he chose to play flag football. For the last 3 previous seasons, he played soccer. He's actually pretty good at it. He did play t-ball this last summer. That was fun! We just want to give him choices, expose him to a lot of different things, and let him find his own groove. So back to flag football. We had our first scrimmage last Saturday. Oh my gosh, it was so cute! Amazingly, the boys (kindergarten age, here) really seemed to get it. They've been practicing for a couple weeks now, but just the fundamentals; throwing, catching, pulling flags off...so when they lined them up and had them run the little plays--it was truly amazing! This is where I get to the proud papa. The first play or two went off without a hitch. Then all of a sudden, my son (!!!) got the ball and ran for a touchdown! Of course, 2 sets of grandparents, an auntie, a mommy, and a sissy were all yelling and clapping. Daddy is one of the coaches, so while he was clapping and giving instructions to the other boys on the surface, underneath he was jumping up and down and yelling his head off for his own boy. He was SOOOO proud! It boils down to this: it is a culmination of 6 years of fatherhood, 9 months of pregnancy (praying for a boy), and 30 years of watching football with his own father all rolled into one proud moment when his son made the first touchdown of his football career at his very first football game. I'll admit, too, I was very proud of Aidan--even if it as football.

Eternity Talks

Tonight as we lay in Breanna's bed for bedtime story, I chose to read Aidan's new Spark book for our bedtime story--and to reinforce the verse he is learning this week. His verse is John 3:16, which if you are not familiar with, goes like this:

For God so loved the world, that He gave his one and only son, that whosoever believes in Him should not perish but have everlasting life.

We were talking about what it means, and how God felt when He sent his son to die for us, and how sad Mommy and Daddy would be if we had to have our son die for everyone else. It was a really good discussion--one of the moments you simultaneously really dread and look forward to. Aidan then asked me,
"Mom, what would happen if God hadn't sent Jesus to die for us?" So I am in the middle of this really great explanation of how we would all have to die and go to hell for eternity, and I'm quoting scripture about how we are all sinners and the price for being a sinner is death, etc... you get the point. I was just so excited to have answers for his questions, then he asks one more...
"Mom, is this a mosquito bite on my forehead?" Moment over. Just like that. I'm just glad to have had the moment in the first place. But he's 5. They don't last very long. Until the next one...

The Clothes Wars

My son is so cute. I am completely aware that I am totally biased, but still... For a while now he has been gradually becoming more opinionated about what he wears. He comes out of his bedroom wearing camouflage pants (hiked up as far as they will go), a different pattern camouflage shirt (on backwards, of course, and tucked in way too far), and another pattern of camouflage hat. Then he asks me,
"How do I look, Mom?" What is a mother supposed to do? I can't lie because as we say at our house, we are truth-tellers. So I say what every loving mother would say,
"Honey, YOU make that look good!" Which is the truth, of course. He would make a wrinkly paper sack look adorable, and who can resist that oh-so-proud-of-myself smile? After all, what is a mother for besides supporting and developing independence in one's child (see "Untying the Apron Strings" blog)? At least he's trying to match. I will also readily say that this particular outfit is a play clothes outfit--not school attire. In order to avoid a full blown clothes war in the middle of the morning rush and mayhem, we do it the night before. School shirts are clearly marked by being hung on hangers. Play shirts are folded in the clothes holder. I know...it sounds a little bit anal on my part, but if things are clearly marked and arranged then he knows where to go, and making a good choice is easier. Breanna's clothing choices are another story. We are not yet in the "I need to make a statement" stage, so she is allowed to pair whatever top and bottom she chooses (weather appropriate, of course). Aidan also had this freedom when he was 3, but he's not 3 anymore. As my husband points out, we don't want the other kids to make fun of him. True, but...I also want him to be able to make his own choices that are not based on what the other kids think. That's why he wore a blue polo shirt with his jeans on Thursday--with ALL the buttons done up. That's how he wanted it. That's also why he wore a long sleeve, plaid shirt (tucked all the way in), buttoned up completely to school on Friday. A little Urkel-ish, I'll admit, but hey, Steve Urkel was a genius. What can I say?